A Cure for All Diseases. Reginald Hill
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kiss me!
– Dee Ell – he said very distinctly – get that straight – else thall niver go to heaven. Dee Ell. Cheers –
He turned & limped into the pub.
– oh dear – said Tom – I doubt if theyll serve him – looking like that –
I said – would you refuse to serve him Tom? – He glanced round at me – then he smiled.
– you know – I dont believe I would! – he said – but the further adventures of Mr Dee Ell are no concern of ours! Mary – drive on. Lets get home & see the children! –
Which is what we did.
Minnie has just burst in again to tell me lunch is ready – knocking at doors must come late on the Parker curriculum! Better go. Watch this space for more exciting news from sunny Sandytown!
& dont forget that pic!
Love
Charley xx
There! What do you think of that, Mildred?
I did it!
Jumped the gun, surprised myself even, and now I’m in disgrace, quacks tut-tutting and feeding me pills, matron’s bosom heaving like Moby Dick in a hurricane, Cap on the phone, spitting blood, and calling me a stupid infantile prat, and saying the only clothes she’ll be bringing me’s a change of nappies!
But it were worth it.
I think.
Cant say its done me a lot of good, but. To tell truth, I’m feeling a lot worse now than when I arrived here!
And I can’t even take credit for putting together a cunning plan.
In fact there were no plan at all.
Today the weather were so nice, they suggested I had my lunch outside. The grub’s pretty good, all fresh local stuff nicely cooked, but they don’t exactly pile your plate up. When I asked if I could have a pint of ale to wash it down, the lass serving me said, ‘Couple of days, maybe, Mr Dalziel. You’re still on assessment. No alcohol till your diet sheet’s been finalized, that’s the rule.’
She smiled as she said it, a real smile, nowt made up about it. I smiled back. Weren’t her fault, and she was a nice lass with a lovely bum which I admired as she walked away. But it did piss me off a bit, specially as I looked around the terrace where I was sitting and saw half a dozen old farts at another table supping vino and wearing real clothes, like they were on holiday on the Costa Saga.
But sod it, I thought. No reason not being dressed for dinner should stop me taking a stroll around to explore the place. They’ve started me on physio with Tony down in this little gym. Queer as a clockwork orange, but he knows his stuff, and though I’m still a long way off Olympic qualifying, I’m feeling a lot lisher than when I came.
I checked there were no one looking, then stood up and went down the steps from the terrace with a lot of care. Didn’t fancy breaking me other leg!
Once on the lawn, I just meant to have a bit of a wander, but I’m still best in a straight line and as I’d got up a fair head of speed, I just kept going with the house at my back till I found myself ploughing through some shrubbery.
Here I stopped and checked back. The house were out of sight. That would get the buggers worrying, I thought. Bit childish, mebbe. But if they’re going to treat me like a kid, I might as well enjoy myself like one!
So on I went till finally I came up against the boundary hedge. Thick and thorny. Good for keeping intruders out. And prisoners in!
I wandered along it for a while. I were beginning to feel knackered now and I was just thinking of setting off back when I spotted this gap.
Not a gap really. Just the point where two sections of hedge met but without getting all inter-twined.
I heard a car go by on the road. The road that led into Sandytown.
The road to freedom.
I felt sudden urge to take a look at it.
And why not? I thought. I’m not a prisoner! And my dressing gown’s one of the thick old tweedy kind, none of them flimsy cotton kimonos or whatever they call them.
So I took a bit of a run, or mebbe a slow trot’s nearer the mark, and got my shoulder into the breach.
Before my spot of bother I’d have walked through here, no trouble. But it turned out to be narrower than it looked and for a moment I thought mebbe I was going to get stuck and end up shouting for help.
Didn’t fancy that, so I gave one last heave and burst through on to the roadside verge.
Except it weren’t the kind of verge I expected, nice and flat and grassy. Instead it were a steep bank that fell away to the tarmac about twenty feet below.
No way of stopping. All I could do was try to remember all I’d learnt about falling, and curl up tight and try to roll. It were sod’s law that there should be a car coming down the hill exactly at that moment. I had time to think, whatever hitting the tarmac don’t break the collision will take care of!
Then I was under the front wheels and waiting for the pain.
When it didn’t come, or at least not so much as you get shaving with a lady’s razor, I slowly got up.
No sudden agony, no broken bones. I’d lost a slipper and my stick, but I were alive and didn’t feel much worse than I’d felt thirty seconds earlier.
If we look closely we can see God’s purpose in everything, my old mate Father Joe Kerrigan once told me.
I looked closely.
Here was a road leading down to Sandytown which had to have a pub, and I was leaning up against a car.
Joe were right. Suddenly I saw God’s purpose!
They were nice folk in the car. Real friendly. I sat in the back with this lass. Could have been thirteen, could have been thirty, hard to tell these days. Turned out I knew her dad. Played rugger against him way back when I were turning out for MY Police. He were a farmer and used to play like he were ploughing a clarty field. Couldn’t see much point to having players behind the scrum. Reckoned all they were good for was wearing tutus and running up and down the touchline, screaming, Don’t touch me, you brute! We had a lot in common, me and Stompy.
They dropped me at this pub. The Hope and Anchor. I didn’t have any money with me. Likely I could have talked the landlord into giving me tick, but this guy Tom in the car volunteered to sub me twenty quid, so no need to turn on the charm. I went into the pub. The main bar were full of trippers eating sarnies and chicken tikka and such. On the other side of the entrance passage were a snug, half a dozen tables, only one of ’em occupied by a couple of old boys supping pints. I went in there, put the twenty on the bar, and said, ‘Pint of tha best, landlord.’
Don’t expect he gets many customers in their sleeping kit, but to give him his due, he never hesitated. Not for a second. Drew me a pint, set it down.
I took the glass, put it to my lips, and drank. Didn’t mean to be a hog but somehow when I set it down, it were empty.
‘You’ll need another then,’ he said with a friendly smile.
I was really warming to this man.
‘Aye, and I’ll have a scotch to keep it company,’ I said. ‘And a packet of pork scratchings.’
I nodded at the old boys who nodded back as I took my drinks over to a table in a shady corner. When a landlord treats me right, I try not to offend his customers.
I nibbled my scratchings, sipped my scotch, gulped my beer, and took in my surroundings. Nice room, lots of oak panelling, no