by Park, J. R.
The meal had gone down a treat and Martin was delighted to see Kaspar more engaged now he didn’t have his games console with him. Taking a chance, he brought out his puppets, ducked behind the sofa and reenacted his first show in over a decade. He was delighted to have his audience whoop and laugh like days of old. They both applauded as the chaotic show finished with puppets strewn across the sofa edge.
‘That was brilliant Martin,’ thanked Grete, ‘did you like that, Kaspar?’
‘Yeah,’ Kaspar giggled, ‘Mr Punch is funny.’
Martin emerged from behind the sofa with an ecstatic grin, pleased to have performed and been well received. He collected his puppets up and sat back on the sofa, flushed from the exuberant act of putting on his show.
‘We didn’t know you were a Punch and Judy man,’ said a surprised Grete.
‘One of the best,’ Martin winked with confidence. ‘How are you enjoying your stay in Stanswick? Have you been to the pier yet?’
‘Not yet,’ Grete replied, ‘the weather has not been great.’
‘Make sure you do,’ he encouraged, ‘I was up there today. It still has all the rides and they were just as fun as I remember. You know my old Punch and Judy tent was stored up at the pier. I haven’t checked it out yet but it should all still be there. Nothing much seems to have changed.’
Tap, tap, tap.
The sound of gentle tapping came from the window. At first there were only a few raps, but then more and more as if a storm of knocking knuckles were raining against the glass.
‘What’s that?’ Grete asked.
‘Sounds like kids messing about. Just throwing stones at the window. If we ignore them they’ll go away,’ Martin assured her.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
He turned to Kaspar and seized on the boy’s interest in his puppets.
‘Now this is Mr Punch,’ he held the figure up for inspection, ‘he is the star of the show. He is a very cheeky and naughty man, but he is very clever and outwits anyone he encounters.’
Tap, tap, tap, bang, tap, bang.
More stones were thrown at the window, the noises becoming louder and louder as they were thrown harder and harder. Grete looked at the window whilst a worried expression appeared on her face.
‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ she asked. ‘Shall I call the police?’
Dismissively Martin said, ‘Let’s not worry them,’ then returned back to his tutorial with Kaspar. ‘He talks in a funny voice, and we have to use a swazzle to make the voice. You do it like this.’
He took the swazzle and placed it in the roof of his mouth.
Tap, tap, bang.
‘Hello little boy,’ he spoke in Mr Punch’s voice, ‘that’s the way to do it!’
Tap, tap, bang, bang, bang.
The din began to echo round the house.
Tap, bang, bang, bang!
‘No one gets the better of Mr Punch,’ Martin’s voice started to raise in an attempt to drown out the sound of the stones, ‘if he cannot outwit them then naughty Mr Punch always has his bat.’
The window began to shake as the force from the projectiles intensified.
Bang, bang, bang, bang!
Grete grew more worried but was cut off as she said, ‘I really think we should call the pol-’
‘He smacks them and smacks them and smacks them,’ Martin seemed unaware of his surroundings as he lost himself in his mantra of violence.
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!
‘…and smacks them and smacks them and smacks them.’
‘Martin?’
Without warning Martin got to his feet and bolted to the front door. Throwing it open with force he stepped out into the street only to see some children run off down the road, laughing as they went.
‘I’ll get you, you little shits,’ Martin called out after them.
They shouted something back, but their voices were lost to the wind.
‘Are you okay?’ Grete asked, worried for her new found friend.
‘Bloody kids,’ Martin muttered, he looked down at his feet, his voice sounded dejected. ‘I’m sorry Grete. There used to be a time when they came to this house for fun.’
He closed the door and came back inside, feeling foolish for his emotional outburst. Sitting on the sofa he’d feared he’d ruined the evening but Grete just smiled and went in the kitchen to boil the kettle. The best way to cheer up an Englishman is with a cup of tea she thought.
Kaspar sat beside him and put his small arms around the sad man’s frame. The boy picked up the puppet of Mr Punch and placed it on Martin’s lap.
‘Don’t worry,’ Kaspar spoke softly to him, ‘Mr Punch will get them.’
PC Andrews rang on the doorbell again and waited. He peered through the window but could see no movement inside the house. Perhaps Martin Powell had risen early this morning. Sergeant Jack had made it clear he wanted to speak to Powell so the PC had called on him first thing this morning. He had been ringing the bell and banging on the door for the last ten minutes with no response.
He must be an early bird. These old guys don’t sleep much Andrews thought as he climbed back into his car, heading back to the station empty handed.
Martin had not slept well last night and was up with the sun. He decided to invite Polly round for dinner and needed to buy more provisions for that task. He’d made it all the way to the supermarket before he realised he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. He patted down his pockets but found them all empty. Damn! He must have left them at home. He pulled his hat lower over his face to try and conceal himself a little more; he did not want a re-run of yesterday.
With a basket in hand he walked around the small supermarket selecting his items, but wary of other early morning shoppers. As another shopper got close he could feel their eyes scanning his features with a suspicious look. Did they recognise him? Or was it just paranoia? He noticed a group of people huddled and talking. Was it about him? They probably came here and had a good gossip every morning. After ten years spent in prison he would surely look different anyway. But the man in the toilets had identified him with ease. He had been such a prominent figure in the community before it all…
He turned a corner at the end of an aisle to find, blocking his path, a face he found familiar.
‘Mildred?’ he whispered under his breath.
‘Martin?’ Mildred exclaimed loudly. ‘Martin Powell?’
‘You must have me confused,’ he tipped his hat and walked towards the checkouts. He needed to get out of here fast.
He could hear the conversation start up behind him.
‘Did you see, that was Martin Powell?’ Mildred spoke to a fellow shopper in her usual brash volume.
‘No,’ the other lady replied unable to believe it could be true.
‘I swear it was,’ Mildred squawked.
‘What on earth does he think he’s doing back here?’ Martin heard the other lady say.
He approached the checkout attempting to appear calm. The girl, sat down behind the till and ready to serve, smiled at him.
‘Are you having a nice morning sir?’ she asked.
Martin didn’t reply, but smiled in return. He looked back at the gathering crowd around Mildred. He could no longer hear her, but he could see she was becoming visibly animated as she gesticulated and pointed in his direction.
‘Shame about the weather,’ the checkout girl offered as a conversation starter.
‘Yes,’ he nervously answered as he packed his shopping into bags.
Looking back again he watched Mildred who was now talking to a security guard.
‘Do you have a loyalty card?’ the girl asked.
‘No, no I don’t.’
He tried to keep a polite façade throughout the exchange but he was desperate to leave.
‘Would you like one?’ she enquired. ‘I can sign you up today.’
‘No thank you.’
Martin looked up again. The security guard was making his way towards them.
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‘That’s £23.47,’ the checkout assistant explained.
Martin began to panic. He picked up his shopping and pulled three ten pound notes from his pocket.
Passing them to her he said, ‘Keep the change.’
‘I can’t do that sir,’ she said.
The guard was nearly on them, he didn’t have time for protocol.
‘It’s fine,’ he said and without waiting for an answer he turned to make his quick exit.
As he turned he stumbled into another girl dressed in a supermarket uniform, the jolt causing his shopping to swing in his hand. A jar of cranberry sauce fell from the top of the bag and smashed onto the floor leaving a sticky mess of glass and red jelly. Martin’s eyes immediately caught sight of the girl’s name badge. It read Pippa.
At first startled by the impact Pippa apologised to the man she had walked in to. As she looked up at his tired and withered face she caught a glimpse of someone she knew from her past.
‘Mr Powell?’ she asked.
‘Excuse me sir,’ the assertive voice of the security guard boomed behind them as he reached the checkout.
Pippa looked at the old man. Like a confused animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming juggernaut he seemed rooted to the ground, unable to move as he watched his certain doom grow ever closer. She glanced across to the security guard and a multitude of expressions quickly flitted across her face. First she looked puzzled, trying to understand what was happening in this situation. Puzzlement was quickly replaced with alarm. Her face turned white and she began to scream in panic.
Martin snapped back to his senses as the girl in front of him shrieked. Without another second to waste he bolted out the door. He looked back as he made his swift exit but no one followed.
The security guard and shoppers had crowded round the distressed Pippa trying to calm her down. Martin Powell could wait.
‘Pippa,’ a checkout assistant said as she placed a comforting arm around her, ‘Pippa, you are going to be okay.’
‘You are going to be okay.’
‘I know I will,’ Pippa had calmed down once she had been driven back home and to the safety of the family house.
She was sat in the living room with her parents, who concerned, had taken the day off work to rally round and talk with her. They nursed cups of luke-warm tea in their hands as they tried to make sense of what had happened and what to do next.
Pippa had surprised herself at her own reaction in the supermarket, ‘Jo said she saw him at the Minstrel but it was so different seeing him stood in front of me. It was just such a shock, you know?’
‘I bet it was,’ her father was seething with anger. ‘I’ve got a mind to-’
‘Dad. It’s not needed,’ Pippa cut in. ‘You and Mum have been great to me all this time. You’ve really looked after me since Danny was born. When I was pregnant I didn’t know what to do and you were both so good. You don’t need to do any more.’
Her father stood up to release some of the adrenalin that had begun to build through his anger, ‘Well the same goes with Powell as what I said about that good for nothing Jarred. Jarred disappeared as quickly as you could say baby. If I was to ever catch sight of him.’
Her father was very protective and still held a simmering grudge over the way Jarred had bolted the moment Pippa found out she was pregnant. She hadn’t told her parents straight away so they couldn’t understand when he just split from their daughter and left town. Once she had come clean about the truth the boy was long gone despite her dad’s best efforts to hunt him down.
‘Your Dad means well honey,’ her Mum chipped in, ‘you just keep out of the way of that Martin Powell whilst he is here. God knows why he ever came back.’
‘I guess we all have to go somewhere,’ Pippa found herself saying.
‘Are you sympathizing with him?’ her father barked.
‘No…kind of…I don’t know,’ his arrival had thrown her world upside down. Pippa did not know how she felt.
‘Well I spoke to the manager and he won’t be welcome round the supermarket again,’ her father’s reassurances sounded more like threats than words of comfort.
Pippa’s mother knew that things could get out of hand if the two were left to bicker and so she brought the conversation onto more light-hearted topics.
‘Have you organised a baby sitter for the carnival yet?’ she asked. ‘It is tomorrow night after all.’
‘Yes that’s all sorted.’
Her mother felt bad they hadn’t been able to help, ‘You know we would normally do it but we got such a good deal for our holiday we just couldn’t turn it down.’
‘Although I’m not so sure we should be going in light of recent events,’ he father remarked through his bushy, black beard.
‘Don’t even think about staying home,’ Pippa could bark as well as her father. ‘You guys deserve a break. The baby sitter is sorted and I’m going to win first prize at the carnival. Our float is so good and we’ve spent all year working on it.’
‘We’re both so proud of you,’ her mother was always there to pay a complement to her cherished child.
‘And Jo will be around with me as well. Although I’m a bit worried about her. She seems to be taking this much harder than me,’ Pippa looked concerned at the thought of her best friend.
‘Look after that girl,’ her Dad’s tone warmed, ‘she’s always been there for you.’
‘I will Dad,’ she replied with a smile, ‘you go have a good holiday. I’ll win the carnival. I’m going to be okay.’
She gave them both a long, affectionate embrace, momentarily eclipsing the history of fear and worry she had endured.
The light was low, the room only illuminated by the candles that stood in the centre of the dining table. Surrounding them were the products of Martin’s cooking based labour. He had taken to cooking today with a great zeal, spurred on by last night’s successful dinner, but also as a way to try and blot out the terrible events that happened this morning. He would right the awful scene by doing something positive, cooking Polly the most amazing meal she’d ever tasted. As well as the food being exquisite he’d ensured the house was clean and the finest cutlery was used. He’d also made an effort with himself, wearing his most expensive suit and purple, silk tie.
‘You certainly know how to impress a lady,’ Polly remarked.
She had come dressed equally as glamourous in a silk, light blue dress. Her necklace created a web like pattern of chains and jewels across her chest whilst her earrings were made of blue feathers that hung down from her ears and shimmered gently in the candlelight. Her lipstick accentuated her pout as she spoke each word.
‘My pleasure,’ he said as he joined her at the table.
Martin’s guest looked at the spread laid out on the table and took in the rich aromas that made her salivate with anticipation.
‘It smells beautiful,’ Polly said appreciatively, ‘can you pass me the potatoes.’
‘Of course,’ Martin passed her a bowl of new potatoes that glistened with a coating of butter. ‘Apologies about the lack of cranberry sauce.’
‘We’ve got everything else,’ she took hold of the potatoes and spooned three onto her plate, ‘I’m sure it won’t be missed.’
Polly carefully put the bowl down and looked directly into Martin’s eyes.
‘I had such a lovely time yesterday,’ she told him.
‘So did I,’ he agreed with a self satisfied smile, ‘thank you for coming.’
‘No more accidents with the taps?’ she joked.
‘Ummm…no. I have been okay since,’ he laughed.
‘And are you glad to be back?’ she asked.
Martin leant back in his chair and took a moment to reflect. He watched the flames of the candles flicker for a few seconds before responding.
‘I wasn’t sure what it was going to be like if truth be told,’ he started slowly in his speech, pondering each word before he released it from his lips. ‘The place is still as b
eautiful as ever, even if the weather has been so rotten. My plan was to sell the house and move on, but it’s such a nice place.’
‘Such a nice house too,’ Polly added.
‘I’ve had this house for thirty years,’ he looked around the room. ‘So many memories, so many happy memories.’
‘I bet the house is worth a pretty penny,’ Polly remarked.
‘Oh yes, I expect it’s worth a lot more than what I bought it for,’ he chuckled.
‘But there isn’t really a price you can put on memories is there?’ she philosophised.
‘No, not at all.’ Martin rose to his feet and presented a bottle to his dining companion, ‘More wine?’
She smiled and he poured her another glass full.
‘The truth is, Polly,’ Martin continued when he sat back down, ‘I was all set to leave. Ready to sell up and make a new start somewhere else. But then no sooner had I set foot in Stanswick again than I find a reason to stay.’
‘Oh?’ she asked. ‘And what is that?’
‘The most wonderful reason of all,’ he answered, ‘I met you pretty Polly. I met you and all my doubts and cynicisms melted away. You make me feel like I’m alive. Just at the moment when I was horrified something inside me might have died you proved that I was wrong. You proved that life could be exciting and fantastic again. You proved things can start over. You proved I could still love.’
‘Oh Martin.’
She felt tears well in her eyes at the outpouring of this emotion and her heart gently cantered in her bosom. Their hands met and clinched, each finger interlocking around the next. Then, with their eyes fixed on the heavens they saw in each other, they leant across the table to kiss. Their lips tingled for the sensation of the other’s to be pressed against them.
Their tender moment was interrupted when, without warning, a shattering sound pierced the air. The window smashed in an explosion of glass as a brick flew through it at speed. The make shift missile landed in the middle of the table narrowly missing the two lovers. As it crashed amongst the servings of a romantic meal it smashed plates and threw gravy in the air, splashing Martin and Polly dressed in their finest dinner wear.
