Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, page 7
“Oh err, hi Fran…. Frances…” I paused, desperately wondering which name to use, “err…Frank, yes, Frank…lovely to meet you too, Joe has told us so much about you.”
Frank grinned.
I squirmed as Frank stood back to take in the shop frontage.
“Well, Felicity Kipper Bridal Wear, let’s see what delights your little Emporium holds.” He grinned again showing off his perfectly straight teeth, whitened to within an inch of their lives as he admired Vera’s little lace number in the window.
“Kipper, what a name, think I would’ve changed that before the sign writers were brought in…” He rummaged around in his bag bringing out a neatly folded pink cotton handkerchief. “...the last time I heard the words kipper and lace in one sentence was when the fabulous Dame Connie Lingus needed a knicker change!” Frank delicately waved his handkerchief and let out a deep, hearty laugh.
I sniggered. Ella looked absolutely mortified.
“Jeez Joe, you could have told me!” I slammed the bar down on the toaster, the four slices of bread disappeared into the slots. Yesterday’s crumbs that had settled on top of the chrome bounced and fell onto the worktop.
He ran his fingers through his hair and took a slurp of coffee, giving me a sad dog look, hoping that would still the onslaught. It didn’t.
“He’s a man Joe, or at least he was when he came for the bridesmaid fitting. Just when is he a woman? Weekends or just the holidays? I’m so bloody confused.”
“Bloody hell Mave, I don’t know, maybe he’s in that, what’s it called…. transitional phase. All I know is that Mum told me he’s been Francesca for years now and would be better suited as a bridesmaid than an usher. Maybe it’s to make life easier for him, he dresses whichever way is best for where he’s going.”
I scraped the butter knife across the crunchy piece of toast making sure it covered right to the corners. Felicity Haddock, or Kipper, or whatever her ruddy name was, hadn’t seemed the least bit phased when Frank had stood in the middle of the dressing room in a turquoise man-thong waiting to be measured. He’d definitely waxed his chest hair and to be honest, I suspected he’d also waxed his nether regions too as nothing had peeped up from that fluorescent blue triangle when he’d bent over to take his socks off.
I frisbee’d the plate along the breakfast bar to Joe, hoping it would evidence my annoyance at him. I knew I was being unreasonable and that it wasn’t really his fault, but my nerves were jangling with the forthcoming wedding and coping with Dad. “To be quite honest by the time the dress is made to measure for him I hope it won’t look too out of place and he said he had a choice of wigs he could wear, even asked me what colour and style I’d prefer.” I took a bite of toast, trying to catch the blob of marmalade before it hit my shirt. “He’s actually really feminine in his mannerisms Joe, I’ve got a feeling he makes quite a fabulous woman on the quiet.”
Joe stood up from the stool and tightened the cord on his dressing gown. “Still can’t believe it, Frank and I did everything together as kids, he even taught me how to play with his Clackers in the school playground, he was a real boy’s boy.”
I stopped mid-crunch. “Clackers? Hope that’s not some sort of euphemism, if it is you might have missed the signs!”
Grabbing the last remaining piece of toast, he whirled around and kissed me on the forehead. “Nah, it was that thing with two balls on the end, you used to shake it up and down until it almost broke your knuckles.”
I burst out laughing.
“Well there you go Joe; I rest my case!”
17
What’s It All About Alfie…
“I’ve got this for you Dad, it’ll see you through to the weekend.”
I dropped the two carrier bags on the kitchen unit. “I’ll plate up what we’re having each night for your tea too but there’s plenty here for breakfasts and lunches and any little snacks you fancy.” I looked over at him.
He was sitting in the old faded red moquette armchair staring at the photographs on the mantelpiece, seemingly lost in his own little world. I opened the fridge door and checked the date on the Ginsters Cornish pasty on the top shelf. Three weeks out of date. Why wasn’t I surprised. I kicked down on the bin pedal and dropped it in, hoping he hadn’t spotted me. He’d fight to the death for his Ginsters and I just wasn’t in the mood for a full-blown tug of war over a rigid, dried out pasty.
“You don’t have to go nosing in me fridge Mavis, I’m perfectly capable of looking after meself you know.” He harrumphed, just to show me how much I was annoying him as he got up and walked into the kitchen. “What’s these for then?”
He picked up a tin of Winalot dog food, turned it round in his hands, dropped his glasses to the end of his nose and waited for a reply.
I tried not to be rattled by his glacial stare and carried on putting his cheese and butter in the fridge. “I’ve been talking to the memory team Dad, they seem to think that as long as I’m around making sure things are going okay, it would be a good idea for you to have a dog.” I paused, waiting for the explosion I anticipated would follow.
“I had a dog Mavis, years ago, called Buster he was. I loved that boy and he loved me. Went everywhere together we did.” He nostalgically looked out of the kitchen window at the park opposite, as though he was remembering long ago walks and playing fetch. “I missed him so much when he went to Skid Row Bridge, it broke me heart. He was seventeen when he went in his sleep.”
“Rainbow Bridge, he went to Rainbow Bridge Dad, that’s where all animals go when they die.” I looked at the sorrow etched on his face as it started to pull at my heart.
Just what had all those years held for him. How much sadness and loneliness had he endured, whilst all the time I’d been refusing to care or even acknowledge he existed anymore.
“Nope Mavis, just remember what I was, Skid Row is just about right!”
I smiled and patted his hand. “Well, I think it’s a brilliant idea. You need a bit of company, and a little stroll around the park in the morning when you go to get your paper will do you the world of good.” I hoped my enthusiasm would encourage him. Now he had his independence in his flat, albeit with me hovering in the wings, he really did need something that would give him a little direction each day, some sort of structure. “So, what about it then, are you up for it?”
A flicker of a smile touched the corners of his lips. “Aye Mavis, yes… I think I am.”
I peeked through the railings of the blue metal gates to Little Paws Rescue Centre eagerly waiting for Alison to let us in. Yelps, howls, yapping, snuffling and general woof-woofs filled the air. Alison was a saviour to a variety of dogs in her care, many times over the years I’d taken in strays to her from the police kennels. She always seemed to have room for them, and always seemed to be able to find them good homes. She had one particular inmate in mind for Dad.
“It’s quite exciting isn’t it, just the thought of giving a proper home to one of them, it must make you feel nice inside hey, Dad?” I tentatively probed.
He just sniffed the air and shrugged his shoulders, pulling at the middle of his brown tweed jacket so that the button and the hole met. He glared at me and then made a huge effort to push one through the other as a distraction.
“Dad?”
“What?”
I sighed. He wasn’t going to make this easy for me. His short- lived enthusiasm for a four-legged friend had quickly waned over the two weeks since I’d brought up the subject of getting a dog. I didn’t want to force this on him, but I was already learning from experience that sometimes he just needed a gentle nudge in the right direction. I tried again.
“It’s exciting to be choosing a new friend, isn’t it?”
He wiped the corner of his eye with a crumpled-up handkerchief from his top pocket, inspected it, carefully folded it back into a triangle and stuffed it back, pulling at the corner so it sat neatly, just peeking over the top.
“Suppose so…. I just don’t want one that’s going to shit everywhere okay?” He grimaced.
Jeez, this was from a man whose one-time personal hygiene had left more than a lot to be desired.
He’d been the one that had cleared the Bridewell with his less than aromatic odours when I’d locked him up, which in turn had resulted in the cell complex being fumigated before he was sent on remand.
My observations on Dad’s previous life were suddenly interrupted as Alison swung the gates open to greet us. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, pushing the tight auburn curls to one side as she grinned. Her freckles catching in the sunlight.
“Hi Mave… and this must be your dad…” She flung out her hand towards him.
He briefly inspected it before reciprocating with a rather limp, uninterested handshake. His whole-body language screamed indifference, I wanted to smack the back of his legs like a naughty child, he could be so bloody awkward when he wanted to be. A gate in the far corner opened and several dogs ran, jumped and lolloped into the exercise yard next to us, excitedly barking whilst they chased each other and their own tails. Alison grinned and gave me a wink.
“Right, so you’re here to meet Bailey, he’s a lovely boy, we think he’s about 4-years old, good on the lead, housetrained and good with children...” She pointed to a small Beagle type dog who was haring around the yard in circles. She looked at Dad, waiting for his response.
Dad snorted, tipped his head to one side and that was when I saw it. A twinkle of devilment in his eyes.
“Mmmm, housetrained… hope he knows how to hoover and polish and when you say ‘good with children’, does that mean he eats them all at once or bit by bit?”
Alison’s eyes widened as she looked to me for some sort of reassurance that Dad wasn’t considering feeding the local kids to his new-found pet and then making the poor dog clear up after himself.
“Dad, that’s enough, now are you going to take this seriously or not?” I hissed, “Alison hasn’t got time to waste if you’re just going to be mean and obstructive.”
He wouldn’t meet my eye, preferring to look down at his polished brogues. Bailey the beagle hadn’t stopped once, he carried out a few more laps and fell over a small Yorkshire Terrier before bouncing back through the gate and out of sight.
Well that didn’t go as planned.
I had romantically imagined it in my head. Dad meets Bailey, Bailey meets Dad, instant bonding, happy ever after. Always knew you should never believe in fairy tale endings.
“I’m so sorry Alison, it looks like we’ve wasted your time.” I felt awful and acutely embarrassed at Dad’s behaviour to boot. “Dad I think you owe Alison an apology, don’t you?”
The silence that met me made my heart sink, silence with Dad meant trouble. It was akin to having a child to look after. Turning 360 degrees, he was nowhere to be seen. He’d been standing next to me a minute ago, where the hell could he have gone? Alison nudged me.
“Mave, look over there.” She pointed to a segregation cage at the side of the yard.
Dad was entranced by a… well, a dog of sorts. It was a definite breed unknown, one that had at least 57 different genetic markers. Large gentle brown eyes were shaded by fluffy brown fur speckled with white that spread upwards to cover two huge floppy ears. He was the size of a Labrador with a full, swishing tail that was beating out a rapid rhythm as Dad bent down to stroke him.
“That’s Alfie….” Alison sighed, “I think your Dad is friends with the Borstal Boy of all dogs.”
I grinned, imagining a thug of a hound causing absolute havoc whilst being fed on Ritalin encrusted dog biscuits.
“Dad, I don’t think that one’s for you, Alison doesn’t think he’ll be suitable, why don’t you come back over here and let’s see if we can get Bailey back out again.” I bit the inside of my lip.
He ruffled Alfie’s head and tickled him under the chin before slowly easing himself up, his knees popping loudly like a sheet of bubble wrap. “This is the one, this is my boy Mavis…. he’s coming home aren’t you son?” He looked down into the pleading brown eyes, half expecting some sort of sign from Alfie that he agreed with his choice.
Alison looked mortified.
“Mr Upton, please, there are so many others in here that would be more suitable for you. I mean Alfie’s not even.….” she paused, slack jawed, her eyes widening in horror as Alfie sniffed, positioned himself at the side of Dad and happily emitted a wee of epic proportions all over Dad’s legs and into his newly polished shoes.
I watched as the waterfall splattered, puddled out and ran like a river across the concrete.
“….. house trained!” Alison continued with a groan.
I held my breath, waiting for an imminent meltdown from Dad. Within two seconds Alfie had blotted his copybook, the prospect of a new home consigned to a brief history in time.
“Alfie my boy, you’ve disgraced yourself in public…”
His laugh was hearty and genuine; I hadn’t heard him laugh like that since the vaguest of memories of him when I was a child.
“…. I’ve done that meself a few times over the years too, think you and me are going to get along just fine.” Dad smiled in delight whilst shaking his leg, “Welcome home son, welcome home.”
And THAT is how Alfie Muggles, better known by his non- pedigree name of Alfred the Great Urinator, came to be a permanent member of our family!
18
Rod, God & PC Plod
One quick glance told me the much-coveted No. 7 parking bay at the back of the nick had been commandeered by the Force’s mobile incident van. I swung my car into one of the last remaining spaces by the far side of the wall and killed the engine leaving poor Rod Stewart mid-warble questioning his delightful sexiness.
Mmmmm, I certainly wouldn’t question it, although skinny legs encased in leopard print jeggings and a hairstyle that beat my bedhead mop first thing in the morning wasn’t exactly my cup of tea. I thought of the delightful Joe, who I’d left face down in bed snoring and snuffling into his pillow, the glow from the bedside lamp cast across his muscular, tanned back. I grinned as I grabbed my rucksack from the back seat and slung it over my shoulder. Those naughty thoughts would have to wait until tonight, that’s if Joe could stay awake long enough. Last night’s tootsie toying foreplay hadn’t got further than his ankles before he’d fallen asleep mid fumble. Rejected and dejected, I’d resorted to nipping downstairs and ravaging the contents of the fridge instead. I subconsciously sucked my stomach in at the mere thought of what half a block of full fat cheddar cheese would have done to my rump. This midnight feasting had to stop, it was doing absolutely nothing for my waistline.
Joe’s shifts had hit him hard these last few months and mine hadn’t been much better.
We were no closer to catching the Dodgy Doughnutter, although spasmodic with large periods of inactivity in offending, reports were occasionally coming in, so every now and then pressure was brought to bear from the Command Team. Our wedding was getting closer which had brought a whole host of new problems with it, Frank/Francesca was due for a final dress fitting at the weekend, but I was struggling to get a matching pair of satin court shoes for his size 11 feet. I’d even toyed with the idea of a pair of Converse pumps dyed to match but Frank had assured me that he knew a supplier who could provide him with a snazzy pair of heels for the occasion. I just hoped he knew what he was doing.
I pressed the lock on my key fob, waited for the lights to flash and headed off across the car park to the station. Petey was already by the door, frantically jabbing his fingers on the security keypad. “Bloody hell Mave, they’ve gone and changed the code again, I can’t get in, I’ve been here for half an hour already,” he whined. “Well, some bright spark gave out the old code to Moggie Benson didn’t they? I mean, come on, Moggie, the most prolific thief we’ve got around here!”
He blushed profusely, a smattering of perspiration appearing on his top lip. He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand. “I know that now, but he said he was here to fix the air conditioning, I didn’t know who he was did I?” He paused looking for confirmation and some sympathy.
“Petey, it’s a ruddy police station not a four-star hotel, we don’t have air conditioning, that should have been the great big feck off clue mate.” I keyed in the code and the door clicked open. I pushed through, holding it for him to follow me, he trailed behind into the locker room.
“Hey, have you noticed the Incident Van, there must be a scene on the go somewhere, wonder what it is.” He opened his locker door and hung up his coat. “Oooh maybe it’s a murder, it normally only comes here for a murder, doesn’t it? It’s my turn to do the scenes I think.”
I watched him pull his jumper over his head, leaving him with static hair that suddenly sprung out into a hundred different directions, all at once. He looped his epaulettes through and fastened the button down and then rummaged around on the top shelf, dragging out a blue Guildhall document wallet marked Scene Logs & Guidance Notes.
Bless him, he was so excited.
“Do you think it is Mavis, hey? If it is I’ll have to take my butties with me, I could be there for hours.”
Shoving the file under his arm, he bounded up the stairs and disappeared into the parade room only to emerge seconds later, just as I was clipping my radio into place.
“No time for parade for me Mave, it’s definitely a murder scene, I’ve got to go and relieve nights. Can you give me a lift and bring the other lad back? They’ve already got a van down there, it’s the new one...” His voiced tailed off as he bounced back down the stairs in his usual Tigger fashion.
I picked up the keys to the patrol car, along with a new Incident & Scene Log, some pre-pack coffee cups and what was left of that morning’s digestive biscuits. It was probably going to be a long morning for Petey so even a few crumbs would be gratefully accepted.
