Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes

2

As soon as he saw the world turn from brick and concrete into a whole load of green, Frederick knew he was going to hate it. That was almost two hours ago and that hate hadn't diminished in the slightest. He saw the occasional built-up area, places that could almost pass for London, but only almost, and always a distance away from the motorway that drew them further and further away from the only place he had known as home.

He had had no say in the matter. Just like he had had no say in his parent's divorce. They had simply said it, one night, over dinner. As though it were just a normal conversation. Something to add after Dad had mentioned how good the game was last night and Mum had talked about how good work was that day. Oh, and, by the way, we're getting a divorce. Pass the peas.

There it was. Matter of fact. They both loved each other very much, but marriage wasn't the right fit for them, right now. But they both loved and adored Frederick so very much and it absolutely was not his fault. Loved and not at fault. That was the sum total of Frederick's input into the whole matter. If they loved him so much, why did he feel like he didn't have a voice? If it wasn't his fault, why didn't his thoughts matter?

That was bad enough, but when Mum had told him she had a job waiting for her in The North, that almost made Frederick want to run away. The North! And not 'north', meaning Watford, but the North-north. Where whippets and pigeons were man's best friends and everybody wore flat caps, even the women. Probably especially the women.

And something else The North didn't have was his bruvs. Actually, though he'd never admit it, he hated that word. 'Bruvs'. They were mates, but no-one called each other mates. So Frederick had joined in. His bruvs. They were all in London. In The North, he'd have nothing. And what they'd think about having a black kid as a neighbour ... Well, Frederick had had more than his fair share of stop and searches. A few more wasn't going to make him think less of five-oh.

He hadn't said a word to his mum the entire journey beyond saying 'yes' or 'no' to her questions. It was a bit late to consult him now. Instead, he pressed his forehead against the glass of the window, allowing it to cool his skin and the vibrations to rattle his teeth. He had never even known his mum could drive a van. They'd lived in London! They'd never needed a van. Everything they owned, packed up and stuffed into the back. What had once filled their flat now fit into a van and there was still room to spare.

He missed looking up and seeing buildings. Missed the noise. The shouting and the impatient horns that began to sound the very second lights changed. He missed people twisting themselves sideways to avoid touching anyone else as they weaved in and out of the other pedestrians, a complicated, ever-evolving dance of self-isolation, where a look up could have someone following you for streets, trying to sell you something, trying to get a pound from you for a coffee, trying to convert you to whichever religion they had become indoctrinated in this week.

London had a life to it, a distinct heart beat unlike anything anywhere else. Not that Frederick had ever been anywhere else, but he had heard people say so and they should know. Soon, he would find himself dumped out into a place on life-support. Somewhere where people just didn't, couldn't, have the same sense of identity. Frederick would always be a Londoner and nothing his mum could do, or say, would ever change that.

"We're almost there, Frederick." Mum tried to catch his eye, even as she watched the road. "A few more miles and you'll see the turn off, then a few more miles. It's set in a lovely valley, with trees everywhere. Fields beyond the trees. Farms. You'll see, you'll love it."

No he won't. He won't ever love it. Trees and fields and farms. As if they were something he'd ever be interested in. He adjusted the seat belt as he turned even more away from his mum. His breath fogged on the window and he passed his finger over it, making the 'u' of a sad mouth. Then he added fangs and horns before the breath faded away completely. He'd be doing jigsaw puzzles next.