Monday 12 October 2015

The Police Helicopter

For audio click here
Whenever the police helicopter hovers overhead, I look out of the window to see if who they are looking for is hiding in my back garden. We've all seen the police shows, whether fiction or reality, where the fugitive tries to evade the long arm of the law by jumping the fence and taking refuge in a garden shed or a disused coal bunker. But their sweaty bodies always show up on the heat seeking cameras watching them from the beating blades above. Do they honestly believe they can escape capture or are they so desperate that they are willing to gamble their chance of bail on a 1000-1 shot?
Talking of 1000-1 shots, I think I've just hit a strange jackpot because looking back at me as I peer out of the window is a figure holding a rather nasty looking gun.
The gestures are unmistakably the international sign language for let me in or I'll blow your bloody brains out. So I don't have much choice. I unlock the back door and invite the wannabe hostage taker in to take a hostage. 
‘Sit down!’ The voice is angry, full of hatred, but the face is the most tender, most beautiful face I’ve ever seen, except for the blood smeared on it and the wild, panicked eyes.
‘Okay,’ I said wondering if there can be such a thing as Stockholm syndrome at first sight. ‘Don’t you want a cup of tea?’
She looked at me with those wild eyes softening a little.
‘Do you have Darjeeling?’
‘Loose leaf.’
‘Oh, that would be lovely.’
I busied myself making a brew while she looked up through the window at the helicopter overhead.
‘Do you think they know I’m here,’ she said as the kettle clicked off.
I nodded as I poured the boiling water onto the gentle leaves.
‘What should I do?’ she said.
‘What have you done?’ I asked.
She stayed silent for a moment.
‘I cut my husband’s dick off,’ she said sipping her tea. ‘Do you have any biscuits?’
‘Only Rich Tea,’ I said.
‘My favourite,’ she said with a smile that stole a bit of my heart. ‘No one likes Rich Tea anymore, in a world of Hobnobs and choccy digestives people have forgotten that the best is often the simplest, Rich Tea, Corn Flakes, orange marmalade.’ It was like she’d stolen the words from my head along with that bit of my heart.
‘My husband use to insist on Maryland choc chip cookies.’
I shook my head in sympathy.
Just after her second dunk there was the expected knock at the door. I saw a scared look come across her beautiful face.
‘Quick, under the stairs,’ I said.
She put her mug down and squeezed into the space under the stairs with all my empty boxes and the vacuum cleaner. I opened the front door.
‘Oh hello,’ I said, trying to feign surprise.
‘Sir, have you seen this woman?’ the police officer held up a picture of the lovely face hiding under my stairs.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Can we come in?’ she said.
‘Of course,’ I said. Three coppers came into my house, one went through to the kitchen and into the back garden, one went upstairs and the other walked with me to the kitchen.
‘And she didn’t try to come in,’ the police officer asked.
‘No,’ I said again, trying not to look at the cupboard under the stairs.
‘Nothing,’ said the officer returning from the garden.
‘Nothing,’ said the officer coming down the stairs.

‘Same he…’ She stopped speaking, she’d been distracted by something. I followed the policewoman’s gaze to the two mugs of tea on the table, steam still coming off both. The game was up.

1 comment:

  1. Petra Goláňová17 October 2015 at 10:07

    My suggestions for lines of the week:
    Talking of 1000-1 shots, I think I've just hit a strange jackpot because looking back at me as I peer out of the window is a figure holding a rather nasty looking gun.
    The gestures are unmistakably the international sign language for let me in or I'll blow your bloody brains out....
    My husband use to insist on Maryland choc chip cookies.’
    I shook my head in sympathy....
    Don’t you want a cup of tea?’
    She looked at me with those wild eyes softening a little.
    ‘Do you have Darjeeling?’
    ‘Loose leaf.’
    ‘Oh that would be lovely.’

    ReplyDelete