Greyhound George

by Cleaver, Tony

“Well, old top, do tell her to call round when she’s back. Patio plants need looking after as the weather warms up, don’t you know!” Stephen gave an ingratiating, totally false smile that made George’s stomach turn but, polite as ever, he just nodded his agreement and lowered his eyes. There was somebody who could do with being looked after, he thought. George had visions of beating him around the head with a garden spade, but he merely moved to inspect the nearest flower bed beside him, trying to give the impression of someone who knew something about gardening and needed no advice from an over-enthusiastic neighbour.

  As he did so, there was a tiny explosion of spitting and screeching and a tabby cat vaulted out of Smarmy Stephen’s garden with the latter trying to hit it with an old brush. Stephen’s language was certainly not controlled and immaculate. He held the brush up and shook it vindictively in the air.

  “Damned filthy feline! Trying to shit all over the place and ruin all my hard work. I’ll wring its bloody neck if I don’t batter it to death first!”

  The cat stopped halfway across the intervening garden between the two men and looked back and snarled at its assailant. It then continued crossing over towards George, leaping over the wooden fence that separated them to drop on all fours below him and then wind itself around the legs of this rather more welcoming human.

  The cat was now out of sight of Smarmy Stephen but not out of his mind. “Where’s it gone now? If you can see that moggy over there, then do me a favour and spear it with a garden fork or something, will you? Anything to keep it away from our gardens. It’s a bloody menace!”

  “It’s Mr Tibbs who belongs to that little old lady over the back,” replied George defensively. “I don’t think she’d be too pleased if any harm came to it.”

  “Then she should either chain it up in her own garden or not let it out in the first place. I tell you, if it comes in here again I’ll kill it. And Annabel’s of the same opinion, I know. Your wife would be pleased to see the end of it, same as I would.”

  George looked down at Tibbs the cat, now purring and rubbing itself against his ankles. “Yes, yes,” he replied, discouraging any further comment. He knelt down by the side of the wooden fence, out of Smarmy Stephen’s eye-line and fondled the tabby cat, stroking its head and rubbing behind its ears. He whispered soothing words to it as if to tell it not to be so frightened and to take care and stay out of trouble. Then he started whistling absent-mindedly and busied about amongst the flower beds, again simulating what he hoped looked like a devoted gardener. Smarmy Stephen went back into his own house and left him to it.

  Chapter 2

  All next weekend was the occasion of the County Agricultural Show. Annabel had agreed with Smarmy Stephen to meet up on Sunday afternoon and spend several hours in the horticultural section. Fine, George would wander off to inspect various animals, farm machines, outdoor wear and, especially, the refreshment tent – or tents. There was sure to be numerous real ales from around the region and further afield, not to mention countless varieties of single malt whisky.

  As soon as he parked his old jalopy as directed in the designated field, he saw Smarmy Stephen heading for them. George groaned. His neighbour was wearing his trousers rather slackly around the waist, or rather around his buttocks, supposedly because he wanted to look cool and ape the fashions of a younger generation, except that wearing his trousers as if they were falling down was not now fashionable and just made him look like an idiot. George hoped he tripped over in them into a pile of manure.

  “Hallo, Annabel, I saw your motor coming in – glad you could make it!” Stephen’s voice entered by the side window.

  “Oh, Stevie, I do wish George would get something more elegant to drive around in. It’s so embarrassing being seen in this ancient pile.” Annabel didn’t like old Land Rovers.

  “Sorry, dear. The Bentley showrooms were shut the last time I was down in London,” George remarked sardonically.

  “That’s quite enough of that!” Annabel reacted sharply. “Since you cannot conduct a reasonable conversation I shall go home with Stevie this afternoon. He has a new Renault that I am not ashamed to be driven in.”

  “Please yourself.” George pecked his wife on the cheek. “You two go off and roll around amongst the shrubbery. I’ll take a look at the prize cattle. More my sort of society.”

  Annabel snorted and descended from the Land Rover into the arms of her neighbour. She wasn’t sure whether George was being sarcastic or not. She could never read his odd comments. Was he being deliberately annoying, or simply perverse, or was he bumbling about on another planet as usual? Did he mind her announced preference for another man’s company? Had he even noticed?

  George was indifferent to his wife’s confusion. He just left her to it, locked up the Land Rover, pocketed the keys and wandered off; whistling to himself, looking about amiably at what the County Show had to offer.

  Ancient breeds of cattle and sheep he passed by. A tent selling various items of footwear: wellington boots in all shapes and sizes, walkers’ shoes and even traditional slippers. He paused and browsed at each stall and enclosure, happily bumbling about with no specific goal in mind and most of the day now at his disposal. He negotiated a stretch of muddy pathway and a family of four dancing round it, plus a couple of enthusiastic black Labradors, before he came next upon the main showground with a programme pinned up alongside it. Apparently in an hour or so there was going to be a parade of horse-drawn carriages circling the field. But that wasn’t what George was looking for. Then across the other side of the roped-off showground he spied the first refreshment tent. There were a number of people milling around outside and the sound they made that came across to him seemed decidedly jolly. That was definitely the place to be! He set off on a roundabout route to get there.

  Three-quarters of the way to his destination, where the sound of laughter, animated conversation and the occasional dog barking assailed his ears, where he could just begin to smell the alcohol being exhaled in the late spring air, a sandy-coloured greyhound came leaping towards him in a whirl of long legs, whiplash tail and bright eyes.

  “Hello! It’s Rosie, isn’t it?” George put his hands down to caress his affectionate friend. He dared not glance round to find her owner.

  “Well, look who it is here – Rosie’s found her circus friend again!”

  George straightened up and struck an indignant air of one who has been falsely slandered.

  “Ahem! I have told you, young woman, I have nothing to do with circuses!” Rosie gave a slight whimper and pushed her nose into George’s hand as if to console him.

  “Oh pouf!” Carol retorted. “Don’t tell me you are an accountant because I won’t believe you. Sally…” she turned to a nubile companion, “look at this man. He’s trying to hide behind some staid and conservative image but it is as plain as Rosie’s wet nose that he is a dog’s best friend and clearly a habitué of a circus, or the jungle, or somewhere similar…”

  “Maybe a zoo?” Sally ventured. “He does have a sort of subdued, suppressed animal spirit about him.”

  “Mmm. Hadn’t thought of that. Are you a zookeeper?”

  “Certainly not! I am an accountant with a solid reputation and I never frequent circuses, jungles or zoos, and nor do I assail strangers in the street, accusing them of wild or outrageous employments. You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

  “My! He has something of a temper, doesn’t he?” remarked Sally to her friend.

  “Yes,” replied Carol, rising to the tirade directed against her, “and as for accusations, I have never assailed any stranger on any street…but if you remember it was Rosie who introduced me to you on a footpath not so very far from here. And I was proper enough to introduce myself and tell you my name, to which you have not yet responded and I think that is very impolite of you. I’ve a good mind to report you to the police as someone who hassles young women…”

  George’s face rose in colour and he looked alarmedly about him. “Me? Hassling?
But, but it was you…”

  “What do you think, Sally? Something of a wild man? A danger to girls out alone? Do you think the police would swallow that?”

  “Oh easily! He still hasn’t told you his name, d’ya notice? Obviously has something to hide. A criminal record even…”

  “This is absolutely unforgiveable. I was just going over there for a drink and you two set upon me and try to ruin my reputation. Madam…”

  “Carol!” Carol interjected

  “Carol…you have a very friendly dog and I’m pleased to make her acquaintance, but it was never my intention – before or now – to press my attentions any further…”

  “Oooh,” said Sally, “watch out, Carol, he’s pressing his attentions!”

  “Aaaagh!” George went purple.

  “Do you think he is dangerous, Sally? Really? Or do you think we should go and have a drink and keep an eye on him? Keep him from molesting any innocent young girls around here. We might even get his name and details; get the police to run a check on him, perhaps…”

  George realised he was getting nowhere with these two young women and anything he said would no doubt be taken down and used as evidence against him. He gently pushed Rosie the greyhound to one side and struck out in the direction of the refreshment tent, followed by two smiling attendants and a dog. On reaching the bar, he ordered a double malt whisky, choosing The MaCallan from a row of bottles, only to hear his new companions requesting vodka cocktails to add to his order. He turned to scowl at them but was met by winning smiles and the suggestion that they sit together at a table where Rosie had space to lie beside them. George gave up. He wasn’t going to argue anymore.

  “C’mon then! Open up! Who are you and why do you have such an effect on my dog?” Carol was smiling broadly and offering George space to breathe, instead of sailing into battle straight away.

  “My name is George Potts, I’m an accountant and I’ve never met such disgraceful, abandoned young women in all my life!”

  “Oh that’s nothing. We’ve been remarkably restrained so far, haven’t we, Sally.” Carol grinned. “I mean, you’ve still got your trousers on, haven’t you?”

  “Good grief! What next? Wherever do you get this attitude from – accosting poor, unsuspecting blokes like me all alone in broad daylight. You should be locked up!”

  “Well, actually,” whispered Sally, leaning across, “you’re lucky. We normally go out the two of us together with bull mastiffs and rottweilers, looking to set upon any single fellers, dirty old men, flashers and the like that we find. Us women gotta get our own back, gettit?”

  “Well, really!” George downed his whisky, barely tasting it. He was shocked for a moment…until he saw the laughing eyes of his two companions. He stood up.

  “I’ve drunk that whisky far too quickly, thanks to you two. I’m going to get another now while I’ve still got my clothes on. How are you two fixed?”

  “Well that’s more neighbourly of you,” said Carol. “I’m alright thanks. You, Sally?”

  “No thanks,” smiled Sally. “But do come back. We won’t assault you, honest!”

  George nodded and went off and ordered another double MaCallan. He returned to the table and carefully arranged his long limbs so that they would not interfere with any feminine ones and give the wrong impression. There were certainly some luscious female limbs on display about him. Not tracksuited this time, but some very tight denims that left little to the imagination. George struggled to keep his imagination in check. He took a sip of whisky and rolled it around inside his mouth, determined to get the full flavour of it this time. He was still a little red in the face and he desperately tried not to let his eyes wander over the figures of these two spirited sirens. At last he began to relax. George dropped a hand to fondle Rosie’s head and neck.

  “So tell us, George – how do you do it? Rosie had never met you before but within seconds she was treating you like a long-lost friend. And look at her now. Instant love!”

  “Yeah,” Sally butted in. “I don’t think attacking him with rottweilers would be of much use. Their great big jaws would probably end up kissing him!”

  “I’ve always liked dogs…in fact, all animals. It’s probably because I’ve never been allowed to have one that I seem to ooze affection in their direction. I knew a woman once who couldn’t have babies. She gurgled and googled at just about any infant that crossed her path. Same for me and dogs.”

  “What do you mean – you’ve never been allowed to have a dog?!” Carol asked. “You’re a grown man, aren’t you? A staid and conservative pillar of society. What’s stopping you if you want one?”

  “The wife hates ‘em.”

  “Oh dear!”

  “So that’s what accounts for the subdued, repressed expression then!”

  “Not at all. I am not repressed – just considerate of my wife’s feelings…”

  “Oh, George, you need a dog – or a tiger, or some suitable beast that reflects your true character. Don’t you think so, Sally? It’s obvious. We can both see it in you.”

  “Absolutely. This is tragic. George, you have to be unchained!”

  “I know what – I’ll go round and speak to his wife. That’s what I’ll do. George – tell me your home address!”

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort…and neither will you. I can’t have either of you anywhere near my wife, or near where I live. Two wild and riotous females like you. What would the neighbours think?”

  “They’ve probably not had an original thought in their heads for years, going by your reaction. George, I am mightily disappointed in you. In fact, you ought to be mightily disappointed in yourself, too. You’ve simply got to cut loose and do something worth living for…before you stop living altogether.”

  George downed his whisky yet again, forgetting to taste it properly, yet again. These two had got right under his skin. How could they size him up so quickly when he barely knew them? It seemed that in a few moments they knew more about him than he knew himself. Looking at them, these two lively and gorgeous women, he realised that they represented all that he had missed out in life, and they instinctively knew that. Lovely-looking creatures, so confident and sure of themselves and no doubt they had no reservations in going out and getting whatever they wanted in life, whereas George had reined himself in and bottled-up his desires for decades. Was it really so obvious? And what did he really want in life? He hadn’t asked himself that question for so long that he had forgotten what he had once dreamed about when he was a young man. Now look at me, he thought. Old before my time. Stuck in a rut. Peace and quiet was all he wanted these days. Nothing more. Well, these two were certainly shaking that up!

  George’s face was a struggle of emotions. Carol suddenly softened at the sight of him, leant across and lightly took hold of his hand. George’s emotions went into even more turmoil. What were they doing to him? He took his hand away, looked down and fondled Rosie the greyhound once more. He couldn’t speak and nor could he look up just yet, his eyes were welling up.

  Carol spoke up brightly to fill the sudden hiatus that had occurred: “Sally, we have our next project sitting here in front of us. We have to do our good deed for society. By the look of it, it’s gonna take quite some time, but there is hidden potential in this man and it’s our duty to release it. The world will undoubtedly benefit from his talent when it is fully released, don’t you think?”

  “Spot on, Carol! Hidden depths here that should remain hidden no longer. How are we going to get at them?”

  “George, listen to me. We’ve got to see you again, do you hear? Soon. Here’s where I work…” Carol scribbled an address down on a piece of paper and passed it across the table. “I finish around five pm each day, so you can find me leaving here at that time every day next week. I’ll be looking out for you each day, gottit? And if I don’t see you by Friday next then I’ll come searching for you. And I’ll find you, believe me. In fact Sally and I will dance naked in the road outside your h
ouse, calling out your name all the time, won’t we, Sal? So you’d better see me before next weekend, OK? Or all the neighbours will have something to talk about for the rest of the year…”

  Sally looked at her companion. “He said he has a solid reputation, Carol. I wonder how long that will last.”

  “Ladies! Please! Behave yourselves…”

  “We will, George, so long as you do, too. See you sometime next week, alright?” Carol raised her glass and winked at Sally to do the same. There was just a smear of whisky remaining in George’s glass but he grimaced and raised it also – a symbolic gesture. For good or ill, he was now committed to spend some time with these irrepressible young women and he had no idea where that would lead.

  Chapter 3

  George spent the next hour wandering around the Agricultural Show in a daze. He’d said goodbye to his two tormentors but, of course, they were not finished with him yet – they kept bumping into him in the enclosure for horses; by the prize-bull pen; at the sheepdog display and then finally in another refreshment tent where George was driven to sample more whisky.

  As George ambled out of the tent, Carol stopped him in his tracks.

  “George, how are you getting home? You can’t drive with all that whisky inside of you!”

  “’Course I can!” he blustered. “Nothin’ to it. I’m perfectly OK and it’s only a couple of miles to go, anyway…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, George. You’ve had at least three doubles that I’ve seen. That’s six whiskies and I don’t know how many other drinks you may have had. Your reactions will be all over the place; you’d be a menace to all other traffic as well as to yourself.”

  “Not near enough a menace to all and sundry as you and your friend!”

  “Now you’re being facetious. Don’t try and change the subject. You can’t drive, George. You mustn’t even think of it. You’ll end up in a ditch, or in hospital.”

  “No I won’t. What is it with you and your friend? What have I done to deserve you? You’ve been hounding me all afternoon and you’ve threatened to do it probably most of next week as well…do you enjoy torturing innocent strangers?” Carol and Sally had unlocked some deep down emotion within him, and with an hour’s mulling over it plus the whisky loosening his inhibitions, George was feeling very fragile.