Chasing Victory: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  ‘Oh come on Freddy,’ I wheedle, ‘I know you’re off this weekend and Jacques is still in America. Just think how you love to dress up. This will be an amazing opportunity to go to town. Bela Lugosi’s got nothing on you, and I’m sure you’ve got all the props you need in your theatre storeroom.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I really need you to do this for me Freddy.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s really important to me Freddy. You’re my best friend, who else can I ask?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you I promise, and I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you care about me at all, you’ll do this for me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you don’t agree to do it, I’ll tell Jacques about the Flamenco dancer.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘You’re a complete bitch Kit Davies. You are so going to owe me – BIG TIME. And if it all goes tits up then it’s your funeral.’

  ‘Funeral, I like it,’ pipes up Tory who’s so far stayed right out of the conversation.

  ‘Have you spoken to Noah yet?’ I ask her, thinking now it a perfect time to change the subject. After all, Freddy might not have to take over yet. The Three Amigos could well be home and tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa and a thick ear…

  ‘Yep, he thinks it’s all a bit of a hoot. We had a fairly long conversation about responsibilities and now we’re not speaking.’

  ‘Oh no, Tory, that’s awful,’ I stammer thinking back to the time they broke up last summer. She chuckles at the look on my face. ‘Don’t worry Kitty Kat, I’ll let him take me and Isaac away for a sumptuous weekend of rich food, carnal delights and nappy changing. It’ll do him good.’

  I breathe a sigh of relief that their spat was nothing serious.

  ‘If we do end up going tomorrow, then he’ll get a flight to Glasgow and meet us there.’

  ‘What if they’re not in Scotland?’ Freddy asks, obviously still miffed at being out manoeuvred.

  ‘Where else could they be?’ I ask, ‘It’s not as if they’re likely to drive down to the South coast is it? I mean as far as we know, they’re in the Admiral’s car and we all know what a heap of junk that is. I’m sure Tory’s father wouldn’t risk driving it back on a long trip south so soon after taking it all that way north…’

  ~*~

  ‘Now what are we going to do?’ Hugo murmured despondently, all thoughts of his upcoming night of debauchery going up in smoke along with the smouldering remains of what had been the Admiral’s Vauxhall engine.

  As the three men stood staring glumly, Charles Shackleford had to admit - if only privately – that it might have been the squeal of tires and burning exhaust of their getaway that put the final nail in the coffin.

  They’d made it as far as Stafford before the Vauxhall had given up the ghost with a puff of smoke and a loud bang, and now they were stranded on the hard shoulder of the M6.

  ‘I’m in the AA,’ offered Jimmy after no one else had come up with any ideas. ‘I could give them a call.’ He rummaged around for his wallet and brought out a battered orange card. ‘Oh no, it’s got Emily’s name on the front.’ He looked up. ‘Should I call her?’ he continued hopefully.

  ‘Definitely not,’ the Admiral declared vehemently, ‘She’ll have everyone and his dog on our tail as soon as she puts down the phone. And talking about dogs, come here Pickles, we’ll go for a quick walk while I think about our next move.’

  ‘You can’t go for a walk on the motorway Sir,’ Jimmy protested as the Admiral tugged on Pickles’ leash. Judging by his reluctance, it was clear the elderly spaniel agreed with him. The other two watched in disbelief as the Admiral started towing the Springer along the hard shoulder.

  ‘HAVE EITHER OF YOU GOT ANY POO BAGS?’ he yelled back a couple of minutes later, then, ‘NO, HOLD YOUR POSITION, I’VE GOT A PACKET OF MINT IMPERIALS SO I’LL USE THAT.’

  Jimmy and Hugo sat on the grassy bank next to the car and watched the large man become smaller and smaller until he disappeared over a hill in the distance. He didn’t seem to notice the cars whizzing past him.

  ‘Do you think he’ll come back?’ Jimmy asked at length.

  ‘Aye, if he doesnae get bloody run over first, the daft sod,’ responded Hugo, shaking his head.

  They sat in silence for a few more minutes, looking anxiously to their right, then suddenly a lorry coming towards them put on its indicator light and began slowing down. The two men stood up, initially concerned that the van might actually plough into their only means of transport, but as it got closer they could see their friend in the passenger seat with Pickles sat on his knee. The lorry stopped a few feet away from the Vauxhall and the Admiral opened the door and leaned out. ‘Grab the gear and hop in gentlemen, we’ve got ourselves a lift to Birmingham.’

  The cabin was admittedly squashed with all three of them perched up next to the driver who turned out to be a Brummie who’d served twenty years in the Royal Navy.

  ‘Colin here has offered to take us all the way to that Travelodge your coach is stopping at Scotty. I thought we could wait for it to arrive, then sneak on board and act like we got on it in Glasgow. Most of the ship mates on it are likely so bloody ancient, they wouldn’t know whether we’d been there or not. We know there’s at least one free seat, and a couple of the old buggers are bound to get themselves lost before we get to Pompey.

  ‘Anyone want a mint?...’

  ~*~

  It’s nine o’clock in the evening and there’s been no sign of our three missing geriatrics.

  Now I’ve made sure I’ve got everything covered for The Bride of Frankenstein just in case I don’t make it back in three days, I feel actually pretty excited at the prospect of seeing Jason again tomorrow. I’m actually really surprised how much I’ve missed him, and while I’m still far from convinced that missing somebody is grounds for uprooting one’s entire life and relocating five hundred miles away in the middle of nowhere, I’m definitely warming to the idea.

  Tory is going to pick up Mabel and Emily as soon as she’s fed Isaac (who doubles up as our synchronized watch), and once she gives me the green light, I’ll get the passenger ferry over to Kingswear and meet them.

  Tory and I will take turns at driving – all a bit déjà vu-ish to be honest. We’ll pick Noah up at Glasgow airport on the way and hopefully arrive at Bloodstone Tower in time for supper.

  I’ve written Freddy a complete list of absolutely everything he has to do, along with a timeline spelling out exactly what time he has to do it. Should be a piece of cake really – I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. Sometimes Freddy can be such a drama queen. Still, I opt for sending an email instead of phoning on the grounds that it’s a bit late…

  I just have one thing left to do, and that’s to phone Aunt Flo to update her on the exciting events of the last twenty four hours. If I know her, she’ll be taking down notes to use in her next book. Smiling, I dial her number, but it goes straight to voice mail. Did she say she was going out this evening?

  Obviously I’m not her keeper, but she usually lets me know if she’s doing something. I glance down at my own answer phone and notice the flashing red light for the first time. Hurriedly pressing the play button, I’m surprised at my relief as my aunt’s dry tones float up.

  ‘Kit darling, I’m going to stay in London for a few days with Neil, and I’m taking Pepé with me. It’s a spur of the moment decision and Neil’s promised to take me to see that wonderful exhibition of the Queen’s dresses at the Palace. I shouldn’t be away much longer than a week, but it’s a chance for me to do some research for my next book at the V&A. I’ll call you when I get back. Take care sweetie.’

  I debate whether to try her mobile, but then she never answers it anyway. The message was left at ten this morning. She’ll be with Neil by now and I’m sure he’ll phone me if she does an Agatha Christie and disa
ppears under mysterious circumstances. I decide to leave my aunt to her few days away. She and Neil don’t get to spend too much time together so it will do them both good, and I’ll no doubt have a tale to tell her when she’s gets back…

  ~*~

  The Admiral, Jimmy and Hugo were sitting in the bar at the Travelodge, furtively spying on the group of elderly gentlemen tottering into the reception.

  Colin the Brummie lorry driver had dropped the three of them off a couple of hours before the coach had pulled into the car park, so they’d had a bit of time to plan how they were going to integrate themselves into the group.

  ‘How many are there?’ the Admiral asked in a loud whisper, ‘Bloody hell, some of them look over ninety. Do you recognize any of them Scotty?’

  Hugo gave each man a surreptitious once over. ‘Nae met any o’ them before. Ma old shipmates mostly live down in your neck of the woods Charlie, so we’re meeting up at the dinner.’ The Admiral nodded in satisfaction. ‘Toppers, we’re not likely to get rumbled then.’

  He turned back to his two friends. ‘Right this is what we’ll do. We’ll hang around here until they all come down for some scran, then we’ll go over and mingle. Keep it casual men, we don’t want too many questions. After that we’ll head up to bed nice and early and aim to be first on the coach tomorrow morning with nobody the wiser. Then Bob’s your uncle, we’ll be on our way to Pompey.’

  ‘What if they realize we’re not part of the coach party?’ Jimmy asked anxiously.

  ‘This bunch wouldn’t notice if their arses were on fire,’ the Admiral snorted dismissively, ‘Have you had a shufti Jimmy lad? There can’t be anybody in that bunch under eighty five. Now come on, I need a drink.’

  For about half an hour they sat in the bar in companionable silence. Even Jimmy seemed to lighten up a bit, right up to the point when he said suddenly, ‘But what about Pickles Sir? How are we going to sneak him onto the coach? They’re bound to notice that there wasn’t a bloody dog on board before they got here.’ The Admiral opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again when one wasn’t immediately forthcoming. Bugger, this was going to take some working out. He sighed. Sometimes he wished that others would assume the mantle of leader every now and again. Being consistently looked up to as the man with all the answers could be very trying sometimes. But then this was why he was the only one of the three of them who made it to Admiral.

  He smiled back at his friends with condescending benevolence. ‘Well Jimmy boy, as a wise man once said, If you can’t dazzle ‘em with brilliance, baffle ‘em with bullshit. It’s always worked for me…’

  They lapsed back into silence while the Admiral wracked his brains to come up with the slight adjustment to the plan to accommodate a large Springer spaniel. Nothing sprang to mind however, and he was actually quite relieved when the geriatric rabble rousers began trickling in for dinner, forcing him to put an end to his imaginings. Without regret, he decided that it was a problem for tomorrow. He didn’t know how, but he’d get old Pickles on that coach hook or by crook.

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s just after seven thirty when we get on the road. Did I mention little Isaac is an early riser?

  Still we should beat the traffic at Exeter, but then of course we’ll run into it at Bristol, not to mention Birmingham and Manchester – oh the joys of motorway travelling. Tory’s BMW accommodates all of us easily, even with the car seat, although I think it might be a tad cosy when Noah joins us in Glasgow.

  ‘We’ll drive for about four hours, or until Isaac wakes up, and then we’ll stop and grab something to eat. How does that sound to everybody?’ There’s a general murmuring of agreement from everyone but Dotty and Isaac who are both sound asleep.

  Obviously I’m Tory’s co-driver and will take over when she gets tired. Both Mabel and Emily offered their services, but we managed to turn them down without being too offensive. So there we go, our plan, such as it is, is sorted. It’s time to get this show on the road.

  By the time we reach Bristol Isaac is screaming and Dotty is bouncing up and down indicating her need for the toilet. ‘Didn’t you take her out for a wee before we left?’ I shout over the din in the back.

  ‘I tried, but you know what Dotty’s like in the mornings, it’s all I could do to get her to leave the bed. It was only when she heard me start the car that she deigned to get up. CAN YOU STICK HIS DUMMY IN MABEL?’

  ‘How far away is the next service station?’ I ask, wondering whether I should start searching for tissues, or borrow one of Isaac’s nappies.

  ‘Michael Woods is only five miles. It’s not as far north as I’d hoped, but I don’t think Isaac’s going to last much longer.’

  ‘Ditto Dotty,’ I say, trying to put the little dog down on the floor – reasoning that Tory’s posh upholstery is a better place to do her business than my only pair of clean jeans.

  A few minutes later we’re pulling into the service station and we all breathe a sigh of relief as Tory finally stops the car. I quickly put on Dotty’s leash and take her to the nearest patch of grass. I can almost hear her relief as she squats down. I know how she feels…

  I get back to the car as the discussion about what to eat seems to be getting a little heated. Tory is still in the driver’s seat feeding Isaac and she shrugs her shoulders as the two matrons in the back debate which exciting motorway fare they should opt for - a KFC or a Burger King…

  ‘Blimey,’ I murmur, getting into the passenger seat, ‘It’s only ten thirty, a bit early for fast food if you ask me.’

  ‘So you don’t want a Whopper then?’ she asks drily with a grin.

  ‘Can’t you just go to both?’ I ask when there’s a slight break in the arguing. There’s a short silence as though the thought hadn’t occurred to either of them. I sigh, ‘Come on then ladies, I’ll go with you. Do you want KFC or Burger King Tory?’

  ‘Mmm, think I’ll go for a bacon and cheese fillet burger courtesy of Colonel Sanders,’ she responds licking her lips, ‘And a decaf coffee.’

  ‘Healthy,’ I say climbing out of the car and shutting the door.

  ‘I have to share it with Dotty,’ she calls after me self righteously. I laugh and flip her the finger, then hurry to catch the two old dears who, judging by the speed they’re going, are either famished or having the same problem as Dotty.

  The inside of the service station is heaving. We all take care of business then meet back at the entrance. Looking up at the signs, I groan. KFC is on the other side of the motorway which means we’ll need to go over the footbridge. Taking charge I turn to my companions.

  ‘Emily, you get into the Burger King queue here and grab a Whopper for me and whatever you want, while I go to KFC over the other side with Mabel. We’ll see you back at the car.’ Before they have chance to protest, I take Mabel’s arm and steer her towards the entrance to the motorway footbridge. As we push open the door to the stairs I can just hear Emily’s, ‘What did you say you wanted dear…?’

  ~*~

  ‘I can’t believe we’re stopping already. These geriatrics have got bladders the size of bollocking hamsters. We’ll never get to Pompey at this rate’

  ‘Well I have to say I wouldn’t mind using the facilities if we’re stopping Sir.’ The Admiral glared at Jimmy, then sighed. ‘I suppose it might be a good opportunity to give Pickles a wee while we’re at it,’ he conceded, bending down to the spaniel snoozing at his feet.

  ‘And we can grab some scran if we’re getting off Charlie, I’m bloody starving.’

  All in all, Operation Leg Over did seem to be back on course. After some successful mingling last night, they’d got up nice and early as the Admiral had reluctantly decided that sacrificing breakfast was the only way to make sure they were first on the coach.

  Consequently they were now cosily ensconced on the back row with Pickles under the seat. It had all been very easy really. Nobody seemed to have the least idea that they were newcomers to the party – either that, or they weren�
�t bothered. Most of the old boys seemed intent on getting blathered in honour of their sea going days, and looking at the resulting casualties this morning, the Admiral privately wondered whether some of them would actually survive the trip.

  There was only one other old fellow sharing the back seat with them, who seemed disinclined to talk. After bidding them good morning, he’d nodded off and been asleep ever since.

  They decided to wait until everyone got off the coach before making their own move. That way, no one would cotton on to their additional four legged passenger. However, when their back seat companion still didn’t move a full five minutes after everyone else had left, Hugo spoke up in a loud whisper, ‘We’re not going to have time to get anything to eat if we dinna go in a minute Charlie. Everyone will start coming back and then Pickles’ll be spotted.’

  ‘Give him a nudge and ask him if he wants us to fetch him anything,’ the Admiral instructed Jimmy who was sitting closest. The small man coughed and leaned towards the recumbent gentleman. ‘Sir, would you like us to bring you anything?’ The man was silent. Jimmy glanced back at the other two with a frown before trying again.

  ‘Sir, I said, would you like us to get you something to eat?’ Still nothing.

  ‘Give him a shove Jimmy, and for God’s sake speak up man, they’re nearly all bloody deaf in here.’ The Admiral poked Jimmy to illustrate the action he wanted his friend to take.

  ‘DO YOU WANT SOME SCRAN SIR?’ Jimmy shouted in the man’s ear before giving him a small prod. Leisurely, almost in seeming slow motion, the man’s torso toppled to the side until his head came to rest on the window.

  ‘BLOODY HELL, HE’S DEAD,’ Jimmy shouted in panic. ‘OH MY GOD WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?’