The Idiot, the Farmer and Me Ch. 02

A circling waiter pulled out Chrissie's now empty chair next to me and Denise sat, holding up an empty coffee cup for him to fill, and she sank it almost in one, holding it up for a refill. Once he had he returned with a full service to re-lay her place at the table she smiled at him and asked for a grapefruit half.

"Den," I said, hoping to hide any tone from my voice, "you remember Dave from yesterday?"

"I certainly do," she smiled at him, "a fantastic party don't you think?"

"It was a triumph," said Dave.

"Once he could get in..." I said hiding my smile behind my coffee cup.

"What?"

"Les..." I said simply.

"Oh fuck," she said forgetting our company, "what did he do this time?"

"You remember he wanted to invite half of the club and all of his mates don't you."

"Yeah, and Izzy fucked him off quite nicely I thought," she said.

"But he arranged for Brian and Carl to do the door and err... they did."

"Fuck."

"Precisely." I pointed across to Chrissie on the adjacent table, "and because some silly bitch and her gorgeous daughter left Dave off of the guest list, they decided anyone not already in the hotel must be a gate crasher."

"That's what the police car was for!" said Den, her mouth dropping.

"Yeah, that was the gruesome twosome..."

"And me..." added Dave.

"And Dave..." I grimaced, "Brian and Carl were being whisked off to the police station for pushing lovely young Chrissie down the stairs."

"Bastards!" she said and looked to Dave, "what happened to them?"

Dave wiped his mouth with his napkin,

"They were dropped off at the railway station to get a train back to London. That really pissed them off because the Dad had been breathalysed and was over the limit, and they wouldn't let the son drive because it turned out he was banned from driving and didn't even have a licence."

"What about their van?" I asked hoping that the scabby and beaten white Ford Transit that Brian habitually drove wouldn't be left in the car park for too long and lower the property values in this lovely area.

"The policeman impounded it because he wasn't convinced that all of the paperwork for it was quite... shall we say... kosher? As I was getting into the taxi to come here, I could hear him arguing with the policeman and threatening to call his MP and saying that it was a breach of his human rights. The copper said if he had anymore shit from the pair of them, they could walk to the railway station." Considering the shitty afternoon he'd had the previous day his smile was still quite large and very genuine, "The whole episode altogether cheered me up and by the time I got back here I was calmed down and ready for a party."

Denise and I both laughed.

Denise's grapefruit arrived and any cute discussion Dave and I might have had was brought to a stop. More family arrived and the chatter became far more general and finally our grown-up children started to arrive, looking very bleary-eyed and only interested in tea and coffee and light breakfasts before they all headed for the pool.

As the dining room filled Dave announced that it was time that they both went home, Amy's ride home already assured by her cousin Julia. Even my Ray appeared and along with his younger cousin Denise's son Rory they all trooped off to the pool, about a dozen or so, all in good company and excellent humour.

Dave had brought his few possessions down with him and with a hand on Chrissie's shoulder and offering his other arm to me we walked to the car park now much depleted from the previous days fullness, especially the gap where Brian's crappy white Transit had been parked, only the marks of it being dragged onto the police wrecker and the large, ugly but solitary oil stain indicating that it had ever been there.

"So Sam," he said as he reached his Toyota pick-up and opened the door for Chrissie to get in, "I'll... can I have your number?"

I smiled, nodded and took my phone from my back pocket and handed it to him, swiping my fingerprint on the scanner so it opened. He typed in his number, rang himself, cancelled the call and that was that.

"I'll call you," he said, "Promise; Wednesday or Thursday is best for me, that OK for you?"

"Thursday would be perfect," I said taking my phone back and happy that his son couldn't see I leaned in and kissed him, properly this time. It was very nice.

"Until Thursday Sam," he said with just the biggest grin, then slipped into his truck.

I stayed in the car park grinning back to him like an Idiot and waving coyly to his rear-view mirror, turning and Higgins-stalking back to the hotel hoping he would see my sexy wiggle. As it happens he did.

Back into the hotel, I went back to my room and packed my stuff back into my case and with a final check, pulled the door closed and headed downstairs delivering Izzy's bags to Paul for safe storage until they came home.

"Get you Sammy!" said Den as I stopped in the foyer with my case for a final cup of tea and some elevenses cake, and goodbyes to my family and Ed's.

"What?"

"You and Uncle Dave, you were all over each other!"

"You noticed?"

"Hard not to lovey!" she said with a grin.

"Yet you still sat at our table this morning Den, cheers mate."

Den put a hand to her mouth,

"Shit! Sorry mate, I just thought..."

"Don't worry, he's taking me out to dinner on Thursday."

"Yeeees!" she said punching the air, "What you wearing?"

"I don't know!" I said lightly flustered, "I'll..."

"I'll lend you my little black dress, you'll knock his eyes out in that. Balcony bra and pantyhose - no panties, just in case you want to..."

"Bloody hell Den," I said with hissed whisper, "We're only having dinner."

"Dinner, yeah," she frowned and raised her eyebrows, "but you forget big sister, I watched you and him dancing last night, and you seeing him off in the car park. Make sure you have condoms with you." She hugged me around the shoulders and kissed my cheek.

"Why would she want fucking condoms?" said a grating, suffering but still familiar voice.

Den spun round at the bleary-eyed, unshaven fuck up of an ex-husband of mine, still wearing his stained shirt, trousers and shoes from the day before, hands on hips and his bulldog chin sticking out self righteously.

"And just what the fuck business is it of yours what my sister does?"

The idiot Ex folded his arms and stepped up and into the fray,

"Well," he said, causing Den to flinch away, not because of his demeanour but from his breath, foul enough to strip paint.

He saw this backing off and figured that it was a retreat but no.

"Good Morning Leslie!" said a bright, chirpy but slightly threatening voice that dropped a heavy hand down onto the Idiot's shoulder and causing him to flinch a bit now. It was Mike our big brother looking tall, tanned and muscular and towering over his former classmate and one-time brother in law, "All OK mate?"

"Err..." said the Idiot Ex trying to extricate himself from between Denise and Mike.

"Hope so mate," he said, "because as I've always said... if you have a problem with either Denise of Samantha then, effectively..." he took a deep breath and sipped from his glass of orange juice, "then you have a problem with me... you know?"

"No problem Michael!" said the idiot adopting a more familiar tone with his former brother-in-law, "just nice to see how everyone is getting along."

"And moving on!" said Den.

"Yes, and... erm... moving on." He gave me a stern look hoping that no one saw, but of course everyone did.

"I do hope you aren't attempting to put pressure on my sister at all Les," said Mike.

"No such thing Michael, Sammy has made it very clear that I got nuffin' to do wiv her life, an' I'll stick by that."

"Just see you do mate," said Mike with a threatening smile, patting Les on the shoulder with just enough force to let the entire ensemble know that it was way more than a friendly gesture.

The Idiot Ex wandered off and we could hear his disgruntled bitching when told that breakfast, even brunch had long since finished and that yes, while he could wait for lunch but he would need to pay for it. That gave forth another long string of whinges and complaints at which point we all decided it was time to leave him to it.

Apparently he was finally all but dragged out of the place by his sister Fay, her husband and their adult kids - his nephews and nieces outrageously embarrassed by Uncle Les - again.

Uncle Les, the gobby one that they all talked about, the one that couldn't be in the room or at the same party or function as Cousin Jayne or her daughter Kylie because of... you know...

Uncle Les, the one that no one really trusted, the one that always had a scheme, was always trying for that elusive fast buck, the one they said would steal your teeth if you fell asleep with your mouth open.

This was proved yet again when they stopped him just walking out and doing a runner on the bill, then talked him through the checking-out procedure because he'd had the two miniature bottles of brandy out of the mini bar and had to pay for them.

He insisted that he hadn't, swore on his kids lives, but the sensors built into the minibar stated that the bottles were removed at eleven twenty one the previous morning ten minutes after he'd arrived to get suited up. Someone else must have drunk them he'd insisted, but again hotel security said that his key card was the only one used. He finished by saying that he was a whiskey man and even his sister Fay scoffed at that.

So the Idiot Ex handed across his credit card and duly paid the bill, but with very bad grace. Before he handed back the credit card the hotel staff member asked to see in the Gentleman's bag as he'd had a message that three of the four towels, both bathrobes, the hairdryer and the kettle were all missing from his room.

Fay rolled her eyes in embarrassment and her children disappeared into the car park.

He started with the 'it weren't me' gambit but everyone just looked at his bulging wheeled suitcase, far to big for a one person's one night stay. Les played up again insisting that 'everyone does it' and 'surely that kind of 'fing was built into their profit margin considerin' 'ow much they charged at the bleedin' bar', eventually ending with him laughing and saying that it was all a joke and he'd always intended to give it all back.

He asked why they had checked his room while he was still in the building. The assistant manager, the same man that had watched his 'professional door stewards' at work the day before, smiled,

"A random check sir; just a lucky guess."

Les left the building with even worse grace and an empty suitcase bought especially for the amount of stuff he was going to nick and had the hotel's electronic security not been so good he would have doubtless gone into my room, Ray's, his sister's, and even his nephews and nieces rooms and had some of their stuff away as well.

Other than his hotel room the wedding didn't actually cost him anything, but he still felt he needed to make up for the expense of the shit present he'd bought for the bride and groom (towels!? From the father of the bride!?) his shit suit which was bought second hand from his friend Brian for 'a pony' (£25 - but he still had to buy a tie) rather than rent the morning suits all of the other men had gone with, and then there was the cost of the petrol to drive here, and the cost of the few drinks he had to buy that were more expensive than The Club, but not by much.

The biggest loss wasn't his though. He'd read and re-read Brian's text message that his van had been impounded from the hotel car park and had already been crushed because while there was a 'Ministry of Transport test certificate' issued to the van with that registration number and an insurance certificate, THAT white Ford Transit van was parked in a builders' yard in Sevenoaks in Kent and had lots of police complaints that the number had been cloned.

This had made the quite suspicious policeman very suspicious and was a direct result of Brian's refusal to pay to park or even consider the congestion charge. A swift check of the police computer meant that the heart of a slightly dodgy livelihood was now crushed to the size of a small steel box in an authorised scrap yard because it had a completely different vehicle identification number on the engine, the registration for which was still a white Ford Transit but one that was six years older and that hadn't been taxed, MoT'd or insured in the last four.

Brian told the policeman that 'I bought that van in good 'faif din' I - from a bloke in the pub - 'fer cash like...' who had promised to send on the log book 'as soon as 'e could find it' and his son did the road tax on his computer like and did the MoT test regular every year but couldn't rightly remember where he had it done this year, three months before. The policeman had looked at lumpen Carl and really doubted that the nose-picking epsillon semi-minus moron could do little with a computer other than steal it.

The policeman wouldn't be drawn on whether he believed Brian or not, or the quality of his memory and his insistence that he always 'paid cash for everyfin' and din't have no use for cheques or credit cards coz they weren't safe'.

That quote made the policeman smile but he struggled to find anything legally to do to the extremely dodgy father and son duo who both had criminal records as long as their arms other than take the van, so he did just that.

So the Idiot Ex now felt that he was indebted to his best mate, more so because his best mate's son Carl was 'sixpence short of the full quid' and had a bit of history of... shall we say... 'losing his temper'; at least that was what he told the magistrates.

I drove home and unpacked, opening my phone and saving the last number called as 'Uncle Dave'. I watched a movie, had an early night and read my outback porn, wanking myself to sleep with visions of Dave grabbing me and pulling me into his barn and screwing me to orgasm over his hay bales.

I went back to work the next day and there was Den with a suit bag and a big smile.

"This is the one lovey," she said across the empty room that would soon be filled with children, "if this doesn't do it, then he's gay, or at the very least short sighted."

I took it home and tried it on. Denise was right of course, it looked fantastic and any form of underwear other than a bra would have left a line so I put black pantyhose on my shopping list and bought them the next day.

On Wednesday afternoon, I had a thump on the door. I wasn't expecting anyone and thought it might be a parcel for one of my neighbours. I opened the door and there was the Brains Trust - Brian and Carl.

"Les says we was to pop round and make sure that you remembers that marriage is for life," said Brian with a sneer and folded arms. He wasn't THAT much of a gangland enforcer, for as soon as I raised an eyebrow, he couldn't even make eye contact with me.

"What?" I snarled leaning against my door post and folding my arms.

"Les says he ain't 'aving you fuckin' around with no new boy and disrespectin' 'im in 'is own manor."

"What the fuck had it got to do with Les what I do and where I do it. Anyway since when has this part of the world been his manor, it's forty five miles away from his place?" I was getting cross, "And when did that brain damaged fuck think that he had a manor!?!" The gangland enforcers took a step back as I moved to my doorstep.

"Fay's Nancy said she saw you dancin' wiv' some fella and Les 'eard 'ow you might be going out wiv someone and he 'doan like it," said Carl picking up on his Dad's lack of success.

"Like I said poppet," I said patting his fat cheek and using the same terms and tones that his late mother had, "what the fuck does it have to do with Les?"

Carl looked lost, no one he'd ever threatened before had sounded and looked so much like his Mum, who might very well have been turning in her grave,

"Ee 'sez that 'cos you woz married he still..."

"And the fact he was screwing around, including his cousins, that doesn't upset his delicate sensibilities then?"

"Wot?" said Brian and Carl at the same time. 'Sensibilities' was obviously a bit of a stretch for them at that time of day.

"He was screwing his cousin Jaynie, then a few weeks later was screwing Kylie her daughter who then got pregnant - guessing he thinks that was alright, and I don't get to be angry about it that obviously." I shifted my weight into my other leg, "you remember Carl, the kid must be five or six years younger than you."

Carl's furrowed brow gave me a clue that he was considering this, the fact I had thrown in a number fucked his thought processes as if I'd given him two quadratic equations to consider.

He'd never completed his secondary education, being a regular truant and having assaulted the two maths teachers he'd had because 'they woz teachin 'im harder stuff than everyone else' pretty much did for any hopes of further education he might have had.

He took a couple of level one courses while he was in the Youth Offender Institution and again tried to attack the rather nerdy tutor because 'I before E except after somefink din't make no fuckin' sense and woz just a load 'a shit meant to confuse 'im'. #it wouldn't have taken much after all.

Sadly for Carl the only thing nerdy about his English teacher was his blazer, and he should have paid more attention to the globe and laurel badge on the pocket - Mr Hughes had become a teacher after a career as an education officer in the Royal Marines, and after his initial spirited rush at the man Carl found himself on his back with his wrist locked halfway up his back with two black eyes and a broken nose for his trouble, as the teacher had stepped aside and the thug's own momentum had done the rest.

The small man went on to propel him out of the classroom and into the corridor with a prison officer walking ahead to move people and open doors, the last one being the emergency cell kept just for incidents like this.

As he smelled the disinfectant used on the floor close up, Mr Hughes suggested straight into his ear that Carl may wish to moderate his behaviour if he didn't want this kind of thing to happen again and that not all teachers were, as Carl had already suggested, 'fucking pussies'.

With a knee in the small of the mid-teen hooligan's back, Mr Hughes felt the necessity to point out that should Carl try something along those lines again the result would be similar with a slightly stronger and less serendipitous response that would see the young offender in the hospital wing and eating his meals 'through a fucking straw'.

Carl had never considered education again and his look suggested that he had tuned out of the discussion as soon as I'd mentioned a number.

I looked at Brian again,

"Well does he?"

"Does he... what?" said Brian as equally lost as his son.

"I don't care what Les thinks, and he only sent you because he's scared of my brother the para."

"I ain't scared of no fuckin' para's" said Carl back and tuned in to violence, a language he definitely understood.

"Well perhaps you should be Carl," I said with all of the maternal care I could, "You got very badly beaten up by a Marine once after all."

Carl looked very upset by that and looked at the floor, his bull terrier bottom lip protruding.

"Well," said Brian and added some emphasis, "Les says..."

"Les can say what he wants Brian," I said, "I ain't his missus, and haven't been for fifteen years, I have a decree absolute to prove it, still my all-time favourite court document." I watched them both look even more uncomfortable with the words 'court document' than they had been with the subtraction of six from Carl's age, and I went with it, "I framed it and it hangs in my downstairs toilet, hang on I'll get it..."