by Wez Wallie
"This summer, Geraldine Granger takes no more shit.
Gemma Arterton, in:
'The Vicar of Dibley Returns: This Time, It's Personal!'
("The Lord ain't my shepherd this time, boys!")
Dotty switched off the hospital TV for the last time. "Blasphemy!" she cried, whipping off her polka dot glasses in dismay. "They're getting more and more desperate for these license fees."
"Truly shocking, Ms Walker," Peader replied, with his cap over his lap."...Doe we might have ta give de first eppy a watch, jus' so we know de true amount'a blasphemy we're really dealing wit here, y'know..."
She just stared at him. "...It's already on the series link, isn't it, Peter."
"Yeh..."
She rolled her eyes and turned to Marion, who was zipping up a brown holdall on the bed.
"Right, you all packed up then, missy? Countdown's on at 4, and if I miss my Nicky boy -"
"Yeah, yeah..." said Mal, knocking away Nick Hewer's disapproving face from inside the pocket watch. "...It'll be a countdown to our own demise, yadda yadda yadda. We all know the drill, mother."
"Good girl…" she said with a kiss to her daughter's cheek. Mal smiled in surprise and appreciation at her mum's newfound efforts of affection. “…You’ll be back working wiv thugs in no time!”
She just tutted and stood herself up with a groan. She was able to walk now, mostly healed, and the brightness had returned to her cheeks as the light restored in her whitened eyes. The tiny hole in her arm where the morphine drip had punctured to poison her had almost healed over, and she didn't even look back at the bag full of the liquid as she finally said, "I'm ready."
Peader picked up her bags and began to escort her out the door and down the hall, (waddling slowly, partially to support the pace of a recuperating Mal, and partially to contain the raging lob-on in his joggers from that feckin' TV trailer).
Dotty nudged the little one who was in a world of her own, listening to some female yankee ghetto rapper called Blac Chyna. "Come on, we're orff love."
"Okay, nanna," said Shonny, as they exited the ward.
"How's your social life going, dear?"
"Terrible! That woman who kept liking all of my piccies on Instagram has gone! I've gone down a follower and my Like ratios have fallen off a cliff!"
"Heheh. I doubt you'll be hearing from her again, love," said Dotty with a self-satisfied grin.
"And Gus blocked me on the café page, so I guess I'm no longer Senior Social Relations Manager anymore."
"Yeah, I doubt you'll be seeing those spying toerags again either to be fair, well not unless they don't know what's good for 'em!"
Outside, Peader was already settled into the back of the cab looking after Marion and making sure she was comfortable. Shonny hopped into the passenger seat as Dotty got behind the wheel.
"All aboard Dotty's Death-trap!" They all looked at her horrified - "I'm just joshing, keep ya fannies on." She turned on the ignition and muttered under her breath: "Though I am eighty-two and been hit over the head rather a lot, lately..."
She tried to reverse out of the bay yet somehow ended up going forward over a hedge and across another two lanes of traffic, and after giving a load of truckers the middle finger, they were soon on their way home.
In the back of the cab, Peader was sticking it on a sleepy Marion. "So, now yer outta de hozzie, maybe we can go fer a proper drinky-date, if yer still interested, dat is?" His heart was pumping in anxiety and nervousness, as Mal took his hand and said: "How about a curry?"
His little face lit up like that time at the Peckham Fayre when the Mayor said he could have a go on the bouncy castle if no more kids turned up at the end of the day.
"Great! Youse bring yerself, and I'll bring de habanero chilli oil!"
"NOOO!!!" they all screamed in unison, as Dotty almost crashed the cab whilst suffering traumatic flashbacks.
"Oh right, yeh. I jus’ got dis ting cleaned so bedder not, eh."
Mal smiled, trying hard to avoid what the hell that implied. "So the house is all fixed up now, is it? Everything back to normal?"
"Pretty much," said Peader in reply. "We even just installed a stairlift!"
"Wouldn't have needed to if you just ate a salad once in a while and did some exercise, Peter."
"Peader, ma’am. And dose stairs are so steep, Ms Walker! Anyway, de last ting on de list we need ta get is yet anodder cooking oven."
"What?!" said Mal in surprise. "What did you do to the new one you said you had put in?"
"Er, certainly didn't shoot at it with bullets from a hidden gun called Mr Snub-Snub during a bizarre hostage situation or anyfing! Where do you get your crazy ideas from, kid?! Nah, it was, uh, simply, uh...?" She glared into the rear-view mirror for Peader to help her out. He quickly cottoned on:
"Simply Red!"
"No, you twit! Defective! Yes, the appliance was simply defective. Much like Mr Seamus-Manus-Dreyfus over here." Dotty cringed. "Oh, you're not gonna take on his surname(s) if you get hitched, are ya?"
"I dunno, mother, that's way, far off yet. We haven't even gone on a proper date."
"Well, we had dat one in de hospital gardens, Miss Mal. Remember de fountain where it looked like de cherub was having himself a small wee, but in fact it was just de water filter?"
"Yes, that was a lovely day, Peader," she remembered fondly.
"Ye can geddus a cookin' oven, fer as a wedding gift, Ms Walker!" he teased without thinking.
She stared daggers at him in the rear-view mirror again.
"Nonsense," said Mal. "We could stop by Ikea now to pick one up. Then we could have our date and kill two birds with one stone! I have a friend who works there, and she says they still have a two for one special on gobbling up meatballs if that's your kind of thing?"
"Don't even fink about it!"
"Turn around, mother, I wasn't asking you!!"
"Well, how's he gonna have a threesome when he hasn't even had a twosome yet?!"
"Leave the man alone, mum!"
"Oh wait, that's right I forgot, he was a Bush Master wasn't he..."
"Naw, but dat's definitely my ting, Miss Mal; ye know me: I love a meatball or two!"
"...Or maybe not," Dotty whispered to herself.
"Great. I look forward to it." Mal was smiling warmly into his eyes, genuinely looking forward to the date.
Peader leaned in with a whisper. "Oh, and just so ye know, I'll be right here ta help ye wit any witdrawal's ye might have ta go t'rough. I've er, recently been in a similar situation with de adrenaline sauce so I can relate ta how de comedown feels, like."
Mal was a little confused but just assumed he had forgotten to tape Countdown again and simply had himself a fit of anxiety for when Dotty found out. (Or he was asked to get something from upstairs and had an asthma attack halfway up). "Oh, well I appreciate that, thank you, Peader."
"Peter, ma'am. Naw, wait - !"
She giggled. He wasn't sure if she was moving her lips toward his or whether she was simply falling asleep from the exhaustion, but he closed his eyes and moved his toward hers until the cab shook from a few bumps and the sound of gravel under wheel made him open his eyes again. (Turns out Mal was asleep after all, which was a bummer.)
"Ms Walker, are we where I tink we are? Yer've been driving de complete opposite way ta de house! Whadda we here fer, now?"
"Just had to make a quick detour, won't take long. You can stay here, don't worry."
"Naw Ms Walker, I got ye back, like!"
Peader gently laid Mal's head down to sleep on the back three seats and rushed to open the front door, helping Dotty out of the cab. Shonny plugged her aux cable into the hole and blared her tunes and danced in her seat. (Mal was dead to the world at this point.)
Peader handed her her cane and Dotty approached the door of the large mansion holding a wrapped gift box.
"What ye got dere, Ms Walker?"
"It ain't food, fatboy, and it ain't for you, so calm ya tiddies."
Peader was disappointed as he was so hoping it was a cake.
She knocked loudly with the cane and after a few moments Tilda opened the door, greeting them with rolled up sleeves and adorned in a giant dusty apron.
The Hitnan looked her up and down with disgust. "Cor I've heard of dress down Fridays, but this is taking the piss!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise they offered Old-Lady-At-Front-Door-Insultagrams now!"
"The worst part is it ain't even Friday."
"Sorry, is there a reason you've come all this way just to troll me on my own doorstep?" she asked, while neatening her pink-tinged pixie crop with doughy hands.
"I can always make time for you, Tildy-tops!"
"Oh, will you let it go, woman!"
"What, like you've let yourself go you mean?"
"Look, what do you want because I am baking in there, and if I don’t finish the mix and let You-Know-Who lick the bowl after, I can kiss goodbye to my EastEnders privileges tonight."
"Howdy Ms M, one question, doe: If she gets ta lick de bowl, can I get ta lick de spoon at all, kindly?"
"Oh, hi Peader, and no 'fraid not, the dog's already got dibs on that one."
"Balls."
Suddenly, the randy dog who had already developed a taste for such things was casually passing the hallway when he heard his instructions and sniffed out his lover's scent, running full pelt towards the poor Irish chap.
"Lordy, not again!!"
As Peader ran circles around the front yard's centre Conifer tree trying to fight off a horny Dachshund, Dotty offered up her gift to Tilda. Tilda just peered down at the white box with a red bow on top, which Dotty held firmly at her waist.
"That better not be your dick in there, Dorothy."
"You know, blokes'll stop doing it when you stop falling for it, Tild."
Tilda just frowned.
"No, look. After all we been through, if there's one fing we can take away from it all is that life's too short for nonsense. So I got you a gift to bury the hatchet. So to speak."
Tilda looked her up and down, before taking the box and lifting the lid. "Oh my, thank you Dorothy!" She lifted out the brand-new red beret and placed it gracefully upon her head. "Fits rather well!"
"Yeah, doesn't really go with that outfit, but it covers up that monstrosity of a barnet nicely."
"You have to ruin things, don't you, Dorothy! Well, it's the thought that counts, so thank you anyway." She looked toward the car - "Oh, is that your daughter and her litt'lun over there then?"
"Yeah. Probably didn't recognise my Marion since you blew her to Kingdom Come."
"I've already said I'm sorry! Right, why don't you bring them both over here and I'll give them some cakes to make up for it?"
"Mal's exhausted, but I'll bring Shonny 'cos gawd knows what havoc she's causing in there! Peter, fetch Shonny will ya!"
"IN AN INSTANT, MS WALKERRRRRR!"
He made a run for it over to the cab, holding on to his flat cap as the dog pounced upon his thick calf and had his way with it. He escorted Shonny up to the door, dragging his used-and-abused left leg behind him the whole way. ("Down, Mr Tiddlesworth!!")
Tilda had retrieved an assortment of flavoured cupcakes that she had baked earlier and offered a tray of them to Shonny, who excitedly picked one up and licked her lips in anticipation, until Dotty snatched it inches from her salivating lips.
"Right, that's the first test failed!" She turned to Shonny sternly: "I told you never take candy from -"
"Oh Dorothy, I'm hardly a stranger -"
"- Munters. Would you let me finish a sentence, Tilda coontin' Maffews!!"
"Nanny, what's a coont -"
She stuffed a cupcake in her gob: "- Here have a choclit one..."
Suddenly, a little twerp appeared from between Tilda's legs. "What on Nigella Lawson's fannied craddock is going on out here, step-mother? Why is the door wide open; you're letting all the heat escape from the living room wood fire!"
Peader gulped and even the dog stopped mid-hump and cowered behind his love interest's other leg.
"Ah, Bluebell, sorry darling. I was just saying thank you for the nice gift that Auntie Dorothy gave me."
Bluebell took one look at the red beret and rolled her eyes, snobbishly. "Oh no, I thought we finally got shot of that tacky tat and its ilk."
Tilda swallowed it as Dotty mouthed "Auntie?", to which Tilda just shrugged in panicked response.
It was only now that Dotty was noticing how alike Shonny and Bluebell looked, (now the latter had dyed her hair and eyebrows brown), and for all the world could actually be twins, as the posh girl stepped down off the doorstep and confronted Shonny with furious eyes, who was scoffing all the cakes.
"Why is this budget Bluebell eating all my cupcakes?!" The look of disdain was only matched by the look of contempt when she spotted the bloke next to her. "And moreover, why has that morbidly obese Peaky Blinder got chocolate cream all around his - sorry, is it legal to have that many chins on British soil?"
Peader let out a solemnly wail as the dog ran in front of him and began yapping at her angrily. "Don't worry, dog, I got this," said The Hitnan, stoically.
"Oi, 'orseface!"
"I know you can't possibly mean me!" said Bluebell in a shocked manner.
"Yeah, I mean you. Don't be insultin' me boy over here. I mean, he may be a dopey prat but he's MY dopey prat and if you come for him, you gotta get through me!"
Bizarrely, Bluebell proceeded to square up to The Hitnan, with her hands on her tiny hips: "I think it would be fairly easy to get through a crusty old timer like you."
"Hey, don't be mean to my nanna, you bitch!" Shonny ran over and thrust the entire tray of vanilla and choccie cakes into the other girl's face, leaving her looking like an understudy at a biracial Minstrel show.
"I can't believe you just did that!! Urgh, it's in my hair!! Step-mummyyyyy!"
Tilda sighed. "Go into the bathroom and I'll - EAST WING, Bluebell! The west wing restroom is still blocked up from the reusable make-up remover pads you keep flushing away after one use!"
Bluebell had already run off in sugary tears and Tilda just turned back, her face morphing from feigned disapproval to contented satisfaction.
"Nice one, peeps!" she said, high fiving Shonny in the process.
"Yeah well, I don't care how old she is, you can't keep letting her get away with that kind of behaviour. If you don't teach 'em now, they'll only end up learning the hard way at big school."
"I think I will, Dorothy. You inspired me today. I think I'll even start this evening and use Instant Smash granules instead of real squashed potatoes for the Shepherd’s Pie tonight!" Tilda tapped her nose playfully and chuckled with a mischievous hand-rub.
"Wow. You'll sure show her," replied Dotty, sarcastically. (As Peader’s belly growled behind in jealousy).
Tilda swiped her foot in the gravel in an arc shape, hands behind her back and trying to appear nonchalant: "Guess you won't be wanting to babysit now, right... or...?"
"What? Babysit that demon? Fack that for a game of soldiers. She wouldn't last two minutes wiv me. Why, where are you and gingerpube going then?"
"Thinking about a cruise, Dorothy. Nice and long, for about five months over the winter - just a little bit of 'us' time. We've forgiven each other for either planning to or outright almost killing one another now, but we need to go away to rekindle our romance. Somewhere around the Caribbean, maybe, I don't know."
"Well, Gus is always happy to do a bit of babysitting, if you can track his traitorous arse down."
"Hmm. That's a point. Bognor haven't been in touch since... since it all went down. Do you think that's a good sign, or not?"
"Not sure, Tild. But I think I might join you in taking some time off, and if they come for us, we'll cross the bridge when it comes to it. All I know is that after all this blows over, I'm defo not doing any more high-profile contracts. I think I'll be quite happy just doing the smaller local gigs after
all. Less of a ball-ache."
"Exactly. Embrace your age, Dorothy."
"Easy now."
"I'm just saying, you never liked travelling anyway. I might do the same to be fair. So, we just keep our heads down for the time being then."
"Well," said The Hitnan. "Let's do one last Dotty's Diary to really piss 'em off!"
"Oh, Dorothy-boo! You really mean it?!"
"Yeeesss, we can do a collab..." she said, feigning a kind of exasperated concession. "Just this once, given you saved our lives by flying us out of there 'n all..."
"And cutting your chair ropes. And keeping the woman distracted in a mop-sabre battle whilst you retrieved your cane, and -"
"Yeah alright, don't make me change me mind!"
Dotty whipped out her phone and they all got in frame, pulling some funny faces using the various filters, and within two minutes upon posting the vid got five hundred likes and sixty comments. Dotty was dismayed however upon seeing one dislike pop up in real time and a single negative comment which simply read:
"You all have the looks of rip-off budget cartoon caricatures, and the personalities as conjured by an amateur clichéd writer of questionable ability."
"...Bluebell!!" they all yelled in unison.
"Screw you!" she shouted out of the top window, and then closed it behind her.
Tilda just made a ‘tssk’ noise. "Defo Instant Smash tonight."
Dotty sighed. "Right. Guess that means I'll be off then."
"Maybe I'll see you around at the Bingo, Dorothy; that's where all you coffin-dodging types hang out these days, isn't it?"
"Well, it used to be, before libby luvvie giraffes started gassing the place up."
"Yes, I'm sure you're used to surviving noxious gasses with him around."
Peader looked baffled, then proud.