Strike Three

Strike Three - okay, back to the stories I prefer writing; humourous, with a twist. Mine is a fairly farcical little yarn, and took me only a couple of hours to write, which probably shows. This one was inspired after reading a really awful novel which the publishers should have rejected after merely sniffing it - it stank. Okay, okay, maybe there was more than a little influence from an author that I know quite well, not a crime is it? ;)


“What an utter, utter bastard. How could he do this to me? Erm, I mean, to us?” She ran her hand frantically through her spiky hair in a fruitless attempt to cover up the faux pas.

“He’s my husband. I think I have the right to be most annoyed.” She dipped her head to sip her tea, at an angle she knew gave her the best profile when she was being observed; she knew that most heterosexual men in the lobby wouldn’t take their eyes off the well-dressed and beautiful lady. Hell, even if they were gay they would be looking.

“Neither of us knew he was married until today, I think the shock for us is probably worse, I mean, a married man having an affair is almost…” the slightly chubby one blushed a little and picked up another biscuit.

“Almost what? Expected?” she was fuming, “I have known this man for ten whole years. You have known him for maybe a couple of months…”

“Three years.” said Spiky Hair.

“Eighteen months.” said the chubby one.

“Well there you go then…..three years? I’ve only been married to him for five! Bastard.”

“Bastard.” they echoed in turn.

The three girls had only met about ten minutes before. They were standing at reception waiting for their room keys, and the spiky-haired one, who announced herself as Tasha Porter, asked if her fiancée had arrived yet, and stated his name, Andrew Butler.

Belinda, the posh one, who was standing just behind her, said “I am also waiting for my husband, Andrew Butler, what a co-incidence!” It might have been left at that, when the chubby one, Lisa, exclaimed, “My boyfriend’s name is Andrew Butler!”

They had stared at each other for a few moments, whilst waiting for their keys, still under the assumption that this was just a crazy co-incidence. After all, there must be hundreds of Andrew Butlers. Tasha broke the ice by asking if they had a photo of Andrew, for comparison purposes. Of course, they all had.

It was the same photograph.

“He must have a job lot of them. I wonder how many more girls have this photograph,” Belinda had removed the photo from her purse and was viewing it with disdain. “I took this photograph. He must have found the negative. Or scanned it into the computer.”

They were sitting around a table on the veranda, drinking Earl Grey tea and eating ginger biscuits. Tasha found the Earl Grey tea as appetising as dishwater and Lisa worried about the number of biscuits she was putting away. Still, it was Belinda’s idea to have a council of war over a cup of tea, so naturally she ordered the refreshments.

None of them had any pretensions that they could be friends under any other circumstances. They had decided early on that they didn’t like each other very much, and each wondered what Andrew saw in either one of the others. Tasha thought that Belinda was a stuck up cow who didn’t deserve the amount of money she was obviously making. Belinda thought that a woman should dress well and look after themselves, and especially not allow their dress size to go beyond a size 8 or so; Lisa appeared to have not so much let herself go, but sent it on a one way trip to Mars. Lisa thought that Tasha was too obtrusive; spiky blonde hair, a multicoloured scarf around her neck and a gregariously patterned dress in crazy colours, that awful, awful current fashion. She also had a habit of speaking rather loudly, in an indeterminate American dialect. She looked, and sounded, like a mangled Scooby Doo cartoon.

“So then.” Tasha shouted, or so it seemed to Lisa. “What do we do now?”

Belinda snapped her purse shut. “We surprise him.”

“Yay, lay in ambush, right? So now, where will we wait?”

“My room, naturally. I don’t suppose he’s booked a junior suite for either of you has he? Thought not.”

Tasha ground her teeth. Lisa wanted to be a hundred miles away.

“So, you wait in my room, I will wait for him here and bring him up to…face the music.”

“When’s he due here?” Tasha was thinking she didn’t want to spend too much time alone with the mousey Lisa. Lisa definitely did not want to spend too much time with the mouthy Tasha.

Belinda consulted her watch, a slim line gold Cartier that Tasha figured was probably worth more than her car brand new. “About half an hour I should think. Why, didn’t he tell you when he was likely to be here?”

“Considering you’re being pretty vague, I don’t think he gave you a specific time either.”

Belinda glared at Lisa, but decided not to start any arguments. She needed both of them when she confronted Andrew, the full evidence and the witnesses. She could sense why Tasha had asked the question though, she wasn’t stupid.

“I’ll take you up to my room and you can take it in turns to freshen up, there’s plenty of towels and there is usually a complimentary bowl of toiletries. There’s a TV, video and computer, and I have a few books with me. I’m sure you can keep yourselves amused for a little while.”

The patronising bitch, thought Tasha. You can bet I’m going to milk this chance of luxury as much as possible, thought Lisa. They all looked round for their luggage, such as it was, they were only booked for one night.

Lisa said: “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd we’re all here at the same time? Why would he take that risk?”

“Who knows what’s going on in that head of his? It could be that he saw it like a gigolo’s pub crawl – hopping from one room to the next.” Belinda had already starting walking towards the lifts.

Lisa was unconvinced, but shrugged and followed Belinda, with Tasha just seconds behind.



“Bel, darling, you got here ahead of me!”

“Don’t call be Bel, Andrew, you know I don’t like it. I don't call you Andy.”

“Aha, well you’re eager enough to be here early, so I guess you can’t mind too much.”

Belinda held her tongue, and Andrew continued to spout small talk and nonsense all the way across the lobby, into the lifts, and along the corridor to the suite. He seemed oblivious that her responses were either monosyllabic, or non existent. Arrogant git. He’s getting his.

They entered the room, where Tasha was lounging on a sofa, idly flicking through the TV channels. She turned and looked at Andrew in triumph. Out from the bathroom came Lisa, who stood just by the doorway and folded her arms. Belinda stood beside him, lightly tapping her foot, waiting for his next move. She was ready to close the door sharpish if he decided to bolt.

Whatever the girls expected, it wasn’t a massive grin, followed by rubbing hands, and a gleeful retort:

“Excellent. You’re all here. That’s saved me some trouble. Coffee all round is it?”

He headed towards the small coffee point just behind one of the sofas, and the silence was such that he could hear all three jaws click open.

Lisa sat down in one of the easy chairs. Belinda sat on the sofa opposite Tasha. All were in too much shock to speak. None of them had really planned what to say when Andrew was finally in front of them, but any rehearsals they may have made were completely redundant.

Andrew handed the coffees out. “So then. Belinda. Black, strong, no sugar. Tasha. Weak and milky, no sugar. Lisa. Fairly strong and white, one sugar. Me. Black, two sugars. Everyone happy?”

Silence, as all three, for once, had nothing to say.

He chuckled. "Okay, I best get all this out of the way. I was thinking about seeing you individually, but you meeting up and finding out my secret has made it so much easier, so convenient. This way, we can sort this all out in a civilised fashion and all of you know where you stand. Or sit." He giggled at his rather pathetic joke. “So pleased you saved me the bother of having to introduce you all to each other.”

He sat down in the only remaining chair and turned towards Belinda.

"My dear Belinda. I want a divorce."

Belinda growled. "You bet you're getting a divorce. I'm going to hurt you so bad you're going to wish you had run away and joined the Foreign Legion."

Andrew was still smiling, so Belinda felt she had to up the ante.

"You forget, dearest Andrew, just how many people I know. Just five minutes of my time, a few words in a few ears and your property portfolio won't be worth the price of a bus ticket..."

"Blackmail, Belinda? Well, of course, you'd know all about that wouldn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, there's a certain model in your agency, becoming quite famous I'm told. A couple of Page Threes, followed by some high profile fashion magazines and now she's on the verge of a major deal with a cosmetics company. I understand, though, she isn't quite seeing all the money that she's worth, due to someone threatening to tell the press that she's gay. Belinda, you really should learn about secure passwords and deleting e-mails from your Sent Items. All printed out. All safe in a bank vault. The tabloids would love that story."

Belinda went a darker shade of olive, which Tasha figured meant she was embarrassed. Either that, or the air conditioning was broken.

"I have a friend who's gay." muttered Lisa.

"My sister's gay!" said Tasha, venom in her voice.

"The press love a good story. But they hate blackmailers more. Belinda, although you make sure that, everywhere she goes, she is hanging off the arm of some eligible bachelor, although she is the wet dream of every hot bloodied male, being gay isn't the career-wrecker it used to be. In fact, the public seem to embrace it nowadays. So, you lose the hot-bloodied men. But you gain a new public."

"Don't tell me how to run my business..."

"You wouldn't have a business if it weren't for me. I made so many good contacts at university, all consultants in your agency, and, oh, all such good friends of mine still."

"I will sue your arse so hard that you won't know your.."

"Who will be the lawyer? Oh yes, that would be my best friend, my room-mate at university."

Belinda was muttering, still flushed, but still trying to maintain a certain level of dignity.

"Oh, and I nearly forgot. You won't get a penny of my money or property. It's all signed over to someone else. I am worth precisely.." he reached in his pocket and revealed a handful of coins, "seventy six pence." He waved his hand around the room, “All this, and your two rooms downstairs, are paid for on Belinda’s credit card. I told you that security wasn’t her strong point.”

Belinda was still trying to digest all of this, but didn't get a chance to get it together enough to fight further. He was now looking at Tasha.

"Tasha, darling."

"Don't Tasha, darling me. You worthless, low-life, scumbag son of a b-"

"You forget how much you owe me."

"I owe you nothing, you c-"

"How much do you owe Brian?"

Silence. And Tasha's head dropped into her hands, as her face too, got darker. Although she had a faded tan, this was a little more noticeable, a warm pink.

"How did you find out?" she murmured.

"Belinda, Lisa. Tasha came from America in search of her ancestors, and doubtless hoping that they'd become rich Lords or some such, she'd inherit lots of money and maybe even a title. Of course, she found that London was not paved with gold, and all she possessed were the clothes she stood up in, and a pair of silver scissors, a family heirloom I understand, with which she earned just enough to pay the rent cutting people's hair on the street.

"I was one of her punters, and I could see her potential. I set her up with a shop, stock, and some free advertising in the form of a word in the ear of various girlfriends and wives of friends of mine, and now she runs a thriving business from one of Chelsea's most sought after sites."

Tasha had raised her head, and said indignantly "I paid you back! Every last cent, with interest!"

"Oh yes, Tasha, you've done so well. You're even thinking of expanding I hear, and have had a chat with the bank. In fact, several chats, a couple of candlelit dinners, a trip to the theatre, and the odd overnight stay in a certain loan manager's flat."

Tasha‘s eyes widened. "I-I-was going to tell you, to call it off. I love him, Andrew."

"Before or after we were married?"

"Before!" she exclaimed, but neither of the other girls were convinced by this.

"Yes, I would have kept you in the manner I'm sure both of you would have had no difficulty in getting accustomed to. Tasha, you forgot something. That bank is my bank too. I have been a customer there since I made my first fiver playing marbles in the playground. The manager saw what was going on. So, in the interests of good customer relations, he told me.” Tasha just groaned, defeated. She twiddled her engagement ring off and slung it on the low table in front of her.

“So then, Lisa.”

Lisa was wringing her hands around in her blouse, wondering what possible bomb shell Andrew was going to drop on her. Belinda and Tasha were relieved that the heat was now off them whilst the attention was turned to the quiet, plain one. Tasha found herself feeling sorry for her; the girl looked like a vicar’s daughter for goodness sake, what could she have possibly done to deserve a round of Andrew’s bedside manner? Lisa finally raised her eyes to meet his.

“You two,” he continued, “could learn a lot about honesty and determination from Lisa. Although she’s….curvy, would you believe she was twice this size when I first met her?”

Lisa’s eyes started to fill. No, don’t do this to me, she wanted to scream.
He took hold of her hands. “Through sheer self control and belief, she beat bulimia. With a little help from me, of course, I found her an excellent shrink, and here she is, growing in confidence daily.” He smiled. “Lisa, you could have all of this, every day. Have room service hourly. Drive around in flashy cars. Have the best clothes and shoes. Go to the very best parties in the city. You would never have to work again. In fact, you can have it right now. For I have signed over everything I own to you so,” he glanced at Tasha and Belinda, “neither of them can touch it.

“I have nothing on you at all. You are just a simple, honest, office worker with no skeletons, no delusions, no signs of avarice and no lovers. You are the girl I’ve been looking for. I will stop all my philandering and love only you. Lisa, darling, will you marry me?”

Belinda and Tasha were looking like a couple of Alsatians who had just run non-stop round Hyde Park, twice. All you could hear in the room was their short breaths as they stared at Lisa, willing her to answer. Both were disgusted at Andrew for revealing Lisa’s secret in such an appalling manner, but all the same, hadn’t he just offered her the security every girl dreamed of? Still Lisa didn’t speak, in fact she seemed the most serene and calm of all of them. Finally, she uttered a sentence so quietly the other two strained to listen.

“Andrew, I have a secret.”

“Oh, and what’s that? You don’t have another boyfriend, that I know for sure.” Andrew smiled condescendingly. Lisa smiled back.

“I was born a man.”



They couldn’t have known that Andrew had had a weak heart. Everyone agreed with that. But the two policemen were maybe a little suspicious of the circumstances; all three had had a “relationship” with the late Mr Butler, and just so happened to be in the same hotel room at the time of his demise. They were still not entirely satisfied until Belinda insisted that she knew of the ‘other women’ and had invited them here to confront him, the rooms were booked in her name, with her credit card, if they wanted to check. Nobody in the very busy hotel remembered seeing Andrew, he hadn’t gone to the reception desk as Belinda had taken him straight up. The doctor had said simply: “Heart attack. Can’t see any evidence of anything else.” The shock of seeing his wife and two mistresses together had obviously been too much for him. One of the officers grunted something like “I’ve heard and seen worse occurrences in Soho” before letting the girls go home, with admonishments not to plan any trips abroad.

The coroner had agreed with the diagnosis, mercifully quickly, considering that Belinda was expected in Milan within a fortnight. He was rumoured to have recorded ‘Heart attack after misadventure’ relishing the story that was relayed to him from an unknown source which would ensure that he wouldn’t have to buy a round of beer in his local for quite a few months.

Therefore, the life insurance company didn’t have any excuses and moderately speedily, for them, handed over a rather large amount of cash to Lisa Buckley. As did the executors of Andrew’s Will.

Belinda waved away any offers, from her solicitor and Lisa, of a fair proportion of his assets. In her words: “One hour of my time corroborating the story: Four hundred and fifty pounds. The look on his face before he keeled over: Priceless. I‘ll be fine, honey, I‘ve got plenty of money of my own.” She would, of course, have a word with a few people in IT about mail encryption, and Lisa promised to destroy the papers in the vault, but insisted that Belinda play fair with the model.

“Absolutely, sweetheart, I’m turning over a new leaf, I‘m going to re-market her myself. The Luscious Lesbian.”

Two air kisses around the cheeks for Lisa, whilst they were outside the solicitor’s office after the reading, and she went back to her Ab Fab world.

Although Tasha had no real legal claim at all, Lisa still offered her a five figure sum of her choosing, by way of a thank you. Tasha, after all, had made sure that any evidence of Andrew being there longer than was viable for a sudden heart attack was removed; the ring back on her finger, a coffee cup washed up and put away: “You clean a lot of coffee cups in my business, but I have juniors to do that now.“ Tasha considered getting a new BMW from this, but demurred, saying that all wanted was Andrew’s Ungaro suits, which would look great on Brian as he was the same size, it may even gain him a promotion. Or at the very least, a job with another bank.

Lisa readily agreed, she had no use for them, take the whole wardrobe if you want, she said.

It seemed that Andrew had no other next of kin, or none that anyone knew about; he was an only child and both his parents were dead. So, the way was clear for Lisa to step into a brighter future. Was she really born a man? Nobody knew, nobody really cared, it was unlikely. But a friend of Lisa's said that she had told her Lisa had seen her boyfriend take some little pills when he thought she wasn't looking. Lisa said she swore that they were the same kind that her mother used to take to help blood circulation.

The moral of this story? If you're going to play the field, make sure the field is fair and never deal with more than two women at the same time.

High Hopes

High Hopes - No matter what your opinion on Pink Floyd and their frequent hissy fits over the years, you can't deny that they wrote some beautiful poetry. This story is inspired by the Pink Floyd song of the same name, from the album The Division Bell; in particular, the line "Encumbered forever by desire and ambition, there's a hunger still unsatisfied". I prefer to write humorous stories, like Straight Arrow, and there will be more of those. High Hopes is pretty sober and also has an open ending, something else alien to me. As the subject is probably popular, it has doubtless been done a thousand times better by someone else, but this kind of maudling has to come out of a writer at some point, why not now?

The waste ground behind the old factory was perfect for the reunion. Far enough away from any other house or main road, and nobody close enough to care about Health and Safety; nobody, it seemed, could be bothered hiring a security firm for a near burnt out building and a field populated with rabbits; they lit a small fire made from the firewood they had bought from the services on the motorway.

They had unwrapped some toasting forks and sausages from the same service station and had proceeded to make their supper. Tess held hers awkwardly, holding it over her crossed ankles at just the right distance so that it would cook, but not turn to charcoal in seconds. Paul, who always seemed prepared, even before spontaneous acts such as this one, had found a few old bricks and he rested his fork across these at a reasonable angle, although he would have to adjust the position from time to time. Andy, though, was the perfect Boy Scout; he had found a large stick just the right length, and with a fork at the end, and all he had to do was to trim it a little with his knife to make the perfect resting place at exactly the right angle.

They smiled at each other, giggling occasionally. They felt like naughty kids again, but all three of them were well into their thirties.

“Twenty, shit, no, twenty-five years, this place hasn’t changed a bit.” Andy said.

Paul turned his fork over. “Seemed bigger then, didn’t it? You’d thought some retail conglomerate would have snapped up this land though? Must be worth something?”

“Too far away from anything I should think.” Tess looked around, although there was little to see in the fading light. “When it was a factory, there was a village nearby. Then the motorway came, the factory closed, the village went.”

"Real estate, then, surely?" Paul turned over his fork as the meat was starting to spit.

"No," sighed Tess, "Too many planning regulations, apparently the archaeology alone will cost a fortune." The both stared at her. "Hey, I've had a few clients that have expressed an interest, I know a little about it, okay?" she retorted.

"Contract would be worth thousands, maybe millions." mused Paul.

"Ah, almost forgot!" Andy exclaimed, and he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a tape recorder. The other two stared at it, puzzled, and Andy pressed Play.

As would be expected of a tape over twenty years old, it was muffled and crackly. However, there was no mistaking the voices on that tape, and they were probably recorded on the same piece of waste ground they were sitting at that moment. Paul chuckled, and Tess, after a blush or two, giggled a little and turned on Andy: "You never told us you were recording!" Andy didn't respond, and they all strained their ears to try and make out their voices. At that moment, the children were all chattering excitedly, and nothing could be made out, until a boy's voice, which they correctly identified as Andy's, cut across the noise, with: "Tess, what do you wanna be when you grow up?"

The response was forthright and clipped, the typical twelve-year-old that Tess was. "I'm going to have lots and lots of babies and then I'm going to travel the world helping people."

They heard a snort at that, probably Paul, whose unfortunate nickname in those days was Piggy; he had more than his fair share of puppy fat and loved food. His voice sounded like he looked then; as if his mouth was full. "That doesn't make you any money, now, does it? I'm going to make the bestest computer game in the whole world, make lots of money before I get old, and buy an island and live there."

There was a short silence after this, as if they were waiting for someone else to volunteer an opinion. Eventually, Andy piped up. "Worthy ambitions, I think. Me, I'm going to be an M.P, but not like the liars they have now. I'm going to rise to be prime minister and I'm going to sort out this country, so that everyone will have the opportunity to be what they want to be."

They heard more chattering and laughter, again, too muffled to make anything out clearly, but Paul clearly felt that Andy had no chance at all, and Tess thought that they were both being too worldly.

All three were now lost in their own thoughts, as the children continued the argument on the tape. Tess had got interested in Law in her late teens, and with determination and hard work had become a solicitor; a good one, with a high success rate. Babies had given way to ambition, but at the time she figured she wanted the best start for anybody new who came into her life. She had recently been offered a partnership at her firm; to the other two, her life looked perfect; prospects, security, and a good income.

Paul, who had no academic ability to program a video recorder, had become a bit of a wild child in his late teens, mainly caused by his parents breaking up. He had been in trouble countless times, and even had a sojourn in a Young Offenders Institute. Whilst there, a counsellor had taken more interest in him than any of his family ever did, and he joined some local initiative, which mainly involved building brick walls for the council. However, he was taken on by a construction firm, and through a lot of self-belief had worked his way up the ladder of the company to foreman. His work took him all around the world; government buildings in Scotland and Wales; department stores in Europe; even wells in the Third World. He was married now, with two young children, and he was clearly devoted to all of them, with Lisa, his wife, being a trusting rock throughout. He was still stocky, but years of working on construction sites had turned the fat into muscle, and, compared to his tempestuous youth, he was now, seemingly, happy and settled.

Andy, the born leader, had lost interest in politics after watching a biology teacher cut open a rat. The workings of humans, and in particular, animals, grasped his imagination like no other subject. He had worked diligently in all three of the sciences, even Physics, not his strongest subject, and then applied and was accepted to veterinary college. Throughout his twenties he had suffered the three o'clock in the morning call outs and twelve to eighteen hour working days, working his way up to become a respected surgeon, and making enough money to set up his own practise. Life had seemed to treat him well, also.

A voice on the tape broke their reverie. They listened to a voice of a boy they had almost forgotten; he had been about eighteen months older than even the eldest of the other three, and his voice had broken, so it seemed almost out of place amongst the three very youthful voices and the determination in his voice was clear:

"You lot are chasing impossible dreams, why can't you look to do something worthy in your life? I'm gonna do my best at school, which won't be much, but when I'm old enough I'm gonna join the army and kick arse all round the world, fighting for freedom. That, kiddies, is doing something worthwhile."

There was a lot of shouting after that, and Andy had to turn the sound down a little, enough that he could hear Tess gently sobbing.

She caught her breath when she saw Andy looking at her, and sniffed. "Sorry. I didn't like him much then, but he was the only one who followed through, wasn't he?"

Andy didn't reply, and looked across at Paul, and he could have sworn that he had cried a little too. Andy's own eyes were welling up, and he then spoke in barely a whisper: "Nah, I think we all merely tolerated him then, but I grew to like him. He believed in himself so much. He didn't deserve to be killed by some foreign bullet."

"And he died doing what he really wanted to do! We turned out totally different to what those kids on the tape wanted to be!"

"Dying is a high price, too high a price. Aren't we happy, even though we didn't do what our childish imaginations thought we would?"

Andy slapped open a pack of hot dog buns, with the flat of his right hand, a trick he also played opening up packets of syringes. He chucked a bun to each of his friends and poked tentatively at the meat at the end of his fork. He passed his knife around, and Paul decided that his was ready too. Only Tess shook her head, not wanting to throw caution to the wind, or food poisoning, and decided to let hers cook a little more.

When the other two were munching, Tess finally answered.

"No. Well, speaking personally, I'm not happy." she spoke with the same venom she had as a twelve year old, and it was the same voice she used with troublesome clients and opposing solicitors. "Look at me. Yeah, I've got a nice flat, a car, a secure job, a rosy future, or so you two are thinking. I should count my blessings, you're thinking. I'm better off than poor Stuart, who's now lying in the cold ground after mixing himself up in someone else's argument?" She turned over her fork several times, vigorously, the fire spitting fat in protest. "Here I am, my biological clock getting close to running on Double British Summer Time and..." her chest heaved and her voice cracked as a tear fell again. "No babies. I want children. I want them so badly. It's not as if I've not had offers, but my long hours and attention to duty always scares off any potential mate. So, I may have done something that I said all those years ago, help people. I've forgotten the one person who needs help most of all. Me. Bugger, I've fouled up so badly." She picked up Andy's knife and attacked her bread bun so ferociously, that Andy was almost scared.

"What time can you give babies, Tess?" said Paul quietly. Tess opened her mouth to reply and then shut it, as the question sunk in. Paul continued. "I can feel for you, though, really. Well, not like that, I've got kids, and.." he paused as he reached across for the remaining raw sausages and also a can of coke, "Lisa told me this morning there's another on the way."

Both Tess and Andy expressed their congratulations, but Paul remained solemn, holding his hand up to stop them talking, and said, "I, like Tess, can say that I'm not happy either. What time do I have for my kids? Or for Lisa? She's diamond, really, from the start she's tolerated the fact my contracts take me all over the world at barely a moment's notice. She, and the kids, get the best out of my pay packet. She loves me, and trusts me not to get up to any nonsense away from home. And I am faithful. Course I am, she means the world to me, I don't wanna hurt her. But I want more of them, all of them. I want to drive my kids to school. I want to be there to help them with their homework. I want to take them on a holiday for a month and get to know them all. But my damn job, as much as I love it, doesn't allow me more than a week off at a time, and frequently at times when they're at school all day and Lisa works part time too, to get her out of the house, else she'd go stir crazy. Last contract I had, I've just come back from it, I went to France. Buggers gave me twenty four hours notice only. As I walked out the door, I saw Lisa's eyes. Loving, worried, and...something else. That beautiful woman won't say it, cause she's too darn loyal. I know what she's thinking though. She wants me home more as well. Stuck I am. Leave the job, there's no money. But at least I might be fucking happy." He cracked open the coke can and shoved the sausage on the end of his fork with more force than was necessary.

Andy also decided to have another hot dog and opened a can of lager, as Paul was driving, not he. He offered another can to Tess, who shook her head. "Okay, I guess it's my turn. Listening to you two, I can add my sob story to yours." He sorted out his stick barbecue before continuing. "Wife? Kids? I don't think I want either. Oh, Sheila, my on-off girlfriend I think you know, she's okay but I don't think I want to make anything permanent out of it. She used to think it cute when I brought my work home with me, but me getting up every three hours to bottle feed an ailing bunny, there's only so much of that she can stand. I'm thinking of asking her to get out of my life altogether. Nah, though, relationships aren't my problem.

"Sometimes I get cases that break my heart. I had one of them come into the surgery last week. Barely has enough money to feed herself, but her dog is in excellent nick, fresh meat, warm house, lots of walks. Anyway, I have to break the news that her best friend needs an urgent operation else he's going to die, and horribly. She looks at the price tag and has to weigh up whether to starve herself to death, or, as we vets say, do the kindest thing. She's in turmoil, and I want to run screaming out of the place and round to the council and throttle the living hell out of whoever was responsible to allow her to get into this mess. Her pension is an insult, all she cares about is her dog. And her best friend will die, just because the government want to carry on giving themselves pay increases."

"Not quite as simple as that, Andy.." Tess soothed.

"Isn't it? From where I'm sitting it bloody well is. If I were in charge, if I had done what I said I would do all those years ago..." his head slumped and he took a few long breaths.

The tape recorder clicked off. They had forgotten all about it.

"Okay," said Tess, "I've got an idea. Have you any spare tape left, Andy?"

Andy lifted his head and said "I think the other side is blank. Don't know about the quality of it though. Actually, I have another tape in my bag, some mishmash of old music. You want to record something?"

"Yeah. Us."

"Memorial tape?"

"Something more, maybe."

Andy set up the tape recorder and placed it as close to the fire as he would dare, although it wasn't burning very fiercely.

Tess began. "Tess, Andy and Paul. We're going to make a pact, here and now. In twenty years time we're going to reunite, here, if possible, or if the council have sorted this land out by then..."

"Doubt it." said Paul drily, and Andy giggled.

"As close as possible." said Tess with a sigh. "And when we do, we will have made a change to our lives to try and make ourselves happier. So, Paul, what do you want to do with the next twenty years?"

There was a pause, but Paul had obviously been thinking about it for a while. "I'm going to quit my job, or better still, ask if I can be transferred to Head Office and work in admin. Don't look surprised, I'm pretty good with paperwork now. Maybe less money, it's in the City, and it will be a pain commuting, but I will at least see my wife and kids every day. And, best of all, I will get to see my third child born. I was in Dubai for the first and Scotland for the second. I want to hear that first cry and I want to hug my wife. I want to get up for the night feeds and I want to change its nappy. I want everything to do with it. In twenty years I want a happy family with kids that respect their dad, and know what he looks like."

Tess and Andy nodded in approval. Paul and Tess looked at Andy. Andy didn't hesitate: "I'm going to research into becoming a councillor, or at least be a campaigner. I'm going to employ another vet and work only part time. The rest of my time is going to spent fighting the corner for those with no fight left in them. I'm going to pick up those in the gutter and help them onto their feet. I'm going to visit the poor and elderly and treat their pets for free. I'm going to nag the council into improving the lives of those less better off, oh yeah," he chuckled, "I'm gonna give 'em hell. In twenty years," he winked at them, "who knows? Maybe I'll make prime minister."

Tess smiled and turned her face towards the tape recorder. "I'm going to turn down the partnership." There was a gasp of dismay from both of the men, but Tess continued. "Yeah, I'm going to turn it down, and I'm going to tell them why, too. Oh, I'll carry on in my job, but I'll also go about finding a nice man, no rush, but preferably before I'm forty. Then we'll make a baby, and, if I can, I will give up work to bring him or her up. And I'll teach them that dreams are precious and if you really, really want something, don't sacrifice anything in pursuit of it. In twenty years time, I will have fulfilled at least part of my ambition...just maybe there will be more than one child of mine."

There was a long pause, and Andy switched the tape off. "Keep it safe, Andy." said Tess.

"Yeah, I will," he replied, "I'll do better than that, I'll make copies and post them to you."

"No, don't do that. We'll listen to this again, in twenty years, and see if our ambitions have been realised."

Andy nodded in assent, and carefully removed the tape from the player and even put it in a plastic case. He even produced a roll of surgical tape, broke off a bit, and sealed the case. "Not to be opened for twenty years." he said.

The three chatted idly for a time, lost in the thoughts of their futures, chewed hot dogs and drank coke and lager until the last of light disappeared and the embers of the fire turned to ash.


You can read the lyrics of High Hopes here.

Straight Arrow

Straight Arrow - I don't really know what inspired it, the hero's personality is a mish-mash of various characters from a variety of sources. After writing it, I realised I hadn't given any of the key people names; when I went back to add them, I thought that it really didn't matter. First time I have ever done that, but it really wasn't deliberate.

Once I came out, I knew that I never wanted to go back.

I mean, I had no complaints; the food was good, I made some mates, and I'm big enough and ugly enough to look after meself. All the same, I'm gonna enjoy freedom, and I'm gonna go try and go straight. I have no thoughts of revenge at all; it was me own stupid fault. I only went and blagged to me girl about the job, who in a fit of unheard of conscience told her old man, who told the Law. I got a ten year stretch for possessing an unloaded gun, oh, and a bit of aggravated burglary, and although I was only in for seven, 'cause of good behaviour, I was a bit of a joke inside, like, why did I need a gun with my physique? And at least have it loaded, looks more impressive on the charge sheet. The girl never apologised, never visited me inside and went off with a stockbroker; but I swear I am not bitter.

The screw actually smiled at me as I left, and he even called out a good luck to me as I heard the big door slam shut for the last time. Actually, all the screws in there were good sorts, no power crazed sadists at all. I had slung the aging rucksack containing my meagre, and only, possessions, over me shoulder, and I trudged down the road to catch the bus to where Tim had said a job, a real job, was waiting for me.

He's diamond, is Tim, known him since I was a kid - he's a few years older than me like, an old friend of the family. He said he was gonna persuade his boss to give me a job at the garage he works at, and since I knew he could talk the hind legs off a donkey, his boss would probably give in within five minutes of listening, just to shut him up. Anyway, Tim had said that Dave, the garage owner, was willing to give me a chance, so to "integrate me into society" as he so eloquently put it.

I could see though that Dave was having second thoughts when he first clapped eyes on me. I s'pose I couldn't blame him; faced with me built like a brick privvy and a face like one of those vegetables that Esther Rantzen used to hold up in that consumer show. That dates me. Tim was there and jabbered something at him, and he composed himself, welcomed me into the gang, and said that Tim would be my mentor and I may as well start in their quick-fit brakes and clutches side of the business. I think he was grateful that he could pass responsibility, and blame for any failure, on to someone else.

I'm giving them no cause for complaint though, why should I? The flat above the garage was vacant, and Dave saw the sense in having someone in there for security reasons, though whose I don't know, and I live there rent and rate free, only having to pay for outgoing phone calls, and feeding meself of course. Any mucking around and I'll be homeless and jobless. It suits me great, I have so few overheads, why muck around? First stuff I bought was new duds, I wanted to start looking respectable. New bed, TV, video, living room suite, so forth. For the first time in my life I felt good, like, independent and almost normal.

Dave recognised I was a quick learner; 'fore long I was a dab hand at most clutches and brakes and he's talking about sending me to college to learn some of the finer points of being a mechanic. I have to admit to griping a bit at this, but he insisted, so I promised to do me best, though memories of school always give me hives; he said that it's all different now, more practical and vocational, whatever that means, and he thinks I'll be OK.

In fact, Dave grew to trust me so much, that one Friday I was on me own; it was Tim's day off and Dave had gone to have some nooky with the daughter of some trader, whilst the wife was in Spain. It was quiet anyway, and I was contemplating which stale biscuit to have with a fresh cup of char, I'm looking forward to my virgin Auto Trader, when in comes a Ford Fiesta, the driver gets out and the years roll back.

Recognised the car and him straightaway, and of course he knew me. Last time I'd seen him he was across a court room as he relayed the testimony that his daughter had told him. His jaw dropped open and his hands rose to his face, looking for all the world like that painting by Munch. The Scream, that was it. You see, I do have some knowledge of culture. I saw a copy of that painting on the wall of the governor's office when I was on remand. I think he saw it as some sort of joke.

I keep my composure though, I make like he's just another punter, as if I don't remember him. He eventually relaxes, the hands came down, and a mild expression of relief crosses his face that says that I don't remember him. I don't think he really believes himself though.

"Exhaust, is it?" I says. No, I'm not a mind reader; despite the ears like cauliflowers, the whole county could hear how bad it was blowing.

"Er, yes.." he says. He looks like he's considering running back to the car and driving over the hills and far, far away. Would still be able to hear that exhaust though.

I hold out my hand for the keys and he hesitates, and I put on a slightly exasperated expression, I'm getting so used to the reaction from the 'clients'. I'm not gonna waste money on a face lift, or watchamacallit....Botox, that's it.

"Won't get far with the job if it's not on the lift." I says.

"Of course. Here you go." He hands me the keys, gingerly, as if he might have got an electric shock if he allowed any contact with me hands.

I drive the car onto the lift. As I fumble with the electronic controls, I tell him it will take about half an hour. I went into the inner sanctum for the tools and a new exhaust and I came back and found the forecourt devoid of life. Good. Can't stand it when the punters look over me shoulder, criticising me, telling me to be careful with their pride and joy, so forth. I finish the job in just under half an hour, the same satisfaction washes over me with the knowledge of a job well done, but I need something else from the tools and parts section, I'm pretty sure it's there, I go and find it, and as I come back, the car still on the lift, he's standing there, looking just as nervous as when I first saw him.

I have the item in my right hand, behind my back. He's waiting for my first move. I make a draw that Clint Eastwood would have been proud of and produce it, quick as a flash.

I was expecting a reaction, but his was quite dramatic. His jaw drops open again, and I swear, the front of his trousers went a darker shade of navy. By chewing on my tongue, I was just able to prevent myself from laughing. I mean, what I was holding could hardly be construed as being a weapon, though I suppose it was heavy enough if you aimed right.

"Brake pads." I says.

"B-b-b-brake pads?"

"Yeah. It needs them."

Unfortunately, he finds some courage, and witters something about me trying to rip him off. I sigh, and produce a pencil torch out of my jeans.

"C'm 'ere." I beckon him towards the car and shine the torch behind the wheel. He sidles up, still unsure, but he still keeps his distance so that he can only just see what I am trying to show him. "See that? Almost as thin as a pancake. Bloody hazard that is, could have a serious accident. Straight arrow."

He nods wordlessly. After what seems to be about half an hour, but was probably less than a minute, he finally agrees for me to fix the brakes. He mutters something about it being his daughter's car and she's expecting it back before the end of the day. I assure him that it was a quick job, another half hour, tops.

It was a bit more than half an hour, it seemed that the bloody wheels had not been removed since Blair's first term, and I would try and have a word about those tyres an' all. On second thought, p'raps best not to, he already reckons I'm trying to rip him off. Car was close to the next MOT anyway, I could see that by the sticker all responsible citizens seem to be putting in their cars these days. Might even be this garage he brings it to, but I can't do MOT tests yet, not at least until after I've done that bloody college course. Anyway, I had another hot cup of tea, I had found a packet of biscuits that had not yet fossilised, had located the section in the Auto Trader that I was most interested in - cars for hire - and had just settled in the broom cupboard Dave laughingly calls his office. Of course, he chooses this moment of perfect tranquility to cough just outside the entrance. I sigh, and remove the car keys from the hook where I've left them, and groan as I heave myself from my position of comfort. I've been on my bloody feet all day. I rip the invoice off the printer and hand it to him.

The expression of nervous anticipation turns to calm surprise. Dave always did aim to be the quickest, and the most reasonably priced business in the area. Even won an award for it. Mind you, it was presented by some Smashy and Nicey type from Swinging Radio Local, a photograph on the wall of his office bearing testament; the DJ's ridiculously goony face grinning as he stared straight into the camera as he shook hands with Dave, who looked like a man being sent to the gallows. Still, it was an achievement, I s'pose.

I allow myself a quick smile looking at him, no wonder he had been a while, he'd gone home to change his trousers. It wasn't that far really, as of course, I knew where he lived. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and counted out some notes. Stupid bleeder obviously didn't trust me with his credit card, so he'd probably made a special visit to the bank. Hey look, I wanted to say, I was an armed robber, not a fraudster, and I've never trusted credit cards meself, 'specially after the stories that Access Arnie told me when I was inside.

He handed it over, told me to keep the change (did I look like a waiter?) and I handed over the car keys in exchange. He actually smiled and bid me a friendly goodbye, and actually whistled as he got into the little car and drove off. Amazing how a good deal makes you happy. Though it coulda been the fact he didn't have to face me again. Little did he know.

I looked at my watch. Four o'clock. Nearly time to lock up, though I thought I'd have that cup of char before I went and wait for the boss to ring from whatever hotel he'd booked himself and his bit of skirt into. Dave trusted me, as I said, but all the same he'd wanna give out some orders, nag me into making sure all the tools were put away, make sure everything was locked up tight, can't even trust the punters these days, yahdeyahda.

Money in the strongbox, I settled back down again in the office, returning to the page that I was on in the Trader. I was looking at Bentleys and Rolls Royces for hire. Expensive, but if you wanted to travel in style. Mercedes looked good too. There was a brief twinge of guilt in my stomach as I contemplated whether I should have warned my customer in advance about the extra trouble coming his way. Trouble for him, hopefully a new beginning for others.

I turned my thoughts to a more pleasant subject; the girl that visited me every month when I was inside, who saw beyond my recidivist features and saw the man within; gentle and fair, when the mood takes me. Lovely girl she is; sweet, kind, believes in me and willing to encourage me to be an upright and honest citizen. I phone her every day; Dave was suspicious at first at the amount of money he had to dock from my pay for the calls, the briefest of thoughts that I might be using it for less than honest activities, but I told him about her, and he laughed and said I was just a puppy dog underneath the hard exterior. Just about got enough for a decent engagement ring for her; I'm going to look in town tomorrow and surprise her tomorrow night. Don't believe in this modern thinking that both choose the engagement ring; I'm an old fashioned romantic at heart. I'm even gonna get down on one knee. Maybe take her to a posh restaurant. That'll clean me out, but she is worth every single penny.

I had just fixed her sister's car, the very same ex-girlfriend, brought in by my future father in law. They will get used to it after time, I'm sure. Well, you gotta let bygones be bygones ain'tcha?