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J C Williams
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Copyright © 2020 J C Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations included in critical articles and reviews. For information, please contact the author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
First Kindle edition March 2020
Cover artwork by Paul Nugent
Proofreading, editing, and interior formatting & design by Dave Scott and Cupboardy Wordsmithing
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The Lonely Heart Attack Club: Project VIP
Book Three in The Lonely Heart Attack Club series
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Chapter One
A h, the miracle of birth… the circle of life… a bouncing beautiful bundle of joy. The arrival of a child was a magnificent, life-affirming event that would inevitably change the course of the lives surrounding such a magical gift delivered by the great stork from the sky. Never let it be said that the new arrival wouldn’t come without its own set of unique challenges, however. In fact, for some, the ability to eject an object the size of a bowling ball from one’s foo-foo paled into insignificance when presented with the incessant wailing of a baby in the dead of night. Good parenting was, and is, an art form — a skill you’re not born with, but one fine-tuned over the years. Sure, you’ll make mistakes along the way, like smacking their heads off the side of a doorframe, leaving their carrier on the roof of your car when you drive off, or getting the dog’s food bowl mixed up with theirs. These things happen. But it was all part of a learning curve, and, collectively, another step forward in life’s rich tapestry.
Absolutely nothing, however, could prepare any new parent for the complete bitch-fest that was a mother and toddler group. A church hall, ordinarily a place of religious sanctity and quiet, peaceful reflection, was transformed into one of these terrible proceedings by setting down a few rubber mats, adding two or three boxes of donated toys disinfected in a bath of Dettol, and throwing a fair handful of screaming brats into the mix. Some mummies had the sickening ability to look like they’d just stepped out of a salon, with their immaculate hair only outdone by their impeccably manicured nails. They made it look easy, and usually held court at these customarily bi-weekly affairs. For most of the new mums, though, pampering themselves at all, in any way whatsoever, was only a distant memory, as was, sadly, getting eight hours of sleep a night. For these mums, a luxury was having an undisturbed poo behind a closed door, and being fully dressed, if one was very lucky, by noon. And it was mums such as these (of the more normal variety), whose only daytime company for weeks had been Fifi and the Flowertots, who suddenly found themselves having to prove and defend their parenting skills and credentials — and general ability to survive with no sleep — to other people, and where the only connection they had with these other mums was their shared ability and ultimate success at having unprotected sex.
Emma had been to several of these sessions and, yes, a few people were both pleasant enough and in the same boat as she was. But, ultimately, spending an hour or so on the receiving end of condescending small talk wasn’t worth the trade-off, was Emma’s feeling on the matter.
Jack, meanwhile, being the sage fount of all knowledge and wisdom that he was, had unwisely suggested that it can’t be all that bad — which was perhaps not the shrewdest of things to say to a sleep-deprived zombie with cracked nipples.
And so….
“Who’s a handsome boy,” cooed Jack, unfastening Lucas from his child seat, before reverting to his Yoda persona which always drew a laugh from the boy. “Mmmm, kiss you I will, mmm,” said Jack, leaning in for a vibrating sloppy kiss on Lucas’s neck. “On a journey into the church we will go, my young Padawan,” he told the boy, and with that, Lucas was removed smartly from the van. Jack received a gurgling grin for his efforts, so felt encouraged to deliver one more Yoda-ism for good measure. “Show those grumpy cows, we will, mmm,” he added.
As if conjured up at the utterance of the magic words grumpy cows, curiously enough, one such creature appeared right on cue.
“Oh. Hello,” said a startled Jack, and now smiling up at the unreasonably tall woman stood before him in the church’s car park. She looked him up and down in quick succession, before glancing back to a large 4×4 Range Rover that looked like it’d scale Everest with only minimal effort. It was the sort of car that Jack had only ever dreamt of treating himself to, but, aside from the prohibitive cost, figured it would be a right nightmare to park in town.
“You’ll need to move,” the woman said curtly, darting her eyes between Jack and her vehicle. She’d left the beast’s engine running and the door ajar. “I’m here, baby!” she called back over, to what was presumably a baby seated inside. Either that, thought Jack, or she was just inordinately fond of her SUV.
“Move?” asked Jack, looking around the virtually empty car park. It was so empty he thought he must have misunderstood her question, which sounded remarkably like an order. “Move what?”
“That. That… thing,” she told him, pointing one of her taloned fingers towards the Jabba the Hutt image on the side of his van. She now stared at the ground, or possibly her impossibly high high-heeled shoes, appearing eminently inconvenienced by the fact that Jack was still rooted to the spot.
“Move my van?” asked Jack, still nonplussed, as what she was asking wasn’t making much sense to him. “Is that what you’re asking?”
“That would be great, thank you,” the woman replied.
But it wasn’t a sincere type of thank you she gave to Jack, however. Rather, by her tone, it sounded more akin to the sort of gratitude she might perhaps give to an unfortunate tramp offering, at her request, to vacate her porch.
“I always park just here,” the woman added, flicking her head dismissively to indicate that Jack should be on his way and was, well, dismissed.
“You could, perhaps, park over there?” Jack responded, pointing to the empty row of available spaces facing the perimeter hedge.
“I… park… here,” she said, announcing the words slowly and deliberately so Jack could understand. “As it’s a wider space and I don’t want anybody to scratch my doors.”
Jack smiled. “So, it’s okay for my van to get dinted doors but not your SUV?”
“Exactly. Thank you for understanding,” the woman replied flatly, the matter now fully settled as far as she was concerned.
Not wanting to make enemies before he’d even opened the church door, Jack yielded. “Would you mind?” he said, handing Lucas over like a game of pass-the-parcel. “Only I’ll need to strap him back in otherwise, which will take longer, you see.”
She glared at both of them as if this were an awful imposition. “One minute, Tilly-Bell!” she shouted towards her four-wheeled tank. “Fine. Pass him here,” she said coldly, addressing Jack again.
“I’m Jack, and this is Lucas,” Jack offered. “Lucas, meet…” said Jack, giving the lady an opportune moment to both make their acquaintance and introduce herself as well.
The woman held Lucas out at arm’s length like he was a bomb that might explode at any minute. “Tansy,” she said in response to Jack, in somewhat less than friendly a fashion.
“Excuse me?” said Jack.
“My name is Tansy,” said Tansy.
“Tansy,” laughed Jack, waiting for a punchline that wasn’t forthcoming. “You’re having me on, right?” he told her. “About the name, I mean? You must be having me on?” he asked, which only served, unfortunately, to c
ompound the annoyance of his new friend.
“I can assure you I am not,” said Tansy frostily. “He’s getting heavy,” she added abruptly, and in reference to Lucas, which was a polite way of telling Jack to hurry the hell up.
Jack shifted his van to an open slot on the opposite side of the car park, as instructed, to allow Tansy access to her usual spot. Then, with Lucas back in his possession, he held back a moment, setting down his essentials bag and going through it with one hand, pretending he was looking for something, so that he wouldn’t need to walk in alongside Tansy. Even so, a nagging voice at the back of his head told him to jump back into the van with Lucas and bugger off. But the thought of Emma folding her arms with an I told you so look on her face motivated him to soldier on. He smiled briefly at the thought of Emma. Even picturing her in his mind with that I told you so look on her face as he was, the image of her was still lovely.
“Right, buster,” said Jack. “Don’t you be shitting, screaming, or throwing up, yeah?” He moved his head closer to Lucas’s ear. “At least, not unless it’s on her,” he whispered conspiratorially, indicating the retreating figure of Tansy with a nod of his head.
It was a rather brisk January morning, and as per usual junior sported more layers of clothing than an onion on his tiny frame at Emma’s insistence. Jack began to loosen the outermost layer as he walked around the side of the church towards the entrance porch, getting a head start, as he could see this was a puzzle that was going to take some time to unravel. The heat smacked him in the face, assaulting his cheeks as soon as he walked inside. Slightly more progress was made in the unwrapping of Lucas’s swaddling as Jack scanned each of the three wooden doors in the foyer, trying to work out which one might be the entrance to the hall. “Ah,” he said, as his ears tuned in to the sound of children from behind the middle door. He took a deep breath, before bravely pressing down on the metal bar that released the door.
Jack opened the door, tentatively poking his head through in advance of his and Lucas’s arrival, and offering a cordial wave… to nobody, actually, as not one person turned around. Undaunted, Jack pressed on. “Morning all,” he said, after stepping inside.
A dozen or so women sat on orange plastics seats positioned in a wide circular formation, with this arrangement appearing strategic so as to fence in the children. The chairs, thought Jack, also gave the impression of wagons circling ’round to fend off and thwart attacking Indians. Inside the circle, an array of small children sat plonked onto floor mats, and with these mats in the form of foam squares that locked together like the pieces of a jigsaw.
“Morning!” said Jack, a little louder than on his previous attempt. He held Lucas out, like Rafiki holding up baby Simba, to demonstrate that he was one of them and not just some weirdo that’d come wandering in to get out of the cold. Polite, for the most part, and inquisitive smiles radiated back at him, but the orange circle remained impregnable.
“In or out?” asked a woman stood fussing over a trestle table. Though she had her back to Jack, he could clearly see that it was Tansy. “Only I can feel the breeze from here, and we value the health of our children,” said Tansy.
Jack moved back a pace in order to close the door with his foot, though he found it was already closing by itself without any effort on his part. “In,” said Jack. “In, ready, and willing,” he said, for no obvious reason. And, still, the orange plastic circle retained its structural integrity. It was surprising that they hadn’t installed a moat or fortified their position with cannons and archers, mused Jack.
“Over here,” said one lone friendly voice, pushing her chair back a bit and breaking the circle. “Squeeze yourself in here,” she said, reaching for a chair for the child-laden Jack.
Jack eagerly trotted over. “Much obliged,” he said, placing Lucas down onto the interlocking floormat within the ring of chairs, whilst completing the removal of the boy’s jacket, only to be greeted by… yet another jacket. “It’s warmer in here than outside,” began Jack, commencing Operation Small Talk. He grinned inanely around the group, easing off Lucas’s second jacket, but not fully concentrating on the task at hand and tugging at one of his son’s coat sleeves a little too hard, sending poor wee Lucas tumbling onto his back like a boxer who’d just received a knockout punch in the ring.
As for Lucas, to give the little fella his due, there wasn’t a tear to be seen. And he seemed to be none the worse for wear after his slight tumble, fortunately.
“He’s fine!” suggested Jack, answering a question that hadn’t been asked. “We beat him at home, so it toughens him up!” he joked. It was at that precise moment he recalled Emma’s parting words when he left the house, “Just be normal, Jack,” advice at which he was currently failing.
Once Lucas’s inner coat had been sorted, Jack smiled to the lady beside him who’d been kind enough to make room for him. “This looks fun,” he told her, rather optimistically.
“It’s not,” she replied, extending a hand. “I’m Fran, by the way. And, yeah, I’d rather go for a smear test than come to this each week. My little’un seems to like it, though, so, you know, there you are. Parenting’s all about sacrifices, I suppose,” she offered. “I don’t think this lot actually like me, truth be told,” she added, with no attempt to lower her voice.
Jack scanned his new friend’s face for a smile. He wasn’t completely sure she was cracking some sort of initiation-style joke, and so proceeded with what he felt was a safe enough question to ask. “So, then. Which, ehm… which little one is yours, Fran?”
Fran strained her eyes. “I’m not sure. They all blend into each other like toddler soup,” she answered. “I usually just take home the one that’s left at the end, to be honest. I mean, whatever one isn’t claimed at the end, that’s the one I snatch up, y’know? One of these little ankle-biters is the same as the next, it seems to me, am I right?”
Jack still couldn’t tell if Fran was serious or joking. He’d never been able to read a woman’s expression with any degree of success, as Emma would happily attest. He had to assume Fran was kidding, of course, but she kept a perfectly straight face as she told him this and appeared dead serious. She was either very good at dry humour, thought Jack, or else she was like a soldier who’d spent too much time on the frontline. Whatever the case, he was saved from having to answer her on this last question when she ploughed right on with the next.
“What’s your story?” she asked. “Surely you must have better things to do than spend an hour in this viper’s nest?” And, again, no effort was made to lower her voice.
“I thought it would be nice to speak to other new parents,” explained Jack, innocently enough. “Make some new friends, I suppose, and let my son play with other children.”
“That’s nice,” said Fran. “Naïve, but nice.”
All of the other women in the group sat with their attention focused squarely on what was presumably their own child. Interaction with the others was minimal, with the aim of this time ending up being spent, despite whatever original intent, in ensuring their child didn’t gouge another child’s eye out, for instance, or were not, say, on the receiving end of a weaponised toy fire truck attack.”
“Okay, ladies,” said Tansy, who’d remained over by the trestle table since Jack had come in. “If you’d like to…” she continued, but trailing off, not finishing her sentence, as one or two of the women present were impudent enough to not pay Tansy strict, immediate attention. “Ladies!” she shouted, but then quickly turned her anger into a smile. Still, it was an odd sort of smile, part smile and part sneer, as Tansy’s face didn’t quite know how to rearrange itself into a genuine smile. “If you’d be as kind,” she said, stepping to the side of the table and fanning her hand across the contents she’d laid upon it.
“Fuck, here we go again,” said Fran.
Fran stayed put, but Jack, being impressionable, followed the lead of the rest of the group wandering over. “Is it sandwiches?” asked Jack, hopefully. “I am a lit
tle peckish.”
His hungry belly would have to wait, however, as the table was stacked with what he now saw to be a collection of cosmetics items in a variety of shapes and sizes. Jack felt confident that sandwiches would have been the far better option and a much wiser choice, and wondered what the point was of having rubbish cosmetics items strewn over the surface of the table. It was, he thought, surely not the best use of a perfectly good table. But then he had a vague recollection of some conversation or other with Emma. He took a mental note to make sure and mention this recollecting of the recollection to Emma as she was constantly berating him for not listening to her, and so this remembering of the remembrance would serve as proof that such was not the case. Now, as to the recollection specifically, Emma had told him that at one of the groups she went to, one of the women had been trying to sell… trying to sell… Well, actually, truth be told, Jack couldn’t recall anything more, with any further details of the conversation eluding him. So perhaps she was right about him not listening after all.
There came a murmuring from the other women as they made encouraging noises for Tansy’s benefit, though it wasn’t clear if this was the result of any real interest on the part of the ladies or if it was simply feigned.
“I use that foundation, Emily,” announced Tansy to one of the women who’d picked up and was looking at a particular item, and with Tansy leaning down to present her face for inspection. “Flawless,” she declared, in reference to her own complexion. “Emily, it’d do wonders for those bags under your eyes,” Tansy insisted, reaching confidently for her order book as she did so.
“Ah,” said Jack, now finally remembering what it was he’d been trying to remember. “Shitty overpriced cosmetics,” he said aloud, pleased with himself now that he’d be able to tell Emma that he had in fact been listening to her, thank-you-very-much.
“Excuse me?” said Tansy, slapping the back of her order book.
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