Making It

By David Hockey

Len Andrews, an eighteen-year boy just graduating from high school in 1982 falls-out with Betty, his girlfriend, and wonders what he’s going to do with the rest of his life. He has a summer job with the post office but after that nothing. His father and mother are dead and his uncle suggests he helps him renovate a house. He does that at weekends and finds a full-time job in September where he is asked to use a computer and learn VisiCalc and WordStar. He quits at the end of the year to help his uncle renovate kitchens in an apartment building where he earns much more money but finds the work hard. His uncle dies and Len inherits his cottage on the Rideau River, some money and an old house which he renovates. He meets Chris and is hired by her parents to sell computers in their appliance store. This, in 1983, is so successful that Chris’s parents open a store to do that in Townsville then another in Brockville. Chris manages one and Len the other. They marry in 1984 and Len finds a way to make thousands of dollars a month with very little work.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Hockey
• Release date: Sep 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463659083

David Hockey

Eighty five years and still going! Air Force, industry, teaching, government and freelancing. But retirement is best, as I hope you will find. When I had more energy I built my own home and looked after a very big vegetable garden. Nowadays I like to read, write, travel, play a Clavinova, talk with my children and grandchildren and think. (Probably thinking comes first.) I’ve written technical and travel articles, training programs and a long autobiography. David

Book preview

No, Betty, I’m not going. You know that, I told you yesterday. I don’t want to spend that much money on a dinner and dance.

Then I’ll go with Bob.

Bob Pringle?

Yes. He’s already asked me. He heard you telling John that you were not going.

You know what Pringle said in the locker room? That he’d slept with half the girls in grade twelve.

Well, I won’t be another one, don’t worry. It’s just the dinner and dance. I‘m not going to the party afterwards.

Well, I still don’t like it.

I’m not going to miss celebrating my graduation, Len. It’s just one night. We’ll still be friends.

They stopped talking and continued walking. Len was torn. It would cost him nearly two hundred dollars to go; renting a tuxedo, buying a bouquet, dinner and dance on the boat, drinks, taxis, it was just too much to spend on one night of celebration. He had the money, he had nearly eight hundred dollars in his savings but it was his safety net, something he would have to rely on if things went wrong. He had no one to support him after his dad died. He had clothes, shoes and food to buy. He could understand Betty wanting to go, her parents had paid for her dress, they had plenty of money. And she should go of course though he hated the idea of her going with Bob Pringle. Bob, the football hero, Bob whom all the girls adored and most of the boys as well.

Once they reached Betty’s home Len had one more try.

So you’ll be going with Pringle then.

Yes. I’d rather be with you but if you won’t spend the money to go then don’t blame me.

I’ll phone you on Saturday to find out what it was like.

Yes, okay.

Len watched her walking up the drive to her front door. She was so lovely, the prettiest girl in grade twelve, no, in the whole school, as far as he was concerned. He was so lucky that she liked him, that they had become friends and that they started going out together. She looked back at him before opening the front door. Her long brown hair, tied together by a band at the back of her neck, something he loved to play with when they went to the movies and he put his hand around her shoulders. Her eyes, as she smiled at him, which she now did, their glow and depth, blue yet slightly green as well. He smiled back, for he couldn’t help himself from doing it. He was pretty sure he loved her but didn’t know what love really was. Betty was the first girl he’d ever gone out with, the first girl he’d ever kissed. Should he change his mind and spend the money? ‘No, no, no,’ he told himself, ‘it is too much for too little.’ And Betty would still be his friend he was sure. He turned away as she went indoors and walked to his apartment.

To keep his mind from thinking about Betty and the Friday night dance he took out his Graduation Dinner and Dance Invitation and made notes on its back; might as well put the thing to some good use. There was the furniture he couldn’t take to his new place, he had to decide what he should keep. The clothes from his father’s wardrobe and his drawers should be discarded, though there were some unused shirts he would keep. Pity they didn’t have the same sized feet, there were two, almost brand-new pairs of shoes he’d have to throw out and he badly needed a new pair. Then there was food to buy for tonight’s supper and, probably, things to do for the tenants.

Len’s mother had died from cancer five years ago in 1977 and his father had died in March from a stroke when shoveling snow. The landlord had let Len continue to live the apartment, at the same low rent his dad had paid, until the end of the school year but, in return, he had to do the maintenance work his father had done. It wasn’t much in the summer when there was no snow to shovel, cutting the grass took its place and that was easy. His father made his money by doing odd jobs for people in the neighborhood. He’d done that for years and everybody knew to call him when they wanted a toaster fixed, or a broken chair leg mending or some plumbing work. His prices were much better than calling a professional and his work was just as good, sometime better, and always quicker. Len helped him whenever he could and liked the idea of becoming a handyman after he left school. The job was interesting and changed from day to day. He would always be meeting new people and making new friends. It would be a good life but a hard one to get started. Who would hire an eighteen year old to replace a water pipe that had burst when it froze in the winter, something his father had done several times over the past years when it dropped to minus thirty. And it would be a long time before they called upon him to fix their appliances even though many had seen him helping his dad. He’d have to find a proper job in September once his summer post-office work had finished.

He bought six eggs, a loaf of bread and a bag of Macintosh apples at the corner store. That would take care of supper. Hopefully he’d be invited to eat at his uncles place tomorrow or he’d finish the eggs. Saturday he’d go to the supermarket and buy for next week.

Once he got home he put the eggs in the refrigerator then listened to the phone messages. Mrs. Kilmore had blocked her toilet again and Mr. Lantern told him that one of the lights on the fifth floor wasn’t working. He collected the plunger and a bulb from the locked closet in the hallway where all the maintenance stuff was kept and took the elevator to Mrs. Kilmore’s floor. The plunger released the blockage and Len reminded her again not to throw big balls of tissue into the pan. He used the stairs to get to the fifth floor and replaced the broken bulb. Then he returned the plunger to the locker and took the elevator to the first floor of the garage, collected the trolley, the two large plastic bins and rode up to the penthouse. There he flattened the cardboard boxes and put them and the newspaper in one of the bins and the glass and recyclables into the other. He did the same on the lower floors, keeping a copy of the Townsville Courier and the Globe and Mail to read later. He was glad he’d not have to do all these chores once he moved to his new place but he hated the idea of spending nearly half his earnings on rent. After he’d emptied the bins into the basement’s large collecting boxes he returned to his apartment, washed his hands then fried three eggs for supper.

He remained sitting at the kitchen table after he had eaten, wondering what his future life would be like. He had a job for July and August, delivering mail for the post office, replacing the men who were on holiday, but nothing after that. Betty would be in Montreal, taking maths at McGill University, something he’d like to do but couldn’t afford. It was in the grade twelve maths class last September where they had first met. If only he could go with her. Perhaps, if he went, then after a year or two they might become engaged and marry once they graduated. Get good jobs, buy a house and have kids. It might still happen even though he didn’t go to college but was less likely. He sighed, ‘time to face reality and give up dreaming. I’d better start on my father’s things.’

He washed the supper dishes and put them in the cupboard then went to his parent’s bedroom and switched on the lights. He emptied the contents of each dresser drawer onto the bed and threw items he wouldn’t keep into garbage bags. Old sweaters, some with holes in the sleeves, shirts that were frayed around the neck, socks, underwear, trousers, all went into the bag. Shirts that seemed almost new and two that were still new, presents form last Christmas and decent handkerchiefs, he kept, placing them on the top of the dresser. In the closet there were three, hardly-used, suits, two gray and one dark blue. The only time he could remember his father wearing a suit was at his mother’s funeral. There were five ties hanging on the wooden holder his father made. He’d keep the holder and the ties, he might wear one someday. The shoes, regretfully, he put in a garbage bag, but the slippers, also a Christmas present, he’d keep. They were large enough for him, lined and much better than the pair he wore. He’d take the bags to the Salvation Army tomorrow. Once he had his new apartment he’d have the town’s auctioneer sell the furniture he wasn’t going to keep. His brother, Dan, and sister, Barb, had taken all they wanted after his dad’s funeral. Dispirited and sad he went to bed at nine; there was nothing of interest on television and he didn’t feel like reading the papers.

Len’s uncle phoned at nine Friday morning, asking if he would like to come for dinner that night. Mathew Smith, a former lawyer, lived in a house on the St Lawrence River, two kilometers from the edge of town. Len gladly accepted. He liked his uncle and had been joining him for Friday night’s supper most weeks since his father had died. He saw more of him than he did of his siblings. He didn’t like Barb’s husband and Dan lived on the other side of Townsville but was always busy, either selling cars or doing things with his wife and their baby son.

He took the four bags of clothes and another filled with queen sized sheets to the Salvation Army and cut the grass before eating lunch, a cheese sandwich, glass of milk and an apple. He looked through the newspapers then vacuumed the floors, removed the recyclables and checked the bin at the bottom of the garbage shoot to see if it needed changing before the truck came back on Monday. The glass in the front door needed cleaning, another thing Mr. Thompson noticed, so he did that. Afterwards he shaved, although there wasn’t much of a growth to remove, showered, put on his best jeans, then biked to his uncle’s place.

Mathew Smith’s place used to be a cottage, a run-down dump, when he bought it some thirty years earlier. It’s beauty was in its surroundings, forty feet from the edge of the St. Lawrence river, over two acres suitably filled with trees, bushes, grass and a vegetable garden. It was a pleasure-ground for wild life and far enough from the town to make it seem like living in the country, but close enough to walk there if one felt energetic. The cottage was the first property Mathew had bought through a tax sale. As a lawyer he’d known about the sales and handled properties that other astute purchasers had bought but he’d not used the little money he had saved to buy one for himself until he heard that this particular cottage was being auctioned. He knew the place. As a kid he’d played with Sam, whose parents owned it, both in town and at the cottage. When Sam had been killed by a speeding motorboat while swimming in the river his parents stopped going there and neglected it. It sat, decaying away for twenty years, with the roof leaking and rain rotting the floors and walls. Mathew had visited it a couple of times, going in the last time through the broken door, looking at the decaying furniture, so badly ruined that people hadn’t taken it and at the broken glass on the floor. After Mr. Newton died Mrs. Newton eventually stopped paying the taxes and it was put up for auction. If it wasn’t for one of his clients telling him about the sale he wouldn’t have known. He paid too much, for the location was attractive, but he was determined to have the place. The cottage, it’s tear-down and building a replacement house, became a several-year hobby. It ended up becoming Matt’s home, a place he was very proud of.

It was an unusual house, although Matt always referred to it as his cottage. It was long allowing every room except the kitchen to face the river. One entered in middle of the east side straight into the kitchen which spread along half the north wall. Matt’s study was the first room on the southern river-facing side. A powder room was next to the study, then the space widened into the dining-living room. A patio door between two picture windows gave access to the deck. To go upstairs one had to walk to the far end of the living room and climb the stairs which ascended the north wall. Under the stairs was a small store room. Len had only been upstairs once, when Matt first showed him around the place. There were three bedrooms and a bathroom, with Matt’s large bedroom stretching across the whole building, placed above the kitchen, study and powder room. It, and all the other rooms, had windows overlooking the river. A strange house, but a warm and pleasant one.

Matt was sitting on the deck at the back of the cottage, watching the passage of a large ship through a pair of binoculars. He had a bottle of beer on the table that lay in front of two Adirondack chairs.

Hi, Len. Get a Molson and join me.

Hello, uncle Matt. It’s good to be here again. Thanks, I will.

Taking a beer from the fridge Len saw a stack of hamburger patties on a plate on the top shelf and his mouth watered.

Is it hamburgers tonight uncle? he shouted.

Yep. I know how you like then. Me too, of course. You’ll have to help me make the salad though.

Len joined his uncle and they sat, sipping beer and watching the occasional speedboat or ship that passed by and a group of ducks that slowly swam around a small reed bed. Len put his feet on the table beside Matt’s and leaned back.

I love being here. Someday I’d like to have a place like this.

As a cottage or as a place to live in? asked Matt.

I’d like to live like you, next to the river, but I suppose that’d have to wait until I retire. I don’t know what I’ll do with my life but I expect I’ll have to live in a town or city. I’ll save up to buy a cottage.

I guess school’s over for you now Len. How do you feel about that?

Glad and sad, uncle Matt. Glad to have finished high school, sad about not going to university, I’d like to take a maths degree, like Betty.

She’s still your girlfriend then?

Ah, I hope so. It’s the graduation dinner and dance tonight and she’s going with Bob Pringle. I don’t have enough money to go, or rather, I don’t want to spend the money I do have on dinner, dance, tuxedo and taxis. It’s expensive.

It’s your graduation. You might regret not going.

Ah, no, I don’t think so, uncle Matt. Anyway, it’s too late now.

You know, it’s about time you stopped calling me ‘uncle,’ Len. Call me Matt. We’re more like friends than relatives, aren’t we?

I guess so, err, Matt.

They clicked their bottles together and took another drink.

Your post office job, when does it start?

Monday, July fifth. Oh, you said you’d help me move my furniture? The guy who’s apartment I’m moving into is leaving next Wednesday. It’ll probably need cleaning so I’ll do that after he’s gone. Could we move my stuff afterwards? It’s the end of the month and I have to vacate.

Sure. What time?

About six? I’m sure to be done by then, he’s going in the morning.

How much stuff do you have?

My bed and mattress, a single bed, that is. A chest of drawers, chairs and dad’s easy chair. That’ll be heavy. The kitchen table and two chairs and some boxes of kitchen things, clothes, the television, my typewriter, some books, lamps and small stuff. It might all go in one load.

What’s happening to the rest?

The auctioneer is sending some men and a truck around tomorrow morning and taking it. I don’t expect to get much for it, though.

If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any money left from your father?

About eight hundred. All the rest went on the funeral. It’s my back-up, for emergencies only. I want to pay my rent, food and everything else from my post office salary.

I might have some work for you fairly soon. I bought a tax-auction house nearly a year ago and it’s close to the end of its redemption period. It’ll need a lot of work. Sid and Johnny will help me but there’s enough to do that I could find work for you to do as well. Interested?

Sure, but it’ll have to be at the weekends until my post office job finishes.

That’s okay. I’ll let you know if it becomes mine. Right, ready to eat?

You bet.

Then I’ll fire up the barbecue and we’ll make the salad.

The lettuce, small carrots, radishes and green onions came from Matt’s garden. They lay, freshly washed on the kitchen counter beside tomatoes from the store ready to be cut up and put into a large bowl. They wouldn’t be able to eat more than a third once the bowl was full and they always divided what was left and Len took his half home in a plastic bag. Once the salad was made, Matt placed the burgers on the hot barbecue, pressing them down to squeeze out some of the fat and turning them over half way through when he put the buns on the upper shelf to warm.

They ate inside because it was becoming cold as the sky darkened; hamburgers on buns covered with ketchup and mustard, buttressed by slices of tomato, onion and dill pickle, complete with another beer, in a glass this time. The salad with blue cheese dressing was eaten afterwards, followed by a small dish of ice cream. They both felt they had eaten far too much, with Matt saying he’d only eat one hamburger next time, something he often said but never did. Len left at eight thirty and felt much happier about the evening even though Betty was dancing it away with Bob Pringle. Maybe his life wasn’t so bad after all.

The auctioneer’s assistant was giving Len a copy of the items they had taken from his apartment Saturday morning when Mr. Thompson showed up. He waited until they had left then told Len that he had a bit of a problem. The wife of the new superintendent decided she didn’t want to cook and clean for me so I’ll have to find another couple. I know you’ll not be living here but could you look after the place for me until I find someone? I’ll pay you, of course.

I’ve got a job, Mr. Thompson, with the post office. It starts in a week’s time.

That won’t matter. You can do the work in the evenings like you did after your father died. How about coming here each evening for whatever time it takes. I’ll pay you, say, twenty five dollars a week.

Twenty five dollars? Okay, I’ll do it. Thanks, Mr. Thompson.

Good. And there’s another thing I’d like done. I’m moving into the penthouse after Mr. and Mrs. Crew leave. Once they’re gone, can you clean everything there and make sure everything’s working properly? I’ll pay you extra for that, depending on how long it takes.

They’re leaving? I didn’t know about that. Where are they going? They’ve been here such a long time.

"To a rest home. She’s unable to look after Mr. Crew any more. He needs full-time care now.’

I see. All right, I’d be glad to do that as well.

"Good. One last thing. Can you tidy up the front flower bed? It needs weeding. And buy a few flowers for the bare spots. Give me the bills Saturday morning at ten and I’ll pay you.

Okay.

Len collected the hand fork from the locker and began weeding the flower beds, putting them in a garbage bag wondering what flowers he should buy to fill the gaps. Not knowing much about flowers the garden center would have to tell him what to buy. Once the beds were cleaned up he threw the weeds in the basement bin then biked to the garden center. He was told that violets would add lots of colour and last a long time so he bought ten boxes of them, carrying them home in a large cardboard box tied on his carrier. It took him half an hour to plant and water them and he stood on the sidewalk afterwards, thinking that they certainly made the entrance to the apartment block look much more attractive. He was about to walk back into the building when Jack Bentome, another graduate, shouted his name from across the street.

Hi, Len. Didn’t see you last night. Didn’t you go? And, I guess you’re not going out with Betty any more. Is that right?

He crossed the street and grinned at Len.

She was with Bob Pringle. Did you know that?

Yes, I know. I didn’t have the money to go. It was just for the dinner and dance. She said it was her graduation and she had to go, even if I didn’t.

And to the party afterwards?

What? She said she wouldn’t go to that.

Well, she did. And it looked like she’d had a lot to drink.

Hell. I suppose Pringle took her home, too. Damn.

Well, he’d have to, wouldn’t he?

Yes.

Never mind, Len. There’s plenty of girls in Townsville. You’ll be okay. Cheers, I have to go. I’ve got to get the Courier for my dad. See you.

Yes. Bye, Jack.

Len, very annoyed, put the garden tools in the locker then went to his apartment. He washed his hands then sat in his dad’s easy chair, trying to decide what to do. Should he call Betty as he had said he would, or should he wait until she called him? What did she think about Bob Pringle now, he wondered. No, damn it, he’d wait until she called him.

Betty phoned about two o’clock but not on Saturday, two o’clock on Sunday afternoon. By this time Len was feeling very annoyed, almost angry, but it was his own fault he hadn’t taken her. When she called she seemed very cool and distant.

I’ll tell you about Friday night, Len, but not on the phone. Meet me at Fanny’s in half an hour. Can you do that?

Yes. Okay.

He was at the deli at two twenty and bought a milk shake, raspberry, his favorite, the first he’d had since last August.

He saw Betty arriving and sat, not getting up, just looking at her as she entered. She looked very tired. She joined him in the booth, sitting on the opposite side of the table.

What would you like to drink, Betty? he asked.

Nothing, thanks. Finish your shake and we’ll walk to the park. I don’t want to talk here.

Len didn’t like the sound of that so he quickly sucked up what was remaining, carried his empty glass to the counter then walked to the door. Betty followed.

They didn’t say anything as they went along the sidewalk towards the park. Len didn’t attempt to hold Betty’s hand, nor she his. They found an empty seat on one of the side paths and sat down.

I don’t know how to tell you about Friday night, Len. But, simply, it was fun. Not the chicken dinner so much but dancing and talking with everybody. That was great. And I don’t know what you really think about Bob but he was fun too. Everybody seemed to like him, he joked a lot and was a good dancer.

Better than me, I suppose.

Yes, he was.

And you went to the party afterwards.

Yes, I did. At least half the group went. It was at Jennifer’s house, you know how big that is.

What happened there?

We drank and danced, that’s all.

With Bob all the time?

Mostly.

Did you kiss him?

Only when he dropped me at my place.

He had a car?

Yes. He picked me up, drove to the dock and after the cruise he took five of us to Jenny’s place.

So what happens now, Betty. Are you going to go out with him?

I don’t know. I like you, Len, but I also like Bob now I’ve got to know him a little.

He’s got a car and money to spend. That’s why, right?

No, that’s not why. He’s just a nice guy.

One who’s also told his team mates that he’d slept with half the girls in grade twelve. You’d like a guy like that?

I don’t believe that he said that. I think the story was made up or that he was just joking. He’s not going to sleep with me, though. Nor are you, Len. I’m not ready for that kind of relationship.

Well, that’s it. I’m not ready to share a girl with Bob Pringle. So, good bye.

He stood up and walked quickly away, following the path towards the river not willing to let anyone see the tears that started running from his eyes. Betty didn’t follow but sat on the bench and watched him go. She wondered if she had made a big mistake but cheered up. She’d be off to Montreal in two months so she should enjoy the friends she had now because new ones might soon take their place, although she’d be lonely at McGill at first, not that it mattered too much, it’d give her more time to study. And it would be nice to know more about Bob, Len was still a boy compared to him.

Len slowed down as soon as he turned the corner following the path beside the river. There was nobody there so he wiped his eyes then stepped on the grass and sat on a tree stump. His mind was in a turmoil as he tried to adjust to the fact that Betty wasn’t his girlfriend any more. How important was that? Did he actually love her? He didn’t know. How could he tell? She was the only girl friend he had ever had. Perhaps she wasn’t anything more than a friend and he’d lost friends before. But this seemed different. He sat, disillusioned and feeling very sad. A big dog walked up to him and snuffed his trouser leg and a man, calling to the dog, bought him back to reality. Once they’d moved on Len stood up then followed the path away from where he and Betty had sat, along the edge of the park, then walked home. He was glad when he went through the entrance and one of the tenants told him that the door to the underground garage was stuck again. It took his mind off his own worries. He knew how to fix the door because it had happened twice before and he had helped his dad repair it. He took the adjustable spanner from the closet and the garage door opener. Just as he’d expected, it was the clamp in the center of the raising rod that had loosened again. It really needed a new one. He’d tell Mr. Thompson on Saturday and made a note about it on the back of the invitation card he still carried in his back pocket.

Unwilling to cook that evening, Len opened a tin of salmon, tipped it into a bowl, added some malt vinegar, mashed it into a paste then made two sandwiches. He went to bed at nine, feeling tired and unhappy but, luckily soon fell fast asleep.

Chapter Two

He was still angry with Betty when he woke. How could she go out with Pringle when she was going out with him? He would never do such a thing. He tipped what was left of his corn flakes box into a bowl, added sugar and milk and spooned it down. Ahh, damn. How would he pass the day feeling like this? Cycling came to mind, he’d bike to Brockville and find out what they were doing on Dominion Day. If he rode fast enough he probably get rid of his anger.

So that’s what he did, finding, when he got there that there would be a parade in the afternoon and fireworks in the evening, much the same as Townsville would be doing but bigger. He’d decide what to do on Thursday.

It was a hot day and he was sweating when he arrived home. Instead of having a shower he decided to swim in the afternoon and shower after that. He ate the salad and had a nap in his dad’s chair then put on his swim suit, shorts and shirt and walked to the beach. It was full of school kids, younger ones with their mothers and many from his school. He didn’t want to join any of his class mates for someone would be sure to ask him about Betty. That was the last thing he wanted to talk about, so he went to the far end, undressed then walked into the water and swam to the outcrop on the far side. He sat on a rock for a while then swam back. He sat under a tree until he was dry then put on his clothes and walked home. There were no messages when he got back to his apartment. He took the cart to each floor’s garbage room and removed the paper, tins and bottles. He put the bottles and aluminum cans that could be returned to the store in separate bags. There weren’t many, most people living in the apartments returned their own bottles and cans. It usually took Len three or four weeks before he had enough to make the trip to recover the deposit. He put the newspapers, flattened boxes, tin cans, pickle and other jars in the basement recycling bins then made supper, his freezer’s last steak. He grilled it in the oven, boiled some potatoes and microwaved half the frozen peas, hoping his new apartment had a built-in microwave. He hadn’t noticed when looking over the place. It had a stove and refrigerator, of course, and there was a communal clothes washer and dryer in the basement. If it didn’t have a microwave he’d certainly buy one. It made cooking so much easier. He showered then watched television.

It wasn’t as hot on Tuesday so Len decided to cycle to Sandbanks and swim there. This time he wasn’t facing the sun and the cycling was easier. He chained his bike to a tree and walked to the beach. It was crowed but he couldn’t see anyone from his school. It was too far away to come here if it was just to swim. He found a spot under a tree eventually, undressed down to his swim suit and waded out. This time he floated and practiced swimming under the water, staying down as long as he could. He bought lunch, ham and cheese rolls and a coffee, from the stand after he had dried, dosed for a while then cycled home, realising as he entered Townsville that he hadn’t thought about Betty the whole day.

He locked his bike in the garage and climbed the stairs. Mrs. Judder and Mrs. Knott were standing outside the door to his apartment.

Hello Len. We were watching for you in my room and saw you coming in. Can we have a word with you?

Sure. Come in, but forgive the mess. I’ve only got kitchen chairs to sit on beside the easy chair. Is there a problem?

Sort off. We’re all very sorry you’re leaving. Mr. Thompson told us about that last Saturday.

Well I’m not entirely gone. I’ll still be checking each evening to see if there’s anything that has to be done and I’ll keep doing that until the new superintendent arrives.

Yes, we know there’s a new man coming but we’ll miss you especially. Some of us have known you since you were a baby. Everyone is sad and we want to give you a parting gift. We didn’t know what to buy so we have a cheque. Here it is.

Oh, thank you. That is very kind of you and everyone else, and he hugged each of them.

Well, we’ll be off then. Bye, Len.

Bye Mrs. Judder, Mrs. Knott.

After he had closed the door Len opened the envelope. There was a thank-you card and a cheque for ninety two dollars inside.

‘Wow, that’s nice,’ Len thought. ‘I’ll deposit it tomorrow. And I must put a Thank You card on the bulletin board.’

He removed the nearly empty bags of peas and corn from the freezer, mixed them in a bowl and cooked them in the microwave. This would be his last supper in the apartment that he and his family had lived in for so long: peas, corn, sardines, bread and a coke. He wondered what his parents would think about that. It was not the kind of meal his mom would have prepared, nor his dad, either. He missed them both and felt a little sad and lonely.

While eating Len thought about the cleaning he’d have to do in his new place. Vacuuming the floors meant that he’d have to carry the vacuum cleaner as he biked three blocks. Would it be better to walk it there? Probably. Clothes, detergent, Windex, bucket, all those kinds of things he could take on his bike. He should clean everything first then do the vacuuming, that would be best. He watched a documentary on the television for an hour, trying not to think about what Betty might be doing, then went to bed.

The cleaning Wednesday afternoon went more quickly than he had expected. Ronnie had already cleaned the place including the floors and Len didn’t have to fetch the Hoover, but he cleaned the counter on both sides of the sink again. The fridge and stove stood on either end of the counter. He looked inside of the oven. It was so clean that he guessed it had never been used. The fridge had been cleaned, left open and unplugged. There was no microwave so Len added it to the list of things he’d have to buy and added paint. The walls were dingy and spoilt the look of the place. He’d buy some paint today and put it on this week.

Matt arrive with his pickup at six and half an hour later it was loaded. It took a little longer to unload and position the furniture in the new apartment but they were finished by seven thirty,

I’ll buy supper, Len. How about Chinese?

Oh, that sounds great. Thanks Matt.

There were two Chinese restaurants in Townsville and they chose the nearest. It was on Main Street, two blocks from Len’s new apartment, next to a small supermarket, the one Len would mostly be using from now on. Over the meal he described how his week had been.

So, that’s it, Betty and I are finished.

She may be right, you’re both too young to know if this is the real thing. If you both are really in love you’ll find out soon enough, I expect.

I suppose so.

Shall I come for supper on Friday, Matt?

Of course. I look forward to it. We’ll have pizza? Haven’t had that for a couple of months.

Oh, good.

Len said hello to a young couple who were leaving as he entered the house. They lived on the ground floor like he did and were probably in their mid-twenties. The stairs leading to the two upstairs apartments had a door at the bottom. The door was shut and he had not seen anyone who lived there.

Thursday, July 1st, was Dominion Day, a holiday, and Len stayed in bed until eight, dozing between planning his day. Instead of watching the parade he’d paint the walls. It would dry quickly and it’d make the place look much better than the shabby brown colour it had right now. He hadn’t asked Mrs. Ben, his landlord, if he could paint the walls but he knew from living all his life in an apartment block that they welcomed any improvement tenants did.

After breakfast he moved all the furniture into the middle of the room and put two sheets from his parent’s bed on the floor next to the wall he’d paint first to catch any drops.

It took Len until one thirty to paint all the walls. He cleaned the brushes and washed his hands before making and wrapping two cheese sandwiches. He’d take them and a thermos of tea to the park and eat there while the slightly smelly room dried out. He ate on the log where he sat after leaving Betty, remembering that afternoon with some regret. Afterwards, he moved to a more comfortable seat and finished the last thirty pages of his novel before returning to the apartment. The walls were dry enough to give them a second coat, one coat of pale green wasn’t enough to properly cover the brown. He walked for an hour while it dried and moved the furniture carefully back into place when he returned being careful not to touch any of the walls though all except the last one were already dry.

He went to his old apartment building at six to clear the garbage rooms and as he was leaving it a girl straddling a bike on the side of the road next to the entrance greeted him.

Hi. You’re Len, aren’t you?

Yes. Do I know you?

Not yet, but you might. Bob Pringle told me about you. I’m Sylvie.

Bob Pringle? What did he have to say?

He said that you used to go out with Betty Jones but broke it up after your graduation.

Oh, he did, eh. Did he say why?

Well, he said you didn’t take Betty to the dinner and dance and that he did.

Yes, that’s right.

And that upset you and you broke it off.

Because I’d heard bad things about Pringle and didn’t like to hear Betty say she liked him.

I guessed that was it. You know, you’re wrong about Bob. He’s a nice guy. I should know because I went out with him for a while.

Oh. Why are you telling me this?

Because after Bob told me about you I found out where you lived and asked a lady who lives here what you were like.

You did? Why did you do that?

Because I know Betty and I’m sure she doesn’t want you to feel bad and I know of a way to cheer you up. But I had to check first, to see what you were really like.

Well, what did this lady say?

Oh, she was sorry you were leaving and told me about your dad.

You’ve got a nerve. Why did you go to all that trouble?

Well, that’s the way I am. I need a boyfriend. I learned you had just broken up and might be interested in going out with someone so I thought I’d check you out, see what you look like, then decide if you’d do. At least for a while.

Well, I’m damned! What kind of girl are you?

Just me. If I want something, sex, in this case, I go for it. Never met anyone like that before?

Only boys. That’s what most of them, us, are like.

Well some girls are like that, too.

God! I’d never thought that could be true.

Well, it is. How about it?

What? Having sex with you?

Yes.

Without knowing anything about you? I don’t think so.

Then get to know me. How about taking me out for dinner?

Tonight?

Sure. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?

No. Okay, why not? How about Thai? It might be open today. Would you like that?

I like almost everything. What do we do with our bikes?

Ride them to the restaurant and chain them to the fence. Where do you live?

On Beach Street. With my parents. Come on, let’s go.

Over supper Len discovered how unusual Sylvie was. She had all A’s or A-plus in grade twelve, decided to go to Queen’s University, dropped out after three weeks because she didn’t like the other students who were mostly snobs and started working in her uncle’s garage. She enjoyed fixing things and was twenty years old.

It’s my birthday next week. July ninth. You’ll have to buy me a birthday present.

I’m only eighteen.

I know that. And I guess you’ve never had sex before, right?

Yes.

There’s not much to learn about it so don’t worry. I’ll enjoy teaching you what I know. Come on. Let’s go. My parents like me to be home by ten which is a bit irksome. I might have to get a place of my own. We’ll have to go to your place.

Len paid the bill, wondering what was happening to him, then followed Sylvie to their bikes and led the way back to his apartment.

I fasten mine to the post at the back of the car port. You can chain yours on top of mine. There’s plenty of room.

They went in the hall and Len unlocked the door to his apartment.

This is it. Not too big but okay for me. One bedroom. That’s all, just a bedroom, this room and the bathroom.

That’s what I want right now, the bathroom. Got any beer or wine?

Some beer in the fridge, that’s all.

Pour me a glass, Len, while I have a wiz.

A wiz?

A pee. That’s what we call it at home.

Sylvie dropped her coat on one of the kitchen chairs then went to the bathroom while Len filled two glasses with beer. He then sat down, wondering what would come next. It was funny and very unusual for him to be told what to do by a girl, one he’d just met, too. A good looking girl though. Was she really all that she had said?

She came out and took one of the glasses.

Your turn. I’ll see you in bed.

Len had a ‘wiz,’ then carried his glass to the bedroom. Sylvie was in bed, drinking the beer. The sheet covered only half of her body and she had nothing on.

Come on. Drink your beer or put it down and get undressed. There’s not much time.

Len had a quick swallow, switched off the lights and started taking off his clothes.

Why did you switch off the lights, Len? I’d like to look at you.

I’ve got an erection, that’s why.

You’re supposed to have, silly. Okay, let’s play.

That they did. It was the first time Len had touched a girl’s breast or felt between her legs.

Okay, stop now. You have to wear a condom. I put some on the side table. Do you know how to do that?

I can guess.

He picked one up, ripped the package open, took it out and rolled it into place. He then climbed on top, entered, and almost instantly ejaculated.

My god. That was quick! Sylvie exclaimed. I knew it probably would be but not that fast. Right, have a rest then I’ll teach you how to make love to a girl so she’s satisfied. That she began to do twenty minutes later.

At nine forty five Sylvie rolled out of bed and stood up, leaning over the tired Len.

That wasn’t too bad. You learn fast.

She sat on the edge of the bed beside him.

Now, once a week is my preference. On Saturday night. They don’t mind my staying out until twelve on Saturdays. Not this Saturday, next week. That’s when you can give me my birthday present.

What do you want Sylvie. I hope it doesn’t cost too much.

A blouse. I’ve already seen the one I want and we’ll buy before having supper. I’ll come here at five o’clock. Will that be okay?

Five will be fine. I’ll be here.

She bent over, kissed him, stood up and got dressed.

Bye Len. See you a week Saturday. Oh, we missed seeing the town’s fireworks. Are you sorry?

The fireworks I had here were much better than those in the town. I’m not sorry!

We’ll have some more next Saturday, she said as she left, closing the door behind her.

‘What a girl, woman,’ thought Len. ‘And she came to me because Bob Pringle told her about Betty and me. I guess he’s not such a bad chap after all. I bet Betty’s going to sleep with him before long. I’m sure Sylvie did,’ and he fell asleep.

Chapter Three

Len bought a new microwave the next morning, a small one so it wouldn’t take up too much space and when he got home he placed it on the counter next to the fridge and tested it by heating a mug of water. It worked and had a turntable, which the one in his parent’s apartment didn’t, and it seemed to cook more quickly. He tested it again at lunch time when he microwaved slices of toast covered with blue cheese. They were delicious.

He cleaned the apartment building in the afternoon then cycled to Matt’s cottage, picking up the pizza Matt phoned to tell him he’d ordered along the way. He was glad to do that, this way he could pay for the meal. Matt did that much too often.

It was a warm day and they sat on the deck to eat. Len had wondered how much to tell Matt about his week when biking out and decided to tell him everything. Matt wasn’t his father, more a friend than an uncle now so he deserved to know what had happened. Having sex wasn’t a crime, just something nice.

Matt smiled as Len described what had happened.

You’re a lucky boy, Len. Sylvie sounds like a nice girl. Can I meet her sometime?

Yes, I’d like you to. You’ll like her.

Do you know about me, me and Walter?

Not much. Err, are you gay, Matt?

Yes. Do you know why I stopped being a lawyer?

No.

Well, I learned that I was gay when I was just a bit younger than you are now. It wasn’t an easy time for me. I just didn’t find girls attractive, not in the way I found one or two boys were. One weekend in July I was sitting on the sand in the park, just before going for a swim when a young man sat beside me and started taking. After a while he put his hand on my leg and squeezed it. I guessed what he meant and followed him to the toilets. It happened in one of the cubicles. It hurt but was very exciting. That’s when I knew for certain that I was gay. I had a few boy friends over the next decades but only really fell in love when I met Walter. He was one of the doctors in the hospital here. I met him at a friend’s Christmas dinner. Everything went well for several months. We would meet at our places but, occasionally, in the hospital, when he was on night shifts. We did that one night, using one of the beds in the new wing, when the chief physician and two members of the board walked in. It was hushed up, of course, but Walter was dismissed. He found a job in Sudbury. One of the board members must have leaked that I was gay and I began losing clients. I eventually gave up practicing law, closed my office and moved here.

Do you still see Walter?

Oh, yes. For a couple of days every month if possible. We get together during the week. Walter works weekends and has days off mid-week. That lets married doctors have weekends with their families. And we holiday together, two weeks in the spring and two weeks in the fall. We go to different places, aboard and in England, not sharing the same room in England, of course. It’s hard, not living together. We think we might live in Europe when he retires where it doesn’t matter so much. Well, that’s me. Now you know. Does it bother you?

Of course not, Matt. One can’t help being what one is. I’m glad you told me.

Yes. Life’s what it is, right? Want another beer?

Yes, please.

When Matt returned they sat, looking over the water to the lights on the American shore and at the few stars in the sky.

I’ll be getting ownership of the house next week, Len. Are you still interested in doing some work there?

Yes, at weekends though, until September. Then I could work full-time if you have work I can do. Is that likely?

Well, if you can handle what we do, yes, I’d be glad for you to help. But it depends on me having a place to renovate.

Okay. Then I’ll not look for anything else and hope for the best. I’m sure I can carry wood, bang in a nail or mix cement. That’s what the work would be, I suppose.

Most of it, but there’s more than that to it so we’ll see.

Len met Mr. Thompson at ten Saturday morning after doing the maintenance and gave him the receipt for the violets and for the six lamp bulbs for the apartment corridors he’d bought to replace the ones he’d used over the past few months. He was reimbursed and paid for his week’s work.

Mrs. Crew phoned me last night, Len. They’re moving out on Wednesday, July 14th and their furniture is being collected the following Saturday. Can you clean the penthouse after they leave?

Yes. Have you found a new superintendent then?

No, not yet. I’ve met one couple and am seeing two more next week. There’s no hurry. I won’t move in until later this month. Just keep track of what time you spend on cleaning and let me know.

Okay, Mr. Thompson.

There was nothing more to be done at the building and Len wondered what he would do for the rest of the day. Normally he’d meet Betty and they’d bike somewhere or go for a walk and to the movies in the evening. He could go to the movies without her but what should he do for the rest of the day? He wondered if Sylvie might be interested in doing something with him but he had no way of finding out. All he knew was that she lived on Beech Street. Well, that wasn’t a very long street and he could ride along it and look for her or her bike. He didn’t know Sylvie’s last name so he couldn’t use the phone book. He decided to check the street and if she wasn’t there he’d go for a swim in the afternoon. Oh, and he hadn’t washed his clothes. Might as well do that when he got home.

There was no sign of Sylvie or her bike when he slowly cycled both ways along Beech Street, checking the houses and yards as he went. It looked like her parents had plenty of money for the houses were large and several had two cars in the driveway. He’d ride by again on Sunday, just in case she was there.

He went to the beach after he had washed and dried his clothes and eaten lunch. There were two groups that he recognized as High School students but they were mostly from grade eleven and ten. He said hello to those he knew but didn’t join them. He swam for a while, going from the beach to the projecting corner on the west side and back, maybe two kilometers all told. He was a good swimmer and had come first in the school’s ten-lap race when he was in grade ten. He lay in the sun afterwards but it was not warm enough to do that for long and he didn’t want to get sunburn. He walked home, fried three eggs and some bacon for supper then went to the movies.

Sunday morning he lay in bed, wondering again what he would do with the day. Check the apartment phone for messages, sure, empty the garbage, ride along Beech Street and then what? Go for a walk? A ride? But it was cloudy and looked as if it might start to rain. Read a book then? He wouldn’t mind reading but thought he had read all the novels he owned. There weren’t many. Maybe he should start buying books and build a library. But, why should he do that? His library card would give him as many as he wanted and the town had a pretty good library. A sudden thought crossed his mind, if he was going to help Matt fix the house he’d bought then he should learn something about construction methods, tools, building codes and similar things. Probably Matt would have books that dealt with those things. He’d phone him after breakfast and ask if he had any books he could borrow.

I’ve got a whole library of them Len. I’ll find one or two for you if you like. Hey, why don’t I bring them in and take you to see the house? Are you free this morning?

Yes I am, thought Len, with a surge of happiness.

I’ll be with you at ten.

Matt arrived with two books and a map of Townsville.

Would you like a coffee? asked Len.

Sure, as long as it’s not instant.

No, it’s not. I kept the cafeteria.

Len filled the kettle and placed two heaping tablespoons of ground coffee in the glass container.

Don’t you warm it first, Len?

Usually, I just forgot today. Want a cookie?

No, thanks. Here, look at the map while the kettle boils.

Matt spread the map on the kitchen table and pointed to a section on the east side of the town.

That’s where the house is, in the old factory area.

Then it must be in a pretty run-down part of town, said Len.

Yes, it is, and that’s why it’s cheap. There are a few factory survivors still living there who are getting old and don’t have much money. Some don’t pay their municipal taxes. Their house usually ends up in an auction sale. One or two die each year and their inheritors don’t want their houses and sell them off cheaply. I’ve a friend, Jimmy Baker, you might know his son, Jason, by-the-way. He went to your school. I’ve known Jimmy from elementary school. He became a real estate agent before I had my law degree and he referred lots of clients to me when I was practicing. He still helps me, letting me know when properties, mostly in this area but anywhere that he thinks might be worth restoring come on the market.

"Why do you buy in this location Matt? Even if you make a nice place people won’t want to live in this area.

You’d be surprised, youngsters buy there. Those looking for their first house. If I do the job carefully and keep my prices down I can still make a profit. The town council like the taxes rolling in after I’ve finished so getting a building permit has been easy. Moreover, the newcomers improve the area, tidying their gardens, planting trees, improving the small park where the factory used to be. And that, Len, allows me to ask more on the next house I fix.

How many do you do each year?

Usually one, sometimes two. It depends on how many are being sold. Hey, where’s the coffee? The kettle turned itself off a minute ago.

Sorry. But it’ll still be warm enough. I’ll make it.

After pouring in the water and stirring Len asked, Does that generate enough money for you to live on?

Just about. The only large expenses I have are my holidays. It doesn’t cost much to live in the cottage. Taxes, food and wood for heat in the winter, that’s about it. I have two banking accounts. One holds the money I use to buy and fix houses. The other holds the money I need to live on. I draw money from the first account each quarter and put it in the second. That makes accounting easier, especially when the taxes are done. Of course, I’ve got some savings, enough to keep me going until I die, I hope.

If I start a business I’ll do the same, Matt. Have two accounts. Sounds very sensible. I’ll pour the coffee now, it should be ready.

Len pushed the plunger down and filled the mugs. As they drank Matt showed him one of the books he’d brought.

I suggest you read this one first. It’s straight forward and easy to follow. It explains how to build a wooden shed, one someone might want to build for their back garden, an eight by twelve foot shed. It has many diagrams, showing the floor plan, the sides, front and back, how to hold a skill saw, nail two-by-fours together, how to make strong corners, framing a window, everything. It lists the items to buy, the kind of nails to use, hinges, how to fit door locks, roofing materials, stains and paints. You’ll know a lot after you’ve read this, although I expect you’ll already know much of it. You helped your dad when he fixed things I seem to remember.

Yes I did but he never built sheds, just fixed door locks or mended broken windows. When I was young I used to play with the putty and mom complained about the mess I made of my clothes. What’s the other book?

The electrical code. Not that you’re going to be an electrician but I often have to rewire houses and I run all the wiring. But I have an electrician check all the receptacles before it’s inspected by a man from the hydro. The main things to learn is where the wires must run—how deep within each stud to drill the holes, the maximum distance between two outlets, wire gauges, how to fit pot lights, how to wire two-position switches, etc. Just look it over, don’t try to learn everything, you can’t and it’s not necessary. Right, finish your coffee and we’ll go.

Being Sunday there was not much traffic and they arrived at the house twelve minutes later. Matt parked the pickup on the road opposite the house and they sat in the cab looking at it. It was one in a row of detached houses, all made from clapboard, all, except a few, weather-beaten and tired looking. Paint was flaking