JOHNNY THE ONE-LOVE
Every weekend, Johnny could be found tinkering with his motorbike in the garage by the house. A flock of neighbourhood lads would crouch around the “steel stallion” like sparrows, watching intently as its owner cleaned the engine, tightened bolts, or polished the chrome parts to a gleam with a rag.
“Bet it’ll go proper fast!” the boys marvelled. “Johnny, will you take us for a ride?”
“Can’t, lads—you’re too young. A motorbike’s serious business, not some pushbike.”
The boys would sigh, and then Johnny would relent:
“Alright, maybe just a few laps round the estate. But that’s it.”
The “sparrows” cheered before bolting off to the football pitch, ball in tow. Johnny headed home to scrub up, only for his mum to grumble:
“When’re you gonna find yourself a girlfriend? The Johnsons’ second son just got married, and they’re both younger than you, mind. What’re you even thinking, eh? You’re no schoolboy, always fiddling with scrap metal in that garage.”
“Scrap metal” was also what she called Grandad’s old car, handed down to Johnny after his army service. He’d restored it to a shine—got it running, slapped on fresh paint—until it gleamed like new.
“My little Rover’s reborn now,” Johnny explained. “Put so much into it, just to make Grandad happy. Could sell it easy in this state. Trouble is, I don’t want to. Grown attached.”
“Fair enough, but it’s been six years since you left the army, and still no girl. Worries me, you’ll end up wed to your metalwork. Happiness is family, son,” sighed Helen.
“Where d’you expect me to find one? Don’t dance—hate shuffling about. Cinemas are too dark to see anyone.”
“True. And what’s a proper girl even meant to talk to you about?” She waved a hand. “My fault, I admit. Never saw you with a book outside school. No theatres here, and I couldn’t drag you to a museum if I tried. Just engines and gadgets rattlin’ round that head.”
“It’s my job, Mum. Garage work pays well—trust me, these hands are in demand.”
“Demand a good scrub, more like. Stained every towel. Switched to dark ones—notice? And what girl’s going to chat gearboxes with you?”
“Any girl worth having,” Johnny grinned, inspecting his grease-lined palms.
“Start with the museum. Boost that cultural level of yours.”
“Go alone? Not a chance.”
“Who said alone? Your nephew Tommy’s on summer break. Take him. Your sister’ll be chuffed. Stroll into town, grab an ice cream—cultural outing sorted.”
“Scouting mission for ladies, eh?” Johnny laughed.
Days later, over dinner, Mum announced:
“Tommy’s coming tomorrow.”
“And?”
“Promised him you’d hit the museum,” she reminded. “Dead excited. Reckon he’ll dress smart.”
“Oh. Right.” Johnny shrugged. “Suppose we’re museum-bound, then.”
The day was glorious. First stop: ice cream at the café. Then, duty called—the museum.
Tickets bought, the clerk urged: “Hurry—tour’s just started. Catch up in the first hall!”
Tommy wriggled to the front for a better listen. Johnny, oddly shy, lurked at the back—but he had a clear view of the guide: a delicate thing, porcelain in a white dress, sky-blue eyes, and glass beads. Spellbound, he missed not a word.
Her hands, dainty as a songbird’s claws gripping a twig, held a pointer, illustrating tales for the kids—who she peppered with riddles. Johnny couldn’t look away.
As the tour ended, the girl vanished down a corridor. Outside, sunlight slapped them with summer’s heat.
“Was cooler in there,” Tommy said. “Wanted to ask things, but bottled it.”
“Next time, mate,” Johnny promised, eyeing the museum’s hours. “We’ll crack it all. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?!”
“Best strike while the curiosity’s hot.” He clapped Tommy’s shoulder, heading home chipper.
Mum raised brows at their return plans but held her tongue. Next day, Johnny marched in and asked the clerk:
“The guide from yesterday—what’s her name?”
“We’ve several, sir.”
He fumbled through a description.
“Ah, Lucy! She’s guiding a coach tour today. Try another time.”
Deflated, Johnny stood until Tommy tugged his sleeve:
“So… no museum?”
“Already been,” Johnny muttered.
Salvaging the trip, they hit the café again. Johnny replayed Lucy’s eyes in his mind—but at least he had a name now.
“Next weekend—museum again?” Tommy smirked.
“Aye. Got questions to prep. Proper ones, yeah?”
Tommy nodded, spooning ice cream. They rode the park carousel, then home.
Come weekend, they arrived at opening time. Empty, the museum’s silence creaked underfoot—until Lucy appeared, now in a grey suit (but same beads).
She greeted them. Tommy poised his questions, but Lucy spoke first:
“Johnny?”
“You know me?” He flushed.
“You ran the school radio tech. I joined sixth form—did announcements sometimes. Remember?”
“Sorry, no. Faces escape me. Last time, though… felt like I knew you forever. Like some past life.” He smiled. “Makes sense now.”
They chatted—she’d graduated, loved her job. He promised free repairs if ever needed. Numbers were swapped.
Outside, Tommy eyed Johnny:
“Prepped questions. Asked none. Just nattered about her.”
“Patience, lad. Reckon we’ll be regulars now.” Johnny grinned. “Cultural enlightenment, eh?”
“Enlighten yourself. I’m done.”
“Fair. Fancy a ride home in the Rover?”
Tommy brightened. “Yes!”
News of Johnny’s nightly drives (now “dates”) thrilled the family.
“Knew that car’d serve love someday,” Grandad beamed. “And our Johnny’s no skirt-chaser. Steady lad.”
“One-love type,” agreed Helen. “Just hope she gets him. If not… what then?”
“Don’t fret. Shared school days, different worlds—love’s glued odder pairs,” Grandad chuckled.
Six months in, Lucy and Johnny’s bond deepened. Before dates, Helen ironed crisp shirts and inspected his scrubbed hands.
“God’s sake, like I’m five,” he’d grumble—but grinned. Pre-date joy never dimmed.
“Old habit,” she’d say, smoothing his collar. “Soon your wife’ll take over. Just mind—love’s naught without respect.”
By New Year, they married. The Rover, ribbon-clad, carried them to the registry. Tommy bore Lucy’s veil proudly.
After, Grandad nudged him:
“Take notes. Bloke who can make scrap sing. Grow up, and this Rover’ll take you to wed!”
Tommy laughed. “Not yet. Army first. Learn engines like Uncle Johnny.”
“Try not to leave it too late. Reckon I’ll cling on for yours—but don’t test me.”
“You’ll live forever,” Tommy hugged him, then dashed to join the photo by the car, guests laughing in the winter sun.
