by steve higgs
‘Rubbish, mate,’ he decided, ‘If just one of them takes off their make-up and never puts it back on then I will call it a success. The drive back to Big Ben’s apartment took no time at all but we went the rest of the way in silence, each mentally licking our wounds. I dropped him off and pointed the car back to my place.
Bull and Dozer met me at the door propelled by their perpetually moving tails. ‘Hey, boys. Are you well rested?’ I asked as I let them into the back garden and ran up the stairs two at a time undoing my clothes as I went. I flicked the shower on and stripped off the rest of my clothes, dumping them into the laundry hamper. I had not expected to end up in an all-out fight and be rolling around on the floor this morning, but I had and now I was sweaty and felt grimy.
As the warm water started to steam up the shower door, I examined myself in the large mirror I had installed on one wall. I had several abrasions, a few bruises and the first traces of unpleasant body odour. Sweat is an inevitable side effect of rushing adrenalin, no way to fight and avoid it. A couple of ribs on my right side were tender to the touch, I had a vague memory of taking a kick to my side when I was on the ground, and I had bruised knuckles which were making my hands stiff. Otherwise, I was fine. I berated myself briefly for being weak and stepped into the shower.
Shortly afterward, I was dressed in more normal gear and relaxing on my couch. On the small table next to me was a now empty mug that once contained tea and a plate that held a few crumbs from a ham sandwich and an apple core. Both dogs were sat next to me eyeing up the core. I made them wait, but when I got up, I broke the apple core in two and dropped the pieces in different directions so that one dog could not grab both bits and run.
I had a prior engagement to have dinner with my parents, so shortly Dozer, Bull and I would be taking a chilled bottle from the fridge and heading to their place. I felt lucky or privileged that my parents were still together - so many people got divorced it seemed. They were getting old now though and I liked to visit at least once a week to make sure they were not trying to tackle any tasks that were too strenuous or trying to lift anything that was too heavy.
Mum and Dad. Saturday, September 25th 1443hrs
Dad had been a serviceman in the Royal Navy, working throughout the world and largely dragging my twin sister and me around with him. We knew no different of course and I personally had no complaints. Dad had enjoyed a successful career that had ended early due to injury. Now at sixty-eight he was essentially retired but worked an occasional shift at the nearby Royal Dockyard tourist attraction as a guide. He didn’t need the money, but I think he went because he got to tell tales of seafaring and enjoy banter with likeminded chaps.
Mum and dad still lived in the house they bought when he retired from the Navy. It was a semi-detached in a street of semi-detached houses and was neither big nor small and they were neither rich nor poor, but they were happy together as far as I could tell, and I liked that my parents were still together. As I turned into their street, I could see my dad in the small front garden. He was bent over, facing towards me and had a garden fork in one hand that he was leaning on. It looked like he was weeding.
He looked up as I pulled into the space in front of their house and chucked a brief wave in my direction. The dogs had been asleep and quiet on the passenger seat for most of the journey, but I could never get to my parent's house without them knowing where they were and leaping about with excitement. How they knew and could tell where they were while asleep, I would never know. They always sprang to attention two corners before I reached mum and dad's place and were now standing on their back legs looking out the passenger window at my dad, wagging their tails like mad.
Their noses left little prints on the glass, something I was always fighting to remove because I doubted passengers would appreciate dog snot marks next to their face. I checked the path was clear then leaned across and opened the door. They exploded outwards and shot up the short drive to join dad as he bent down to fuss them.
‘Wotcha, kid,’ Dad said as I stepped out of the car and locked it. He had an easy smile that was rarely missing, and he really loved my dogs although he had never had one of his own. His smile was broad now as he scratched their heads, down on one knee. They took a few moments of fuss then buzzed away around to the back of the house to see if there was a cat to chase.
‘How are you doing, dad?' I asked as we shook hands.
‘Better than ever, my boy,’ his response typical as we were not ones for moaning.
I turned to follow the dogs around to the rear garden where I would find mum bustling about making dinner through the kitchen window. Dad hooked the fork under one arm and with a calloused hand on my right shoulder, he came with me. A cacophony of barks lit the air to suggest that the dogs had indeed found one of mum's cats. Not that the dogs posed any real threat. If cornered, I thought it more likely the cat would take a Dachshund's nose off. Arriving in the back garden, I couldn't see mum anywhere, so dad and I stood chatting in the yard like we often did.
‘What are you working on now then, Tempest?’
‘You hear about The Vampire case?’
‘Mm-hmm.'
‘Well, that. And I am thinking about looking into that Bluebell Bigfoot thing. I have a rare quiet period with no paid casework, but I did solve a Poltergeist haunting this week.’
Dad considered my report for a second as if summing up how I made such an odd statement sound so normal. ‘What do you make of that Bigfoot thing then? Do we have a bear loose from some rich fool's private collection?'
‘Could be I suppose, the reports are not exactly reliable.’
‘Not buying the Bigfoot theory then?’ Dad was smirking at me because he felt the same as me about all things paranormal.
‘It will be some guy in a suit.’ The cistern flushed in the house, the sound travelling through the open patio doors to explain where mum had got to. ‘I have a couple of ideas about it, but I need to pursue paid work, so even if I do look into it, I will have to drop it if the phone rings with a real case.’
‘I’m sure that’s the right thing to do.’ Dad was very agreeable about pretty much everything, which made a nice balance to mum, who err, wasn’t.
‘Hello, Tempest,’ said my mother as she came out of the house and into the back garden.
‘Hello, mother.’
‘We have roast pork for dinner. It’s your dad’s favourite.’
‘Jolly good, sounds great.' Mum wasn't much of a cook really although she was convinced that she could be on Master Chef provided they didn't want her to do, "All that fancy nonsense". Growing up she had ensured there was always home-cooked food on the table for us and was not afraid to open a book and cook something she had never tackled before. The results were a little mixed at times, but that is probably true for everyone. She had mastered the art of producing a roast dinner though, so I habitually made sure that was what she was cooking before I arranged to visit.
We were all still stood outside in the yard a few seconds later when the dogs reappeared. They had probably scoped out the garden for cats, found none or chased them all off and were now coming to see if mum or dad wanted to pick them up and fuss them. It was generally third on their list after eating stuff and chasing stuff.
‘Let’s go in, shall we?’ I asked. Mum turned around to do just that but stooped to pat first Bull and then Dozer as they flitted between my parents until the fussing began to dry up. I stepped towards the house then remembered the wine I had left in the car.
When I walked in with the bottle in my right hand, my father gave me a nod of appreciation, ‘Let’s get that open before it ruins, son.’
Roast Dinner Ambush. Saturday, September 25th 1500hrs
The house was filled with the glorious smell of roasting dinner. The sounds were of spuds sizzling and pans bubbling, and I breathed in deeply and held it for a few seconds before exhaling. The house had changed over the years of course. When I was very young there had been far less money around
as mum and dad wrestled with the mortgage and the cost of raising my sister and me. Cheap furnishings and fittings had gradually been replaced with nicer objects and conveniences such as central heating and double glazing had been installed. The décor was neither modern nor old, it followed no particular style and was nothing more nor less than a reflection of the lives of two people that had been married for decades and did everything together.
Standing in the dining room, around me there were family photos on the wall and on the display cabinet which also served as a dinner-service receptacle and drinks cabinet. Knick-knacks from various holidays adorned each available surface and must make dusting a nightmarish task, but the house still looked and felt like home and always would, I guess.
Dad had taken the wine to open, so I was in the dining room alone while mum and dad were both in the kitchen and I was feeling warm and happy until I saw the incongruity.
‘Mother.’
No answer.
‘Mother,’ I called a little louder, ‘Mother why are there four place settings?’
‘We have another guest coming, dear,' she replied, now standing in the kitchen doorway looking just a little guilty.
I sighed deeply and slumped my shoulders in an exaggerated display of defeat.
‘Who is it this time, mother?’
‘It is Deborah Tailor. You remember her, don’t you? We still see her at church every week.’ She hit the every a little harder than was necessary as if I was suddenly going to start attending.
‘Yes, mother. I remember Deborah Tailor, but why is she coming to dinner with us? Have you been playing matchmaker again, mother? You know how I hate when you do that.'
‘Tempest, you need to meet women. You can’t stay single forever.’
I groaned, and even to me I sounded like a sullen teenager. Dad was staying silent and hiding in the kitchen. I would deal with his treachery later.
This was not the first time my mother had pulled this stunt. The ladies in question were always from the church or the daughter of one of the ladies in her circle of friends. To date, she had yet to produce a lady that I could even be attracted to. I may come across as shallow but surely it must start with attraction. The last woman she introduced me to looked like an Ewok after it had lost a fight with a strimmer. Weighing up my options, I considered just bolting for the door. I was hungry, and the food would be both good and plentiful but just as my foot was starting to twitch, the damned doorbell rang, the sound piercing my thoughts like a peel of doom. Mother stripped off her pinny quickly, bundled it and handed it to my dad who had now appeared in the kitchen doorway.
I scowled at him and mouthed, ‘You’re dead meat.' He waggled his eyebrows and smirked at me.
The dogs were doing their usual routine of barking insanely at the door, so I snagged them both from under mother’s skirt and took them back into the dining room, one under each arm. They were both wagging their tails madly and straining to see who was now coming through the door.
Whoever it was spoke and the dogs launched into a fresh series of barking until I gave them both a squeeze and a shush. I could hear mother bustling around at the door and the two women exchanging pleasantries. Mother was probably taking her coat and inviting her in. I had not seen Deborah Tailor in perhaps twenty years or more. We went to the local infants and junior schools together, although she was a year below me. I knew her only because our mothers both went to the same church and as children, we had been taken with them and ended up in the same place every Sunday. As teenagers, there had been a passing attraction because she had boobs, and at fifteen that was about all the motivation I needed. Nothing had ever come of it though and I had probably seen her once or twice as an adult but could not recall when or where.
Mother came back into the dining room flanked on either side by the sheer girth of Deborah's arse. She was also a little taller than my mother, so I could see the top of her head behind my mother and both hips either side. I felt my Dad's hand underneath my chin as he pushed my mouth shut. Apparently, it was open.
Deborah had filled out a bit since I had last seen her. No doubt she is a lovely person, and I honestly don't believe that I am particularly shallow. I admire ladies who look after their bodies of course but I would like to think that I would take a lady as she comes rather than worrying too much about their gym habits. A womanly shape can be just as attractive as an athletic one and once a relationship is embedded, does it really matter if the lady is a size 8 or a size 16, if what you enjoy doing is spending time with one another? I was telling myself that the answer was no but could not avoid observing that Debbie also had some facial hair on her top lip. Some ladies develop a little of it and some of those that do are not as diligent as others in dealing with it. It is their personal choice of course and I pass no comment, but Debbie had a mustache like Lando Calrissian and I suspected that would be a bit too much for me to ignore.
‘Hi, Tempest,’ beamed Deborah.
‘Hello, Deborah,' I managed weakly, feeling a little intimidated and wondering if she was here willingly or had been pressed into it by her mother.
‘Debbie please,’ she replied.
‘Well, I'll leave you two to catch up then,' mum said and headed to the kitchen dragging my dad with her.
I turned to look at Debbie, suspecting that she was equally misled by my mother and was probably here only because she had been pestered for months and had finally given in. Debbie was not unattractive. Her hair was brunette and there was a healthy-looking cascade of it hanging over her left shoulder. Her makeup was simple but well done, her nails were freshly manicured, and she was wearing a knee-length dress with a wide belt and a pair of knee-length, leather boots. Overall, Debbie looked like she had given thought to her appearance.
‘Nice dogs.’
I was still holding the Dachshunds.
‘Ur, yes. Yes, they are,' I replied.
‘Are they yours?’ she asked.
‘They most certainly are. I doubt many others would be dumb enough to have them. Are you okay with dogs because I am going to have to put them down and the first thing they will do is run over to investigate you?’ I didn’t wait for an answer, but Debbie said that yes, she loved dogs before I could get them both safely onto the floor.
As predicted, both scurried across to investigate her boots and climb her legs. I was glad that she had boots on and not tights of some kind which they would most likely snag and hole while searching for attention. I took a couple of steps and reached into the kitchen, snagged the bottle of wine before dad’s hand could close around it and offered it to Deborah who was now kneeling on the floor to pat the dogs. She was making cooing noises and had both dogs rolling on their backs for belly scratches. Perhaps this meal would be pleasant enough after all and mother would not spend the whole time trying to mate me off.
‘Ooh, yes thanks, Tempest,' Debbie said on seeing me offer the wine bottle. ‘Your mum says you catch ghosts now?' It was a question rather than a statement.
I plucked a glass from the place setting that would be hers and poured her a large glass. I took another large glass for myself and handed the dregs to dad who was standing in the kitchen doorway waiting for it. He frowned at the amount I had left him but took it on the chin without comment.
‘Not quite, Debbie. Mother gets a little confused sometimes.’ Because she is a senile, interfering old bat. ‘What I actually do is investigate cases where people think they are being haunted or think their brother is a werewolf or believe there is a demon cat living in their garden. I advertise as a Paranormal Investigator,' I paused as Debbie crossed herself, ‘but of course, there is no paranormal. Vampires don’t exist and neither do ghosts, so my task is to find the truth behind each case and in doing so, solve the mystery I have been presented with.'
‘What about the Holy Ghost?’ Asked Debbie, crossing herself again.
‘Hmm?’
‘The Holy Ghost? The Holy Ghost existed because it is in the Bible.’
‘That’s true,’ came mother’s voice from the kitchen.
Super. A religious debate. Just what I was hoping for. I gave myself a mental head slap. ‘Well, of course,’ I replied, ‘but that is very different from suggesting that people are being haunted by their Great Aunt Mavis or that a malevolent spirit is trying to drive a family from their home because they have built it on an ancient Indian burial ground.’
Debbie seemed to consider that for a moment but nodded. I prayed (no pun intended) that discussions over God, church, and religion in general, could be avoided for the rest of the afternoon.
‘So, what do you do now, Debbie?’ I asked, hurrying the conversation along.
Debbie explained that mostly she looked after her four children and that the child support payments etcetera provided enough money for her to be a full-time mum. At the mention of children, my mother had beamed a big smile at me, somehow missing the point that Debbie already had four children. Both mum and dad had come through from the kitchen and we were all now standing around the dining table sipping wine. I say sipping but that was what I was doing. My mother and Debbie were putting it away like there was an unannounced competition. As I watched, Debbie upended her glass and reached for the half-empty bottle dad had brought through with him.
‘Tempest can you get another bottle from the fridge, dear?’ asked mother. ‘I am about to serve.’
Wine was kept outside in a fridge in the shed. I think mother got through too much volume for it to be stored in the house, so a dedicated fridge was needed. By the time I returned, there was food steaming on various platters and in oven-to-tableware receptacles and everyone was waiting for me before sitting down. Mother had moved dad from his usual place so that Debbie and I could sit next to each other.
I did what I was supposed to do and pulled out Debbie's chair, so she could sit. I took my seat next to her and clicked my fingers under my chair until the dogs came to me and settled. The wine was screw top, so I popped it in the now empty wine cooler on the table and forked a couple of roast spuds onto my plate.