Multipurpose Mobile Information Centre
Jack clung to the pole. He braced again, pushing his heels into the floor. The ropes lost their slack and his feet left the ground; he dangled in the air trying to keep his balance. He leaned into the pole but another yank pulled him sideways. Poles clattered around him as he fell to the floor.
‘Stop messing around and hold the pole straight or we’ll never get this bloody thing up!’ Ben yelled.
‘Piss off! You pulled too hard. Nearly ripped my arms off!’ Jack shouted back.
They had struggled for over an hour with the mass of slippery white plastic sheets. It had sounded an easy way to make money when Jack first told Ben about the job. He’d put up tents as a kid but this was so much bigger. The plastic sheets heaved like ships’ sails. As soon as one side was erected, a pole or rope came loose and another side fell apart. It took another twenty minutes until the marquee stood at an uncomfortable angle.
Jack rocked the marquee; it swayed but remained standing.
‘I think it’s more Leaning Tower of Pisa than Taj Mahal.’
‘Why do they call this place a Multipurpose Mobile Information Centre?’ Ben asked.
‘Dunno, good marketing, easily impressed clients.’
The marquee was one of many stretching the length of the exhibition hall. ‘The latest in real estate development’, the exhibition promoters promised. ‘An exciting new life for the whole family’.
Banners spruiking ‘Lakeside Gardens’, ‘Executive Grove’ and ‘Paradise Springs’ hung above each marquee. The best of them displayed plastic palm trees, deck chairs and coloured umbrellas.
Ben stepped into the aisle to admire their Bueno Vista contribution with a warm glow. Bueno Vista leaned into the aisle so that it dominated the regimented row of competing marquees. A job well done, he thought. Worth the sweat and dust. Combing his jet-black hair with his fingers, he stretched his six-foot frame to relieve the ache in his back. He wished he looked as good as Jack, gleaming like he had just stepped out of the shower. ‘You’re made of bloody Teflon; nothing ever sticks to you.’
Jack laughed. He was short and wiry with blond cropped hair and sharp blue eyes. He looked younger than his twenty-nine years and was still asked for ID at pubs. As a child, his lack of height was an obsession. He’d tried tying bricks to his ankles and hanging them over the edge of his bed for hours on end. It made no difference except for sore ankles. Mates called him ‘short arse’ and his mother didn’t help by saying he had a ‘compact frame’. Jack had a quick temper and learned attack was the best form of defence early on. His Uncle Pat was a street fighter and taught Jack how to fight back. When Pat visited, he’d get Jack to practice with him. ‘Come on boy, move those feet. Jab left, duck right. Now jab again. That’s the way Jack. Keep your guard up. Knee to the groin, good boy.’
Jack and Ben had both attended Parkhurst Comprehensive School. After teaming up during a school bullying incident, they discovered a shared passion for Star Wars and became close friends. Jack was Luke Skywalker as he felt the force was in him and he convinced Ben to be Chewbacca due to his height and strength. Jack occasionally forced other classmates into supporting roles during school lunch breaks. He made them re-enact classic scenes. Ben, shy by nature, was glad Chewbacca only had to growl.
The first time Jack visited Ben’s house was a surprise. They always reached Ben’s house in Theobald Street first on their way home from school. One day, Jack asked if he could see Ben’s new Star Wars poster. Ben looked apprehensive but led him through the back door into the kitchen. Jack sat down at the narrow kitchen table watching Ben clear a single breakfast bowl and spoon covered in dried-out Weetabix. As Ben placed it in the sink Jack could see a jumble of dirty plates and cups. He looked around at the peeling wallpaper and stained carpet tiles, then caught the pungent whiff of cat’s urine. ‘Where are your parents Ben?’
‘Dunno. Mum’s got a new boyfriend and stays at his place sometimes. Dad doesn’t live here anymore. It’s OK, she leaves me money so I can look after myself.’
Jack didn’t stay long. His mum was surprised when he gave her a hug as he walked in the back door. ‘What have you been up to? Fighting again I suppose,’ she said, ruffling his hair. Jack dropped his school bag and slumped in a chair, watching his mother peel potatoes. He couldn’t get the image of Ben’s sad surrounds out of his mind.
Their friendship ended when Jack was fourteen. Ben started missing school and became secretive about his movements. After he was absent for two consecutive weeks, Jack asked their teacher where he was. ‘Ben’s left school and won’t be coming back; didn’t he tell you?’
‘Where’s he gone then? He didn’t say anything to me about moving.’ His teacher was usually brusque and hard as nails but his question made her look uncomfortable. ‘He’s not coming back and that’s all I can tell you. I’m busy, please shut the door behind you.’
As Jack walked up Theobald Street, he saw a large van with doors wide open parked outside Ben’s house. A sofa was being carried into the house and a family of strangers stood in the garden. He stopped and stared from the other side of the road. Ben had been a close friend and he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t told him he was leaving. Jack walked away from the house, kicking an empty beer can. It landed in the gutter with a clatter. His sadness gave way to anger at Ben’s betrayal.
Two years later, Jack left school. His father wanted him to take an apprenticeship with Langs Construction. He loved the construction business and had secured an apprenticeship for his son at Langs heavy construction equipment division. Jack had other plans after becoming obsessed with a television home renovation show “Under the Hammer”. He dreamed of starting his own business as a self-employed handyman. His father was disappointed and told him he was throwing a good career away. But he supported Jack by buying him a basic set of tools. Jack called his business Hammer & Nails.
After struggling to stay afloat for the first few years, he gradually built up a steady business with maintenance contracts for local schools.
The news from the Department of Education came without warning: “Procurement of all maintenance work must be provided by licenced companies approved by the Department for Education”.
Jack showed the email to his girlfriend Julie. ‘This is a real kick in the guts. The operations guy at Campions Grammar said they’d been given no choice and Blackstone Engineering have been given the contract, starting next week. It’s going to be the same with all the rest. Hammer & Nails has never needed a licence before and I don’t have the qualifications to get one.’
Julie had met Jack three years earlier when he visited Brascoe Solicitors for advice on executing his grandfather’s will. Julie was an only child, her circle of friends restricted by her mother’s approval. She’d never met someone like Jack. He was open, frank and full of confidence. He had an infectious laugh and she looked forward to hearing his latest excuse for visiting her office.
Though she loved her parents, Julie felt suffocated by them and moved into a shared house when she started practicing law at Brascoe’s. Her parents tried to talk her out of seeing Jack, wanting her to meet people with a similar professional background. Her mother was horrified when she found out that Jack was from the council estate and had gone to Parkhurst. When Julie announced that she and Jack were buying a house together, her mother burst into tears and her father refused to help them move in. Julie accused them of snobbery and said she wanted nothing more to do with them unless they changed their attitude. They had barely spoken since.
After the school maintenance work had finished, Jack tried to find work as a general handyman. He left his business cards with real estate agents and hardware shops but with the downturn in the economy, work was hard to find.
One day he answered an ad on the “Local Jobs for Local People” website:
“Wanted - Experienced Multipurpose Mobile Information Centre (Marquee) installer
Phone Sid Slater Real Estate on 01462 327391”
He was drinking in the Pig & Whistle when Sid Slater texted him:
You’ve got the job. Be at the exhibition hall no later than 7.30 am. Exhibition stand 36, Bueno Vista. The marquee is in a crate, assemble by 8.30 and I’ll see you there. Sid.
Jack pocketed the change and picked up his pint. As he turned to find a seat, he glanced around and noticed a vaguely familiar figure hunched over a table in the corner. He wasn’t sure but when the man looked up, he knew it was Ben. He walked over and sat opposite him. ‘Ben! How are you? Where have you been all these years?’
Ben flushed. ‘I’ve just been away, moved back a while ago.’
‘I tried to find out where you’d gone when you stopped coming to school. I was pissed off that you didn’t bother saying goodbye or anything. I thought we were best mates. Where did you move to?’
The question caught Ben off guard. He felt embarrassed, his face turned a deeper shade of pink. ‘Sorry Jack.’ He stared at his half-drunk pint and slowly ran his fingers up and down the glass. Then he glanced up. Jack remembered those sad brown eyes. He broke the awkward silence. ‘Where are you living now mate?’ Ben slowly sipped his beer and shifted in his chair. ‘I managed to get a council flat in the Towers and I’ve started looking for work.’
‘Look, if you’ve got nothing on and want to earn some cash, you could help me put up a marquee at the exhibition hall. I’ve got to go now but it would be great if you could give me a hand and we can catch up.’
‘Sure, when do I start?’
