Just Like Jim

Jim was the wide-boy alright - there could be no doubting that. The cheerful chappie, the cheeky clown. Always with a glint of mischief in his eye and a quip ready to pounce off his tongue. 1

Everyone loved Jim; as he always said himself - ‘what’s not to love?’2

He usually followed up this question with a pinch on the bum (if you were a lady), or a firm manly punch on the arm (if you were one of his beer swilling buddies.)3

‘You can’t go round doing that in this day and age,’ my Dad would sigh with a shake of his head. ‘It’s not the done thing. Not like in our day..’ 4

Jim would roll his eyes, but even as he started pulling faces behind his back, my Dad would lean back in his chair with a lost look in his eyes. Remembering exactly just how it was in their day.5

I never let on that I knew, but Jim had told me the gleeful tales of their misspent youth, the pranks that came a whisper within (and occasionally outside) the letter of the law. My eyes would widen like saucers at some of the stories; not my Dad, surely?! 6

‘Tell me again,’ I’d say to a conspiratorial Jim when Dad was out of earshot,’ tell me the one about the Rockers!’ 7

‘Well,’ Jim would begin, ‘it was the best day of the week. Forget Saturday – Friday night paydays, now they were the nights. Your Mum, now she wasn’t too happy about it, but your Dad, he never let me down. We’ve been mates since our first day at school.’ He nudged me with his elbow - ‘If it hadn’t been for me, gawd knows how your Dad would have survived. He had ears like flying saucers and his trousers were so short he got frostbite on his ankles.’ I’d laugh every time, even though I felt guilty. Poor Dad.8

‘Anyway, I felt sorry for your old man, and I’ve been taking care of him ever since,’ Jim winked. ‘And that Friday night was a bit special. See, we’d been saving up for new suits. All the rage they were. Drainpipe trousers, sharp jackets with velvet edging on the pockets and cuffs. We looked the business. And I borrowed this scooter from a mate of mine, real flash it was, proper ‘Quadrophenia’ style. Oh yes,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘we were the hippest lads in town that night.’ Jim’s voice dropped to a whisper,’ now your Mum, she wasn’t too impressed, what with you being a baby and all, but your Dad was as good as gold. Never looked at another woman.’9

Which was certainly more than could be said for Jim. We’d all been invited to countless weddings. Well alright, three actually. And two of them actually went ahead. Women always fell at his feet, suckers for his smooth charm and glib chat. He made them feel special, even I could see that. Jim had that rare quality that always showed – he genuinely liked people. And women in particular. In his company they glowed, each and every one, from the plainest to the prettiest. He made them feel alive, but most of all, he made them laugh.10

And then of course, there were hazy promises of wealth and a taste of the highlife. All tied up with the get-rich-quick schemes and a new tipping system on the horses. They got the highlife alright – Jim lived at the top of an eighteen storey tower block..11

‘Anyway, so we’d probably had a few too many that night. You know how your Dad likes his beer.’ 12

I’d laugh again, even though I knew Dad would sometimes have a couple in cans in front of the telly, whilst Jim would still be living it up in the nightclubs and Dad was watching ‘Newsnight.’ 13

‘And as we came out of the pub, there they were. The Rockers. Black leather jackets, tattoos and great high quiffs stiffer than my Gran’s ironing board.’14

Jim chuckled to himself as he reminisced. ‘Couldn’t resist could I? Oi, Teds, I shouted. ‘Cos they hated being called Teds. Teddy boys and Rockers, now they were different things entirely.’15

Jim made life seem so vibrant. As if an adventure lay in wait around every corner. Perhaps they did for him. But not for us, the rest of us with bills to pay and lives to wear out. That’s how it felt sometimes; like everyone else was just getting by doing what they had to do, but Jim was actually living his life. When he was around, no-one could help but be captivated. He scattered his happy dust like an infection on those around him as he breezed through their world. 16

‘And of course we were the cool guys, the Mods,’ Jim said, ‘and as everyone knows, Mods and Rockers just didn’t get on.’17

I’ve seen pictures of my Dad when he was twenty one, when he’d barely been married for a year and yet was already a father. He looked at the camera with a head held high and the optimism and carelessness found only in the young. I never could equate the brashness of the young man in the photo with the reliable safe old Dad that I knew.18

‘They pretended not to hear us calling them, that was, until some skirt walked by.’19

Being the modern educated girl I was, I grimaced when Jim used these expressions, and yet still couldn’t help finding them charming in a funny kind of nostalgic way.20

1960’s Britain, uncomplicated and finding its feet in an ever changing modern world. An honest working–class country, as yet untouched by the swarm of political correctness brewing on the horizon. Not that Jim cared either way – he was who he was and wouldn’t change for anyone. And he got away with it then - and still does now. I suppose that’s what charm can do for you. 21

‘They started to walk slowly towards us then. All menacing and tough, with thin little hand-rolled cigarettes drooping out of their mouths.’ Jim chuckled again. ‘They were big burly blokes alright. Your Dad’s adrenaline must have been flowing ‘cos he joined in for once. ‘Time to run home to Mummy and get your nappies changed!’ that’s what he said!22

Can you believe it?!’23

It was playground stuff, of course, harmless nonsense. But I would always wish I’d been born earlier and grew up when my parents did, in a world where all that mattered was whether you were a Mod or a Rocker, or if you preferred The Stones to The Beatles. Or at least, that’s how they made it sound.24

‘Of course, the girls, well they sensed a bit of something going on that night,’ said Jim. ‘And as anyone would, they slowed down to see the action. Which was a bit tricky seeing as I’m a big coward & your Dad is a midget. I said to him, ‘c’mon Joe, let’s leave it, eh?’ But he wouldn’t. It was right out of character. Started fronting up to him, he did! Asking them if they wanted a bit of action, telling them to take him on!’25

It was unbelievable, truly unbelievable. I looked at my Dad as he stood in the kitchen, stirring his cup of tea for the umpteenth time with that faraway look in his eye. The umpteenth stir in the umpteenth cup that day. All he did was drink tea, read the paper and watch the news. Or the cricket, if he was lucky and rain hadn’t stopped play. A tiny fragment of me sometimes wished…well, that he could be a bit like Jim. 26

‘I wanted to laugh my head off at the sight of him facing up to these two great big blokes’ said Jim, shaking his head, ‘but my teeth were too busy chattering with fear! I dunno what got into him that night. I’d have hidden behind him if I could, but I stood behind him tugging at his jacket, telling him we’d better go. ‘Don’t forget we’re meeting those birds,’ I said in a loud voice so we wouldn’t lose face. He snapped out of it then, and we turned to leave. God knows how we didn’t break into a run. The Rockers were jeering us as we left.’27

‘Off you go and run little boys,’ they said. ‘It must be past your bedtime you great poofs.’28

‘Don’t turn round, I said. Don’t turn round whatever you do. Course, that was exactly the wrong thing to say. Your dad stopped still, spun round and said,’ why don’t you come here and say that?’29

I’d heard all this before, of course, but I loved hearing it again. I could just imagine the false bravado heightened by alcohol, the cocky arrogance of two young lads in sharp suits. And then the inevitable realisation that they’d gone too far…….and were heading for a fall. Well let’s face it, we’ve all been there. But what the hell; life’s for living I say.30

‘He looked at me then, your Dad, as if he’d suddenly woken up. ‘Blooming ‘ell, what on earth are we doing? Run, Jim. For gawds’ sake, run!’ 31

That was more like it! More like the Dad I knew. The one who wouldn’t let me cycle to school in case I got run over, wouldn’t take a foreign holiday in case the plane crashed, and wouldn’t let a boiled sweet cross the threshold because he once saw someone nearly choke on a sherbert lemon.32

‘I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life! And then it was like some secret network of Rockers suddenly appeared from nowhere! By the time we rounded the corner at the end of your road, there must have been twenty of ‘em! It was like something out of a film…’33

I’d ask Jim how this could possibly be; surely he was exaggerating a little? After all, mobile phones weren’t invented then. Where did they come from? And how did they know? 34

I suppose it was always at this point that the story wandered, too many questions were asked and Jim would lose his thread. Or maybe I didn’t want the story to end. Maybe I wanted this story about Jim and my Dad to be the one I’d always remember. Almost as if I knew what was coming.35

My Dad had grown up, albeit I suspected reluctantly, but Jim hadn’t. Dad liked having him around, and even though he’d berate him and complain that he still owed him more than a few quid from way back when, it was obvious that having Jim around was like having his youth there behind him. A sort of backup, a reminder of the good old days, as his hair slowly faded to grey, and indeed started to disappear completely. 36

Jim was a taxi driver. An ideal occupation really, considering. You couldn’t walk more than a hundred feet along with the road with him without someone calling out in recognition, someone wanting to say hello, wanting five minutes of Jim’s time to make them feel better again. Make them feel as if life wasn’t so bad, as if a win on the horses and a few pints in the pub would put their demons to bed. For one night at least.37

Sometimes when I found myself in a taxi in a talkative mood, I’d ask my driver if he knew Jim.38

‘Jim? That old goat? ‘Course I know him! The blokes a legend. My, I could tell you some tales about Jim, darlin’.39

‘Oh, I’ve heard a few already,’ I’d say, smiling. And I’d picture Jim and my Dad being chased down the road by a hundred greasy rockers.40

My Dad died at a young age. Certainly ahead of his time, as they say. It seemed young to me at the time, and it seems even younger still the older I get. I wasn’t expecting it, even though he’d been ill some time, even though all the doctors had told us what was coming.41

It didn’t help that he never talked about it, never acknowledged the growing fear he surely must have felt. And Jim, for his part, played his own role just as well. The jokes were still flowing, even in those last agonising desperate days. Even as his best and oldest friend faded slowly away before his very eyes. 42

I’d find myself lurking outside Dad’s bedroom door, listening to them reminisce with tears hovering in my eyes.43

‘I don’t know how you would have had any fun without me, you boring old git,’ I overheard Jim one day.44

‘Huh,’ came Dad’s reply. ‘I looked out for you, philandering old fool that you are. The trouble you got me into…’45

‘You’re just jealous ‘cos I was the good-looking one!’46

Dad laughed. ‘You’ll never change, will you?’47

Then his mood changed abruptly. ‘Don’t ever change, will you Jim? I’ve a feeling my girls will need a few laughs in the months to come…’48

A painful silence followed, and I felt like a guilty voyeur as I eavesdropped at the half-ajar door.49

‘For God’s sake what are you on about, you old fool? Going senile already?’ But as Jim spoke, I could hear the words breaking apart from the lump that was nestling heavily in his throat. 50

He didn’t let his old mate down. 51

It was Jim who handled the funeral arrangements, made the awkward phone calls and steered a path through the tunnel of confusion and grief that follows the loss of a husband and father. 52

Jim carried on as usual, afterwards. Maybe a little subdued to anyone who cared enough to look, but he was soon back living the high life. Maybe a little of the light had gone from his eyes, maybe he didn’t laugh as long or as hard as he used to. But you would have to be looking very closely to see.53

Once the pain and the grief and the anger had eased a little, which inevitably it does, Mum and I would sometimes share a bottle of wine and do some reminiscing of our own. We could talk for hours, just remembering. They were the sweetest and bitterest of conversations. Laughing and crying; both are equally cathartic I always find. And eventually, as if he was a subject we’d subconsciously avoided, we talked about Jim.54

As the letters and cards of condolence dried up and the world started spinning on its axis again, life had settled back into its usual pattern. Emptier and more forlorn than before, but, essentially, the same. Jim had indeed been the strongest shoulder to lean on, but as time wound its indomitable trail, we began to see less and less of him.55

‘Do you miss him?’ I asked my Mum. ‘I mean he was here all the time before. He sort of, well, he brightened things up a bit, I s’pose.’56

She paused a moment, and a hundred emotions flickered across her face. 57

‘I know, and I suppose it would seem that way to you. But no-one, not even Jim, is as he seems,’ she replied. 58

My eyes rounded in surprise, and she held up a hand to stop me speaking.59

‘It may have been Jim who stole the limelight,’ she said, ‘but as far as I’m concerned, it was your Dad who was the hero.’60

I laughed dismissively, with the worldliness of the uninformed. 61

‘Of course he was, to us! But he wasn’t really brave. Not really. Jim told me about that night with the Rockers’. 62

Mum sighed heavily, suddenly looking ever so old and ever so tired.63

‘I know he did, love,’ she said. ‘But he didn’t tell you quite everything. He didn’t tell you that they caught your Dad, those Rockers. He didn’t tell you that they beat him black and blue and tore his new suit to shreds. And I’m sure he didn’t tell you that whilst your Dad had squeezed himself into a crumpled ball on the ground taking a good kicking, Jim was cowering in a shop doorway.’64

Disbelief suspended my imagination. 65

‘You can’t be sure…Did Dad tell you that?.....It can’t be true. Jim wouldn’t do that.’66

As I spoke I already knew her words were the truth. And that was why I’d never heard the end of the story. 67

‘I can’t believe it.’ A hard knot began to form inside and a wave of nausea shot spitefully up my throat.68

My Mum sighed heavily again. A deep sigh from the pit of her stomach. 69

‘Y’know,’ she said gently, ‘Jim’s not well. He hasn’t been for a long time now.’70

Oh no. Not again. I simply couldn’t bear it. My face must have fallen a hundred feet. My world, already devastated by the death of my father, began to sink ever further into an abyss. 71

‘I never wanted to tell you,’ said my Mum. ‘I know what you think of him. But he suffers from depression. Quite severely in fact. Not that he’d let it show, least of all to you.’72

I couldn’t speak. Just like me, Jim was the person everyone said never stopped laughing, took life on the chin and always came up smiling. My illusions were being shattered like falling lead.73

‘He loved your Dad,’ she continued softly. ‘And you, of course. You know that though already.’74

I smiled at her through a mist of tears. ‘Yeah, I know.’75

She opened her mouth to speak again, and then thought better of it. But there was a look of such sadness in her eyes that I prompted her.76

‘What were you going to say?’77

‘Nothing. Nothing, really.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Time we should be heading off to bed I’d say.’ 78

‘No. No, not yet,’ I said. Maybe it was a slight nuance in her tone, or the sorrow in her gaze, but something pushed me to go on. This conversation was far from over.79

A tiny germ of an idea began to form in my mind. 80

I’d never been much like my Dad, not really. I had a reckless spirit of adventure that came from somewhere. And certainly not from my Dad or my Mum.81

And I was tall, really tall for a girl. In fact taller than both my Mum and my Dad.82

Just like Jim.83

Jim the Casanova, who had women throwing themselves at him at every turn. ‘No-ones ever turned me down yet,’ he’d boast. ‘And the married ones were the worst!’ 84

I remembered how I used to shake my head in mock despair, and laugh in a ‘oh you are a one’ kind of way. Now the very thought of those words filled me with a peculiar kind of terror.85

What a joker, what fun he was. Never taking life too seriously, always game for a laugh. 86

Just like me. 87

And then I knew. At least I thought I did. Of course I couldn’t be sure…88

Mum was watching me with stricken eyes, as the cogs in my brain whirled and twisted. Suddenly the clues were all around me.89

‘That’s not the only thing you didn’t know about Jim,’ she said softly. I looked at her hard, but she avoided my gaze and twisted her hands nervously in her lap.90

The room was heavy with trepidation. She was waiting for me to ask. her. ‘What else?’ She wanted me to ask her what else it was that I should know about Jim. 91

Her fear and longing were palpable. She must have waited so many years for this. I almost felt sorry for her but I was too busy trying to fend off the hundreds of emotions that paralysed me.92

The minutes ticked by like days. Clearly, the next move had to be mine.93

It was down to me. All I had to do was ask..94

The silence between us seemed interminable.95

Mum caught her breath when at last I opened my mouth to speak. I couldn’t even look her in the eye.96

‘I don’t think I want to know,’ I said eventually. ‘Shall we go to bed now?’97

Funny that, it turned out that I was a coward too. 98

Just like Jim. 99