A Pocketful of Holes and Dreams (15 page)

On my second day back at work, I had just arrived in the kitchen when I heard the head chef calling my name. Not giving it too much thought, I made my way towards him. He had a small office and was standing by the door beckoning me.

‘There’s a phone call for you, Jeff. Take it in here,’ he said, and with that he walked back into the main kitchen, shutting the door behind him. I knew this was the moment I’d been dreading. Putting the receiver to my ear, I said hello and heard Dad’s voice on the other end. He was hardly able to speak as he told me that Mum had died peacefully in her sleep only a few hours before. We talked for a minute or two more, and he asked me if I could tell Barry. After I put the phone down, I stood in the chef’s office for a while, trying to gather my thoughts. Even though she’d been so very ill, I couldn’t take it in.

I stumbled out of the office and told Chef what had happened, and then set off to find my brother. While my body went through the motions of walking, my mind was in a whirl as I tried to understand what was going on. Mum was gone! My best friend in all the world, the one person who really understood me and had been there for me every day. What would life be like without her? It was almost too much to bear.

Barry had been working a different shift and I found him asleep in our chalet. Waking him up, I broke the news. ‘It’s Mum,’ I managed to say, ‘she’s gone!’, before I broke down and cried. Sitting side by side on his bed, we didn’t speak. We took comfort from each other’s presence and shed our tears together.

I don’t remember much about the days leading up to the funeral; we must have travelled home together but I can’t remember much else, let alone anything in particular about the funeral service itself. I do recall being back at the house afterwards, watching everyone and everything around me, as if I was not a part of it at all. The whole family was there, lots of aunts and uncles who I hadn’t seen for a long time, and quite a few old friends and neighbours.

I clearly recall hearing Roy telling one of my cousins how Mum had arranged her whole funeral. ‘She was a truly remarkable woman,’ he was saying. ‘As soon as she knew what was happening, she organized the whole thing: the hymns with the vicar, the flowers for the church and the arrangements with the crematorium. She even asked Mrs O’Toole next door to take care of the sandwiches and refreshments for the wake.’ I was amazed. Even in the last days of her life, Mum was thinking of her family and what she could do to make her death as painless as possible for the rest of us left behind.

I could see Dad in the garden talking to his brothers and sisters, while Barry stood quietly to one side. Thinking of my promise to Mum, I went in search of June to make sure that she was OK. I found her sitting on a chair in the front room looking truly like a little girl lost, totally on her own, although she was surrounded by lots of people. As I stood there, I could hear some of my maternal aunts talking with Lesley and Sheila and realized they were trying to decide what to do with June – discussing matters such as where she would live. It seemed they felt that if she didn’t go to Lesley or Sheila’s, she would have to move in with one of them. In their opinion, Dad would never be able to care for my sister.

Walking over to June, I took her hand and asked her to come with me. Just before we left the room, I turned and asked for silence. ‘Just so that there is no misunderstanding,’ I declared, ‘June is staying here. That’s what Mum wanted, and that’s what I promised her would happen. She is not leaving this house.’ June and I then went for a very long walk and talked about Mum, finding warmth and comfort in our shared memories.

When we eventually returned, nearly everyone had gone, except Barry, Dad, Lesley and Sheila. One of them, I can’t recall who, then said to me, ‘You were always Mum’s favourite. Did you know that?’ There wasn’t any jealousy or resentment in it, it was said as a compliment. I simply responded by saying, ‘Who fancies a cup of tea?’

Mum was right: Dad did stop drinking from that day on, and he looked after June very well, becoming a proper father to her. Barry and I decided to leave Clacton and come back home. And between me, him and Dad, we shared the duties of looking after June, while Barry and I set up back in the aerials business together. Dad took over Mum’s role in his own male way, and with three men in the house, June got a great deal of affection and attention. We all wanted to protect her and make sure that she was as happy as possible.

In 1975, Barry moved out, setting up home with his girlfriend Linda, and in September of that year they had a lovely son, Danny. We carried on working together, but I was beginning to feel restless, and a bit lonely, if the truth was to be known. I needed to go away on an adventure, and having lost my travelling companion, decided to do it alone.

Looking for inspiration, I found myself going into a travel agent’s, and less than an hour later I emerged clutching tickets to Benidorm, flying out in the first week in April. I thought if I went so early in season, I’d have no problems finding a job.

Several weeks before I was due to depart, I bumped into my old friend Kenny Walker. I hadn’t seen him since I left school, and got chatting. His sister Elaine and her best friend wanted to go and find work in Europe, but Kenny wasn’t too keen on the idea and asked me to talk to them about it and tell them what it was really like.

Shortly before I left, I met up with them. I told them about all the adventures I’d had but also explained that it was far more difficult for young girls travelling and working abroad. But, despite Kenny’s best intentions, they were not deterred, and asked me to give them a ring if I thought there was work there for them.

Two days later, I was taking off for Spain.

15. Solo in Spain

It was the first time I’d travelled by plane, and the first time I’d travelled alone, so I was a bit apprehensive, to say the least. Also, I’d never been particularly comfortable in my own company, so I wasn’t sure how things were going to turn out.

Benidorm was bigger than Lloret del Mar, but similar in many ways. The coastline seemed to stretch for miles and, looking out to sea, I was reminded of all the times Barry and I had swum together, some four years earlier now. But being on my own just didn’t feel right. I felt that everyone was staring at me – old Billy-No-Mates all alone! – and I found myself quickening my pace as if I was on my way to meet someone. How stupid was that?

I went to a few bars to ask if they had any work going, but it was too early in the season. Of course, I had to have a drink in each one, and so I found myself, a bit the worse for wear, nursing a drink in one bar, well past midnight, while the barman cleared away. There was only one other person still in the bar, a Scandinavian-looking man with long, almost white, blond hair.

I ordered one last drink and suggested the barman have one himself, and give one to the other guy. The blond guy raised his San Miguel in acknowledgement, and a short while later bought me one in return. I raised my glass in thanks, but by now, the beer was beginning to lose its appeal, so getting unsteadily to my feet, I decided to see if I could find my way back to my hotel.

I stopped to thank the man at the bar for the drink, not really in the mood for conversation, and especially not in a foreign language, but he caught me off guard by replying in a strong Yorkshire accent. It turned out he’d been born in Lancashire and was now working for a company building villas nearby, so we had a couple more beers and ended up chatting. The bar finally closed and I somehow managed to find my way back to the hotel, before falling into a deep sleep.

What seemed like only minutes later, a loud banging and shouting outside my door jolted me awake. A man was shouting in broken English, telling me it was a wake-up call. My head pounding from lack of sleep and excess of beer, I wondered what was going on. Was I dreaming, or had that stranger last night offered me a job?

Trying to work it out made my head hurt. I could hardly remember a thing from the previous night, but after I had taken a cold shower, half of me had a hazy memory that I’d agreed to be picked up at 7.30 that morning. The other half still didn’t know what day it was.

I stood outside the hotel entrance in the early-morning sunshine, not at all sure what I was doing there. Dressed in a pair of tight white shorts and matching vest, with white sports socks and plimsolls, I must have looked as if I had just stepped off a tennis court.

As I sobered up, it was easy to convince myself it had all been a dream. But near to giving up and returning to the comfort of my bed, I heard a car horn behind me. Turning around, I saw a battered old truck parked down by the road. As the driver’s window lowered, I saw a familiar head of white-blond hair. It was the guy from last night. ‘Hey, Scouser, get in!’ he called out.

There were six men in the back. A hand reached down towards me, and I heard a loud Cockney voice say, ‘Come on, Scouser. Grab a hold.’ Taking his advice, I found myself squatting on the dirt of the flat-bed truck surrounded by a lot of different British accents as everyone introduced themselves. The Scandinavian-looking guy was nicknamed Rubio, the Spanish for ‘blond’.

I felt a right idiot with my lily-white skin and matching ‘tennis’ outfit. Who in their right mind would dress like that to go to work on a building site? They all looked the part, with their brown muscles and tattooed arms. God alone knows what they thought of me!

After forty minutes of being thrown around in the back of the truck and getting to know the motley crew, we arrived on site, somewhere up in the mountains. There was only one villa completed; several others were half built. As I scanned the scene in front of me, trying to take it all in, I heard Rubio calling out, ‘Right, come on, Scouser, follow me!’ Walking behind him to a large mixer, he asked me if I had ever mixed concrete before. This was not the time nor the place for bluff. ‘Not to worry,’ he reassured me. ‘I’ll show you how.’

I made and tipped concrete all morning, the hot sun burning down on me, then after a three-hour siesta, Rubio handed me a pickaxe and told me to get to work with a couple of the other lads digging a trench.

My first day was definitely an endurance test to see what I was made of. And if my aching muscles weren’t proof enough, the blisters on my hands certainly told me how hard I had worked. It was way after seven by the time I was dropped outside the hotel. My body ached all over as I climbed out of the truck, and I was starving. Rubio pushed a bundle of pesetas into my hand. ‘Well done, Scouser,’ he said. ‘Same again tomorrow?’

Entering the hotel, I had just one thing on my mind – food – so, afraid the restaurant would soon be closing, I decided to get my dinner straight away. There was a long buffet set up, so I joined the queue, holding my tray, and made my way along, piling it high with bread rolls and ham to make sandwiches for the following day, as well as lots of fresh hot food to enjoy there and then.

Sitting down, and oblivious to everything around me, I got stuck in. But after a few mouthfuls I noticed the restaurant was almost silent; there was no chatter of voices or clatter of knives and forks. Pausing, a forkful of food on the way to my mouth, I looked around and realized that every eye was on me.

Suddenly it struck me that the hand holding my fork was a thick grey white, as were my arms and my top. In fact, apart from two circles around my eyes, the whole of my body was covered in cement dust. I was a living statue! Too tired to care, I threw a smile in the general direction of my fellow diners, and continued eating. Within minutes, the noise in the restaurant had returned to normal, the evening’s entertainment over and done with.

I sold my return ticket to stay working on the site for a while, and found a flat with one of the other builders, Cockney Steve. Barry, Dad and June thought I was mad to stay out there – there was plenty of work in England, after all – but it was something different, and I was having great fun. I got in touch with Elaine to tell her that there were hardly any jobs going, but she and her friend Gina had already booked a two-week holiday and were coming out at the end of April.

I’d agreed to meet up with them on their first night, so Steve and I took them on a tour of Benidorm, showing them where all the best bars and clubs were and introducing them to our English and Spanish friends. Both girls were very pretty, and I found myself protecting them from all the young handsome Spaniards. I hadn’t planned on playing the big-brother role, but nor did I want them to get hurt by some hot-blooded local only interested in a one-night stand.

Towards the end of their holiday it became clear that they didn’t want to go back to England. They wanted to find work and stay, living off their savings until they found a job. But finding an affordable apartment proved almost impossible, so Steve and I decided that we would share one of the bedrooms at our place and offer the other to the girls. It made good sense splitting the rent four ways, and the girls agreed and promptly moved in.

My interest in Gina started to grow. There was something special about her that set her apart from the rest of the girls in Benidorm. If anything, she was the exact opposite of everyone else: while the other girls wore the shortest skirts possible, hers were down to her knees; while their necklines plunged to their navel, her collars were done to the top – she had a Mary Poppins way about her. I found myself thinking about her more and more.

It all came to a head one evening. We were out at one of our favourite bars when I realized that she was being chatted up by a Spanish guy. It irritated me, and I desperately wanted her to know how I felt about her. Taking a deep breath, I made my way over and gently took her to one side. My heart was in my mouth and I just blurted it all out. ‘As from tonight, I am not chaperoning you and Elaine any more,’ I stated. ‘You can see whoever you want!’

She just stood in front of me, a confused look on her lovely face. ‘This isn’t going well,’ I thought, ‘this really is not the way to tell a girl how you feel.’ But I couldn’t stop. ‘I want you to know that I fancy you myself!’ As I stood there waiting for a laugh of rejection, all I could think was that that was one of the worst chat-up lines ever! What an idiot!