Resurrection (The Underwood and Flinch Chronicles Book 1)

by Mike Bennett

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Flinch took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his tears. ‘Thank you very much.’ He took Underwood’s hand and shook it.

  ‘All right then,’ Underwood tapped the coffin lid. ‘It’s that time, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, just one thing, sir.’ Flinch reached into his pocket and took out Underwood’s watch. ‘Will you be wanting this with you in your, er, repose?’

  Underwood smiled. ‘No. I think it’s best if you hang on to that. Keep it wound for me, would you?’

  ‘Of course, sir. I shall wind it every evening at sundown, just as I always do.’

  ‘Capital.’ Underwood turned and opened the coffin, lifting off the heavy lid as if were made of cardboard and not fine Spanish oak. ‘Mmm, nothing like the smell of a new coffin, eh, Flinch?’ He set the lid down against a nearby pillar.

  Flinch smiled. ‘No, sir.’

  Underwood got inside and settled himself down. ‘Very nice. Just my size.’

  Flinch wrung his hands. ‘Are you absolutely sure about this, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Flinch. Everything needs to die once in a while, even if it isn’t a real death.’

  ‘Just hibernation, sir.’

  ‘Precisely; just hibernation, Flinch.’

  Flinch nodded sadly and picked up the coffin lid. He laid it carefully onto the coffin and slid it into position, stopping short of Underwood’s face. ‘May I just say, sir, just how much of a pleasure it’s been to serve you?’

  ‘Thank you, Flinch. And may I say that the pleasure has been entirely mutual.’

  Flinch laughed and wiped a tear from his eye. ‘Goodbye, Master.’

  ‘Goodbye, Arthur. Enjoy your retirement.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I shall, sir.’

  Underwood crossed his hands over his chest and closed his eyes. Then Flinch slid the coffin lid over the face of his Master and let it fall into place with a dry, heavy sound of finality. He drew his palm slowly and silently over the smooth surface of the coffin. ‘Rest well, sir.’ He turned and walked to the nearest candelabra where he blew out the candles, one by one. He continued slowly around the cellar until he came to the stairs leading back up to the library. There, he snuffed out the last light, and slowly ascended the stairs towards the dim glow of a new dawn.

  1

  ‘HELLO, MY NAME’S DAVID and I’m an alcoholic.’ David Smith nodded once in general greeting to everyone who sat with him in the small circle.

  ‘Hello David,’ came the collective response with varying degrees of interest. They were gathered in a small, fluorescent-lit room in Hove Community Centre.

  David ran a hand through his short dark hair, and scratched his head. ‘Er, not a lot really going on with me right now. I’ve been sober for over two years and, well, as you know, it’s not always easy but, I’m getting there one day at a time.’ He shrugged. ‘Thanks.’ He looked at the group leader, Mary, to indicate he had finished.

  ‘Really, David?’ said Mary. ‘Nothing at all to share?’

  ‘No, not really. My girlfriend is going back to Germany this week, which is a bit of a bummer, but, you know, that’s life.’

  ‘Well, how do you think you’ll cope with that?’

  ‘Fine.’ David took a sip from his machine-vended cup of coffee.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, I mean, it happens doesn’t it? People come, people go.’

  ‘Doesn’t happen to me,’ said a slightly chubby man opposite David. ‘My wife cleared off three years ago and I haven’t had a woman since. “People go” about sums it up for me.’

  ‘Please, Steve,’ said Mary. ‘You’ll get your turn to speak.’ She turned back to David. ‘Sorry David.’

  ‘No really, you go, Steve. I’ve got nothing to say. Honest.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Mary. ‘You know, if you think this situation with your girlfriend could be a problem ... ?’

  ‘No, I don’t, really. I don’t mean to sound shallow or anything but, it’s not a big deal for me. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Be another one along in a minute eh, Dave?’ said Steve. ‘Like a number seven bus?’

  David smiled and shook his head. ‘No, mate.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ said Steve. ‘I really don’t. I mean, it’s not like you’re much to look at, now is it?’

  ‘Oh, hark at Brad Pitt,’ said a woman to David’s left.

  There were a few chuckles around the circle before Mary brought things to order again. ‘Thank you, Carol. Can we just let David speak please?’

  David shrugged. ‘I’ve spoken, Mary. That’s it. I’m fine, no worries. Ask him if you don’t believe me,’ he pointed to Steve. ‘He’s my sponsor.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Steve. ‘He’s fine all right. Have you seen that German bird of his? Bloody hell, anyone’d be fine who had that to come home to. And when she goes, seriously, there’ll be another one along before you can say “trousers”. There must be something in the chalk dust at that school he teaches at; them foreign birds throw themselves at him.’

  Mary raised an eyebrow at David. ‘Do they?’

  David smiled and shook his head. ‘No. I do meet the odd girl there, sure. But it’s never anything serious.’

  ‘And ain’t that just the way you like it, eh?’ said Steve with a wink.

  David turned to the man next to him. ‘Peter. I think it’s your turn.’

  Peter sat back and folded his arms. ‘No, no. I’m enjoying hearing about this school of yours. What do you teach that has such an aphrodisiac effect?’

  ‘English,’ said Steve. ‘He gets all these young girls over here wanting to learn English, and he takes them home for some extra-curricular lessons, don’t you Smithy?’

  ‘Oh that is so not true,’ said David. ‘You’re making me out to be some Casanova type, which is just bollocks. I’m a thirty-five year old man living in a rented one-bedroom flat; I ride a bicycle and I teach English, part-time. I’m not exactly what you’d consider a catch, am I?’

  ‘Not me, no. I think you’re a minger. But them foreign birds, they must go for bike-riding mingers coz you always seem to have one on the go, duncha?’

  ‘Bollocks do I.’

  ‘Are there any jobs going there then?’ asked Peter. ‘I’ve got a bike.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Steve. ‘And I speak English.’

  ‘And you’re a minger an’ all,’ said Carol. ‘If you borrowed Peter’s bike, you’d be well in.’

  ‘Thank you, Carol,’ said Steve with a sarcastic smile.

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ said David. ‘I’m sure they’d be all over you like bees round a honey pot, Steve.’

  ‘Bloody right mate, I am a honey pot.’

  ‘Chamber pot, more like,’ said Carol.

  This got a laugh from everyone but Steve.

  ‘All right, all right, settle down,’ said Mary. ‘Well, if you’ve really nothing to say, David, let’s move on to Peter.’

  Peter sighed and sat on his hands. ‘Hello everyone, my name is Peter and I’m an alcoholic.’

  ‘Hi Peter,’ everyone replied.

  Steve made a clandestine “wanker” hand gesture at David. David poked his tongue twice into his cheek in response. Then they both settled back to listen to Peter, whose anecdotal updates on his wife’s snoring were always highly entertaining.

  An hour later, as they were stacking away their chairs, Steve spoke again to David. ‘So, seriously mate. You all right about this bird leaving, are you?’

  ‘Yeah. Like I said, it’s not a big deal.’

  ‘But I thought you really liked her.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘So, you must be feeling a bit pissed off then, surely?’

  David pushed the stack of plastic chairs against the wall and shrugged. ‘What can I do? That’s life, mate.’

  ‘Well, you could ask her to stay?’

  ‘She can’t stay. She’s got a family and a job and all the rest of it.’

  ‘So? Have you asked her?’
r />   ‘What?’

  ‘If she’d stay?’

  ‘We’ve talked about it. She says I can go over there and – you know – teach English, but,’ he made a face. ‘I don’t really fancy it.’

  ‘Don’t fancy what?’

  ‘Germany.’

  ‘Well that’s all right, you ain’t gonna be shagging Germany are you? I mean, it’s her what you fancy, innit?’

  David smiled. ‘Are you trying to get rid of me, Steve?’

  ‘No, I just don’t want to see you chucking a good thing away. She’s a lovely girl that one. You’ll kick yourself if you let her go.’

  David shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, mate. I don’t mind not being in a committed relationship, you know? Since Sarah died, I just, I dunno, I like to keep it simple.’

  ‘You can’t go on keeping it simple forever, Dave. One day, whatever magic chalk dust it is you sprinkle over them girl students’ eyes is gonna stop working. Oh yeah – you’ll wind up old and alone, smelling of piss, and wearing a kettle for an army helmet as you re-live that war you was in. I can see you now, shouting out “surrender” at the milkman in Czechoslovakian.’

  ‘Serbo-Croat,’ David corrected.

  ‘Eh? What’s that? The Czechoslovakian for “surrender”?’

  ‘No it’s the language I’ll be shouting “surrender” in; I was in Bosnia.’

  ‘Yeah, well it all sounds the same when you’ve got a kettle on your head, dunnit? Point is, your life’s slipping away from you. You ain’t getting any younger.’ They walked out into the corridor. ‘Take me,’ Steve continued. ‘I used to be like you, I could have had any woman in town. But I had Brenda didn’t I? I was faithful to that woman. And then,’ his lips tightened, ‘and then she went and bloody left me, didn’t she?’

  ‘Well, yeah, not be funny or anything Steve, but that was because you were always pissed.’

  ‘That’s beside the point.’

  ‘Is it? I thought that was the point.’

  ‘No, I mean it’s not the point I’m trying to make to you, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. What is your point then?’

  ‘My point is, I had it, but I let it slip away: I fucked it up. And now, you’ve got it too, and you’re gonna let it slip it away an’ all. And you ain’t even gonna have the consolation – not that it is much of a consolation – of being able to say it was coz you was pissed all the time. No, you’re fucking it up, and you’re stone cold sober.’

  David pushed the front door open, grateful of the damp evening air after two hours of central heating. Steve took out his cigarettes and offered David the packet. David shook his head. ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘What? You’re not giving up the fags an’ all are you? You’ll go mental!’

  ‘No, I just want to breathe for a bit, that’s all.’

  ‘Fair enough. So anyway, you see what I’m saying about this bird?’

  David nodded.

  Steve exhaled smoke. ‘So do me a favour will you? Just think about it, okay?’

  ‘About what, going to Germany?’

  ‘About doing whatever it takes, mate. If she’s the one for you – and I know Sarah was, but you know, sometimes fate deals you more than one chance – you should do whatever it takes to keep her.’

  David looked at his friend and nodded. ‘All right Steve, I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Good lad. So, what you doing now?’

  ‘Going home, making dinner.’

  ‘What you having? Pizza?’

  ‘No. Lisa’s coming over. I’m making a chicken korma.’

  ‘Ooh, very exotic. They say a bloke that cooks knows the quickest way to a bird’s heart.’

  David frowned. ‘Who does?’

  ‘Well, no-one actually, I made it up. But it sounds right, dunnit? If you can cook, you’re half way there. They’ll understand that you won’t be expecting them to do all the cooking. It’s metrosexual, innit?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Oh yeah. I’m totally metrosexual, me. I can do beef and spuds, spagbol, sausage and mash, you name it,’ He pointed at David with his cigarette. ‘And I always put the toilet seat down after I have a piss, which to some women is a more important thing about a bloke than him having a big dick.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  ‘Where did you read that?’

  ‘I didn’t read it; a bird told me herself.’

  ‘Was this after you slept with her?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m going back years, mind you, but it’s as true today as it was then.’

  David smiled. ‘Of course it is.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Listen, I have to go. I’ll see you soon, yeah?’ He trotted down the steps to the street.

  ‘Yeah. Next week – if not before. And you stay dry, yeah?’

  David turned and waved. ‘You too.’

  ‘And don’t forget,’ Steve called after him. ‘It’s her you’re shagging, not Germany.’

  Peter came out and stood beside Steve. ‘Alright, Steve?’

  ‘Alright Pete?’

  ‘What’s wrong with shagging Germany?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘What’s wrong with shagging Germany? I’d shag Germany.’

  ‘Yeah, you’d shag anything, Pete.’

  ‘No I wouldn’t,’ said Peter, mildly affronted. ‘I wouldn’t shag France. Would you?’

  ‘Course not. I couldn’t, it ain’t possible.’

  ‘Ah. So, I’m not the only one, then.’ Peter accepted one of Steve’s cigarettes.

  ‘Oh, I’d say you probably are, Pete,’ said Steve, giving Peter a light. ‘I’d say you probably are.’

  An hour later, David was in his kitchen reading the instructions on a jar of chicken korma sauce when the phone rang. He wandered through into the lounge and picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’

  ‘Lisa? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in a cafe with Claudia and Maria. I just wanted to check; you’re cooking tonight, right?’

  ‘That’s right. Chicken korma.’

  ‘Have you started it?’

  ‘Well, I’ve opened a jar of Chicken Tonight. Why?’

  ‘Claudia and Maria have invited us to a party tonight at Marco and Giuseppe’s apartment. People are meeting in The Cricketer’s at ten. Do you want to go?’

  David sat down on the sofa. ‘Uh, I dunno, Lese. It’s just gonna be a load of students getting pissed up, isn’t it. I mean, you go by all means, but I think I’ll give it a miss. Students never really understand when you say you don’t want a pint, they take it as a rejection.’

  ‘You can just tell them you don’t drink.’

  ‘Yeah, and then they start asking you, “Why not? Why you no drink?”. But you go, it’ll be a laugh. You should make the most of your last few days in Brighton.’

  ‘I intend to, Mister Teacher. What time is dinner? I don’t want to be late.’

  David smiled. ‘Whenever suits you.’

  ‘Okay, I can be there in about thirty minutes.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Should I get anything on the way?’

  ‘Get yourself some wine if you like, but I don’t need anything.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll see you soon.’ She made a kiss sound at the receiver. ‘Bye.’

  He returned the kiss. ‘Bye.’

  She hung up. He looked at himself in the large mirror that hung over the fireplace: he was blushing. He shook his head. ‘You sap.’

  As promised, she arrived at his flat thirty minutes later. She held up a bottle of expensive mineral water. ‘Do you like this? I asked the supermarket assistant for a non-alcoholic drink to have with dinner and he suggested this.’

  David kissed her and took the bottle. ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  She came in after him and closed the front door. ‘The food smells lovely. Chicken korma is a curry?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He entered the lounge and turned down the stereo.

  ‘Mmm, how long will
it be?’

  ‘We can have it any time. Why are you hungry?’

  ‘No, I’m horny.’ She came up to him, put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  David tasted the wine on her breath. He kissed her back. Then he said, ‘Wait a second, just let me go and turn the cooker off.’ He went out. When he came back she had gone through into the bedroom. He went in. She was sitting on the bed in her underwear.

  She held out her hand. ‘Come on please, teacher. It’s time for my private lesson.’

  It was shortly after nine when they finally ate. The meal was a success. Afterwards, they sat talking at the table, David in his boxer shorts and Lisa in one of his t-shirts. Then Lisa got up to clear the plates. David held up a hand. ‘Leave them, I’ll wash them up later.’

  ‘But you cooked.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  She sat down again, smiling. ‘Well, if you insist.’

  ‘I do.’ He picked up his cigarettes.

  Her smile faded. ‘Oh David, do you have to smoke now?’

  David put the packet down. ‘No, I can leave it if it bothers you.’

  ‘I wish you’d just give it up altogether.’

  ‘I can’t give it up, it’s my hobby, Lese. Everyone needs a hobby. Drinking used to be my hobby and I had to give that up, so this is all I’ve got left.’

  ‘Don’t you have any real hobbies?’

  He shrugged. ‘Does Playstation count?’

  ‘No, I mean real hobbies.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Not anymore.’

  ‘You know, I thought you’d be more of a book person.’

  ‘I like books.’

  ‘But you have hardly any. In fact, you don’t have much of anything.’

  He topped up her glass. ‘Well, I don’t like clutter. It’s good Feng Shui.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s Chinese for throwing out your crap.’

  ‘You see? This Feng Shui thing. I didn’t know this about you, yet we’ve been seeing each other for months now. You’re really quite a private person, aren’t you?’