Writing for Fun
March 2019
It's A Crime - Pete Norman
Brian was whistling happily and swinging his crash helmet as he walked. He was so looking forward to seeing Arthur’s reaction. As he made his way along the corridor a few of the doors he passed were open but even the plight of some of the poor unfortunates in those rooms could not dampen his mood – Arthur was going to go crazy when he heard the news. Since he had moved away he hadn’t come down nearly as often as he should have done but this weekend he was going to put that right.
He stopped outside room No. 17 and reached for the handle. As he tapped politely on the door a sudden feeling of apprehension swept across him but he shook himself, today was going to be a good day and he had no time for that kind of nonsense. He pushed the door open and there was Arthur, sitting in his high wing backed chair, hunched over with his eyes closed and a soft rasping sound escaping his lips.
Brian grinned. He gave his shoulder a quick shake. ‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, you were snoring.’
Arthur’s eyes opened and locked on his. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he snapped.
Brian recoiled.
‘It’s me, you daft sod. It’s Brian. Now stop messing about.’
Arthur was staring back at him incomprehensibly. Brian stood for a moment totally lost for words but he clearly was not messing about. Arthur had been his usual self when he had last visited him, a little confused maybe but still the same old Arthur, however, today it seemed almost as if he was a complete and utter stranger.
Brian was devastated for his friend and he was devastated because he had been planning this for weeks and now it seemed as if the whole trip was dead in the water – because it looked very much as if Arthur was dead from the neck upwards.
He dragged a chair across and placed it down firmly, directly in front of him. This had to be sorted here and now. He wanted to scream out in frustration but instead he softened his voice and said, ‘Listen, Arthur, I’m Brian, Brian Carter, we’ve been mates for nigh on fifty years. I was the best man at your wedding and we’ve done all kinds of weird stuff together over the years but this is just one weird too far for me, you’d better damned well recognise me or else I’m gonna . . . I’m gonna get really mad.’
There was no response. Arthur was still staring back at him suspiciously without a hint of recognition.
Brian tugged out his mobile phone and scanned back through the photographs. He stopped at one of the two of them standing together against the rails, grinning like Cheshire cats with motorbikes racing past. He pointed at the image of himself. ‘That’s me, there . . . Brian.’
Arthur stared at the picture and then reached out and touched the screen. ‘Brian.’
‘That’s right. That’s Brian. That’s me.’
Arthur stared at the picture a little longer and then he touched the image of himself. ‘Who’s that?’
Brian took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘That’s you, Arthur. Do you remember how you wanted to take a selfie just as Bautista went by on the Kawasaki?’
He scrolled through the photographs and held out the phone to Arthur again. ‘What do you reckon to that one? It’s my new toy.’
Arthur reached forwards and touched the photograph. ‘I had one of those.’
Brian shook his head. ‘No, you didn’t, mate, this one’s a Harley Davidson.’
Arthur grunted irritably and stabbed his finger into the screen. ‘Motorbike!’ He looked up at Brian. ‘I had one of those.’
Brian grinned. ‘Ok, I stand corrected, mate, you did have a motorbike . . . but you win a goldfish if you remember what sort you had?’
Arthur shook his head and Brian’s heart sank but then a fleeting smile crossed Arthur’s lips. ‘Norton.’ He thought for a moment longer and then added, ‘Three fifty.’
Brian grabbed his arm. ‘Right on!’
Arthur struggled to raise his fist. ‘Right on.’
There was a glimmer of light now in Arthur’s eyes, it was beginning to look as if someone was at home.
Brian flicked back to the first photograph. ‘Now, you and me at Brands Hatch. You remember?’ Arthur said, ‘Druids.’
Brian grinned. ‘You got it in one, mate, we always stood at Druids, didn’t we – always the most exciting bit, eh?’
Arthur nodded.
Brian leaned forwards. ‘They’ve got the Super-Bikes at Brands on Saturday, do you fancy coming with me? Stay at the Holiday Inn like we used to?’
Arthur smiled and raised his fist. ‘Right on!’
* * *
Three days later Arthur stepped out of Sunnyside Nursing Home into the bright sunshine. He winced – he had not seen real daylight for a very long time. In the carpark was a jet black Harley Davidson with two crash helmets strapped to the seat. The leather jacket Brian had brought was a little stiff and, as he had lost some weight, a little too big for him but there was a comfortable familiarity about it.
Brian pressed the button and the huge engine burst into life with its characteristic deep throated rumble. He called over his shoulder, ‘Hold on tight, mate, it’s going to be a long ride.’
Arthur leaned against the backrest and took a firm hold of the hand-grips. He took a last look at Sunnyside as they pulled out onto the main road and grinned – he felt better than he had felt for longer than he could remember.
A little over an hour later Brian eased the bike off the road onto a café forecourt. As they walked across the car park Brian asked, ‘Remember this?’
When they had been rockers together the Blinking Owl had been one of their favourite haunts and Arthur recognised it immediately. ‘All day breakfast,’ he replied happily. Inside the café the tables were covered with chequered blue and white plastic table cloths and the walls were covered with photographs and an eclectic mix of biker memorabilia. Happy memories of their misspent youth came flooding back. Arthur was in seventh heaven. He tucked into an enormous greasy breakfast washed down by a giant mug of tea and declared that the Sunnyside chef should come here to see how real food should be cooked. For an hour or more they chatted away freely about the ‘good old days’ and gradually the old Arthur began to emerge like a phoenix from the ashes.
Sometime later they pulled off the motorway into a Service Station. Brian took off his crash helmet. ‘Pit stop,’ he announced. ‘I’m afraid Harleys just guzzle up the juice.’ He filled the tank and left Arthur at the pump while he walked over to the kiosk. A few minutes later he hurried back to find Arthur sitting on the front seat, playing with the throttle, a broad grin on his face. ‘On the back, mate, quickly, we’ve got to go.’
Arthur made no attempt to move but gestured to the back seat.
Brian said, ‘Oh, no, mister. My bike. I drive. Now, on the back, quick.’
Arthur pressed the button and the engine roared into life.
Brian threw his hands up in frustration, ‘Look, I’ve lost my wallet, I must have left it in the café. We have to get out of here quick before they realise.’
‘But that’s a crime.’
‘Not if I come back when I find my wallet and pay them. Now, for Christ’s sake move.’
Arthur pushed the bike off the centre stand and gestured to the back seat. ‘No. It’s my turn to drive.’
Brian saw the attendant coming towards the door and he knew that he had no time to argue. He climbed on the back. ‘Now, go, go, go!’
When they reached the Holiday Inn Brian was feeling surprisingly relaxed. Regardless of whatever was going wrong inside Arthur’s head his ability to ride a bike still appeared to be functioning on all cylinders.
‘Well, you’ve still got it, mate!’ he announced to a euphoric Arthur but he still held his hand out for the keys, this was only ever going to be a one off opportunity.
When they reached their room Brian said, ‘The hotel’s paid for but we’re going to need some cash for food. I’ll have a ring round to see if any of the lads are here today.’
Arthur reached into his pocket and produced a small purse. ‘I’ve got my pension in here, do you think that will be enough?’
Brian was dumbfounded. ‘Why didn’t you say that at the garage?’
‘You never asked me.’ Arthur grinned. ‘Besides, if I’d have told you, would you still have let me drive?’
‘Most definitely not! Anyway, the least you can do is treat me to a beer before they throw me in jail.’ He tugged off his leather jacket and threw it on the bed. A small black wallet slipped from the lining and fell onto the floor.
Brian grabbed the offending item and opened it up to prove to himself that it was not an illusion. ‘Looks like our luck’s changed. Seems the drinks are on me after all.’
In the bar they bumped into a couple of guys they knew from previous forays into the delights of Brands Hatch. Brian kept quiet about their earlier memory loss problems and he was delighted that Arthur managed to stay with the conversation and neither of their friends appeared to notice anything amiss.
Later, in the hotel restaurant Arthur made short work of a steak and ale pie and followed it down with an enormous ice-cream sundae. He sat back in his chair with his hands on his stomach and a happy smile on his face.
Brian looked at his old mate in amazement. ‘Arthur, why on earth is someone like you in a place like that? Surely you don’t need to be there?’
The smile faded from Arthur’s lips. ‘Well, you see, I have to be there because I can’t always look after myself. I have some good days and I have . . . I have some bad days as well.’
Brian hesitated for a moment. ‘Look, I live on my own now and I’ve got a spare room, do you think you could stand the sight of me for longer than just this weekend?’
Tears welled up in Arthur’s eyes. ‘I . . . I don’t know what to say.’
‘The simple word ‘yes’ would be good enough. Now, enough about that, let’s go and get pissed.’
* * *
In the morning Brian woke early with a sore head. Arthur was still asleep. He crept out of bed quietly so as not to wake him and showered and dressed. He checked his watch, added on sufficient time for breakfast, then he turned back to the bed – he’s had all the lay in he’s going to get today.
‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.’
There was no movement and in one heart-stopping moment Brian realised what was wrong – Arthur snored. Whenever they had stayed at this hotel in the past Arthur had always snored like a band-saw and now there was dead silence. He sank onto the bed in total confusion. He had no idea what he should do next. Should he call an ambulance? Perhaps he should call the front desk.
He walked over to the phone and dialled zero.
From behind him there was a sudden movement. Brian dropped the phone and spun around. Arthur was staring at him over the top of the duvet. In a tired voice he said, ‘Who the hell are you?’
Brian felt elated but deflated all in one messy lump.
Arthur grinned. ‘Only kidding!’