Just Another Day - Clark Steven (читаем книги бесплатно .TXT) 📗

He knew he had made the right decision to leave the Army and settle down in one place with his wife and children. He loved the banter with his mates, the drinking games, and moving round from base to base. Four countries in six years had been brilliant, exciting for both of them in many ways but even though he had enjoyed being away on Operations and Exercises for weeks at a time, it had been difficult for Mandy. They were both twenty four when the twins arrived and she gave up work without hesitation to ensure the needs of her family.

She loved working in the Bank but she’d said from day one, in that matter of fact way that brooks no opposition, ‘our family needs are more important than material things Dave. I’ll go back to work later; plenty of time to pick things up again once they get a bit bigger’

‘Now then Mary.’ Dave affectionately called his wife ‘Mary’ after Mary Poppins who was, ‘practically perfect in every way’, shortly after they had first met. It was his sense of humour and laughing eyes that had first attracted her all those years ago and she gave him a playful slap on his leg with, ‘don’t you Mary me you big lump.’

‘How about, now that the kids are upstairs and will be engaged with whatever for some time, we do a little bit of engaging of our own.” He gently pulled her to his lap and she put her hand on his thigh. He loved kissing his wife, probably more so now than when they first met, and she responded eagerly.

Dave didn’t know who had first coined the phrase, life is good, but one thing he was certain of; he couldn’t agree more.

Chapter 2

Dave came back to the present, out of his dream like state, as he heard the engine of the Heavy Goods Vehicle coming towards him from deep inside the Port.

Sounds carried a long way at that hour of the morning. He looked at his watch. Half past six. Not long to go now. Not long before he would be on his way home. Best part of the shift when he was on his way to bed at the end of his working day whilst the normal world was about to wake up to begin theirs.

He enjoyed the patrol work; that’s what got him out of bed every day. He could do without all the crap that came from bureaucratic bosses who didn’t know their arse from their elbow: most of them only worked nine to five during the week so doing shift work was a good way of keeping out of their way. They didn’t work nights or weekends.

He liked being out and about, answering calls for assistance, dealing with the disorder and occasional fights that broke out on the ships. Sometimes it would be him making those calls for help. It was the togetherness and the camaraderie of his mates he loved the most.

Whenever a shout came over the radio of, ‘con requires’, every body on duty who was relatively close to the area would drop whatever routine stuff they were dealing with and make haste to assist their colleague in trouble. There was no more thankful sight from a mate confronting two or three drunken, violent assailants for the welcome blue lights in the distance and the sound of sirens coming to your aid. Dave had been duly thankful on a number of occasions for help and was more than happy to return the favour for his colleagues.

Usually, it was the various ferries that were the cause of the problems and nearly always drink related whereby some of the passengers had over indulged on the night crossings from Ireland. The liberal licensing hours and cheap booze often contributing to the mayhem that would sometimes accompany the voyage.

Now and then, the call from the ship en route to Liverpool would turn out to be a false alarm. The Master of the vessel would ask for the police to attend as it neared the Port because of fighting or assaults by drunken passengers only for it to be all quiet on arrival, as the Command and Control log would show later.

Because you never knew what the outcome of the call was likely to be, it was always, ‘Better to turn up mob handed son.’ as his wiley old sergeant would often say.

‘Half a dozen hairy arsed coppers will always sort the job out better than one on his own.’ Dave knew it made sense but it was sometimes embarrassing when the six hairy arsed coppers stood on the quayside only to be confronted by one little old man who had been a bit abusive to the crew who had then exaggerated the conflict to ensure a good police turnout. Still, ‘always better to have too many rather than too few sunshine,’ as Sergeant Chambers puffed on his pipe and quietly dismissed the other officers back to their normal patrols.

He would then go and have a quiet word with the skipper and give him a short reminder of the fable of the, boy who cried wolf. He never made a lot of fuss and he never used a dozen words when one or two would convey the message. He had much sympathy with the crew members on the ships who often had to put up with drunken abuse. He knew it was as much the fault of the shipping companies trying to increase their profits by attracting the punters onto their booze cruises and cheap fares.

It was the age old story of those bosses not being there at three in the morning when a member of the crew is trying to deal with the consequences of the companies’ policies of stack them up high and sell them off cheap. It is at best difficult, and mostly impossible to try and rationalise with someone who has had ten cans of strong export lager.

‘Don’t spend longer than necessary lad. If he’s a happy drunk, send him on his way as nicely as you can. If he’s fighting and aggressive, and believe you me son, you’ll very quickly determine which is which, deal with him quickly and forcefully. If you mess about and try and reason with him, either you or your mate will get hurt. One thing’s for certain, the bloke who’s fighting drunk will be nice as pie in the morning and won’t remember a thing.’

Dave often recalled this piece of advice he’d received very early on in his career and it had stood him in good stead up to now.

‘Trust your instincts lad and remember, it’s not always the loudest drunks who cause the most problems. Keep your distance and be aware of what’s around you. You can move closer when you have weighed up the situation, but if you get too close before you fully appreciate what you’re dealing with, you’ll be on your arse and in the brown mucky stuff before you know what’s hit you.’

Occasionally, it would be a couple of crew members from a cargo ship who would be arguing over the services of  ‘Scotch Betty’, one of our regular business ladies who attempt to frequent the ships most nights as a means of earning a crust or two.

Betty looked considerably older than her 24 years. A mother of three, all boys, the oldest of which was eight years of age and all from different fathers and each in a different home; looked after by foster carers. She had been a prostitute on the docks for as long as Dave had known her and their paths first crossed when, as a probationary bobby, he had locked her up for being drunk and disorderly. She was just 16years of age; pregnant with her first kid and already a long term alcoholic, a mouth like a sewer with a temper to match.

Upon his first encounter, when she had calmed down after her initial foul mouthed and violent activities, and being a somewhat naive young probationer, he was shocked to hear her say, ‘eh mate, will yeh let me go if I give yeh a wank. He knows I’m all right;’ pointing at Dave’s colleague. The older officer, who had heard it all before, started to laugh but Dave could only reply in what, at the time, was his sternest tone as he lowered his voice by an octave or so to make him sound more authoritarian, ‘sorry love. Not interested. You’re locked up, get in the van.’

There was no way she was getting in the van of her own accord and Dave was surprised that it took him and his mate considerable force to restrain her. He was puffing and panting like an old man after a few minutes and amazed at the strength of this young drunken girl. The top pocket on his tunic was torn as she fought to free herself, screaming, spitting and trying to bite them both.