Chapter 18
BARDY
This was the most unkindest cut of all.
The first thing he notices is the angry slice across Lou’s cheek.
He was going to head straight for the bar and order a pint.
Lou is already at their favorite table in the Angry Beaver.
They have been drinking in the pub for so long that he finds he is surprised when people laugh at the name. He makes a detour to the table.
“What have you done to your face?”
Lou touches it gingerly. “A nasty catch.”
“A what?”
“A catch. It’s when the wood splits and bits fly off when the lathe’s spinning.”
“God, that could have been your eye.”
Lou says gruffly, “I’m not a complete idiot. I do wear safety goggles.” He adds, more sheepishly, “Got a full-face visor coming from .”
“You be careful, mate. Want another pint?”
“No, you’re alright, got over half of this one to go.”
Once back at the table, they chat about the local soccer team (who are likely to go up a league) until Lou says, “You know who I keep thinking about?”
Apart from Tina?
“You’re going to have to give me more of a clue.”
“Mr. On-there-like-that. Remember him?”
“Blimey, yes. Woodwork teacher.”
They are off. Adopting broad Norfolk accents.
Lou: “Boys, you want to put that bit of wood on-there-like-that.”
Bardy: “Get that screw in, boys, on-there-like-that.”
Lou: “Now hold the saw and move it down on-there-like-that.”
They laugh but exchange a look. Definitely old men now. Not the boys they once were. They both look uncomfortable.
“We gave him such a hard time,” Bardy voices their thoughts.
They had been given woodwork because that was just the way their timetables had worked that year.
They had resented being there. The class for dummies.
If you were a boy and not good at anything, you got woodwork.
If you were a girl, it was childcare. Bardy sighs.
Nice to know the future of children and practical, creative skills were so valued. “What about Mr. On-there-like-that?”
Lou glances at him, checking.
Bardy knows that look. Has used it himself.
Are you going to make fun of me?
“Go on,” Bardy tells the man who has been his best friend for fifty-six years.
“I’m really enjoying this stuff,” Lou says, “despite the . . .” He gestures to his cheek.
“I think back to how we wouldn’t listen.
Made his life a misery.” He checks Bardy’s face, who holds his look.
Lou takes a deep breath, “So, now every time I start my lathe up and pick up a new bit of wood, I say, out loud. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. On-there-like-that.’”
Bardy nods. “He’d like that.” Any teacher would. It just showed you could make a difference. Sometimes years on. Bardy takes a drag from his pint. “You know he won the lottery?”
“No!” Lou sounds incredulous, but is there a bit of hope in there, too? The possibility of redemption. Scales balanced.
“Yep, heard that from his daughter, who I taught . . . Meghan. He and his wife went on a trip to Canada.”
“I always fancied that. Tina and I talked about a train trip across the . . .” Lou’s voice fades.
Bardy continues, “They gave all their kids some money and then they moved to the Cotswolds. Big house.”
“Ah, that’s good. Glad he got a bit of luck.”
“Meghan said he bought himself a Range Rover, said he’d always fancied one.”
They are back to broad Norfolk.
“Expect he’s still got the caravan hitched . . . on-there-like-that.” Lou snorts.
“With a big house, there’d be plenty of room to park . . . on-there-like-that,” Bardy responds.
Some things change, but some things don’t.
“Your bowl was pretty good,” Bardy tells him. “Mr. On-there-like-that would have given you a B-plus, I reckon.”
“The inside was pretty rubbish.”
“That won’t matter once you fill it with a nice green salad,” Bardy tells carb-loving Clemenza, and they start to laugh.
“Nice woman though,” Lou says after a while.
“I think they’re all pretty good.”
“I can’t seem to speak when Pia looks at me, mate. Total tosser.” Lou shakes his head.
“Me too. But it’s getting easier.”
Why does he keep thinking back to coffee with Kate and Pia and thinking of . . . that’s it . . . Twelfth Night! What is that all about?
“You know Satya?” Lou asks.
“Yep. Jack used to hang out with Tom. Was pretty cool back then. Played guitar in a local band. But once he met Satya, that was it.”
“What? He didn’t play anymore?”
“No,” Bardy says slowly. “He kept that going for quite a while. Just that they fell for each other. Like you and Tina.”
But now? Hadn’t Jack put a lot on hold for Satya? Well, that’s what Tom said. He did the bulk of the childcare. Bardy certainly doesn’t see anything wrong with that. So often the other way round. Then why is he vaguely worried?
Blue and green should never be seen.
“Does he play now?” Lou asks.
“I have no idea,” Bardy replies. But somehow he doubts it.
“You going to come to the life class?” Bardy asks him.
Lou blows out a long breath. “I guess so. Would look a bit obvious if I said I was busy.”
“It’s not how you think it will be.”
“And how’s that?” Lou demands.
“All breasts or cocks.”
Lou laughs. “I was hoping more for the breasts.”
“No, seriously mate, you’re so busy looking .
. .” He casts Lou a reproving look for the guffaw.
“No, you’d be amazed. You’re looking at the shape and proportion, and how the muscles sit.
And if you’ve never drawn from life before, it really shows you how you have to trust your eye. Not what your mind tells you is there.”
Why does this make him think back to coffee with Pia and Kate? What had his eye seen that his mind is missing?