Chapter 11: Curly Fries with My Digital Camera Please

Chapter 11: Curly Fries with My Digital Camera Please
‘It can’t be checkmate, it can’t be…’ Unsuccessfully attempting to hide his glee, Barry shrugged and said: ‘Sorry, but it is.’ ‘No, you don’t understand, I-I I had the game won.’ Grace Honeysuckle looked out to the crowd, her eyes welling up with tears before she turned back to her opponent. ‘You must have cheated.’ Barry was shocked by this unfounded accusation. ‘How could I of possibly cheated in front of everybody?’ Grace’s very intimidating—not to mention large—father stormed over and hugged the frail frame of his daughter. ‘Don’t worry apple blossom, the man’s just mean. Daddy will still buy you a new pony.’ He stroked the golden hair of his beloved daughter with loving tenderness, while at the same time managing to look menacingly at Barry with an icy, hate-filled stare that would frighten death itself. Barry had expected to be a hero for pulling off such a fantastic comeback, but instead he was the villain who’d crushed a little girl’s dreams. So, he felt great relief when someone of sane mind spoke up on his behalf. ‘He didn’t cheat. He couldn’t have because I was here the whole time.’ Although Barry was grateful for Mrs Butler’s words of support, she regretted them and would continue to do so for a very long time. How long do multiple brain haemorrhages take to heal anyway? The crowd’s building fury was now directed towards her. ‘You were the one who allowed him to have a break.’
156 ‘Yeah she did. They must’ve been in it together, Broomfield and you; COLLABORATORS.’ ‘This is nonsense,’ said Mrs Butler in her defence, looking mortified at the fire in the eyes of the bristling crowd, ‘it is clearly written in the rules that a player can have a five-minute break.’ ‘I bet they’re going to split the winnings,’ piped in another Honeysuckle fan, enraging the crowd still further. Being accustomed to hate mobs baying for his blood what with the wrath of the Broomfield Busters still fresh in his memory, Barry began to slip out of the room, quietly taking his large novelty cheque with him. The crowd hadn’t noticed: its increasing resentment was still focused upon Mrs Butler. Nudging the door open as quietly as he could, he knew that in just a few more moments he’d be outside and then away into the night. ‘Creeeeaaakk,’ said the door. Barry didn’t think it was possible that the opening of a door could create such a racket. Every head turned to face him. ‘The cheater’s trying to escape with my money! GET HIM,’ screamed Grace. Pandemonium ensued as chairs and tables were flung out of the way as people raced to try to catch Barry, while inside the Town Hall a full-scale riot ensued. Now running down the street, large novelty cheque still in hand, Barry needed every kilojoule of energy the discarded beef burger could give him because Grace’s lapdogs were hot on his heels. As he ran he could hear behind him shrill screams and the smashing of glass. The Town Hall was being torn apart. Barry, knowing he was no Linford Christie recognised his only chance for escape was to run into the Hickey Hills and hide. Fortunately he was very close to the
157 woods, and with his pursuers not far behind, and Barry, petrified of what they might do if they caught up with him, ran off the illuminated road and melted into the darkness of the trees. Moving between the foliage with fleet-footed agility and near silence, Barry left his enemy behind, scratching their heads as to where he went: he’d previously spent countless hours moving through his woods, remaining unseen from the world, and those skills he’d learnt served him well now. The pursuers strained their senses for a sign of their prey’s whereabouts but it was hopeless, as they’d lost track of him almost the instant he’d left the road for the trees. Sitting on a dank wooden bench upon the Hickey’s highest hill, Barry caught his breath. He was no longer worried about the idiots chasing him anymore because he knew he’d hear them from a mile away if they tried to close in, to which he’d just simply blend into the trees and lose them again. Still clutching the cheque in his hand he gazed serenely down upon his hometown. The Town Hall where he’d earned his precious prize could be clearly seen: it was engulfed in flames. Barry hoped nobody had gotten hurt, well nobody apart from everybody. While the conflicting thoughts of not knowing whether to hate the world or love it (the acquisition of five thousand pounds was doing strange things to Barry’s usual perception that planet Earth was an utterly terrible place to live) a small Fallow Deer trotted up to the bench. The animals here still know me. A moment of tranquillity washed over him as he stroked the deer’s tiny head. The animal was not remotely afraid because it remembered this man had given it food occasionally in the past. When the deer realised Barry didn’t have any food it bit him
158 and promptly left. In the aftermath of this minor incident, Barry concluded that he still hated the universe. Recalling his existence in the woods as a terrible time where he’d endured cold, hunger and animal attack, it didn’t pain Barry too greatly to leave the Hickeys behind. Walking back to his crummy bedsit took a while, and when he did finally arrive at his decrepit home in the early hours of the following morning, for the first time ever the multi-coloured inflatable lilo that served as his mattress looked like a very welcoming prospect. After propping his large novelty cheque against a barren wall, he drifted into a pleasant sleep. There was a series of loud bangs that made Barry awake from the first truly satisfying night’s sleep he’d had in a number of months. Slowly, his brain got itself organised and informed its owner that somebody was knocking heavily on his door, which it found to be quite annoying what with having just been experiencing such an agreeable night of downtime. Wondering who it could possibly be Barry sat up and rubbed his eyes before hazarding a guess. I bet it’s the milkman. The initial feeling of annoyance he’d had was replaced by fear because he owed the milkman a good deal of money, and not only that but this milkman just so happened to be a rather robustly-built fellow. Answering the door nervously, Barry had his cheque in hand to prove he now had acquired some finances and would be able to pay him. Barry’s worrying was unnecessary as it turned out not to be the milkman at all. ‘Hello, is your name Mr Broomfield?’
159 ‘Yes,’ answered Barry cautiously, it being prudent considering the area in which he lived to be wary of strangers. ‘Hello, my name is Mr Kenderick. I’m here as a representative for the National Chess Association.’ Barry’s heart immediately sank. ‘You’re here to take my winnings back aren’t you? I won that game fair and square. I didn’t cheat honest.’ Mr Kenderick waved his hands. ‘No no Mr Broomfield, you don’t understand, I know that you didn’t cheat and I’m not here to take your winnings. Mrs Butler informed me of your remarkable comeback and resilience before she had to have her jaw wired shut.’ ‘Have her jaw wired shut!’ ‘Ah yes—it was quite an ugly scene at the Town Hall I’m afraid, Mrs Butler, god bless her soul, suffered quite a bit. I notice you seem to be unscathed…’ Barry thought this was an insult aimed at his cowardice. ‘I just got out of there as fast as I could. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t take on a whole crowd of people, I’m not Superman.’ ‘Of course, I’m not blaming you Mr Broomfield. We hadn’t realised that people could get so passionate about a civilised game of chess. Next year it’ll be a different story, there’ll be armed police officers riding upon warrior elephants to keep the hooligans under control.’ ‘Oh, okay, erm, how is Mrs Butler anyway?’ asked Barry. ‘Not so good, along with the broken jaw she’s had half-a-dozen teeth knocked out, four ribs broken—’ Barry’s mouth hung agape. He remembered Mrs Butler had appeared to be such a decent woman. How could those animals…No, thought Barry, that would be
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disrespectful to the animal kingdom. Even animals aren’t capable of committing acts
of such abhorrence. Barry felt thoroughly appalled but Mr Kenderick hadn’t finished. ‘—a broken collar bone, a broken arm, a fractured skull, a cracked knee cap, a crushed hand, and substantial swelling, mostly on the face. She’s a positive old thing though, she wrote on a piece of paper only this very morning that eating her food through a straw isn’t really all that bad.’ Gasping, Barry was absolutely mortified seeing how it could’ve been him on the receiving end of those injuries! He felt truly awful for poor Mrs Butler as well, a frail old woman who’d just done something helpful for the community had been savaged. Part of him felt that it was his fault because if he hadn’t of won the game in the first place the savaging would’ve never occurred. Mr Kenderick noticed the anguish in Barry’s face. ‘Don’t blame yourself Mr Broomfield. You couldn’t have known they’d react like that.’ ‘Well,’ said Barry, coming to terms with the frightening capacity for violence average people possessed, ‘if you’re not here to take my winnings off me, why are you here? And come to think of it, how did you even know where I live?’ ‘You wrote your address on the entrance form at the tournament, remember? By some small miracle it managed to survive the fire.’ ‘Oh yeah,’ said Barry, recalling the inferno and the entrance form. ‘Was anybody hurt in the blaze?’ ‘No unfortunately, those thugs all got out alive. There’s just no justice is there? Anyway, I’m here because you’re now our region’s representative in the national finals.’
161 Comprehension dawned on Barry as he suddenly remembered some small print underneath the article from the newspaper about the winner going onto further competition. ‘I would’ve phoned you only you didn’t leave a number on your contact form. In fact the details of the finals should’ve all been laid out to you straight after you won but you had to leave in such a hurry that they couldn’t. Mrs Butler was, as we both know a little preoccupied.’
Yeah, thought Barry, a little preoccupied getting her head kicked in. ‘Is there going to be prize money again?’ he asked optimistically. ‘Why yes of course. I think this year first place receives fifty grand.’ Barry’s eyebrows rose so high they almost disconnected from his face. ‘Fifty grand!’ ‘Not bad eh?’ said Mr Kenderick, noticing from Barry’s spartan living arrangements, undernourished body, and that he’d had to visit probably the most dilapidated building in town, fifty grand would most certainly be welcomed. Barry invited Mr Kenderick inside, with the purpose of discussing the matter of the national tournament further at greater comfort, but since there were no chairs Mr Kenderick had to stand, while Barry sat at first on his lilo, before opting to stand too because he felt uncomfortable having to crane his neck upwards. The thought occurred to Mr Kenderick that he may as well have continued to stand outside Barry’s front door, as it was a far pleasanter place to be compared to the little hellhole he now found himself inside. Following some small talk, Barry was handed a formal letter that was addressed to him.
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Dear Mr Broomfield:
On behalf of the English Chess Association, we are very pleased to accept you to
the national chess championship finals commencing on the 26th this month.
The address for the event is as follows:
Empire Hotel,
Chandelier Ballroom,
Stonepits Road,
Kensington,
London.
We will be expecting you to arrive at 11:00pm on the 25th. If for some reason you
cannot attend please inform us with a letter or telephone call, preferably a week in
advance.
Accommodation will be allocated to you inside the Empire 5 star Hotel free of
charge.
Yours sincerely,
Mr S. Gallagher, President of the ECA. The letter with its regal symbols conveyed to Barry that this was a monumental event, and not the comparatively basic affair he had been involved in the night before.
163 ‘This all sounds a bit serious doesn’t it?’ he said, his brow furrowing as he read the letter a second time. ‘Well that’s because it is lad, these are the national finals.’ Barry suddenly felt ruffled: he had been so focused on winning the five grand he hadn’t considered the possible ramifications of actually being successful. ‘How can I be good enough to face the best players in the country?’ ‘Look,’ answered Mr Kenderick, ‘you have to remember that you deserve to be there. And besides, even if you lose you get to stay in a 5-star hotel. That can’t be bad now can it? I mean it’ll certainly beat staying here. I’ve seen down and out smackheads live in better conditions.’ Mr Kenderick’s face turned from jovial to apologetic because he thought he may have overstepped the mark by insinuating Barry’s home was not a very nice place to live. Barry however, well aware his residence was a dump was not in the least bit offended. ‘Yeah—yeah…’ said Barry, his second yeah uttered with greater chirpiness. Beginning to think of the positives, Barry realised if he lost what did it matter, he’d done well to get this far and he now believed he should just enjoy the ride for as long as it continued to last. He’d also never stayed in a 5-star hotel before. The hotels he’d stayed in didn’t leave complimentary mints on your pillow: instead the pillow gave you complimentary flea bites. Only being able to imagine what the Empire Hotel would be like inside, he now earnestly looked forward to finding out. Once Mr Kenderick had left it was now up to Barry to begin the enjoyable business of spending his winnings. The first port of call after depositing the money in the bank was the pawnshop, to buy back his deceased grandma’s watch.
164 ‘Sorry mate can’t help ya; sold that a couple of days ago.’ This is exactly what Barry feared would happen and had braced himself for this news just in case of its occurrence. ‘It was a sacrifice I had to make,’ Barry thought. ‘Grandma wouldn’t mind.’ Regardless of the logical arguments he used to justify the loss of the gold watch, Barry still felt disconsolate about the matter. This could’ve been because he remembered how he’d helped to not only remove the wristwatch from his dead Grandma’s wrist, but also the gold fillings from her teeth. After Barry had paid off the debts on his credit cards, his various bank account overdrafts, and the multitude of people that he owed money to, there was very, very little of that five grand left. Perversely what remained totalled exactly twenty pounds, the price Barry had sold the watch for and the price of the entrance fee to the chess tournament. With his twenty pounds he bought something that was currently far more useful than an antique timepiece by restocking some of his food supplies. The twenty pounds worth of provisions purchased from the local supermarket would have to last the two weeks till he went to the Empire Hotel. But after his brief stay in London, he understood all too well he’d have to come up with some other means of making money. Although a huge burden had been lifted off Barry’s shoulders once he’d paid off all his debts, he still wished there’d been a bit more money left for himself because what was didn’t go very far, and didn’t buy a whole lot of food. He was going to be living on a diet of processed cheese, bread, Weetabix, crackers, milk, bananas and water until the national championships.
165 Lying on his lilo that night Barry didn’t feel as exuberant as he’d expected to the day after winning five grand, but instead rather hungry. The two weeks until his upcoming stay at the London’s Empire Hotel were painfully dull. Sitting in his drab, sombre flat with only himself for company, Barry felt terribly depressed. He had expected the financial relief the five grand brought would pull him out of his despair, but in truth the cash injection had only momentarily stalled his financial destitution. Still poverty stricken, the only difference the money had made in life was that he didn’t have anybody knocking on the door wanting to break his legs anymore. To pass the time he now had copious amounts of, he’d been applying for jobs, throwing out application forms like confetti, but all to no avail. Barry needed money fast and unless he found a job soon he’d be in a lot of trouble. One benefit of being unemployed was that he could spend his time constructively, sleeping, reading books, playing with his bellybutton fluff, or practicing some of his craftiest chess manoeuvres on his new set. Yes that’s right; Barry was now actually in the possession of a fully-functional chess set. While it wasn’t quite up to the stringent English Chess Association’s rules and regulations, it was the best he could muster under the circumstances. The board itself had been cut from a discarded box of Weetabix, the breakfast cereal that formed one of the staple foods in Barry’s diet. And using a felt tip pen, he drew on the blank inside of the cereal box the recognizable chequered design of a chess board.
166 The most ingenious part of his set however was the extraordinary conglomeration of household items that formed the pieces. Unused condoms still in their foil containment that had passed their use by date during Barry’s adolescence formed the bulk of his armies: they were the pawns. Salt and pepper shakers were the two kings, the rooks were pencil sharpeners, cans of coke were the bishops, the queens were empty tomato ketchup bottles, and the knights were paperclips. And to differentiate which items belonged to which side they were labelled with a B or a W. Obviously not able to afford a TV, and having to sell his radio for cash a long time ago, Barry spent a substantial quantity of his time playing with his toy. He also spent quite a bit of time playing with his chess set, partially because he had nothing better to do, but also because he felt he’d need all the practice he could get if he was to face the most skilled chess masters of Britain in just two weeks. After fourteen long and uneventful days of playing chess against himself on his improvised set, and applying for a wide variety of occupations ranging from postman to egg packer, Barry was ready to embark on his journey to London. It was the first time he’d ever been to his nation’s capital and he felt very excited about the prospect. ‘Me in the big city, in a 5-star hotel no less; I feel like royalty.’ As Barry didn’t own a car anymore (his Volkswagen Golf was still rusting on that deserted mud track in the middle of the Hickey Woods) the public train would act as his royal carriage. Thankfully the cost of the tickets had been paid for otherwise he might have had to resort to selling one of his organs on the black market to pay for them. Having never used public transport a great deal in the past, Barry was like a piglet being put through a sausage-making machine: he could do complex mathematic
167 calculations in his head and memorize whole books after one read, but the intricacies of the rail service’s platforms and stations were a world he could only dream of unravelling. ‘Are you okay? You seem lost,’ said a woman’s voice. Barry was staring at a large electronic railway timetable with glazed eyes and a vacant expression on his face. He knew he was in London, just where exactly he wasn’t sure, and how he was going to get to where he needed to go was another matter entirely. Masses of people expended their life clocks around the two figures, who were a singularly distinctive pair as they stood still amongst the racing sacks of meat that buzzed around them. The horde, too busy with their mundane and insignificant lives, took no notice of the profound connection taking place. The woman looked puzzled and thought about turning to leave. She stepped back half a pace but something internal, something altogether visceral made her stay. Barry had heard the quiet feminine voice but assumed it had been directed at someone else: accustomed to being deemed invisible by mankind, he’d never thought it possible someone would notice his presence inside this large building with there being, as he perceived, so many other—better meat sacks. The woman lightly touched Barry’s left arm. ‘I said are you lost?’ Barry turned and looked down at the woman’s face. His eyes were watering slightly from a gust of cold wind that had hit them. ‘I am,’ he replied meekly. Observing a pretty face enclosed by dark glossy hair, Barry felt it a shame the cute features were hidden behind a large pair of black-rimmed glasses, the lenses of
168 which were as thick as jam jar bottoms. This optical modification made the woman’s dark eyes look extremely large. She was clearly a fucking geek. ‘I’ve been trying to figure out these timetables but I just can’t make head or tail of them.’ ‘Yeah it can be confusing,’ said the woman sympathetically. With his unenviable ability to say the exactly wrong thing at the wrong time, Barry said off handily: ‘Yeah, I mean it must be especially hard for you, what with the eyesight issue.’ The woman was momentarily stunned before recovering and saying: ‘Where do you want to go?’ ‘I want to get to Kensington High Street Station.’ The woman’s eyes lit up and the effect was quite considerable taking into account the magnification level of her glasses. ‘That’s where I’m going! You can tag along with me if you like.’ ‘Okay, great,’ said Barry. He followed his new companion and as they walked he attempted to make small talk, something that he’d never been very good at. ‘So…you from London then?’ asked Barry. ‘No, just visiting.’ ‘Me too, I’m here to play some chess at the Empire Hotel.’ ‘You’re joking,’ the young woman’s eyes were absolutely huge now and her mouth was agape, ‘me too, at the national chess tournament. How mad is this?’