Frank 'n' Stan's bucket list - #1: TT Races - Poignant, uplifting and exceptionally funny!

by J. C. Williams

  She collapsed, with blood already pouring from her head before she hit the floor.

  “We’re not joking!” the man screamed. He walked behind the counter and grabbed Stella by the hair, pulling her upright — which was no mean feat. He marched her into the back office, and threw her against the desk.

  “Open the fucking safe, or I’ll open your fucking skull with this bat!” the man said. “And don’t even think I won’t! You’ve got one more chance!” the man shouted.

  Stella was concussed; she could hardly stand, and struggled to string a sentence together. “I haven’t got the key… I can’t open the safe,” she said. “Honestly.”

  “Last chance! Where is the key??” the man demanded.

  “Are you daft?” Stella said, her anger getting the better, under the circumstance, of her common sense. The anger also focussed her speaking ability, concussion be damned.

  “I just told you I don’t have the key, didn’t I? Your mate Lee has got the key, hasn’t he? Perhaps you should have spoken to him before you bloody came in!”

  Stella tried valiantly to remain on her feet, but her legs wobbled like a blancmange and gave out from under her.

  The two men looked at each other, visor-to-visor, once again, apparently unsure what to do.

  “Master criminals, you two,” said Stella from the floor, the spirit not gone from her just yet.

  Fortunately they ignored Stella for the moment, focussing their attention instead on locating the key. They ripped open the filing cabinet, throwing the contents all over the office. In frustration, they even upturned the desk. But the key was, of course, nowhere to be found as it was not there for the finding.

  “Where is the key!” the one with the bat screamed, raising it above his head.

  “Fuck you,” said Stella, faintly but unmistakably.

  The one looked at his accomplice, and then gripped the mini cricket bat with both hands, raising it over his head.

  “I say! Put that down!” said a voice, rather unexpectedly, from the doorway. It was a voice full of confidence, and with an air of authority, fully expecting to be taken quite seriously.

  “I said, put that down this instant! I shan’t ask you chaps again!” He wasn’t yelling. But the forcefulness of his voice gave the same effect.

  Arthur had his neatly pressed grey trousers pulled unnaturally high up his waist, covered by a knitted blue cardigan that was a smidgen too tight. He stood, chin up, and with one foot planted firmly behind him and the other leg bent at the knee and with the foot raised up, just slightly, heel off the floor. It looked very much like Arthur was stood at the ready, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. The truth of the matter, as it happened, was that his altered stance merely stemmed from the onset of arthritis in his right knee, and he wished to simply take the weight off it. But the men assailing Stella needn’t know that, of course.

  “Look, old man. Turn around, leave quickly, and you won’t get hurt.”

  Arthur picked up an umbrella that was resting underneath the wooden coat stand, making a show of tossing it up and then snatching hold of it mid-air, and then held it before him like fencing sabre.

  “Gentlemen,” he said assuredly. “I should rather say the same to you. Leave straight away, this unpleasantness behind you, and you may yet make it through the day unscathed.”

  Arthur hoped he sounded convincing. He’d done a bit of acting in his younger days, and he was presently mustering all the reserves in that regard he could manage.

  The two ruffians did not move. It was difficult to tell, their faces hidden as they were, if their reaction was one of fear, confusion, or contempt. Arthur, taking the initiative, advanced forth. He threw the umbrella in the air, tossing it round rather smartly, and grabbed it by its tip. Then, he swung the umbrella like Thor’s hammer, Mjölnir, with the thick wooden handle landing a sharp strike on the nearest hooligan’s helmet visor, resulting in quite a nice chip out of it and a spiderweb of cracks.

  The helmeted man at the receiving end of Arthur’s blow stumbled back, but regained his footing soon enough. The two would-be thieves seemed uncertain at this point what precisely to do next. Obviously they’d seen the James Bond films and such, so they were certainly well aware of the dangerous situation they’d suddenly found themselves in. Just as in China nearly everyone knows some sort of kung fu, similarly, in England, absolutely anyone could turn out to be a secret agent, even the most unassuming of gents — and especially the most unassuming of gents, actually. Who knew what this cardigan-wearing fellow’s next move might be, or what he had in his hidden arsenal of gadgets and weapons? This umbrella, for instance, may not be an umbrella at all! It might, in point of fact, be a clever weapon of unknown strength or design.

  “Hit the dickhead again,” moaned Stella.

  The one with the cracked visor wasn’t waiting around for Arthur’s next move. Taking no chances, he clenched his fist and punched Arthur hard in the stomach. Arthur sighed and crumpled to the floor like… well, like a thing that crumples easily to the floor.

  “Attacking an old-age pensioner and a woman. Very classy, indeed,” said Stella. “Your mums must be so proud!”

  The man with the bat leaned toward Stella. “Wait, you’re a woman?” he said in disbelief, even raising his visor up so he could get a better look.

  He stood back up, lowering his visor again, and shook his head in defeat. “Shit, come on, let’s get out of here,” he said to his accomplice reluctantly. “These two have nothing we want.”

  Stella was in a bad way but didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing it. She waited for a moment till they’d left the building before dragging herself over to Arthur.

  “Nice work old-timer, thank you. Are you okay? You almost had them fooled.”

  Arthur raised his forefinger, signalling he needed a moment, as he struggled to catch his breath and to refill the lungs that’d gotten the wind knocked out of them.

  “I almost had myself fooled,” Arthur said, able to speak again. And, then, “Who were they?” he asked, once he’d composed himself.

  “That was your friend Lee, I expect, or at least some of his mates,” replied Stella, trying to stem the flow of blood down her face, and dabbing at her temple with a large handkerchief she’d mysteriously produced from the depths of her bosom like a rabbit from a magician’s hat.

  “What should we do now?” asked Arthur.

  “At times like this, I find it’s always good to have a fag and a think. Do you want one?” she offered, reaching into her pocket.

  “A fag or a think?” Arthur asked, confused.

  “Yes,” replied Stella.

  Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “Sure,” he said, ready to accept either.

  “Didn’t think I was a woman, did he?” Stella said to herself, lighting her fag. “I’m ALL woman!” she shouted out, as if the intruders could still hear her. “They don’t know what they’re bloody missing out on!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  W hat the hell is going on here?” asked Stan. They pulled up to the taxi office and were greeted by several police cars and an ambulance, all with blue lights flashing.

  “That’s far enough,” said a young constable, raising his arm to block their way.

  “But that’s our office. I’m Frank and he’s Stan, as it says above the door.”

  The constable relented and escorted them into the office, after clearing it with his sergeant.

  Stella was sat on the desk being tended to by a paramedic.

  “Can you put your cigarette down for a moment?” asked the paramedic. “It’s making it difficult to get neat stitches into the wound.”

  “Shit, Stella, are you okay? What the hell’s happened here?? Did he do this to you???” asked Stan in a panic.

  “Don’t worry about that, love. If it leaves a scar, it’ll match the one on the other side,” replied Stella to the paramedic, taking a long drag. And, then, to Frank and Stan, “Ah, look what’s washed as
hore. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, The Bellend Boys, have finally decided to grace us with their presence. And did who do this to me? Two blokes tried to rob us, and I got hit with a bloody cricket bat across the head. Bloody cricketers!”

  “What?” said Stan. “That doesn’t even—?”

  “I know, right? Why use a bloody mini bat when you could've used a full-sized one? It dun’t make no sense!”

  “No, that’s not what—” Stan began.

  “And if it wasn’t for Grandad over there,” Stella carried on, undaunted, “It could have been a lot worse.”

  “We need to get him to hospital,” said the other paramedic, in reference to Arthur. “He’s been struck pretty hard and I’m worried about internal bleeding.”

  “I’ve not finished with this one yet,” replied the first.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Stella assured her. “I’ll put the last couple of stitches in myself. I’ve always fancied myself the crafty type. You pair look after the old boy. He’s who needs it most.”

  “Was it Lee?” asked Frank, after taking all this in. “Did he do this, Stella?”

  Stella shrugged her shoulders. “They had helmets on, so I’m not sure. I’m fairly certain he wasn’t one of them. But likely his mates, I expect — it’s too much a coincidence that he turns up, knows there’s a load of cash in the safe, and next thing we’re being held up by armed robbers demanding the key to open it. Oh, and nobody has seen him since. Lee, that is.”

  Stan placed his hand on his forehead. From the look on his face, he was having trouble making sense of it. “I don’t understand this, though. Stella, you said Lee had the key?”

  Stella nodded.

  “But why would the robbers need the key, then? If it was Lee that’s done this, he already had the key?”

  “Do I look like Hercule Poirot?” asked Stella. “Perhaps they’d arranged to meet up, or they thought the key was here? Who knows? Criminals aren’t generally the cleverest of people. If they were, then they wouldn’t be criminals in the first place. Whatever way you look at this, Lee arrived on the scene and we’re getting robbed five minutes later and the bastard is now nowhere to be seen. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and talks like a duck… it’s a bloody duck, I says.”

  “Lovely day for it,” Frank said weakly, and out of his head. “Good for the ducks.”

  “Frank?” said Stan.

  “We need the rain,” Frank said to no one in particular.

  “Frank!” said Stan, rushing over to him. “Somebody give me a hand here!” he shouted to the police officer by the door. “Frank!”

  Frank was still upright, just barely, but his eyes were rolling in his head. Beads of sweat covered his forehead.

  “Help me!” shouted Stan as Frank fell forwards.

  Fortunately, a second ambulance had arrived, believing there to be multiple casualties from the robbery, and Frank was soon to be accompanying Arthur in hospital.

  Stan joined Stella and sat on the desk. “I’m sorry about all this, Stella. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “You needn’t worry about me, I’m made of sterner stuff. Just a bit upset I didn’t get a punch in, actually. You should’ve seen Arthur, Stan. He was bloody brilliant. I hate to admit it, but the old tosser may have just saved my life.”

  “You can punch me if you like,” Stan offered.

  “I may take you up on that later,” said Stella. “Frank looks like shit, by the way. Was it the lighting in here or was his skin actually grey?”

  “I think he’s been doing too much. But honestly, Stella, he’s had the best time of his life. I knew I should have told him to take it easy, but seeing the look on his face I knew he wouldn’t have listened to me. Stella, he’ll kill me for telling anyone, but he’s refused any treatment.”

  “Tosspot,” remarked Stella, though with very nearly a hint of affection.

  “Why don’t you get Susie in to cover and you get yourself home?” Stan offered. “We don’t want our Stella keeling over as well. What would we do without you?”

  “What, indeed?” Stella grunted. “True talent around here is rare as rocking horse shit. But, naw, I’m not going anywhere. You can’t get rid of me that easily, and it’ll take more than a couple of muppets wielding a glorified cocktail stick to send me packing. Besides, I want to be here in case those wazzacks come back, so’s I can get a punch in next time!”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Stan. “Look, I’ll phone Molly and head down to the hospital. Tell the police that if they should need me, I’ll pop in on the way back or they can call me. And that goes for you as well, alright?”

  “Whatever,” replied Stella, in her inimitable fashion.

  Stan chuckled and turned to leave.

  “Stan,” said Stella just as he’d put his hand on the door. “Do us a favour and look in on the old boy, Arthur, yeah? He really did stop me getting another clump across the head. I don’t think he’s got anyone, and his only friend, Lee, has buggered off.”

  “I will, Stella. And promise you won’t be a hero?”

  “Get out of here,” said Stella, “Before I change my mind and punch you right now!”

  Stan sat with Molly in the hospital waiting room for most of the afternoon. He kept his promise and looked in on Arthur, but the staff couldn’t give him too much information as he wasn’t family. He’d picked up an overnight bag for Frank, and he brought a spare pair of pyjamas and a toothbrush in for Arthur. They did tell him that they didn’t think it was internal bleeding, in Arthur’s case, but they were going to keep him under observation for a day or two.

  Stan agonised about saying something to Molly about Frank’s stubbornness. He didn’t want to upset her any further at a time like this. On the other hand, he knew that if anyone could get through to Frank, it was her.

  “You… know about the treatment?” he asked.

  Molly held her head in her hands. “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking. “Stan, I don’t know what to do. My dad… I love him, Stan. I love him very much.”

  “He knows that, Molly,” said Stan, putting his arm around her shoulders. “He loves you, a great deal, also.” They’d been there for hours, and with Molly’s mother being overseas, especially, he wanted to be by her side.

  Every time the waiting room door opened, Stan’s heart skipped a beat. It opened again, and they both looked up.

  “Molly?” asked a young doctor who looked barely old enough to shave.

  “Yes?” she replied, tentatively.

  “You can come in and see your father now if you’d like.”

  “How is he?” she asked. “Is he awake?”

  “Molly,” the doctor said gently. “As you know, your father has underlying health issues. His immune system is very weak, and he’s had a bit of a turn. It looks like he’s just been doing a bit too much lately, a bit more than he should under the circumstances.”

  Stan bowed his head in guilt.

  “Family?” the doctor asked, in reference to Stan.

  “He’s family,” Molly said, rubbing his arm affectionately.

  “Right, you can go in as well,” said the doctor.

  Frank was sat virtually upright, what with the volume of pillows he had stuffed behind him.

  “No grapes?” he asked as they walked in the room.

  Molly sobbed as she sat beside him and placed her head onto his chest. “You scared us,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “The doctor thinks you’ve been doing too much!”

  “What do they know?” said Frank. “I’m feeling fine now, right as rain. I think the news about Lee, and seeing Stella and the old boy out of sorts just got to me, is all.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s all it was,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.

  “How is he, Stan?” asked Frank.

  “Arthur? He’s fine, I dropped him a pair of your pyjamas to borrow. I’m not really sure what to do, actually. There’s nobody I can phone for him. According to Stella, if i
t wasn’t for him, things could’ve been a whole lot worse.”

  “Who’s this Arthur?” Molly asked.

  “We don’t really know too much about him quite yet,” Stan explained. “But he—”

  “Nevermind about that!” interjected Frank. “The race! While I’ve been laid up here, I’ve had no news!”

  “Ah! Well!” said Stan. “As a matter of fact—”

  “Out with it!” shouted Frank.

  A nurse poked her head in. “Is everything all right in here? Shall I call the doctor?”

  “We’re okay,” Molly assured her. “He’s just a little excitable. This is normal for him.”

  The nurse padded off.

  “I listened to the end of the race!” said Stan in a loud whisper. “They turned the radio in the waiting room on for us.”

  “And?” asked Frank, coming to attention.

  “One-oh-four-point-six-one-three, fastest lap, and they finished eighteenth overall,” said Stan, like a proud dad at parents’ evening.

  “That’s bloody amazing news. Did you speak to Dave?”

  “No, I sent him a text. I’ve not told him that you’re in here. I thought we’d give him a ring tomorrow.”

  “I wish we’d have been there to see that,” said Frank. “Molly, you have to come with us next year. It’s the most unbelievable event you’ll ever see, and me and Stan had our name on a sidecar!”

  “I know, Stan showed me a picture,” Molly said, smiling to hear him planning about the future. “Dad,” she said. “Dad, I just wanted to say, I love you very, very much.”

  “Well of course you do,” said Frank, stroking her back. “Of course you do. What’s not to love?”

  Molly remained curled into her dad like a cat, warm and cosy.

  “And on that note,” said Stan, rolling his eyes again, “I’ll get us some coffee. Leave you two alone for a bit.”

  “Stan, before you go,” said Frank. “There’s something I wanted to tell you both.”

  Stan took a step closer and must have appeared concerned. “It’s good news, Stan, don’t worry,” Frank reassured him. “I’ve spoken to the doctor, you know, about the treatment. I don’t know how he does it, but he was able to speak to me like, well, a friend, rather than a doctor. I understood what he was saying to me and I’ve decided that I’m going to start the treatment, as soon as possible. I know the odds aren’t stacked in my favour, but I want to try everything that I can.”