Return of the Sun - 9. Chapter 9

A summer evening on Meadow Road was a strange step back in time. Fifty years ago, children playing on the green, while their parents watched from their gardens gossiping to each other while trimming the hedges that separated the houses, or watering the prize rose bushes would have been normal. In the new millennium it was a rare occurrence.

Scott, shirtsleeves rolled up, was wrestling with a rusty pair of hedge-clippers and having no luck with them. Jeans and t-shirts had given way to shirts and slacks; strangely they were cooler in the heat and weathered the garden work a lot better.

He shook the can of WD-40 and generously sprayed the shears, hoping that by some miracle the rust would magically disappear. As with the last twenty times he had tried the same trick, the rust stubbornly refused to budge.

Gran was in the front corner, resting an arm on the hedge talking to old Mister Roberts, the ancient specimen of humanity that had occupied Number Nineteen Meadow Road almost as long as Gran had lived in Number Seventeen. They were discussing the state of the Wealden district council, and from all the "Tut-ing" and "Tsk-ing" there would be a few votes going squarely to the opposition come election time.

Scott shook his head and banged the shears on the edge of the brick doorstep.

"Don't break them, Scotty dear," Gran admonished.

"Sorry," Scott replied sheepishly, setting them aside and pushing his back against the firm oak door, enjoying the onset of evening. The laughter of children at play and the hiss of hoses. It was all strangely relaxing, and he realized how much he had taken them for granted when he was young; now that he was on the verge of becoming an adult... no, now that he was an adult, he appreciated the quiet moment.

"Have you found a job yet, young Mister Walker?" Mister Roberts called to him rousing him from his thoughts. He looked over at the antiquated man who always reminded Scott of a tortoise without its shell. With those thick plastic glasses, and an Adam's apple that bounced up and down as he talked.

Scott scrubbed a hand through his hair, "Well, I've been submitting my resume..."

"He's been applying all over the place," Gran said, throwing him a proud smile that made him feel ten, "he's even been out to a couple of interviews."

He had been busy; over the past few weeks he had been to five interviews, scrubbed-up and hair combed, feeling uncomfortable stuffed into the grey suit waiting nervously for someone to grill him with the same set of questions over and over. Always ending with the same one, "I see here that you went to school in America; what made you move back?"

He had tried a number of different answers ranging from the truth through to creative excuses about a need to come home. Invariably they would stare at the resume after that question, scribble some notes, shake his hand and send him on his way with an empty promise to call him should they have a position for him.

It was growing ever more frustrating for him to land work, as much as he liked Gran and Hailsham, he was getting bored. The extended vacation was starting to look more and more like a permanent arrangement, set to drive him crazy with each passing day.

He didn't like it when, with just a look, they wrote him off as a foreigner, no matter how he tried to present himself. It was always the same message; we'll call you if there is no one else.

He would understand if they were educated positions, but data clerk? Bank teller? Shop assistant? They were all positions he could do, he looked smart, answered their questions correctly. It was just the same card being played against him every time. It was just the bitter fact that they saw an American sitting across from them. He wasn't one of them.

He wanted, just one time, for the interviewer to actually look at his skills and see him for who he was. But then what did he expect? It hadn't been an easy move so far, there were just so many stumbling blocks that he was starting to really doubt that he had made the right choice. But what other choice was there?

In Brooklyn he had been the British kid, an 'Englishman in New York,' but in England he was the 'American'. Was he just doomed never to fit in anywhere? No matter where he went, what he did, he would be an outsider trapped between two cultures and left to wonder if his father had never emigrated what kind of person would he have grown up to be?

"Well I know old Zulee is hiring over at the home," Mister Roberts said, resettling his glasses on his nose. "He's looking for someone to run the office and the like." He gave a meaningful look at Scott, "I could put in a word for you if you'd like."

"Oh, I couldn't ask that," Gran said, expressively gesturing with her hand that she was just being polite, "but Scott could use a hand."

Scott, still sitting on the step decided that although the discussion was about him he would really have no say in it. So, engrossed in their conversations the two pensioners would occasionally look at him for a nod of ascension, otherwise he was left pretty much out of it. He sat back knowing better than to even try.

"'Allo, 'allo, 'allo, what's all this, then?" came a suspicious-sounding voice from the other side of the hedge.

Scott glanced up at Luke walking along the footpath in uniform; he nodded to Scott with a tensing around his eyes as he stopped at the gate.

Gran immediately dropped her conversation with Mister Roberts to turn to him, "They moved your beat?" she asked sounding happy. "Your mother must be so pleased."

Luke nodded in reply, "No more nights in Town Farm, at least not for the next little while," he admitted. "Mum was threatening to haul the superintendent out of his office by his ear if he didn't change the rotation. I've never seen anyone do that to him before."

Gran chuckled, "Your mother has quite the tongue on her; your superintendent was lucky. There was this once, and I'll never forget, she got pulled over by this policeman outside of Lewis; we were going to an antiques fair, anyways, the policeman pulls her over and tells her she was going too fast, and she, bold as brass, asks him how fast. He replied that he was only giving her a warning and she said, she said," Gran always repeated 'she said' in conversation; it was like her own particular oddity, "that she would give him a warning if he pulled her over again..."

Luke just nodded, his eyes flicking over to where Scott lounged, and still without cracking a smile, nodded to him, "Has this one being keeping out of trouble Mrs Walker? Or should I cart him off down to the station?"

Gran laughed looking down at Scott, "There was the other night, came home drunk as a skunk he was though I suspect your brother had a hand in it. Dirty rotten stop outs the pair of them." She had her hands on her hips again.

Scott got to his feet and brushed the dust off of his trousers, "It was nothing like that," he stated resolutely.

Luke looked back at Gran, "Well then, Mrs. Walker, I just stopped because I was passing."

"Oh," Gran's face fell slightly, "well you run along then; I'll catch you tomorrow night and have a sandwich waiting for you."

Luke's eyes softened again, "Thanks," he replied with genuine gratitude.

Scott walked to the gate, "Well, actually I wanted to go to the corner store, if you don't mind the company?"

Luke hesitated, a troubled look dancing in his eyes before he finally nodded. Scott checked his wallet and slipped out onto the road. As they both began to walk, Gran had already resumed her conversation with Mister Roberts about Scott's future.

They walked a little ways in silence before Scott started in on the conversation, "You must be glad of the new beat."

Luke just grunted, his eyes staring at the playing children as if expecting them to misbehave.

Scott fell silent again; Luke was one of those people who would take time to get to know. And out of everyone he'd met so far, or become reacquainted with, Luke seemed to be the most together, yet at the same time the most distant. It was strange, for someone so nasty as a kid when he used to torment and terrorise Scott, as an adult he was just...

Scott smirked.

"What is it now?" Luke asked catching Scott's goofy grin.

"I was just thinking that you remind me of a guy I knew in high school, he was always the meanest son of a bitch till you actually took the time to get to know him, then he was pretty cool." Scott rubbed his arms feeling the beginnings of a sunburn; he'd been in the garden too long.

"So you want to get to know me?" Luke asked sarcastically.

Scott sighed; Luke was determined to make the process as difficult as possible. "Look I'm not saying we're going to be friends like your brother and I are..."

"Yeah." That came out entirely too harshly for Scott's liking, it was almost cold.

"But the least I can do is try." Scott continued, falling silent again. They had turned down a short alley between the buildings coming out into a car park tucked in behind the houses. The sun was beginning its steady slide behind the horizon and the shadows were lengthening.

"Don't bother," Luke said finally breaking the awkward silence. "This may sound strange to you Scott, but maybe I just don't like you." He put so much sincerity behind the statement that Scott felt hurt. Luke's fists were balled at his side, and he refused to look at him.

Scott shook his head, "Look, whatever man; tell you what, when you finally get rid of that big chip on your shoulder..." he was actually angry, nobody ever made him angry, "maybe you'll realize that I was just trying to be nice. Fuck, you never fucking change." He was swearing now.

Luke turned to him, his head nodding as if confirming what he had known all along, "You're a prat, Scott, you were one when you were a kid and you're still one now. You always thought you were better than everyone else, but you aren't." He threw actual vehemence behind his words, an edge of hatred there that caused Scott to step backwards.

"What the hell did I do to deserve that?" Scott protested, suddenly feeling lost, small, and alone.

Luke closed his eyes; they had come to a stop in the middle of the car park, and all was quiet, still, and they were alone. Luke breathed hard releasing his fists and opening his eyes, "Look, I'm sorry, Scott..."

"No, you're not," Scott bit back. "You've been itching to do that since I offered to walk with you. Look, I'll tell you what, I'm going to the fucking store. I don't need this on top of everything else." He trust his hands into his pockets and stalked away, leaving PC Allston standing in the middle of an empty parking lot alone.

* * *

He was still seething when he came home, banging the backdoor closed behind him as he walked to the kettle and turned it on. Banging a mug down and tossing a teabag inside he pulled the fridge open with enough force to rock it on its legs. He pulled out the milk bottle and added it to his mug.

Things were just going from bad to worse. Here he was, just so different that he couldn't relate to anything. It was an old guilt that had been given a new dress and painted up to look younger, but he knew her for who she was. He had felt it much of his life, just that square peg that no matter how often you wailed on it would never fit into the round hole.

The limey jokes that had been thrown at him at school, even the adults who had thought it funny to call him it, unaware of how they sounded. Hell he was going through it all over again, and this time he only had himself to blame. His father hadn't dragged him home, he had come home of his own accord, and now he was facing the same situation all over again.

Sure there were those who were polite, even friendly towards him, but Serena's words rang in his ears, 'if you're going to live here, you're going to have to pronounce it properly...'

Was that just it? He had to give up everything he was in order to just be accepted over here? Like he had done in the States. Allowed the little pieces of his culture to escape him until he had become an American.

The bubbling kettle had him pouring himself a mug of tea, and he walked to the breakfast bar, climbing into one of the stools as he stared out of the window at the gathering darkness.

He missed baseball on nights like this, tuning into the game on the radio, or the television, letting it play while he sat on the fire escape of his apartment listening to the sounds of the city. He had adapted well to life there, grown up in ways he couldn't begin to describe, but that was so far away from where he was now. He would have to adapt again, the street-hardened kid from Brooklyn had to start over and he would have to try to fit in as best he could.

His Gran walked in from the garden; seeing him sitting quietly in the dark she turned on the kitchen light, "Are you okay dear?" she asked sympathetically.

"I'm fine," Scott replied with a sigh, taking a drink of his tea and trying to ease the feeling of loneliness he felt. He had always felt it, it had been the main reason for him coming home in the first place, and yet it had become such a part of him that he had brought it with him.

Gran gave him one of her knowing looks as she set about making a cup of tea herself, "So why don't you come help your gran with a crossword puzzle; you used to love doing that when you were little."

He looked down into his mug, "I'm not little anymore," he said, releasing a long breath.

"Nonsense," Gran stated flatly, "You'll always be my little boy, no matter how big you get."

Scott looked up at her and he couldn't help but smile, she looked at him with such love that he had to give in to her. It was her way of telling him that he had come home, even though he felt displaced, she was there to stop him from floating away.

"Okay, I'll be right in," he said, standing up and setting his empty cup into the sink.