Eric and the Red Shoes

Jack lay back on a lounger by the pool and sighed. There was no sensible way out but to have Heidi removed. Then all that he surveyed would be his, or so he thought. As the widower he would take the lot. Had he paid a little more attention to their prenuptial contract he would realise his income or windfall would be considerably less than he had imagined. He stretched over for his mobile and stared at it for a moment. After a moment’s hesitation he started his plan by ringing the Flannigan brothers flicking through the contacts option on his phone and dialled when Michael Flannigan’s name appeared on the small screen, he needed to talk to him urgently. “Michael, how the devil are you?” he asked jovially. “I’m fine, so I am,” came the reply. “And how’s yourself?” “Good thanks Michael.” “And how is the little lady Jack?” “A pain in the arse if you must know. Look I need to see you, I need a bit of a favour, there’ll be a drink in it for you,” he said knowing that would whet Michael’s appetite. “Where are you?” “We’re heading to Lourdes.” “Why?” “Gran wanted to go,” Michael replied, as if it was obvious. “For Christ’s sake Michael, it’s the middle of October, what the hell are you going there for? Anyway your Gran doesn’t even like cricket,” Jack snapped. “What’s cricket got to do with it?” Michael asked. “It’s the home of cricket for Christ’s sake,” Jack retorted. He was desperate to talk to Michael about his plan, and he needed to do it quickly before Heidi made her trip to Ireland. “Fecking hell Jack its Lourdes in France, not Lords you eejit.” “Oh, never mind, when will you be back?” Jack asked. “Ah well, that might be a bit of a problem, I’m not really sure.” “Why? You haven’t got lost have you, I’ve always said you should never let Patrick navigate, he couldn’t find his own arse if it wasn’t always behind him.” “We’re not lost,” Michael said with confidence. “It’s Gran, she’s eh, she’s not with us, in more ways than one.” He seemed sheepish now, almost apologetic. “What do you means she’s not with you? Where is she if she’s isn’t with you?” “Not really sure how it happened but we set off on Monday morning, picked Gran up in Dartford and headed down to Dover so we could go in that tunnel to France. Gran suggested we have a little holiday while we were down there so we hitched up her caravan. It’s got a toilet and everything, Gran had been cleaning it up for weeks.” Michael was starting to babble on. Jack stopped him right there. “Get on with it Michael, I haven’t got all day.” “Well just before we got to the port Gran, as large as life announced she had never been abroad before. So I said, ‘you have got a passport haven’t you Gran?’ And she says, ‘why the feck would I have a passport? We’re in the common market now, don’t see why we need one.’ And I said, ‘feck me Gran, of course you need one.’ So Gran said, ‘why don’t I go in the caravan before you go through customs and that way I won’t need one, they’ll never look inside.’ So that’s what we did. Gran hid in the bed, under all the sheets and quilts, and off we went.” “It’s a wonder you weren’t bloody arrested for people smuggling or whatever they call it,” Jack said. “Well we weren’t Mr. clever clogs. Gran stayed under the covers for the whole journey, so when we cleared the dock at the other end we set off for Lourdes. We’d gone about twenty miles when Patrick suggested we let Gran out, so we pulled into a lay-by and went to get the old girl out, and that’s when the trouble started.” Jack could hear Patrick swearing in the background and Michael told him to ‘shut the feck up, we’ll find her,’ and he returned to Jack at the other end of the phone. “What do you mean, you’ll find her?” Jack asked. Michael was back again his voice becoming higher pitched and Jack detected a little panic coming from the other end of the line. “Well,” Michael continued, “we pulled off the road and went in to get Gran out and feck me, she was dead, don’t know if she suffocated or had just had enough, but she was dead as dead can be, then Patrick starts to panic.” “Fecking hell Michael, not only people smuggling but murder as well, so where is she now?” Jack asked. “We don’t know,” Michael said sadly. “Was she taken to a hospital or something Michael?” “No, well I don’t know. Patrick here suggested we unhitch the caravan and go back to the port and tell someone what happened, well not the bit about her hiding, just that she had died. Pat said it would be quicker without the caravan, so we left her there, covered her up again all proper like, and off we went. The local police didn’t understand what we were trying to tell them, and you know Pat, doesn’t speak a word of French so resorts to shouting at them to make them understand. He nearly started a fight with the feckers. Anyway we managed to get someone to translate and eventually headed back with them behind us to Gran in the lay-by.” “So what’s the problem?” Jack asked smiling to himself at their stupidity. “When we got back, she’d gone,” he said. “So she’s not dead after all.” “She was dead alright, cause Pat slapped her and she never woke up, so he slapped her again even harder and still she never woke. No, she was dead alright. Anyway she’d gone, the caravan had gone, the whole fecking lot had gone. Some bastard had nicked the caravan with Gran still in it. So I’ve no idea where the fecking hell she is.” Michaels’ words tailed off into silence. “Bloody hell Michael, what have the police said?” “They don’t seem bothered, it’s just another missing caravan as far as they’re concerned,” Michael said as if he also wasn’t very worried. “For fecks sake Michael, your Gran is missing, aren’t they bothered about that, or are missing dead grandmothers the norm in France?” “They don’t know about Gran.” “But you said you told them at the port and that’s why they came back with you,” Jack asked, concerned that Michael didn’t seem to have a grasp on the situation. “Patrick got the translation wrong, apparently he said ‘grand merde,’ not ‘grandmere,’ which means big shit, so the French coppers think we’ve lost a caravan with a blocked toilet or something like that, so we’re coming home,” he confirmed. “But what about Gran?” “I don’t know, some feckers going to get a hell of a shock when they open the caravan, especially if they leave it somewhere warm for a few days, god rest her dear soul.” Michael seemed unmoved by the plight of his dead grandmother. Patrick on the other hand was ready to punch someone for nicking his Gran, so the sooner Michael brought him back across the channel the better. “Look Michael I need to meet, there’s a favour I need to ask you, I need a bit of help with a particular problem,” Jack told him. “As soon as you get back ring me and I’ll come over.” “Sure, when?” “Soon as possible mate, as soon as you’re free,” Jack said quickly. “Tomorrow night?” Michael suggested leaving the question hanging. “Sure mate, how about just after eight.” “Sure Jack, what is it?” “Can’t say now, I’ll tell you later. Bring Patrick as well; two heads are better than one.” Jack knew he needed them both, two heads in this case may not add up to a single brain, but it was his only option at the moment. “Ok Jack, where?” “I’ll come over your way Michael, that way nobody will know me.” All this seemed to intrigue him; Jack sounded secretive and seemed to have a lot of urgency in his voice. “Ok, see you tomorrow, oh, and Michael.” “What?” “Don’t tell anyone,” Jack whispered. “I won’t tell a soul mate, well apart from Patrick,” Michael agreed. Jack killed the call and looked at the phone as the screen dimmed and the screen saver, a photograph of him and Heidi on the yacht, came into view. The smiles on their faces hiding the pain they were both suffering now. “You’re going to get what’s coming to you my little rich bitch,” Jack spat at the phone.