Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  Alan and James walked across the car park, Frankie following a few steps behind. James had hardly said a word during the drive over to the hospital, lost in thought. He had listened to Alan talk to Frankie, trying to piece together the whole conversation. Without success.

  ‘You OK?’ Alan asked, breaking the silence.

  James shrugged. ‘Not sure. It’s all a bit weird right now. Hopefully Rosie will be able to shed some light on it, a woman’s perspective and all that.’

  ‘I’m still not convinced she knows anything, but I suppose it’s worth asking.’ Alan told him.

  ‘Couldn’t you have parked any closer?’ Frankie grumbled from behind them.

  Alan turned round. ‘It’s a hospital, not a hotel. You can’t just pull up to the front door and ask for the valet service to park it somewhere and give it a polish while you’re visiting your nearest and dearest.’

  Frankie continued to grumble to himself as they approached the hospital entrance.

  Rosie had managed to claim a table in the corner of the canteen, and had already started on her salad when she saw Alan and James enter through the sliding glass doors. Alan gave her a wave and he and James headed over to choose their meals.

  James stood at the food station and watched as the waitress loaded chips onto his plate.

  ‘Room for a scoop more,’ he said, holding his plate out for another serving and receiving a scowl from the burly woman behind the counter.

  Alan sidled up next to him pushing a tray along the food station.

  ‘You got enough there?’ he asked.

  ‘Tiny portions,’ he mumbled and moved on to the deserts.

  Alan and James set their trays down on the table and sat down opposite Rosie. She felt a cool draft blow across her and shivered.

  ‘OK children,’ she said, addressing the two men who had begun to smother their food in ketchup, ‘what’s going on? Why the need to visit me for lunch? I know how much you hate hospitals,’ she added looking at Alan.

  Alan nudged James. ‘Go on tell her.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  James had already started on his chips and through a mouthful of food said, ‘It’s Amy, she’s left me.’

  ‘What do you mean she’s left you?’ Rosie frowned.

  ‘Amy’s gone,’ Alan said, taking up the story. ‘She left a note and said she’d be in touch, but she’s gone.’

  Rosie turned to James. ‘I’m so sorry James.’

  ‘Did you know anything?’ James asked.

  ‘Sorry. No. She hasn’t mentioned anything to me. I’m as surprised as you are.’

  James nodded and shoved another forkful of chips into his mouth, staring into space while he ate them. Eventually he asked Rosie, ‘Where would you go? If you left Alan. Where would you go?’

  Rosie frowned. ‘James, I have my own house. I’d leave Alan by not visiting him.’

  James nodded. ‘Oh yeah, I forgot. Sorry.’

  ‘The portions are quite small,’ Alan said, ignoring Rosie’s unsubtle attempt to bring the conversation around to their living arrangements. ‘You get more in a happy meal.’

  ‘And a toy,’ James added.

  ‘So, no toy and only ten chips. What is the NHS coming to?’ Alan grinned.

  ‘You’re here to see me because of James’s problems, not provide a Michelin review on the canteen’s chips,’ Rosie pointed out.

  James sighed. ‘What do you think I should do?’

  ‘I think you have two choices,’ Rosie paused. ‘You can do nothing and wait for her to come home or contact you, or you can try and find her. What’s it to be?’

  ‘I can’t wait. I need to find her.’

  ‘Any ideas?’ Alan asked his girlfriend.

  ‘You can’t report her as a missing person. She’s an adult. She left you a note and she’s only been gone a few hours,’ Rosie said.

  James started to say something in response which Alan missed as Frankie said, ‘In my day, if you wanted to see if your wife was having an affair, you would get a private investigator to follow her around.’

  Alan became aware that James and Rosie were staring at him.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Keeping you up are we?’ Rosie said.

  Alan frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘You glazed over. You looked more interested in something over there,’ she gestured in the direction of an empty seat.

  ‘Oh, no I was just thinking,’ Alan explained. ‘Why don’t we get a private investigator to find her?’

  James smiled, ‘I wonder where you got that idea from?’

  Rosie put her hand on James’s arm. ‘That’s not a bad idea. When one of the consultants here thought his wife was having an affair, he instructed a private investigator to follow her around.’

  ‘Told you,’ Frankie said to Alan.

  ‘Did it work?’ James asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rosie admitted, ‘but he’s divorced now, so I’d assume so.’

  ‘I’m up for that,’ James said. ‘Anyone know a private eye?’

  ‘Not Inch High Private Eye, this case is a bit above him,’ Frankie said, laughing at his own joke.

  Alan stared at him blankly.

  ‘Don’t worry son, before your time,’ Frankie said, still grinning.

  ‘He’s doing it again,’ Rosie said. ‘Staring into space.’

  ‘Must be his age,’ James suggested.

  Rosie stood up. ‘Right, I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll speak to that consultant I was telling you about, see if he remembers who he used.’

  ‘What should we do?’ James asked.

  ‘Go back to yours in case Amy comes home or tries to call. I’ll come over after work.’

  As Rosie headed towards the exit, Alan turned to James. ‘Who the hell is Inch High Private Eye?’ he asked.

  *

  ‘Why is there a Wendy House in the garden?’ Frankie asked as he peered out of the window.

  It’s not a Wendy House,’ Alan replied. ‘It’s an…’

  ‘Enchanted Castle,’ James finished Alan’s sentence for him as he entered the kitchen carrying a laptop.

  Seeing his ghostly friend’s puzzled look Alan explained. ‘It’s where the llama lives.’

  Working out the gist of the conversation, James added, ‘It’s a temporary measure. I’m waiting for someone to come out and build an enclosure.’

  Frankie nodded as if a llama living in a castle in your back garden was the most natural thing in the world.

  James sat at the table alongside Alan. ‘Anyway, I’ve got Amy’s laptop here.’

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Look for clues,’ James said, opening the lid and turning the laptop on.

  Alan looked over at Frankie who appeared to be more interested in the llama than James’ pursuit of his absent wife.

  ‘What do you mean clues?’ Alan asked as James frowned at the screen.

  ‘She might have been sending emails or booking tickets in the last few days. Anything that might give us a clue to where she’s gone.’

  ‘Or emails to a lover,’ Alan teased.

  Ignoring him, James waited as the screen came on. ‘Ah’ he said. ‘Problem.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need a password.’

  ‘Really? That’s a surprise,’ Alan said sarcastically.

  ‘I thought she would leave the password stuck on the side here,’ James tapped the side of the screen. ‘I do.’

  ‘Maybe she’s less trusting than you are?’

  ‘No, we don’t have secrets from each other.’

  Alan laughed. ‘Mate, she’s sneaked out and left you while you were asleep. I think it’s a given that there are secrets.’

  ‘Apparently if you know someone it’s easy to guess their password,’ James said as he started tapping away at the keys.

  Alan watched as James tried several times to access the laptop, sighing more heavily with each failed attempt.

 
‘Have you tried password123?’ Alan asked.

  James tapped the keyboard. ‘Nope. Not that’s not it either.’

  ‘That’s me done then,’ Alan said. ‘That’s the only password I ever use.’

  James closed the lid on the laptop. ‘That’s it then. I have no idea how to find her,’ he whined.

  ‘That reminds me of someone I used to know during the war. Nobby Prince.’ Frankie announced from the other side of the kitchen, having given up trying to attract the llamas’ attention.

  ‘Is this going to be relevant?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Has Frankie got an idea?’ James asked.

  ‘I think we’re about to find out.’ Alan said.

  Frankie sat himself down at the table. ‘In 1941 a friend of mine, Nobby Prince, didn’t fancy being shot at by the Germans so he hid in the attic of his house to avoid the call up.’

  ‘Did it work?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Kind of,’ Frankie admitted. ‘But he was killed when a bomb landed on his house.’

  ‘How long was he up in the attic?’ Alan asked.

  Frankie closed his eyes as if deep in thought, racking his memory for the details. ‘Six hours,’ he said finally.

  ‘Six hours?’ Alan repeated.

  ‘It might have been a bit more, but not much. He decided to go into hiding at lunchtime after a few drinks. Slept through the air raid siren and was killed when a bomb hit the house.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Alan said, ‘that’s a shame about Nobby, but how is it relevant to this?’

  ‘Well the point is that sometimes the best place to hide is where no one will think of looking,’ Frankie paused, looking at Alan’s blank face. ‘In plain sight,’ he added.

  ‘So you’re saying that Amy is in Nobby’s attic?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Who’s Nobby?’ James blurted out, totally confused by only hearing half of a conversation.

  ‘For crying out loud,’ Frankie exclaimed. ‘Think about it,’ and he raised his eyes to the ceiling.

  Alan studied Frankie’s face carefully. Slowly the penny dropped.

  ‘James,’ Alan said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Frankie thinks that Amy could be hiding in your attic.’

  James looked at Alan and then the empty space next to him and then back to Alan.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the stepladder.’

  *

  Ten minutes later, Alan and James stood on the landing underneath the attic hatch, a step ladder between them.

  ‘Up you go then,’ Alan said, gesturing at the ladder.

  James sighed, held onto the ladder and climbed the two steps. He put his arms out over his head and pushed up on the hatch, raising it a couple of inches.

  ‘Amy,’ James softly called out, straining to hear something, anything. ‘Amy, are you up here?’ He called again, just as softly.

  ‘Is she there?’ Alan called out from below.

  ‘I don’t know,’ James said, looking back at his friend. ‘It’s too dark to see anything.’

  He turned back to the slightly open hatch. ‘Amy, it’s me, James,’ he whispered.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’ Alan said, making no effort to lower his voice.

  ‘I don’t want to scare her.’

  ‘You’re looking in the attic for your wife, not filming a wildlife documentary. Just get in there,’ Alan snapped and started shaking the stepladder.

  ‘OK, OK, I’m going,’ James pushed the hatch open, letting it gently drop down onto the attic floor. He clambered into the empty space, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. ‘Amy it’s me, there’s no need to hide.’

  ‘Can you see her?’ Alan bellowed from down below.

  ‘It’s too dark. Hang on, I’ll turn the light on,’ James shouted back.

  Growing frustrated with his friend’s inability to find his six foot wife in a small attic space, Alan climbed the stepladder and poked his head through the hatch. James was standing in the centre of the attic underneath a solitary light bulb suspended from the ceiling by a cable.

  ‘I’ve turned the light on,’ James told him.

  Alan steadied himself and climbed into the attic. The light that James had ‘turned on’ was no a more than pale glow which, rather than illuminate the room, was making the area under the bulb less gloomy. Alan looked around the attic space. It covered the entire surface of the house and boxes were stacked along the edges in the darkness.

  ‘How often do you come up here?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Hardly ever,’ James admitted. ‘If we have anything to put up here, it goes in a box and we push the box in through the hatch.’

  ‘She’s not here is she?’ Alan said.

  ‘I don’t think so, no,’ James replied as he moved a box and looked into one of the narrow corners. ‘Definitely not here,’ he said, satisfied that his wife hadn’t managed to force herself into the acutely angled corner.

  ‘Worth a look though,’ James said ‘Good idea Frankie.’

  ‘He can’t hear you, he’s downstairs having a sit down. Too many stairs, he says,’ Alan said as he poked around in one of the boxes.

  ‘What’s in all these boxes anyway?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Accumulated rubbish of the last thirty years mostly. Amy’s got a lot of her university work in some of them. To be honest we could chuck most of it away and we’d never know it was gone.’

  ‘If you cleared all this stuff out, you could convert it into a games room,’ Alan suggested. ‘You could have a state of the art sound system, speakers in every corner, 3D TV, games console and if you fiddled around with the space you could have a pool table over there,’ he gestured at the far corner of the loft.

  James grinned. ‘I don’t think Amy would agree to that.’

  ‘Well look on the bright side then, if she doesn’t come back you’ve got yourself a games room,’ Alan helpfully pointed out.

  ‘Think I’d rather have Amy back than a games room,’ James mumbled.

  Before Alan could respond, Frankie poked his head through the attic hatch.

  ‘Bloody stairs,’ he grumbled before continuing, ’sorry to interrupt son, but there’s somebody knocking on your door.’

  Alan turned to James. ‘Frankie says there’s someone knocking on your door.’

  ‘Amy?’ James said hopefully and rushed down the attic steps, down the stairs to the front door, flinging it open.

  ‘Oh,’ he said disappointedly, ‘it’s you.’

  ‘I’m pleased to see you too,’ Rosie said. ‘What kept you so long? I’ve been knocking on the door for ages.’

  ‘Sorry Rosie,’ James apologised. ‘I thought it might be Amy.’

  ‘It’s alright James,’ she said, walking past him and patting him on the shoulder. ‘I understand.’

  As James closed the door behind her, a dusty Alan came down the stairs.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asked, eyeing him up and down. ‘You’re filthy.’

  ‘We’ve been in the attic,’ James explained.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We thought Amy might be hiding up there,’ James explained.

  Rosie stared at the two of them and momentarily understood Amy’s reasons for leaving.

  ‘Anyway, while you two have been playing hide and seek I’ve been busy. So if you’d like to make me a coffee I will explain.’

  While James busied himself making coffee, Rosie sat herself down at the kitchen table. She took a sheaf of papers from her bag and spread them out in front of her. James placed three mugs of coffee on the table and sat down alongside Alan. Frankie sat in the free chair next to Rosie who shivered with cold.

  ‘OK,’ Rosie began. ‘After we had lunch I spoke to Geoff…’

  ‘Who?’ Alan interrupted.

  ‘Mr Baxendale,’ Rosie added.

  ‘Sorry, still not with you,’ Alan said.

  ‘The consultant I was telling you about. The one who got a private eye to follow his wife when he thought she was having an affair.’


  ‘Oh him, yes I remember him,’ Alan said while James nodded.

  ‘Well he gave me the details of the private investigator that he used,’ Rosie paused and slid the papers over to James. ’There you go, that’s him.’

  James picked up the papers. ‘Cornelius Puddiphat, Private Investigator,’ he read aloud.

  ‘Is that a real name?’ Alan asked, looking over James’s shoulder.

  ‘It says here, no case too small. Contact us twenty four hours a day seven days a week,’ James continued.

  ‘So you think he can help?’ James asked.

  ‘I don’t think you have too much choice right now,’ Rosie replied.

  James nodded. ‘Thanks Rosie, I really appreciate it. Hopefully he’ll be able to help.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad you think so because I’ve made you an appointment to see him at 11.00am tomorrow morning.’

  Alan sniggered. ‘Puddiphat PI on the case,’ he mumbled, attracting a look of disapproval from Rosie.

  ‘Thanks for sorting this out Rosie, I’m really grateful,’ he thanked her again.

  Rosie finished her coffee. ‘Don’t worry James, I’m sure that everything will turn out OK,’ she said, not entirely convinced by her own words.

  *

  Despite James’s best efforts to keep his friends with him for as long as possible, Alan and Rosie eventually made their excuses and left. He slumped on the sofa while a particularly depressing ballad played on the CD player. An empty pizza box lay discarded on the floor alongside an empty CD case and several empty beer bottles, the contents of which he had drunk from Amy’s favourite mug.

  ‘I think,’ he announced to the empty room, ‘that she won’t be back tonight.’

  James raised the mug to the room and downed the beer in one mouthful. ’To Amy,’ he said solemnly. ‘May she come back soon.’

  He put the mug on the floor and reached out for his bagpipes. Clutching them to his chest he waited until the CD changed tracks and then began to blow.

  Outside in the garden, Charlie the llama momentarily raised his head at the wailing and screeching coming from inside the house. After a few moments, he burrowed his head back in to the pile of hay on the floor and thought longingly of Peru.

  *

  James’s neighbours, Mr and Mrs Brown, sat up in the bed and listened as the wailing and groaning reverberated through the walls.