Jack smiled, taking a quick visual check on Lucas, who was playing along happily with a toy phone, as it should happen. Jack hoped by the time he looked back that Tansy would have moved on, but unfortunately such was not the case. “I, ehm…” he said, hesitating in hopes a screaming child might perhaps help to defuse things. But, again, no luck there as all the children were quite content at the moment and so of no use to him. “Well, as I was just saying to…” he said, changing tack, and looking over his shoulder to where there was nobody stood, in reference to an imaginary conversation… “That, ehm, it’s a bit rotten of the church to be selling tat when you’re here to look after your kids, am I right?” he said, smiling broadly and looking around to the others, hoping for solidarity from his fellow parents.
“This tat are the finest cosmetics on the market,” Tansy replied haughtily. “Excuse me, and who exactly are you?” she asked, hands now pressed onto her hips.
“I’m Jack,” said Jack. “We’ve met. I didn’t mean to be rude, and I didn’t realise this… stuff… was yours. I’m sure it’s the very best quality. I just thought the church was capitalising on… on…” he continued. “Actually, in fact, never mind,” he added, with Emma’s advisory words ringing in his ears once more. “Well,” he carried on, even when he knew he really shouldn’t. He watched Emma’s cautionary words of “just be normal, Jack” drift away behind him as he sailed right on past, straight into choppy waters ahead, in a misguided effort to somehow or other redeem himself with Tansy. “Well, your own bags are almost gone,” he said, pointing to her eyes and then to the tube of foundation on the table. “You all should try it,” Jack went on, turning to address the rest of the group. “It’ll make all of your bags go away!” he said with a nervous laugh, running his index finger along the cheekbones under his eyes for illustrative effect. “You’ll look five years younger, all of you!” he added, as the nervous laugh continued.
“They already use it,” snapped Tansy, which resulted in Emily cautiously lowering her potential purchase back onto the table, as it didn’t appear to be doing the trick according to Jack’s observation.
Jack swallowed, unsure of what to do with all eyes upon him now. “Beauty is on the inside, so you don’t need to worry!” he fumbled awkwardly, but before he could fall entirely into the hole he was digging for himself, he received a firm slap on the shoulder.
Fran was chuckling away to herself. “Come on, Jack. You can come and help me make the coffee before this lot attack you with their makeup trowels,” she offered, adding, “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to get on fine,” as she was leading him to the kitchen.
“What about the kids?” asked Jack, reluctant to leave Lucas unattended but sensing a timeout — for himself, that is — to be a sensible idea.
“They’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Fran assured him. “Drink?” she asked, jumping up onto the worktop once they were in the kitchen.
“Yes, coffee would be great,” replied Jack.
Fran reached into her handbag. “No. I meant a drink,” she said, pulling out a Lucozade Pink Lemonade bottle and offering it to him. “It’s actually a margarita in there,” she whispered. “Makes these little gatherings bearable.”
Jack thought she was joking until he flared his nostrils over the mouth of the open bottle and took a sniff. “You’re serious?” he asked, disbelieving. “I’m good, thanks. I’ve got the van and all, and it’s like eleven-thirty in the morning. Still before noon,” he remarked.
Fran felt the need to defend herself somewhat. “I’m a nurse. I work nights and have just knocked off work,” she said. “So this is like nine in the evening for me. I live only a very short distance up the road, walking distance, so it’s pretty handy,” she told him, raising her bottle up and taking a sip.
“My girlfriend has taken our son to a few of these groups,” explained Jack of his own situation, filling the kettle. “She told me what they were like, and to be honest I didn’t believe her. Emma said that—”
“Hang on,” Fran interrupted. “Emma? Brown hair, lovely skin, pretty face?” she asked, before placing the bottle back to her lips.
“That’s her,” said Jack, beaming with pride.
“She’s your girlfriend?” pressed Fran, incredulous, and then, “I’m sorry, that’s awfully rude of me.”
Jack dismissed her concern with a friendly wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, I get that more than you could imagine,” he said, laughing.
“Ah,” replied Fran. “So, anyway, she sent you in her place, did she? That’s a shame. I knew she wouldn’t last. She was far too nice. But this lot would have swallowed her up, though, so I can’t say I blame her,” Fran went on, adding, “The one selling the tat is Tansy, by the way.”
“Yes, I already had the pleasure of meeting her outside before I came in,” Jack answered. “Though I’m not sure pleasure is really the right word to use.”
“Yep, that would be our Tansy,” replied Fran, taking another therapeutic sip from her bottle. “She runs a few of these groups, but her sole intention appears to be to sell the mums perfume, makeup, or whatever other crap she’s currently got tucked away in the back of her monster SUV. It’s all a bit pathetic, really.”
“Oh? How so?” asked Jack by way of conversation.
“She’s like the school cheerleader, and the rest just follow along unquestioningly,” Fran told him. “It’s disgusting. Anyway, I knew Emma wouldn’t be back. She was too normal.”
“Aaargh!” emanated a voice from someone, who by the sound of it was moving towards the kitchen at pace. It was Emily. “Why the hell do I keep coming back?” she said, appearing in the kitchen, and clutching her newly acquired makeup purchase. “And why have I just spent twenty quid on a bloody foundation that I don’t need? These bags under my eyes are because I’m a new mother and haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep for… for… well, I don’t even remember when the last time I’ve gotten a full night’s sleep was, actually.” Emily then pointed to the Lucozade bottle in Fran’s hand. “May I?” she asked.
“Go nuts,” said Fran, handing the bottle over.
“Thanks,” said Emily. “I was actually going to ask you last week. I could smell it on your breath, so I figured it was a safe assumption that it wasn’t really Lucozade you were always sipping,” she added, taking a generous slug. “I don’t drive, in case you’re wondering,” she offered, wiping her lips and then replacing the lid. “That’s very nice, by the way,” she told Fran. “Mai tai?”
“Margarita,” replied Fran. “Hits the spot, doesn’t it?”
Emily’s face dropped as the whining pitch of Tansy’s voice became more evident, its increasing volume indicating that Tansy had ferreted Emily out and was presently homing in on her location and drawing closer. Tansy was going on about something else she was trying to persuade Emily to buy, even in advance of her arrival. Before Tansy could make good on her imminent arrival into the kitchen, Emily smartly threw the bottle of Lucozade over to Jack, which he deftly snatched out of the air mid-flight. Why she hadn’t just handed it back to Fran, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was instinct.
“Oh, jolly good catch,” said Jack, praising himself — as no one else was doing it! — for his lightning-quick cat-like reflexes.
“Emily,” said Tansy, waving a tube of mascara around as she entered the room, brandishing it about like a conductor’s baton. “This will do wonders…” she went on, but then pausing suddenly. She sniffed intently, like a pig snuffling for truffles. “Have you been drinking?” she asked, becoming almost cross.
Emily shook her head like a naughty schoolgirl, pointing at Jack like the class snitch. “It was him,” said Emily, lowering her head and not even bothering to look at Jack as she extended her accusatory finger.
“Er… what? What was me?” replied Jack, uncertain of what he was even being accused of, precisely. Put on the spot as he was, he nevertheless felt fairly confident Fran, with her rebellious non-conformity, would certainly step in to cla
rify the truth of the situation. Jack looked over to her sat there on the countertop, staring expectantly at her, but with all of her spunk having seemingly evaporated at present.
Fran didn’t speak, just offering an audible little tut-tut as Tansy grabbed the bottle from Jack’s grasp. Tansy twisted the lid off whilst maintaining with Jack an unnerving glare. “You disgust me,” she said simply, once taking a sniff and receiving olfactory confirmation of her suspicions.
Jack gave another glance over to Fran who, evidently, was leaving him to twist in the wind.
Tansy shook her head to further emphasise her displeasure. “You’ve come to our mother and toddlers’ group and supplied alcohol to the women here to get them drunk, is that it?” she accused Jack. “To get them drunk so you could place your filthy hands all over them? Oh, believe me, I know your kind,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What a piece of work you are,” she told him, practically spitting her words out in contempt.
“My kind?” Jack protested. “But I never…”
But Tansy wasn’t listening. Instead, she looked to Fran and Emily for confirmation of her suspicions. And, unfortunately for Jack, the absence of any response one way or the other from them only served to validate Tansy’s belief, from the looks of it, providing all the proof she needed. She then stormed out of the kitchen, muttering under her breath as she went.
Jack stared at the other two with his jaw swinging loose. “Bloody hell, girls,” said Jack, preparing to set off in hot pursuit of Tansy. “Thank you for dropping me right bleedin’ in it. You two are worse than the rest of them,” he told them. “Tansy!” he called out, with controlled panic in his voice, as he then chased after her.
“We’ve got a deviant among us!” announced Tansy, back in the main room, to the mums still admiring her wares. “This man…” she began, turning to make it abundantly clear who she was referring to, and pointing to the figure of Jack, who was just by this time catching up to her. “This man has come along today with wicked designs of administering alcohol to you ladies in order to facilitate his own unwholesome, immoral objectives!”
There was a general round of murmuring amongst the group, with most of the women expressing shock and dismay, but with a few of them appearing somewhat interested in whatever sort of depraved debauchery might possibly be on offer.
“Please. The children,” said Jack, looking to the wee ones out of concern for their innocent ears. But the children were more interested in the toys, and still playing happily within the safety of their chaired-off corral and paying the adults no mind. “Look, I didn’t do anything,” Jack went on, attempting to defend himself against Tansy’s ridiculous allegations. “It was… it was…” he said, but then didn’t finish what he was going to say, worried that ratting out his co-conspirators would only reflect poorly on him and further diminish his standing, such as it was.
“So you didn’t bring gin to a mother and toddlers’ group and administer it to two of our mums, then?” asked Tansy accusingly, now circling Jack like a hyena.
“It wasn’t gin,” replied Jack weakly, as if this was any sort of defence. “It was a margarita. It’s made with tequila rather than gin,” he offered.
“Fascinating,” said Tansy, clearly unimpressed. “Collect your possessions and get out,” she ordered sharply, clacking her heel down onto the floor and pointing to the exit.
“Fine,” said Jack, stamping his own foot down onto the floor like Tansy had done. He reached for Lucas’s coat, along with Lucas’s other coat, along with his carry bag. “You’re all bloody bonkers, I have to say,” he replied as he collected his things, darting his eyes between Tansy and the two women from the kitchen, Fran and Emily, who had rejoined the group and now seemed intent on not making any eye contact at all with Jack. “My girlfriend said you were all a bunch of stuck-up cows, and I didn’t believe her. I said you couldn’t possibly be as bad as she made out, but she was correct,” he continued. “I only came along with the intent of making friends today. I even made scones for everyone!” he told them, reaching into his bag and placing a Tupperware box onto his orange seat. This wasn’t entirely true, as Emma was the one who’d made the scones. But they didn’t need to know that, thought Jack. “I’ll just leave these here, then, and I’ll bid you good day,” he said with finality.
Jack scooped Lucas up and headed for the door. He turned, having thought of one more thing he wanted to say before he left. “You’re all mad as a box of frogs! You should be welcoming new recruits to your little club, not making false accusations and casting them away!” he scolded them. He pressed his hip against the door and pushed it open, looking over his shoulder to Tansy, unable to resist one last parting shot. “And nobody here wants to buy your stupid, rubbish makeup items. They’re just being polite!”
Jack attempted to slam the door shut on his way out, but, frustratingly, it was the kind of door that closed automatically via a piston at the top at its own leisurely pace, and so not giving Jack the satisfaction. And thus Jack’s debut, and likely final appearance at a mother and toddler group, was brought to a rather abrupt end — though not as abrupt as Jack would have ideally liked, as the door closed very, very slowly behind him.
Precisely seventeen seconds later, however, the door to the hall opened once more. “This isn’t my child,” announced Jack, walking back into the room with his head lowered. He mouthed an apology to the mother of the child, who hadn’t even realised her boy had gone missing, as it turned out, as she’d at present been happily tucking into one of the scones Jack had left behind.
Jack collected his actual child into his arms. “Come on Lucas,” he said, “We know when we’re not welcome.” Jack then added, as an afterthought, to the group in general, “I’ll, ehm… I suppose I’ll come and pick up my Tupperware container at a later date?”
.
Chapter Two
T rade had never been busier at Java the Hutt. Their four branches in every corner of the Isle of Man had evolved beyond being just coffee shops. They were communities, a meeting place for acquaintances old and new alike. They were also a dating club on occasion, and, in general, a social hub where customers weren’t just customers, they were friends. Java the Hutt was a shining beacon of how a small independent shop could take on the major chains and carve a niche out for themselves, and with the Lonely Heart Attack Club in each of the coffee shops being a major contributory factor in the survival of the business, a business which had for a while teetered on the brink of going tits-up due to a dwindling client base. Key to the shop’s turnaround and survival had been the keen wisdom of Jack’s partner Emma in openly embracing those that’d always remained loyal to them — the old folk. And along with the positive publicity from their floral “Bloomin’ Wall” world record attempt and the Wrinkly Olympics came a change in the tide, and with an increase in business from the younger clientele, as well, of the sort who valued the personal type of service that Java the Hutt had to provide as opposed to them simply being a name written in black ink on the side of a disposable coffee cup. Emma, in fact, prided herself on knowing every one of her customer’s names. It was a unique ability and one that Jack, try as he might, simply couldn’t replicate. Still, the pair of them together were a winning combination, and were a duo that drew people in. And, helpfully, Jack’s mum offering up her childcare services ensured that the team weren’t broken up for at least Wednesday through Saturday.
Presently, at the Douglas location, or “HQ” as Jack was fond of calling it…
“What are those two up to?” asked Emma of Jack, pulling out a batch of freshly baked croissants from the oven. “They’ve been sat over by the window for half an hour with their heads buried in paperwork. I don’t trust them when they’re too quiet. I used to have a particularly mischievous cat when I was young, and when it went very quiet in the kitchen it usually meant…”
But Emma didn’t have a chance to finish what she was going to say, as Jack had already gone to investigate.
Jack sl
owly sidled towards his grandad’s position on the pretext of cleaning tables, venturing closer and advancing table by table with every few swipes of his cloth. “Morning,” he said to any guests he encountered along the way, until finally he was stood at an empty table nearest to his target, that target being Grandad and his best mate Ray. Jack adjusted sugar sachets and wiped down the table he was stood over, even though it really didn’t need wiping, arching his neck as he did so in an effort to catch a glimpse of whatever the two men in question were reading and might possibly be up to.
“WHATAREYOUDOING?” shouted Jack, abruptly abandoning his stealth tactics and now suddenly presenting himself before the resultantly panic-stricken duo. Ray managed to grab and conceal his reading material with the pace, dexterity, and skill of a teenaged boy whose mum had just barged into his room unannounced during the middle of certain ‘extracurricular’ activities, as it were.
Grandad clutched his chest, with his other hand braced on the table for support. “You’re a stupid bugger, Jack. You could have finished us off!” he said, recovering from the shock. “We’re having a cup of tea before we head off for our game of squash, if you absolutely must know,” explained Grandad, presenting his racket as confirmation.
Jack eyed them with suspicion, before striking out like a cobra to grab what Ray was trying his best to keep hidden. “What’s this, then?” asked Jack, taking quick possession of one of the magazines that’d been so intensely interesting to the pair only moments earlier.
“Oi!” protested Ray, but it was too late, as Jack was already occupied in thumbing through the magazine’s contents.
“This is a new low, even for you two,” remarked Jack, setting down the periodical for fear the other patrons in the establishment might catch a glimpse of the sordid reading material. “Skimpily dressed ladies in sequins float your boat, gentlemen? Really?”
“I’m going to start my squash match on your head, you muppet!” replied Grandad, grabbing for his racket again. “Ray and I are doing research, I’ll have you know. Proper research!”
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