Kiss My Name Page 12

  “Hi, love, good day at school?” she asked in a voice that was far from composed.

  “It was alright,” I replied lobbing my school bag down on the floor and heading over to the cupboards in search of chocolate biscuits.

  “What are you after?” Mum asked.

  “Biscuits,” I asked as I opened a couple of empty tins, “have we not got any?”

  “No, I’ve not had chance to go to the shops today, love. If you go over to the bread bin, my handbag’s next to it, bring it here and I’ll get you a couple of pounds out of my purse, you can nip up to Spar and buy us some.”

  I did as I was told, took the bag over to Mum and she began rooting for her purse. Since Colin died, there had been a lot of days that Mum hadn’t had chance to do things or had said she couldn’t face them. There had been a growing number of days that she hadn’t got dressed and the occasional day when she wouldn’t even be out of bed when I arrived back from school. This day, although Mum had been in tears, had obviously been a decent day, as Mum was up and dressed.

  “Here you go,” Mum said, handing me a five pound note with the Duke of Wellington staring back at me, with his arms folded, “can you get me a pack of Club Oranges and a packet of Trios. Get yourself a bar of chocolate too and if you wouldn’t mind getting me a packet of ten Benson and Hedges too, that would be lovely.”

  Mum used to smoke. When she met Dad, she was a smoker with a twenty a day habit. Once Mum found out she was pregnant with me, Dad said she put her cigarette packet in the bin and did not light up again until Colin died. She was back to smoking more than twenty a day now, she had obviously smoked her way through twenty already this day, hence the reason she wanted me to go and get her another ten.

  “Mum, I’m thirteen. They won’t sell cigarettes to me! You have to be sixteen.”

  Mum frowned, “Oh, of course you do. They wouldn’t want you to start smoking, it’s a dirty, disgusting habit. I’ll pack in again once I get my head straight, you know that, Simon, don’t you?”

  I didn’t know. All I knew was that Mum was finding it increasingly difficult to come to terms with Colin’s death, so to envisage a future world where she was happy, contented and not smoking seemed difficult to imagine. She was sad enough though without me adding to it, so I just told her what I thought she wanted to hear.

  “Yes, Mum, of course I know you’ll pack in.”

  Mum smiled half-heartedly which at the time was as much as she could muster. She held her arms out to me.

  “Come and give your Mum a hug...you know how much I love you, don’t you?”

  We hugged. I told Mum I loved her too and then I headed off to Spar feeling as though I had at least done my bit to raise her spirits. There were a few positive signs that she was starting to slowly return to some sort of normality. A couple of weeks earlier, I would not have been encouraged to walk up to Spar, Mum would have suggested that I wait for Dad to come back from his window round and he would run me up to Spar in the car. She had begun to accept that I could not be wrapped in cotton wool forever. This did mean that I wasn’t treated to as many ice creams at Fredericks, but I knew my bulky frame was not benefitting from our regular visits anyway.

  It was a glorious day for a walk, as the route was basked in sunshine. I bought Mum the Trios and Club Oranges and bought myself a Texan bar. I was walking back through the council houses on St. Mary’s Gate, by Euxton library, when a voice called out to me,

  “Simon! Simon!”

  I turned to look in the direction that the voice had come from and saw a smiling old man, washing his Mini Metro.

  “Hi Ernie!” I replied with a smile and walked over to have a chat. I hadn’t seen Ernie for a couple of months. He was a spritely gentleman in his mid-eighties who always wore glasses that looked like they should have been used by Benny Hill on a comedy set. The lenses were thicker than a cricket bat. Ernie had been in the fire brigade for much of his working life and then, once he had taken a pension from there, he had become a driving instructor. He retired from that too when he hit eighty, but since the Second World War he had always performed in the Working Mens Clubs and Social Clubs, playing his ukulele or singing songs from the Old Time Music Halls.

  I first met Ernie one day as I was walking home from Primary School at Euxton CofE. I was probably about nine and was walking our Colin home. Mum and Dad had always warned us to be wary of strangers, a view re-enforced by the television adverts when Kenny Everett’s Charley would tell me not to go off with strangers. So, when Ernie approached carrying a couple of plastic bags, I was on high alert and grabbed Colin’s hand.

  “Do you boys like Meccano?” Ernie had asked.

  I wasn’t sure whether we should answer. We had been worried about men asking us if we’d like sweets or to go and see their puppies, Meccano may have been another evil plot.

  “Simon does,” Colin blurted out whilst I was still dithering.

  “Oh, good. Do you want this little lot then?”

  Ernie opened the plastic bags up a little to reveal masses of Meccano. I peered in excitedly but still had some concerns that it was a trap.

  “Why don’t you want them any more?”

  “My daughter has emigrated to Australia with her two young sons. I had bought the Meccano for them, for when they came around to my house, but as they aren’t around to play with it any more, I wanted to find someone who would make use of it. Take it if you want to.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, which was a stupid question as it wasn’t as though he would miss it.

  “Of course, take it, it’s yours.”

  “Thank you very much!”

  After giving us his Meccano, we saw Ernie frequently. He used to walk a two mile route every day to try to keep fit and if Colin and I ever saw him, we would stop and chat. His walk normally took him past our house, so it seemed strange that I hadn’t seen him for a while.

  “It’ll rot your teeth that!” he said gesturing at my half-eaten Texan bar.

  “It’s nice though,” I replied with a chocolate smile.

  “I’m eighty six years old and I’ve never had a filling!”

  “I’m thirteen and I’ve had three.”

  “See, that’s what I mean!”

  “Have you been away, Ernie, I’ve not seen you for ages?”

  “Yes, I’ve been to Brisbane, Australia to visit my daughter and the grandchildren. It’s winter over there and it’s still warmer than here!”

  As he was speaking, I could hear a dog barking next door and I was immediately aware I recognised the voice of the boy talking to it.

  “Drop it, you stupid mutt! Just let go of the bloody thing, will you?”

  “Australia! Very nice. Ernie, who lives next door to you?”

  “The Booths.”

  “Luke Booth? How come you didn’t give them your Meccano.”

  “Meccano! To them lot? The only thing those boys will get off me is a thick ear.”

  SIMON – September 1986

  “Do you have sugar in your tea, Simon?” Ernie asked as he stirred the teabag around my mug with a spoon. I noticed his hand trembling as he tried to fish it out.

  “Two and a half please, Ernie.”

  “Two and a half! That’s tea in your sugar, not sugar in your tea! Your dentist must love you.”

  I was sitting on an old brown sofa with buttons on it, in the dining area of Ernie’s kitchen. The carpet was equally dated with flowers and several stains on it. I guessed his wife had chosen it before she died and it had never been replaced. Ernie walked across carrying my cup of tea, he wasn’t too steady on his feet and some of the tea spilt over the top and on to the carpet. Ernie seemed unperturbed.

  Ernie had invited me to his house as he wanted to tell me more about why he disliked the Booths so vehemently, but with being hard of hearing and Boffin being out in their garden, he decided it would be wiser to retreat indoors. Once we were inside, he recounted various tales of torment he had been subjected to at the hands of the
Booth brothers. It had begun with simple, stereotypical childish games like ‘Knock and Run’ but had then progressed to more troubling issues like fireworks through his letter box and if the Booths dog had a poo on their back patio (the lawn was overgrown and full of weeds), one of the boys would scoop it up and throw it over the fence into Ernie’s beautifully maintained garden.

  “Why have Luke, Matthew and Mark decided to pick on you?” I asked as I blew onto the surface of my tea. Ernie had not brought any biscuits across. He had probably decided it was not in my best interests to have any.

  “I’ve no idea, Simon. I don’t think young thugs need a reason to target someone. Maybe it’s because I’m close.”

  “Have you told the police?”

  “No, they’d probably just give them a ticking off and then they’d use it as an excuse to up their game. I’m hoping if I ignore them, eventually they’ll grow bored of me or perhaps I’ll die and then it’ll be impossible for them to get at me.”

  My tea was now ready to drink. I took a sip, there definitely wasn’t two and a half sugars in it, more like one.

  “What about their Mum and Dad, could you not tell them?”

  “Their Dad died years ago, his motorbike was hit by a lorry on the M6. He was alright actually, Trevor. I remember his bike, it was a red Kawasaki. He was always out on his front path, polishing it. He used to work over at the ROF. Next door used to be just his, until he met Lizzie. Back in the day, when they were courting, I always knew when she was coming as I used to hear her tottering along, with her high heels on. I used to have a little look out from behind the curtains as she used to wear short skirts and she had this pair of incredible legs. She was a decent looking young girl in her day, Lizzie was, but since Trevor died she’s become a bit of a state. She’s not worried about anything these days other than getting as much drink down her neck as her body can fit. It’s very sad really. That motorbike crash took his life, but it ruined hers too.”

  “So there’s no point having a word with her then.”

  “I can’t see it helping. Maybe you and your brother could sort them out for me! How is the young ragamuffin, Simon? I often used to see him, walking up and down this road, blowing bubble gum and looking like he owned the place, but since I’ve been back from Australia, I haven’t seen him.”

  Sometimes, in moments like this, when I had to break bad news, I had a real urge to laugh. There was nothing funny about it all, but I still had the urge. It was like a form of awkwardness. I contained the impulse.

  “Ernie, Colin died a couple of months ago.”

  I used to hate it breaking the news. The main reason was because the people I had to tell used to feel so guilty for not knowing and for mentioning him. The likes of old Ernie could not have been expected to know though, it had been in the local papers but I’m sure Colin’s death hadn’t hit the headlines in Brisbane.

  “Colin died, oh my goodness, Simon, I’m awfully sorry to hear that.”

  Ernie took off his thick rimmed glasses as though somehow, that would help him digest the news.

  “Thanks, Ernie. He drowned in the canal, up by the ‘Top Lock’ pub.”

  “That’s terrible. Were you with him?”

  It was a genuine question, a question I had answered several times before without blubbing about it, but for some reason, on that day, I welled up. Perhaps it was because Ernie asked in such a heartfelt way, my guilt re-surfaced about not having been with him. I didn’t want to start crying in front of Ernie, I was thirteen and he was eighty six, I concluded he didn’t have long left in his life and death was probably not a subject he much wanted to discuss. I tried to pull myself together and when that looked like it was failing, I tried to escape.

  “Sorry Ernie, could I just use your bathroom, please?”

  Ernie didn’t have his glasses on but could probably tell from my quavering voice that I was on the verge of tears.

  “Of course you can, if you go up the stairs, the bathroom is the door straight in front of your nose.”

  “Thanks Ernie.”

  The bathroom, like the rest of the house, was created in the 1950s and had not moved forward with time. The cistern for the toilet was in a high black box and was put into action by pulling a silver chain. I also noticed that despite it being summer time, there was a chill up there, with no central heating, poor Ernie must have been freezing in the winter. I turned the cold water tap on and dabbed my face, before looking up at myself in the mirror above the sink. My face looked blotchy and my eyes did not disguise the fact that I was upset.

  “Tessa! Let go! How many times do I have to tell you? I’m sick of this now!”

  It was Boffin’s voice. I saw my reflection smile a little at his frustration.

  The bathroom window was frosted glass, but I carefully eased the window open so I could have a look at Boffin’s dilemma. His back garden was to the left of Ernie’s, he was sat on a step by the rear of his house, trying to pull what looked like a rubber bone out of the a black Staffordshire Bull Terriers mouth. The dog was clasping its teeth tight together and trying to pull away backwards. After a minute or so, the dog let go, Boffin threw the bone into the long grass and Tessa the dog ran off excitedly into the garden wilderness to try to receive it.

  There was nothing particularly unusual about a teenage boy throwing a toy for a dog in his back garden. There was however, something very unusual about what Boffin was wearing on his head, a very distinctive New York Yankees baseball cap. I had seen loads of caps with the letters ‘N’ and ‘Y’ at the front, but the cap was navy blue with white lettering that just said ‘Yankees’ in joined up writing at the front and ‘NEW YORK’ in capital letters on both the left and right sides. The top of the cap was white and on that there was a sketch of a top hat with the stars and stripes of the American flag on it, in red white and blue. There was also what looked like a white baseball circling it with the word ‘Yankees’ in red lettering.

  My brain went into overdrive. I was aware that the older boy who had been spotted walking to the canal with Colin was wearing a baseball cap, but the police had never revealed any details about the cap at all. The colour had not been mentioned nor the logo, perhaps there was a reason for this. Perhaps, if they discovered a teenager who owned the unusual cap that eye witnesses had described to them, it may provide vital clues in piecing together the hours before Colin’s death. I needed to speak to the police to see how much detail they knew about the older boy’s cap. I gently pulled the window closed, ran down the stairs and made my apologies to Ernie.

  “Ernie, I’m really sorry I’ve got to go!” I blurted out before rushing towards the front door.

  “What about your cup of tea?” asked poor, confused Ernie.

  “Sorry Ernie, you have it!” I shouted as I ran into his front path, leaving the door open behind me. I didn’t hear what he then said, but I guess it would have been something to do with the sugar content. I wasn’t too concerned. I had important matters to deal with. I was running home and from there, if Mum would take me, I was heading to the police station. I felt like one of Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Three Investigators’. I was certain that the New York Yankees baseball cap was going to be the vital clue in solving my brother’s murder mystery and once it did, Luke ‘Boffin’ Booth would be spending the rest of his life behind bars.

  SIMON – September 1986

  Dad and I were in the car, driving back from the police station.

  “Well, that was a waste of time,” I moaned as we drove along past my school, Parklands and back towards home.

  “Not necessarily,” Dad replied, not exactly trying to be upbeat, but maintaining a neutral stance, “what did you expect them to do, Simon? Put their blue light on and speed around to Luke Booth’s to arrest him?”

  “No, but I thought they may have been grateful to receive a valuable lead in a murder investigation. The police have already told us that every eye witness who saw Colin that day said he was with an older boy wearing a baseball ca
p.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean it was Luke Booth or his baseball cap.”

  “True, but as I told you before we went to the station, I reckon the police must know what sort of baseball cap it was. I just have a hunch it was a New York Yankees baseball cap, so I thought if I told them that Boffin owned one, they may realise it was definitely him who was with Luke and probably him who killed him.”

  Dad stopped his car to allow some old lady to pull out of a side road and then grew frustrated with her delay in pulling out,

  “Come on, come on, stop dithering, that’s it dear, get a move on.....unlike you Simon, the police don’t jump to conclusions and have hunches based on people they don’t like. They collate all the information and work on cold, hard facts. I thought that Constable, Mr. Gidda , seemed very interested in the fact that Luke Booth owned a distinctive cap, the police just aren’t going to tell us how their investigation is taking shape.”

  “Dad, do you think Colin was with Luke Booth?”

  “Simon, I have absolutely no idea who he was with or why he headed up to the canal. As I keep telling you, even if they do figure out who he was with, that doesn’t mean to say that person murdered him. The post-mortem said he drowned, he wasn’t strangled or stabbed and dumped in the canal, son, he just drowned. You keep calling it a murder investigation, Simon, but that’s not what it is.”

  I didn’t reply straight away, I kept quiet whilst I took in his point.

  “It still doesn’t make sense though, does it? If I went to the canal with one of my mates and I somehow fell in, my friend wouldn’t leave me to drown. He wasn’t there on his own, Dad. Why didn’t whoever was with him get him out the canal?”

  “Perhaps they couldn’t.”

  “If they couldn’t, then they would have told the police that he fell in and they tried but failed to get him out. Why hasn’t anyone come forward to tell the police what happened?”