Writing for Fun
May 2019
The Proposal - Pete Norman
John Bond was the youngest ‘inmate’ of Sunnyside Nursing Home now that William had succumbed to one too many ‘ologys and ‘oscopys and Arthur had put on his faded leather jacket and ridden off to end his days as a geriatric Hell’s Angel. So John was now the ‘New Kid on the Block’ and he had a duty to service all the old ladies in the home.
He had a quick rethink about the wording of the last sentence . . . he had never been in the forces and he had never suffered the indignity of daily infusions of Bromide to control the ‘urges’ but he knew that for him Bromide was no longer necessary, so he decided to shuffle the words up a little and the sentence now became: he had a duty to be of service to all the old ladies in the home.
He gave himself an approving glance in the mirror – as the resident youth he had to look the part – but to his disappointment the face that looked back at him was no Knight Errant.
He had a wash and brushed his hair over the patch where it was thinning and then he considered shaving but nowadays he always found it difficult to hold his hand still while he shaved and tiny pieces of newspaper stuck to the bloody nicks simply would not fit the new image. He rubbed his fingers over his chin – perhaps designer stubble would be more appropriate. He gave himself a liberal burst of Old Spice under both armpits and selected a suitable shirt for the occasion – i.e. the only one that didn’t need ironing – and pulled on his utilitarian black suit.
He stood back and checked the mirror with some satisfaction, cocked his head to one side and pointed his finger towards his image, drawing his thumb back with a dangerous ‘click’.
‘Bond – John Bond. OO7. On Her Majesty’s Sunnyside Secret Service.’
He could have stood there all afternoon admiring the effect but a Knight Errant has important work to do and there was no time to waste.
He thought it might be best to start with his three favourites, who had all been good friends of his sister, Joan – God bless her. They were sweet, charming, refined old ladies, with an easy smile and a quick wit. They would hold their little fingers out at precisely the right angle as they sipped their Earl Grey and dunked their Custard Creams but they were true Bond girls and you crossed them at your peril. To the unwary they could be dangerous in the extreme – as several banks in the neighbourhood could testify – but, thankfully, they seemed to have a soft spot for Joan’s brother and he for them.
He opened his door just a fraction and peeped through the narrow gap down the corridor; it was empty; the coast was clear; there were no Spectre agents lurking. Like a wraith he slipped out of his door and into the next room.
The Jeremy Kyle Show was playing to itself; Ada was sitting in her large grey winged back chair, the Times crossword spread out in front of her and a pencil in her mouth. She opened her eyes as John made his dramatic entrance and gave him a quick appraisal. She made no comment about his unusual appearance – she was well used to John’s eccentricities by now.
‘Hello, Ada, is there anything I can do to assist you on this beautiful sunny afternoon?
Ada snorted and held up her newspaper. ‘Ten across. I don’t even understand the clue, let alone the answer.’
Her request slightly lacked the gravity he was hoping for but nonetheless he took the paper from her trembling fingers and took a look. The clue was indeed obscure – he much preferred the simpler clues in the Daily Mirror – but a highly trained operative with a licence to kill did not fail at the first hurdle. He ran the clue around in his mind inserting random letters in the missing spaces for some time but he had absolutely no idea. However, he did find a word that sort of fitted but even to him was clearly incorrect. With a triumphant flourish he filled in the line and handed her the paper back.
Ada gave him a suspicious look but she accepted his bizarre suggestion without question – she was content to have completed the crossword at last but she would make a point of looking in the paper tomorrow to see what the word should have been.’
John smiled smugly. ‘Now, my dear, is there any other way I might be of service?’
‘Well, I do need to go to the toilet.’
John took a step backwards in horror. ‘Oh, dear. Oh. I see. I’ll . . . er, I’ll call one of the staff to help you.’
As he fled her room Ada gave a little grin. She liked John but he could get a bit up himself sometimes. She turned her attention back to the Jeremy Kyle Show – it looked as if it was getting to an interesting bit where the cuckolded husband was trying to get his hands around the boyfriend’s throat.
John summoned help for Ada and then returned to his own room to re-group. This was not going quite as smoothly as he had anticipated. However, Flavy was next and she was such a dear – surely she would be easier to please.
He waited until he could hear the nurse going into Ada’s room and then slipped quietly down the corridor and turned left. Flavy was reading a very thick Mills and Boon and looked up irritably at the interruption. She stabbed her finger onto the page to keep her place. When she saw that it was only John she relaxed a little but she still watched him with wary eyes as he insinuated himself covertly through her door and closed it behind him with a faint click.
‘What d’you want, eh?’
‘And hello to you, dear Flavy. Actually I was wondering if there was anything I could do for you – you know, to be of assistance in any way.’
Her finger was starting to ache holding it still like that so she let it slide off the page, she was certain that now she had made her point she would find her place again easily enough. ‘All I want is a bit of peace and quiet if that isn’t too much for a lady to ask.’ Somewhat deflated John tried another tack. ‘I thought I might have a walk into town, I need to pop into the bank – it’s pension day.’
Flavy gave a short cackling laugh and then a long rasping cough and then broke wind noisily. ‘Well in that case you can bring me back a large bag of unmarked fifties . . . or twenties, I ain’t so fussy.’
John stared at her blankly for a moment, completely lost for words but Flavy came to his rescue with a, very rare, sensible response. ‘If you want to do something useful you might want to get Joanna some chocolate. She seems to be getting through it much too quick for my liking nowadays.’
The Secret Service Special Agent slunk out of the room without making a check for booby traps or for enemy agents with lethal intent. Joanna’s room was only next door and he made the short traverse through her door without injury.
Joanna was sat half up in bed, she was leaning at a slight angle and she was staring vacantly into space. There was a faint but unpleasant odour in the room. John waited for a moment by the door, wondering whether he should disturb her . . . or whether there would be anything to be gained by doing so as all too often it was futile trying to communicate with Joanna when she was in one of her ‘faraway moments’. He turned back towards the door but a soft voice stopped him in mid-stride. ‘I knew it was you Johnny Bond, you’ve got a very soft tread – not like those Gestapo in their blue uniforms.’ She smiled at him. ‘And besides, your shoes squeak.’
John walked over to the foot of her bed. On her bedside table was a large bar of Cadburys Fruit and Nut, the wrapping was torn back and most of it had gone, there were only a couple of rows left. He pointed at the chocolate. ‘I’ve got a proposal to put to you. Flavy says you need some more chocolate fetching and I’m just the man to fetch it for you.’
Joanna broke into a warm smile. ‘Bless you, Johnny boy. If I don’t get some more soon then the poor squirrels will go hungry.’
John shook his head and leaned forward. ‘Joanna, Flavy says you’re a naughty girl, too much chocolate’s not good for you.’
Joanna looked puzzled. ‘It’s not me. I only ever have two chunks with my tea in the evenings. It’s them squirrels that eat it.’ She pointed out of the window to the massive old oak tree which dominated the south lawn. ‘They creep in here in the middle of the night and they nibble and nibble away, the little darlings. They need the extra energy to get through the cold winter, you see.’ John’s eyes followed her finger, through the double glazed, security locked window to the tree which stood resplendent in the warm summer sunshine. There was no sign of any squirrels and even if there were then there was certainly no way that they could gain entry to her room without a crowbar. It was not hard to work out who was nibbling and nibbling away in the middle of the night – the little darling! – and she didn’t need no fattening up for the winter.
‘No worries, Joanna, my sweet, I’ll be back in a jiffy. You won’t even know I’ve gone.’
John collected his pension – conveniently forgetting to also ask for a large bag of unmarked banknotes of any denomination – and made his way down to the corner shop where he bought a large bar of Fruit and Nut. He then moved on to the Chemist shop. What he was looking for was not quite the same size but he was certain that he could make it fit.
‘Have you taken Ex Lax before?’ the Chemist enquired.
‘Oh, yes. It works perfectly for my needs, thank you.’ John smiled and handed over the exact change – it was going to be worth every penny.
* * *
The following morning John was woken by a tap on his door. Unusually, it was Jenny, one of the more helpful of the Gestapo, who brought him in his cup of tea.
‘What, no Angie?’ John asked.
‘No, the poor thing, she had to go off early. She wasn’t feeling very well.’
John nodded sympathetically, trying hard to keep his face blank and expressionless. ‘She did look a bit peaky last night.’
In between sips of the lukewarm tea John hummed the theme tune to Mission Impossible.
Mission Accomplished!
He wondered if he should make the chocolate bar self-destruct but decided that with his superb dexterity he probably could make the switch himself without having to resort to pyrotechnics.
He was feeling rather smug with himself. His first day had gone well but it was a bit of a struggle trying to maintain the character he had chosen. Perhaps he should take on a different super hero persona. He looked over to the table at his battered old cloth cap – perhaps he could be the Capped crusader? . . . Alright then, what about Rebel With A Cause . . . or maybe the Incredible Hulk . . . but with his skinny ribs that one was not really appropriate, besides he had no desire to paint himself green.
He had finished his tea and had begun to get dressed when inspiration hit. He rummaged around in a drawer until he found the large black Bingo marker he had liberated from the Common Room. He stood in front of his mirror and with great care and accuracy drew a large letter ‘S’ on the front of his white t shirt. He turned from side to side admiring his handiwork. He was now the ultimate super hero . . . Super Senile!
He laughed out loud at his ingenuity and the door opened. Jenny put her head around the door. ‘Is everything alright, John?’ She paused while she studied the front of John’s t shirt. ‘Why have you got a ‘Z’ on your vest?’
John looked downward and then he looked back into the mirror and then he realised what he had done.
He turned back to Jenny and puffed out his chest. ‘Well, don’t you think I look a bit like like Zorro?’