Champagne & Lemonade

by John A. D. Hickling

  Later, Frank, Billy and Biffo were in the police van, waffling on about a superhero, Kung Fu granny, which just gave the police a good laugh. The staff had been released and it was a mystery as to what had happened. Valerie had asked Doris about it but she had just smiled and said “God knows, I was tied up”.

  Back on the bus, on her way home, Doris smiled. You see, Fred and her family and friends all think that she works all week and then just comes home to be a housewife. When the reality is that on Tuesday afternoons she attends karate classes, while on Wednesdays she goes rock climbing and on Thursdays it’s paragliding — but not this Thursday as she is doing a bungee jump for charity.

  You see, reader, when Doris was a young girl while other girls wanted to be nurses, actresses, housewives etc. Doris wanted to be a superhero so she could use her powers to help people like you and me. Superman and Supergirl were her favourites; she still remembers first reading about Supergirl in 1959 on her ninth birthday. As she grew up she soon realized that she didn’t have superhero powers, but that didn’t mean that she still couldn’t help people. She took up karate and boxing in her younger years, and unbeknownst to her family she had fended off a fair few muggers and violent youths in her time. She doesn’t tell anyone about her extracurricular activities and incredible feats though because just like any good superhero she wants to remain inconspicuous.

  She got off the bus, went to have a cigarette but then looked at the packet and threw them all in the bin. She’d been meaning to quit and now seemed like the best time seeing as she was going to do a spot of cave climbing next week; she didn’t want her cough hindering that adventure now, did she? She gave a stern nod at the bin and went into her house.

  She was soon in her slippers and comfy pyjamas with a nice mug of coffee in hand. Fred came in and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “Hello, love, how was your day?” he asked.

  Doris sipped her coffee, looked at Fred and grinned. “Oh, you know, darling, just another boring old day at Pesdas; I am only a cleaner, after all.”

  Nothing That Money Can’t Buy

  Tim Green was sat in a room which he would describe as being fit for a king. It was a good mixture of modern and antique and it was obvious that no expense had been spared. The curtains alone looked like they had cost more than Tim’s car.

  He had been sat with his notepad and Dictaphone for a good twenty minutes and was becoming more and more impatient. He started to chew his pen, followed by checking his watch, then looking over at the expensive looking, antique clock. After clicking his Dictaphone on and off a few times he blew out his cheeks and stood up to admire some of the art hanging on the walls of the massive living room in this amazing house.

  Tim, who was an up and coming biographer, started to drum his fingers on the table as he slumped back into his chair and continued waiting for the owner of this wonder of architectural triumph — Larry Breen. Larry Breen was one of the richest men in the world and Tim had been commissioned to write his biography.

  When Larry finally did arrive he walked in as slowly and casually as his stocky, six foot frame would allow. He had short, brown hair flecked with white and a thin, greying goatee. He was wearing a grey, shiny three-piece suit, which must have cost at least two grand. He smiled at Tim as he went over to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room and poured himself a scotch, simultaneously throwing down his Ferrari keys on its surface.

  “Morning, Tim, how are you?”

  “Fine, Mr Breen,” he replied shaking his hand.

  “Call me Larry,” he said, sitting down.

  “Okay, Larry, shall we make a start?” asked Tim as he pressed record on his Dictaphone. Larry nodded. “Well, Larry, you are one of the most successful businessmen of our age and have revolutionized the mobile phone with your company Wantafone. As we all know, your company has enabled even those of us who are not so well off to own a top phone, such as the Green 6ZJ541, for example, at affordable rates tailored towards the individual. Now, you were once quoted as saying that ‘life is all about success and money’, would you care to expand on that?”

  “Well, Tim, the funniest thing I ever heard was a chap saying that money isn’t everything and I beg to differ. You see, ever since I could toddle I was intrigued with notes and coins. At first it was just the image of them that mesmerized me and I used to find them in the house and collect them. I used to get shouted at by the old man from time to time, I can tell you. But as I grew bigger I realized the power of money and how it ruled and ran the world. As I got older and wiser all I wanted was money and success, and I have achieved all that but I still find myself wanting more. I believe there’s nothing that money can’t buy.”

  Tim pressed the pause button on his Dictaphone and scribbled down some notes. “How did you start out, Larry?”

  “I was thirteen; I got a job helping on a market stall where I quickly learned all the basic principles of buying and selling. Then, at nineteen, I had saved and borrowed enough to start my own stall selling handbags, and from there I went into mobile phones. By the time I was twenty-five I was a millionaire with my company Wantafone.”

  “You got married and have family, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I have been going out with my lovely wife Suzanne since I was twenty-five. We met in a night club; she didn’t fancy me at first till she got to know who I was. Then, after a couple of dates, she wanted to marry me so we married when I was twenty-six, and when I was twenty-seven our first son Mark was born, at twenty-eight James was born and I was thirty when my daughter Melissa came along.”

  “Wow, you were busy then,” Tim laughed.

  “Yeah, and I can’t even use the ‘we had no telly’ gag as we had six of them. I also have a lovely Grandson, Olli — our Mark’s.”

  “Lovely.” Tim stopped his Dictaphone and briefly scanned his scribbled notes. “So why do you believe that there’s nothing that money can’t buy?”

  “Well, Tim, I have everything: cars, houses all over the world, yachts, this watch on my wrist is worth more than you make a year — and that’s by no way meaning to be rude — I have seen all the world and so has my family, if I wanted to I could buy prostitutes — the good ones — go to the top chefs’ restaurants — which we do — get the best doctors; even my daughter is a result of IVF — everything. Now, I wouldn’t have had any of that without money. No, Tim, my life will be forever happy because of my money.”

  Tim sat making some notes and Larry had just got himself another scotch when his phone rang. “Hello, Mark, son, how are you? How’s the new Ferrari?”

  “Hey, Dad, err, yeah, good thanks. Dad, listen, I have something to tell you.”

  “What is it, mate? Have you seen another motorbike you want?”

  “No, Dad, it’s serious.”

  Larry started pacing around. “Mark, what’s up? And who’s that crying?” It was Sarah, Mark’s wife, that he could hear crying in the background.

  “I have just had a call from Dr Ippliss and he has had those tests back — the ones I had a couple of weeks ago…” Mark took a deep breath. “I have stomach cancer, Dad.”

  Larry nearly stopped breathing. “A-are you sure? No, Ippliss has got it wrong. I’ll send you to this other one I know in America, he’s not cheap, but that’s not a problem.”

  “Dad, it’s incurable.”

  Horsing Around

  The constant birdsong, the rasping of grasshoppers and the buzzing of bees could all be clearly heard on this warm summer’s morning. Flowers were in full, glorious bloom, trees were filled with delicious fruits and the field overflowed with glorious, red, majestic poppies. These were all things which Farmer Tankard had always admired and he found himself doing so as he led Duke — an ex-guardsman horse once belonging to Her Majesty the Queen — up to one of his fields on Tankard Meadow. Duke, fine looking, grey, tall, strong and proud, had no idea that he had been retired. He believed he was going for a well-earned rest and a relaxing groom. So, with no reluctance at all, h
e marched, head held high, to his destination.

  At the gate, Farmer Tankard watched Duke for a little while as the fine animal trod very carefully towards the other three horses in the field.

  Champ, an ex-racehorse, was a beautiful, light brown animal who was charging around the field jumping various obstacles; his mind on his last race. He was neck and neck with Rolylad, his old rival, they both pushed for the winning post and, by a neck, Champ had clinched his 4th Grand National win. Happy memories of days that were sadly long gone.

  In the corner was Nelly, a tall, heavy Shire; black with a white neck. She was nibbling away at the grass but she did so long for a tasty carrot, just like she would receive on her old rag and bone rounds.

  Just beyond Nelly was Lightning, a gorgeous, white, ex-dancing horse. She was walking on her hind legs doing a trick that she used to perform in her circus days.

  Duke elegantly tiptoed up to the three of them, who paused in their activities to look at him. Champ muttered to Nelly, “Hello, who have we here? Lord Snooty?”

  Nelly smirked then went up to Duke. “Hello, mush, nice to meet you, I’m Nelly.”

  Duke’s eyes widened. “Mush — mush? How dare you? I am Duke, her Majesty the Queen’s finest; and don’t you forget it, Madam,” he yelled. Duke’s attitude did not bother Nelly one bit.

  Champ pushed past the others. “Nice to meet you, mate, I’m Champ, the best racehorse that ever graced any racetrack — especially that at Aintree. You know, the Grand National,” he blurted out happily. He was just contemplating taking part in another imaginary race when Duke shot up to him.

  “Aintree? That is positively untrue, you cad. Have you not heard of Red Rum? Three times winner, my dear, eccentric steed.”

  Champ blew a ball of mist out of his snout. He smirked and in a sarcastic tone said, “Old Red, my first cousin, three times winner? Yes, I have heard of him, but winning the National four times like I did slightly beats it, don’t it, stuck up?” Champ pushed Duke out of the way and carried on with his business. Duke gave him a nasty glare and then Lightning strode up to him.

  “Hello, my name is Lightning, please do excuse Champ he is a bit into himself, but he really is quite harmless.”

  Duke couldn’t take his eyes off the beautiful creature in front of him; she was mesmerizing. She had a coat of pure white and her eyes sparkled like the stars above at night. She moved with such elegance as she slowly flicked her long, white mane from side to side. To him, she was nothing short of perfect. Duke repeatedly dragged his right front hoof along the ground, tracing lines in the grass as he smiled at her. “I am Duke and it is an honour to meet you, Madam; and your friend, dear lady, is excused; but please, four Grand Nationals? It is a bit of a farfetched imagination one would say, wouldn’t one?”

  “Yes, I suppose one would, but if only his hind legs hadn’t given way with a furlong to go it would have been five wins, but you can’t have everything, can you?” replied Lightning.

  Duke gulped and, shaking his head, he muttered, “N-no, my dear, you cannot.”

  Nelly came up to them, munching on some grass. She swallowed and hiccupped. “Oh gawd, my heartburn; it ain’t half giving me grief, it’s really annoying. Mind you, it will be all right when it comes out the other end, hey, Dukey old boy?” she said, giving a guffaw which soon turned into a racking cough.

  Duke glared at her; he found Nelly to be as common as muck and didn’t think her toilet habits were something that should be discussed during polite conversation. He was very confused by her behaviour as he had never encountered such a thing, and he was disappointed to see Lightning was laughing too.

  “Riff raff, totally uncalled for, what. Anyway, if you would be good enough to let me know what time the groom normally gets here then that would be most helpful, because I really should be getting back to the palace; the Queen will be missing me, you know,” Duke said with a smile.

  Nelly and Lightning looked at each other, both very confused. At that moment, Champ, who had overheard Duke’s conversation, shot straight up to him and faced him, snout to snout. With a sly, sarcastic grin he said, “Excuse me, Sir Duke, mate, but did I, ha-ha, did I hear you mention being groomed and going back to the palace?”

  Duke took a few paces back, looking awkwardly at him, “Yes, I did indeed, my fellow, and it is about time the Sir came into it.”

  Champ looked relieved. “Thank God for that, I thought my old ears had let me down.”

  Laughing, Champ looked at Nelly, who had now sorted out her toilet business due to her laughing so much. It was the biggest pile of horse dung Nelly had ever parted with; it must have been four foot high and the steam that was coming off it looked like it was from a steam engine. Duke was somewhat shocked at Nelly’s behaviour and he looked to Lightning for support; but Lightning was having a little chuckle to herself as Nelly’s antics always made her laugh. He couldn’t believe their rudeness and with him always being right (or so he thought) he happily blurted out, “Ha-ha, I get it, a joke, yes, ha-ha. Well, you can’t fool, Sir Duke, oh no, good try though, spiffing good try.” And with that, he elegantly strode off.

  Nelly and Champ rolled about in a heap along with the Rabbit and Hedgehog families (who lived in the hedge bottoms of their field), laughing so hard that they couldn’t stop. Duke, with his nose in the air, strode off, oblivious to the truth, while Lightning, feeling very sad, stood shaking her head. She liked Duke. He was elegant, robust and looked very strong. His manners were endearing and he seemed to be very caring. She thought he was the most handsome horse she had ever encountered (but she would never tell him that). Lightning loved the warm, tingling feeling that overpowered her when Duke looked and smiled at her. However, she also found herself feeling sorry for him as she remembered how scared she was when she was first retired to the field. Lightning had loved to do her dancing tricks; they had made her feel alive. She remembered her denial that she had been retired and her belief that she had merely been sent for a rest or a holiday or something. So she knew what Duke was going through; but also knew words would not comfort him, and as it was with herself, it would be down to time to heal.

  *

  Two weeks later, with the sun beating down on Tankard Meadow, Nelly, Lightning and Champ were drinking out of the water trough in an attempt to cool themselves down from the scorching sun when up strode Duke.

  “Okay, so you are right, there is no groom, but retired? That surely is a joke, isn’t it?”

  Champ laughed, Duke glared at him and Nelly, shaking her head, went up to Duke. “I think someone’s pulled a fast one on ya, Dukey. Ya like us, here to stay — dog meat, ha-ha,” she joked. Nelly started to cough; it was just a little hiccup at first, but then as she constantly banged herself in the chest with her front left, rusty shoed hoof her cough soon turned into what sounded like a lorry chugging up the road. “My gawd — wheeze — cough — I feel like I have been smoking them Park Drives cigarettes that Tankard — cough — used to smoke,” she wheezed.

  “Nelly, go and eat something,” yelled Lightning in an attempt to get her away from Duke, who was looking distraught at the events.

  Duke felt so low; he thought this was the end. But how could this happen to the Queen’s number one, he thought. After all he had done for her Majesty and country. Why had they retired him? Because he certainly hadn’t wanted to go. He wondered if he had done something wrong, but he soon discounted that from his mind as he had always been prompt, thorough and proper. So, with it all remaining a mystery to him, it made him feel even lower, plus he hated this place. He hated being in unfamiliar territory with rude inhabitants and no nice warm barracks to lay his weary head. At that moment in time, Duke hated everything about Tankard Meadow — apart from Lightning.

  “Listen, Duke, it’s not that bad being retired. I mean, we’ve got each other and our freedom,” said Lightning, not very convincingly.

  “Each other?” he stormed, casting his steely eyes at Champ, who was a few yards from Duke, wrigglin
g his rear end in the air and grinding his hooves in the dirt at the starting line of his race. “A-are you sure about all this, Madam?” Duke stuttered. Lightning softly nodded. Their tender moment was disturbed, however, by a huge commotion over at the far end of the paddock. Champ had tried to jump the hedge in a rerun of his very own Grand National, but his hind leg had clipped the top and it sent him head first into the Rabbits’ house.

  Champ was dazed but he was getting a piece of Mrs Rabbit’s mind, nevertheless. Champ was oblivious to this, however. He had been convinced that he was going to win as he was a good furlong in front on the second lap. That was until Rolylad had clipped his hind leg, sending him flying. He wanted Rolylad disqualified for unsporting behaviour as Champ was sure that Rolylad had purposely nudged his hind legs because Champ was about to win another race. Champ was going to complain to the race officials.

  “You moron, look at our house, what do you think you’re playing at? And you lot can stop laughing, it isn’t funny,” stormed Mrs Rabbit, waving her stubby index finger at her youngsters.

  “C’mon, Champ, me ode spider, talk to me,” chortled Nelly.

  Champ looked up, his eyes rolling around in his head. “Ah, Nell, me old Nell; I caught me leg on Becher’s Brook, Nell,” he yelled.

  Mrs Rabbit jumped up and down ranting. ”You and that race, you’re retired, you all are, you’re all in the kna—” Mrs Rabbit caught sight of one of her youngsters looking up at her. “Erm, I mean, you’re all in the place where clapped out horses go. You know, like you are.” These words really hurt a proud horse such as Duke, but the others just shrugged it off. “And God knows what Mr Rabbit’s gonna say when he gets home.”

  “Where is Mr Rabbit?” asked Lightning, trying to dampen Mrs Rabbit’s rage and avert it away from Champ.

  Mrs Rabbit was still looking disgusted with Champ. “What him? Oh, he’s over at the Tankards’ borrowing some grub for dinner,” she blurted.