Noonaville Stephen Bolton
Noonaville Stephen Bolton
Noonaville Stephen Bolton
Copyright 2005 Stephen Bolton The right of Stephen Bolton to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 First published 2005 by Capstone Publishing Limited (a Wiley Company) The Atrium Southern Gate Chichester West Sussex PO19 8SQ www.wileyeurope.com Email (for orders and customer service enquires): cs-books@wiley.co.uk All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except under the terms of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or under the terms of a licence issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency Ltd, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP, UK, without the permission in writing of the Publisher. Requests to the Publisher should be addressed to the Permissions Department, John Wiley & Sons Ltd, The Atrium, Southern Gate, Chichester, West Sussex PO19 8SQ, England, or emailed to permreq@wiley.co.uk, or faxed to (+44) 1243 770571. Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book are trade names, service marks, trademarks or registered trademarks of their respective owners. The Publisher is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in regard to the subject matter covered. It is sold on the understanding that the Publisher is not engaged in rendering professional services. If professional advice or other expert assistance is required, the services of a competent professional should be sought. CIP catalogue records for this book are available from the British Library and the US Library of Congress ISBN 1-84112-661-6 Typeset in Trebuchet by Sparks (www.sparks.co.uk) Printed and bound in Spain by Grafos SA, Barcelona This book is printed on acid-free paper responsibly manufactured from sustainable forestry in which at least two trees are planted for each one used for paper production. Substantial discounts on bulk quantities of Capstone Books are available to corporations, professional associations and other organisations. For details telephone John Wiley & Sons on (+44) 1243-770441, fax (+44) 1243 770571 or email corporatedevelopment@wiley.co.uk
For Josie Thank you to Style magazine for their assistance and for allowing the use of a number of the cartoons in this book, some slightly altered from their original form.
Contents Introduction 1 1 Wearing 7 2 Working 33 3 Outside 57 4 Eating 79 5 Love 105 6 Living 129 7 Fun 157 8 Death 179 Stephen Bolton 205
Noonaville by Stephen Bolton
Introduction 3 Another giant sun rose up into the Noonaville morning, soft and clear it hung above the town untouched by clouds in exactly the same way it had for every day for as long anyone could remember. In fact, no one could remember the last time they had seen a cloud over Noonaville; it seemed to be an endless summer. People talked about clouds, but they talked about clouds the way people talk about space travel, something they had never really known in their own lives but they knew was possible. The sun lounged in corners and walkways, making itself at home in places it didn t normally touch all across town. It stood in shop fronts and houses, lay around with cats on kitchen floors and sat with their owners at dining room tables. It made itself welcome in bedrooms, lying across beds, lingering in porches and playing in yards. It warmed the cold backs of factories and warehouses and even snuck in through the screen door in the kitchen at Hirst s Café and leaned against Carl the cook s legs. Another hot summer s day lay ahead. The town was busy in the way towns are busy on sunny mornings, busy in an easy, happy way. On mornings like this even car horns seem softer, like friendly hellos. In streets right across town people were buying milk, bread and newspapers, talking on street corners and walking their dogs. Barbers were doing the first haircuts of the day, talking sport and brushing down shoulders. Despatching the first of the day s freshly trimmed regulars back out into the streets before sweeping up the hair. Lawyers shuffled papers and bundled notes on big desks in
4 Noonaville offices above shops. Everywhere there was activity, even the driving range was busy. Balls pinged out of the stalls into the clear morning light and bounced across the grass. Cars edged forward in streets, pedestrians walked and dogs ran. The schools were coming alive and offices were opening their doors. Hirst s Café was in full swing. Carl the cook was busy in the kitchen filling orders for bacon and eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, toast, beans, extra toast and sausages and feeding the plates through the service hatch to Charlotte. Charlotte delivered steaming plates of Carl s food to table after table of morning diners. Steam and chatter rose from the tables, the clicking of cutlery on plates and the crunching of Carl s fantastic toast were the sounds that filled the café. Nearby in his surgery, Dr Dan van Pelt, Noonaville s best known cosmetic surgeon, was getting ready for his first job of the day. A chin. He scrubbed his forearms with foamy soap and read an article on big game fishing in Mexico from a magazine he d just found in his own waiting room. The magazine lay flat on the bench. Dr van Pelt turned the page with his elbow and read his horoscope for the August of four years before as he rinsed the soap from his arms and hands. Dud Falloon was one of Hirst s Café s long time regulars. In front of him lay an empty plate, the cutlery arranged in the I m finished position. He sipped his coffee from a thick-rimmed mug and gazed across the street at his own
Introduction 5 shop and the blue shirts he d hung in the window. Blue with ocean waves and palm trees. They should move today, he thought, looking out at the sun on the street as Charlotte powered down the length of the room towards him, a steaming loaded plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in each hand. Dud looked around the room. A room of red booths with a long counter and swivelling stools bolted to the floor from one end to the other. Falloon s and Hirst s were both institutions in Noonaville and Dud noticed that he had outfitted almost every man in Hirst s Café that morning. Almost every man he could see had a paunch that strained against the buttons of a Fallon s shirt and was sitting on a rear that was testing the seams of a pair of Dud s trousers. The more Carl fed them the bigger they got and the more often they came in for new, larger clothes. One of Dud s customers was the mother of a boy who was at that moment in the suburbs oiling his bike chain. He had a long way to go today. First he d ride to school, easy, but after school it was a race against time and traffic to get to Frank s Bulk and Budget on the other side of Noonaville in time. They had a new machine there. He lifted the back wheel and spun the pedals. The wheel and chain made a steady whirring sound, a reassuring sound to a cyclist, and tiny drops of oil flew off the chain and into his thin pale fringe. He dropped the wheel to the ground with a screech, jumped on the bicycle and pedalled out of his parents driveway toward Noonaville Boys High School.
6 Noonaville In the kitchen Eva sipped her coffee. Frank was gone for the day. His car had bounced and squeaked out into the street and away in the direction of Hirst s Café a matter of minutes before and his half-finished coffee sat on the bench. Tonight was the barbeque. Almost everything was ready. Eva walked through the lounge to the back of the house and out into the back yard. She looked around the square yard were tonight the guests would gather and sighed. Nothing but dust. She poured the coffee out onto the ground. Like everything else in the house it was from the shop and it didn t really taste right. She walked back inside across the curled linoleum and sat at the wobbling table. Nathan was just getting out of the shower and thinking about coffee himself. He d spent most of the last hour in there singing Roy Orbison and Engelbert Humperdinck songs, and knew deep down that they were not as good as him. He d stood naked under the scalding water, crooning into his shampoo bottle to the crowd of toothbrushes, towels, soaps and conditioners. Nathan the steaming pink whale walked through the house. He lived alone, a bachelor life, and his bachelor things sat undisturbed in the half-light of the lounge. He could see it was another nice day out there. He wandered through to the bedroom and into his walk-in wardrobe, leaving a trail of steamy wet footprints. The clothes that made Nathan look and feel good were folded, stacked and hung in this little room all exactly where they should be. He chose the pale green polo neck, tore off his towel and started getting ready for the day.
Wearing
Wearing 9 Nathan was hot but not in the usual way. His jumper was too tight! He sweated and itched in the tingling wool. He d left the house dressed in his light green wool blend polo neck, backing his rectangular red car out into the street and departing home with a polite puff of smoke. Turning onto Browne Avenue and stopping at the lights, he grabbed the bottom of the jumper and pulled it down below his waist. This green favourite, the old familiar lucky jumper was supposed to be fitting, but in the heat and after being washed it was fitting too well. As the lights turned green and he reached for the wheel the cuffs slid up his arms. He surfed the car through the bends of the streets, holding the left then the right cuffs between his teeth and stretching the sleeves back down. This morning when he d chosen what to wear he should have realised it was going to be hot, he should have gone for the cream. The wool held Nathan tight. One night about a week before he d run out of washing powder and bought an unknown brand, Atomic Brand Laundry Powder from Frank s Bulk and Budget. He d had to buy a 10 pack to get the discount and was hardly able to fit the box into the car. Frank said it was good stuff and that he used it himself. Now as Nathan fought in his seat and the green wool chewing his armpits he remembered that tonight was the night of Frank and Eva s barbeque. Frank and Eva were always having barbeques in their dry little garden.
10 Noonaville With his arms out straight and his sleeves now pushed up his pink forearms Nathan rolled his head around and around, the wool itching his neck. His entire day was planned out. Too far from home to change, the best idea would be to head to Falloon s Menswear and pick up a summer shirt. Nathan slammed on the breaks and reversed, tyres howling, into a driveway, killing a dog before floating sedately out of the cloud towards Falloon s Menswear. Dud Falloon nodded to Nathan as he walked through the door. Blue Hawaiian shirts with palm trees and ocean waves hung on every rack, waving gently beneath the ceiling fans. Nathan wandered back and forth through the racks looking for his size before choosing a shirt a size too small. He paid Dud with crumpled, sweaty cash and left the shop to change in the car. Fighting his way out of the jumper Nathan smashed the rear view mirror with his elbow. The polo neck felt like a cactus as he drew it over his face and itched his palms as he stuffed it into the Falloon s bag. The Hawaiian shirt felt cooler, he sat behind the wheel and did up the bottom three buttons. With a turn of the key and a puff of smoke he was gone. Steering with one hand he searched through the radio stations for the sound of ukuleles.
Wearing 11
12 Noonaville