by Ellis Major
“It might be amusing to watch but painful to experience,” Lance agreed.
“Thing is Lance, what’s Mary to do? She’s head over heels.” Mary went even pinker. “She doesn’t want to miss out if she doesn’t have to, love of her life and all that.”
“Yeah. How about something basic – like writing a note?”
Charlie looked at Mary. Her expression was now calm and relaxed, but she had one question. “Of course, Lance, I could write a note. But how do I ensure it’s delivered into her hands only? It would be too bad if I slipped something under her door and some other member of the family intercepted it.”
Lance had a ready answer. “Charlie has already talked to the family. How about he gives a note to her when he thinks the time is right. It might seem less, er, unusual if Charlie takes an interest in the girl.”
Mary’s whole attitude was now highly positive. “Lance, what a good idea,” she cried. “I’ll get on with it as soon as we’re back. I have to get the tone exactly right. I don’t want to scare the poor darling off.”
Mary was so taken with Lance’s suggestion that she shot out of the car and off to her room as soon as Lance had pulled up at the hotel.
“I can’t eat until I’ve got it down properly,” she told them, just before she ran off. “Charlie, I’ll buzz you as soon as I have it in the envelope.”
Lance said he wanted to check the fluids on the Goddess so Charlie sauntered in on his own after Mary, only to be greeted by the sight of two short, rotund figures in Reception. Both had red, round faces and short, ginger hair. One appeared to be male, the other female – she was wearing a dress and had all the usual characteristics of a woman, albeit somewhat shapeless.
They seemed as surprised to see Charlie as he was to see them. They got in first.
“Aam Yaarkshire, me,” the man announced in a broad accent.
Charlie smiled back. He was aware that Yorkshire formed part of the British Isles but would have struggled to place it precisely on a map. He didn’t recall ever meeting someone who hailed from that part of the world, so had no idea what to expect. When faced with the unpredictable, Charlie’s experience had led him to believe that a smile was the best approach.
“How nice for you,” he replied.
“Aaah speak as aaah find. Where we coom froom we call a spade a spade.”
“That’s good,” Charlie responded brightly. “Why wouldn’t you want to call a spade a spade, though?” His question seemed to fall on uninterested ears.
“Yaarkshire folk believe in plain speaking.” Now it was the turn of the woman to speak. Charlie was puzzled. Had he not been staring at the man, he would have been convinced that it was he who was simply continuing the conversation. Their voices sounded identical. He wondered if they were entertainers and the woman was, in fact, a very large and realistic ventriloquist’s dummy.
He decided to continue to watch the man closely to see if his lips or throat moved at all when the woman spoke.
“Yorkshire sounds like a fascinating place,” he said respectfully. “Does everyone talk in that interesting way you have?” His words were ignored, again.
“The question is.” Now it was the man’s turn. His lips definitely moved, and the sound came from his mouth. “Are you a pooof? You loook like a stick o’ rock on legs. Only if you’re a pooof, we need to call you a pooof. We speak as we find. We’re from Yaarkshire.”
Charlie wondered if he had a biscuit or some other tasty snack he could throw into the opposite corner so as to draw their attention away long enough for him to make his escape.
“Are you a pooof?” the woman demanded. Her lips definitely moved too. Charlie concluded that she must be real. He would have to risk a confrontation.
Charlie frowned. “No,” he told them firmly. “You Yorkshire types should learn not to judge a book by its cover.” He made for the stairs.
“Not judge a boook by its cover,” he heard them parroting to each other as he ascended. “There’s nowt so queer as these southern folk.” This was followed by a burst of laughter. “Nowt so queer, that’s a good un Arnold.”
“Eeh, that were a good un Marigold.”
“Marigold,” Charlie muttered to himself and shook his head sadly. Doubts had, however been sown.
“Lance,” he wondered, a few minutes later, as he considered his choice of evening attire. “Lance, do you think that my holiday outfits might be a bit racy for the provinces?”
Lance was diplomacy personified. “I have to say, Charlie, that I did have my doubts. You think you’re further along the fashion curve than Devonians do you?”
Charlie had to concede that this might be the case. “Bit advanced for people from Yorkshire I think, as well. I suppose I had better find a gents’ outfitters tomorrow.”
Lance sniffed “You, Charlie are lucky that I’m both gay and a military man. I thought you might get some cracks about your gear, so I raided your wardrobe and packed an extra bag. Sensitive and able to plan ahead, how about that?”
“Lance I’d kiss you if I didn’t think you’d break my neck.”
Chapter 7 – Georgina (Year 1 – Early July)
It was a more conventionally dressed Charlie Tiptree, therefore, who happened to be hovering in the Reception area after breakfast on the morrow. He smiled cheerfully when Annette Lane’s two offspring appeared, chivvied by their mother. As soon as she caught sight of Charlie, Mrs Lane reacted, subtly but immediately. Having noted that Charlie was alone, and having nodded politely to him, she grabbed her son by the arm, muttered something about having forgotten her camera, and hauled him away upstairs with her.
“Wait for us here Georgina,” she called to her daughter. “We’ll only be a couple of minutes.”
Georgina eyed Charlie with slightly less hatred than the day before and did not baulk at Charlie’s suggestion that they enjoyed the view outside. It was some distance to the edge of the cliff so Charlie felt quite safe making the suggestion.
“Just waiting for my colleague,” he said. “We might as well enjoy the sun whilst we kick our heels?”
As soon as they were outside Georgina Lane turned to him. “You know why my mother’s doing this?” she demanded fiercely.
“It did seem a bit odd,” Charlie agreed.
“It’s because you’re a man.” Georgina’s mouth turned down into that sullen scowl. “My mother wants to find me a man. What a fucking joke. I’m a convicted criminal, on the sex offenders’ register and have to wear a tag while I’m on probation – that’s why I’m wearing jeans. I have to see counsellors and therapists all the time to try and cure me.”
Charlie tried to lighten the mood. “I knew you’d be a nice girl from the moment I saw you.”
She stared at him as if he was mad.
“We all make mistakes,” he consoled her.
“This wasn’t a mistake,” she told him with a snarl.
Now this did puzzle Charlie. “Getting caught was part of the plan?”
“No, you prat. This shitty fifteen year old told fucking tales so I got all this fucking hassle.”
Now Charlie was beyond puzzled. He was perplexed. “From what I recall, most fifteen year old boys would have enjoyed themselves, especially with a lovely thing like you. I suppose he started boasting did he and word got out?”
Georgina might have stumbled upon the corpse of an animal writhing with maggots. She unquestionably now throbbed with near-radiant disgust.
“It was a girl you fucking idiot! The thought of a man touching me makes me want to puke.”
Charlie looked around to make sure he had plenty of room to jump clear if her nausea took hold. The breakfasts were very large so it would have to be quite a leap. He was also able to check that no one was watching. Given the threat of imminent puking Charlie wasted no time dipping his hand in his pocket and whipping out Mary’s note. “A billet doux from my friend, Mary,” he told her, thrusting it into her hand and preparing to spring. “We’re not a couple in case the news
hadn’t got through.” He frowned. “I seem to be saying that quite regularly.”
Georgina stared at him suspiciously.
“Just read it,” he urged her. “It took Mary ages to write. Lance and I nearly died of starvation waiting for her. She’s very taken with you, Georgina.”
Georgina slipped the note into her pocket. The beginnings of a smile touched the edges of her mouth, just as her mother emerged from the hotel.
“Really,” she breathed. “Really?”
“Yes, really. See you around,” Charlie murmured, before turning to doff his hat to Mrs Lane. Georgina’s mother had undoubtedly spotted the less stony expression on her daughter’s face. She smiled at Charlie with some warmth and wished him a proper good morning.
Mary had kept Charlie and Lance waiting for two hours the previous night. She’d used up all the hotel stationery on her drafts, plus plenty of one of the notebooks she always kept with her. Eventually, however, she’d been satisfied and transcribed the final version onto her expensive personal notepaper.
Charlie and Lance had enjoyed a couple of long quiet drinks in the bar while they waited for Mary and Lance had confided to Charlie that he was feeling better than he had for months.
“Nothing’s really changed, has it,” he said. “But it’s not so dark somehow. I guess not being nagged helps and not sitting around with only myself for company. Thanks, Charlie, ok... It’s easy to forget to say it, but cheers. I like to be doing things as well, not brooding, you know. Getting out and about, even listening to you yattering on about dusting chandeliers is better than staring at a wall.”
Charlie smiled. “Great, Lance. I suppose it’s early days but if you’re sleeping better and don’t feel like shouting at people that has to be a good thing.”
Lance appeared disinclined to talk further on the subject and Charlie wasn’t going to press him. It was as if Lance wanted Charlie to be aware but not to make a big thing of it. His brief ‘sitrep’ complete, Lance began to speculate about Mary’s situation.
“It’s a bit of a surprise,” he grunted. “Hope she’s not making a big mistake.”
Charlie shrugged. “God knows what will happen but we can only hope for the best. It’s not like her at all. I’ve known her for years and she’s always so sensible. I have my fingers crossed that cheery chops feels the same as Mary, and then I really could say I’d seen love at first sight.”
“Yeah,” Lance agreed. “I like Mary. She’s on the nice end of the spectrum when it comes to your friends.”
“Probably a bit too refined for me you mean?”
“Not at all you wombat. She’s the sort of friend you should have. Look, Charlie, you can’t expect me to like everyone you happen to like and I’m not in any position to criticise your mates as being odd or anything. I’m a lot better thanks to you but I’m hardly most people’s idea of a bosom buddy.”
“Lance, you’re not that weird. Mary wasn’t being polite when she agreed to your coming with us. She likes you, I like you – there’s a common theme there.”
“Yeah I know, Charlie, but you get what I mean.”
Charlie nodded. It was hard to miss the exchange of glances or the slight nervousness that Lance’s presence precipitated when around most of Charlie’s acquaintances.
Lance obviously had a comment he wanted to make but he was awkward about doing so. He frowned and screwed up his face.
“I know we must all seem pretty shallow after what you’ve been through” Charlie murmured.
Lance half laughed. “Less so now,” he said. “I’m adapting. But no, that wasn’t what I meant. That Roddy, I’m not sure about him. Tell me if I’m out of order but I think he’s a dealer.”
Charlie frowned. “I suppose he could be. A lot of people use the stuff. What makes you think he is, though?”
“Well why would he need to disappear with someone and reappear a minute or two later, slightly furtive and pleased with himself at the same time? I’ve seen it happen a couple of times in your flat.”
“That’s a bit cheeky. Using my place for it!”
“Yeah; look I’m not getting all moral about it. People want to buy things, there will always be people to sell them, but he works, doesn’t he? Why does he need to do it?”
Charlie shrugged. “Can’t say I knew he was doing it. He’s been a friend a long time and he’s never said anything about it.”
“Probably thinks it’s better if you don’t know.” Lance was about to add a comment to the effect of ‘until he needs help’ but thought it would have sounded ridiculous coming from him.
“I’m glad Roddy isn’t with us.” Charlie’s announcement sounded pretty abrupt to Lance. He couldn’t agree more but he just raised his eyebrows.
“Not sure about Roddy and women,” Charlie murmured. “He’d be schmoozing Georgina given half a chance and wouldn’t be too fussed about any interest Mary had.”
There was something in Charlie’s tone. Whilst it was definitely not bitterness or dislike, it was more akin to distaste. “I think,” Charlie continued. “That cupid may never aim an arrow in Roddy’s direction. I doubt if he’s ever felt anything like what Mary is feeling now. I think they’re just targets for him, you know.”
Lance nodded. He expressed no surprise.
Charlie half smiled. “You ever felt like that Lance, love at first sight?”
Lance sipped his drink before he answered. “Not really. There have been a couple of guys but it didn’t last.”
“It must be difficult. Do officers get their own rooms, you know, for…”
“They weren’t in the Army, Charlie, or the Navy for that matter. It’s not exactly smiled on.”
“Sorry. I thought people often meet at work.”
“I’m sure you’re right but not me. The relationships I had couldn’t stand up to the Army life. Months away, other temptations.”
“Well you’re out now.”
“Yeah, Charlie, you could say that.”
~~~
Having gone to all the trouble with her draft, Mary was therefore avid to hear the minutiae of Charlie’s exchange with Georgina. She was rather shocked to hear that the object of her affections was a convicted felon, but immediately endeavoured to make light of it. “I expect it was just a schoolgirl flirtation,” she told Charlie. “These things happen, of course. It must have got a bit out of hand. You know what people are like these days – every agency of Government wants to get involved to justify its existence.”
“Yes indeed,” Charlie agreed. “No doubt about it. Seems to me, though, that the main thing is it was a girl she was canoodling with, not a boy. Rather weighs the scales in your favour, wouldn’t you say Professor? And she definitely perked up at the thought you were interested.”
Their whispered tête à tête was interrupted by the emergence of the Yorkshire folk, Arnold and Marigold. Their round red faces were partially concealed by identical white floppy hats. Charlie raised his hat politely in their direction and they responded with a ‘Mornin’’ in unison.
“Lovely day, wouldn’t you say,” he called as they waddled along the path.
“Too ‘ot for the likes of Yaarkshire folk,” Arnold told him, whilst his wife puffed her agreement.
“We should introduce ourselves,” Charlie suggested. “I’m Charlie Tiptree and this is my employer, the esteemed anthropologist, Professor Mary Goldsworthy.”
They shook hands as Mary explained that Charlie was hardly her employee. “Charlie is kind enough to take time off from his musicology studies to assist me with some of the trickier parts of my research,” she explained.
“Anthropology, musicology. We don’t ‘ave time for all those ‘ologies oop north. We’re plain Yaarkshire folk from Pickering in North Yaarkshire. Arnold and Marigold Sproate. We’re in retail. Sproate’s Special Sweetshops. Yoo’ll no doubt ‘ave coom across ‘em.” The smug self-satisfied air with which they conveyed this information was something to delight in. The Sproates were supremely confident tha
t even the Inuit or native aborigines in the heart of Australia must know and love their confectionery - and to hell with their dentists.
“I’m sure I have. And isn’t Yorkshire such a wonderful part of the country.” Mary was full of smiling enthusiasm. “I always try to get a few days away there every year, work permitting. I love a good tramp across the moors.”
“Eeh, it be grand,” Marigold sighed. “There’s nowt like t’moors.” Her tone implied that she regularly donned her hiking boots and backpack and ploughed through twenty miles of mist, mud and rain, just for the glory of having done it. It has to be said, however, that her shape belied her inference of an active outdoor lifestyle.
“Off anywhere nice today?” Charlie enquired, reminding himself to pay particular attention to their response. He wanted to make sure that Lance took him and Mary to the opposite end of the county from the Sproates.
Arnold Sproate glanced hastily around and, despite seeing no one in sight, certainly not within earshot, lowered his voice conspiratorially. “As yewer not in retail, we can tell yew. Marigold an’ me, weyer doin’ t’market research, liike. Ower ‘oliday will be tax dedooctible. Theyer’s nowt Yaarkshire fold ‘ate mower than partin’ with theyer brass. Tooday we toower and make ower notes – that’ll keep ower Tommy ‘appy – that’s Tommy Staplethorpe, ower accountant liike – then Moonday we can rest on t’beach if t’sun permits, and t’whole cost will be dedooctible for t’taxes liiike.”
He finished his speech with an expression of great delight, having demonstrated his business acumen and general superiority over these soft southern academics and musicians.
“Well, good luck with your research. I hope you have a fruitful day. Charlie and I must decide where we’re going.” Mary took Charlie’s arm.
“Aye, well coom on lass, business calls,” Mr Sproate told his wife. “No rest for t’wicked, eh.” They turned with identical nods towards the car park at the side of the hotel.
“Where shall we go?” Mary wondered as they followed in the Sproates’ footsteps, albeit at a safe distance.