Mechanic of the Year

Even though it was only faint and coming from somewhere out in the distance the sound still woke Colin from a deep sleep. He pulled himself forward and sat for a few seconds in the darkness, hearing the sound over his wife’s light breathing, like the flicking of an elastic band, being flicked by God itself, echoing through the still universe.

He checked the time on his phone - 3:21 am - and used its light to guide him over to the window. He opened the curtains, then the window, and peered his head out into a mist. It annoyed him, to be woken into this empty hour, with this vibration, this elastic sound going on, and now unable to see out onto the street, to gauge where it was coming from. With a huff he pulled the window shut, snapped the curtains closed and turned on a lamp, causing a stir from the bed, but only a stir. With more consideration, he delicately slipped into some joggers, stepped into some slippers, turned out the lamp, and let the light from his phone guide him down the stairs and out onto the street.

The sound was clearer now, cleaner, like he had been tuned into a better frequency. It wasn’t so much elastic-y out here, more like the sound of a rope being swung or something. In his slippers he set off through the mist, sure that nobody was about, leading himself down a cul-de-sac he’d never ventured down before, convinced it was the way, that the sound was coming from down there somewhere, despite the absence of house lights, getting louder the further down the cul-de-sac he went, sounding now more like being under water, and he began to struggle for air, began to feel like he was drowning, and he clawed at his throat and fell to his knees and everything went dark and then there was nothing until he was woken by a postman in the twilight.

“Mate…mate…mate…are you alright, mate?”

“What ‘appened?” Colin groaned. “What time is it?”

“Its 6 in the mornin’, mate”, the postman told him, and then shouted out for a woman named Sarah.

Colin sat up, looked about, felt himself all over, like he was missing something. The woman named Sarah popped her head out of one of the cul-de sac windows. “What are yer shoutin’ at at this time for!?” she cried.

Lights started appearing in the houses.

“There’s some guy out ‘ere in the middle of the street!” the postman cried back. “Get ‘im some water!”

More heads started popping out of windows and peeking out from behind front doors. Sarah came running out with a glass of water, hand covering the top of it to keep it all in, shouting “Oh my god! Is he ok?”

“I think so”, the postman called back, reaching out to take the water. “Ee are mate”, he offered to Colin, “have some water.”

Colin felt his throat, looked at the water with aversion and put up his hand to decline. He looked around. In their dressing gowns more people came out of the houses to consult the postman, still kneeling by Colins side. “Did nobody hear it?” Colin asked them.

“Hear what?” replied the postman.

Colin looked up at him again, clocking the uniform. “Why are you goin’ to work?” he asked him.

“What do you mean?” replied the postman.

“It’s the awards tonight.”

The postman looked to the others for help.

“Do you mean The Brits?” asked one of the dressing gowned residents.

“Yeah.”

“Erm…”, the resident began, “I think we need an ambulance.”

Colin pulled himself up. “No, please”, he said, “I just wanna go home. My wife will be worried.” He gave his address, just round the corner the postman thought, and he offered to walk Colin back round.

“Thanks, mate”, Colin said to him, and then, amused, said, “It’s a shame you’re not on yer round. You might’ve been nominated for postman of the year for this.”

The postman laughed. “Imagine that”, he said.

*

Becky woke up to the doorbell going off repeatedly. She flung herself up and looked to Colin’s side of the bed.

“Colin?”

The doorbell kept going, followed by banging on the front door, then banging on the living room windows. She threw her arms down by her sides.

“COLIN!”

She rushed to the window, looked out to see Colin stood there in his slippers with a postman.

“Colin!?”

She ran downstairs to the door. “What’s goin’ on?” she asked when she got there.

“I don’t know,” said Colin.

“Found ‘im in the street outside my house,” the postman cut in, “just round the corner.”

Becky took hold of Colin, felt his face, his head, his back and chest, looked to Colin and the postman repeatedly. “Well how did he get there?” she asked the postman, then to Colin, “How did you get there?”

Colin told her about the sound in the night, how he’d left the house to see where it was coming from, how he felt like he was drowning.

“I think he needs an ambulance, love,” the postman said.

“No,” Colin pleaded, “I need to get ready for the awards.”

“What awards?” Becky asked.

“The Brit awards!” he cried. “I’m gettin’ my award, remember!”

Becky looked to the postman again. “He seems…anxious about these awards,” he told her.

“I need to get ready!” Colin insisted.

“But what about work?” Becky asked, a question that flushed the colour from Colins face. He sat himself down on a stair, hand on heart.

“Have you honestly forgotten?”

“Forgotten what, darlin’?”

“My award? I’m Mechanic of the Year, remember?”

Becky gasped, covered her mouth, looked to the postman. “What’s wrong with ‘im?” she asked, bursting into tears.

“Don’t worry, love,” the postman said, grabbing in his pocket for his phone, “I’ll ring the ambulance.”

Colin, sat on the stair, lifted his hand to his head, felt again at his throat, then got to his feet and walked about the house, inspecting everything. Becky followed, watching everything he did, the way he looked about the living room like everything was unfamiliar.

“I’m gonna ring work, Colin,” she told him. “I’ll ring the garage, too.”

Colin ignored her, possibly not hearing what she’d said. He was fixated on the photographs, and now seemed to be noticing other details, such as the DVD collection. He pulled one out to look at more closely, pure confusion on his face. He dropped it to the floor and walked over to the sofa to lie down, arm across his head, staring up at the ceiling, mumbling to himself “It’s just a dream…it’s just a dream…” until a different thought froze him momentarily before he shot up, looked to Becky and cried “Shit! I might be dead!”

Becky threw her hands up to her face and shook her head frantically. “Stop it,” she screamed, “stop it right now!” and she ran off out of the house and into the street where the postman was finishing his phone call to 999.

“It’s alright, love,” he said, “ambulance is on its way.”

Becky keeled over then sank to her knees, in a position of prayer almost, sobbing onto the pavement. “I don’t understand what’s happened to ‘im,” she sobbed. “He was fine last night.”

The postman, flustered, took a step forward, then stepped back, went to offer out his hand, but then retracted it. “I can’t tell yer, love,” he said, floundering for words. “I just hope, yer know, that he’s ok.”

Becky looked up at him and nodded, realising she had to pull herself together, that she was out in the middle of the street on her hands and knees sobbing like a child, or a mad woman. “Thank you,” she said, fighting back the sobs, “for bringing him back.”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” the postman said, feeling assured enough now to help her back up to her feet. “Had to make sure he was safe.” She dusted herself down and rubbed the tears from her eyes. The postman shifted in the second of silence.

“Sorry,” he said, “but I’m gonna have to get to work now. I’m runnin’ a bit late.”

“Oh, of course,” Becky replied, “please, don’t let us keep yer, don’t want yer to get in shit.” She tried to laugh but stopped herself abruptly. The postman shifted some more.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay, but I’m sure he’ll be fine. “Here,” he wrote down something on one of his Sorry we missed you cards, “this is my address and phone number. Let me know if you need anything. Let me know if he’s ok.”

“Thanks, love. Thanks so much.”

And with that the postman was off, too panicked for fear of being late for work to stick around. Becky took a deep breath and headed back into the house. She could hear the TV now, and found Colin stood in the middle of the living room staring at it, flicking through the channels, stopping on ITV2 and Ellen DeGeneres, possibly the worst thing he could have landed on given the condition he was in. She was sure she heard him whimper, and, still unable to watch, ran off again, upstairs this time, and made her phone calls, ringing work first, who sounded annoyed, not just at the fact of her not coming in, but also because there was nothing they could do about it. It did sound like a genuine emergency. After that she rang the garage where Colin worked. They were more empathetic, concerned for Colin’s welfare, and asked her to pass on their thoughts.

*

Becky burst back into the room after Colin shouted her name.

“Who’s Leonardo Di Caprio,” he demanded without looking away from the TV, “and why’s he all over the bastard telly just because he does actin’?”

“What do you mean?”

“Leonardo Di Caprio! Who is he? Why’s he on the telly?”

“Stop pissin’ about, Colin! You know who he is! He’s got a new film out!”

Colin ran his hand through his hair. Becky edged along the wall to stand by the TV where she could see his face.

“He’s just an actor,” he trembly said.

“I know he is,” she replied, glued to the wall, “but he’s a good one. His films get loads of awards. He won an Oscar the other year. Do you not remember that film, ‘The Revenant’? You loved it.”

Tears began to well up in his eyes as he looked at her, a look that melted away all the fears she had, a look that portrayed such a raw feeling of helplessness and confusion. It was incredibly childlike, and on that strong working man face it was heart breaking. “Where the bleedin’ ‘ell am I?” he asked.

Becky flung herself at him, wrapping him in her arms. “You’re with me, yer daft sod, and I’m gonna find out what’s ‘appenin’ with yer.”

“I’m a mechanic,” he said, “Mechanic of the Year for the whole of the UK. That’s what I’m gettin’ at The Brit Awards tonight. There’s talk of me goin’ over to America to work in a garage over there. The mechanics get hundreds of thousands a year over there.”

Becky held him tighter. “Colin,” she said. “The Brit Awards are for singers.” She felt him go limp, like he would give way if she let him go. “You are the best mechanic in the whole of the UK, I’m sure of that, but mechanics don’t get awards. Nobody does.” A tear dropped onto the back of her neck, the first tear she had have ever known him to shed. She wanted to keep holding him up, to let him know how much she appreciated him but there was a knock on the door and a shout of “Hello.”

“In ‘ere,” Becky shouted back, still holding Colin up when the two paramedics made their way into the living room.

“We got a call about a man being found unconscious in the street?” one of them said.

“Yes,” said Becky, “that’s right,” and she explained what had happened and what Colin had been saying.

“Look,” Colin said, “I don’t think you’ll understand this, but I have a lot of deep respect for you people. We all do,” he paused, “well, where I come from, we do.”

“And where’s that?” one of the paramedics asked.

“I don’t know,” said Colin, another tear running down his cheek. “But I can’t go with yer.”

“Why not, mate?”

“’Cos I’m gettin’ an award tonight, and I need to prepare me speech.”

“Oh Colin, please,” said Becky.

“Ok.” one of the paramedics began, “looks like you need checking over. We can’t just not check a person over after they’ve been found unconscious in the street, can we?”

Barry shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, and burst past them out of the house, chased by Becky, screaming “Colin! Don’t go!”

It didn’t stop him. He jumped into his car and sped off, no idea where he was going to, but suddenly feeling more like himself now, convinced it wasn’t him that wasn’t right.

*

How could everything be the same but be so different, he thought. Becky was the same, the house was the same, but where were the photos from last years’ Brits, the one of Becky with her Best Newcomer Award for Customer Service Advisor? She had had it blown up and framed and put it up on the wall above the TV. The award itself was kept in the cabinet, but now all that was in there were some ornamental geese.

For weeks afterwards people had stopped her in the street to offer their congratulations. Some of them had spoken to her in work as customers and complimented her on her patience and willingness to help. One woman in particular told of how Becky had contacted a delivery driver personally after a birthday present she had ordered for her grandson hadn’t been delivered by the specified time. Not only had Becky gone through the trouble of contacting the driver, but she had also rung the woman back, during her lunch hour, to advise her on the reason for the delay.

To the woman’s surprise, Becky could not recall that particular case which, in the woman’s opinion, was testament to her hard work and kindness. She clearly did this for all her customers and was further justification for her award.

After Colin had been informed of his nomination, Becky had arranged a do for him at the social club. The two lads had come home to spend the week there, to help with the arrangements and to spend time with their dad, who had worked so hard all his life, and deserved the award more than anyone else. She made a speech, saying how it was the best moment of her life, seeing her husband, after all these years, get the recognition that had been bestowed upon other, less deserving mechanics. This year, the people had finally got it right.

Becky was worried at first when offers from America came in. She wasn’t sure about working in customer services over there, everything was so false, she said. But the more she thought about it, the more she became accustomed to the idea. Maybe, after a few years, they could come home for an early retirement. True success.

Colin began to notice the billboards. No longer were there publications and announcements for people’s achievements, but instead, displayed everywhere, were pictures of fake looking foods being sold at ridiculous prices. There were notifications for films and TV shows and the dates they were being shown, simple forms of entertainment for people consisting of workers who, hard working as they were, had no specific, valuable skills whatsoever. It reminded Colin of the young actor who had come to the garage one morning with engine trouble. He would ask them all endless questions with great enthusiasm, such as how they learned their trade, how cars were put together, what their favourite car was, etc, etc. After the job was done the actor had asked Colin for his autograph and a selfie, telling him how his son dreamed of one day becoming a great mechanic like him.

He then thought about the show he had seen earlier, Ellen DeGeneres, whatever that was, and the singer she was conducting an interview with, talking about how the singer’s new-born baby was “super cute,” and how he and his partner were “super excited,” sounding anything but. Then there was the interview with the Di Caprio guy and adverts, or “trailers,” for an upcoming film he was acting in. It was giving him palpitations and he couldn’t dwell on it any longer and just focused on the driving.

Without realising he drove into the part of town where he had grown up, pulling over onto a street where his best mate had lived. There was a lot of litter, and he worried about the bin men, wondered if there were even any bin men in existence. He was brought out of this thought by a car going past, booming. He realised that the booming was actually music and, with some hesitation and a racing heart, turned on the radio. A song was playing. It seemed normal enough, songs on the radio, but then the song stopped and a voice, an overly excited one, in a false tone, gushing in praise for the song just played, churned his stomach.

“These guys are MEGA! We had them on yesterday and they are, absolutely, my favourite band of the year. I love how they laugh to be honest. I know that’s like, a kinda weird thing to say, but I just do though, I just do. Cannot wait to see these guys at The Brits tonight. Gonna be so good guys. I’m gonna be there, not braggin’, y’all, just sayin’, just sayin’. Make sure you tune in tonight from 8 pm, it’s gonna be LIT! I’m sure these guys are gonna walk away with Best Band. I mean, surely. Surely, right?”

Colin turned off the radio, realising there was nowhere to go, nothing to prepare for, and got out to walk past his mates’ old house. Looking at it he knew it wasn’t the same house, just knew, and decided to keep on walking to see what else had been changed.

The day had become a sunny one, albeit with a February chill. Clouds were scattered across the sky, birds were chirping the morning away, a Royal Mail van went past, a window cleaner steadied his ladders against a house. At some point he wandered onto a main road, seen a garage that was open and looking busy. A few yards down a billboard stood with a perfect looking man sat on a cream sofa, remote in hand looking, presumably, at a TV, with the words:

THE SKY DIFFERENCE

All your sport live in HD

SKY

Believe in better

And underneath this giant image of the perfect man, sat up against the giant billboard, was a less than perfect one, unclean in tattered clothes with a scruffy old dog and a sign that read Need money for food and Colin crossed over, spoke to him for some time, listened to this neglected looking man describe the world to him.

“But it’s crazy”, Colin said, “absolutely fuckin’ crazy. How can people live in a world like this?”

The tattered, imperfect man shrugged, eyes on the road, absently watching the cars that kept going by, despite his suffering.