Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes

18

Getting to the old man's allotment involved another long walk, only in the other direction from the canal where they fished days ago. At least this time they weren't carrying a load of fishing gear, but the old man had insisted Frederick made himself some sandwiches, so he still had to carry his backpack. The old man wore that ragged old knapsack hanging from his shoulder and Frederick felt certain he could still smell the canal on the strap.

This time, instead of walking through the green areas that surrounded the town, where horses played in fields and trees leaned out over roads without pavements, they walked through the town itself. A town abuzz with people there to shop at the outdoor market. It almost felt like home, but without as much shouting from the market stall holders. Up here, they did things different.

They edged past the market, filled with stalls of every type Frederick could imagine, from clothing to book stalls, to vape stalls, to accessories and toiletries. Different, but not that much different. There were other kids around, but Frederick kept his eyes attached firm to his feet when any looked his way. He didn't want friends, not from around here. He wanted his old friends, but knew he would probably never see them again.

At the end of the market area, the old man took a sharp turn down an alley between an old, closed pub and the banking of the railway, and followed the curving, overgrown path that carried them out toward the edge of town. A train rushed past, rattling along, the noise pressing against Frederick's ears. He caught sight of dozens of travellers through the windows. Little flashes of other lives that were gone in an instant.

Half-way down the path, the old man took another sharp turn and Frederick almost gasped at what he saw. In a dip in the land, he saw a chessboard pattern of plots. He counted near twenty of them and, unlike the allotments he had seen back home, these plots had solid fences surrounding them, not marked out by lines of strings to separate them. Most had sheds and almost every one had lines of vegetables within them. One even had a rusted car.

The old man had already started walking down the slope toward the allotments and Frederick rushed to catch up. It felt almost as though they had entered some kind of forbidden place. A miniature community within the larger community. A series of mini kingdoms, domains of those who would come and toil away growing things that Frederick doubted they would even eat. He heard cooing from some of the sheds and realised that they held pigeons, doing nothing but adding to the stereotypes of the area.

Passing one allotment, a man not unlike Mister Dibbs looked up from his work, tipped his flat cap toward the old man and then returned to tending to the rows of whatever it was he grew. The old man and the other bloke never said a word to each other, Mister Dibbs only raising a hand acknowledging the hat tip. At the end of the row of plots, Mister Dibbs pushed a gate open in the fence and then held it for Frederick.

"Is this it?" He looked around the allotment plot. "It's a bit empty. Compared to the others."

"Aye. Well, I never was a one for it, truth told." The old man headed to a small shed that looked little bigger than a portaloo, fitting a key into the padlock. "This were more for the Duchess' sake. She liked her greens fresh, so she did."

"The 'Duchess'?" Frederick never knew the old man had worked for royalty. "Who was that?"

"Ah. That was my wife." The old man tapped the padlock against his palm, then sniffed, turning away and hanging the padlock from the latch. "Anyway. I've not tended to nowt for far too long. Take this watering can and fill it from yon hosepipe."

The old man had leaned in to the shed and shoved an old, rusted metal watering can into Frederick's hands. He took a smell of the inside and almost threw up. There was no way it could be healthy watering plants out of it, but he didn't argue. Instead, while the old man pottered about in his shed, Frederick did as he asked.