The Never Have I Ever Club

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘As long as what takes?’

  He was silent. Robyn looked up, and saw that he was frowning at her Aunty Fliss.

  ‘What’s that she’s holding?’ he asked.

  ‘Quartz, I think.’ Robyn cast a fond smile in her aunt’s direction. ‘You know how she loves all that crystal energy stuff.’

  ‘What’s that one supposed to do for her then?’

  ‘She told me clear quartz was for healing. She’s not been feeling well.’

  Will snorted. ‘Healing. Right.’

  Robyn shrugged. ‘Well, I’m a sceptic too but it’s harmless enough. The crystals and homeopathic treatments do make her feel better, even if they’re only placebos.’

  Will snorted again. ‘Yeah, it’s harmless. Harmless until someone dies from it.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Robyn said, frowning. ‘It is just a placebo, isn’t it? It can’t actually hurt you.’

  ‘It can if you sack off actual medicine for a jug of magic water and a bit of fucking rock. I don’t know how some of the quacks who peddle this stuff can sleep at night. They’re no better than dodgy mediums who prey on the bereaved, taking advantage of the desperation of sick people.’

  ‘People don’t refuse traditional treatment for it, do they?’

  ‘Some do. And people who might’ve had many more years to enjoy are in the ground now because of it.’

  He was still scowling blackly at the piece of quartz in Felicity’s hand. Robyn turned him towards her.

  ‘I never heard you talk that way before, Will.’

  ‘The whole business just makes me so fucking angry. It’s my job to heal people using medicine that actually works. I hate to see them exploited by charlatans and snake-oil merchants who’re happy to take people’s money even while they watch them die.’

  ‘Fliss’s friend Janet isn’t like that. She genuinely believes her treatments work.’

  ‘Fine, as long as she recognises she has a moral duty to promote those treatments alongside modern medicine, not in place of it.’ At his side, one of Will’s hands had clenched into a fist.

  Robyn looked at him, her head to one side, and watched his frown slowly lift. Eventually, he managed a smile.

  ‘You look like a baby owl when you do that,’ he said.

  ‘And you looked like Bruce Banner right before he starts turning green just now.’ She smiled back. ‘That’s better. Now you look like Will again.’

  ‘Sorry. I’ve lost patients to this, that’s all. The crystal struck a nerve.’

  ‘Come to think of it, you’re not really like Dr Banner. I actually do quite like you when you’re angry.’

  He laughed. ‘Thanks, Bloom.’

  She noticed Eliot closing the kitchen hatch. ‘Looks like we’re ready to start. Help me round everyone up.’

  When they’d gathered the group together, Robyn banged her gavel.

  ‘Hi, everyone, thanks for joining us again,’ she said. ‘Tonight, we’ve got Mr Ansari from the community library here to show us how to get started with family history research, but we’ll do our usual catch-up on what we’ve been up to in our own time first. Who’d like to start?’

  Arty Johnson raised his hand, looking bashful.

  ‘Arty. How are the memoirs going?’

  ‘I finally finished them.’ He nodded to the Brigadier. ‘And my old friend Norman here has kindly volunteered to be the first reader.’

  The Brigadier cleared his throat. ‘Hm. Yes. Honoured, m’boy, deeply honoured.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Arty.’ Robyn selected a sticker bearing a picture of a gold cup and passed it down the table to him. ‘Here you go. So, what happens next then?’

  ‘I’d hardly expect it to be of interest to the major publishing houses,’ he said, laughing. ‘I suppose you have to be a politician or a footballer or somebody to get the time of day from them. I’d like to self-publish though. My grandson says he can help with the technical side of things, and the books could be in the hands of my public as early as next month.’ He beamed round the table. ‘I hope I can put you all down for a copy.’

  There was a chorus of noncommittal grunts, but Arty’s smile didn’t flicker, which suggested they were getting put down for a copy whether they liked it or not.

  ‘That’s great. Well done, Arty.’ Robyn turned to Cliff and Linda Cockburn. ‘Anything to report, you two? You had some sort of special day out planned, didn’t you?’

  ‘Ah. Um, yes.’ Cliff had gone a bit pink, and seemed to be avoiding the eye of the Brigadier opposite him. For his part too, the Brigadier was looking anywhere but at Cliff. ‘Well, we went.’

  ‘And how was it?’

  ‘It was… fine.’ The corner shop owner ran a finger under his collar. ‘Huh. Very enjoyable.’

  Felicity grinned at him. ‘Come on, Cliff, there’s no point getting prudish about it now. Tell them what happened before I do.’

  Cliff stared at her. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Of course I would. I was laughing for three solid days.’ She looked him up and down. ‘I mean, nothing personal.’

  ‘It was my fault,’ Linda said. ‘I talked Cliff into it.’

  Robyn tried to remember what Linda’s contribution to the bucket list had been.

  Skinny-dipping, that was it. Robyn remembered her waxing lyrical about the excitement of feeling the open air on your skin, the dangerous thrill of potentially getting caught…

  ‘You didn’t get yourselves arrested for indecency or something, did you?’ she asked, her eyes widening.

  ‘Oh, no, nothing like that,’ Linda said. ‘No, you see, after the first meeting Cliff and I decided we’d like to do something that would stand for posterity, if you know what I mean. Something to impress the grandchildren.’

  ‘Okay. Such as?’

  ‘Well, Cliff wanted to see if we could get a part as extras in a film. That did sound fun, but when we looked into it there weren’t any opportunities coming up. But, er…’ She coughed. ‘There was something happening.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A sort of performance art thing. You know that famous artist who does the, er… the photos of crowds of nudes?’

  Freya choked on a snort.

  ‘What, you mean you and Cliff—’

  ‘They painted themselves blue and rode up and down an escalator with a load of other stark-naked Smurfs,’ Felicity said matter-of-factly. ‘Definitely one to share with the grandkids. It’ll be like playing Where’s Wally? with Grandpa’s bum.’

  ‘How do you know so much about it, Fliss?’ Robyn asked.

  Felicity grinned. ‘Because Norman and I were there with our bums painted blue too.’ She nudged her bright red fiancé. ‘Weren’t we, dearest?’

  The Brigadier cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well. It gets you out of the house, doesn’t it?’

  Will shook his head. ‘You think you know someone.’

  ‘So do you think you’ll be doing any more performance art?’ Robyn asked the Cockburns.

  ‘No, I think we can tick that one off now,’ Cliff said, still avoiding the Brigadier’s eye. The experience of encountering each other by chance, todgers out and painted blue, had clearly traumatised them. Certainly, their Rotary Club dinners were unlikely to ever be the same.

  ‘Moving on,’ Robyn said. ‘Winnie. Any progress on your tattoo?’

  ‘Er, yes. Well, you could say that. I’ve got one now.’

  ‘Can we see, or is it somewhere you’d rather not show us?’

  Winnie sighed. ‘It’s still healing but yeah, you can see.’

  He rolled up his sleeve to display the fresh ink on his lower arm.

  Will squinted at the artwork. It was very detailed, like a pencil sketch, and looked as if it might have been copied from a photograph. Underneath was a scroll bearing the words: Sleep well, Jarvis, loyol freind: 2004–2019.

  ‘It’s a dog,’ Will said.

  ‘I know. A Pomeranian, I think.’

  ‘Was it your dog, Winnie?’

&n
bsp; ‘No. No, it was someone else’s dog.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure.’

  Robyn frowned. ‘You mean you got a memorial tattoo for a dog you don’t know?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ Winnie said in a pained voice. ‘I wanted a lion but the tattooist had muddled his appointments. He thought I was someone else.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t like to be rude. He’d obviously put a lot of time into the design.’ He looked at his arm and grimaced. ‘I wish he’d been a better speller though.’

  ‘Didn’t he show you it first?’ Freya asked. ‘Normally they do a wipe-off transfer so you can confirm you’re happy with it.’

  Winnie pulled a face. ‘He did, but… you remember the old days, when people got tattoos to show how hard they were?’

  ‘Yes, and?’

  ‘This guy was very old school,’ Winnie said, shuddering. ‘There wasn’t a bit of him that wasn’t inked or pierced, from his bovver boots to the top of his shaven head. He had this sort of menacing look in his eye when he asked if I was happy to go ahead, as if he was defying me to criticise his design, and I…’ He groaned. ‘I just smiled and said yes, that’ll be lovely, thank you.’

  ‘He must know now though,’ Freya said. ‘I mean, I presume Jarvis’s real dad turned up eventually.’

  ‘He did. And to be fair to the bloke, he did give me my money back.’

  ‘So it’s a free misspelt dead dog tattoo. Brilliant.’

  Robyn shook her head. ‘Winnie. Are you saying you got a complete stranger’s dog tattooed on your forearm for all eternity out of social embarrassment?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Winnie muttered. ‘It’s not so bad. I mean, it’s very artistic, don’t you think?’

  Robyn noticed Felicity shaking with silent laughter behind her hanky and turned her head slightly.

  ‘But you can’t go through life pretending you once had a much-loved dog called Jarvis when you didn’t,’ she said. ‘Have you ever had a dog?’

  ‘No. I’m allergic to the fur.’

  ‘Sweet baby Jesus,’ Robyn muttered.

  ‘I could pretend Jarvis was the name of an ex,’ Winnie said, twisting his arm to examine the tattoo.

  ‘Right. An ex who died this year, aged fifteen, and really liked dogs.’

  ‘Okay, maybe not,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll just have to go with my back-up plan and wear long sleeves forever. I’ll miss swimming, but that’s a small price to pay.’

  ‘This is literally the most British thing I’ve ever heard,’ Will said.

  ‘God help me,’ Robyn heard Eliot mutter. ‘The man I love’s called Winston Prenderghast and he’s got a stranger’s dead Pomeranian tattooed on his arm.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘El, did I just hear you use the L-word?’ she whispered.

  ‘Never mind that, Rob. I’ve got bigger problems here.’

  The rest of the group hadn’t fared much better than poor Winnie with their bucket list tasks. Albert Jeffries was limping for a reason he refused to divulge, although on the plus side, he and his wife had finally decided to call it a day on the DVLA and apply for an allotment instead. Jane Siegfried, the lady who’d wanted to learn to play poker, had managed to lose £800 of her savings in an online casino. And Eliot had been forced to give up the ukulele after developing blisters that made it too painful for him to hold his homework-marking pen, much to the delight of his class.

  Robyn rested her chin on one fist as Mr Ansari from the library talked them through the various genealogy archives available online.

  This wasn’t how the club was supposed to be. No, this wasn’t right at all.

  20

  After Mr Ansari had finished his presentation, he, Robyn, Will and Freya circulated among the group, helping people get their family trees started using the library’s Ancestry.co.uk account. When Robyn passed the Brigadier, he plucked her elbow.

  ‘Robyn, can I have a word?’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘Of course. Do you need help with your tree?’

  ‘No, this is about… wait a minute.’ He stood up and guided her away from the others. ‘It’s this book of Arty’s. I’ve been rather losing sleep since he asked me to read it.’

  ‘Why, is it bad?’

  ‘Oh no, the prose is very serviceable. Actually, it’s rather a ripping yarn. I mentioned that he was something of a spiv when we were lads, and he’s got plenty of tales to tell about those days.’

  ‘All right, so what’s the problem?’

  He lowered his voice. ‘There are things in there, Robyn. Things about people in this village, both dead and alive.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘Things a lot of folk aren’t going to be keen on having made public. Some that could even have them in trouble with the law, if the Old Bill had a mind to pursue them. Certainly, some they won’t care for their grandkiddies to know about.’

  ‘Oh my God! Are you mentioned?’

  ‘Yes, but I get off lightly compared to others. I mean people who are, or were, stalwarts of this community. Old Kenny Sykes, who had the surgery before his son took it over. Clara Soames, the retired postmistress. Even late Reverend Hallett.’ He cast a worried look at Molly Gardiner, frowning as she concentrated on what Mr Ansari was showing her. ‘Poor Moll’s earned herself a whole chapter over her love triangle with Arty and Harry.’

  ‘Will she be upset?’

  ‘Let’s just say that I wouldn’t be best pleased to see it all set down in print if I were her.’

  ‘What do you think we ought to do? We can offer some friendly advice, but we can’t stop him publishing it.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose we can,’ the Brigadier said gloomily. ‘We’d better be prepared for a few fireworks when it all comes out though.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, thanks for the heads-up.’

  She was about to leave when he took her elbow.

  ‘Have you spoken to your aunt lately, my dear?’ he asked in a quiet voice.

  ‘Not since that day at the seaside. I’ll be seeing her on Saturday though.’ She frowned. ‘Why, is there something I need to talk to her about?’

  ‘I’m just concerned she’s doing too much, with the wedding coming up. I’d appreciate your support, Robyn, as her only relative in the village. She can’t do it all on her own, regardless of what she says.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been worried about that too. I’ll have a word with her this weekend, see if I can persuade her to give me a job or two.’ Robyn patted his arm and wandered off to see if anyone needed help.

  *

  ‘Where’s Rob gone?’ Eliot said at the end of the night as people started to filter out.

  Freya shrugged. ‘Maybe she went ahead to the pub. She did all the setting up so I suppose we can’t complain if she leaves us the putting away.’

  ‘Have you seen her?’ Eliot asked Will, who was stacking chairs alongside Winnie.

  ‘Not since we finished the genealogy research.’

  ‘She’ll be at the pub,’ Freya said firmly. ‘She had that “gagging for a glass of wine” face on towards the end.’

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ Will said. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you three get off and see if she’s there? I can finish up.’

  ‘You sure?’ Winnie said.

  ‘No problem. Just text and let me know if you find her, will you?’

  ‘You’re not joining us then?’ Eliot asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Not tonight.’

  Will got a text from Eliot just as he was putting away the last table.

  No Rob here. Is she definitely not in the hall?

  The hall was empty. The last club members had disappeared five minutes ago.

  Can’t see her, Will texted back. Hang on, let me check everywhere.

  ‘Bloom?’ he called out.

  His voice echoed back to him from the rafters, but no Robyn Bloom replied.

  Will poked his head into the kitchen. Empt
y. The meeting room – likewise empty.

  He went into the corridor and knocked on the door of the Ladies.

  ‘You in there, Bloomy?’

  ‘No,’ a voice whispered.

  He smiled. ‘Somehow I don’t believe you.’

  ‘It’s true, I’ve been gone ages. Bye, Will.’

  ‘Come on, everyone’s left. You don’t want locking in, do you?’

  There was silence, then the door opened and Robyn emerged.

  ‘Hey,’ Will said gently, noting the tear tracks down her cheeks. ‘What’s up, love?’

  ‘It’s all gone horribly wrong, Will,’ she whispered. ‘Hasn’t it?’

  ‘Here.’ He sank to the floor and patted the space next to him. Sniffing, Robyn sat down too.

  He put an arm around her. ‘Now how about you tell me what’s all gone horribly wrong so we can make it all go wonderfully right again?’

  ‘The club,’ she said, blowing her nose on the tissue he handed her. ‘It’s gone tits up. I should’ve known it would.’

  ‘Never heard such rubbish in my life, Bloom. This is the best club in the village.’

  ‘Yeah? Tell that to poor Winnie, who’s got to go through life with some random dead dog on his arm like an inked Cruella de Vil.’

  ‘It’s not the club’s fault if Winnie’s too polite to tell his tattooist he’s never had a dog.’

  ‘And after Eliot had finally made his peace with the name,’ she said, sighing. ‘I may have ruined my best friend’s sex life for good.’

  ‘You personally did that, did you?’

  ‘I feel like it.’

  ‘So you’re in here crying your eyes out for Eliot Miller’s sex life? I’m sure he’ll rally.’

  ‘Not just that. Arty Johnson’s written a libellous book that’s going to plunge half the pensioners in this village into major scandal, not to mention quite possibly get a few of them banged up. The Brig might never be able to banish the image of Cliff Cockburn’s floppy blue willy from his brain. Albert Jeffries’ DVLA experiments have totally fucked his knee somehow… oh, and Jane Siegfried discovered tonight that on top of her heavy poker losses, she’s very possibly a direct descendant of Dr Crippen.’ She sighed. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be this way, Will.’