Buying Llamas Off the Internet

by Ian Edwards

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Amy groaned and put her head in her hands.

  ‘I think the first thing you should do is speak to James. He’s really worried.’ Rosie took her phone from her pocket. ‘I’ll call him now,’ she paused. ‘Damn, no signal. This place is terrible for mobiles. I’ll wander around for a bit and call him as soon as I get a signal.’ Rosie stood up. ‘What room are you in?’

  ‘I’m staying in the Tranquil Suite.’

  ‘Very nice,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m in a shoebox. A nice shoebox, to be fair. But still a shoebox.’

  ‘I’m staying as Frances’s guest,’ Amy explained. ‘She really is being good to me.’

  ‘Very nice of her,’ Rosie said insincerely, and left the restaurant.

  Amy put her head on the table and closed her eyes. Within seconds she heard the chair opposite being pulled across the floor.

  ‘You weren’t long,’ she said.

  ‘What are you talking about Amy?’

  Amy looked up at Frances sitting opposite her. ‘Oh, nothing. Sorry.’

  ‘I heard what happened in the apiary. You must be in shock. I’d hate this to bring on another attack of bemusement. Would you like me to make you an emergency appointment with Dr Staff?’

  ‘No it’s OK, I’ll be fine,’ Amy told her. ‘How’s Gordon?’ She asked, changing the subject.

  Frances laughed. ‘He’s in hospital being treated for multiple bee stings. He should be released later today, and if he’s got any sense he’ll avoid me for a few days. Do you know how expensive those beehives are? Anyway,’ Frances continued, ’have you thought any more about my offer to stay here?’

  Amy fiddled nervously with her wedding ring. ‘I have, and I’m really tempted, but I need more time. I’ll let you know tomorrow if that’s OK.’

  Frances reached out and patted Amy on the hand. ‘Of course you need more time, it’s a big step, but I’m meeting the lawyers to finalise the application next week and it would be great if you were able to come with me.’

  Amy smiled. ‘I’ll let you know tomorrow.’

  *

  Alan, James, Harry and Frankie sat on a bench overlooking the village green and watched as the villagers wrestled a large human effigy woven from wicker strips onto a platform of branches and twigs.

  ‘How high do you think they’ll build it?’ Alan asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought any more than ten feet high, anymore would be dangerous,’ Harry said.

  ‘I doubt that Maiden’s Dribble has a visit from health and safety to sign off the bonfire. They can probably do what they like,’ James offered.

  ‘They probably throw outsiders on it,’ Alan said.

  ‘Or a Ventriloquist’s dummy,’ James added, nudging Harry.

  ‘I’ll be keeping a careful eye on Ernie tomorrow,’ Harry grinned.

  ‘So, other than this enormous bonfire, what else goes on at this fair?’ Frankie asked.

  Alan took a folded piece of paper from his pocket. ‘According to this...’ he held up the guide he had taken from the bar at the Soiled Cassock, ‘there’s an opening ceremony where the Village Elders light the bonfire…’

  ‘Village Elders?’ Harry interrupted.

  ‘That’s what it says here,’ Alan confirmed. ‘Anyway, after that there’s a guess the weight of the cake competition, a stall selling locally produced honey, the Marrow competition…’

  ‘A what?’ James interrupted.

  Alan shrugged. ‘It just says here, “Marrow Competition.”’

  ‘Who’s got the biggest marrow?’ Harry smirked, Frankie grinned.

  ‘There’s also something called “Fleecy Frolics” and a homebrew competition,’ Alan said.

  ‘Something for everyone, then,’ Frankie said.

  ‘And this,’ Alan turned to James, ‘is one for you. The naming of The Maiden’s Dribble Virgin Queen.’

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ James said.

  ‘After that everyone parades around the village.’ Alan folded the guide back into his pocket. ‘And that, my friends, is that.’

  ‘Oh yeah, and there’s a bit of a do in the Soiled Cassock tonight, according to the landlord,’ Harry explained.

  Alan looked at Harry. ‘Really?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Yeah, apparently he lays a bit of a spread on, it’s a bit of a tradition.’

  ‘We’ll have some of that,’ James said.

  ‘Too right. That is something I can look forward to,’ Alan said. ‘The world’s worst landlord in the world’s worst pub in the world’s weirdest village, trying to have a good time. What could go wrong?’

  ‘He might surprise you …’ James was interrupted by the sound of Alan’s phone.

  Alan took his phone from his pocket and swiped the screen. ‘Rosie?’ he said. He put his hand over the handset and mouthed, ‘Its Rosie.’

  ‘What’s up? How’s the Sanctuary of Weirdness?’

  Alan listened, nodded, attempted to say something, nodded again and said finally, ‘OK, I’ll tell him.’ He ended the call, put the phone back in his pocket and turned to James. ‘Looks like you might be giving the Soiled Cassock’s big night a miss.’

  James raised his eyebrows. ‘Why, what’s happened?’

  ‘Rosie’s found Amy.’

  *

  Rosie stood by the Sanctuary gate in the fading daylight and watched as the Cerise SUV pulled up onto the grass verge.

  ‘Is she here?’ James asked as he climbed out of the car, shutting the door behind him.

  ‘She’s in her room, I’ll take you there.’ Rosie told him.

  ‘What’s going on?’ James asked as they walked through the gates. ‘Alan wouldn’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Alan doesn’t know anything. I didn’t tell him, and I’m not telling you either. You need to hear it from Amy. She’ll explain everything.’

  James frowned, pushed his hands into his pockets and moped along behind Rosie.

  ‘I thought you said that she wasn’t booked in to the Sanctuary?’ he said.

  ‘She was booked in under her maiden name, that’s why I couldn’t find her.’

  ‘Her maiden name!’ James snapped. ‘Of course. I bet Fanny put her up to that.’ James paused. ‘Have you met her? Fanny?’

  Rosie shook her head to indicate she hadn’t.

  As they approached the end of the drive, Rosie ushered James to the side of the house. ‘We’ll go round this way to avoid the main entrance. There’s a small gate to the side by the staff car park.’

  ‘Why can’t we go in the front door?’ James asked.

  ‘We’d have to go past reception. This way I can sneak you up to her room without anyone seeing.’

  ‘Good idea,’ James agreed.

  Rosie led James through the Sanctuary and up several flights of stairs until they came to a sky blue door. The words Tranquil Suite arched above the door.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Rosie said. ‘Knock.’

  James knocked gently on the door and stepped back. He smiled nervously at Rosie, who gently squeezed his hand.

  ‘Relax James, it’ll be OK,’ she said, as reassuringly as she could.

  They heard a soft click and the door slowly opened. Amy stood in the doorway.

  ’James,’ she said.

  James looked at his wife, took a deep breath and said, ‘Why are you dressed like Vera Lynn?’

  *

  Alan was drunk. Either that or the man sitting opposite him was twins. Either was possible. ‘Sorry, what did you say you do for a living?’ Alan slurred.

  ‘I didn’t,’ the man replied.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Alan said, tapping his finger on his chin in an approximation of concentration. ‘You’re either an Amish or a terrorist,’ he giggled, pointing to the man’s beard. ‘I’ve got a joke about that you know.’

  ‘Dear boy, I am neither Amish nor a terrorist,’ the man replied, eager to end this conversation.

  ‘Then you’re a fisherman or a farmer,’ Alan pointed to the man’s beard
again.

  ‘Nor am I either of those professions,’ the man said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

  ‘So what are you then?’ Alan said, a little too loudly.

  ‘What do you mean, what am I?’

  ‘What I said. What are you?’

  ‘What I am is none of your business,’ the man had had enough.

  Harry came back from the bar with two pints. ‘There you go,’ he said to Alan. ‘Tuck in. This one’s called Whiffy Smudger. It’s six per cent,’ he said, taking a sip. ‘Blimey, I’d go easy on that one if I were you.’

  Alan took a sip of the black beer. ‘Tastes like chocolate. And feet,’ he said. ‘Harry, meet…sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

  ‘I didn’t offer it.’ The man looked at Harry. ‘I just sat down for five seconds and this man insulted me.’ He pointed at Alan.

  Harry grinned. ‘Don’t worry, he’s a comedian, he does it all the time.’

  ‘A real comedian?’ The man was suddenly interested. ‘Is he any good?’

  ‘No, not really,’ Harry laughed at Alan’s annoyed face.

  ‘In fact, I’m a comedian too. Harry’s the name. Harry Hodges,’ he held his hand out, ‘and you are..?’

  The man reluctantly shook Harry’s hand. ‘Brian. Brian Taylor.’

  ‘And what do you do, Brian?’ Harry asked over his pint.

  ‘I’m a wizard,’ Brian replied.

  Alan coughed into his pint. ‘Don’t tell the owner, he doesn’t like wizards.’

  ‘I know. By day I work in a shoe shop. I’ve never told Ivor, the landlord, about the wizard stuff.’

  ‘Very wise,’ Alan said. ‘Any idea why, Ivor hates wizards?’

  Brian inhaled deeply, clearly considering how much to divulge to the drunkard at his table. Finally he spoke. ‘There was a convention. Of wizards. It was quite a big gathering by all accounts, and Ivor kindly allowed them to use the beer garden. They even had some portable toilets installed. But when Ivor’s cat went missing, he blamed it on the wizard fraternity. Said they had magicked him away.’

  ‘And had they?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Of course not. They eventually found Tiddles, Ivor’s cat. Unfortunately it seemed to have been sitting minding its own business when a portable toilet was placed on it. Poor thing was squished. Ivor was furious. Thankfully I wasn’t there. I had a stock take.’

  Alan nodded. ‘So, does it pay well? Being a wizard?’ He asked.

  ‘It doesn’t pay at all, that’s why I work in a shoe shop,’ Brian admitted.

  ‘Makes sense, I suppose. So, what exactly does a wizard do?’

  ‘I practice magic,’ Brian replied.

  ‘That’s what Harry does!’ Alan shouted. ‘Only he’s not very good. Maybe you could teach him a couple of tricks.’ He smiled at Harry.

  ‘A wizard doesn’t do tricks. A wizard casts spells. We operate from the supernatural perspective.’

  ‘Have you thought about contacting Tiddles?’ Frankie laughed.

  ‘But you work in a shoe shop?’ Alan confirmed again, ignoring Frankie.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does Clarke’s have a section for curled up pointy toed slippers?’ Frankie asked. This time Alan repeated the question for everyone’s benefit. Brian was not amused.

  ‘I’m drinking a beer called Whiffy Smudger in a pub called The Soiled Cassock, whilst talking to a wizard called Brian. This might be the best night of my life,’ Alan said.

  ‘Best not tell Rosie that,’ Harry said.

  ‘Fair point,’ Alan agreed and took another swig of his pint.

  ‘Are you really a comedian?’ Brian asked Alan.

  ‘Yes, really. I do stand-up. Though I quite often need to sit down.’

  ‘I told you he wasn’t any good,’ Harry laughed.

  ‘Well, Alan, is it?’ Alan nodded. ‘Alan, you might be able to help us out of a little pickle.’

  ‘I thought you were the wizard. Can’t you do a spell or something?’

  ‘If you don’t want to help, I won’t bother to ask…’

  ‘Hold on, Brian. Alan’s just a bit pissed,’ Harry said. ‘What’s the problem?’

  Brian thought for a moment. ‘Well, you see our celebrity guest has blown us out. She was going to open the marrow competition. So, I wondered whether you’d be interested. I can’t pay you I’m afraid.’

  ‘Of course I’ll do it,’ Alan shouted. ‘It would be my pleasure.’ He took another sip of his pint. ‘So you work in a shoe shop, you’re a wizard and you run the Fair? This is what Harry Potter has to look forward to,’ he laughed.

  ‘I don’t run the Fair as such,’ Brian admitted. ‘I do, however, have responsibility for certain aspects of it, including getting celebrities. Only we’ve been let down at the last minute, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t normally ask, but, well, you know…’

  ‘I know. So who dropped out? Anyone I would know?’

  ‘I don’t know. We had Marjorie Jeffers booked, but she’s had a little accident.’

  ‘What kind of accident?’ Alan asked, not wanting to let on he had no idea who the woman was.

  ‘Well, as you know, Mrs Jeffers is a star of stage and screen…’

  Alan nodded, although he didn’t know this at all.

  ‘…well, it seems Mrs Jeffers was filming a commercial for an exclusive holiday company and fell out of an infinity pool.’

  Alan giggled.

  ‘I don’t think it’s very funny. She broke a leg, you know.’

  ‘By falling out of a swimming pool? How is that even possible?’

  ‘It was an infinity pool. They are designed to be sleek, to look as though they merge with the sea. Mrs Jeffers swam a little too hard, and fell out. Dropped a few feet on to an unsuspecting camel herder. I hear he’s suing the company.’

  ‘I bet he had the hump,’ Alan grinned.

  ‘This evening just gets better and better,’ Frankie said.

  ‘So you’ll definitely do it? Open the marrow competition?’ Brian asked again.

  ‘Brian, it would be my pleasure. Now…’ Alan slurred, ‘who wants a pint? I don’t think I’ll make breakfast at this rate.’

  ‘Don’t worry son,’ Frankie replied. ‘They’ll do that for you.’

  Chapter 33 –Sunday.

  James was surprised that even at 8.00am on a Sunday morning the village was bustling with activity. In the short drive from the Sanctuary he had seen the shops open and displays set up to promote the fair and parade. He slowed the car as several villagers attempted to hang bunting across the High Street. He watched as a woman in a Groucho Marx mask hung the bunting from the top of a drain pipe, while shouting instructions to those on the ground, confirming his view that health and safety had no place in Maiden’s Dribble.

  *

  Alan lay face down on the bed. He had changed positions several times, looking for a cool part of the bed which might – just might - help him ease his headache. He pulled the pillow over his head and pulled it tight, attempting to squeeze the hangover away.

  ‘Alan.’

  Alan groaned. His headache now appeared to be talking to him. Whatever he had drunk last night was delivering a bespoke hangover, one that was on first name terms.

  ‘Alan.’

  ‘Piss off,’ Alan shouted at the hangover. Which only seemed to increase the frequency and intensity of the hammering in his head.

  Pushing the pillow away from his face, he became aware that the hammering and calling his name was actually coming from the door, or more specifically the other side of it. He swung his legs off of the bed and stood up, sitting down again very quickly as a wave of nausea overtook him.

  James gave the door another couple of knocks. ‘Alan,’ He called out. Eventually he heard the lock click and the door opened. James looked at his friend.

  ‘You look awful. What happened?’

  Alan turned and headed back into the room. He dropped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

  ‘You look terrible,’ Ja
mes pointed out.

  ‘Hangover,’ Alan told him. ‘Last night. Downstairs.’ Alan gestured downwards in case James had forgotten what downstairs actually meant.

  ‘I don’t have to ask if you had a good night last night.’

  Alan reached beside the bed and picked up a half drunk bottle of water. He unscrewed the top and gulped half of it down, not caring that some of the liquid dribbled down his chin.

  ‘I was drinking some of the local beers, brewed on the premises. They all had stupid names. One was called Spooky, I think.’

  ‘How much did you have?’ James asked, sitting himself down on the empty bed next to Alan.

  ‘Can’t remember,’ Alan admitted with a sigh. ‘Too much. I can’t remember a thing about last night. I remember trying a pint of Spooky with Harry and that’s about it.’

  ‘Where’s Harry?’ James asked.

  ‘Don’t know?’

  ‘Is Frankie here?’

  Alan raised his head, a quick scan of the room showed no sign of the friendly ghost. ‘He’s not here.’

  James sat on the bed and waited for Alan to ask.

  He waited for a minute in silence and then said, ‘I saw Amy.’

  ‘Sorry mate I forgot,’ Alan mumbled, raising himself up on his elbows. ‘How did it go?’

  James beamed. ‘It was great. It wasn’t my fault she left. In fact it wasn’t anything to do with me.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ Alan said, flopping back down on the bed before raising up again. ‘Wasn’t anything to do with me, was it?’

  James shook his head. ‘No, why would it be?’

  ‘I dunno. But it’s good, right?’ Alan said lowering himself back to the bed.

  ‘She’s going to come back with us after the parade,’ James said, laying back on the bed and closing his eyes. ‘I could do with a sleep myself. I didn’t get much last night, we spent the whole night talking.’

  ‘Did she say why she ran off?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Yeah, she thought the police and FBI were after her for murder,’ James told him.

  Alan laughed. ‘Women eh?’

  ‘I know,’ James mumbled and fell asleep.

  *

  Two hours later Alan and James sat in the very busy Witches Brew café. James was working his way through a plate of bacon sandwiches, while Alan nursed a mug of black coffee and nibbled on a slice of toast. A chill breeze blew across them and Frankie appeared next to Alan.