by Pete Adams
Pugwash broke the grip and did go, spluttering inanities, clunked on his head by a couple of well aimed stilettos. Jack slipped his arm around her waist, whispered, ‘Are you shorter?’ and turned to the crowd of hushed, inebriated, coppers. ‘I am pleased to say we will not have to rescue Mandy’s shoes from Pugwash’s arse,’ he pulled his other arm around, complete with pink hand, wrapped her up and kissed her for a very long time.
“Oooh err matron” resounded and the party resumed, and just past midnight Bruce called time for people to drink up. Slowly, people dispersed, calls of bonhomie fuelled by large quantities of alcohol, and “Watch out Moriarty”, “Montyfarty” and eventually “Toryparty”. Mandy was in a little crowd of Liz, Carly, Frankie, Connie, Jo-Jums, Dorothy, Dolly, Mike and Alice, they were doing Jack’s version of his aunts’ East End dancing, skirts pulled up, legs bent, knees splayed, jogging up to one another, going backwards, to be repeated. Jack could not resist joining, as did Bruce; if you can’t beat ‘em.
It was one thirty when eventually they lefty the pub, and Mandy, propped by Jack, teetered along the pavement, the road and then the pavement. Liz and Carly hopped a cab with Mike, and Michael and Colleen walked ahead canoodling and giggling, previous offers of assistance forgotten. Mandy, decidedly green about the gills, was eying up a very comfortable looking privet hedge, when Pugwash jumped out from behind the corner of a house and punched Jack, full on the face. He staggered back as Mandy screamed and tumbled into the hedge. Jack reacted in his berserking mist and lunged, hurling punch after punch, most fortuitously hitting the mark. Pugwash hit the deck and was being repeatedly kicked before Bruce and Michael held Jack until he calmed. They could hear Mandy being sick, but where? Turning to the sound of retching and giggling, they saw her legs sticking out of a privet hedge.
Neighbours were calling out of their bedroom windows, letting them know the time. Jack thanked them, told them it was okay, he didn’t have to be up in the morning, and had trouble not laughing when they said they had called the police. Michael and Bruce released Jack’s arms and his eye followed their gaze to Mandy’s legs, he thought her slender ankles looked lovely in the blue flashing lights. They began to drag her through the hedge backwards, but she was sick again. ‘I think the sandwiches were off, Jack,’ she called out, giggling and heaving.
‘Jane,’ a PC whose name Jack could not remember.
‘Nick him,’ Jack ordered, releasing his hold on Mandy and pointing to a groaning Pugwash, sat on the kerb. Mandy fell back screaming, laughing, sick; mentioned something about Jack’s multitasking abilities. He went back to Mandy, held onto the ankles for safekeeping but accidentally let them go again, as he explained the obvious charges to the policeman, ‘Assaulting a police officer...and, the Superintendent and I may need a lift home. Now where is she?’
The PC handcuffed Pugwash to the lamppost and asked his colleague to stay while he dropped the Inspector and the Super home. Jack and the constable went into the garden, it was clear Mandy was not going to be able to manage unaided or back the way she went into the hedge, and when Jack and Mandy got into the police car, the neighbours seemed satisfied. Jack looked back through the rear window of the patrol car, saw Pugwash handcuffed to the lamppost, looking as if he was making love to a supermodel. Mandy spluttered a laugh, he’d spoken his thoughts, pulled her to him; imagined she smelled, as he felt around his bleeding nose.
The uniform helped Jack get Mandy out of the car, folded her over the garden wall; she was sick in the borders. ‘She be alright, sir?’
‘Fine, lock sailor boy up, our Nick, please.’
The PC disappeared and Jack helped Mandy through the door and up the stairs, straight into the wet room where she was sick again, mumbling something about one good turn deserving another; it was only a few days ago Mandy was holding him while he was sick; such is romance he thought. He took his pink hand off, flexed his fingers, they may be getting better, undid the long zip and pulled Mandy’s dress off.
There was a tap at the door, ‘D'you need a hand?’
He had Mandy’s dress between thumb and forefinger, ‘Thanks, Colleen, not sure what we can do with this?’
Colleen took the dress and disappeared. Mandy stood and fuzzed a smile, ‘Managed the dress, hope for you yet, lover boy,’ hiccoughed, slapped his face playfully, and grinned, which had a cartoon effect. Jack impressed further with the bra strap, off in less than twenty minutes, suspender belt, stockings and knickers; wrapped her in a towel, sat her on the toilet seat, nipped out and returned in his dressing gown, stripped off and went into the shower with her. She responded to him but he was busy cleaning and making sure she was okay, and eventually put her into bed, kissed her, and she was asleep; he cleared up, put his dressing gown back on and went downstairs.
‘Feisty woman, Jack,’ Colleen was sponging Mandy’s dress at the sink. ‘I’ll drop this into the cleaner’s tomorrow morning. She okay?’
‘Yeah, think we all enjoyed ourselves, except for the Pugwash bits.’
Colleen leaned back against the sink, ‘What will happen to him?’
‘We’ll put the frighteners on and let him go, but he’s the sort to have another pop...’ he shrugged. ‘Thanks, Colleen, I’m off to bed, where’s Michael?’
She pecked him on the cheek, ‘Good night, Michael’s in bed and probably asleep; settling down aren’t we?’
‘It’s nice like that sometimes.’
She smiled, ‘Night, Jack.’
Fifty-Five
Jack spent the first couple of minutes of consciousness releasing his tongue from the top of his birdcage mouth; Mandy was still out for the count. He went downstairs, the clock approaching ten. Saturday, no pressure, just the nagging in the back of his head; the case, so many angles? He ruminated, staring into the kitchen wall tiles. Many times in his career he had come across different facets of human behaviour and crime, behind most of it, the seeking of power over others; robbing money or possessions, terrorism, religion even, and had said as much to Father Mike about the rise of the church in Europe, based hugely on fear rather than faith; afterwards he felt guilty. Standing by the sink, he thought this case, ironically, seemed to be not about seeking power, but demonstrating how powerless we are. But why, what for?
When he returned with coffee, Mandy was sitting up, the quilt tucked under her arms. He thought she looked lovely with privet in her hair; Roman, or was that laurel, no, her name was Amanda not Stan. ‘You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied, he kissed her and pulled out several twigs and spun them in the fingers of his good hand. ‘Oh, how...?’
He eased her concern, ‘Pugwash jumped me and the shock made you fall into the hedge, which, you found quite comfortable.’
‘Oh God, I did, didn’t I?’ She tapped the bed, ‘Get in, I want a cuddle with liberties.’ He did, and the desk was forgotten, as were a lot of things, including the rest of the morning as they slept on.
The phone woke them, it was Meesh. Jackie was going to drop her down with Martin in about half an hour. They leapt out of bed, one bathroom each for some essentials, shared a shower, and Jack was downstairs for when Meesh knocked. The little girl bounded in, Martin, barking and running all over the place, followed up more sedately by the elegantly tall and slender Jackie. She had the look he had seen often in the past few days, but there was noticeably a more relaxed demeanour. She was in jeans and T-shirt, kicked her trainers off, not taking her eyes from his blossoming black eye. He greeted her with a peck on the cheek, one, but clearly she expected two and there was a stifled what do I do moment. Jack looked into her eyes that were a deep brown, and then just the whites showed. He went to plant the other kiss but Jackie had moved on, his lips brushed the croissant as it went by; Pratt he thought, Twat she thought; they nearly agreed on something.
Meesh was rollicking with Martin, ‘They look good together,’ Jack said, ‘Martin’s better.’ He didn’t say anything about Meesh, just til
ted his head; how’s she doing?
‘Do I smell coffee?’ Jackie asked.
Jack did the biz, mocha pot on the stove, turned back to Jackie, ‘A minor celebration last night,’ as if this explained everything about the way he was feeling, and looked, lucky he’d cleaned his teeth; something else they agreed upon.
‘I know, Jo phoned.’ The coffee bubbled and Jack got some cups; the playful barks of Martin stirred his butterflies. ‘Strong black, and please, I’ve heard them all.’
‘He will still make them. Hi Jacks,’ Mandy appeared in one of Jack's shirts, kissed Jackie on both cheeks, bloody Europeans Jack thought, it’s so confusing, it won’t be long before they spend all their time bouncing from cheek to cheek. Hissing Sid said they were doing four in France now, but how he knew when the furthest he went was Brighton? He looked up, concerned he’d spoken; he hadn't.
‘Seen Meesh?’
Mandy laughed, ‘Yeah, had a cuddle, and Martin got jealous,’ the barking explained, ‘least he left my leg alone.’
They sat around the table, sipping coffee. Jackie broke the comfortable silence, ‘You look washed out you two.’
‘An understatement, what’s up, Doc?’ Mandy asked.
Jack looked naturally cautious, probably because Jackie was looking at him, ‘Meesh is settling well at Gail’s, a healthy bond developing, early days, we have a crisis to come, but I’m encouraged.’
Jack was impatient, ‘Spit it out, Phil.’
Jackie snapped back, ‘I want to leave Martin with Meesh a bit longer, and outside the office call me Jackie or Jacks, please.’
Jack looked to disguise the hurt on his face; Meesh was at the doorway listening. He’d forgotten this, kids, they creep up on you like Father Mike, and then, they know all your secrets. Power again, kids over parents, as the church over the congregation. Meesh was looking up at Jack, ‘Can Martin stay with me, please?’ No begging eyes or games, a plea from a child used to getting nothing she wanted.
He melted, ‘Call Martin, we’ll ask him.’
She did the imitation of Jack’s discordant whistle, and Martin bounded in and sat beside Meesh’s leg. Jack thought on that as well, as he addressed his dog. ‘Martin,’ his ears pricked, a sideways inquisitive look, ‘Spesh would like you to stay with her, how do you feel about that?’ Jack knew how to illicit a bark, and Martin complied. ‘Okay, Meesh,’ she looked on attentively, ‘does Martin sleep on the bed with you?’ She paused, thought it through, nodded as if this was wrong, but told the truth. ‘Good, because I don’t want him to be lonely at night,’ she smiled with relief. ‘Do you walk him and do you pick up his poo?’
She looked a bit iffy and Jackie intervened. ‘She walks him with one of the others, often Keanu, and she’s getting used to picking up the doings, aren’t you?’ Meesh nodded, a hint of a wry smile, a glance of thanks to Jackie.
Jack turned to Mandy who was looking lovingly at him, ‘What do you think, Mandy, will you be able to part with Martin?’
Martin was at Wimbledon, flicking head to and fro. ‘If Meesh is going to look after him, yes,’ Mandy answered.
‘Martin, will you look after Meesh as well?’ Jack got him to bark. ‘Well, that’s settled, I will also call Phil, Jackie,’ he looked up to Jackie, and she could not tell if he was hurt or just accepting this loss, his dog, and all of the other things in his life. Meesh looked surprised things had gone for her, a hug for Martin, she cuddled a portion of Jack's waist, then to Mandy, onto her lap and kissed her cheek, just the once. At a girl, how long before she becomes European Jack thought, wrenched in the heart department.
‘Jackie, Jack is taking me on a date tonight, so if you would not mind dropping me home, I am going to kick Liz and Carly out,’ and Mandy crossed her fingers in the air, ‘sleep, and get ready.’
Jack could not disguise his shock, but Jackie was intrigued having guessed the man had been cornered, ‘That’s nice, where are you taking her?’ she grinned at Mandy.
Jack wondered if this was the time to have a fit, but his consequent vacant look seemed sufficient, as Mandy and Jackie shared a laugh at his expense, but he did recover the position by tapping his nose; that usually did the trick, and then he had a light bulb moment.
Fifty-Six
Rant and Rave, Eiffel tower, bish-bosh, Jack was invigorated.
‘Hi Jack.’
‘Colleen, listen sweet’art I’ve not got my dressing gown, look the other way there’s a luv.’
‘C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,’ and she went down the stairs giggling, and he heard Michael asking what was so funny; he liked Colleen. Michael had asked why she didn’t have a nickname, and Jack thought he had better think about that.
‘Dad, why are you standing there with no clothes on?’
‘Shite, son, I stopped to think.’
Jack to his son. ‘I won’t tell Mandy.’ Jack was relieved, and Michael smiled at his dad’s discomfort and wobbly bottom as he disappeared into his bedroom to be confronted with the next problem; no clothes. He resolved to ask Mandy to shop with him. Time she knew my waist size anyway he thought, there was no way to break that sort of thing gently to a woman; as if it will come as a shock to her.
Jack stood at the kitchen door looking at Colleen and Michael together, ‘Dad, I know you’re there.’ He carried on and sat with them. ‘What’re you doing this evening, Dad?’
‘First date with Amanda, and frankly, son, I’m nervous.’
‘Leave it out, Dad.’
‘No, Michael, Jack’s right, this is important, even if it is arse about face.’
Jack looked askance, ‘Did I just hear correctly?’
‘Sorry, my language has deteriorated, my parents blame Michael but it’s you, Jack,’ Colleen explained.
‘Of course,’ Jack answered, proud, taking a bullet for his son.
‘Where're you going?’
Puffing out his chest, ‘Finest seafood in town, son, we love seafood, have that in common.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, Colleen, we do.’
‘Have you asked her?’
A confused look, ‘No, a man just knows, male institution.’
‘Do you mean intuition?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Dad, you always say for a port there’s a dearth of good seafood restaurants.’
‘Worse than that, son, this is a fishing port, not just your sailor boys here.’
‘So, where're you taking Mandy?’ Colleen asked, as apprehensive as Michael.
Jack beamed, ‘Fatso’s.’
Colleen had not heard of Fatso’s, but by the look of horror on Michael’s face, she guessed he had, ‘Not sure I know that one?’
Michael felt he should enlighten Colleen, ‘Fatso is a trawler skipper, and sometimes Dad goes to meet him, and his wife Maisie cooks on the boat.’
‘My God, you cannot be serious.’
‘Has John McEnroe walked in?’ and Jack shifted in his chair to lecture Colleen on the culinary delights of fresh seafood. ‘It’s authentic, how many women get taken to such a unique place. The flavours are simple and sublime, from the net to the pot, to the plate, you can’t ask for more, can you?’
But Michael thought you could, ‘Maybe somewhere clean that didn’t smell of diesel and fish guts?’
There appeared the look of a Mexican stand-off forming between father and son. ‘Colleen, you’ve hooked yerself up with an unromantic bore. Expand your vision, son, there’s more to life than bistros and wine bars full of postulating Tory tarts,’ he jumped up before Michael could tell him it was posturing. ‘Need a poo, where’re your Playboy mags, son?’
Colleen looked shocked, ‘Just kidding, Winders,’ (said like Windows), it came to him in a flash, Colleen - Windolene, a patent window cleaner. Sentimental too, Jack’s dad had been a window cleaner in Stepney in East London, had been known as Winders, Jack as Winder’s Boy. This was not lost on Michael. At his granddad’s funeral, his dad’s eulogy emphasised how proud he wa
s to be Winder’s Boy.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes, son,’ Jack was looking for something to read, eying the cornflakes box.
‘Don’t take the cornflakes to the toilet, and does this make me Winder’s Boy?’
‘Colleen, is he a man or boy?’ distracted by the cornflakes.
‘Definitely a man,’ Colleen answered, confused as to what was transpiring between father and son.
‘Then I would say you would be Winder’s Man, leave me as Winder’s Boy, eh?’ he walked back, rubbed his son’s hair, smiled, but Michael noticed the melancholic head as he turned, leaving Michael to do the explanations.
There was a tap on the door, ‘Go away, contaminated area.’
‘I know, it’s coming under the door, I wanted to say you’re a lovely man,’ Colleen said.
‘Only lovely?’
‘Smelly as well.’
Jack whistled, Mandy was in a lustrous crimson, silk or something swishy and shiny, full dress, just above the knee, short sleeves, V neck and a spanner bodice. ‘Close your mouth we are not a codfish,’ and Mandy mouthed, ‘532 nil’; Jack let her have that one.
Michael and Colleen looked at each other; Mandy noticed. She pecked Jack’s cheek, ‘Well, where are we going? I have to admit I have those first date nerves.’
