He turned to Reg, and said, “Sorry, Reg, I’ll need you to do the same that embrocation and throat stuff could have killed you. Even a proper vet wouldn’t have given it out. It was so old; it had become poisonous. It could have killed you. It was poisonous, even to animals.” The sergeant emphasised.
For the first time in his adult life, Lenny remained quiet as two pretty, young girls sat at a neighbouring table.
The sergeant added, “You’ll be pleased to know we’ve nicked him for pretending to be a doctor. Interestingly, he spent some time banged up ten years ago, for masquerading as a vet. Many cats, dogs and some other small pets had mysteriously died because of his veterinary care. He was eventually exposed. T’ think you could have joined ’em.” He said this with a chuckle.
“Yeh, yeh,” Lenny suddenly burst out, “I knew. I knew him. Banged-up wiv him in Long Lartin. He had a mass of ginger hair. We called him the ‘Prof’. He had a ginger moustache and always appeared t’ be chewin’ summit. Odd ball if ever; Weird he wuz.”
Reg blurted out, “Jesus! He could’ve killed me. Killed me, yer know.”
It went quiet, and no one spoke, as Sergeant Wallace went to the bar and bought them drinks.
The Colonel arrived home to find a mystery. A mouse lay in the middle of his lounge floor, seemingly asleep. He soon realised it was dead. The council’s Vermin Control Operatives declared the building devoid of any infestation. Why the mouse had apparently committed suicide in the middle of the Colonel’s flat remained a mystery.
As the Colonel puzzled over the dead mouse scene and with Reg having his body odour and bad breath problem under control, he decided to take a wander around Tesco. He was pushing his trolley around the aisle of the store. He suddenly met a young boy standing in the middle of the aisle and, for no obvious reason, began shouting and appeared to be distressed. A woman nearby told him, “It’s alright, darling. We’ll be home soon.” He stood still, then reached out and touched the front of Reg’s trolley, saying nothing.
Reg smiled at him, and said “Hello, young man.” The boy said nothing.
Reg saw some Genoa cake on the bottom shelve; his back condition prevented him from bending down to reach the cake. A shop assistant came alongside, taking a cut loaf off the top shelve and began walking away. He asked her for help. She smiled, telling him she’d be right back.
To his surprise, the boy bent down, pointed at the cake, and said, “This?” and picked up the cake and handed it to Reg.
Reg responded, “Thank you, young man. You’re very kind.”
The boy stood back and smiled, obviously pleased with himself.
His mother arrived, and said, "Come along, James. Let’s go home.
At the check-out, he asked the girl about the boy.
“That’s James. He’s autistic, quite harmless if you smile at him and show kindness. Usually, people with autism are harmless.”
Reg went home, vowing to find out about autistic people.
Chapter 12
ALL was quiet at the Retreat. Lenny bought a book, one of his first, entitled: How to speak and write good English. His social problem was his reading and diction ability, a factor that was now affecting his ability to ‘chat-up’, successfully, a ‘classier’ type of totty.
Reg visited the library more often, puzzled at the description given of autism. None of the other three said they could help him. The Colonel suggested he see a doctor if he thought he suffered from it.
For residents, Sunday was the day for church activity, visiting relatives and lunching out. Only two did not follow this sort of activity. Two residents of the private wing always lunched together in the lady’s flat. For the previous three years, no one had an inkling of this Sunday ritual. Harold Pearson was a retired bank manager and the ‘Lady’ Anne Pritchard, one-time owner of an up-market ‘Gentlemen’s Club’ in Brighton. “Put out of business,” she claimed, “for not being licensed to run a brothel.”
A confirmed bachelor, Harold, had years before being her teenage lover, before her parents had moved to Northern Ireland, and they lost contact. Some years later, he visited a men’s-only club in Brighton to find she was the Madam and was living with her fourth lover, a Brighton’s garage owner. She later married, for the first time, to a man who she had not bedded before the wedding, only to discover he was a confirmed gay. She had the union annulled.
Harold became a regular client, and she gave him her personal attention, later retiring and taking up residency in the private wing of the Retreat. Harold had retired early and had amassed a good nest egg. Soon after Anne took a flat next to his in the Retreat, no one knew of their secret assignations.
She always cooked a Sunday roast for them; thanks to a Tesco’s ready-made meal and a bottle of wine. They diligently shared the cost.
After eating, they erected a card table and started settling down to play their ritual game of cards. Some four hours later, following several hands of strip poker, the two were invariably naked.
Then without a word, she would rise and don a dressing gown. He would head for the bedroom and dress. Unlike the regular activity of their younger years, they rarely engaged in bedroom romps. He returned to the spacious lounge of her flat, cough gently and sad, “Anne, I’m fed up with this place.”
He paused, as Anne poured a cup of tea and placed a slice of fruit cake on a plate. She asked, “What’s bothering you Harold, luv?”
“Well, some of the residents are not to my liking. I have a desire to buy a bungalow and enjoy my own garden again. Well, I wondered if you would share this dream with me?”
He looked down, then raised his head and said very firmly, “Anne, would you marry me and share my dream?”
Anne, never one to display emotion, placed her cup of tea back on the saucer and looked at Harold. She was weeping, and said, “I thought you’d never ask.” She stood up and embraced the tall, white-haired man. “Of course, I will.” For the first time in years, she kissed him, “Just name the day, and I’ll be there. Can it be a church wedding? My one and only union was annulled.”
Harold replied. “I’ll talk to the vicar and organise for us to meet him.”
As his flat was next door to Anne’s, he could come and go without anyone seeing him. He smiled, gave a little skip and opened his door, saying as he did so, “Well, Harold, you’ve found finally ensnared someone.”
Meanwhile, Anne was delighted she would be a ‘white bride’ and no longer worry about her diminishing financial position.
“I’ll call you about eleven in the morning.” As he opened the door to leave, he gave her a kiss on the cheek.
She went to bed thinking of a white wedding in a church and her soon-to-be improvement to her wealth. She muttered, “He’ll have to be domesticated to my liking.” She muttered under breath. She went to sleep with a smile on her face.
Harold, a life-long bachelor, went to bed with one thought on his mind. He asked himself out loud, “How am I going to retrain her into my way of thinking and get more romping?” He went to sleep, still pondering these conundrums
At nine in the morning, the three of the Four sat in the lounge when the mystery head appeared wearing a deerstalker hat. Then, as quick as it flashed, it vanished, “Who the ’ell is that? First, he’s there and then nothing, damn queer,” Reg commented. No one responded. Reg was conspicuous with his absence. “Well,” the Colonel commented, “We don’t have to cope with Reg’s smell. I’ll go and see if he’s alright.”
As the Colonel was leaving to see Reg, Jock called after him, “Get the blathering idiot oot fer a we dram.”
Lenny spotted an advert in the local weekly ‘rag’ he could understand, Miss Creswell’s call for anyone wanting to read or write better English. Maybe, this could be the route to improving his chat-up lines.
Reg spent more time in the library, hoping to get a better understanding of what autism was and how they could be helped.
The Colonel still hankered after pulling off a successful heist wi
th Jock, planning a campaign to curtail Martha’s activities towards him. Reg just grumbled about his diminished ability to perform. Lenny worked on his plan to talk ‘proper, like’.
From her perch on the branch of the oak tree, the ginger cat watched any activity.
Chapter 13
TWO days later, at eight in the morning, the four met in the Colonel’s flat. Reg’s bad body and breath smell had almost gone. They continued the idea of the Heist. Jock was told to find a suitable getaway car. “Ay, tak it as done,” he replied. Jock was sober. Thus, his language delivery was an unintelligent mix of Glaswegian and Gaelic interspersed with a smattering of understandable English.
With a surfeit of whisky in him, his language generally improved and was understood by most. His favourite past-time was ‘entertaining’ fellow residents after he had his usual intake of the Highland Spirit on a Saturday afternoon. He would stagger into the common lounge, plonk himself in an armchair and ask any women in particular, “How ye doin’, hen?” He usually opened in his fine, baritone voice and gave his jaunty version of a Scottish ballad.
O, my luve is like a red, red rose, that’s newly sprung in June. O, my love is like the melodie, That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I
And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry. Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi’ the sun! And I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o’ life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only luve, And fare thee weel a while! And I will come again, my luve Tho’ ’twere ten thousand mile!
At about this point, he drifted into a whisky-induced sleep.
Mary Murphy called the Colonel for help. In return, he called his two compatriots for assistance. As if, by some hidden switch, he would awake, give everyone a lopsided grin and burst into short ditty to suit the occasion. Among the ones chosen this Saturday were:
An elderly nudist from Troon
Stayed out in the sun and got broon,
As he basked in the heather,
His skin changed into leather
And his cockle turned into a prune.
There was a short silence then another ditty.
The beloved of one from Abroath
Remarked as he plighted his troth,
That thing neath your kilt
Shows no hint of wilt
But signs of remarkable growth.
As he began a third five-liner, he took comfort from the giggly repose of his all-female audience. The Colonel and Lenny arrived. Jock had begun, so he would finish despite being frogmarched from the lounge. The last part of his delivery could still be heard when he reached the lift.
A certain young lady from Berwick
Shared her bed with a neighbour called Derek,
Another called Peter,
Two men for the metre
And an elderly cleric named Eric.
There was a burst of laughter from the Scotsman, then silence as the lift doors slid shut.
Anne Pritchard made herself ready for a visit at eleven in the morning for her about-to-be husband. “Would he buy me a ring?” she mused out loud. There was a gentle knock on her flat door. Expecting Arnold, and still sans clothing, she opened it.
At the door of the neighbouring flat, Arnold peered out into the corridor. He saw two men, clearly young, Bible punchers, apparently talking to Anne. He withdrew back into the flat rather than be seen. He decided he would wait five minutes. He closed the door to his flat. He didn’t see what happened next. Outside number twenty, the two young men both gave out a gasp of surprise. One dropped his Bible and religious creeds. Nothing in their training had prepared them for meeting a friendly eighty-year-old lady sans clothing. They were greeted with the welcome, “Well, hello boys, what can I do for you?”
One dropped his Bible and leaflets, then stooped down to pick them up. Neither said anything. They spluttered with embarrassment, still gawping at the naked elderly lady standing before them. Without uttering another word, they fled along the corridor, down the stairs, out through the main door and ran up the street. As she peered out of the door and watched them hastily depart, she laughed, closed the door and waited for Arnold.
The Lord’s love movement had just lost a convert and left two young men in a distressed state because of a meeting with a naked lady octogenarian. They fled to their minister to ask for forgiveness for ‘casting their evil’ eyes over the flesh of a naked lady. He drooled over their description and took down details of where Anne lived.
Chapter 14
WITH the Obergruppenführer, gone matters began to get back too normal for the Retreat as the Four continued the idea of the Heist. The Who Care management looked for a new local administrator.
The Colonel declared, “We need a getaway car.” No ideas came forward. All Four agreed they had to do something to get themselves back into the clutched of the prison system. “Yeh, well,” Lenny said. “At least, we didn’t ’ave to cook fer ourselves if we get banged up again.”
Guy continued to grow his ‘veg’ and ‘special greens’ in the blacked-out greenhouse and sell the produce at the weekly farmers’ market and selected friends.
The vicar, Mary and Glynis put the final touches to the concert. All the seats for the event had been taken up by members of the Women’s Institute, the Ladies Guild, the British Legion and the Old Soldiers Brigade.
Glynis planned a burlesque show with communal singing and dancing. “Just like the old days,” she declared.
The vicar and Mary believed it would be reminiscent of the, now ceased, ‘Old Time Music Hall’ shows on TV.
The little hall next to St Jasper’s was packed with invited guests, mainly elderly men, with a small area left clear as a dance floor.
The sound system blasted out a fanfare and the curtains of the little stage slid open, showing a single, small table and a wicker armchair set off-centre. The sound system crackled into action with music from the days of burlesque.
From the rear of the stage, as the music changed to the beat, normally associated with strip-tease shows, Glynis emerged kicking her legs out to the tempo of the music, dressed in a multi-layered, floral skirt and a matching jacket-style top. Long, white gloves covered her arms beyond her elbow. A large floral hat decorated with fake flowers and fruit adorned her head at an angle, partially obscuring her right forehead and eye. She twirled a delicate parasol resting on her shoulder, pointing backwards. Despite her seventy-two-years’ age, she strutted forward on six-inch high heels. She stopped and half-bowed to the mainly male audience. The music got louder. The cheering and clapping became louder.
She placed the closed parasol on the table. With and exaggerated flourish her hat. Then, she slowly pulled the gloves of each arm, throwing them on the chair. Many of the men cheered her on shouting down any objections from the women.
The vicar had been smiling until now. He muttered, “I’ve got a nasty premonition,” he muttered.
“Don’t be silly, darling,” and held his hand.
Glynis unbuttoned the five large buttons of her jacket and slowly removed it whilst performing a full 360-degree twirl, showing off the top of a crimson Basque trimmed with black lace. It struggled to keep in check her décolletage.
Then, very slowly, she unclipped a side clasp of her skirt and with a quick flip, she caste it aside and it landed on the chair. The move revealed the remainder of the Basque. Her matching crimson knickers edged by black lace left little to the imagination. He black suspender belt held her black stockings in place. Black patent leather high heels and a frilly crimson garter on the upper right thigh completed the illusion.
With exaggerated leg-action, she descended the four steps from the stage and pranced to where an elderly white-haired man sat. From the sound system, Liza Minelli belted out a song from the film cabaret. With a suggestive flourish of her hands and legs, she sat on his knees and stroked his white hair simultaneously, crossing h
er shapely right leg across her, equally shapely, left. She stroked his cheeks as she stood up and headed back to the steps and the stage, leaving an elderly man with a pronounced twitch and complaining of pains in his chest and groin. The women folks were shouted down by enthusiastic men.
The vicar’s left eye began to twitch violently. Mary tried to comfort him as he blubbered, “I’m finished, I’m finished. Lord help me. It’s the devils work. It’s the devils work.” He tried to get to the stage shouting, “Get her off. Get her off.” He was stopped by several men one wagging a walking stick at him, who bellowed, “Don’t you dare stop her, or you’ll get a clout.” The vicar retreated next to his wife, who stepped forward, and growled, “Put the stick down and stop the threats.”
He made an unwise repost, “Oh, yeh. You gonna stop me little lady.”
The blood flowed from his nose, as Mary’s boxing skills came to the fore and he lay comatose on the floor.
As the vicar bemoaned his fate, more men shouted encouragement and the other two men were rendered unconscious when their wives struck them with rolled-up brolly’s. Glynis ignored all the mayhem and pirouetted and sashayed across the stage. Standing with her back to the audience, she pulled at two hidden toggles and the Basque descended to the floor.
She now had her bare back facing the audience and her arms across her bare chest. She waggled her posterior as she walked to the rear of the staged, the curtain hiding her from view. The room erupted into even more noise, both from the menfolk and the women trying to end the show.
Seconds later, Glynis reappeared wearing a white, thigh-length, silk dressing gown trimmed with gold brocade. She waved at the audience and blew several kisses at them before disappearing behind the curtain.
Police suddenly entered the rear of the church-hall decked out in riot gear. They were on a training exercise at the neighbouring Oddfellow’s Hall. Paramedics followed them in. The vicar was blubbering incoherently and was gently led away by Mary and two burly policemen.
The Final Heist Page 8
