The Lonely Heart Attack Club - Project VIP

by J. C. Williams

  Jack also had a heavy burden on his shoulders for exposing his grandad to liability by placing him as treasurer in the first place. But neither of them, nor anybody involved in the charity, could have foreseen their trusted accountant so grievously abusing the faith placed in him. Still, they were both confident, or at least hopeful, that the wheels of justice would eventually turn in their favour and that the truth should prevail. And now, being only three days until the world record attempt, Jack decided it as good a time as any to drag Grandad out of the house in an effort to warm him up for an appearance on the day. And so…

  “We’ll pop into Pete’s garden centre,” suggested Jack, pressing the indicator down and pulling into the garden centre’s car park. “We can get ourselves a nice little cup of tea while we’re in there, yeah?”

  “I’ve got a kettle at home!” barked Grandad, sinking into his seat. “I know you’re trying to get me out of the house and mix with people, but I’m not ready to face anybody just yet!”

  “Come on, Geoffrey,” said Ray from the back seat once they’d parked. “It’ll be good to have a nosey around the flower section. I might treat you to a lovely geranium for the garden.”

  “People will point and stare,” said Grandad, folding his arms like a moody teenager and resolving not to cooperate. But as he was soon left sitting alone in Jack’s van, the others exiting anyway despite Grandad’s protests, it became fairly clear that Jack and Ray were just as serious in their resolve.

  “Just relax,” Jack said to Ray, as the two of them paced back and forth outside the van, waiting for Grandad to emerge. “If we don’t make a major issue out of this, he’ll be just fine.” And with that, they both turned their backs on the van, waiting patiently, striking casual poses, in an effort to not make a major issue out of anything.

  A couple of minutes had passed by when, finally, the creak of a hinge could be heard, followed by the clunk of a door shutting, indicating that Grandad had exited the van. A reluctant Grandad darted his eyes furtively about over the car park as he stood there surveying the scene.

  Jack initially paid Grandad’s arrival no attention, wanting to underplay the situation as much as possible, and pretending the extended wait for Grandad to emerge hadn’t even happened. “Right-ho,” announced Jack, clapping his hands together, back still turned. “We’ll have a little look around, yes?” he offered. “We’ll see Pete, right?” he went on, continuing to recite their present itinerary. “And then, once that’s sorted, we can get a nice cup of… shut the fuck up!”

  “A nice cup of shut the fuck up?” enquired Grandad with a chuckle, then smirking at Jack, who had turned to face him by this point.

  “What the actual…?” said Jack, not bothering to finish, as he was too busy staring dumbfounded at his grandad.

  “It’s my disguise,” explained Grandad. “I wear it when I leave the house,” he said, in reference to the jet-black wig with the very prominent quiff currently resting on his head. “I’m fed up of people pointing at me and staring when they recognise me from the paper. So, I wear this,” he said by way of explanation.

  Jack tried to speak, but his jaw wasn’t working at first as his brain was several seconds behind what his eyes were telling him. “You’re wearing that to avoid people staring at you?” he asked, once his mandible was in full working order again. “Grandad, it looks like a bloody Elvis wig!”

  “It is, son,” confirmed Ray. “It’s mine. I wore it for a friend’s seventieth birthday, as I recall. Top-quality it is, as well.”

  “Real hair,” added Grandad, tugging at the black strands covering his peanut-shaped head.

  “Grandad, you’ve got a large mop of jet-black hair that’s quite obviously not yours,” Jack felt the need to point out. “If you’re trying to go incognito, then trust me, dressing up as a geriatric Elvis impersonator is not the way to go. Please tell me you’ve not actually been going out like that?”

  “Just to the shops and back,” replied Grandad, running his fingers admiringly through his cultured coiffure. “Thenk ya. Thenk ya vurry much,” he said, adopting his best Elvis Presley accent.

  “What are the neighbours going to think?” lamented Jack. “Ray, you’re letting him out like this??”

  “I think it suits him,” replied Ray. “Takes at least twenty years off him, it seems to me,” he said, offering his friend a wink of approval. “It wasn’t cheap, either. They’re made from cuttings from the barbershop floor, the good ones like this. So that’s real hair on that thing.”

  “Have you had that thing deloused?” asked Jack, scratching himself at the very thought of those worrisome little mites. “If my van is infested, you two will be held responsible!”

  “Don’t be daft, it wouldn’t have lice in it,” said Grandad. “And we ran it through the dishwasher for a couple of cycles anyway, so… don’t be cruel,” he said, and then affording himself a well-deserved laugh at his most expert Elvis reference, a laugh that was also shared by Ray.

  “Yes,” added Ray, twirling his finger as a similar song title was appearing in his head. “I think it looks good, so…” he went on, drawing it out for as long as possible… “Congratulations!” he said, quite pleased with himself for so brilliantly continuing along with the current theme.

  Jack screwed up his face. “That doesn’t even make sense, Ray. Cliff soddin’ Richard sang that one,” he said.

  “Oh,” replied Ray, deflating like an old balloon. “Anyway,” he said, brightening up again, “We’re thinking of getting a wig each. Geoffrey’s going to keep that one, assuming of course we’ve managed to kill off all the moths after it being in storage for this last number of years in the closet. As for mine, I’m not sure what I’ll get, if it’ll be another Elvis wig or something else.” He pondered this for a moment, and then turned to Grandad for his thoughts on the matter. “What do you reckon, Geoffrey?”

  As Grandad and Ray discussed the various options open to them as to exactly what sort of wig Ray should get for himself, Jack took a deep breath and allowed a smile to emerge over his face. He’d wanted to get Grandad out of the house and take his mind off things, after all, and so he was. And in fact it was the first time Jack had seen Grandad smile for days and days, so, if Grandad was happy, then he was happy as well. Even if Grandad did look like an ageing rocker that’d just been thawed out from a faulty cryogenic chamber.

  And soon…

  Inside the garden centre, Grandad and Ray were like two children in a toy shop. “Look! A ride-on lawnmower!” shouted Ray, climbing aboard without permission.

  A plucky salesman was homing in on Ray’s position, sensing the possibility of perhaps making a sale, but upon spotting this potential customer’s shopping companion with what very much appeared to be a honey badger perched atop his head, the salesman promptly doubled back, returning to the relative safety of his station and once again picking his newspaper back up to read.

  “Oi! It’s even got a horn!” exclaimed Ray, giving the ride-on mower’s horn a little toot to prove the point. “Geoffrey! Look!” he continued. “Look, it’s got a little…” he said, but trailing off, as Grandad was no longer stood beside him.

  And the reason Geoffrey was no longer stood beside him was because he’d pulled a garden rake from a rack, straddled the rake, and was now riding it like a horse, throwing in a couple of steeple jumps over imaginary hurdles for good measure. This was, however, until the landing motion from one such jump jolted his oversized, top-heavy wig out of place, causing it to slide down over his eyes, obscuring his vision, and ultimately resulting in a collision with the wellington boot stand in which Grandad unceremoniously clattered to a halt.

  The salesman looked up from his newspaper, muttered something to himself, shook his head disapprovingly, and then shot Jack a look. It was a look which implied something along the lines of, are you going to DO something about those two?

  But Jack was already on the case, making his way to Grandad and then helping him clean up the selection o
f rakes that’d taken a tumble to the floor, putting them all back into place. He looked over his shoulder as he attended to Grandad, attempting to coax Ray off the mower as he did so as well. “Ray, come on, now,” he said, like he was cajoling a toddler out of the ball pit. “Ray, I think they want you off of that now,” he pleaded rather pathetically, and casting an apologetic smile over to the none-too-pleased tut-tutting salesman to assure the man that he was doing all he could. “And, yes, Ray, I know it’s got a horn, but you really shouldn’t keep…” Jack continued, but when he turned his head back around, he found that Ray was no longer seated on the mower. Oh, thank goodness, Jack said to himself, but his relief was unfortunately short-lived, because Ray, and now Grandad as well, had only gone off to find something new to play with.

  “Cop a load of this!” bellowed Ray, from nearby. “It’s a watering can!” he said, howling. “It’s shaped like a man with a beer belly, and when you empty it, it looks like he’s having a slash!”

  Ray and Geoffrey were now in hysterics.

  “I’ll have to buy you that!” said Grandad happily, reaching for his wallet. “Jack! It’s a big fat man with a beer belly, Jack!” he explained to Jack as Jack walked over, as if Jack couldn’t have heard Ray the first time. “When you empty it, it looks like he’s having a—”

  “Piss. Yes, I know,” replied Jack. “Yes, I get it. Very funny,” he said, even though he was much less than amused, patience wearing thin. “What’s gotten into you, anyway?” he asked them. “You’re like schoolchildren, the two of you. Is this what happens when you’ve both been stuck indoors for too long? Honestly, now! You’re both how old?” he reprimanded the both of them. “Well, you’re both gentlemen of a certain age shall we say, and should be acting in a manner more…”

  But Jack didn’t even bother to finish his last sentence. His attempts at being the responsible adult were not bearing fruit, his admonishments having no discernible effect whatsoever. In fact, Grandad and Ray were laughing like hyenas, setting each other off in a continuous loop of laughter that showed no signs of abating. Also, Jack had to remind himself, yet again, that the whole point of this outing was to take Grandad’s mind off things and raise his spirits, and it had certainly been successful in that respect. Jack couldn’t help but smile himself. No, the watering can wasn’t that humorous to him, but the vision of Ray and Grandad laughing so hard that they were struggling to breathe most certainly was. “Bloody crackpots,” he remarked, shaking his head. “Put your wallet away, you daft old sod,” he told Grandad. “I’ll buy Ray this one.”

  Just then, “Jack! Is that you?” a familiar-sounding voice called out suddenly. It was coming from the general vicinity of the outdoor clothing section, and very shortly, the figure of Pete came into view, a spritely spring in his step. “I thought that looked like you!” he said.

  “Hiya, Pete,” said Jack, welcoming him over with a wave.

  “Gents,” said Pete in greeting, once he’d made his way over.

  “All right?” said Grandad, shaking Pete’s hand.

  “Sure, sure,” said Pete cheerfully.

  “How’d you know we were here?” Jack asked of Pete.

  “Well it’s funny that you should ask,” answered Pete with a chuckle, and then glancing up to the CCTV camera above them by way of explanation. “Colin on security thought we had a yobbo in the store and was about to deploy his store security training talents,” said Pete, elaborating further. “He seemed overly keen on handling the matter, did Colin, as it’s not often we see any sort of trouble here at all, and he was just itching, apparently, to put his training skills into action.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” replied Jack. “No yobbos here. Just Grandad and Ray horsing around. Well, Grandad was horsing around, and Ray…”

  “Was playing on one of the ride-on mowers,” said Pete with a laugh, finishing Jack’s sentence for him. “Yes, I know, I heard. But I thought I recognised you over the monitor, so I informed Colin that I’d handle it,” he told Jack. “He was terribly disappointed, poor dear. You could almost smell the testosterone coming off of him!”

  “If he still wants a tussle, I could have a go at him,” Grandad chimed in, throwing a few punches into the air in front of him. “I used to do a little boxing when I was younger!”

  “You did?” asked Jack, as this revelation was news to him.

  “There’s lots you don’t know about Geoffrey!” Ray thought it appropriate to point out.

  “Anyway, so what’s with the wig, Geoffrey?” enquired Pete, looking askew at Grandad with a kind of confused amusement. Or perhaps it was amused confusion. “There were various guesses as to what precisely was sat atop your head. There were bets on honey badger, ferret, and also dead skunk if I recall. But now that I see it up close, it’s obvious it’s some sort of wig or another. It almost looks like… is it supposed to be… Morrissey?”

  “What? No,” asked a confused Grandad, as he had absolutely no clue as to who Pete might be referring to, and was also somewhat disappointed it wasn’t immediately apparent whose hair his wig was meant to resemble.

  “It’s supposed to be Elvis!” Ray told Pete.

  “Ah,” said Pete. “Yes, of course. I see it now,” he added, nodding politely.

  “It’s supposed to be Elvis!” Grandad reiterated, repeating Ray’s words, unhappy that Pete wasn’t looking impressed enough.

  “Yes. So I gather,” replied Pete, smiling kindly to indulge poor Grandad. “And so you’re presently wearing an Elvis wig why, exactly, Geoffrey…?”

  “It’s because he doesn’t want to stand out in the crowd,” Jack entered in, providing the explanation, and delivering this with a perfectly deadpan expression on his face.

  “I’m sorry…?” said Pete. “But did you just say he doesn’t want to stand out in a crowd…?”

  “That’s right. You heard me correctly,” Jack assured him.

  “That’s right! It’s my disguise!” Grandad was happy to share. “Clever, innit?” he said, grinning madly.

  Jack sighed. There was no other response that could have been appropriate. “Look,” he said, to both Grandad and Ray, “why don’t you two run over and play on the mowers again, all right? So I can talk to Pete?”

  “What? I thought you didn’t want us to?” asked Ray. “Make up your mind, boy!”

  “You can toot the horn again, Ray. I give you permission this time,” Jack answered.

  “Gadzooks! I’m off, then!” said an excited Ray. “Come on, Geoffrey, let’s go!”

  “There’s been no word from the police?” Pete asked Jack, once the two of them were alone.

  “Nothing,” replied Jack. “Investigations are ongoing, but from the limited information we’ve been given it sounds like it could well continue for weeks. Grandad cannot go on like this. Despite what you see today, believe it or not, he’s a nervous wreck. I had to drag him out of the house, kicking and screaming, just to get him here.”

  “Nervous energy,” offered Pete, nodding his head knowingly.

  “Could be. I’m going to take him to the doctors soon, though, as I’m sure he’s lost weight from all the worrying. And it’s not like he had much to lose in the first place, Pete,” said Jack. “Pete, I’m…” he said, welling up. “Pete, I’m scared for him. I’m scared that this could, well, finish him off. You know what I mean?”

  Pete gave his friend Jack a warm hug. “I know, Jack. I know,” he told him, patting him on the back. “We’re all here for you, mate. And anything we can do, you only have to ask, yeah?”

  “Presently?” said Jack, pulling back from Pete’s embrace and glancing over to Tweedledee and Tweedledum. “Presently, I could sure use a good stiff drink.”

  “A good stiff anything will usually set things right, I find,” offered Pete with a chuckle.

  Like all good garden centres, there was, of course, a place to rest with a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake. Looking around, it was also like a home away from home, it would appear, as a good
number of Lonely Heart Attack Club members also had a similar idea for a little day out, it would seem. Among them were folk who’d previously struggled to meet people of a similar age or with similar interests, and yet here they were together now. Everywhere Jack went nowadays, he was sure to run into some of the gang from one of the four Island branches of the club out enjoying each other’s company. It was heartening, and seeing them with joy in their eyes, and laughing and happy, made Jack very proud of his and Emma’s efforts and provided proof that those efforts had been, and continued to be, worthwhile.

  “Hello, Phyllis!” Jack called out, recognising one of the club’s members in particular, and then returning the kiss that was being blown in his direction from across the room. This action resulted in several more being blown in Jack’s direction as the others in Phyllis’s company followed suit, and to which Jack duly returned, one by one.

  “Can we…?” asked Ray, returning to stand before Jack, hands in pockets and fit to burst.

  Jack couldn’t hide the grin he felt emerging over his face. “What?” he asked. “Go and play with your friends? Yes, go on, then,” he told the boys.

  And with permission granted, Ray and Grandad headed over to play with the others. Jack and Pete watched on as the group fussed over Geoffrey. They all knew he wasn’t guilty of anything other than caring too much. Jack was getting awfully emotional in his old age seeing his grandad laughing with friends, and Jack was in danger of setting his eyes off to watering once more.

  “I’ve gone and done something fairly impulsive,” declared Pete suddenly, apropos of nothing, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

  “Hmm? What’s this?” replied Jack, returning his attention to Pete. “Something impulsive, you say? Should I be concerned?” he asked. He glanced around. “Well we are in a garden centre,” he pondered aloud. “Please don’t tell me you’ve taken one of the strimmers and done a bit of manscaping with it?” Jack offered, pointing in a southerly direction.