Chapter Eight Shenanigans #3
Jack takes another step. I don’t cheer this time.
From off to our left a flock of crows takes flight, disturbed by our passage. Jack lets out an exclamation of terror.
‘It’s fine!’ I cry, trying to reassure. ‘You’re fine, Jack.’ I point up the way a bit. ‘Let’s just get to that big clump of bushes, eh? Let’s get there, and we’ll call it a day. You’re doing very well.’
‘Am I?’ he asks me, and I feel him tremble all over as he says this.
I nod hard. ‘Yes! You’re doing brilliantly. I’m very proud of you!’
He nods as well. ‘I am doing it.’
‘You are,’ Leo agrees, giving him a smile of his own. This one is more gentle. More patient. More
honest
Leo-like.
The three of us continue towards the large crop of bushes, which are just the right size to hold several children dressed as characters from a well-known fantasy epic.
My heart rate rises as we draw closer.
But Jack’s stage of this adventure has gone well, hasn’t it? No reason to suggest Leo’s won’t too!
‘That’s fine,’ I eventually say. ‘That’s far enough, Jack. Why don’t you have a little look around? Take a few deep breaths as you do it.’
Jack nods again, and does exactly that.
As he does, the deep frown lines of terror start to evaporate, and his body begins to untense. So much so, that I am able to let him go, and stand back a bit. Leo does the same thing, but with a lot less surety about his movements.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks Jack.
‘Yeah. I . . . I think so,’ our friend responds. ‘If I just stand here, and don’t try to think about things too much, I think I can . . . I can . . .’
Oh God. There are tears in his eyes. This is so hard for him.
What the hell am I doing?
‘If I just stay here,’ he repeats, ‘it’s not too bad, as long as nothing—’
‘I Am The Servant Of The Secret Fire!’ shouts a high-pitched but surprisingly powerful voice. ‘I Am The Flame Of Anor!’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Jack screams as the sound cuts through the Dartmoorian silence.
From behind the large clump of bushes, and very much on cue, emerges a tall kid of about ten years old, dressed as Gandalf the Grey.
He is holding his staff and plastic sword mightily aloft, and has a look of grim resolve on his face.
Good, good. He’s playing the part well. That’s just what I wanted.
Behind him come several more children, dressed as Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Aragorn, Gimli, Boromir and—
That’s a poodle. I did not request a poodle.
That was not part of my grand master plan.
From behind the bush, Poppy Mulbray pops her head out. ‘Sorry, Charlie!’ she stage-whispers. ‘Noah got the runs and couldn’t make it. I thought Coco might make a nice alternative? I had a Christmas elf-dog costume lying around, so . . .’
I stare at her in disbelief.
No, Poppy Mulbray.
A nice alternative would have been finding a different child to play Legolas . . . or just not bothering with a Legolas at all.
A poodle was not required. Not in any way was a poodle necessary.
Legolas wanders over to where Frodo is now stood, flops to the ground and starts scratching at his little green overcoat. The Hobbit gives him a pat on the head and looks up at me with a broad smile on his face.
I am aghast.
Not least because Frodo shouldn’t be smiling. Those were not my instructions.
Happily for Jack, this decidedly unexpected turn of events has smothered his agoraphobia completely. ‘What in the actual buggery is that?’ he says, jaw dropping open.
‘G-G-Gandalf?’ stammers Leo, one hand instinctively going to his nose, until his brain catches up with events a little more, and realises how short the wizard actually is.
The chances of this Gandalf being able to bonk him on the schnoz are slim to none – which was kind of the whole point, wasn’t it?
Jack looks at me and blinks. ‘What is going on, please?’
The Fellowship surround us as they have been instructed to do. They all contrive to look mean and moody, which is also what they have been instructed to do. Results are mixed.
Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli aren’t doing too bad a job, waggling their plastic swords for all their worth, but the four kids playing the Hobbits are all entirely too bloody cute.
Two of them are girls. They are all tiny.
There’s an unhealthy amount of pure sweetness and light pouring off all four of them that should come with a health warning for anyone with diabetes.
Legolas is licking his genitals.
Realisation is now dawning on Leo’s face about what I’ve done here.
‘You’re bloody mad,’ he says, utterly dumbfounded.
‘Now hang on, Leo—’
‘Stark-staring, off-your-chump, away-with-the-fairies mad.’ He sweeps a hand around. ‘Did you think this would do for me what the moors are doing for Jack?’
I nod my head slowly. ‘Yes. Kinda.’ I clear my throat awkwardly. ‘I thought, you know, facing up to the same people that made you scared that night might snap you out of your trauma a bit. The same way being up here is helping Jack.’
‘Helping?’ Jack interjects, his face a picture of unmitigated misery.
Leo stares at me for a second before replying.
‘You absolute maniac.’ He looks around at the Fellowship again, who are continuing to point their plastic swords at us in a moderately effective manner.
‘Can you just answer me one question, Charlie?’ Leo’s voice is being kept very level only by dint of heroic effort on his part, I am sure.
‘Okay?’
‘Why are they . . .’ He looks understandably incredulous. ‘Why are they children?’
I shrug. ‘Well . . . you know . . . I didn’t want to scare you too much, did I?’
Leo’s eyes bulge. I can’t tell if he’s about to start laughing, crying or vomiting. Possibly all three are on the cards.
Oh dear. Things aren’t going well, are they?
He looks fit to burst. ‘And you thought that the best way to help me with my fear of being beaten up by fully grown adults was to bring a load of small children out into the middle of nowhere and . . . present them to me?’
My face collapses. ‘Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound all that great.’
‘No, Charlie!’ Leo snaps. ‘It bloody well doesn’t, does it?’
I point at Gandalf. ‘Would you like Gandalf to threaten you a bit with his staff?’
‘No, I fu—’ He stops himself just in time. ‘No, I’m bloomin’ well wouldn’t!’ He throws his hands up. ‘Honestly, Charlie, I’m actually scared you might be losing your mind. You’re doing all this weird stuff. You’re not making much sense. You’re all over the place!’
‘No, I’m not,’ I protest. ‘I’m just trying to help you both.’
‘We’re not the ones who need help!’ Jack snaps. ‘You are!’
It’s at this point that Frodo – undoubtedly now bored to tears with all this adult nonsense – decides to poke Legolas up the bum.
The poodle jumps a bloody mile, howling at the top of his canine lungs as he does so.
‘Theo! That’s very naughty!’ Poppy Mulbray exclaims from her semi-hiding place. ‘We talked about this, remember?’
‘Sorry, Mummy!’ Theo replies, but I don’t detect much actual regret in his voice.
Poodlelas, now in an extreme state of agitation, has to make a split-second decision between fight or flight.
Sadly for me, he chooses fight.
And what he chooses to do is enter into mortal combat with me.
‘Aaaarrgh!’ I scream . . . because there really is nothing else you can do when Legolas has just bitten you on the ankle.
‘Coco! Leave him alone! Come here!’ Poppy Mulbray demands, emerging fully from the bush.
She could have done this a lot sooner, to be honest with you, but I did stipulate she stay out of sight in my instructions.
It’s only now that I’m being savaged that she quite rightly decides to disobey orders and step in.
It’s the right decision, as Poodlelas finally lets go of my ankle, and bolts back to his owner.
I inspect the damaged area to find that my jeans have been shredded, but thankfully my skin has not. I’m likely to wind up with a nasty bruise, though.
‘This farce is over,’ Leo says in a tone that brooks no dissent.
‘Agreed,’ adds Jack, with equal veracity.
The two of them give me a look that Sauron would have quailed from, and walk back over to the limousine. They climb in, and immediately slam the door behind them – thus leaving me to my own devices.
‘Are your friends mad at you because of us?’ Frodo asks, a worried little look on his face.
‘No,’ I tell him. ‘Absolutely not!’ I look briefly back at the limo. ‘They’re mad at me because . . . because I made them come here today when they didn’t want to. And because . . . they think I need to do something I don’t want to.’
He considers this for a moment, his little face a picture of thought. ‘Mummy says sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to. Like brush our teeth . . . and not poke Coco up the bum. She says it makes us better.’
For some reason I find it difficult to look into his eyes. So instead I turn to his mother. ‘Thank you for your time, Poppy. The minibus will be back very soon, won’t it?’
‘Yeah, it will,’ she says with a smile ‘I just have to call the driver.’ She looks over at the limo. ‘I hope you can sort things out with your friends.’
I sigh. ‘So do I.’
‘Mummy says saying sorry is important!’ Frodo pipes up again.
I nod gravely. ‘Mummy is right, Theo. Mummy is absolutely right.’
I give him, Poppy and the rest of the Fellowship a rather half-hearted wave, and walk slowly back over to the limousine.
Gingerly, I open the door and lower myself in.
I am greeted by a pair of faces more granite-like than the bedrock of these moors.
‘Shall we . . . Shall we go and have a nice spa?’ I say to them, pathetic hope etched across my face.
‘Just tell the driver to get going,’ Jack says, face like thunder. ‘I’m going to have a drink, and decide what the hell I’m supposed to think about this idiotic adventure of yours. You will keep quiet while I do this. Very quiet.’
I go to say something.
‘He said quiet,’ Leo snaps.
I swallow hard.
Oh dear.