Greyhound George

by Cleaver, Tony

  “Mmm, Sally, I know. Amazing! Well I was out walking Rosie as I usually do when I’ve got a minute spare and, lo and behold, when I get back I’m confronted by this long, striped something or other stretched out on my office sofa. What? Yes. Unbelievable. You’ve seen those old wartime photos of concentration camp survivors in striped pyjamas, haven’t you? Yes. Something like that. About as starved but a bit more spirited though. Denies he was trying anything on. I don’t believe him but anyway I think we ought to take him home and put him to bed. What do you think? Yes. Can you come? Great, Thanks. See you. Bye!”

  “Really, Carol, that’s a bit rich,” George protested, “comparing me to some poor, starving concentration camp inmate. You and your friend – you go a bit far sometimes!”

  Carol turned back to face her guest. “Don’t you dare complain, George, we’re going to try and save your bacon. If I can get you out of here without anyone noticing, that is. And as for reputations, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” She laughed. “I did say there was something of the wild side about you when we first met, didn’t I? You’re not really an accountant, are you?”

  Chapter 6

  Sally, a research associate in the Department of Psychology just above the woodlands that bordered St Bart’s, took only five minutes bringing the car round. She hurried straight away into Carol’s office, dying to see the spectacle on show. She was not disappointed.

  “Oh, George, what a picture!” she hooted.

  George was resigned to this by now. “Any other friends you want to invite round to revel in my embarrassment?” he asked sarcastically.

  “I hadn’t thought of any more,” said Carol, “but we’ll find others if you’re up for it.”

  George shuddered. “Please, no! Just get me home, quickly.”

  “So what’s he doing here, Carol?” Sally asked, intrigued. “Going to a pyjama party?”

  “Dunno, Sal. He’s being very evasive about that…though he claims to be married to one of our staff on these premises and you’ll never guess who…”

  “Who? Tell me.”

  “Our housekeeper – you know her, don’t you?”

  “What? The Dragon? I do not believe it! I didn’t think anyone could survive being hitched to her for long!”

  “Do you mind? You are talking about the woman with whom I have been, er, happily married for decades. Do you have absolutely no regard for my feelings?”

  “Well yes, we do, George,” said Carol, “though I’m surprised if you’ve any sensibilities left at all if you’ve been living with her all this time. I can barely breathe after working in this college with her for only a couple of terms!”

  George could understand this. His wife was not the easiest of persons to live with but he was damned if he would concede an iota of this in front of these two ebullient tormentors.

  “Look, leave off, will you? Are you just going to stand around enjoying my discomfort or are you going to help get me out of here? I do not want anyone, least of all my wife, seeing me here in this state.”

  “OK, George,” Carol laughed. “We’ll spirit you out of here as best we can – anyone outside, do you know, Sal?”

  Sally peeped outside along the corridor. “Nope, the coast is clear. C’mon, George, the car is right outside.”

  With Sally in the lead, George in the middle, Carol guarding the rear and Rosie quite clearly enjoying all the fuss and hovering around all three of them, the party shimmied out from the office, along the few yards to the main exit, and then across a short tarmac area to the car park and the waiting red mini. Sally had to open the passenger door and put the seat up to allow George and Rosie access to the rear of the two-door car and while she was doing this someone called out from a short distance away by the side of the college building.

  “Excuse me! Miss Davies! Wait up a second!”

  George recognised the voice and froze in discomfort. It was the college porter who not so long ago was trying to catch him under the tables of the dining hall.

  Carol turned and waited for the porter to approach.

  “Hello, Barry. Anything I can do to help?”

  Barry the porter drew near and as he did so gave a quick glance at George, a stooping beanstalk of a middle-aged man, dressed in blue-striped pyjamas and about to accompany a large sandy-coloured dog into the rear of a small red car. A master of self-control, if this was anything out of the ordinary to pass in a Durham University establishment, Barry gave absolutely no indication of it. Obviously he had seen quite a few strange things in his many years on the campus. What discipline; what a man, Carol thought.

  “Miss Davies, you don’t know anything about a large black greyhound racing around this college, do you? Is that animal one of yours?”

  Carol laughed innocently. “No, Barry, nothing to do with me. Here’s Rosie, with me as always. I’d never let her get away from me whilst at work, you know that. Oh, by the way, let me introduce you to Dr Potts, a visiting professor of psychology who is engaged in some very interesting experiments here. Dr Potts – this is Barry, one of the dearest members of the domestic staff we have at St Bart’s.”

  Inside the car, George could hear Sally give off a fizzing sound at this introduction but he decided to ignore this and held himself up very straight and dignified, as different as possible, he thought, from anything remotely dog-like. He extended a pyjamaed arm to Barry the porter and shook his hand warmly. “Ahem! Pleased to meet you,” he said briskly.

  “So what’s this about a black greyhound, Barry?” Carol was intrigued. She was the only owner of such a breed of dog in the vicinity, so far as she knew.

  “Some crazy dog that went crashing through the dining hall like a rocket, Miss. Dunno where it came from, nor where it went but it caused any amount of damage, I can tell you.” Barry scratched his head, puzzled by it all. “The housekeeper was furious; the kitchen staff were in a right pansy about it; ’course the students enjoyed it all. No bloody help to any of us, they were. I reckon one of ‘em must have spirited it into the place and then gone and hidden it after. But if you ever find out who’s got that dog, let me know will you? Strictly against college rules, in’t it? I mean, you are the exception like, Miss. We all accept that…so long as your dog don’t go on the rampage like this one did…”

  “No fear of that, Barry. Really. I don’t want Rosie to cause any sort of trouble at St Bart’s and to be honest, bless her, she wouldn’t want to either. But thanks for telling me. I’ll keep a close eye out for this other one. Bye now!”

  Rosie and George were now safely battened down on the back seat of the mini, so Carol got into the front. Sally started up and they set off along the college drive, downhill and onto the main road out of town. Sally was still chortling at what Carol had said.

  “Visiting professor of psychology! Hah! That’s a good one!”

  “Did you see Barry? Tell him that it’s only a professor wandering around in pyjamas and he didn’t blink an eye,” grinned Carol in reply. “It just goes to show what ordinary folk think of us academics. They reckon we’re all crazy!”

  “Quite right too,” said George, not quite sure if he should be glad of, or feel insulted by the subterfuge foisted upon him. “Being entirely normal myself I felt extremely uncomfortable being caught out in the open like this, but clearly for university people like yourselves, outrageous behaviour and forms of dress are perfectly acceptable.” He snorted disparagingly. George had never been to university and had got on in life only by dint of hard work and whatever luck was going. He felt somewhat intimidated by all these over-confident, highfalutin academics with scores of letters after their names – his two female chaperones included.

  Carol ignored this remark. Her mind had now turned to the message that Barry the porter had delivered to her. A wild greyhound had been on the loose at St Bartholomew’s and, if this continued, she guessed it would not be long before the authorities turned up the heat on people like herself who bent the rules. She could bring in
Rosie to work on the odd day or two so long as no one officially complained and, of course, the students who came to see her never did. Everyone loved her hound. But a dog rampaging about in college, particularly a greyhound, was a direct threat to her and Rosie’s welfare. Carol wondered what had happened whilst she had been off the premises that morning, walking her own greyhound. She decided to ask her visitor: one who had indeed been guilty of some decidedly odd conduct that very same morning.

  “George, you didn’t hear or see anything of this black greyhound charging around the college before I found you, did you?”

  George visibly shrunk at the suggestion. “Certainly not,” he replied shiftily. “Nothing whatsoever to do with me!”

  Carol looked at Sally, who looked quickly back whilst negotiating a roundabout. Both thought the same. There was something not quite right in that voice. George was hiding something.

  “Oh ho!” cried Carol. “Out with it, George! You know something!”

  “Indeed I do not! You are a highly suspicious, distrustful and reprehensible member of the female class. You insult me, you threaten me, you doubt my word and you make disparaging remarks about my partner in life…I do not know what I have done to deserve you. You should be ashamed of yourself – intimidating decent, honest pillars of the local community like myself.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, so you say, George. Now stop evading the point. You’re as guilty as sin. We both can smell it! What were you up to this morning, letting strange dogs loose?”

  “I do not know what you are talking about. I never released any dog, any animal whatsoever in the college this morning.”

  “Sally, do you believe him?”

  “No!”

  “Neither do I. George – we don’t believe you. Cough it up! What were you doing? Where were you immediately before I discovered you in my office this morning?”

  “Nowhere! Doing nothing! Leave off, will you? I’m innocent! I saw no other dog this morning. Honest!”

  George was fidgeting in his seat in alarm, trying to stroke Rosie but his own restlessness was disturbing his canine companion, quite apart from signalling his own guilty involvement in unspecified goings-on that morning.

  “George, if you do not own up straight away to what mischief you’ve been perpetrating then Sally will stop this car and we will haul you out onto the pavement and grill you in the street – in your pyjamas and in front of half the commuters travelling into this city. So come on! Spill the beans.”

  “I’ve nothing to spill! I’ve told you – I’m innocent; I am falsely accused.”

  “Sally!”

  Sally hit the brakes and the mini skidded to a halt. Carol opened the door, climbed out and pulled the seat forward.

  “Out you get, George!” she commanded.

  “No! This is ridiculous. I can’t get out like this!”

  “Oh yes you can! You certainly can’t stay there. Neither Sally nor I will share this car with a liar and a scoundrel and an instigator of canine chaos in St Bart’s. I won’t even let Rosie near you again, even though she seems love-struck with you so far. So – out you get!”

  “Please, Carol – get back in the car. Look – you are causing a traffic jam behind!”

  “Are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

  “Aargh! OK! Later. Not now. I can’t here. When you get me home. Please – I’ve got to go home and change. Get back in the car!”

  Sally looked round. “Is that a faithful, honest-to-goodness promise, George? That you’ll tell us all when we get you home?”

  George scowled. “Yes!” he groaned. “Get me home and I’ll tell you what I know…” He was blowed if he would tell them all, though.

  Carol wasn’t entirely convinced and her body language conveyed that impression. George looked out of the car at her, standing there on the pavement, frowning with her hands on hips and her body curved away from him in doubt and disbelief. She was wearing that figure-hugging tracksuit again and looking absolutely gorgeous – enough to melt a heart of steel. George couldn’t utter another syllable. If he tried he would just burble incoherently. He directed his gaze back down at Rosie and transferred his attentions to stroking her head. He didn’t trust himself to look at that siren, summoning him to his disaster.

  Carol got slowly back into the car, staring at George who refused to meet her eyes. She didn’t believe him for a second. Sally started up again and the car drew away from the kerb, heading towards George’s village. It was only five minutes ride away. Five minutes of George sitting in sullen silence and the two women wondering what was going on in his mind.

  George directed them to park at the back of the house, as before. He knew he had a problem getting back in to his home and the only way he could do so with involving a minimum of attention from his neighbours was to vault over the garden fences in the same manner as he left. He realised of course that, if noticed, a dog leaping over garden fences would probably cause fewer eyebrows to raise than seeing George Potts doing the same in his pyjamas, but there was nothing for it – if he wanted to recover his keys, a-vaulting he had to go.

  How was he to explain his actions to his companions now? Well he wouldn’t, that’s all. Jumping over a neighbour’s imitation stable door he would demonstrate as the normal way he went home and there was nothing more to be said about it. Except that a decidedly unfit and uncoordinated fifty-something-year-old was nowhere near adept at surmounting doors and fences as a racing greyhound in tip-top condition. Trying to haul himself up the bottom half of the stable door, straddling it and then swinging his legs over, all the time trying to protect his modesty and prevent his pyjama bottoms from gaping apart and revealing all, was a complex combination of manoeuvres that was exceedingly trying and almost beyond him. It was beyond him. His female audience was reduced to fits of laughter.

  “I cannot believe what I am seeing,” gasped Sally in between shrieks of merriment.

  “George, do not deny that you’ve ever been in a circus – this is first-class entertainment,” Carol applauded. “You really are the king of clowns!”

  With a final flourish George got both legs across the lower half of the stable door, pirouetted around and slid down into the garden beyond, all the time trying to maintain a dignified expression as if this was the sort of thing he did all the time. Except of course that, disturbed by all the noise and encouragement from two delighted onlookers in the access lane outside, Mrs Catherine Forsyth – neighbour and owner of the property he was entering – appeared hurrying down the garden path to greet George just as his blue-pyjamaed frame plopped down on the back lawn in front of her.

  “Um, good morning, Mr Potts. Nice of you to drop in like this…Any particular reason for your visit?” Mrs Forsyth had travelled the world a bit in her youth and had been through riots and earthquakes before. She was determined that the sudden and unexpected visit of the man from next-door-but-one would not upset her, even if he appeared to be in the process of ripping off his pyjamas as he did so.

  “So sorry to bother you, Mrs Forsyth. Didn’t want to cause a fuss, see, but I’ve locked myself out, ha! ha! Came out the back in my pyjamas, as you can tell, but the gate slammed shut on me. Silly, I know. Do you mind if I climb over your fence now?” George was sidling over in the direction of his own garden as he said all this. He nodded apologetically to his neighbour as he lifted one leg over the fence and then the other.

  Mrs Forsyth nodded in return: “Go ahead, Mr Potts. Please don’t let me stop you.” She observed that one trouser leg became caught on a fence post as he was doing this and ripped apart.

  “Oops! Oh dear,” remarked George. “Never mind, can’t stop…” He waved a grateful goodbye to his neighbour, hopped across the next garden and then dragged himself over the last remaining barrier before reaching safety amongst a host of Annabel’s standard roses. Rose thorns invading his person then felt a blessed relief after the stings and arrows of misfortune he had felt ever since waking up in Carol’s office in utter
ly inappropriate attire earlier that day. He was home at last!

  George made his way up the back garden to the plot by the dustbin where he had buried the keys. Scrabbling in the dirt he quickly found them and then opened up the back gate to let his two young women companions enter. He ignored their generous, joyous, not to mention tearful salute of his gymnastic endeavours and led them and Rosie – meanwhile clutching pyjama trousers about his nether regions with one hand – to the back door, which he promptly unlocked to let them all inside. Finally he suggested his guests make themselves at home, excused himself, and then scurried as quickly as decorum allowed upstairs to shower and change.

  Twenty minutes later he was back in their company, offering tea and biscuits.

  “No thanks, George,” Carol replied. “Very kind of you but we’d rather not inconvenience you or ourselves. We prefer nosing around your place first to see if it confirms what we think of you.”

  Various rooms and facilities were entered and examined, accompanied by occasional disapproving noises, exclamations and shaking of heads. George ignored all and went for his study draw. He drew out his hipflask and shook it. Nothing inside. Damn! He collapsed onto his desk chair. Rosie found him first, followed shortly by Carol and Sally.

  “Well, this is more like it!” Sally volunteered, entering the study. “At last a place of anarchy and interest.”

  “A refuge amongst all the iron orderliness and discipline,” Carol surmised. “This has to be your study, George, and I bet you wage a battle with your other half to keep it this way.”

  George didn’t say a word. These women had him all sized up.

  The two young females took a quick tour of the study, then Carol said, “C’mon, Sally, let’s go upstairs now!”

  George protested weakly. He knew the two were running all over him but he couldn’t stop them. This was an unwarranted intrusion into his private life and he could have thrown them out if he wanted to, but there was a sort of desperation in this house that had been slowly accumulating over the years, something now he realised he was ashamed of but he suddenly had no defences. Intimate details of his life were being revealed and he couldn’t stop it. Masochistically, he didn’t want to stop it. He did not fully realise this yet but if he seriously didn’t like where he was in his life right now then he had to suffer the shame and embarrassment of having it all revealed to critical outsiders before he could find a way to reverse direction and, returning back to zero, start rebuilding his life again. He sat there, frozen for the time being and gloomily awaiting the outcome of this house search.