by J C Williams
Jack smiled. “I can’t take the credit, Kelvin. I was a bit like you when it first came up. No, it was a friend, a very special friend, who first pitched it to me. She’s wonderful, and you’ll meet her tomorrow!”
“I’m looking forward to it,” said Kelvin. “Jack, I want you to do me a favour, if you don’t mind? The five hundred pounds you were paying me to come over? I want you to keep it and put it towards the fundraising, please.”
“My goodness, that’s a wonderful gesture,” said Jack. “Really very kind of you!”
As Jack reached out to shake Kelvin’s hand in gratitude, however, the moment was disturbed by a fellow, clearly intoxicated. “I wouldn’t touch his hand!” the man shouted.
Kelvin smiled at first, assuming it was either a workman or a friend of Jack’s.
“You’ll catch something for sure if you touch him! He’s a deviant!” continued the man, whose voice was becoming louder. He jumped onto a wall, and now looked down on them in the sunken garden.
“You don’t know him, do you?” asked Jack of Kelvin.
“Not me, no, I don’t think so. But it’s hard to see from here,” replied Kelvin. “Just some random douche nozzle, I expect.”
Jack stood on his tiptoes. “Excuse me, mate, but why don’t you kindly eff off!” he called up to rude fellow.
The drunken man continued to hurl obscenities and make lewd gestures, all directed towards Kelvin. “Woof, woof!” he shouted, at the top of the voice.
A few of the workmen building the frame now stood beside Jack. “Want me to go and punch that twat’s lights out, you just let me know, yeah?” offered one skinhead joiner who looked rather menacing.
The man on the wall then stumbled slightly, and for a moment it looked like he may fall the ten-foot-or-so drop into the gardens. Kelvin tensed up, perfectly willing to help and to leap into action, regardless of the abuse he’d just received. But the man quickly managed to right himself, eliminating the need for any intervention on Kelvin’s part, and Kelvin then largely relaxed again. “I was more worried about the flowers he’d land on, actually, to be quite honest,” Kelvin explained to Jack out of the side of his mouth, to which Jack chuckled.
It slowly dawned on Kelvin, though, recognition setting in, and Kelvin shook his head. “Wait, I know exactly who that dirtbag is,” he announced. “That would be one Terry Trimble. Terry is what is known as the gutter press, and is also, not coincidentally, the idiot that published the stories about me in the first place.”
Kelvin wasn’t a fighter, but he was a big, broad man from working in the garden for so many years. Jack placed his hand across to restrain him, and he could feel Kelvin’s heart smashing against his chest.
“He’s not worth it,” said Jack. “He’s probably got a stooge somewhere, filming all this. What a scoop for him, getting hit by you. It’s probably just what he wants.”
The brute of a joiner, meanwhile, had skirted around and walked up behind Terry unnoticed. In an instant, he grabbed Terry by his belt and yanked him off the wall. “You better take a hike, mate, before I throw you into the sea!”
Terry may have been deplorable, but he wasn’t stupid here. This guy was twice the size he was, so Terry made a hasty retreat, back to whatever rock he’d crawled out from under, shouting obscenities as he went.
Kelvin looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that. Just when you think you can escape, idiots like that come out of the woodwork.”
“He’s adorable, isn’t he?” remarked Jack wryly.
“Yes, a real charmer. Look, I’m sorry for the distraction, you guys clearly have a lot on. I’ll see you in the morning?”
Kelvin felt somewhat deflated after the encounter with Terry. He nursed a nightcap in the hotel and a part of him was tempted to get a plane home and go again. He’d made an effort to resurrect his career, but at what cost? He’d been kicked and humiliated for months. Was it time for him to disappear back into the shadows?
.
Chapter Twelve
E mma had been awake since dawn. She’d scrutinised the forecast for days, but it was only when she opened the curtains to see glorious blue sky, that she could truly relax. So much preparation and time had been invested in today; it would have been heartbreaking if the weather had scuppered the plans.
She arrived early, surprised to find Jack already pacing the promenade like an expectant father outside the maternity ward. It would normally be desolate at this time on a Saturday morning, apart from the occasional dog walker or repentant reveller, taking the ‘walk of shame’ home. Jack read from a piece of A4 paper, mouthing the words, struggling to consign his speech to memory. From a distance, one would be forgiven for thinking he was somewhat of a lunatic, talking to himself.
“Morning, handsome!” she shouted, snapping him out of his trance. His eyes lit up and he marched over.
“This is it,” he said, proudly. “I can’t believe it’s here and nothing has gone tits-up yet.”
“Kiss of death, Jack! Here, I got you this!” she said, handing him a white carrier bag. He pulled out a bright pink t-shirt with a huge bunch of flowers on the front. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. “Turn it over!” she insisted.
“The Bloomin’ Wall record attempt,” he said aloud, with a laboured enthusiasm.
She beamed. “I thought it sounded like—”
“Yes, the Berlin Wall… Love it!” said Jack, offering a high-five. “I see what you did there!”
“I’ve got one for all the Silver Sprinters who’re helping out as well!” Emma was normally fairly excitable, but today she was like a kid on Christmas morning; she was bounding around like Tigger after he’d been eating sweets, and her enthusiasm was infectious.
The joiners had done a wonderful job on the wall, which was prepped and ready to receive its floral covering. On the main promenade, two men fired up their generators and two huge inflatable bouncy castles erupted skyward, to which Jack’s eyes lit up immediately.
“If you’re a good boy, you can have a go later,” said Emma.
Jack chose to ignore the obvious double entendre, as he wasn’t sure if he was at that stage in their relationship. “I met Kelvin last night. He popped by, after his flight got in,” he said instead.
“Nice guy?” asked Emma.
“Yes, really decent bloke. It’s funny. You read about someone in the paper, and you think you know them. You also think, because they’re a celebrity, that they must be somehow impervious to criticism.”
“Nice word!” said Emma.
Jack nodded proudly. “Thanks. Yeah, so, he was a nice guy. I actually felt a little sorry for him, and this dickhead gave him a bit of grief, which was out of order. He also said he didn’t want the five hundred pounds and asked if we’d put it into the fundraising.”
“That’s wonderful. How nice is that!”
“I was thinking of putting it towards my new Vespa,” said Jack, who, judging by Emma’s expression, felt he must clarify he was joking.
Whilst the day was totally about raising money and awareness, Jack wasn’t stupid. There would be potentially hundreds of people milling around — potential customers! He’d hired a van for the day which had a fully equipped barista station in the rear. He’d thought about buying one for years, but didn’t know if there was any money in it. The person renting it to him knew he had a captive audience for the day, so was a little more aggressive on his pricing, but as Jack figured, it would be a great way to test the water. Emma was the quickest on the machines, and offered to man the stall, leaving Jack to coordinate everything else. Even though it was only 7:45 a.m., there were people forming a queue for their morning coffee, already.
Even though it was only a short distance from the hotel, Una insisted they take a taxi, and James, the cheery driver was happy to oblige. Kelvin looked impressive in his gardening gear, which was from a clothing range he’d had a degree of success with. Once again, Una made sense because the arrival of the chauffeur driven car pulling
up gave the impression of success. Kelvin was a little bashful climbing out of the car, and gave a friendly wave to a couple of early-birds who’d come along for a closer look. Una placed a firm hand on his arm, shifting him from view, behind a parked van. Once again she looked impeccable, but had lost her casual attire for the more customary, stylish suit.
“There’s no need to tell you how important today is for your career. Kelvin, I’m hard on you — I know that — but I want to let you know that I admire what you do. You’re an artist.”
Kelvin was sceptical. He felt like a child who was being given a lollipop, just as a needle was being thrust into their arm.
Una looked over her shoulder, as if checking there was no witness to her words of praise.
“When I walked up to your house, I didn’t know what to expect. You can tell a man by the condition of his shoes — well, not yours, as they’re covered in mud — but, in your case, the standard of the garden. I was genuinely lost for words. Stunning. I’ve never told you this but I’ve always enjoyed gardening, and before I was your agent I never missed your shows. It wasn’t a coincidence that we met. I engineered it, because I knew you were something special. I wanted to work with you. I’ve already told you, if you were a loser, I wouldn’t have anything to do with you. I’m here because you are the best at what you do and if you’re sensible, we can get your career back on track. It all starts here. You’ll do a small briefing to the local press, and as you know, I’ve had a couple of the mainstream press come over. There are a couple of film crews here as well. Take a breath before you speak, and you’ll be fine.”
Una took a step back and checked him over. “You look good.”
Kelvin was a little taken aback about the unexpected kindness. It meant more, because he wasn’t used to hearing it from her. He also knew she wouldn’t bother with pleasantries if they weren’t heartfelt. He felt uplifted.
Kelvin’s appearance brought a sense of relief to Jack who hadn’t slept much, worried that Kelvin may not turn up again as a result of the abuse he’d been subjected to the night before.
Jack motioned him over to the stage in front of the wooden wall.
“Morning, Jack. I love the shirt!” said Kelvin.
Jack smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve made sure you’re going home with one as a souvenir of your visit!”
The temporary stage was two large cases of milk cartons requisitioned from Emma’s supplies. She looked on with pride, as Jack took to the stage and raised his hand to attract the attention of those milling about, nursing their coffees. There were seven journalists, who were a mix of local and those from the UK media. Two TV cameras were focussed on him, but were not yet manned; they were saving their coverage for Kelvin. Jack looked towards Shelby, who stood with her impressive microphone pointed in his direction.
“Good luck!” she mouthed, raising her thumb in support.
Emma was bursting with pride; Jack looked like an important statesman, with the world’s press hanging on his every word.
He puffed his chest out, and as he prepared to deliver his speech, three men in high-viz jackets moved towards the wooden wall. Jack assumed they were policemen, until one of the men identified himself as being from the council.
“Are you in charge?” the man asked Jack. “You haven’t got a permit for this lot? We’ve told you twice, but you’ve just ignored us. You need to get rid of it!”
Jack was ashen, unable to string two words together as he climbed down from his temporary stage.
“Guys,” he said, placing a friendly arm around the lead man. “I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding?”
“No… there hasn’t. Have you got a permit to be here? Yes or no?” he stressed.
There were a few mumblings from the collective audience who were unsure what the issue was, and Jack’s charm offensive was clearly faltering.
The men were beginning to lose patience. “You need to get rid of this, or we do,” Jack insisted.
“C’mon, guys… I mean… blimey…” he said, his voice now bordering on the pathetic.
Una marched towards the stage, all but knocking Jack from it. It was remarkable; as soon as she presented herself, people stopped talking. It was like the teacher walking in on a class of rowdy schoolchildren. Jack hadn’t met her and could only assume she was with Kelvin; whatever she was about to say, she was his last hope.
“Welcome,” she announced, in a confident and friendly tone. “Firstly, thank you for coming to the beautiful Isle of Man. Today is not only about having a fun day and hopefully getting us all into the record books. Today is also about raising a lot of money for a very worthwhile charity.”
The council workers were baffled, wondering if she’d heard what they’d actually said.
Una spoke slowly and deliberately, like a seasoned politician. “We all have elderly and vulnerable family members and friends, some who have been or will face being scammed or victimised. With the help of you, the media, we can hopefully get the message out to a wider audience. We can make a difference.”
The council workers moved forward once again, and Una pointed directly at them. “Today is about community spirit, and I’d like to offer our collective gratitude to these wonderful men from Douglas Council.”
The men stopped and exchanged confused glances.
Una pointed at them and started clapping. “Civil servants come under a lot of criticism at times, but these wonderful, kind men have given up their Saturday to come and help this charity event. A charity event which will raise thousands of pounds for the vulnerable here in the local community — many of whom these men will personally know — and help countless numbers of people across our country. When the schools of the Island, and the elderly, on a rare day out, come to visit us and place flowers on this… this, Wall of Hope, it is down to the efforts of people like these fine gentlemen. I want you to take a moment to recognise them and thank them for helping make this charity event happen.”
With that, the cameras turned to them, and a collective round of applause was offered in their direction.
The confused glances continued, but the man who appeared to be the foreman rolled his eyes and began to graciously accept the attention.
Una calmly moved to one side, allowing Jack to reclaim his throne. He was dazed and confused, and continued where she’d left off.
“Okay, yes, I’d like to echo those comments. Wonderful people,” he said. “We’ve got a very special guest here to help us, and to cut the ribbon, as it were. He’s one of the country’s best-loved gardeners. Mr Kelvin Reed!”
Kelvin was nervous; after all, it was the press that had destroyed his career and here he was, once again at their mercy. He was ultimately a performer and the cameras and press didn’t faze him, but rather the perception of those watching. After all, the press were merely a portal into people’s homes and lives.
“Thanks, Una and Jack, for a lovely introduction. As Una mentioned, today is mainly about raising the profile of this wonderful world-record attempt and thereby showcasing the dangers and—”
“Pervert!” screamed a voice at the rear of the scrum.
Kelvin persisted admirably, but as the shouting continued the press began to lose him and look for the source.
Una marched towards the man and gripped him by the arm. “Trimble, isn’t it?” she said, ushering him away from the rest of the press. “I’d recognise those rodent-like features and small hands anywhere,” she went on. “I’d heard you might be coming over. You really are deplorable. Look, I’ll keep this short and sweet. You either take a walk, or I’ll phone my office and ask them to go into my safe. In that safe there are pictures of your father — Justice of the Peace, isn’t he? — getting serviced by a prostitute of questionable gender. You were off my radar last time. I’ll make sure you aren’t this time.”
Terry went to speak, but the smell of stale tobacco and whisky caused Una to retreat. He started to laugh. “I don’t care about that old sod. In fact, if yo
u give me the pictures, I’ll print them myself.”
He moved towards Kelvin, and motioned for him to come closer. Kelvin was hesitant, but eventually climbed down. Never had Kelvin wanted to strike another human being as much as he did right then. Even the collective press were disgusted when they realised who it was. Terry was abhorrent, especially to those in the press who were trying to steer the industry through a challenging period; Terry was old school, and not what they wanted as representative of the industry.
“Kelvin,” Terry whispered. “You know those witnesses who destroyed your career? Guess what… I paid them all. I’ve been tapping your phone for years. How did you think I knew where you were? And guess what else… I also know your little secret!”
Kelvin was a broken man. He looked down at his feet and began to shake with rage. Even the hardened members of the press were sympathetic. He took a step back and as if in slow motion, Terry Trimble closed his eyes in sweet anticipation of the impending punch.
Trimble felt a searing pain, but not from his face. His legs buckled forward, and he collapsed in front of Kelvin. Jack hovered over him and casually discarded the brush handle used to inflict the blow.
Terry cowered on the ground. “He just assaulted me, and it’s all on camera!”
One of the press gave a look towards the cameramen. “We didn’t have them turned on, Terry. Awfully sorry! I think the microphone was turned on, however, and we’ve got your little admission about phone tapping. I don’t know how you didn’t get picked up last time, but we’ll be sure that the tape is heard by the correct ears.”
Kelvin resisted the urge to kick the pitiful creature huddled next to him. He stood in thought for a moment. “This is ridiculous. It has to stop. Now.”
He approached the members of the press. “Look, this piece of shit has destroyed my life. There’s something I need to tell you, something that he evidently is aware of. That night when he ran the story about me ‘dogging’ is a load of rubbish. I didn’t even know what that meant. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but people believe what they read. I had no chance once the avalanche had started.”