Help Our Heroes: A Military Charity Anthology

by T. L. Wainwright

  Ralphs hands come out and grip the front of my chef’s jacket like it’s too much for him and he needs help to stay standing.

  This is going to be so much fun.

  Epilogue

  Charles … um …Handy

  I press my back against the back of the wall at the front of the house, making sure I blend in with the shadows so no one can see me. I don’t want to draw attention to myself and to hiding my rather large body is difficult, but I'm managing it…just.

  “What the actual fuck are you doing, Handy?”

  I groan when Dan speaks loud enough to wake the dead, apparently not getting the whole we shouldn’t be here thing. “Shut the fuck up and get over here. Try not to be seen.”

  It's probably too late for that piece of advice since he's currently walking up the front path in full view of everyone. When Dan gets close enough, I reach out and grab him by the arm, dragging him into the shadows to hide with me. He growls, but at least it comes out quietly this time. “What the hell are you doing here? And what was with the cryptic message about wearing black and meeting you here?”

  “I'm visiting a friend.”

  I can’t see him in the dark but I know he's giving me that look he's mastered over the years since I met him. “Your friend doesn’t live here anymore.”

  It’s a small detail, but I don’t let it deter me. I move quietly to the side of the house, rushing down the side of it and around to the back. I hear Dan’s footsteps behind me and I smile. He might not know what’s going on, but he's following me into the fox den like I knew he would. Our group of friends is a great believer in do first and ask questions later, trusting that none of us will do anything that might get us court marshalled.

  I head to the back door and try the handle, not surprised to find it locked. It won't stop me though, Ralph told me the secret of getting in just after they moved in here. There is a loose section of the door, and if you hit it just right, it will click the lock over and free it. I follow the instructions and the door creaks open in front of me. Dan grabs me by the arm and I turn around, looking in his general direction since I can't actually see his face.

  “Handy, this is breaking and entering. You do know that leads to being arrested, which leads to jail, which leads to losing our job and being dishonourably discharged. None of that’s a good thing.”

  I understand his worry but we aren’t here to do any damage. “Trust me, Dan. No one will ever know we were here and even if they did they would never be able to prove it. I just think that it's time that Dick got his Karma for treating Ralph like shit. You remember what he did to your best friend?”

  “That’s fucking low.” He curses a little more under his breath before pushing me in through the back door. When he closes it behind us, we both hold still for a few moments just listening. I checked the house out for thirty minutes before Dan arrived, so I know it's empty, but it pays to be vigilant.

  “Right, I want to be out of here in fifteen minutes, no more. I don’t want to risk being caught.” I tug the bag onto my shoulder as I grab my flashlight out of my pocket. I know that if anyone sees the light beams through the window they will be instantly suspicious, but I thought it was a better option than being caught by Dick with the lights on.

  “What's the actual plan?”

  I move to the table and hand Dan the flashlight, leaving my hands empty to search through my bag. I grab the bottle I was looking for and give it to him. “I need you to go through every liquid product you can find and add this laxative to it. It won't work straight away so I need you to add it to everything you can.” I can see Dan’s smile in the light beam and he looks really fucking happy now he knows what I am planning. “What are you gonna do?”

  “His underwear drawer is calling to me and my bag of chilies.” His laughter follows me as I take another flashlight out and head towards the bedrooms. When I walk into the living room I see a brand new sixty-inch television and it just gets me more pissed. Ralph was left with no money and nowhere to live and fuckface is here watching things on a TV that is far too big for this shitty living room. I would steal the fucking thing but I'm not here for that, and it would be better if Dick didn’t know anyone had been here. It will make him go about his business and revenge will be so much better.

  Hurrying through the house so I don’t see anything else that will want me to punch Dick in the face, I reach the bedroom and rush inside. I put my bag on the bed and reach inside to remove a pair of gloves and the chilies. I learned one night after making tacos while drinking too much beer that touching chillies then your cock hurts like a motherfucker, so I'm pretty sure that rubbing them into the crotch of all Dicks undies will make him think he's caught something. It might not work, especially if the fucker has been sticking his cock in randomers, I mean he might already piss fire but it's worth the chance.

  I spend the time to make sure that I get a good coverage on every pair before I return them the way I found them. Again I remind myself that he can't know we’ve been here. With that task done and Dan working on the laxative angle, I move on to the third and final part of my revenge plan. I head back out to the living room and approach the large front window. This particular act is all dependent on what kind of curtain poles are fitted, and when I see it’s the hollow type I fist bump the air. I would have hated to go home and not do this one.

  Carefully removing the end fixture on the pole, I grab the plastic box from my bag and open it. There is no smell yet but I know in a few days there will be no escaping the stench. I giggle like a maniac as I fill the end of the pole with raw prawns.

  “What are you doing?” Dan’s voice shocks me but he has humour in it as he approaches. When he's next to me I show him what’s in the tub and he bursts out laughing. “You are one evil fucker. Remind me never to get on the wrong side of you.”

  I fix the end onto the pole before dropping the now empty box into my bag. I feel like I've accomplished something tonight and I smile at myself. The smile only lasts a few seconds before headlights from the car parking in the driveway lights up the entire room. “Fuck, Dick's home.”

  Dan bolts from the living room like his arse is on fire and I laugh as I follow him. We make it out the back door, closing it quietly behind us before the front door opens. We lean our backs against the wall and try to stop the giggles that are threatening to reduce us to tears. Voices from inside has me covering my mouth but when he asks his visitor if he wants a drink I know I need to get out of here.

  I push against Dan’s shoulder and he moves instantly, leading the way down the side of the house and out over the neighbour’s front lawn. We sprint down the road and by the time we reach my car we are both laughing hard. Collapsing into our seats, we watch the front of the house like we’re scared that Dick's going to come out and find us. When a few minutes pass and we know we're safe I start the engine and pull away from the kerb. I wish I had a way to keep an eye on Dick for the next week, see him suffer as he itches his balls and shits himself inside out, all while his house smells like something’s died in it. Yeah, I would pay to witness that.

  “Does Ralph know you were planning this?”

  I laugh at the question. “Shit no, and don’t even hint that we were here. I don’t need my arse kicked thank you very much.”

  With Dan’s laughter in my ear and a smile on my face, I drive us back to meet with the happy couple.

  The End

  About The Author

  After being married for over ten years and raising three beautiful kids I decided it was time to do something for myself. My passion for reading bled over with a need to tell the story that was repeating in my head and that was the birth of my first book. The rest they say is history.

  I love the creative release that writing gives you, being able to take someone away to a different world feels amazing. As a reader I know how important that escape is, and as a writer I love to be able to give people that.

  My other loves include music and reading (in case
I haven't mentioned that before) and then when I have time a little more reading. I think if I could read for a living I would, but since I can't I will continue on the writing side of things.

  Websie

  www.authortamckay.com

  Facebook

  https://www.facebook.com/tamckayauthor/

  Email

  tamckayauthor@gmail.com

  Twitter

  http://www.twitter.com/tamckayauthor

  Amazon

  http://tinyurl.com/hmtss4t

  Goodreads

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7750967.T_A_McKay

  Dearest Betty

  by

  M.B. Feeney

  Blurb

  When Lizzie Cooper’s grandmother passes away, she is given the task of sorting through her belongings. When she finds a stack of letters address to her grandmother dated during the war, she finds out more about her Nana Betty than she expected, especially as the letters aren’t from her grandfather, rather a man she only knows as Samuel.

  Please note, this is only the first few chapters of the book, written for this anthology. The story will be expanded and released at a later date once the anthology is no longer on sale.

  So, please. Don’t tell me off when you get to the end…

  Prologue:

  The day my Grandmother died was the first day I felt truly alone─ it was almost as bad, if not worse, as the day I found out I had lost my parents. I was a grown adult, but I cried like a baby when my grandmother took her final breath with me at her side, holding her hand.

  When I said that to people in the few days following Nana Betty's death, they looked at me strangely before remembering that I'd lived with Nana Betty and Grandpa Albert for longer than I lived with my parents. I was with them the day my parents’ car spun out of control on an icy road; was there when the police came to the door to inform them that ‘there has been an accident’, was there when Nana Betty collapsed in tears, Grandpa Albert trying to help her back to her feet but failing as he crumpled onto the floor next to her.

  At five years old, it was hard to see, and I remember running to them unsure what was wrong. Now, at almost thirty-five, it sometimes feels like it was something I’d watched in a film.

  Nana Betty and Grandpa Albert were my mum’s parents and insisted I lived with them. Mum didn’t have any brothers and sisters, and my dad’s family lived in Australia— he’d come over to the UK for university in his twenties, and had never left after he met mum.

  Being ‘the kid with no parents’ at school was tough. My peers couldn’t understand why I loved living with relatives who were old, but it had never bothered me. I never missed out on anything just because the family members I lived with were so much older than me. They never realised that my Grandpa Albert had a wicked sense of humour, and that one of his biggest guilty pleasures were teenage dramas on channels such as Nickledeon and The Disney Channel.

  Nana Betty was the most amazing cook, but no one ever wanted to stay over at our house when I was growing up. Every time the school had a bake sale for charity, I would take in boxes of beautifully iced cupcakes and they would sell out before anything else, yet my ‘friends’ never wanted to come to the house and thank her in person.

  By the time I reached university age, I’d accepted that I’d never have the close-knit friendships I read about in the books of my early teenage years. Deciding that I didn’t want to carry on with my education was easy. Finding a job, not so much. I ended up working in the local supermarket.

  By the time Grandpa Albert passed away four years ago, I’d worked my way up from cashier to assistant manager. He’d always been proud of me for earning everything I got rather than expecting everything to be handed to me on a plate. At his funeral, as I held Nana Betty as she cried, I made him a promise that I would be store manager within the next five years.

  Then Nana Betty got ill.

  By the time she died, my amazing grandmother was able to put all her affairs in order. Considering her advance years, she organised her own funeral, her will, and anything else. All I would have to do was to notify friends and organisations such as the bank, the local council, and her insurance people. She did all the hard work for me.

  Once her funeral was over, and she was reunited with Grandpa Albert once more, I hated being in their little two-bedroom house. It was so empty without their laughter, music, and the smell of Nana Betty’s cooking. I wallowed for as long as I could, but then things needed sorting.

  My grandparents had been council tenants their entire lives, and it had been requested that I was allowed to take over the tenancy. The council had agreed, so I gave up my little flat around the corner and moved back into my childhood home.

  The first night was the worst. Lying in my old bedroom, with the house in complete silence around me. No Nana Betty shuffling around in her slippers to get a drink of water, no radio playing softly to drown out Grandpa Albert’s snoring, and no whispered ‘good night’s’ through the walls. I cried myself to sleep that night, my heart broken into a million little pieces.

  :: ::

  In between being stuck at work— I still hadn’t kept my promise of becoming a store manager, but I still had twelve months left, and working my way through the house room by room, I began to heal my grief at losing the only parents I knew.

  It was cathartic, working my way through their belongings and organising them into trinkets I wanted to keep, items to donate to the local charity shop, and anything that needed chucking away. I was able to take my time, remember the good times and the love this house had given me, and slowly move on from losing them both.

  I found the letters in the loft, hidden in a box tucked in the very corner. Not only were they addressed to Miss Betty Perkins, which was Nana Betty’s maiden name, they were dated during the war and they weren’t written by my grandad.

  Chapter One:

  It had been a month since I’d found the letters. I’d forgotten about them as I’d worked through sorting all Nana Betty and Grandpa Albert’s belongings; deciding what to keep and what to get rid of was hard, but I did it. Then, I needed to decorate and ‘put my own stamp on the place’ the way Nana Betty had wanted me to do.

  I was reminded of the box of letters one evening as I cooked myself a stir fry and the radio DJ mentioned a postcard he’d received from a friend. As soon as my food was cooked, I ran into my bedroom and grabbed the box.

  I sat on the sofa, my food and the box on the small table in front of me, and did nothing. To open the box and read the letters would be intruding on Nana Betty’s privacy… but, she wouldn’t have kept them if… I wondered if Grandpa Albert knew about them.

  Deciding to eat my dinner first, I stared at the box while I ate. There was nothing special about the old hat box. The pink was faded and the edges of the deep cylinder were scuffed. Something had been printed on the lid, but the lettering was indecipherable from age and being left in the loft for the forty plus years Nana Betty and Grandpa Albert had lived in the house.

  When I’d finished my meal, I pushed my plate to one side, and then leaned forward and tugged the box towards me. Pausing for a moment, I finally pulled the lid off and reached inside to pull out the pile of letters.

  There was easily fifty or sixty of them, carefully folded and placed back into the correct envelope. Slowly, almost with reverence, I opened the top one, knowing Nana Betty would have kept them in chronological order. The blue ink was still strong against the discoloured white paper, which surprised me when I saw the date. May, 1942… Nana Betty would have been seventeen, so I knew she hadn’t even met Grandpa Albert yet.

  A sense of relief washed over me as I began to read.

  :: ::

  19 May 1942

  Dearest Betty,

  I hope you don’t mind me writing you; what am I saying? You gave me your address, of course you don’t mind. I can just imagine you hadn’t expected a letter so soon. I’m running on three hours sleep in about the same amount of
days, so I’ll apologize now about my spelling, my going off on tangents, and anything else I get wrong in this letter. One I hope is the first of many, if you don’t mind.

  Ever since I first met you at your friend Maggy’s party, I can’t get you out of my head. I know we spent a lot of time together the two weeks I was in London, but every time I close my eyes, all I can see is your dark hair that reminds me of chocolate, and your blue eyes that are like a stormy ocean back home in Darien, Georgia. Jimmy, the crazy red head who was with me that night, teases me relentlessly about how much I speak of you; which is often I have to admit. Jeez, now I’m starting to sound sappy – can I get away with blaming my previously mentioned lack of sleep?

  Sadly, I’m not back in London for at least another two months. All I want to do is to take you dancing again; to see you smiling and having fun. You have the most beautiful smile – I know I told you that before, but it’s true. Your smile lights up a room, and makes others around you smile in return; it’s a gift, believe me. Never lose your positive outlook on life. Even in these troubled times.

  When we left London, we were taken to RAF Bassingbourn in Cambridgeshire, not that I particularly know where that is – I guess it’s lucky I’m not the navigator. I was just getting used to being in the capital, and now I’m in the middle of nowhere with the United States Air Force. My crew hasn’t been out on any missions yet, but it won’t be long. Most of the time we’re helping the other crews maintain their crafts or being put to work in other areas. I just want to get back into the air.