by steve higgs
They took a few moments of fuss then buzzed away around to the back of the house to see if there was a cat to chase.
‘How you doing, Dad?’ I asked as we shook hands.
‘Better than ever, my boy.’ his typical response. We were not ones for moaning.
I turned to follow the dogs around to the rear garden where I would find Mum bustling about making dinner through the kitchen window. Dad hooked the fork under one arm and with a calloused hand on my right shoulder he came with me.
A cacophony of barks lit the air to suggest that the dogs had indeed found one of Mum’s cats. Not that the dogs posed any real threat, if cornered I thought it more likely the cat would take a Dachshund’s nose off.
I couldn’t see Mum anywhere after all so Dad and I stood chatting in the yard like we often did.
‘What are you working on at the moment then, Tempest?’
‘You hear about The Vampire case?’
‘Mm hmm.’
‘Well, that. And I am thinking about looking into that Bluebell Bigfoot thing. I have a rare quiet period with no paid casework, but I did solve a Poltergeist haunting this week.’
Dad considered my report for a second as if summing up how I made such an odd statement sound so normal. ‘What do you make of that Big Foot thing then? Do we have a bear loose from some rich bugger’s private collection?’
‘Could be I suppose, the reports are not exactly reliable.’
‘Not buying the Bigfoot theory then.’ Dad was smirking at me because he felt the same as me about all things paranormal.
‘It will be some guy in a suit.’ The cistern flushed in the house, the sound travelling through the open patio doors to explain where Mum had got to. ‘I have a couple of ideas about it but I need to pursue paid work, so even if I do look into it I will have to drop it if the phone rings with a real case.’
‘I’m sure that’s the right thing to do.’ Dad was very agreeable about pretty much everything, which made a nice balance to Mum, who er, wasn’t.
‘Hello, Tempest.’ said my Mother as she came out of the house and into the back garden.
‘Hello, Mother.’
‘We have roast pork for dinner. It’s your Dad’s favourite.’
‘Jolly good, sounds great.’ Mum wasn’t much of a cook really although she was convinced that she could be on master chef provided they didn’t want her to do ‘all that fancy nonsense’. Growing up she had ensured there was always home-cooked food on the table for us and was not afraid to open a book and cook something she had never tackled before. The results were a little mixed at times, but that is probably true for everyone.
Mother had mastered the art of producing a roast dinner though so I habitually made sure that was what she was cooking before I arranged to visit.
We were all still stood outside the in the yard a few seconds later when the dogs reappeared. They had probably scoped out the garden for cats, found none or chased them all off and were now coming to see if Mum or Dad wanted to pick them up and fuss them. It was generally third on their list after eat stuff and chase stuff.
‘Let’s go in, shall we?’ I asked. Mum turned to go inside while stooping to pat first Bull, then Dozer as they flitted between my parents until the fussing began to dry up. I stepped towards the house then remembered the wine I had left in the car.
Dad paused, a quizzical look on his brow until I fished out the bottle from the passenger’s foot well. At that he smiled and recognising the label gave a nod of appreciation.
‘Let’s get that open before it ruins, son.’
Roast Dinner Ambush. Saturday September 25th 1500hrs
The house was filled with the glorious smell of roasting dinner. The sounds were of spuds sizzling and pans bubbling and I breathed in deeply and held it for a few seconds before exhaling.
The house had changed over the years of course. When I was very young there had been far less money around as Mum and Dad wrestled with the mortgage and the cost of raising my sister and I. Cheap furnishings and fittings had gradually been replaced with nicer objects and conveniences such as central heating and double glazing had been installed. The décor was neither modern nor old, it followed no particular style and was nothing more nor less than a reflection of the lives of two people that had been married for decades and did everything together.
Stood now in the dining room there were family photos on the wall and on the display cabinet which also served as a dinner service receptacle and drinks cabinet. Knick knacks from various holidays adorned each available surface and must make dusting a nightmarish task, but the house still looked and felt like home and always would I guess.
Dad had taken the wine to open so I was in the dining room alone while Mum and Dad were both in the kitchen and I was feeling warm and happy until I saw the incongruity.
‘Mother.’
No answer.
‘Mother.’ a little louder. ‘Mother why are there four place settings?’
‘We have another guest coming, Dear.’ replied Mum, now standing in the doorway looking just a little guilty.
I sighed deeply and slumped my shoulders in an exaggerated display of defeat.
‘Who is it this time, Mother?’
‘It is Deborah Tailor. You remember her, don’t you? We still see her at church every week.’ She hit the ‘every’ a little harder than was necessary. As if I was suddenly going to start attending.
‘Yes, Mother. I remember Deborah Tailor, but why is she coming to dinner with us? Have you been playing match maker again Mother? You know how I hate when you do that.’
‘Tempest, you need to meet women. You cannot stay single forever.’
I groaned and even to me I sounded like a sullen teenager. Dad was staying silent and hiding in the kitchen. I would deal with his treachery later.
This was not the first-time Mother had pulled this stunt. The ladies in question were always from the church or the daughter of one of the ladies in her circle of friends or the woman that worked in the florist and to date Mother had yet to produce a lady that I could even be attracted to. I may come across as shallow but surely it has to start with attraction. The last woman she introduced me to looked like an Ewok after it had lost a fight with a strimmer.
Weighing up my options I considered just bolting for the door. I was hungry and the food would be both good and plentiful but just as my foot was starting to twitch the damned doorbell rang, the sound piercing my thoughts like a peel of doom. Mother stripped off her pinny quickly, bundled it and handed it to my Dad who had now appeared in the kitchen doorway.
I scowled at him and mouthed ‘You are dead meat.’ He waggled his eyebrows and smirked at me.
The dogs were doing their usual routine of barking insanely at the door so I snagged them both from under Mother’s skirt and took them back into the dining room, one under each arm. They were both wagging the tails madly and straining to see who was now coming through the door.
Whomever was there, Deborah was my assumption, spoke and the dogs launched into a fresh series of barking until I gave them both a squeeze and a shush.
I could hear Mother bustling around at the door and the two women exchanging pleasantries. Mother was probably taking her coat and inviting her in. I had not seen Deborah Tailor in perhaps twenty years or more. We went to the local infants and junior schools together although she was a year below me. I knew her because my Mother and her Mother both went to the same church and as children we had been taken with them, thus we had ended up in the same place every Sunday. As teenagers, there had been a passing attraction because she had tits and at fifteen I did not need much more motivation than that. Nothing had even come of it though and I had probably seen her once or twice as an adult but could not recall when or where.
Mother came back in to the dining room flanked on either side by the pure girth of Deborah’s arse. She was also a little taller than my Mother so I could see the top of her head behind my mother and both hips either side. I felt my Dad
s hand underneath my chin as he pushed my mouth shut. Apparently, it was open.
Deborah had filled out a bit since I had last seen her, which is to say she was a fat beast. I expect she is a lovely person, but in my opinion if a chap needs a grappling hook and rope just to get on top of a woman he should reconsider his options. I honestly don’t believe that I am particularly shallow. I admire ladies who look after their bodies of course but I would like to think that I would take a lady as she comes rather than worry too much about their gym habits. A womanly shape can be just as attractive as an athletic one and once a relationship is embedded does it really matter if the lady is a size 8 or a size 16 if what you actually enjoy doing is spending time with one another? I was telling myself that the answer was no but could not avoid observing that Debbie had some facial hair now on top of the growing list of other attraction barriers. Some ladies develop a little of it and some of those that do are not as diligent as others in dealing with it. It is their personal choice of course and I pass no comment but Debbie had a moustache like Lando Calrissian and I suspected that would be a bit too much for me to get past even if I could overlook that I would be dating a woman twice my weight.
‘Hi, Tempest.’ beamed Deborah.
‘Hello, Deborah.’ I managed weakly feeling a little intimidated and wondering if it was even safe to date a woman you cannot bench press.
‘Debbie please.’ she replied.
‘Well I’ll leave you two to catch up then.’ Mum said and headed to the kitchen dragging my Dad with her.
I turned to look at Debbie suspecting that she was equally misled by my Mother and was probably here only because she had been pestered for months and had finally given in. Debbie was not unattractive by which I mean that her face, if she lost two hundred pounds and shaved would probably be quite pretty. Her hair was brunette and there was a cascade of it hanging over her left shoulder. It looked to be in good condition and well looked after. Her makeup was simple but well done, her nails were freshly manicured and she was wearing a knee length wool dress with a wide belt and a pair of knee length leather boots. Overall, Debbie looked like she had given thought to her appearance but I could not shake the voice in my head telling me it was much the same as putting lipstick on a rhino.
‘Nice dogs.’
I realised that I was still holding the Dachshunds.
‘Ur yes, yes they are.’
‘Are they yours?’
‘They most certainly are. I doubt many others would be dumb enough to have them. Are you okay with dogs because I am going to have to put them down and the first thing they will do is run over to investigate you?’ I didn’t wait for an answer but Debbie said that yes, she loved dogs before I could get them both safely onto the floor.
As predicted both scurried across to investigate her boots and climb her legs. I was glad that she had boots on and not tights of some kind which they would most likely snag and hole while searching for attention.
I took a couple of steps and reached into the kitchen, snagged the bottle of wine before Dad’s hand could close around it and offered it to Deborah who was kneeling on the floor to pat the dogs. She was making cooing noises and had both dogs rolling on their backs for belly scratches. Perhaps this meal would be pleasant enough after all and Mother would not spend the whole time trying to mate me off.
‘Ooh yes thanks, Tempest.’ Debbie said on seeing me offer the wine bottle. ‘Your Mum says you catch ghosts now?’ It was a question rather than a statement.
I plucked a glass from the place setting that would be hers and poured her a large glass. I took another large glass for myself and handed the dregs to Dad who was standing in the kitchen doorway waiting for it. He frowned at the amount I had left him but took it on the chin.
‘Not quite, Debbie. Mother gets a little confused sometimes.’
Because she is a senile, interfering old bat.
‘What I actually do is investigate cases where people think they are being haunted or think their brother is a werewolf or believe there is a demon cat living in their garden. I advertise as a Paranormal Investigator,’ I paused as Debbie crossed herself ‘but of course there is no paranormal. Vampires do not exist and neither do ghosts, so my task is to find the truth behind each case and in doing so solve the mystery I have been presented with.’
‘What about the Holy Ghost?’ asked Debbie crossing herself again.
‘Hmm?’
‘The Holy Ghost? The Holy Ghost existed because it is in the Bible.’
‘That’s true.’ came Mother’s voice from the kitchen.
Super. A religious debate. Just what I was hoping for. I gave myself a mental head slap. ‘Well, of course.’ I replied. ‘But that is very different from suggesting that people are being haunted by their Great Aunt Mavis or that a malevolent spirit is trying to drive a family from their home because they have built it on an ancient Indian burial ground.’
Debbie seemed to consider that for a moment but nodded. I prayed (no pun intended) that discussions over God, Church and religion in general could be avoided for the rest of the afternoon.
‘So, what do you do now Debbie?’ I asked hurrying the conversation along.
Debbie explained that mostly she looked after her four children and that the child support payments etcetera provided enough money for her to be a full-time mum. At the mention of children my Mother had beamed a big smile at me somehow missing the point that this woman already had four children. Both mum and dad had come through from the kitchen and we were all now standing around the dining table sipping wine. I say sipping but that was what I was doing. Mother and Debbie were putting it away like there was an unannounced competition. As I watched Debbie upended her glass and reached for the half empty bottle Dad had brought through with him.
‘Tempest can you get another bottle from the fridge, dear?’ asked mother. ‘I am about to serve.’
Wine was kept outside in a fridge in the shed. I think Mother simply got through too much volume for it to be stored in the house so a dedicated fridge was needed. By the time I returned there was food steaming on various platters and in oven to tableware receptacles and everyone was stood waiting for me before sitting down. Mother had moved Dad from his usual place so that Debbie and I could sit next to each other.
I did what I was supposed to do and pulled out Debbie’s chair so she could sit. As she manoeuvred in front of it I considered getting another chair to accompany it so that she had one for each cheek. I calculated that this might be both more comfortable and safer since the distributed load on the chair and the point loads through the feet to the floor were probably over those the chair and floor were designed to take. Common sense prevailed though and I stayed mute while I levered the chair back under her gargantuan bum.
I took my seat next to her and clicked my fingers under my chair until the dogs came to me and settled.
The wine was screw top so I popped it in the now empty wine cooler on the table and forked a couple of roast spuds onto my plate.
‘So, Tempest, why don’t you tell Debbie what you are working on at the moment.’ Mother suggested.
‘Mmm, yes please. Tell me all about it.’ agreed Debbie.
I spent the next few minutes regaling Debbie and my parents with tales of the recent past: The Cranfield’s Poltergeist, my interest in the Maidstone Vampire murders and the possibility that there was actually someone dressing up as a Sasquatch and roaming around Bluebell Hill.
Debbie replied with oohs and aahs in a few places to indicate she was listening but kept on chowing her food without looking up.
By the time dinner was done Mother’s cheeks had a healthy glow from the wine and the plates of food were all but empty.
Debbie was picking the last few morsels from her plate, ‘That was excellent, Mary. The best meal I have eaten in ages.’
‘Well thank you, Dear. You are very welcome. Tempest is an excellent cook, you should have him prepare a meal for you sometime.’
‘Mothe
r.’ I warned.
‘That sounds nice.’ Debbie said, smiling at me.
‘Doesn’t it?’ I agreed not meaning a word of it. There was no hope in hell that Debbie was coming to my house. What if she wanted to stay, or decided she wasn’t going to leave? It was not as if I had a JCB in the house that I could use to lift her if she refused to go.
‘Michael give me a hand to clear these things away.’ instructed my Mother standing up and grabbing the plates and dishes nearest to her.
I began to move also but Mother flapped her arms at me and told me to stay and entertain our guest.
As they left the room, Debbie leaned forward as if she intended to whisper something to me, but as I leaned my ear toward her unthinkingly she stuck her tongue in it and grabbed my head while simultaneously grabbing my upper thigh with her other hand.
Quite actually shocked, I leapt from my chair hitting my testicles on the edge of the table, twitched at the sudden jolt of pain in my lower abdomen and knocked over my glass of wine.
Trying to stand straight and to not cup my bruised nuts while ignoring the cramping pain in my gut I watched with horror as Debbie swivelled slightly towards me, licked her top lip meaningfully, place a hand either side of her chest, pushed her giant boobs together and slowly parted her legs. If performed by a woman that was not the size of a Ford Ka the act might have me dribbling and hoping my knob was not straining the front of my trousers. Performed by Debbie my entire genitalia was hurriedly throwing belongings into a suitcase and grabbing its passport.
Mother stepped into the room from the kitchen, took a sharp breath and vanished again backwards audibly bumping into Dad as she went. I could hear a brief and hurried under-the-breath discussion before Mother loudly announced ‘I have pudding. I hope you are both hungry.’ I groaned internally with the prospect of dealing with this later. Mother had caught the briefest glimpse and would have seen Debbie shoving her boobs at me with her legs open and me holding my crotch. Chances were she was already counting how much wool she had in the cupboard to knit the clothes for our first-born child.