The Pocketwatch

 The Pocketwatch

Janet Baldey

One might be forgiven for assuming that the gangly teenager slouching down the road, doesn’t have a care in the world.  After all, he has youth on his side, it’s Spring, on the cusp of melting into Summer and the evening is balmy, with a soft breeze blowing perfumed kisses into the air. In fact, it’s reminiscent of other evenings, just like this, when one was young and life was just a sketch waiting to be coloured in.

         However, appearances can be deceptive, because the lad is called Jake and he has a huge problem.  In fact, he has two.  The first is weighing down his trouser pocket and bumping against his thigh with every step he takes, reminding him of what he’s done and making him feel increasingly shitty.

Jake loves his Grandad, he really does.  They spent a lot of time together when Jake was little and both his parents were working.  Grandad often used to take him fishing and they spent many sun-filled days bobbing about in a tiny rowboat, in the middle of a lake.  It was Grandad who taught him the names of fish they caught, and how to remove the hooks from their mouths without hurting them.  Sometimes, they’d mooch to the shops where Grandad bought ice cream and they’d sit eating it under the shade of the old oak on the village green. When the season changed and the windows streamed with rain, they retreated into Grandad’s mancave,  AKA the garage, where Grandad tinkered with nuts and bolts and bits of wood and Jake pawed through Grandad’s box of treasures.  It was on one of those days that Grandad first showed him the pocket watch.

“Family heirloom,” he said, “been passed down from father to son for as long as I can remember. Soon, it’ll be your father’s and then yours.   A Hunter. Pure gold. Priceless.” His workworn hands had caressed its mellow surface and Jake had done the same.   As he did, it seemed to glow like the sun and Jake wondered how many other hands stroked it.

“Will it really be mine?” he said and his Grandad had laughed.

“Play your cards, right.  Now let’s put it back in its box.”

But Grandad isn’t the same.  A couple of years ago he started to forget things, he’d go to the shops to buy bread and come back with sausages.  He became frail and his body withered until he seemed just a paper cut out of the man he used to be. He spent most of his days dozing and when he woke, he’d stare at Jake out of hazy blue eyes that seemed to look straight through him.  Jake’s parents worried. They arranged for him to have help around the house and his mother took over the shopping and cooking, although most of his meals congealed by his side.  Jake still visits, although his visits have grown increasingly short; there doesn’t seem any point in talking to someone who doesn’t answer.

One day something happened that chilled Jake.  His grandfather was awake when he arrived and seemingly alert, as he sometimes is. They hugged, and then his Grandad beckoned to him with a stealthy movement of his hands, that now reminded Jake of talons.  Jake bent his head and smelled sour breath as his grandad muttered into his ear.  “Tell me boy, who is that lady who walks around the cottage?”  For a moment, Jake’s breath stilled as horror almost overwhelmed him.  Then, he managed to find his voice.  “That’s Mum, Grandad.”  His grandfather peered at him. He didn’t say anything but Jake realised he didn’t believe him. Jake will always remember that day.  It was the first time he truly understood that his Grandad would never be the same again.  But the love is still there, and very occasionally Grandad emerges from his trance and becomes almost normal again.  Jake treasures those moments.

Apart from Grandad, Jake has another problem. This problem is called Steve. Steve is the leader of a group of bullies at his school.  They terrorise the other kids, especially the weaker ones and Jake knows he is a prime target.  He is lanky and geeky with a tendency to stammer.  Worst of all, he’s hopeless at sport.  When the ball comes towards him, his arms and legs go in different directions and he either falls over or drops it.  Strangely, up until now, he’s managed to stay out of Steve’s radar which was nothing but good. He’s seen what the gang do to other kids and he desperately doesn’t want to be beaten up, made to drink toilet water, or have his lunch trampled in the mud.  But the other day, something very odd happened.  Steve swaggered over and casually draped an arm around his shoulders.  Jake’s mouth had dropped open as he felt his body stiffen. Poker still, he’d stared at the ground.

“Hi’yer Jakey buddy.  How you doin?”  Steve had asked, giving Jake’s shoulders a gentle squeeze.  “Any good with computers?”  Jake nodded, trying not to tremble, everyone knew he was the ‘go to’ boy when it came to computer glitches.

“That’s good. ‘Cause I’ve got a job for you.  How would you like to join my gang?”  Jake knew this wasn’t a request. This was an order - if he wanted his body to remain intact that was.  He’d nodded weakly.

“That’s great.  Meet us at the back of the rec. at seven on Friday.  You know the rule, o’course?”

Jake did.  The rule was every wanna-be gang member had to present Steve with a gift, but the thing was, it had to be something they’d personally nicked, stolen pilfered or thieved.  The riskier the deed and the greater the value of what was lifted, the higher up in the hierarchy you got.  The thought kept Jake awake at night.  He dreaded going into one of the shops on the estate and stealing something.  He’d muff it, he knew he would. He was so clumsy; he’d knock something over or be seen stuffing the loot in his bag.  The very thought of it gave him stomach cramps.

Desperately, his mind worked overtime, then suddenly, he had an idea.  Grandad’s pocket watch.  The idea festered until Jake managed to convince himself that Grandad wouldn’t miss it. He never asked for his box of treasures these days and after all, he had said it would be Jake’s one day. He thought about his dad, but he had plenty of watches, modern ones with lots of dials.  Jake was sure he wouldn’t want anything so old fashioned.  All the same, he felt bad and knew what he was planning was wrong. If it was discovered, it would hurt his Grandad and enrage his father.  But Jake was scared of being bullied and surely stealing from a senile old man who didn’t know one day from the next, didn’t really count.  So, the next time he went to see Grandad, he sneaked into the garage, found the box of treasure and took the watch.

Now it’s Friday and Jake’s on his way to his dreaded assignation with the watch burning a hole in his pocket, completely oblivious to the beauty of the evening.  On his way, he has to pass by Grandad’s cottage and as he does, his footsteps slow.  Afterwards he realised that something outside of himself must have guided him towards the front door and planted the thought in his mind that he needed to see his Grandad.

As his hand lifts the latch, he realises the door to the garage is open and that’s odd.  “Grandad”, he calls, “where are you?”

“Here….” His Grandad’s voice is shaky and is coming from the garage.  Jake turns away from the door and goes to the garage. He switches on the light and as the beam pierces the gloom, he sees his Grandad slumped on the floor with the contents of his box of treasures scattered around him.  “I’ve lost it.” He wails, his yellow-grey hands fluttering over the box like terrified pigeons.  “It’s gone.  My pocket watch has gone.”

Jake stares. He’s never seen his Grandad so upset.  Tear tracks have cut runnels in the grime of his face, he’s obviously been sobbing and Jake has never seen a man cry before.  It makes Jake feel so bad. Rotten, in fact.  What has he done?  This is the man who’d cared for him when he was a boy, a man who’d loved him like a son.  He swallows and his mind suddenly clears.  “Bugger Steve”, he thinks, “bugger the gang, bugger everything”. 

He thrusts his hand into his pocket, locates the festering lump, and draws it out. Immediately he feels so much better.

“Don’t worry Grandad, I’ve found it.  It must have rolled under the table.”

The lump in his throat feels like Mount Everest as he watches his Grandad’s face light up and when he hears him say, quite clearly, “Thank you, my boy,” Jake thinks his heart will shatter.

Lurking in the depths of his brain is the knowledge that he’ll get a thumping from Steve but now he doesn’t care. Probably, he’ll also have to get used to drinking toilet water.  The main thing, and the thing that shines brightest in his mind, is the knowledge that he still has a brilliant Grandad and Steve can never take that away from him.

Copyright Janet Baldey