Keith Havers
whisky chaser
I was staring across the sand as
I ambled along the parade. Although the weather was fine, it was early in the
season and the beach was almost deserted. A young couple were attempting to fly
a kite for the benefit of their two children. The youngsters looked indifferent
as they sat huddled together in their twin buggy. Two elderly women were
inspecting a pool of water which had collected in one of the depressions in the
sand by the breakwater.
The group which caught my
attention was three teenagers and an older woman, presumably their mum. They
were playing that French game, similar to our bowls, except you lob the ball
instead of rolling it. Boules, I believe it's called. Mum was a woman of, I
think the polite term is ‘ample proportions'. She reminded me of those red-faced
women on the comic postcards I had just been browsing down in the seafront
café.
I stopped near one of those
Victorian promenade shelters. The ones with a roof and slatted benches which
face all four points of the compass. The boys had all loosened off a couple of
shots but I could see they each still had another ball -sorry, boule -remaining.
At this point mum decided to walk out to the Jack or whatever it’s called in
this game (le Jacques?) and take a closer look at the lie of the boules. The
thought occurred to me that, when I was about those kids' age, it would be too
big a temptation to resist, seeing my mum enter the target area. I wouldn't have
intended any harm, of course, but a mischievous lob in her vicinity would have
been enough to satisfy my impish sense of humour. With her back towards her
offspring she bent down to get a closer look. That was tempting fate even
further I thought.
Just then I spotted a man coming
along the prom towards me. He had also witnessed the scene and was obviously of
the same opinion as myself. Unfortunately he couldn't resist making his thoughts
known and he shouted out over the parapet.
"Dun't bend over luv! It's too
big a target! Yow'll mek it too easy for 'em!"
He looked at me and
winked.
"She'll need to do a boil wash
tomorrow!" he added.
I chuckled at his rustic
drollness and returned my attention to the family. The wind must have been
offshore because his rude jibes had clearly carried and, unsurprisingly, they
had not been appreciated. The two bigger lads had begun running up the beach
towards us followed by mum, who was amazingly agile for one so plump. I remember
observing that those boys were older and bigger than I first thought and they
looked as if they meant business. I turned back to the man to gauge his reaction
but he had disappeared. I then realised that he had ducked behind the shelter.
It occurred to me that this was not an ideal hiding place and that he would
shortly be discovered. It soon became apparent, however, that I had not fully
grasped the situation. The three irate group members were still calling and
pointing up towards me. Then it dawned. They believed me to be the guy with the
wisecracks. At first I wasn't too alarmed. Surely I could explain the situation
and all would be resolved. Then I took another look at their bearing and
considered the options of discretion and valour. Prudence vastly outweighed
courage and so a hasty retreat was called for.
I sprinted along the prom, back
the way I came. This was my first mistake as I had to run past the steps which
led up from the beach. The first youth was already halfway up as I ran past the
top. I'm not a young man and have never been very athletic but it is surprising
what you can achieve when the suggestion of a severe beating is likely. I
glanced over my shoulder to see the pair emerge from behind the seawall. I was
heartened to see that there was a fair distance between us. My next problem,
though, was 'Where do I go from here?'.
By now I had reached the
recreation area where gardens and fountains vied with putting greens and other
leisure activities. Reasoning that they couldn't do me much harm in front of
witnesses, I decided to try to lose my pursuers amongst the other holiday
makers. I skipped behind a hedge and found myself alongside the municipal
bowling green where several games were going on. I ran along the path which
bordered the playing area, trying to avoid the onlookers and casual observers.
When I had reached the halfway mark I looked ahead and realised to my horror
that one of the youths had managed to circle round and get ahead of me. He was
waiting at the end of the path. I stopped and turned around to see his brother
approaching from the other direction with menace.
There was nothing else for it. I
stepped smartly onto the neatly trimmed grass and made swiftly and directly for
the other side. Leaping over balls and sidestepping players, I had almost
reached the edge of the green when a stray Jack found its way underneath my feet
and I careered straight into a bunch of elderly ladies. Picking myself up and
taking a split second to check that no-one was seriously hurt I continued my
escape, now chased by one or two of the bowls players. Although I felt that I
was running - if not for my life - then at least for my personal safety, the
irony of both Boules and Bowls players being in hot pursuit was not lost on
me.
By now my body was in areas it
had not been in since primary school. All available oxygen that I could draw
into my gasping lungs was going in to feeding my leg muscles, thus starving my
brain of the stuff essential for logical thinking. So, left to make their own
decisions, my legs just carried on in a straight line. By now I was in the
middle of the ornamental gardens, leaving a trail of broken stems and trampled
blooms behind me. Fortunately my flailing limbs had the presence of mind to
skirt around the goldfish pond. Unfortunately they hadn't allowed for any
obstacle to be hidden on the other side of the low wall and hadn't the strength
to hurdle the wheelbarrow which a council worker had thoughtlessly parked there.
I rapped my shins on the edge of the infernal receptacle and sent it and its
contents in all directions. I managed to stay on my feet, though, and kept
going. One quick glimpse behind me revealed a rake-bearing gardener had now
joined the posse.
Having learned nothing from their
wheelbarrow experience, my legs continued their policy of "straight ahead and
damn the consequences". My eyes, which were streaming tears and stinging from
the sweat pouring down my forehead, could just about make out the Novelty Rock
Emporium across the road. My diminishing powers of reasoning seemed to believe
that this would be a safe haven. There was only the Crazy Golf Course between me
and sanctuary.
By now, legs had got the hang of
the side-step and I negotiated my way around windmills, ramps, mushrooms and all
the other paraphernalia that make up this bizarre game. As I came to the
perimeter of the playing area I narrowly avoided running into a small child that
had wandered across my path. Alas, this resulted in putting me on a collision
course with mummy and daddy who were pushing the empty baby-buggy. I managed to
spare the parents but shunted the pushchair into a miniature
lighthouse.
Undaunted, I reached the pavement
and fixed both eyes on my intended destination. Then the sign in the window came
into focus - CLOSED. My spirits plummeted but I was too high on adrenalin to
give up now. I took a sharp right back towards the beach with a whole gaggle of
pursuers right behind me. My brain had gone completely couch potato now and, for
some reason, the Benny Hill theme tune began running through my head. I reached
the prom and saw a set of steps leading down to the beach in front of me. I
plunged down three at a time and leapt the final few feet into the soft sand. I collapsed to my knees and was
about to get to my feet when a pair of white trainers and black slacks appeared
a few inches in front of my face. I looked up to see big momma from the Boules
game standing over me. She took me by the shoulders and two huge arms hauled me
upright. I tried to regain my breath but she was dusting the sand from my
clothes and knocking it back out of me in the process.
'It wasn't me,' I finally gasped. 'It was another bloke. Shouting all those rude comments at you. It wasn't me. I
was just looking. He shouted and then he hid. I ran because he hid and I thought
you wouldn't believe me and those lads looked very angry and I didn't want any
trouble. Please believe me.'
My brain was still refusing to
get off its backside and it was mouth's turn to make me look a complete
idiot.
'Yes, I know,' she
said.
'You know?'
'Yes,' she continued. "I found
him cowering in that hut thing. I could tell it was him from his accent when he
tried denying it all."
'What did you do to
him?'
'Nothing much I could do, apart
from give him a fright. I don't think he'll be doing that again in a
hurry.'
By now the mob had gathered
around us and, after some explanation by the lady (notice how she's now gone up
in status?) and some grovelling from me, all was resolved.
I strolled along the beach with
the woman and her two sons, back to where they had left the youngest guarding
the boules.
'I'm sensitive about my size,'
the woman grumbled. 'And I hate it when people are so rude.'
'I would never dream of
ridiculing another person's physical appearance,' I lied.
We reached the spot where the
young man was waiting patiently. The boules were still lying where they had left
them.
'I'm afraid we haven't time to
finish our game, boys,' she said. 'It's time to pack up and go
home.'
As she bent down to gather up the
equipment there was a sharp ripping sound. I gazed around to see that the seam
of her trousers had finally relinquished the effort of holding them together and
allowed the two halves to part company, revealing an off-white coloured
undergarment that could have doubled up as a chair cover. The five of us looked
at each other in embarrassment, not knowing what to say. The man's comments
about the state of tomorrow's laundry came into my head (thanks, brain -
brilliant time to get off the sofa). I tried to lock the store cupboard where my
laughing gear is kept but - too late. Just before the door closed, a guffaw and
a couple of chortles squeezed out. I put my hand to my mouth and waited for the
reaction. It looked as if I was going to get my whipping after all. There was a
silence which lasted for just a few seconds but which seemed like an age and
then something wonderful happened. The whole family collapsed into hysterics.
All five of us were gripped in fits of laughter which rendered us
helpless.
The family were still cackling
away as I drifted off back to my digs. I made a mental note to give my brain a
severe reprimand when we got home.
About the author
Keith Havers' short stories are
frequently published in various popular magazines. He is a member of Trowell
Writers' Club and Nottingham Writers' Club. He works as an invigilator for
vocational exams at a local college. In his spare time he enjoys cycling and
spending time with his two grandchildren.
No comments:
Post a Comment