by Leigh Barker
Lurking.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Janet said and stood up. “This is hopeless. Come with me, Tom.”
She strode out, and Major Tom followed, throwing a pleading look at Rob, who just shrugged. Security-type work required a security-type person. Logical.
“Should we help?” Maurice asked, with little enthusiasm.
“No,” Rob said, “but we should definitely go and watch.”
They stepped up behind Janet and Major Tom at the desks and looked out across the deserted concourse.
“Is it still there?” Dickie asked from behind the half-closed staff door.
“Can’t see,” Rob said. “Major Tom has bravely interposed his body between us and the potential blast.”
Major Tom visibly jumped, looked at Rob quickly, and took a long step back, allowing the rest to edge forward to the desks.
They could see the suspect package. A large, brown cardboard box sat in the roped-off lanes leading to the desks. It was highly suspect.
“There is the suspect package,” Rob said, pointing at the box. “Over there. That cardboard box.”
Janet turned to him slowly and studied him for a moment. “Really?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “I was looking for a big black ball with a fizzing fuse and the word ‘bomb’ written on it in white paint.”
“No,” Rob said, shaking his head. “That’s it there. That cardboard box.”
Dickie closed the door a little more.
“Are you going to remove it to a place of safety, Major Tom?” Rob asked enthusiastically.
“Err… well…” Major Tom said decisively. “I wouldn’t like to overreach the limits of my… err… responsibility. We should… err… wait for the proper authorities.”
“But you said in the war you were always fiddling with things that go bang.”
“True, in my time in Iraq, I often had cause to handle ordinance, and sometimes it was necessary to diffuse it. But that was war, and if it wasn’t me, then some poor marine would probably have been blown to bits. You might say it was my duty.”
“Then do your duty, and get over there, and diffuse that cardboard box,” Janet said, pointing at the lanes.
“It might be somebody’s washing,” Maurice said.
“Does your mom know you’re out?” Janet asked.
“He’s got a point, though,” Rob said. “We can’t just sling it. It might have a cat inside or a snake or something.”
“Then I’m afraid it’s down to you, Tom,” Dickie said from behind the door, now even more closed.
“We should evacuate and wait for the disposal boys,” Major Tom said.
“You’re kidding,” Maurice said, “the garbage men won’t take that!”
“Take your medication, Maurice,” Janet said.
“He’s right, though, we can’t leave it, what if some kid comes by while we’re hiding?” Rob said. “One was here earlier, and much as it wouldn’t bother me to see him blown up, it might be bad for the airline.”
“Can’t have bad publicity for the airline,” Dickie said. “Go and take a look, Tom.”
“With respect, Mister Marks,” Major Tom said, his voice strained, “we should wait here for the security boys.”
“You are security,” Janet said sternly.
“He means,” Rob said, “those eager beavers who slide down ropes, shouting, ‘Go! Go! Move it!’ and military things like that.”
“I called them,” Maurice said. “They have an alert on and won’t be here till after lunch.”
“They’re probably practicing what to do should someone find a suspect package,” Janet said.
“Yeah,” Rob said, “and their package is probably in the bar.”
“I could go and look for them,” Maurice said.
“One stays. We all stay,” Rob said. “That right, Major Tom?”
“I believe the expression is, you go, we all go,” Major Tom said, sensing an opportunity.
“Do something,” Dickie said. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“I could go over and just take a quick look,” Major Tom said.
“What if there’s a hidden terrorist with a trigger device? I’ve seen it on the TV,” Maurice suggested.
“For heaven’s sake, shut up!” Janet said.
“Just saying, that’s all,” Maurice said, sulking.
“Well, don’t,” Janet snapped. “Tom, go and take a look. Now.”
“Pretend it’s Baghdad and twelve-year-olds are throwing rocks at you,” Rob said.
Major Tom started to move.
“Hang on,” Rob said and ignored Janet’s squinted stare. “You can’t just go over to the bomb without some sort of body armour.”
Thank you, Lord.
Major Tom nodded sagely. “The boy’s right. It’s procedure. No body armour, no fiddling with bombs.” He turned towards the staff room and sighed. Free. Free at last.
“Hang on, then,” Rob said, crashing the moment. “I can sort something out for you. Come on, Maurice.”
“Not me,” Maurice said, shaking his head.
Rob crouched and crept behind the baggage belt, keeping low to minimise the impact should the package detonate.
“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Janet said.
“Oh, yeah, great,” Major Tom said sullenly, his escape now in tatters.
“Knowing that at any moment we could be blown to pieces,” Janet said.
Dickie closed the door.
“We never had bomb threats at Virgin,” Shirley said with a sniff.
“No,” Maurice said under his breath, “in those days the terrorists would just set fire to the paper wings.”
“Did you say something, Maurice?” Shirley asked, coming back from her memories of happier, bomb-free days.
Before Maurice could lie, a cleaning trolley trundled around the corner and onto the concourse. The two women pushing the trolley very slowly could have been sisters. Sixty-something — a lot of ‘something’ — wearing button-up blue overalls and silly baseball caps with oversized GAL logos.
Everyone behind the desks began waving them away. They smiled, waved back, and kept on coming, and stopped in front of the desks.
“Are you expecting a rush?” Mrs T asked.
Jessie handed her a brush.
“No, Jessie, a rush—”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” Jessie said. “It’s not easy you know. Not with my… problem.”
Nobody knew. And nobody really wanted to.
“There’s a suspect package, Mrs T,” Janet said. “You should move away from the danger zone.”
“It’s too late now,” Major Tom said, raising his hands as if to block the way. “The vibration could set it off.”
“This is an airport, have you noticed?” Shirley said. “With planes landing and taking off.”
“That’s not localised vibration, is it?” Major Tom said pompously.
“The bomb can tell the difference, then, can it?” Janet said.
“Well, it depends if it’s got a trembler.”
“My Herbert used to say he’d got a trembler,” Mrs T said.
Nobody spoke, they just watched her watching the box.
“Okay,” Janet said, “I’m going to ask. Even though I know I’m going to regret it.”
They waited.
“Why did your Herbert say he’d got a trembler, then, Mrs. T?”
“Oh, it’s okay now. He takes pills for his distemper.”
“What?” Janet said, totally confused.
“I had a dog once,” Shirley said and received a sharp look from Janet.
“I didn’t know that,” Maurice said. “How nice. What was its name?”
“Just Bloke,” Shirley said, glancing at her watch and thinking it would soon be time for a break.
“That’s a strange name for a dog,” Maurice said.
“Not for this one,” Shirley said, looking up absently from her watch. “He was lazy, messy, insensitive, and violent when woken.”
Janet sighed heavily. Life shouldn’t be like this. Her mother had told her, “Janet, go to the city, make something of yourself.” She probably hadn’t meant make a loser. “Why did the doctor give Herbert distemper pills, Mrs T?”
She really couldn’t care less, but it passed the time.
“Dunno, it was the doctor’s idea,” Mrs T said. “I could never understand him.”
“Oh, I know what you mean,” Maurice said. “All that medical talk makes my head spin.”
“Oh, I don’t know if he did medical talk. He was foreign, I could never get what he said. Except he told Herbert he had to calm down and take pills for distemper.”
They all watched her for a while, waiting for her to smile or say something. They waited in vain.
At that silent moment, Rob returned, clutching a big canvas holdall.
Janet frowned and watched him suspiciously as he dropped the bag onto the check-in desk. “What have you got there?”
“A bag.”
She waited patiently. Not an easy thing for her.
“Sports bag.”
She continued to wait, though her foot began to tap.
“Been in lost baggage for ages,” Rob said, starting to feel the heat. He smiled at Mrs T and Jessie. “Morning, ladies. Come to watch the fireworks?”
“No, thank you, dear,” Jessie said, returning the smile. “I can never see what the clues have got to do with the answers.”
He looked at her for a few moments while he tried to unscramble it, but gave up. Life is just too short. “And how’s Herbert and the kids, Mrs T?”
“Oh, they’re lovely, thank you, Rob. But he says he’s not having any more. He’s having a hysterectomy next month.”
“It’s a snip, Mrs T,” Rob informed her.
“Doesn’t matter, dear, we don’t have to pay.” She smiled. “The government are doing it for him.”
“The government are cutting off Herbert’s nuts?” Maurice asked in shock.
“Why is that a surprise to you?” Rob said with a sad shake of his head.
“It’s the health bit,” Mrs T said.
Jessie shook her head and woke up. “And good health to you, but it’s a bit early in the day for me, thanks.”
“You tell Herbert those snippy things can be painful,” Rob said.
“Oh, not to worry,” Mrs T said, “they’re giving him a… err… anus… thetic.”
“Ah, right,” Rob said, “that should take his mind off it.”
“Okay,” Janet said sharply, “stop it right there.”
Rob put his hand on his heart and gave her a ‘what, lil ol’ me’ look.
“Shall we get on with it,” she said tiredly. “I’m expecting a rush.”
“I bet Jessie has something for a rash, don’t you, Jessie?” Rob said.
Jessie woke up again with a start. “Told you I’m going as fast as I can. What is the matter with everybody this morning, all this hurry?”
“Not got your hearing aid fixed, then, eh Jessie?” Rob said with a smile.
“No, I haven’t, dear. But why would I want to flush it? It won’t work any more.”
Maurice sighed. “Oh, we wouldn’t want that, would we? God knows what confusion would follow.”
Rob unzipped the sports bag and began rummaging inside and putting things onto the desk. The others gathered round. He placed a sports box next to one half of a pair of hockey shin guards.
“My Willie had one of those,” Jessie said, pointing at the jockstrap.
Rob smiled. “I think you’ll find that’s a truss, Jessie.”
“Never any bother, he’d trust anybody. Anyway, he liked it, said it filled out his trousers. Quite suited him.”
“Put those on, Major Tom,” Rob instructed, pointing at the pile of cast-off sports equipment.
Major Tom started at him and then at the equipment. He closed his eyes slowly in surrender, reached over, and picked up the ice-hockey helmet with the broken visor. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Rob reached over and flicked the visor. “This’ll save your brains from the blast.”
“Very reassuring,” Maurice said. ‘At least it’ll keep them all in the same place when it blows his head off,” he said under his breath.
Major Tom’s head snapped around, proving he wasn’t as deaf as Maurice assumed. “Wait a minute here—”
“Ignore him,” Rob said, handing him a padded vest. “He’s just jealous that you’re going to be the hero.”
Major Tom took a deep breath and nodded slowly.
“Posthumous hero,” Maurice said.
Major Tom took a little step back, but he was too slow. Rob took his arm and slapped a lacrosse stick into his hand. Major Tom held up the long stick and looked at the triangular net.
“That’s for scooping,” Rob said with enthusiasm.
“Scooping?”
“Yeah, you know?”
Major Tom didn’t know. In fact, no one knew, but that didn’t stop Rob, who took the stick back and demonstrated scooping imaginary explosives out of an imaginary bomb. A quite safe imaginary bomb. He handed the stick back to Major Tom.
“Right, get into your bomb armour, Major Tom,” he said, handing him the shin guard. “And let’s see you do hero things.”
Major Tom was caught. He slid on the fat, protective gloves and held them up. “What am I supposed to do wearing these things?”
“Oh,” Mrs T said, “is there a game? Ooh, Herbert used to love sport. He used to spend all day asleep in front of the telly when it was on.”
“My sister used to do that,” Jessie said absently.
Janet raised her hand. “Nobody try to stop me. I’m going to ask.” She leaned on the desk to be closer to Jessie. “What, Jessie?”
“No, dear, I can’t squat any more. Not since me operation.”
Janet had the bit between her teeth and wasn’t going to be put off. “No, Jessie. I meant what did your sister used to do?”
Jessie bristled a little. “They never proved anything. It was that Mrs Hardcastle who started that rumour. Anyway, she was too old.”
“No, dear,” Janet said almost desperate now. “I meant—”
“For heaven’s sake,” Shirley said. “Who cares what the old bat says?”
“Oh no, dear. They wouldn’t let him bat… well, not after the incident, anyway. You know, they never got the marks off.” She shook her head sadly.
“There you go,” Rob said, patting Major Tom on the shoulder. “Ready for action.”
The others gave up on the fascinating life of Mrs T and Jessie and turned to look Major Tom over. He’d lost the fat gloves and was wearing the jockstrap on the outside of his trousers and had the broken helmet perched on the top of his head. The padded jacket was way too small and was held in place, straining across his chest, with a lace from the one sports shoe.
“Well, what do you think?” Rob said, turning to his audience. “An action man if ever you saw one, right?”
Maurice opened his mouth, but closed it in response to Rob’s dirty look.
“He looks like a total loon,” Janet said helpfully.
“No, ignore her, Major Tom,” Rob said, steering the hapless security guard around the desk. “Go get ’em, tiger!”
The tiger edged slowly onto the concourse, the jockstrap bunching up his trousers into wrinkled pantaloons, while the tiny helmet slid slowly over his face to hang on his chest by the frayed straps.
Okay, hero at work here.
“Whoa!” Rob said suddenly.
Major Tom stopped. Thank you, God.
“When… if it explodes,” Rob said, “the blast will go up and out, right?” He held up his hands in surrender. “Not that I’m an expert. Not like you.”
Major Tom stood up a little straighter, and the jockstrap crushed his nuts. “Correct,” he said through a flinch and bent a little again. “Exploding ordinance will generally follow that explosive trajectory.”
“Then,” Rob said, raising
a finger for emphasis, “you should stay low. You know? Under the blast.”
Major Tom’s life was over. Ended before it had barely begun. Okay, before his old age at least. He leaned on the desk and lowered himself to his knees.
“Don’t you think you should get down as low as possible?” Rob said with a worried frown.
Major Tom sighed heavily and began crawling slowly across the concourse, with his backside sticking up heroically.
“Isn’t that the bravest thing you ever saw?” Maurice asked, wiping away a tear.
“Looks like somewhere to park my bike,” Rob said.
“Have a little respect for the man risking his life,” Janet said sharply.
“And ours,” Rob added, “if we stay here.”
They moved as smoothly as a well-oiled machine and hid behind the desk.
Mrs T and Jessie stayed out on the concourse, standing behind their cleaning trolley and watching Major Tom crawl under the tapes zigzagging across the concourse.
“He’ll leave scuff marks,” Jessie said reproachfully. “And who’ll have to scrub them off? Us, that’s who.”
“The blast will clean off the scuff marks, Jessie,” Rob said in a muffled voice from under the desk.
“I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” Major Tom said. “The disposal boys will have sandbags and things.”
“Don’t worry, Major Tom,” Rob said, “we’re quite safe behind these desks. You go ahead and do your stuff.”
Major Tom pulled the helmet away from his chin and let it go. The elastic straps did what elastic straps are supposed to do. “Ow! Ouch!” he said, as the hard helmet smacked into his face. He pushed it to one side under his ear and crawled on.
At that moment, Stephanie arrived for her shift. In her early twenties, probably blonde, and wearing a GAL orange uniform that was three sizes too small and pulled in and pushed out in all the right places.
“What’s the old idiot doing now?” she asked, leaning across the desk to talk to the brave souls hiding behind the desk.
“Perhaps you should come back here with us, Stephanie,” Shirley said.
“Yes,” Rob said, “sit by me, I’ll protect you.”
“Yeah, right,” Stephanie said. “In your dreams.”
“He’s checking out that suspect package,” Janet said. “Come behind the desk in case it explodes.”
“What? That old cardboard box?”
“Yes,” Janet said. “He thinks it might be a bomb.”
“Don’t be bloody daft,” Stephanie said with a sniff. “Who’d want to blow up this dump?”
“She’s got a point,” Maurice said but continued to stay low. “Who’d want to blow up GAL?”
“Well, me, for one,” Rob said.
“Yes,” Janet said, “but you’re certifiable.”
“Stephanie,” Shirley said, “I really do think you should come back here with us.”
“Why?” Stephanie said. “Is there a party?”
“More like a wake if you don’t take cover,” Rob said.
“Don’t like wakes,” Stephanie said. “All that blubbering and having to say nice things about weird uncles.”
Rob frowned. “What uncles, Steph?” He waved her over. “Come and sit down with me, and tell me all about it.”
“That,” Stephanie said, “is what the weird uncles used to say.”
“My uncle Harry was wired,” Jessie said and frowned and shook her head. “No, it was Uncle Harry who was wired.” She nodded confirmation. “Yes. Broke his pelican on a motorbike.”
“I didn’t know your uncle Harry rode a motorbike, dear,” Mrs T said.
“He doesn’t.”
“But you just said he broke something riding a motorbike.”
“He wasn’t riding it,” Jessie said.
Silence.
Rob and Maurice exchanged a long look.
“What was he doing with it, then?” Mrs T asked.
“It fell on him when he was lifting it over the garden wall,” Jessie said. She shook her head.