Sidings – Bentley 56

[For a quick guide go here: Quick guide.]

[There's some back story here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and read more recent Bentley episodes especially this one.]

[Other back story through in-links.]

The tea shop was inauspicious, but that was the way Bentley liked it. Somewhere entirely unflashy, inconspicuous and off the beaten track. They’d only serve you outside and this place didn’t do outside seating as a rule so they’d just slammed down some benches across the shop front, a couple of upended barrels as tables and tea towels thrown over the top. The height difference made it impossible to actually eat anything off the tables, and the weather didn’t really make you want to eat anything off the tables anyway. This was just a place for talk, as far as Bentley was concerned, the tea and biscuit were a bonus.

“Why did you get in touch with me?” he asked.

Norman looked sheepish. “You know me, Bentley, I was always on your side.”

“Even when you were pointing a gun at Natalie?”

“She’s nothing to do with you, Bentley. She’s not related to you or anything so don’t make out anything else. We were just on different sides at that point. And now I’ve switched.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Who was it who said the whole point was to have people on their side, not what they could do?” mused Bentley. “Oh yeah, your dad said that.”

“Look,” said Norman, “I know this is difficult and everything, but I did tell you about the ring in the first place.”

“Yes,” said Bentley. “And for who’s benefit was that?

“If I can’t be on your side I’ll just bow out,” said Norman. “I’m not going back to my old man. It’s you or nothing.”

“And I still don’t get your switch,” said Bentley.

“It’s Shiela,” said Norman suddenly. “I owe her.”

Bentley sneered. “What do you owe her? Precisely?”

“It’s a long story,” said Norman. “Back when you were out of the picture.”

“I’m all ears...”

After Shiela and Bentley split up, Bentley headed north, leaving his disenchanted wife in the family home. Neither of them really had anywhere else to go, but Bentley’s nomadic day job made everything work. 

One morning, while at the local supermarket, Shiela happened upon Norman sat looking sad at the brown liquid in a plastic cup he’d just got from the 50p coffee machine. With a few minutes to spare and a need of pleasant company in comparison to the current company kept (or rather not kept with Bentley) she sat opposite him and asked what was up.

First it was money, said Norman. His father employed him, housed him and kept him on a tight lead. Aston only ever gave him what he needed once he’d produced the recipient as a proof of purchase. Naturally not everything was worth funding thought Aston, so the kid needed money if he wanted anything his dad didn’t think he did. And being part of the family firm he couldn’t work elsewhere, so didn’t have any other financial services at his disposal.

“So how much do you owe her?” asked Bentley.

“Nothing now,” said Norman. “At least not financially.”

“Right...” said Bentley. “Do you really want to tell me this?”

“Yes, because it’s important you understand our relationship,” said Norman. “It’s important that you understand went on between us.”

“Do you really want to tell me this?” repeated Bentley.

“She listened to me,” said Norman. “That was all. Sometimes it really was all I needed. Who else was I going to talk to about stuff? About anything.”

“About what?” asked Bentley

“Everything,” said Norman.  “We talked about what dad did for a living and why he did it. How it had all started. We talked about our houses – I was living upstairs from the shop at the time. I wasn’t in a good way, Bentley. And she saw me through. She made me feel better and believe that things could get better. That I’d find myself in the end.”

“And did you?”

“Sort of.”

“But no one remembers you,” pointed out Bentley. “When I met you last year…”

“You didn’t know who I was,” said Norman. “Right. Because I was me. Norman. Not Aston’s kid.”

Bentley was silent. 

“That was my choice. Me and Shiela talked loads. We talked about school and life and we talked about cats…”

“Cats?” remarked Bentley. “Shiela hated them.”

“True,” said Norman. “But she told me that if it would have made a difference for you she’d have had one.”

Bentley was quiet again. 

“She said she knew what they meant to you, what cats meant to you, with your childhood and stuff. And if she could…”

“She'd have gone back and got us one?” said Bentley, hopefully.

“She’d have tried to get her allergy sorted,” said Norman.