Triumphs and disasters part 2

Some months after Lesley had deserted me for the burger flipper I found myself travelling down to Great Yarmouth to set up and open another track for Karting2000. The place was a mess and needed a great deal of work if it was to be ready for the holiday season. Several of us found ourselves living twenty-four seven at the track. We started work at seven in the morning and didn’t finish until well gone twelve most nights. For a good deal of the time we were there we ate and slept in what was to be the main office. There was really no point in finding a hotel at that time, the track was some way away from civilisation near the harbour mouth and commuting would have cost us precious time.

One night the lads went out to a club on the promenade and I was left to my own devices. I did some paperwork until around eleven, had a last walk around the track to make sure everything was secure, then made my way across the sea road to the beach for some night air. Walking along the beach at night is a little precarious in Great Yarmouth because of the huge amount of dog crap that lies hidden in the sand like land mines waiting for you to step on it. The only thing worse than a shoe full of dog crap is a shoe full of sandy dog crap. Although when the moon is full its delicate light makes the crap sparkle and shine like glitter. It must be the phosphorous or the seashells.

I sat in the sand my back against a large concrete wall that had once been part of a holiday caravan camp that two summers before had blown into the sea during a bad storm; Yarmouth is noted for having some bad tornadoes out at sea that sometimes come inland. That year the camp was decimated by a particularly fearce one and it never recovered. It was quite eerie sitting alone in the dark listening to the wind blowing through the abandoned buildings and the sound of the sea crashing into the shore; they seemed to fight with each other for your attention.

This particular night it was another sound that caught my attention, from behind me on the beach road I heard the sound of two people arguing. A man was shouting abusively at a woman and she kept pushing him off as he persisted in grabbing at her. Thinking to leave them to it I stood up to make my way back to the track. I had only walked a few yards when I heard the woman scream; I turned around in time to see him punch her in the head. She hit the floor heavily, then he stood on her leg so that she couldn’t move and began taunting her. She was crying and obviously in great pain as he put more and more weight on her leg.

I couldn’t avoid interfering now he had gone too far. I shouted at him to stop what he was doing and leave her alone. As I ran over to them he gave me the finger and told me to mind my own f*****g business. Being a Manchester lad and therefore not overly fond of pillocks or bullies I introduced his nose to my forehead at some speed. The result of this exchange apart from the look of surprise that spread across his face was that his nose joined his expression. What a team they made as he slumped to the floor clutching his rapidly expanding conk.

As he lay rolling around on the floor crying and holding his busted hooter (The mard bastard) I helped the woman to her feet and suggested she should get as far away as possible. She asked me if I would walk some way with her, as she was afraid that he would follow. I agreed and as we walked I noticed that she had a nasty looking bruise on her face and an even nastier cut on her leg. She told me she wanted a taxi and asked if there was a phone box nearby. I told her the nearest was a good way along the front, but that she could use the one at the track, it was nearer.

As she sat in the office waiting for her ride I produced the first aid box and helped her tend to her wounds. The cut on her leg was bad though it didn’t look like it needed stitches but the blow to her head had done some damage, her lip was cut and swollen and her eye would definitely change colour before morning. I didn’t ask what had started the altercation with Mr ten men and she didn’t volunteer any information. She lit a cigarette but the taxi arrived before she could finish it. Then she was gone into the night; the whole thing from the scream to the taxi beeping its horn couldn’t have lasted more than twenty minutes. I sat in my office staring at the cigarette she had left burning in the ashtray and wondered if the streak of red on the filter was blood or lipstick.

Two days later she arrived at the track looking for me, one of the lads told her that I was across the road having lunch in the pub. When she walked through the door she looked completely different than she had the night of the altercation on the beach road. She breezed in to the pub dressed in a white thin strapped dress that perfectly showed of her tanned skin and blonde hair. She paused to look round then smiled brightly when she saw me sat at the bar, she walked confidently over and sat on the stool next to me and asked if she could buy me a drink. “It was unforgivable of me not to thank you for coming to my rescue the other night” she said displaying perfectly white teeth “. I was upset and just wanted to go home”. I waved her thanks aside like any hero would and set about enjoying being in the company of a very attractive young woman.

My life is a little like being in combat, long periods of boring bugger all, punctuated by hair-raising moments of excitement. This then was how I came to meet Elaine who I have to admit was far to sophisticated for a shit hole like Great Yarmouth. We spent the rest of the afternoon chatting, and I impressed her with tales of the nightlife in the great metropolis of Manchester (Well she looked impressed). We saw each other for two months and during that time the reason for her being attacked was never brought up. I reasoned that when she wanted me to know she would tell me.

I was having another late night at the track; the lads had gone uptown for a drink and left me alone again. The phone rang, it was Elaine, “Will you wait at the track for me, I need to speak to you”. You just know when bad shit is coming, at least I do. When she arrived she looked beautiful but nervous. She sat down and explained that the bully who had treated her so badly that night on the beach road was her husband. They had broken up several times because of his violence but each time he had begged her to forgive him with promises that it would never happen again and of course each time it did. She was adamant that he loved her really and this time was different, he was going to keep his word.

They were travelling down to London that night, where he had managed to find a flat and a job; things would be different now. She nervously lit a cigarette and asked if I was mad at her. I was thinking the words “That kind of man never changes Elaine” but heard myself wishing her every happiness, and no, I wasn’t mad at her. She got up to leave; he was waiting outside in the car for her, I told her to ring me if she ever needed help. She smiled and once again she was gone into the night, I found myself alone in that bloody office looking at another half-smoked cigarette streaked with red lipstick.

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