by J C Williams
The crew still had no idea where their destination was, but as they negotiated the narrow road leading to the beach, the vision of a huge sailing ship in the harbour greeted them. The image was perfectly framed against a backdrop of rolling green hills on either side, and without the contrast of modern life — such as cars and mobile phones — you were easily transported back to a time when such magnificent ships reigned superior on the waves.
“Holy shit! Look at that!” said Jack, enthusiastically. “That’s unbelievable.”
There was a collective appreciation as Emma drove along the promenade looking for a parking space.
“Are we going on that?” asked Grandad.
“Sort of!” teased Emma.
A towering marquee had been erected near to the harbour wall, affording a perfect view of the ship. Emma wore a knee-length red-and-black dress, which met aggressive dominatrix-style leather boots. Her wavy, dark hair was decorated by an array of pearlescent ornaments, and now she was no longer driving, she sported an impressive-looking eyepatch. She marched in front and was followed closely by her band of able seamen.
“Where are we going?” asked Jack.
Emma took her cutlass from her waistband, pointing it towards the marquee. “Over thaaaar!” she said.
She pulled out a pile of tickets from a hidden pocket and led them through a temporary reception area. The desk was empty, likely as their group were running a few minutes late and anyone at the desk had already buggered off. She opened the door and walked forward with purpose before coming to a very abrupt halt. The others, who were following like ducklings, all walked into the back of each other.
The room which consisted of nine or ten round tables with dozens of people sat around them came to a hush.
Grandad could see nothing at the rear of the line and thought it an opportune time to recite his finest pirate impression. “Pieces of Eight – pieces of eight!” he shouted in his loudest pirate–parrot voice.
Jack manoeuvred his head towards Emma and tried to whisper in her ear.
“I can’t hear you,” she said.
His hat was preventing him from getting close enough to be heard so he removed it and tucked it neatly under his arm. “I thought this was a pirate party?”
Emma was tempted to turn and run, leaving Jack to explain. She pulled out her ticket to make sure they were in the correct place. “There!” she said, pointing at the ticket. “Help the Aged Annual Ball: Nautical Theme.”
“It says nautical,” said Jack cautiously.
“Exactly!” she said, virtually stomping her foot.
Jack was in sensitive territory with this one. “Emma, nautical doesn’t mean pirate.”
She started to laugh nervously. “It does!”
He stepped back to a safe distance. “It can, I suppose. But not necessarily, see? It just means general maritime style.”
This explanation was confirmed as she scoured the room and observed a general theme of blazers, chinos, and boat shoes.
“Shit!” she said through gritted teeth. “What do we do now?”
“We’re quicker than Grandad,” he said. “If we run, we can leave him to it?”
Ray had stopped to use the toilet and appeared a moment later. Assuming the audience were admiring their costumes, he also erupted into a pirate stereotype. “Avast, me hearties!” he said, dancing like he was completing a sea shanty.
An elegant lady in a smart floral garden dress had obviously seen enough and moved to rescue them. “Are you from the Lonely Heart Attack Club, by any chance?” she asked.
“Yes!” said Emma gratefully.
“Brilliant, we thought you weren’t coming. I’m Susan, I think I spoke to you on the phone. Please, follow me.”
She escorted them on the most indirect route to their table, allowing the entire room the opportunity to absorb every detail of the costumes. Apart from Pete, they all moved as quickly as they could to hide behind the menus on the table. Pete flicked his head back and marched with purpose like he was boarding a stricken enemy vessel. For dramatic effect, the man in charge of the spotlight illuminated his path — Pete loved it.
Jack was conscious that eyes were still on him, so whispered through his fingers to Emma, “What are we doing here and are you going to get the eyepatch off?”
“No, if Ray is keeping the beard then I’m keeping this. We got invited by the charity because of all the work. I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”
To their collective relief, the MC for the evening brought the evening’s proceedings to order.
“Ladies and gentlemen… welcome to the annual gala dinner for Help the Aged. This year is a nautical theme — and, apparently, pirate — and the purpose of the evening is to relax, have some fun and also raise some money. As you can see, we’re being protected today by the magnificent ship Adventure, which is touring the country and one of only two ships fully adapted to facilitate sailing trips for the disabled. We’re going to hear from some truly inspirational people this evening, so with that, enjoy your meal and I’ll come back to you later.”
“People are looking at us,” said Emma.
Pete smiled. “I know, isn’t it wonderful? It’s like being back on the stage.”
Ray struggled with his starter; the fork was having difficulty navigating the small gap through the beard to his mouth.
“You can take the beard off, Ray,” whispered Emma, as the official photographer took a picture of their table. “And, Grandad, please take your sword off the table. Manners.”
“It’s a cutlass!” he shouted back.
Emma was getting anxious like a parent with several unruly children. “Relax, Emma,” said Jack. “It’s a really nice thing you’ve done and we’ll have a great evening. So what if we’re dressed as pirates, at least people will remember us!” He took a mouthful from his glass of white wine.
The food was gratefully polished off and it wasn’t long before they were being served their coffees. Ray had removed his beard and it now looked like a cat sat comfortably on the table in front of him. Grandad was taking advantage of the free drink and was now a rather tipsy seaman. This hadn’t gone unnoticed as Emma was keen to point out to Jack.
“Your grandad is pissed!” she said.
Jack was about to spring to his defence but it was difficult, seeing as though Grandad was currently trying to butter a bread roll with a plastic sword. Jack gave him a look as if scolding a naughty child. He was sat opposite Jack across the large table, which was also filled with other patrons of the charity.
“Grandad!” Jack said several times, trying to catch his eye without success. Eventually, his grandad grinned in his direction and gave him a ‘thumbs-up.’ Jack pointed towards his drink and then gestured a series of chopping motions towards his neck, indicating that he should stop drinking. Grandad continued to grin. Undeterred, Jack repeated the gesture, this time with more expression.
Through the clouded eyes of free wine, Grandad interpreted the theatrical hand gesture as a challenge for a sword fight. With gusto, he picked up his plastic cutlass and proceeded to accept the challenge. The butter he’d tried unsuccessfully to spread had partially melted, leaving a large globule on the cutlass’s cutting edge and a trickle of yellow liquid on the handle.
As he continued his assault, Grandad became more animated and really embraced his character. Jack waved his hands to shut him up, but this only served to encourage him further. Grandad was about to deliver a fatal blow, but the butter on the handle and the motion of the sword made it all but impossible to retain his grip. The cutlass flew out of his hand and spun majestically through the air. The artificial lighting glistened on the plastic blade as Jack made a desperate lurch to prevent its progress. He failed and it continued to cut through the air, spraying a warm smattering of melted butter on those in its trajectory. The remaining dollop of butter was stuck solid on the blade and the cutlass eventually came to rest on the arm of an immaculate navy-blue blazer that hung on the back of nearby
chair, with the butter acting as a temporary adhesive before finally giving way — resulting in the blade slowly sliding down the expensive fabric, leaving a greasy trail in its wake. Fortunately, the owner was deep in conversation and oblivious to the assault on his jacket and Jack was able to discreetly retrieve the offending weapon.
“No more bloody wine!” Jack shouted over to Grandad, tucking the sword beneath his chair. “We need to keep a low profile,” he said to Emma. “He’s bloody covered everyone in butter.”
Jack sat back in his chair and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible for a pirate at a formal function.
The MC, a jovial-looking man in a shiny silver suit, began tapping a spoon on his glass. “Well, I’m sure you’ll agree the food was sumptuous,” he said to a round of applause. “And the drink is flowing wonderfully. Now we’d like to commence with what is one of the highlights of the evening… the auction. I’ll be joined on stage by five strapping volunteers who will be at your beck and call for an evening. If you want, you can have yours come around to your house and serve you dinner for the evening. But that’s where it ends, Sally!” he joked, pointing towards a woman, obviously Sally, who was now blushing somewhat.
Emma had a sickening moment of realisation and put her head in her hands.
“Are you okay?” asked Jack.
The MC started to read out a series of names, which were met by raucous applause and frivolity as the gentlemen made their way each in succession to the impromptu stage as they were called. The first three were good-looking, well dressed, and clearly well-heeled.
“You know how you wanted to remain inconspicuous?” Emma asked.
Jack nodded in agreement, leaning forwards to suggest they should think about leaving.
“Number four! Jack Tate!” boomed the happy voice as he pointed his microphone in Jack’s general direction.
Jack felt a wave of panic and looked at Emma for salvation. She gave him a remorseful grin and raised her fists pathetically above her head. “Yay!” she said, “Go, Jack!”
The controller of the spotlight made sure there was no escape and Jack reluctantly moved towards his fellow slaves.
Three men looking immaculate and a half-pissed pirate being heckled by his Grandad — Jack did not rate his chances of securing a healthy investment in his services. He did manage a wry smile, however, when contestant number five was announced— a suave, tall, dark, and handsome man with a sun-kissed complexion. He was clearly the favourite, and adjusted his cufflinks to delay his arrival and increase the appreciation. He reached for the jacket on the rear of his chair and put it on as he strutted towards the others. The spotlight enhanced his good looks, but also highlighted the trail of butter that stretched from the arm of the jacket down to the hem on the front. Unfortunately for him, it looked like he’d pissed himself. With this, Jack felt confident that he’d just been bumped up into fourth place.
With the distraction of the mistaken dress code, Emma had completely forgotten that she’d offered up Jack’s services. In fairness, he was now having a good time on stage and playing up to his role as a pantomime villain. It may have been the wine talking, but whenever candidate number five was mentioned, Jack seemed to take every opportunity to point out to the crowd the stain of piss. The man, so full of confidence just moments before, was now looking somewhat forlorn, almost on the brink of tears, though Jack eventually let him be. Judging by his build he was obviously a sportsman, and perhaps the reason Jack quit while it was still, in fact, his choice.
Bidding for Jack was slow and culminated in a bidding war, incremented in pence rather than pounds, between a partially-sighted elderly woman who thought Jack was a cowboy, and Emma, who was bidding out of guilt. Emma considered submission out of malice, but won the day with a final bid of £47.00. Overall, she did well, bearing in mind she was pregnant, not drinking, and keeping one eye on Grandad.
Ray was enjoying himself but looked a little uncomfortable without a drink in his hand.
Jack, back at the table, was once again going to suggest his group make an orderly exit before the disco began but his plans were once again hampered, dashed against the rocks, by the MC.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC said through the microphone, “Give yourselves a round of applause. Remember all of the money raised goes directly to the elderly in your community. As you all know, before the disco starts, we like to take a moment to recognise people that have made a significant contribution to the people in the community, and present an award to those that have really made a difference.”
The crowd came to a hushed silence as the MC pulled out an envelope from his inside pocket. Clearly loving the drama, he held his gaze like he was presenting the Oscars.
“Tonight’s award is one that I am absolutely delighted to hand out. The decision was an easy one and people have been talking about this person for a number of weeks. He has come from relative obscurity to being a leading luminary in helping the aged and vulnerable in a very short space of time. He set up a club to help the elderly people that came into his small coffee shop, he set up an activity club to get people to exercise and, also as important, to socialise. Since he started his endeavours, he has expanded this to four outlets on the Island and as at today’s date, over sixty outlets in the UK have adopted the club franchise and are helping thousands of members. He highlighted the plight of the vulnerable by organising and eventually completing a world record attempt. He’s been on national television to raise awareness and is currently in the process of arranging the Isle of Man’s first Olympics for the elderly, going to be called, I believe, The Wrinkly Olympics.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you don’t know who I’m talking about, the chances are that one of your elderly friends or relatives have had their lives enriched by his enterprise. I give you… Jack Tate!”
Jack thought his time in the spotlight was over, but once again the slightly inebriated pirate took to the stage. He looked at Emma and she was bursting with pride.
“I’m not doing this on my own,” he said. “Emma… up you come.” He ushered her over and as the audience applauded he blew her a kiss. “I didn’t do this on my own,” he said again. “Emma was the one that came up with the idea and those people sat on my table, the pirates, including the one sleeping, are the people who helped me do what you’ve just heard. It is genuinely a collective effort and I’m exceptionally grateful for the award, but I accept it on behalf of everyone who has been involved, volunteered, or taken the time to make a difference. I’d also like to dedicate it to a friend who’s sadly not with us — Derek!”
The crowd showed their appreciation as the MC pulled Jack and Emma closer. “Before you go,” he said, “we understand a special little girl wrote you a letter and gave you her pocket money to help those who needed it?”
Jack nodded. “Yes, a wonderful gesture!”
“Well, in addition to the award we’d also like to make a donation of our own from our charitable fund. Ladies and gentlemen, we’re delighted to give the Lonely Heart Attack Club ten thousand pounds to continue and develop their work!”
Emma put her hand over her mouth as Jack clutched the cheque with disbelief.
“Thank you, that’s amazing,” Jack said, somehow managing a reply.
“Before you go,” said the MC, “we’ve got one more final surprise.” He waved his arm and an assistant pulled down a video screen. “I’d like to present to you Megan-Rose-Tully-aged-seven, who tells me that she’s nearly eight, and is the wonderful girl who gave her pocket money.”
A beautiful girl with blonde hair and toothy smile sat next to her grandad. She spoke in brief detail about how nice the club had been to her grandad. Jack was struggling to hold back the tears, but when she announced that her grampy had been fit enough to make it to the club and pointed to the Silver Sprinters badge that he wore on his jumper, the spigot opened up and the water began to flow.
The audience were in tears as well, and the admiration towards Jack, Emma, and t
he club was readily apparent.
“I’m going to use this money to start a fundraising campaign to help the elderly and vulnerable scam victims,” Jack announced to the crowd decisively. “I’m going to raise one million pounds by this time next year!”
.
Chapter Eight
E mma looked impatiently at her watch. She was on a rare day off and had spent it with Hayley shopping, and other such pursuits that would render Jack bored senseless.
As she waited, she was getting increasingly frustrated which reversed the relaxing effect the day was supposed to achieve. She did smile for a moment when she glanced at Jack’s Vespa parked erratically on the other side of the road. Sadly, the old girl had now succumbed to age and Emma recalled when Jack abandoned the opportunity to buy a new one — instead, buying Derek a ticket to go to his grandchildren’s christening. She missed Derek, and smiled fondly whenever she thought of him.
“I know, l know…!” shouted Jack as he turned the van around. The small white van had the logo of the coffee shop on both sides, and a 5-ft picture of Java the Hutt on the side certainly attracted attention — even more so as Jack hadn’t cleaned the van for weeks. In the dirt, someone had drawn a giant penis on the logo’s head and Java the Hutt now read as Java the Slutt.
“I thought you were cleaning this van?” said Emma, placing a kiss on Jack’s cheek. “We’ve got an intergalactic bell-end on the side of it.”
“Good day off?”
“Yes, we went to…”
Jack wasn’t listening. He nodded his head and raised his eyebrows when required, but he wasn’t listening. Men have a unique ability to switch their brains off. They can still drive, breathe, and perform functions required to survive, all the while literally thinking of nothing.
“And Hayley asked if we could?” said Emma, eagerly.