by J C Williams
Kelvin was in demand with his adoring fans. There was a steady stream of matures ladies, circling like hungry vultures trying to secure a dance with him.
“You sure you can relax?” laughed Emma. “Looks like you’ve got a bit of a queue building up there.”
“Ooh, incoming,” said Jack.
“What is it?” asked Emma.
“Jasmine at three o’clock. Did you not feel the frosty air ahead of her arrival? …Why, Jasmine, lovely to see you, what brings you down this way when it’s not rent day?”
She either had selective hearing or thick skin, because the insults always washed off her. She was elegant-looking, with short blonde hair and festooned with expensive jewellery.
“Jack, how are you?”
“Fine, thank you, how are—”
She’d already moved on. She was always in a rush, and would exchange pleasantries, but wasn’t overly concerned with the response.
“Can we go in the shop? You should bring Emma.”
Jack was apprehensive, and slightly nervous. “Is everything okay?” he asked.
Emma joined them and they stood at the rear of the shop, away from the noise.
“I believe Pete has told you about Helen?” asked Jack.
“Yes, she’s a bitch, I never liked that girl.”
Jack and Emma were slightly taken aback.
“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about. Anyway, I’ve had someone from a firm of solicitors on the phone. Persistent buggers they are, as well. They’ve been asking me to confirm details about the length and timings of your lease.”
Jack put his head in his hands. He knew Helen was serious, but having already taken legal advice, showed him how serious she was.
“Jasmine, she’s just a chancer,” said Emma. “She can smell the chance to make some money.”
“That’s the problem, Emma. She’s not a chancer — she’s correct. Your lesser half here never changed the lease when she walked out, so technically half of this is hers.”
“It’s not fair, Jasmine. You know how hard we’ve worked to build this business up.”
“I know it’s not fair, but it doesn’t matter what I think. Jack, who actually owns the company?”
“Me. Well, it’s set up as a sole trader. I’m in the process of changing it so Emma becomes a shareholder.”
“So, you changed the company, you just didn’t get the lease assigned over?”
“Correct.”
Jasmine took a pile of papers from her aged leather briefcase. “That’s why the solicitors are so interested in the lease on this place — it’s her only claim on the business. It’s a good job you had her removed from the company.”
“It’s not much good if she can blackmail me because of the lease.”
“She’s blackmailing you?”
“Yes, she wants fifty thousand or she’s going to start trying to claim for half of everything.”
Jasmine pushed the papers towards Emma and Jack. “Sign these,” she instructed. She looked towards the window and knew Pete would be rubbernecking. Jasmine waved her hand to invite him in. “We need you to witness these documents,” she told him.
Jack and Emma looked at each other. “It’s a lease?” asked Emma.
Jack smiled. “And, Jasmine, unless I’m very much mistaken, this looks to be a lease which is dated 2013.”
“Well, I’m not very good with paperwork, I must have forgotten where I’d put it.”
“Jasmine,” said Jack, placing a kiss on the side of her cheek, “Why?”
She thought for a moment.
“I never really liked you, Jack,” she said, “but you’re a grafter. What you’ve done with this place, with the elderly, you have my respect. When the solicitor told me they were going to try and put a halt to your ‘Wrinkly Olympics’ I knew what a bitch she really was. You see, my older sister goes to your club in Castletown. She got scammed by a scumbag who came around her house to fix a roof that didn’t need fixing. She lost a fortune. She wouldn’t go out of the house for months because she was so ashamed. Her friend had been going to the club and finally talked her into going to one of your bingo nights. She felt stupid, but by being with people that had fallen victim to similar scams, she knew she wasn’t alone. She finally realised that she was a victim. Thanks to you both, I feel like I’ve finally got my sister back.”
Jack took Emma’s hand in his. “Thank you, Jasmine. It really does mean a lot, and I’m pleased for your sister.”
Pete was more than happy to witness, of course, and as quickly as she’d arrived, Jasmine was gone.
Jack held Emma and Pete in his arms. The relief was palpable; Jack had been devastated at the thought they were going to lose everything they’d worked so hard for.
“You know what this means,” said Jack.
“That Helen can FUCK RIGHT OFF!” cried Emma.
Jack had never really heard her swear. It took him a moment to get over the shock of it, as well as his ears to stop ringing.
“Well, yes, that, but it also means that we’re definitely moving house on Friday! Come on, let’s go and join the rest of the party, it looks like we need to rescue Kelvin. He’s got more old people around him than an open day at the Werther’s Factory.”
“Are you going to phone Helen and tell her?” asked Emma.
Jack smiled. “Not a chance. I’ll let her think she’s got a payday on its way for as long as possible. Hopefully she’ll run up even more legal fees. She didn’t even ask how Horace was. What a bitch.”
Jack took their copy of the lease and held it above his head like Excalibur. “I’m getting this framed!” he said. “It’s our housewarming gift to ourselves! Come on, Grandad is running around in his vest, no more alcohol for him.”
.
Chapter Thirteen
M oving day arrived and Emma was a bag of nerves. She paced up and down the shop and had already handed out several wrong orders.
“We should have waited in the flat,” she said for the third time.
Jack was busy correcting her serving errors. He looked up.
“What for?” he said. “The flat is empty, and all of our lifelong possessions are currently stuffed into the back of a removal truck. We just need to be patient and wait for the solicitors to call to tell us the keys are available. There’s no point in us standing in an empty flat.”
“Oh, I know. I can’t tell you how excited I am and to be doing nothing doesn’t feel right.”
“You could clean up?” he said with a tinge of sarcasm.
Jack’s phone rang and Emma stood to attention like a meerkat. Jack was equally as nervous and answered his phone cautiously. He listened for a moment before putting her out of her misery. “It’s Mick, the man who’s printing the shirts for the Olympics,” he mouthed to her.
Emma had a go at wiping the tabletops, but her heart wasn’t in it. She was imagining them sat in their back garden with Baby Bump crawling along the lawn. There were flowers everywhere and a white-picket-fence and freshly baked apple pie cooling slowly on the open windowsill.
She had every detail mapped out in her head and had been buying furnishings for weeks. Jack had given up asking and just smiled when asked to offer an opinion. A simple yes had now lost its meaning, however, and Jack knew he had to enhance his interest. He knew that “Ooh, yes, it’s lovely,” for instance, would be only countered with a further question, such as, “Isn’t it! Where should we put it?” Jack was wise to this and now answered every query about a new vase or candle with: “Yes, I love it. You know, that would look great in the hall.” As long as he rotated the destination of the inanimate object, Emma was happy, and if she was, he was.
Jack continued his conversation with Mick and scribbled furiously. “What? Yes, he’s my grandad. Why?” he said. He listened for a moment longer and started to laugh.
“Emma, Grandad had got Mick to put a special design on the back of his shirt… daft old bugger! In fact, here he is now, with Ray. Why the hell
are they wearing shorts, in the rain?”
Emma was pleased of the distraction. “Morning, guys, what’s with the shorts, are you going for a run?”
“Sorry, Mick, I was just chatting to Emma, carry on.”
Grandad knocked the drops of rain from his hat. “No, Ray and I are off for our weekly sunbed session,” he explained to Emma. “Then we’ve got Zumba. Thought we’d pop in for a cup of tea and see how the homeowners are?”
“We’re just waiting for the call and we’ll need to close up early. I can’t wait.”
Jack cleared his throat and raised his voice. “What, Geoffrey?” he said for all to hear. “Yes, he’s my grandad. What, no… I can’t imagine… there must be some mistake.”
Geoffrey walked closer with a concerned look on his face. “Who is it?” he asked.
Jack raised his hand and continued to listen. “This is a nightmare. I’m not sure how to tell him.”
Jack put the phone to his shoulder and took a deep breath. “Grandad, it’s the IOC on the phone.”
Grandad shuffled nervously. “Oh? What do they want?”
“Who are the IOC?” asked Ray.
Grandad shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, but it sounds important. Jack, what’s an IOC?”
Jack listened for a moment longer before answering.
“It’s the International Olympic Committee. We’ve had to get all competitors tested, you know, for performance-enhancing drugs.”
Grandad looked like he’d been winded. “What do they want with me, then?” he asked, getting more desperate.
“They’ve checked your urine sample, and it’s come back positive! They’re going to have to ban you from all Olympic events.”
“What! They can’t!” said Grandad, getting more animated. “Emma, get on the phone and tell them they can’t. Bloody hell, Jack, tell them I’m training for a half-marathon. Tell them I’ve even got a shirt printed for it!”
Jack nodded his head as he began to relay Grandad’s message. Geoffrey placed his hands on the counter and tried without success to listen to the response from the other side.
“It’s no good, Grandad, they’ve tested positive for three substances. He says it’s one of the worst cases he’s worked on.”
Geoffrey put his hand on his forehead and gripped his hat, but then a sudden realisation struck him.
“Right, hang on… I’ve never given them a bloody urine test!”
“Did you hear that?” asked Jack on the phone. “Yes. He claims he’s never given you a urine sample. Right, that’s what he’s saying.”
Jack nodded his head along, listening to whatever was being said on the other end.
“Okay, he says they don’t use samples anymore because too many people are cheating. They use dirty underpants or toilet seats now. He said that you’ve been tested positive for magic mushrooms, Columbian nose candy and... hang on…”
“Are you sure?” Jack said.
Grandad, of course, was in a state.
“Yes, okay,” Jack said, turning back to him, “and Viagra, as it turns out. You’re banned for life, I’m afraid.”
Geoffrey was reeling. “I don’t believe this,” he moaned. “Bloody hell, Ray. You and those bloody Viagra! I told you I didn’t want one, but oh, no, you insisted. I was wide awake all night with a flagpole — my bedsheets were like a tent for five hours! Now I’m banned from running!”
Jack started to laugh.
Geoffrey looked confused.
“Bloody IOC indeed! It’s Mick from the t-shirt shop, he says he’s got your special design all ready for collection.”
“So… I’m not banned from the race?”
Emma was smiling as Jack let out a belly laugh. “No, of course you’re not,” he said. “Who’d want to test a pair of your dingy Y-fronts?? And what are you two doing taking Viagra, by the way?”
“Well, son. When you’re as soft as a melting ice-cream, you need all the help you can get. Happens to us all. I remember the days when I used to get one when the wind changed,” Ray explained, his eyes glazing over as he reminisced.
“You’re a rare one, Jack!” shouted Geoffrey. “I’ll get you back for that!” he promised like a pantomime villain.
“Come on, Ray, let’s go and top up our tan.”
Emma slapped Jack’s arm after the pair had left. “You’re mean teasing Grandad like that.”
“I know, but it’s too easy… and fun,” he said. “Oh, hang on, there’s the phone again. Either Mick has got Grandad’s order wrong, or that’s the solicitors…”
Emma held her hands together like she was praying, with her head all but pressed into Jack’s cheek. He moved his head down so they could both listen in. “Brilliant!” said Jack. “We’ll come and collect the keys now.”
Emma jumped on the spot, clapping her hands. “We own our own home!” she repeated over and over.
Jack took her in his arms and held his hand against Baby Bump. “Hmm, I’m not too sure I could carry you across the threshold,” he said. “You seem to have put on a stone or two.”
Paula admired the distant sea views from her modern kitchen. She looked impatiently at her watch and put her whip on the granite worktop. She lowered the volume of the music as a car pulled into the drive.
“I’m home, Paula!” shouted Chris, removing his tie. “Sorry I’m late, but I couldn’t get some miserable sod off the phone.”
“My name is Trixie,” came the immediate response from behind the closed kitchen door, “and if you forget it again, you’ll regret it.”
“Sorry…Trixie,” he said, now removing his shoes. “It won’t happen again.”
Paula had come home from lunch early. She wanted to straighten her hair and fix her makeup. She flicked her hair and applied a mist of her evocative perfume as she climbed into her black shoes which increased her height by a good five inches. She placed her palms onto the worktop and held the whip like a quill. Her taut, black rubber dress did little to hide her naked modesty.
Paula and Chris were childhood sweethearts, now in their late 40s; they’d become a little ‘comfortable’ with each other. Chris’s suggestion to ‘spice things up’ met with less resistance than he’d expected. Outdoor canoodling had evolved into role-play which had, of late, become more experimental.
Chris ran into the kitchen, had an appreciative preview, and moved into the utility room as he removed his suit. He closed the door behind him and took a moment to compose himself, taking a mint out of his trouser pocket.
“Hurry up, you deadbeat!” demanded Trixie.
Jack and Emma stood in the middle of their new, empty house. It was a neat, three-bedroomed, end-of-terrace house with a garage and plenty of room for an expanding family to grow into. Emma hadn’t stopped smiling since the removal men left. It was walk-in condition and other than a clean and a lick of paint, it was exactly as they wanted it. The garden was wrapped around the house on three sides and fostered romantic notions of a vegetable patch which Emma could raid before preparing homemade soup as she looked out over the distant views of Douglas.
“I think next door are in,” said Jack. “I’m going to drop these flowers in to them. Always good to make friends with your new neighbours.”
Emma had been cleaning incessantly and as well as being covered in grime the previous occupants had left, she was dripping in sweat. “I’m not meeting our new neighbours looking like this, we can pop around tonight.”
Jack had the flowers in his hand, a beautiful bouquet from Hayley, designed to impress. “I’ll pop over now, they might not be in later and they may think it’s a bit odd, you know, if we didn’t say hello.”
Emma was silent, which unsettled Jack. “You don’t want me to go because you think I’ll make a holy show of us, don’t you?”
“Yes, Jack. That’s exactly what it is. I love you and I’m not going to lie, but you’re hopeless at first impressions. You always get it wrong. Remember when you met Hayley for the first time and you told her in detail
how you’d just shit yourself?”
Jack chuckled like he was reliving a fond memory. “Yes… but I’ve changed. Honest I have. I’m a lot more grown-up now! I’ll go and say hello, get their names, and maybe arrange for a glass of something over the fence when we’ve unpacked everything. Tidy. Sorted!”
“Okay, but we’ve got to live next to these people for years. Don’t mess it up.”
Jack gave her a dismissive wave of the hand, took the flowers, and stepped over the flower-lined grass strip that served as a boundary at the front of their properties. He took a moment to admire the house and then the neighbourhood. He knew the area, but it was nicer than he imagined. All of the estates were plagued by work vans that parked in every possible crevice, making them look like an abandoned car lot. This, on the other hand, had a nice feel to it and he knew they’d be happy there.
He took the flowers in his right hand and used his left to gently rattle the door. “Knock-knock,” he said in his most professional I-want-to-impress-you voice that he could muster. The door wasn’t closed and creaked slowly open to reveal a tastefully decorated hallway.
“Knock, knock,” he repeated, moving his head inside the doorframe. He could hear music coming from the closed door ahead of him, which he assumed to be the kitchen. He didn’t want to startle anyone, so prepared to retreat.
Jack shuddered as a voice bellowed out from behind the closed door. “Get in here now, you skinny piece of shit!”
He thought he’d misheard until the command was repeated. He hovered, unsure what to do, before he moved slowly into the hallway.
In the utility room, Chris was also responding to the domineering voice. He gently opened his door and feasted on the sight in front of him. Trixie was now stood in front of him, pacing like a leopard as she rattled the whip on the palm of her hand. Chris felt uncomfortable, stood in his black rubber Y-fronts that had a leather porthole on the crotch to allow for easy access. He tried to convey his appreciation to Trixie, but the golf ball strapped in his mouth made verbal communication all but impossible. He managed a couple of grunts before a strategic lash of the whip brought him to order.
