Johnny the One-Heart
Every weekend, Johnny tinkered with his motorbike in the garage beside the house. A gaggle of lads would crouch around the “steel horse” like a flock of sparrows, watching intently as he cleaned the engine, tightened bolts, or polished the chrome parts to a shine with a rag.
“Blimey, that’ll go like the clappers!” the boys marvelled. “Johnny, can we have a ride?”
“Can’t just yet—you’re too young. A motorbike’s serious business, not like a bicycle…”
The boys sighed, and then Johnny relented. “Maybe a few laps round the yard—that’d be alright.”
The “sparrows” cheered before dashing off to the football pitch, ball in hand. Johnny went back inside to wash up, and his mother clucked at him.
“When’re you gonna find yourself a girl, eh? The Wilsons’ second lad’s just got married, and both their boys are younger than you. What’s going on in that head of yours? You’re no schoolboy to be fiddling with bits of metal all day!”
“Bits of metal” was what she called Grandad’s old car, too—the one he’d handed down to Johnny when he came back from his service. Johnny had restored it to gleaming perfection, getting it running and giving it a fresh coat of paint till it looked brand new.
“My little Austin’s got a new lease on life. Put a fair bit of cash into her, too, just to make Grandad proud. Could sell her easy now, but… I don’t fancy it,” Johnny explained.
“Fair enough, but it’s been six years since you left the service, and still no lass. I just worry you’ll end up wedded to your machinery. A man’s happiness is in family, son,” sighed Ellen.
“Where’m I supposed to meet a girl? Not keen on dancing—can’t stand prancing about. Too dark in cinemas to see anyone properly,” Johnny laughed.
“Aye, and what’ll a decent lass talk to you about?” She shook her head. “My failing, I’ll own it. Never much for books, were you? Just school stuff. No theatre in our town, and I couldn’t drag you to a museum. Just engines, bikes, and gadgets on your mind.”
“It’s my trade, Mum. Garage work’s honest. Trust me, my hands are in demand.”
“Aye, and never clean! I’ve had to switch to dark towels, just so the stains don’t show. What girl wants to chat engines all day?” She smirked.
“The right one,” Johnny said, inspecting his grease-lined palms. “One who’ll love me for it.”
“At least take a trip to the museum. Lift yourself up a bit, son.”
“And do what there? Mope about alone? No chance.”
“Who said alone? Your nephew Alfie’s on summer break. Take him along—your sister’ll be chuffed. Walk round town, grab an ice cream. Call it a… cultural outing.”
“Scouting mission for lasses, more like?” Johnny grinned at her scheme.
Days later, over supper, his mum announced, “Saturday tomorrow. Alfie’s coming round.”
“So?” Johnny shrugged. “Let him.”
“I promised him you’d take him to the museum. He’s dead excited—reckons he’ll dress smart and all.”
“Oh…” Johnny remembered. “Right. Suppose we’re going, then.”
The day was fine. First stop: the café for ice cream, then the museum under protest. They bought tickets, and the clerk urged them, “Hurry! The tour’s just started—catch them in the first hall!”
Alfie weaved ahead for a better listen, while Johnny lingered at the back, oddly shy. Then he saw her—the tour guide, delicate as porcelain in a white sundress, sky-blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, glass beads glinting at her throat.
She held a pointer, her fine fingers like a bird’s grip on a twig. Johnny was spellbound by her laugh, her waist, those eyes. When the tour ended, she vanished down a corridor. Outside, the heat hit them like a wall.
“Cool in there,” Alfie mused. “Wish I’d asked questions, though…”
“Don’t fret. We’ll come back, sort it all proper,” Johnny said, eyeing the museum’s hours. “Tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow?” Alfie blinked.
“Why wait? While the questions are fresh.” Johnny clapped his shoulder, and they headed home in high spirits.
Mum raised a brow at their second museum trip but held her tongue. Next day, Johnny asked the clerk, “That guide from yesterday—what’s her name?”
“Several work here, lad.”
Johnny fumbled a description.
“Ah, that’ll be Lucy. Not in today—she’s guiding a coach party round town. Come back another time.”
Dejected, Johnny stood stock-still as Alfie tugged his sleeve. “So… no museum?”
“Been once already,” Johnny muttered.
They hit the café again. Johnny nursed his ice cream, replaying Lucy’s smile. At least he had a name now.
“Next weekend—museum again?” Alfie asked slyly.
“Aye. Questions to ask,” Johnny sighed. “Think up some good ones. Don’t want to look daft.”
Alfie nodded, scraping his bowl. They rode the carousel at the park, then trudged home.
By next weekend, Johnny was fidgety. They arrived at opening time. The museum was silent but for creaky floorboards. Then Lucy appeared—grey suit now, but the same beads.
“Johnny?” she said.
He flushed. “You know me?”
“You ran the sound kit at school. I did the announcements sometimes. Year above you—just for sixth form. Remember?”
“Sorry… I’m rubbish with faces. But last time, I felt I knew you. Like… from before.”
They talked for ages. She’d graduated uni, loved her job here. He promised to fix her car if ever needed. They swapped numbers, parted as friends.
Outside, Alfie huffed, “I prepped questions! But you just nattered about her and school!”
“Don’t fret. We’ll be back loads now,” Johnny promised. “Culture, innit?”
“Count me out,” Alfie groaned. “Your turn.”
“Fair. Fancy a drive home in the Austin?”
The news that Johnny was courting Lucy nightly in Grandad’s car thrilled the family.
“Knew that motor’d do some good,” Grandad beamed. “Lad’s steady—not one to chase skirts.”
“One-heart, he is,” Ellen agreed. “Just pray she loves him proper. What’ll become of him else?”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Ellen. They’ve common ground—same school, same youth. Opposites can make the strongest match.”
Six months on, Johnny and Lucy wed. The Austin, decked in ribbons and bows, ferried them to the registry office. Alfie bore Lucy’s veil inside, bursting with pride.
Afterwards, Grandad told him, “Take a leaf from Johnny’s book. Hands of gold, that lad. When you’re ready, we’ll take this old girl to your wedding!”
“Steady on!” Alfie laughed. “Army first. Learn engines like Uncle Johnny…”
“Try not to keep me waiting too long,” Grandad teased.
“Stay healthy—live forever,” Alfie grinned, hugging him before joining the photo by the car, guests cheering.
