Chasing Victory: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  You know what? I think I’m getting into the swing of things – mmmwwwwahahahahaha (see, I can do an evil laugh too...) Sod the bats, they’re just going to have to live without them. And as for cobwebs, we’ll no doubt have our very own, so when I book the cleaners, I’ll just tell them to leave a few in the corners.

  That reminds me, I’d better get the bride and groom to sign a disclaimer, just in case they set the place on fire…

  Yes, things are shaping up very nicely.

  I’m just about to place an order for enough ribbon to decorate the whole of Dracula’s castle when my phone rings. I glance down and my heart flips. It’s Jason. As I take the call, I can’t stem the tide of longing that swamps me. ‘Hey sweetheart, how’s it going? It’s so good to hear your voice,’ I murmur, wishing he was here in person so I could show him just how much I’m missing him. Unfortunately, his response throws a whole bucketful of freezing cold water on any lustful thoughts I might have.

  ‘About as bad as it can be.’ His voice is abrupt, tight with anger and worry. ‘My father’s gone from the hospital. Charles bloody Shackleford kidnapped him from his room this afternoon.’

  ~*~

  By eleven o’clock, it was as dark as it was going to get. The strange twilight cast tortured shadows around the car and everything was silent. There were no lights visible through the trees, giving a good indication that the residents of Bloodstone Tower were in bed. Charles Shackleford suppressed his excitement. Phase two of Operation Leg Over was about to commence. He’d managed to get a couple of hours sleep, and now he was ready to go.

  ‘This is the life,’ he thought gleefully, ‘Surviving on a few hours sleep snatched here and there in between risking life and limb on dangerous assignments.’ Excitedly he leaned over to wake his sleeping friend. ‘Come on Scotty old man, time to wake up.’ Then, climbing laboriously out of the Vauxhall, he stuck his head back in, patted Hugo on the shoulder and pointed to the seat he’d just vacated. ‘Get yourself in there Scotty and turn the car round. You need to be ready to go as soon as I get back with Pickles and your gear. Leave the rest to me…’

  It took the Admiral over ten minutes to negotiate the dark lane up to the Tower. He’d forgotten how bloody creepy this place was at night and every rustle in the bushes nearly had him hightailing it back to the car, dangerous assignments be buggered. He held his nerve however and eventually managed to sneak round to the kitchen.

  Using Hugo’s key, he unlocked and opened the kitchen door wide enough to poke his head through. After waiting a few seconds, satisfied there was no one there, he gingerly stepped inside before turning back to close the door quietly behind him. He was just putting the key back in his pocket when out of the corner of his eye he spied a large shape looming out of the darkness. Heart in his mouth, he had time to mumble, ‘Wha’ the boll…’ before the shape was on him and he head butted the closed door with a resounding thump which shook the frame. Thinking he was surely doomed, the Admiral could swear his life began to flash before him, until suddenly a large wet tongue was stuck in his ear. Pickles.

  Almost weak with relief, the Admiral pushed the dog off with a whispered, ‘Get down you daft dog. What’r you trying to do – give me a bollocking heart attack? At this rate I’ll be pushing up the bloody daisies before old Scotty.’ Pickles’ response was to simply whimper ecstatically and the Admiral decided it would be best to let his furry companion calm down a bit before executing the next stage in his plan, especially as he wasn’t entirely sure where Scotty’s bedroom was.

  It took about ten minutes before Pickles settled down enough for the Admiral to order the spaniel into his basket, and after a whispered, ‘Stay,’ he took a deep breath and tiptoed in the direction of the Great Hall.

  Five tortuous minutes later he’d made it up to the first floor landing. By now he was having second thoughts about the whole risking life and limb thing. His heart was hammering so hard in his chest, he was almost convinced it was giving up the ghost.

  He stopped for a second to get his bearings and wait for his eyes to adjust in the pitch black. It was all very well sneaking around in the middle of the night, but the last time he’d done it had been forty odd years ago. Briefly Charles Shackleford thought back to the memorable fiasco in Bangkok, before finally admitting to himself that he might actually be a tad old for this cloak and dagger stuff. Still, it was no good ball aching at this late stage.

  Sighing, he brought his mind back to the matter at hand. Hugo said his bedroom was at the end of the hall, opposite the bathroom. Stealthily he crept along the dark passageway, until he came to the last door. As quietly as possible he eased it open and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was empty. In the moonlight, he could see Scotty’s Mess Kit laid neatly on the bed. Thanking his lucky stars that he didn’t have to go rummaging around for his friend’s gear, the Admiral tiptoed over to the bed and went to pick up the uniform. It weighed a ton. ‘Bollocks,’ he groaned, there was no way he was going to be able to get back down the stairs carrying this lot. There was only one thing for it, he was going to have to put the bloody thing on.

  It took him nearly twenty minutes to struggle into his friend’s Mess Kit – unfortunately Hugo was considerably smaller - and by the time the Admiral had squeezed himself into the waistcoat and jacket, he was puffing and panting, not to mention sweating profusely.

  He hadn’t been able to do up any of the buttons on the dress shirt or waistcoat, and glancing down at himself, the Admiral could only be thankful he was wearing a vest. Wheezing, he sat back on the bed for a quick breather. He just had to get the trousers on now and he’d be done.

  After a couple of minutes, he felt recovered enough to give it a go. Then he had a sudden thought. It really would be better if he went to the toilet before struggling into Scotty’s dress pants, and the bathroom was just across the hall.

  Emboldened by his success so far, the Admiral decided he had enough time to have a quick pee, then once his bladder was back in business, it would be easy enough to put the trousers on in the bathroom. In the meantime he hung them round his neck by the braces leaving his hands free to carry his own clothes. Finally, he squashed his feet into Scotty’s shoes and headed to the bedroom door in his underpants.

  Before stepping out onto the landing, he paused for a second to listen. Then, satisfied he hadn’t been rumbled, he scuttled over to the bathroom and quickly pushed open the door.

  The scream was blood curdling, not to mention loud enough to wake the residents of every cemetery within a five mile radius. The Admiral stared for one horrified second at the elderly woman sitting on the toilet in front of him, before looking down at his naked hairy legs sticking out the bottom of Hugo’s dress shirt. Then he dropped his bundle of clothes and ran.

  His sprint down the stairs would have given Usain Bolt a run for his money and he reached the kitchen in record time. Still in his basket, the Springer spaniel wagged his tail uncertainly as his master dashed past, threw open the back door and staggered through.

  ‘COME ON PICKLES GET YOUR ARSE IN GEAR,’ the Admiral yelled, completely abandoning any attempt at stealth, before blundering through the undergrowth in the general direction of the car.

  Hugo was sitting anxiously at the wheel of the Vauxhall, engine on ready, when he heard sudden shouting and barking getting gradually louder. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he stared incredulously as the figure of the Admiral burst through the bushes.

  For some reason his friend wasn’t wearing any trousers but instead had them hanging around his neck where they were flapping behind his head, giving him the appearance of a demented Batman.

  The Admiral lurched towards him with Pickles in tow, bellowing, ‘GO, GO, GO,’ as he shoved the spaniel into the back and threw himself in the passenger seat.

  In a manoeuvre worthy of James Bond at his best, Hugo stamped his foot down on the accelerator pedal and they skidded off the grass on to the drive, before taking off in a squeal of brakes and scorched exhaust,
exactly as the Admiral had so longed for earlier.

  ~*~

  As a council of war goes, it has to be said, ours isn’t very impressive. Basically me, Tory, Freddy, Mabel, Emily, and of course little Isaac. As it’s only nine am, Dotty has decided that councils of war are beneath her, so she’s still in bed (and of course the biscuits haven’t been unwrapped yet.) We’re sitting in Tory’s kitchen deciding on a course of action which doesn’t involve all of us scouring the whole country searching for three daft old men and a dog.

  ‘Exactly what time did Jason say my father left the hospital with Hugo?’ Tory’s trying to put together some kind of time line in an effort to track the movements of our three fugitives.

  ‘The car park CCTV shows them driving out at around two thirty. I think they may be…’ My theory is cut short (which is probably a good thing, it wasn’t much of a theory) as my mobile phone starts ringing. ‘It’s Jason,’ I say, swiping the front hurriedly. ‘Have you found them yet?’ I ask before he has chance to speak.

  ‘Not yet, but the plot is certainly getting thicker,’ he replies, ‘Would you believe the Admiral sneaked into the Tower last night. I think he’d come to fetch his dog and probably grab my father some more clothes. He would have got away without anyone being the wiser had he not decided to use the bathroom before he left.’

  ‘You heard him then?’ I butt in excitedly – I can’t help it, the whole thing’s a bit like a BBC drama.

  ‘I think they heard him across the loch,’ Jason responded drily, ‘He surprised my grandmother on the toilet. Apparently he wasn’t wearing any trousers. Needless to say she’s taken to her bed with a bottle of smelling salts.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ I say doing my damndest not to laugh. ‘Why on earth wasn’t he wearing any trousers?’

  ‘This is Charles Shackleford we’re talking about. Who knows why the bloody man does anything? Anyway, we think my father was waiting for the Admiral in the car, so that pretty much rules out the possibility that he was there against his will. I have no idea where they are now.’

  ‘How about Jimmy, do you think he was with them?’

  ‘No sign of him at the hospital. Have you spoken to Emily?’

  ‘Emily and Mabel are here now,’ I answer. ‘They’ve tried calling but, surprise, surprise, nobody’s answering.’

  ‘I’m having no luck with my father either.’ Jason sighs and I can hear the concern in his voice. ‘I know he’s an adult and perfectly entitled to leave hospital if he wishes, but I’m worried about him Kit. His health’s not good. He should be resting, not gallivanting round the damn country.’

  ‘Try not to worry too much,’ I say softly, wanting nothing more than to put my arms around him. ‘We’ll keep trying to contact them from here. Let’s keep each other informed. I’m sure they’ll get in touch soon. And if nobody’s heard from them by the end of today,’ I add impulsively, ‘I’ll come up to Scotland tomorrow.’

  Even as the words are tripping off my tongue, my brain is shouting, ‘No, no, no, you idiot, you have the bloody Bride of Dracula’s wedding in three days time.’ Damn it, what have I done? I hold my breath, hoping he’ll tell me it’s not necessary, but instead the relief in his voice makes me feel worse. ‘I’d really like that, if you think you can spare the time.’

  ‘Of course I can,’ I respond lightly, feeling slightly sick.

  ‘I thought you said you’ve got a bit of a shot gun wedding to arrange?’ Freddy asks when I finally put down the phone. As usual, he doesn’t miss a trick. I open my mouth to answer but Tory gets there first.

  ‘Well if you’re going up to Scotland, then I’m coming with you.’

  ‘Me too,’ Mabel adds in a whisper, looking as though she’s about to cry.

  ‘And if you think you’re going looking for my husband without me, then you’ve got another think coming.’ Emily’s voice in contrast is brusque, giving no room for argument. I can’t help but feel a little sorry for Jimmy when she finds him…

  An hour later both Mabel and Emily leave to start packing. I try to explain that we might not be going, but it’s like water off a duck’s back. The best I can do is to make them promise to let us know if their husbands get in touch in the meantime.

  ‘We can’t all get in my little Fiesta,’ I say irritably to Tory as soon as the front door shuts behind them, ‘Especially not with Isaac’s car seat in there too, not to mention Dotty, who I presume will be along for the ride. And anyway, isn’t Noah supposed to be coming back tomorrow?’

  Tory ignores my grouchiness, answering blithely, ‘We’ll go in my car and Noah can meet us up there.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I wail suddenly, the feeling of impending doom swamping me for a second, ‘I have a wedding to organize in three days time. And not just any wedding, this one’s in a bloody cemetery. I can’t just up and leave.’

  ‘So why did you say you’d go then?’ Freddy asks matter of factly, reaching for a biscuit, ‘And why are they having a wedding in a cemetery?’

  Chapter Ten

  The Admiral could tell Jimmy wasn’t totally on board with his cunning plan. For the most part he looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to throw himself on the mercy of his wife, or simply throw himself out of the window.

  ‘You can’t call Emily,’ the Admiral explained for the umpteenth time, ‘If you do, she’ll know where we’re going. I hate to say it Jimmy boy, but you always were a bit of a gatling gob and there’s no way you’d be able to keep that little gem from the dragon.’

  They were sitting in a motorway services just south of the border between Scotland and England. They’d left their hotel room in Glasgow a couple of hours ago after polishing off a hearty breakfast – or rather his had been pretty hearty – actually bordering on coronary fodder if he was being honest – but the other two had simply picked at theirs, with Jimmy actually ordering muesli – muesli for God’s sake. What kind of breakfast is that for a man?

  The Admiral wasn’t sure if old Scotty was off his food due to excitement about his upcoming assignation with Alice, or if he was just off his food. Either way, he’d just nibbled at a slice of toast in the hotel restaurant and the Admiral was concerned. It was up to him to ensure that the Scotsman had plenty of fuel inside him to prepare him for his upcoming night of passion – otherwise the Admiral was actually worried that his friend might not survive it.

  So this time he’d piled up Hugo’s plate with some good old fashioned fish and chips. And to be fair, the Scot did seem to be enjoying it much more than his pathetic slice of toast this morning.

  ‘Now Scotty, how long do you think we’ve got before that son of yours discovers your Mess Kit’s missing?’ Hugo frowned, thinking. ‘Well I got them out of the wardrobe to check for moths, then left them on the bed to air. If he’d noticed them, he’d have said something. Jason dinna mince words as you know. That’s why I didnae tell him about the reunion – he’d have put a stop to it for sure.’ The Admiral nodded slowly. ‘So, we can safely assume he doesn’t know we’re on our way down to Pompey.’

  ‘How were you going to get there Scotty?’ Jimmy interrupted, taking a bite out of his sandwich, which the Admiral noted with a shudder actually had lettuce in it. ‘You know, before you had your err funny turn?’ the small man continued, not wanting to mention the word stroke in case it upset his friend. Hugo didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘There’s a coach leaving Glasgow at lunchtime today. We were to be staying overnight in a Travelodge in Birmingham, then going onto Pompey tomorrow. The dinner ‘s due to start at nineteen hundred, but I told Alice I’d meet her in the Wardroom bar at eighteen hundred – you know to get reacquainted like.’

  Hugo’s face turned a bright shade of red as he said the word reacquainted which the Admiral thought was a bit excessive seeing as he didn’t think the Scot included giving Alice a quick one over the coffee table in his understanding of the word…

  ‘Right then,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘We’re going to be ahead of the gam
e Scotty. You’ll be in Pompey by lunchtime tomorrow so you’ll have plenty of time to spruce yourself up a bit. As long as young Captain Buchannan doesn’t cotton on to the fact that your uniform’s done a runner, we’ll be in the clear until you give him a call the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘I think I could well be divorced by then,’ Jimmy offered despondently.

  The Admiral tutted impatiently. ‘Don’t be such a bloody poodle faker Jimmy boy, That woman has you by the short and curlies. You need to show her who’s boss once in a while. If you ask me, you’re eating far too much bunny grub – it’s turning you into a damn wimp.’

  ‘Well what about Mabel?’ Jimmy responded, stung at the Admiral’s assessment of his marriage. ‘I don’t think she’s going to very happy with you either Sir.’

  ‘You leave Mabel to me,’ his friend responded airily, ‘Got her round my little finger – the woman’s like putty in my hand.’

  ‘Didn’t look much like putty when she threatened to shoot you for stepping on the floor she’d just mopped,’ Jimmy was quick to point out, causing Hugo to snigger a bit - which he swiftly turned into a cough when the Admiral turned to glare at him.

  ‘And I think you’ve forgotten about one other person Sir,’ Jimmy went on knowingly. ‘It’s very likely that Tory’s going to have your balls for breakfast when she finally catches up with you…’

  ~*~

  ‘It’s no good, if I’m not back in time, you’re going to have to do it.’

  It’s not often I see Freddy lost for words and I have to fight the urge to take a photo.

  I’ve spent the whole day making sure that everything is up to speed with Dracula’s wedding, and all that remains now is to deal with the actual day itself.

  ‘I mean, I’m sure I will be back, but just in case I’m not, you’ll have to take over.’

  ‘No bloody chance,’ Freddy finally splutters coming out of his horrified trance. ‘There’s no way I’m supervising a bloody wedding in a cemetery followed by The Rocky Horror Show in a crypt. I think you’re barking mad to have taken it on in the first place with everything you’ve got going on.’