Title/Author: The Survivor's Guide to the Ringer by Rowland McKenzie
Category:
Format: Paperback

Warning! This book is aimed at the adult market and contains explicit content. Please do not read it if you are under 18 years of age, or likely to be offended.

Author Profile

Rowland McKenzie spends much of his time working in countries where terrorist activities are a constant risk so he prefers anonymity.

When he is at home he lives a hermit-like existence in a very remote part of the United Kingdom where his pursuits involve large tracts of open land and a menagerie of animals.

Book Price: £9.99 plus £2.00 p&p

Synopsis

James Hastings was just like any other young man starting his adult life; decent job, fanatical interest in rugby, plenty of good pals, lots of booze and a keen eye for the girls - many and often. Then he met Anne and his life started changing. A strong relationship developed. It could even have been a lasting relationship but for the other players who came as part of the deal - Anne's parents, Dora and Bert.

Their influence on Anne never diminished. They ran her life as though she was still living at home and they continually interfered; an act that eventually broke up the relationship because neither James nor Anne were the free agents they wanted to be. When the end came, they each went their separate ways with a newly-developed black side that would obviously have a detrimental effect on later relationships.

And it did.

James returned to his carefree ways and many different women played a part in his life until he met Kate. But the Kate package also included another set of parents who were just as determined to ensure their daughter remained under their control. Although James and Kate tried to break free, they never managed it completely and the relationship eventually floundered.

In both cases, James felt his life had become a card game played against other contestants who were determined never to lose in the battle of wills. And his black side worsened.

When he met Naomi, whose life had always been dominated by her parents, he found she also had a black side. For both, it was a case of should they risk playing the game again?

Taster ...

Chapter 1 - A day in the life

It was early 1958 and they were again moving south. Their first move had taken them from the north of England to Glasgow, now they were heading for Cheshire and the new house they had chosen to be their first real home.

Jim and Edith Hastings, an ordinary family destined to live long and relatively happy lives, were at the start of what would turn out to be their last move.

*

At the tender age of four months, young Jim – James, as Edith would rather have him known – had no idea what the future held in store for him.

Nor for that matter did his parents.

There were no plans then for the two other children they were to be blessed with and none of them knew anything about the girl living in Kenya, or the girl who was shortly to arrive on this earth and move to Australia, or the third girl who was due to be born in the north east of England.

Yet all of them were to have a profound effect on the life and destiny of young James.

Chapter 2 - The long and winding road

They travelled south by train as a motor vehicle was not yet within their financial grasp. Jim was sure his promotion to the newly-opened north west branch would bring along a gleaming mechanical status symbol in the very near future and had mentioned this bonus point very confidently on at least one occasion. But Edith, a total realist, never counted chickens before they hatched – a habit she would outwardly maintain for the rest of her days while continually struggling to suppress the hopes and desires that bubbled under the surface of her calm exterior.

Occasionally her craving for more material things did break through and the massive Silver Cross pram in the guard’s van was a testimony to that fact. She was an expert manipulator and, when she made up her mind about something, she usually got her own way.

Her demands were always reasonable and she knew she only had to overcome Jim’s stubborn reluctance to part with their money. She was never quite certain if he recognised her strategy but she suspected he did and was just playing the game. Somehow this seemed to even the odds and left Edith feeling more comfortable with the situation.

The pram had been something she wanted so much for their son, even though it was horrendously expensive and, as Jim jokingly reminded her on numerous occasions, it took up most of the floor space in the little two-up, two-down place they had rented in Glasgow at the start of their married life. Each time he brought it up, Edith smiled to herself for she knew it was part of the equation that decided the eventual size and layout of their new house.

*

“Preston. Change at Preston for Liverpool, Chester and North Wales,” the guard shouted as the train slowed down in readiness for the short stopover at Preston. There Jim and Edith had precisely twenty minutes to get themselves, baby and pram off the locomotive, across seemingly endless platforms, bridges and underpasses – none of which had been designed or constructed in consultation with Silver Cross – to make the connection for Liverpool Lime Street where the entire performance was to be repeated for the onward journey to Birkenfield. Their only consolation was the knowledge that this was to be the third and last time this journey would be necessary.

“I, for one will be glad when this is all over,” Edith said in a jovial manner, seeing that Jim was becoming increasingly frustrated with Preston station’s crowded travellers, most of whom seemed to have no real sense of urgency to make their respective connections. Her suspicions were further confirmed by the reply.

“Too bloody right, that makes both of us, and your goddam pram …” Jim cut off his tirade before he dug himself in too deep, but not before he caught Edith’s classic look of disapproval, to which he responded with a sheepish grin and a shrug of the shoulders. “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean it. Especially the bit about your pram.”

“Our pram,” Edith quipped.

“Okay, okay. I said sorry, didn’t I?”

They both laughed and, in doing so, injected a little humour into the situation.

Then young James woke up and started to cry.

“He’s hungry and he needs a change,” Edith said.

This time Jim merely grunted his agreement and steered toward platform fourteen, secretly hoping the changing facilities would turn up at the same spot. His luck was in; they were right next to the tunnel which led onto the platform. Jim pointed to the changing room and smiled his recognisable I was listening to you all the time smile. Edith returned a sceptical forced for effect grin and headed for the entrance.

“You’ve got eight minutes,” he warned.

“Yes sir,” she responded.

*

They boarded the 16:15 to Liverpool, stored the pram in the guard’s van, and settled down in the first available carriage. The journey was uneventful, the carriage was empty and, thankfully, so was Lime Street station. So quiet, in fact, that the connection that had been so traumatic at Preston now appeared to be quite easy.

“Becoming just too good at this lark,” Jim chortled aloud,

“Just don’t speak too soon, Jim,” Edith said in her usual matter of fact fashion.

They boarded the Birkenfield train in tired silence. It too was strangely devoid of passengers and the travelling conditions were almost relaxing. But the peace was shattered at the next stop – the train filled with early rush hour departees from the city centre.

Young James was relieved of the double seat he had so far had to himself and was relegated to the parcel shelf overhead. Under normal circumstances Edith would have complained, but she decided against it when Jim interrupted…

“Well, the lad’s sound asleep and I don’t hear him complaining. Why should he? It’s probably the best seat in the house.”

Edith conceded in silence; unspoken registration of her dissent. She managed only an embarrassed smile in response to the quizzical looks from fellow travellers who were packed like sardines into the carriage.

The train trundled into Birkenfield for the final transfer to the first train heading for West Kirton. From there it was a bus ride to their new home.

They already possessed two sets of shiny new keys and they had memories of previous visits excusedly made in the name of Jim’s work but inspired by Edith’s desire to see how the house was coming along. This time it was for real.

When they were almost home the relief gave way to the good-natured, though sarcastic, banter that was Jim’s hallmark. “I do hope they finished putting the glass in the window frames, dear,” he said. “The last I heard from the builder he wasn’t so sure they’d make it in time.” Jim was a master of the straight faced lie.

Edith knew it well and could always give as good as she took. “I hope so too, love,” she fired back, “otherwise it will be bloody cold for you all on your own in a house with no windows. But not to worry, James and I will think about you when we’re nice and warm in the hotel.

“Hotel? What hotel? There isn’t one for miles.” Jim replied smugly.

“Well if that’s right, we’ll be at my mother’s house” Edith smiled, knowing the reaction that statement would elicit from Jim.

“Chrissakes! Even if they forgot the roof it would still be preferable to your mother’s place,” Jim duly scowled ... just as Edith anticipated.

She hit back immediately. “But nowhere is as bad as your mother’s place.”

Edith knew he did not like her mother. Her father, yes, but not her mother. They hated each other intensely.

Jim was usually able to contain his dislike of Fay but it surfaced occasionally in the guise of mother-in-law jokes with a serious undertone.

Fay, on the other hand, had a wicked streak and never missed an opportunity to snipe at Jim. But more recently, her words had been aimed at both of them.

Fay didn’t properly understand their natural desire to better themselves, to own their home, to raise their family with high standards and security, to align themselves with a big company where Jim had prospects and where, God willing, things could only get better. This sort of attitude went against Fay’s grain.

Allen, her husband, Edith’s father, was a happy-go-lucky guy who wished everyone well – and probably meant it. But his life was governed by whims, the next contract and the pub, thus depriving Fay of the qualities of married life that were being grasped so positively by Jim and Edith. This hurt Fay and her way of dealing with anything that was beyond her comprehension was to ridicule and criticise at every opportunity.

There were times when Edith was not even certain if she actually liked her own mother. A terrible thought and one that had to be put into context given her religious beliefs. It was not the done thing to dislike one’s parents, however difficult they might be.

Jim took up where Edith had left off. “At least having no roof would make damned sure your mother’s Ravens couldn’t land and keep an eye on me.” He laughed at his own joke.

Edith added the customary tut. “Jim, you shouldn’t.”

Fay and Allen lived about thirty-five miles away and, for Jim, that was too close for comfort. For all his flippant exterior, he loved Edith and was determined that no-one would interfere with their lives, no matter how much they tried – least of all cantankerous in-laws. He and Edith, and young James, were a family unit in their own right and, as such, should be left to make their own decisions and live their own lives. That was the way it was supposed to be … wasn’t it? Of course it was, he assured himself.

*

Their pram had apparently developed a notoriety of its own within J & D Myers, Jim’s company. When they cleared the station at West Kirton, complete with pram and suitcases, they were met by one of the office juniors Jim had hired on his last visit.

“Good evening, Mr Hastings, Mrs Hastings,” the youth said. “This must be young James, and er … that must be the pram. Ah, yes, the pram. Good job I brought the big van, eh?”

Despite their initial confusion, Jim and Edith were actually quite pleased to see young what’s-his-name.

“I’m George. You do remember me, don’t you, Mr. Hastings?”

Jim tried to disguise his embarrassment. “Yes of course I do, George.” In truth, he could not remember George at all but it really did not matter. George looked like a friendly face and he had a big van that would get them to their new home. Things were improving all the time.
The drive took no more than fifteen minutes but it was the longest part of the journey for Edith. She was excited about the prospect of being in her own home, with her own family, and every second seemed like an eternity.

At last the Myers van pulled into the drive of number 29 Kirton Road and everyone got out.

Edith immediately turned to George. “Would you like a cup of tea or coffee before you go? I bet you haven’t even been home from work yet.”

“Not for me thanks,” George replied. “I have to be out sharpish tonight but thanks anyway. I’ll just get your gear out of the back.”

George made his excuses, unpacked the van and left, hooting loudly on the horn and waving frantically as he drove off.

“That should be enough to disturb the neighbours,” Edith said. “Always assuming there are some neighbours,” she added, laughing. But at this point she did not care if there were neighbours or not.

Jim and Edith stood silently on the drive staring proudly at the house. James junior decided to break the silence.

“Don’t tell me,” Jim muttered. “He’s hungry and needs changing.”

Jim deftly avoided the mock slap Edith aimed at his head and continued, “Come on. Let’s get the pair of you inside before we freeze to death.” He glanced sternly at Edith. “And don’t even think about me carrying you over the threshold. I haven’t got the strength.”

This time Jim was not so quick. The light slap caught him on the back of the head as he headed up the drive fumbling in his pocket for the keys.

“Well, this is it. Our own place at last. Doesn’t it make you feel good?” Jim mused, as they wandered round the house.

“It’s exactly as I remember it,” Edith added. Then she headed for the bathroom. “I’d better tend to James before this nappy gets the better of us all.”

Jim wandered into the dining room. On top of one of the few tea chests that contained their meagre belongings was a bunch of flowers with a card addressed to both of them. It was from the staff at head office in Glasgow – the place they seemed to have left behind so long ago.

Jim’s thoughts drifted. Myers wasn’t such a bad firm. He had a good job, long-term security, and a company mortgage arranged by company lawyers who handled everything.

What more could anyone ask?

*

Edith eventually returned from the bathroom with a clean and well-fed James. Clearly impressed with his new home, he was fast asleep and was completely oblivious to the excitement around him. Edith bedded him down in the pram and she and Jim sat on wooden crates drinking tea, staring at their slumbering child.

“I wonder what he makes of all this,” Edith said.

“No idea, but he could be in the same position in years to come if he gets into Myers … if he wants to get into Myers, that is.”

They finished their drinks and headed up the stairs. The bed stood alone in the front bedroom – the one item of new furniture they had insisted should be delivered in time for their arrival.

Edith snuggled under the covers and said, “It’s going to be a happy house … a happy home. I know. I can feel it already.”

Her words fell on deaf ears. Jim’s eyes were already closed but his mind was moving into overdrive, working out all the tasks and chores that had to be tackled; carpentry, garden, painting – jobs that were a pleasure at the outset of one of life’s great adventures but transformed into drudgery with the fullness of time. Still, they had to be done.

Edith, now asleep, dreamed of a nursery, of more children, and carpets – yes, she would definitely have carpets. Everywhere.

Copyright © 2004 Rowland McKenzie