Fugitive Santa

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I rang Inspector Jones in the morning. He wasn't happy that I would have to expose myself, but he understood there were no substitutes. He would try to arrange for an unmarked police car to be nearby with armed officers if necessary. He also wasn't happy that the karate club would be my bodyguards. He was concerned that they, or Basher-Barry's family, could be seriously hurt.

Over the next few evenings, I spoke at length to Angela. I was lonely in my hiding place and talking to her, with infrequent shopping trips, were my only human contacts. I hadn't brought enough books to read. I could stream TV to my laptop, but all the programmes seemed banal and pointless.

The Christmas event was on the Friday. For the rest of the week I was bored, hiding in a barn with nothing much to do. I spoke to Angela in the evenings, and we made ridiculous plans for what we would do after the trial. The plans were castles in the air, but Angela had agreed to stay with me after Friday, at least for a few days, to see how we got on. Although we had known each other for a long time, we still how to find out how we would be as boyfriend and girlfriend.

I arranged to add Angela to the temporary insurance for the van.

On Friday I drove the van to the supermarket and met the Karate club's minibus. I changed into my Santa Claus costume in the bus. At the Church Hall we were early and had plenty of time to set up. Angela was there, dressed as an elf, and her suitcase was at the back of the stage.

The first hour of the event went well. There were about one hundred children to see Santa Claus, all the older primary school children. The younger children didn't attend the Carol Service and had ended the school term the day before after a visit to various Santa Clauses who were teachers. My helping elves gave me an appropriate present as each child, accompanied by parents, came to see me.

But then there was a disturbance outside with shouting. Some of Basher-Barry's male relations had arrived bearing baseball bats. They were outnumbered by Karate elves and disarmed and bashed about before the police reacted. They arrived shouting 'Armed police! Taser! Taser!" Although two were carrying long arms, the ones with guns kept well back while Basher-Barry's relations were arrested.

Inside the hall, one of the elves had turned the Christmas music up higher so very few people inside the hall knew what was happening outside. Within ten minutes the four men had been arrested and taken away. The event continued until the end.

Angela, with her suitcase, and I joined the Karate club on the drive back to the supermarket. I changed out of my Santa Claus costume, but Angela stayed dressed as an elf. When the minibus had gone, Angela and I got in the old van. I drove to the farmyard close to the barn.

Inside the barn Angela was surprised at just how much space and facilities I had but she wasn't happy with my food supplies -- too many ready meals. She persuaded me to drive back to the supermarket after dark and we bought some more 'proper' food as she described it.

Angela was delighted with the size of the barn's kitchen. It was much larger than the one in my house but had been intended to cater for substantial numbers of people. She was also jealous of the kitchen in my house. She lived in a one-bedroom flat with a kitchen alcove. My house's full-size kitchen was something she would have dreamed of.

Over the next few days Angela demonstrated what a good cook she could be. She, like I, hadn't really bothered to cook for just one person. From Monday to Friday, I had lunch in the café on the industrial estate. They did a meat and three veg lunch every day. Unlike their fry-ups, there was no choice. You got whatever was available each day, but it was far better than sandwiches. In the evenings I either had an instant meal from a supermarket, or a take-away. At the weekends I usually went to a restaurant for lunch and another instant meal in the evening.

Angela was cooking two proper meals a day. She and I were eating better than we had done for years. When we went shopping, she drove and I sat in the back with my winter jacket, flat cap and covid mask on. But perhaps because that supermarket was far away from our town, we didn't see any of Basher-Barry's relations.

Each day, Angela and I would just talk, often as we prepared the meals. We were pleased that we shared similar interests and had matching opinions on most things. Our tastes in music were slightly different. She preferred pop music from a later decade than I did, but it wasn't something to argue about, just to accept that we didn't agree about it.

But being inside a barn with no natural lighting was boring. Angela drove us to stately homes and gardens at least fifty miles from our town, places that Basher-Barry's relations were unlikely to visit. As we walked around, we both enjoyed ourselves and made plans to visit places further afield when the trial was over. Fifty miles was far enough in that old van. One hundred miles or further would be much more comfortable in any of my cars.

During the first week, Angela slept in another bedroom. As we became more accustomed to each other, she became more demonstrative during the day. She kissed and hugged me more frequently. I didn't push her further than she wanted to go, I was just enjoying her company.

I rang Inspector Jones on the Wednesday, using Angela's mobile. He told me that those who had tried to attack me at the Christmas event had been warned for potential witness intimidation, but no further action had been taken because they all had suffered at the hands of the karate club members and had bruises and dislocated limbs to heal. But he thought they might try again, at the trial or if they found me, before.

When we went shopping on the Friday, the week after I had been Father Christmas, Angela bought a couple of half bottles of wine. I didn't ask why. At our evening meal she opened a half-bottle of red. We had a couple of glasses each.

"A half-bottle is because I don't want you unable to perform, Raymond." Angela said. "We've been together a week in close quarters without arguing. That is longer than any previous boyfriend managed, even my husband. At least for the start of tonight I'm sharing your bed. Whether I stay all night? That depends on how we do..."

We were both nervous when we were naked in bed. I hadn't made love to anyone for five years because of my wife's illness starting three years before she died.

Angela had experienced some vaginal discomfort for a month about three years before the divorce. Although it cleared up, in the meantime her husband was fucking one of his office colleagues and someone told Angela.

She divorced him for infidelity, but he had moved out shortly after she confronted him about the other woman. So, both of us had nearly five years of inaction and neither of us was as young as we had been.

For the first hour we just kissed and cuddled before Angela said:

"We should just do it."

She pulled me on top of her and one of her hands fed my erection inside her. I was slow and gentle until it was clear that Angela was aroused and at the point of orgasm. I speeded up and her hands grabbed my arse and pulled me closer. I had been holding back, but Angela's hands were too much. Afterwards I slid off and lay beside her as we dropped off to a satisfied sleep. Three hours later I woke up as Angela was riding me. This time we took longer, much longer than I had ever taken with my wife. Was it because I was out of practice? Or perhaps because I could hold back now? I don't know but we seemed well suited. Despite Angela's previous statement, we were in the same bed all night but twice was the best we could do.

During breakfast, Angela said:

"After last night, I feel like I'm a proper girlfriend, instead of just the friends we have been almost all our lives."

"And I am delighted and honoured to be your boyfriend," I replied. "A girlfriend who is great in bed, and willing to accept that I'm not as old as I used to be, and is a fantastic cook."

I was surprised that Angela looked sad.

"That is the only thing my ex-husband regretted. His new partner is not even as good a cook as him, and he is barely adequate. His missed my cooking."

"I'm not surprised. I can cook, but rarely do because it seems pointless just for me, but your cooking has made me regret that I haven't been eating as well as I should."

"I hope and think we are good for each other, but hiding out in a barn with no natural light can be boring."

"OK, Angela, how about a trip to a beach today?"

"In December? It could be very cold."

"A coastal town, perhaps? We could have a lunch out and possibly visit a museum?"

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We went to Margate, went around the Turner Centre and the Old Town museum, had a pub lunch but soon after lunch it started to get dark with threatening rain, so we just went back to the barn. Shortly after we arrived it began to rain heavily. But inside the barn with the wood burner going, we were warm and dry and cuddled up to each other.

That evening, after another great meal cooked by Angela, we went to bed. This time I was able to ride her twice, and later in the night she rode me twice more. We were delighted that we could do it four times in a night, but we were hours late in getting out of bed.

That afternoon we went shopping again. As I was putting the van in the garage, John came out to meet us. He was carrying a massive double-barrelled shotgun.

"Raymond, Angela? I'm worried. There have been a number of hay thefts recently in the next county, but the thieves seem to be moving this way. Tomorrow I have asked for CCTV to be installed around the barn, with a monitor for you, and one for me. If any movement is detected at night, an alarm will sound.

Until and after then, take this. The reports say that the thieves are armed with shotguns. Mavis and I have modern ones, but this should deter anyone. It was my grandfather's elephant gun until he changed to a nitro express rifle. It is a four-bore using black powder. If you fire it, make sure the stock is hard against your shoulder. It kicks like a mule -- or an elephant."

"Are you sure? It looks as if would kill."

"It would -- even elephants. But if they have a vehicle, one shot from this will wreck it until the police arrive. If you fire it, it will wake Mavis and me. Here are the spare cartridges and percussion caps."

The cartridges were heavy. Why not? Each contains a ¼ pound lead slug. I hoped it would not have to fire it. It was over 120 years old possibly 140 but looked in good condition.

"When will the CCTV be installed, John?"

"They are arriving at 10 am and should take about three hours. It might be an idea if you are not around, Raymond."

"OK. We'll go out for the day and be back after dark."

"Thank you, Raymond."

We unpacked the shopping and Angela started preparing the meal. I examined the shotgun and cleaned it thoroughly before reloading it and fitting the percussion caps. I shuddered at the thought of what any of those slugs would be if they hit a person.

That night was quiet and undisturbed. Angela and I made love again but restrained ourselves. Four times was too much at out ages. Three was feasible. Two might be better. We didn't care. We were enjoying ourselves.

The next day we left early to go to one of the few National Trust places still open in December. I was wearing my walking boots, actually former work boots with steel toe caps and a steel sole insert, because they were well worn in and comfortable. We expected the gardens to be muddy. It was further than we had driven in the van. We walked around the house and had a Christmas lunch. Afterwards, despite the cold, we toured the gardens before leaving just before closing time. We hadn't reckoned on the traffic which was heavier than usual because of a late-night shopping event. We stopped in a town about twenty miles away and had a restaurant meal before arriving back at the barn about ten pm.

The new CCTV had been installed and John had left some instructions for us. The screen showed small images from every camera, any of which could be expanded to full screen. There was nothing to see.

My manager had sent me an email. The industrial site where my business is based has retired Gurkha solders as the security staff. There are normally three on duty at any time, but the security office is regarded, and decorated, as an ex-Gurkha returned soldiers club and there are often more there than the three on duty.

About two am this morning, a battered small car had driven unto the site. Normally no one comes there after six pm unless someone is doing overtime. Even then, the site empties by ten pm. The Gurkhas were suspicious, and even more so when they stopped by my yard and four men got out carrying what appeared to be petrol cans.

Nine of the Gurkhas took kukris from the wall display in the security office, leaving one man to call the police. The nine Gurkhas ran to the car and confronted the four men, who were startled to see nine men carrying very large, shiny and sharp knives. They surrendered and were lined up against a fence with their hands in the air when the police arrived to arrest them for attempted arson. They were four of Basher-Barry's relations.

The Police warned the Gurkhas that carrying offensive weapons was illegal. The Gurkhas protested that a kukri was part of their national dress. The police weren't convinced but thanked the Gurkhas for their prompt action. Later in the morning the four men were brought before a magistrate and remanded into custody.

I had lit the fire in the living room. While it started to burn, we sat on the settee drinking tea and discussing Basher-Barry's relations. Four were in custody. Eight had injunction against them forbidding them from going anywhere near my house of business. Whether they would obey those injunctions? We thought not.

About half past eleven we were thinking about going to bed when the CCTV system sounded an alarm. We could see a battered white van had pulled up close to the barn and three men were getting out. One was carrying bolt-cutters, another a crowbar, and the third a single-barrelled shotgun. Angela rang the police.

As they moved towards the barn's sliding doors, I grabbed the four-bore and went out through the kitchen door. I shouted at them. The response was that the shotgun was raised. I ducked back into the kitchen and the steel door was peppered. I came out again and fired one barrel into the air. A tree branch came crashing down after my shot had severed it.

"Drop the gun!" I yelled. "I have another barrel."

The man with the shotgun was reloading. I fired my second barrel at the van. My shot smashed the grille, blew a fist-sized hole through the radiator and broke the engine block. I ducked back inside to reload just as the man shot the kitchen door again.

In my hurry I dropped a percussion cap, but I wasn't worried because I had over fifty of them. I came out again to see that John and Mavis had arrived, both carrying shotguns.

"Drop the gun!" John ordered. "We have pump-action shotguns, and the other gun is for killing elephants. If that hits you? You're dead."

The shotgun was dropped as if it was red hot. Angela came out. She stood in front of me so that most of me was concealed from the three men.

"The police are on the way," she said. "And that's the van involved in the attempted armed robbery."

"It is? The number plate is different."

"I recognise the dent in that wing and the primer. It IS the same van."

"OK, Angela, if that's so, these are probably more of Basher-Barry's relations. I hope they don't recognise me."

"In the dark, with your flat cap pulled down. Probably not. But keep a low profile when the police arrive. If they want to talk to you, insist on doing it in the barn, please."

"The Police will want to talk to me. After all I fired two shots from this antique. I'm sore. It kicks like a mule."

"Perhaps you should unload it and put it away, now?"

"Not until the police arrive. The threat of it, together with John and Mavis' guns are all that is keeping them still."

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The police arrived ten minutes later in several cars with a firearms unit. The three men were arrested. I want back into the barn. As I came through the door, I trod on the dropped percussion cap which went off, but the steel plate in my shoe meant I only got a shock.

Angela made coffee for the remaining police and John and Mavis. Among the police was Inspector Jones. He looked at the four bore.

"Have you got a licence for that, Mr Dart?" He asked.

"I have a shotgun licence, Inspector, but not for this gun. It belongs to John."

"You didn't fire it at anyone?"

"No. I fired one shot in the air which brought down a tree branch, and one at the van..."

"I saw. You mad a real mess of it."

"They can't use it again."

"No one can. Perhaps the scrapyard can collect it, But I understand shots were fired at you?"

"Two, but I ducked out of the way."

I showed Inspector Jones the marks on the kitchen door. The CCTV clearly recorded who was holding the shotgun and when it was fired.

"Great! That should put him away for some time. John? Is that gun legal?"

" Yes, Inspector. It is recorded on my shotgun licence." John replied.

"Um. It may be, but...."

"It is an antique. Until today I doubt it has been fired since about 1910."

"I suggest you put it back in your gun safe and leave it there, John," Inspector Jones said. "I'm not sure it counts as a shotgun."

"It is a shotgun," John said, "But made for shooting elephants."

"And there aren't any elephants locally, are there?"

"In a zoo but not roaming around the countryside." John said.

"Then lock it away until there are," Inspector Jones said.

I unloaded the gun, handed it, the cartridges and the percussion caps to John. He took them back to the farmhouse.

"So, this is where you were hiding, Mr Dart?"

"Yes, Inspector. I hope I wasn't recognised. I am comfortable here."

Inspector Jones looked at Angela and the open fire.

"I can see you are. I hope to keep your identity quiet until the trial unless some stupid CPS idiot mucks up again."

"You'll need another statement?"

From all four of you, and a copy of the CCTV recording."

I typed up all four statements on my laptop and emailed them as attachments to John who printed them off at the farmhouse and brought them back for us to sign.

That night I made sure all the doors and windows were locked shut. We eventually got to bed about half past one, too tired to do much except snuggle against each other. When I woke up in the morning, Angela was against my back. I liked that, and that we didn't feel the need to make love every night. Just being together in bed was enough.

After breakfast we went into the farmhouse. John had received a phone call from Inspector Jones. The three men hadn't been wearing gloves, a stupid mistake, and their DNA had linked then to several other thefts of hay and two arson attacks on hay barns. They had been remanded in custody. The wrecked van would be collected by the scrap merchant later today. He was annoyed because his insurance had paid out when the van was stolen, and he might have to buy the wreck back from the insurers before he could dismantle it. But it would be removed from John and Mavis' farm today.

We went out for a short drive to a garden that was still open. We expected there not to be much to see in December but there were some interesting winter plants and foliage. We had a pub lunch and returned to the barn before dark. I had another email from my manager. The men who had tried to attack my business had also been remanded in custody, which I already knew, but what was news was that they would be on trial in early January.