Racing Home

Chapter 6

"Come on, guys! Put some elbow grease into it. I want to be home by four, having tea with my wife!" It was a deep muscular voice, coming from outside.

I jumped out of bed, disoriented for a moment, wondering where I was. A quick scan of my surroundings brought me back to reality. I grabbed my smartphone, which was next to me, besides my pillow. That is another habit I have; sleeping with my mobile next to me. I pressed the power button, bringing the device to life. It was six in the morning. There wasn't much light in the room but enough for me to manoeuvre about without knocking into the furniture.

'Open the curtains,' I said to myself.

I made my way to the window, where a stream of light flooded through the side of the curtains. Taking the two drapes, one in each hand, I spread them apart. The bright light forced me a step back. Through half-shut eyes, I saw the commotion that woke me up. There was a garbage truck reversed near the wheelie bins. Two dustmen were struggling to pull the large green bin to the back of the lorry, while the driver had half his body stuck out of the driver's windows, bashing the palm of his hand on the door while screaming at the dustmen, "come on, get a move on."

"Thanks for the wake-up call," I said. The driver looked up towards the window as if he heard me, which I doubt he did with all the noise the garbage truck engine was making. He made a head gesture by nodding his head. I nodded back.

Grabbing what I was going to wear, I opened the bedroom door. It was dead quiet. After scanning the corridor, I tried to remember which one of the doors led to the bathroom, as I didn't want to walk into someone's bedroom. Bingo, the bathroom was labelled with a small wooden plate hanging on the door, it read, 'Bathroom'. I rushed into the room. After a shower and a fresh set of clothes, I was ready to go.

By seven, I was in the kitchen. Barbara was over the cooker. She had a spatula in one hand and a saucepan lid in the other. While moving the sausages around with the spatula, she shielded herself with the cover, avoiding the spit of oil caused by the sizzling sausages. Tina was at the kitchen table, dressed up in her school uniform again. She had her head buried in a bowl of cereals. Tina noticed my presence. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me. The shy innocent look that you give someone you don't know.

"Good morning, Tina. Your mum is a true warrior, fighting off those sausages," I said.

"Good morning," the young teenager replied, with a round of giggles loud enough to get her mother's attention.

"Good morning, Michael. You're up nice and early. Sit down breakfast is almost ready," Barbara gestured with the spatula towards the table.

Once I was seated, it didn't take Barbara long to slide a plate in front of me or a small mountain of food. The round porcelain plate consisted of two fried eggs, sausages, baked beans, hash brownies and toasts on the side. It was a full English breakfast. I stared at the food for a moment.

"Dig in then, Michael," Barbara said as she sat down opposite me with two mugs in her hand. "If I remember correctly, it was one sugar in your coffee." She slid one of the hot beverages next to my plate.

Halfway through my breakfast, I asked Barbara, "Where is Tim?"

"Tim has been up since five this morning. He went downstairs to prepare to open the café.

As I finished off my breakfast, I got up. I said, "I should have gone downstairs to help Tim."

Another set of stairs took me downstairs to the back of the shop. Once on the ground floor. On the right stood a large emergency exit door, which led to the backyard. On my left was a small corridor that led to the café's kitchen. I went that way towards the cooking area. Tim and another man in full chefs clothing were preparing food for the waitresses beyond the counter. The two ladies would quickly grab the plates and take them to the waiting customers. Every table in the cafe was packed. All you could hear was clutter from the cutlery on porcelain. I stood there for a moment, watching Tim, waiting for him to see me, to tell me what to do.

A few moments later, he acknowledged me.

"What do I do," I said, gesturing my arms by spreading them apart.

He gave me a confused look before he came over. "You didn't have to come down this early," he said.

"I'm here now. How can I help?"

He looked over my shoulder. "Let's start with the pot wash." He gestured me towards a large sink with a pile of greasy plates stacked up on top of each other, which looked like the leaning tower of Pisa. He handed me a rubber apron and showed me how the water spray gun worked and where the washing liquid was. "Between six and nine in the morning, we call it rush-hour. Will you be ok with the washing for today?"

Once I slipped on the yellow rubber apron, I looked more like a fishmonger than the kitchen porter. Grabbing the water spray, I began my challenge to keep up with the waitresses as they dumped the dirty dishes next to the pot wash. The first hour was a losing battle. Once I got into the rhythm, I had control of the situation. The plates kept on coming until after four in the afternoon. With a couple of breaks between the eight hours of work, I was ok. After four, when I took off the yellow apron, the water was dripping off it, but my clothes were dry. Hanging it up next to the pot wash, I looked at the apron. I said, "You and I are going to become best friends."

Tim called me over and adequately introduced me to his staff. The waitresses who were both from Romania, I already knew their names, Bianca and Roxanna. They were the only two members of the team I had contact with all day. The chef George was near enough the same age as Tim. He was a big man; he was from Liverpool with a strong northern accent. He was in the army as a cook for twenty years. The waitresses called him Mr Grumpy.

After the introductions, Tim showed me around the kitchen. He explained to me how each piece of equipment worked and what its purpose was. He would make sure that I understood clearly the health and safety procedures. While Tim showed me how to use the fire extinguisher and fire blanket properly, Barbara and Tina entered the shop from the main entrance. Tina went straight to one of the empty tables, away from any customers. She dropped her school bag on one of the chairs, then herself on the chair next to it. Pulling some books out of her school bag, she spread them on the table and then sank her head in her homework.

Barbara came over to us; she greeted her husband with a kiss on the cheek. Turning to me, she said, "How was your first day, Michael?"

"It was good. I want to thank you for helping me with somewhere to stay and work," I said with appreciation. "I better get back to my pot wash. The plates are piling up."

For the next hour until closing time, the flow of work was slow. Tim prepared the minor orders while George made preparations for the next day. When I didn't have anything to wash, I helped George. By five-thirty, Roxanne turned the sign on the door to show 'closed' and locked the door. The tables were given a good clean by Roxanne and me while Bianca mopped the floor. By six on the dot, the girls were finished and ready to go home. They both thanked me for helping them. They also insisted on sharing their tips with me. When I declined, Bianca stuffed the notes in the back of my jeans pocket.

"When a woman gives you money, never refuse it. Because it's always the opposite, we give them money," Tim laughed. His comment won him a light slap on the bum by his wife. We all chuckled at Tim's comment.

As Roxanne was ready to exit the café, she called out, "Here comes the tornado," making way for a young man to enter the shop. It was the first time I had seen him, but I figured out straight away who it was. It was Jason, Tim and Barbara's son.

Everyone went quiet, looking in the direction of Jason. Even Tina lifted her head to look over. She, too, turned her attention to her brother.

He greeted everyone coldly. "Mum, Dad, Tina," He looked at George and nodded his head; he couldn't greet the waitresses as they were gone. I guess they didn't want to get court in the middle of the tornado. He then stared at me. "You must be the new pot wash boy." He grinned.

Before I could say anything, Tim spoke, "Jason, this is Michael. He is our guest. He will be staying with us for a while. Michael will help with the work at the café."

Jason's reaction was. "Whatever." He then walked up to the counter, where his mum was standing. "What is there to eat, mum."

George put his hand to his mouth, coughing into his fist.

"That's it, big man, cough into your hand. We don't want you spreading germs all over the food," Jason said while staring at George.

"I better get going, boss," George literately ran out of the café.

After George had closed the door behind him, Tim approached Jason. "Son, you didn't have to speak to George like that."

Barbara prepared a plate of food for Jason. He sat down at one of the tables. Tim and Barbara tried to talk to him; with no success, He was too absorbed in the plate in front of him, shuffling the food into his mouth. His sister, Tina, tried to get her brother's attention. He just ignored her. I watched Jason's family try to show him love, from a distance, but he ignored them. Once the plate was empty of its contents, Jason went up to his father. They quarrelled for a couple of minutes. When Jason saw he was not getting anywhere with his dad, he approached his mother. Barbara took some money out of her purse, handing it over to Jason.

Jason and my eyes met when his mother was giving him the money.

"You got a problem, pot wash boy," he yelled at me.

I just stared back at him.

A moment later, he broke the stair, rushing out of the café.

A day that began joyfully for the Wright's family turned into a miserable day. Barbara and Tina went upstairs while Tim and I finished off in the shop. We got everything ready for the next day. When we went upstairs, not much was said.

I excused myself and went to my room. I phoned my mother as I promised her and also to see how she was. After a long chat with her, I called Nick, as well. He was busy on our car, changing the Air-flow meter. We talked for a while until his mother called him for dinner. I missed my mother and my best friend, Nick. I was confident that I would be seeing them soon.

It was getting near midnight when I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. On my way back to my bedroom, Tina's bedroom door was open. She was sitting on the floor next to her bed with her head down. Her legs were crossed with pictures of her family spread out in front of her.

I walked up to the entrance of her bedroom, giving the door frame a little tap. "Hey, are you ok," I said.

She looked up at me. "Hi," she whispered.

"Hey, are you ok," I said. I sat down by the door with my legs crossed. "Are those pictures of your family?"

She nodded her head.

I leaned forward, putting my hand out, to take one of the pictures. "May I?"

She nodded again.

I picked up one of the pictures. Tina was with her brother, laughing at something, while they looked straight ahead at the camera.

"Your brother is just going through a phase." I tried to comfort her. "He'll come around, don't worry."

"Do you think so?" She smiled.

I gave her back the picture and then got up. "I'm sure he will," I tried to reassure her. I left her room, closing the door behind me.

Barbara was by her bedroom door. Her eyes were moist. "Thank you for talking to her," she whispered.

Chapter 7

As the days became weeks, they then rolled into months. All I knew in this new life was work and sleep. The first salary I received from Tim was one thousand pounds. I saved this in my bank account. The tip money from the waitresses I purchased myself a second-hand MacBook Air. Like clockwork, after work, I rushed to my bedroom, grabbed my apple device and called mum. With Facetime at my disposal, I could talk and view my mother whenever I called her. Nick, I would call twice a week; our main subject was our Beamer. I would then join the Wrights family for dinner. On rare occasions, Jason would join us with his attendance.

I got very close living with the Wrights family, especially Tim, as I was with him for twelve hours a day, working with him in the cafe. Tina, I would help her for an hour with her Maths and English after she finished school. Barbara was always busy with house chores, but she consistently made me feel welcome. Whenever Jason decided to turn up, he still caused havoc for everyone. I would spend my evenings in my room, glued to the MacBook. With two of the top online movie on-demand apps, I had hundreds of films at my disposal.

It was in autumn that I began to start jogging on Sunday, which was my day off. I did my running around the local park, near the cafe. I started with one lap at first. As my stamina got longer, so did the distance I ran. Now I do one lap around the block, just to warm up. I glide past people who walk their dogs or just stroll in the park. I was surprised at how many of them would greet me as I got to know the community.

There are two casinos on Hagley Street, not far from the cafe. They were both on my jogging route. The one furthest away from the restaurant is part of a chain of casinos which is nationwide. The other one, which is two streets from the cafe, is privately owned. I do not mention this because I am a regular visitor to these kinds of establishments. What caught my curiosity was that Jason is always hovering around in the parking lot of the privately-owned casino. I would jog past, and he would be with a crowd of other young men, the same age as him. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see he was mixing with a bad company.

I began to jog regularly. Every other day I would run, taking alternative routes every time. I would go past the casino, watching every move Jason and his friends would make. They would lure the clientele of the establishment to take out personal loans.

Jason was a loan shark.

I got friendly with two homeless men in the park: a few pound coins and a hot meal from the cafe loosened up their tongues. I got more details about Jason's friends or, should I say, colleagues.

"The gang leader is called Shark. Short for a loan shark," one of the homeless men said.

"Which one is Shark?" I asked.

They just looked at each other before they turned back to look at me.

"It's dangerous, man. These people are violent. We don't want them coming knocking on our door," The other homeless man said.

It didn't take long to get the information I needed when I dug out of my tracksuit pocket a twenty-pound note.

"The leader is the one with a tattoo sleeve and shaved head," The same homeless man that spoke earlier said. He snatched the money out of my hand before I could say anything.

They expected a reaction from me, but I just put on my tracksuit hood, got into my start position and began to run towards the casino, hoping to get a better view of Shark.

I wasn't lucky on this occasion.

Jason was coming home less frequently, making his family more worried. I wanted to get him to speak to him on his own, but I hardly got the chance to see him.

It was late October when I had my opportunity. I was approaching the casino. Jason was sitting on the small wall, which circled the parking lot of the establishment. He was facing the main street. Perfect. It was on my jogging route. I picked up my pace, hoping to get there before he got up and went inside the building or joined his associates.

When I reached him, he had his face down, looking at the pavement.

"Hey Jason, what's up," I said, smiling at him.

He looked up, shocked to see me. "Why are you here?" he angrily said.

Suddenly, I was surrounded by his comrades, forming a circle around me. Jason stepped back, but the knee height wall was stopping him. Two of the mob stepped aside, making a gap for their leader. It was Shark. Finally, I had a face to the name. I recognised him from the description I was given by the homeless men. He had a sleeve tattoo, his left arm covered in playing cards, aces, queens, kings, jacks and numbered cards.

Shark stepped forward, shaking his head slowly. When he was close enough to me, he reached into his jacket. He pulled out a switchblade. With a press of a button on the side of its handle, the blade flicked open. He stretched his arm out towards my face. The knife was inches away from my cheek. He almost scraped the edge of the blade along my face.

I didn't flinch a muscle.

He came close, his lips almost touching my ear. "No one talks to my boys unless they want to borrow money. Do you want a loan, Mr Jogger?" He whispered.

"Oh, he's nothing, Shark. He's just the pot wash boy at my dad's cafe," Jason said with a chuckle.

Shark turned his attention to Jason. Turning, he pointed the dagger at him. "Who told you to speak!" he screamed at Jason.

Turning back to me, Shark said, "Go and wash some plates, Mr Jogger." His comrades began to laugh while Jason just stared at me.

I jogged back home.

For the following weeks, I studied every move these loan sharks made. Where they dined, pubs they used, even where some of them lived. They were all locals who lived in council flats. A majority of them were a part of the unemployed in Birmingham. Shark lived in a flat above the casino. When he went out, it would be with one of the company limos. The only place he would walk to was the gym, a five-minute walk from the casino. Even then, he would take a posse of henchmen with him.

With the festive season nearing, there was a sharp change in the weather: the snow and ice is a jogger's worst nightmare. I needed to register at a gym. George, the chef, recommended the one he was a member of. My luck, it was the gym Shark used.

It was a week before Christmas when I had my second encounter with Shark. I was at the gym, working on my cardio. I was just about breaking a sweat on the treadmill. The large wall mirrors in front of me gave me a view of the gym behind me. George was on the bench press facing my back. He was heaving to lift the bar, which had weights on each side, the size of car tyres.

Shark walked in with four of his henchmen. He spotted me looking his way through the mirror. With a head gesture, he signalled his men. Two of them came towards me, climbing onto the treadmills on either side of me. George noticed them. He heaved hard, landing the weights he was using onto the bench press weight stand. He sat up, his glare ahead.

"Shark wants to know where Jason is?" Henchman on the left said.

I was on a jogging mode on the treadmill. Taking the small towel hanging on the handle, I wiped the sweat off my forehead.

Shark signalled. They began to jog at the same pace as me.

I pressed the manual mode on the machines control panel. I left my finger on the speed button; the treadmill belt went into running mode. The two goons did the same; they tried to keep up with me for five minutes. I was impressed. It was time to work on my inclining. Taking the towel, I gave my face another wipe with it. I programmed the machine to incline, the front of the treadmill started rising. The goons did the same. The one on the left lasted not more than a minute; he pressed the emergency stop button on the machine. The one on the right continued for a couple of more minutes when he eventually pressed the stop button. He began to bring up whatever he had to eat. I carried on for a few more minutes before I stopped the machine.

Jumping off the treadmill belt, I walked past George towards Shark. On the way, I grabbed one of the one-kilo dumbbells.

I stood in front of Shark, my hand wrapped around the weight, ready to use it if I had to.