Rhinoceros 27
Ryon stared straight ahead while Alan drove the streets aimlessly. Night had suddenly, it seemed to Alan, taken over the city, made it both dark and yet gleaming and effervescent. He watched Ryon out of the corner of his eye. There were no signs of his intentions, the face was as impassive as ever. Alan felt that deep cut of betrayal still. He wanted to say as much, to draw a clear line under everything, but he kept quiet. He might learn something first.
They drove up though Bents Green and out of the city on Ringinglow Road. At the old toll house Alan considered briefly which way to head, and chose right, towards the Rotary Club viewpoint over the city.
Ryon remained quiet, and Alan pulled up by a dry stone wall and sat still for a while. An orange glow in the far distant denoted the smog of the city illuminated by thousands of sodium lamps, and beyond that, strung across the horizon, slabs of stubby cloud seemed to prise the sky away from the earth, denoting the coal fired power stations along The Trent. Ryon would have trundled right past one of these on his train back to Sheffield.
“I got your letter,” Alan finally said. “So it was Cleethorpes, then? Not Skegness.”
Ryon said nothing, but breathed steadily and caught the lights of the city in his eyes.
“Are you moving back?” Alan tentatively asked. He forgot to look on the ticket to see if it was a single or a return.
Ryon shifted in his seat. “Mind if I smoke?” he asked, already pulling out a cigarette and lighter. Alan opened his window subtly.
Ryon took a drag, breathed out, and continued staring ahead at the glimmering array of patterns made by Sheffield’s lit up streets. Then he finally spoke.
“Got myself all sorted, Mr Scope. Moving on. I never saw myself anywhere but Sheffield for the rest of my life. Me with some bird and kids on the Meadows, another house just like the one I always lived in. But things work out different.”
“Tell me about it,” Alan said, quietly and rhetorically, not wishing to divert the conversation. Alan had wanted to tell Ryon this would be their last meeting, that he had… and then in the machinations of his mind Alan had paused. What is it that he had really wanted to say? Would he ever be able to see into the darkness of the mind, the intentions and motivations of others? Even his own impulses where strange to him sometimes. The souls of others bobbing about the atmosphere in a perpetual nightime, like distant balloons floating over landmarks to give some sense of place. Or perhaps it was just that even extraordinary people could only do a few extraordinary things. Most of life remained ordinary. Life is a combination of millions of efforts of will, all combining and cancelling each other out every minute of every day. And every now and then we try to take a little leap forward, practically and emotionally. When Alan bought his first mobile phone he felt as though he had stepped onto the moon. And then, on his last visit to his father – a singularly undemonstrative man throughout his life – he had been given a big hug, and they had parted with a furry of embarrassed coughs and breezy comments. Things do change if we can learn to seize the moment. And here was Ryon, an uncertain young man, taking a step into the rest of his fragile life.
“I started off dossing, like I said in the letter. Got in with a few lads and we set up a squat on the sea front. Had a few scrapes, fell out with some, stuck with one kid in particular. Reminded me of little Alix, in some ways. So I got some work and then got him in on the act. They’re doing up the arcades and rides along the front, past the pier. Mostly a lick of paint, new chipboard where it’s rotting, signs and stuff. The contractor gave us cash for a day’s work. He was robbing us, and we were working twelve hours every day, but it was cash. We did a good job an’ all. Right along road, from the station to where the prom ends, we did wavy lines along the boards, dark blue along the bottom, then light blue getting thinner and thicker as it went along, then yellow up to the top. Kind of summery. Then the bloke put signs up to get the punters in to his bingo and slot machines. We spent some of the money in there, but I saved quite a bit. And I got signed on. I had to put myself down for something to get benefits – one thing I know is how the system works – so I went for a part time painting and decorating course at college and carried on painting the arcades, dropping in to the college every now and then to nick brushes and masking tape. I got some bloke we met who runs the big wheel and kiddies rides on the beach to sign up for a room in an old house – it’s an attic – and me an’ Alix moved in. Two mattresses, a stove and telly. We use the leisure centre near the boating lake for showers, and we mostly eat chips unless it’s pissing down. It’s not worked out bad.” There was a smugness about Ryon’s story that grew as it went on. Alan pictured the dingy attic, a gable window, never cleaned, looking across the mud flats, cigarette butts on the floorboards. Or maybe he was doing Ryon a disservice, prompted by his dislike, his shared failure.
“So why are you back?” Alan was suspicious, but held on to the seeming finality of this visit.
“It is my home town.”
“I know. But why now?”
Ryon watched the city imperceptibly go about its business beneath the shroud of trees and lights. “Just want to sort out a few last things, square up, get the last of my stuff. Then piss off for good.” Alan couldn’t help a small smile. “Good riddance, eh?” Ryon asked, suddenly turning to Alan.
“I...it's been difficult for me. It feels right that this is where we part. I’ve got my job back, by the way. The Head’s gone, though he’s still there somewhere in the Local Authority. He’s like the undead, he’ll keep coming back to haunt us.” Alan reflected for a moment. “What few last things?”
“Nothing much.” Ryon thought for a moment, as though weighing up whether to say more. “I wanted to see mum one last time. She’s a hopeless case, but there you go. She is me mum. Catch up with a couple of mates. We plan to meet up in the summer on the front, have the best party ever on the beach, a proper blow out. I’d invite you, but…”
“It’s OK. I can’t handle anything more stimulating than a book and the radio on at the same time.” At least Ryon smiled.
“I had a plan, too.” Alan waited. He felt he was being sounded out. Ryon paused, as though wanting his words to be weighed for their dramatic effect. Time slowed, Sheffield, far below, crystallised, went about its business unseen. “I thought I’d get the Mitchelsons back, proper sort them out for once, before I get back on the train.”
Alan glanced at Ryon in confusion. Panic ran through his wracked form first, but then it dissipated, and words came. “You can’t,” Alan said, surprisingly relieved on brief reflection. But he was wary, too, thinking that he was going to be asked a favour.
“Don’t go all moral on me again.”
“No, I mean you can’t sort them out because they’ve been arrested. They’re in the cells as we speak. Helping the police with their – “
“Never! No one told me.”
Alan started to doubt his story. “Well, that’s what the detective told me.” Ryon raised his eyebrows. “Don’t give me that face, Ryon. You’ve got a lot to think on, too. I told my ex-wife what I remembered and said I want to leave it at that, so of course she phoned the police and this detective came round. He wanted me to press charges, said they had enough on the Mitchelsons anyway, but actual bodily harm would be the icing on the cake. But I didn’t want to.”
“So they’re getting done on the stolen goods?”
“Yeah. At least I think so. A bit like Al Capone getting done on his taxes.” Ryon frowned. “Never mind. Oh, they’re after you, too. They must have found that stuff in your house after you’d decided not to be so careful.” Alan could resist that. “They asked me where you were. I could’ve told them after everything that happened – not that I actually knew where you were – but of course I didn’t. I don’t think he believed me, though.”
“And your point is?”
“There is no point. It’s just... I got into something that was way over my head, partly thanks to you, and now I’m trying to extricate myself, hopefully with a modicum of dignity intact. But even if not, I want no further role in your life.”
“Fuck you, then. I didn’t ask you teach me, or get involved like you did. It weren’t me that tried to get you the sack. I never took those films of the head. I didn’t go and show my stupid face round the Mitchelsons asking questions. Shit, man, you’re so thick. I’ve told you before, I’ve learned to survive. I get by. I’m not dependent on anyone else, least of all you. Say what you like to the pigs. You owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing. You’re just pissed off because I’m meant to be your joey, like a good little pupil. Is that it? Like a bird in a cage?”
“Exactly the way it should be, I guess... New beginnings...”
“Fuck’s sake, man, you’ve been watching too many shitty films. Happy fucking endings, stand by me, as if life is a fucking movie. Happy endings? Living in a dump in Cleethorpes with forty quid in me pocket is about as happy as it’ll get. An’ that’s fine by me. So if you want loyalty, or friendship, or some weirdo code of honour, you can fuck off.” And he suddenly opened the car door and swung himself out. He stood on the verge looking over the wall towards Sheffield, puffing on his cigarette. Somewhere down there the Mitchelsons were swearing at police officers, Doreen was stubbing out a cigarette in a saucer, Jen was probably out socialising, perhaps chatting to someone, a generous man in a pub in the town centre… Alan turned back to his situation, sat in a car watching a big lump of a teenager work off his anger by chain smoking. He was about to get out to join him when Ryon swung round and got back in the car. The springs creaked and groaned. He slammed the door shut. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Just back.” Ryon opened his window and flicked his cigarette out. Then he sat squarely and with a seething rancour that Alan could physically feel and waited for him to fumble with the controls and carry out a clumsy three point turn.
Alan drove too fast down the hill. It didn’t matter that it had gone wrong. In fact that was good. He just wanted rid of Ryon. They headed into the town centre. Alan guessed he was going to Ryon’s house. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought, but he pressed on. Get it over with. He was suddenly very tired. They drove up through Pitsmoor, past the Northern General, and up the final hill to Lane Top. Nothing was said by either of them.
Finally they arrived at Ryon’s street and Alan slowed down. Ryon waited until Alan had pulled up to the kerb, then he turned to him. Alan worked hard on not flinching. Anything could happen these days, he thought. “You know when you passed out, when you thought I was gonna do you with the knife? Well, the Mitchelsons left sharpish. They gave me a shove across the room, but it was nothing. Mum had disappeared. I told you in the letter that she’d helped you out. So’s you would go round and check up on her. But she didn’t. Too scared, I guess. It was me. I picked you up in my arms, like a little baby, and carried you to a house I know. Even though you did stink. And I put you to bed and tucked you in, made sure you were safe. There’s something you’d’ve never done for me. You’d’ve fucked off like a kicked dog.” And with that he got out and sauntered to his house, stepping over the old motorbike and slamming the front door shut behind him.
Alan stared at the house for a few minutes, as though ensuring it was accurately consigned to memory. He was about to put the car into gear when he noticed something on the passenger seat, a screwed up carrier bag. He thought little of it and set off so quickly the tyres squealed on the pitted asphalt. This is definitely the last time, he muttered under his breath.
