Handcuffs and Handkerchiefs (1)

from Handcuffs and Handkerchiefs

a novel by Steve Hobson







Try to realise it’s all within yourself

no-one else can make you change

And to see you’re really only very small,

and life flows on within you and without you…

                             George Harrison





 

Chapter 1

It was July 1972, the day after Gay Pride had held their first official march on the streets of London.  His dad had gone bonkers.

'Fucking poofs,' he’d ranted. 'They’ll be making it compulsory next.' 

Keith didn’t share his dad’s homophobic views, or his sexist and racist ones for that matter.  Not that he’d have told him.  He was shit scared of him.  Most people were scared of his dad, particularly his mum.



The cell area of the City Hall in Bradford was a place Keith had never been before.  He walked with trepidation towards the scarred mahogany desk and pinged the bell like the young PC in reception had told him.  After a long pause, oversized keys jangled together as they approached the steel door on the left of the desk.  The cover hiding the door’s peephole swung open and behind the thick Perspex Keith could make out the distorted image of an eye scrutinizing him.  As the door slowly swung open he took a deep breath to steady his nerves.



The top three buttons of the washed out uniform shirt were undone revealing a tangle of greying chest hair.  A bit of egg yolk had dribbled down the front of the garment and was congealing in the crease formed by the breast pocket.  He scowled as he shuffled slovenly towards the charge desk and Keith sensed immediately that the sergeant was in a bad mood.



'What do you want?' he barked.

'I’m sergeant Padgett’s son,' said Keith politely. 'I’ve come to be measured up to join the police cadets.'  He handed the sergeant his application form by way of further explanation.

'Well how tall do you think you are Padgett?' growled the sergeant.  He took the partially completed form and flicked through it uninterestedly.

'Five foot eight,' offered Keith, keeping his fingers tightly crossed behind his back.

'Five foot eight, sergeant.'

Keith’s guts were telling him that this was not going to go well.

'Sorry sergeant.  Five foot eight sergeant,' he said.

'Well that shouldn’t be a problem then should it?  It says here, on your application form, "Minimum height requirement is five feet eight inches."  'Come over here behind the counter and take your shoes and socks off.'

Keith did as he was told, involuntarily screwing up his nose when he smelled the sergeant’s body odour.  It reminded him of the onions his mum had cooked for lunch.

'Right.  Stand up straight lad.'

'I am sergeant,' said Keith.

'Put your back straight.  Right up against this ruler,' said the sergeant, indicating a wooden measure set into the wall.

'I have sergeant.'

Keith knew he could have gained an extra inch, but the sergeant was insistent about the socks coming off.  The torn cardboard strips that Keith had carefully placed inside them the night before had been a waste of time and effort.

'And get your heels back on the ground lad.  Stop cheating.'

'Yes sergeant,' said Keith, his heart in his mouth.

'Five foot eight you reckon, do you?' queried the foul smelling policeman.

'Yes sergeant.'

'Well I don’t know where you got that from,' smirked the sergeant.  'You’re nothing like.  Nowhere near at all.  You’re five foot seven, five seven and a half at the very most and that’s pushing it.  You’re going to have to look for another job young man.'

'You’re joking?' groaned Keith.

'Do I look like a fucking comedian lad?' swore the sergeant.

Keith was gutted. 'But sergeant, I’ve always wanted to be a cadet,' he protested.

'Oh, a lot of kids your age want to join Padgett.' 

'Yeah, but eventually I want to be a police officer.'

'Tough.  Rules are rules,' insisted the sergeant.  'You go and tell your dad.  Tell him that Jim Rhodes says there’s fuck all he can do.'  The sergeant smirked sadistically.

'But I’m only seventeen sergeant,' persisted Keith

'And?' demanded the sergeant.

'Well, I might grow a bit,' tried Keith.

'And you might bloody not as well.  Now get your shoes and socks back on and fuck off out of my cells.  I want to finish my breakfast in fucking peace.'

***

 

Chapter 2

The Padgett’s house sat on the edge of Ravenscliffe council estate.  His dad was sitting on his own at the kitchen table tucking into some leftovers and chips that Keith’s mum had warmed up for his tea.

'Well.  How d’you get on lad?' he asked, through a mouthful of half chewed corned beef.

Keith hated breaking bad news to him.  He always started shouting.

'I’m too small.'

'What do you mean too small?  Who says so?' spat his dad.

'The guy in the cell area who measured me,' said Keith.

'Who the fuck was it?' said his dad, placing his knife and fork either side of the plate.

'Here we go again' thought Keith. ' Why can’t we ever have civilized conversations?' 

'Dunno dad.  A sergeant.  I can’t remember his name.'

'What’d he look like then?' snapped his dad.

'A bit scruffy, he had egg down his shirt.  And fat.  He was very fat,' said Keith.

'Did he smell of B.O?' his dad interrogated him.

'Yeah, he was a bit smelly,' admitted Keith.

'Rhodes.  I bet it was Rhodes.  He’s a fat little fucker, and he stinks.'

'Rhodes.  That was it,' Keith remembered now. 

His dad jumped up from the stool and slammed his clenched fist down on the kitchen table, making everything including Keith jump a good six inches.  A fork fell onto the floor splattering tomato ketchup everywhere.

'Well how tall are you?' he said, picking the fork up and wiping it clean on his sleeve.

'Five foot seven.'

'And how tall are you supposed to be?' he asked.

'Five foot eight.'

'What a cunt,' exploded his dad. -'So much for us coppers sticking together. I’ve never liked him,' he ranted. 'The man’s a cunt and he’s a lazy cunt at that.  I bet he did it on fucking purpose.  Wait till I fucking see him.'

'Yes dad,' mumbled Keith.

***