STAMMA member Brian Patton sent us this short story he wrote about Kevin, who stammers. Note: includes strong language.
As he drove his white van along Meadow Road, Kevin Smith pondered on the difficulty of his life and, in particular, the problem of Lisa Johnson. He had had hopes of taking her out for an evening and some of her remarks suggested that she was not averse to the idea. But more recently, she had made it clear that she was only being polite. Well, at least that was better than the jokes of his twin sisters. These ran along the level of "Don't be a silly boy, Kev. No girl's going to wait for the hour that's needed for you to say "Want to dance?" And they would both burst out giggling. He had got used to this and to what his mates at work often – but not always – said, but still it hurt. It was all the more frustrating in that his problem was getting started to speak, which could take four or five attempts, and by the time he was reasonably fluent, his listeners had often melted away. Sometimes he cried over the question of life in general and girls in particular but, being a practical guy, mostly he just got on with it and enjoyed the sessions at the gym, where he was making good progress. He did not see any point in dressing up.
He came back to earth and turned off Meadow Road into the racecourse grounds. He had forgotten that this was a race day and that parking might be difficult. In that case, he would have to walk some distance to deliver the many goods he was bringing for the café. After cruising round and finding it was really crowded, he noticed a vacant space between two very grand cars – a Porsche and a BMW. Using all his skill as a driver, he managed to insert the van into the opening of the small space but, as soon as he prepared to reverse in, there was a horrible scratching noise from the BMW. As he could not open the passenger door, he could not assess the damage but, being an honest lad, he decided that he would have to find the owner of the damaged car, confess and pay up. He hoped that it would not be more than £20, that being all he had in his pockets.
He took the goods that he had brought for the café and gave them to Siobhan. She was a cheerful, round woman in her early 40s, who paid no attention to his initial blocks. She looked briefly through the boxes and then gave Kevin a warm hug. "I like men who are organised," she said, "and you have got all I asked for, even the Jammy Dodgers". Emboldened, he related the tale of the damaged BMW and was horrified when she made a face and said that the owner was Johnny MacOliver, the chief bookie at these races and the nastiest punter in the county. "Don't you let him put anything over on you, me ducks. If he does, let me know and I'll get my Sam to sort him out."
Only partly cheered by a recollection of Sam, who worked in the road gang, often stripped to the waist, Kevin thanked her and went off to join the queue that was now being formed by the winners. The race had ended in a draw, between the favourite and a total stranger, and this made the bookie’s work more difficult than usual. As the queue shuffled forward, the ladies in their furs and the men in their London suits looked down scornfully at the boy in his worn trainers and shabby jeans with the knees peeping through. One or two made saucy remarks but he did not hear what they actually said – which was just as well. Kevin noticed that MacOliver was a small, round figure in a tight-fitting yellow outfit, completed by a horsey silk tie. He used the waiting time to rehearse the speech, with which he would start: "I'm afraid that I've backed my white van into your BMW". But, when it came his turn, he blocked and each time got no further than "backed my", the bookie was clearly impatient. At the fifth attempt, he turned on Kevin, handed him a brown envelope and snapped, "Fuck off, you tongue-tied young idiot, and don't come here again. Get lost. If I see you here again, I’ll put the boys onto you." He spat hard on the turf and bawled "Next" while Kevin retreated to the peace of his van. He had been called many names in his life but never any so crude as this and it shook him to the core. To calm his nerves, he opened the envelope, which, to his amazement, contained, in crisp new bank notes, £350 and a note that said, "Here's my settlement, Eddy. You can call your boy off me now".
Normally an honest guy, Kevin briefly pondered what he should do and decided to keep the money. He hadn't stolen it. It had been given to him and if Mr MacOliver could not keep his money in order, that was his problem. The sneers, the abuse and the veiled threat were too much and also a visit to Markie's might now be possible. As he drove out of the parking area, he saw MacOliver, purple with rage, waving another brown envelope in his direction. He had to restrain himself from shouting "Thanks a lot".
While it was great to have this kind of money, Kevin could see a problem in getting it into the house. Mum had quite strong views on honesty and might tell him to return his windfall to the donor. He had better take it all carefully. He must also think what to buy and where to go shopping – he didn't want to seem an idiot when it came to clothes. He took to talking about clothing to some of the lads as they ate their lunch in the canteen and started with Flash Harry. But when he saw him close up, he decided not to make an approach; an outfit of orange yellow, purple and white was definitely not right for him. His next target was Lance, who was rumoured to be gay. Kevin, for no very good reason, cherished a belief that gay guys knew all about clothes. He collected his tray and sat down next to Lance, who had a window seat, overlooking the railway. They had only just started to talk when Lance suddenly whooped "WOAAWWOW," pulled out a note pad and scribbled something. Seeing Kevin's somewhat startled face, he began an explanation but then interrupted himself with another yowl. "It's the new 319 class," he managed to say. "That means that she will be on the return at 5.15. We could get a great view from behind the car park as she passes. WOOOOWEWEEOW. Want to come along with me to see the latest on British Railways?" While Kevin was flattered at the invitation and, as always, envious of a fluent speaker, he did not want to go round the town shouting WOOOWEEOW. He managed to mumble a quick "Sorry, late deliveries," ate his meal as fast as he could and said good night. He did not seem to be getting anywhere in his quest and began to feel sorry for people with lots of money. However, he managed one day to share a table with Jimmy Field, a quiet man in his late 30s, who always looked just right, whatever the season and from what he said, Kevin felt ready to take on Marks & Spencer's. He left it until the Thursday, the late-night opening, which was also Mum's night at the Guild. He could rely on his sisters being out and he would have the house to himself, to try on the new clothes. Mum always left a scribbled note about the snacks for himself and Boots, the striped tabby.
The sight of all the new and modish clothes, and the smart staff who wore them, undermined Kevin's confidence but a smile and greeting from a well-dressed young man evidently called Rupert and just about his own age, gave him more confidence. He managed to say "Hi" in return but then blocked quite severely and had almost given up when Rupert said, "It's not a problem, Sir," smiled and busied himself with a display until his customer had dealt with the stammer. In the next half hour they both happily examined shirts, t-shirts, trousers, jeans, some underwear, shoes and trainers, and put together a wardrobe that would be right for him when he went out on the town. They ended on a real note of friendship and when he reached home, there was no one in the house but Boots, as he had expected. Like a child at Christmas, he tore the package open, took out a lemon-yellow shirt with grey trimming, grey trousers and a fine pair of grey and yellow trainers. Mum had left the usual note for him on the work top: 'Remember to feed Boots'. "Yes, young man, you've sure got taste," he said to the wailing cat and went out into the hall to see in the mirror how he looked. He had just started to parade when Boots yowled in a manner not unlike Lance, reared up on his hind legs and prepared to jump onto the worktop, from which there came a distinct smell of smoked mackerel. "No you don't, boy," Kevin said firmly and turned to compose a snack for the now very cross cat. As he turned, he was horrified to hear and then see a Yale key being inserted into the front door to admit Eunice, his younger sister. Both lapsed into a plethora of stuttering, from which Eunice emerged first to say, "Kev, you look really great". Kevin managed a quick "Thank you ma'am" in reply and they resumed their joking. When they finally sobered up, they found that Boots, annoyed by all the delay, was leaving by the cat flap.
About half an hour later, when Mrs Smith came home from her Guild evening, she was surprised but glad to see two of her family sitting on the settee, with a coffee set in front of them, laughing and chatting happily, while Boots, who had been wailing, slept the sleep of the just between them. Signs suggesting a good night at home graced the low table. But where had the smoked mackerel gone? She was sure that she had left it on the worktop. She must search for it in the morning.
On the Friday, Kevin donned parts of his new outfit and was going off to visit his Nan, who was always pleased to see her "Big Boy". As he was getting dressed, Mum asked if they had enjoyed the previous night at home and both he and Eunice said "Yes". But he had to confess that he had forgotten about the mackerel and she managed a wan smile. He spent a happy evening with Nan and as he made for the door, she said that she thought that he had done very well in his choice of clothes and could not help adding "You'll attract the lassies now, I'm sure". Kevin was not so sure, but he smiled and muttered, adding "Here's hoping". Nan probably believed in what she had said. The van was in for repairs and as Kevin jumped off the bus, he remembered that Mum had asked him to get some biscuits and fish. He dived into Tesco's and quickly found what he wanted. Inwardly blessing the self-service till, he paid and made for the automatic door. It swung open as he approached and a customer came in. He realised that she was none other than Lisa and had a 'great to see you' look on her face as she said "Hi Kev".
Mrs Smith did not have the heart to reproach those who had been in on Thursday evening. Including Boots, all had had a really good night.
Read another of Brian's short stories 'A Goood Start'. Do you have something you'd like to share in our Creative Corner? It could be a story, a poem, a song, a picture, or anything else about, or inspired by stammering. We'd love to hear from you. Email it to editor@stamma.org and we'll get back to you.
