by Wez Wallie
"Wowzers, Mal!" cried Peader, whipping his hand out of the reef and wiping away the plankton. "What's de madder wit ye now?! Y'know, if I didn't know any bedder, I would tink yer back on de Wowie sauce or someting!"
Mal opened her eyes and winced in the light. She seemed disoriented and surprised as her memory returned. "Nonono, oh I'm sorry Peader, oh I've made you feel uncomfortable, oh I'm so sorry!" She burst into tears with her face in her hands, and savagely ranting at herself.
"Hey now Miss Mal, it's okey, ye -"
"IT'S NOT OKAY! YOU'RE THE ONE BLOODY GUY I'VE LIKED IN YEARS AND NOW I'VE RUINED IT ALL -"
"Nonsense! Yer jus' a wee bit tired -"
"- AND NOW YOU'LL NEVER LIKE ME AGAIN AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT AND IT'S ALWAYS MY FAULT I CAN NEVER KEEP A MAN NOT EVEN GOD AND I'M GONNA BE ALONE AND ON MY OWN FOREVER AND -"
"Hey, hey, hey, come on, dat's not true, I'm still here an’ I have naw plans ta -"
"- I'M GONNA END UP JUST LIKE MY MOTHER OLD ALONE AND BITTER AND ANGRY AT THE WORLD JUST PUSHING EVERYONE AWAY!!"
Her sobbing quickly quietened as she started running her hands through Peader's hair. "Oh, you're still here Peader, you wouldn't leave me would you, at least I'll always have you, gosh it's boiling in here don't you think..."
She whipped the covers off her body, exposing her still bruised legs and stretched out as her breathing became heavy and coarse. Moments later, she threw the bedding back onto herself, moaning that she was freezing and that the nurses were plotting to slowly lower the temperature in the room to sub-zero in order to sell her frozen organs.
"Miss Mal, excuse me bluntness, but ye really don't look too good."
"Mmm, my legs are killing me - I just need..."
She reached up to her morphine drip and pressed the clicker, relaxing back into a state of tranquil serene with a satisfied exhale of breath.
"Miss Mal, I don't tink dat's a good ting ta be doing. Do de doctors know ye have control over dat, like?"
She slowly opened her eyelids and raised a finger to her lips. "You have your secrets; I have mine," she told him quietly.
He let go of her hand.
"Well, I don't like de person I'm seeing here whilst yer on dat muck. I mean, ye haven't asked at all about Shonny fer a start."
After a few moments, her eyes opened wider, and she made the effort to sit up straighter.
"You're right, I'm sorry. How is she?"
"Naw, she's grand. Misses her mammy but old Gus is lookin' after her just right."
She took his hand again and smiled weakly. "Please don't tell mum about the… medicines. Between this and my Youth placement being put on hold, I'm just in a lot of pain and anxiety right now."
"I know, sweetheart. And I can't say I'm blameless," he said mournfully, keeping in mind he's the one who fractured her pelvis by jumping on her to protect her from the collapsing roof a month ago.
Remorse and regret induced him to agree to keep her secrets, as she allowed him to keep his.
Her eyes gently succumbed to slumber and he watched her sleep for an hour or two, tucking her back up under the blankets and replacing the water for the fresh flowers he brought beside her.
Chapter 15
"Come on, Peter, focus!" she said sternly, as he kept going still to pose for Shonny's latest hunky portrait in the midst of the café hubbub.
"Peader, ma'am. And sorry, Ms Walker, it's 7am and hard fer men ta multitask, like."
"What multi-task?? All you have to do is sit there and finish off this gadget while Shonny draws you from the other side of the room."
"I know, but last time I kept moving slightly, an' I didn't want ta say anyting but young Shon-Shon ended up givin' me a bent neck! I didn't know if it was because of all de movin' about or wedder I was too distracted or someting, but I'd like ta have a proper neck in dis one. I don't want de online community tinkin' I'm some kind'a freak!"
Dotty gazed over at Shonny's table whilst tonguing her hash brown. (The young Turkish boy stood behind started thinking he was well in there.)
"Oh gawd, listen you better hurry up with that fing or else Squirrel boy there's gonna be on the hunt for his nuts if he keeps making them gestures at me."
(The lad was motioning a bow and arrow into her crotch for some reason.)
"Okey, okey, I'm almost done, like, stop wit de naggin', woman."
"Peter! I am shocked! Just because you bought a fancy new leathery jacket doesn't mean you get to let loose with the attitude as well! That Robert's a terrible influence on you Celts!"
Peader was tightening and loosening the final screw and giving the device a little shake, before banging it on the edge of the table and declaring it in perfect working order. His brand-new gadget he'd invented involved an old Nintendo Game Boy uploaded with a state-of-the-art data mining algorithm.
"Wowzers. Y'know, dis could actually change de world, Ms Walker. Imagine being able ta trace any online activity back ta someone's specific compuder - ye'd know dere exact location, like!"
"You mean like an ISP address?"
"Ehh... well, yes, but dis is like a reversed version! Dis algorithm I've cooked up scans de net fer similar patterns of engagement: speech style, shoppin' habits and data points. I've uploaded a sample of Miss Matt'ews profile based on de interactions we've had wit her and de device den scours de net lookin' at all websites and apps she might have frequented, which den zones in and triangulates the common ISP address! Tink of it like a kind of online sonar, sorta sourcing out an individual's distinct digital pheromones, like. Lordy, am I amazin' or wat?"
She raised her hand to ask SO MANY QUESTIONS but ultimately thought better of it.
"Well, if it works, I have to hand it to you, you will have really come through for us this time. It's an intriguing idea, not that I comprehend any of what you just said or remotely understand how it all works."
"Digital. Pheromones." He reiterated with a smug satisfied grin.
"Yeah, you keep saying that but you're literally playing Pokémon on it, so I won't hold me breath just yet."
"Speaking of pheromones, I tink de young lad dere is a bit desperate. He keeps givin' ye de special eye."
"I know, poor bugger. He's arrived in a foreign country, barely speaks the language and can't find a girl to - hold up, what do you mean, desperate?!"
Peader's eyes widened. "Naw offense meant nor intended, Ms Walker! Just, well yer eighty-two and he's no older dan, what... nineteen?"
"You fink I'm past it then?"
"Past what? Pasture?"
"Be very careful, boy."
"Well, I jus’ notice dat you haven't had a man in yer life since I met ye, and I'd hate fer ye ta be lonely, now. The old boy at de Bingo always seemed into ye?"
"Nah. His face was always like that 'cos he kept having to hold in his sphincter."
Peader had gone still again, stretching his neck up as straight as he could get it.
"Fack's sake," said Dotty, throwing her toast back down on the plate. "Let's change the subject - what you gonna Christen that fing you just given birth to then? Let me guess: The Pokéfinder 5000?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ms Walker. It's not fer playin' Pokéman, dat's just a side feature fer while de algorithm is doing its ting, like. But let's see now..." he pondered, looking up to the ceiling and munching on a chipolata. "Well, it's a Triangulation Identity Tool, so T.I.T. fer short, den."
"But that's your nickname, Pete."
"Heh hey! I walked into dat one, am I right, Ms Walker!"
She just stared blankly at his typo-ridden jacket and ate her toast.
He set the device to scan for Tilda's online fingerprint so they can trace her whereabouts as Gus came over to take their empty plates. "Everything good and okay, my friends?"
"Howdy, Gus! Yeh, t'anks man. Busy in here taday, huh?"
Looking around, indeed the joint was rather heaving for some reason. More than just the usual gormless regulars, there seemed to be a bunch of strays and out of towners in the
café, and come to think of it, they were all eating the same meal.
"Miss Shonny give good ideas! Yes, they all come now every Tuesday for my speciality offer foody-dish: "Gus's Turkish Delightful Dish."
"Oh, what's in dat den, Mr Gus?" Peader enquired with interest.
"It's surprise, my friend! You want try one?" he said with a wide smile.
"Ah, yes please, Sir!" replied Peader, enthusiastically.
"£5.50." he stated, sternly. "You pay upfront. No refundings."
"Oh." Peader turned his wallet upside down to see what coins he had but only dust and biscuit crumbs came out on the table. "Do youse take lint in Turkeyland, perchance?" Reddening, he turned to an unimpressed Dotty. "Couldn't spot me fer a 'Gus's Speciality Foody-Dish' could'je, Ms Walker? Me wages ain't come t'rough yet." He leaned in with a whisper: "I tink Bognor are still upset wit us, like."
"Have we got time for this, Peter? We're meant to be searching for Tilda, so I can take her out and get me turf back, so that we can then get some decent contracts."
"Yeh, yeh, me T.I.T.'ll take care of dat - but it'll take some time ta produce de goods, like."
"Yeah, I've heard that before. Alright, whatever - here's a tenner. Get me a coffee and Shonny a flump, too."
Gus whipped the £10 note out of her leathery hand, held it up to the light and simply left with a satisfied nod.
Shonny passed him as he went and came to show Peader and her grandmother her little drawing which she had spent the past hour doing.
"Oh, that's lovely my dear!" Dotty was genuinely impressed. Peader however was squirming in his seat.
"Do you like it, Peady?" Shonny was standing at the table looking deep into his eyes for validation and praise. Peader summoned all his acting skills: "Ah, ye bet I do! Now Miss Shon-Shon, I jus' love de way yer've captured me neck dere... I especially love de right-angle bend in it too, so yeh, great stuff."
She laughed as she pointed out the device on the table. "It's you bent over playing with your little gaming boy like a geek!” She giggled as he went red again and put the device into his inner jacket pocket. “Nanna’s special pencil’s really let me bring out the hair in your nostrils."
The picture was a bloody good caricature actually, like the kind you would get in Paris in front of the Eiffel Tower or something, and never mind about the weird neck, he was now more concerned about the large flapping ears poking out from under the cap she had drawn.
"Hey, I like de abs and all de muscles ye seem ta tink I have underneat' me toppy, but what's wit me ears - dey're a bit... exaggerated, right? Caricatured, yeh?"
Shonny looked at him blankly.
"Peady, what's a caricature?"
"Oh jiminy!" He tucked his ears underneath the rim of the cap and began to develop a complex now.
Shonny broke into a smile. "I'm so glad you love it! It's got 1000 likes already."
Peader sat up. "What?! It's already on de 'Gram, like?"
"Yep! All my schoolfriends have commented and shared it too! Yay!"
"Yaay..." Peader faux celebrated back with her.
Shonny ran back to the table to get her flump off Gus, (and also to advise him what other foods he should be experimenting with), as Peader just sank in his seat. "Can ye imagine, Ms Walker – a t’ousand liddle schoolkiddies mockin' me online, like? I mean, me - a laughin' stock! I nedder t'ought I'd see de day..."
"Calm down, Peter. She depicted you with giant biceps, rippling pecs and a set of abs you could do shots off, and you're worried about your ears and neck??"
"I suppose I should take what I can get, really. Especially now I got me new jacket ta compensate fer all me foibles an' fallibles, like."
"Exactly."
"Say hey now, how many subscribers have ye got on yer Youtubes now, Ms Walker? Not dat yer s'posed ta still be doin' yer videos, like."
"Leave off, it's me one hobby, son. And 2.5k it says. Me last video, you know, the one about how to jump onboard a Twin Otter without airport security seeing ya, got nearly double that on views in one hour!"
"Ms Walker! Yer supposed ta be keeping up appearances, like! What if people figure out yer a trained assassin and get outed? Den Shon-Shon and Mal will be in danger! Isn't dat what ye keep telling me??"
"Oh, don't blow ya cap off, it's just a vid of me explaining the theory; what you so mad about?"
"I'm a wee bit annoyed 'cos I have ta keep lying ta Miss Mal about de nature of our bidness, whilst ye run de risk of recklessly exposing us on de world's biggest video platform!"
"Oh, come on, it's not like anyone believes I do these fings. It's just a character to them. The Dotty in those videos is a hyper-exaggerated version of me. It's an alter-ego, so to speak. Like Katie Price had Jordan, Bowie had Stardust -"
"- And Dotty Walker has D-Wizz!"
"Hmm, well I haven't named her, and if I did, it wouldn't be that. It would never be that."
"Well, fer now de level of local infamy seems ta be dying down about now, which is good. Let's hope it stays dat way and people don't start gettin' ideas."
Dotty made an involuntary face of disappointment. "Well people seem to be enjoying the vids at least. Only one dislike on this one though."
"Ah. I bet I can guess who dat was from, eh, Ms Walker."
"Bluebell2012(1)! This bitch has flooded the comment section with sick burns again!"
As Dotty was scrolling, Gus brought over his "Turkish Delightful Dish", which to be honest, Peader had forgotten all about. On the plate sat what looked like a giant hash brown, until Peader took a bite out of it and realised that what Gus had just served up to him for £5.50, was an oversized gelatinous square blob made entirely of plasticky-sugar that had been deep fried, like a battered Mars Bars you get up in Scotland, or like when one of them TOWIE dopes falls asleep in the tanning booths.
Peader lifted a thumb up to Gus in review, who raised a fist in the air in triumph and high-fived Shonny on his way back to the kitchen area – “Yay, no sue-y Gussy!” - as Peader tried to force down the first bite. (Everyone around him seemed to be loving the dish to be honest.)
Meanwhile, Dotty was still scrolling through the hurtful comments. "I mean, look at this one:
'I appreciate this video. Dotty has lifted the lid on an important subject and brought new insights into what it must be like to live with selective autism'."
"whatacow," Peader confirmed through a toxic mouthful of chocolate jelly and fish batter.
"I know! She's posted loads of them! Here's anuvver:
"She says she needed to be on the plane so she could fly it back to the airport. But this plane she keeps talking about must be one for 'special' people... and one can only imagine that they were so desperate for a pilot on this day that the only interview for the gig went as follows:
'This is a flight for Special people - what's her qualifications?'
'Uh, she didn't get enough oxygen as a baby -'
'- GET HER ON THE PLANE!'
Dotty slammed the phone down in anger. "You know, if I wasn't such an 'ard bastard, I might actually have feelings for this bitch to hurt!"
"youtellemmswalker!" he said with a trickle of encouragement, as a trickle of sugary breadcrumbs fell from the corner of his gob.
"Selective autism... pfft! You know, I'm a stone-cold killer. Why am I letting twats like this do me dirty on the internet?"
"Can't ye just block'em, Ms Walker?" Peader enquired, after a full glass of water drowned the dry batter from coating his throat.
"Whoever it is just keeps making new accounts to troll me, and besides, I don't wanna give them the satisfaction! Nah. I want ‘em to say these fings to me face. I want to look 'em in the eye when I give 'em me cool comeback bro. I want to see 'em cry!"
Peader looked unsure. "Ye want ta meet dese trolls in real life, ye say, Ms Walker?!"
"Yes boy! Bluebell2012(1) is gonna rue the day they decided to troll Dotty fackin' Walker! Quick, Peter, whip your TIT out!!
"But Ms Walker -"
&n
bsp; "You know I meant the device, son."
*
Peader's T.I.T. had traced the trollific origin of Dotty's digital nemesis back to 23 Archibald Lane, Essex, and The Hitnan was ready to blow off a little steam. They were cruising down the country lanes under a warm and bright sun. The smell of manure wafted through the open window but both occupants were used to the cab ponging of shite by now.
They pulled up in front of a rather stately home, a two-storey manor of brown and white exterior complexion. It seemed old and historic on the outside, but sleek and modern on the in.
"Wowzers. Bit bedder dan our gaff!"
"Shut up, twonk. I don't care how rich and fancy they are, nobody messes wiv this old bird."
Peader turned back in his seat.
"Are ye shure ye want ta do dis, Ms Walker? Do we really need ta be startin' more beef, like?"
"I didn't start anyfing; this bluebell bimbo broad is simply jealous of me success, and finks she can hide behind an anonymous account... well not anymore. Today, Dotty Walker teaches 'em a soddin' lesson – today, they're gonna remember the name!"
She pulled on her gloves and thundered over to the front with her cane, trampling the shedded needles of the large Confier on the drive. She smacked the end of her stick across the Elizabethan-style varnished oak door and her knobbly forefinger repeatedly poked the bell like a woodpecker in heat.
"Bluuuebelll.... BLUEBELL! OI BLUEBELL2012(1)! COME ON, OPEN UP - I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, BITCH!"
"I don't tink anyone's in, Ms Walk -"
"OPEN UP YOU COWARD - IF YOU CAN SAY IT ONLINE YOU CAN BLEEDIN' WELL SAY IT TO MY FACE! COME ON - VAG UP, BI-ATCH!"
She stepped back into the front drive and was hollering up at the windows, looking for any sign of movement.
"IF YOU DON'T OPEN UP, I'M GONNA DO A DOTTY'S DIARY ON YOUR FACKIN' DOORSTEP - RIGHT HERE AND NOW AND DOX YOU TO KINGDOM COME!"
She whispered to Peader who was cringing behind her: "Dox, doxxing. Did I use the word right, there?"