One - Bentley 66

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

[Old back story is here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and read more recent Bentley episodes especially this one.]

[Other back story through in-links.]

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Down past the shops, down through the river of streets, rolling on like a rogue coin falling from a slot machine, or caged inside, stuck on a conveyor and never coming to a halt. Moving through the buildings, under the soaking rods of steel and wood, timbers of history, timbers of the pier, smelling the sweet salt essence of the sea, and then the land, and then the city and where they met. That was where Bentley was moving, head first, head down leading his feet, looking at his feet as they pounded the planking across the waters and down towards the sunset, reflected on the calm shield of the lido.

He was tempted to undercut the sensations around him with a flip comment about going for a walk, but he restrained himself, allowing instead the moment to push him up and forward still. He took a deep breath of air and he liked it. It was good to be alive, as long as that was what he was. Otherwise it was good to be whatever this was. But it felt like alive.

He heard the cat somewhere too, or at least a background purring. Reassuring and warm. Living but not sure where. Maybe he was in his flat at home, and not somewhere moving about. Wherever he was it was beginning to feel more reassured than usual. He was losing that tension, that uncertainty, that edge of who was who and what did they want and why did they ever meddle in his affairs in the first place.

His affairs had been fine until everyone else started trying to help them. He was a reputable train-spotter near influencer with his one instagram account and a ridiculous number of followers. He had sponsorship deals with footwear specialists, note pad makers, pencil sharpeners, hats, socks and handkerchiefs. He portrayed an image of himself, and that image was becoming more like reality with every new deal, every new photo dump, every new hashtag to bring his posts to the biggest audience.

Bentley sighed. And Fred Thimble hated him for it.

Fred Thimble, the great font of knowledge and times and rolling stock. The only person who could really bring down Bentley, or indeed anyone come to that, because he really did know everything about everyone. He unloaded facts like bags of mail from the train. He collected people like numbers. He assigned them numbers so he remembered them. He created a network of tracks, singles, doubles and more connections were made. Thimble had free passage anywhere. And nobody liked him. And everybody had to pay. They would pay. Bentley would pay.

He knew he couldn’t just cast it off. Threading through the maze of arcades and crazy golf, down through the back of a cafe and into a hotel room where an old man was being held down on a table and threatened. And an actress sat there, swinging her legs, whispering at him to wait, stay calm, they’d do it when they could. And then Shiela came in, crying.

Bentley could hear a baby crying in the next room. Not an old kid, probably not even crying for the right reasons, just crying for the sake of being so small and the world so big.

Shiela carried the baby. She carried the baby in through one door and straight out the other.

Bentley swivelled his head to follow her but he didn’t move.

Thimble had known about the child. The boy who was moved. He said it was all Shiela’s say so but here were other factors and more motives not understood by those outside. It was instead glossed over and forgotten in the scrambled up world where Thimble and everyone else believed black and white existed without grey areas. And if you’re looking for a way out, or a scapegoat or another way to demonstrate that you are on the right side, you’ll easily take something like this.

The cat was purring somewhere. What should I do, wondered Bentley. Move towards the cat, or move away? Covid the cat could be dead, could be living. Could be lucky, could be unlucky. Only one way to find out.

Take the money. Open the box. Win the prize. Gamble it away. Give it away. Hand it all back.

It was time for Bentley to open his eyes and discover which direction he would go in. And where he was starting from. It was time to wake up. If he could work out which direction up was in.