How to Steal a Piano and Other Stories

by John Hughes

  “We’ve come full circle,” said Meg. “What now?”

  Mr P did not reply. He put the case down on the pavement and took Meg in his arms. He covered her lips with his, running his hands through her hair as he did. The kiss was very long and Meg felt she was being enveloped by her pirate lover, absorbed into him somehow to the point where it seemed their bodies were melded together as one. It was overpowering. Her head began to swim. Her eyes were closed and there was a buzzing in her ears. She blacked out.

  * * *

  “You alright, me duck?”

  A woman’s voice. It sounded distant and ethereal. She couldn’t see where it came from; in truth, she couldn’t see much at all. That buzzing in her ears again, and a sound like water rushing across a beach as it was sucked back into the sea. All very strange. She had no idea where she was.

  “What’s your name?” A man’s voice this time.

  “Meg… no, Beryl.”

  “Not sure of her own name,” someone commented.

  “What day is it, love?”

  “Tuesday… I think.”

  “Not sure of the day.” The man again. “Concussed probably.”

  “What’s the name of the prime minister?”

  “Theresa May.” Then as an afterthought she added: “More’s the pity.”

  “That’s more positive,” the man said, chuckling. “It can’t be all bad then. You’re going to be fine. Just a bump on the head.”

  Her vision was returning and she could make out the outlines of several people peering down at her. Beyond them was the sky, mostly blue with a few puffy clouds. She must be lying down out of doors somewhere. Across the road was a park. If she wasn’t mistaken it looked just like Hall Leys Park. Surely not – there was nowhere to lie down opposite there. Just shops. “What’s happening, what’s going on?” she asked.

  The man replied. “You fainted. You’re in Matlock, outside Superdrug. You’ve got a lovely bruise on the side of your head where you hit it on the pavement. Other than that, you’re okay. I’m the store manager. Would you like us to call an ambulance?”

  “No, please don’t. I’ll be fine in a moment.”

  “Here,” said the woman. “Drink this.”

  A glass of water was put to her lips. She drank. It was cold and refreshing and immediately perked her up. She could see clearly all around her now. She was sitting on the pavement, propped up against the wall of Superdrug. Next to her was her shopping bag. “What time is it?”

  “Just after twelve.”

  “What, twelve noon?”

  “Not midnight, that’s for sure.”

  She sat upright. “It can’t be. I was up at Riber all afternoon, having…” She decided not to say what she had been having.

  “It’s only just gone twelve, I can assure you.”

  She stood up and looked down at herself. She was back in her jeans and polo shirt. The cape, torn bodice, skirt, petticoat and jacket were all gone. She picked up her shopping bag.

  “Are you feeling well enough to go?” asked the store manager.

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “Thank you for taking care of me. I’ll be on my way now.” She turned to walk away and cannoned straight into someone – or something – next to her on the pavement. It looked familiar. It was a pirate.

  “Mr P!” she gasped.

  “Ahaaar!” said the store manager, in a poor imitation of a pirate’s voice. “Let me introduce you to Cut Throat Keith, our plastic pal. Named after our regional manager whose idea it was. Personally, I don’t see the connection between a chemist shop and a statue of a pirate, but he seems to think otherwise… and the kids love him. They think he’s Cap’n Jack Sparrow.”

  Beryl gazed at the figure. It had a hook for a hand and a peg leg, and looked nothing at all like her Mr P. She wandered off along the street, her feelings wavering between bewilderment, embarrassment and amusement. She’d been blessed with a lively imagination all her life, but nothing like this had ever happened to her before. A dream, a fantasy, yet so vivid that she felt she had lived every second. She could feel his lips on hers, his hands on her body.

  She paused momentarily and looked over her shoulder in the direction of Riber Castle. It was just visible from where she stood, bleak and austere. She could make out the East Tower. She blushed.

  When she reached her car, she sat in the driver’s seat and looked across to where Mr P had so recently been her passenger. She could smell him, she was certain. Whatever had happened, she was now well and truly back in the real world, and now she had to drive home and get some chores done before her husband came home from work and wanted his tea. As she pulled her seat belt across to strap herself in, her hand brushed against something in her hair. It fell away and landed in her lap.

  It was an ebony comb, studded along the top with blood red rubies.

  Woof Justiss

  Helo, my naem is Zulu, Im a polees dog.

  I wos born at the Metrpolitun Polees Dog Trainin Establishmunt, or MPDTE four short, wich is in Keston in Kent. My mum an dad wur both polees dogs so its in my blud. At 8 weaks old I went tu liv with Polees Cunstble George Brunel hu is a polees dog handlur, an his famly. They are luvly peepl an kind an treet me very wel an I am very hapy with them. They liv in Croydn wich George cawls a shitehoal but I quite leik it. Theres sum smashin parcs an we go warking wen not on dyuty in the Shurly hills and sumwear cawld the Hapy Valy at Chaldun, both graet. George oftn sez wurk hard play hard. I agrea with him.

  George chose Zulu as a pet naem cuz my burthdy is on 22 Janury, the anivursry of the batle of rorks drift aparuntly, wich is wot the film Zulu is all abowt. Its won of Georges favrites. I also have a propr kenel naem wich Im very prowd of. But its no gud wen weir on dyuty an George is givin me opurashunal commands. Can yu imajin. “Stop him Metpol Rawnsley Lamberhurst!” The pursun Im chasing wud just larf.

  Anuthr fave film of George is Leif of Brian. He leiks tu say the leins wich is funy if yu no the film but not if yu dont. Sumteims he warks intu the polees stashun, poynts tuwords the sels and in a sily vois showts “Welease Wodewik!” Uther teims he cawls our bos Bigus Dikus, but not wen hes arownd. Sumteims wen he meets new coleegs he sez “I hav a weif yu no”. Sum new coleegs larf at this. Then he sez “do yu no wot she is cawld, she is cawld Incontinentya Butux.” Moor larfs at this. But its not tru, Georges weif is cawld Wendy. She is a very neis laidy an luvs me an feads me an maeks a big fus of me. Shes a bit moody at tims an can get queit stresy, but not with me, only with hur two kids, theyre both boys whos naems are Shutup Ivan and Stopit Craig.

  By the wey, sory abowt the crap spelin an tiepin, I no its not graet, but they didnt teech riting at MPDTE. Im doin my best.

  The famly who liv nex door tu us also hav a dog, but hes just a pet not a wurking dog leik me. Their faerly posh or leik tu think they ar an so dus there dog, yet hes got the most comn naem yu culd imajin. Rover! So funy! It dusnt soot him, he uses long wurds an culd tawk for Inglund. He moans abowt his naem, I sed it culd be wurs, they culd of cawld him Spot or Lassy. I think hes jelus cuz Zulu is such a cool naem, also cuz I work an he dusnt, he stayz at hoam awl day. Probubly on benefits. We get on moastly but sumteims I find him a bit borin. He wonts tu go on abowt polutics an filosofy an stuf wen awl I wont tu do is naw on a neis bone an lik my bawls. He went on four munths abowt Brexit aftur the refurendum, sed hed hav votd remayn givn the chans an its al downhil from now on an Grate Britan is no longer grate an is goin to the dogs. Thats not a neis thing tu say cumin from a dog I sed, an he gaev me a luk leik I was styopid an sed it was mearly a figur of speach. I sed I dint reely cair eethr way, he told me Im shalow, so I told him tu woof off.

  I startd my traening at MPDTE wen I wos a yeer old. Im a Jurman Shepurd. Most of my dog coleegs are ether Jurmun or Beljun Shepurds, moastly Jurman, we are wots nown as GPs, genrul purpus dogs an part of the Dog Support Unit, DSU four shor
t. Were tawt tu surch for misin peepl, objekts dropd by scalywags as George cawls them such as raps an splifs, traking sents on the ground, controlin hosteil crouds, that sawt of thing. Last but not leest chasin an detaynin peeple wen chalenjd tu stop an they don’t, wich I leik best about the job, sumthing yu can reely get yur teath in tu.

  Iv been a polees dog now four six yeers and Im very prowd tu sai I hav given gud survis all that teim. Me and George hav a supurb wurking relashunship an we hav court lodes of scalys. (In privut George cals them sumthing els, not scalys, but its very rood.) In thos 6 yeers only ons have I behavd badly, or I think the wurd Georges bos usd was inapropratly. That is wot I wont tu tel yu abowt.

  Wed been cawld tu a Fayl Tu Stop, wich means sumwon the polees wont tu speek tu has, wel… fayld tu stop! Run awai or drivn off, probly cuz there a scaly up tu no gud. On this ocyshun we wur owt an abowt in Croydn in our speshuly adaptd respons veicle, George driyvin an me in my kenel compartmunt, air cundishund, soundproofd, al modcons. Also their is storij spase four speshlist ekwipmnt. George says this is wear he keaps his nukledustrs an catle prods an joynt roling parafinaylyur. Moar of his joaks… . I think.

  He got a cawl on his radyo sayin theirs bin a Fayl Tu Stop on the Lundn Rode neer West Croydn trayn stashun, yung lad dryving a Voxaul Corser, heding in the direkshun of the Mayday hosptl and Forten Eaf pond. I say Mayday but musnt cawl it that eny longr, thay changd the naem tu Croydn Univursty Hosptl a few yeers bak cuz tu many peepl kept cawling it the Maydie. Wendy says thats unfare, she shud no, shes a nurs but not at Maydie, she wurks for Epsum an Sunt Helyer. But she had both Shutup Ivan an Stopit Craig at the Maydie and says she caem out on boath ocayshuns with awl major orguns in tact and no C Diff, wotever that is. She rekuns Epsum is much wurs. She sed wons at Epsum aparuntly they tuk the rong kidny out of a payshunt. They left the bad won in an remoovd the helthy won by mistaik. The man dyed… wel yu wud wudnt yu.

  Wear wos I. O yes, wen the cawl caim thru abowt the Fayl Tu Stop we wur in Selhurst neer the Cristal Paliss futbawl stadyum wear George gos on satrday aftrnoons tu get depresd. George put his foot down an we reechd the Forten Eaf pond rounderbowt just in teim tu sea the targit veicl cureer up the Lundn Rode an go LEFT LEFT LEFT ontu the A23 tuwords the Purly Way. Ther wur tu polees cars alredy on its tayl with bloos an toos goin so we tagd along four a weil, in caes thears a decamp or the perp gets agresiv an is resistin arest. The chaes shot ahed an owt of site, so George tuk it easy an drowv in the generul direkshun wich sootd me nisly, I wos quite hapy chillin in the bak.

  We went past the twin towrs, thats IKEA, or Hurdygurdyland as George cawls it. He puld in at a burgur van outseid sum big shops for a cofee. I got a nise boal of watr. He gaev me a bit of fus an we playd with a bawl for a weil. Then his radyo blared an we hurd the chaes had gon awl up the Purly Way, past the airudroam almowst as far as the big Tesko at Purly. Now their heding bak in our direkshun, the targit jumpin leits an evrythin. George put me bak in my kenel an got behynd the weel. Then in no teim at al he saw the targit with bloos an toos on its tayl comin tuwards us. They tuk the slip rowd off tu IKEA. Goerge puld ontu the mayn rowd then LEFT LEFT LEFT ontu the sliprowd aftr them.

  “Maybe hes goin shopin, Zulu,” cawls George. “Buyin a Billy bookcaes or sumthin.” Im thinkin not at this teim of neit he isnt. Even if they wur opn its mor leik hes after sum sweadish meetbawls in the restront. Ive never taestd them but Iv bin in their wons chasin sum scalys an they smelt reem. I lurnt the wurd reem from wochin The Only Way Is Esix on tely. Good program.

  I cud heer the radyo. The targit wos trapd in IKEA car parc, gowin rownd in surcels aparntly. The uther respons veicles had closd in.

  “I sea him,” sed George. “Hes cornerd. Hes not givin up litely.”

  George puld tu a holt an rushd rownd tu let me owt, putin me on a short leed. I cud smel trubl alredy. “Cum on Zulu,” he sed. “Lets sea wot we can do.” We ran tuwords the cornr of the car parc. By then the targit wos stuk in a smal spase and goin bak an forward, a polees car on won side, a brik wal on the uthr and a shop in frunt. Ther wer polees on both seids, won with a tasur gun, anuther with a baton redy tu smash the winscrean. They wer showtin reely lowd.

  George led me tuwords the car from the reer, intendin tu get rownd the frunt so the drivr culd sea thers dogs abowt tu scair him. But befour we cud, the drivr sudnly slams intu rivurs tryin tu run us ovr. George manijd tu get out of the wai but dropd my leed. I ran rownd the frunt and barkd awai leik mad, showin my teath an lookin meen. An ges wot, the scaly only treid tu run me ovur agen! Droav strait at me, nearly squoshin me betwean the shop frunt an the wal. I jumpd ontu the bonet, then he revursd so I jumpd off agen quik. Then he treid tu run over anuthr polees man. He didnt giv a shit.

  Next thing the polees man with the batun smashd the seid window, glas evryware, then stuk a hand in the window an puld out the kees. Nise won. Next he had the doar opun an he an George dragd the scaly out by his sholdurs an had him fase down on the flor. They manijd tu get both hands behynd his bak an hancufs on. George red him his rites. Wile this wos goin I wos standin cloas by redy tu inturveen if rekwird, but I wosnt needed. I didnt have anything tu do. Thing is, I wos right next tu them an the scalywags bum wos stikin up in the air in frunt of me. It wos leik it wos starin me in the fase, an it wos just tu temptin an I culdnt resist.

  So I bit it.

  Wel, I wos angry, he tride tu harm George. He soar wot I did an showtd tu bak off. So I did an went tu grownd as traned.

  Soon moar bloos an toos aryvd as reyinforsmunts (triky wurd for a dog that) an the scaly wos dragd ontu his feat and shuvd in the bak of a van. I cud sea the scaly limpin a bit, an their wos sum blud on his bum. Surv him rite.

  George put me on the leed an tuk me bak tu the respons veicle. I wos feelin gilty now cuz I new I shudnt of bit the scalywag. He was in cufs and proan an not a thret by then. I expectd a telin off an deservd won. So no won wos mor surpisd than me wen George givs me sum fus, a pat on the hed and said: “Gud boy, Zulu. Wel dun!”

  I smild. Dogs can smil yu no, wen their hapy. Its not awl tale wagin.

  Next day George an me wur orderd tu go an see Bigus Dikus, remember hes our bos, reel nam Detectiv Cunstubl Timothy Gorse. George chukls about his nam cos he knows his films an its the nam of won of the polees men in Cary on Cunstubl, plaid by the skiny blok with speks who George sais wos a pansy an sed “O helo” awl the teim! We wotchd it tugethr recently, its very funy, my favurit caractr is cawld Polees Cunstubl Cunstubl, that maed me larf.

  George wosnt larfin this mornin. Dc Gorseses expreshn told us imediatly this poleesmans lot wos not a hapy won (hapy won). He told us he had receevd a cumplaint abowt us, or rathr abowt me not George, from the dyuty solicitr last nite. The bos had red the report of the incidnt an apreciatd the seris of events, the scaly (he didnt use that wurd, thats me) an that he fayld tu stop, wos resistin arest and his behaviur drivin leik that wos totly unacseptubl. But the cumplaint wos about wot hapnd aftr that, wen he wos proan and in cufs wich wos a difrent matr. The solicitr wos claymin his cliunt woz vishusly atakd by a polees dog, me, an it wos an unesesarily and unprovokd asorlt. Hes rite in a way, but the scaly disurvd it. Evn so I wos feelin very gilty now, Id got George intu truble an thats not gud. My eers wer down, an I put on a sulun expreshun an gav Dc Gorse my doe eyd luk, yu no leik Princes Diana was so gud at. Georges weif Wendy can do it supurbly. I hurd her wons telin her frend Joana Lumly (not the famus won, her frend at bingo) that she lurnt it from wotchin Princes Diana an it wurks a treet on George espeshly wen her kredit card is maxd owt.

  Sumteims wen George is in a bit of a pikle he sais “Hang on lads Iv got a grate idear… um, um”, just leik Mykul Cain in The Italyan Job, evryone nows that won. Rite now I wont tu sai that tu him coz I think hes genuinly wurid an it wud maek him smeil. But I cant speek so thats that, Im a dog for crist saek.

  Dc Gorse got up from his desc and caem rownd an stud in frunt of us both.
He lukd George in the eiy, then he bent doun an lukd at me an Im thinkin hear it cums, wot George cawls a boloking. My eers wer evn futhr down an I wos doin the Princes Diana luk big teim. I wos temptd tu lik his fase but decidud betr not, meit be deemd inapropriat. Then he sed “George” (gud sine, furst nam not Pc Brunel) “yu hav a fein dog hear, with a fawltles record, an I am not prepard tu acept this incidunt was anythin moar than poleese dog Metpol Rawnsley Lamberhurst, also known as Zulu, doin wot he thort was rite in protectin his handlr an othur polees personel undr very dificlt curcumstancs an doin his dyuty. I shal be takin it no futhr.”

  Then he patd me on the hed an sed: “Woof justiss Id cawl it.”

  Ha ha woof justiss, thats the bos maekin a joak. Neis won Bigus Dikus. George larfd an so did I, dogs can larf yu no, wen they thinc sumthins funy.

  An that wos that, the story of the won an only misdemenur in my carear. I hurd latr that the scaly wos only 17, no lisens, no insurans, with previus, an pisd. He got a 20 huors community servis an six poynts on his lisense wen he eventuly gets won. George sed its disgustin, meit as wel giv him a fortneits holidy in the Maldeevs tu reflect on his shortcumins.

  As four me, I no I shuldnt hav don it but tu be honist I hav tu sai if the saem situashun arows an I was cunfruntd with that scalys bum wen hed just treid tu run ovr George Id bite it agen. I wud.