The Lonely Heart Attack Club - One of the funniest, feel-good books you'll read this year! You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll love it!

by J C Williams

  “Order, order!” said Jack, who appeared to be enjoying his position as meeting chair. His instruction was ignored as the muffled chatter continued. “Hayley, give them two a nudge, will you, and tell them to turn them up?” he said, mimicking adjustment of volume control on a hearing aid.

  “I know it’s teatime,” he continued. “And I know you have busy lives. Well, that’s a lie, as most of you would be at home watching the grass grow. But thanks for coming to The Lonely Heart Attack committee meeting. You’ve all had two weeks to think about our world record attempt, so we either need to come up with something or we need to bow out in disgrace and end our lives in mediocracy.”

  Emma shook her head. “Inspirational, Mr Chairman, truly inspiring.”

  One of the Bingo Girls leaned closer to her friend. “What did he say?” but her attempt at a whisper was only a fraction of a decibel below normal talking voice.

  “Record attempt,” repeated Jack, a little slower and louder.

  She smiled and nodded her head. “Coffee would be wonderful, James.”

  Jack turned around to see if they’d been joined by a new barista that he hadn’t been introduced to. Slightly perturbed, he continued. “Okay, let’s go ’round the table. Grandad, why don’t you start us off?”

  Geoffrey cleared his throat and placed a pair of thin-rimmed glasses over his nose. He reached inside the pocket of his navy-blue blazer and with purpose, slowly pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. He gave a knowing wink to the bingo girls sat opposite which drew a flirtatious giggle.

  “With the help of my wonderful grandson, Jack, I’ve been perusing the joys of the internet. In particular, for inspiration about world records.”

  “That wasn’t all, Grandad, was it?” interrupted Jack.

  The Bingo Girls looked a little traumatized. “Oh, you heard that just fine!” replied Geoffrey. “Anyway, my research has uncovered that one thousand and ten bikini-clad women posed on an Australian beach, setting a record for the world’s largest swimsuit photo.”

  Jack looked impressed as his eyes fell upon Hayley and Emma. Emma smiled and pointed towards the older ladies surrounding the table which brought him back to earth like a cold shower. Sensing that the committee were not bought in, he flipped his piece of paper to the other side. “This one sounds fun. In twenty-fourteen, four hundred and six people set a record for simultaneous twerking. I’m not entirely sure what twerking is, but I can show you what they were doing.”

  Jack placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into his seat. “Thanks, Grandad, I’m sure we can use our imaginations.”

  The evening drew painfully on and due to their collective ages, toilet breaks were a constant interruption. The frustration was evident in Jack’s voice as one stupid idea after another was motioned and quickly vetoed. Even Emma, who was fairly rational, provided little in the way of sensible input, including one idea involving a pogo stick and another to do with a watermelon and a domestic cat. Jack groaned in frustration, but as Emma quickly pointed out, he’d brought nothing of merit to the table.

  Jack looked at Hayley, who was as radiant as ever. Even though he knew he had a snowball in hell’s chance of anything romantic, his heart still fluttered whenever he saw her. She’d been somewhat distant over the last few days, so he was delighted that she’d agreed to attend. There was no cause to, of course, but Hayley had felt uneasy and ultimately a little bit humiliated — similar to the way Jack had come away from the whole affair. Hayley’s gran sat on her left side, and exuded elegance by the way she dressed and carried herself; although she was into her seventies, Jack had still thrown several curious glances her way, as had the more mature gentlemen in the room.

  “Hayley, a pleasure to have you with us. Are you going to save us with the glimmer of a sensible suggestion?” asked Jack.

  Hayley blushed a little as the attention turned to her. “I’m not sure about that. Gran and I were thinking about this, and wondered perhaps whether we could do something gardening-related?”

  “Mmm, yes,” said Jack. “The idea is growing on me…” He waited for the expected laugh in appreciation of his pun, but it wasn’t forthcoming. “What are you thinking?”

  “There were a couple,” continued Hayley. “One was the world’s largest hanging basket,” she said, which evoked a murmured mumble in the room. “The other was the world’s largest horizontal wall of flowers.”

  “Oh, I like that!” said Emma. “That sounds like great fun.”

  Hayley showed the room an image of the giant flower wall on her iPad. “A seed company in Suffolk holds the current record. It’s a wall of flowers over two hundred feet long with more than twenty thousand blooms. Isn’t it stunning!”

  Even Jack was enthused by the suggestion, moving in for a closer look. “That’s a great idea, Hayley.”

  She smiled. “We thought it was a project that the community could get involved in. It would be a lot of work but I’m sure we’d have enough people to get involved.”

  “That’s a lot of flowers,” said Emma. “It’ll cost a fortune to get enough?”

  Hayley nodded. “It will, but we wondered whether we could get some sponsorship and maybe some help from the government. If you think about it, we’d be creating a project that hundreds of people could get involved with, so it’d be great for a sponsorship opportunity, also, it’d be a bit of a tourist attraction for the town. We could use it to promote local business — such as ours — and also the work we’re trying to do in educating the vulnerable in our community. We could maybe sell small bunches of flowers and people could put a dedication to their loved ones. We could donate the proceeds to charity, maybe scam victims?”

  Derek cleared his throat. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, truly, wonderful. If you let me, I’d be honoured to get involved. I don’t have much money, but I do have a lot of spare time I can give.”

  Emma smiled at Derek. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, also. We could ask Shelby to put something on the radio to advertise it.”

  “I’d be happy to arrange that!” said Jack.

  “If we’re trying to help older people not get ripped off, we should try and spread the message further than the Isle of Man,” said Geoffrey.

  “We could set up a live webcam,” said Emma.

  “I like where you’re going with this,” replied Jack enthusiastically. “I’d be happy to help with that, also. We could do with getting someone famous involved, and I think I know just the person.” His gaze moved slowly to Hayley, who looked bemused. She took a moment, then shrugged her shoulders.

  “Kelvin Reed!” said Jack. “He’d be ideal.”

  Geoffrey struggled with the name for a moment. “Is he not the chap on the TV? The gardener? Didn’t he go to jail or something?”

  “No,” said Hayley, slightly offended. “He had a few issues with his, ahem… socialising. As a result, he’s not on the television as much as he once was.”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot about that. Dogging, wasn’t it? We could get him on the cheap, then?” asked Jack.

  “Gran is closer to that side of the family, but I’m sure we could look into it,” said Hayley.

  “Great, I think we have a bit of a plan. Trump was going to build a wall, but ours is going to be much better, I think. With that, are there any final questions before we adjourn?”

  Derek slowly raised his right arm and gently raised a finger like an inquisitive schoolboy. “Excuse me, Jack. What does dogging mean?”

  Postman Pete leaned over the counter and motioned Emma. “Is he okay?” he asked. Jack cut a solitary figure sat near the window with his head embedded in a pile of paperwork. He didn’t even lift his head as Pete flounced in on his morning rounds. Jack had the attention span of a three-year-old and to see him reviewing paperwork was unique.

  “He’s fine. He’s been on to the Guinness World Record people and they’ve given him some paperwork and rules he needs to work through.”

  “I’m suita
bly impressed. He’s taking this seriously, then?” asked Pete.

  “Totally, it’s great to see. It has gone a bit crazy over the last few days. But in a good way, as people want to get involved. The bank who gave us the brochures want to give us some sponsorship money, and the Douglas Town Hall has pretty much given us carte blanche, subject to applying for a permit. They’ve even said we can build the wall in the Sunken Gardens!”

  Pete caught her off guard. “And… what about you two?”

  Emma blushed, and tried to divert the conversation without success.

  Pete was persistent. “C’mon, Emma. Spill!”

  She dropped the tea towel on the countertop and took her head into her hands. “Aww, Pete, I don’t know what to do.”

  “Darling, you’re absolutely stunning, you could have your pick of any man. Are you sure you want Jack to be that man?”

  She looked a little coy. “I don’t know. We had a moment the other night. We nearly kissed.”

  Pete instantly moved closer; his attention and focus were now directed completely at Emma. He thrived on gossip. He became giddy at the prospect; it was an insatiable thirst to him, much like the blood of a fresh virgin was to a vampire. Emma knew this and was careful how much information she wanted to divulge. If she’d told him about the advances of Hayley, he’d have had a gossip overload and likely imploded. “Go on,” he said.

  “That’s it. We nearly kissed, but we were interrupted by the partially-covered arse cheeks of his grandad,” replied Emma. “In fact… Jack!” she shouted, “I can still see the outline of Grandad’s bum cheeks on the window! You said you were going to give it a wash!”

  “I’m not going near his arse!” replied Jack, without turning.

  “Not Grandad, the windows!”

  Pete was eager to get her back to the matter in hand. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “Well, I’ve told him that I’m going to come around to his flat and cook him a nice meal, as a reward for all of the good work he’s been doing, and we’ll see what happens. I don’t know why I like him. If you’d told me six months ago, I’d have said you were mental. I mean, look at him. He’s got a pencil poking out of his ear.”

  “Why?” asked Pete.

  “It kept rolling off the table and he figured it was the best place to keep it for easy access. This is what I’m on about. He’s a complete tool. But he’s, well… he’s Jack.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, Emma. If he wasn’t straight, I’d definitely be giving him a special delivery.”

  Jack walked over to them and was a little suspicious of the smirks that greeted him. “Hey, Pete. What’s up?”

  “Nothing, I was just talking to Emma about your post box.”

  “I’m not asking,” said Jack. “Do you want to know the good news, Emma?”

  “It would make a nice change, please do!”

  “Well, I’ve been looking over the accounts.”

  Emma was flabbergasted. “Seriously? I thought you were looking over the record stuff or dirty magazines. Okay, but can you take the pencil out first?” she asked.

  Jack took the pencil from his ear and to the disgust of Emma, placed it in his mouth. He took the paperwork he’d been working on, which had a series of arbitrary scribbles on them. “We’ve been quite busy in here over the last few weeks and the good news is that we can now pay the overdue rent to Jasmine, which means we’re not going to get chucked out on our arse!”

  “Excellent,” said Emma. “Does that mean we can pay ourselves something?”

  He looked back at his paperwork and tapped the pencil on his calculator for a moment. “Well… soon. The rent is up-to-date, so a few more days like this and we should be able to sort ourselves out.”

  Emma looked relieved. “That’s good, my savings account is emptier than a… than a… Oh, I’m rubbish at those. I always think of a great example the next day, when the moment’s gone.”

  The three of them proceeded to look vacantly at each other. “Emptier than a hermit’s address book?” offered Pete. “Okay, on that, I’m going. Love to all.”

  Emma looked quizzically at Jack. “You’re still smiling. You looked contented.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “No, not at all. It’s good!”

  “I’m just glad that things seem to be on the up. I’m fed up just surviving, and sometimes not even that. I hate it that you do all of this work and don’t even take a wage. I do appreciate you, Emma.”

  Emma punched him playfully on the arm. “Don’t be a big blouse, I’m not used to seeing you being grateful. Can I help with this record attempt?”

  “No,” he shrugged. “It’s on track. I’m just not sure about bringing Kelvin over. Hayley said he’s happy to come but we’ll need to give him five hundred pounds.”

  Emma scowled. “Tell him to do one, then?”

  Jack paused. “I know, that was my first reaction. If we want to get the message out, further than the Isle of Man, then he is quite well-known. He will drag a few of the oldies in as well, as they love him. We’ve got a few quid coming in as sponsorship, so the money is there to bring him over. I suppose the question is, do we want to put on a low-scale event, or try and raise the profile to a wider audience?”

  “He’s a bit of a deviant, isn’t he?” asked Emma.

  Jack paused again. “Well who isn’t? Besides, as Derek confirmed, the oldies don’t even know what dogging is. They’ll probably think it’s something to do with Crufts.”

  “I’m not entirely sure what it is, either?” admitted Emma. “I mean, I think I get the general idea.”

  “You don’t know what dogging is?”

  Emma looked offended. “Why would I possibly have a clear understanding of what dogging is? It’s not exactly something that comes up in sex education classes at school, and, if you’re in a normal relationship, I suspect the offer of dogging is not usually on the agenda. Anyway, how are you such an authority on dogging? Are you in the club? Are you a dogger?”

  “Let’s just say I was an inquisitive teenager and I had the internet.”

  Emma looked revolted. “Eww, I’m not sure I want to cook you dinner anymore!”

  “Cooking? I think the shop can stretch to a night out for us on Saturday, steak and a nice bottle of vino. I can bring you up to speed with the world of dogging. And, on that subject, I think I’ll get Kelvin booked in to come over. I’m looking forward to this, we could be world record holders this time next month.”

  Emma rubbed his shoulder affectionately. “How many have you got signed up for your ‘Silver Sprinters’?”

  Jack took the notepad from next to the phone and thumbed through the pages. “Seven!” he announced proudly. “You should come, I’m only taking them for a run across the promenade. Or, well, a brisk stroll.”

  “Check you out! A few months ago you’d have been out of breath opening a tin of beans, and you’re now running an exercise class.”

  “I know! Even Ray signed up, so hopefully he’ll put in an appearance.”

  “Great,” said Emma. “He could do with shifting a few pounds. Hopefully he’s off the drink, I couldn’t smell any on him when he’s been in. As much as I’d love to join you all, I’ve got a date with a hot bath and a good book.”

  A firm breeze whipped through the Douglas seafront; you could taste the salt spray off the Irish Sea in the air. The vast promenade stood empty apart from resilient joggers and a cyclist harassed by the swirling winds. Running parallel to the promenade were several sunken gardens. Accessed by descending steps at each end, there were a series of floral gardens crowned by an ornate fountain, designed in Victorian times when the Isle of Man was a destination of choice for the discerning tourist. The visitors still came — albeit in smaller numbers — and on a more clement day the gardens would be filled with people enjoying a sea breeze or perhaps workers taking their lunch break. Jack stood on the promenade and peered over the wall into the Sunken Gardens. Here, in a few short weeks, would
be a wall of flowers long enough to get them into the Guinness Book of World Records.

  How the hell did I get involved in this? he thought.

  He turned towards the sea, performing a series of deep lunges. He cracked his fingers and walked up the line of people who spanned the width of the promenade.

  “I don’t like you and I don’t care what you think about me,” he barked, in a fairly aggressive tone. He held his steely expression as he walked up the line with his lip snarled like a bad Elvis impersonator.

  “What is it?” he shouted, as Derek raised his hand.

  He looked almost apologetic. “Jack, I like you. I’m sure we all do. If we’ve upset you, should we go?”

  “No, no, it's fine. Sorry, Derek. I was just trying to motivate you all, you know, like one of those drill sergeants in American war films? There were a series of confused-looking faces. “Okay, I’ll leave the motivational speech and we’ll just get on? That’s where we’re going,” said Jack, pointing towards the end of the promenade. “Just over two miles, each way, is everyone in?” Jack jogged down the line and offered a high-five to the assembled ranks. Everyone was quick to respond except for a diminutive white-haired lady in a pink tracksuit who hovered a pace or two behind everyone else. “Don’t be shy!” said Jack, taking her by the hand. “We’re all friends here, what’s your name?”

  “Dorothy,” she replied. “It’s just that…”

  “C’mon, Dorothy, you’re now a Silver Sprinter!” And with that, Jack ushered the group — which now numbered nine — into a brisk pace along the promenade. He moved to the rear of the group to encourage the momentum. “That’s it, Dorothy, you’re going well!”

  With the assistance of Jack, his grandad had reviewed his exercise attire. He sported a pair of brilliant white pumps and had a matching blue short/vest combo which from a distance made him look like a deflated American wrestler. He was eager, and despite the headwind pushed on with vigour. Derek was a little more delicate as he shuffled in his smart brown slacks with a brown wind keeper jacket. He was determined and had a huge beaming smile as he wiped the remnants of salty water from his cheeks.