Scrap 77

SCRAP 77
The day of departure dawns, with a cloudless sky and the sun already hot. Frank is glad that his car has air conditioning, a luxury virtually unknown in British cars.
After breakfast everyone loads their belongings into the cars for the journey home. The boys are arguing about whose turn it is to sit in front with Uncle Frank and the girls are insisting that they should take the places instead. Dawn silences them with the order that if they don’t do as they are told they will be walking back home. ‘Why don’t you want to come in the car with me and your Nan?’ The children all look at each other, then at the floor, then at Scotty, hoping for inspiration.
Frank breaks the ice by saying they can all squeeze in with him if they want and the girls can take the first turn sitting in the front, with Robbie, as he is the smallest. Dawn stomps off in a huff and gets into the back of Scotty’s car with Mavis, who is silently smoking a cigarette and pretending to read the newspaper.
The queue for the exit slowly eases onto the road and at last they are on their way. Robbie opens the glove compartment where Frank keeps a selection of boiled sweets. He takes out a large pack of them and hands them round. Heather has selected an 8-track cartridge from the door pocket and the sound of Elvis Presley fills the crowded space. The children sing along, with Frank singing the loudest and Robbie sitting with his hands over his ears to block out the din. After sitting through three numbers, Robbie can stand no more and turns down the volume. ‘Uncle Frank,’ he says, seriously, ‘why do people call my dad Scotty?’
The other children want to know as well. Their father was born and raised in Sevenoaks and his parents were from Hackney, neither of which are anywhere near Scotland. ‘Well, it goes back to when we first met,’ Frank begins. ‘Your dad had a very big appetite and couldn’t go half an hour without having to snack on something or other. He used to buy packets of Royal Scot biscuits, which he kept in the car and in the cab of the lorry. Even if we stopped for a cup of tea he would insist on having Royal Scot biscuits with it.’
Robbie seems disappointed; ‘is that all?’ he moans, ‘I was hoping it would be something interesting.’ Frank continues: ‘that’s not all,’ he says. ‘One summer he’d left a packet of biscuits in the cab overnight and went to eat one the next day. Without looking, he took one from the packet and stuffed it in his mouth. Then he realised something was biting his tongue and when he spat it out he found it was an ant. He looked in the packet and they were crawling all over the place, all over the dashboard and the floor. He went bonkers; trying to sweep them out the cab with everybody crowding round to see what was causing the commotion. Ever since then the name just stuck.’
‘But dad never eats Royal Scot biscuits,’ says Robbie. ‘Not now he doesn’t,’ agrees Frank, ‘after that experience it put him off for life.’
The weary travellers arrive home and the children dash off out of sight, leaving the adults to unload the cars. ‘Have a cup of tea with us before you go,’ says Scotty. ‘You’ve been a great help with the kids and everything.’ Frank agrees to stop for a cuppa and follows the others into the kitchen.
Scotty is the first one out again, running down the garden path like a scalded cat. The women are not far behind him, shrieking and batting the air with their hands. Frank tells them to stay out the way while he deals with the infestation of ants which have taken advantage of their absence and set up home under the kitchen sink. There are thousands of them flying in swarms over the window and crawling all over the worktops. Frank grabs the vacuum cleaner from the cupboard then plugs it in, hoping the bag is not full already. He sucks up the little blighters into the machine, watched from a safe distance by the others. Poor Scotty is actually shaking, remembering the incident with the biscuits, and embarrassed that he feels helpless to take control of the situation.
Once the coast is clear, Frank takes the cleaner to the end of the garden, opens it up and places the dust bag inside a plastic bin liner, sealing it with two firm knots. He drops it inside the rubbish bin and carefully jams the lid on. ‘Alright everyone, it’s safe to go indoors,’ he says. ‘I think we’ll leave the tea for another time,’ he adds, knowing that Dawn will want to clean the kitchen from top to bottom. What a welcome home.