An Unlikely Hero

by P. F. Ford

  Now it was her turn to look vacant.

  ‘Try it on,’ I repeated. ‘Try to get you into bed. Is that what you mean?’

  She nodded. ‘Where I come from-’

  ‘Is not where you are now,’ I finished. ‘I’m not about to try and talk my way inside your knickers. That’s not what I do, and I would never presume to think you’d want me to.’

  This was a theme I could warm to very easily. It always amazes me that women don’t want men to stereotype them, but they are more than happy to put us guys all in one boat. I mean, come on, girls, you can’t have it both ways!

  ‘Believe it or not, I like you, and I would like to try and help you if I can. Quite frankly, having you here is like a breath of fresh air. You said yourself you have nowhere to go, so why not stay here for a few days and let me see if I can find out anything to help you?’

  ‘You mean? You think can help me?’

  ‘I’ll make no promises, but I do have a friend who is a retired journalist. He knows a lot of stuff about a lot of things, especially in this area. If your aunt is here, he just might know something. I’ll go and talk to him tomorrow. After we’ve been shopping.’

  She studied me for a moment, then placed her glass carefully on the small table next to her. On all fours she crawled across to my side of the sofa. ‘Yesterday think you nice man. Today think you more.’ She leaned across and kissed me gently on the cheek. ‘Today think special friend.’

  Then she lost her balance and reached for my arm to steady herself. I tried hard not to scream as she clutched my cracked arm, but sometimes you just have to.

  Chapter Seven

  Monday morning, I awoke to hear a faint, very rare sound. There was a woman singing in my flat. It totally threw me for a few seconds, then I rolled onto my right side. The jolt of pain that shot up my arm served as a painful reminder.

  It was Jelena. I couldn’t quite make out the song, but there was no doubting the happiness in the voice. I struggled into a sitting position and decided to wait for my arm to stop throbbing before I got up.

  The singing stopped, and a couple of seconds later, the door opened a crack. A happy, smiley face looked enquiringly at me. She gave me her full strength smile. ‘Coffee for you,’ she said, lifting the mug for me to see.

  ‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ I said, wincing painfully.

  ‘No, you stay. I bring.’ She floated across the room, dressing gown still dragging along the floor. She looked down, then grinned at me. ‘Sweep floor, yes?’

  I gave her a cross between a smile and a wince in return.

  ‘Arm still hurt? I sorry. So clumsy.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I just need a couple of tablets.’

  She placed the coffee on the bedside table. ‘I know where. I get.’ She came back carrying her own coffee too. I wondered what was going to happen next. ‘Ha!’ She laughed. ‘Now you think, how you say, I try get in your knickers.’

  I should be so lucky I thought. But I managed to keep my face deadpan.

  ‘Can I sit with?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course, you can.’

  I expected her to sit at the foot of the bed, but no, she marched around to the other side and climbed up next to me. On top of the covers.

  ‘Now,’ she said, handing me the painkillers. ‘Take tablet. Then tell what is plan for today?’

  Spending a morning taking Jelena shopping was rather like taking a kid to a toy store. Except kids don’t understand the concept of how much things cost. She was constantly delighted by the things she saw, then horrified by the price, continually telling me this was too expensive and that was too expensive.

  It was shopping by negotiation, but eventually we agreed on a selection of t-shirts, two sweaters (it was autumn, after all), a pair of jeans and a couple of nice tops.

  She insisted on having my approval of everything she chose or, tried on, before she would allow me to buy it. I drew the line at helping when it came to underwear and sent her off to choose for herself.

  She chose trainers instead of shoes. ‘Better practical’ she assured me. But she refused point blank to have a new dressing gown. Apparently my big baggy dressing gown was now hers and there was no way she was going to part with it. ‘Happy sweep floor,’ she said, laughing.

  Having exhausted the idea of modelling her new clothes on our return to the flat, (it wasn’t exactly an extensive range), Jelena had decided she would devote the rest of her afternoon to exploring my books, DVDs, and my old CD collection.

  She had taken it upon herself to act as my cook, cleaner, and nurse. I didn’t really want her to feel she had to do these things but it obviously made her feel happier about accepting my charity, so I had only put up token resistance.

  She helped me into my coat. ‘I do button for you.’

  ‘It’s no good,’ I said. ‘They won’t do up with my arm in a sling. Don’t worry – he only lives ten minutes away.’

  ‘Get cold,’ she said, brushing imaginary dust from my coat.

  ‘Stop fussing – it’s like being five again with my mum fussing over me.’

  I could see a smart-arse retort forming, but before she could say it my mobile started chirping. Of course, it was in my right hand coat pocket so I couldn’t reach it.

  ‘Here.’ She laughed triumphantly, reaching into my pocket. ‘Mum get for you.’

  She left me to my phone call, poking her tongue out at me as she went.

  It was Pete. ‘I went for a drink with Freddie last night. You know, Freddie from the old crowd?’

  ‘Lucky you,’ I said derisively. ‘None of that lot even acknowledge I exist anymore.’

  Back in the day, when I was married to Gloria, we used to have quite a circle of friends, but as so often happens the marriage break-up had polarised those friends. Just about every single one, bar Pete, had stuck with Gloria. I was an outcast.

  ‘Ah. Yes. Well.’ Pete sounded uncomfortable. ‘I think I might know why that is.’

  There was an awkward silence. ‘Well, go on, mate. You can tell me. What have I done?’

  ‘Err, well, it’s bit. It’s difficult. You’re not going to like it.’

  ‘What? What am I not going to like?’

  ‘Well, apparently, the word is you’re not a very nice person. It seems you used to beat up Gloria. She put up with it for years, but eventually she couldn’t take it anymore and she left you.’

  A cold, sick feeling spread through my guts.

  ‘Alfie? You still there?’

  ‘But that’s not true! It’s a load of bollocks. I never touched her, ever. And she didn’t leave me, I bloody left her. That’s why she still has the house. And she wanted me to go back – you know that.’

  ‘I know, mate, I know. You don’t have to tell me. But it’s what they all believe. That’s why no one ever gets in touch or anything.’

  ‘And they all believe her?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid they do,’ said Pete.

  And then I had thought. This all started to make sense now. I remembered when I got beaten up the other night one of the blokes had said to me ‘now you know how it feels’. Was that my punishment for being a wife-beater? If so, who the hell had decided it was necessary?

  They say ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’. Well, I’ve got news for them. The thing was, I hadn’t scorned Gloria. She was the one doing the shagging, behind my back. That’s why I’d left her.

  I was so disappointed but, sadly, I wasn’t really surprised. Gloria was an accomplished liar. Just like her older sister, Marie, she was skilled in the art of deception. Only this time she had deceived not just me but all of our friends, just so she could play the victim.

  Oh Gloria. What have you done? Did I really deserve this?

  Despite Pete’s insistence that he should rush over and console me, I eventually managed to convince him that I was ok and he would be wasting his time anyway because I was just going out.

  ‘Well. Call me if you need me, ri
ght?’ were his parting words.

  I thought I probably would, but I had to think about what to do first. I mean, how was I going to put this right? Being held accountable for something you’ve done is one thing, but when it’s a complete fabrication...

  I was just going to have ask Gloria to tell everyone the truth. Yeah, like that was going to happen…

  Dry Biro is not your everyday name, but then he’s not your everyday kind of guy. He was in his eighties now and long retired, but in his heyday he had been a renowned, and feared (by many), investigative journalist.

  He had a few well-known scalps to his name, but unfortunately somewhere along the line he had ruffled a few too many feathers, and he’d been quietly put out to grass on the local newspaper.

  The name Dry Biro had been given to him by a group of his old ‘colleagues’ as a reminder that, while he might have been feared in his heyday, he was now a spent force. He had never stopped researching, though, and he had a house full of information that he periodically released into the world anonymously. He regarded it as his hobby.

  His house was only ten minutes’ walk from my flat. I knocked on the door. A deep baying could be heard from within the house. It was Betty, his basset hound. The sound suddenly got louder as a door opened somewhere inside. ‘Coming, coming,’ called a voice.

  The door swung open to reveal a frail-looking old man with silver hair and a neatly trimmed silver beard. He was wearing tatty trousers, a grubby shirt, and a sweater that had definitely seen better days. The whole ensemble was topped off rather incongruously with a beret, yet somehow it all came together and looked right.

  ‘Alfie! Good heavens,’ he said looking me up and down. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Hello DB. Make us a cup of tea and I’ll tell you.’ Recognising my voice, the basset began to howl with delight, forcing her way past the old man to say hello. ‘Hello, Betty.’ I bent down and fussed her as best I could with the one hand, causing her tail to draw massive circles of joy, beating Dry Biro’s legs in the process.

  ‘Come on in,’ he said, laughing, ‘before this stupid dog breaks my legs.’

  His house had the slightly musty smell of old books, but there was much more to this intriguing old man than his book collection.

  We had become friends a few years ago when we used to meet walking our dogs. I found him a fascinating character with lots of tales to tell. I had always wanted to write, and when my life went pear-shaped he had encouraged me to use this chance to start again as a writer. So here I was, with a mentor willing to teach me anything I wanted to know about writing.

  But he wasn’t just a mentor. He had an extensive personal library of books on a range of subjects, and he still had a very enquiring mind. It hadn’t taken him long to understand the huge resources available to him via the internet. Even when he’d been put into exile on a local newspaper, when many people might have given up, he had merely diverted his attention to more local matters and built up an encyclopaedic knowledge of local affairs.

  He helped me out of my coat and ushered me into his huge kitchen. He pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down, my boy, sit down, while I make some tea.’

  Having welcomed me in like a long lost friend, Betty obviously considered her job done and eased her long body into a dog bed that was obviously designed for a smaller dog. She settled happily, one long ear flopping over the side.

  ‘You really should get that dog a bigger bed, you know.’

  ‘Tell her that.’ Dry Biro smiled. ‘When I bought one for her she wouldn’t use it. Maybe she just prefers a snug fit.’ He set two mugs of tea on the table and pulled up a chair. ‘Now then, what have you been up to?’

  And so, once again, I went through the events of the past weekend.

  When I had finished he sat back and studied me. ‘I’ve told you before you should keep away from that “friend” of yours and his pub.’

  ‘What, Dave? It wasn’t his fault.’

  ‘Maybe not this time, but trust me, he’s bad news.’

  ‘He’s okay. You just don’t like him that’s all.’

  He shook his head. He never had liked Dave, although he’d never explained exactly why. I assumed it was just one of those cases where someone took a dislike to someone else for no particular reason.

  ‘Hmm. So this young woman thinks her aunt is here somewhere but the trail has gone cold. What if it’s gone cold because her aunt doesn’t want to be found? Have you thought about that?’

  ‘Well, I hadn’t really given much thought to anything in particular. I just want to try and help her if I can.’

  A smile crept across DB’s face, and his eyes twinkled. ‘Aha! So you have a soft spot for her.’

  Well, I couldn’t deny that – he certainly had me there. ‘Ha! If I was twenty years younger, maybe.’

  ‘So you do like her then. Okay, what do you want me to do?’

  ‘You know this area and the people here. I just wondered if you knew anyone who might fit the bill. Maybe she was living here and has moved away?’

  ‘I can certainly do some digging for you. It will take a little time, but then what else does an old man have to do? Come back tomorrow and perhaps I will have something for you.’

  Having been helpless to reach my phone last time it rang, I had taken the precaution of slipping it back into the left side of my coat. Walking back to my flat, I used it to call Positive Pete. ‘I can’t drive so I need a lift,’ I told him when he answered.

  ‘No problem – where to?’

  ‘Gloria’s.’

  ‘Are you for real? You really want to go over there? But you know she hates me.’

  He had a point there. Where Gloria was concerned, he was the red rag to her bull. Seeing him would create a shit storm before we even started.

  ‘I’ll face her on my own. You can wait in the car.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘We’ll have to give her time to get home from work, so how about six o’clock?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Fine. That’ll give me to time to polish my armour.’

  Any sort of confrontation with Gloria was always likely to turn nasty, and I usually preferred to avoid her, but I wasn’t backing down over this. She’d gone too far this time.

  Chapter Eight

  Just as he promised, Positive Pete knocked on my door at six. Jelena was helping me into my coat as I opened the door. She hadn’t forgotten my comment about my mum helping me get dressed earlier, and for a moment I thought she was going to pat me on the head or something. But, instead of embarrassing me, she turned her attention to Pete.

  ‘Hi, Peter,’ she said, with a sultry sigh. ‘How you today?’

  He might have just about coped with the sexy sigh, but then she gave him the full volume smile with dimples, and he turned into a blubbering wreck. ‘H-h-hi Jelena. I’m fine, how are you?’

  I laughed. ‘Hey. Stop flirting with my driver. I need him to concentrate on the road.’ Then I turned to the red-faced Pete. ‘Come on, you. You’re far too old for all this excitement. Close your mouth and put your tongue away before you trip over it.’

  He humphed and grumbled his way to the car, mumbling something about ‘not that bloody old’.

  Gloria’s house was down towards the end of a cul-de-sac. There was a short drive up to the house, just enough to park two vehicles. I asked Pete to turn the car around and park across the end of the drive. I wasn’t really expecting to have to make a quick getaway, but you can never be too careful.

  I rang the doorbell. It was a grey, overcast evening; not quite dark but heading that way. There were lights on, so she must be home. I waited a few seconds then rang again. A light blossomed upstairs and I heard footsteps plodding reluctantly down the stairs, accompanied by quiet swearing.

  That was when it dawned on me that there were two cars parked on the drive. Perhaps this might not have been the best time to call. It looked as though I’d caught her in the act – and not for the first time. Oh dear.<
br />
  ‘Who is it?’ Gloria’s unmistakable voice.

  ‘It’s me, Alfie.’

  The door was flung open to reveal Gloria, hastily clad in a short dressing gown that she was holding closed. She was obviously naked underneath.

  ‘You pick your times, don’t you? I was in the shower.’

  This was one of her more obvious lies. She was bone dry. It was quite obvious what she had been doing. Her hair stuck up all over the place, looking as though it had been styled by Worzel Gummidge on a bad day.

  ‘That’ll be one of those new dry showers then,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ she said, as my clever remark flew harmlessly over her head.

  ‘I always thought my comic talents were wasted on you.’

  ‘What are you on about, Alfie? Have you come over here to take the piss?’

  ‘Funny you should mention taking the piss. That’s exactly what I’ve come over here to talk to you about.’ As we faced each other across her doorway, I could almost touch the waves of malice heading my way.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I haven’t got time for your games, I’m busy. Now bugger off!’

  She made to shut the door, but I got my foot in the way. She slammed it anyway. ‘Ahh! Bloody hell Gloria, you’ll break my foot!’

  ‘Well, go away,’ she said. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you. Take your foot away or I’ll do it again.’

  ‘No. I’m not going anywhere until you’ve explained something to me.’

  She took a quick look over her shoulder towards the stairs. ‘What? What have I got to explain?’

  ‘How about you tell me how I come to have a broken arm, broken head and enough bruises to make me look like a bloody chess board.’

  ‘It’s not my fault if you got into a pub fight.’

  ‘Oh, but I’m beginning to think it is your fault. This wasn’t the result of a pub fight. It was a punishment beating.’

  ‘What?’ She actually did look confused now. She sneaked another look towards the stairs.