Chapter One
The connection is made. Funny how phones can just do that.
In a house several hundred miles away, the phone rings and a woman’s voice answers in thick scouse:
“’ello, Mavis ‘ere?”
Very here. Very rock solid by the sound of it, this Mavis. Very absolute. Someone so certain of herself that being here is a given, an unquestionable, so to speak.
“Oh I say, hello Mavis, it’s… ah, Grant, here.” Grant the Massage therapist. Grant the incompetent, actually, but don’t tell anyone will you? It’s about 9.30 on Saturday morning and I’m standing in a phone booth in the middle of nowhere.
“So,…are you, um… well, Mavis?” I ask.
It’s pouring with rain and I’m looking out over a very grey Loch somewhere in the far north of Scotland. Loch Broom, I think it’s called and it brushed away all the sunshine before we arrived, it did.
“Oh Grant! Well, this is a surprise! ‘ow are yer? Ow’s the new baby doin’? What is ‘e, three months old now?”
This is only my second conversation with Mavis and I should already confess to a degree of envy. It’s this certainty of hers. By contrast, I seem to stutter through every absolute I meet with the distinct feeling that it is really only a question mark in disguise.
“Well, we’re all fine thank you, Mavis, quite fine actually. Baby’s a treat. Absolute star. Won’t sleep a wink of course, but melts all our hearts every time he smiles at us so we forgive him, don’t we?”
“Aw that soun’s good. Yer probably too soft on ’im, man” She laughs.
“Well absolutely. Soft as marshmallows we are, Mavis…” I know I am just postponing the moment. I look out of the grimy phone booth. The rain is blowing great squalls of shadow across the loch surface. Rather beautiful, actually. Well, here goes:
“Listen I am terribly sorry to call you on a weekend like this, have you got a minute?”
“ ‘Course I ‘as. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ that won’t wait. So what can I do fer yer, I thought yer was away on yer ‘olidays?” she asks.
My wife is still asleep in our holiday cottage up the lane – it has been another bad night with baby Petey. I find myself wondering at just how crazy we are. I mean, fancy going on holiday with a three-month old baby and exposing him to the bitter cold of a summer holiday in Scotland.
I look out of the phone booth into the drizzle and watch my ten year old son Luke, cycling happily back and forth along the deserted road. His six year old sister, Heather, plays bravely on her little green bike, the one with the back wheel supports on it. The rain and the cold do not bother them, of course.
It’s one of those moments I just know I will always remember: standing in a remote phone box beside a pink-hued Scottish road with Luke and Heather playing on their bikes while I am trying to cancel an appointment.
The road stretches straight on past us into the far distant hills, now covered in mist. I am cold. I am exhausted.“Yes, well Mavis, that’s the problem, you see. This is a bit of a mea culpa call, I’m afraid.” I take a deep breath and continue:
“You see, it’s about your appointment on Monday. We’ve decided to extend our holiday in Scotland, we have, Mavis. So I’m really calling to see if we can postpone, I’m afraid.”
“Aw right, I see…” Silence.
“Well, that’s a shame…” She continues, “Still, don’t worry abou’ it… these things ‘appen don’t they?” Mavis replies. There is another awkward silence. I’m not sure what to say.
Then Mavis says stoically, “So, are yer all ‘avin’ a good time, then?”
“Well we are. Absolutely” I reply “The plan was to return back to base today, but the kids are having such a good time … you know what kids are like with a holiday, Mavis, don’t you? I mean they seem to positively devour them, don’t they?”
“Tell me about it!” She laughs, hiding her disappointment well. “Well good on yer, Grant, fer takin’ yer family away like that - sounds great!”
“I am so terribly sorry, Mavis, I mean letting you down like this. No excuses. Mea culpa, see?”
“Aw, don’t be daft, man! Yer only got yer kids once an’ before yer blink they’ll be askin’ yer fer help wi’ payin’ the ruddy mortgage an’ all!”
“Well absolutely, but I’m awfully sorry… I really am.”
Despite her acceptance of this cancellation, I really do dread these calls where I have to cancel. I know just how much importance can be attached to a session.
“Anyroads,” she continues, “I was a bit surprised that you were workin’ on a Bank Holiday Monday, anyway, I was…”
Bank Holiday…How on Earth did you manage to miss that one, Grant?
“Oh dear. So is it really a Bank holiday on Monday, then?… this next Monday?”
“Yeah! But then maybe not in Scotland” she laughs. “Yer knows what a queer bunch they is up there! I mean the men walks around in ruddy skirts, fer starters, don’t they? Nor ’n can they talk proper, neither!”
Mavis strikes me as a really good person. I can only really remember reading her letter asking for a Massage appointment. There was something, well, warm about the letter. Something must have made me prioritise her because I don’t normally work on Mondays - Bank Holiday or not.
“Oh dear, I didn’t even realise it was a Bank Holiday, Mavis, what an absolute goon I am. Listen, I know it’s proving jolly hard to get this appointment, but do you think it would be possible for us to reschedule, Mavis? Could you manage that?”
“’Course we can!” She says. Then there is another pause. This time I am sure I can hear her smiling as she adds, “But yer won’t have yer appointment diary with yer… not on yer ‘oliday, surely?”
“Ah… er, no. Well, good point, actually Mavis. Not right here with me, as it happens…”
You really are doing exceptionally well today, old boy. Excelling yourself, actually.
“I say, do you think I could give you a ring as soon as I get back home to blighty, perhaps? Would that be all right with you?”
It’s at times like this that I feel I should do something else entirely; that I’m not really up to the job of helping others at all. There is something intrinsically conceited about all therapists. The very idea that who we are and what we know can help another person is full of a kind of hubris of the worst order. I mean put your own house in order before trying to help others.
Don’t you think?
Our own house is a shambles, actually… We don’t ever seem to get on top of it.
As I’m talking to Mavis, the sky seems to brighten, hinting at a possible breakthrough from our long lost friend, the Sun.
Perhaps we can make that planned trip to the coastal beaches today, after all?
“That’s fine, Grant.” Mavis says, bringing me back to Earth, “You enjoy yer olidays an’ gi’us a ring when yer back.”
“Well that’s jolly decent of you, Mavis.” And then, as an afterthought I say,
“Oh, and Mavis?”
“Yeah?” she responds.
“Well, you know… thank you.”
“Aw get on wi’ yer!”
I don’t really know why, but as I walk back up the lane with Luke and Heather, I feel lighter and somehow, absolved. Isn’t it strange how complete strangers can sometimes do that to us - create ease and hope without really doing anything, except be themselves?
So perhaps this day will go well after all, despite my exhaustion. I feel my energy begin to lighten. “Wheeeeeee!!!!!!!!!”, Heather squeals, as I run up behind her and push her little bike at high speed. We race Luke all the way back up to the cottage.
Where did I put those bucket and spades?
Chapter two
So I goes an’ leaves several messages on this posh fella’s answer phone in ‘alifax, somewhere in Yorkshire, don’t I?
An’ after about four messages ‘e still ‘asn’t bloody replied ‘as ‘e? So I writes ‘im a letter an’ I tells ‘im I wants a session with ‘im ‘cos it ‘elped me shoulder so much when ‘e gave me a treatment on that course, like. An’ I tells ‘im as ‘ow I can come any day of the week while our Mickey is at the day care centre, so long as it’s in the middle of the day, like, an’ I can get mesel’ back fer ‘im.
An’ what does I get fer all me trouble?
Nothin’.
Not a friggin’ squeek. So it’s abou’ four weeks later, an’ jus’ when I ‘ad given up expectin’ any reply, ‘e rings me out o’ the blue, like, an’ apologises, tellin’ me ‘is wife is jus’ about ter ‘ave their third baby an’ could I give ‘im a ring in five or six weeks time?
So I says it weren’t no problem – well what else could I ruddy well say? An I jus’ resigns meself to the growin’ tightness in me shoulder, doesn’t I? I mean wot else am I s’posed ter say – could yer ‘old the baby back a few weeks, please, while I ‘as a Massage from yer?
So I jus’ waits. Them doctors said there was nothin’ they could really do about me shoulder, see - as long as I’m lifting our Mickey so much everyday. Well what the friggin’ ‘ell am I supposed to do? Leave ‘im shitting and pissing ‘imself on the floor, I s’pose?
An’ them ruddy social workers weren’t that much better were they? Comin’ over an’ showin’ me ‘ow to use a bleedin’ winch ter lift our Mickey – like as if I ‘adn’t bin managin’ fine fer the last 30 years - an’ then they drops ‘im an’ breaks ‘is leg, the poor li’l mite. Can yer believe they was showin’ me as ‘ow I must conform to their ‘ealth an’ safety regulations - in me ‘own ‘ouse! “Well sod yer bloody ‘ealth an’ safety”, I says to ‘em “An’ sod yer ruddy winch, too. What about our Mickey’s ‘ealth an’ safety, then? I’ll bloody well lift ‘im mesel’, but I can’t promise ter break ‘is legs like you lot can, not being a professional, like!”
The nosy busy-bodies.
Why can’t they getta job annoyin’ somebody else? Why does they ‘ave ter come an’ pick on us? I mean doesn’t they ‘ave lives of their own? It’s not like they’ve done a single thing ter ‘elp us with our Mickey in all these thirty years, is it? Yer wanna know what I thinks? I think them social workers are the saddest bunch o’ interfering ol’ tossers on the ‘ole planet, I do.
So anyways I waits me six weeks an’ then I rings ‘im up again an’ I leaves ‘im a message.
An’ then I rings ‘im again a week later.
An’ then again a week after that. Finally, after July has come an’ almost gone, like, ‘e rings back an’ ‘e says ‘e can fit me in at the end of August – on a Bank holiday Monday! I says nothin’ ‘cos yer know what? If that’s the only day ‘e can do, then I’m gonna bloody well be there, aint I? ‘E don’t ‘alf ‘ave this posh voice, though – feel like I’m talkin’ ter the ruddy Prime Minister, I do.
Mind you, it don’t seem like ‘is posh education ‘as taught ‘im as ‘ow ter organise ‘imself does it? Seems to me this ‘ere fella couldn’t organise a piss up in a ruddy brewery, let alone run an appointment book. That’s what I think anyway.
I knew ‘e didn’t ‘ave a clue about that Bank ‘oliday appointment, didn’t I? So I weren’t surprised when ‘is lordship rang sayin’ as ‘ow ‘e’s still on holiday in Scotland and can ‘e postpone please, Mavis?
So I turns up for me first proper session with ‘im - in the middle of September! That’s only about six months it’s taken ter get me appointment. Not bad, eh?
‘E’s not exactly desperate for clients is ‘e?
Chapter three
So ‘ere I am after two hours of drivin’, standin’ outside this big posh victorian ‘ouse in ‘alifax in the pourin’ rain; right behind Halifax swimming pool, like.
An’ I suddenly thinks: What happens now yer daft old cow? ’Course, I’ve ‘ad plenty of Massages off me mates, like, but I aint never ‘ad a proper Massage treatment all to meself, ave I? So I’m right nervous, I am.
Well, I walks up the stone steps – lovely sandstone, they are, an’ rings the bell. When ‘e opens the big blue door ‘e puts me at ease straight away doesn’t ‘e? ‘E just looks at me with them blue eyes o’ ‘is an’ says – straight out – as ‘ow ‘e don’t remember me from the course at all. Ruddy charmin’!
That’s a nice technique, I thinks to meself, I should remember that one – ‘ow to makes yer new clients feel at ease, like.” Joking aside though, I’m quite used to it.
I am, ‘onest.
It ‘appens to me all the time, it does. I can chunner’ on non-stop like this inside me ‘ead but I says very little outside; most people don’t really notice me at all. Apart from when I ‘as ter shout at them daft bloody social workers to protect our Mickey, I lets others do all the talkin’.
Truth is, I feels better keepin’ me trap shut - if yer ‘as ter make a fuss fer people ter notice yer, then I thinks “Why bother?”. I mean like that lady in the lunch queue at Burton Manor - after ‘e’d given’ me that first Massage on the course. There she is talkin’ about me an’ the Massage wot ‘e gave me, an’ I’m only standin’ right in front of ‘er, aren’t I? The blind bat!
I think I must like it that way, though, don’t you?
Keepin’ to meself, I mean.
Anyway, what I do remember from that session in Halifax - apart from ‘is lordship tellin’ me ‘e don’t remember me - is ‘im spending ages askin’ me all sorts o’ questions in this big room downstairs what is full o’ floral sofas and large cushions an’ ‘im writin’ me answers down on a fancy lap top.
I remembers ‘im sittin’ there in ‘is black vest and black flared trousers - all knees and feet in them squashy sofas, hunched over ‘is tiny little lap-top. All I can see is ‘is great big feet, one in a blue sock an’ one in a black sock – bless – then ‘is lower legs and great big knobbly knees, then ‘is lap top an’ ‘is ‘andsome baby-face. An on the top ‘e’s got this shock of black ‘air stickin’ up at the front, yer knows, like Tin-Tin had, but black instead o’ blond. Obviously.
Anyway, ‘e’s askin’ me age an’ I’m thinkin’ mind yer own business, mate. But I tells ‘im don’t I? An’ then ‘e asks me what I wants from the Massage, yer know, why I’ve come, like? An’ I’m tempted to say as ‘ow it’s been that ruddy long since I started tryin’ ter book a session, with ‘im, that I ‘aven’t a clue now, ‘ave I? I mean ‘is guess is as good as mine, I reckon.
But he’s a nice young fella, really.
So instead, I asks fer the same feelin’ I got that time ‘e gave me a Massage on that course over at Burton Manor an’ ‘e asks me - all pompous, like - “what feeling would that be then, Mavis?” An’ I wants ter say “well you were there too, mate! Don’t yer remember how ruddy blissed out I were an’ ‘ow I couldn’t even walk in a straight line?”
But then ‘e must see so many people like that ’e probably don’t remember me does ‘e? So I tells ‘im again, an ‘e seems to remember somethin’ ‘cos ‘e smiles. ‘E does ‘ave a lovely smile, ‘e does …
Anyway, then ‘e asks me ‘ow long that feelin’ lasted, like? An’ when I says “’bout six weeks” ‘e sucks in this breath an’ looks a bit shocked, so I wonders if there is summat wrong wi’ me, like.
Then ‘e takes me upstairs an’ ‘e’s sayin’ ter get on the Massage table an’ not ter worry about ‘im walking in while I’m undressing an’ all that, ‘cos ‘e’ll knock first….
I mean, like I’m bothered. At my age!
Chapter four
It’s a lovely little room, ain’t it?
It’s got an orange glow all over it - from this wooden blind with great big thick slats. ‘E keeps it real warm, too, so yer doesn’t want ter keep yer clothes on, anyway, do yer? It all looks, well, very simple – jus’ a dark blue carpet and cream walls wi’ all them lovely pictures of whales on ‘em. An’ ‘e’s got this little table fer all ‘is oils an’ nice wooden shelves fer ‘is towels. An’ standin’ right in the middle is this wooden massage table all dressed up lovely with towels an’ pillows.
It all jus’ feels, well cosy.
So I gets on the massage table an’ it’s so soft and comfortable I could jus’ lie ‘ere an’ go ter sleep fer ever, I could.
‘onest.
An’ ‘e knocks on the door, all polite like, an’ asks if I’m on the table an’ I wants ter say “No, I’m just levitatin’ in the middle o’ the room, actually”
But ‘e’s a nice young fella so I say’s “Yeah” an’ before I knows it ‘e’s started the Massage an’ I’m in ‘eaven an’ thinkin’ who needs valium when yer can get this? E’s doin’ me back all deep an’ flowin like an’ I’m relaxin’ real nice after all that talkin’ an’ then suddenly ‘e says out loud that ‘e remembers me. Out o’ the blue, like!
Nice knowin’ yer too, mate!
An’ then I ‘as a really wicked thought. I thinks as ‘ow ‘e probably doesn’t recognise me wi’ all me clothes on’ does ‘e? An’ I spends the next five minutes tryin’ me best not ter giggle, don’t I?
Anyways at the end I feels real good an’ loose an’ ‘e says ‘e wants me ter give ‘im a ring in a couple of days - ter tell ‘im how I feels, like. ‘E says somethin’ about makin’ sure I don’t ‘ave any bad reactions ter the Massage, like.
So I does. Ring ‘im, I mean.
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