Toast! (Bring Out Your Dead series - Part 24)

Continued from Episode 23 - 'White Lines? (Don't Do It)

The story so far (you can read from the start at 'Board Stiff!'):  Josiah and Archibald, our two Undertakers, are on a mission to Spain to collect the mortal remains of Sir Lewisham Carnock.  After a series of misadventures, they are finally en route to the ferry at Santander with (what they hope is) their cargo, along with an extra passenger in the delectable form of Chantelle Lace.  Now taking a well-earned break at a service station, and after all they have been through so far, Josiah is feeling a little fatigued:

In the privacy of the dimly lit toilets and washroom area, Josiah took a long, hard look, at his reflection in the mirror above the washbasin.  The image looking back at him was not the sort to gladden the heart.  The past few days had clearly taken their toll.  He was sure that he hadn't had quite so many lines littering his face when they had first started out.  As a man in his late 50's, Josiah had cultivated the look of a sober, professional businessman, as befitted his chosen career.  The best that could be said of him was that he was unremarkable, which, he thought, was something to be appreciated in an undertaker.  Grey hair, neatly cut, a rather serious demeanour, all sitting above a sober, dark suit styled on traditional lines, that was what looked back at him and, for the first time in a good many years, he found it unsatisfactory.  He wanted to look…dashing, yes that was the word.  Instead, he looked pebble-dashed. 

If he was honest with himself, he knew the reason for this dissatisfaction.  It was called Chantelle and was currently being spruced up in the next-door facility.  He mentally kicked himself for musing along these lines.  Whatever would Samantha think if she knew?  There she was, diligently managing the business in his absence, and all he could do was lust after young women!  Young women about whom he knew next to nothing, as Archibald had correctly pointed out.  He had even found himself listening intently for sounds of snorting, or whatever, going on in the female washroom, but had heard nothing untoward.

A few minutes later, Josiah and Chantelle emerged from their respective locations looking somewhat relieved and enlivened.  Chantelle had clearly taken the opportunity to refresh her make-up, spray a little perfume about and, as a consequence, looked ravishing.  Whereas Josiah felt that the best that could be said about him, was that he looked marginally more human than he had before.

"Everything ok for you, Mr. O.?" Chantelle enquired, brightly.

"Perfectly adequate, Miss Lace, thank you."  Josiah blushed, guiltily, as his train of thought hit a set of moral buffers.

"You know, I was just thinking, you must let me take a turn at the wheel next.  You've been driving for nearly four hours now; you must be exhausted?"

"I must admit to a certain degree of fatigue, Miss Lace.  I am unfamiliar with the roads and I find the almost complete absence of traffic somewhat unnerving.  You may say what you wish about our roads in the U.K., but they are seldom boring!"

"Then my turn it is.  I'm used to driving over here" Chantelle gave him a beaming smile, generating another bout of blushing from the recipient.

They turned in to the main café area, which was largely deserted, apart from a couple of, presumably, lorry drivers, nursing coffee and the local newspaper at separate tables.   In the centre of the room, Archibald stood gazing blankly at an illuminated menu displayed over the serving counter, tugging distractedly at his sleeve from time to time.

"What recommendations do you have for us then, Archibald?" Josiah asked brightly.

"Looks like variations on a theme of toasted sandwiches, hamburgers and stuff" Chantelle observed.

"Oh, is it?  I couldn't make head or tail of it to be honest" Archibald answered, "but, I'm not sure I'm going to bother"

"Why ever not, Archibald.  Are you feeling unwell?" Josiah enquired.

"No, it's just that, I don't think it's for me, Mr. O." Archibald responded with a faint look of disgust on his face, "I mean, take that one there.  I can't read Spanish, but I reckon it says it's got jam on and it makes you queasy!    Well, I can do without that, thank you very much."  He said, firmly.

"Jamon y queso." Chantelle read, "It's a toasted sandwich with ham and cheese.  Nothing to do with jam and feeling queasy, Archie!"

"Oh?  Well, if it's like that, I'll perhaps give it a bash"

"Shall I order while you two grab a table?  Is it coffee all round?  Anything to eat for you, Mr. O.?" Chantelle offered.

"Thank you, no, but your help would be much appreciated, Miss Lace.  I think just a strong black coffee could be exactly what the doctor ordered" Josiah headed gratefully for a seat by the window.

"Are you sure that's right, Mr. O.?" Archibald had his usual puzzled expression to the fore, "Only me mam said her doctor told her to avoid 'strong coffee and other stimulants' if she wanted a restful night's sleep"

"The best thing your mother could avoid is the doctor" Josiah muttered, then more loudly, "When I said it was ‘what the doctor ordered’, I was not claiming any clinical endorsement!  It was, in point of fact, a figure of speech, meaning that it is something that is very much required.  Moreover, I am not seeking a restful night's sleep, Archibald.  Despite Miss Lace's kind offer to drive for a while, I wish to remain alert for the duration of our journey."

"Really?  I'm planning on getting my head down."

"You do surprise me" Josiah said, sarcastically, as he stared out at the blackness surrounding the café, alleviated at that moment by the headlights of a car as it swept past on the Autopista.

******

"It's been ages since I last saw them" D.I. Wood snarled.

"We're bound to come across them pretty soon" D.S. Stone responded, hopefully.

"If you hadn't insisted on stopping for a gypsy's…"

"I couldn't hold on any longer and I didn't know when the next services would be" D.S. Stone explained, miserably.

"Should have brought an empty bottle, how do you think you'd go on in a proper stake-out?"

"Have you brought an empty bottle?" D.S. Stone asked, incredulously.

"Don't need it," D.I. Wood answered, proudly, patting his ample midriff, "got a bladder like a camel's hump, me.  Doc said he'd never come across anyone with my capacity"

"Must be a great comfort to you" D.S. Stone muttered.

"Still can't see them, Stoney!  I reckon they've either turned off or…"

"Gone to that Service Station we passed a couple of miles back?"  D.S. Stone suggested.

"I'll bet!  We've been going for nearly four hours now; they're bound to be ready for a break."

"Particularly if they don't have your capacity, eh sir?"

"Are you taking the…?  Never mind.  Off at the next exit, Stoney, and let's just hope they're where we think they are.  I don't fancy explaining this lot to the boss."

******

In the darkness of his somewhat confined compartment, Frankie Knight realised that he, too, could do with using 'the sanitary conveniences’ as Josiah had so delicately put it.  Arousing from his drug-induced slumber, he wasn't altogether sure where he was or even, for that matter, who he was.  The timber all around him was a bit of a poser, too.

'Must have got up in the night for a slash and gone into the wardrobe by mistake' He thought.  A not unreasonable supposition given that it was something he had done, much to Chantelle's disgust, on more than one occasion.  He had the uneasy feeling he was going to get his ears chewed for this and so aimed to extricate himself from the 'wardrobe' as quietly as possible.

The door gave a bit of resistance before coming off altogether, which surprised him.  He gripped it and carefully put it to one side.  It was at this point that he realised that he was looking up at the roof of a van and he became aware that he was not, as he thought, standing in a wardrobe but was, in fact, lying down.  He threw himself up in panic.  

'I'm in a coffin!' He realised with a sinking feeling, 'I can't be dead, can I?’ He had the distinct feeling that the afterlife should really consist of something more than the back of a van.  If it was the afterlife then, presumably, the good stuff must be beyond the van doors, so he clambered from his resting place and warily opened them.  If the inside of a van had been a bit of a disappointment, when it came to his vision of paradise, a pitch-dark car park was even more of a let-down.  However, there was a bush just over to his left and the impulse to urinate overcame all other considerations.

******

"It's alright that Jam On and Queasy" Archibald said, licking his fingers.

"Glad you liked it, Archie.  Filled a small hole, eh?  How about you Mr. O.?" Chantelle beamed at Josiah who was hunched over his coffee.

"I must confess to feeling a degree more refreshed, thank you, despite the less than appetising vision of Archibald consuming a ham and cheese toastie with considerable, shall we say, gusto?  Are you quite sure that you won’t have anything to eat, Miss Lace?”

"No, I’m fine, thanks.  Got to look after my figure!” Chantelle grinned, causing both her travel companions to blush, guiltily. “He certainly does have a healthy appetite, doesn't he?" Chantelle nodded at Archibald, who looked puzzled.

"Are we having pudding?"  Archibald asked, hopefully.

"Pudding?” Josiah looked at his employee with astonishment, “I think not, Archibald.  We are on a tight schedule and will need to make considerable haste if we are to make Santander in good time for our sailing.  Pudding indeed!"

"Come on, Archie.” Chantelle nudged the sulking Archibald, “I'll get you a chocolate bar to be going on with, while we drive.  Don’t worry, Mr. O., I'll have us in Santander before you know it"

******

In the deep relief of his post-urination experience, Frankie, swaying before the bush next to the van, was trying to make some sense of his surroundings.  Bits of memory were gradually surfacing, but not enough for him to piece together the story of where he was and why he was there.  

The delusion that he was dead, and in the afterlife had, thankfully, dissolved, largely because he suspected that having a slash against a bush wouldn’t be a regular feature of Paradise, but that really didn’t get him much closer to knowing what the hell was going on!  

Pulling up his zip, he stumbled back toward the van.  For reasons that he couldn’t explain, he felt the urge to tidy up after himself.  Perhaps, somewhere in the deep recesses of his subconscious, he was expecting to be nagged by Chantelle, again, for leaving the ‘bedroom’ in such a state.  Methodically he replaced the lid of the coffin, much as he might have made the bed at home, and then closed the van doors.

There were some bright lights in the distance, which he unconsciously associated with warmth, comfort and food and he lurched, still stiff-legged from his recent confinement, toward them.   

Now read Part 25