They may not mean to, but they do - 38. Thirty-Eight

Driving over to what should have been Keith’s home turf felt strange; he didn’t recognise any of it. Had the city changed that much, or had he deliberately forgotten?

“Do you ever think about going back to your childhood home?”

Thomas was driving them in his car, he grunted, “I’m not sure I ever had one.”

“But the places you were brought up?”

“They all felt borrowed, not ours. Dad moved roughly every five years and sometimes stayed close so that Nate and I were not disturbed in school. But we were living in someone else’s house. Oh, everyone was nice and friendly, but it wasn’t ours and somehow, we were living in Dad’s work. Nate got friendly at school with a boy whose Father was in the RAF, and they moved about, too. I think the two bonded partly because both our families were gipsies. So no, I don’t think I want to go back, but I’d like to venture up to Grandma and Grandad’s.”

“They lived in Scotland?”

“Yes, the Borders. Somehow, they’d ended up there and loved it, and stayed. Mum used to pack us off in the holidays, two little boys crossing Britain by train.”

“You did it by yourselves?”

“Oh, there was some sort of universal aunt service, we were met and such, the rail folk were very nice, and it felt like a treat.” He grinned at Keith, “To be away from the church, from the parish and to be on our own felt great.”

“Where did your grandparents live?”

“Somewhere near Peebles, it’s a great holiday area.”

“We’ve not taken a holiday together, yet.”

They smiled, “Perhaps we’ll argue?”

“And the weather will be crap.”

“We could rent a place near Peebles. Drive up there and explore, no need to spend too long looking for Grandma and Grandad’s, but it would be nice.”

“Well, here we are, the first stop on our scenic tour. Dad’s factory!”

“It looks remarkably intact as if you could just walk in.”

Keith snorted, “Probably could. I think they closed ten year ago or so, just shut up shop and not worth spending money on it.”

They got out of the car and peered through railings at industrial desolation, yet the buildings seemed all intact. “Rather grim area”, Thomas had turned and was looking down the empty road.

“It was never lovely, and who wants a down-at-heel industrial estate now?”

“What was it like when it was up and running?”

“I never visited much; Dad wasn’t keen. He’d say the factory wasn’t a place for kids. But there were a couple of occasions, I can’t think why. Probably wouldn’t be allowed nowadays.”

“You went onto the factory floor?”

“Nah, probably nowhere near, but it all seemed so smelly and noisy. Yet I was curious too, wondered what the machines were for, what they were doing.”

They smiled at each other, “Bet that went down well.”

“I think he was pleased I was interested, in a funny way. And the people I met were friendly. But it was only a couple of occasions, and after he realised, I was interested in guys there was no chance of that.”

They walked up and down the street, the factory proved to have quite a striking brick façade in amongst all the metal sheds, but Keith’s mind wasn’t on what they could see now, “It wasn’t all bad when I think on it. Even after Mum died, he really tried, but I don’t think I was ever the sort of son he knew what to do with. I played sport, OK, but I was never that interested in the footy results, and I don’t think he knew what to do with an inquisitive kid, who always wanted to take things apart”, he laughed. “When I was born, I think that he could have imagined me growing up and getting a job at the factory, a lot of guys did that when Dad was young. He’d have been proud and taken me for my first legal pint. Problem was the world changed, the factory changed owners quite a few times, and I wasn’t what was expected either.”

“It's not your fault.”

He sighed, “No, but not all of it was Dad’s fault either. I never really did know what was wrong with him.”

“His lungs?”

“I think so. He never discussed it and I daren’t ask. When I got older, I could easily have. But by the time I was old enough to have dug around a bit and asked questions, we weren’t speaking properly. Never did in fact. I often wonder whether his temper was linked to it. Couldn’t cope.”

“Apart from beating you, was his temper bad?”

Keith gave a sharp laugh, “Something rotten, you’d never know when he would erupt; little things annoyed him. Anyway, shall we go and look at Gran’s place.”

Ten minutes later they were staring at a large hole in the ground surrounded by hoardings with a notice proudly announcing affordable housing, though there was no sign of any work going on. There was a convenient gap in the hoarding through which you could see the hole in the ground.

They were staring at it, or at least Keith was when an old lady stopped, “Right disgrace. Knocked ‘em down and then do nothing”, she looked up at them, “Perfectly good flats, some nonsense about asbestos. You looking for somewhere in particular lads?”

They explained that Keith’s Gran had lived there, and she commiserated and went on her way, pushing her shopping trolley. Thomas raised his eyebrows and smiled, “I thought we might get the life story of the flats, there.”

“Yeah, narrow escape.”

“Well, we might as well move on. Where next, your old home?”

“Home? Yes, I suppose you’d call it that. Somehow, Gran’s felt a bit more like home.”

“Did they ever consider that you live with your Gran?”

“Oh no, that wouldn’t do. A boy needed his Father.”

“Even when he beat him.”

Keith pulled a face, “Gran was very, very traditional. She was Ok with encouraging me, thought an education was a good thing. But Dad was my Father, and he was right. It was Dad’s prerogative to bring me up the way he wanted. Or perhaps she was frightened of him.”

“Do you think so?”

“Not sure, she seemed to be pretty much her own woman, yet…”

“She did what he wanted.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think that she might have agreed with him, about your being gay?”

“Oh, she definitely didn’t approve of homos, I’d have never got any sympathy there.”

“But she saved all those clippings?”

“Keeping her eye on me, making sure I didn’t get into trouble; she certainly wouldn’t have been proud of it. But she didn’t approve of the beating, I got that impression.”

“She just never did anything about it?”

“Well, she did, in a way. She made my life away from Dad something special. She was good at finding the joy in little things, small treats. Even letting me tag along with that old bloke. Christ, what was his name? I can still see the kitchen of his flat, a mass of bits and pieces, half dismantled stuff and boxes of components that he’d kept or scrounged. I loved it, wandered round asking him what things were. Despite the chaos, he knew everything, where it was. He could tell you where that old radio or that there electric kettle had come from. They might come in useful.” He grinned, “That was a sort of treat, I think, as far as Gran was concerned. Then she realised that I really did have a knack for fixing things.”

“Is there a chance of a cup of coffee somewhere?”

Keith laughed, “Probably not unless you want the coffee bar at Asda’s.”

“I was thinking of something a bit more upmarket than that.”

They walked back to the car and drove into the centre of the village, which seemed to be centred on a roundabout near the station. Apart from the Asda and a few other places, it wasn’t very hopeful.

“Bit grim isn’t it.”

Thomas made a non-committal noise, though he actually agreed with Keith.

“It’s even worse than I remember it. There used to be a store round here, where we hung around, you know we’d pop in and buy rubbish for pennies, but that was it. Look, I think there’s somewhere near the cemetery. Leastwise, I remember Gran using a café near there.”

In the unlikely spot at the back of a petrol station opposite the cemetery, they found a small café. Warm and welcoming, straightforward with surprisingly good coffee. The rather large guy serving was disposed to be chatty, but Keith didn’t volunteer anything about his connection to the village.

“You recognise him?”

“Who? Oh, the guy serving. No, but you never know, and I don’t think I want to bump into anyone.”

As they left, Keith turned to Thomas. “Can we get this over with quickly, it's just. I don’t feel I want to meet anyone, to try to talk or explain. I’m happy to look but seeing the place now. Well...”

“You don’t want to go back?”

“Christ no. Look, I know that Norton isn’t exactly wonderful, but it’s sort of become home. My home, whereas all this was?” He just shrugged. “I wonder if I ever really fitted in.” He took a swig of his coffee and paused, “It’s strange, ‘cause none of this brings back memories of Mum. Not real memories at least.”

“You were seven when she died?”

“Yeah, I remember her all right. I remember doing stuff, shops, Gran, and going on expeditions.”

“Expeditions?”

Keith laughed, “Yeah, we’d go out for the day with some pack-up and explore”, he shook his head. “Nowhere particular, but she had a way of making things exciting. She liked being outside, in wide-open spaces, so we’d catch the bus and then walk. I was only a kid mind, so it was never far, but it seemed fun. Can’t really explain. Thing is, Dad never talked about her, wouldn’t. Clammed up. I saw a TV programme and it said you should keep a kid’s memory alive by talking about the dead person, Dad did none of that. Mum became a vague ghost, just a few drifts of memory.”

The estate was a mass of narrow, rather windy roads and rank upon rank of 1950s housing. Someone in the planning department had thought it a good idea to soften the edges by avoiding straight roads, but it only meant that with modern cars and multi-car households, navigating the roads became difficult. The houses were now highly variegated, some having been customised and extended, others let go into desolation. It was somehow bleak, a sense of people struggling unsuccessfully to escape the constraints that society put on them.

They stopped outside a house that had had money spent on it, bright-coloured brick cladding and new windows. The garden, however, had not benefited and the front lawn was a tiny patch of rough grass with no attempt at gardening. Keith stared.

“Christ, it’s changed. Load of money spent on it. Probably needed it. Let's go.”

They were silent for a bit, with just Keith’s short navigation directions punctuating the quiet.

“I’m glad I’ve seen it if only to do something to slay the dragon, sort of thing. But”, he laughed grimly, “it’s all a bit of a let-down isn’t it.”

They came to a pub with green round it, but there was nowhere to park on the road.

“Chuck it in the pub carpark, and we can go in afterwards. We won’t be long.”

Keith led them down a path off the road, it was marked as a local open space, it all seemed so pleasant, green trees, grass, a small brook. The built-up environment of Moortown was soon lost.

“It’s almost magical.”

Keith snorted, “Wasn’t very magical fifteen year ago, it was a bit grim then. They’ve tidied it up a lot. All the rubbish and such has gone, and all that there”, he pointed to a group of trees, “was a mass of barbed wire”. Keith grinned, “Not that it stopped us.”

Finally, they reached a large pool, clearly the remains of what had presumably been the mill pond, assuming the buildings at the far side were a mill.

“Was this the mill?”

“Yup. Spent hours here till Dad found out and that. Probably a dodgy place, but for a couple of gay teenagers, it was somewhere to escape.”

“What happened to your friend?”

“Dunno. I think his family left the area, leastways he disappeared from school. And Dad never said. Tim Green’s a bit of a common name to put into Google and find summat.”

It was quiet, there was no-one around, not even a dog walker. Thomas put his arm around Keith, “Would you like to find him?”

“Dunno. I think so. But it might be like this, all changed, and you regret doing it.”

“And you might not regret it, but you might regret not trying.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Look, let’s make it a project. Write down everything you can remember, and we can start. OK?”

“OK.”

They walked around the pond and reached the mill buildings. “Are you sure this a mill?”

Keith shrugged, “We called it that.”

There was an information board, but frustratingly most of it was missing. They laughed. It now seemed to be some sort of community centre, closed up.

“Do you want a root around, or shall we risk the pub and have a pie and pint?”

“Pub, I think. It’s great to come back, but it is so different”, Keith looked a bit shamefaced and confused, “It doesn’t feel how I remember it. I’m not sure what good I thought it might do, coming back. I wanted you to see it, but I was thinking that if I went back, it might…” He shook his head, “I’m not sure what I was hoping. This is nice, but it isn’t what I remember, the place we did stuff”, he snorted. “We can’t go back there. Ever. And not sure I want to”, he shook himself. “I think a pint might be good, though I can’t guarantee what the pub is like”.

It was modern inside, but there was real beer and pie on the menu. So, it was a pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord each, plus home-made steak and mushroom pie and chips. It put a smile on both their faces.