Ahead of his Time by Adrian Cousins (children's books read aloud .txt) 📕

cheek to burn red, leaving three white finger-striped marks on her cheek.

Carol opened her eyes. To her left, she could see Christopher looking up. He was probably confused that his mother had been slapped, as he was the one who got beaten, not her. Shirley had closed to within inches of her face, fury and hate radiating from her.

“David … David is the father.” Carol closed her eyes again, expecting another slap.

“You stupid cow, he’s only sixteen. He’s a boy! He wouldn’t go sniffing around the likes of you … you’re just scum!”

She’d come this far, so she might as well carry on. Although it wouldn't surprise her if Shirley lifted her up and tipped her over the railing. Then it would be a flight of five storeys down to her death.

“I owed Paul. I owed him and couldn’t pay … I couldn’t pay. He … he said if I made a man of David, that would pay off the debt.”

Shirley narrowed her eyes and pointed at Carol. “You’re taking a risk, you slag. If you’re lying, you know what will happen.”

Carol nodded. “Yes … but I’m not.”

Shirley placed her arms on either side of Carol, leaning her hands against the balcony wall and pinning her in place. “Anyway, slags like you put it about. I bet that bastard in there could belong to any number of men.”

Carol shook as shivers terrorised her body. “It’s David’s.” She looked down and patted the bump. “This is your grandchild.”

37

29th January 1977

All Mod Cons

“Mr Apsley, good to see you. I presume you’ve come about the Hunter. Knew you’d be back. It’s a great car, and I’ve had lots of interest in it. Mr Thacker stood in his double-breasted pin-striped suit, puffing on his cigar and a smirk on his face. He again looked and sounded like ‘Boycie’ as he delivered that familiar machine-gun laugh.

I’d parked up a few minutes before the sales lot opened and scanned around out of the windows, looking to see if I could spot Paul Colney. It was very reminiscent of that day last September when I’d parked up on the Broxworth – the day David died. And here I was again in a very similar situation, repeating the same actions caused by the events that day. I hadn’t seen Paul Colney and prayed he wasn’t a morning person.

“Morning, Charles. Good to see you again.” We shook hands enthusiastically. Although yesterday evening’s events had negated the need to hide the Cortina, as ‘the cat was already out of the bag,’ I still wanted to replace Jenny’s Viva.

“Malcolm, grab the keys for the Hunter, please,” Charles called over to the young salesman I’d seen two weeks ago. “Let me show you around. It’s got some great features on this model.”

“Okay, Charles, but I'm short of time. I’m sure it's all very self-explanatory.” Cars built in the ’70s weren’t complicated machines. I thought even a chimpanzee could understand the finer points of the car without a detailed run through.

Charles took the keys from Malcolm, unlocked the door and offered for me to take a seat. I obliged in order to get through this charade quickly and move on to the more difficult conversation regarding Paul Colney.

Charles bent forward, so his head was at the same height as mine. “So, some fantastic features on this model. It has the 1725cc engine with a four-speed transmission and overdrive. All of that will get you from nought to sixty in less than fifteen seconds! Careful motoring, and you’ll get over twenty-five miles to the gallon … pretty impressive, wouldn’t you say? Also, you’ll see that it has many new electrical features for modern driving, such as an electrically operated screen washer, and a heated rear windscreen.”

“Yes, Charles, all very impressive.” No, it's not! It's horrific, I thought. Although, I couldn’t care less if it took two hundred seconds to get to sixty miles per hour.

“And this car is for your wife, I believe?”

“Yes, that’s right. An upgrade on her old Viva.”

“Well, that’s perfect as it has the Servo Brake System; that’s one for the ladies.”

I turned and looked at him, confused at his odd comment. “Oh,” I replied.

“Servo Vacuum brakes means you don’t have to push on the pedal so hard. Just right for a nice shapely leg in a court shoe. Ladies need all these new features to help them to be able to drive cars properly,” he replied with a smile.

I know Charles meant nothing derogatory or sexist by his comment. Of course, it was, but it wasn’t for the era I was living in. If I wasn’t shitting myself that Paul Colney was about to show his face, so a need to quickly conclude the deal, I would have burst out laughing. I momentarily thought of what Beth would have said or done to Mr Thacker if he’d offered that comment in 2019 – I think she would have flattened him.

I’d enjoyed the trawl around the opulent car showrooms with Beth when she bought her new sports car. I’d marvelled at the amazing machines and loved being able to sit in those brand-new supercars. Whilst I jumped in and out of the cars and feeling somewhat jealous, Beth had cause to verbally maul one of the salesmen. I remember him almost shaking when she’d put him straight on a few points.

He was a lad in his late twenties with flawlessly trimmed designer stubble, a fake sun-tan and perfectly barbered hair. He wore a designer suit over what looked like a spray-on shirt. Extra slim fit, or muscle fit, I think they call the cut. His winkle-picker patent-black boots must have extended about six inches past the end of his toes, and I was sure would pierce steel with one quick kick.

Beth had delivered the verbal mauling when he continued to only offer her flirtatious comments and focussed on me to explain the flashy car’s features on offer. He’d made the grave mistake of assuming the car was