by Stan Arnold
If they returned from this chipboard jaunt alive, Jim planned to record engine noise from the safety of the pier, and dub it on to Mick’s footage. That way, he could devote his professional skills to hanging on like grim death.
Aubrey helped Mrs Hathaway into the Catalina, then steered the dinghy once around the plane, wishing Mick and Jim good luck and reminding them this bay had a terrible reputation for great whites.
Fortunately, Mick and Jim’s expletives were lost in the unbelievable roar of the Pratt & Whitney R-1830 engines as they burst into life.
*
The run was a great success. Mick got the footage, and Jim didn't fall off. But they were both very wet. Fortunately, Mrs Hathaway had brought them a change of clothes and some nice hot flasks of chamomile tea.
To get away from the beverage, and because his cameraman’s red corpuscle count was rising, Mick suggested they went off in the dinghy, and that Mrs Hathaway aimed straight at them, taking off right over their heads. They checked the manual. Take-off distance was approximately 1000 feet, but they allowed for 1500 feet just to be on the safe side.
That run was a success, too, although, due to Mrs Hathaway’s inexperience, the Catalina took off after 1300 feet, giving Mick and Jim a rough idea of what a heart attack must feel like. There were more dry clothes needed and more chamomile tea to avoid. Once they’d recovered, they did another run, with in-cockpit close-ups of Mrs Hathaway at the controls.
‘Just one more,’ said Mick. ‘Let’s take the dinghy to the promontory and get a long shot. And this time, take off, bank to the right and head straight over us.’
The dinghy trip took about ten minutes. A quick scramble up the hillside and they were ready. Mick waved his hand and Mrs Hathaway started her run. Again, everything went perfectly.
She flew low right over their heads, took the Catalina in a wide circle and came in for a perfect landing. Mick and Jim’s thoughts were the same. At least she can fly the sodding thing.
*
Sunrise the next day, found Mrs Hathaway, Aubrey, Mick and Jim standing on the pier, looking at the Catalina. It was the golden hour. She looked beautiful. Jim had his engine recordings and had taken some great photographs of the plane and Mrs Hathaway. Aubrey was very excited and was going on about how he’d only ever been to Ramsgate before all this started, and how he was certain the Amazon was going to be different, although he wasn’t sure how. But it was the trip of lifetime and he was so looking forward to it.
Just as they were about to get into the dinghy, they heard a ping. Bouncing down the dusty track came a bicycle - it was Roberto. He continued cycling at top speed along the pier, right up to Mrs Hathaway.
He jammed on the brakes, pulled a paper out of his top pocket, looked at Aubrey and, in his most official voice, he breathlessly announced, ‘Aubrey Capability Brown, I have here an arrest warrant in your name, and you must accompany me, Roberto Velazquez, Chief of Police, St Bernards, to police headquarters, immediately, so we can conclude our investigations. I have to tell you this is a complex matter and you may be in custody for several weeks.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Aubrey. Then, as he thought through the legal implications further, added, ‘Sod off!’
‘Look man,’ said Roberto looking genuinely hurt by his response, ‘it’s not my fault. It’s official - something to do with your passport not being right for St Bernards.’
‘Well, I’m goin’ to the Amazon, and that’s that,’ said Aubrey looking at Mrs Hathaway for support. ‘I’ve set my heart on it. Mrs Hathaway, Mick and Jim are the first friends I’ve ever had - and I’m not goin’ to give all this up because of some stupid bloody passport thing.’
‘But there’ll be hell to play if my boss finds I haven't brought you in,’ said Roberto. ‘They’re already complaining about the time I spend playing with the band. This could be the last straw. I could be fired. Please.’
Aubrey looked at Mrs Hathaway, then at Mick and Jim. He shrugged a helpless shrug.
‘I know I’m a creep, but I couldn't go off to the Amazon, knowin’ Roberto might get the chop, just ’cos I wouldn't do what he said.’
He looked at Mrs Hathaway. She looked back at him.
‘As this whole expedition is as illegal as it’s possible to be,’ she said, ‘it’s rather nice to see you are prepared to miss the trip, because you want to play by the rules.’
She gave Aubrey a hug. ‘I’ll miss you little Aubrey Capability Brown.’
‘I’ll miss you,’ said Aubrey, with a sigh.
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Hathaway, ‘you have your ‘pocket money’ which should more than cover your expenses, ‘til we get back.’
‘Yeah, I got it,’ said Aubrey, tapping the breast pocket of his shell suit.
‘And you know the sat phone number.’
‘Yeah,’ said Aubrey. ‘I’ll phone, regular.’
They couldn't let go of each other’s hands.
‘It’s time, man,’ said Roberto, placing a hand gently on Aubrey’s shoulder ‘We all got things to do.’
Together Aubrey and the Chief of Police walked slowly away, along the pier.
When they reached the end, Aubrey turned and blew a kiss and shouted, ‘Send me a postcard.’
Mrs Hathaway watched the duo walk up the hill.
At the brow, they paused and looked back. One last wave, and they were gone.
She turned to Mick and Jim, breathed a deep breath. They thought they could see tears welling in her eyes.
Then she pulled back her shoulders, stepped into the dinghy and said, ‘Well, what are you two standing around for - let’s get on with it!’
And get on with it they did. Within ten minutes, they were airborne. Mrs Hathaway banked round and flew low over the Police HQ, twice, before levelling out at 200 feet and setting a course for the Amazon basin.
*
Back in Police Headquarters, Aubrey put down his can of lager, peeled off a thousands pounds from his wad of ‘pocket-money’ and handed it to a beaming Roberto.
‘Result or what!’ cried Aubrey. ‘Should have won an Oscar - both of us. Specially after we went through it so many times, last week.’
‘I mean, who needs the Amazon? What a dump! I looked it up on that Google fing - full of poisonous snakes, spiders, crocodiles, mosquitoes, leeches and them pariah fish in the rivers. The natives are headhunters and cannibals, and there ain’t an off-license for bleeding miles. I ask you does that sound like what gets Aubrey Capability Brown fired up?’
‘It does not, my friend,’ said Roberto, making up Aubrey’s bed in one of the cells.
‘I reckon Aubrey Capability Brown gets fired up with a trip to the Golden Legover tonight,’ he said. ‘And, as I know most of the lap dancers don't have work permits, who knows what else!’
Despite the HQ being buzzed twice by some low-flying aircraft, Aubrey was unfazed, totally relaxed and sitting comfortably.
He stretched back in the armchair, put his feet up on the desk, scratched his belly and took another swig of lager.
‘All sounds great to me, Robbo. Got any grub?’
Chapter 45
Mick and Jim were also sitting comfortably in leather seats located in the huge Plexiglass blisters on either side of the Catalina’s fuselage. In World War II, this is where the .50 calibre machine guns were installed. But, now, they gave Mick and Jim a fabulous panoramic view of clear blue skies and a less fabulous view of the Caribbean Sea whizzing by, 200 feet below.
Both of them had to admit, that, sitting in the blisters, they’d had a fantastic view of the take-off. After buzzing the Police HQ, Mrs Hathaway pulled some lever or other and moved the stabilising floats up to form part of the wingtips, and that was it. Sit tight and Amazon here we come!
It wasn’t luxury, but it wasn’t bad. There was a small fridge with food and drinks for the journey. The seats reclined right back. And the newly installed toilet was as good as anything you’d get on a commercial jet.
Originally, Catalin
as were very noisy inside, but thanks to a newly installed communication system, they could easily talk to each other over headsets.
Initially, Mick and Jim fiddled around, doing funny voices and making up silly names for themselves, before realising it was really useful. They could talk to Mrs Hathaway, without leaving their seats.
‘Hello, Mrs Hathaway,’ this is Jim here. ‘How fast are we going?’
‘Around 190 mph,’ answered Mrs Hathaway.
‘How far is it to wherever we’re going?’
‘Around 4000 miles.’
Jim punched the numbers into the tiny calculator on his Casio wristwatch.
‘Christ, it’s going to take 15 years!’
‘Check the decimal points,’ said Mick staring absent-mindedly out of his blister.
More punching - this time, not so rapid.
‘Oh yeah - it’s 15 hours - sorry about that.’
‘Easily done,’ said Mick. ‘I remember speeding through a calculation in a physics lesson at school. I was first in the class with the answer.’
‘Which was?’
‘The soap bubble weighs 5 tons.’
‘Decimal points?’
‘Correct.’
‘I can still remember the impact of Cowlishaw’s An Appreciation of Molecular Cohesion in Liquid Films on the back of my head. Mild concussion. Doctor phoned. Head resting on matron’s heaving bosom for fifteen minutes. So it wasn’t all bad.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jim, moving the subject on, ‘but 15 hours is a hell of a time to be flying.’
‘Don’t worry’ chipped in Mrs Hathaway, ‘I’ve mapped out a couple of deserted coves where we can land and get some sleep, if we need to. I’ve got a sandwich and a flask of chamomile - and to be honest, I’m having the time of my life.’
The word ‘sleep,’ coupled with Mrs Hathaway’s assurances that all was well, helped guide Mick and Jim into a cosy, sense of security. Although they knew they ought to be up in the cockpit giving Mrs Hathaway lots of support and encouragement, they were nothing if not self-centred, idle bastards. So they tipped back their seats and dozed off.
*
Jim awoke around two hours later, and, as usual, wondered where he was. He scratched himself, stood up, sauntered over to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, realised where he was, sat down and strapped himself in.
This triggered Mick to do the same, so after a few minutes, they were both settled back in their seats, and drowsily toasting one another with unopened bottles. After a few minutes of recuperative silence, Jim came on the communications system.
‘Mick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Something’s up.’
‘What?’
‘You’re not going to believe this.’
‘Try me, mon jolly old brave. Nothing ventured, nothing whatever it is.’
Jim’s voice was starting to wobble.
‘I’ve got a bloke outside the plane - and he’s looking straight in at me.’
There was a short pause.
‘Strange,’ replied Mick, in a cracked falsetto, ‘there’s one outside my window, too!’
Whether these startling observations were correct or incorrect, one thing was absolutely certain.
During the next five minutes, the ‘They Win. You Lose.’ philosophy would be tested to unimaginable limits.
Chapter 46
While Roberto was out getting a bedside light to go with the newly made-up cell bed, Aubrey set about rustling up some grub in the Police HQ’s microwave. Roberto ate out, mostly at Big Dick’s, so there wasn’t much in the tiny fridge-freezer. However, Aubrey found a ready meal pack called Bolas de Cabra - Jumbos. Ten minutes on full blast and it went down a treat.
Aubrey’s normal state was to be at a loose end, but, now, alone in the quiet of the HQ, that loose end was dangling about and flapping pointlessly in the breeze. He was bored. Really bored. He ambled over to Roberto’s bookshelf and thumbed along the titles, with a spectacular amount of disinterest.
There was Bicycle maintenance for policemen, Work permit law and how to use it to your advantage, a well-thumbed brochure for the Golden Legover, and a first-aid book called How to deal neatly with the aftermath of a great white attack. The rest of Roberto’s bookcase was filled with books on reggae music and bass guitar manuals.
Whenever life started to torment him, Aubrey’s number one solution was to have a kip. He went into his cell, and was just about to answer this compelling call of nature, when he stubbed his foot on something sticking out from under the bed. He bent down, and pulled out a dark red bass guitar. It certainly wasn’t Roberto’s 1960 Fender Deluxe Jazz Bass, which he’d had described to him in incomprehensible detail, as they walked back from his arrest at the bay.
He laid it across his knees and looked down at it, with a degree of suspicion and curiosity. It was thick with dust and surprisingly solid and heavy. Aubrey had never been near a musical instrument in his life. Except once, when he was hit with a drum kit.
It happened a long time ago, when he was strolling near the Elephant and Castle and saw a sign outside a pub saying “England v. Brazil Live on TV Tonight!” He went in, and the place was packed with lads, either sinking pints or waving scarves above their heads and chanting ‘In-ger-land’!
However, it turned out “England v. Brazil Live on TV Tonight!” was the rather long name of a rock band. When they appeared on stage, the lead singer went to the microphone and said ‘Good evening, we’re “England v. Brazil Live on TV Tonight!”’ And then it all kicked off.
Later on, in the ambulance, although he was slightly concussed, Aubrey had a chance to talk to a couple of the band members as they shared a cylinder of gas and air.
‘The name pulls in the punters,’ they explained, ‘it’s just when they find out we’re a band - they always reckon they’ve been conned - and that’s when the trouble starts. We can only do one gig a month, ‘cos of the time it takes for everyone to be released from medical supervision.’
Poor lads, thought Aubrey. Still, next day, he shopped them to his colleagues at the Tax Office, and they did a dawn raid on the band’s squat in Camberwell. It turned out they were losing about 300 quid a month. Money down the drain, plus regular GBH. Who’d do that as a hobby?
So, thought Aubrey, looking down at the bass, this was what all that bookcase stuff was about - a bleeding electric guitar. He casually ran his finger over the surface of the body, while wondering glumly how long Roberto was going to be. And then something really strange happened. It wasn’t quite like Mozart having his first go on a piano, but Aubrey’s 10 watt brain was suddenly infused with a warm glow, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Where his finger had traced a line in the dust, he could see the bass wasn’t just red, it was shiny red. In fact, it was shiny red and some clever sod had put shiny bits of metal in the shiny red paint, or whatever it was.
Almost in a trance, he walked over to the sink, picked up a roll of kitchen paper and returned to his cell. He sat down and began to gently wipe the dust from the guitar body. When that was done, he began to polish the whole thing until it shone. He held it up, and twisted it so it caught the light. He looked at the back. It was fabulous. He looked at the silvery knob things on the end of the long, thin bit. He looked at the silvery knobs on the body. He looked at the strings and saw they went from thin to thick. He looked at the metal lines going across the long, thin bit. And he thought that was great, too. He stood up. Then he sat down. He stood up, again and walked across his cell to look back at the bass lying on his bed. It looked fantastic from every angle. He put his hands on his hips and sighed a sigh of complete and absolute contentment.
For the first time in his life, Aubrey Capability Brown was totally, passionately and irrevocably in love.
Chapter 47
When Roberto returned, he was in a hurry. He was looking to shower, change and be down the Golden Legover for the start of the show. Roberto reckoned, as Chief of Police, he had to be impeccably dressed fo
r all social occasions. He also reckoned that, in St Bernards’ society, he was considered as a pretty sophisticated man-about-the-island. So he wasn’t happy that, when cycling back to HQ, his bicycle chain had come off, five times. His hands, arms and knees were covered in oil. He went into the bathroom and ran the shower. Tomorrow, he would definitely put in a requisition for a bike chain link remover.
After he’d showered, he suddenly realised he hadn’t seen or heard a peep out of Aubrey. Maybe he’d gone off to the club early to get a good seat. Anyway, he had to put the new bedside light in Aubrey’s cell, so he’d do that now, because if he got lucky later on, and Aubrey came home alone, he didn’t want him fumbling about in the dark, and wrecking things. He was keen to take care of Aubrey - after all, he’d just picked up a grand for a quick bike ride and a bit of acting.
Roberto opened Aubrey’s cell door, and stopped dead in his tracks. Aubrey was sitting on the bed, hunched over Roberto’s old dark red, nothing-special bass. A pile of his bass manuals was on the bed, and he could easily see Aubrey was working on Advanced Reggae Slap Techniques Book 5.
‘Hey man!’ said Roberto with a huge smile, ‘I didn’t know you played!
Aubrey didn’t look up.
Roberto sat down on the cell’s only chair.
‘I said, I didn’t know you played!’
‘Oh!’ said Aubrey in a far away voice, ‘no - not really.’
‘Oh no? Advanced Reggae Slap Techniques Book 5 - come on! That’s some cool stuff you got there.’
‘Well,’ said Aubrey looking a little embarrassed, ‘I just got interested, while you were away. I done all the basics, notes and scales - major, minor, diatonic chromatic an all that. Then I done hammer-ons, pull-offs, ghost notes, double stops, double pops, now I’m on to left-hand slaps and double slaps...
‘What!’ said Roberto in amazement. ‘Since I left?’