Old Age Private Oh My!

by A. W. Blakely

  He'd just have to see. If nothing came to him then they could at least go up to the office and put everything down on the computer in order. Maybe Kate typing up the report so far would give him an insight into something he'd missed. The butterflies were replaced with a rumble in his belly—the diet was something he found impossible to get used to.

  Lunch and a Chat

  Mike had arranged for one of the other lads that worked at the greengrocers to help unload the furniture and boxes, so it was done quicker than the loading. Half an hour after pulling up, Stanley found himself back in the car and heading home. They were only a few minutes away, and it was with utter pleasure that he kissed his wife, greeted her sister, told her the job was done, got a hug, and sank into his chair to take the weight off his feet for a while until lunch was ready.

  Once more he was woken by Spider and told the food was ready. It was becoming a habit. What he wouldn't give to be young again, full of energy that never seemed to run out. No matter, he was doing pretty well for a man of his age, and a little nap was nice—perks of being your own boss.

  Pam gushed over a rather disappointing lunch she had insisted on preparing once again. Stanley would have liked some kind of treat, but instead they had something called Quinoa, pronounced in a funny way that bore little resemblance to how it was spelled on the packet he inspected dubiously. At least there was chicken, which was nice, but it was skinless, and boiled, not roasted in the oven like everyone knew was how you cooked chicken. There wasn't even any salt on it!

  Still, she had spent hours on it according to Babs, so he wasn't about to complain—at least he didn't think he did. This was Pam's way of saying thank you, and once you got used to it the strange concoction actually wasn't that bad.

  "What's all this about school then, Spider?" Stanley asked after they'd finished lunch and were sat in the living room with Stanley still undecided what the next move was concerning the case.

  "Eh? What do you mean?" Spider brought his shoulders up a little, head bowed, turning in on himself as he did when he was uncomfortable or simply didn't want to be disturbed.

  "You said 'stupid school' when we left the house. What's wrong with school? Don't you like it?"

  "It's okay, s'pose."

  "But you don't mind moving to another school? Pam, has he been getting into trouble?"

  "Stanley, Spider is a good boy. He never gets into trouble, do you Spider?" Pam turned to her son with pure love, and pride. The change in both of them over the last few days was nothing short of miraculous. It was as though she had her child back, and it was clear she was both immensely proud he'd managed to snap out of his funk, and immensely relieved too.

  It must have been hard coping with his moods when she had been feeling so low herself and finding it hard to approach her family for help. Stanley had a part to play in that, he knew, but he was trying his best to make amends in his own way.

  "No, never. School's all right, but I don't mind leaving it." He waved the idea away, as if it was unimportant.

  Stanley knew better. Kids hated leaving their mates behind and having to be the new kid. Plus, it would mean a lot of catching up as no two schools ever taught their classes in the exact same way. "That's very grown up of you, Spider. Looking out for your mum and all. I'm proud of you."

  "Thanks. Can I go to my room now?"

  Pam looked to Stanley as if it was his decision. They exchanged a silent conversation about the school thing, him asking if there was anything wrong, her shaking her head. "Sure, Spider. Give us an hour to get up to speed in the office and then we'll head back out if you want?"

  "Great." Spider shuffled off to Kate's old room, leaving the adults behind.

  "What was that all about?" asked Kate.

  "Don't know what you mean. You sure everything was okay at school, Pam?"

  "Of course. He's always been a good boy. No skipping lessons. His grades have never been all A's, but he's not that kind a boy. He's artistic."

  "I bet." Stanley knew what that meant—head in the clouds like his mother.

  "Thank you once again, both of you," said Pam. "I don't know what I would have done without you. It's such a relief to know I won't have to see that horrid house ever again."

  "What about the keys? We still have them. Should I drop them off?"

  "I'll mail them to the landlord. That way it's done with, for good."

  Stanley heaved out of his chair. He was tired, even though he'd taken it easy. "You ready, Kate? We have work to do."

  "Sure. Be right there."

  Stanley put his shoes on and wandered out into the garden, happy to be alone for a few minutes to smoke his pipe and let his thoughts wander where they might. He was at a loss as to the next move. He could feel things slotting into place like a complex jigsaw puzzle. Many of the pieces were there on the edge of conscious thought, clues and mixed emotions trying to put themselves into order, to tell him what he should do, how to move the case along and come up with the answer he knew was not what he would expect at all.

  It would come, he was sure, and maybe going over what they knew so far would help him and Kate better understand what path to follow next.

  Stanley watched with pride as his beautiful daughter walked up the back garden. The sunlight caught her in such a way that her hair shone like a model's. Her walk was easy, confident and assured. She'd come a long way since her divorce from that man. She stayed strong and he was just glad he and Babs had been there to help when they could.

  "Right, let's crack the case," Kate said, winking at her dad then stepping into the office. "You turned it on!" she said, turning and wide-eyed. "Aren't we the computer whiz kid all of a sudden."

  "Cheeky bugger." Stanley smiled as he carefully discarded the contents of his pipe and bravely walked into the office where his daughter was already tapping away at the keyboard and consulting notes. She'd set up a template where she could fill in information about cases as they got it, and considering they had done little in the way of interviews so far there appeared to be a lot of information she had already transferred.

  "Wow, where did all that come from?"

  "I've been updating when I go home. Makes it easier if you keep on top of it all. Plus, I have a few ideas of my own about what to do next." Kate never once looked up or stopped typing as she spoke. How did she do that?

  "I'm all ears."

  "It's just an age thing. They get bigger as you get older." She turned and smiled.

  "You cheeky sod." Stanley smiled too.

  A Burial

  "Dad, I don't think this is such a good idea."

  "Don't be daft, it's just a box." Stanley wriggled around a little to try to get comfortable, but there wasn't a chance in hell of that. He sat upright, feeling the cheap wood dig into his backside and elbows as he carefully raised himself. "I think I'm getting a little old for things like this."

  "I told you. This is silly." Kate grabbed hold of Stanley's hands and pulled him out.

  "I'll do it, it'll be cool. You have to let me take a selfie, though," said Spider, already pulling out his phone.

  "What is with these selfies?" Stanley didn't get it at all. "Both Kate and I are right here. If you want a photo taken then we can do it. It will be better, and you'll get the whole coffin in too."

  Spider stared at Stanley like he'd just invented the coolest possible way to take a picture. As if the idea of getting someone else to take it had never occurred to him. Stanley worried for the future of society when this was how the kids were. "Cool. Great idea."

  "Don't you go encouraging him, Dad." Kate pulled Stanley out of the cheap ply coffin and he moved aside as Spider clamored to get in. "I don't think it's a good idea for anyone to get into a coffin. And especially not with the lid on."

  "Don't be such a baby. It's just a big box."

  "Lid! Nobody said anything about the lid going on." Spider stopped, one advert-laden foot in the coffin. What he thought of as a fun thing to take a picture of now seemingly not so am
using.

  "Of course you have to have the lid on. That's the whole point of this. Don't you dare tell your mother or Auntie Babs, though. They'll put me on cauliflower rations for a year and never talk to me again if they find out I nailed you into a coffin."

  "Nailed me in!" Spider stepped out and backed away. So much for the inquisitive nature of youth.

  "Yes, of course," sighed Stanley. "We have to see what it would be like, and what we can hear with it nailed shut."

  "Um, maybe I'll give that a miss. I get claustrophobic. And what if you can't get the nails back out? It could be dangerous."

  "That is exactly the point. Of course it could be dangerous. Two men died in coffins, and that's the case we are on. We need to perform some tests to get a better understanding of what we are dealing with. If you won't do it then I will." Stanley moved to get back in, much as he had been relieved when Spider offered to take his place. But someone had to do it. He wished he'd got a blanket, though.

  Stewart, a long-time friend and avid carpenter, plus a rather odd bloke if Stanley was honest, had graciously allowed them to borrow his coffin while he went off to the local DIY store for various bits and pieces. Stanley had called and asked if he could use it, getting inspired about what to do after their work in the office, and this seemed like the perfect idea.

  When they'd arrived, Stewart was utterly unfazed by such a request. He'd built his own coffin a few years back, one for his wife too, and she had been far from impressed. He didn't get it, he'd said to Stanley at the time. It would save them money and mean the kids didn't have to go to much expense for their funeral, but his wife hadn't seen it like that at all.

  He kept them, however, and they had remained in a corner of his workshop, covered with cloths, ever since. Stewart left them to it and told Stanley to just shut the door behind them when they left.

  Stanley thought it odd in the extreme to make your own coffin, but at least he'd managed to get some information out of Stewart about making them. A basic one, like the ones he'd made, and those the men had been found in, were simplicity itself to build, he'd said. Cut out the shapes, a bit of glue and some screws, and you were good to go.

  This was why the police had failed to get anywhere when trying to discover who had supplied the coffins, which Stanley had assumed was the case all along. Anyone could do it if they had a few tools and a little time to spare.

  Kate eased Stanley out of the way, scowling at both him and Spider, still plenty of scowl left even though she'd already used a lot on her dad and the dirty workshop packed with half-finished projects, sawdust, no end of sticky tins of paint and varnish, and more glue than could be healthy. "If the young one won't do it then I will. Dad, you can't go lying in a coffin and getting shut in. Jeez."

  Kate clambered in before anyone could object. She gripped the sides like she was on a piece of gymnastics equipment, stretched her legs out so they were parallel to the floor, then lowered herself in by her arms. "Guess the lessons paid off when I was a kid, eh?"

  "Ooh, fancy," said Stanley admiring his daughter's moves. But then, he admired everything she did.

  "Cousin Kate, you know you'll mess up your hair, right?" said Spider, looking both amused yet relieved at the same time.

  "It's already messed up thanks to all the junk in this place. But that's the least of my worries. Okay, do it. And hurry up."

  Stanley and Spider grabbed the lid from the massive workbench, and as Kate lay down they began fitting it into place.

  "Don't you dare nail it shut or I'll tell Mum and you'll be eating vegetables for the rest of your life."

  "Kate, it's just to see what the air is like and if you could cope inside. I'll explain everything afterward, I promise."

  "Be quick." Kate closed her eyes, unable to look. The lid was placed into position.

  Stanley had wanted to do it himself, but he was relieved his daughter offered. She wasn't afraid of small spaces, and she would be better able to cope with the confinement than he would. He wasn't exactly sure what this would tell him, but felt it important at the same time. Could you breathe? Would you panic and not go through with it? Could you be forced to get into a coffin, whatever the threat to yourself? Let someone nail down the lid?

  What he really wanted to know was how long it would take before you died, before the air ran out. Obviously there was no way to test this out in practice—he wasn't about to sacrifice his daughter, not even his nephew, to discover such information. The hour he'd spent that morning had been focused on discovering such things, but most of the time he'd ended up clicking around in virtual circles Online, learning more about the weird fetishes of people that enjoyed being put in coffins than any science behind the act.

  He persevered though, and found a few interesting Websites that told him a little of what he wanted to know. There was plenty of disagreement, but it seemed that if you were of average size, didn't panic—although he couldn't see how you wouldn't—and the coffin was of regular construction, then you might last as long as six to seven hours. Or, it could be less than an hour if you went a little crazy and sucked down the air like your life depended on it.

  Stanley knew that any normal person would freak out and so he put his own estimate at a few hours at the most. Then you would slowly slip into a coma and death would ensue.

  For the men, the only saving grace, although actually it was the opposite, was that they weren't buried deep so air may well have been able to filter through a little from above ground. But only if there were faults in the seal or the coffin itself, something he had no way of knowing unless he took his time to go ask the police. Even then, he doubted they would give him such information—there was no reason they should.

  There was something that had been niggling him about the whole buried alive thing. Why? That was what it all came down to, wasn't it? Why bother? It was cruel in the extreme, but if you were that kind of person then why bury them so near to the surface that there was a chance they would be discovered? Or would they? Just a few inches of soil and leaves was enough to hide the coffins, and the men couldn't get out.

  So did it matter? Was it just laziness, not wanting to dig once the murderers discovered the ground was hard? Or they knew the men inside their tombs would be dead within a few hours and wanted them found? A warning to others? Or something else entirely? Stanley felt sickness rise again just thinking about it.

  "Um, Uncle Stan?" Spider nodded at the coffin. Stanley came back to himself and to the sounds of Kate rapping on the inside of the coffin lid.

  "Oh, yes, sorry. Kate, can you hear me?"

  There was a muffled sound from inside but he couldn't make out the words. Stanley nodded to Spider and they slid the lid aside. "What did you say?"

  "I said," Kate was red and breathing hard, "I do not like this. Are we done?"

  "Were you finding it hard to breathe? Was the air going already?"

  "That's just it, I'm not sure. How do you know if the air is running out or if you are just freaking out?" Kate pushed against the lid and sat upright, half her body still hidden by the lid.

  "Hmm, I suppose you're right. Well, I think that's enough, don't you?"

  "Definitely." Kate shoved the lid off and it clattered to the messy cement floor. Dust billowed and sawdust particles erupted into the air, making them all itch and rub at their heads. Kate clambered out a little less elegantly than she had got in and stood, brushing herself down.

  Roobarb whimpered in the corner, confused and wagging his tail nervously.

  "It's all right, we're just playing hide Kate in the coffin." Spider moved over to Roobarb and crouched, giving him a nice head rub.

  "It's okay, Roobarb, just us being silly. Nothing to worry about. Come on, let's get out of here. Spider, help me put the coffin back next to the other one." Stanley picked up one end and Spider came and grabbed the other. They stacked it next to Stewart's wife's before wandering out into a glorious, warm afternoon.

  It was like a different world after the dul
l, dusty interior. There was hope and the sounds of birds, warmth and sunshine on their faces. Stanley packed and lit his pipe, lost in thought as he let the sun heat his cool body. He shivered as his temperature changed, unaware until that moment how cold he had been in the workshop.

  Contemplating Mortality

  "Was any of that really necessary?" asked Kate, checking her compact and applying some light makeup while simultaneously turning to give Stanley the evil eye, get cobwebs off her legs, shake the dust out, re-apply more lipstick and check her phone because it beeped from the depths of her bag. "Mum wants to know when we'll be back. Apparently Auntie Pam wants to cook."

  "Oh, that's just great. Um, sorry, Spider, no offense." Stanley sucked extra hard on his pipe until he disappeared behind the safety of the noxious smoke.

  Spider, well away from his foul fumes, said, "Haha, that's all right. I've had to eat it every day of my life."

  "She means well, I know," said Stanley. "But I like my meals to consist of meat and potatoes, not weird stuff I can't even pronounce."

  "You should have seen it when she went on a Malaysian food kick. Neither of us had a clue what we were eating."

  "I can imagine."

  "If you don't mind," interrupted Kate, "I'd like to know what to tell her."

  "We'll be back for dinner, don't worry. You staying again?"

  Kate nodded then tapped at her phone, replying. "Now, as I already asked. Was that necessary?"

  Stanley wasn't sure. They hadn't actually achieved anything yet he somehow knew it was worthwhile. This was proper detectiving—damn, now he was doing it too. This was letting yourself become immersed in the crime, opening up your mind to it, allowing new experiences and thoughts to penetrate what you thought of as the truth and reveal something different. He just hadn't got as far as it doing that yet.

  What had they learned? That it wasn't nice being in a coffin, that you would die within maybe six or seven hours if you could keep calm, and that burying someone even in a shallow grave would still kill them fast unless there were some serious flaws in the design of the coffin. His mind was drifting again; had he answered Kate? Clearly not by the way she was tapping her foot impatiently.