TW: Contains racist slur.
Sunlight had caused Alfie to rise early and, after taking half the contents of a pharmacy for his myriad ailments, he found himself at a bit of a loose end. Too early to take a walk into town, he wandered around the empty house trying to think of things to do, but nothing caught his fancy. Even the computer, that he disliked at the best of times, had little to offer. Yet, to fill a little time, he browsed an online shop.
Still nothing came to mind. Any bicycle parts, or tools, that he found he knew he could buy cheaper elsewhere, using his old contacts. He felt happier paying for things from small businesses, anyway, rather than adding to the glut of profits such sites as this had pouring into their coffers by the minute. Tidy as ever, he returned to the homepage of the site, even though he knew it made little difference.
There, something caught his eye. It wasn't something that he had ever considered before. Why should he? The town, though not filled to the brim with innocent angels that could do no wrong, had a low crime rate. There were the odd burglaries, but they were so odd and out-of-place that they would cause consternation to ripple through the community like a tidal wave. The issue of the stolen bicycle had concerned him, however.
Not only that someone would steal something at all, or that they had stolen it from his own garden, but that the lad had had to suffer accusations and a visit from the police over the entire incident. That did not sit right with him. Not at all. This product, though relatively expensive to run, would have proven the lad's innocence. Intrigued, he clicked upon the product and took care to read everything about it.
Home security. A series of cameras that attached to the WiFi network that he had struggled, at first, to understand. Unlike prevailing wisdom, old folks were not technologically illiterate. Not all of them, at least. Alfie was not someone born in the mists of time, when cars were all called horseless carriages. He had lived through a time of burgeoning technology, seeing televisions turn to colour and grow and then become almost as thin as paper. He had bought Charlie his first computer when the lad turned eleven and they had had computers ever since.
Charlie would have had one of these home security systems from the off. As soon as they became available. Alfie wasn't a dullard, he would have appreciated the thought and the engineering that went into it. How things worked had always fascinated him. Now, this product caught his imagination.
The bicycles in the big shed were priceless to him. Examples of ingenuity from decades passed. Should anyone ever steal them, he would become bereft of one of the few things that he could still love. One of these cameras installed in there, another watching the back yard, one for the front and one for inside the home. All ready to begin recording as soon as they caught movement, sending the footage online. A monthly subscription cost that made him whistle, but, perhaps, one worth paying.
His finger tapped at the side of the mouse and frowned. He could afford it, and he knew a lad a few doors down that could help him affix the cameras. A newcomer, only having lived in the town for a mere five years, but a good lad. Hardworking. A few quid for his troubles and Alfie could feel safe in the knowledge that, should any of his bicycles go missing, Frederick would not come under suspicion. He couldn't abide that happening again. The lad and his mother deserved peace and safety as much as anyone.
It took a cup of tea and a full English breakfast to come to the decision. Strictly speaking, he should have stopped eating such fatty foods after his scare, but he needed the energy to think over the problem. Now, washing the plate and cutlery, he knew he needed to buy that home security set. Wiping his hands on the tea towel, he returned to the living room, clicked on the awaiting web page and tried not to regret it.
He groaned as he looked at the clock on the mantlepiece. He hadn't even wasted enough time to visit the newsagents at the top of the street. Still at least half-an-hour before they received their newspaper deliveries. Not that he liked newspapers, but he had to do something to fill his time. He had only one other option available to him and he had wanted to save that for later in the morning. Still, it wasn't as though he didn't enjoy it.
With his overalls on, boots fastened, flat cap squarely planted on his head, he made his way out into the back garden and unlocked the little shed. Tying the door open, he took another sip of his second cup of tea of the morning and took a good, long look at the bicycle frame upon the stands, laying his appraising eyes over the entire structure. Even with glasses that needed replacing, he could see the work required.
He had stripped the paint down to the metal and now he could see the pits and abrasions caused by rust. With one hand, the mug of tea in the other, he lifted a small, thin, flat headed screwdriver from its place and began to scratch at the rust. Flakes fell away, drifting to the workbench, and Alfie nodded to himself. The rust had only touched the surface of the metal, leaving the majority of the frame sound. All within his skills to fix.
The wheels, however, were a different story. Bent, out of shape, with several spokes missing. He could fix those, too, but it would require a little effort and, after suffering such damage, it would make future damage more likely. Were it any other bicycle, he could find replacements, but the Lightning, though not rare, had few outlets that sold such things, and a similar wheel, from a different bicycle, would not do. Either do the job correctly, or not at all. The number of times he had said the same to Charlie, Alfie couldn't count.
He had thought about Charlie a lot, of late. Charlie and the Duchess. Even after all these years, they were never far from his mind. Most days, a passing, fleeting thought would come to him. On other days, he could sit for hours wallowing in his many regrets and reminiscences. In recent days, however, he had found himself making comparisons between Charlie and Frederick. Not squaring the two up, but more of how he, himself, had once acted toward Charlie and how he acted with the lad.
The number of mistakes he had made as a parent and husband could fill several volumes of a memoir. Never abusive, not physically and not knowingly, nevertheless he had not shown the greatest of parenting or husbandly skills. He had lived at arms' length from his loved ones and he would regret that for the remainder of his days. Frederick was not his lad, not at all, but he had soon developed a soft spot for him and his mother. A fatherly gaze that he had no right to.
The two of them could as well have arrived in a foreign land, speaking a different language and having to come to terms with a culture so different, it could cause headaches. He had never spent much time outside of the town, himself, but he had come a cropper against differences even a few miles away. Haddock instead of cod in fish and chips. Breadcakes called 'barm cakes', or 'stotties', or any number of other variations. Ways to greet each other that could earn a fat lip around here.
From London to Yorkshire. No wonder the two of them felt at odds with the place. Again, thoughts of Charlie had turned to the lad and Alfie shook his head. They weren't his kin and he had no right to think of them in such a fashion. A sip of his tea, now cold, caused him to wrinkle his nose in distaste. He had stood there, lost in his own thoughts, and hadn't even started to work upon the worst of the Lightning's wheels.
It called for another cuppa and he set the kettle, sat on a bench to the side, to boil as he swilled out the dregs of his wasted tea in the small sink. As the kettle clicked off, Alfie could only sigh as he realised he had forgotten to replace the milk in the miniature fridge, gagging at the smell as he rested his expanding nose on the edge of the plastic bottle. Black it was, then. A little bitter for him, but he didn't mind.
Now, he couldn't put it off any longer. No more thinking about a past he could not change, nor about neighbours that could never be a part of his family, no matter the growing, paternal feelings he held for them. A wheel and work awaited him. He sniffed as leaned over the wheel in the circular frame and dug his hand into his pocket for the handkerchief he loved so dearly, only to find it not there.
His other hand delved into the pocket at the other side, then he patted the chest pockets before checking the other pockets once again. He had never forgotten the handkerchief. Not since the day the Duchess had left him. Not one, single day had passed without that thinning cloth near at hand. Panic started to rise as tears began to prick at his eyes. An old, fool of a man that couldn't even care for a handkerchief, let alone for folks that were not of his blood.
"Mister Dibbs! Mister Dibbs!" As though to pour salt in the wound of his fatherly pretensions, the voice of Frederick broke the morning silence. "Something's happened, Mister Dibbs! Come quick!"
The lad didn't even wait for him, stumbling into the little shed then rushing back out again before Alfie could give leave. Something had caught his attention, and it didn't sound good. Another visit from the police? Another stolen bicycle? Alfie could only follow and find out, thoughts of the missing handkerchief not forgotten, but replaced with a more pressing matter.
And it was more pressing. The lad led him along the path at the side of the house, through to the front garden and out of the squeaking gate, to the pavement in front of both their houses. There, Alfie found the lad's mother, on her hands and knees, bucket of soapy water beside her and scrubbing brush in both hands. She muttered to herself as she fought against the stains upon the pavement, then Alfie caught a better look. They weren't stains.
They were two words, spray-painted upon the paving slabs. 'Pedo' and 'wogs', with arrows pointing at the houses, and Alfie felt sick.