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Life was good in Lemsford Village after Patsy, and I got everything off our chest. If she had any ideas to improve the Inn, she would come to me first for my opinion. She would try to teach me everything there is to know about running an Inn. On quiet days she trained me to cook, A different dish every time. Billy and I would take long walks along River Ley like I mentioned before that dog loved the outdoors, It also gave Patsy some breathing space from both of us.
The locals in the village started to accept me in the community. After the incident, we had back in May on the day of the show, with the three guys. When they heard me talk to them in cockney, they decided to give me a nickname. Guess what that was, Cockney. It was four old gentlemen who gave me the nickname they came daily to the Inn. Patsy would always say. “Those four old timers pay your salary between them every month, so look after them.”
Late one afternoon after the rush hour, we had during lunch time. I was wiping down the tables. Getting nearer to the table with our four regulars, I could hear them whispering to each other, as soon as I got near the table, they stopped.
“What are you four up to now? Thought of a new nickname for me?”
Bob the one that always spoke for the group said. “Ryan’s going to have a visitor. She’s coming to stay with him in a couple of weeks. He wanted to ask if you could have a look at a car? He hasn’t started it for some years. It won’t even turnover.
The others are always talking and joking with me, Ryan he’s the grumpiest of the group. I guess you always get a grumpy one in the gang. “You want me to have a look at it for you Ryan?” I said to him.
“It’s Mr Tate to you young man,” He replied.
“Sorry Mr Tate, how is Sunday Morning for you, I can have a look at it then. If I need anything, I can drop in Halfords to buy parts before they close, so that I can complete it the same day.
“Ok.”
“I’ll get Patsy to give me your address.” I carried on cleaning the other tables near them. The other three were moaning at him for the way he spoke to me when I was trying to help.
Sunday I was up early, decided to do some household chores before I headed to Mr Tates house. It was almost 10 am when I left the apartment. He lived on Brocket Road, a part of the village I hadn’t visited yet. At the end of Lemsford Village Road, I was waiting for for the road to clear to turn left, that’s when I spotted some people going to the St John’s Church. Parking the bike, I went inside. The church was almost full, finding a place near the back I sat down. The priest was speaking to his congregation. I sat there for a while saying my prayers, for my family, Dave who lost his life, prayed for his family, finished with a prayer for peace in the world.
It was 11 am when I arrived at Mr Tates house, or should I call it a mansion. I don’t have much knowledge about property prices, but I can assure you this one was over the million mark. It was Victorian built with soft Coddington Gold bricks. The entrance reminded me of the entry of the church I just visited. Ringing the door bell, I stood back.
I waited for a couple of minutes, seeing no one answered, I started to make my way back to my bike. Suddenly a voice came from behind. “You was supposed to come in the morning. It’s almost midday now. But what do you younger generation know about keeping schedules?” He was standing there at the entrance with his hands crossed.
“Sorry Mr Tate, I would have come earlier, but on the way here I saw St John’s Church was open. I decided to stop since I haven’t been to church for a long time. Sorry again for keeping you waiting, we can arrange another time to do the car,” Picking up my helmet from the seat I was about to slide it over my head.
“You’re here now, come inside you might as well look at the God damn thing.”
The inside of the house was beautiful. It was like walking into another era. All the furnishings were like new, not a single item was out of place. “You have a lovely house, Mr Tate,” I said to him as we made our way through to the kitchen leading into the garage.
“Don’t touch anything!” he replied in not such a pleasant voice.
Entering the garage, I was like a child released in a candy store. In front of me was one of the best cars made by British Leyland. “It’s a 1972 MG Midget Mk III, where have you been hiding this baby?”
“My niece is coming to stay with me for the summer. She just passed her driving test a couple of months ago. I want to surprise her, if you can get it going she will have something to get around. But it’s been sitting here for nearly ten years.”
“I can look at it. Where do you keep your tools so that I can get started?” He opened a cabinet, inside was every tool you can think of, even had a battery starter, which I would need later on.
He went back inside appearing a few minutes later with a mechanics overall for me. “Put this on. When you finish take it off, I don’t want you getting everything dirty when you leave.” Then disappeared back in the kitchen.
“What is it with him, such a grumpy old man,” I thought. I was working on the engine for nearly two hours. All the filters and spark plugs needed changing, but a good clean would be enough for now. I found some carburettor and petrol pump seals in a draw, something that had to get change if we were going to get this car started.
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