Bill is on his death bed. He is well in his illness but there are questions to answer. Which questions he doesn’t’t know but there is something niggling at the back of his mind. As he stares at the ceiling his mind begins to wander and he thinks back to the beginning.

But where to begin.  He had a lot of dreams and many of them were unfulfilled, but anyone who really knew him and there was only really one, knew he wanted to be father.

As he lay there looking at the bloody ceiling again he thought that it must have been at least two hours since he was turned and his arse was very sore, where the hell was Misha anyway; the bitch. To think that he saved his wife from a life of prostitution and countless others, the least the cunt could do is turn him two hourly! Ah but little Hank was always there. So many thoughts, so many memories that need putting into order.

“Are you alright there Hi?” said a voice from the corner of the room.

Bill’s voice dry from the oxygen could only manage a croak, “ Hank? Is that you mate?”  It couldn’t’t be.  Hank had died ten years earlier during the Thailand brothel incident.  But only his dulcet Irish tones had called him that way.

“No dad it’s me, little Hank.”

“Oh God”, to think that he was still hearing Hanks voice, but it was Hanks voice and that was disturbing. Best not to think about it, he had a son after all who although a little rotund was a good drinking partner and a bit of a laugh. But still the accent, no best not think about it, he hadn’t for 40 years and he wouldn’t start now. Back to his arse, Christ it hadn’t been so sore since he was gay, and that was in 1999.

It was true that if anyone should have had a memoirs published it was him.  Even Julius Caesar hadn’t experienced the wide variety of life that Bill had seen.  It could have been so different.  Lying there, sphincter sore from the prolonged position in his bed, Bill wanted to make sense of it all.  But he didn’t need to.  Little Hank was the only sense in his life that he needed.  But even he was an enigma.  Both he and Misha were 11 stone pissed wet through.  Neither could put on weight. Yet little Hanks portly frame hovering over him, mopping his brow, never seemed to add up.  As if it was a thousand piece jigsaw with a corner missing.  But like any good puzzle it was probably best to start at the beginning.  But Bill was never a child.

His parents never understood him. He never asked for much , actually he asked for nothing and on the few occasions that he got what he wanted it never turned  out as it should. Take for example the incident of the jacket or as it became known in Liverpool, the twat in his Granda’s coat. Bill had to sign on at the tender age of sixteen and obviously wanted to make an impression, so searching through his granny’s wardrobe he found a jacket belonging to his dead grandfather. Tweed in nature it was smart and old and when worn Bill felt like a man for the first time in his life. Inspired by the jacket he set off for the social proud to be a scouser and signing on like a real man for the first time.

So off he went locking the windows and doors behind him. As he turned the fourth lock behind him he became suddenly aware of a wailing, no laughter from down the street. Curious he set off to find out the cause of such mirth.

They say curiosity is dangerous, especially to cats.  But on that bright sunny September morn Bill was full of confidence.  He knew he was not like the rest of his old school pals.  They knew what they wanted, either a trade or further education.  But Bill couldn’t’t do either of those.  Not through lack of ability or motivation.  He just didn’t have a fucking clue.  There was something though.  A niggling doubt in the back of his mind that there was a life outside his small minded small home town.  As he walked down the street, something happened that made him realise what was at the back of his mind since he could ever remember.  It was only afterwards what was obvious.

“hey you, you poncey fucker” 

It was an hour later he awoke, bruised and battered.

“Bill what the fuck happened?” said Marie his sister.

“Well I was about to reach he pinnacle of scouse manhood, so I set off  to sign on for the first time when I heard what I thought were sirens, not copper cars but the enchanting singing of scouse maidens and so I set off in search of their mesmerising music. No sooner had I left home, I reached number sixteen , which you know is next door and I met Joey who said “Bill you look like a right gay cunt!” Before I could say listen here you young scallywag he and his twelve seven year old mates set upon me and beat me to within an inch of my life chanting “ granda jacket deserves to die “

All I wanted was to be accepted as a scouse bloke.

There had to be another way, another option.  His dad was not happy.  Bill had spent most of the summer drinking his beer and even though Bill didn’t smoke, his fag packets seemed to be empty before he smoked them.  The dole office didn’t help.  Every advert wanted qualifications and/or experience, something of which Bill had neither.

But then his dad started off the same way.. No prospects, no qualifications.  But he did alright.  Then again he had joined the army.  But then the idea of living in a tent and crapping in the ground didn’t appeal.  But what else was there. That was when he saw the poster.  The nurse in starched blue uniform pointing majestically across the sea to a sleek grey messenger of death, with the legend “see the world…differently”.  Bill obviously did already, his attire proved that.  And it seemed the navy, for that was the poster, agreed with him.  But who was that brunette lovely pointing towards the horizon.  The name badge pinned to her ample breast simply said the name ‘Leah’.  and although it looked like a girly job, his granddad had been a matelot, so it couldn’t be all that bad.  It could almost be said to be a family tradition, and if it meant working with such lovelies as on the poster it couldn’t be all that bad.  His mind was made up

But what did it really mean? how could he find out? Bill ventured into one of the most dangerous of establishments . Even his father had warned him never to cross the threshold, but he needed information and needed it quick so he crossed over into the catholic club. As soon as he was in he was on his knees saying 4 rosaries and a priest came on his face. So with his entrance fee paid he reached the bar only to be confronted by a monsignor so he dutifully got on his knees again and gave the right reverend  father a chew. Swallowing he approached the veterans who after ensuring he had paid his penance gave the advice he was seeking .

“Is the Navy for me?” he asked innocently.

Arrrrrr shipmate, the Andrew is many things………

“but to truly know a lad has to see for himself.  I remember my first time at sea, yeah the skipper was a bastard and the joss ruled with an iron fist.  And make and mends were few and far between.  Many a time I spent on nines cleaning the heads”

“what the fuck are you on? Jeez if I’d known you were pissed I never would have bothered” Bill hated going the club, so did every young boy with soft lips, but he hated it more so as he couldn’t stand to see the old codgers drinking in there.  It somehow seemed a portent as to what his life could be.

“eh young un calm down” said the doddering old man.

“Mr Crawford, you, grew up in Anfield and have lived in this town for most of your life.  I’ve known you for three years.  So why the fuck have you started talking in a west country accent?”

“Ah Bill me old matey, if you is thinking of joining the old pusser then you will need this”  the old man handed him a dog eared book that had obviously been read and re read many a time.  “this is a book every young sailor should read afore starting a career on the waves.  Careful now this is a rare ‘un..  It’s not every day a young lad gets issued a copy of jackspeak that is unsigned”

Graseby pumps, what bastards. Only a minute ago my dear son Hank was soothing me with his Billting Oirish brogue and now I am remembering events 51 years ago! Bloody hell what is happening. “Hankie,Hankie I yell”.

“Fuck up you daft cunt, or I’ll tea bag your Ma”.

Thank god for my son. If there is one pure and honest thing left in this world because of me it has to be my darling son. To think that the doctors got it all wrong. Infertile my arse .I showed them. Not only did I find myself a beautiful wife but I will leave behind me a legacy… the foundation, Misha and my very own flesh and blood;the epitome of all that I stand for, HANK.

Hank was the result of the union between  himself and Misha. Ah his dear Misha, so many people loved him. It seemed like only yesterday when feeling lonely and distraught he visited the brothel, the fifth visit he had that week and there was a new girl in town just arrived from Estonia so he thought he would give her a go .Entering the seedy room  he saw her standing in the corner, cowering  and looking vulnerable , just the way he liked them. Yea a bit of rough would do with this one, a few kidney punches and a couple of slaps would loosen this bitch up. Even better she was young, no more than 13,perfect for his needs but then the bitch threw him by starting to cry. The moment and the erection passed so they just had a chat and the full terrible story came out.

Her name was Misha and she came from Estonia .Her father had sold her for the equivelent of 3 pounds to a local mafia boss. After weeks of hell being brutalised morning noon and night she was smuggled in a suitcase to England where she was put to work in the brothel. To her surprise she enjoyed the work, no two days were ever the same and it wasn’t exactly difficult. When the skinny bloke with the funny accent and big nose came in she had just been peeling onions. She didn’t find him in the least bit attractive and was surprised to see his erection flag as he entered the room and then the twat wanted to chat. Well she would rather have a good shag but it took all sorts so she chatted, that was her first mistake. Little did she know what she had let herself in for.

Yet the brutality of being sold had affected her mentality.  Onions ah the sweet smell, reminded her of her dear sweet mother, Munti.  Ah she could picture her in her cave, boiling, frying, baking and pickling that years harvest of cabbages.  If she could go home she would slaughter her best pig just to celebrate.  She was sure Munti hadn’t agreed to selling her only daughter.  She never agreed much with her husband on the slightest thing, especially when it came to condiments.  The incident with the pepper mill was why she moved to the garden, then to the cave.  So she always hoped that one day she would be able to see her walk through the door and rescue her.  But maybe this lanky streak of pish was the next best thing.  Besides he was a nurse and so must be gay.

She put on the only clothes that were available, a PVC elf costume and pleaded with Bill for them to make a run for it.  And run they did.  It was three o’clock in the morning as they ran through the streets.  It was cold and snowing,  thankfully the pvc outfit was keeping her warm.  Bill just wished he’d hesitated and put his clothes on. But Misha said run so he did.  But what now. They stopped gasping for breath and after a swift embrace, Bill headed for the place he could think of.  The only person he could think of who would help him. 

But he wasn’t in so he went to Hank’s instead

Hank answered the door in his retro seventies y fronts. Scratching his balls he peered drunkenly for a few moments before recognising Bill and invited him in. He tried to shoo the teenager away but she followed Bill into the house. It didn’t appear in the least bit strange that Bill would turn up on his doorstep, naked in the early hours with a waif in tow, a waif in a pvc elf outfit. Entering the kitchen he pulled a couple of beers from the fridge and a can of pop for the girl, he had the sinking feeling that there was a story and a cunning plan in hand. On coming into the living room he noticed that the girl was playing with a teddy in the corner whilst masturbating furiously with a candlestick. Bill was staring at her and there was something in his eye that Hank had never seen before, not quite a glint but a slow burn, there was definitely something brewing, he went back to the fridge and got the rest of the beer out and grabbed a bottle of Jameson’s.

The whole sordid story came out over the next hours, the visits to the brothel, money spent on whores and Vaseline. The loneliness was something that Hank couldn’t understand he thought that Bill had all the friends he needed; Jim Beam; Arthur Guinness; Jack Daniels to name but a few. The problem was that Bill was sober too much of the time, how could anyone live like that? Well another drink would help and then he undoubtedly would get sucked into whatever was brewing in his mates head. That girl was still in the room but sleeping now and he had to look twice because she was quite attractive but Christ she was only a child, best leave that stuff to Bill, he had a way with children.

“I need a thousand pounds” Bill thought it best to come straight out with it.  He’d been there all morning and Hank was making bacon sandwiches.

“a grand! Shit mate is that all?”  he said with incredulity.

“well actually mate, yes.  Some clothes would be nice.  I’ve been here 6 hours, did you not think it weird that I was naked?”

“No not really mate,  know you well Hi.  So what are you planning.  This won’t be like the last girl you went with?”