Mechanical Breakdown

‘It could have happened at any time!’ Dennis Rowbottom shouted across the room, his pale eyes looking everywhere but at his accusers.

          Michael put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. His brother’s burn-scarred face was impassive, though his eyes fairly glittered with hatred. Michael looked back to where the barman had put down the glass he was drying, and leaned his elbows on the bar.

          ‘You mean to tell me, Dennis, that a brand new steering column broke less than a fortnight after it was put on?’ the barman stood up again, shaking his head.

          ‘There- there must have been a fault!’

          ‘Fault my arse’ said old Eddie, from his dark corner.

          Michael sighed. This was supposed to be a birthday party for Joe’s fiftieth, a fun night. Until Dennis had turned up.

          ‘It was nothing to do with me. I just fitted it, that’s all. Oh to hell with it!’

          Dennis marched out, narrow shoulders slumped, muttering under his breath.     Michael tightened his fingers on his brother’s shoulder. He stood awkwardly now, did Joe, with one leg missing.

          ‘You all right, Joe?’ the bar man came over, glancing at Michael.

          ‘Bastard’ Joe’s fists clenched, and Michael sighed.

          ‘He’ll get his come-uppance, Joe, don’t you worry.’

          Six months later, and Michael staggered slightly as Joe leaned heavily on him as they left the court room. Joe’s face glistened with sweat as he struggled with his new prosthesis, and Michael couldn’t remember when he had felt more depressed.

          ‘Let me help, Joe’ Michael’s wife offered. ‘Lean on me too’

          ‘I’m all right, Susie’ 

          Behind them, Michael listened to Eddie and Al, Joe’s old cronies, discussing the event in their own inimitable fashion.

          ‘That were a bloody disgrace’ Al was trying to whisper.

          ‘Rowbottom must have paid a pretty penny for that lawyer. Who’d have thought he’d get away with it?’

          ‘Nowt could be proved’ Eddie said, ‘but we don’t need proof, do we?’

          Michael almost fell as Joe whirled round.

          ‘That’s right, Eddie. I know the truth, and what’s more, I’m going to beat it out of the bastard!’

          Michael grabbed Joe’s arm. ‘Cut it out Joe. You’re making things worse’

          ‘Worse? How could they be worse. Look at me!’

          Michael looked away from his brother’s anguished eyes. In truth, he had long thought of paying a trip to Malcolm Rowbottom’s garage himself, just to set the record straight. The memory of his own car breaking down a few days after it had been serviced was a constant niggle in the back of his mind. He was not alone either, by the look of it. Rowbottom had found business strangely quiet of late.

          ‘At least his business is failing’ Michael tried to be reasonable. ‘No one else will suffer like you have’

          ‘Bloody place wants torching’ Al said shortly.

          Michael shook his head. Joe’s blood was up, and he was going to have a job calming him down.

          ‘If he would just come and say he was sorry’ Susie added helplessly. ‘I mean today he just sat there, staring, as if he was the injured party’

          ‘Won’t admit it, will he?’ Eddie said. ‘Can’t admit it. He’s been doing it for years, you know; saying he’s put new parts on when he’s just cleaned up the old ones. Tight as a gnat’s arse, he is.’

          Joe was shaking by the time they reached the car. Michael drove them home in silence.

          Susie left Michael at Joe’s house and went to pick up their son from school.

          ‘Joe, is there anything you need?’ he asked.

          Joe shook his head. ‘I can manage’

          Michael sighed. ‘You’re not going to do anything daft, are you, like trying to get round to Rowbottom’s place’

          ‘What, like this?’

          Joe pulled off the metal leg and threw it onto the carpet where it lay accusingly between them. Michael slowly bent and picked it up. Joe had lowered himself into his armchair now, his face turned away. Michael went to the kitchen and made tea, brought it through and poured a shot of whisky into each mug.

          ‘Here’

          ‘Ta’

          Michael sat down in the cold room. ‘It was a poor decision today, Joe, I know’

          Joe sipped his tea, then glanced up at his brother. His eyes were sad.

          ‘Don’t let them idiots go over there and get themselves in trouble’ he said.

          Michael smiled, relieved. ‘Don’t worry. They’re more fond of talking about it than doing it.’

          ‘He still goes in the pub, you know’ Joe said darkly.

          ‘What, Rowbottom?’

          ‘Yep. Stands in the same corner, face on him like a wet weekend. He knows they all hate him. I reckon he’s some kind of masochist’

          Michael laughed at the mental image that conjured up.

          ‘Allus says the same thing’ Joe shook his head, ‘’Could have happened at any time’’

          Michael drank, enjoying the hot trail of the whisky into his stomach.

          ‘There’s nowt I can do’ Joe said, his voice almost a whisper. Michael frowned.

          Joe looked at him hard. ‘Not in this life. But by gaw-‘ he leaned forward,

          ‘I’ll be waiting for him in the next!’

          Michael nodded. ‘I reckon there’ll be a queue’ he said.

          They smiled at each other, drinking their whisky tea.

          ‘You best be off’ Joe said eventually, reaching for his false leg to strap it on again. ‘Your missus’ll be after you. Anyway, I’ve got the potatoes to get in’

          Michael watched him hobble out to his garden, grimacing in pain as he bent over the dark soil.

          By the time summer came, Joe was dead.

          Michael felt the loss keenly. Joe was his only brother, and the ten years between their ages meant that Joe had always protected him, like a surrogate dad.     He stood in the church and thought about the past; remembering when his own son Adam was born, the look of amazement on Joe’s face as he gingerly held the tiny being, then later, as he grew up, Joe quietly teaching him to make fishing flies, and taking him out on the reservoir to catch trout. Adam was nine now, and was leaning his head into his mum’s side to hide his face. 

          The pub that afternoon was subdued, but as Michael arrived, he heard a strange ruckus;

          ‘That bastard’

          ‘How dare he!’

          ‘Ignorant little shit’

          ‘Absolutely no respect’

          He walked into the bar to see that, even today of all days, Dennis Rowbottom had crept into his usual corner, where he stood holding his pint glass as if it were a shield. For a moment their eyes met, and Michael thought he was going to say something, perhaps offer condolences, and he had no idea how he would react. Rowbottom looked away quickly, however, and Michael only then realised his heart was pounding. He ordered a whisky, while behind him Eddie put his hand on his arm.

          ‘Michael, Joe was one of the best’ he said, his eyes wet with tears.

          ‘Aye’ Al added, insisting on paying for Michael’s drink. ‘He’d do owt for anyone, he would, he were that big hearted’

          ‘Weak hearted, so it appeared’ Susie said, slipping her hand into Michaels’

          Eddie’s face fell. ‘Bollocks!’ he said. ‘He were fine till this past year. We all know what killed him’, and he looked straight into the corner. Rowbottom winced as if he’d been struck, and slowly sidled away. Michael looked down.

          ‘Joe’s dead’ he said softly. ‘Let’s not have any more of that, eh Eddie?’

          Eddie looked away, embarrassed. ‘Sorry Mike. You’re quite right’

          ‘Go on and help yourself to the buffet’ Susie said, ‘You know Joe would have wanted everyone to have a good crack.’ She put her arm round Adam, and   Michael bent down.

          ‘You okay, Ad?’

          The boy nodded. ‘Who was that man, in the corner. Was that the man that caused uncle Joe’s accident?’

          Michael sighed. There was no getting away from it, was there.

          As the party wound to a close, Michael sat alone in the snug and looked sadly at the cheap plastic urn containing his brother’s ashes. Joe had never talked about dying, and Michael had no idea what he would like done with them. He had always been a great fisherman, so perhaps he should take them to the reservoir, scatter them on the water. Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly caught sight of Dennis Rowbottom. He was peering round the door like a frightened animal, and when he saw someone there, he stole away quickly.

          Michael glanced across at the remains of the buffet. Too much food had been prepared, and the leftover sandwiches were now curling up at the edges. Of course, Dennis, the cheapskate that he was, would love to nip in here and help himself to what was left. Since his business had failed, he was probably struggling for cash. It would save him having to make himself a meal tonight.

          The bastard, he thought. How low can you get; stealing food at my brother’s wake!

          He remembered that conversation he had with Joe, the day of the court case.   ‘I’ll be waiting for him in the next life’, Joe had said, and suddenly an idea came to him, an idea so perfect, so fitting, that it made him laugh aloud. He stood up and grasped the urn, opening it and looking down into the darkness.  Then he glanced around to check no one was watching, and headed for the table.

          The quiche acquired what appeared to be a sprinkling of black pepper. The mustard on the beef sandwiches was now presumably wholegrain, but the rest of the dark dust melted invisibly into the chocolate icing of the Black Forest gateau.     Michael surveyed his work with a growing sense of satisfaction. Joe would have been delighted.

          Back at the bar, Michael wasted little time in telling Eddie and Al and all the others about what he had done. At first they gazed at him in horror, then slowly, they began to grin.

          ‘Joe always said he’d get his revenge beyond the grave’ Michael said.

          Al threw back his head and laughed. ‘Joe must be sitting up there laughing his socks off!’

          Eddie wiped his eyes. ‘Let’s go and see if the old sod’s helping himself’

          They made their way quietly to the door of the snug, looking in to see that, true enough, Dennis was methodically stuffing food into his raincoat. Eddie couldn’t suppress a cackle, and Dennis looked up, his face growing scarlet with embarrassment. Michael watched the confusion cross his face; why were they all laughing? He pulled his coat shut and ran out of the pub, the laughter following him. Michael liked to think Joe was laughing too.

          Dennis sat alone in his kitchen, tucking into the remains of the buffet spread out on the table. He felt a momentary pang of guilt, but it soon passed.

          He really should have changed that steering column when he said he had, but the old one looked perfectly all right. Anyway. Everyone knew they could go at any time. He had felt sorry when Joseph had been burned and lost his leg in the crash, but Joe had been so bitter and angry that Dennis had felt quite justified in not showing any regret.

          Anyway, he’d never really liked Joe.

          He grinned to himself as he stuffed down the last of the gateau, looking up to the ceiling.

          ‘Cheers, Joseph. Nice buffet!’

          The excruciating pain made him double over, gasping, the last remnants of cake spilling from his slack lips. Through the agony he stared at the crumbs on the table. The food had tasted fine, but now his guts were on fire. It felt as if someone were inside his stomach, kicking and biting at the walls, twisting and pinching them between spiteful claws. He retched, but despite having eaten every last scrap of food, nothing came up, and the terrible pain continued to gnaw at him.

          Long into the night, Dennis writhed in agony as his stomach tried to punch itself out of his body. Each time he tried to reach the phone he felt as if a knife was slowly, slowly sawing his intestines into strips. In abject terror his bowels let go, but instead of giving him some relief, the pain spread through his body, knotting his organs together until he was screaming, tears running from his bulging eyes.

          Hours later, his neighbours returned from a late night out and heard the screams, but by the time the doctor arrived, Dennis was lifeless on his kitchen floor, a strange expression in his frightened eyes, a look almost of recognition.

          Michael did not attend the funeral of Dennis Rowbottom; he didn’t think he’d be able to show any respect. He did go to the pub afterwards though, where the atmosphere was fairly jolly. There was quite a bit of laughter and ribald comment, and not a single mention of the deceased. Michael was clearly the only one showing any concern, but if the locals thought it was concern for Dennis, they were mistaken. He cornered Peter Allgrove, who worked at the crematorium.

          ‘Michael,’ Peter said pleasantly. ‘How’re you doing?

          ‘Peter, when someone is cremated –‘

          ‘Yes?’

          ‘Er, well. What actually happ- I mean, what is it in the urn? Is it just the remains, or-‘

          Peter’s face became suddenly serious. ‘You’re concerned about your brother,’ he said. ‘Michael, don’t worry.’ He smiled kindly. ‘Believe me, there’s nothing in there except Joe.’

          Feeling only half relieved, Michael made his way over to the doctor, a jovial man who was enjoying a large scotch.

          ‘Do you know what happened to Dennis?’ he asked him. ‘Why did he die?’

          The doctor took a long swig of whisky. ‘Stomach ulcer,’ he said briskly. ‘Worst one I’ve ever seen. When they burst like that, it’s very nasty. Very nasty indeed’

          Michael nodded thoughtfully.

          ‘What could have brought it on?’ he asked, still worried.

          ‘Who knows?’ the doctor said, clapping Michael on the back as he ordered another drink. ‘A nasty ulcer like that, you know -’

          He took a long speculative pull at his fresh glass, gazing into space. Michael felt a sudden chill of expectation.

          ‘It could have happened at any time’