The Substitute

Sorry, another story that just stops.

The Substitute

You know there are occasions in your life when for a brief moment your instincts tell you that something is wrong, out of whack... quite definitely not kosher. Later... on reflection you realize that -- had you had a ha'p'orth of sense in your head, you would have run; scarper'd; get the hell out of Dodge a bit sharpish like; while the going was still good. Well, I got that instinctive feeling in my gut the instant I stepped through the arrivals gate at Naples airport that afternoon.

But then again, there's another side of human nature that is innately curious. That curiosity -- or maybe naivety, or it could even be described as stupidity, that is somehow persuading you to hang around just long enough to figure-out... well, what the chuffin'-'ell is going down.

Odd things had been happening all that morning. While queuing for check-in at Gatwick, I'd spotted Billy Thornton -- a fellow student from my college days -- up the front of the queue and apparently also booking-in for the flight to Naples. I wasn't sure I wanted to renew our acquaintance, or even fall into conversation with the bugger. But I really didn't have much choice; the sod must have recognized me the instant he turned away from the desk, after collecting his boarding pass.

"Bloody hell, Kevin! How's it been going mate?" Billy Thornton asked as I turned away from the desk myself. "I've been hearing great things about you; didn't you have an exhibition at some flash gallery up in town? Bit on the saucy side, from what I hear!"

"Hi, Bill. Yeah, I've had a few exhibitions. Sold enough of my work so as to keep the wolf from the door."

"So I've been hearing. Only good things, Kev; only good things! You off to Naples as well, are you?"

"Well, why else would I be in the effing Naples checking queue, you imbecile?" No, I didn't say that; but I definitely thought it!

What I actually said was, "Yeah, a little research trip down there for a week or so. Nothing heavy, I've got a book illustration commission to do and I'm just going down there to soak up the feeling of the place for a few days. One has to get in the right mood, you know."

"Oh yeah, I understand. You artistic types need to absorb the ambiance of the place, don't you?" Billy grinned back at me.

I very much doubted Bill Thornton had any idea of what I was talking about, but he made a good job of pretending he did.

"And you, Bill, why are you off to the boot?" I asked, in an attempt to move the philistine's subject of conversation away from me.

Look, I'd known Billy Thornton since college; the only form of art he appreciated was the brewer's.

"The boot? Oh yeah, Naples..." A grin came over Billy's face again; only this time, a very big and lecherous grin; if you know what I mean? "Well, you see.... Oh God!"

Billy suddenly stopped speaking and inexplicably his expression turned uncommonly serious, for Thornton. He was thinking, that I could tell; I'd watched him enter more than a few examination rooms back in our college days.

Then for a few seconds Billy's facial expression became unreadable. But then -- a millisecond or so later -- a sly smile came over his face.

"Well, you know I was supposed to be meeting a Sort down there... But bugger-it, I can't go now... Say, Kevin, exactly what are you going to be doing down in Naples?"

"Just milling around Pompey and Herculaneum, soaking up the general atmosphere, I told you."

"So, no business meetings and all that malarkey?"

"Billy, I'm an artist; I work alone. Why are you so interested, anyway?"

"Oh, nothing really, it was just..." Billy looked like I'd stumped him with that question, but then he suddenly went on. "Well, I thought that maybe we might possibly get together for a drink or something down there, but... But well, we can't now; I just got a message and I can't go anymore."

"Message, when?"

"While you were checking in... I got a text from the office. Seems the buggers can't do without me back there and I'm needed in a hurry. Look, give me your mobile number Kev? And if I do manage to get down in the next few days, I'll give you a call?"

All very unconvincing, I thought. But I'd always considered Billy Thornton to be a bit of a scatterbrain; even back at college. Why should I suspect he'd changed? Anyway, before I got the chance to ask him any more questions, Billy said that he had to go, and dashed off to retrieve his luggage.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't... If I'd got the chance?" Were his last words.

I doubt he heard me reply. "Some hopes!"

I watched the bugger for a few seconds as he... well argued with the woman on check-in and I suppose he eventually got his bags back from her. Then I... er, got lost in the crowd.

But then, very strangely... well, I can't be completely sure, but for a moment, I thought I caught sight of the bugger as I was going through the departure gate. Actually, the guy did have his back to me, and was talking on a mobile phone at the time. But for life of me, I could have sworn that it was Billy Thornton.

I have to admit that I was a little concerned. Billy Thornton hadn't run with the best of crowds back in our college days. Nothing serious that I was aware of; but you never know in this day and age. Billy could have been into just anything by then... drug or cigarette smuggling, or anything.

And what if he was being watched by the authorities? Well, they might have seen us talking together on the concourse.

Yeah, maybe that was the reason for Billy's sudden and confusing change of plans. Perhaps he'd spotted someone tailing him. I think my mind was running riot as I took my seat on the plane.

Whatever, the flight itself was to prove uneventful.

I must have been one of the last passengers on my flight to exit the gate that day. Chiefly because -- as is its usual wont -- my luggage had temporarily gone AWOL. I have no idea why, but my bags have acquired the somewhat frustrating habit of going the long way round. For some inexplicable reason my bags are always the last ones to arrive at airport baggage claim.

It's always the same when I fly and I suppose it always will be. By that time in my life it had got to the point where I don't go near an airport baggage carousel until nearly everyone else has collected their bags and gone.

I know, I know, frequent travellers will ask me what I'm complaining about; at least my bags do turn up at the same airport as myself... eventually. Some poor buggers arrive in one country and find that their luggage is not just in another country, but very often on a different continent; that's of course assuming that the airline ever locates their bags again. At least my luggage gets lonely and it has always arrived on the correct carousel -- but, as I said -- eventually.

Anyway, it has become my habit -- when arriving in a baggage claim hall -- to find a quiet corner where I can stand and read for a while until the frantic mob has dispersed. Well, why struggle in an expectant crush by the carousel, when you know that your suitcase will still be enjoying its own little private tour of the airports luggage handling facilities, to ensure that it will be the very last one to come up the elevator, down the bleeding chute, or whatever.

Then, having at last retrieved my bag, I tag on the end of the queue for immigration and customs desks etcetera.

That day I was lucky and officialdom didn't delay me long before I could head for the exit; where I was expecting to be soon basking in the warm Italian sunshine.

The crowd of people who are usually milling around waiting to meet friends and loved ones outside the arrivals gate had almost completely dispersed by the time I stepped out onto the airport's main concourse, all-but alone.

I must have glanced around the expanse trying to get my bearings -- it had been sometime since I'd visited Naples -- but that was the moment that I got my first inkling that everything weren't as I'd expected, or would have wished.

I don't know what drew my attention the far side of the expansive area; but there 'she' was!

I suppose I must have done a quick double take -- as one tends to do in the circumstances -- but I pretty soon convinced myself that standing there on the far side of the arrivals hall, talking with a small group of other people was a female whom I more than vaguely recognized.

I'm still not completely sure why I noticed her. Maybe it was the fact that, on spying me, she'd instantly detached herself from the party she was with and headed in my direction... and what's more she had a big -- somewhat unexpected and dangerous looking -- smile on her face.

I think I must have stopped in my tracks. I know that I took a quick glance behind me to check that it was actually me she was walking towards, and not some other poor unfortunate late arrival.

But sod-it, no! There had been no handsome bugger following me through the gate.

Almost instantly -- it took a few moments to get over the shock of seeing her -- three questions jumped into my mind.

The first, "What the chuffing-'ell is Melanie Frobisher doing here?"

The second, "Why the chuffing-'ell is she heading my way?"

And the thirdly, and probably more confusing -- and worrying -- than the other two, "Why the effing 'ell is she walking towards me with that bleeding great grin on her face?"

-----

I suppose I'd better explain a little. I'd known Melanie Frobisher since we had both been about four or five-year-olds, and... well to be honest -- as I had it figured -- the bitch wouldn't invite me to a funeral, if I were the last person left on the planet; unless it was my own funeral, of course. And then... shit yeah, I would have imagined that the bitch would have happily paid for that bugger.

Not that I could ever understand why. But then again, Mel is of the female variety and I am a mere male; the gender they like to keep confused and totally nonplussed about the whys and wherefores, of everything they do or say.

Look, Melanie Frobisher and I go back almost to the year dot. We were in the same class all through nursery, primary, junior, and secondary schools. Eventually we even went to the same college; although we didn't in fact do the same courses; I was reading art and she studied... oh 'eck, I have no idea what she studied, how to be a real bitch I should imagine; I weren't interested by then. Anyway, as a consequence of our different courses, we saw little of each other around the campus.

-----

For the greater part of our formative years, Mel and I had got along okay; well, I always thought we had. To be honest, for a long time, I had thought we were quite good friends. At one time I'd even had some tentative aspirations for when we got a little older -- if you get my drift -- forming in the back of my mind... However, I'd had failed to take into account that Mel was a female of the species, where as I... yeah well, I'd have thought that was obvious. And... well, female brains don't work the same way as guy's brains do, do they?

From a young age, Mel and some of her girlfriends -- mainly because they lived local, I think -- had taken to tagging along behind my group of mates and myself. Even, volunteering to make up the numbers in more than the odd football and cricket team as time went on. Bugger, as I recall, for a while there, Mel was a dab-'and with a cricket bat, and she could have taught some of the lads on the school football teams a thing or two about tackling.

The boys and I kinda accepted the girls hanging around because... Oh bugger, you know, I really don't know why our little gang was mixed gender, when most of the other gangs of kids around our way, were strictly segregated, gender-wise.

Well, until the teenage years -- and puberty raised its ugly head -- that remained the status quo, each of those five girls were kinda treated like one of the boys. Excepting of course that they tended to wear skirts and kinda roped some of us guys in for to going to their stupid birthday parties and the like; where we have to play silly games with them, like "Postman's Knock" etcetera.

I can recall that most of the guys found the games embarrassing, until puberty began to pay them a call, and then -- very suddenly -- the girls didn't seem to want to play anymore. Or rather as the boys developed some enthusiasm for the games -- "Postman's Knock" in particular -- some of the girls started to get a little choosey about which boys they played it with.

I think it was about the time that my own puberty raised its ugly head that I started to realise that Melanie and I, didn't get on so well.

Well, to be honest with you, you could say that us boys in the gang began to get a little... frustrated with the some of the female associate members.

As I recall now, it went a little like this. When we all reached about twelve or thirteen years old, some other lads -- a year or so older -- began to... I don't know, I suppose you could say they'd hang around our little crowd. Hey, the gang was never a closed shop, if you understand me, it was mostly just a group of kids who lived quite close to each other, hung around, and played sports together regularly.

But these new arrivals appeared to be more interested in... well, chatting to Mel and the other girls, than playing footy or cricket with the lads. Look it's pretty frustrating as a bowler, when you bowl a batsman a good one and he hits an easy catch; but then you find that the fielder -- who should be in the right spot take the bloody thing -- is standing there giggling with one of the girls. Or rather, she's giggling away at his stupid jokes.

You could say that our little close knit gang of regular friends began to break-up around that time. Well, the girls' sort-of began to drift away anyway for at least some of the time. Very often as we made our way home from school, one or two of the girls would be missing. Most often to be spotted walking -- and giggling -- with a couple of the new hangers-on, if you understand me.

Sometimes they were even spotted holding hands with them as well. Usually a cause for much ribbing, the following day at school

It was about the same time as all that began to happen, that I first figured out that I'd done something to piss-off Melanie, big time. But I had no idea what, at the time; and I still hadn't the day I stepped through that arrivals gate at Naples airport that day.

But as time progressed there was couple of things about her general demeanour -- where I was concerned -- that kinda told me that I had seriously transgressed in some way or the other.

Hey, even as little kids, we, mere males, always knew when we have transgressed or done something to upset a female. Oh yeah, they make damned sure you know! Often we have no idea what we've done, but they make damned sure with know we've done something, whatever it was. It must a hereditary skill all females are born with.

Of the five girls, Mel and Susan always were... well to be honest, I'd say they were just a little prettier than the other three. Not that any of us boys would actually dare say so -- to any of the girls -- at the time. Even as small children, we instinctively knew that such discussions were strictly taboo. One slip in that direction and then the jealousy worm raises its head, and the next thing you know all out war has broken out.

Hey, looking back all five girls were pretty little things, but I think I'm safe in saying that Melanie and Susan stood out from the crowd. It was mainly Susan and Mel, that those older boys were usually sniffing around anyway. Hoping they were going to get lucky I always thought; going by the general conversation in the sports changing rooms around that time.

Well, come-on, you didn't think I was that stupid did you? The rest of the guy's knew what those older boys game was, as well. It was just that our own hormones hadn't developed to the point that females took preference over football and cricket in our psyche... yet.

That day raced up on us pretty quickly though. And maybe we had missed the boat, as they say; but that's life, ain't it?

Whatever, I think I can recall the day that Melanie first gave me 'that look'. You know, the expression on a female's face that tells you that you've transgressed in some unexplained way; even though you have no idea how.

Just that lunchtime, Melanie and I had been sitting in the school canteen together, and as I recall, we'd apparently been getting along fine; just like we always had.

As I recollect now, we were talking about Gail -- one of the other girls -- who had been off school for a week or so with the dreaded chickenpox. I do believe I'd said something about, maybe calling in to see Gail -- having suffered the scourge myself a year or so before, so theoretically I was immune -- but Melanie had suggested that Gail's parents wouldn't like her to have any boy visitors when she was supposed to be confined to bed.

Some of the girls' parent's were a little funny about that kind of thing in those days. You know, they interpreted any boy that their daughter knew, as a prospective suitor but they considered that their daughter was far too young to have a boyfriend.

While Melanie and I were chatting, one of her (slightly older) would-be suitors joined us at our table, and -- much to my surprise -- Melanie fell into conversation with him about... Oh bugger, I can't recall what they talked about now; I wasn't in the slightest bit interested, anyway.

Mind you, I was probably annoyed that the bloke had joined us at our table uninvited. Most of the regular gang would... well, I don't know why, but when Mel and I were chatting together, in private like... well, for some inexplicable reason, the rest of the gang would wait until either Mel or I nodded to them, before they sat down. You know, they kinda waited until they were invited to join us. I have no idea why, is was just that was the way things had always been.

Whatever, I sat there that day and Mel was rabbiting away to the twerp like there was no tomorrow. It's hard to recall exactly, but I know I must have got a little pissed-off myself, because -- having finished my lunch -- I got up and returned my tray to the collection point. But then, instead of returning to sit with Mel and the plonker -- I should imagine that I didn't want to listen to their inane soppy conversation anymore -- I went over and sat with some of our other friends.

Now I come to think of it, they were all a little surprised by my sudden appearance, that day. And to be honest with you the conversation weren't much better there, as I recall. The main topic of conversation appeared to be the upcoming school spring dance and who was going with whom. Dancing not being my thing back then, I was more interested in the imminent cricket match with our school's main rivals for the District Cup.

Yeah well, the sporting side of my nature was still prominent back then. My artistic bent didn't really come to light until a year or so later, when I began to realize the beauty of... No, I think you'll realize exactly what I began to appreciate later as I got a little older. And what was to prove to be the driving force that brought my artistic side to the fore.

Anyway a few minutes after I'd joined the gang -- probably when someone had moved the conversation back to that damned dance evening again -- I happened to glance in Mel's general direction, and -- just for an instant -- locked eyes with her. That was the first time I can recall that she gave me... well, 'the look!' An expression that I was to become very familiar with, and one that told me that... oh shit, I've no idea what it told me; besides, maybe, "Get lost!"

On our way home from school that evening -- Melanie and Susan being conspicuous by their absence -- we came across Mel and the twerp -- standing outside her front gate; probably making soppy-talk again.