Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes

12

It was fantastic at first. Heading out into all the green stuff that seemed to smother the town wasn't too bad. In fact, Frederick had started to enjoy it. Everything felt fresh and clean and he could hear sounds that the London noise, that he had grown up with and become accustomed to, drowned out most of the time. Instead of market stall callers shouting for sales, he heard birds singing and chirping in the trees. Instead of the constant rumble and buzz of cars and motorbikes, he could hear cows, literally mooing in the fields.

The trees weren't so awful as he had first thought. Step out of the Sun, into the shade, and he could feel the difference. Not like in London, where the shade of the buildings made little difference because the buildings reflected heat in a dozen different directions, meaning no matter where you stood, it became stifling. At least, that was what Frederick thought.

Perhaps it just felt cooler and refreshing because he was somewhere new, but he doubted it. It was different. Everything was different. Even the roads felt different under the soles of his trainers. And there were no cars. No-one aiming for you because you happened to set a foot on the road, or for other, nastier, reasons. Down these lanes, there were no pavements, only a dip in the dirt beside the tarmac that didn't look as though they had replaced it in years, with only a few potholes to show for its age.

Best of all was the canal, though. Watching that posh woman go through the motions of filling the lock, opening the gate and letting the canal boat slip in, was amazing. And then the other way around at the other side, watching water spill out from the lock until the boat had lowered almost ten feet below where it once sat before the gates opened and the woman jumped back aboard, waving as they chugged away, along the canal at a pace that Frederick could outrun, easy.

The problems began after the old geezer had found a spot to set down, right at the middle of a long, sweeping curve. Even that, at first, looked fun. Setting the whole thing up until the old man could begin the actual fishing, sending the weighted line and hook out to the centre of the canal and then ... nothing. A whole lot of nothing. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Half-an-hour and Frederick started to get more than a little restless.

"Does it always take this long for a fish to bite?" He had flopped onto his belly, leaning out to look down at the murky brown waters. He couldn't see anything. "Can't you do something to, I dunno, encourage them, or something?"

"Aye." The old man leaned over from his foldable seat and gave the line a touch before sitting back. "The's time yet. I've gone entire days without even catching a tickle. Fishing's not about catching the fish, lad, it's about the fishing."

"I just thought there'd be more to it." He turned over onto his back, squinting and holding up his hands to frame a cloud between his fingers. "Just ... something."

"Here, I tell thee what. I'll reel it in and let you freshen up the bait." Again, he leaned over, picking up the rod from the stand. "Then I'll let thee cast it. Eh? I'm sorry, lad, but it don't get much more exciting than that."

The old man had warned him, but Frederick hadn't listened. He'd only wanted to get out of the house for a while, feeling that the extra space they now had felt more claustrophobic compared to the old flat, somehow. Maybe because Mum seemed to hover all the time, never any further than a room away, as though she couldn't leave him alone, having to stay so close that she could run to him and grab him at any opportunity.

It might get better soon, when she had to start her job in a few days time, but, right now, she clung to him like a limpet, or close by at all times. Except when she had one of her moods, of course, then she didn't seem to care where he was. Only, at those times, it all turned the other way around and he didn't want to leave her alone, or wanted to stay close enough to watch over her as she sobbed for no reason, or stared at nothing.