Lost Lad (33 page)

            Near the centre, this little interlude of serenity was impaired when Simeon (ever on his guard with teenage girls) noticed that the two 'swingers' were no other than his relative Sara and the fallen floozy - Kelly Grocock.  He had hoped that they would be too engrossed in the whoops and shrieks of their enjoyment, but no, alas, the two interesting aliens from another land were spotted in a loud crescendo of
"You-hoos!"
and frantic waving.  Gary was amused.  Simeon was alarmed.  Notwithstanding, in just over a minute the four were in conversation.  Gary was chief spokesperson answering questions about his homeland and fielding a few inappropriate personal questions with admirable skill and tact.  He gave nothing away.  Kelly was keen to draw attention to her condition -

           
"What must ya think on me?  Ere's me eight months up t' stick!"

In an attempt to be kind, Simeon suggested that some of the inhabitants of Horsley Woodhouse were old fashioned and perhaps rather narrow in their views.  He hoped that she had not been subjected to too many hurtful comments.  Her response was both shocking and horrifying.

           
"Nay lad!  Am a loose bitch an they all know it.  'Get ya knickers off' - that's wot lads shout at me!  The dunna call me Grocock for nowt!"
  This caused an explosion of yelping giggles and nudges. 
"Dunna thee bother thee sen, lad, am 'ard bitch me.  Ya know - thick skinned."

They were all laughing except Mr Hogg who objected to being addressed as 'lad'.  Noting his displeasure she attempted a diversion -

           
"Vicar's wife's a stuck up bitch." 
Kelly nudged Sara
.  "She sez ta me 'Don't you feel just a bit ashamed, Kelly?'  So a sez back, well, a did a bit, but, oo, - a sez to 'er, when Wayne talks dirty, a can't 'elp meself!  'E sez ta me - 'Sprag thee legs, lass!'.  Ooo it did turn me on! An is a big lad 'e is.  An it were rate grand.  Ooo when 'e shoved it oop me, ee it were grand!  Ooo, an when 'e spunked in me - ee, it were rate loovely, it were!"
 

At this, the two girls shrieked and screamed with raucous laughter and uncontrollable giggles.  Gary smiled at her outrageous performance.  Simeon, gob-smacked and disapproving but still attempting to be sociable, tried hard (but not hard enough) to resist assuming an air of his old Mr Hogg.  With dead-pan face and his best Sunday accent he said -

           
"I suppose you are the product of what the progressives call 'free expression', Kelly."

           
"Ay?"

           
"It's just as well you don't live back in the medieval period when there was a special punishment for girls like you, girls of easy virtue."

           
"Wot were that?" 
said Sara, now curious.

           
"Oh, nothing dreadful, nothing too visceral.  This was purely to humiliate the victim." 
He addressed Gary and Sara.
  "Kelly would be tied to a hurdle, a sort of sledge in a sitting position and dragged through the village with a sign around her neck."

           
"Wot's it say?"
inquired Kelly.

           
"Oh no!  Don't ask me - too cruel.  I can't, I just can't tell you.  It's just too awful!" 
replied Mr Hogg looking away in pain but also warming to his subject and getting exactly the response he wanted - an avalanche of protests, pleadings and demands to learn the appalling truth of how Kelly would be labelled before the entire jeering population of Horsley Woodhouse.

           
"Well, if you
must
know, it said - 'Strumpet!'"

           
"Oh no!  Please don't say that.  Say it's not true!  Surely not 'strumpet',"
joined Gary, on cue.

At this the girls were intrigued if not entirely convinced by the sincerity of this impromptu history lesson.

           
"Worse was to come,"
continued Mr Hogg.
  "The villagers would follow the sledge and hurl vile abuse at the strumpet already suffering a bumpy ride."

           
"D'ya mean they'd call 'er nasty names?"
said Kelly with a big grin getting bigger by the moment.

           
"Indeed!  They would shout 'scrubber', 'slag', 'cow', 'tart', 'dirty bitch' and - in very bad cases, perhaps even - 'whore'.  In your case, Kelly, they may even go as far as - 'trollop'!"

As expected this precipitated a ribald and hilarious uproar of screaming laughter.  Simeon left the scene with mixed feelings.  A part of him had been amused at the tactics but the bigger part was outraged that he, a man old enough to be their grandfather, had been drawn into such an obscene exchange within an atmosphere of 'trendy teacher' bred familiarity.  Sensing the root of this silence, now a brooding silence, Gary tried to put the episode into a more acceptable context.

           
"You'll never put the clock back, old friend, don't try.  You've spent the last five years trying to put the genie back in the bottle - it's just not going to happen!  Oh I know she'd never talk to Aunty Gertie like that, but then again, we're not Aunty Gertie.  Be flattered that they see us as more modern and more 'with it'.  Anyway - they probably 'picked us up'.  They probably get 'life style' lessons in school. 

           
Aw come on, Simeon!  Don't go on the radio in this mood.  It's what kids do, they push to the limit, they were testing.  Don't sweat.  Forget it."

But Simeon did sweat and he was never very good at 'forgetting it'.  He stoked up to give vent to a controlled tantrum which started with a soft, almost whispered -
 

           
"What have they done to my world?"

           
"Pardon me?"

           
"The world I once knew and loved.  At her age we would never, ever, speak to an adult in that way - unless you wanted to get your face slapped - and slapped hard.  They
know
what I do, for God's sake!" 
Simeon reeled round and looked Gary directly in the eyes. 
"I am entitled to the respect and dignity of my professional standing.  How dare she!  That foul mouthed lowly common slut ... "

           
"
Whoa!
  Hold up there!  Do I see before me Mother Teresa?  Or do I see the one time White Star of the Harlem Stud Baths?  Whose had more meat - Kelly or Simeon?  And who, yes, my friend, who would just
love
to get his paws on the ever horny Wayne Pickles?"

In spite of himself, Simeon admired the way Gary could handle 'a situation'.  It had happened so many times before: the skilful pricking at the bubble of pomposity.  Gary Mackenzie had exactly the same knack as Brian Forrester, an ability to cool the heat of indignation by getting Simeon to see the funny side, to turn it around so he could laugh at himself.  The schoolmaster could not deny the truth of these assertions.  If unable to smile, he could hold up his head and say with measured precision -

           
"At least I didn't boast to those girls and revile them with
my
sexual gymnastics.  And I'm certain that Kelly, even in her short salacious life, has turned more tricks than I have, and - while we're on the subject of honesty, Gary Mackenzie, I'm certain that you've probably had more than both of us put together!"

           
"Touché!" 
concluded Gary.         

They separated.  They had about a half hour to spare before it was time to leave for Derby so Gary decided to explore the other rows, the church and other interesting aspects of Horsley Woodhouse.  Back in Aunty Joyce's back bedroom, Simeon's mobile rang with its familiar trill.  A voice announced itself as John Winter, one time Detective Sergeant and former assistant to Detective Inspector Derek Russell. 

           
"Many many thanks for your help in putting together that splendid document, Mr Winter."

           
"Call me John.  It was an interesting challenge.  We were quite taken up in it.  Old men like us need a bit of stimulation now and again.  I've just turned 81 and Derek will be 88 next month.  Incredible bloke: he can still walk the legs off your average teenager and here's me looking more and more like Humpty Dumpty every day!"

           
"Now that's another sort of challenge; keeping trim after a busy stressful job," 
replied Simeon.

           
"Derek tells me you're still cycling, so you'll be OK.  Now about the Forrester Mystery, Simeon.  In Derek's
letter, my contribution was to jog his memory and mainly stick to the facts.  I know he penned a few suspicions, but if it's of any help, I can share with you some personal ideas, ideas I wouldn't like to put in writing - if you know what I mean."

Simeon lay down on the bed and made himself comfortable.

           
"I'd be most grateful, John.  I'm all ears."

           
"You know, of course, that we focused on that rich bloke, Algernon Hardman.  Derek wasn't so sure, but I was keen - at first.  I felt he was the type: a sort of recluse who'd taken refuge in a world of books.  His life had just been devastated with the accident: a sudden loss, a shock which might have released the passion he'd been concealing.  I was a young copper with lots of prejudices in those days."

           
"I'll bet!" 
thought Simeon.  He also wondered if Winter or Russell had speculated about his own personal circumstances and if that might have coloured the information recently tendered.  But no: these were unhealthy thoughts.  As Gary would tell him, he must rise above these silly sensitivities.  Detective Inspector Derek Russell and Detective Sergeant John Winter did not have to help him at all.  It was kind of them to take the time and trouble.  He was genuinely appreciative.

           
"Has the passage of time moderated your suspicions, John?"

           
"The passage of time has been very educating.  Take the odd bods, the servants and the old man in Derby.  I knew Simon Tonks when he worked for the Calder sisters at Belper.  A nancy boy of the first order, but a nice one: church on Sunday and all that.  No: not Simon, he wouldn't hurt a fly.  Can't keep his hands off the men, but not a danger to boys."

           
"Little fat Dolly?"
  ventured Simeon.  John Winter laughed.

           
"The dolly tub!  No.  It looked probable at the time, but again - too nice.  Funny little bloke, quite enterprising and very entertaining.  Just a hunch, but I'd strike them off as suspects.  They're still there you know at Cressbrook Hall.  Amazing isn't it.  But a hunch is all I have.  Not a scrap of evidence in all these years.

           
"The bicycle found at Belper?"
added Simeon.  John Winter responded with a bigger laugh.

           
"Oh! It brings it all back.  What a horror!  A revolting creature!  I can still see those leering eyes undressing me.  No.  It was planted.  I don't know who planted it, but I'm sure it was planted.  Good move.  Jasper was just the sort who would be a prime suspect in 1960.  Incredible little man!  His 'massage' business went from strength to strength in the following years."

           
"I imagine he must have been good,"
spoke Simeon in a dry, slightly cynical note.

           
"He was very good with his 'extras'.  Kept them hanging on for
ages - if you know what I mean.  One of our own became a regular visitor.  Made a terrible stink down at the station when it all came out - I'll tell you!  But nothing could be proved as far as youngsters were concerned.  We looked into it a bit.  His speciality seemed to be the rough type, road workers, labourers, that sort: perhaps a sprinkling of reps.  Harmless type really.  There was always a cup of tea and a nice piece of cake if you didn't rush off ... So they tell me."   

           
"Did Guzzly Granddad make a nice cup of tea?"

           
"Do you know, those two blokes had a fair bit in common.  Hated each other, but both had built up a clientele of casual callers.  In Granddad's case there was a quicker turn over - well, it wouldn't take so long would it?  You just walked in off the street ... so they tell me ... walked over to his chair, out came the old choppers ... well, I think the technical term is 'fellatio'.  They joked at the station that it was all the semen which made him so gross: a vile man: sat there with his mouth open all day long.  He was well named - a pig ignorant fat slob.  Not exactly articulate, he just grunted at you."