conditions, ploughing on. He did it willingly, because he thought it was his future, and he honestly thought that he would be rewarded.
The boss kept telling him ‘in about six months’ time your training will start’; like an idiot, he believed him. He wanted to believe him, he needed to believe him. One winter morning, something happened to change all that.
The owner’s son, aged sixteen, started work at the garage. On the lad’s first day, he was given his very own overalls and a set of tools in a blue, metal carry box. It was a box that Martin coveted, with little compartments and a mini padlock. He was also given a peg on which to hang his clothes and coat. Not like Martin’s peg on the back of the door in the office, but a peg in the garage with all the mechanics’ and body shop repairers’ pegs.
Martin watched the gang pat him on the back at the end of his first day. He saw the lad admire the telltale ring of black grease under his fingernails. Martin looked at his own soft, clean hands that had filed invoices and answered the phone all day and he knew. He knew what he had been trying to deny for the last two years; he was never going to get that pat on the back, his training was never going to start and he was never going to get a peg in the garage. He felt sick and more than a little bit stupid.
That night, he walked home slowly and quietly with the taste of bitterness filling his mouth; it ran down his throat, seeping into his veins. He was crying on the inside, angry and let down, his dad’s words filled his head: ‘useless little poof’. This was the second reason. He joined up, to show his dad, his nasty crappy dad, that he was something, that he was capable of being someone. There was a third reason, he wanted to show his Poppy that he could be a better man, a man that could provide the house in the country that she wanted, a man that could earn enough for them to start their family.
He walked down the High Street, not noticing much, his shoulders hunched over, his mouth turned downward at the corners. The recruiting office stood out. Martin must have walked past it a thousand times without really noticing it, but tonight the whole building seemed to pulse, lit up against the gloom. In the middle of the rain-soaked street, the grey concrete and litter, the sign called to him. Be the Best it said, and it was as if it had been written just for Martin, that was exactly what he wanted; to be the best that he could be.
He pushed his nose against the window, captivated by pictures of people in exotic, sunny places and a list, Learn one of these trades . His eyes drank the words written in alphabetical order; everything from Chef to Mechanic and hundreds of roles in between. Martin couldn’t believe it! It was the answer to his prayers.
He ran home, literally, ran all the way, full of energy and anticipation. He burst into the flat. Poppy was standing in the kitchen with her back to her husband. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, with pointy tendrils that had worked their way loose hanging down against her pale skin. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. He looked into her eyes that were so clear he could see his image perfectly reflected in them.
Martin felt like he could explode with all the possibilities. ‘I love you, Poppy. Things are going to start getting a whole lot better for us!’ He kissed her on the lips.
‘Well I am glad to hear that, Mart. Now, wash your hands because your tea’s ready.’ She continued to retrieve cutlery from the murky depths of the sink, wiping it with the tea towel. Poppy was calm and unflustered, despite her husband’s uncharacteristic display of enthusiasm for their future. It was how she worked, remaining cool until the detail unfolded and she would then decide whether to get excited or not. Poppy had learnt that if you contained your enthusiasm until you were absolutely sure that there was something to be excited about, it avoided a lot of
The boss kept telling him ‘in about six months’ time your training will start’; like an idiot, he believed him. He wanted to believe him, he needed to believe him. One winter morning, something happened to change all that.
The owner’s son, aged sixteen, started work at the garage. On the lad’s first day, he was given his very own overalls and a set of tools in a blue, metal carry box. It was a box that Martin coveted, with little compartments and a mini padlock. He was also given a peg on which to hang his clothes and coat. Not like Martin’s peg on the back of the door in the office, but a peg in the garage with all the mechanics’ and body shop repairers’ pegs.
Martin watched the gang pat him on the back at the end of his first day. He saw the lad admire the telltale ring of black grease under his fingernails. Martin looked at his own soft, clean hands that had filed invoices and answered the phone all day and he knew. He knew what he had been trying to deny for the last two years; he was never going to get that pat on the back, his training was never going to start and he was never going to get a peg in the garage. He felt sick and more than a little bit stupid.
That night, he walked home slowly and quietly with the taste of bitterness filling his mouth; it ran down his throat, seeping into his veins. He was crying on the inside, angry and let down, his dad’s words filled his head: ‘useless little poof’. This was the second reason. He joined up, to show his dad, his nasty crappy dad, that he was something, that he was capable of being someone. There was a third reason, he wanted to show his Poppy that he could be a better man, a man that could provide the house in the country that she wanted, a man that could earn enough for them to start their family.
He walked down the High Street, not noticing much, his shoulders hunched over, his mouth turned downward at the corners. The recruiting office stood out. Martin must have walked past it a thousand times without really noticing it, but tonight the whole building seemed to pulse, lit up against the gloom. In the middle of the rain-soaked street, the grey concrete and litter, the sign called to him. Be the Best it said, and it was as if it had been written just for Martin, that was exactly what he wanted; to be the best that he could be.
He pushed his nose against the window, captivated by pictures of people in exotic, sunny places and a list, Learn one of these trades . His eyes drank the words written in alphabetical order; everything from Chef to Mechanic and hundreds of roles in between. Martin couldn’t believe it! It was the answer to his prayers.
He ran home, literally, ran all the way, full of energy and anticipation. He burst into the flat. Poppy was standing in the kitchen with her back to her husband. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, with pointy tendrils that had worked their way loose hanging down against her pale skin. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. He looked into her eyes that were so clear he could see his image perfectly reflected in them.
Martin felt like he could explode with all the possibilities. ‘I love you, Poppy. Things are going to start getting a whole lot better for us!’ He kissed her on the lips.
‘Well I am glad to hear that, Mart. Now, wash your hands because your tea’s ready.’ She continued to retrieve cutlery from the murky depths of the sink, wiping it with the tea towel. Poppy was calm and unflustered, despite her husband’s uncharacteristic display of enthusiasm for their future. It was how she worked, remaining cool until the detail unfolded and she would then decide whether to get excited or not. Poppy had learnt that if you contained your enthusiasm until you were absolutely sure that there was something to be excited about, it avoided a lot of
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