The Lonely Heart Attack Club - Project VIP

by J. C. Williams

  Jack handed Lucas over to Emma, as his arms were getting a bit tired by this time, and Ray, for the second time, shook his head as if he’d abruptly awoken from a deep slumber. “Anyway,” said Ray, catching his wits about him. “Anyway, as I said, we’ve done some shopping inline…” he continued.

  “Inline?” said Jack, confused as to Ray’s phrasing, but also confused, as well, because now Nigella’s video was no longer playing, he didn’t seem to quite know what to do with himself.

  “Yes, that’s right. Inline,” confirmed Ray. “And while we were inline, we came across this apparition.”

  “An… apparition?” said Jack. “I’m not sure I understand. What sort of—?”

  “An apparition!” explained Ray. “An apparition on the gizmo! It’s a thingy…”

  “A thingy!” agreed Grandad helpfully.

  “… Yes, a thingy that lets you do a thingy on the thingy,” Ray clarified. “I thought you knew all about these devices?” he asked, casting a sceptical eye on the obviously daft Jack. “You’re the one who gave it to us, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Ah,” said Jack. “I think you mean an application. An app. An app on the iPad, is what you’re trying to say.”

  “An application on the iPod, yes,” agreed Ray.

  “No, an iPod is something different…” Jack tried to explain, to no avail.

  “An application on the Isopod, yes!” Ray carried on.

  “An application on the Iditarod!” Grandad entered in.

  “An application on the Headless Horseman Ichabod!” Ray shot back, not to be outdone.

  “An application? An exaggeration!” Grandad rejoined, on a roll now.

  “A supplication! A recuperation!” Ray came back.

  “A recitation!” replied Grandad. “No, no, wait… a fornication!”

  Ray laughed. He had no comeback for this, as Grandad had very clearly won that round. “That’s very good,” Ray granted his chum quite happily, still chuckling.

  Grandad swelled with pride, looking eminently pleased with himself.

  “Oh…kay?” said Jack, not sure what just happened.

  “Anyway,” said Ray, carrying on in business-as-usual fashion. “Anyway, so me and Geoffrey were looking at a thingy on the thingy this morning…”

  “That’s right,” added Grandad, affirming this to be an entirely true and correct description of events.

  “And it was a thingy…” Ray went on.

  “An apparition,” offered Grandad.

  “An apparition, yes,” said Ray, not the slightest bit offended by the interruption and in fact happy for the helpful assist. “An apparition which shows you which planes are flying overhead,” he told Jack and Emma. “Isn’t that right, Geoffrey?” he asked his partner-in-crime.

  “We watched the nine-fifty Lufthansa-to-JFK flight for over an hour,” replied Grandad, extending his arms like aeroplane wings in order to illustrate his response.

  “Sounds absolutely riveting,” said Jack, staring at Grandad’s arms, which were now inexplicably flapping like a bird’s wings, as opposed to remaining rigid like aeroplane wings as one might reasonably expect of aeroplane wings. “Don’t spoil the ending for me, though, okay? I mean, in case I should want to watch the replay another time?”

  “It landed,” replied Ray simply, with Jack’s playful sarcasm flying straight over his head, similar to the Lufthansa 09:50 flight.

  “It landed,” confirmed Grandad, giving his arms one final little flurry of flaps to depict his odd bird/plane hybrid beast alighting safely upon the ground.

  “Thanks for ruining the surprise?” Jack answered the both of them, though of course not bothered the surprise was ruined, there being no actual surprise to ruin.

  “You know, fiddling about on that Isopod device, I even managed to find someone on that Facebox apparition thingy everybody always talks about, someone I went to school with many, many years ago,” Ray continued on, promptly ignoring Jack. “I’ve arranged to meet him next week, in fact,” he said. And with this statement his face lit up, and for a moment moisture was in danger of forming under his eyes.

  “That’s wonderful!” Emma offered.

  Grandad patted his chum on the back, pleased that his friend was pleased, but Ray had no time for anybody making a fuss. “I’m famished!” he said brightly. “When are we going to eat, anyway? Let’s get this bloody show on the road, shall we?”

  “Jolly good idea!” Grandad agreed. “And without further ado, then…” he said, extending his arm in cordial invitation for his guests to kindly make their way into the dining room, where a fancy table of full dinner placement settings awaited them. “Beef wellington for tea,” Grandad announced smartly, bowing slightly, encouraging them to make their way in.

  “Oooh,” said Jack, sounding like a cheap ghost. “That’s rather posh, isn’t it? You sure it’s not a wellington boot you’re serving up?” he remarked, glancing around for the expected laughs… of which there were precisely none.

  In fact, as Emma placed Lucas into his ready child seat, she shot Jack a look.

  “That is, what I meant to say, Grandad and Ray, is that it smells absolutely heavenly,” Jack offered up, quickly correcting himself while taking a seat at the dining room table. “And I’m certain it will taste just as wonderful as it smells,” he added, looking to Emma for approval, to make sure he’d gotten it right, and with her discreet nod indicating to him that he had.

  At this point, Jack was playing with his cutlery, picking up the forks and spoons of various sizes in his place setting and wondering what each of them was for, so Emma picked up the conversational reins. “Grandad and Ray, you may be pleased to know that we’ve managed to get hold of a minibus for the club,” she announced. “Pete suggested the idea and we both agreed it was a great idea, didn’t we Jack?”

  “You know, to take people to the garden centre, for days out, and to bring them to the various Lonely Heart Attack Club gatherings!” Jack entered in, dropping his salad fort, and smiling proudly and wanting it to be evident he was involved in the decision-making process.

  “And to the ballroom dancing sessions,” noted Emma.

  “And to the ballroom dancing sessions,” repeated Jack. “And yes, I will,” he added immediately to her, with his mindreading skills apparent.

  Emma laughed. “You don’t even know that I was going to say that,” she answered him. “But now you’ve brought it up, just to confirm, you are taking me to the dancing classes? That’s what you’re saying?”

  But Jack didn’t reply, as Grandad was now presenting them with a tea towel-lined breadbasket. Grandad pulled back the flaps of the tea towel covering the basket’s contents, and as he did so, the most wonderful yeasty aroma issued forth. Jack availed himself to one of the beautiful golden-crusted bread rolls on offer, examining it visually for a moment, wide-eyed, before thrusting it under his nostrils and inhaling deeply. “Did you lot make these?” he asked incredulously, now squeezing the bread roll tenderly between thumb and forefinger as one might a lover’s nipple. He half-extended his tongue involuntarily, it acting of its own accord in a sort of Pavlovian response, wanting desperately to lick the soft, warm, invitingly delicious-smelling oven-baked crust. He gave out a sad little whimper as he forced himself to control himself.

  “We did!” replied Grandad proudly. “And why do you act so surprised? I was in the war, you know!”

  Jack had no idea how Grandad being in the war had anything to do with anything. But he didn’t care, as he was still too busy sniffing the lush scent of his bread roll to even bother asking.

  “Me and Ray have been at it all afternoon, mixing the dough, kneading it, letting it rise and such. It wasn’t that difficult, as it turns out, just takes a bit of time is all,” Grandad explained, turning now to Emma, the sensible one, in order to continue. “Ray found us a recipe on that Iditarod device,” he told her.

  “Punching down the dough after letting it rise was the best part!” Ray called out from
the kitchen.

  “Yes, but when they tell you to punch it down, they don’t really mean punch it!” Grandad shouted back. “They just mean smoosh it,” he explained to those at the table with a wink, at normal volume, mostly for Emma’s benefit.

  “Still, you can if you want to!” Ray, overhearing, shouted back.

  “You can if you want to,” Grandad conceded happily.

  “Nobody says you can’t!” Ray pointed out.

  “Nobody says you can’t,” Grandad cheerfully confirmed, both to his guests and to Ray. He had no intention of dampening Ray’s enthusiasm.

  “I’m seriously impressed at how the two of you are embracing modern technology,” offered Emma, who was now also fondly examining the results of their baking skills — though, unlike Jack, who was still merely admiring his roll, Emma was also actually taking a bite of hers as well. “Mmm, so good, Grandad,” she continued. “Maybe you could bake a few dozen for the coffee shops now and again, and earn a few quid in the process?” she suggested.

  “Sell them to other people when we could be eating them all ourselves instead? Are you mad??” Jack interjected.

  “It was just an idea,” Emma chuckled.

  “Bloody marvel, that thing,” observed Grandad, in reference to their new technological wonder. He paused for a moment, a further observation forming in his aged bonce. “You know,” he said after further reflection, “I’d even go so far as to say it’s a life-changer, particularly for people our age. You can keep in touch with people, order your shopping, listen to music, and all sorts of things.” Grandad then looked around, as if to make sure the coast was clear. “And did you know you can even look at… look at… erm, that is…”

  Grandad had trailed off, looking a little embarrassed and not sure how to continue. “You can even look at aeroplanes?” Emma offered, jumping in and saving him.

  “Yes! At aeroplanes. That’s exactly what I was going to say,” replied Grandad, appearing relieved, and grateful for the assist.

  “And other things!” Ray called out from the kitchen.

  “Not helping, Raymond!” Grandad called back in answer. He then turned back to Emma and Jack, saying, “And other things, yes. But mostly aeroplanes.” He coughed, then quickly continued, “All I’m saying is that it’s a bloody marvel, that thing, isn’t it? It does all sorts of things, as I said. And having one of them makes you feel like you’re not alone, like you’re… like you’re connected. You know what I mean?”

  Jack was staring into space, his jaw agape, his expression vacant, yet his eyes narrowed.

  “Uh… Jack?” said Emma. It was such a strange expression on Jack’s face, both focussed and unfocused at the same time, that she couldn’t help but wonder if he might perhaps be having some sort of episode, an episode of the variety that might require medical intervention.

  “Like you’re not alone… Like you’re… connected,” said Jack, repeating Grandad’s words as if in a trance.

  Grandad reared up. He didn’t share Emma’s concern. Rather, from the odd look on Jack’s face and the way he was speaking, it seemed very much to Grandad like Jack was having a laugh directly at his expense. “If you’re taking the piss, Jack Tate," he said, "I’ll take that bread roll of yours and stick it straight up your—”

  “I’m not!” insisted Jack, snapping back to the present and folding a protective hand around his bread roll. “What you said has just made me think, is all. Honestly!”

  “Well that would certainly be a first,” Grandad shot back, his sarcasm playful yet informed by many years’ sad experience.

  “Hey! I’m serious!” protested Jack. “No, seriously, listen…” he began.

  “Oi, how long is this going to take?” Emma wondered aloud. “Only I’d rather be eating beef wellington right about now,” she said, glancing hopefully in the direction of the kitchen and in reference to the sublime smells wafting from therein. The aroma was much stronger, and had been for a bit now, indicating the sumptuous entrée had been taken from the oven.

  “Soon!” Ray called from the next room. “Just collecting the roasted brussels sprouts into a serving dish!”

  “Anyway, as I was saying,” Jack continued, picking up where he left off, and now dabbing his hand in the air like he was painting a watercolour with his finger. “We’ve managed to secure a minibus for the club, as I mentioned before. And that’s brilliant for helping people get out of the house who don’t have transportation and what have you. But… what about those that can’t leave their houses so easily?”

  “What about them?” asked Grandad, twirling his hand around in circles like a policeman directing traffic, in a get-to-the-bloody-point sort of motion. “Ray, start dishing up!” Grandad called out into the kitchen, hoping the forthcoming delivery of food to the table might save him from having to hear more of whatever Jack was blathering on about.

  Jack ran his tongue along his lips at the prospect of food, before pressing on. “No, listen, Grandad. It’s what you’ve said just a moment ago that’s got me thinking now…” he began.

  “You? Thinking? That would certainly be a first,” Grandad said with a chuckle.

  “Stop saying that!” Jack protested, and then, noticing Emma was now chuckling as well, “Come on, you guys, I’m being serious! I’m having a thought here! A good one!”

  Grandad sighed, realising there was no avoiding having to sit through Jack’s recitation of whatever grand idea it was he’d come up with. “Fine. Out with it, then,” he said, twirling just a few fingers in the air this time as opposed to his whole hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Right. So. Ahem. As I was saying, then,” Jack soldiered on, “With the club and the other initiatives, we’re helping those that want to get out of the house but need assistance in doing so. But what about those who are unable to leave the house for whatever reason, and are stuck at home, right? And so here’s where what you were saying has got me thinking, Grandad. We pretty much take our various modern technological devices for granted,” he said, head darting now between Grandad and Emma. “But, what about those stuck indoors who don’t have these things?”

  “Like the infirm, or elderly, vulnerable people?” suggested Emma.

  “Exactly!” declared Jack, holding his bread roll aloft. “The scope of what we’re doing now, as good as it is, is potentially not helping those types of people. So imagine, then, what putting some modern technology into their hands could do for them? We’ve seen how it benefited these two plonkers,” he said, nodding towards Grandad, and then to Ray, who appeared with a rather splendid beef wellington on a silver platter. “If you were stuck in the house, it could really open the world up for you. As Grandad indicated, the use of technology absolutely has the ability to make you feel less alone!” he concluded, shaking his fist in the air like a political candidate making an impassioned campaign speech.

  Emma mulled this over, steepling her fingers, and tapping the tips of her forefingers together and nodding. “Project VIP,” she declared suddenly after a few moments of reflection, her face radiant by the brilliance of her suggestion.

  “What’s that now?” asked Jack, only partially listening, as he was presently transfixed by the pastry-covered meat feast lying teasingly within striking range of his fork.

  “Project VIP,” Emma said again. She was relatively modest by nature, but she was smiling now, as she was fairly confident this was a good name she’d just come up with and was pleased with her efforts. “Project Vulnerable Infirm People,” she elaborated. “Project VIP,” she repeated, prodding her finger on the table to tap out like Morse code the letters V.I.P. as she said them. “A project to help the vulnerable and infirm.”

  “I love it!” Jack answered. “Imagine we could get iPads out to people, along with lessons as to how to use them effectively,” he said, happy to see she was entirely on board with his idea. “We could start a movement!” he went on, leaning forward in his seat and becoming rather animated. “We could have our own hashtag, ha
shtag-projectVIP, in order to spread the word about getting technology into the hands of those that don’t have it!”

  “Oh, one thing,” said Ray, lowering his carving knife for a moment. “You don’t want to get involved with that stuff,” he advised, with a sort of worldly-wise assurance. “It’s not good for you, and makes you want to eat all sorts of rubbish like cookies and such all the time. Believe me, I know,” he declared. “I speak from experience,” he told them, and then promptly set about carving the meat again, saying no more on the matter.

  Jack waited patiently for the conclusion of Ray’s mini-sermon, but it appeared Ray had concluded it without any real conclusion, leaving Jack at a loss as to what conclusions he was meant to draw from it.

  “What makes you eat cookies and such, Ray?” asked Emma innocently enough with an inquisitive tilt of her head, unable to resist the need to clear up what exactly Ray was talking about.

  Jack groaned, giving his beloved a rolling of the eyes meant to indicate that sleeping dogs might sometimes be best left to remain asleep.

  “Hashtags!” replied Ray cheerfully, pressing out his lips and pinching his fingertips together like he was smoking a joint.

  “No, Ray…” began Emma, finally sussing the nature of the misunderstanding and hoping to explain what in fact a hashtag was and how it was used, but she didn’t know if she could explain it to him in terms he would understand. And as her hunger was getting the better of her, and sensing any further discussion would prevent her tummy rumblings from being quieted, she decided it might just be better after all if she’d left it as it was.

  “Oh, so that minibus we procured? The one I mentioned?” added Jack, deftly changing subject and steering the convo back to the subject of the bus, while taking a plateful from Ray. “We get it in a couple of weeks. So, the Seniorsville Trolley will soon be in action. We just need to find someone to drive the thing,” he said by way of conversation.

  “Is that the official name of the thing?” asked Emma of Jack, as this was the first she’d heard of it.