Chasing Victory: A Romantic Comedy

by Beverley Watts

  The Admiral stared nonplussed as Jimmy bent his front knee and pushed his back leg out behind him, then punched out with his arms before bringing them down in a chopping motion.

  ‘See,’ he panted, dropping his arms and straightening up with a wince, before finally executing a small bow. The Admiral simply shook his head, ordered Pickles to stay, and beckoned the small man out into the hall.

  They tiptoed along the landing and stuck their heads over the banister to look down the stairs. The noise appeared to be coming from a room across the foyer. As they listened, there was a loud cheer followed by an even louder thump.

  ‘We’d better get in there fast Sir, before they completely trash the place.’ Without waiting for the Admiral’s nod, Jimmy began to creep slowly down the stairs to preserve their element of surprise. Or at least that was his intent. He actually arrived at the bottom considerably quicker as his socks turned the staircase into a makeshift ski slope. As the last three steps turned a sharp right, Jimmy missed them entirely and did an impromptu somersault over the rail, landing with a crash on top of the telephone table.

  So much for surprising their quarry. ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing Jimmy?’ the Admiral hissed, hurrying down to see if his friend had done any damage to the furniture, especially given the fact that they’d probably have to pay for it.

  He was just helping Jimmy up, when the door across the hall opened, spilling out four men who looked like they ate gum shields for breakfast.

  ‘Wot the bloody ‘ell’s goin on?’ demanded the first one who was obviously their leader. He had an impressive comb over which in other circumstances the Admiral might have admired.

  Jimmy, possibly still in shock over his spontaneous forward roll, stepped forward and said forcefully, ‘Keep the damn noise down would you?’ The Admiral looked over at him incredulously, then nervously back at Captain Comb-Over who was now glaring at them.

  ‘Wot did you say?’

  ‘Nothing, he said nothing,’ the Admiral ventured in what he hoped was a suitably placatory tone.

  ‘Didn’t sound like nuffin to me,’ came the all too predictable response. In three strides he was across the room and looming over them both. The Admiral took a step backwards, pulling Jimmy with him.

  ‘I’ll have you know I’ve had martial arts training,’ Jimmy continued a little less loudly now.

  Captain Comb-Over glared at him and lifted his fist. ‘And I’ve ‘ad trainin wi’ this, you little tosser,’ he bellowed.

  With a pathetic squeak Jimmy finally saw sense and dropped to the floor, curling himself into a ball. The Admiral took a deep breath, looked down at his quivering friend, then back up at the red faced thug in front of him. Charles Shackleford was many things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. However, he recognized the necessity for a strategic withdrawal when he saw it.

  Keeping one eye on Captain Comb-Over, who was still standing over them, fists clenched, the Admiral bent down slowly and grabbed hold of the back of the long johns he could see poking out of Jimmy’s pyjamas. Then he pulled his friend to his feet, yelled RUN at the top of his voice and made for the stairs in a sprint that would have impressed the scrum half of the England rugby team.

  Three minutes later they were leaning, gasping against their bedroom door. ‘So what ancient fighting technique did you call that?’ the Admiral asked Jimmy, when they’d both finally got their breath back, ‘The Way of the bloody Hedgehog?’

  ~*~

  The sun is shining through the narrow windows, creating elongated beams of light when I wake. I know it’s early because the sun is still low enough to penetrate the thin gaps that pass for windows in Jason’s room. I glance over at the empty pillow next to me. Jason told me last night he intended to go for an early morning run. I’d actually contemplated joining him – for all of about three seconds.

  I think I had quite enough exercise last night thank you very much. Remembering brings a blush to my cheeks, and unable to help myself, I stretch like a contented cat. If I had the ability, I’m sure I’d be purring now.

  I made another decision last night too. As I lay in the dark listening to Jason’s steady breathing, I finally realized that I never wanted to be without him. Ever. And if that means sharing his dream for Bloodstone Tower, then so be it.

  I glance around the dim room trying to imagine it after a five star make over. To my surprise, I begin to see it, along with a small but burgeoning excitement. Maybe my talents do extend beyond adapting chocolate penises.

  Smiling, I turn over, deciding to wait for Jason to come back before getting up. Hopefully today we’ll hear from the three stooges, otherwise Freddy will definitely be running the upcoming Monster Mash tomorrow. Maybe I’d better give him a quick call. I know how he hates to be out of the loop with anything.

  Climbing out of bed, I hunt around for my mobile phone, wondering if there’ll be any signal in this room. We’re pretty high up, so I’m hopeful – that’s if I can find the bloody thing. Frowning I stand still and try to think where I put it last night. There’s a pile of clothes on the old blanket box at the foot of the bed, still lying where they’d been slung last night. Maybe my phone is somewhere in there.

  Padding round to the end of the bed, I pick up my jeans and t-shirt, feeling around in the pockets. Nothing. Next I hold up Jason’s jeans. I can’t remember giving my phone to him so there’s no point in checking his pockets. I’m just about to lay them on the bed, when I notice what looks like a letter sticking out of the back pocket. Wondering if he’s forgotten about it, I pull it out and stare at the envelope. I’d know that writing anywhere. It’s from my Aunt Flo.

  ~*~

  Needless to say, the noise did not abate as a result of their interference; in fact the Admiral had to concede by two am that it was considerably worse. Consequently both he and Jimmy were the exact opposite of bright eyed and bushy tailed the next morning.

  The Admiral had no idea what time Hugo was likely to surface and had to admit that Operation Leg Over was distinctly sketchy on their withdrawal details.

  ‘You up for breakfast Jimmy lad?’ the Admiral asked when they were finally up, dressed and sitting on the bed. ‘I could murder a cuppa.’

  The small man nodded wearily and they made their way cautiously down the stairs. The Admiral couldn’t help but notice that the telephone table was now propped up with the telephone directory, and he groaned inwardly, wondering how much it was going to cost them.

  They managed to find their way to the dining room which was down another flight of stairs in what had obviously been the cellar.

  ‘Need bloody danger money coming down these damn stairs,’ muttered the Admiral, only narrowly missing giving himself an impromptu frontal lobotomy on a large beam sticking out from the wall. Ducking, he finally got past it and entered the dim room.

  ‘Bugger,’ he mumbled, stopping.

  ‘What’s wrong Sir,’ asked Jimmy bumping into him from behind. Peering round the Admiral’s large frame, he saw why they’d stopped. Tucking into large fry ups were their four protagonists from the night before.

  Before they could scarper, a voice from their left announced cheerily, ‘Good morning gents, take a seat and I’ll be with you in a moment.’ The voice belonged to a well-built buxom woman, wearing a large apron with her hair done à la Coronation Street’s Ena Sharples.

  ‘I feel like I’ve stepped into a bloody time warp,’ the Admiral mumbled as they took their seats at a small table as far away from their tormentors as possible.

  ‘Now then, what can I get you gents?’ The woman was back with a pad and pencil. ‘We’ve got tea or coffee and a full English.’

  ‘That’ll be fine, won’t it Jimmy?’ the Admiral was anxious not to stay any longer than they had to.

  ‘With tea please,’ Jimmy added with a nervous look towards the other tables. He couldn’t believe these four louts were sitting there, bold as brass after all the fracas they caused last night, he’d a good mind to report
the buggers.

  ‘I see you had a little falling-out with my son and his friends last night,’ the landlady went on to say gaily, waving at the four thugs.

  ‘Mornin,’ muttered Captain Comb-Over through a mouth full of fried bread.

  ‘But there we go, boys will be boys,’ she continued smiling fondly at her son who must have been at least forty. ‘They don’t mean anything by it, it’s just high spirits. You know what it’s like I’m sure gentlemen.’ Then she bustled off into the kitchen leaving the Admiral and Jimmy to stare at each other in silence.

  Half an hour later they were back in their room, and as a result of bolting down his breakfast at record speed, the Admiral now had indigestion.

  ‘It’s no good Jimmy lad,’ the Admiral puffed and panted, sitting down on the bed, ‘I’ve got to give up this gallivanting around the country. It’s not doing me any good. It’s time I started putting myself first.’ Then, before Jimmy had chance to respond, Charles Shackleford keeled over and slid slowly to the floor.

  ~*~

  I sit staring at the letter, an awful premonition of disaster swamping me. Why has my aunt sent something to Jason? And just as significantly, why hasn’t he told me about it?

  Of course it could be that there’s nothing important to tell, but my heart, hammering like a sledgehammer, is telling me a different story. I turn the envelope around in my hand, then hold it up to the light to see if there’s any clue as to what’s written inside. There’s nothing.

  Placing the envelope on the bed beside me, I nibble uncertainly at my fingernails. I know I should really wait until Jason returns so I can ask him what’s inside it, but equally, I know I can’t. I look down again at my aunt’s spider like writing and make the decision.

  Heart thumping, I slide a folded A4 piece of paper out. I can see immediately that it’s a letter, and my anxiety ramps up. Clumsily I unfold it, then smooth out the creases, stalling for time. I feel almost like some kind of thief.

  Then, unable to help myself any longer, I look down and read.

  Dear Jason

  Of course you are wondering why I’m writing to you, but let me assure you that my decision to do so is purely out of concern for my niece. I know in my heart that you share my deep love for Kit, and the purpose of this letter is to reassure myself that you will do your utmost to take care of her should I die.

  Although death comes to all of us eventually, I have had to face up the fact that I may well be facing the grim reaper a little earlier than I had hoped!

  I have been diagnosed with cancer in my right lung and have made the decision to allow the doctors to remove it. I am going up to London in just over a week and will stay with Neil until I’m admitted into hospital. Once the operation is performed, Neil will keep you informed as to my progress.

  You are no doubt asking why I haven’t told Kit about my illness. My reasons for doing so are my own, save to say that I don’t want her to have to carry this burden with me.

  Of course I’m hopeful of making a full recovery, and should the operation be a success, Kit does not need to know anything about it. However, should the worst happen Jason, I entreat you to take care of her.

  With warmest regards

  Florence Davies

  I feel as though the bottom has dropped out of my world. My Aunt Flo has cancer. I think back to the times she’s seemed weary, or looked pale, and I curse myself for not realizing that it wasn’t just down to her age.

  How could she keep something so vital from me? And why did she think it was okay to tell my boyfriend?

  Her conviction that Jason loves me is a massive bloody assumption - and so is her belief that I actually need taking care of.

  And what about Jason? The letter was written over a week ago? Was he ever going to tell me?

  If he’s capable of keeping something like this from me, what else is he capable of doing? Do I even know him at all? How can I ever trust him? The questions are going round and round in my head until I feel as though I’m going mad.

  I think back to last night’s decision to put my heart in Jason’s hands. How bloody naïve can you get? I wonder if he’s written back to my aunt. Perhaps the two of them have had a high old time deciding what’s best for me and how I should live my life...

  I’m still sitting on the bed when Jason comes into the room. Glancing at Aunt Flo’s letter in my hand, he swears softly and strides over to the bed, seating himself next to me. I can smell the clean sweat from his run, the scent that is uniquely Jason and I want to burrow my head into his shoulder and stay there forever. Instead, I stare down at the contents of the letter and whisper, ‘Why?’

  Jason tries to put his arms around me, but stops when he feels me stiffen. I hear him sigh, no doubt trying to find the right words. Suddenly angry, I turn towards him and brandish the letter. ‘Why didn’t she tell me she had cancer? Why would she go into hospital to have an operation she might not survive without telling me?’

  ‘You know why.’ Jason’s voice is low and filled with compassion. I want to hit him.

  ‘She told you though,’ I shout, ‘So why didn’t you let me in on your little secret? Who made you God?’

  ‘She didn’t want you to know Kit,’ he responds carefully, ‘She didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘That wasn’t her choice to make,’ I cry, anguish invading every cell of my body, ‘And it wasn’t yours. I’m not a child. How dare you both keep me in the dark about something as important as this? Who the hell do you think you are Jason Buchannan?’

  I’m vaguely aware that the tears are streaming down my face. ‘I need to go to her now.’

  ‘Kit.’ Jason puts his hands on my shoulders and shakes me. ‘Listen to me. She doesn’t want you there. She has Neil. And nobody is saying she’s going to die. You know what your aunt’s like – she’s a free spirit, and she values her own independence more than anything – that is, anything, except you.

  ‘Look at me Kit,’ he continues taking hold of my chin and turning my face to his.

  ‘She. Does. Not. Want. You. To. See. Her. Like. This.’ He punctuates each word.

  ‘So why did she tell you then?’ I ask finally, my voice a monotone in contrast to my early histrionics. Jason sighs, running his fingers through his hair in frustration, then he pulls me into his arms, ignoring my resistance.

  ‘You’ve read the letter. She wanted to make sure you’d be looked after sweetheart,’ he murmurs. ‘She knows I’ll take care of you, no matter what happens.’

  I pull away, saying harshly, ‘Don’t patronize me. I don’t need you to take care of me, I don’t need anyone to. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.

  ‘When my aunt comes back to Dartmouth, I’ll be there waiting for her.’ I pause, feeling the anger churn in my gut, and lean forward, declaring heatedly, ‘I will be there Jason, whatever you or she has to say about it.’

  Jason frowns at me. ‘What exactly does that mean?’ he questions in a low voice.

  ‘It means you should have told me. It means you had no right to decide what’s best for me. It means that I will take care of the woman who’s been more than a mother to me, and it means that I’ll never ever leave her.’

  ‘Don’t you understand Kit?’ he says, his expression earnest and serious, ‘She doesn’t want that. She wants you to be free, to live your life,’

  ‘I can’t leave her Jason, and I won’t,’ I say resolutely, turning away from him and standing up.

  ‘You wouldn’t be leaving her straight away,’ he argues fiercely, ‘It will be months before this place is habitable, and your aunt will be back on her feet by then.’

  I stare at him for a second then shake my head, crying, ‘Why can’t you see it? ‘How can I simply abandon her when she needs me most?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be abandoning her,’ he shouts in frustration. ‘Flo doesn’t want you to sacrifice your life for hers. You know it Kit. In your heart you know I’m right. Your aunt can come and live here if that’s what she wa
nts – she knows she’ll always be welcome.’

  I stare at his anguished features for a second, then harden my heart. ‘Aunt Flo will never live anywhere else but Dartmouth,’ I say finally, unemotionally, ‘And neither will I.’

  ‘So that’s it then. You’ve made your decision.’ His voice is tight and controlled and I feel him withdraw from me as he turns back into the knob, closing himself off.

  ‘I won’t walk away from her when she needs me Jason,’ I repeat grimly. ‘I won’t ask you to understand, but the fact is, I owe her everything, I owe her my life.’

  ‘Is that really what it’s all about Kit?’ he demands coldly, ‘Or is this the excuse you’ve been waiting for?’

  I stare at him, not knowing how to answer. What’s the point in telling him I’d made the decision to stay? That I was going to tell him my home was wherever he was? The man in front of me is not the person I thought I’d be sharing my life with. I don’t know who he is.

  ‘I’ll let you get a shower,’ I answer bleakly instead, ‘Then I’ll pack my things and leave.’

  He stares at me for a second, his beautiful eyes hooded and distant, then nods his head stiffly. ‘As you wish. Perhaps you should speak to your friends before you go. They might not wish to stay here without y….’ Before he can finish, there’s a loud knocking on the bedroom door.

  Without looking at me, Jason strides to the door and throws it open. Noah is standing on the other side looking serious.

  ‘Have you heard from my father?’

  ‘No, Jimmy just called. Hugo’s fine Jason. It’s the Admiral, he’s had a heart attack.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘What in God’s name are you doing in Portsmouth James Eugene Noon?’

  Eugene…? We’re all sitting in the Great Hall unashamedly eavesdropping while Emily tears a strip off her husband. Even though she’s standing by the main doors, which is the only place to get a signal, we can all hear her perfectly clearly.