“You saucy old devil!” replied Sam with a laugh. “No, I’ll try and resist that for a bit longer, if I’m able,” he said, still chuckling. “No, but what I was going to say, Florence,” he went on, turning serious again, “is that I’m a little worried about you, yeah? You’re stuck here in your house, isolated, and you’re not getting yourself outside. It’s not good for you. You need to have friends, and people to talk to.”
“I used to have some very lovely friends,” Florence replied thoughtfully. “You’d have really liked them, Sam.”
“I’m sure I would have,” said Sam sympathetically. “It’s never too late to make new friends, though, my love,” he proposed to her gently. “And that brings me on to what I was talking to you about before I went on holiday, actually. Do you remember I told you about the people who own the coffee shop in town? I deliver the post to them, Florence. Do you remember?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Florence. “You said they have a dating club for old people. You’re not trying to fix me up are you, Sam?” she tittered.
Sam took her hand. “It’s more of a social club than a dating club,” he told her. “The Lonely Heart Attack Club, they call it. There’s a few chapters on the Island, and in the UK as well. They’ve got a sports club for those who want to get a bit more active, and a gardening club up by the new garden centre. You like gardening, Florence, and you could meet people in a similar situation to you, yes? People like—”
“Old fogies?” suggested Florence, with a slight grin.
“Exactly,” Sam confirmed with a chuckle.
“Well, the gardening sounds nice, but I’m not sure I could see myself running a marathon anytime soon, Sam,” considered Florence.
“I think the activity club consists of going for walks and such, things of that nature,” Sam assured her. “Not overly strenuous things like marathons or that sort, mind,” he said. “Although, you never know, I’m sure you could take them all out for a run if you wanted!” he teased. “Will you at least think about it?” he asked her. “Not running, I don’t mean. Joining one of the clubs in general, I mean.”
Florence shrugged her shoulders. “They wouldn’t want someone like me coming along, Sam,” she told him.
“Florence,” said Sam sternly, though not unkindly, “the club is set up for people EXACTLY like you, luv. Here, what if I come along for the first couple of occasions and get you settled in?” he suggested. “I promise you the guys who run it, Jack and Emma, are brilliant, and you’ll meet some proper crackpots. Oh, and I noticed on Facebook when I was away that they’ll soon be starting ballroom dancing classes. You and Tom used to love to go dancing, didn’t you? I’ll be your chaperone, Florence, and make sure your dance card doesn’t get too full, yeah? What do you reckon, luv?”
She went quiet for a moment or two as she pondered this. “I could show you how to do a foxtrot, Sam,” she said eventually, humming a tune she used to enjoy dancing to, years ago.
“I’d absolutely love it if you would, Florence. So that’s a yes? You’ll come along?” Sam replied. “Ah! Brilliant, then!” he said, upon receiving a nod in confirmation, and clapping his hands in delight. “Excellent news, Florence. Excellent news.”
They sipped their tea and chatted for a bit, and then Sam rose to his feet to check on the work party outside. The lads were just finishing up, and the garden was looking much better. “Tell you what, I’m just going to replace those burnt-out lightbulbs of yours, and then how about I take you out for a spot of lunch?” he said. “And we can also stop by the shops and get your fridge filled up again?”
Florence nodded her assent, but there was one thing on her mind. “Sam?” she said. “Sam, could we possibly go and see Tom when we’re out?”
“Of course!” replied Sam.
A pleasant smile swept over Florence’s face. It was the first time in weeks she could remember being anywhere close to happy. “Thank you, Sam. Oh, one thing. Do you think we could stop off at the florist on the way to see Tom?”
“Absolutely, Florence. No trouble at all,” Sam said.
.
Chapter Four
J ack hadn’t been entirely convinced the bungalow-sharing arrangement of Grandad and Ray would last. They were a couple of cantankerous old buggers who’d each be able to start an argument in an empty room, but, somehow — and nobody was quite sure how or why — it just seemed to work. It was, perhaps, akin to the proverbial unstoppable force chancing upon the immovable object in that they just seemed to cancel each other out. Jack was surprised but delighted with the longevity of their co-habiting and that the odd-couple had morphed into the married-couple. Not in literal terms, of course, but just an observation that they were joined at the hip like a married couple — a happy one, that is, and Jack was pleased the pair of them had each other for company. When Grandad was on his own, Jack knew he could be there, if required, in a matter of minutes (which was one of the perks of living on a small island). But Jack slept a little easier now knowing that if Grandad had a fall, or needed help, then there was someone in the same house as him.
And what Grandad and Ray also were, aside from happy cohabiters, as it should happen, was eager to extend their culinary abilities for the benefit of Jack, Emma, and baby Lucas. And so…
“They’ve still got their Christmas lights up,” said Jack, peering over the car steering wheel. “It’s the third of March and they’ve still got fairy lights in the window.”
“They look nice,” offered Emma. “Festive, I think,” she added with a shrug.
Once parked, Jack jumped out to unfasten Lucas from his seat in the back. He could see the twinkling reflection of the fairy lights on the surface of his son’s eyeballs. While his son didn’t seem to mind, necessarily, Jack still insisted that having the lights up this late into the year was not something that really ought to be encouraged. “Yes, but it’s the third of March,” Jack said again, looking over his shoulder to Emma as he attended to Lucas, reiterating this point to impress upon her that it was in fact the third of March, just in case that wasn’t already clear. “I said I’d come around and take them down last week, and the week before that… and the week before that. They said they weren’t interested! That’s not normal, is it? Surely that’s not normal…?”
“But they’re not doing anybody any harm,” Emma answered him, waving his concerns away and giving him another little shrug of the shoulders.
“But it’s not normal!” Jack protested, frustrated that Emma, unlike himself, couldn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, the gravity of the situation being that it wasn’t normal. “People probably think…” he said, trying to think of something to back up his position… “People probably think someone inside has fallen and can’t get up! Or worse! People are likely phoning the police right now, asking them to perform a wellness check!”
“Aww, pish-posh,” declared Emma, confident that Jack was working himself into a lather over nothing. “People probably just think they’re using the fairy lights as normal lights at this point rather than Christmas decorations. Either that, or they don’t even give it a second thought.”
“What about the inflatable snowman inside the porch, then?” asked Jack, using Lucas’s hand to point to the singing snowman sat just there, sure enough, right in the porch. Or at least it used to be a singing snowman. Now it was just a regular snowman, having lost its voice after nearly three months of nonstop use.
“Pish-posh!” declared Emma once again.
“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” Jack relented with a sigh, sensing this was a battle he wasn’t meant to win, and now begrudgingly admiring the festive glow emanating from the window. “Maybe they’ve got the right idea, and we’re all the idiots for only leaving our lights up strictly over the holiday.”
Emma didn’t answer, as by this time she was at the boot of the car collecting essentials and leaving Jack to his own devices.
“Are we going to see your great-grandad Geoffrey and his silly-billy friend R
ay?” Jack cooed to Lucas, carrying on without Emma as audience. “Are we? Yes? Yeeesss, yes we are.”
“Knock, knock!” ventured Jack cheerily, announcing their presence once Lucas was successfully collected from his car seat and Emma had gathered up from the boot whatever needed gathering up, and with Jack giving the aforementioned snowman a frosty glare as they made their way up the porch. “It’s only us!” he added, flaring his nostrils as he pressed on. He was sniffing the air like the Child Catcher of Chitty notoriety. “We’re not even inside yet, and it already smells amazing!” he exclaimed with a wondrous grin, turning to Emma. Unfortunately, however, when he turned to address Emma, Jack’s foot caught on the snowman, somehow activating its singing voice once again in the process. Not that Lucas minded, though, an inquisitive smile spreading across his face as a kick-started rendition of “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town” issued forth from the thing. “Bloody singing snowman!” Jack raged in vain.
Neither Ray nor Grandad were ever especially known for their culinary abilities, rarely venturing away from the safe haven of a Pot Noodle, or, if pushing the boat out, perhaps a Fray Bentos pie. But since Jack and Emma had given the odd couple a tablet device at Christmas as a gift, the pair were brought kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century, and Grandad in particular had embraced the device rather surprisingly, using it to enjoy online educational cooking videos and, in the process, becoming quite adventurous in the kitchen despite nearly setting said kitchen on fire through his culinary awakening.
Once inside the entrance hallway, with jackets having been removed, and still no sign of a welcoming committee, Jack turned his ear towards the kitchen. “Here, hang on, have they… have they got a woman in there?” he asked, in reference to the silky feminine voice he could have sworn he heard originating from behind the door at the far end of the hallway. It was difficult to make out, what with the abominable snowman still carrying on just outside the front door. But, upon further scrutiny — which consisted of Jack flicking his earlobe with his finger in order to tune in to the proper frequency — there did indeed appear to be the sound of a female’s voice emanating from the area of the kitchen.
“Have we come on the correct evening?” asked Emma, and then following this up immediately with, “Perhaps one or the other of them have got a date…?”
“A date?” replied an incredulous Jack. “Them two? With a woman?” he asked. “Not a chance,” he said, with firm assurance.
“Why do you say that?” enquired Emma. “I mean, it’s not as if they’re—”
“Shhh! I’m listening!” Jack answered her, moving stealthily, drawing ever closer to the kitchen door, from whence the sound of a woman’s voice was becoming more and more obvious and increasingly evident with every step Jack took. Jack tilted his head, still carrying Lucas with one arm, but using his free hand to flap his earlobe once again, letting it wobble and attune to the sound waves in question. With the singing snowman having blessedly just gone back into hibernation, this was becoming an easier task. Jack moved furtively to the kitchen door, pressing his ear firmly against it now. The result left no doubt in his mind: there was, most definitely, a woman on the other side of it.
“Let them know we’re here,” admonished Emma in a firm whisper, but her concerns were waved away by a preoccupied Jack most intent instead on being a nosey bugger first and foremost, above all else.
“We all like a nice… juicy… lump… of lovely meat… don’t we…?” declared the sultry feminine voice from past the door as Jack listened in, giving Jack the impression, based on the pregnant pauses between her every breathy intonation, that she was licking her lips seductively between each few words. Jack’s eyes went wide, and he turned his head momentarily to offer Emma a perfect matching set of raised eyebrows, before pressing his ear to the door once again.
“Now take your baster in hand… grasp the bulb steadfastly… and give it an ever-so-gentle squeeze…” the sexy voice continued, drawing a not-so-subtle mental image in Jack’s mind with her dulcet tones. “It feels good, doesn’t it? … Squeeeze…”
Jack looked back to Emma once again. “Can you hear this?” he mouthed to her, not saying the words aloud but the exaggerated movement of his lips forming those words making his meaning clear nevertheless.
The expression on Emma’s face made evident that, yes, she could indeed hear — or hear enough of it, at least — and that what she was hearing was not exactly to her taste. “I’m not sure I like where this is headed Jack,” she told him. “That is, I’m not so sure I want to be about when it reaches its logical conclusion.”
But Jack seemed suddenly unbothered, his demeanour much less MI6 and much more relaxed just now. He reached for the door handle, a crooked grin on his face. “It’s all right, I think I know precisely who they’ve got in there with them, actually,” he told Emma.
“You do?” asked Emma, looking to Jack expectantly.
Jack gave Emma a wink, then turned back to the matter at hand. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF YOUR BASTERS!” he announced abruptly, throwing the kitchen door wide open. Jack stepped through the doorway, one jazz hand extended, the other still holding Lucas on his hip, fully anticipating laughs…
But there was no response.
Jack coughed, attempting to get Grandad and Ray’s attention. “I said…” he said… “Get your hands off your…”
But there was still no response. The pair of them had barely reacted, engrossed as they were in the video content displayed on the iPad currently set onto the windowsill and resting against the kitchen window, affording them a handy, unobstructed view and keeping it off the busy countertop. It was that Nigella one from the BBC, just as Jack had suspected. And the two of them could be forgiven for their faraway expressions, as Nigella had a seductive on-air persona with a unique ability to hypnotise the viewer. And in fact Jack had soon inevitably succumbed also, sidling over, child in arms, unable to resist the twinkling eyes and alluring voice sucking him in as a siren of Greek myth would draw in a sailor to a watery grave.
Emma watched on, figuring Jack would pull away soon enough. Only he didn’t. Eventually, she decided it best to remind him there was a real live woman in the room that he rather ought to be paying attention to. “Wakey-wakey, eggs-and-baccy!” she shouted, and clapping her hands in an effort to rouse not only Jack from his entrancement but Grandad and Ray as well.
Ray reacted first, twitching like he’d just awoken from a particularly deep sleep. “Oh, hello, luv,” he said, blinking. “When did you get here?” he asked, slightly confused.
Grandad followed suit shortly thereafter, breaking his attention away from Nigella just long enough to plant a smacker on the cheek of baby Lucas. “Jack? Emma?” he asked. “How long have you two been standing here? Where’s your manners? You come in and don’t even say hello?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Something smells divine,” she offered, trying to move the conversation along. “Oh, and I like the chef hats, by the way,” she added, in reference to the white chef hats that each of their hosts were sporting.
“Well, we bought the chef’s aprons, and so we had to get the hats as well,” Ray chimed in. “You can’t have the one without the other.”
“You can’t have the one without the other!” Grandad concurred, glancing back over, dividing his attention now between Nigella and his guests.
“We bought them on there! On that thingamajigger!” Ray explained, pointing to the tablet. “Bloody modern wonder, that device. Did you know you can actually order things off of it, and then they’re delivered right to your door? It’s amazing!”
“It’s amazing!” Grandad agreed.
“Amazing!” Jack entered in as well, though it was unclear to Emma if Jack was even listening. It seemed to her equally likely that Jack’s declaration might be in reference to the wonders of Nigella in particular as opposed to the wonders of the iPad in general, as he hadn’t yet entirely managed to tear himself away from the cooking video that was currently pla
ying.
“And it plays music, too, if you ask it to!” continued Ray, as if he were the first person in the world to have figured this out. He had the wide-eyed look of wonderment of an early cave dweller who’d just successfully introduced a spark to dry kindling. “You wouldn’t believe all the things this gizmo can do!”
“So it was a good Christmas present, then?” asked Emma, smiling indulgently and taking a sneaky peek through the glass oven door to try and see what smelled so awfully good.
“Aye, luv,” replied Ray, in his usual gravelly voice that sounded like he gargled seawater on a regular basis, a crooked smile appearing on his weathered face. “Best thing I’ve ever received,” he told her. “I’m not quite sure what sort of strange alchemy keeps it all working, what keeps the gears inside of it spinning. But it’s changed my life, lass.”
“Gears?” asked a confused Emma. “Ray, dear, it’s not like a wristwatch. It doesn’t have—”
“Pixies! Mischievous little sprites inside of it is what keeps it going!” suggested Grandad quite reasonably.
“I told you’d they’d like it,” Jack offered up smugly, happy to take total credit for the gift, as if getting it for them had been entirely his idea in the first place even though it most certainly hadn’t.
“Yes. Yes, you absolutely did,” replied Emma, in the same sort of manner in which one might praise a small child for pooping on the toilet for the very first time.
But Jack wasn’t listening at the moment. In fact all three of the men had diverted their eyes to Nigella, giving her their full attention. She was in the midst of offering her heartfelt gratitude to those who’d been kind enough to tune in, and they were all shaking their heads in response as if she were speaking directly to them, and to them only. As the theme music played over the end credits, there was a round of contented sighs amongst the three men. They seemed satisfied enough, the three of them, but it also seemed like they only wished the experience could’ve gone on a little longer.
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