--Back-on-Track-- Read online

--Back-on-Track--

  L. P. Donnelli

  Copyright © L. P. Melling 2014

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Unique Names

  Chapter 2: A Bouncing, Decapitated Head

  Chapter 3: The Extended(-Tongued) Family

  Chapter 4: New Fly in Soup

  Chapter 5: Off-Track--

  Chapter 6: The Plan

  Chapter 7: Tea-Strainer

  Chapter 8: Plan B+

  Chapter 9: A Chance Meeting

  Chapter 10: Truth is Out

  Chapter 11: Mysterious Goings-On

  Chapter 12: --Back-on-Track--

  About the Author

  For my mother, who will be forever missed, and my father, the real train spotter extraordinaire.

  Chapter 1

  Unique Names

  Mike was, as you have probably already guessed as a clever reader ­-- even though you have only just started this book -- really named Michael. But that, Reader, was not what made him unique! I already hear you say that being unique is itself not so unique, as everyone is unique, as your parents and teachers have no doubt told you! However, Mike was more unique than others. His uniqueness or uniquity (I am not sure if that is even a word!) was down to him being a twin.

  Hold on, but doesn’t that make him less unique then? Well yes, I guess it does in some ways. However, he was not an identical twin -- not in appearance anyway. This was mainly down to his twin being the opposite sex to himself, which kind of showed. Such as in the following ways:

  1.Where he had short hair, his sister had long hair

  2.Where she had a high voice, he had a slightly lower voice

  3.Where he liked to wear red or green, she preferred pink or yellow.

  4.Where he liked to get muddy outside, his sister liked to get muddy also. (Erm well, they were twins after all, so I guess they have to be similar in some ways don’t they!)

  His sister was not called Mike, or even Michelle, Micha or Marabella, but Layla. She had been born before Mike, so therefore it was only right she got the letter before in the alphabet to start her name with. Mike did love Layla -- as much as a ten-year-old brother can love a sister all the time, (when they were not annoying), but he also envied her for being older, in a unique way.

  The reason was he felt responsible for his mother’s death in being born last.

  It was very soon after his mother gave birth to him, when he drew his first crying breath in the world, that his dear mother drew her last. He knew that it was the combined births and the very long labour that his mother had to suffer which was the true cause of her death. But he could never fully get away from the feeling that if he had not been born, and it had all stopped with Layla’s birth, she may have recovered and still be here today.

  He thought he was thankful at times that he did not have a chance to actually know his mother, as surely it would have hurt more to have then lost her . . . but then he doubted this at times.

  Their father made up for any loss as much as he could, however, and they both felt very lucky to have him. His father’s name was Michael, like his own. However, his father never used the shortened version. Michael just did not sound right to Mike, but as he was told by his dad and others, “You may yet grow into it.” “Mike just fits,” he would say in reply, “and stops any confusion too!”

  Anyway, back to their father (mainly known as Dad), who kind of shared the same name and kind of shared the same dark brown coloured hair, but Mike’s was ever-slightly-lighter. The real key thing to know about Mike’s father is this: he is simply mad, and I mean MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD about trains! He is what is known as (plums in mouth now everyone) a ‘Railway Enthusiast’, which is the posh and less embarrassing way to say he is mad about trains! The taboo term that can never be spoken in their household, and I’d better whisper this quietly now, is Train Spotter (TS). Never, under any circumstances, can their beloved father be referred to as a TS, which their father regarded as “a propaganda term to demonise the refined railway enthusiast” (whatever that meant??).

  But if Dad was merely a TS, then it might not be as bad as all that. He was not just interested in spotting them, however, but having everything possible to do with them! He had train everything: train socks, train slippers, train coasters, train cups and glasses (I am talking thousands here of each), train egg cups too, a train tea-strainer and even train trainers!

  Nine out of ten times his train of thought is actually about trains! As I think you may now see, Reader, Mike and Layla’s father MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD (never enough A’s to fully explain it) about trains but this was what they loved about him also. He let them play with all his model trains, and would always take them to station gift shops to buy something each time they went, full of happy enthusiasm for his love of the train.

  Occasionally, however, Dad got lonely, especially after Mike and Layla had gone to bed. Mike had to get up sometimes for a drink of water, or the toilet, and would find him looking sad. Mike could see in his face what he was thinking about. Other times, instead of the usual background sound of the model railway zipping around in the attic at full pelt, a low sobbing sound could be heard that Mike wished he could make go away.

  But no amount of trains in the world could do this Mike knew, and nothing he could do would change the fact that Dad wasn’t really happy.

  Being only 10, he realised he could not even fully understand how to start to help. His father found it difficult to get full-time work also that made him even more down, making it difficult for the family to afford things. He really could not imagine anyone else in a similar situation, in being so powerless to help make things right.

 

  His name was Mike, and Mike was unfortunately unique.

  Chapter 2

  A Bouncing, Decapitated Head

  Mike was looking through the window, thinking of how sad he was about his situation, when suddenly he saw some hair hovering above the tall bushes next door.

  Next, he saw a foot appear in the air, complete with a white trainer and a pink sock!

  Then a whole head, as if decapitated, appeared over the bush. But rather than this head being upset about losing its body -- as you imagine it would have good cause to -- it was smiling a big toothy smile, as up and down it went.

  It was Lucy, their next-door neighbours’ child, bouncing again on the large red trampoline in her garden.

  “Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” And “weeeeee” some more she went to her full heart’s content and to Mike’s somewhat annoyance.

  Her rosy-red panting face was almost completely covered in freckles, like a dot-to-dot puzzle that had seriously got out of hand. Her hair was browney-blonde and her eyes bright blue and full of mischief, which matched her constant smile and loud whiny voice that was rarely unheard when Mike was on this side of the house. It was practically deafening when he was in the garden! This was especially so when the sound of the local ice cream van piped out in the distance. When it was very close, it would be shortly drowned out by the exciting noises of Lucy as she licked her lips in keen anticipation for the icey-creamie goodness.

  Mike liked the odd ice lolly, himself. He especially loved the one with the rainbow of colours. He would lick it furiously and swear that each colour had its own distinct flavour, but no one would ever believe him! He did not mind, however, as he knew the truth and so did his trusted source and supplier of raspberry sauce: Mr Frank Flimpicker the ice cream man extraordinaire!

  Mr Frank Flimpicker, Frank to his friends -- which Mike was grateful
ly one -- was a man that stood out, and not just because of his unique van. He stood out, even among fellow ice cream men and ice cream women (they must exist, surely?), as the usually lovely white overalls such people would wear, were anything but white in Frank’s case. Instead of a super bright white delight, they were more a dark creamy-brown colour, with red lines all over -- quite a lot like Grandad’s legs, when Mike had saw them at the seaside. Mike was sure that they must have been white at one point, but exactly when this point was, only historians could tell you!

  It was said that Mr Frank Flimpicker was practically born an ice cream man, which Mike doubted, as he knew for one thing that you had to be a certain age to drive a van. Unless an adult had driven Frank around whilst he served the ice cream, he thought. Anyway, that would still not explain the overalls -- as he still would have had to get new ones as he grew up. The point was, Reader, he had been practicing the fine art of ice cream van delivery for decades. Mike older cousins -- who he thought were ancient anyway -- had even been served by Frank, when they were young also. Jamie, who was a whopping 19 years old said, even then, they weren’t white or clean.

  Mike suspected the real reason they were not white was because Frank lived in his van. His work and his home was one. No one had ever seen him outside of his van! Of course he did leave it to park, to buy some food at the local supermarket, but never did anyone in the town see him go into an actual house. This made Mike sad and also angry, when other kids made fun of him behind his back. In the winter, Mike would often think about where Frank was and what he was doing when no one wanted ice cream anymore. Take a moment now, Reader, to think of all the poor ice cream men (and women possibly) who do not have work to do in the winter, where do they go? Have you ever thought of this before? Mike thought how terribly cold it must be for Frank sleeping in the van -- especially when a big part of the van was an actual fridge!

  Early summer however, without fail, Frank would always be at the local parks with his cheery smile, shouting out:

  ICE CREAM FOR SALE! GET YOUR ICE CREAM BEFORE IT MELTS!!!

  TODAY ONLY: GET THE CONE FREE, WHEN YOU BUY THE ICE CREAM!!!

  Mike always thought this was a particularly clever selling technique that the Dragons and Lord Sugary would be proud of, as he never offered anything else to carry the ice cream in and the ice cream was the same price anyway, so the cone was not really free. Mike and the other children had heard this many times from Frank, but they did not mind it, and would rush at the van as fast as their feet could carry them, jingle-jangling with loose change, sweating with anticipation for the first cool, sticky, lick on a hot day.

  AHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

  What Mike and Layla also particularly loved about Frank was that he “never left a child in distress, when they were in a messy, creamy, crying mess!” That was his motto, by the way, in case you were wondering. Whenever anyone dropped their ice cream on themselves, or the ground, he would always stop the child from crying and shout them over to get a replacement -- at no extra charge. However, Frank would ask if they could remember their home phone number to speak to their parents. He remembered once hearing Frank asking a child, as his salty tears began to dry to a smile, whether he knew what bank his parents used but Mike did not fully understand why. The child, only looking around 7, looked completely confused. “Well, never mind. There’s always next time I can speak to them. You enjoy your replacement -- hold on to it tight now, and make sure you’re in the shade!”

  Mike suddenly realised his stomach was rumbling so he ran downstairs, hopping from step to step, seeking to raid the fridge. Unfortunately, as usual, there was very little in to eat. A slimy piece of abandoned lettuce clung to one side of the fridge, trying to make an escape by the looks of it; a quarter of cucumber, which promised to start to mould sat in the middle of the top shelf, with some dark yellow cheese slices leaning on it. These items could only mean one thing: sandwich. Now, if only there were some edible bread that would not smash his teeth in with its hard staleness. Most bread Mike and Layla found was best used for a hammer, they had agreed. Mike once had a plastic hammer with a fake tool set when he was younger, that he got for Christmas, and it certainly was no way near as hard as the bread they were usually trying to eat!

  Mike lifted the breadbin lid and held his breath, not so much out of anticipation, but more out of safety, as the smell could be unleashed and knock you out onto the floor, Mike had learned from past experience. Inside, he peeked over the top and there he found it: bread with only a 75% mould content! Heaven!!!

  Mike quickly got to work before the mould could invade further and started cutting the bread -- well, more tearing actually, as the knife was as blunt as a banana. There was no butter, or margarine, or I-cannot-believe-there-is-no-butter-or-margarine-ever-in-the-fridge!, but Mike was used to this by now. He put a slice of the cheese on the bread and cut the end of the cucumber into a few slices to add to this. He did not feel brave enough to use any part of the lonely lettuce leaf -- that looked semi-alive. With his mouth watering, he took a big bite to treat his hunger. It may not have been a lovely cold ice cream, but it was still satisfying all the same. Food always tasted better the less you had of it, Mike and Layla had already learnt.

  “Let me have a bite, Mike. Remember, sharing is caring!” his sister said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. The food, even though not cooked must have found her nostrils -- most likely it was the mould she smelt. She often said “sharing is caring” these days, picked up from one of her annoying friends at school, no doubt.

  “Not when you are sick it isn’t! Would you like me to share a cold with you, or the Plague?” Mike responded with a smile. He saved a quarter of the sandwich for his sister and said that she can make the next one, once some ingredients appear -- which neither of them knew when.

  “Your best friend’s head is out there, bouncing up above the hedge again, Layla.”

  “No she’s NOT,” she said, giving him a light punch on his shoulder. “Lucy is your best friend in the whole wide world, not mine. My best friend is Stacey Bluewater, you know that!”

  “Oh, you mean, your new best friend. It was Laura Crabbing last week and then who was it before? Oh yes Sian King, I mean Sian StinKing as they now call her after that incident I heard about at school.”

  “They are still my friends, well not Sian anymore, obviously, after that smell she had, but Laura still is, it’s just now she is my second bestest friend duh-brains and has been for days!”

  “Layla, you change your best friends like socks you girls do. My best friend is always the same and always will be: Gary.”

  “Ha! That says a lot, my sweet younger brother.”

  With that, she left a parting dig on the other arm and ran off laughing. Mike didn’t mind his sister getting the last word.

  Chapter 3

  The Extended(-Tongued) Family

  Gary was his best friend, that was true, and that was fine. He didn’t care as long as Gary didn’t.

  “Isn’t that right, Gary? . . . I said, isn’t that right, Gary?! You don’t mind, do you mate?” speaking louder. There, that was what he was looking for. Gary blinked, and looked up at him with his big bulbous eyes to acknowledge him. He began to extend his long tongue, before putting it straight into his left eye, licking the sleep -- and whatever else he had in there -- clean.

  Gary was not any usual friend you see, he was his lovely gecko that he’d had for four years now. Gary looked at him lovingly from the vivarium, a cricket jumping over his head as if Gary was not even there. The red light was glowing out in the room with a small amount of heat. Mike loved to get close to the vivarium in the winter, to keep warm with Gary, as they could not always afford to put the radiators on. He slid open the window and let Gary climb onto his hand, his thick tail waggling and a faint squeaking sound starting. That was the true sign of a best friend, endless squeaking when you were close! OK, perhaps this might not work with human to human contact, as the
squeaking would be annoying if all the time, but with Gary, it showed him and anyone who was listening how close they were. He would not squeak when near Layla, but then he was not near her much anyway as she had her own gecko, Lola, to play with. Lola and Gary were the same age like him and his sister but he did not know if they were twins. The Vets these days never seem to give such detail. They had taken them both to the Vets when they first heard Gary squeaking like a rubber dog toy. They said it was nothing to be worried about and was a sign of excitement, as Mike always thought was the case.

  Gary-the-gecko and Mike spent most of their free time together. Most times you would see Mike looking like he needed a doctor when seen from a distance. On a closer inspection, you could see it was only Gary on his head or neck -- rather than some terrible growth, as part of a rare and terrible disease!

  Gary was on his shoulder when he heard his dad arrive, his old car announcing loudly its arrival as the exhaust and engine sputtered out black smoke all around the drive.

  “Mike, my dear boy, how are you chum?”

  “I am good thanks, Dad. How was ya day?”

  “Great thanks! I found the Mark II, standard gauge I’d been looking for in black.” (A model train I think, Reader?!) “What a beauty!” Dad said excitedly.

  “That’s g-great, Dad!” Mike was trying to sound as enthusiastic as his father.

  “I know, sometimes the stars align I guess. I just had a call from the agency and I have to work tonight as someone’s called in sick. I have to take you to your Grandad’s for the night. Where’s your older sister?”

  “Awww, Dad, do we have to go?” Dad loved to refer to his sister as the ‘older sister’ as a running joke, which he did find funny, but unfortunately it made him think of his mother again. He did not want to mention this to Dad as he knew it would make him upset also.