Hard Shoulder – Bentley 14

[For back story go here: Story so far at 12 June 2020 and more recents Bentley episodes]

Bentley was stuck. Again. He’d come so far, well about 24.5 miles from home to be honest, but it was far for him, and then George’s van did precisely what George had thought it would do all along and ground to a halt.

Having extracted the armchair where Bentley was sitting from the back of the transit, Bentley was now sat on the said armchair on the other side of the crash barrier, surrounded by wild flowers, beating his anxiety out on the moth bitten arms of the seat and cursing his luck.

“Why didn’t you get it fixed before?” he yelled at George.

“Because it didn’t need fixing before,” replied George patiently, but glad all the same that his expression was masked by having his head under the bonnet.

“Stupid van,” observed Bentley.

“You wanted to do this,” said George. “This was your choice. I told you it wouldn’t make it but you wouldn’t listen.”

Bentley beat his fist on the armchair again and scowled at a passing SUV. 

“That’s what you want,” he told George. “A proper vehicle. Something with good wheels. And an engine. That goes.”

The plan hadn’t really been much of a plan. Just to go to Brighton, try out a couple of local bars (at a distance) a couple of educational establishments – check the staff lists, show a few pictures around and ask a few questions. Bentley had no expectations of the answers he might get back, or indeed if there would be any answers at all but he felt oddly compelled to do this now, like it was the next step of his life, or more accurately something to do that didn’t involve him trawling the internet for signs of his son’s life, or death, or something worse in between.

“Ever thought you should just have left this alone?” said George, from his safe distance.

Bentley had thought about that. But he and Lawrence had a history that wouldn’t lie down – or at least wouldn’t let Bentley sleep at night. Twenty or twenty-five years ago the two had fallen out in a way which had ultimately triggered the downfall of their relationship and Bentley’s world in general. Bentley remembered what it was about, but he couldn’t recall whether initially they had seen things differently, if it had all been a straight forward mistake, or if there had been real malice at play.

Whatever, the circumstances of their breakup was the start of a falling line of dominos. Without one thing, the next thing disappeared. The distraction of trying to resolve, then cope with and finally accept and face up to the impact of their feud meant work was pushed aside, finances stretched, housing sold, and ultimately Bentley lost the only person he ever said “I love you” to.

From a quite nice, neat and proper semi-detached to a not so not nice, neat or proper low level flat, the rise of Bentley’s anger and anxiety brought with it a fall in every other aspect of his life. He tried to save everything, anything and then decided to embrace the chaos and be angry at it.

The trouble was he didn’t know if he was still angry with Lawrence or just immensely sad. If they could sit down for a while and talk things out, if they could just look each other in the eye and say something that meant more than hello, how are you, not seen you for a while, maybe it would all be OK.

Obviously Lawrence had started a family of his own, but there was no telling whether this had been a positive experience or a mistake made good. Bentley had no way of telling who was the mother of his granddaughter, whether she was still in touch or where she might be. The greatest uncertainty surrounded what exactly Lawrence was doing now – if he was going straight or still taking a chance. And when Bentley thought about that, he realised the only things he really wanted to do was understand and help. 

Softening, as he watched a police car pass along the dual carriageway (thankfully without stopping), he asked George where they were at (aside from stuck on the dual carriageway).

George patiently explained that if the van wasn’t fixable at the roadside then it would be towed to the garage of George’s choice – one where it could be fixed. 

“Tell him one in Brighton,” snapped Bentley.

“I can’t do that, it would be…”

“Just tell him!” yelled Bentley as a juggernaut cruised past, and he was already stabbing frenetically at his smart phone to find an address of a suitable place.