A Barrow Boy's Cadenza

Chapter 4

FOUR

‘Jack, you’ve not mentioned I’m wearing my swirly gravy dress?’ They were in the semi-basement car park of Mandy’s apartment block.

‘Sorry babes, I love you in that dress, d’you ‘ave the complete ensemble?’

She smiled, ‘I do.’ She was wearing a pale cream dress with tiny blue and white flowers. She had worn this on their first weekend away, which would have been a lot better if they had not taken Len, also known as Norafarty the criminal they had been tracking, Del Boy, Jack’s MI5 contact, and Jimbo an MI5 body protection man, along with them, at first, unwittingly. Her smile broadened, ‘You thinking when we went away with Len, Del and Jimbo?’

He held the car door for her, something he always did. She was irritated at first, but now liked it. She tilted her face to his, tall herself, five ten, to his six four, tipped her toes to kiss him and giggled into his mouth. He stepped back. ‘Okay, what have I done?’

‘Nothing lovely, I was thinking you thought I was joking when I said these were cornflowers,’ she tittered, smoothing her hands over her dress, ‘cornflower was for making gravy.’

‘I was right about the swirly, wasn’t I?’

And she stepped away, spun, and the dress floated in a swirl, he could see her tight white briefs underneath, ‘See them?’

‘I did, and I thought nothing could get better than stockings and suspenders.’

She kissed him, long and deep, ‘Jane Austin, you are a dirty old man,’, whispered in his ear, ‘my dirty old man, and I love it.’ She stepped into the car and enjoyed him looking at her legs as she did so, giggled some more; she could not remember giggling so much since she had left school; this man had been so good for her.

‘What? You have the giggles this morning.’

‘I like you looking at my legs; if only I could say the same to you,’ and she mocked covering her head, as if he was going to bash her. Instead he leaned in and said he loved her, even if her vision was impaired. ‘Yep, should have gone to Specsavers, no doubt about that one, lover boy,’ she replied.

He closed the car door on the giggling superintendent and went to his passenger seat, studiously buckled his seat belt; a ritual that did not elicit mirth. Kate had never worn her seat belt, and this is what killed her. Jack blamed himself, but his son Michael had told Mandy he was forever telling her and getting grief back for his labours. He still thought about it whenever they got into a car, and Mandy, sensitively, allowed him his moment of silent reflection. His melancholic moments were thankfully getting better, though he was still an emotional man, her wuss, and his son and daughter’s girl's blouse, she smiled.

‘What?’

‘Michael, calling you a girl’s blouse.’

‘Yeah, well he’s off to college with Winders in a couple of weeks.’

Jack called his son’s girlfriend Winders, an affectionate and poignant epithet. Jack’s dad had been a window cleaner in Stepney, East London, and had been known as “Winders” and Jack as “Winders' boy”. Michael knew for his dad to nickname Colleen thus was a big thing. Mandy often wondered if this was where Jack’s propensity to give out nicknames came from? He always said everyone in Stepney knew him as Winders' Boy and it made him feel a part of the community, and that’s how it was at the police station, she, Mandy Pumps, Mandy lifeboats or lately Dobbin, however, in their intimate life he called her by her full name, Amanda. Just for them, and she loved it, even liked her own name now, whereas she had grown up hating it; a bit like her nose.

They reached Kingston Police Station and Mandy pulled into the secure car park. He held the door and the dirty old man helped her out. She popped the boot, collected her bag, and handed him his phone, ‘Message from Len last night.’

‘I’ll ‘ave a look in a minute,’ and she gave him her look. ‘What?’

‘You, and technology.’

Jack Austin was not known for his grasp of the twentieth century let alone the decade or so of the twenty first. They walked across the car park and into the Nick; a brief hug and a kiss for the CCTV they knew would be relayed into the Community Policing office, the CP room. They trotted past Hissing Sid the desk sergeant, ‘Your family, they are well?’ the expected Pride and Prejudice greeting from Jane Austin.

Sid responded, ‘Tolerably well, thank you,’ and as Jack thought the elongated, pencil thin, desk sergeant, looked like he was behind a counter serving at a fish and chip shop, he would call out, “Cod and chips twice please”. This juvenile game had grown to involve a mad dash to the door and through into the stairway before Sid could reply, “I heard you the first time”. This all happened with the also predictable, allowing Mandy to go first into the doorway and Jack following up fast so they had to squash through the portal together. The stairs, however, were a different matter; he would either speed up them, often two steps at a time like a flailing overweight octopus, or he would take up his dirty old man station, two steps behind Mandy. She preferred the second to his wobbly elephant’s arse blocking out the light, as he rollicked clumsily upwards. This morning he had a sedate manner about him, unusual you might say, but remember, Mandy had her gravy dress on and was sashaying provocatively, exaggerating the sway of her hips, for him; he took his ogling duties seriously.

‘When are you two going to grow-up?’ It was Jo Jums on the landing; she had seen the car park CCTV and gone to meet them. Jo Jums, Detective Inspector Josephine Wild, was an all-pervading presence. A mumsy woman with all the consummate skills that go with having four kids of school age and a serious job. She dressed to accommodate her comfortably plump, squat figure, which also allowed for the low personal maintenance needed for a busy working mum. She was ably assisted by her husband Tanner, a name given by Jack, of course, a gentle man, a hands-on dad, and he needed to be as Jo’s role was becoming increasingly serious. Tanner didn’t mind, but their relationship had only just survived a rocky patch, fearful he might lose his job, which would have left them floundering. He now had a secure consultancy position with an obscure government department, courtesy of Jack and his MI5 spook colleagues, not that Tanner was aware, and more importantly, this enabled him to work from home. MI5 wanted Jo Jums to take on the running of Community Policing, which Jack had established and was generally perceived as a benign, woodentop police department, but was in reality, and known only to a few people, an MI5 front, operating in the strategically important commercial and military city of Portsmouth.

Jo Jums had worked with Jack for many years, unaware until recently of his MI5 involvement, and was, as a consequence, inured to his childish antics, and in her matriarchal way she looked after her oft errant boss. She had thought his blossoming relationship with the hitherto strong female superintendent, would relieve her of this caretaker role, but the superintendent had allowed herself to become as juvenile as the DCI. It now fell to her to look after the both of them. She had observed them from her perch on the landing, coming up the stairs, and watched them now, hugging, shouldering the wall, billing and cooing. ‘Is this the two accomplished professionals I left last night at a crime scene, albeit one of them, the male partner that is, was in a pink tutu?’ she asked, tapping her matronly foot.

They had no answer, other than, ‘Naughty step?’ replied in unison.

Jo nodded, ‘But first, if we can talk in your office please, Superintendent,’ she stressed the title more in hope than in any realistic expectation of mature behaviour. Mandy did recover some poise, but Jo knew, for Jack, this was never going to happen, as she watched the only just gained composure of the superintendent evaporate as she pushed her face into the locked door of her office.

‘I suppose you fink that’s funny,’ Jack immediately said, nasally, in an exaggerated broken nose voice.

‘Ooops,’ Mandy giggled, ‘forgot we had a mole and I’d locked my office.’

‘Come on Moley, let’s have a pickernick,’ Jack said, and the laughter subsided just in time for a visit from the commander, coming down the stairs.

The commander was Jamie Manners, nicknamed Good or Bad, depending on what mood prevailed. It was Good Manners this morning, ‘Hello you two, heard the delayed nine to ten briefing was to be at eleven.’

Mandy demonstrably bit her bottom lip as they entered her relatively spacious office, a workmanlike, masculine space that Jack thought unusual for a most feminine woman. Jackie Phillips, the child psyche friend and colleague, had said it was likely a subconscious response to a male-dominated work environment, which also explained the two comfy chairs she had in front of her desk. They were low with reclining backs, and Jack called them her psychologically challenging chairs, because this is how he felt if ever he sat in them; he thus always opted for the spare, upright, orange PVC chair and sat by the far wall, which had the added benefit in that he could look out Mandy’s window and watch their tree. He participated in meetings only if he felt like it, like now.

‘Earth to Jack,’ Jo called.

He did not respond, and Jo thought he had gone to sleep, which he was also known to frequently do, though normally reserved for his deckchair in the CP room. Mandy saw Jo wanted Jack’s attention, ‘Jane!’ she shouted, mischievously.

He jumped ‘What?’ Mandy flicked her head to Jo Jums. ‘What?’ he was irritated, ‘I was thinking.’ Mandy knew this was impossible, but Jo seemed preoccupied, so she let it go, and gestured for Jo to say whatever it was on her mind.

Jo kicked off, ‘First off, Jack, please sit upright, I don’t want to look at your revolting bits and pieces,’ turned to Mandy, ‘what are you doing letting him wear those shorts? I thought you’d thrown them away.’

Mandy harrumphed, turned her head to watch Jack fold away his flapping trouser legs, whilst responding to Jo, ‘Mandy found them this morning, I only had my tutu and she’d put that in the wash.’

‘Well, there’s no answer to that,’ the commander said, standing, and thus no longer psychologically challenged, ‘I just wanted to say, brilliant result last night, the arrests and the school festival. I’ve had nothing but good calls all morning and that makes a change.’ He clapped Jo Jums on the back, acknowledged Mandy and Jack, and moved to the door, stepping stork-like so Jo couldn’t deliberately trip him up, and went to leave but stopped at the door with an afterthought, ‘Good to see Bombalini and Bookshop. Nice one, Jack, good additions to the team since we lost Half-Bee. I can cover Bookshop’s cost, but we'll need to look carefully at Bombalini. Leave that to me.’ The commander left with Jack mumbling “He intended to”.

It went quiet and Jack thought this was unlikely to be because the women in his life were concerned not to disturb him. He ventured a glance, Mandy was at rest, it was Jo Jums doing the real looking. ‘This is what I wanted to talk about before briefing,’ she said, giving the appearance of a seaside picture postcard mumsy: puffed out rosy cheeks, folded arms with bingo wings, missing only the rolling pin. ‘I'm used to not being consulted on many things, but recruitment to my team, and having to welcome Bookshop and Bombalini like I was expecting them, is another.’

She sat back on the reclining chair and stared at Jack; she seemed not in the least psychologically challenged. He considered running but bearing in mind how good Jo was at the tripping-up game, he likely wouldn’t make it. He looked at the tree outside Mandy’s office window, avoiding an answer, when the phone rang and saved him. He reflected just how often the phone did ring when he was in trouble, reflecting being a hobby of his, and this is what he had been reflecting upon, when he had mentioned, “dramatic irony” to Mandy this morning, he reflected?

‘Amanda Bruce,’ Mandy answered and listened, mouthed it was Hissing Sid, and Jack and Jo whistled the theme from Z cars, a TV programme so ancient that hardly anyone had heard of it. It was juvenile, but people learned it anyway, it was fun, and Hissing Sid seemed to get pleasure out of it, not realising Jack was making fun of him. ‘Sid, why should I give a flying feck if a dead dog has been found in the harbour?’ Jack thought Mandy’s swearing and Cod Irish had really been coming on lately, and he put this down to his good influence. Mandy of course had been trying to kerb her enthusiastic use of Jack’s colourful language, it seemed just okay from him, but not from a mature woman of respectable rank. She held the phone away and they could hear Sid talking to himself. ‘Did I just say that?’ she asked, and Jack and Jo Jums nodded, smiling, and they could hear Sid saying, “Yes you did, and tolerably well”.

‘Sid, slither up with a memo and we will add it to briefing.’ This seemed to satisfy Sid, and Jack as well, as she referred to Sid in the simpering snake-like form he personified.

Jack leapt up, scaring the bejeezus out of Jo and Mandy, ‘Right, briefing,’ he said and headed for the door in a high knees masterly fashion and passed Jo without being tripped. He heard Jo say “f*****g hell”. He thought, why f**k in hell when you can wank in heaven, noticed a sharp intake of breath, harrumphed, looked back to two nodding women confirming he had spoken his thoughts, so he beat a retreat, closing the door quietly behind him. Never slam a door, you lose what you have gained inside that room, or lost, in this case, another bit of Austin psychobabble that was really catching on; he thought so anyway. He also thought he could be in trouble but cheered up in the short distance from Mandy’s office, past the door to the toilets and into the CP room.

“Eh, Bombalini, whatsamatterwivyou” Mandy and Jo Jums looked at each other as they heard Jack’s shout from the CP room. They each shrugged and got up, ‘Let’s join the feckin’ eejits, Jo, well one anyway,’ Mandy said.

‘Three at least, Mands. I know Bookshop and Bombalini from Jack’s distant past.’

‘Oh, God help us,’ and Mandy sketched a Father Mike blessing, and followed Ma’amsie into the CP room for the Not the nine o’clock briefing.