Ship Ahoy! (A Cliffhanger Novel Book 3)

by T. J. Middleton

  She held out the plate. I wasn’t hungry any more.

  ‘This is mad talk Mrs Durand-Deacon,’ I said. ‘I don’t know your Gerald, and luckily he’s not around these parts.’

  It wasn’t much of a defence I know, but I wasn’t thinking straight.

  ‘He will be soon. He’s coming down in a few days time to see how I’m doing. He’s a very keen butterfly collector you know. Stick in a net in his hand and he’s off, oblivious to everything. I’m sure he’ll want to explore the environs while he’s here, get some of that bracing cliff-top air.’

  I didn’t let on, but strangely enough the Beacon did boast a special type of butterfly, found only in these parts, the Blue Bindon it was called, very rare, very delicate, very easy to roll on top of when you’re busy showing a fresh young day-tripper the sights. But I wasn’t going to tell Mrs Durand-Deacon that. I mean the sheer cold bloodiness of it! I was beginning to feel sorry for the old boy.

  ‘I think you’ve got me all wrong, Mrs Durand-Deacon. I’m just an artist trying to scratch a living from whatever talent these humble hands possess.’ She leant across, grabbed the left one.

  ‘Killing, that’s what they possess, I can tell. Mayhem and murder. God man, I can see it in your eyes. Get up in the morning, have breakfast, push someone off a high structure, that’s your routine isn’t it? You haven’t done it for a while, but so what? You’d probably quite like to do it again, just to prove to yourself that when push comes to shove, you can still shove. Well here’s your opportunity to keep your hand in. It won’t be difficult. Now, why don’t you go home have a good think about it.’

  ‘I don’t need to think about it Mrs Durand-Deacon. I’m not doing it. No way. This conversation hasn’t taken place. And you should thank me for that. By rights I should be on the phone to the police, turn you in.’

  Bloody hell, I’d just said something I’d never thought I’d say, twice in twenty minutes. Like Audrey she didn’t seem put out at all, just took another sip of coffee.

  ‘It’s either that or an investigation into your murky past plus almost certain bankruptcy Mr Greenwood. My lawyers are just itching to get their hands on you. What, an ex-magistrate forced to jump seven stories into the Atlantic ocean on account of your wilful negligence? The vertigo she now suffers? The re-alignment of vertebras four, five, and six? The mental difficulty she now has with immersion, even a bath? It hardly bears thinking about. Do you know what your bungalow’s worth these days? Quite a bit I imagine.’ She dabbed her eyes with a napkin. ‘Go on, off you go. Come back with your answer same time tomorrow. And by the way, for future reference, penguins are only found in the Antarctic. The Arctic is reserved for polar bears.’

  Yes and I wouldn’t mind sticking you on an iceberg with one.

  I drove to Salisbury to get Audrey’s new gear. I thought I’d mind, sitting in the car wasting time, when all hell was breaking out around me, but the truth was it was just what I needed. I could feel a change coming over me every mile that car covered. It was like I’d been bitten by one of those funnel-web spiders that Carol used to send postcards of, the Al of old creeping up my legs, running up my spine, spiking into my brain. I could almost see the power of it running down my arms into my hands, feel my eyes blinking, like there was a stinging in my eye, realising that it was the old Al looking out onto the road now. Even the unmentionables felt different, rolling around all heavy and loose like they were ready for action. It was the old Al that was needed if the new Al was to survive. The new Al didn’t have the right credentials for this sort of carry-on. He was too busy thinking about art and other people. The old Al never thought about art or other people. He just thought about Al and what mattered to him, his mum and the daughter he could never call his own. He was alone, like Shane was alone. Even when he was with someone he was alone. It was better that way.

  I locked the door to the Citroën, walked into the nearest department store, strode to the escalator winking at the girls behind the perfume counter. By the time I reached women’s clothing on the third floor it was like I’d never gone away.

  There’s something not right about men buying women’s clothing, something not very healthy. You stick out, whatever you do. You shouldn’t be there. They don’t want you there. You don’t want you there, not on your own, bouncing from rack to rack like a boat cut loose from its moorings, bumping up against things you shouldn’t be within fifteen metres of. I mean, fingering them full is one thing, fingering them empty is quite another.

  Everybody clocked me the moment I stepped on the floor, the shoppers, the floor manager, the under-worked staff. There was no point in trying to blend in. I strode over to customer services like I meant business. There was a girl standing behind the counter, no more than twenty-two. She had blue, far-away eyes, freckles on her forehead, delicate like a bird’s egg. Foreign. Her hair was tied back hard over her scalp. She was shy and provocative at the same time. Clever that. She clasped her hands in front of her as I approached. She was going to like me, I could tell. Like me a lot.

  I put my hands on the counter, gave her the guff. I told her I was here to buy clothes for my sister who’d just come back from South Africa, lost all her luggage on the cruise over. Families eh? She smiled. I gave her Audrey’s list with the descriptions and sizes all writ down. She ran a finger over it, then looked back up at me, those eyes all wide and open. They could knock you down like a pair of cannon balls, those eyes

  ‘Your sister does not mention what colours she requires,’ she said, all careful, like she’d rehearsed the words in her head before she spoke them. She had an accent, natch. Not French. Not German. Something else, something intriguing, something I’d like to get my tongue around. Shop assistants. Most dangerous women in the world. I tried to act surprised.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. See?’

  She twisted the envelope half round so we could both read it. I bent my head down close. A wave of perfume crashed over my head.

  ‘That’s very remiss of her, wouldn’t you say,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe not. Perhaps she wants you to surprise her.’

  ‘That could be it. She likes surprises. As long as they’re pleasant. Well, who doesn’t on a pleasant surprise on a Monday afternoon? I know I do.’

  I looked straight back up at her. She had a little name badge hanging off her left you-know-what. They shouldn’t do that. The cannon balls were coming thick and fast.

  ‘So what colour shall we surprise her with Trudi?’ She blinked at the sound of her name, knew where I’d been looking.

  ‘Her favourite? Every woman has a favourite.’

  Woman. They’ve just got to say that word to a man, and sets all sorts of things going. She was playing with me. Twenty-two years old and she was playing with me.

  ‘Is that right?’ I said, ‘And what colour might Trudi’s be?’ As if I didn’t know.

  ‘Trudi’s is Blue.’

  ‘But not today I see.’

  ‘No, today I have the uniform.’

  ‘And you fit into it a treat Trudi, if I may say so.’ She dropped her eyes down, then hauled them up again. Oooh. That sinking feeling.

  ‘And if Trudi’s suit was blue rather than black, would Trudi like it better then?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It is a uniform. Not for pleasure.’

  ‘It is from where I’m standing.’ I let the words hang in the air for a while, then bounced her back. ‘Well I have no idea what my sister’s favourite colour is, but I know mine. Red. Why don’t we start off with a nice red skirt for her. The flouncier the better.’

  I stepped back, straightened up, turned the list back to her. She got a little pencil out of her pocket, licked the point. I didn’t think anyone did that anymore. Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps I was dreaming.

  ‘Red for the skirt then. What about the other items? The blouses, the slacks, the… the underwear.’ I held her gaze firm. She was trying not to blush, bless her.

  ‘Make them red too.’


  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Why not? I’m very partial to red.’

  ‘But she might like another colour.’

  ‘She might. But she’s not going to get one. It’s a surprise remember? Where are you from, Trudi?’

  ‘Amsterdam.’

  ‘Trudi from Amsterdam. Sounds like a song. And would that be Trudi with a Y or an I?’

  ‘An I mostly, in England, most people expect the Y.’

  ‘Well Trudi from Amsterdam with an I, why don’t you run off and gather all the red items you can, find, and stick them all in a big bag. And don’t forget the lycra outfit. They’ll have one in the sports department won’t they? Make that red too. I’ll stay here and watch you beetle about backwards and forwards on those lovely long legs you’ve got hidden away there. Off you go, now.’

  Trudi scuttled off. I watched her beetle backwards and forwards on those legs she’d hidden away. They weren’t bad. Every now and again she’d look over at me, red whatevers draped over her arm and I’d give her a little wave. Perhaps I’d buy her something red too. Perhaps I’d help her put it on. Perhaps I’d help her take it off. When she came back she had three bags, not one.

  ‘Do you know they wrote a nursery rhyme about you,’ I said. ‘Only you’re not a black sheep are you?’ She shook her head, not understanding. ‘Everything redder than red then?’ She nodded. She was a bit red herself. She’d been thinking about it, my next move.

  ‘You want to examine?’ she said. Not half I don’t.

  ‘Just the bill, Trudi.’

  £345. Nearly two and a quarter sharks. I handed over my credit card. The machine was passed back and forth, fingers touching. We could have been undressing each other it was that intimate. I took the receipt, stuck it in my pocket.

  ‘Can I help you with anything else?’ she said.

  ‘Now there’s a thought. Would you like to?’

  ‘It is what I am here for.’

  ‘Isn’t it just. Well, as a matter of fact it’s very lucky that you should be here, because believe it or not, I’ve been thinking of visiting Amsterdam.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. All them canals, all them bicycles, all them young legs pedalling away below. Kind of free isn’t it, Amsterdam, where anything goes. My kind of town. And I was thinking, if I bought you a late lunch, you could stretch those lovely legs under the table and tell me all about them naughty places there that an innocent like me shouldn’t go to. A virgin’s guide so to speak. What do you think?’

  There was a long pause, those blue eyes bearing down on me, like they were headlights.

  ‘Al Greenwood, as I live and breathe. What are you doing here?’

  I turned round. Tina Newdick was coming at me waving a lampshade. She’d been married to Ian Newdick, my one time taxi partner, who tried to steal my business by setting up on his own. Later, when he left her, went back to Scotland, Tina joined up with Audrey, ran the business together while I rotted away in prison. Didn’t last long, ‘cause Audrey sold the business and fucked off to South Africa with Michaela Rump. I didn’t know what had happened to Tina after that. Didn’t care. And here she was, in a perky little two-piece, perky little buttons, perky little smile. That was our Tina all over. A pain in her perky arse.

  She came up, too busy, too close. She’d always been like that, forward. She had the same perfume on she’d had when I first knew her.

  ‘Well, well, who’d have thought it,’ she said, half laughing. ‘Al Greenwood buying ladies’ clothing. You must be in love.’ I tried to laugh, tried not to look at Trudi.

  ‘No, you got it all wrong Tina. This is for my sister. Lost her luggage.’

  ‘I didn’t you know you had a sister. Audrey always said you were an only child. You heard about her I suppose?’

  ‘Course.’ Trudi was holding the bags dead still. Tina was in full flow.

  ‘You’re not in the taxi business anymore I hear,’ she said.

  ‘No. I gained the will to live instead.’

  ‘It was a good business until Audrey left. Still I don’t blame her I suppose, finding a new life. Who wouldn’t want to do that? We had some good times her and me, before she lost the plot. She even sent Ian a poison pen letter about me having it off with our customers. While we were playing still golf together. Did you know that?’

  I did as a matter of fact. Rather approved of it at the time. Tina and that husband of hers deserved all they got. I pointed to the lampshade in her hand.

  ‘You going to wear that on your head?’ She giggled. She’d always been a terrible flirt.

  ‘Al! This is for my consulting room. I’m a life balancing enhancer now.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ She came up even closer, tapped me on the nose.

  ‘You don’t know what life balance is, do you? It’s what men like you need. Work, Play, Emotional trajectory. I help put things into an ordered perspective, prioritising needs. See?’ She dug into her handbag, drew out a little card. It had a picture of a fish on it. Like a carp. I didn’t like that. Underneath it read, Tina Newdick. Life Balancing Enhancer. The Storm Before the Calm, all in fancy lettering, her address in Wareham and phone number underneath. I tucked it into my pocket.

  ‘Still,’ she said, pushing her finger into one of the bags again, drawing out a bra strap. ‘Your needs are pretty evident.’

  ‘Tina, as I said…’

  ‘I know what you said. And I know what these are for.’ She tapped my pocket. ‘Give me a call. First consultation’s free. I could do you a lot of good.’

  We watched her walk off. Leastways I did. Trudi didn’t. Trudi was looking at me, I could tell. I took a deep breath, turned round, like it had never happened.

  ‘Right then Trudi,’ I said. ‘I nice snackaroo somewhere quiet? What do you think?’

  Trudi eyes were large and round and open.

  ‘I think these clothes are not for your sister,’ she said.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. I think someone who is closer. And I think perhaps, you should be having lunch with her.’

  And she handed me the bags,

  That was that. I shrugged my shoulders and left. There was no use in trying to persuade her otherwise. Girls like that, once they make their mind up about you, they’re very difficult to change. It wouldn’t have been any fun, even if I’d persuaded her otherwise. She’d have been suspicious and once that little knot of doubt sets in, you’re stuffed. So I turned the car round, drove home, calling in on the way to the communal waste disposal centre, dropped the prison uniform into one of their minding machines. It was kind of a relief, watching those teeth chew it into nothing along with all the other rubbish, bit of old wardrobe, mattresses, broken window frames. If only I could stick Mrs Durand-Deacon and Audrey in there, I’d be free to get my life back on track. I stood there for a long long time, wondering if I could do it, get rid of both of them. Who would care really? Mr Durand-Deacon? Michaela? Perhaps I could introduce them to each other. Lots of butterflies in South Africa.

  Jesus, what was I thinking of? I got back in the car, drove off, had a beer of two at the Red Lion to calm myself down. Back at the bungalow Audrey was stretched out on the Easy-slumber Sofabed, reading our cruise literature. She was still wearing Em’s dressing gown, but she’d put her prison warder’s cap back on, tilted it over the back of her head. I didn’t like to say it, but in the daylight, it kind of suited her.

  ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ she said, chucking the brochure aside. ‘I feel like a plucked chicken, staring at the walls with nothing on. What if I’d had to leave in a hurry?’

  ‘What if you stop moaning? I got them for you didn’t I?’ I handed her the bags. ‘Go on then, try them on. They’re all the right size.’

  She pulled the first one out, a blouse, red, with a fluffy lace frill running down the front. Flouncy wasn’t the word.

  ‘What the hell’s this?’

  ‘It’s a blouse Audrey.’

  She chucked it to the f
loor, fetched out another.

  ‘This is red too.’

  ‘Less frilly though, I think you’ll agree.’

  She started pulling them out one after the other, like one of those magicians used to do on the telly when I was kid, with a line of flags coming out of a hat; bras, blouses, skirts, knickers, trousers out they came. Trudi had done a very thorough job on her. Pity she hadn’t done one on me too. Finally there was a pile on the floor. Audrey poked a leg out and stirred them with her foot. She’d painted her toe-nails. On the run with nowhere to go and she’d painted her toe-nails. With Em’s best nail polish too.

  ‘Tell me Al, ‘she said. ‘Do you recognise a common denominator amongst these purchases?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Like they all have something in common?’

  ‘You mean like they’re all women’s clothing which cost me a bloody fortune?’

  ‘No. I mean like they’re all red.’

  ‘Now that you mention it I suppose they are. Your point is?’

  ‘My point is I’ll look like a stopped traffic light wearing this lot. What the hell did you think you were playing at?’

  ‘I wasn’t playing at anything Audrey. You were very vague where the question of colour was concerned. If you hadn’t wanted red, you should have said so.’

  She picked up a sweater, turned it around once or twice, held in in her fingers like is smelled bad.

  ‘I might have known you’d do stupid something like this.’

  ‘Don’t blame me Audrey. Blame your poxy list. Blame the poxy shop girl. She was foreign, probably didn’t understand my instructions properly. Or perhaps she did it deliberate. Come to think of it, she did have this funny smirk on her face, half the time. Shifty eyes too.’