Marion Higginbottom was, at least from outward appearances, something of a jaded hack, and he could have easily switched off at any point, but you didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to realise that this was a feel-good story with genuine human interest. Stories like this didn’t often present themselves on a small island. It almost wrote itself: Charity raises money to help the elderly and infirm. Charity then gets fleeced and in danger of collapsing. Charity rallies around to raise money by releasing a song and all at the same time as staging a world record ballroom dancing attempt. It was bloody journalistic gold.
“I can definitely see this story on the front page,” said Marion, shaking his hand to restore bloodflow after getting it all down. “And you’re going to release this single on iTunes, so that people can buy it? And you’ve done all of this yourselves, have you?”
“Sure!” said Ray. “We worked out how to do all of it on the internet!” he said, wiggling his fingers on an imaginary keyboard to illustrate just in case Marion might be somehow unfamiliar with said internet. “Bloody marvel, the internet, let me tell you,” he added, and then did tell him, launching into an extended sales pitch regarding the vast wonders of the internet and extolling its virtues, and threatening to waste another ten minutes of Marion’s time in the process.
“I get it. Yes. It’s wonderful. I already use it, myself. I use it quite a lot, actually,” said Higginbottom, cutting across Ray and nipping his extended monologue in the bud, successfully bringing it to a close. “So, you’re getting tablets out to folks in need of them, you mentioned earlier? iPads and such? Can you elaborate on that a bit?” asked Higginbottom, readying his pen once more.
“Aye!” confirmed Geoffrey. “We’ve got the various clubs that people can come to, either under their own steam or with our new bus. Well, if we can raise the money to keep the bus, that is. Anyway, now, as an additional outreach, with Project VIP, we’re funding computers and internet access and getting them into the homes of old folks who might benefit from it. I mean, hell, if two dopey old sods like us can get a video on YouTube and release a single on iTunes, it just shows what the internet can do for people, am I right?”
“He’s right!” Ray added, and then the two of them, as a tag-team effort now, and to Marion’s great regret, proceeded to carry on with another round of internet-centred proselytising before Marion had to expertly cut across them yet again…
“I get it, boys, believe me, I get it,” said Marion. “Now if we could…?” he suggested, pointing over to the piano and Florence.
Florence had always been the sort to sing in the shower or around the house, but singing in front of others was a different matter entirely. Now, with attention directly on her again as she began to perform, she could feel the flutter of butterflies in her stomach. But she needn’t have worried, as what Florence lacked in self-confidence she more than made up for in ability. Grandad and Ray stood on, pleased as punch, fit to burst, and grinning broadly like a couple of proud parents despite the fact that Florence was roughly the same age as they were. As for Marion’s reaction…
“Holy shit,” he said, lowering his notepad in astonishment. To say that he was gobsmacked would be an understatement.
“I know, right?” whispered Grandad, speaking softly so as not to disturb Florence’s performance.
“She’s really quite good, isn’t she?” said Marion, retrieving his jaw from the floor.
“She is, at that,” whispered Ray in happy confirmation.
It had never been in doubt, as far as Ray and Geoffrey were concerned, that Florence would knock the socks off of anyone who had the pleasure of hearing her sing, Marion Higginbottom included. Florence had a slight case of nerves, and this was evident here and there, but aside from this, her performance was absolutely faultless. The passion and emotion in her voice took the lyrics to another level, and when she was finished, Marion had to deploy the handkerchief in his pocket, Ray and Grandad couldn’t help but notice, in order to wipe away a fair bit of moisture that had collected under his eyes.
The performance, then, appeared to have been a success.
“We’ll get you a coffee before you go,” said Geoffrey, eager to curry favour and perhaps get a hint at what the critical feedback included in Marion Higginbottom’s report might be. After all, a positive write-up in the local rag couldn’t harm the chances in the slightest of their song being downloaded a further number of times and additional royalties thus raised for the charity.
“She’s bloody good,” said Marion, taking a load off his feet after being ushered downstairs to an available table with a lovely view out the front window. Not that it was much of a view at present, as the afternoon weather was of the sort only favourable to ducks, in general, but no one was really paying all too much attention to the rain at the moment anyway. “So who else have you had come in to see her?” asked Marion. “Or am I the first?”
“From the media?” replied Ray, pulling out his trusty Filofax. “Someone from the radio will be coming along shortly,” he said, glancing, once again, at a blank page. “But so far, you’re the first,” he told Higginbottom.
“Ah. Excellent,” said Marion, reaching up for the coffee that Emma handed him. “I can call this an exclusive, then, at least from a newspaper perspective.”
“Sure, sure,” said Ray, nodding along as he tucked his Filofax away.
“Sounds good,” agreed Grandad.
“Listen, I’m very impressed with what you all do down here, and what happened with the fraud was awful, of course, just terrible,” Marion went on. “And I’ve got a couple of friends on Fleet Street that might be interested in this story. After my exclusive, of course. Maybe make it go national, if you’d like?”
“Like?” said Ray. “Bloody hell, is a bear Catholic??” he asked.
“Does the pope shit in the woods??” said Grandad, supplying the follow-up rhetorical.
“Right, then,” replied Marion, taking the lid off his coffee cup and blowing over the surface of his coffee.
Geoffrey placed his sunglasses back on, despite it still pissing down and being a bit grim outside. “That’d be brilliant!” he said, just moments from humping Higginbottom’s leg like a randy Jack Russell terrier. “That could result in more sales of the song and more money in the kitty,” he told Marion, and nudging Ray under the table in excitement as he did so.
“That’s the idea, yes. I’ll see what I can do,” confirmed Marion, taking a tentative sip from his cup.
Emma took a seat at their table. “Did you like Florence?” she asked of Marion.
“Why? What did she say?” asked Marion, replying immediately. “I mean, she’s a bit older than I usually go for, and I am married, mind you…” he said, trailing off and pondering this for a brief moment. “But, I suppose, as long as she can be discreet, yes?” he proposed, in true sleazy fashion, tapping his thumb against his bulbous, spider-veined nose.
“I meant about the song,” said Emma, lest there be absolutely any confusion on the subject.
“Ah, yes, of course,” replied Marion, but the way he said this didn’t make clear that he actually understood that there’d been any misunderstanding, or that the song was really what they were talking about. “The song. Of course,” he said, giving Emma a wink. “Very good. Excellent, even,” he told her. He then took only another few quick sips of his coffee before he slid his chair back in preparation to leave. “Right. Well. I need to be on my way, but I’ll be in touch. This whole feel-good story, they’ll lap it up like milk, so I’ll need to get typing,” he said. He turned towards the door, but then suddenly spun back around, retrieving a business card from his pocket as he did so and quickly deploying it in Emma’s direction like a cowboy pulling out his revolver. “Give this to Florence,” Marion advised her, glancing over his shoulder for no discernible reason, and then adding, “And remind her to be discreet, yes?” And with that, he was gone, venturing back off into the rain.
“I think I’ve just been a little sick i
n my mouth,” remarked Emma, watching through the window the retreating figure of Marion Higginbottom and giving a little shudder. “What on earth just happened here? Did he really just…?” she asked, but she couldn’t even finish the thought out loud.
“And it’d been going so well, too, right up until the end there,” Grandad opined, shaking his head in dismay.
“He is an odious little chap, isn’t he?” said Ray.
“Not exactly little,” Grandad pointed out.
“Ah. Fair point,” Ray conceded. “But, still. Odious, yes?”
“Agreed,” said Grandad, who could find no argument there.
“You just need to get used to his sort of character when you’re in the business,” Ray offered to Emma, patting her hand reassuringly. And he said this knowingly, in a sort of worldly-wise fashion, though it remained as yet unclear what ‘business’ Ray might possibly be referring to, exactly, or believed he was currently engaged in.
“Hang on, guys. Incoming at two o’clock. I think this might be the fellow from the radio?” Grandad entered in upon noticing an immaculately dressed man in a smart navy-blue suit marching with purpose towards the front door from outside, followed close behind by a uniformed policeman.
“And another customer?” suggested Ray, in reference to the policeman.
Once entered, the blue-suited man just stood there, paused inside the threshold, as did the policeman, their eyes scanning the room. Oddly, despite the heavy rain outside, the smartly dressed man in blue did not appear to be the slightest bit wet. It was as if the fabric of his suit had some kind of high-tech water-repellent properties, or as if perhaps the rain simply dared not ruin this man’s day. “I’m looking for a Mister Geoffrey Tate?” he asked towards Emma & co, as they happened to be closest to him. “I understand we’d likely find him here?”
“That would be me, gents. Present and accounted for,” replied Grandad amiably, raising up a few fingers in acknowledgement. “What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked them. He tilted his head slightly, wondering what this was all about. “You’re not the blokes from the radio, I take it?” added Geoffrey, though he already suspected the answer, of course, what with the police officer’s uniform and all, and the two of them standing together as they were.
“I’m DCI Williams,” said the blue-suited man, presenting his identification as confirmation and verification. And this was followed directly with, “Geoffrey Tate, you’re under arrest on suspicion of money laundering and fraud. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. The necessity is prompt and effective investigation.”
The uniformed officer then stepped forward in order to place handcuffs on Grandad.
“I’m sorry… what?” said Geoffrey, still smiling amiably, and not really understanding what was happening.
“Is this a joke?” asked a panicked Jack, rushing over. “Ray, if you’re playing silly buggers because he put itching powder in your underpants last week, then now would be a good time to come clean!” implored Jack to an equally confused Ray.
But it wasn’t a Ray-inspired wind-up. “Dead serious, son, I’m afraid. No joke,” DCI Williams assured him.
“Jack, what on earth?” said a frantic Emma. “I don’t understand what’s going on. What’s going on?” she asked, but her questions were ignored as the officer readied Grandad to be moved outside to the waiting police car.
Grandad looked back without struggling as they reached the door. “It’s some sort of mistake, Emma,” he offered. “Mistaken identity, or something,” he assured her. “It’s got to be.”
“Where are you taking him?” asked Jack, pacing this way and that and uncertain what exactly he should be doing, or how he was meant to respond to all of this.
“Douglas Police Station,” came the business-like reply.
Jack moved to the front window to watch on as his grandad was plonked inside the panda car only a short distance away. He could see, to his relief, that the officers had at least removed the handcuffs from around Grandad’s wrists as they placed him in the car, apparently judging by both his age and stature that he didn’t exactly pose a flight risk, but this was only some small consolation. Emma joined Jack at the window as he watched the vehicle drive away. He stood there stunned, and she patted his arm to try and comfort him.
With Geoffrey well and truly gone, Jack collapsed into the chair Grandad had just been sitting in only moments before. Customers at the nearby tables looked on, taking slow sips of their coffee or tea. They’d clearly been nursing their beverages, making them last as long as possible, in order to observe the unfolding events. “How the hell am I going to tell my mum that he’s gone and gotten himself arrested again, somehow?” Jack said aloud, to no one in particular.
This wasn’t the first time Geoffrey had been the subject of police attention, as he’d led a full life, and with that full life including its fair share of mischief. But in Grandad’s advanced years, Jack had certainly hoped there wouldn’t have been any further recurrences.
“Ray?” said Emma. She hadn’t sat back down, and was now standing before him, arms crossed. “The two of you are thick as thieves,” she told him. “So what in heaven’s name is going on? Don’t tell me you haven’t got some clue as to what this might possibly be all about??”
To be fair to Ray, he did look white as a sheet. “Dunno, luv,” he replied with a timid shrug of his shoulders.
“RAY!” said Emma, only with greater volume and emphasis this time.
Ray held his palms up, pointed skywards. “It might be…” he began, trailing off, and then, “No. No, it can’t be that,” he said, reconsidering, and rubbing his chin now.
“What?” said Jack. “Bloody hell! Out with it, Ray!”
“Alright, alright! Okay, so you know you bought us that iPad, right?” said Ray, fessing up at this point for fear of his personal safety.
Jack took to his feet, joining Emma, and then he leaned over, placing both his hands flat on the table, palms down, proper interrogation-style. “Yes…? And…?” he pressed.
“Well, we found this website where you can download films for free,” Ray went on, lowering his head and looking slightly guilty. “Thinking back on it now, it may not have been entirely legal…?”
Jack sighed. “Yes? Go on,” he told Ray, searching for further information and elaboration.
“Right. Okay. So we watched this movie called The Lion King. Dunno if you’ve ever seen it?” Ray answered. “It’s this movie, right? And it’s about this little lion, see? And in the movie, this little lion fellow—”
“Yes, I know what the movie is about!” Jack interrupted.
“Oh. You’ve seen it?” asked Ray. “It’s a very good movie, isn’t it? Well I thought it was very good. Anyway, so in the movie—”
“I know the movie was very good! And I don’t need a recap of the plot! The point, Ray! The point!” shouted Jack.
“But I thought you just said you didn’t want a recap?” asked Ray, thoroughly confused, as Jack didn’t seem to know what he wanted. Typical Jack.
“I think he rather means the point of what you’re saying, dear,” Emma entered in, explaining gently.
“Ah. Well,” replied Ray. “Well the point is, we didn’t exactly pay for this lovely movie, did we? And I told him at the time he shouldn’t have done it, no matter how good the movie was,” he went on. “And it was good, mind you. But Geoffrey did get the movie to play without paying for it… and it was all his idea, I just want to make that clear… but he did get the movie to play without paying for it, and I did mention to him at the time that I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea, though the movie was perfectly lovely, of course. But, anyway, I certainly didn’t think it would come to this, did I?” said Ray. “No. No, I didn’t. Not at all. But there you have it,” he concluded.
“Are you finished?” replied an incredulous Jack. “Th
at’s it?” he asked, clenching his fist. “That’s it, Ray?” he said again. “That’s seriously the end of the story? Seriously?” he added, almost ready to pound the table, but then remembering there were customers present.
“Yes, that’s it,” answered Ray, offering another shrug, and not really understanding why Jack was getting so cross with him.
“Is he taking the piss?” Jack said to Emma in disbelief.
“I don’t think he’s taking the piss, Jack,” said Emma, calmly and gently, trying to get Jack to relax and lower it down a peg.
“Ray, you don’t get charged with money laundering and fraud for downloading a hooky copy of the bloody Lion King,” Jack explained to Ray in exasperation. “Right. I’m going to the police station, Emma. See if I can’t find out what’s going on,” he told her.
“Should I inform your mum?” Emma asked. “About what’s happened?”
Jack shook his head in the negative. “No, let’s see if we can get a handle on what’s going on first. If it’s mistaken identity, then we’ll be worrying her for nothing,” he said, throwing his jacket on. Jack cast a glare in Ray’s direction. “You can’t be blameless in all this, I just know it,” he said to Ray accusingly, but then let out a long sigh to show he wasn’t entirely serious. “I’ll be back soon, Emma,” he said. “Keep an eye on Scar here, will you? The bloody Lion King, indeed.”
The Lonely Heart Attack Club - Project VIP Page 17