Broady
by Angus Shoor Caan
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: A budding romance goes down the pan.
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: A budding romance goes down the pan.
Broady was his second name, his surname. No, I tell a lie, not a whopper of a lie but a lie all the same. Never mind. Who gives a shit? His surname was 'Broad' but his dad, his stepdad, called him 'Broady' because he wasn't his. Broady's stepsisters got their Christian names but I never once heard Broady get his: I didn't know it myself until we were almost eleven years old and had been knocking about with each other since I don't exactly remember; maybe since forever.
Broady was the 'try almost everything' daredevil and I was perhaps his only stabilizing influence. He listened to me. The only thing he couldn't bring himself to do was chat up the girls. We recently, each of us, turned nineteen and in all that time he had never asked a girl out whereas I, on the other hand, had no such problems. It didn't seem to bother Broady.
We went through school together and started apprenticeships at the factory on the same day. I had it in me to carry on in education and I'd say Broady did too but neither one of us had the inclination.
It had to come that we would be split up but I certainly didn't see it coming. McTrimble, our immediate boss, took an equally immediate dislike to Broady for some unknown reason but could never fault his work ethic, his willingness to run up a ladder or jump down a hole, or squeeze himself into some impossible space to get the job done but there was always that tension. Broady called him McTrouble, we all did but just about every boss in the factory had a nickname.
That day Broady and I were at different ends of the factory, a sprawling mass of units and foundry workshops but we always gravitated towards the central canteen for the day's longest break; the lunch hour. It didn't matter which shift we were on, it was always the lunch hour. I knew something was wrong when I saw Broady sitting in a corner on his own.
“What's up?” I asked. Expecting the usual answer, 'the sky', but it didn't come.
“Bastard McTrouble just sacked me.”
“Sacked you? For what?”
“Says I tried to electrocute him.”
“Did you?”
“Nope. Always thought about it but no. You know he's always s'posed to tell us when he's inspecting what we've done? Well, he didn't tell me. I didn't know he was in there when I threw the switch to test the fucker.”
“Fuck, Broady. What happened?”
“Nothin'. I mean, I do good work. We all do because the first thing we ever learned about electricity is how fuckin' dangerous it is. Bastard McTrouble came up from the hole wringing his hands and screaming I'd tried to fuckin' kill him.”
“He can't prove that, surely to fuck?”
“He doesn't have to. A couple of big bosses were walking past showing half a dozen suits around and it was one of them who told me to get my jotters.”
“Did you talk to the union?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Waste of time. The shit's stacked against me, and besides, that Roper's on management's side. You know that.”
“Hmmmnnn. Right, fuck it. I'm jacking it in too.”
“Nah. Not on my account you're not, Bronson. You need to serve your time. You're an excellent electrician. I'll be fine. Honest.”
Broady wasn't fine, not at first. His stepdad gave him two weeks grace, two weeks to find another job and his mum got him another week but to no avail; he was out on his ear.
He kipped in a camper bed in my room for a week before getting work on a building site. My parents were used to having him around and it was no big deal.
My dad works for the council, town planning mainly, but he knows the ins and outs of most of the clerical stuff. People used to come to the door of an evening or a weekend to ask his advice and he told them all the same thing, to put it in writing or come to see him during office hours. His free time was his own time and no one else’s. They got the message in the end. I even heard him tell one persistent woman to fuck off and leave him alone.
Broady was the only person I knew him to do anything for outside of office hours, helping him fill in the confusing forms for a council house and indeed helping him to jump the queue once they were filled in. He liked Broady because he was polite to mum and always willing to lend a hand in the garden and such.
The house wasn't in the best area but Broady was made up with it. Mid-terrace, outside toilet and all. We scrounged bits of furniture and some paint and he was moved in within the week. I was on the late shift and couldn't help much but he was happy enough to be doing it up on his own. He called round with some Capstan Full Strengths for dad and flowers for mum to thank them and made arrangements to meet me in the pub on the following Friday.
Broady was full of himself, beaming from ear to ear as he ordered the drinks in on my arrival. The juke-box room was empty so he led me in there before letting on why he was so chipper.
“What's up?” I asked.
“The sky.”
“And?”
“There's this girl,” he explained, “next door to me on the estate.”
“The house with the nice garden?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah. The gable end.”
“And?”
“And she's drop dead fuckin' gorgeous.”
“Have you asked her out? Have you even spoken to her?”
“Fuck no. You know what I'm like, Bronson. But I want to. I really want to. I could do with some help.”
“Sure. Does she live alone? When did you see her?”
“Every morning I've seen her from my bedroom window. She goes down the path to the lav at half seven every morning, regular as clockwork.”
“Well, you should get yourself out there and wait for her coming back along.”
“Then what?”
“Um, well, start off with the weather. Suggest it's a nice day and wait for a response. Then you just take it from there.”
“Take what? What else do I say?”
“Fuck, Broady. The garden, that's it. Tell her she has a beautiful garden and that'll open up the way for a conversation. Then you can introduce yourself.”
“Shit. OK, I'll do it, You ready for another pint?”
“My round.”
I kipped on Broady's couch that night, finding it much easier to get to his place than to go home. It had gone nine o'clock when I went upstairs to rouse him. I threw the curtains open just as the girl next door strolled down the garden path; she must have been having a weekend lie-in, same as we were. He was absolutely right in saying she was drop dead gorgeous. Stunning. She had long blonde hair, a beautiful figure and was around our age; although it's hard to tell with girls sometimes.
“Get your arse up out of bed, Broady,” I told him, “now's your chance to shine. Remember what I told you. Quick. C'mon.”
I was rattling around in the kitchen, looking for something to eat when the girl came back along the path. She had been some time. Broady was just outside the back door and hovering by the chest high dividing wall. I heard him go into his spiel.
“Lovely morning!” he offered.
“Oh,” she replied, somewhat taken by surprise, “yes, it's nice and warm, isn't it?”
“Ummmnn. I like your garden. It must take a lot of looking after?”
“Oh, thanks. Yes, my dad comes round and attends to it for me. He's the one with the green fingers, I can't take hardly any credit for it at all.”
“Uum. I'm Broady by the way. Ummm. Your new neighbour.”
“Pleased to meet you, Broady. I'm Linda. It's nice living 'round this way. Nice and quiet.”
“Uh huh. Ummmnn .......... Have you just been for a shite?”
Broady was the 'try almost everything' daredevil and I was perhaps his only stabilizing influence. He listened to me. The only thing he couldn't bring himself to do was chat up the girls. We recently, each of us, turned nineteen and in all that time he had never asked a girl out whereas I, on the other hand, had no such problems. It didn't seem to bother Broady.
We went through school together and started apprenticeships at the factory on the same day. I had it in me to carry on in education and I'd say Broady did too but neither one of us had the inclination.
It had to come that we would be split up but I certainly didn't see it coming. McTrimble, our immediate boss, took an equally immediate dislike to Broady for some unknown reason but could never fault his work ethic, his willingness to run up a ladder or jump down a hole, or squeeze himself into some impossible space to get the job done but there was always that tension. Broady called him McTrouble, we all did but just about every boss in the factory had a nickname.
That day Broady and I were at different ends of the factory, a sprawling mass of units and foundry workshops but we always gravitated towards the central canteen for the day's longest break; the lunch hour. It didn't matter which shift we were on, it was always the lunch hour. I knew something was wrong when I saw Broady sitting in a corner on his own.
“What's up?” I asked. Expecting the usual answer, 'the sky', but it didn't come.
“Bastard McTrouble just sacked me.”
“Sacked you? For what?”
“Says I tried to electrocute him.”
“Did you?”
“Nope. Always thought about it but no. You know he's always s'posed to tell us when he's inspecting what we've done? Well, he didn't tell me. I didn't know he was in there when I threw the switch to test the fucker.”
“Fuck, Broady. What happened?”
“Nothin'. I mean, I do good work. We all do because the first thing we ever learned about electricity is how fuckin' dangerous it is. Bastard McTrouble came up from the hole wringing his hands and screaming I'd tried to fuckin' kill him.”
“He can't prove that, surely to fuck?”
“He doesn't have to. A couple of big bosses were walking past showing half a dozen suits around and it was one of them who told me to get my jotters.”
“Did you talk to the union?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Waste of time. The shit's stacked against me, and besides, that Roper's on management's side. You know that.”
“Hmmmnnn. Right, fuck it. I'm jacking it in too.”
“Nah. Not on my account you're not, Bronson. You need to serve your time. You're an excellent electrician. I'll be fine. Honest.”
Broady wasn't fine, not at first. His stepdad gave him two weeks grace, two weeks to find another job and his mum got him another week but to no avail; he was out on his ear.
He kipped in a camper bed in my room for a week before getting work on a building site. My parents were used to having him around and it was no big deal.
My dad works for the council, town planning mainly, but he knows the ins and outs of most of the clerical stuff. People used to come to the door of an evening or a weekend to ask his advice and he told them all the same thing, to put it in writing or come to see him during office hours. His free time was his own time and no one else’s. They got the message in the end. I even heard him tell one persistent woman to fuck off and leave him alone.
Broady was the only person I knew him to do anything for outside of office hours, helping him fill in the confusing forms for a council house and indeed helping him to jump the queue once they were filled in. He liked Broady because he was polite to mum and always willing to lend a hand in the garden and such.
The house wasn't in the best area but Broady was made up with it. Mid-terrace, outside toilet and all. We scrounged bits of furniture and some paint and he was moved in within the week. I was on the late shift and couldn't help much but he was happy enough to be doing it up on his own. He called round with some Capstan Full Strengths for dad and flowers for mum to thank them and made arrangements to meet me in the pub on the following Friday.
Broady was full of himself, beaming from ear to ear as he ordered the drinks in on my arrival. The juke-box room was empty so he led me in there before letting on why he was so chipper.
“What's up?” I asked.
“The sky.”
“And?”
“There's this girl,” he explained, “next door to me on the estate.”
“The house with the nice garden?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah. The gable end.”
“And?”
“And she's drop dead fuckin' gorgeous.”
“Have you asked her out? Have you even spoken to her?”
“Fuck no. You know what I'm like, Bronson. But I want to. I really want to. I could do with some help.”
“Sure. Does she live alone? When did you see her?”
“Every morning I've seen her from my bedroom window. She goes down the path to the lav at half seven every morning, regular as clockwork.”
“Well, you should get yourself out there and wait for her coming back along.”
“Then what?”
“Um, well, start off with the weather. Suggest it's a nice day and wait for a response. Then you just take it from there.”
“Take what? What else do I say?”
“Fuck, Broady. The garden, that's it. Tell her she has a beautiful garden and that'll open up the way for a conversation. Then you can introduce yourself.”
“Shit. OK, I'll do it, You ready for another pint?”
“My round.”
I kipped on Broady's couch that night, finding it much easier to get to his place than to go home. It had gone nine o'clock when I went upstairs to rouse him. I threw the curtains open just as the girl next door strolled down the garden path; she must have been having a weekend lie-in, same as we were. He was absolutely right in saying she was drop dead gorgeous. Stunning. She had long blonde hair, a beautiful figure and was around our age; although it's hard to tell with girls sometimes.
“Get your arse up out of bed, Broady,” I told him, “now's your chance to shine. Remember what I told you. Quick. C'mon.”
I was rattling around in the kitchen, looking for something to eat when the girl came back along the path. She had been some time. Broady was just outside the back door and hovering by the chest high dividing wall. I heard him go into his spiel.
“Lovely morning!” he offered.
“Oh,” she replied, somewhat taken by surprise, “yes, it's nice and warm, isn't it?”
“Ummmnn. I like your garden. It must take a lot of looking after?”
“Oh, thanks. Yes, my dad comes round and attends to it for me. He's the one with the green fingers, I can't take hardly any credit for it at all.”
“Uum. I'm Broady by the way. Ummm. Your new neighbour.”
“Pleased to meet you, Broady. I'm Linda. It's nice living 'round this way. Nice and quiet.”
“Uh huh. Ummmnn .......... Have you just been for a shite?”
About the Author
Angus Shoor Caan is in an ex-seaman and rail worker. Born and bred in Saltcoats, he returned to Scotland after many years in England and found the time to begin writing.
Angus is the author of thirteen novels, two short story collections and ten collections of poems. All but four of his books are McStorytellers publications.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.
Angus is the author of thirteen novels, two short story collections and ten collections of poems. All but four of his books are McStorytellers publications.
You can read his full profile on McVoices.