Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes

17

He waited for the door to click, catching Frederick's eyes, and waited to hear the squeak of the gate hinges before rising to his feet. Esther headed out toward the bus stop on one side of the square and Alfie began to move. The lad narrowed his eyes as Alfie headed to the front door, where Esther had placed all his shoes and boots. Polished and tidied. The lass was unstoppable.

"She'll be annoyed if she finds out." The lad now sat on the arm of the chair, flapping his legs and shaking his head. "And she will find out. She's got, like, this special power. She can tell every time. If you think she's annoying now, wait until she's angry."

"I'll not sit in this house any longer. I'm a grown man. I can go where I like, when I like." He paused as he tugged on his boots, giving the lad an appraising look. "Thy'll not say owt, will thee?"

Alfie needed to get out. Were it only a short while ago, a walk to the the wall at the end of the street would suffice. An hour or two talking with Arthur and then a wander into town for a chip butty in Jon's Café, the little one down the side street that had room for no more than ten folk at a time. Even that had come to an end, in recent times. Jon had retired. At fifty-five, no less! The café had closed and now sold e-cigarettes. Alfie had only found that out a few days ago.

Everything changed. These days, things changed so fast that Alfie struggled to keep up. People dying. Shop's closing. New people moving into the town, other people moving out. Once, Alfie would never have expected police outside his home. Once, he would not have had to worry whether he'd taken all his pills for the day.

"So, where are we going?" He had no need to, but Frederick launched himself from the arm of the chair, landing with a thump upon the thinning carpet, unchanged since the Duchess chose it. "Aren't you going to fix the bik ... bicycle?"

Every time. At least he stopped himself, but the lad had to think, every time, about saying 'bicycle'. He had no need to. No-one else made the distinction, but at least he tried. And, every time, he would pronounce 'bicycle' slowly, rolling his eyes and breaking the word into three, distinct sections, as though it were a chore to perform and the most idiotic thing he had ever had to say.

"I'm waiting for parts." Before his 'minor cardiac event', Alfie had reached out to his old suppliers. He still awaited their replies. "Don't thee worry none. Yon bicycle isn't going anywhere. And neither are you. Do as thee mother says and go play. Thy's got better things to do than follow an old man around."

"Not really. I don't have any bruvs up here and the ones back home are busy." The lad fell back against the arm of the chair. Frederick sniffed, looking away. "I ain't got anybody to hang out with no more."

"So, thy thinks palling around with a daft old bloke is better'n nothing, eh?" Alfie ought to feel insulted, or not. The lad looked crestfallen, though. "Thy'll make new mates, soon as school starts up. Thy'll see."

The lad gave a dismissive shrug. He acted like he didn't care, but Alfie was old, not stupid. Kids needed people their own age to be around. They needed that sense of belonging with someone who matched their energy and their likes. Someone they could run with until their breaths felt like their chests were fit to burst. Someone to play the fool with, climb trees with, find hidden places that they could pretend were their own personal fortresses. Or, they did at one time.

Alfie had seen children changing all those years ago. He had thought Charlie would take to racing through fields and woods, performing feats of derring-do that the Duchess would tut at and fuss about, but Charlie had always taken to his own company. Reading in his room, playing games on those new-fangled computers that Alfie still couldn't quite get to grips with.

When Charlie had decried his solitary, indoor life to join the army, it had shocked Alfie to his core. He could not have felt more pride in his son for choosing to serve his country, but it had also made Alfie wonder what had led to the decision. What had changed to make the quiet, studious child turn to a life of shouting and enforced company? What had led to Charlie putting his life on the line, thousands of miles from home?

"Mister Dibbs?" The lad's hand touched Alfie's arm and Alfie realised he had become lost in his thoughts. "You're not going to have a fit again, are you? Only, Mum'll blame me for not looking after you."

"Nay, lad. Just remembering things is all." He looked to his hand, holding the embroidered handkerchief that he didn't remember taking from his pocket. "Has thy ever done any gardening?"

The lad curled his nose up at that, making a slow shake of the head. He looked almost disgusted at the thought and that could play into Alfie's hands. If Frederick had thought fishing boring, he was going to hate working the allotment. And, if nothing else could get the lad to find folks his own age and make friends, then spending a day weeding should do it.

Not that he minded the lad. He was polite and attentive and curious, all things Alfie valued, but he worried Frederick clung to him through fear of stretching himself out into the wider community. The lad needed friends his own age and, if Alfie had to, he'd force the lad to make them.