Paul McCartney's Coat

by Michael White

  I examined the forty or so people who seemed to be waiting for me to start. Quite a few Japanese, some Americans (you could spot them by the bloody big cameras. Silently I had a little prayer that none of them got mugged while they were on the walk), and various other people. As I looked at them a tallish haughty looking woman accompanied by a short fat bloke caught my eye and approached. “Are you in charge here?” she asked in a typical school headmistress kind of voice. “Great!”, I thought. “Complaints already and we haven’t even started yet!”

  “I am.” I smiled as she produced a small card out of her bag which she gave to me. Before I could read it she carried on.

  “Susan Harper.” she rattled off in an official kind of way. “I am doing a piece for the Liverpool Echo on tourism in the town and wondered if my colleague and I might accompany you on your walk this evening? I’m sure any publicity would be quite useful to you?” She said this as a kind of question in which the answer was never in doubt. Jack was beside me and out the corner of my eye I could almost see the colour draining out of him. Arthur also had a particularly pained expression, and had the look about him of a boy who wants to put a hand up in class to ask a question but doesn’t dare. She was right though. Any publicity would be brilliant. As long as we didn’t bugger it up, that was!

  “Of course, Ms Harper” I heard myself saying. “You will be more than welcome. Any questions feel free to ask.” she nodded and then moved off into the crowd with her colleague, who I now noticed was carrying a camera that big that even some of the Americans were looking at it in envy. No pressure then! “Let Edward and Mary know” I hissed to Jack, who nodded. “Tell them to go for it!”

  As a call to battle it wasn’t up to much, I know. But it was all that I had. To be honest, I was bricking it. Still. We couldn’t turn back now. Banging my long, ornate umbrella (another one of Edward’s strange little “finds”) on the ground for attention I welcomed everyone to the walk, told them how long it would last and gave a few basic rules. (Basically don’t get pissed or lost. Though not necessarily in that order.) Then we were off!

  Our first ghost was only ten minutes away and so off we proceeded, me waving my umbrella over my head for them to follow, and the rear brought up by a now furiously limping Arthur. As we approached the ornate steps of the particular building we had decided to use I could see Edward lurking in the shadows on the other side of the road. I began to relate the tale of what I had decided to call “The reluctant banker” which was some nonsense I had concocted about a banker who gets run over by a carriage on his way to the bank. I know. Dickens it ain’t, but there you have it. We had found that a few of the stories needed jiggling a little bit, as well as who was doing what. We had all agreed that this was our best one to start the night with.

  As planned, Edward suddenly came marching across the road in character and took over the tale, acting out the part of the ghost. It was a bit hammy, but once the punters realised what was going on they seemed to get into the spirit of it. The Japanese giggled and nodded furiously, though I have no idea whether they actually understood a word of it or not. The cameras of the Americans started flashing furiously, making poor old Edward blink madly.

  Eventually he finished his bit and we were off again to our next rendezvous. So far, so good! As we moved off I saw Edward heading back towards Jack’s little white van. The engine was already running. Good. Next stop was the witch of the park railings, and Mary. Christ, I hoped she was going to behave herself, or at least make an attempt to be lucid! On our way at the back of the long snaking line of people following me I could see Arthur limping away madly. If anything his limp seemed to be getting worse. It was that bad he looked as if he had got a puncture or something. Anyway, we arrived, and with my back to the dark railing i began my tale. The plan was for Mary to appear behind me of course, which she suddenly did, raving like a loon. Unsurprisingly, (well to me, at least) she seemed to be quite good at it. The punters all gasped and there was the flash photography again. I moved out the way as she took centre stage and went to have a word with Arthur. As I moved through the crush I noticed the journalist making notes in a small jotter. There was a deep frown upon her face. Her photographer merely looked bored.

  Arthur was standing at the rear of the crowd with the look of a man who is trying desperately to fade into his surroundings. “What’s with the limp?” I asked him and he winced involuntarily. “I thought that was just for the social?” Arthur winced and nodded at the newspaper reporter while Mary carried on with her increasingly over the top tirade about being persecuted as a witch.

  “I’ll be done for if the social see me in a photograph.” said Arthur, shaking his head.

  “Arthur.” I sighed. “In the very unlikely event that they do take a picture with you in it then it’s not going to be obvious that you have a limp now, is it? It’s not quite the kind of thing that you can capture in a photograph is it?” Arthur frowned.

  “Not even if I do this?” he said, and his face took on a painful wince, his face now a perfect mime of pain.

  “Not even if you do that.” I sighed and deciding I was wasting my time returned to the front of the crowd where Mary was just finishing. Slowly she faded into the darkness just as Jack’s van arrived across the road. Off we went again! Our next stop, the “litter bin ghoul” went pretty well. Edward seemed to be warming to his various parts and the crowd seemed to be getting into the spirit of it. His costume for this one was slightly different, and again looked pretty authentic. He looked like a completely different person altogether!

  Then we were off again, and so we made our way to our half way point and a rendezvous with “The Chip Shop Ghost” which was Mary again. The plan was to stop at the chip shop for about ten minutes or thereabouts so that everyone could buy themselves some chips or whatever from the chip shop that we played the scene outside of. Mr Chan’s was a fine old chippy and Mr Chan was more than pleased to have a new influx of customers eager to fill their boots with his food. As well as that we were on a ten per cent cut of any grub they all bought so everyone was a winner, really.

  Mary did her stuff and afterwards most of the punters lined up to get some chips while I took a breather and Arthur rested his supposedly “gammy” leg. Again the reporter was scribbling furiously in her notepad, and the photographer did take a picture this time, but it was of all of the people queuing up for chips. Odd. A few minutes later I had to have a word with Mary as well. She seemed to be trying to line some of the punters up for palm readings, but I soon knocked that on the head as Jack arrived and drove her off for the next stop.

  “Is this an authentic chip shop?” one of the Americans asked me, and unsure exactly what an authentic chip shop actually was I just nodded. He seemed happy with this and began taking photos of the grinning Mr Chan who was by now stood in the window of the chippy, waving. I think if I’d given him another five minutes he would probably have been doling out autographs too. I gave them another minute or so and then we were off again to our next but last stop, and “The mystery of the Seventh lamp post”. Edward played a blinder on this one and as he made his way back to the van for our finale I could see both Mary and Jack waiting for him, the van’s engine running. For the finale all three of them would have a part, Jack at last getting the chance to bet involved rather than just being the chauffeur.

  By now Arthur was almost dragging his leg behind him. Several of the punters had begun to look at him suspiciously, as if his limp could in some way be catching. Thankfully none of them had decided to take a picture of him. Yet. God knows what he might do if they had tried to. And so we approached our final location. So far I had got through the night on adrenalin alone, but by now I could feel myself starting to sag a bit. I could tell several of the walkers felt the same way too; the long line of people now stretching out behind me more than it had done at any other point during the evening. The journalist and the photographer managed to keep up though. I could make them out striding along, deep in conversa
tion.

  Our final location had been very carefully chosen. It was a wide, square courtyard into which there was only one entrance, through a long narrow alley. It was quite big, and would easily fit all of our walkers in at once. It was also pitch black. I thought, not for the first time, that we were very lucky to find it. It was perfect for our last tale, “The Legend of Spring Heel Jack”.

  I waited at the entrance to the alley whilst everyone caught up, herded forward by the furiously limping form of Arthur, who was just about visible at the back. I gave a little speech about the legend of Spring Heel Jack and then announced that we would all be filing in to the courtyard through the dark alley in a moment. I made a great show of approaching the passage into the courtyard slowly, as if scared of what we would find in there, and called out. “Are you ready, Jack?”

  It was, of course, a double feint. I needed to know that Jack was in place and ready, along with Edward and Mary. From the darkness a loud deep growl came back in answer, loud enough for everyone there to hear it. “I am ready!” said Jack. “I have been ready for a long time!” Smiling to myself, I thought that Jack sounded really good! As I noted this I began to herd the people into the darkness, making sure they all kept to the left because Mary, Edward, and of course Jack were on the right hand side ready to finish off the night’s events. I was silently quite pleased with myself. Everything had gone relatively well and we were nearly done. I think we could just about manage to fit in a pint or two on the way home once the finale was over.

  The walkers continued to file into the darkness of the courtyard, and over the sounds of the occasional “Oh. Excuse Me.” and “Oops - sorry” I could hear Jack growling away in the darkness. He really was getting in to the part! Mary and Edward would of course remain quiet, until, as per the script, they would appear from the darkness and drag poor old Spring Heel Jack off to Hell. Not a bad final flourish, even if I say so myself, and it allowed all three of them to exit so I could bring the night to a close with a quick little speech and then we were all over and done.

  As the last few walkers filed into the courtyard I could see Jack was really getting in to it now. I was still stood at the head of the alley with Arthur but I could see two little red lights bobbing about in the dark. It had taken ages to sew the two little bulbs into Jack’s outfit. They were salvaged from a light up Santa hat I had found in the box room, but they certainly seemed to be doing their job at the minute.

  The crowd was relatively silent now, though I could hear nervous giggles coming from one or two people. Jack was really going for it now. The two little red Santa lights jumped furiously up and down as if Jack was hopping, or more like it loping, from foot to foot. It looked as if he had been taking lessons in limping from Arthur! It was difficult to determine however, because apart from the two little red pin pricks of light dancing all over the place it was completely pitch black in there. Jack gave a loud deep growl and several squeals rose from his now captive audience. “Don’t milk it, Jack” I laughed silently to myself and began to head into the darkness of the alley and then the courtyard.

  Which is when I heard loud shouting from the street off to my right. I remember thinking that was all I needed, some bloody drunks interrupting the end of the show, and I was about to get Arthur to head them off whilst I hastily brought the evening to a close when I saw three figures running along the road towards us. They were still some way off but I recognised Edward’s outlandish outfit straight away. Then behind him, Mary as well. Followed by Jack. Even though they were still quite some way off I could hear Jack shouting. “Sorry, mate! The effing van broke down! We’ve had to run the last quarter of a mile!”

  I glanced at the three of them. Looked into the twin red points of light capering about in the courtyard, a low, deep hissing noise coming from the darkness. An ominous growling. Looked at Arthur who was blinking furiously. His limp seemed to have settled on his face instead now. Then I blinked again at the three rapidly approaching figures running down the road towards me. “Tell them to stay here!” I hissed to Arthur, who seemed to be glad he was not going to have to go into the courtyard itself.

  I strode into the darkness and the two little pin points of light seemed to settle upon me.

  “All are here now!” growled a deep voice. I thought it may have been a question, but thinking back it was more of a statement really.

  “All come to see Jack.” Came the voice in the dark.

  “Come to catch him?” growled the voice and this time it was a question.

  Then there was a dull glow of red light, growing brighter, dark red flames flickering upon the shape of a figure crouched in the corner, a long black cloak wrapped about it. Flames flickered about its body, lighting up the courtyard. It revealed a scene that was a little bit like a sea of faces all cowering in what looked like utter terror!. No face was visible. Just a long arm outstretched, covered almost entirely by the cloak. The hand ended at what seemed to be a long set of claws. Flames flickered about its fingers. Several screams arose from the audience. Then the shape moved forward. I was dimly aware of the sounds of commotion coming from the alley that lead in to the courtyard.

  “Nobody catches Spring Heel Jack!” the figure suddenly screamed, the deep, low voice almost seeming to shake the ground. Then there was a burst of flames at its feet and the figure suddenly shot high into the air like a bloody rocket. I reckon it must be a good sixty foot up to the top of the building but the figure managed it easily, nestling on the edge of the roof high above, and then turned looking down towards us, watching. The flames flickering around it made it clearly visible. Whatever it was. It laughed once. a long deep laugh and then it leaped up higher on to the roof and was gone, the sounds of laughter trailing after into the darkness, which settled once more upon the audience who were more or less stunned into silence.

  Much to my amazement I improvised a little speech there and then and brought the night to a close pretty damned quick. As the walkers shuffled out of the alley and off into the night several of them stopped to shake our hands, and the journalist seemed to be beside herself as she came to give her verdict.

  “I wasn’t that impressed up till now” she stuttered, “But that finale was spectacular! How on Earth did you do it? Was it wires?” I just smiled and tapped my nose and she grinned before getting her plainly confused photographer to take our picture. Arthur unsurprisingly disappeared into the darkness at this point, his limp now completely forgotten.

  “What the hell was that?” asked Edward and Jack and I shrugged. Mary was babbling about spirits of the night and so on and so forth, so we left her to it.

  “God knows.” said Jack. “But who cares? Look at this - we got thirty quid in tips!”

  And so we made our way back to the van and eventually got it going just in time to join the lock in at the local. We all had more than half a pint that night, I can tell you!

  This all happened a few months back now. Needless to say the Echo review (we even got our own article!) praised us to the nines. We now run four walks a week, and we are that successful we are thinking of setting up a franchise! Jack (that’s the other Jack – the one not quite on the payroll) doesn’t seem to mind, either. It’s as if the more people he gets to scare the happier he is to do it. He never fails to turn up. Sometimes I’ll even get him some chips from Mr Chan’s. He seems to like them. Though I have to be careful to make it a small portion or if he’s got some left he tends to start flicking them at people below from the rooftops once we have finished.

  So there we have it. We’re doing very well these days. We’ve even replaced the van. It just goes to show though, doesn’t it? In Liverpool the ghost next door is not always the kind of ghost that you would expect!

  A Large Sweet Tea, Please.

  Every match day just before kick-off Stan took his place in his usual seat and settled down for the game. He only ever bothered with the weekend home matches, so once a fortnight he would pack a sandwich, get his season ticket out of the draw
er and off he would go. It never failed to amaze him how valuable his season ticket was. He knew that tales abound in Liverpool about parents putting their unborn child’s name on the season ticket register in the vague hope that the as of yet to be born child would be able to take possession of said ticket before they retired themselves. It was a nice little earner for the clubs as well! Typically it took a fiver a year to stay on the list. Which went some way towards the casual thought that whoever invented insurance (“Now run that one past me once again. I give you money just in case something happens but if it doesn’t then that’s okay but you’ll charge me more next year?”) also had at some point turned their hand towards the management of football season tickets as well.

  Of course because season tickets were so much in demand what with the seat being all but reserved, it tended to be the same people sitting in the same seats at every home match. Over the years some of these people became friends, or at least familiar with, the people sitting around them. Which was just a little unfortunate for Stan, as Jim was the guy sat behind him.

  To say that Jim was a big bloke is a bit like saying that Queen’s Drive is a very long road. He was enormous. Stan thought Jim must be at least six and a half foot tall and just as wide. He was just grateful that Jim sat behind him and not in front of him, because if he did he would not have seen any of the matches at all.