"My mummy wasn't dead. Pa would bring her home.
The same brown water, the same gloom. Tarnished armour upon the walls, antlered deer heads: each with a bronze plaque to commemorate their fall. No bagpiper played to mark the morning. I half-heard a footman say, above the scrape of a pistoning shoe-brush, -as I went in search of breakfast - that the Prime Minister would make a speech. Maids hung black crepe at the window. No radio, no television, only the striking of the quarter hour relayed around the house - then silence.
"Ah! Boy, come sit by me," said Grandpa, in welcome as I entered the breakfast room. "Is Willy up?" "No," he said - his mouth pulled tight in inhalation. "He took it rather badly." "I heard him blubbing." I took my place beside Grandpa: he patted my knee. "Give the boy three sausages, McDuff."
Granny looked tired. She was still in the same clothes from last evening. I had heard the telephone ring non-stop. I guessed she hadn't slept. She was smoking Black Cats and sipping Ethopian coffee. Before her lay a stack of papers and newspapers. "Charles has arrived." "Has he? Good." "Tony wants to call her the New Princess, for a New Britain." "Damned silly name." I ate my sausage. "Good morning Harold," said Granny. "Morning." "I thought so too," Granny went on, "it's that or the People's Princess." Grandpa snorted, smearing Seville marmalade on a piece of toast that had long since gone cold and soft, "We're not bloody British Leyland."
I heard the helicopters of the British Press overhead. Felt once more their imposition. Because of them go-karts were banned, as was horse riding. Granny said we were in mourning, so we all had to be glum - I wondered if they would be allowed in the afternoon.
This annoyed me more because Willy and I had arranged a scrap with Gregor, the local tough nut, and his gang. To even the teams, we'd arranged for Duxie to be on our side. Dux was a scouser and in the SAS. But he looked about twelve. And Gregor said he had no objection - of course we lied and said he was one of our Norwegian cousins. His accent was about the same.
Willy was sipping whiskey. He was in a right state. His eyes were puffy from weeping. His bed was a mess, and he'd even rent his pyjamas. "I don't want a bleeping sausage!" he yelled. 'Psycho,' I thought - though I didn't say it. "How much have you drunk?" I asked, holding up the bottle of Famous Grouse. By the pittance remaining I guessed too much. "Granny wants to know if you are alright." "Do I look alright?" he screamed, "do I look like I'll ever be alright again?" And then, quite unnecessarily, he wailed "Oh why does everyone I love, leave me!" People often said that Willy looked like our mother, that may or may not be so - then (he looks nothing like her now), but I hated it when he acted like her. "Stop being a woman. I've bought you a sausage, now eat it, sober yourself up - we've got a meeting with Gregor and his lads at twelve." "I'm not coming." "What do you mean you're not coming." He had a hateful look in his eye, "Harold," - he spoke slowly and deliberately - "our mother died last night. I am not going to have scrap with Gregor and his boys because you poisoned his dog." "There's no proof it was me." "Get out!"
Gregor was waiting for us in Birnam Wood. Though Dux and I were outnumbered five to one, I wasn't going to let some Scots pup play Ron Roy with me. I am the ancestor of Longshacks - or he is the ancestor of me - and besides if I could get a black eye in, or catch him in the bollocks, that would be enough to satisfy honour. Dux had brought a hand grenade, he had smuggled out of Bosnia, so if things went south we had back up.
"Where's your brother?" asked Gregor, has I stood before him - in challenge. "He's not coming. It's just me and my cousin... Olaf." "It's your brother we want." "It's me that killed the dog." "What dog?" "Your dog." "I don't have a dog." "You don't now." "I've never had a dog." One of Gregor's gang stepped forward, "We're sorry to hear about your mum." a general mumour ran around the foe - "Ay we're sorry about your mum," "she was a lovely woman," and such like.
"Aren't you going to fight?" I said.
They weren't. They said they had to get home. One of them said he had to sign the book of condolence at the local village hall.
And with that they melted away.
"Cunts" said Dux.
I was unsure what to do next. We had quite clearly won. But as Sun Tzu says, the worst kind of victory is one that is won without fighting - I learned that at Sandhurst. There was no point going back home, as everyone would be moping about. I asked if Dux still had the hand grenade. "Follow me," I said.
There was absolutely no proof that I anything to do with the explosion in the septic tank at Gregor's cottage.
Though I'll bet his dad's face was a picture...
as he was sitting on the lav reading the paper when the thing exploded.
The sap developed OCD hand-washing... died five years after in a Seaman's Mission in Skegness.... loser.
Of course, I knew nothing about two twelve year old boys who were seen running away.
All I knew was...
My mummy wasn't dead. Pa would bring her home."
we have no idea if the RPO even reported it. I know from experience that not everything gets reported.