Take a Chance on Me

by Carol Wyer

  She forced the image from her mind. She needed to retrieve her mask. She wrestled with it, attempting to locate the front, struggling to slip the strong elastic over her head and finally, forcing it over her eyes and nose. Tilting her head backwards, she pressed the mask against her forehead to release it a little below her nose, and snorted air to dispel the water. The glass cleared slightly. She repeated the procedure. The mask cleared completely. Quickly, she fixed the mask tightly to her face and she breathed again. She was back in a safe place. Liam gave her the okay sign and she returned it. Safe, she told herself. Safe.

  Forty-Two

  Charlie stopped off at her neighbour’s house on her way home. Peggy came to the front door, a large towel draped over her right arm and a plastic spray bottle in her left.

  ‘Shower time,’ she explained.

  Bert was standing on the lounge door frame. He swooped down and landed on Charlie’s shoulder with a loud squawk and tried to kiss her.

  ‘Mmm mmm,’ he said.

  ‘No, I don’t have any grapes, Bert. I’ve only come to see if you and Peggy would like a cake. I’m baking a batch tonight for the café.

  ‘Mmm mmm,’ he repeated, his head bobbing up and down. Seeing there were no grapes, he flew back to the door frame where he watched them both.

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, dear,’ said Peggy. ‘Are you making any fruit cakes? I think we’d enjoy one of those. You must let me pay you for it though.’

  ‘Absolutely not. I won’t accept payment at all. Well, you can let me give Bert a shower. That’d be payment enough.’

  ‘Done,’ declared Peggy, passing the towel to Charlie. ‘Drape that over your arm. You’ll get jolly wet doing this.’

  ‘Not a problem. I still have damp hair from my diving lesson.’

  ‘Oh yes, I forgot to ask. How was it?’

  ‘It was better than I expected. I managed to get my mask off and back on again whilst underwater. I’m doing the pool lessons with a couple of lovebirds who want to go diving on their honeymoon so I get to team up with Liam, the instructor. He’s very nice.’

  ‘Nice?’ asked Peggy, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘Pleasant. Professional. He’s not my type. He’s too young anyway.’

  ‘Don’t discount younger men, my dear. There was a programme on television about ladies in their late seventies and eighties, who are with men of thirty or forty. You’re never too old, it seems.’

  Charlie pulled a face. ‘Whatever do they have in common? I can hardly manage to think of things to say to Sean at work, and he’s only twenty years younger than me.’

  ‘They said they were in love, but I don’t know. Fancy having sex with someone who is younger than your own son, when all you really want is to watch a bit of telly, drink a cocoa and have an early night!’

  Charlie spluttered at Peggy’s comment.

  ‘Come on, Bert. Go see Charlie. Charlie, spray some water into the air so he knows it’s time.’

  Charlie squirted a mist of water into the air. Bert paced along the door frame.

  ‘Shower time. Show Charlie how clever you are.’

  Bert descended onto Charlie’s arm and allowed her to puff water at his feathers. He held his wings up so she could get to all the feathers.

  ‘Upside down, Bert,’ said Peggy. Bert hung upside down on Charlie’s arm so she could spray under his wings. He then flew back to the door frame, shook his head and sneezed.

  ‘Bless you!’ said Peggy. ‘Again, Bert.’

  Bert flew to his bowl on his perch, grabbed some seeds then returned to Charlie’s arm, moving about for her to spray him. Once more, he hung upside down and then flew off to the door frame. He cocked his head to one side.

  ‘Say, thank you, Charlie,’ said Peggy as she took the towel and bottle from Charlie.

  Bert cocked his head from side to side.

  ‘Thank you,’ he repeated.

  ‘Good boy. Now you look handsome for Sunny.’

  ‘Sunny?’

  ‘His newest fan. She’s a young cockatiel, only three years old. She’s the most wonderful yellow colour. She lives in a large house in Norfolk with a male cockatiel called Sky who’s almost seventeen. He’s very entertaining. He can sing “If You’re Happy and You Know it”, among other songs. Sunny doesn’t sing, just seems to screech at every opportunity. Most female cockatiels are like that. They hiss too. Her owner, Marigold, hoped Sunny and Sky would get along together, but it hasn’t happened. Sky doesn’t seem to like Sunny. The owner thinks it’s because he’s jealous. Sky’s even taken to furiously pecking his perch when Sunny is near. Apart from that, he ignores her. Poor Sunny is feeling lonely.

  ‘Last week, Marigold was on Facebook watching the video of Bert with his comb and Sunny began making “wheep” noises, as female cockatiels do. She came and sat beside the computer and stared at Bert. When Marigold replayed the video, Sunny made the same noises, so we suspect she might be in love with Bert.

  ‘We’re going to use Skype tonight and see if the birds hit it off. It’s like a blind date. What do you think, Bert? Do you think you’ll like Sunny? Say Hello Sunny.’

  Bert, fluffed his feathers. ‘Hello, hello. Shut up fool!’ he said in a deep voice.

  ‘Now Bert. This isn’t the time for B.A. Baracus. He’s been watching The A Team with me all week. I bought a box set on DVD. He normally prefers comedies though, don’t you Bert? We’ve got all of the Fawlty Towers episodes and he’s partial to a little ’Allo ’Allo. He loves Officer Crabtree. Bert, what does Officer Crabtree say?’

  ‘Good moaning,’ said Bert on cue. He then trilled loudly like a telephone, cackled like a madman and launched into a variety of other noises.

  ‘Thanks for letting me give him a shower. Hope Sunny is impressed with his efforts. I’ll bring the cake around in the morning.’

  ‘Good moaning,’ called Bert and cackled again.

  ‘See you tomorrow then,’ replied Peggy. ‘Gosh! Wait. I almost forgot. This was outside your house, in front of the door. I saw it when I was weeding. I brought it in because it looked like it might rain and I didn’t want it to get wet.’

  Peggy passed over a small cardboard box. It had been hand-delivered.

  Back inside her own house Charlie retrieved her scissors from the kitchen drawer and slid them down the tape holding the box together. Inside, she discovered something plastic with a label attached to it. She read it. Inflatable Perfect Man. Measures approximately fifty centimetres by nineteen centimetres by eleven centimetres when inflated. She unfolded the plastic. It was indeed an inflatable man in a white shirt, black trousers, carrying a bunch of roses and a red heart.

  She shook her head in disbelief. What a strange present. It was no doubt a joke gift from Mercedes. She would get to the bottom of it the next day when she saw her friend. Right now, she needed to bake some cakes.

  Forty-Three

  ‘Kiki Dee and Elton John there with that classic, “Don’t go bacon my heart. I couldn’t if I fried” or something similar. Righty-ho, it’s time for joke of the week. Golly, it comes around quickly, doesn’t it? Our winner this week is Geoff Milligan in ward twelve with this little gem: “My son’s been asking me for a pet spider for his birthday, so I went to our local pet shop and they were seventy pounds. Too expensive, I thought. I can get one cheaper off the web.” Ba-boom! Geoff, thank you very much. You made Mercedes laugh the most on the Mercedes-ometer that measures how funny a joke is. In case you want to know how funny that was, here’s Mercedes.’

  Charlie cued in Mercedes’s laughter. It rang out merrily, making Charlie smile.

  ‘So, if you want to be the winner of joke of the week next week and win a packet of Minstrel chocolates thanks to the generosity of the hospital shop, then post your best gag in the City Hospital Radio box at reception, or hand it to one of the presenters when they do their request rounds.

  ‘Onto our children’s television theme tune feature now. Each week, we hunt out and compile a list of tunes
to bring back memories of television shows you might have watched as a child. We asked around the studio and discovered Mercedes humming along to The Magic Roundabout, George knew all the lyrics to Spongebob Squarepants and Sam asked if we could play the theme tune to Muffin the Mule. Here’s a few for you. Can you remember the names of the shows?’

  Charlie started the tracks up and pressed the button to talk to Mercedes.

  ‘So, you didn’t send me the inflatable man?’

  ‘Not me. That’s a weird thing to do, isn’t it and I’m not weird,’ said Mercedes. ‘Only a bit weird. Could have been Rob. He’s weird. Or that Jake. He’s weird too. Or Susannah…’

  ‘Yeah. Guess so. I should keep it. It’s the closest I’ll get to a man.’

  ‘What about Liam?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Isn’t he divine?’

  ‘Liam’s very nice. He’s also very young. He would have no idea who Roobarb and Custard were. He’d probably even struggle recognising Scooby Doo. My guess is he was brought up on a diet of Pokémon. Consequently, he’s too young for me. He definitely won’t appreciate my back catalogue of Dallas DVDs. Have you been trying to play matchmaker?’

  ‘I thought it was worth a go. He’s got the best six-pack I’ve ever seen. Does it matter if he’s a little younger than you? Think of the fun you could have with him!’

  ‘I’d feel dirty, and not in a good way. I’m at least twenty years older than him. That would make me a cougar. How old do you have to be to be a cougar? It’s forty, isn’t it? What do you call a woman older than a cougar who dates younger men?’

  ‘Smilodon, I think,’ scoffed Mercedes.

  ‘Smilodon?’

  ‘Sabre-toothed tiger. That’s pretty old. ’Bout the same age as you.’

  Charlie wagged her finger at Mercedes. ‘Funny lady.’

  ‘You’d better stick to your inflatable man. At least he’ll sit quietly beside you while you watch old movies together and won’t complain about your wrinkles or your grey hairs.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I get the point. However, Liam is not my type.’

  ‘Well, what is your type?’

  Charlie closed her eyes and imagined Jake holding her arm. Jake? No. He was now Jake the jerk. But no one else came to mind. ‘I don’t know, Mercedes. I think I’m beyond help.’

  ‘No one is beyond help. Not even a hopeless case like you.’

  Charlie stuck out her tongue.

  ‘Now who’s being childish? Are you sure Liam’s the one who’s too young?’

  Charlie shook her head and, signalling she was going back on air, disconnected.

  Forty-Four

  ‘On the sixth of August, 2009, while diving at the Blue Planet Aquarium, Ellesmere Port, Cheshire, thirty-year-old Robert Bennett had his hand bitten by a captive three metre (that’s ten foot in old money) sand tiger shark. I hope they’ve got proper safety measures in place for Charlie. Sounds quite dangerous,’ Art remarked, reading from the iPad.

  ‘Shh!’ warned Patricia as the door opened and Charlie entered. She took the iPad from Art, slid it under the counter and headed towards the craft shop. ‘How did your diving lesson go?’

  ‘Yeah, good thanks, Patricia. Art, the cakes are still in my car. I couldn’t get a parking spot near the café today. There are cars everywhere.’

  ‘That’ll be thanks to the event going on upstairs. Some top journalist’s giving a talk about writing and he’s got about twenty-five people up there listening to him,’ said Art. ‘And, he wants a word with you during the coffee break – something about doing a piece on your challenges. Should get you some publicity. I said you’d be happy to talk to him. That’s okay with you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course it is. Twenty-five. That’s the most we’ve had here.’

  ‘I know. It’s great. None of them have been before. I’m hoping they’ll become regulars. I offered coffee and tea to them but they’re happy with water and soft drinks for now. They’ll be coming down at ten-thirty for a break, cakes and coffee. Hopefully, they’ll stay for some lunch after the event,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Right, I’ll get Patricia to look after the café and come and give you a hand with those cakes. I’ll need them for all these hungry people.’

  It was ten-thirty on the dot when Charlie heard the scraping of chairs and thudding of feet above. The budding writers were descending. Patricia joined Charlie and was prepared, notebook in hand, to guide the customers towards free tables.

  The new customers soon flooded into the room in small groups, where they spread out and examined the menus. Charlie was about to take an order for a table of middle-aged women who were discussing the pros and cons of self-publishing when Art called her over to the counter.

  ‘The journalist is waiting upstairs for you. Go have your interview. We’re on top of it here. Could you take him up his coffee and this piece of lemon cake?’

  ‘Sure,’ she replied. She removed her apron, picked up the coffee and cake from the counter and went upstairs. She knocked at the door and went in.

  ‘Hi, I’m Charlie. Art said you would like to interview me about the hospital radio station.’

  A man dressed in jeans and a white shirt was standing with his back to her, looking out of the window at the street below. He turned to face her, a broad grin on his face.

  ‘Hello Charlie. How are you? All ready to face the sharks?’ said Jake.

  ‘You,’ she gasped. ‘You’re the journalist who wants to interview me?’

  ‘That’s me,’ he replied. ‘That cake looks delicious. Is this one of your famous cakes I heard about this morning from your boss? He spent ten minutes telling me what an ace cake maker you are. You are indeed a lady of many talents.’

  Charlie gripped the plate and cup tightly, irritation building at the memory from the night in the pub. Her face though remained composed.

  Jake cleared his throat. ‘I thought yours would make a great little story. You see, recently I started working for the Evening Gazette. I’m a last minute replacement on this though,’ he added, pointing at the empty spaces around the table. ‘The journalist who should have been here is sick, so I stepped in. I’m not sure I’ve given them the right advice, but I did my best.’ He paused and ran his hands through his hair.

  Charlie was surprised that such a simple gesture could be so sexy. She erased those thoughts immediately. She was not going to be suckered in by this man.

  He continued, ‘My editor wants me to focus on good news stories taking place in the area. I thought about you straight away. I guess it was the kazoo that did it for me.’ He paused again, his smile widening. ‘Your story is perfect. Lovely lady does crazy challenges to keep a little-known hospital radio going. I wanted to hear more about it from you. It’ll get you some coverage and probably bring in some more funds for the station.’ He leant against the table, gauging her reaction.

  She wasn’t sure if his eyes were mocking her or not, but now she was getting angry. She slammed the cup and plate onto the table in front of him. Coffee slopped out onto the saucer.

  ‘Well, you’ve got a right cheek,’ she began.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said, noting the two fiery spots on her cheeks. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. I wanted to help you promote your challenges.’

  ‘Oh did you? How very magnanimous of you,’ she retorted, hands on hips.

  ‘Hospital radio stations aren’t ordinarily high on people’s radars,’ he said, raising his voice to match hers. ‘At least, if you get some press coverage, you’ll highlight the cause. The way you’re going about it, it’ll be futile. You’ll not make anywhere near enough money,’ he continued. ‘People are bombarded by good causes. You need to stand apart from those. People need to engage with you and what you are trying to do.

  ‘I can make a difference. I can show how important the role of City Hospital Radio is to the community. I can even follow you on your remaining challenges. People love reading about fun news items and wacky stuff. Your
story covers both of those angles. How many women would play a kazoo while haring down a zip wire for charity? There certainly aren’t many who would dive with sharks. You even have the support of the local community. Look at all the shark pots downstairs. They’re selling, purely because of you. With the right wording we could really grab people’s attention and get them on board. Isn’t that what you want?’

  Charlie clenched her fists. She knew he was right, but she was not going to be asking this particular journalist for any assistance.

  ‘What do you know about hospital radio and people’s radars? What makes you think I can’t do this on my own? And, who are you to decide to help me? You barely know me. I can manage perfectly well without your sort of help. I suppose you thought you were helping me with Rob in the pub?’

  Jake looked down at his feet. ‘Well, yes. I guess that wasn’t my finest moment, but he really annoyed me and he was behaving really badly, like a proper…’