by J C Williams
Trixie looked with disdain at the quivering wreck stood before her. “Show me what you’ve got!” she screamed.
In the hallway, Jack was starting to panic and he initially thought he was involved in some sort of practical joke. “What?” he said, with his voice wavering — but unheard over the sound of the music.
“Show me what you’ve got!” bellowed the voice from the kitchen, getting more impatient.
“It’s, em… flowers. It’s flowers. I’m Jack from next door, I’ve brought flowers, to, you know, say hello.” Jack waved them around as if he was being observed on camera. “I’ll just leave them here, on the table, and maybe pop back another time.”
Jack placed them next to the phone and considered his exit.
As the flowers touched the mahogany surface of the table, Chris also responded to her demand, and flopped out of the leather porthole. Without hesitation, she whacked his most prized possession like she was swatting a fly. “Is that all you’ve got for me?? You’re pathetic!”
Jack looked around once again. He began to think he was in the presence of the all-seeing Wizard of Oz.
“You’re going to need more than that to make me happy!” the voice insisted.
Jack was hurt. They weren’t the most expensive bunch that Hayley had, but he certainly hadn’t scrimped. “They, ah… they should look good in a vase,” he managed. “Well. Anyway. I’ll see you soon.”
Chris was in pain and on the verge of shouting their ‘safe word’. He retreated towards the safety of the utility room at a similar pace to Jack who was heading towards the front door.
Trixie adopted a more conciliatory tone. “I’ve not finished with you yet. I’ll play nice, I promise,” she said. “Put the blindfold on and we can start again?”
The thought of telling Emma that he’d upset the new neighbours was not appealing. In the absence of all other logic he could only assume that this was some sort of initiation ceremony. Reluctantly, he took a discarded tie (Chris’s) and wrapped it around his head.
Trixie leaned against the cooker and watched as Chris took a black blindfold and put it loosely around his head.
“Tighter… and come to me,” she instructed.
Jack was getting scared — it was getting beyond the fun stage — but he did as he was told and pulled the knot tighter, and then shuffled towards the door.
Chris was also being obedient, and secured his with a firm yank. Trixie took a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs and restrained his hands behind his back, nodding her approval.
“Now I’ve got you where I need you. I’m going to stand over here, and you have to come and find me!”
Jack and Chris had differing reactions to this command. Chris was eager and clearly excited judging by the strain on his porthole, but Jack was starting to think he’d be the headline on the next morning’s newspaper.
Jack reached for the kitchen door and, on the other side, Trixie assumed a position of invitation. She was unable to see Jack walk in as she had her back to him and Chris was as equally in the dark.
Jack walked with his hands in front of him, like Frankenstein. He trundled forwards and was distracted by the smell of cheap perfume in the air and the sound of seedy music.
The two men moved towards each other until Jack’s hands made contact with Chris. Chris smiled with anticipation as Jack let out a rather startled, feminine yelp as he stumbled. Instinctively, Jack positioned his hands to stop himself falling, though, unfortunately for Jack, one ended up on Chris’s shoulders and the other found purchase on Chris’s symbol of enthusiasm.
Trixie didn’t recognise the unauthorised yelp, and spun round to administer further punishment. She took one look at Jack admiring her husband and screamed as she bolted out of the kitchen to try and regain her modesty.
Jack took the covering off his eyes but — unfortunately for him — used the hand that was sat on Chris’s shoulder, with his other still strategically placed. Now unblinded, he looked down and pulled his hand back like it had been put in burning oil.
“What the fuck…!” he shouted.
Chris panicked and started making a muffled cry for help and tried without success to release his hands from the pink manacles. Jack could see Chris was not a threat — and a victim of this cruel hoax himself, apparently — and lifted the fella’s blindfold onto his forehead.
“If I take that ball out of your mouth, do you promise never to mention, to anyone, where my hand has just been? I’ll take the nodding as agreement.”
He removed the ball and the elastic straps from behind Chris’s ears and placed the device carefully on the sideboard.
Jack felt dirty.
“Look, let’s not make this too uncomfortable for each other, yeah? My name is Jack, and I’ve just moved in next door with my Emma. I brought flowers around to say hello, and, well, I’m not sure what the hell is going on in here. I’d really prefer it if I can tell Emma that I called around and nobody was in. Nobody at all. Would that be okay?”
Chris nodded as he tried to discreetly push his exuberance back inside the porthole.
“Now… I’m going to return home to unpack and salvage what little dignity I can from this situation.”
Jack took one final look, and for once it was he administering a look of pity; it felt nice not to be on the receiving end.
Trixie, meanwhile, had covered herself in Chris’s jacket and returned to save her beloved from the unknown intruder. Unsure of the villain’s intentions, she reasoned her only cause of action was to go on the offensive. She ran back into the kitchen and grabbed for the nearest weapon, which was a ten-inch rubber toy she’d purchased from the internet.
Jack moaned in pain as the oversized appendage struck his arm. As a result of the impact, the toy burst into life and vibrated like a pneumatic drill. Jack knew that contact on his head would likely be a mortal blow, and so protected his head and ran for the door.
Trixie did not break character, and ran after him like a woman possessed. In the pursuit, the jacket hung on her shoulders fell to the floor and she was once again reduced to her rubber dress which looked like it had shrunk in the wash.
Jack desperately wrestled with the front door handle as a further blow rained down on him, finding its mark. He lurched forward and caught his foot on the doorframe and collapsed unceremoniously, like a fallen tree. He flailed on the floor like a new-born foal, struggling to get to his feet.
Trixie continued to hit him with her vibrating helper. “Get out of my house, you pervert!” she screamed.
The commotion brought those that were home at this hour into the street to see if they could render assistance. Emma thought there’d been an accident and vigilantly joined her curious neighbours.
She was shocked, but not surprised, to discover that Jack was the cause, or at least a party to the commotion. She saw a half-naked woman in a rubber dress hitting the father of her unborn child with a ten-inch dildo. She thought about distancing herself when Jack looked pathetically in her direction. “I only wanted to give her flowers,” he pleaded, as he curled up into a ball.
Emma wanted to move back indoors but thought she’d best help him up. As she moved forward, with her baby bump clear to the world, she received a series of sympathetic looks. Trixie was equally as mortified and when Chris ran outside in his rubber shorts, she ordered him back inside.
“But, he’s got my tie around his neck and he violated me!”
Trixie delivered to Jack one final parting whack, the dildo buzzing excitedly in her hand, before dragging Chris back in their house.
Jack dragged himself inside his own house, and fell on his back in the living room. He struggled to comprehend what had just happened and put his hands on his head. His head hurt, both from the rain of blows and the strain of thinking too hard.
Emma stood over him and tried to speak several times, but words failed her. Eventually, she managed to compose herself.
“I told you I should have bloody gone, didn’t I.”
She shook her head. There was nought else she could do.
“So. Did they like the flowers, at least?”
.
Chapter Fourteen
K elvin and Pete sat on the rear patio of their newly rented property. Pete was fond of his house, but they both knew they wanted to eventually buy something together. Kelvin was now very much part of Island life since he’d come across. He was at the peak of his career and one of the most recognisable faces on television, but on the Isle of Man he was given privacy. Occasionally he’d be approached for a photograph or an autograph, but Island people were respectful. If he was stopped in the street, it would usually be by those who shared his passion for gardening and wanted to exchange ideas.
The house they rented was in the beautiful Baldwin Valley, a short distance from Douglas. They were close to the main town centre, but far enough removed to be surrounded on all sides by the glorious Manx countryside. The house had views over the tree-lined reservoir and was one of Pete’s favourite locations on the Island. He had to pinch himself, living in such a magnificent property. For Kelvin, money was no problem, which was one of the reasons that Pete was so insistent on selling his property — to contribute to the house fund. He’d now hung up his postman’s bag for the final time and was spending his time on the final preparations for their garden centre. Kelvin had been privileged to ‘cut the ribbon’ on countless number of garden centres, but the one he was going to formally open tomorrow would be the most enjoyable.
The fire pit crackled with the sound of burning logs and the dancing flames illuminated the imposing trees which fell into darkness as the sun set. The hosts had considered a housewarming but, as it was rented, they wanted to postpone until they had something more permanent, and so tonight was an intimate party for four. The house and location were equally idyllic, and they both secretly harboured a hope that the landlord would eventually sell them the property.
“It’s a bit of alright, this!” exclaimed Jack, taking a taste of the expensive whiskey that Kelvin administered.
“It’s wonderful,” agreed Emma. “I absolutely love it.” She attempted to move from her seat to warm her hands at the fire, but her current size meant she was about as manoeuvrable as a fully-laden cargo ship.
“Allow me,” said Kelvin, extending a supportive hand. “I’ve said it numerous times, but people who live on the Island are really fortunate. The views around here are on par with the Lake District. How are you, Emma? If you don’t mind me saying, you look radiant. Pregnancy really suits you.”
“Aww, thanks, Kelvin,” she said, giving Jack a look that said, ‘why don’t you tell me that?’
Couples that have been together for a long time are often accused of not talking to each other, but the truth of it is that they don’t need to. After a small amount of time, men have a unique ability to understand what their ‘other half’ is saying without the need for verbal interaction. As for their better half, surely mind control was not too far away on women’s evolutionary journey.
“As much as I enjoy carrying this bump around with me,” Emma said thoughtfully, “I cannot wait to have a full night’s sleep, and without the need to go for a wee five times — which is a military operation each time. I’m also really looking forward to a glass of wine, although it was a glass of wine which got me in this predicament in the first place!”
Jack lifted his glass proudly.
“I’ve only got four more weeks. It will be here in no time,” she said, massaging her tummy.
Pete couldn’t resist a marshmallow cooked on an open fire. He rotated the metal skewer but he was a smidgen too close and the hairs on his hand burnt, leaving dozens of melted hairballs. “It’s going to be a busy month for us all. We’ve got the opening of the garden centre tomorrow, the Olympics next week, our wedding the week after that, and then you’re due to bring a new Tate into the world the week after that. I think we should all book a holiday to recuperate.”
“Are you offering to babysit?” asked Jack.
Pete stood next to Emma by the fire and placed his hand on her stomach. “I’d consider it a pleasure to babysit for this little bundle of wonder. I genuinely cannot wait.”
Kelvin nodded. “He can’t. He’s had me in every baby shop in town buying clothes in pink and blue.”
“About that,” said Jack as he joined them by the fire. He gave a look to Emma and once again he received nonverbal communication, this time in the form of agreement. “Emma and I have been speaking about this, and given it a great deal of thought. We’d both be overjoyed if you’d consider becoming the godparents.”
Pete jumped on the spot and placed his hand over his mouth. “Are you being serious? Do you mean it?”
Emma laughed. “Yes, we mean it. You’re both great friends, but more than that, you’re great people. We can’t imagine anyone better suited for the job.”
Pete took his metal skewer and waved it above his head like a wand. “You know what this means, don’t you? It means that I’m going to be a fairy godmother!”
The four of them stood around the fire pit and raised a toast to the imminent arrival. “Thank you,” said Kelvin. “I know you haven’t known me as long as Pete, but, I’m sure I speak for both of us when I say how seriously we’ll take this. It is a real honour to be asked.”
Pete raised his glass again. “To Baby Tate and not only the best parents a child could wish for, but now also the best godparents!”
“To Baby Tate!” they cheered, clinking their glasses.
Pete awoke early, and the decision to have an early night and minimal alcohol was a wise one. There was a real buzz about the opening of the garden centre, driven primarily by the involvement of Kelvin. Pete and his team had been working on the opening for weeks and his vision would today be realised. Kelvin had given him carte blanche as he’d been busy with a hectic filming schedule, which meant the pressure on Pete had been intensified as not only did he have the public to impress, but Kelvin also.
The premises they’d bought had been in business for a little over ten years, but in that time, it’d never really reached its potential. It’d undergone several makeovers but never found its niche. The current owners were looking for an exit strategy and were exceptionally accommodating of Pete and Kelvin’s aspirations for the business, and eager to take their money.
It was essentially a colossal greenhouse with an outdoor space. The gardens had never been fully embraced, and this is where Kelvin believed they could add real value. As well as the usual staples of a garden centre, they wanted to have working gardens — vast growing areas incorporating fruit and vegetable markets for products grown on the premises. They didn’t just want a sterile shopping experience but, rather, they wanted to create a community with people invested in the project and involved in the produce they sold — a project for both the young and old. If only they knew someone who’d developed this very ethos already.
Jack and Emma had been involved from the outset and were equally as enthused in the business plan. There was a desire to have a coffee shop, but all too often, those found in these out-of-town enterprises fell well short of expectations. Sadly, this was the case for the current operation: overpriced and poor quality. Pete and Kelvin knew that people would deviate away from the high street DIY shops and travel further, if there was the promise of a decent, fairly-priced piece of cake and cup of tea. There was only one business they’d trust to make this happen: ‘Java the Hutt’ was expanding once again.
It was still before 8 a.m., but pleasingly there was already a scotch of people gathering outside. It was a drab morning, but Jack viewed this as an opportunity and handed out free coffees to those in attendance. Pete had used his dramatic flair to wonderful effect. What was once a drab, uninviting glass house was now enchanting and enticing. The illumination emanating from inside was only amplified by the dull morning outside; it felt like a ‘winter wonderland.’
Such was the interest in Kelvin and his meteoric rise back from obsc
urity that the press were interested in what he did. They knew people were interested in what he did: he sold newspapers. He used this to his advantage and, once again, there were several members of the press in attendance, which also added to the stress levels Pete was experiencing.
Kelvin effortlessly moved through the crowd; if he was nervous it certainly didn’t show. He was the consummate professional and people had a genuine affection for him. An elderly lady asked him a question about cucumbers and, rather than giving a flippant response, he took a notebook from his pocket and wrote down step-by-step instructions on how to maximise her crop. He looked just like he did on the television — ‘scruffy smart’, if there were such a thing. He was the type of man who you could throw into an empty field and half an hour later he’d produce a salad worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant; he was the MacGyver of the horticultural world.
Shortly before the grand opening, Pete had arranged for his theatrical contacts to take part in surrealist dancing. This involved a number of his theatre friends dressing up in green Lycra, representing the growth of plants. It was certainly interesting and evoked a few quizzical glances from the growing crowd with a few of the older ladies particularly interested in their revealing vegetable gardens.
Located either side of the entrance doors were two life-sized models of the popular TV characters Bill & Ben from The Flowerpot Men. They were impressive, sitting in their replica flowerpots, which stood at least five-foot-tall. They waved to the crowd with their gardening-gloved hands. The stage makeup that Pete had applied was mesmerizing, and a number of the younger audience were somewhat apprehensive about approaching them.
“I love them two!” said Kelvin. “Where did you get them?”
