Oggbashan Stew Pt. 03

"And you? Why should they be afraid of you?"

"I haven't always been behind a desk, Helen. I have a past that makes the hard lads wary. Unfortunately some employers think the same way when considering me for security posts. That's one reason why I tend to be a consultant instead of a salaried manager."

I tightened the last wheelnut and lowered the jack before putting the ruined spare away. I swung it through the light to confirm my suspicion.

"Now, Helen, if you could drive the car halfway down the road, you'd better come in to clean yourself up. I'll wait on my doorstep for you."

I hefted my spider and walked away. I hadn't given Helen a chance to refuse, nor to say 'Thank you'. She had to follow me.

She parked the car and walked up to me. I pushed the front door open so she could precede me.

"Straight through to the kitchen," I said. "The light switch is on the right."

Helen turned the light on. As I thought, her hands were cleaner than mine. Even so, her grubbiness contrasted with the elegance of her formal dark skirt suit. I put the wheel spider down on the back door mat before opening a pot of hand cleaner. I offered it to her. We rubbed our hands in it before washing the gunk off in the sink.

"Coffee?" I asked.

"Yes please, Colin."

As I made the coffee I could see Helen assessing the kitchen. It was spotless and ordered but showed signs that it was used. We took the coffee through to the living room. We sat down in the armchairs, leaving the settee vacant. Helen crossed her legs showing a length of shimmering stocking.

"Why did you come to me, Helen?" I asked suddenly.

"To change a wheel," she replied almost too eagerly.

"But you belong to an auto rescue service and you had driven some way on that puncture. I guess you'd driven several miles..."

"Blast! I should have known you'd spot that."

"So, why?"

Helen set her coffee down and leant forward towards me. She spoke rapidly as if she wanted to get it all out at once.

"I'm scared. I'm in trouble and it's something I can't deal with. I'm not used to that. I am usually capable of handling any situation but now I need help and I don't know where to start except with you."

"So you used the puncture to make an accidental contact? Did you cause the puncture?"

"No, Colin. The puncture was the reason I came to you now. Without it I might have rung you at work and asked for advice. That puncture happened while I was at the meeting. A knife, a screwdriver or something had been stuck in the tyre. I didn't want to wait in a deserted car park, or attempt to change the wheel alone. Whoever caused the puncture might have been waiting in the dark. I drove off in a hurry, circled a few times to make sure I wasn't being followed and headed your way. I hoped you'd be in. When I heard your voice I was relieved."

"I think you had better start from the beginning, Helen. Why should someone puncture your tyre? Who has got a grudge against you? One of your clients?"

"No. I can deal with them. It started about a month ago. I met a man, Danny, at the social club in the town centre..."

Danny at the social club? I made an instant connection. Danny IS the social club. He runs it for his father.

"...and he was pleasant to dance with. One thing led to another and we started dating. Then I found he wasn't as nice as I thought. A couple of people dropped hints..."

I'll bet they did, I thought. Danny is a nasty piece of work.

"...which tied in with a few things I'd noticed. I decided to end the relationship. Danny wouldn't take no for an answer. I persisted. He threatened me, saying that I'd regret it and no one dumped him. I thought he was just annoyed at the moment and he'd get over it. Things started happening. I'd get anonymous phone calls telling me to make it up with Danny. My doorbell would ring in the early hours. No one would be outside the door but a few men would be watching me from across the road. My car was followed every day with no attempt at concealment. It would be fast expensive cars full of men. I spoke to the Police but they can't help me without something more definite. I didn't know what to do except to ask you for advice. Tonight I was so scared I couldn't wait until tomorrow. I don't want to go back to my flat alone. The last straw was the message on the driver's seat yet the car was still locked and alarmed."

"What message?"

Helen scrabbled in her handbag and produced a piece of paper inside a transparent envelope. The message was computer printed. I doubt it had any usable fingerprints. Danny was too street-wise. It read:

"Be at the Valentine's Dance at the Club - alone. Dance with Danny or you'll never dance again."

Behind the paper was a double ticket for the Valentine Dance tomorrow night rubber-stamped 'Complimentary. Courtesy of the Management'. There wouldn't be single tickets for a Valentine Dance.

"And so you thought of me?"

"I needed advice. I'm frightened and don't know what to do. If I went to the Police, would they believe me? I don't think they would. They'd wait until something happened to me. That might be too late."

"You thought I would believe you and understand? That's a compliment, I suppose..."

"I couldn't think of anyone else I could trust, Colin. I knew I could trust you and you wouldn't laugh at my fears."

"I won't. Danny is a nasty piece of work. You'll have to go or else you will be watching your back all the time."

"But I can't go alone..." Helen was almost wailing.

"You won't. May I have the honour of escorting you to the Valentine Dance?"

"But you'll get hurt too." She was really concerned. Perhaps she needed me more than as an advisor.

"I don't think so. I can be nastier than Danny and I have a few friends and a few favours that need repaying. We should be safe. I don't think Danny will be."

"Will I be safe until then? I live alone in a bungalow. It's in a quiet street. I don't think I'll be safe there. Could you spend the night with me? I don't want to impose. I'm really frightened."

"I don't think your bungalow is a good idea. Danny knows exactly where it is. You could spend the night here. Danny wouldn't expect that. He doesn't know you are a friend of mine, does he?"

"No. I've never mentioned you. We've only met at conferences, never socially. But won't he trace my car?"

"If he was tracing your car, he would have found you while you were struggling with that puncture. I think he'll wait for you to turn up at the dance, or not. If you don't go, then he'll trace you. You could drive it a couple of streets away. I'll come with you. That help?"

"Yes please, Colin."

"OK. We'll make some more coffee when we've moved your car to the secure car park."

She drove around the corner and parked it in the secure car park off a street parallel to mine. I could get to it quickly through a back alley. We returned through the dark alley. People hate meeting me in dark alleys but I find them useful.

Helen held tight to my arm as we walked that alley. When we entered the flat I saw that Helen was pale and shaking. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a hug.

"There you are," I said. "Your bodyguard is here."

Slowly she stopped shaking. Her head rested against my chest. Her arms slid out from my hug and circled my neck, tilting my face down for a slow kiss.

"Thank you, Colin," She said as she ended the kiss. She walked into the kitchen.

"Have you eaten?" I called.

"Yes. Have you?"

"Yes. How's the coffee?"

She came back into the room carrying two fresh mugs. I hadn't noticed. I had been too busy looking at Helen. We sat down again, this time side by side on the settee.

"How safe do you want to be tonight, Helen?"

"Is that a proposition?" She asked, almost hinting that I wouldn't be refused. I ignored the implication. Helen was too frightened to be rational.

"No. You can be almost as safe as if you were in a fortress. No one could get at you without your agreement. Would that be safe enough?"

"It sounds ideal. I haven't been able to sleep for days, worrying that Danny or his mates might break in. But I can't be that secure, can I?"

"You can. One of the reasons I bought this flat is the panic room. This used to be a high value warehouse back in the 1930s and the strong room is part of this flat. The walls are at least two metres thick with layers of armour plate from an old battleship. The doors are armoured and an airlock. The inner door can't be opened until the outer door is shut."

"That sounds claustrophobic. How about air? Or light?"

"The air supply is filtered and drawn from concealed vents some distance from the flat. Anyone trying to tamper with them would have to know exactly where they are. Even then the sensors would detect any attempt to cut off the air supply or put gases in it, and shut down, switching to the recycling stand-by. The electricity powers batteries that would last for weeks. It has been modernised and updated with Closed Circuit TV monitoring and other detection devices. It isn't claustrophobic - I'll show you."

I pulled her to her feet and out into the hall. Just before the bathroom I opened a cupboard door. Inside hung a couple of coats. I pressed a switch and the back of the cupboard slid aside. We stepped inside. The steel faced door was retracted to one side letting us enter the air lock. The outer door slid shut behind us with a series of thuds as the heavy bolts engaged with the frame. We walked to the inner door, stopping short of an area cross-hatched with yellow hazard paint. I pressed the control to open the door. The bolts hissed as they disengaged. The door moved towards us to the extent of the yellow paint before sliding sideways. Through the opening the light interior was a contrast to the functional grey of the anteroom/airlock.

We walked in. I'm proud of my panic room. It's as large as some London flats and as fully equipped. It has a single living/bedroom with twin beds and a convertible settee/bed, a kitchen/diner and a bathroom. All three rooms are smaller than their equivalents in my normal flat yet because they store the bare minimum of clothing and food they seem less cluttered. In the kitchen/diner a bank of screens just above eye-level show the outer flat, the view outside the front door, and the airlock. There are other pieces of surveillance hardware but they are less obvious. In the living/bedroom, a flat screen TV sited in a recess gives actual views of the street outside, as if the TV was a small window.

"Well?" I asked. "What do you think?"

"It's amazing," Helen replied. I'd never know this was here. Do your neighbours know?"

"Most of them. There used to be three strong rooms on each of the four floors. All have been converted into panic rooms like this. Only the flats at either end of the block don't have the large panic retreats. They have a single reinforced room about the size of the kitchen/diner here."

"Do you think you could sleep soundly in here?"

"Yes. But I'd be happier if you were in here with me," Helen paused before adding hurriedly "- in the next bed. I'm not sure I could work the equipment and I wouldn't want to lock myself in."

"OK. You can have this room. You'll find clothing in the left side of the wardrobe. Something should be your size. Have a look before we go back to finish that coffee."

Helen opened the wardrobe door. There were a few basic skirts, slacks, tops in a variety of sizes, and shelves with underwear.

"Why, Colin?" She asked.

"Why what?"

"Why do you have a range of women's clothes here?"

"Just in case a friend needs them, as you might. One of my ex-girlfriends helped me buy them. The outer wear comes from charity shops, the underwear is new, unused."

+++

Story 050

Quilting

I was beginning to regret accepting Helen's invitation for us to spend a night alone together. As soon as she made the suggestion I agreed even before she outlined the conditions. When she had explained exactly what she intended us to do, I still thought that a night with her was worth any sacrifice. She didn't tell me everything she had planned. If she had? I would have accepted anyway. Helen was an unattainable dream.

We were both incidental members of a group trying to raise money to renovate an old house and its overgrown gardens as a community centre. The main committee members were dedicated fanatics. We were just hangers-on, willing to help but the scheme wasn't our reason for living. I had only joined because Helen had joined. I would have used any excuse for spending an evening close to her despite the presence of the rest of the committee. She spoke to me. She treated me as an intelligent human being. She listened to me.

Most of the important members of the committee were going away to a weekend conference about fund-raising. At first they hadn't remembered that the conference was over Halloween weekend. When they did realise, they panicked. The local vandals were a constant threat to the old house and because it was thought to be haunted, Halloween would be an obvious time for them to try to break in and cause mischief. Someone needed to be in the house to call the police if anything happened yet most of the committee would be away. Could any of the younger members?..

Helen looked at me.

"Would you?" she whispered.

"With you?" I whispered back.

She nodded. I blushed.

She put her hand up.

"John and I will do it," she announced.

The committee's relief was palpable. We were younger than most but still dedicated committee members.

The Chairman looked around.

"All those in favour of accepting Helen and John's offer? Please raise your hand."

They were unanimous. Later on the honorary warden gave Helen a spare set of keys and arranged to conduct us over the house to show the security arrangements. I hardly heard him. I was still amazed that I was going to spend a night with Helen.

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Story 051

Remembering Christmas 1918

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It started with the planning for the village's combined celebration of one hundred years since the Armistice at the end of the Great War. As with most village activities a committee had been formed in advance, well before Remembrance Day 2017. Our village, like so many others, had lost a number of our men during the Great War. Their names were inscribed on the War Memorial in the churchyard.

We youngsters knew that our extended family had lost men in that war. We had known almost as soon as we knew that there had been a Great War. In the hallway of the original family home the 'death pennies' - the four commemorative bronze plaques for each member of the family who died in that war - were framed on the wall. The oldest member of the family would lay a wreath of poppies on the table below those plaques before we would all go to the church for the Remembrance Service and the two-minutes silence by the War Memorial.

Below the death pennies were the pictures of the four men wearing their uniforms. Included in the frame of the pictures were each man's three medals - familiarly known as 'Pip, Squeak and Wilfred'.

On the opposite wall were the pictures, and medals, of the men who had survived and below those the pictures of the men who had served in the Second World War, all of whom had survived. Every time we walked through the hall we knew the memorial was there.

There was another picture on the landing at the top of the stairs. It was taken in the front garden of the family house on Christmas Day 1918. Six women were holding framed pictures of men in uniform. The women were also in uniforms.They were five nurses and a land girl. Their expressions were sad and serious. The current generation didn't know what the picture meant and didn't recognise the men in the pictures which were too small to identify.

The committee dispelled our ignorance. The six women were cousins, and all of them had married servicemen. At Christmas 1918 all six were pregnant but their husbands hadn't returned home. Two were still in hospitals in France recovering from injuries. The other four hadn't yet been demobbed from the services. The women had the picture taken for copies to be sent to their husbands.

Further research showed that most of the current family were descended from those six women.

It was my idea that we should take a matching picture on Christmas Day 2018 showing all the living descendants of those eight women. I soon discovered that the logistics of such a picture were impossible. The descendants had spread around the world and the numbers were large. I wanted a large version of the original. That was surprisingly easy. I took the framed picture to our local photographic studio. They found that it was a contact print from a full-plate glass negative, and the negative was in the back of the frame. They produced a version with the women life size and the men were identified. What we did manage by November 2018 was to get pictures of the descendants emailed to me to put on display alongside the original in the church.

I still hoped that we could replicate the Christmas Day picture. I didn't know what my suggestion would start. I made it in October 2017 and emailed it around the extended family. I wanted eight women from the family to pose for a picture in the front garden on Christmas Day 2018, holding photos of their husbands/partners.

+++

"Hazel? Do you want six PREGNANT women?" Joan had replied within minutes.

"I hadn't thought of that," I replied.

Both Joan's emails and my reply had been copied to all the recipients of my first message. Over the next few days Joan's idea had taken off. The scheme was building a momentum of its own. We had nearly a year to arrange for six female members of the family to be pregnant and standing in the front garden on Christmas Day 2018. six women? No problem. Six pregnant women? That was a different ball game.

I told my husband Alan that I wanted to be pregnant by Christmas 2018.

"Hazel? Are you sure? We were going to wait until we were more secure financially. Is a photo reason enough to change?"

"It's not just the photo. I want to have a child before I'm thirty."

"You won't be thirty for..."

"The younger the better, for me and the baby," I retorted.

"If that's what you want..."

"It is."

"We should start by preparing our finances. You realise that means no expensive holiday next year?"

"A baby is more important than a holiday, Alan. This year both of us didn't really enjoy the holiday. We knew we shouldn't have spent so much money on it, and it rained."

"Only two days rain out of two weeks," Alan objected, "but you are right. It cost us too much. Blackpool for 2018?"

"Blackpool? No. Somewhere in England? Perhaps. If we go by car."

"Car? We were thinking of upgrading the car on a leasing agreement. If we're planning a baby we'd need something more practical."

"Dad did offer us his small people carrier. It's only three years old but he wants an automatic."

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Story 052

Retro Christmas

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"Ouch! Gently, Dawn, please."

"I'll try, John, but you are so tense..."

My wife Dawn was massaging my back where it hurt. I had forgotten just how energetic dancing to Rock and Roll music could be. I had done too much. Swinging Dawn over my back with her bouffant petticoats flying had been a dance move too far. Now I was suffering for it.

I should have known better. I'm a grandfather several times over. Even Dawn was regretting the enthusiasm of her dancing. We had enjoyed ourselves but there were consequences.

I was face down on the bed. Dawn was kneeling beside me trying to ease the tension in my lower back. Despite the pain I was aroused. Dawn was wearing a nylon negligee over a multilayered nylon nightdress. As she moved the layers of nylon slid over my body. The feel, and the sound, were making me feel sensations I thought I had forgotten. What I wanted to do, what we wanted to do, depended on Dawn's success at massaging my stiffness away. The stiffness in my prick was digging a hole in the mattress. Could I cope if I let Dawn ride me? I hoped so. I winced again as her fingers probed.