Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  Rosie finished sending Amy a text and said, ‘Not to me it’s not. What do you mean?’

  Alan sighed and turned away from the football. He took a deep breath as if he was about to explain something very simple to somebody who was equally as simple.

  ‘She wants to talk to you. Clearly it’s something that she doesn’t want to mention over the phone or with James or me around.’ Alan wasn’t sure if he still had Rosie’s full attention but continued anyway. ’I told you that she had been in a funny mood lately.’

  Rosie nodded.

  ‘Well I think you’ll find that she’s been having an affair and wants to tell you about it.’

  Rosie’s jaw dropped. ‘My god is that how your brain works?’

  ‘Look at the facts,’ Alan said, attempting to explain his theory. ’The moods, the hard time she’s giving James, and now wanting a girlie chat with you.’

  ‘If I was married to James I’d be moody and giving him a hard time too,’ Rosie said.

  ‘And another thing,’ Alan was on a roll now, ‘don’t be persuaded into telling James because she hasn’t got the balls. She’s having the affair - she can tell him.’

  ‘Well I’m seeing her tomorrow so I’ll find out then.’

  Alan hadn’t finished.

  ‘If she suggests that James stay with us, say no.’

  ‘I don’t believe Amy is having an affair for one moment, but if she were, why couldn’t James stay at yours?’

  ‘When they split up the first thing he’ll do is write her a love song. Remember the song he wrote for her birthday?’

  Rosie started to laugh as Alan began to sing the chorus of the “love song” that James had written for Amy for her last birthday;

  ‘Oh Amy when you’re not here my heart is so lame…y’

  ‘And the guitar solo, remember that?’ Rosie groaned. ‘When he climbed on the table and started pretending he was Eric Clapton.’

  ‘That was a genuinely terrible experience,’ Alan reminded her, ‘and that is why he can’t stay with me.’

  ‘Well he’s not staying with me either,’ Rosie said.

  ‘So you accept that Amy’s having an affair then?’ he laughed.

  ‘Shut up Alan!’

  *

  They had arranged to meet at Lily’s Coffee and Cake Parlour. Rosie was there first, taking a table in the corner, sitting with her back to the wall, facing the door so she could see when Amy arrived.

  Ten minutes later she arrived, offering a succession of apologies and excuses as to why she was late as she sat herself at the table. After ordering and the obligatory small talk, Rosie started to wonder if Alan was in fact right and Amy was about to confide in her that she had been having an affair. James’s love song had started to play through her mind when Amy said, ‘Couldn’t Jayne make it then? I imagine that she’s very busy at work.’

  Rosie stopped spooning the froth off of the top of her cappuccino. ‘She’s got an interesting case at the moment.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Amy asked innocently.

  ‘You know the developer who was behind the plan to redevelop the theatre?’

  ‘The one who killed himself?’ Amy said as she felt a shiver travel up her spine. ‘Didn’t he jump off the roof of his building?’

  ‘Yes that’s him. Well apparently, according to Jayne, the coroner wasn’t satisfied that it was suicide and ordered an investigation.’

  Amy swallowed hard, the shiver turning to ice. ‘Do the police have any suspects?’ she asked, her mouth suddenly very dry.

  ‘Jayne said they were interviewing the neighbours just in case they had seen anyone leaving his flat that night.’ Rosie told her.

  Amy chewed her lip.

  ‘Anyway,’ Rosie said, ‘I seem to recall you didn’t care much for him. Do you want to pin a rosette on the murderer?’

  Amy faked a laugh. ‘I couldn’t stand the man, but I wouldn’t wish any harm on him,’ she added almost convincing herself.

  Rosie took a mouthful of carrot cake while Amy drained what was left in her cup.

  ‘How’s Alan getting on?’ Amy asked, changing the subject.

  Rosie shrugged. ‘He seems quite happy. That Sarah has found him work most weekends, and he’s started writing jokes for some other people, which he seems to be enjoying.’

  Amy picked up on Rosie’s indifference. ‘Like that is it?’

  Rosie opted not to go into any detail. If Alan was right and Amy was having an affair, the last thing she needed was Rosie moaning about her own relationship. She did however think back to the recent night at the Richmond Galleria. She smiled and said, ‘Let me tell you about Giles Monroe.’

  *

  Rosie stepped into her living room. Alan was sitting on the sofa with his laptop open on his lap. He was frowning at the screen whilst using one finger to tap loudly at the keyboard, a style which infuriated her. Alan paused for a moment and looked up. ‘So, was I right?’ he asked.

  Putting her bag on the chair Rosie replied, ‘She is not having an affair. I’m positive.’

  Alan frowned. ‘Why the moods then?’

  ‘I don’t know. She never really talked about herself, but if she had been having an affair she would have said something to me.’

  ‘You’ve been gone hours. What did you talk about?’

  ‘Just stuff, nothing earth shattering,’ Rosie said, not wishing to bring up her conversation about Giles Monroe. ‘But I do think that there is something on her mind.’

  ‘Told you,’ Alan said. ‘She’s having an affair,’ he grinned and went back to his single finger typing.

  *

  Amy opened her eyes. The voice cutting right through her sleep.

  ‘Be upstanding in court for his Honour Judge La Mon.’

  She blinked, did a double take and realised that she was standing in the dock. A court room scene played out in front of her, clerks shuffled papers and busied themselves as the judge entered the court room from a door to the side of the court room.

  Amy’s first inkling that something wasn’t quite right was that the Judge appeared to be her headmaster Stretton La Mon, who to the best of her knowledge had never been a judge. Plus she was wearing her pyjamas.

  ‘Stretton?’ She said, ‘what’s going on? You’re not a Judge.’

  ‘Bring the accused forward,’ he bellowed across the court room.

  Two police officers appeared at her side and gently pushed her forward.

  ‘Amy Cook. You have been found guilty of the murder of Clive Oneway. Do you have anything to say?’ The Judge asked.

  Amy stared open mouthed at the sight of Stretton La Mon in a silk robe and Barrister’s wig. ‘Is this for real?’ she asked.

  Judge La Mon banged his gavel on the desk. ‘Silence in court,’ he ordered.

  ‘Right where was I?’ the judge said to himself. ‘Yes, Amy Cook, you have been found guilty of the horrible murder of Clive Oneway, and by the power invested in me I sentence you to a minimum of one hundred years in prison.’

  He banged his gavel on the desk again and grinned, ‘Take her down!’

  As Amy was lead out of the dock and on to the floor of the court, she became aware of shouting from the public gallery overhead. She looked up and could see James, Alan and Rosie looking down at her. It appeared that they were cheering the sentence and calling for an encore from the Judge.

  His Honour Judge La Mon stood up and milked the applause, bowing to the public gallery as he removed his wig elaborately.

  A police officer standing beside Amy opened a door which had conveniently appeared in front of her. Another officer pushed her through it.

  Amy stumbled forward, stopping herself before she fell. She was standing in a prison cell, a bunk bed stood on one side of the cell and the walls were covered with pictures of penguins wearing school uniforms.

  An overweight man sat with his back to her, gouging marks into the bed post.

  ‘Amy Cook?’ The police officer now wore a prison officer unifor
m.

  ‘Err, yes,’ she replied.

  ‘I’d like to introduce you to your new cell mate.’

  The gouging man looked up and Amy could see that “he” was in fact a “she”. A squat powerful woman with a severe haircut and dressed in the traditional prison uniform of clothes covered in arrows.

  ‘This is Henry,’ the prison officer said.

  ‘Hello. I’m Amy’ she said, offering hand. ‘Henry. Is that short for Henrietta?’

  The woman looked puzzled, furrowed her brow and sniffed.

  ‘Do I look like a Henrietta?’ she said gruffly.

  Amy smiled. She suspected there was no right answer to that question, so she remained silent.

  ‘It’s a nickname,’ Henry eventually told her. ‘After Henry VIII.’

  Amy looked more closely at the woman in front of her. She might have looked a little like Henry VIII, but there was also more than a passing resemblance to Henry the Hoover.

  ‘Did you dissolve the monasteries and form a new religion?’ Amy asked, momentarily surprised that she had responded in a smart arsed manner she usually expected of Alan or her husband.

  Henry scowled back, an unattractive look on an unattractive face. ‘It’s because I’ve had six wives,’ she explained.

  Amy stared at Henry, not immediately understanding what she was being told. Slowly, however, it became clear as she continued. Henry smiled and started counting off on her fingers, ‘Divorced, beheaded, survived, divorced, beheaded, paroled.’

  ‘I hope you’ll be very happy together’, the prison officer said. ‘Henry’s still got one hundred years of her sentence to go, so you’ll have plenty of time together,’ he smirked and vanished into thin air.

  Henry sat down on the bunk and patted the space next to her. ‘Come on wife, don’t be shy.’

  ‘I’m not your wife,’ Amy snapped, suddenly afraid.

  ‘Of course you are,’ Henry said indignantly. ‘You’re still wearing the dress…’

  Amy looked down at her pyjamas, which had been replaced with a wedding dress, complete with a train which trailed out of the cell door. She looked behind her and saw both Rosie and Jayne holding the end of the train, waving to her as the cell door slowly closed. She swallowed as the door slammed shut, revealing the words “just married” chalked across the door.

  ‘I’m not your wife!’ she said defiantly.

  ‘I don’t want to hear any of that nonsense,’ Henry said. ‘You’ve done well. I’m considered quite a catch in here,’ she grinned, her top lip rolling up to reveal a row of chipped teeth, causing Amy to wonder what the other inmates looked like if Henry was considered “quite a catch.”

  ‘I’m not your wife,’ she said again.

  Oblivious to Amy’s protests, Henry said, ‘You can get on with your wifely duties and wash these…’ she picked up a large laundry bag and threw it at Amy, who instinctively caught it.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘My dirty pants, and make a good job of it. They’re starting to stink.’

  ‘I’m not your wife!’ Amy shouted back, ‘and you can wash your own stinking pants!!!’ she screamed, throwing the laundry bag back at Henry.

  ‘You can wash your own stinking pants!’ Amy’s screamed, waking James with a start.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he replied, half asleep, ‘but it could have waited until morning.’

  Chapter 13.

  ‘Alan can you pop in and see Graham when you have a moment?’

  Alan looked up, irritated that Sue had infiltrated his personal space and interrupted his lunch hour.

  ‘Sorry Sue, what was that?’ he asked, despite having heard every word she had said.

  ‘Can you pop in and see Graham when you have a moment?’ she repeated.

  Alan smiled. ‘Yes of course. No problem.’

  Alan watched as Sue went back to her desk and sat down before he resumed browsing the internet. He knew he had about five minutes before she returned and repeated the request. Graham had recently been on a training course entitled “The Motivational Manager” and Alan couldn’t resist testing Graham’s new found skills. Sensing a presence alongside him, Alan looked up again.

  ‘Alan,’ Sue’s voice carried a note of warning, although she wore a smile. He looked at the time in the bottom right hand corner of his screen – just over two minutes.

  ‘Alan,’ Sue repeated, ‘when you’ve got a moment…’ she said, pointing to Graham’s office.

  ‘No problem. I’ll pop in and see him when I’ve got a moment.’

  ‘Alan can you go and see Graham now?’ she smiled.

  ‘Sorry Sue, I thought you said when I had a moment…’

  ‘Well, can you go and see him now please?’ she said calmly.

  ‘Of course Sue. It would be my pleasure,’ he replied, smiling in return.

  Alan took no pleasure in annoying Sue. She was pleasant enough and didn’t normally irritate him, but she was Graham’s lapdog and therefore Alan considered her collateral damage in their ongoing feud.

  *

  Alan stood outside Graham’s office, knocked twice, opened the door and walked in.

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir,’ he said and sat himself down.

  Graham looked at Alan with disdain. ‘Take a seat,’ he said.

  Alan sat back in his chair and smiled pleasantly.

  Graham shuffled the papers on his desk, found what he was looking for and stared at Alan.

  Alan smiled back.

  ‘Did you just call me sir?’ Graham asked.

  ‘Yes sir I did,’ Alan said.

  Graham pulled a face. ‘Why?’

  ‘You don’t like it when I call you mate.’

  ‘You can just call me Graham.’

  ‘I prefer sir. You are the boss after all,’ Alan said innocently.

  Graham narrowed his eyes in suspicion. ‘OK,’ he said, and waited for Alan to follow it up with a witty line. When one wasn’t forthcoming he cleared his throat and began. ‘I’ve received an email from HR. They would like me to speak to you about employee of the month.’

  Alan beamed across the desk. ‘This is great news. I didn’t know I’d been nominated. I’d like to thank…hang on,’ he said leaning across the desk, adding, ‘do you want to tell everyone or shall I send an email round?’

  Graham frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Me winning employee of the month,’ Alan grinned.

  Graham shook his head. ‘I’m sorry Alan, you appear to have got the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘Oh.’ Alan mumbled, feigning disappointment.

  ‘Alan,’ Graham began. ‘No one has nominated you for employee of the month. In fact HR have asked me to speak to you about your recent nominations.’

  ‘Why’s that then, sir?’

  Alan doubted that HR had raised anything at all. In his opinion, they were normally far too busy creating focus groups that massaged, rather than solved problems, to have spent any time doing any real work.

  ‘I understand,’ Graham said, studying the papers in front of him, ‘that you nominated Jessica Price for last month’s employee of the month.’

  Alan nodded. ‘Yes sir, that’s correct.’

  ‘Can you recall your reason?’ Graham asked.

  Alan closed his eyes as if in deep thought, stayed silent for a moment and then said, ‘I think I said that she created a positive atmosphere in the workplace.’

  ‘Because?’ Graham asked.

  Alan pulled a face. ‘Sorry sir, I can’t remember.’

  ‘Let me help you with that,’ Graham offered. ‘You nominated Jessica because, and I quote “she wears very short skirts.”’

  That caught Alan’s attention. ‘Ah, yes, I do remember now. She does indeed wear very short skirts.’

  Graham looked down at the papers in front of him.

  ‘Well, did she win?’ Alan asked innocently.

  ‘I’ll think you’ll find that wearing a short skirt is not part of the qualifying criteria f
or employee of the month.’

  ‘So she didn’t win?’ Alan asked.

  ‘I think you can safely say that Jessica Price is not the employee of the month,’ Graham said.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Alan sighed. ‘She has very nice legs.’

  ‘You can’t vote for someone just because they wear a short skirt,’ Graham repeated. ‘And your mentioning it could be considered inappropriate conduct.’

  ‘The rules don’t say I can’t,’ Alan pointed out, ignoring Graham’s implied threat.

  ‘That’s beside the point.’

  ‘So I can vote for Jessica?’ Alan stared across the desk at Graham, who appeared a lot less confident than he was when the meeting began.

  ‘I’m sure it’s a breach of something, and anyway I won’t sign it off,’ Graham said defiantly.

  ‘Are you just annoyed that I didn’t vote for you?’ Alan said.

  ‘Look!’ Graham snapped, ‘I’m not interested in who you vote for as long as you follow the Department’s guidelines.’

  ‘But I thought we agreed there’s nothing about skirt length in the Departmental code?’ Alan grinned.

  ‘That’s not what I said and you know it,’ Graham’s voice rose. ‘In any case, if you’re that keen to nominate one of your colleagues this month, why not vote for Olivia in finance, she’s always keen to help.’

  Alan slowly shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not? She does a good job,’ Graham said patiently.

  ‘She’s got footballer’s legs. She’d look terrible in a short skirt.’

  Graham tensed and snapped the pencil he was holding.

  ‘I’ve told you, it’s not about the skirt…’ he said angrily.

  ‘Just as well, with those legs,’ Alan quipped.

  ‘…and if you don’t stop with the sexist remarks I will have no choice but to give you a written warning.’

  Much to Alan’s amusement, Graham was starting to lose his temper.

  ‘As I’ve told you on many occasions, I really don’t think that there is a place in today’s civil service for someone like you…’ Graham said before Alan interrupted him.

  ‘To be fair, I voted for Archibald Morris the other month, and that had nothing to do with a short skirt,’ Alan said.