Return of the Sun - 6. Chapter 6

Scott looked at him again, "What?" Luke snapped, sounding irritable, and Scott guessed he was wondering what kind of twit would walk through Town Farm on their own. Sure there were probably a few that could pull it off, but they had to be twice Scott's size, and anyone would think twice about taking on a guy built like heavyweight boxer. But Scott was small, smaller than your average lightweight. Great.

Scott ambled alongside Luke, quite enjoying the stroll, and smirking over the fact that he had his own chaperone walking him home. After all, how many people got to do that? Upon reflection, he remembered that a pair of New York's finest had once escorted his sister home after she had been caught for shoplifting, not exactly something to be smirking about.

Suddenly the encroaching night didn't seem so threatening, and he felt a lot more comfortable walking through the housing estate, past the weathered terrace houses, garages and junk skips. He could see the lack of care in the housing estate. It was dirty and it felt that way, as if the residents simply didn't care about their neighbourhood. Why bother, they were looked down on anyway.

"When did you become a cop?" Scott asked, trying for the third time to start a conversation.

Luke rolled his eyes, as they crossed an empty street; there were virtually no cars out in Hailsham on a week night after dark, "After college, I applied, I got in, I got trained." He mumbled something under his breath, "And I'm a Police Constable, you're in England."

Scott continued to smile his dopey smile; he was actually highly entertained by Luke's dour attitude. Who would have thought the class delinquent would grow up to become a police officer? It was just one of those strange quirks of fate; ask him as a kid what he thought Luke would be doing when he grew up and Scott would have probably said 'time'.

"It's just interesting that's all," Scott said keeping up with Luke's long strides, "you never seemed the type."

"And you didn't seem the type to grow up to be a dumb American," Luke shot back angrily. "What the hell were you playing at back there?"

Scott sighed, "Look, firstly I am not a dumb American, show me some fucking respect... Secondly I was just walking home, I didn't think..."

"Yeah, you didn't think." Luke shot back. "Imagine what Rita would say if I had to bring you back with your teeth in a bag."

It was Scott's turn to roll his eyes, "I was going to say thanks for that, but I'm starting to wonder if I wouldn't have been better off..."

"Look mate, I'm sorry," Luke said quietly, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I shouldn't have called you a dumb American."

Scott blew out a sigh, "It's okay, I am getting used to it. You'd think I was the scum of the earth though."

"Yeah," Luke admitted as they turned down George Street passing the recently renovated cinema and the courthouse, "It's because you're different, people don't like different." Scott dodged around a couple of old troughs that had become planters for flowers, a little bit of colour on the side of the street.

A few steps later Scott felt his stomach rumble threateningly and he glanced up on the corner where Hailsham's Fish and Chip Shop was located. "You hungry?" he asked.

Luke looked up, "You mean the chippy? No, I ate earlier but we can stop if you want." He seemed reluctant about the idea, no doubt wanting to get back to walking his beat.

"You don't have to wait," Scott offered.

"I do," Luke said. "If I don't and something happens to you, I'd have to explain to the superintendent, and if he didn't kill me, your gran would."

Scott smiled as they both walked through the door into the small fish and chip shop, Scott quickly placing an order and handing over the two pound in payment. The fish was handed back to him wrapped in the traditional newspaper, a cornucopia of grease and batter drenched in malt vinegar, salt and ketchup. He was even pleased to find the small wooden fork he remembered from when he was young.

Luke shook his head, "I don't know how you can eat that stuff," he said as they were once again walking, he seemed to have relaxed from his earlier aggression.

Scott held it up, "After years of pizza slices, hotdogs and crap, fish and chips are a welcome break. You know you can't get it over there? You can, but it never tastes the same..." he happily began chewing on his chips.

"Yeah, I suppose." Luke said, as they crossed the old railway bridge and turned for the last long walk up South Road, finally reaching out a hand to steal a couple of chips when his dispassionate asshole routine finally gave way to the power of junk food.

Scott smirked again, holding the bag between them as he walked, glad that Luke was finally beginning to relax, both young men reaching in to help themselves.

It was a chance for Scott to actually look at Luke; the young man had a small nose and his ears stuck out a little more due to the strange helmet so many Bobbies wore, but the dark blue, modern uniform suited him. It seemed to add a purpose, and the severe gaze he always affixed on people seemed to make sense while he wore it. He had a pair of the deepest brown eyes that were a direct clue to his emotions, if you could actually get him to stop squinting at you suspiciously. And Scott realized that Luke was actually very cute, not hot, not handsome, just cute. He still had a little bit of baby fat to his cheeks, and so they dimpled when he smiled. Wait... he was smiling... Scott blinked and looked up again, but the smile was gone.

"Why'd you join the force?" Emboldened by the smile Scott decided to try again. He was insatiably curious, it was so contrary to the Luke he had known so many years ago.

"I wanted to do something with myself," Luke said. "I didn't have the marks to go to university, and I didn't want to get a trade so it was join the army or this." He looked down at his dark-coloured uniform, and up at Scott, "So it's your turn, why'd you come back and don't bother telling me the horseshit you told Griff."

Scott winced, "I flunked out," he admitted truthfully. "I went there, realized I didn't have what it takes, stopped going and failed. Not exactly something I'm proud of..."

Luke nodded, "Least your honest about it, some people just lie and make up excuses for dropping out."

Scott wondered what Luke meant by that, but there was that dispassionate look creeping back into his young face, those eyes looking suddenly very far away, hard and cold. He had withdrawn into his shell again, and they were once again walking in silence.

Scott considered doing something, anything, to engage him in conversation again, but Luke had given him a glimmer of the man beneath the hard exterior, his apology for being an asshole. But that didn't change who Luke was, and Scott got the impression that Luke didn't particularly want to change. He was after all his own person.

When they stood on the doorstep, Luke politely rang the bell, his helmet once again tucked under his arm. Gran answered the door, immediately looking concerned when she saw Luke in uniform.

"Evening Ma'am," Luke said formally, "I believe I found something that belongs to you," he said, sounding so much older than his nineteen years.

"Scott?" she asked looking at the smiling young man beside the police officer.

"Yes ma'am," Luke replied rolling his shoulders back a little as he puffed himself up, "Found him wandering around Town Farm by himself."

"Scott!" Gran's voice climbed a strangled octave.

"I'm fine," Scott replied barely containing his amusement at the bizarre situation; here he was being escorted home by a police officer who had stabbed him with a pencil in elementary school because he didn't want to share poster paints.

"Well, I felt I should walk him home, make sure he got back and all." Luke took a step back to go.

Gran gave him a proud smile, "Thank you Luke, I will deal with this rapscallion," she gave Scott a teasing smile. "Are you sure you don't want to come in for a cup of tea?"

"No Ma'am," Luke bowed his head, putting the helmet back on, "I'm on duty tonight and need to get back to my beat."

"Well, you look very smart." Gran replied returning his nod, "as for you..." she said putting her hands on her hips and turning to Scott, who, still smiling, offered her a chip.

* * *

He had finally explained everything to Gran, who was still mightily amused by the fact he had been brought home by a police officer. She was ecstatic that he had sorted out the Job Seekers as well; it was a step in the right direction.

So finally, being a boy raised on American TV, Scott decided that was the way to end his night, but to his dismay he was solidly reminded of the abysmal state of English Television. And it was far too late to change his mind and stay in Brooklyn.

England had four terrestrial channels, each progressively more dull than the one before it. Except channel four; that had a passable sense of humour and tried not to take itself too seriously. And he was perched on the edge of his grandmother's couch, a rickety Victorian antique that had seen better days in its previous occupation as a medieval torture device, watching some nonsensical show that was supposedly a sitcom. It was entirely too witty for its own good; relying on innuendo and sarcasm, it was just dull.

Gran, however, loved every minute of it, chuckling along and pointing out, trying to explain the plot to him. He nodded, a confused look on his face wondering for the umpteenth time if emigrating home had really been worth sacrificing his prime time television.

The doorbell ringing caused both of them too look at each other, his gran's brow furrowing as Scott reluctantly got to his feet to answer it, his gran, in slippers and a night gown, padding along behind him.

Dickie beamed at him from the doorstep, "Evening old chap. Mrs. Walker." He nodded to her, "I was wondering if I could borrow Scott here for about an hour or so, if you don't mind sparing him."

"You boys," Gran chuckled as she turned to head back to her programs; Scott looked confused for a moment before he reached for his jacket.

Dickie shook his head, "Leave that, you won't need it. Come on, time's a-wasting."

He rushed Scott through pulling on his shoes and all but pushed him out to Serena's waiting car. "What's going on?" he murmured tiredly in confusion; it was getting later in the evening and he really had no idea where he was being abducted to.

"You'll see," Dickie said hopping into the car and banging a hand on the roof through the open window. Serena gave him a big grin as she hit the gas to drive off. The little Austin Metro zipped up towards the Holt end of Meadow Road.

Scott, who was being tossed around the back seat, grumbled trying to find a seated position, finally buckling himself in, "What the hell?"

Dickie turned back to him, those ever-penetrating eyes gleaming excitedly, "You know how to play pool, right?" he asked still smiling.

Scott shrugged, "I know how to play... We had a pool hall a few doors down from our apartment building, I practiced quite a bit..."

"Yeah, but you know how to play the American version," Dickie pressed.

"There's another version?" Scott asked cautiously.

Dickie cast his head back and looked towards the sky, "Thank you!" he said thanking whatever deity had delivered him exactly what he needed.

The car squealed to a stop as it pulled into a pub parking lot, Scott didn't recognize it, but he thought it said Brick Layers on the sign. British pub signs were always difficult to read when you were being dragged as fast as possible through the doors by an excited Englishman, and an over-enthusiastic girl.

There was a large crowd of people sitting around whooping and pointing towards the pool table where Darren was getting his ass handed to him by a swaggering man wearing a Florida Marlins baseball hat. The way he and his buddies were laughing, there was no doubt they were Americans.

"He's playing next," Dickie stated, striding up and laying money on the edge of the table.

The one in the cap sneered, "Yeah, whatever, you're still going down." He sank the eight ball effortlessly.

"I'm not that good," Scott protested as he had a cue stuffed into his hands by an angry-looking Darren.

"Doesn't matter," Dickie replied, "You're one of us and you're the only one who knows how to play by their rules." He pushed Scott towards the table, "For Queen and Country!" he declared.

"Crap," Scott murmured looking up at the large guy, "Hi; Brooklyn."

The guy grinned, "Hey Brooklyn; Miami." He pointed, "Orlando and Cleveland," introducing the other two.

Scott grinned, "Your break." Chalking up the cue as if he had spent much of his free time when he wasn't in school at the 'Broken Cue' pool hall. There were advantages to having nothing better to do with himself.

When it was his turn he called the shots cleanly, sinking three balls consecutively, much to Miami's dismay, and Orlando's shocked cries. The Brits in the pub went nuts.

"Show 'em," came the cries, "Kick 'is arse!"

Scott walked around the table keeping his eye on Miami, "That's how we do it in Brooklyn."

The guy pushed his hat higher on his head, clucking in amazement and missing his next shot, he had been so thrown by the sudden display of talent. "Hell!" he cursed, stepping back.

Scott glanced over at his friends, Dickie smiling like a proud father, Serena looking excited and Darren just looking amazed. He shrugged at them and sank another ball. He made it look easy, he knew it. Too much, though, and he would start to look like a prick so he deliberately missed the next shot, making sure he looked like he really tried for it.

Miami was up again, making a minor comeback as he cleared a few balls, but it wasn't enough, as Scott leaned back to sweep the table clean. He stepped back as the eight-ball teetered on the edge and finally fell home with a satisfying thud and roll.

Dickie was clapping him on the back in congratulations, "That... that was great."

"How'd you do that?" Darren asked him, looking back at the table.

"Lots and lots and lots of practice," Scott replied, setting the cue back into its rack, "Pool is about all there is to do when you're under twenty-one in the States and Friday night rolls around." He shook his head, "I'm really not that good at it; my brother now, he can play... he can do these trick shots..."

Dickie cupped a hand on his shoulder and guided him over to the bar, "This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship old chap; you keep showing townie pride like that and you'll be 'In Like Flynn.'"

He held up two fingers and the bartender set down a couple of tall glasses, waving off his attempts to pay, "'Bout time some one beat them," the bartender explained, "This round is on the house." He toddled back to polishing glasses.

"He's right," Darren replied looking back over his shoulder at the now much quieter Americans in the corner, "They've been at it all night, bragging about their "skills"; glad you made it."

"Almost didn't," Scott responded, "I had to be rescued in Town Farm..."

Darren winced, "You were in Town Farm alone? You're a real nutter Scott."

"I didn't think..." Serena suddenly became apologetic, "When I dropped you off, I'm so sorry..."

Dickie looked over his glass, "He's ok, there's nothing to fuss over." He nodded as he confirmed that Scott still had everything attached. "Bloody oiks can't leave well enough alone..."

Scott wasn't sure what an oik was; whatever it was it sounded derogatory.

"Well your brother Luke had to come to the rescue," Scott said with a sigh. "Good thing too..."

"PC Allston?" Dickie said, obviously surprised, "Well, good for him," he nodded. "Well anyway, let's enjoy the round before last call. How's the job hunt coming Scott?"

Scott shrugged, "It's going but... I just haven't had much luck."

"Not much call for an Anal Crusader, eh?" Darren chived, playfully nudging him.

Scott looked at him totally unimpressed, "Yeah, remind me to kick your ass later..."