Unrequited love, rejection, and what to do when love goes wrong

I was 16 and in love with the school bully, he was unbelievably good looking and all the girls wanted to be his girlfriend.

He splashed money around like water and paid for trips to the barber shop for his team of ‘heavies.’  It would be a couple of years before we learned just where his money came from.  It was rumoured that he had a ‘waiting list’ for girls who fancied a date with him.

I kept my secret out of fear of being laughed at by my friends, so it came as a ‘bolt from the blue’ when he asked me out.  He told me that he had to visit his Gran in the next town on Saturday morning and would I like to meet him at the zoo at 1pm?  He said he would meet me just inside the entrance where he would give me back my entrance money and he would treat me to a slap up lunch in the zoo restaurant.  He shot me some yarn about not wanting me to be standing around outside, as he might be slightly delayed if he had to go to the shops for his Gran.  Like the fool I was, I agreed.

Saturday came, and filled with excited anticipation I took the train to our rendezvous. The zoo was a 2 minute walk from the station.  I bought a ticket and went through the turnstile, there was no sign of Kenny so I strolled around, feeling rather self conscious and I kept looking towards the entrance every time I heard the click of the turnstile, expecting to see him appear.

After 2 hours I realised that I had been well and truly stood up, but, not wanting to waste my entrance fee I set off on a tour of the zoo, pausing to gawp at monkeys, camels, elephants and Zebra, all of whom looked happier than I felt.

I trudged disconsolately back to the station only to discover that the last train had already left, at that moment I cursed both my bad luck and Kenny the con artist.

I hopped on a bus and settled down for the journey home, when suddenly, after a couple of miles, the bus came to a juddering halt, smoke billowed from the engine compartment and the driver and conductor struggled to sort out the problem.  The conductor went off to phone the depot for help and all the passengers were ordered to disembark.  After what seemed like an eternity another bus arrived and we all piled aboard.

I had to walk from the bus station to our house as I didn’t have enough money left for the bus fare. I arrived home on the verge of tears, only to be savaged by my mum for being late for tea. When I explained what had happened she laughed and told me I had been stupid, no sympathy at all.

Kenny told everyone at school about what fun it had been to set me up for a date that he had never had any intention of keeping.  I was the butt of lots of zoo themed jokes and insults for the entire day and by chucking out time my love for the rat had turned to homicidal rage.

I left school shortly after and set off to do a bit of travelling, eventually I took a job on a passenger liner as assistant to Enrico the Great Escapologist, but, that is another story that I may tell later.

I came home on leave while the ship was in dry-dock and met up with some old school friends who invited me to a barbecue that evening at a big canal side house in the best part of town.

Part way through the party a group of noisy lads turned up, they had been drinking in the nearby pub and were a little the worse for wear. And, who should e among them but Kenny the rat! He gave me a bleary look, I don’t think he remembered me, but I had not forgotten him.

He and his pals dived into the free cider and at one point I saw him downing a- pint- in- one while his friends egged him on. Shortly after, filled with strong drink, he collapsed onto a wooden bench and promptly fell asleep.  People were beginning to drift away, it was Saturday and the Moody Blues were playing at the town hall and my friends and I had no intention of missing the show.

I found myself alone in that part of the garden while my friends collected their coats, just me and the out for the count Kenny.

They say that ‘revenge is a dish best served cold’ well,  I was stone cold sober and Kenny was out cold!

I spotted a tin of those short felt nails and a hammer in the garden shed:  quick as a flash I grabbed them and proceeded to nail Kenny’s trouser bottoms, and jacket cuffs to the bench. I buttoned up his jacket so that he couldn’t wriggle out of it and then left for the gig.

I never saw him again but I read in the clipping from the local paper that my mum sent me that he had been arrested for fraud. During his trial it  emerged that his criminality had started when he had regularly taken money from the till in the shop his parents ran. That’s why he was always so flush.   He was sent down for 3 years.