Chasing Victory: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  Glancing up at the sign, he noted the pub’s name – O’Neill’s – he would need to tell the Admiral where he was when his old friend finally called. Then he hurried into the welcoming warmth just as it began to rain.

  ~*~

  ‘I just canna stand it any longer Charlie. They’re treating me like a bloody invalid. I’ve got to get out of here before I turn into a cabbage.’

  ‘Thing is Scotty, they’re only doing it for your own good.’ The Admiral’s response was lame at best and drew a derisory snort from the figure on the bed.

  They’d been waiting for over an hour for the consultant to do his rounds and Hugo was becoming increasingly irate at the thought of spending another day in the small cupboard that passed as a private hospital room. The Admiral decided it was time to play his ace in the hole.

  ‘Scotty, you don’t need to fret any longer. You won’t be stopping in this mausoleum for another night. I was keeping this as a surprise, but I can’t sit and watch you hauling on a fouled anchor for another second.’ He beamed at his bewildered friend before delivering the punch line. ‘Me and Jimmy are going to take care of you. We’re going to stay at the Tower until you get back on your feet. Now I’m sure when the doctor realizes how well you’ll be looked after, he’ll let you out straight away.’

  Hugo stared at his prospective nurse with something approaching horror. He appeared completely lost for words. It certainly wasn’t the response the Admiral had expected, and to be honest he felt a little miffed.

  ‘Well, we might be a bit rusty on the old bed pan etiquette Scotty, but I must confess I was expecting a bit more bloody gratitude than you’re showing at the moment.’

  Hugo visibly gathered himself together and made a concerted effort to look grateful. ‘I’m sorry Charlie, I know you want to help but the truth is… well, you know the Invincible reunion down in Pompey on Friday…?’ The Admiral frowned and butted in, ‘Load of bollocking old wind bags getting together to talk about the good old days? Of course I know about it. You wouldn’t catch me within a hundred miles of a bloody cake and arse party like that. Wouldn’t have thought it’d be your cup o’ tea either Scotty.’

  Hugo coughed and looked sheepish. ‘Well, the thing is Charlie...’ He paused, causing the Admiral to narrow his eyes in suspicion, before continuing in a rush, ‘The thing is, I’ve arranged to meet Alice Winterbottom, you know that wren I went out with while we were at Collingwood?’

  There was a short silence while the Admiral assimilated this startling piece of news. Finally he gave a bark of laughter and shook his head. ‘Old Chilly Arse – how could I forget her? Bloody hell Scotty, you dark horse, I didn’t think you had it in you.’

  Hugo shook his head sadly before saying gloomily, ‘If he finds out about it, there’s no way Jason’ll let me go. He’ll have me tucked up in bed with a cup of hot chocolate for the rest of my bloody natural if he has his way.’

  There was another silence while both men contemplated the horrors of getting old and subject to the whims of well meaning offspring. Then suddenly the Admiral jumped up and hurried to the open door. Hugo watched in bewilderment as his friend stuck his head through the opening, looked up and down the passageway outside, before closing the door, locking it quickly and turning back to Hugo.

  ‘Right Scotty, get your stuff together, we’re breaking you out. There’s no way you’re going to miss the opportunity to have a last bonk before you pop your clogs…’

  ~*~

  ‘What the hell does he mean, a bit of stuff stashed away? Do you think Jason’s having an affair?’

  ‘I’d hardly think he’s had the time,’ is Tory’s matter of fact response, ‘My father’s no doubt got his wires crossed – let’s be honest, it wouldn’t be the first time. If I were you, I’d pay absolutely no attention whatsoever.’

  I frown, trying to remember if Jason had mentioned anyone new in our last conversation.

  ‘I thought you had a meeting at ten?’ Tory’s question cuts into my reverie, and glancing down at my watch, I mouth, ‘Shit,’ before jumping up to grab my things and running for the front door. I have fifteen minutes to get to my appointment on the other side of the river. ‘I’ll call you as soon as I get home,’ I shout at the same time as trying to find my prospective client’s address on my phone and locate my car keys…

  In the end it takes me over twenty minutes to get to my appointment, and as I park up, all thoughts of possible cheating partners go right out of my head as I walk up the path to the front door – mainly because I’m too busy staring at a large coffin sitting in the front garden with its lid propped at a jaunty angle next to it. I stop dead (pardon the pun), then, heart thumping, I tiptoe towards the tomb wondering what the bloody hell I’m going to do if there’s someone in it…

  …There isn’t. In fact it appears to be filled with newly planted petunias and there’s a small brass plaque placed strategically on the open lid with the words, Donna and Norman live here.

  With more than a little trepidation, I ring the door bell. After a couple of minutes, a small, slightly rotund, blond woman answers the door. I stare mutely at her for a couple of seconds, taking in the head to toe black, complete with pure white pancake makeup covering her face and chest, finished off with beautifully painted blood red lips.

  ‘Err…Donna?’ I say faintly, pulling myself together with effort. She nods her head sorrowfully, and getting back into my stride, I show her my card, and apologize profusely for being late. At which point she promptly bursts into tears…

  I open my mouth before realizing I have no idea what to say. Still sobbing quietly, she ushers me into a small sitting room and goes off to make us both a cup of tea. I sit frozen for a few seconds and I’m ashamed to admit I actually think about legging it while she’s otherwise occupied.

  Fortunately the room seems almost incongruously normal with its flowery chintz curtains and magnolia wallpaper, and of course, at the end of the day, I don’t want to be responsible for adding to her woes. So I reluctantly abandon the idea of making a run for it and instead pull my portfolio out for her to have a look at. Hopefully once she’s seen what I’m capable of, she’ll buck up (obviously I won’t be showing her the chocolate penises…)

  After about ten minutes by which time I’m beginning to get seriously worried, she finally reappears with the tea. Although she’s stopped crying, her face is blotchy and the red lipstick has migrated down her chin and just under her nose, making her look like a mad clown. Fighting the urge to re-think my earlier decision not to leg it, I struggle to keep my face neutral and sip my tea, waiting for her to explain.

  ‘The thing is, we thought it was all sorted,’ she hiccupped, handing me a Jammy Dodger, ‘She seemed so nice.’

  ‘Err, who seemed nice?’ I butt in, anxious to be kept in the loop.

  ‘The wedding planner. We got her out of ‘Tales From The Crypt’ magazine. Said she specialized in unusual locations.’

  ‘So where is she?’ I ask while internally thinking, ‘Tales from the crypt – WTF?’ Out loud I continue politely, ‘And what kind of unusual location are we talking about?’

  ‘Everything was fine until we paid her the money up front, then she did a runner, leaving us high and dry.’ I shake my head sympathetically. There are so many charlatans in event organizing nowadays.

  ‘So… the unusual location…?’ I prompt.

  ‘We lost Rupert last year,’ she murmurs, giving a small pathetic sniff, prompting me to pat her knee comfortingly. ‘He’d been our best friend for over fifteen years. We simply couldn’t imagine having the wedding without him.

  ‘And of course, given Norman’s fondness for the macabre, we thought it was perfect.’ I stare at her completely nonplussed, so after pausing for a second, she continues, ‘And there’s a nice abandoned crypt nearby which we’ve been allowed to use for the wedding breakfast.’

  ‘A crypt?’ I ask faintly.

  ‘Yes, near to the cemetery,’ she responds with her first smile,
‘Where we’re holding the ceremony. Just by Rupert’s grave. He’d be so pleased.’

  As I head back to my flat I fight the urge to bang my head on the steering wheel. What on earth was I thinking? The thing is, I‘ve always been a sucker for a sob story, especially when someone has been cheated. So here I am, having promised to finish organizing the wedding of Dartmouth’s answer to the Adams Family, which is due to take place in a half derelict crypt, in just under a week’s time. No pressure…

  ~*~

  In the end Hugo’s big break out was a bit of damp squib and the Admiral had to admit (if only privately) that he was a little disappointed. He’d always fancied jumping into a getaway car and taking off with a squeal of tires and burning exhaust. Instead, no one challenged them as they made their way laboriously down to the main entrance, and it took another ten minutes while they rummaged round in various pockets to come up with enough change for the car park.

  By the time they were both ensconced in the Admiral’s aging Vauxhall, Hugo was looking worryingly pale, and for the first time the Admiral wondered whether this whole bucket list thing was actually a good idea. What they needed was somewhere to hole up and plan their strategy.

  But first, he had to go back to Bloodstone Tower to pick up Pickles. Of course, this might prove a bit tricky given the fact that they needed to keep a low profile and anyone copping an eye on them would bugger things up completely, but leaving without the elderly spaniel was unthinkable.

  As the Admiral drove slowly out of the hospital main gates, he was a little concerned that he hadn’t really thought this escape plan through, but then improvisation was his middle name and had gotten him out of many a sticky situation over the years. As they drove out of Glasgow, he felt his spirits lift a little. It was time to call Jimmy.

  Thanks to Victory he had something called Blue Teeth in his car. His daughter had insisted he get it fitted when he’d ended up in the Escape Lane after trying to find his mobile phone in the pocket of his trousers while coming down Telegraph Hill on the A38. Of course the whole bloody shenanigans hadn’t been his fault, but he had to admit having this contraption in his car was damn useful.

  ‘CALL JIMMY NOON,’ he yelled abruptly causing Hugo to almost jump out of his seat. The Admiral turned to his friend and grinned as the shrill ringing tone sounded through the car. ‘Technology, eh Scotty?’

  ‘Hello, is that you Sir?’ Jimmy’s voice over the speaker sounded small and anxious.

  ‘WHAT IS YOUR LOCATION?’ The Admiral bellowed, getting caught up in the excitement of his first clandestine operation in years.

  ‘I’M IN A PUB,’ yelled back Jimmy automatically. The sound of his voice reverberating round the car was so loud, the Admiral only narrowly missed an oncoming truck as he swerved automatically.

  ‘BLOODY HELL JIMMY KEEP IT DOWN WILL YOU, WE’RE IN A CAR, NOT A BOLLOCKING AIRCRAFT HANGER,’ Charles Shackleford continued, totally oblivious to the fact that his voice was loud enough to wake the dead. ‘I’VE GOT SCOTTY. SPRUNG HIM FROM THE HOSPITAL HALF AN HOUR AGO. WE ARE CONDUCTING OPERATION RESCUE PICKLES THEN WE’LL RENDEZVOUS AT YOUR CURRENT LOCATION. DO NOT MOVE FROM YOUR PRESENT POSITION, I REPEAT, DO NOT MOVE FROM YOUR PRESENT POSITION. OVER AND OUT.’

  Consumed with excitement, the Admiral cut the call with a flourish and screeched to a halt to avoid an old lady attempting to cross the road at a pedestrian crossing. ‘Bloody hell, that was close. I don’t know what’s wrong with people nowadays, they just don’t pay attention to things.

  ‘It was different in our day. We never missed a trick did we Scotty? Sharp as bloody needles, that was us. We knew what was important. We could sift through mountains of information and instinctively know exactly which bit was vital…’

  ‘You mean like exactly where Jimmy’s current location actually is?’ Hugo butted in drily, holding onto the dashboard for dear life.

  ‘Exactly,’ the Admiral responded, completely oblivious to his friend’s sarcasm. ‘We’ve still got it Scotty, we’re still on the ball. You wait and see, this is going to be a road trip you’ll never forget. We’ll call it Operation Leg Over. What do you say?’

  ~*~

  As soon as I get back to my flat, I pour myself a large glass of wine. Why oh why did I agree to help? Sinking down onto my sofa, I take a long gulp and pull out my notes.

  After a quick look through, I begin to feel a little better. To be honest, the whole thing shouldn’t be too difficult to finalize. Luckily my predecessor had already taken care of most of the details before she did a bunk. The whole service at the cemetery bit appears to have been sorted pretty much completely. Can’t imagine what the registrar conducting the ceremony will be thinking. Still, not my problem. It’s the wedding breakfast at the abandoned crypt I need to focus on. If I can get this one right, I can do anything…

  ~*~

  Everything seemed quiet as they pulled up outside Hugo’s home. To the Admiral’s relief, Jason’s car was nowhere to be seen, but just to be on the safe side, he parked the Vauxhall in a small hidden grassy area halfway up the driveway. ‘Now you stay put Scotty. I’m not going to pick you up any smalls, thought we could grab you some on the way – no sense in hanging around and asking for trouble.’ Scotty nodded his head before frowning and saying abruptly, ‘Ma uniform, I’ve got to get ma uniform – they’ll nae let me into the Mess otherwise.’

  ‘Bugger it,’ the Admiral muttered, ‘This operation is getting more complicated by the bollocking second.’ He sat thinking for a moment, and as he did so, they were alerted by a sudden noise. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, the Admiral stage whispered, ‘Hide,’ just as Jason’s car drove passed them towards the house. Both men dove for the floor thinking the game was surely up. However, when nothing happened after a couple of minutes, they breathed a sigh of relief and went to sit up straight – or rather Hugo did, the Admiral was unfortunately stuck with his head under the wheel.

  ‘How the bloody hell did ye get your head in there?’ Hugo asked incredulously. His friend didn’t answer – mainly because his vocal cords were blocked by his double chin.

  ‘Hang on a second Charlie, I’ll get ye out o’ there in a jiffy.’ Hurriedly opening his door, Hugo clambered out as the Admiral started mumbling something that sounded like, ‘Nth, nth, nth…’

  Creeping round the back of the car, Hugo looked furtively up the driveway to see if there was any movement. When he was satisfied his son wasn’t on his way back, he hastily pulled open the Admiral’s door, only to be faced with the large expanse of his friend’s nether regions. ‘Did ye know yer arse is hanging out those trousers Charlie boy? Ye need to go on a bloody diet.’

  ‘Nth, nth, nth…’

  ‘I think the best way to free ye will be to try and pull the seat back. Hold yer horses while I find the handle.’ Bending down, Hugo shoved his hand in between the seat and the Admiral’s head, trying to find a lever to pull. When the first thing he managed to yank elicited a muffled yell from the Admiral, he mumbled sorry and reached out further, eventually finding the handle to slide the seat back.

  Finally, with a loud clunking noise, the chair shifted, freeing the Admiral’s head which shot up like a Jack in a Box. ‘What a load of bloody horlicks,’ he wheezed after he’d recovered sufficiently to regain his voice.

  ‘What are we going to do now Charlie?’ Hugo whispered urgently, ‘Ye canna go get ma gear now Jason’s back. He’ll surely know yer up to something. The lad’s uncannily observant.’ The Admiral narrowed his eyes, acknowledging that he might be up against someone who could be as devious as himself when the need called for it. But then again, he’d never yet met anyone he couldn’t outsmart in an emergency.

  ‘Right,’ he said decisively, ‘We’ll sit here and wait until it’s dark – there’s more chance of everyone being in bed then.’

  ‘But, but, we canna wait that long Charlie, they’ll be out looking for us. And what about Jimmy?’

  ‘They’ll never suspect we’d be daft enough to come b
ack here, and don’t you worry about Jimmy, he can get us a room in Glasgow – that’ll give us time to plan our next move.

  ‘In the meantime, try and get a bit of shut eye Scotty old man, you’re going to need all your strength for your assignation with old Alice…’

  Chapter Nine

  Donna has made it quite clear, that she wants the crypt to be decorated as a gothic masterpiece – the spookier the better, complete with cobwebs and bats (fake preferably). Oh, and apparently everyone is dressing up too…

  Okay, so spooky crypt equals Halloween. Have you ever tried to get Halloween decorations at the end of June – especially when they’re needed urgently? I’ve been trawling the internet for hours and so far all I’ve managed to come up with is a job lot of plastic fangs (complete with bloody teeth) left over from last year. Still, they should make the tables look nice and festive…

  I haven’t been over to check out said crypt yet – strangely enough I thought I’d leave that until daylight. My predecessor has at least taken care of the nuts and bolts in the form of portaloos and a bar, but so far there are no tables or chairs ordered, no tablecloths, crockery, cutlery, disco, decorations, or (more importantly) a cleaner. The food, I’ve been reliably informed by the bride, is being done by the groom’s mother and his two sisters. I think I’ll just check they have everything in hand then leave them to it.

  The chairs for the ceremony are being transported to the cemetery by someone from a local funeral parlour - I daren’t ask which one - so all we need up there is some black ribbon. Come to think of it, black ribbon might be the answer to all my problems, and not just black, I’ll use red too.

  Perfect - blood and darkness – what could be more gothic? And candles, lots and lots of candles.