by J C Williams
Jack was getting the hang of this public speaking thing. “Should we do it all again next year?” he shouted.
The reaction from the crowd was a clear indication that the ‘Wrinkly Olympics’ would not be a one-time-only event. Kelvin eventually managed to wrestle the microphone back from Jack, and the medal presentation began.
“Come on,” said Emma. “Let’s go and watch Grandad.”
The majority of the half marathon competitors had completed their race and were gratefully indulging at the refreshment tent. “Go on, Grandad!” shouted Emma as he once again completed a lap of the running track. “How much further has he got to go?” asked Emma, turning to Jack.
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “No idea, but I think there’s only about half a dozen of them left. Fair play to him, I didn’t think he’d still be going, but he is.”
There were actually only four competitors left. Two of those were on their penultimate lap with the remaining two still needing to complete just over seven laps. Grandad was one of those two, as was the woman in the mobility scooter. By now her battery had given up, but she’d made a pit-stop and had appropriated a manual wheelchair which she enthusiastically powered around the track.
Grandad was dead on his feet, but he wouldn’t give up. He wasn’t actually running, but he wasn’t walking — it was a happy medium between the two and he pushed on with something at least approaching vigour. The presentation ceremony was drawing to a close and people were leaving the stadium after a hugely enjoyable day. Nearly all of those leaving took a moment to give support to the two remaining competitors.
The woman in the wheelchair was starting to struggle as they entered the closing stages of the race. She looked as old as Grandad and the effort required to push the wheels and the friction on her hands must have been unbearable.
The BBC news crew had packed up and were ready to leave as Scarlett came by to extend her gratitude for a wonderful day. She looked over in wonderment at the two remaining competitors. She had a tear in her eye as she watched them push on to finish what they’d started. She waved to her assistant and in an instant the crew were unpacking their camera equipment.
“This is what it’s all about,” she said to Jack and Emma. “This shows you that nothing is impossible. Those people are awe-inspiring.”
She instructed the camera to record the final stages of the race.
The woman in the wheelchair was exhausted. Her family were starting to look concerned and, like the cornerman of a punch-drunk boxer, they were close to throwing the towel in. She was in agony and blood ran down the palms of her hands, making grip on the wheels all but impossible.
She pulled over to one side and pushed herself out of the chair; she was exhausted but used her limited mobility to walk towards her family.
There was only a lap left and Grandad looked over his shoulder to see where his running companion had disappeared to. He turned around and, without saying a word, he took her by the hand and firmly nodded his head in the direction of the finish line.
He took her arm and put it around his shoulders, moving them both slowly forwards. She struggled at first but soon got into a gentle rhythm and before too long they’d negotiated their final lap and were on the home straight.
There wasn’t a dry eye when they crossed the finish line.
Scarlett joined the line of well-wishers at the finish, and her perfectly-applied makeup was now halfway down her face. She walked up to Jack and Emma and smiled. “I think we’ve got our headline piece, just there,” she said. “What an inspiration.”
Jack patted his grandad on the back. “Do you need that?” he asked, pointed to the recently-abandoned wheelchair. “It may be easier for you to—”
“No chance!” Grandad informed him. “I can walk and I know exactly where I’m walking to!” He was completely shattered but had an accomplished grin on his face. He marched himself slowly but purposefully towards the direction of the carpark.
“I’m going to the Quarterbridge for a pint!” Geoffrey declared. “And I’ve got no pockets, so one of you lot is buying!”
.
Chapter Seventeen
T he coverage in the press in the subsequent days after the Olympics was staggering. Jack was a late adopter of social media, but it was something he was now embracing, and the positive feedback was overwhelming. Scarlett Redfern had been true to her word and ran several features about the day and the club itself; their phone hadn’t stopped ringing. From the sponsorship, ticket money, and collection buckets, the inaugural ‘Wrinkly Olympics’ had raised over twenty-five thousand pounds — which was going straight into the fund to help elderly scam victims. It was a long way off Jack’s goal of one million, but it was a solid foundation, and Grandad alone had smashed his sponsorship goal and was north of three thousand pounds at the last count.
One of the many benefits of working with the elderly was the desire to physically write a letter, and Jack and Emma received dozens over the next few days. From existing friends and new ones, people wanted to take time out of their lives to extend their gratitude and express their desire to have another event the following year. It was in reading the letters that it became clear how much of an impact the club had on people; it was genuinely changing people’s lives for the better.
Emma had received one letter, in particular, from a nine-year-old boy called Samuel, who apparently had a really annoying sister. He wrote to Jack and Emma to tell them about his grandmother who was never in the house anymore because she was either out having tea and cake with her friends or out walking with the Silver Sprinters, but it was okay, because he was an honorary member and he and his friends would often join the club when they went out for a walk.
It was messages such as Samuel’s that motivated them and ultimately made them smile. Jack didn’t rest and was already planning next year’s event and his goal was to have an international contingent flying to the Isle of Man. His aspiration was for the Lonely Heart Attack Club to go continental and, with Jack’s steely determination, those around him knew that there would be sombreros at the National Sports Centre the following year.
Presently, Ray adjusted his belt and shook his hips in an attempt to dislodge his sword. “This thing is digging into my crotch,” he complained.
“You’ve done nothing but complain since we got here,” protested Grandad. “At least your hat is the right size. Mine keeps covering my eyes, and it’s bloody boiling with these fur things over our shoulder.”
Ray continued to gyrate. “How are your blisters from walking?” he asked.
“Sore, very sore,” Geoffrey replied. “I don’t think I’ve got much skin left on my feet and these leather sandals are not really helping me, but I quite like the feeling of freedom from this skirt. The breeze is going right onto my—”
“Bollocks,” Ray said. “I don’t think it’s a skirt at all. I can hardly see fearsome warriors, conquerors of great lands, wearing a skirt.”
“Well what would you call it, then?”
Ray looked down for inspiration. “I don’t know,” he said. “A tunic, maybe?”
“Well, whatever they’re called they were onto something, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as fresh down there.”
Ray gave him a concerned glance. “I think you’re starting to like your feminine side a bit too much. Are you going to start cross-dressing?”
“I’m not! I just find it comfortable is all.”
“Well what about your fingernails…? There was no requirement to paint them, mind you.”
“I did a bit of research and some of them had black nail polish. It’s called being authentic!”
“Here we are,” said Grandad as they came upon their destination, “the big gay event of the year.”
“You can’t say that!” insisted Ray.
“What? Why not, it’s what it says on the invite — The Big Gay Event of the Year.”
The venue was ambitious, but magnificent. The ancient home of the Vikings, Peel Castle, would today bring
together two wonderful people in marriage in front of their close friends. Ray and Grandad looked up in awe at the sheer scale of the building and mused how it must have been hundreds of years ago for invading forces contemplating scaling these vast walls.
The fortifications were softened for the day by the addition of tasteful fabric draped over the walls. The arrow slits in the perimeter wall — which would have been the last thing many brave warriors would see in years past — were now flickering with the lumination of large candles protected by hurricane lanterns.
The fortress of an ancient castle was perhaps an inspired choice. Kelvin Reed was an exceptionally well-known celebrity, with a considerable interest in his professional and personal life. A gay wedding of one of the country’s most famous television stars was sure to bring out good-natured well-wishers but also the dregs of the gutter press. The walls which had resisted the rampant invading forces for centuries should be sufficient to restrain Fleet Street for the day.
Ray and Grandad arrived late and, as Jack and Emma were the ‘best men’, they’d had to arrive under their own steam. It was a fairly intimate affair, but still over one hundred family and friends had been invited. The castle was layered in Manx history and the perimeter wall protected a remarkable array of ancient buildings. Row after row of elaborately covered chairs sat in the open under the shadows of the resplendent ruins of the Cathedral of St German. Through the tall, stone, arched windows, families enjoying an ice cream on the beach were clearly visible.
Emma poked her head over the imposing wall as every child who visited this monument did. The breeze that whipped in from the Irish Sea was exhilarating, if perhaps not advisable for women who’d been in the hairdressers for two hours. She looked stunning with her perfectly-contoured stomach covered by an elegant cream dress. “I’ve always loved it here!” she said to Jack.
The wedding party were outside of the marquee having a glass of bubbly before the marriage ceremony, but Jack and Emma took advantage of having the venue virtually to themselves and stared at the sea which lapped the secluded Fenella Beach below.
“You look amazing,” said Jack with his hand on her belly.
“Yes. Yes, I do,” Emma agreed. “And you don’t scrub up too badly yourself. I could get used to seeing you in a tuxedo, ‘Mr Bond’ — it suits you.”
“I agree. The suit suits me.” Jack smiled and gazed into those eyes which could melt the ice cream on the distant beach. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, turning serious.
“You’re not leaving me, are you? I’m not sure now is the best time,” she said, looking down at her bursting stomach.
“What… no, of course I’m not, well not straight away, it’s just that…”
Emma wasn’t listening and stared open-mouthed over his shoulder towards the stone steps, where the main entrance stood.
“What the hell is that?” she said, moving forwards.
Jack followed her eye line and immediately bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes the apparition would be gone once he opened them again. Alas, it was not.
“Shit!” he said out loud.
Emma spun back around. “Jack, why the hell are Ray and Grandad dressed like Vikings to a gay wedding? You have to be involved in this?”
Jack went to defend himself but he couldn’t, it was pointless. He looked to one side where there were dozens of people dressed immaculately and to the other where two scruffy-looking Vikings stood, with knobbly white knees and flea-ridden fur shawls slung over their shoulder. As the collective audience became aware of their aged invaders, Ray was adjusting his sword so it looked like he was scratching his crotch with the blade, and Grandad, who had a head like a peanut, was adjusting his helmet so he could see.
Jack had tears running down his face and his shoulders were convulsing as he tried to without success stifle his laughter.
“The daft old buggers! I told them weeks ago that the wedding was at Peel Castle, and due to the Viking heritage, the dress code was Viking-themed. I didn’t actually think they took me seriously! But, now, you know what? I’m really glad they did. They look amazing!”
“Pete is going to kill you, you know that!” Emma admonished.
“He won’t!” said Jack. “I’ve got two armed warriors to protect me! Now, granted, they don’t look like the most fearsome invaders this castle has seen. But, still.”
The master of ceremonies brought order with a firm rattle on his crystal glass. Pete and Kelvin were brilliant in their matching white satin suits, which had an element of artistic flair, but remained stylish. Emma and Jack took their place next to them and Jack was still struggling to suppress his laughter.
“Stop it!” whispered Emma, delivering a strategic elbow to his arm.
The vicar brought everyone to attention, and took great pleasure in pointing Ray and Grandad out to those who hadn’t noticed them, and referenced how the attendees should feel safe to be under such protection for the afternoon.
“We need to go,” said Emma rather suddenly, yet discreetly as she was able.
“How’s that?” said Jack out of the corner of his mouth. “You need to go for a wee? Just now?”
“No… it’s… well, it’s a bit bigger than that, actually.”
Jack screwed up his face. “Eww, bit more than I need to know, to be honest, but if you’ve got to go…”
“Jack, you stupid bugger. I’m having our baby!”
Jack started to jog on the spot. “Oh my god! oh my god!”
The vicar wondered if he should need to call security, before Emma was able to gently tell Pete and Kelvin that the baby had decided to make an unscheduled appearance.
“Pete, I’m really sorry. Please, you carry on with everything and we’ll see you very soon. We love you both, very much, and hope you enjoy the rest of the day.”
Emma was poised and collected, whereas Jack was hyperventilating and making bizarrely strange noises. Somehow, he managed to compose himself just enough to call for an ambulance.
They had to negotiate the steep stone stairs to meet the ambulance on the main road. Jack held Emma on the one side, and the plucky Vikings held onto the other. For those not in the know, it might have appeared very much like three different fathers were each trying to enforce their claim.
They reached the foot of the stairs, but Emma was starting to struggle. The ambulance was at least ten minutes away and the drive to the hospital was at least another twenty minutes again.
There was a lifeboat station situated next to the castle and Jack could just about see someone washing down a vehicle in the station house. He sprinted towards it and incoherently convinced the occupier to drive them to the hospital.
The Coastguard Landrover was sparked to life and the emergency blue lights flicked on. “Right. Let’s get you to the hospital,” the driver said reassuringly.
Jack held onto her hand as the fellow calmly drove the ten miles or so to the hospital. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough room for Ray and Grandad, so they were instructed to resume their guard duty at the wedding and would be told every detail later in the day.
“What were you going to tell me?” asked Emma between a series of deep breaths.
“What? Now’s not really the time!” insisted Jack.
“Don’t be such a… aaaah!… tool… God! Are we nearly there?”
Jack looked out of the window to get his bearings. “We’re in Union Mills,” he told her. “We’ll be there in three minutes. Emma, it’s probably not the best time, but… well, I was going to… see, I was going to ask you…”
“Out with it!” Emma yelled.
Emma looked like she was about to burst a vein in her head as the car pulled up outside the hospital. The driver had called on ahead and two nurses were waiting for them with a wheelchair. As they sped towards the maternity ward, she gripped Jack’s hand. “God, this is your fault! I’m never listening to you again when you say, ‘It’s only one more glass of wine, it can’t h
urt.’ Well it’s bloody hurting me now!”
Jack was a bit scared and due to the strength in her grip the blood had now stopped flowing to his fingers, which were now white. As they approached the maternity ward, Jack was directed away from Emma and to the direction of a changing room.”
“You need to put a gown on, you’ll find one in there,” he was told.
Emma was now the grateful recipient of gas which she held onto for dear life. As she was wheeled into the delivery room she instructed the nurse to stop for a moment. She turned her head, lowering the gas for a moment.
“Jack Tate!” she screamed. “You silly sod! It may be the gas talking but the answer is, yes, I’ll marry you!”
Emma lay on the hospital bed with her eyes closed, but still awake. She didn’t want to miss anything. She was shattered but the gurgling sound of their new child brought happiness to her which she could never have prepared herself for.
Jack was sat at the side of the bed and stared down at the tiny wrinkled face that looked back up at him. “He’s got a head like a peanut… just like Grandad!” he said. He looked at the tiny bundle in his arms, and Emma laying on the bed, and felt contented.
“We’re a proper family!” he declared.
Jack could hear raised voices from the corridor outside of their room.
“I don’t care who you are!” said a firm voice. “You’re not going in a maternity ward dressed like that! When was the last time that thing was washed?”
“Ray usually has a shower every couple of days!” chuckled a familiar voice.
“Not him! The dead animal wrapped around your necks!” came the frustrated voice. “You need to get out of here before the whole hospital needs fumigated!”
Jack moved towards the window which looked onto the corridor and wrapped his knuckles to get their attention.
Ray and Grandad side-stepped the exasperated nurse and peered through the window. Such was their haste to get there that they still had their costumes on, complete.
They looked through the window, and their hearts melted. They put their arms around each other, letting their helmets fall against the other, their horns gently colliding.
