Calling All Services (Calling All... Book 1)

by Tara Ford

  “Oh no, I forgot about that. You’ll go though, won’t you?” I looked at Grant with a glint in my eye and squeezed his hand.

  Tuesday was a big day for my dad. He had spent four years of toil to get to this exclusive event and somehow Grant and I had got roped into the day’s schedule along with Mum.

  “Suppose I’ll bloody have to as I’ve booked the day off!” Grant sounded a bit stressed.

  I decided to change the subject.

  “Have you told Zoe and Carol?” I asked urgently. It had just occurred to me that there was a possibility I would not make it into work on Monday. It was more than a possibility – it was almost a certainty! I couldn’t imagine turning up for work in a motorised wheelchair. I wasn’t ready for that yet. That would really be serious stuff if I was chair-bound. Deep down, I still thought this would all go away or that I’d wake up and find it had all been a bad dream.

  “Yeah, I sent them both the same message, and then Zoe called me. Don’t worry – everything is sorted out for Monday. They’re not expecting you in, and they’ll all be covering your shifts between them.”

  “Oh good, it’s only just occurred to me about the shop Grant. Are you sure they don’t mind?”

  “Babe, stop worrying, it’s all sorted. They’re all concerned about you. Zoe said you must make sure you get better before you go back.”

  I knew they would be concerned – they were my employees, but also my friends. Carol had worked for me from the very beginning, giving almost 13 years of dedicated service. I had employed a number of staff over the years, some good and some bad, but I praised Carol for her loyalty and genuine conscientious dedication to my shop. She had a brilliant rapport with the customers and they adored her sense of humour. When I offered her the position of assistant manager some six years ago, in the year of her 50th birthday, she had turned it down, preferring to remain as just a shop assistant. She’d stated that she was really happy staying as she was and didn’t want to take any more responsibility. Her honesty was admirable.

  I’d been looking for someone to take some of the burden of running the shop from me when Zoe came along. She was young, vibrant and clever. After two very successful years with her on board, I offered her the senior position, which she gladly accepted.

  Now, taking comfort from the knowledge that the shop would be in good hands, I accepted that I was unable to keep an overview of things from hospital.

  The two weekend staff would probably get some overtime too if I was going to be ‘out of the loop’ for any period of time. Melvin and Ruby helped to run the convenience store at the weekends. They had originally been customers until they jointly took early retirement and subsequently decided they wanted a little extra sparkle in their lives. At first they had helped out at a moment’s notice whenever I needed them, but as time went by I realised that I depended on them more often, and so a year after their retirement, I offered them both some weekend work which they gladly accepted. Living just across the road, it couldn’t have been more convenient for them. Melvin and Ruby loved the shop, knew nearly all the local customers and enjoyed working weekends. They liked to keep their weekdays free to enjoy their pastimes and hobbies. They loved dog walking and shopping sprees. Weekdays were their best days, when there were less people around and fewer kids to get in their way. This was when they liked to spend long days browsing the charity shops and antique alleys.

  Admitting that my shop was in very good hands, I had to try and forget about it (at least until I was out of the hospital) and stop worrying about everything, as I always did.

  Between Grant and Zoe, any problems would be dealt with. Unfortunately I was not as indispensable as I would like to think I was – would this be the case at home too?

  After a lengthy discussion with Grant about my condition and the possible scenarios and expectations of diagnosis, we breathed simultaneous sighs and resigned ourselves to the morbid reality of the hopeless situation as it currently stood.

  Always reserving crosswords for difficult or uncomfortable conditions, Grant opened the outdated newspaper he had collected earlier from the cafe and requested a pen from my constant source of junk – my handbag.

  “Em, can you pass my bag over please?” I asked, pointing to the Next handbag which boasted an excessive amount of pockets and secret hiding places. I liked bags that had so many pockets and pouches in them that it was a complete mystery as to what they could all be used for, however, I always did find a little something to put in each compartment, even if it was just an old broken pencil or an empty lip balm covered in fluff.

  Emma was busy on her phone, which was usually attached to her right hand, and if it wasn’t in her hand it was hooked up in the side of her bra. Managing to grab my bag without looking, she was able to send a text message at the same time as she passed it over to me.

  Luckily my belongings had been brought along with us, so I could soon get changed and ask a nurse to take me to the bathroom so I could wash and clean my teeth. Dignity desperately still held strong and I did not want to rely on Grant to help out with all my personal hygiene issues, at least not until it was an absolute requirement. Faith and prayers might help to avoid that type of needy situation arising.

  I groped around in the endless bottom of my handbag and found a pen for Grant, and also my trusted phone – dead as a dead thing!

  “Grant, can you take this home and charge it, or bring my charger here please?” I said, waving the phone under his nose.

  Looking up from his crossword he replied, “I’ll take it back with me.” Clasping the phone, he slid it into his jeans pocket, and at the same time his own phone vibrated in his other pocket. It was Dave.

  After lots of hugs, kisses and goodbyes, Emma and Grant left and said they would come back tomorrow. Watching them walk out of the ward I felt sadness engulf me. I wanted to go with them. Picking up my emotions, I injected some fake high spirits into them – I knew it was just a matter of time before I went home.

  It was getting very late and the ward lights had been switched off, giving way to dimmer night-lights. The ward housed just four beds, each occupied by sleeping patients, apart from mine. Working on a computer under the beam of a desk lamp, a nurse sat at a desk at the front of the ward.

  Deciding it would be best to wait till the morning to wash, change and clean my teeth, I hoped no one else would come and see me to do more tests. I could then rest easy in my dirty underwear, as I had no inclination to change right now. It had been a very long and eventful day.

  Reaching for the carrier bag that Emma had lovingly packed for me, I proceeded to have a quick look through the comforts from home.

  To my surprise and horror, the bag contained:

  One pair of old, holey thong knickers which had half of the lace trim hanging off. (I never wore them anymore. My thong days were well and truly over and they didn’t even fit!)

  One toothbrush.

  No toothpaste.

  An empty pot of anti-wrinkle night cream which never did what it said on the box.

  A nail file. (Did she think I was in prison and needed to escape the iron bars?)

  The bathroom cleaning cloth, still covered in Flash and posing as a flannel. The bathroom cleaning cloth didn’t even look remotely like our soft and fluffy turquoise flannels.

  Grant’s old, empty pack of Curanail ointment. (My toes weren’t that bad!)

  The Joy of Sex handbook. I blushed.

  Emma must have found that at the bottom of my knicker drawer along with the tattered thong! Why she had put it in the bag, I had no idea, or was she being facetious?

  There were also a pack of slim panty-liners, which were completely useless with a thong anyway, and a dried-out, crusty, travel-size bar of Nivea soap which had split in two. I remembered seeing it in the bathroom cabinet a few times and it had been there for about 12 years, left over from one of our holidays.

  At least Emma had made the effort, bless her, even if she had got it all completely wrong, yet ag
ain.

  Grant

  “Cheers mate, I owe you one.”

  “No you don’t Grant, anything we can do to help, let us know.” said Dave, remaining seated in his car.

  Grant and Emma jumped out and waved goodbye as Dave turned around outside the car park and drove away.

  “You hungry?” asked Grant.

  “Yeah, suppose.” Emma spoke quietly, grumpiness towards her dad still being foremost on her agenda, as they walked to the parking meter.

  Choosing to ignore Emma’s little protest Grant approached the pay shelter, dreading what the greedy ticket machine would foretell tonight. Cautiously, he fed his ticket into the slot. It was almost midnight. Perhaps it would turn into a sabre-toothed, money-munching, monstrous transformer, thought Grant as he waited anxiously.

  Seven pounds and twenty pence. Not as bad as last night, he thought, taking his credit card from his pocket and feeding the hungry, square beast.

  “Get two plates out, Em,” said Grant, hastily opening the wrapped chip shop goodies.

  The smell of vinegar wafted up his nostrils and made his mouth water like a leaky tap. Hunger pangs abounded as the aromas teased Grant and Emma with chicken burgers and salty chips. Hurriedly seating himself in the dining room, Grant noticed a carrier bag that had been left on the table. Peering inside, while cramming a handful of chips into his salivating mouth, he saw two large bunches of grapes and four magazines. Dot! he thought. Why did she bloody well ring to ask, if she was just going to buy them anyway?

  Alex’s parents had their own set of keys to the house, a token gesture reciprocated many years ago after Dot and Charlie had asked Grant and Alex to check their home while they were in Canada for three weeks. Big mistake.

  Making a point of getting two keys cut, one for Alex and one for Grant, Dot had adorned them with countless jangly, sparkling key rings (to ensure they would be heard if they fell on the floor, or so they could be found easier, should they get lost).

  Dot had no qualms herself about using her door key to enter Grant’s house, particularly if she had phoned and no one was home. Having to deal with things straight away, Dot couldn’t tolerate waiting for people to arrive home. She often bought gifts for the family and her impatient streak meant that she had to bestow them to the lucky recipients – yesterday. On many occasions, the children had found their birthday presents left in the house six to eight weeks prior to the actual day. This often caused storage problems for Alex as her parents had no shortcomings when it came to presents for birthdays or Christmas.

  The Frey family actually dreaded the festive season each year. Fearing absence from home and unable to protect their living room from resembling the elves’ toy-assembly production line – even now, the kids still got toys! Throughout December their home gradually filled with beautifully wrapped boxes, ribbons galore and metallic bows stuck to the sides of concealed objects of every conceivable shape and size. Twenty-three Pinewood Avenue resembled Santa’s grotto even before the glitzy decorations had taken up temporary residence.

  “They’re men’s toys!” Dot would profess. “Boys to men, they never grow up you know. And us ladies always like to own a collection of cuddly, cute teddy bears, don’t we?” (Do we?)

  Unaware that the local Sunday morning car boot sale had been generously supplied by Alex and Grant with unwanted toys and homeless bears for the last decade, Dot continued her lavish gift regime regardless. And of course, now it was Easter once again. That cringeworthy time of the year when they all received a chocolate egg each and a pack of six Creme Eggs. Grant and the boys also got novelty socks bearing a yellow Easter chick print, or worse still, bunny socks, and Alex and Emma got fluffy chick cuddly toys or rabbits with long floppy ears.

  Alex tried every year to dissuade her mum from continuing the lavish gifting, but to no avail.

  Seated at the opposite end of the dining room, Emma maintained her ‘sulky expression’ into a glass of squash before proceeding to devour her meal.

  Hurtling down the stairs, three at a time, Joe reached the dining room door.

  “I see your grandma has been round, then?” questioned Grant rhetorically, as Joe entered the room sniffing the salty air.

  “Yeah, I didn’t see her though, she must have come in when I was out,” he replied, ogling the chips. “Ah, give me a chip Dad!”

  “Sorry mate, didn’t think to phone you and ask if you wanted any. Here, take some.”

  “No it’s fine, only joking, I had a McD’s when we left the bowling alley. It took us an hour to get home though!”

  Pulling out a chair, Joe sat down at the table and watched Emma grumpily stuffing the whole chicken burger in her mouth as far back as her tonsils would allow.

  “Why?” asked Grant as he too noticed that Emma was looking quite undignified, with half a quarter-pound chicken burger protruding from her lips. “Em, can you eat that a little more civilised please?” barked Grant.

  Withdrawing the oversized burger from her mouth, Emma sarcastically took a small nibble from the edge, barely removing a crumb from the sesame seed bap. It was apparent that she was still reminiscing about the letter and her punishment.

  “We walked back from bowling through the field.” Joe sounded concerned. “There were cows in it. They’d been left out for some reason. They aren’t normally out at that time of night.” Joe’s voice started to race. “Dad, the cows ganged up on us and wouldn’t let us get through the gate!”

  Almost choking on a chip, Grant let out a roar of laughter which filled the room, as he pictured a picket line of cartoon cows holding onto the gate with their hooves and mooing, “You’re not coming through here!”

  “What do you mean, they ganged up on you?” he managed to squeak between chips and chortling.

  “They did! We were scared. Kyle’s got it on video. The cows saw us and moved closer together, then they stood in a line staring. They had evil in their eyes!”

  Almost crying onto his plate, Grant continued to shake his head and roar. “Bloody hell Joe, you idiot!” he managed to say between wheezy breaths.

  “I’m not an idiot! You don’t know what it was like. They started heading straight towards us. They were going to charge at us and kill us! We didn’t know where to run. They had us trapped in a corner!”

  There was panic in Joe’s voice and his brown eyes searched desperately for acknowledgement in Grant’s contorted face. “Kyle lost his shoe in a load of mud and I had to go back and get it because no one else would. And the cows kept coming closer! There were about eight of them stood in a row, they were definitely ganging up on us. They were scraping their hooves on the ground like they were going to charge!” Inhaling a deep breath, Joe continued. “You don’t know what it was like Dad – those cows are psycho cows!”

  “Joe, calm down,” Grant managed to blurt. “Have you ever heard of anyone being mauled to death by a killer cow on the news?”

  “It wasn’t just one though Dad, they were definitely going to get us, I could tell they felt safe in a pack! That’s why they all stood close together in a line. They knew what they were doing.”

  Grant almost fell off his chair, while Emma hid behind her glass of orange squash and tried desperately not to laugh – it would not fit well with her stroppy image.

  “You don’t know what it was like!” Joe said angrily. “We’ve got it all on film – they stared us out with big bulbous eyes. I could see them clearly even in the dark!”

  “Did they have red dots lit up in their eyes like the Terminator?” asked Grant, trying to compose himself as best he could.

  “You’re just taking the mickey, aren’t you Dad?” scowled Joe, seated at the table with his arms folded and an air of resentment about him.

  “Joe, trust me son, there are no callous, murdering gangs of cows that I know of. Or maybe they are a new breed, called something like the Hereford Homicidal Heifers!” Grant only just managed to get the words out before he spluttered into another guffaw and Emma played her part
by choking as she swallowed a mouthful of chips.

  “Well you didn’t see the look in their eyes. You’re not a cow expert,” Joe replied angrily as he got up from the table.

  Stomping up the stairs to his room, he slammed the door loudly.

  The atmosphere in the dining room changed to a serious one just for a second, and then Grant and Emma looked at each other across the table and burst into shrieking belly laughs.

  Guilt wore heavily on Grant. He knew he should try and talk to Joe. He needed to explain that cows really wouldn’t have hurt Joe.

  Trying to think of an explanation as to why they had watched the boys like they did, he concluded that they may have been expecting some food. And don’t cows just follow people anyway? he wondered.

  Deciding to talk to Joe in the morning, Grant knew he would have to hold his composure, because Joe felt that he was being laughed at... which he was!

  Eventually Joe would see the funny side of it and be able to share it with the rest of the family, Grant hoped, giggling again.

  Alex would have loved this if she’d been here.

  “Goodnight.” Pecking Grant on the cheek, Emma went up to bed feeling bloated like a puffer fish after her large meal.

  It was almost 1.30, and dawn would soon be peeping in through the window at this rate, thought Grant as he sat gazing blankly at the TV. Knackered and aching, he couldn’t even be bothered to climb the stairs, and he didn’t really want to anyway as Alex wasn’t there. Hauling himself up out of the cosy chair he proceeded to lock the doors and turn all the downstairs lights off, as thoughts of Alex pricked his mind.

  Smiling to himself, he began to reminisce about the night he’d met her, over a quarter of a century ago.

  He’d been struck by her beauty, her alluringly sweet smile and her daringly provocative style of dance in the heaving nightclub. When Alex realised she had an admirer watching from the edge of the dance floor she began to tease him with the half-empty bottle of cider she held in her hand, gently pushing it in and out of her mouth, like she was sucking a lollipop. Grant hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her, but nervously plucked up the courage to ask if she would like a drink when she left the dance floor. Thankfully, she accepted, much to the annoyance of her two friends who had already decided that they wanted to go to a different part of the club. Alex told her friends to go without her as she wanted to stay and chat to him.