Kind Hearts And Martinets Collection

Chapter 11

Jack locked his bike in the forecourt garden of his semi-detached Southsea house. This had been the family home, and since Kate died, it had become his pain and his comfort, an old house of classic proportions, cream painted render and expansive Georgian sash windows. Jack thought it was like a happy face, comfortably familiar when you got to the big brass door knocker, Kate’s insistence. He used to say how he liked her knockers; she laughed! He certainly knew how to amuse women.

Michael opened the door before Jack could get to his keys; Martin rushed in having had a wee and a smell in the bushes. ‘Leaving your bike outside, Dad?’

Taking off his coat, ‘C&A’s later,’ Jack’s term for the Crown and Anchor pub, and bending and oomphing, his shoes not complying, he squeezed out an unnecessary explanation, ‘to plot the overthrow of the government.’

‘Hello, Mr Austin,’ it was Michael’s girlfriend, Colleen, from Irish parents, so Jack’s Cod Irish was really appreciated; don’t ask, Jack just knew these things. ‘Hallooooo, Martin,’ and Martin was at the crouching Colleen’s crotch; they got on well, and why not, it was a lovely crotch.

‘Colleen, call me Jack, or Jane, please.’

Colleen took in the picture of her boyfriend’s dad, a composition of eejit shorts, mango, toilet paper and sellotape, and focusing, was that bogeys in drying blood on his forehead? She was off to medical school with Michael soon, so Jack assumed she was interested in bogeys. ‘Okay, ah, Jack,’ but she could not stop looking at him. Jack noticed but was also aware he was good looking. ‘You are good looking, Jack. I see where Michael gets it from.’

‘Did I just...?’

Colleen smiled. Michael was back having tidied his dad’s shoes after he’d thrown them, intending for them to learn a lesson and not to be stubborn in the future. ‘Michael’s cooked a beautiful dinner, err Jack.’

‘Cosmic, darling. I’ll just change; had the piss taken out of me all day for some reason.’

Colleen ventured a mention of the preponderance of toilet paper and sellotape that preoccupied her vision, ‘What happened?’

‘You went out like that this morning, didn’t you, Dad?’ Michael answered.

‘Yeah, minus the magno,’ Jack replied, proud his son had inherited his own powers of diluted observation, ‘time for an Eiffel Tower, son, wash the day off?’

‘If you hurry, Dad.’

Jack went upstairs, shaped to go to the front room he shared with Kate, but he had given this to Michael to use as a bed / sitting room to entertain his mates, which these days was more often than not just Colleen. Shortly after Kate had died, he moved to the back bedroom. It wasn’t bad, close to the bathrooms, and if there were people staying he could generally make a dash for the toilet in the middle of the night without having to put his dressing gown on, but truthfully, the other room had too many memories. Jack stripped, appreciating his vision of loveliness in the full-length mirror as he pulled himself to his full six-foot-four, contracted his stomach, patted, ‘Jacko, you’ve still got it.’ He checked, no toilet paper sticking out his bum, ‘Jo-Jums is good’, and dashed to the wet room, ducked under the shower, screamed as the hot water hit his head wounds, his knees, and his toe.

Scrubbed up, Jack put on a frayed denim shirt, his favourite, a pair of tired cream chinos and fun socks, penguins and dogs, which he didn’t like, but Colleen had got them for him at Christmas. He grabbed his tan, brogue, dealer boots to protect his toe and make him look roughty-toughty, and carried them downstairs. Colleen spotted the socks, smiled, said nothing. And who said Jack Austin knew nothing about women? Michael brought the fish out, the vegetables already steaming in their serving dishes. Michael was a good cook. Kate and Jack had always cooked properly, and it was a rare day they did not sit around the table. Jack looked at his son, the dopey teenager, disappeared, and from his chrysalis, a new man was born; welcome back Michael, a pity Kate was not here to see.

‘How was your day, Jane?’ Colleen asked, embarrassed using the nickname.

‘Not much to report. Mandy Lifeboats had a flea up her arris this morning, brandishing last night’s evening news. Present company expected, Colleen, never sure I’ve understood women.’

Smiling at the malacopperism, Colleen replied, ‘There was an article by your mate Bernie about a fight in East Cosham, and he quoted an anonymous police source that basically said tough shite the police were late, I didn’t vote for the government. I’m not paraphrasing well, but Mandy may have thought the quote came from you?’

Jack chortled as he savoured the last of the fish. ‘That was good, son,’ and making a smacking noise with his lips, apparently like his Dad used to do, Jack got up. ‘I’m gonna walk Martin,’ and Jack slipped on his red eejits anorak, removing the hi-viz vest; he didn’t want to look an eejit. Said his goodbyes and headed out the door with Martin going bonkers.

‘Martin excited?’ A neighbour. Jack liked his neighbours, apart from the local snooty Duchess, who thought she ran the street as a mediaeval feudal manor, and occasionally Colonel Blimp. ‘God save me from arseycrats and military types,’ Jack said, agreeing with himself; he was an agreeable chap, he thought as Martin pulled for all he was worth. They headed to the seafront, Jack whistling, singing and talking to himself, Martin making hoarse choking sounds, not unlike Jack’s singing.

As he crossed the expansive common before the seafront, Jack reflected on the events of the day. He now knew what was bugging Mandy, and Bernie will likely be in C&A’s tonight. He’ll see Biscuit in a minute, but something bothered him about Osama’s. Paolo was antsy, and Jack smiled; he’d robbed the case for the hell of it, but it could be convenient, and didn’t law and order begin and end with community policing? The Government may be saying involve ordinary people, but you can’t fool Jack Austin, and he checked to see if his nose grew. ‘Come the resolution, brothers,’ Jack said, punching the air, causing Martin to stop and look. Martin knew Jack had been distraught at the election of a Tory Prime Minister, enabled by a Lib Dem Muppet, and he worried for his master.

Feck, I need a bit of sedition tonight, Jack thought, noticing he was walking briskly when he’d promised himself a saunter, part of his anger management. Oh well, start that tomorrow. Biscuit would be just around the bend of the promenade.