The Lonely Heart Attack Club - Project VIP

by J. C. Williams

“That a bastard like that would end up saving the day?” asked Geoffrey.

  “Aye,” replied Ray.

  “Oh, that must be his wife,” offered Emma, as she saw Marion re-join his lady companion. “She’s pretty,” she added, with a bit of surprise evident in her voice she’d not been able to hide.

  “Either that, or it could be Barry Cox’s soon-to-be ex-wife,” Jack considered aloud.

  “What? But isn’t he married?” asked Emma.

  “Yes,” said Jack.

  “But why would he…?” asked Emma.

  “Don’t ask,” advised Jack.

  But then Emma remembered Marion’s weird comments about Florence that day back at the coffee shop, and she just shook her head.

  Jack scooped Lucas up from his mum, who then joined Ray, and Jack offered up his free hand to Emma. “I’d like the honour of having this dance, if you’d be so kind?” he said, chuffed to bits. “And, Grandad, you’ve not got a partner, so you can come and dance with me, Emma, and Lucas if you like, and I’m expecting high standards what with that smashing new jacket you’re wearing!”

  “You look splendid, Grandad, just like Frank Sinatra,” Emma offered admiringly.

  “Frank Spencer, more like,” suggested Jack. “Anyway, let’s get this party started, you lot, and Grandad, you can show us your best moves!”

  And soon...

  Such was his panicked state earlier that Jack hadn’t really taken in the full scale of the crowd that’d gathered for the event. He lifted Lucas up onto his shoulders so the wee one could get a better view, holding him up there with one hand while Jack held onto Emma with the other. Whilst it was likely that Lucas wouldn’t remember any of it, Jack could always tell him when he was older about the time he got to break a world record with his great-grandad. But, for now, Lucas was simply in his element, enjoying the moment in both seeing all the crazy people dancing around and also enjoying slapping the top of Geoffrey’s head whenever his great-grandad should draw near.

  The drone, overhead, continued to flutter about above the crowd, going this way and that, and casting its livestream images up onto the large screen. It was rather like looking down on a bowl of M&M’s with the sheer number of heads below it. The camera operators zoomed in on the gang in wheelchairs further up the promenade, who’d afforded themselves a little more room to manoeuvre but were no less enthusiastic participants, and they looked bloody marvellous.

  “I can see Julie,” said Jack, looking up to the screen. “Emma, there she is, look.”

  “I see her, Jack,” replied Emma. But the truth of it was, she was looking more at Jack right then, and seeing the look of pure joy on his face.

  “Aww,” continued Jack, biting his bottom lip to stop it from quivering quite so much, “There’s Emilia that I was telling you about. The girl who I met with Julie and who couldn’t wait for today. Remember I told you?”

  “I remember,” Emma assured him.

  The camera held its shot as Emilia looked up, wearing the prettiest and most sparkly of pink dresses Jack was certain he’d ever seen. “She looks lovely,” he remarked fondly. “Emma, that’s Emilia,” he said. “Doesn’t she look lovely?” And with that, Jack waved at the screen, even though of course it was only an image of Emilia and not Emilia herself.

  Emma placed her hand on Jack’s cheek, pulling his chin back over in her direction so she could plant a kiss on his lips, which she then did.

  “Hey? What’s this, then? What was that for?” Jack asked her, quickly adding, “Though not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

  “You’re a wonderful, wonderful man, Jack Tate,” Emma told him.

  “Oh I am, am I?” replied Jack, not exactly arguing.

  “I think what you’ve done, all of this, is… well…” she said, searching for the right words… “awe-inspiring,” she concluded, settling on this description. “And Lucas and I are exceptionally proud of you. We love you very much,” she thought it relevant to add.

  “Is that right,” said Jack in response, turning his head and looking up to Lucas. “Is he? And does he, now? Is that so?”

  “Gah!” agreed Lucas.

  And, as if in answer, “Are we enjoying ourselves, everyone?” asked Ramon, popping back up to the stage to keep the energy level high. “I want to tell you, we have today a special treat!” he went on. “That is right, a very special guest is with us today to provide a unique accompaniment for you, for what is surely to be a world record for your Isle of Man. Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, stepping to one side and holding out his arm to introduce the promised guest. “A very lovely lady to sing to all of you a very beautiful song! Ladies and gentlemen, I give for you… Florence!”

  A spotlight shone on Florence, following her as she walked to the piano that had been brought out and set up in the middle of the stage just for her. She settled herself down onto her awaiting seat, and then looked out into the crowd, taking several deep breaths as she gathered up her resolve, nervous as she was and this being quite the crowd to say the least. But when she caught a glimpse of Jack, Emma, Geoffrey, and Ray, a look of serenity came over her and she smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said, silently mouthing the words directly to them, and placing her hand against her chest.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much,” Florence said into the microphone, out loud this time, addressing the audience as a whole once the generous applause had eventually died down. She’d gotten an enthusiastic welcome, as most in attendance knew who she was and what they were about to hear. Her song, which had been her way of conveying what friendship meant to her, must have struck a chord and really resonated with people judging by its overwhelming current popularity. It was a heartfelt journey portrayed in song of one woman who had nothing to live for and then finding, through friendship, a reason to go on. People were now familiar with the song from the radio, and as she struck the first piano key, thousands of people pulled their partners in close in anticipation and appreciation, thinking how lucky they were to have their own treasured people in their lives, people who they cared for and who cared for them.

  Jack and Emma held each other tight, with Grandad cuddling in close as well, and with a particularly excitable Lucas thrown into the mix, loving every moment. Jack smiled at Emma, and they both knew that this was one of those occasions they would always look back on fondly. Soon, Ray waltzed past with Jack’s mum, and then Sam the Postman did as well, with the two Bingo Girls hanging from each of his herculean arms and with both girls looking like the cat that got the cream. “What a day!” said Pete, twirling Kelvin in time with the music, as they made their way past also. “Well done!” he said. “Bloody well done!”

  It was perfection, and Jack couldn’t have dreamt that today would turn out as well as it had. He smiled at Kelvin as he and Pete came ’round on their next rotation. “Thank you for everything!” Jack told him, as it was Kelvin who’d arranged for Ramon to be there, pretty much sorted the PR out for Florence’s song, and was just an overall wonderful human being.

  Kelvin offered a cordial wink. “You did all this, Jack!” he said. “This was all you! I’m just delighted that I could, in some small way, play my part!”

  Jack gave Grandad an extra firm squeeze as he returned his attention to his own immediate group. “Promise me something?” he asked Grandad.

  “What’s that?” asked Geoffrey, fully expecting his turn at receiving some kind words cast in his direction.

  “Never let Ray eat rogan josh again!”

  .

  Chapter Fourteen

  Three weeks later…

  T he Lonely Heart Attack Club had played host to some remarkable events in its relatively short existence. It’d witnessed tears of laughter and of sadness, memories made and friendships forged, and sadly, also friends departed. New experiences had been sampled, with activities ranging from cooking classes, clay modelling, origami, still life drawing, and even juggling, to name a few. The club members may have been a bit long in the tooth, with wrinkles where once
there were none, but these were a special breed, these old folks. Jack recalled a time in his life, not too terribly long ago if he was being honest with himself, where old folk were somewhat of an imposition. This was one of his biggest regrets. In fact, in his business, for years Jack had pandered to the young, upcoming business types who’d surely, he thought, be his ticket to success on account of their penchant for overpriced, frothy coffee concoctions with multiple ingredients and complicated names. As soon as the bigger, rather more pretentious coffee chains appeared on the high street, however, all of these types of customers promptly buggered off, leaving Jack worried he’d be facing a trip to the jobcentre. But it was the old folk who stuck around, and it was by embracing the oldies that Jack and Emma kept their business afloat. This lot, Jack found, were loyal, kind, endearing, and most of them were off their bloody rockers, mad as a box of frogs, and just a complete joy to be around. Yes, there was the occasional miserable so-and-so, but even then, you just didn’t know what that person had been through in life, and with those types Jack and the gang went even further to be inclusive.

  Amongst the club’s many goals, the welfare of the gang, in general, was Jack’s primary concern. One particular point of interest, specifically, that Jack made his mission was to educate the club’s members about scams and how to avoid them. Old folks were often the targets of these types of cons, and once Jack became aware that this was such an ever-present issue, he was determined to fight against it. Not on my watch, he decided. And by educating the gang to protect themselves, the club members could then also speak to their friends and cast the educational net further into the community.

  The problem of social isolation was also very much on Jack’s radar for the coming year, and it wasn’t lost on him how life could easily have been very different for his own grandad if Geoffrey’s friendship circle wasn’t what it was. Grandad was such a pivotal influence on those around him, and visualising him being stuck in a darkened room with only a TV for company, and not having the support of friends and family that he enjoyed, is one of the things that provided Jack with additional motivation, if any were needed, as to the welfare of not only Grandad but the others as well.

  The year had been one of the most challenging that Jack had known. For a brief spell, he honestly thought they’d lost it all, he, his family, and the extended family that was the club. They very nearly did. And they weren’t out of the woods just yet, thanks in the main to the antics of one Barry Cox (or Big Cock Head, as the Bingo Girls had christened him). Or, rather, Cox was the reason they were in the woods to begin with. But fortunately that situation was gradually sorting itself out, and as for Barry Cox himself there was even talk of getting t-shirts printed for the club so they could attend, en masse, his court appearance, smiling on from the public gallery to wish him bon voyage as he was inevitably led away to serve what was hoped to be a long, long prison term. Jack didn’t, however, want to look backwards as that would only serve to make them bitter when he knew they were better than that. They all had too much positive work to do. Hell, there was even talk recently, after several glasses of fizzy stuff, about reclaiming the flower wall record from those little bastards who’d stolen it away from them, as Jack liked to jokingly refer to the young ones in question (though, secretly, he wasn’t really joking).

  As for his business, it was sailing along at a steady clip. And Jack found it rather ironic, in fact, that the business types who’d abandoned ship a few years earlier were now returning, eager to have a coffee in a venue with a bit of atmosphere. No matter how shit a day you were having at work, it would seem, ten minutes or so sat in Java the Hutt was all it took and you’d be guaranteed that one of the club members would sidle up — invited or not! — to put a huge grin on your face with some amusing anecdote or other related, or some inimitable pearl of wisdom shared. Yup, the old buggers were something special, and Jack Tate would not be without them. Nossir.

  And presently…

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” announced the mayor of Douglas who was, right now, a firm advocate and honorary member of the club. “I’m thrilled, honoured, and delighted to have been brought back here!” he said, waving his hand around the club gathering above the Douglas coffee shop. It was a rather cosy venue, and especially so on this fine day given the number of people squeezed in.

  The attendees clapped politely, welcoming Mayor Brian. They didn’t clap overly long, however. They were anxious to allow the mayor to get on with the presentation, as it was their understanding that there would be cake afterwards.

  The mayor pointed at the red velvet curtain on a portion of the wall behind him, shaking his head in a sort of playful disbelief. “You know, when I heard about all of this, I thought you were all a little bit, well, crazy, to be truthful. Silly me!” he said. “Because, had I known of the firm resolve that all of you wonderful people possess, then the result would never have been in doubt!”

  This comment generated another polite round of applause, and then there was a murmuring amongst the crowd, which the mayor naturally took as a sign of appreciation in response to his fine oratory skills, although it was for the most part just the folks in attendance wondering to their seated neighbours what kind of cake there was to be had later on.

  “May I?” asked the mayor, looking over to Jack, stood on the opposite side of the curtain. And with approval happily granted, the mayor took a firm grip on the golden cord running down the side of the curtain, revealing what was behind it. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my considerable privilege to unveil this plaque confirming that the Isle of Man is, once again, a world record holder!” announced the mayor. “With a grand total of one thousand eight hundred and fifteen participating couples simultaneously completing a waltz, I’m delighted to confirm that you’re all record-breakers!”

  The mayor paused at this point, and there was a smattering of tentative clapping here and there, but with most of the folks currently holding off, as the mayor had a distracted look on his face and seemed to be expecting something to perhaps happen that was at present not happening.

  “I said, I’m delighted to confirm that you’re all record-breakers,” the mayor reiterated, looking off to the side. And it was then that Grandad and Ray realised, finally, that this was their cue, and eventually managed to release a fanfare of party poppers popping as required. It was a rather benevolent crowd who still offered the appropriate whoop, belated as it may have been, and sparing Jack from having to throw his microphone in Grandad and Ray’s direction.

  Jack allowed the applause to die down, but only after he’d basked in its glow for as long as he could, soaking up the positive vibes. “Thank you, Mr Mayor,” said Jack, picking up where Mayor Brian had graciously left off. “Right, then! Record-breakers!” he said, looking out to the sea of faces, attempting to whip up the crowd. But they’d already moved on, and sadly for Jack he received only the sound of a few throats being cleared and one person blowing their nose with a handkerchief in response.

  “Annnywaaay,” Jack continued on, undaunted. “If beating the world record weren’t good enough news in itself, a small army of volunteers were out in the community this week, handing out the tablet computers the charity has purchased. These are now in the hands of people that will benefit greatly from all of the advantages that the internet has to offer.”

  “Like tits!” shouted a voice from the rear. Jack couldn’t see who it was, but wondered if the spotty youth from the bus’s ribbon-cutting ceremony hadn’t somehow managed to make his way in. But it wasn’t the voice of a youngster, so Jack’s initial scowl softened into the hint of a smile. Because that was, he had to admit, definitely one of the keener benefits the internet had to provide.

  “No,” Jack noted, “believe it or not, there are other uses for the internet besides, you know…” he said, cupping his hands under his chest for illustrative effect, though a stern look from Emma made it very clear that he should get the hell on with things. “So,” said Jack, abandoning the topic of tit
s and moving right the hell on as indicated, “over one hundred Project VIP homes in the Isle of Man now have access to the internet. With the help of other charities on the Island, they’ll also receive instruction on how to be able to access and make the most of services online, such as navigating social media platforms, for instance, in order to keep in contact with friends and family. It’s truly a wonderful effort, and one that we’re going to continue with in addition to our other projects.”

  Jack received a polite round of applause this time, at the end of which he made particular mention regarding a pair of the club’s greatest benefactors…

  “Of special note, a very, very warm thank you to two of our club’s dearest friends, Kelvin and Pete, for their generous purchase of our new bus, which we were in imminent danger of losing before they so kindly stepped in and saved the day!” And at this, Jack raised a glass in honour of them.

  This produced a round of “hear, hear!” from the crowd in fond appreciation. The mayor, for his part, brightened up, as he had no function to perform at this point and thought a spot of wine would do rather nicely. He appeared somewhat crestfallen when he realised the toast was merely symbolic, and Jack’s glass imaginary, and that there was no actual wine to be had.

  “Also, I’m pleased to share that the charity committee are now also satisfied there was no financial wrongdoing on our part,” Jack carried on, “and have thus unfrozen our bank account, releasing any money generated from the world record event. So this will be of enormous help to us, though we’ve still got a long way to go to get back to where we were, what with the thieving bas–”

  But Jack was cut short as a result of a pointed, strategically timed cough from Emma.

  “Ehm, he who shall never be mentioned, let’s just say,” said Jack, correcting himself before he could utter the word bastard as originally intended. “And with you all pushing us forward, we’re going to go on to bigger and better things and help even more people!” he added, and then, pausing expectantly.