Mint Condition



  Mint Condition

  By John Willans

  Copyright 2015 John Willans

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Arnold Clegghorne was in the kitchen mashing tea. From the doorway he shouted towards the stairs. ‘Michael’s here, Enid. Can we help ourselves to the scones while they’re still hot, love?’

  It was Enid’s bingo night. She was upstairs putting her face on.

  ‘I don’t think your Grandma heard me, Michael. Nivver mind. Help yourself. Here’s some butter. Do you want some of this strawberry jam or there’s Co-op clear honey if you like. That’s your grandma’s favourite.’

  Arnold poured the tea.

  Michael chose a large scone, trowelled on some butter and then dribbled on honey.

  Enid’s voice drifted from the stairs. ‘Arnold? Have you seen the other curtains for the back parlour? They’ve got a flowery pattern on. I want to put them up tomorrow so t’other ones can be washed.’

  Michael smiled at Arnold and raised his eyebrows.

  Arnold stopped chewing, stroked his chin and winked. ‘Have you tried looking in the Ottoman love? I think that’s where they where the last time I saw them.’

  Michael finished his scone and leant towards his Granddad. ‘Are these the same curtains that you used on ‘’Liberty’’ then, Granddad?’

  Arnold sipped his hot tea. ‘Information is only disseminated to lower ranks on a strictly need to know basis. It’s safer for you that way Michael.’

  Arnold smelled the familiar fragrance of ‘Coty L'Aimant ’ as Enid came in to the kitchen. She swayed serenely on her best blue court shoes. Her dress had red, black and white vertical stripes and it hugged her ample figure. ‘What’s ‘’strictly need to know’’ then Arnold? Hello, Michael, love. Have you a kiss for your Grandma? Mind them sticky fingers on my dress. It’s clean on. How’s your mam?’

  Michael stood up and bent to kiss his Grandma on the cheek. ‘She’s fine thanks Grandma. I like your hair. Purple really suites you!’

  It was Arnold’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

  Enid put her hand up and touched her newly rinsed curls. ‘Thanks Michael. It’s supposed to be blue but I think Nadine down at ‘‘La Salon Betty’’ is a bit colour blind. Anyway, I’d best be off. What’re you two going to be up to then?’

  Arnold stood up and kissed his wife on the lips. ‘I thought we’d have a nice quiet game of draughts or may be watch University Challenge on the box. Anyway, have a nice time at the bingo, love. Don’t worry about us.’

  Enid surveyed Arnold with her head to one side.

  ‘Hmm, really? I thought you didn’t like draughts, Arnold? You’re up to summat aren’t you? Now just you think on. If there’s any mess when I get back, there’ll be trouble. Do you hear?’

  Then she turned to Michael. ‘Eeeh, I love University Challenge and Bamber Grassgroin. He’s dead urbane. Don’t you think so Michael? If you watch it, try to remember some of the questions. I like the ones on Greek Mythology best, all them Gods and Goddesses lounging about in sylvan pools. It’s so romantic. Bye then. Wish me luck.’

  Arnold watched Enid as she popped on her pink Mac and passed through the sitting room. He heard her leave through the front door.

  Michael licked his sticky fingers. ‘Shall I get the draughts out Granddad? Are they in the sideboard? Did you really want to watch the telly?’

  ‘No, of course not, Michael, that was just a cunning subterfuge to conceal our real intent.’

  ‘I don’t think it was all that cunning. I reckon Grandma noticed that you’re wearing your boiler suite and that’s last week’s copy of Radio Times you were studying.’

  ‘All right Sherlock Holmes. Follow me then,’ Arnold said.

  Arnold led Michael into the backyard where sparrows twittered in the warm evening sunshine. They competed with the little Allthwaites who chanted rhymes as they played hopscotch next door. The smell of frying wafted over the yard wall.

  Michael banged his shin on a dismantled lawn mower. ‘Mind yourself on that, lad,’ Arnold said.

  Michael rubbed the beginnings of a bruise whilst hopping about on one leg.

  ‘What do you want that for Granddad? You haven’t got any grass?’

  ‘I’m repairing it for a friend as you might say.’

  ‘Is that what you’ve brought me out here for then? Cos in the first place I know nowt about lawn mowers and in the second place if I get me trainers mucky me mam will give me what for.’

  ‘You really must do summat about your obsession with trainers, Michael, before it undermines our enterprise. Anyway, come and have a look at this. We’re going to fire some munitions.’

  ‘What!’ Michael shouted.

  ‘Eh, when have I ever put you at risk?’ Arnold said.

  ‘Well, apart from the time we went canoeing you mean?’

  ‘Don’t be like that or I’ll put you on a charge. Are you here to help or what?’

  Arnold unlocked his shed, went in and then came out again holding a length of steel pipe. He offered it to his grandson.

  ‘Now, here’s our gun. It’s disguised as a bike frame.’

  Michael stood next to his granddad and took the pipe from him.

  ‘Don’t point it at me! You don’t know that it’s not loaded!’ Arnold said.

  ‘How can it be loaded? It’s a bit of a bike! It was the top tube wasn’t it? I can see here where it says ‘’Claude Butler’’. Which end does it fire from then?’

  ‘That depends on which end we block up don’t it, Private! Can you see owt that, might work as a bung?’

  Michael stroked his chin, peered at his feet then stared into space. His eyebrows knitted together. It appeared to Arnold that Michael was either thinking hard or still in pain from clouting his shin.

  Then Michael clicked his fingers and pointed at the yard brush. ‘What if we saw the end off that, whittle it down until it fits in the tube then ram it in!’

  Arnold put his arm around his grandson’s shoulders. ‘Good idea! I think we can work with that. I love the creative process. Working with a like minded comrade with a common goal is so symbiotic and fulfilling!’

  ‘What you on about Granddad? Shall I get the saw or what?’

  Arnold pursed his lips. He rubbed his cheek, rasping his bristles. ‘I’d like to work with your theme but also follow my principle of disguise. So, I propose that we take the head off the yard brush and use that as a bung. What do you reckon to that idea, Michael?’

  Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘To be honest granddad, I think that’s bloody daft! I think my way is neater. The gun would be more like a gun and not like a cross between a bicycle and a sweeping brush!’

  Arnold clapped Michael on the back.

  ‘Exactly, we don’t want it to appear like a gun on’y perform as one, function before form, Michael. Disguise and camouflage is used to confuse the enemy and conceal intent! Bloody perfect! Now knock the head off the yard brush and help he ram it on. You’ll need a hammer. There’s a nice, new, well balanced claw hammer hanging above my work bench in the shed. You’d better bring t’other one.’

  Arnold helped Michael knock the head of the yard brush with the second best claw hammer and between them they fitted it to the end of the tube.

  ‘What’s next then Granddad?’

  ‘Well, we’ll need sommat to rest her on, a carriage as you might say, summat else to get hold on her with and we can use your grandma’s washing line to lash it
all down. I’ll nip into the shed and find a couple of mole grips. Can you pop into the kitchen and get the stool.’

  Arnold clamped the mole grips onto the tube. ‘Michael, what kept you? Put the stool here. I’ll take the washing line down. Can you rummage in that corner. You should find half a dozen empty stout bottles. We’ll use them as a target. When you’ve got them pop them over there on your Grandma’s mangle and I’ll tie this bugger onto the stool. ’

  Michael found the bottles then balanced them on a plank of wood on top of the dolly tub in front of the mangle.

  ‘What are we going to use for bullets then Granddad? We,re going to need summat around 22mm calibre, I reckon.’

  ‘Nay lad. She’s a muzzle loader. No firing mechanism, as you might say, and therefore not capable of rapid fire. But so simple that nowt can possibly go wrong. We’ll need something like gun powder. I’ve saved a box of fireworks from last year. I think I left it in the gas cupboard under the stairs. I’ll just go in and see if I can find it. Won’t be long.’

  Arnold returned with the box of fireworks. It had a cute picture of two little girls whirling sparklers and ‘‘Standard Fireworks’’ in letters of orange flame emblazoned across the lid. They emptied the box then broke open the bangers and roman candles, un-wrapped the rockets, volcanoes and Catherine wheels and collected their contents in an empty St. Bruno tobacco tin.

  ‘Now tip up the gun, while I feed in the powder,