Mr. Taylor

© 2012 David Jasmin-Green

It was a Saturday afternoon, and Archie Taylor, laden down with bags, was approximately half way through the main weekly shopping trip that he had undertook with his wife almost without fail for the last forty six years. He was sick of shopping already, he mused, and they had only been in town for an hour. “I've had enough, Carol,” he said much louder than necessary as he marched righteously onwards through the Marks and Spencer’s ladies clothing department like the resolute Christian soldier he was convinced he was and headed towards the restaurant. “It's all right for you, you're not carrying anything.”

Archie took great care to avert his gaze from the lacy ladies' underwear that was hanging from shiny stainless steel racks in plain view, as per usual. Even worse, he thought, the flimsiest garments were displayed on what he considered to be disgracefully graphic fibreglass dummies.

“Disgusting!” he growled under his breath. “Sometimes I think that the management of this store have moved this section here where we can't possibly avoid it simply to annoy me. If that isn't temptation for perverts and rapists and bloody paedophiles, I don't know what is. Underwear belongs under a person's clothing, that's why it's called 'underwear.' This place used to be a morally upstanding establishment, Carol, and until a few years ago I was proud to shop here, but just lately it's degenerating just as swiftly as the rest of this sinful world. The poison spreads almost imperceptibly, my love, and the foul, demonic serpent slithers ever more brazenly to and fro across the Earth – and only the blood of Jesus Christ can protect us from its caustic venom. By His stripes we are saved!

Just look at that blasphemous monstrosity. How's a woman supposed to keep her mammary glands and her undercarriage warm on a cold winters' day with a few tiny slivers of net curtain? It's patently ridiculous, they want prosecuting for selling such trash if you ask me. But never mind that now. Come on, m'dear, don't look at the devil's work any longer than necessary.

Let's go and have a coffee. Well, I'll have a coffee and you, no doubt, will drink the insipid excuse for tea that they serve on these premises – it looks like dirty dish water to me, and I can't bear to think what it tastes like. I suppose you'll also want a slice of criminally expensive fresh cream Cheesecake or Bakewell tart. Don't worry, I won't deny you that little pleasure..... I hope to God that this enclave of sanity within an utterly crazy world is free of the pickpockets, yobbos, scum-bags and other reprobates that crawl through the rest of this sorry town like a swarm of marauding locusts. I don't know what this country's coming to, I really don't. Surely at our age we deserve peace and quiet and a modicum of respect.”

Archie selected a freshly wiped table close enough to the till so that he could keep an eye on his good wife while he ordered their victuals but far enough away to ensure that they could talk without being overheard, because he hated nosy-parkers eavesdropping on his private conversations. As usual he made sure that his beloved was comfortable before he did anything else. He liked her to be within his sight at all times, because he was sick of hearing about attacks on defenceless pensioners, particularly women. Carol, bless her soul, was particularly fragile, and it was his duty to look after her to the best of his ability.

“Oh, bugger,” Archie whispered as he waited to be served. “I need to visit the little boys' room. I don't like to leave my love unattended, but my bladder isn't what it used to be, so it looks like I have no choice.” He placed his order, and hopefully, he thought, it would be ready for collection as soon as he was done. Before he left he glanced over to make sure his bags were safe with Carol, because she was way too flimsy to fight off muggers.

“There's obscene graffiti plastered all over the men's toilets,” Archie complained to the checkout girl upon his return. “Some clown's drawn an enormous penis across the tiles above the washbasins, and they were fool enough to write their name along its length. It needs removing ASAP, young woman. I insist that you report it to you manager straight away, because filth like that brings even the most well raised youngsters down to gutter level.” The girl said that she would report the matter as soon as her supervisor returned from her lunch break, but she didn't sound very convincing to Archie.....

He was still grumbling to himself as he carried the tray over to where he had left his wife, and he didn't notice the group of four scruffy teenagers that had made themselves comfortable on the very next table until the last moment.

“They're eating burgers and chips, and one of them is munching on a battered sausage that looks like it's been bathing in grease since last Christmas,” Archie whispered as he sat down. “How unhealthy is that? And the insolent young tearaways are drinking Coca-cola straight from the bottle. No manners, no manners at all. My my, look at the way they're dressed. It shouldn't be allowed - it's a bloody outrage. What did you say, Carol? Each to his own? Live and let live? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Your moral standards are slipping, precious. Trust you to believe that there's a good side even to the lowest of the low - trust you to casually overlook the sundry abominations of the blatantly unpious, unanointed and uninitiated. We need to make you an appointment with the parish priest, methinks - someone with authority, someone you're prepared to actually listen to needs to drum a little sense into your head.”

Archie tried his hardest to keep his mouth shut because it was always getting him into trouble, but it wasn't long before the loud, guffawing, and on occasion rather fruity chatter of the teenagers forced him to speak his mind.

“What's the meaning of this?” he snapped as he stirred milk and sugar into Carol's tea and slid it over to her side of the table next to her Bakewell tart. “This restaurant is almost deserted, so why do you have to sit next to a couple of vulnerable pensioners? What's wrong with the tables over there where we can't easily overhear your loud, unconsidered streams of obscenity? My wife is a very delicate woman, and I don't want her to be exposed to such filth.”

“What's the matter, gramps, are you worried that we might give you Aids?” one of the girls said, though Archie found it difficult to tell which of the youths were male and which were female, because every one of them wore heavily studded biker jackets and jeans and Heavy Metal t shirts and they all had long, lank hair. The group erupted in a bout of maniacal laughter.

“I beg your pardon?” Archie replied. “Are you insinuating that there's a feasible circumstance in which I would lower myself to get anywhere near close enough to a despicable, unwashed and obviously diseased creature like yourself to risk infection? What do you take me for?”

“You're accusing me of being dirty?” the girl said. “You're the one who needs a bath, granddad – shit, I can smell you from here.”

“We're not bothering you, old man,” one of the lads said rather sheepishly. Archie's remark had either gone way over his head or he was simply trying to calm the storm he sensed was brewing. “We might look a bit greasy to you, which is understandable, I suppose, as your generation and ours are oceans apart, but we're not criminals - we're not planning to rob you or beat you up, if that's what you're worried about.”

“I didn't mean to sound impertinent, young man,” Archie said, “I'm just pointing out that there's room for everyone in here without you having to sit right there, practically on our laps. My generation was brought up to give our elders a little space and a great deal more respect than you seem willing to give.”

“Oh, chill out, for fuck's sake,” the same girl that had spoken earlier said. “Taz just told you that we ain't looking for trouble, we just want to fill our bellies and get on with our shopping, same as everybody else. Eat your cake and drink your tea, you silly, rude old fart. Mind your own bloody business, and more 'n likely folk will leave you alone.”

“Are these people bothering you, Sir?” a middle aged member of staff interrupted as she approached from Archie's rear.

“Yes, as a matter of fact they are,” the old man said. “I'm sure you couldn't help but overhear the tail end of the filth that just came out of that young harlot's mouth – she called me a silly old fart!”

“That's because you are one,” the girl muttered. “And you missed out the 'rude' bit. We were sitting here minding our own business until you opened your big gob and insisted that we move as far as possible away from you, as if we've got the sodding plague. As usual, though, I suppose we'll be labelled the baddies instead of fogey features, who started all the trouble, the miserable old fuck.”

“I'll thank you not to use such language in here in future, young lady,” the restaurant supervisor said, “or I'll have to ask you to leave. In this case, however,” she continued as she suddenly recognised Archie, “I'm prepared to give you all the benefit of the doubt, because I believe we've had trouble with Mr. Taylor before.....”

“Trouble, from me?” Archie snapped. “I'll have you know that I'm a fine, upstanding member of the community, and I've never been any trouble to anyone. I'm an ex police officer, and I've been a member of the same church since I was twelve years old. My wife and I have shopped here since the store opened in 1970, but the way things are going we won't be doing so for much longer!”

“Sir, as you well know, practically every time you come in here you pick an argument with someone, and I've lost count of the number of customers we've lost because of you. As I explained a couple of weeks back, I've had several conversations with my manager about your behaviour, and we agreed that if you were involved in any further disputes, either with members of staff or other customers, our only option would be to ask you to leave and, if necessary, permanently bar you from the store.”

“Hear hear! Bravo!” the rock chick said, gleefully clapping her hands. “Chuck the grumpy old git out on the street, where he belongs.”

“You keep out of it, you illiterate strumpet, you dirty little slut, you Whore of Babylon,” Archie said slowly and precisely, “or by the blood of the Lamb I'll make you sorry. I'll make you wish you never set eyes on me, I'll make you wish you never slipped out of your mother's scabrous cunt, I promise.”

“Actually I think it's best if you leave right now, Mr. Taylor,” the supervisor said, trying to conceal her shock – never before had she heard such a sweet looking old man utter such an obnoxious mouthful. “Kerry, love, call security for me, would you? Tell them to make it snappy.”

“Carol and I aren't going anywhere until we've finished eating and drinking,” Archie said, “and as you well know, we've only just arrived. You can call who you bloody well like - call the police, call the army, call the National Guard! I was brought up to stand my ground when I know I'm in the right, and I'm far from wrong, so we're not budging an inch. These louts were openly abusing me, and you heard them, Madam, so it's as clear as day who should be thrown out.”

“Security are on their way up, Alice,” the checkout girl called.

“It's as clear as day that you're a bad 'un and those kids are innocent,” a new voice interrupted, and the entire group turned around to look at the plump lady delicately sipping a cup of tea at the table behind Archie. She had appeared from nowhere, or at least she had sneaked into the background while the combatants were otherwise engaged. She was a gypsy lady of indeterminate age, she could have been fifty, she might just as easily have been seventy. The woman looked like an East European Romany, Alice mused, but she couldn't have been, because she didn't have a noticeable accent.

“A bloody fortune teller!” Archie growled. “That's all we need. Get out of here, you portly tinker charlatan. Go find a church and repent your multifarious sins, you unspeakable witch, before I burn you at the stake in the name of Jesus, along with the rest of your thieving, scrap metal dealing, tarmac spreading tribe.”

Alice, the restaurant supervisor, stared at the gypsy with undisguised wonder, because she did indeed look like a fortune teller. Well, sort of.....

The woman wore a rough shawl of beige and various shades of brown that looked like it might have been hand woven from raffia and lentil fibres by some crazy hippie obsessed with replenishable materials. A purple batik headscarf printed with golden suns, moons and stars was wrapped tightly around her head, covering most of her hair, which was raven black tinged with a few silvery strands. And she wore the biggest hoop earrings that Alice had ever seen.

“Who are you, Madam, might I ask?” Alice said, taking a step closer because she couldn't believe what her eyes were telling her. The woman's earrings had little trapeze swings hanging at their centres, and on the swings sat tiny golden monkeys that swung gently back and forth seemingly of their own accord, because the woman's head was as still as a rock. Another movement caught Alice's eye as well, there was something nestled in the woman's ample cleavage. It was a tiny Marmoset just four or five inches long, a baby, Alice guessed, and it was wearing a bright blue bonnet and sucking on a miniature dummy. She felt compelled to tell the woman that animals were strictly forbidden in the store, excepting guide dogs, of course, but she had more important issues to deal with.

“My name is Verity,” the woman replied. “Verity Ashanger, ma'am, at your service. This man is in the wrong, but you shouldn't throw him out, you need to keep him right where he is and call the police. He's a bad 'un, my dear, El Diablo himself is sitting on his bony shoulder where he's been perched for quite some time. The old lizard has already cajoled the supposedly honourable Archie Taylor into committing a heinous crime, and he'll commit many further atrocities if he isn't stopped. Please do as I ask - call the police straight away.”

“I, er, I'm not sure if that's appropriate just yet,” Alice said. “Security will be here in a moment, and we'll take the matter from there.”

“You heard what Verity said,” one of the rock chicks piped in. “The fossil has the devil on his shoulder. I knew he was bad news the moment I clapped eyes on him, and the more I look at him the more convinced I am of his..... of his wickedness, I have to say. There's more to old Archie than meets the eye, it seems, so call the bloody pigs, let them sort him out.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Archie said. “This situation is getting out of hand. Carol, have you finished your tea? We're leaving. Yes, right now. I don't care if you haven't eaten your cake, we have to go – I can't sit here and listen to this nonsense a moment longer. Bloody mystics, they have no idea what they're rabbiting on about. They make up their fairy stories as they go along, but somehow they get the denser members of the population to believe the preposterous rubbish they come out with. El Diablo indeed.....”

“How come you're talking to your wife when there's nobody there, old timer?” the rock chick said. “What's up, have you got a screw loose? Haven't your dominoes got any spots on 'em?”

“You shut your stupid mouth, Jezebel, or I'll shut it for you,” Archie said, pulling the leather briefcase on the seat closer to his side. “I won't warn you again!”

“The young lady asked you a perfectly sensible question,” Alice said after a moment's thought, eyeing the monkeys within the gypsy's earrings, which seemed to be swinging a little faster than they were before. “Yes, she did it a little rudely, but you brought that on yourself..... I remember your wife well, Mr. Taylor, and though you were sometimes a bit of a nuisance when she was with you she seemed more than capable of calming you down when you had one of your, erm, tizzies. But the last few times you've been in here she hasn't been with you, and from what I've witnessed you've tumbled completely out of control. The last thing I want to do is upset you, Sir, but is something troubling you? Is your wife – Carol, is it? – is she ill, maybe, or has she, um, passed away? Is that what's on your mind?”

No she has not!” Archie yelled. “Carol is sitting right here beside me. No, wait a minute..... She's popped to the toilet, I suppose. Or maybe she's forgotten the milk or something. Oh, I don't know, she was here a minute ago, surely someone here saw her. I know she hasn't touched her cake, she hasn't been very well, you see, but she's finished her tea. Look!”

“You drank that tea,” Alice said. “I saw you. But you've barely touched your own drink.” All Archie could do was look around him, hoping for support from someone, anyone.

“He drank the tea to cover up, in his own mind at least, the certainty that his wife is no longer with us,” Verity said calmly. “Archie knows that he killed Carol, in a fit of rage, I guess, but he can't accept it. And he secretly hopes that by not accepting it himself the rest of the world will somehow overlook it.” Alice watched the little monkeys on the gypsy's earrings as she spoke, and they were swinging faster than ever.

“This is nonsense!” Archie said, standing up, lifting his carrier bags off the floor and placing them beside the leather briefcase. “If only you could see your faces, you blithering idiots, your expressions are a picture! My goodness, you really believe the chuntering old fool, don't you? Tell me one thing, then – even if it were true, even if I had killed my wife, how could an illiterate gyppo bitch possibly know about it? Piffle! Come on, Carol, wherever you are, we have the shopping to get on with.”

“What's the problem, Alice?” the powerfully built Jamaican security guard said when he finally sauntered onto the scene.

“You took your frigging time, Chester,” the restaurant supervisor sighed.

“Yeah, we had an incident in the foyer to deal with. What's up?”

“Oh, it's complicated, very complicated indeed. You've met this this gentleman before, I believe. Mr. Taylor has caused a series of problems in the store in the past. In this case he was complaining very loudly and rudely about the kids sitting on the next table, though as far as I can ascertain he was entirely to blame for the argument that erupted. But then this lady over here insisted that he's killed his wife – but you really don't want to hear about that, it's immaterial. We just need this gentleman escorting out of the store, I think, but he said he was leaving anyway.” Chester took a step towards the old man and began to say something in the calm, authoritative manner he was trained to use even with the most difficult individuals, but Archie stopped him in his tracks before he'd barely opened his mouth.

“You keep your filthy black hands off me!” the old man roared. “I'm warning you, jungle bunny, don't you dare to touch me or, heaven forbid, my pure, Christian, Caucasian wife – we all know about your kind's insatiable lust for desecrating white women. I don't trust Negroes one tiny bit. If your parents hadn't been taken in by the kindness of a civilised country like ours you'd be tucking into a missionary sandwich right now instead of being paid to bother decent people.” Chester didn't know where to put his face.....

“Oh, for fuck's sake!” the rock chick said, burying her head in her hands. “Not only is he a miserable bastard and a complete nut-case, he's a bloody racist as well. It's about time you grew up, old man. We're all pink on the inside, twatty.”

“It's not wise to touch what the devil has tainted,” Verity said, the monkeys at the centre of her earrings swinging so fast they were almost looping the loop, “because you might well end up with burned fingers. You need to call the police to prevent this monster from leaving the store and disappearing into the crowd. And seeing as none of you completely believe what I've told you, you need to take a look at what he has in that stinking leather case on the seat next to him. Go on, look in the bag!”

“You'll do that over my dead body,” Archie said, swiftly picking up the case and holding it tightly to his chest. “This case contains personal property of a very sensitive nature, which is why I take it practically everywhere I go – it contains my most cherished belongings in the entire world, and I won't let you have it!”

“What have you got to lose, Chester?” Verity said, but Chester didn't look at all happy about the situation. “If there's nothing incriminating in the bag, all you have to say in your defence is that you were convinced that the old geezer was stealing jars of coffee or tins of salmon or frozen chickens or something. Look closely, that case has seeped a little pool of filth onto your nice, clean upholstery, and now it's leaving a nasty brown stain on the front of the old man's coat. Take the bag, Chester. What are you, a man or a mouse?”

“I..... I can't do that, Madam,” Chester stuttered. “There's something about this situation that's not right. There's something bad in that bag, I know it, I can feel it in my bones. If my mother was here she'd tell me to run out of the fire doors at the back of the restaurant and keep running until I reached home, but I can't do that, because I have a job to do.”

“Please escort Mr. Taylor out of the store, Chester,” Alice said. “Nothing more, nothing less. This lady isn't a member of staff, so you're not under any obligation to do as she suggests. Just get that man out of here, for Christ's sake.”

Verity stood up and took a couple of steps towards Archie, who was still holding the bag to his chest. “Put it down, you naughty boy,” she said softly, the monkeys at the centre of her earrings spinning so swiftly it was impossible to tell that they were monkeys any more, and the little monkey tucked down her cleavage chattered in alarm. “Put the bag on the damned seat where it was, and take a step back so that the man can look inside to see what you've stolen and who you've stolen it from.”

“Shan't!” Archie hissed. “Shan't, can't, won't – and you can't bloody well make me!”

Verity pointed directly between Archie's eyes, and his head twitched violently as if she had administered a powerful electric shock. His eyes rolled back in their sockets like the eyes of a big old shark about to take a chunk out of a surfer's calf muscle. He glared malevolently at the gypsy woman with the whites of his eyes as if he could still see her, hissing like an enraged tomcat. “Ssss! Stop! Ssss! Go away, hag, make tracks that-a-way, or I'll hook you through your lying lips, reel you in, fry you like a kipper and eat you up. And then I'll sniff out your mongrel children and eat them, too.....”

The kids at the next table slowly and rather comically stood up, leaving their meals half eaten, backing away in slow motion, and then made a run for the exit. Alice simply stood there open mouthed, and Chester tried to hide behind her. “Holy shit,” Alice said. “Chester, please tell me this isn't happening. What are you, lady, a fucking exorcist?”

“Oh Jesus,” Chester said. “Forgive me for my sins, Lord, please forgive us all. Jesus, in the name of Jesus save us all from Satan and I'll go to church on Sunday and every Sunday after that until the day I die, I promise I will..... Jesus!”

“Drop the bag now, you noxious serpent,” Verity said. “Drop it like its on fire. Drop it like it's hot, drop it like it's hot, drop it like it's HOT!”

All of a sudden Archie Taylor did as he was told, his hands springing open as if they had been burned, and in the same instant that the bag tumbled from his grasp the lights went out in his brain and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. The briefcase bounced off the corner of the table, turned a single leisurely somersault and burst open as it hit the floor. A soggy football sized object erratically wobbled through a flood of lumpy, dark coloured liquid that gushed out of the bag and then rolled across the floor in a wide, uneven arc, leaving a fine spray of tiny wriggling things in its wake. It vanished under the table for a moment, and when it reappeared it came to a gentle halt as it hit the side of Alice's shoe.

“Aah, I had a sneaking feeling that Archie still had his wife with him – or at least part of her,” Verity said.

“Jesus!” Chester said.

Carol Taylor's eyes, as white as her husbands were when the gypsy entranced him, stared directly up at Alice and at Chester, who was looking over her shoulder. The security guard blacked out and went down with a heavy thud, but with a shudder Alice gingerly kicked the decomposing head away from her and sat down, all the strength draining from her body. The gypsy woman, she realised, had disappeared – one minute she was there and the next she was gone – and it was only when Alice's mind replayed the image of the greasy clot of maggots falling out of Carol's partially open mouth that she screamed.