Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes

23

Alfie looked away, toward the shop floor of the opticians where a staff member regaled a customer about the wonders of new frames. Frames that looked much like a dozen others on the display. Different colours, a slight difference on the hinges, perhaps, but much of a muchness as far as Alfie could see. Not that he could see much without the glasses he had come here for. Frames were frames. Work was work. Home was home. Everything 'fine'.

As someone appeared from the rear of the shop, where all the important work happened, Alfie lifted his head, hoping that someone would come and save him from answering a question he did not want to visit. It wasn't only Alfie who hadn't spoken to Frederick, but also that Frederick had stood back at almost the same time. Alfie didn't want to think it due to guilt, but the thought drifted through his mind, nonetheless.

"The lad's got himself a new friend and good for him." He looked down at his old, gnarled fingers. The lines in the skin more pronounced by the dirt he had missed while washing after working on the bicycle. "Better for the lad to be around them as is the same age. Better for me, I reckon. Gives me time to do some work. Not that he ever bothered me, mind, but ... Ee. Thy knows."

Words were always his bane. Unable to articulate his thoughts had added to his selfishness in years gone by. "Say nowt if thy has nowt good to say". His father had lived by those words and Alfie had taken them on as his own. But his father had come from a different age, as Alfie came from a different age. The same reticence to speak when others needed that voice, however. If nothing else, he had hoped not to pass that part of himself on to Charlie, but he never got the chance to find out. Not really.

Another customer came and went and Alfie could feel himself itching to leave. He felt the same in doctors' waiting rooms, in other people's homes, awaiting serving in cafés. The thought that he wasted the time of others. That more deserving souls could use this time, and this seat, for more important matters. He had once thought himself important, but had learned better with age and loss.

"What's she like, this girl?" Ms Matheson took a deep sigh, looking toward the ceiling. "I mean, I want him to have friends. Lord knows he needs them! And I appreciate the time you've put in to making him feel welcome, but ... I don't know. I worry. I've dragged him up here without question and dumped him in an area he doesn't know and I feel like he's drowning and I've put my foot on his head. I know it sounds stupid, but ..."

"She's nice, the lass. Polite, but cheeky. He'll be fine." There, a little paraphrased, but the same intention once again. Saying it, not meaning it. Alfie would hate the phrase if he hated anything. "Thee and him have only been here a few weeks. He'll be starting school soon enough and he'll find himself some mates, and a year from now he'll still complain but maybe not so loud, eh? Thy's done nowt wrong, lass. Don't thee worry about owt. The lad's clever. He'll get by."

In truth, Alfie wasn't as certain as he sounded. The lad had already seen trouble and kids let these kinds of things go on only rare occasions. They could hold that spite and bitterness all their lives and never let it go. That business with the stolen bicycle was nothing but spite by the lad that accused Frederick and if that lad had chosen to spite Frederick without knowing him, that was a nastiness that could last.

Alfie wasn't certain the same lad had painted the pavement outside their homes, or had smashed the windows, but he doubted he'd waste ten bob if he bet on it. Children. As much a mystery to him now as they had ever been. Back in his youth, no-one batted an eye at bullying. They were all told to fight back, or take it on the chin. They did things differently, these days. Bullying wasn't acceptable, but kids found ways and they were nasty with it. As a child, he could expect a bit of roughing up. These days they carried knives and weaponised the police. No, Alfie couldn't be certain Frederick would get by, but he couldn't say as much to the lad's mother.

She didn't look certain, either, but Alfie supposed seeing that filthy graffiti and having windows broken were not the kind of experiences that bred hope. Her head had dropped and Alfie worried that he had triggered another of her 'moods'. He knew it wasn't sadness, as such, that caused those moods, but anything could set one off. The Duchess had once fretted for days because she had overcooked a roast. Even when Alfie had found a fault in the gas oven, proving the Duchess had done nothing wrong, the dark mood had lasted.

With a cough, Ms Matheson raised her head, that bright smile returning. A smile that touched every part of her face. Alfie almost let out a sigh of relief, but only smiled back. That was all he could do. Smile and let her know she could talk to him. He had learned to listen far too late in his life, but it was a skill he intended to make good use of. After all, what part of his life was more important than anyone else's?

"Mister Dibbs?" A tall woman, hair tied back in a flowing ponytail, emerged from the rear, carrying a small box. She hooked her head, smiling, urging him to follow. "All done. Two pairs and we've used your old frames for one pair, as you asked. We're good like that."

She laughed and winked, opening the box and revealing the two pairs of glasses. His old frames and a new set of frames. They looked similar, but Alfie could tell the quality wasn't quite the same. It was a cliché, but things really were made to last, back in the day.

"Aye. They're right grand." He picked up his old frames, opened the arms and placed them on his head. "Aye. That'll do."

He could see. Everything. Nothing stood out of focus. He could read the test text on the wall. He had put it off for so long that he had become used to everything having a hazy blur. Now, everything was clear and bright. Including his own thoughts. He knew neither Frederick nor Ms Matheson had stolen his things. There was an explanation for it, he just didn't know what it was.