Episode 14 in the Danny and Jack Chronicles. An everyday tale of ordinary folk.
I wrapped my left arm around the drainpipe, I'd read about stuff like this, it was supposed to be easy. People in comics and books regularly whooshed up and down drainpipes as a means of vacating bedrooms.
_s_h_i_t_! Characters in books were obviously more attuned to their monkey ancestry than I was! I managed to persuade my left leg to leave the relative safety of the window ledge without difficulty, yep, easy in fact, no probs. However, my right leg proved itself a coward, either that or it had more sense than my left leg and refused to move. I entered into dialogue with it, trying to persuade it that I knew what I was doing; it had obviously been living with Jack for too long, because it cottoned on that I was lying and remained stubbornly on the window ledge. I turned my attentions to my right hand, convinced that if I could get it to release its death grip on the window frame and grip the drain pipe instead, then my right leg would be infused with confidence and follow suit.
It became clear that the appendages on my right were engaged in a feud against those on my left, leaving the rest of me caught in the middle. There I was, splayed against the wall between pipe and window like an incompetent Peter Parker. Perhaps if I'd worn my underpants outside my jeans it would have improved my ability to shimmy up and down vertical surfaces? All I needed was for Jack to walk into the bedroom and catch me in this position. Cripes! Beads of icy sweat began to form on my forehead at the very thought of it. Hanging out of a bedroom window, half clinging to a drain pipe, probably constituted endangering oneself needlessly in his book, he was irrational like that. He'd warm my backside for sure, bringing out the hairbrush, if not the cane. With a supreme effort I managed to persuade the right hand side of my body to join the rest of me on the drain pipe.
Jee-zus! The moment my right leg left the safety of the window ledge the _f_u_c_k_ing drain pipe shuddered and began to slowly peel away from the brickwork like skin from a banana! At that moment Misty poked an interested head out of the open window, giving me a smugly feline look he settled down comfortably, with front paws crossed, in a decidedly, 'this should be good for a laugh,' kind of way.
I was crapping it, hanging there, like a bauble, on a lead drainage pipe that instead of remaining proudly stiff and erect against the wall was suffering the equivalent of brewers droop, drainpipe impotency! Where was Dyna Rod when you needed the drainage version of viagra? I wrapped arms and legs tightly around it as it leaned further and further back from the wall, my mouth open in a silent scream of terror. My weight sent it swinging slightly to the left so I was overhanging next doors hedge.
I moaned softly as the pipe creaked and juddered. At this rate I'd end up crash landing amongst Mr Feeney's collection of hideous fishing garden gnomes, though I couldn't help wondering what the _f_u_c_k_ use was a fishing rod without a pond. No wonder the ugly little buggers looked depressed, grouped around a rockery where the closest thing to a fish was an empty sardine can that doubled as a bird bath. I mean it stood to reason that you didn't buy fishing gnomes for a rockery, it was perverse, that's what it was. There was some weird folk in the world when you thought about it. I was just grateful that I wasn't one of them.
The drain pipe shuddered again and I fly-cast all thoughts of pondless garden gnomes from my mind. The things I did for my lunatic sister. Closing my eyes I assigned my fate to God and Providence...weren't they an insurance company? Christ, I was dead and no insurance, the small print was bound to exclude psychologically unsound homo_s_e_x_uals hanging from drainpipes! Misty decided he'd seen enough and with a, 'you're on your own mate,' shake of his head disappeared back inside. That was the last time I filleted mackerel for him!
The sound of a car engine from below caused my heart to sink further, but not as far as the pipe which gave more ominous groans and creaks as successive sets of brackets snapped, dipping me further earthwards.
"Hello Mr. Feeney," I tried to sound casual, as if it was perfectly natural to be dangling from a drainpipe over someone's drive in the middle of the day. "How are you; had a good morning at work?"
His mouth gaped as he finished locking his car door and turned, glancing upwards to find me slowly descending into his line of vision, bobbing gently in the breeze.
I pressed on, bearing in mind Jack's missive that I had to be nice to ALL the neighbours, regardless of whether or not they were miserable gits. "Sorry about your Venus, it was a total accident, I wasn't aiming for it or anything." The man's head swivelled in the direction of his headless statue, his jaw dropping further still. I added hastily, "don't worry, Jack's ordering you a new one, he might even get you one with arms this time. My attempt at easing the situation with a light jest fell upon stony ground, not unlike the hooks of his tragically misemployed fishing gnomes.
I tried again, nervousness making me unusually garrulous, "he spanked me if that makes you feel any better?" The look on his face told me that it definitely didn't. My mouth was now operating without the consent of my brain, it expanded further, "on my bare bum, it didn't half hurt."
His face paled further still. Clutching his executive haversack close to his chest, as if warding off evil, he pressed himself hard against the side of his car, which being a Reliant Robin, almost keeled over. I hurriedly changed the topic of conversation. "I'm sorry about the cat flap thing, it just seemed logical at the time, Jack..." Mr Feeney's eyes widened and he shook his head slightly. I took that as a sign that he wasn't much interested in what Jack had said, or did. I can take a hint. I changed the subject yet again, asking politely, "is your cat out of pet counselling yet?"
Thankfully, I was saved from having to make further small talk. Another set of the brackets holding the pipe to the wall, snapped, lowering me to a position whereby I could safely disembark from my cylindrical conveyance. Releasing my hold on the pipe, I slid gracefully down the bonnet of Mr Feeney's Reliant Robin much relieved to find my tootsies set once more to terra firma. Smiling nicely I took my leave, "well it's been nice chatting with you Mr Feeney, but I must be getting on, things to do. Bye for now."
Trotting briskly away, it suddenly occurred to me that Mr Feeney might just complain to Jack about me leaving our drain pipe sprawled so untidily across his drive. Jack being Jack, and a bit puritanical about things being in their proper place, just wouldn't see my point of view at all. I paused and rubbed my bottom, wincing slightly, he'd spanked me hard enough for accidentally misplacing the phone.
I turned, walking back up the driveway to where our illustrious neighbour was still standing pressed against his car; it rocked dangerously as I approached. If he leaned on it much harder it was definitely going to topple over. He gazed at me from behind horn rimmed glasses which were magnified enough to cause a bush fire if the sun shone through them at the wrong angle. I bet he'd need a special dispensation to be allowed to wear them if ever he visited Australia, in fact, they'd probably be confiscated at customs.
I forced my attentions away from his fascinating optical aids, saying brightly, "I'll move the drainpipe later Mr Feeney, I promise. Only don't bother Jack, he's in a funny mood today, okay?" My hand strayed ruminatively to my backside again, yes indeed, he was definitely in a funny mood, and not the sort of funny likely to raise titters, in fact blisters was the word that sprang most readily to mind!
We were going to have to have words about his inability to express his vexation in ways that didn't involve a complex mode of Morse code being applied to my arse via his hand. His propensity to resort to physical action at the slightest provocation pointed to a man under stress, and really, Jack had no reason that I could see to be stressed. Of course, light dawned on me! That bastard Tristan was the cholesterol sending my beloved's blood pressure notching up the scale, only Jack was too polite to say so. The sooner he went home the better, he was obviously getting on Jack's nerves, and it was my bum that was suffering for it.
I looked inquiringly at Mr Magoo, who hadn't yet answered me, and who, if the white knuckles that clutched the haversack to his bosom were anything to go by, was another stressed individual. I wondered what Tristan could have done to upset him. I reiterated, "I'll move it later, okay?"
He slowly nodded his head up and down, "fine," he whispered, "leave my property, please, just go."
I half turned to walk away again, when it hit me that I had left the house without any money. I could hardly waltz back indoors to get the wallet and loose change that was residing on my bedside cabinet, and the drainpipe was in no condition to be shinned up. I gave Mr Feeney what I hoped was a winning smile. "Could I possibly prevail upon you to lend me a tenner, I'll pay you back later, I promise."
He began to tremble like a fanatic at a Revivalist meeting, his face turning an unbecoming shade of puce, his orbs bulging dangerously behind his jam jar bottom specs. I beat a hasty retreat before they exploded and left a nasty mess. Honestly, some people had no sense of neighbourliness. I knew someone who did though.
"Hello chuck," Lily beamed at me. "It's right good to see you. How was the funeral, did the bird man get a good send off? Was there a tarantula guard of honour legs raised and touching in a hairy archway.....oh heck! I'm sorry ducks, don't cry, I'm a tasteless, tactless bugger at times. Sit yourself down, I'll get you a drink."
She handed me a tall glass, "there you go Danny pet, orange juice just the way you like it with a splash of vodka and a hint of tequila, it's a pick-me-up you know?"
I smiled shakily through my tears, finishing the joke for her, "any bugger can pick me up after drinking a couple of these!" The smile wavered and my tears overwhelmed me again. God, I was pre-menstrual, I was sure of it; the first bloke in existence to get pmt, or pms, or whatever the bloody hell women called the psychotic changes of personality that happened on a monthly basis. I was convinced that God had given me ovaries instead of testes. He'd probably been distracted by some row he was having with Lucifer(a celestial Top Brat relationship if ever there was) and had groped in the pink ovaries box instead of the blue gonad box. Just my luck to end up with feminine bollocks! There was some woman parading around with my testes attached to her fallopians boasting that she never got pmt, while the least thing set me off crying like an actor accepting an Oscar.
Lily sat down next to me and patted my hand. "What's wrong love, did Jack sing at the funeral, is that what's upset you? God knows, it's frightening enough hearing him warble through the walls. I shudder to think what it's like being stood up against him when he's giving full freedom to his vocal chords. When he first moved in next door and I heard him singing in the shower, I nearly called the police, I thought Norman Bates was in there doing a Janet Leigh on him. Made my blood run cold I can tell you. Rumour has it that he had his voice trained once you know, but it escaped back into the wild and it's been there ever since."
I started to laugh, despite myself, "bless him Lily, he's a truly horrific singer, but I still love him."
She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gave me a hug, "I know you do honey, it shines from you, and there's worse things in life than rogue vocal chords. Now, tell me what's upset you? Is it something to do with all the hollering I heard a short while ago? You haven't microwaved Jack's delicates again have you, only I didn't hear any fire engines?"
I blushed at being reminded of the incident when I'd used the microwave to quick dry Jack's underwear and socks, which I'd left in the washing machine all night instead of hanging up to dry. Only they'd got so hot they burst into flames, setting the microwave alight, which then exploded, sending flaming CK's shooting about the kitchen like meteorites, trailing tails of fire. I was just grateful that Jack wasn't wearing his underwear when it spontaneously combusted, it would have lent a whole new meaning to, 'Goodness Gracious Great Balls Of Fire!' I shook my head. "No, I'm not allowed near the microwave anymore, though I still think it would have worked if I hadn't set it too high for too long."
I poured my heart out to her, telling her about Ally, bringing out the photograph that I'd removed from the frame and slipped into my pocket.
She recognised the place at once. "That's the whale's jaw bone arch at Whitby, why there?"
"I've just got this hunch! The children's home that she lived in was near Whitby." I raised my glass to my lips sipping gratefully at the calming restorative, then spluttered and choked as an ear shattering bellow emanated from the vicinity of next door.
"DANIEL AUGUSTUS MACINTYRE!"
DAM! The full moniker, Jack was REALLY mad. Had he perchance discovered the open window and missing drainpipe?
I was SO dead! In fact death seemed preferable in comparison to meeting up with Jack any time in the next millennium. I developed a sudden envy for the plight of Rosencrantz and Guidenstern, as far as my bottom was concerned, they were well out of it. To die, to sleep, and, to misquote the bard, by a sleep to end the arseache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to...especially the shocks caused by means of a bloody great hairbrush. Aye, there's the rub, as that mad bastard Hamlet would say, rub indeed, I'd be rubbing the sting out of my bum for weeks to come!
Lily patted my back in a concerned manner as I coughed and spluttered, "did you tell Jack you were nipping out love?"
I shook my head, staring at her from streaming eyes. "I'm supposed to be in bed." I gasped, as the vibrations caused by furious feet thundering down next doors stairs caused the ornaments on Lily's bookshelves to shake and rattle. A horrific image of Jack, whirling a cane and hairbrush in his hands like a dervish on an amphetamine high, steam billowing from ears and nostrils, flashed through my mind. Panic set in. "You've got to help me Lily, I have to find Ally and talk to her, maybe I shouldn't have left the way I did, but Jack wouldn't understand, I just..."
Lily, carried along by the urgency in my voice and the rank>gong< terror on my face waved aside my attempts at explanation. "Alright pet lamb, I understand, I always acted on impulse myself and in my day it wasn't a bloody body spray! Come on." She grabbed my arm as the sound of a front door crashing open reached our ears. The ground began to tremble, or was it just my knees? Fortinbras was approaching, at speed, and, from the sound of it, wearing nazi jack boots, or did I mean Jack wearing nazi boots? Whatever, I had to evade capture and incarceration at all costs, I'd crack under interrogation!
By means of a secret tunnel we found ourselves magically standing in her garage. I say secret tunnel, it was really a door that led out of her kitchen pantry. All the same, I was dead impressed and wondered whether Jack would notice if I inserted a door between our pantry and garage, it would be a Great Escape route.(oh come on, give me a break, I'm working under pressure here, as puns go it's not that bad.)
"What is it Lily?" I stared in astonishment as she whipped aside the tarpaulin covering from a bulky object.
"Motorbike and side car, belonged to my Bill, God bless him."
A manic, doom laden chiming sounded. Jack's index finger appeared to have welded itself to Lily's doorbell. I half expected Quasimodo to swing down from the roof of the garage and snatch me up like Esmeralda. The bells might not make me deaf, but if Jack bellowed my name much louder his voice certainly would.
"DANNY! I KNOW YOU'RE AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE!"
Crumbs! I gulped, my boyfriend had obviously been a bloodhound in a former life, he'd sniffed me out. My buttocks twitched nervously as my brain, for some reason known only to itself, began to chant the refrain: Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum-I-Smell-The-Smell-Of-A-Scorching-Bum!!
"Hop in ducks!" Lily had donned a long leather coat that must have taken the hide of several cows to make. Ramming an ancient crash helmet, emblazoned with the legend Morecambe or Death, onto her head, she snapped down her goggles, leapt astride the bike and began to kick start it. She looked like a geriatric thug! I almost shot out of my skin as an almighty eructation of gasses issued from the bike's exhaust. I hurriedly jumped into the side car as it juddered forward.
"The doors! Lily, the doors!"
"Aye, grand rock band they were! That Jim Morrison was a bit tasty, bit of a brat though, a spanking would have done him a world of good." She began to sing, "come on baby light my fire...."
"No, no Lily, not the group! The Garage doors!" I began to jabber, panic setting in as we picked up speed and taxied purposefully forward. Lily thankfully caught on and in a daring move, leaned out, snatching up a small object from a work bench which she then pointed at the wooden garage doors. There was a rusty grinding noise and just as I thought we would surely hit them, they sprang dramatically open.
"He was a crack hand with gadgets was my Bill," she yelled, throwing aside the remote, and revving the engine harder.
Yeah, I thought, and my Jack had a hand that could crack across certain parts of my anatomy with fearsome skill.
In an uncanny pastiche of a scene from Wallace and Gromit, the bike's exhaust gave another stupendous belch and we rocketed out onto the drive, roaring past an astounded Jack before hitting the open road. As we approached the corner, I risked a peep back. Jack, his mouth gawping open, his finger still pressed to the door bell looked to be in shock. I gave him a reassuring little wave and blew him a loving kiss. I could almost hear the sound of his jaw snapping shut! I just hoped he hadn't cracked a filling.
The bike eventually stopped coughing and started purring and soon we were cruising along the coast road to Whitby. I suddenly realised that I still had my drink in my hand, leaning back in the seat I relaxed and sipped at it; travelling in a motorbike sidecar was a first for me.
Cool! Lily's hubby had indeed been a dab hand with gadgets, the sidecar was fitted with an eight track cassette player, something I'd only seen in museums before now. Pressing a button, music blared out, I felt like a Beach Boy, but I knew from experience that they were hard to come by at short notice, so I sang along with The Coasters instead(weren't they something you stood your cocoa mug on?).....Gonna find her....I've been searching, searching every way, which way oh yay....gonna find her.... if I have to swim a river, Wahoo, you know I will....I'm going to find that child, you know-wo-wo- I will...Wahoo...I'm like that North West Mountie, you know I'll bring her in some day...
Oh yeah, I was the hero of the hour alright, Danny Boy to the rescue! Dennis and Jack would be proud of me, eventually.
Addendum:
"I couldn't believe it, I took his lunch up...the window open...GONE...no note, nothing...the drainpipe bent over next door's drive...Mr Feeney laid under it having some kind of seizure, which got worse when he saw me, I had to call the paramedics... No, I don't need to sit down Dennis, I'm perfectly calm... Danny could have killed himself....I'm telling you Den, when I lay hands on that lunatic boy he'll rue the day he was born, he waved, he BLEW me a kiss, a KISS, can you believe it? The cheeky...a KISS, I'll give him kiss when I get hold of him...."
Available soon on CD and Twelve inch vinyl(oooh, nice)the soundtrack to The Danny and Jack Chronicles featuring hits from, Travis, System Of A Down, David Gray, Queen and many others.... Re-live the drama, the romance, the spankings... Fantastic value at only £19.99.*