Malcolm and the Rent Boy - 3. Chapter 3 'Big Day Out'

MALCOLM’S big day out.

Malcolm put down the binoculars and wiped the sweat from his brow. His garden backed onto the sports field of the local boys’ school - a great comfort to him - but today had been too much. The sight of all those muscular 16 year-olds tearing around with a rugby ball had upset his equilibrium. His hands were still shaking when the phone rang. It was the building society.

‘Hello. Is that Mr Malcolm Tripp? This is Terry Rowbottom from Yorkshire Friends of Mutual Greed. I’ve got news about your bond. It’s matured and we’d like to discuss the way forward’

‘I’ll drop by right away’ answered the aged train spotter.

Nothing motivated Malcolm like money, and so minutes later, hat, gloves and free bus pass in hand he was on his way to the town centre.

Terry Rowbottom greeted Malcolm with that oily, insincere smile which many in the financial world can summon up effortlessly.

‘I see that three years ago you deposited £50,000 in our PPP Bond, the Pensioners’ Pot o’ Plenty. Well, I’m delighted to tell you that it’s now worth £50,000.87p. Any idea what you’d like to do with it?

Terry continued,

‘Bearing in mind your senior status I’d like to recommend the new ‘Centenarians’ Coffer o’ Cash’ As more of us are living to see our telegram from the Queen, Mutual Greed feels that those final decades of vegetative state shouldn’t be starved of brass!

You’ll get a competitive rate of interest too, at least 0.001% per year’

Malcolm had been a good customer of Yorkshire Greed. He fixed Mr Rowbottom’s eyes and asked,

‘Do I get a freebie? When I signed up for the last bond, I got a free metal detector specially adapted to find only coin. What are you offering now?’

Terry realised he’d met his match.

‘Well, we are giving away free gifts, fondue sets and that sort of stuff and entry to great local attractions. The passes admit two people to such places as Castle Howard, York Minster, Harewood, and for the first time Grassping House’

Terry leaned over towards Malcolm, and lowered his voice.

‘It seems the Bruhme-Handell family have hit hard times and are opening up their gaff to the public. It’s a great chance to visit one of the largest Yorkshire piles’

Malcolm squirmed uneasily on his seat. Some large Yorkshire piles had visited him recently.

‘OK. I’ll sign up. Now you’ve ‘ad my £50,000 for three years,

I’ll ‘ave one of your coffees’

Terry snapped his fingers and despatched some minion to bring the coffee. Presently, both men sat silently sipping out of polystyrene cups a hot liquid which had all the bouquet of burning tyres.

But it was free.

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Malcolm couldn’t wait to break the news to his parents.

‘I’m taking you both on a day out to Grassping House. They’re opening to the public for the first time’

Malcolm’s aged father Alf wasn’t impressed.

‘I were there durin’ t’war, wi’ me brokken arm. It were convalescent home then. I ‘ate the bloody place’

Malcolm shrewdly drew his mother to one side.

‘It’s free’ he hissed, in a whisper that could be heard in the neighbouring county.

‘I’ve got this pass for two people. Here’s the plan. While you’re at the cash desk I’ll whisk Dad past in the wheelchair, unnoticed. If we are spotted I’ll say I’ve got to get him to the loo quick before he makes a mess on their new floor’

Alice Tripp was at one with her son in the art of saving money and she never looked too closely at the ethics of any situation that generated or saved brass! Now that she was onboard with this scheme all other resistance was futile, so Alf surrendered himself to be dressed and taken out for the day to a place he loathed.

The Tripps arrived at Grassping House in good time, just as the pay desk was opening. Malcolm parked up.

‘Now remember what I said, Mum. Go to the cashier with this voucher and repeat what I told you’

With that he manhandled the crumpled form of his snoozing father out of the car and into the wheelchair. Alice Tripp, the decoy, hobbled over to the cashier.

‘Tickets for TWO’ she demanded emphatically, continuing,

‘And there’s nowt to pay, because we’ve got this special voucher. I say! Did y’hear, we’ve got this…’

‘YES!’

The sales assistant pursed her lips. My God, was the rest of the day going to be just like this?

Meanwhile the two male members of the Tripp clan slunk past and headed for the toilets where old Alf was soon installed in the shiny, new facility for the disabled.

‘Now you take your time Dad, and I’ll be back in ten minutes. I’m just going to check on Mum to see how she’s doing’

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The library of Grassping House was buzzing. A bizarre assortment of fossilised men and women every bit as threadbare as the books on the shelves was preparing to ‘guide’ the public on its first visit to the stately home. In their midst, giving last minute directions was the imposing figure of Hermione Bruhme-Handell. And gazing adoringly at the noble lady was a rather liverish old woman with a clipboard, she gushed,

‘May I say what an honour this is, ma’am. Though all my friends and I are deeply sorry that you were driven to opening this magnificent house to the British Public’

With that, the creature’s face took on the appearance of one who had recently trodden in faeces. And the same look of pained revulsion was taken up by Hermione.

‘Well as you all know we were driven to it. The Tourist Board were adamant ‘you MUST open the house. Grassping is at the heart of Yorkshire!’

‘Will you be on hand, ma’am’ came another grovelling enquiry.

‘Certainly not’ stormed the aristocrat. ‘I have no intention of breaking bread with Hoi Polloi. In the unlikely event I’m needed I shall be in the lavender room’

And with that her ladyship made her way to quarters on the first floor, where her daughter Cressida was waiting with a surprise visitor.

‘Mother, Rupert’s here’ trilled the girl, excitedly.

Hermione looked intently at the orange-haired youth.

‘So good of you to come, my dear, we need all the support we can get on this ghastly day. How’s your aunt, is she busy at court?’

‘Oh Freddy’s fine. She sends her apologies for not being here but she’s attending a capital punishment workshop and couldn’t be spared’

All three paused for a moment, as if in prayer, and reflected on glorious times past when there were many offences carrying the death penalty and an almost equal number of ways of executing it.

Hermione Bruhme-Handell was not a handsome woman. She exhibited that trait the English aristocracy have of breeding and inbreeding freakish genetic imperfections.

Sadly, daughter Cressida bore a tragic resemblance to her mother. Hermione looked first at her daughter, then at Rupert and mused on what might be the outcome of adding that scary orange hair to the family’s already dubious genetics.

‘Mother, may Roopy and I go riding?’ asked Cressida.

‘Oh darling, no, I can’t allow it. The stables are just about the only place not trampled over by the public. Let Hermes at least have some peace’

With that Hermione took up her needlepoint and sat in the window.

Cressida signalled to Rupert to withdraw to her bedroom. Having reached her boudoir she drew the blinds, put on a CD then flopped dramatically onto the bed.

‘So, what shall we do?’ she enquired archly, believing, that for any red blooded male, there could be but one response. Rupert, whose proclivities remained as yet unknown to her, answered sulkily.

‘Well, I had wanted to go riding’

Cressida – a young woman scorned - jumped to her feet, her mood changing at once.

‘Very well, let’s go to the stables and see Hermes’

Rupert shuffled after her, hands in pockets, his baggy jeans making him look rather comical. As they crossed the courtyard both heard a distressed sound coming from the disabled toilet. Cressida, finding the incident of no interest proceeded on her way but Rupert paused to listen.

‘Let me out, somebody. I’m trapped in here!’ came the muffled cry.

Rupert drew close to the door and rattled the handle but without result.

‘There must be a button to push or a cord to pull that will release you’ he called to the prisoner inside.

Cressida stopped, turned and with her head tilted wearily said,

‘It’s a CORD’

The news was duly relayed. Seconds later the door glided magisterially sideways and old Alf Tripp wheeled himself out, accompanied by a rather unwholesome odour.

Cressida looked mortified. And to her increasing irritation it appeared that Rupert appeared to want to talk to this old man.

With a toss of her head she announced that she’d be in the stables and flounced off.

‘Can I take you back into the house?’ Rupert asked Alf.

‘I suppose’ Alf replied, ‘if you use that door over in t’corner we should be able to avoid stairs and come in bah t’kitchen’

Rupert was somewhat puzzled that Alf should know this but was too disinterested to question further, and once inside, he judged it best to deposit his creaking load in the library.

‘I have to put the wheelchair outside. I’ll put it beside the visitors’ tables, near the cafeteria. Is that OK?’

Alf nodded vaguely and supported himself against the wall as the young man disappeared out of doors with his wheelchair.

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All the while Malcolm and his mother had made good progress through the house. But both now agreed it was time for a cup of tea.

‘A little of this stately home stuff goes a long way’ observed Alice.

Old Mrs Tripp had approached one of the guides, an elderly vicar’s wife who glowed with excitement when she supposed her compendious knowledge on Chippendale was about to be put to the test. Sadly Alice only wanted to know where the toilets were. Malcolm, feeling it necessary to make the vicar’s wife feel better, asked where they might get some tea. But his mother butted in.

‘I’ve got me flask, you daft lump. We’re not paying them prices! We can sit here. Nobody’ll mind if we just have a quick cuppa’

And with that, mother and son, united in their love of tea and dislike of paying for it, sat in an alcove near to the study and poured themselves cups. But a passing functionary from the Tourist Board had other ideas.

‘I’m sorry but you can’t sit there ‘avin’ tea. We’ve a cafeteria for refreshments. This is a heritage site not a truck stop!’

Malcolm took his mother’s arm before she had time to savage the official. But she’d already started...

‘If my ‘usband were ‘ere now, he give you what for.’

That reminded Malcolm. What about Dad?

‘Oh no! We’ve forgotten about Dad. C’mon Mum’

Mercifully, they were quite near the library and quickly spotted the motionless figure of old Alf seated beside a suit of armour, though the suit of armour looked livelier!

‘How did you get here, and where’s your chair, Dad?’ Malcolm continued, sounding alarmed.

‘Oh some young lad brought me in and he’s tekkin t’chair outside’

Malcolm turned pale yellow.

‘But my camera’s hooked on t’chair handle. Didn’t you see where he went?’

The loss of anything was anathema to Malcolm, but his camera!

His mother had given it to him just a few days earlier for his birthday. It was extra special. Malcolm’s eyes rolled in his head as he reflected on the loss.

‘Well, where’d he put it?’ he pleaded with old Alf.

‘I think he said somethin’ about ‘stables’ ’

The courtyard was busy with tourists as Malcolm tore across it, arms flailing like Don Quixote. The stable block was quite well sign posted but was shown as out of bounds to the general public, as well it might be! For inside, Rupert was busy grooming Hermes, a handsome thoroughbred, while Miss Cressida, having relieved Rupert of his loose fitting jeans was busy on her knees grooming him. It was into this hothouse of sexuality and passion that Malcolm blundered.

‘Excuse me, do you know anything about my Dad’s wheelchair?’

Cressida disconnected herself from her ministrations and fell back onto the hay. Rupert, semi-naked stopped and turned. He stared at Malcolm while trying to adjust his dress.

‘What the Hell are you doing here?

Good question. Not for the first time had Malcolm seen couples in a similar position of sexual congress, though admittedly always men. But for the moment his only concern was his camera and the insistent questioning continued.

Just what was it that got the horse so flustered? It may have been the vigorous brushing. It may even have been the hot sexual antics of the teenagers, but my money’s on Malcolm and his foghorn voice. At any rate Hermes reared and took immediate opportunity to escape that voice. He bolted.

‘You MORON’ Cressida screamed at the elderly schoolteacher.

From the courtyard came a heady mix of sounds; hooves on cobbles, whinnying, alarms, the odd scream and a lot of shouting.

A pleasant day out in the country was fast becoming the circus of death. Tourists scattered to the edge of the courtyard finding refuge where they could. And two elderly people could be seen forging their way across the yard. Alf was leaning heavily on his wife,

pointing with his stick to where his wheelchair was.

‘Over there, the chair’s over there bah visitors’ tables’ Alf emphasised.

Catching sight of his parents Malcolm made a beeline. Alice grabbed her son’s arm and shook it with slight irritation.

‘There’s your camera, over there on Dad’s chair. Stop making such a fuss. It wasn’t a dear one, anyway. Nobody’d pinch it’

Glumly Malcolm made his way over to the chair, picked up his camera and began to fondle it.

Alice moved closer to Alf and lowered her voice.

‘I wish he wouldn’t mek such a fuss about that camera.

It wurra free gift from t’buildin’ Society, Yorkshire Greed.

If you introduced someone who signs up for that Centenarians Coffer o’ Cash you get a free gift. Well, that’s where I got ‘is camera.

Alf was now asleep but she continued.

‘E thinks I bought it. So don’t spoil the surprise.

Come on, let’s get home for some tea. This whole day’s been a waste of time. We’d ‘ave ‘ad more excitement if we’d stayed in’

‘