Planet Van It – Bentley 10

[For back story go here: Story so far at 12 June 2020 ]

Like everyone and everything else in the world right now, George’s Ford Transit Van had seen much much better days. Rusty, dented, unlockable, the vehicle was ramshackle before he’d even laid his eyes on it, and the only reason why it belonged to him now was because he’d bought it from a mate to settle a complex gambling debt, before he’d even laid eyes on it. So buying it had literally been a gamble, but then there were few things in George’s life that weren’t.

Sat outside Bentley’s block of flats the two men sorted their travel arrangements as best they could. There was no way they could deliver the required two metre distancing using the front seats and George was already bubbling with the signal operator from the mainline junction, so he’d taken a run down armchair from his front room and lashed it securely in the back with a couple of ropes running through the moth and mouse eaten holes in the chairs’ arms and around the metal infrastructure in the back of the van. In addition he’d found three of his old belts from when he weighed a bit more than he did now and fashioned these into a harness to keep the old man in seated comfort, or whatever comfort might mean during their journey.

As a sweet afterthought he’d also found a very heavy wooden box in his lock-up, weighted it with a couple of miscellaneous lumps of metal that had been lying around the engine shed and thus created a sort of chair side table for Bentley to put his flask on. He was about to start finding him a reading light or lamp to go on it as well, but then realised this was meant to be a functional affair, designed to just get them From A to B rather than giving Bentley an excuse to have tea at C.

Bentley's walking frame was also lashed into the vehicle, neither George nor Bentley fancying the idea of ducking if the thing took off over a bump or when the van careered around a corner. Bentley was safely installed in his seat, the frame was secure beside him and a clever mirror arrangement meant he could look to the front windscreen even though he was facing the wrong way.

George was about to start up the vehicle when Bentley suddenly thought of something else.

“Dammit, I haven’t fixed Covid,” he said.

George was a little confused by this until he learned of Bentley’s rechristened cat. Rather than unpick Bentley from his seat and watch as he framed his way back to the flat, he went up and set out a few plates of food for the feline before they got on their way.

The task was straight forward, Covid seemed disinterested in the extra food being placed around, and George even risked giving the animal a small stroke before heading back out.

He was just checking he’d locked the door properly when a young woman came up to him, stopping a respectful two metres away. She looked medical in uniform and general appearance and took the mask from her face before addressing him.

“Does Mr Bentley live here?” she asked.

Back in the van, Bentley was beginning to worry that he would have to go to the loo before they set off, causing yet more delay. Probably better to get it done though he thought, rather than trying to find a service station where the toilets were accessible and properly distanced. And you could pick up germs just by looking into those places usually so right now…

As the van’s rear door swung open Bentley wrestled himself from the belts and bent double to release his walking frame. 

“Sorry, George,” he said as he did so, "Weak bladder. Go to go."

“Don’t think we’re going anywhere chum,” said George. “There’s someone to see you.”

Bentley let out an exasperated curse. “They’re not wearing a cape are they?” He said.

“Nah.”

When he looked up he saw George and, still two metres behind him, a young woman. The woman was wearing a mask, but even so there was something about those eyes.

"Do you need a hand?" she asked.

"I was going take a slash round the back of the corner shop, so probably not right away, no," said Bentley, before he could stop himself.