The Road to Crosslands

Chapter 9

After our meal, we'd adjourned to the van and made ourselves comfortable.

'That wasn't half bad, that beef burger-whatever-it-was,' Flinty said, picking his teeth with an overgrown fingernail. 'All we need now is the after-dinner brandy and cigars, or ... in our case, whisky and spliffs. I've got a stash hidden somewhere in here.'

 Flinty began searching through innumerable tiny cupboards and drawers incorporated into Sharon's haphazard interior.

'Aha ... here we are.'

He produced an old tobacco tin which he tossed onto the dinette table and then he gave three glasses a quick rinse in the overcrowded sink.

'Just the job,' Spud said, opening the bottle of whisky we'd bought that morning. The Johnny Walker hadn't survived our late-night session and had joined a growing pile of empties consigned to Sharon's toilet cubicle. We'd get rid of them the next time we drove past a wheelie bin, Flinty had explained.

The tobacco tin contained half a dozen ready-rolled joints and Flinty and Spud both lit up while I refused one. I'd promised Lynn years ago to give up weed.

'Suit yourself,' Flinty shrugged. 'More for us.'

We sprawled out on the stained cushions that formed the dinette seats and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. By the look of the weather, we were in for a long wait.

Spud inhaled contentedly and started musing about things we'd got up to in our school days. We laughed at his descriptions of some of our teachers.

'Do you remember Mr Taylor? He had a nose that could spear a fish!'

'And he always had gravy stains all down his tie,' I added. 'I don't think he could find his mouth with that nose in the way!'

'Simmo, remember Copley's sniper? Tell us that one again. That was an absolute classic.'

The story of Copley's sniper was probably my greatest claim to fame at school. I'd been called upon to relate it dozens of times, so every detail was indelibly printed on my memory.

***

Our school stood on the outskirts of Swindon town centre and had originally been council offices. It was a four-storey Victorian building and looked completely out of place flanked by a modern shopping centre and a multi-storey car park. To the rear of the main school building was a bleak concrete schoolyard which, on evenings and weekends, served as a parade ground for the army cadet force.

One of the many school rules was that all pupils had to go outside during break times unless the weather was life-threateningly bad. In winter, that meant shivering in the windswept yard, huddled together like penguins in the Antarctic. A teacher was always allocated to patrol the school seeking out rule-breakers and dispensing justice ... usually detention.

***

On this particular freezing cold day, I had made some excuse to get something from our warm classroom while everyone else was herded outside. The temptation to stay inside was too much so I ducked down behind my desk until the corridor fell silent.

Our classroom was on the third floor, overlooking the yard, so I went and stood next to the radiator under one of the windows and looked down at all the kids stamping around and blowing on their hands. Then I noticed Spud and Flinty standing together below me. Naturally, I had to slide the sash window up a few inches and shout down to let them know how nice and warm it was inside.

Just as I was about to close the window again Spud took a marble out of his pocket.

'I bet I can throw this through that gap,' he called up to me.