Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  James watched his wife go out of the room and thought how much a llama would cheer her up.

  Chapter 19.

  Sarah paused, her fingers lingering over the keyboard. She had spent the previous ten minutes trying to compose an email to someone seeking a grant from the Arts Council to put on a puppet show about the witchcraft trials in Britain during the 17th Century.

  Whilst we have carefully considered your application for a grant to fund and promote your puppet show ‘Damned if you sink, damned if you float’ there are a number of concerns. In particular the issue of suitability for what will be an audience of 8 year olds.

  She read back what she had written and continued;

  There are also health and safety issues involved in recreating a ducking stool using real water, and burning the witches at the stake using real fire. The stage of the puppet theatre is relatively small and not equipped for these effects.

  Sarah glanced at the clock at the wall. It was fast approaching 6pm and she had arranged to meet Giles later. Her fingers danced over the keyboard;

  Whilst the Arts Council are very impressed with the concept, and the effort that you have put into your project, the photographs that you have submitted of the puppets are very (perhaps too) realistic.

  Sarah shuddered as she recalled the images that she had been sent.

  It is the view of the Council that, in the circumstances, the subject matter and the cost are prohibitive...

  Sarah’s train of thought was interrupted by her mobile vibrating on her desk.

  ‘Hi Ned,’ she said recognising the number. ’How are you?’

  As she listened to the voice at the other end of the phone, she began jotting down notes on the pad in front of her.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that Ned. Are you OK?’ she paused, listening to the answer.

  ‘Well at least that’s something. Look, don’t worry. We’ll sort something out, you just concentrate on getting better.’

  Pausing again, Sarah wrote the word ‘Idiot’ on the pad.

  ‘Yes, I’ll try and get you booked back there as soon as possible.’

  She finished listening to the pained voice on the other end of the phone.

  ‘OK Ned, you take care, and we’ll speak soon,’ she said and ended the call.

  Sarah shook her head in frustration and was about to resume her email when her office door opened slightly.

  ‘Hi Giles,’ she said as he poked his head through the narrow gap.

  ‘I was passing and thought I’d call in and check that you hadn’t forgotten about tonight,’ he told her.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, doubting very much that Giles had been ‘just passing.’ ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  Giles slipped into the chair opposite her. ‘I may as well wait, if that’s OK? Are you going to be long?’

  Sarah sighed. ‘I’ve just had a call from Ned.’

  ‘Isn’t that the idiot who juggles hedge trimmers?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one,’ Sarah confirmed.

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He’s hurt himself and can’t appear at the Laughing Pelican gig next week.’

  Giles laughed. ‘Hedge trimmer related injury was it? Juggle one too many, did he?’

  ‘Nope. He fell off a ladder and broke his legs.’

  Giles laughed out loud. ‘What was he doing up a ladder?’

  ‘To get higher obviously,’ Sarah replied, her patience fast running out. ‘Anyway, the thing is, I was wondering if you could cover for him, go on and do ten minutes.’

  ‘The Laughing Pelican?’ Giles sneered. ‘I played there years ago. It’s a bit low rent. I’m a bit too big these days to play there.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said impatiently, ‘I appreciate you’re a big shot now, but you’d be really be helping me out.’

  Giles sighed. ‘Why can’t you get Alan to cover for him, it’s his kind of venue?’

  ‘Alan’s already doing it,’ Sarah said.

  Giles rubbed his chin and thought. The Laughing Pelican was a venue on the outskirts of West London, a grim bear pit of a venue that had seen him booed off on more than one occasion early on his career. He couldn’t wait to play bigger and better places. Those sorts of venue were fine for people like Alan, or that idiot with the hedge trimmers who, Giles thought was little more than a children’s entertainer. And as for that talentless ventriloquist who Sarah had inexplicably taken under her wing…

  However, Giles had to admit that a couple of Ned’s jokes were original and quite amusing, if poorly executed. He knew he could polish them into the real thing. Maybe he could play the gig, and if Ned used the gags after the show, everyone would think he stole them from the TV Personality Giles Monroe.

  Giles smiled condescendingly. ‘OK,’ he said finally, ‘if it gets you out of all hole.’

  ‘Thanks Giles, I really appreciate it,’ Sarah smiled warmly.

  Giles leaned back in his chair and checked his phone. ‘So can we go out now?’

  ‘I’ve just got to finish this email and I’ll be with you,’ she said, turning back to her keyboard.

  Sarah reread what she had written and added;

  In the event that you wish to revise the show into a more child friendly production, with perhaps a little less of the horror of the period, the Arts Council would be prepared to reconsider your request for a grant.

  She nodded, happy with what she had written.

  ‘What’s the email about?’ Giles asked, looking up from his phone.

  ‘Oh, nothing really. I’m just replying to a request for a grant from someone who wanted to put on a puppet show.’

  ‘I take it you approved it? Aren’t puppet shows what the Arts Council is all about?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘Not this one. The bloke wanted money to put on a puppet show telling the story of the witchcraft trials in the 17th Century.’

  Giles laughed. ‘Is he taking the piss?’

  ‘I don’t think so, no. He has fairly realistic puppets, special effects and a working hangman’s noose. The educational aspect was hidden behind gore and horror.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s not taking the piss?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m sure he’s not going to get a grant to fund it,’ Sarah replied, ‘at least not from us.’

  ‘I take it it’s not a family show, then?’

  ‘Maybe the Addams Family,’ Sarah quipped.

  Giles sniggered. ‘It takes real skill to keep the whole family entertained. Jokes for the kids, jokes for the parents. There’s an art to it. A certain genius, if you will.’

  ‘Don’t forget modesty,’ Sarah pointed out.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not with you.’

  ‘Don’t forget modesty,’ Sarah repeated. ‘I thought you were listing your qualities...’

  ‘Are you ready to go yet?’ he replied, interrupting any further comment.

  ‘Give me a moment,’ she said, putting the finishing touches to her email. ‘Right I’m ready now,’ she said, logging off her PC and standing up.

  ‘I thought we could go to a place I know on the river. All smoked glass and chrome. I think you’ll like it,’ Giles told her.

  ‘That sounds great,’ Sarah said as she put her coat on. ‘Sounds like you’re in the mood for celebrating?’

  ‘Well, it’s funny you should say that. I’ve been asked to be the studio warm up man for the next series of Celebrity Naked Ice Dance.’

  Sarah looked puzzled. ‘Is that a real show?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ he said indignantly. ‘It’s on the cable channel Hidden Treasures.’

  ‘Oh I see, I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘It’s in its third series now. It’s the channel’s top rated show. Celebrities are falling over themselves to get out on the ice.’

  ‘Or get it out on the ice,’ Sarah smirked.

  Giles laughed and made a mental note to include Sarah’s line in his first warm-up slot. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you all
about it…’

  Chapter 20.

  ‘Can you put those down and help me look?’ James called over his shoulder to where Alan sat fiddling with James’s bagpipes. ‘Anyway, it takes years of practice to learn how to play them properly.’

  ‘You’ve only had them a few weeks. What makes you the expert?’ Alan said between half-hearted blows.

  ‘I’m a teacher. Teachers are experts.’

  ‘You’re a bloody idiot,’ said Frankie. ‘Why are you buying some weird looking animal when you should be flying your missus to Paris?’

  ‘Frankie says the llama is a great idea...’

  ‘I did not…’

  ‘Thanks, Frankie, I appreciate it,’ James said, grinning over his shoulder to where he presumed Frankie was sitting. In fact, Frankie was looking over James’s other shoulder staring at the laptop screen.

  ‘So you can literally look up anything about anything and it tells you the answer?’ Frankie asked Alan, the wonders of the internet still a mystery to him.

  ‘Sort of. It’s difficult to explain, but essentially every bit of information ever is all recorded for anyone to access.’

  ‘I did wonder. When I first saw you on yours I thought it was a telly. Then I saw your trousers round your ankles and didn’t know what to think.’

  ‘What?’ Alan exclaimed, making James momentarily look away from the screen. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Oh, ages ago now. Before I made contact with you, I think.’

  ‘And you never thought to mention it?’

  ‘Well, you had your hands full at the time,’ Frankie grinned.

  ‘This isn’t funny,’ Alan whined. ‘Oh God…’

  ‘What? What’s going on?’ James asked, ‘is it that ugly? It’s not the best looking one, granted, but it’s by far the cheapest.’

  Alan put the bagpipes down and put his head in his hands. ‘This can’t be happening,’ he moaned as Frankie guffawed.

  ‘Why not?’ James asked, oblivious to Alan’s shame. ‘This was as much your idea as mine.’

  ‘What if Rosie finds out?’ Alan whined.

  ‘She’s bound to find out eventually mate,’ James added over his shoulder.

  Frankie perched on the edge of James’ desk, laughing.

  ‘That’s it,’ Alan said finally, ‘I’m going to get rid of him,’ he added pointing to where Frankie was now bent over in apparent hysterics.

  ‘What? I haven’t even bought him yet,’ James replied, turning back to the screen, oblivious to Frankie’s presence.

  ‘What did I do?’ Frankie asked innocently.

  ‘You saw me with my pants down,’ Alan replied.

  ‘Sorry mate, when did you drop your pants in front of a llama? What’s wrong with you?’ James asked, not unreasonably.

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’ Alan frowned at James whilst Frankie continued to giggle.

  ‘When did you flash a llama?’ James pushed.

  ‘What? When did I do what?’

  ‘You and the llama. Is it some kind of fetish? Is this why you wanted me to get one, so you can fiddle with it? I’m going to call the RSPCA if you come anywhere near him.’

  This was too much for Frankie, who laughed so hard he disappeared.

  ‘Sorry James, what? When did I flash a llama?’

  ‘I don’t know mate, I wasn’t there,’ James admitted, clearly concerned.

  ‘Neither was I. I’ve never flashed a bloody llama, Christ,’ Alan put his hands on his head.

  ‘You just said you did, I heard you say it,’ James said as Frankie reappeared still giggling to himself.

  ‘No I didn’t, I was taking to that bloody idiot,’ Alan said, pointing to Frankie.

  ‘Oi!’ Frankie shouted.

  ‘Look,’ Alan said, ‘I have never been anywhere near a llama.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ James said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, can we concentrate on this..?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Alan agreed, giving Frankie a hard stare, who responded by miming riding on an imaginary horse round James’ living room.

  ‘This is the one I’m thinking of getting. His name is Charlie and he costs four hundred quid.’

  Alan peered over James’ shoulder. ‘Is he called Charlie because he looks like Charlie Chaplin?’ Alan asked, pointing to the llama’s strange colouring that gave him the look of having a moustache.

  Frankie ceased his pretend gallop, said ‘Whoa there boy,’ before adding, ‘he looks more like Hitler to me. I guess a lot of Germans ended up in South America after the war. He might have had your fetish,’ he grinned.

  ‘I’m not talking to you, go away,’ Alan growled. ‘Sorry James, carry on.’

  ‘Charlie here is the cheapest one in the shop. That doesn’t necessarily make him the worst,’ James said. ‘I mean the most expensive one is four grand. I’m not spending four grand on a bloody pet.’

  ‘Well, you spent twenty grand on a pink car, so anything is possible,’ Alan added helpfully.

  ‘That’s not helpful at all. And it’s not pink. It’s cerise. Anyway, Charlie here is a bargain.’

  ‘Why is he so cheap?’ Alan asked.

  ‘He’s not cheap, he’s cost effective,’ James replied defensively.

  ‘He’s probably infertile,’ Frankie piped up.

  ‘I don’t want to shag him,’ Alan replied without thinking.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ James said. ‘I guess the more expensive ones are used for breeding and stuff.’

  ‘So he’s not a stud llama?’ Alan enquired.

  ‘Not with that dodgy looking tash he’s not,’ Frankie interrupted.

  ‘He does look a bit like Charlie Chaplin, I suppose,’ James said, staring more intently at the image on the screen. ‘Maybe he’s the reincarnation of Chaplin…’

  ‘Or Hitler,’ Frankie added helpfully, his words lost on James.

  ‘He must have done something really bad to come back as a llama…’ James and Alan pondered the implications of this for a moment before James added, ‘Maybe he stole an angora sweater from an indigenous Peruvian.’

  ‘Actually,’ Alan said, ‘he looks more like that bloke on the Pringles tube.’

  ‘I don’t think he looks French,’ James replied.

  ‘Bloody French. Buggers stole my tank,’ Frankie interrupted again.

  ‘Not all of them, and almost certainly not this llama,’ Alan said.

  ‘So you say…’ Frankie sulked.

  ‘Can we just focus?’ James said, trying to get Alan to concentrate on him rather than Frankie. ‘This one looks the best,’ he pointed again at the screen.’

  ‘It’s the cheapest,’ Alan said again.

  ‘Same thing,’ James replied.

  ‘Can I just point out before the divorce that I strongly suggested Paris?’ Frankie whispered in Alan’s ear, causing him to recoil slightly.

  ‘What? What did he say?’ James asked, knowing instinctively from Alan’s reaction that Frankie was talking to him.

  ‘He says go with the cheap one,’ Alan grinned.

  ‘Oi!’ Frankie shouted.

  ‘Well, if you don’t like it, learn to communicate with him,’ Alan said.

  ‘Do you think llamas can see ghosts?’ James asked.

  ‘How the bloody hell do I know?’ Alan replied.

  ‘Can’t you ask him?’ James said, nodding his head to indicate Frankie.

  ‘I can’t say I’ve ever encountered a llama,’ Frankie said before Alan could relay the message. ‘A cat or two has looked at me strangely, but that happened when I was alive too.’

  ‘He says he’s never met one,’ Alan said. ‘So are you going to get him then?’

  ‘Yep. I think he’ll be perfect,’ James said as he clicked the button to make his purchase. The screen changed to delivery details. ‘Do I want next day delivery?’ he asked.

  ‘Well you don’t want him sent first class post. He could be stuck at the sorting office for days,’ Alan grinned.


  ‘Where would you put the stamps on him?’ Frankie asked innocently, unaware of the changes to the British postal system since his untimely demise.

  ‘I guess there must be special stamps you put on livestock that get sent through the post…’ Alan replied, a comment which silenced them for a moment, contemplating the implications of adhesive stamps on animals.

  ‘I’ll have to get it delivered for when Amy is out,’ James said finally.

  ‘That makes sense,’ Alan replied and sat back down on the sofa. He picked up the bagpipes and began to blow.

  ‘Playing with yourself again, Alan?’ Frankie grinned.

  Chapter 21.

  James sat at the kitchen table nursing a mug of tea. He looked up at the large clock on the wall which told him it was 9.10am. Exactly the same time that it had been on his watch when he had checked it seconds earlier.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ he said to himself, ‘I’m waiting.’

  He had arranged for the llama to be delivered between 9am and 11am when he knew that Amy would be at the gym. Despite experience telling him that delivery slots were simply confirmation of the time your delivery would not arrive, James remained optimistic that a llama would be the exception to that rule. After all, he had told Alan that fridges, washing machines and dishwashers needed installing, whereas llamas, his research had told him, did not.

  James’s thoughts were interrupted by a hammering on the door. The clock told him it was 9.20am which, he thought, proved his theory that llamas and fridges were completely different. He excitedly made his way to the front door, throwing it open in anticipation. Standing on the doorstep was a man in his twenties wearing a cheap suit and sporting very shiny hair.

  ‘Hello,’ James said, looking over his shoulder for a delivery van or a horse box. Anything that might contain a South American animal.

  ‘Are you the home owner?’ the man asked.

  James stared at the man. ‘Where is it then?’ he asked, ignoring the question.

  The man looked puzzled, pausing for a moment before continuing. ‘I represent Clear Glass Windows and Doors. I was passing and saw that your gutters need replacing.’

  ‘Do they?’