Return of the Sun - 12. Chapter 12

The Golden Martlet, the pub in Hellingly that Darren had first taken him to, was dismally quiet on a Thursday night. But that wasn't important to Serena who had insisted that she wanted them together after work for a drink.

Scott was still in his suit, tie loosened, holding onto a pint and leaning up against the edge of the bar, one hand on the back of Serena's chair, looking across at Darren who was telling them both about the Darlington races that were coming up.

Scott was only half-listening while looking about the bar; it had been a long day at work, and Zulee had given him the onerous task of trying to get a computerized fax modem to actually receive faxes. However, much to Scott's dismay, it seemed to like receiving faxes and turning them into pictures about the size of a postage stamp. Not exactly the most useful format in the world especially since they were usually important contracts.

When Zulee had complained, Scott had recommended a magnifying glass and things had spiralled downhill from there. He had ended up being made to drive all over town to pick up the original documents by hand. At least it had been an excuse to drive his boss's car. And no matter how much Zulee made it out to be a punishment, when you were cruising around town in a Beamer with the windows down and the music turned up you couldn't help but enjoy it.

"So, are you going to buy a car now?" Darren asked suddenly switching topics on Scott.

"Well..." Scott was suddenly aware that he could finally afford one. That in itself was a revelation, for the first time in his life he could actually afford to own a car. He was getting a decent wage from Zulee, and given the way the old man would roll his eyes whenever he had to fork over the keys to his prized BMW when he sent Scott on an errand, it would be a welcome asset to work.

Darren could see him mulling it over and he grinned at Serena, "He's thinking 'bout it."

"I am, actually," Scott responded taking a pull on his pint and staring thoughtfully up at a bare patch of the wall. He could, he reasoned, and not be stuck in town dependent on his friends every time he wanted to go anywhere. Brighton would suddenly be a whole lot more accessible, as would Eastbourne.

"Go on," Darren egged him on, "look on your lunch tomorrow. Stop by the garage and talk to me dad. He's got some good second-hand cars sitting there he might let you have cheap."

"Not like that Banger you have, I hope," Serena said, referring to Darren's red rocket that was parked alongside the building; apparently the reverse gear would no longer work so he was limited where he could park. Fuelled on prayer, as Gran used to say.

"Yeah," Scott said hopefully, "I actually want to get to and from work without breaking down."

"Hark at Lloyd Grossman over here..." Darren had decided that Scott's blended accent-- part-American, part-English--sounded like the pretentious host of an English cooking show. Not exactly the most flattering of comparisons. Scott shot him a look; Darren as usual grinned and kept going, "He gets off a plane with the shirt on his back, now is complaining when I try to help him out."

A couple of larger young men walked into the pub, heading for their own end of the bar. Scott felt they looked vaguely familiar. One of them nudged the other, "'ere look at 'im, all dressed up; what's he supposed to be?" Apparently Scott was a bit overdressed for the Martlet.

Scott glanced up and felt his chest tighten. Great; all he needed.

The other one shook his head, "He probably has a job." He said it in such a way as to signal to his buddy that he wasn't interested in starting anything, much to Scott's relief. And pints in hand, the pair of them went off to lay claim to the pool table.

Darren was looking at his cousin in concern, "You okay, Mate?"

Scott nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine. So you were saying about cars?"

"Well, Dad could probably work out a deal, find you something you'll like and can use." Darren was all for cars, the way his eyes lit up just talking about them, he could happily while away an entire evening talking about different ones he worked on, or things he planned to do to his own once he got the money.

Serena looked about ready to stuff her pint glass into his mouth to make him stop; finally when she had enough of his incessant babbling about carburettors, she deliberately changed the subject, glaring at Darren daring him to change it back.

"We should do something," she said getting a glint in her eye. "Something special this summer."

"Like what?" Scott asked, politely ordering another pint and leaning in to hear her better.

"Well," she smiled, "last year a bunch of us girls rented a flat on the Isle of Wight for a weekend. It was a right lark. I met this one bloke and..." She stopped herself, looking sweetly up at Scott.

Scott chewed on the idea a moment, looking up at Darren who seemed to be thinking on it as well. It sounded like fun, a good way to spend a weekend and enjoy themselves away from Hailsham. But the prospect of spending a weekend on the Isle of Wight, at least for Scott, sounded about as exciting as watching a flock of seagulls.

"What about Cornwall?" Darren asked. "Scott's dad, Uncle John, used to rent a flat there each summer and take all of us when we were little."

Scott remembered those weekend trips, his dad trying to keep control of a pack of Walker children as they terrorized their way through the small Cornish holiday town, causing mayhem and pandemonium wherever they went. Typically, Darren had always been in the thick of the trouble, so naturally he would think returning there would be a good idea. Scott remembered however, how much his father had dreaded those trips, but tradition was tradition.

"Perhaps we should go somewhere new?" Scott asked, hoping to dissuade Darren before he got too set on the idea.

"Wales?" Serena offered.

"No," both boys stated at the same time; Wales would be cold, wet and miserable. Every time Scott had been he had spent more time inside watching the rain than he had outside enjoying himself.

"Just a suggestion," Serena said, uncertain at the hostility against her idea.

"What is?" Dickie asked, joining the conversation. Scott hadn't even noticed him enter the pub; he looked over at him and shrugged, "We were just thinking about doing something this summer, going somewhere for the weekend or something."

Dickie grinned, "Our Granddad owns a caravan in Kent."

"What's this?" Luke asked, joining them a second later with a couple of pints of Guinness. He handed one over to Dickie and nodded to Darren, "Griff."

"Luke," Darren nodded back. Strangely, Luke didn't look at him with the same kind of suspicion in his eyes as that he directed towards Scott.

Fortunately, busy with work, Scott had been spared Luke's nightly stops past Gran's. At least he was able to avoid the uncomfortable conversation that way. For the moment, Luke gave him a sidelong look while sipping his Guinness and turned a little away from him. Which was fine; Scott was getting used to Luke giving him the cold shoulder.

"We're thinking about taking a holiday," Serena said. She always bristled around Luke; something about the two of them together that just didn't gel properly. Scott suspected it was probably Luke's doing; he just seemed to like pissing people off.

"I was just saying Granddad's caravan," Dickie explained. "We haven't been up this year and if I go and ask him I think it should be alright to use it."

"Ah," Luke replied noncommittally, "sounds like fun."

"You should come," Darren offered, too late for either Scott or Serena to stop him.

Luke nodded thoughtfully as he looked at Dickie who shrugged back at him, "It would be fun," Dickie offered.

Luke glanced over at Scott, who was holding his breath, gripping the back of Serena's chair, hoping the answer would be no. And he shrugged, "Sure, I'd love to."

Scott exhaled in disappointment; not too loudly, but enough for Serena to look at him funny.

Luke looked over towards the pool table, now free after the two louts had moved to a booth to work on a fresh round of drinks, "Pool?" he offered Darren.

Darren nodded and the two of them crossed to the table, Darren racking the balls. Scott felt Serena lightly squeeze his hand and brought him back into the conversation.

"So if we go, would it be okay for Fleur and I to ride with you?" Dickie was asking Serena.

"Yes, no problem at all," Serena said and looked up at Scott, "If you get a car this week we can use that as well and do a convoy."

Dickie looked pleased, "You're getting a car? Great, it will make Friday nights easier. We can all split up among two cars and not have to cram into the back of your Metro."

* * *

Scott ran a hand down his face as he reached for the pen and signed the paper; it was the first time he had ever taken out a loan on anything. Getting credit was a huge step forward for him, only a week or so ago he had been collecting Job Seekers, now he was signing a used-car loan.

He suspected his gran had something to do with him being accepted for it. She had a relationship with the bank on the high street going back nearly thirty years. When you do all your business at the same branch, seeing managers come and go, you apparently develop some pull with the manager.

"How would you like that, Mister Walker?" the bank assistant asked him politely. She was a pleasant girl who had been courteously walking him through every step of the process.

"Uh, cash?" he asked, still a little stunned at how completely painless the experience had been for him.

She blinked at him, trying to make sure she had heard him correctly, "I'm sorry sir, did you say cash?"

He nodded, still reading the contract he had just signed; he was going to make a quick run over to Uncle Ron's garage, see what was available. If there was nothing, he could always visit one of the car dealerships up the far end of the high street.

The assistant returned a few minutes later with five stacks of bills. "Mister Walker, I would advise you to be careful carrying this much money," she warned Scott as she handed him the wads of cash.

His eyes bulged; he had been absently responding to her questions, he hadn't actually expected her to give him five thousand pounds in cash. How was he going to carry that much money across town? He swallowed and accepted them, pushing them into his suit pockets and wondering if he would get jumped on his way.

She gave him a smile as he set out, no doubt thinking the same thing that he was. It was a very brave man, or a very foolish one to do what he was doing.

He hurried through the town, keeping a quick pace all the way down George Street; he was beginning to sweat and looking at everyone nervously as he passed them. It was stupid, but he was suddenly aware of everything around him and he wanted nothing better than to just get to the garage and be off the street.

Luke was standing outside the police station; one look at Scott and he made to intercept him. "Typical," he stated in a tone that said he wasn't happy. "The super gets a call from the bank saying that one of its customers is walking around Hailsham with more money than sense in his pockets and so he warns us to keep our eyes open. And I had this feeling, what person would be dense enough to pull a stunt like that?"

Scott looked Luke dead in the eyes, "Shouldn't you be playing in traffic or something?"

"That's directing traffic," Luke corrected, not registering the joke Scott had made at his expense, "and where am I walking you today?" He shook his head, murmuring something about the taxpayers working hard just so he could babysit an arrogant...

Scott shrugged, "I'm going to Diplocks Way," he replied, hating again that Luke was making him feel like an imbecile.

The two began to walk, and Scott stuffed his hands into his pockets, "Well, if I am stuck walking with you, the least you can do is be civil to me this time."

"Why bother?" Luke responded, as usual his eyes looking everywhere but at Scott.

"Well, for a start, because if you don't I'll kick your ass," Scott replied firmly; he had finally hit his breaking point with Luke. There was only so far he had to go to be polite, and his patience had limits.

"Okay, I'll be civil," Luke replied, softening his tone, "on the condition you tell me why you want to carry that much money on you."

"Buying a car," Scott replied, "I misheard the bank teller and so I ended up getting cash. So rather than look like a complete moron I decided it would be good enough."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," Luke replied dryly.

"I thought you were going to be civil?" Scott bit back.

"I am, I'm sorry," Luke continued, "I didn't get a chance to apologize to you for the other day."

"That was because I wouldn't let you," Scott said as they cut across the recreation ground.

A couple of kids smoking behind the cricket pavilion saw the approaching policeman and frantically stubbed out cigarettes and tried to appear innocently minding their own business. Luke gave them one of his cold hard stares and they immediately scampered away.

"Well, I didn't mean it," Luke took a sigh. "You're a nice guy and besides your gran is..."

"Yeah, I know," Scott replied, breaking out into a smile as they struggled through the dirty track that connected the back of the recreation ground to Diplocks way; as kids it had been the quickest way to get to school. It was nice to finally see Luke relax and actually not be such a complete ass. The smile from the first time he had insisted on escorting Scott home was back in his eyes, and although it never once touched his face, Scott could see it.

They didn't speak for the rest of the walk to the garage, Luke simply nodding goodbye once they arrived and setting off back the way he had come. But Scott knew progress when he saw it, and endeavoured to find his uncle.

Ron was covered in grease; a short, wiry, balding man, he was perpetually covered in grease. He hadn't changed much since Scott and Darren had been kids; a few extra lines and a few extra pounds, that was about it. He rubbed his hands on a cloth watching Luke walking back up the street carefully.

"What did he want?" Ron asked, nodding at Luke.

"Just a friend of mine," Scott dismissed it quickly. "Darren said I should talk to you about a car."

Ron grinned, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and smudging more grease across his cheek. "I have something you might like," he said, pointing to the lot alongside the garage.

Darren was working on a car up on the hoist and waved at his cousin, still holding a spanner. Scott cheerily waved as he was led around back to what amounted to a graveyard of cars. There were all different types, in all different kinds of conditions.

"Well, Darren was telling me that you learned to drive." Ron was never the greatest conversationalist; though he tried his best, it often came across that he was struggling. He preferred to quietly work on his cars rather than actually have to deal with others.

"That's right, Uncle Ron," Scott stated, bending down to look in the window of a rather sporty Peugeot that looked all right.

"Don't want that French piece of junk," Ron said as he kept going, and reluctantly Scott pulled himself away from the car and followed him deeper into the knackers yard.

"What did you have in mind?" Scott said, knowing that he wasn't going to get much say. He just had to trust his uncle knew what he was doing, though he wasn't about to say how much money he had sitting in his pockets. His uncle Ron was honest to a point, beyond that he wasn't above making a little extra cash at the expense of someone else's naiveté, even if it was his nephew's.

"Well," Ron said, coming to a halt, "I was thinking something more durable. My boss was actually going to scrap his old Rover;" he got a glint in his eye as he spoke, "she's about fifteen years old though," he warned, "and there's about 170 thousand miles on her, but she's served him faithfully both on- and off-road."

"Off-road?" Scott asked, looking concerned. "I thought you said a Rover..."

"No, no," Ron clarified, "not a Rover Rover... Range Rover..."

Scott's jaw hung open, a Range Rover? Weren't they ridiculously expensive? When Ron had said Rover he had instinctively thought to the classic banker's sedan.

"She's fallen on harder times, though," Ron said, leading him around the corner face to face with the elegant, if battered-looking vehicle. "We were going to scrap her down for parts to keep other Rangies on the road, but I'd like to see her continue in service a bit longer."

Scott nodded, walking up to her; there wasn't a body panel without a dent, and some of them were really big. The interior was a bit shredded as well, and part of the dash was ripped up. There were bits missing here and there; all in all she looked very scruffy.

Ron nodded as he patted the hood, "That out of the way, here's the good news. The engine, when running..." he looked apologetic, "the engine isn't running at the moment, but when it does run it sounds good and it's very peppy. The gearbox is equally good, the diffs are fine, and the chassis is very solid. Good brakes and electrics." He sighed, "She's going to take a bit to pass inspection. But the price is good."

Scott looked at the old beast and at his uncle, it was a Range Rover... but he wasn't nuts. He wasn't about to pay a ton of money for something that wouldn't...

"Four hundred," Ron said looking hopeful, and Scott honestly thought Ron was trying to mark the price up...

Scott turned to his uncle in surprise, "How much to fix her up?"

"Engine running, and everything so she can pass safety, I'd say another thousand or so."

Scott nodded, "How soon can you have her ready to go?"

Ron looked at him sceptically, "You're going to take it?"

"It's a fucking Range Rover," Scott replied resting a hand on the mirror, which promptly came off in his hand. He sheepishly handed it back to his uncle, "Can we do something about the dash?"

"I can replace that," Ron said with a smile. "I have another one kicking around here somewhere. We junked another Rangie a year ago; some parts are here somewhere. Though I can't help you with the seats."

"Replace them and add it on," Scott said, reasoning he could afford new seats. He walked around the Range Rover, his Range Rover, and grinned a lopsided grin. Man, nobody back in the States is ever gonna believe this.

Four days later his gran was leaning on her hedge when the Rover rumbled to a halt across the road. The engine growled as it came to a halt, thup-thuping as it reluctantly died. Scott hopped down from the cab and slammed the door, stopping to slam it again to make sure it latched.

"What on earth is that?" Gran inquired, nodding to the olive-green monstrosity that was still looking slightly the worse for wear despite Uncle Ron and Darren's best efforts. Despite its appearance it was running perfectly.

Scott gave her his dopey grin. "It's mine," he stated firmly.