Week 25 - Rocket Man

During the first week in November I saw more and more of Heather. She had this knack of appearing every time I During the first week in November I saw more and more of Heather. She had this knack of appearing every time I was feeling down which was quite a lot lately. Heather's mum had not been well and this was the reason Heather gave for deciding to remain in England. I hadn't realised how ill her mum actually was and perhaps I had been too engrossed in my own problems to actually be listening to what Heather was saying. Heather always had a smile and hug for me and I loved to just look down into her brown eyes. For some reason, I was keeping this new special friend away from my family. It wasn't that I didn't want them to know that I was moving on from Becky; but I was happy to keep Heather just for me. Mind you the picture of us kissing that appeared in the Sunday paper did not help to keep the secret. For some reason my parents decided never to ask questions about Heather. Mind you I never asked questions about me and Heather either. It just felt really natural when we were together. I also decided not to tell Heather about Nan's Will and the fact that marrying Becky could make me one hundred thousand pounds.

Walsall Council Leisure Department invited me back in for a chat on the morning of Bonfire Night. I had left Heather asleep naked in my bed after we had both drunk too much wine last night to be able to drive Heather back. I liked having Heather in my bed, especially naked, but apart from often stroking each other nothing ever happened. I had thought about this quite a bit and was unsure if I felt I was being unfaithful to Becky or was just waiting too long for Heather to give me a sign. The dilemma was that I didn't want to get it wrong and ruin the only real friend I had left at the moment. Perhaps after being so badly let down by both Pete and Becky I was deliberately holding back from Heather. The problem was I had no idea how Heather felt about me and now her mum was very ill; it just didn't seem the right time. It would be really insensitive to make a move when she was just wanting a friend. Then there was her 'former' lover Jean Pierre. In all the films French men are great lovers. How was Jon an English Stadler going to compare?

Sitting opposite Tracey from Human Resources I just couldn't read her face to see what my fate was going to be. She tried to be comforting and put on a caring voice but avoided all eye contact. I tried to help by smiling at her to help the many uncomfortable moments. But this probably just made me look more like a madman. Tracey seemed to have quite a large folder on me that included some of my clippings from the newspaper. She repeatedly said that I had the full support of Walsall Council. Was she about to end my suspension?  I really couldn't tell, but decided that this was all too difficult to deal with.  Making probably another bad decision in my life, I decided that I didn't want to return to work and have to answer lots of questions about my private life - especially from 'bluenoses' in wheelchairs. I surprised Tracey by standing up, shaking her hand, offering my resignation and walking out of Walsall Council Leisure department for good. I could see the relief in her face and for once I just felt like not being the usual responsible Jon. For the first time in my life, I was going to be unemployed and really didn't care. I wasn't responsible to anybody and wouldn't even have to tell my mum for a few weeks.

As I walked back to my car I took my Walsall Council Identity Card and threw it high into the air and watched as it landed in a garden behind the Council car park. I was free from the most mundane job I had ever had. I could just go home now and maybe ravish Heather in my bed. Why should Pete be the only one who is allowed to be irresponsible with his life and bonk anyone he wants to? Just then Tracey from Human Resources came racing after me. Maybe she was going to declare her undying love for me?  No, she just wanted to ask for my Walsall Council Identity Card back. So a few minutes later I was knocking on the door to house number 272 to ask them if I could have my Identity Card back from in their garden. The old man who answered the door just looked at me as if I was mad before slamming the door in my face and mumbling "bloody council".

On my way home I stopped to buy a box of fireworks so things with me and Heather really could go with a bang. I was rather surprised at how expensive fireworks had become and even ended up paying twenty pounds for a rocket. It did promise to create an explosion of colour in the sky. It was a rather large rocket that only just fitted inside my sporty car. I was also concerned that it said “please stand fifty feet away after lighting”. I wasn't quite sure where I was going to light it but kept thinking how much Nan would have loved it. I also thought how normally I could delegate the job of lighting it to Pete. Why had he ruined our friendship?

Back at home I was pleased to see that the small figure of Heather was still asleep in my bed. I decided, after putting the rather large rocket and other fireworks in the wardrobe, to just strip off and get back into bed. I suppose now I was unemployed I would have to get used to this. Even though she was in a deep sleep, Heather had a radiant smile and wrapped herself around me. She seemed so special and I decided that I was going to admit my feelings for her under a very expensive firework tonight. The smell of Heather was becoming one of my favourite smells. Even when she wasn't wearing her expensive sounding French perfume she had a natural smell that seemed so homely. How had I got to this place? My married life with Becky had been so planned but now three months later I had lost my bride, my best friend, my Nan and now my job. The strange thing was that today I just didn't care; I just wanted some happiness.

              

After an hour of just lying there Heather woke up and just kissed me lightly on the lips. I decided to give this special lady breakfast in bed. I went to the kitchen to see how many days past its sell-by date the bacon was and if the stale bread would be ok if toasted. My search for edible breakfast ingredients was halted by the sound of the postman pushing some letters through my letterbox. I went to investigate and found three letters. Two were obviously bills but the third one was in a purple envelope and hand written. The writing on the purple envelope looked familiar and I opened it nervously. As I thought; it was from Becky and started 'Dear Jon...'

                                                        

Week 23 - Funeral of Surprises

Lying in a bed that is only five foot long, when you are over six foot tall and a thirty year old man, sleeping is difficult, but when you add the fact that in less than ten hours time you will be going to a funeral at the Church where you were jilted and it becomes an impossibility. I had decided that I wanted to be with my parents the night before Nan’s funeral as I had been worried about my Dad. Even though it seemed for the last ten years that Dad had been the parent and not the child he was now missing his mum so much. He wasn’t the only one I really wasn’t ready to have no grandparents and I also wasn’t ready to go back inside that Church. My mind kept switching between reliving my wedding day fiasco and seeing my Nan falling to her death. Nothing seemed to make sense at the moment. The only part of my life that seemed to bring me any happiness was Heather, but I had no idea what her intentions towards me were. Heather had asked if I wanted her at the funeral, but I had said I wanted it just to be my family. Heather had been brilliant and she said she would wait for me at my flat wearing stockings and suspenders. She was probably the only thing that was keeping me vaguely sane.

According to the alarm clock it was five to three but I just couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I kept seeing Becky in her wedding dress at the front of the Church kissing Pete. It was dreadful I just couldn’t get past this image. How could my best mate have betrayed me so much? Didn’t those years sitting together in double History mean anything? Just then I heard the sound of somebody walking around outside my bedroom door. I decided to go and investigate. It was Dad just pacing around in his unflattering paisley pyjamas. This didn’t seem like my Dad. This man just wasn’t calm and in control like my Dad he was like somebody placed on a faraway planet where suddenly nothing made sense. We sat together drinking hot milk with golden syrup in for the first time in twenty years, but just didn’t speak. We probably had so much to say that we didn’t know where to start. Then Dad did something that really shocked me. He reached out and placed his hand on mine. He then said, “Don’t make the same mistake as me Jon” and stood up and returned to his, and mum’s bedroom.

Somehow I managed to sleep and it wasn’t until a text from Heather arrived at ten past nine that I woke. The text simply read “Thinking of Jon. I will be there when you need me”. Maybe there is a future for me and Heather. If we ever do get married it certainly won’t be at St. Chad’s. What am I doing thinking about marrying Heather on the day of my Nan’s funeral at the Church where I was jilted? As he had on my nearly wedding day my Dad arrived with a bacon sandwich and cup of tea for me. It was sad to see that my familiar Villa mug had a chip on the edge. Dad seemed slightly brighter this morning but that mood soon changed when instead of his usual Daily Express the paperboy delivered a copy of The Sun. As if having the wrong newspaper wasn’t bad enough, the headline on the front page made things a whole lot worse. The headline read ‘WHO KILLED JILTED JON’S NAN’. The story seemed to suggest that the mysterious death of a frail old lady was linked to the disappearance of Becky. The whole story was total fiction. No mention of the fact that Nan was trying to climb down the drain pipe when she fell and instead seemed to suggest she was thrown from the window shortly after Jon Stadler had arrived.

The funeral hearse arrived at the house and I looked at the coffin. Surely that couldn’t be my Nan in there. I half expected to hear her banging her stick on the lid shouting to be let out as it was time for ‘Emmerdale’. There were just a bunch of white lilies on top of the surprisingly small coffin. It was also civil and just not Nan. I really didn’t want this to be goodbye. In the funeral car were Mum, Dad, Karen, Uncle Henry and me. We didn’t say a word to each other, but that wasn’t unusual lately. After ten minutes my Dad broke the silence by announcing that this afternoon we all had to go to hear the reading of Nan’s Will.

As we followed the coffin into the Church I was disappointed to see such a poor turnout. My farce of a wedding had attracted ten times this many people. At least a few of her fellow inmates from the old people’s home had turned up including Mr. Singh who was wearing a very bright lime green suit and matching turban. Also there on the back row were the two policemen who had become constant visitors to my flat. Then two rows in front of them were two press photographers. Other than that it was just the normal uninspiring family. It could really be any old ladies family. This wasn’t my Nan’s life being remembered it was somebody else’s. At least she would have found it funny the paparazzi being there. We sat on the front row on the right-hand side. Coincidentally this was the one row that had remained unoccupied at my wedding. I felt bitter, cross and slightly twisted. Most of all I just wanted my Nan with me. I tried to imagine her being there, but I just couldn’t. The Vicar was trying to get the balance right between celebrating an eventful life to respecting the sad mood. He announced the first hymn ‘The day Thou gavest, Lord, is ended’, which I always think is a funeral song although apparently it was my Granddad’s favourite. I would hate to hear a song that my Granddad thought was depressing. It was during the second verse that we were all distracted by the sound of the large oak door at the back opening. The creek it made belonged on a haunted house ride on a fair ground. As I turned round I was shocked to see the person standing there. I had to look twice because at first I really thought it was my Nan. Was I seeing things? No, it wasn’t Nan but an old lady who had all Nan’s features including Nan’s appalling dress sense. The old lady sat herself down on the row behind Mr. Singh.

“Oh no, not Gladys”, my Dad appeared to recognise my Nan’s lookalike. My Mum seemed totally in the dark though and nudged Dad in the ribs to find out more. He revealed that Gladys was Nan’s twin sister but they had had a big fallout in 1932 on their eighteenth birthday. My Dad said he would explain later as we sat down after the hymn. Uncle Henry was next doing a reading about his mother and how she had made him. If only he knew. I wonder if Dad knew that his brother Henry wasn’t his brother? I couldn’t get used to the idea Nan was dead and inside that coffin let alone that I had just gained a Great Aunt at the age of 30. Uncle Henry was just wiping a tear from his eye as there was another creek of the big wooden door. Who was it this time?

This time it was somebody from my past. Somebody I had been trying to put out of my mind. It was Pete and I couldn’t believe he was wearing the same suit that he had worn to be my best man. At least he was on his own and sat on the very back row. We didn’t exchange any glances but I did note that he seemed very shocked to see the old lady who looked like my Nan. Why was he here?  Did he want to make the day even harder for me and my family?  Well me, as nobody else in my family knew that this toe-rag had bonked his best friend’s bride.

The funeral service went as well as it could and somehow I managed to hold the tears back until the coffin was carried out to the theme tune from ‘Bullseye’. I looked up to see Pete hugging my sister Karen. Although my mind decided to play a cruel trick and replace Karen with Becky. Should I speak to the former best friend or just ignore him? In the end I walked straight past and just followed the coffin out into the car park. I sat myself in the funeral car and waited for the others.

As we travelled to the crematorium Dad filled us all in on the story of Gladys, my Nan’s elder sister by twenty-three minutes. It was obviously all new to Uncle Henry and Mum seemed really cross that it was new to her. It all made more sense when Dad told us that the first he had heard about it was when Nan had told him the day before she died. She had obviously had a few confessions to make in those final days. The story with Gladys seemed to be that at the twins’ eighteenth birthday party Gladys had made a move for Nan’s boyfriend, my Granddad. Well, actually Nan had caught the two at it behind the cake table. Apparently from that day on the two never spoken a word and a month later Gladys went to live in Coventry. My Dad did keep saying that the story might not be totally true as Nan had been a little confused at the end.

At the Crem the Vicar said a few more words as twelve of us stood watching the coffin and my Nan slowly disappear. The old lady we believed was Gladys was one of the twelve but nobody knew how she had got there. Surely the old dear didn’t drive! Pete had at least had the sensitivity not to show. As we walked through to see the flowers I was shocked to see Mr. Singh was now trying to chat up Nan’s possible twin. He seemed to be doing ok until he pinched her bottom and then felt the force of what looked a very heavy handbag. It caught him right on the chin and his ready-wrapped bright lime turban flew off.

We all stood admiring the flowers that had been sent from various people despite the newspaper clearly asking just for family flowers. One big tribute caught my eye. It was a really big heart covered with more colours than a Noel Edmonds jumper. It was with Nan’s pile but I wasn’t sure who had sent it. I leant over a read a tag. It read “Nan, I am going to really miss you. Thanks for the advice, Love Becky xx”.                                                     

Week 22 - Delight to Despair

It was great to see Heather again and I felt slightly guilty that I hadn’t given her more thought during the last week. She looked so sweet and innocent as she stood there in her pink hoodie. She greeted me with a very passionate kiss and even though I told her it would probably end up on tomorrow morning’s newspaper she indicated clearly that she didn’t care. For the first time that week I could actually feel myself smiling.
Heather had this habit of travelling light but this time she had a rather large lime green rucksack. Part of me hoped this meant she would be staying sometime although I hadn’t changed the bed sheets for over a month. From inside the rucksack Heather took out a neatly wrapped box and gave it to me. The label read “To make my Jon smile xxx”. I tried desperately to unwrap the present without destroying the pretty slightly girly paper or the pink bow. Finally I opened the box and found inside a whole range of goodies. There was a pack of seven of my favourite chocolate bars (twix), a framed newspaper cutting of me kissing Heather at the station, a beef and tomato Pot Noodle, a bottle of orange flavoured Hooch, a Villa Season Review 1995/96 video, a pair of Bart Simpson socks, a packet of butterscotch flavour Angel Delight and perhaps most significant of all a single chocolate rolo. Was I reading too much into the idea this was Heather’s last rolo? Maybe she had just had a whole packet but been peckish on the way here.
I cooked tea for Heather; we shared the beef and tomato Pot Noodle. Heather complimented me on how well I had boiled the water. We sat on the bed taking it in turns to feed each other a forkful of pot noodle. Heather obviously has quite a small mouth because the tomato sauce seemed to end up covering her very kissable lips. Things were just so easy between the two of us and I started to forget all my troubles. Heather managed to drop several noodles down her pink hoodie and went to wash this in the bathroom while I prepared desert. Sniffing the bottle of milk I decided it was probably ok despite the sell-by date. So I found one of Becky’s old hand-whisks and prepared two special butterscotch angel delights. As all the dishes were dirty I poured the whisked mixture into two large wine glasses. I made them special by adding a twix finger to each one. I then decided to return the romantic gesture and put the last rolo into Heather’s glass.
Carrying the two glasses of desert I return to the bedroom. To my surprise and delight Heather is now seated on the bed dressed just in her pale pink underwear. The mesh style underwear made me want this girl so much. I was slightly distracted by her lack of clothes and could not remember which of the deserts contained the rolo. As I dithered Heather took a glass from me. She suggestively pulled out the twix from her angel delight and slid it into her mouth whole whilst staring straight in my eyes . As I looked down at my desert I could see just below the surface was the last rolo. Oh well, I tried. Just then Heather pulled me towards her. We kissed passionately with the taste of butterscotch on our lips. The moment though was suddenly broken by a very loud knock on the door. We decided to leave it but the caller just wouldn’t go away. I then heard the familiar voice of my dad calling me. He seemed very anxious so I decided I needed to see him. Heather offered to stay hidden in the bedroom, but I asked her to put her clothes back on just in case as my parents can be nosey.
Both my parents had come because they were worried about me as I had not been answering the phone. Mum was wearing a very strange blue knitted top. She had knitted it herself but unfortunately knitting was not one of her strong points. Within seconds mum was yet again in tears. Dad was trying to calm her down but totally failing. The two seemed to be aware of my lack of food and had bought a flask of warm tea and a batch of corned beef sandwiches. It was quite comforting to see my old Rupert Bear flask again but I couldn’t help recalling how I had used that flask nearly twenty years ago as part of an experiment with my junior chemistry set. Also I regretted once telling my mum I liked corned beef sandwiches when really I detested them. I had only said it because I was sick of having fish paste every day at school. At least they didn’t go in the bedroom and find Heather. I didn’t really want to explain why there was a half dressed lady in my bedroom during this time of mourning.
For some reason there was no mention of missing Becky from my parents instead all the talk was of Nan. The funeral was to be at St. Chad’s on Thursday at 2pm and then back to my parent’s for a buffet. Mum said she would do some corned beef sandwiches just for me. Apparently Uncle Henry was going to read a poem about how we take after our mothers. Dad looked older than he had before. Maybe I was just looking closer at him than I had recently. I was very aware that he had moved up a generation. Until now in my life there have been grandparents and then my parents. Now there were no grandparents left so the oldest generation was my parents. My dad was now an orphan. As I was thinking about all this and not really listening to my mum I was suddenly startled when she asked a question I had not expected.

“Do you want Pete to come in the car with us? Your Nan did think the world of him”, mum just came out with.
Suddenly I had to think again about what Pete and Becky had done. I had put it to the back of my mind. In fact I had totally wiped Pete out of my mind. How could I so easily have forgotten about Pete and all the things we had shared together? I hadn’t seen him since he left me in the pub. I told my parents that we had had minor fallout, but didn’t want to go into any details. Saying that to my mum was like giving a dog a bone and telling them they couldn’t lick it. She wanted to know exactly why and was not going to give up. At that point Heather, fully clothed, walked in.
“Hello Mrs Stadler, how are you? I’ve just come back from France and Jon kindly let me grab some sleep”, Heather said to my parents with a hint of her sexy French accent.
“Oh sorry Heather we didn’t know Jonathan had company. If we had I would have bought more sandwiches and not just corned beef. I can’t stand them but they are Jonathan’s favourite”, mum was quite surprised to see I had company.
Dad quickly decided it was time to leave and started packing away the flask and Tupperware. Heather continued to try to score brownie points by complimenting mum on her imaginatively knitted blue top. Mum seemed quite pleased about this an offered to knit Heather one for Christmas.
As my parents left they asked if they could give Heather a lift anywhere. I could tell they suspected that we had been misbehaving. Unfortunately we hadn’t because of their unexpected arrival. As I waved my mum goodbye I could again hear the click of a camera. That was it my dad was off in pursuit of the photographer ready to grab his camera. I tried to call him back but he had gone. It seemed all his built up emotions from the last week were coming out in a rage that I had never seen before. My dad reached the rather surprised newspaper photographer and made a grab for his camera. My mum screamed in a horror film sort of way and Heather just grabbed hold of my arm. The photographer reacted angrily and pushed my dad away. But dad is now focused purely on getting the camera and to my total surprise kicks the photographer in the shin. Several neighbours in the courtyard are now at their doors and my dad really has lost it. Tears started to flow from his eyes and he just dropped down on his knees on the tarmac.

“I will see you in court”, the photographer shouts at my dad before limping away to his car still with camera in his hand.
Mum goes over to dad and holds him so tight. I have never seen my dad so out of control. He was hurting so much. Tears running all down his red face. I don’t know if I felt pity or pride for my dad at that point, but it made me start to cry as well. Then Heather started crying and I am sure even some of the neighbours joined in. If we were so emotional now how were we going to cope with the funeral on Thursday at the church where I was jilted?

Week 21 - Sad Times

It had now been three days since we heard about the death of Elsie Gloria Stadler and it really had hit us all hard. Nan had just always been there for both me and Karen especially at times when our parents had found it easier to bury their heads in the sand. Yes, in the end Nan was barking mad. Which probably explains why she was trying to climb down the drain pipe from her bedroom window in her slippers when she fell? It was easy to blame the Home for not having better locks on the windows but it was never possible to stop Nan doing anything she put her mind to. At least now she would be on her way to be reunited with my Granddad unless of course Jessie got to her first. No, she would be in Heaven with Granddad because I am sure that Saint Peter would never let Jessie in even if she did flash her petticoat at him.

The four of us Stadler family members sat with the vicar discussing the funeral arrangements. It all seemed far too serious and every time I gazed past the vicar I could just see Nan pointing and laughing at his hairstyle. This was the same vicar who Nan took quite a fancy to at my nearly wedding. The vicar that Becky and I sat down with to plan our wedding service. The vicar who had enjoyed a ride in my Best Man’s sports car. It is amazing what can happen in three months. My whole life has changed. Probably the three most important people in my life have now all left me for various reasons. If there is a God he has obviously got it in for Jon Sadler.

On the fireplace was a photograph that I hadn’t seen before of Nan and my Granddad eating ice creams at the seaside. My Granddad with trousers rolled up and knotted hanky on his head. My Nan with her long dress tucked into some rather big pants. She was wearing a sunhat that I am guessing was blue as it was a black and white picture. The two seemed so happy and content. It was only now that I realised how much the two just belonged together. I had somehow in seven years started to think as Nan as separate to ‘Nan and Granddad’, but now I could see how wrong this was. So much of my Granddad’s spirit had made my Nan who she was. For the first time since Dad had told us the news I started to cry. Uncontrollable tears ran down my face and everyone in the room could see my distress but decided to leave me to it. I felt completely alone even the image I had before of my Nan joking behind the vicar had gone. It really was just me now and my world felt so empty. I wanted to turn back the clock. I wanted to be a small boy sitting in my grandparent’s front parlour eating scotch pancakes with the smell of Camp coffee and watching the ‘Goldenshot’. I didn’t want to be planning my Nan’s funeral. I am just not grown up enough for this. As the vicar tried to explain to my mum that it was not traditional to have the coffin leave the Church to the ‘Birdie Song’ even if it was Nan’s favourite I quietly slipped out the house.


Waiting back at my flat parked outside was a police car. I really didn’t need this now so I tried to creep in without them noticing. It didn’t work and within seconds the two policemen were getting out of their panda and running towards my door. Surely the Starsky style leap over the bonnet by the younger one was a little over the top. I invited them in because I just wanted to sit down.

The two policemen were by now quite familiar to me, but still seemed to believe that I knew a lot more about Becky’s disappearance than I was letting on. Every time they came they asked the same questions. It always started with them asking if I had seen Becky before asking if I knew if anybody else had seen her. I decided, perhaps wrongly, to mention that Nan had claimed to see her. They looked puzzled but then the older one with surprisingly pointed ears nodded and said his old Nan was totally mad as well. They didn’t seem to believe me but finally agreed that they would go and ask Nan for a statement. For just a few moments I had forgotten that I no longer had a Nan. I was just giving the officers the address of the home when I started to cry again. The Mr. Spock lookalike actually was sympathetic and put his arm around me when I mumbled that my Nan had died. The other policeman just looked up from his notepad and said, “Convenient”.


For the next two days I just stayed in my flat and didn’t answer the phone or door to anybody. I just wanted the world to leave me alone. Occasionally I would see cameramen outside trying to take snaps of me. I didn’t shave, ate only a packet of plain biscuits and just felt more alone than I ever had before. Just as I was trying to decide whether I should ring my Dad to see if they had fixed a date for Nan’s funeral I heard a crash from just outside my door. I looked through the kitchen window to see a hooded youth taking something out of my dustbin. Without thinking I ran out to confront the young bloke. He was taking an empty plastic bottle of woodpecker cider from my bin. He was very surprised to see me!


“Sorry mister just wanted a souvenir. I mean you are quite a celebrity. You don’t get many murderers in Lichfield”, the youth offered me his hand to shake. I felt like thumping him but that is more Pete’s department so I just shook his hand. Then I heard the now familiar sound of clicking lenses. Yes, I can just see the photograph in the paper tomorrow of suspected bride killer shaking hand of a mysterious shaded hooded character on his doorstep.

Back inside I then decided it was time to open the last packet of slightly soft biscuits. Soon there was a knock at the door. So deciding that I couldn’t hide forever I opened the front door.

“Sorry mate. Have you got a pen? Thought you could sign this bottle”, the hooded chap had returned and I came so close to punching him. Quickly I slammed the door shut and just dropped down on the floor.

Again my quiet moment was broken by a knocking on the door. This time I had had enough and opened it to the hooded character. I was about to strike him when I realised he had shrunk and his hoodie top had changed from blue to pink.

“Well, aren’t you going to let your favourite girl in?” whispered a familiar sweet voice.

Next week : Who is this mystery girl?

Week 20 - Who's Uncle Henry

Nan was sitting almost on top of the communal telly drooling over Compo in ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ when I got there. Saying what she would do to the scruffy chap if she was Nora Batty. It had been nearly three hours since our telephone conversation, but I quickly realised that it could have been three decades ago. Nan was in the kind of mood when she couldn’t remember anything of the last few years. I asked a lot of questions, but she started to get frustrated and couldn’t even recall that I had been jilted let alone who Becky was. I think she thought I was my dad. Then when I tried to tell her that I was Jon not my dad, she then assumed I was her son! One of the Care Assistants then came over and told me that they were very sorry and they didn’t usually let their residents drink a whole bottle of brandy. As I turned back to face nan she was throwing her walking stick like a javelin at a rather fraille old lady with a blue rinse. With the help of the Care Assistant I managed to sit nan back down.


“He’s not your dad you know”, nan suddenly informed me.

Now I was confused. I mean, first of all, who did nan actually believe I was and secondly did she even know what she was saying? I don’t think I wanted to hear this. It was bad enough being suspected of doing in my missing bride without my parentage being questioned.

“You are my son Henry. Aren’t you?” Nan was certainly confused. She thought I was my Uncle Henry, dad’s younger brother. He was nearly thirty years older than me! Maybe the traumas of the last few months were catching up with me and making me look a lot older. I decided that I would play along with this and asked why granddad was not my father?

“Now, it was during the second world war when your dad was with the Home Guard protecting the Town Hall”, Nan was ready to reveal all. At least as it was about Uncle Henry, who I had never really liked, it could be quite juicy gossip. “Your Uncle Clive came round. He was quite a looker in those days. Not like he is now”, I decided not to mention the fact that he died twelve years ago. So my Great Uncle Clive was really my dad’s brother’s father? That would explain why my granddad and Uncle Clive never seemed to get on. Oh, but hold on, a dreadful thought then hit me. I wasn’t totally up to date on the Family Tree but was pretty sure that Uncle Clive was actually my nan’s brother not my granddad’s. Oh no, this was something I didn’t want to hear. It was getting quite like a ‘Brookside’ plot.
“Yes, I can still remember what happened as if it was yesterday”, nan prepared to tell me all the details of this incestuous relationship. It might explain Uncle Henry’s very strange nose. “Your Uncle Clive showed me something truly amazing when he opened up his trench coat”, nan was beaming as she told the story. “There it was; a tiny pink thing, A beautiful baby boy”, tears started to roll down nan’s cheeks. I was just so relieved that I wasn’t descended from a family who interbred. “That poor baby was left with no parents or family thanks to a jerry bomb, but your uncle Clive knew that me and your dad would give that baby a special home and treat it like one of our own”. I was quite touched and if it was possible it made me love my nan even more. “So Henry you are a very special boy and you have two parents that love you lots. Although not the original ones who were blown to pieces”. Nan held my hand as she told me this before suddenly slapping me across the face. “Jon! Why are you pretending to be your Uncle Henry? That’s a horrible trick to play on an old lady!”
Several times in the next hour I really thought nan’s memory was coming back but still she couldn’t recall my wedding and certainly had no knowledge of the headlines in the Sunday papers. When she dosed off for the fourth time I decided it was time to leave. I thought it was best if I kept the information about my Uncle Henry to myself partly because my nan always did have quite a good imagination. I was just creeping out when nan opened her left eye; “Next time we must talk about what you are going to do about Becky bonking hunky Pete”, nan said before her head dropped and she started snoring.

Back at home I was desperately trying to take in the events of the last day. I had half expected to return to the flat to find the word ‘murderer’ painted in red paint across my front door, but instead all was quiet. So did Nan really know about Becky and at what point would she have found her marbles enough to talk about it? My head was so full of everything and I was starting to dread going to work tomorrow at Walsall Council. Surely wheelchair Dave and lovely legs Hasmitta would have seen some of the newspaper articles. Hopefully they will be on my side.


I decided to try and be the first to arrive at the Council Leisure office on the Monday, but I was met by Tracey from Human Resources who was wearing tweed. “Sorry Jon, but I think it is best if you go on leave until this is sorted out. Of course, if they find the body we will support you through the trial, although, we would obviously suspend you and fire you when you are found guilty. Sorry if you are found guilty”, Tracey blurted out without looking me in the eye. She handed me a brown envelope before very quickly disappearing.


Just as I was leaving the building ready for my unexpected holiday I was greeted by a familiar face.

“You don’t hang around do you Stadler?”, it was ‘Bluenose’ Dave in his state-of-the-art wheelchair. “I mean they haven’t even found your missing bride and you are caught snogging the lips off another beauty.” Dave handed me today’s copy of ‘The Sun’ and on the front page was me kissing Heather at the station. The headline read ‘JILTED JON’S NEXT VICTIM?’ This was turning into a really bad year!

Dave was finding this all quite funny but you could tell he knew that I was not capable of murder. He suggested we pop into the Council Canteen for a coffee and a chat before I headed home. To my surprise Doreen behind the till refused to serve me and snarled as Dave paid for the drinks instead. The atmosphere was not good with several people who I usually exchanged pleasantries with now sitting as far away as possible.

“You’ve got to find her”, Dave said whilst spilling coffee down my trousers. I told Dave about nan and he said that I had to go back and try and find out more. I decided not to tell Dave about Pete as I didn’t really trust him that much. Dave always looked after number one and I suspected that it wouldn’t take too much money for him to tell the gutter press all he knew. “She is a cracking bird though”, Dave commented on the picture of Heather.

I decided on my way home that I should really pop around and see my parents as all this must be very difficult for them. When I got there I noticed that there was a red Skoda parked outside but decided to go in anyway. Despite having a key it didn’t seem right this time to use it so I decided to ring the bell. My mum answered dressed in a very long flowing hippie-style purple and gold thing and she just burst into tears and hugged me so tight that breathing would have to be delayed until later.

“Oh Jon how are you? I have been so worried about you. Come in, come in. Oh, your Uncle Henry is here”, my mum said through the many tears.

Inside my dad was looking at some photographs of Uncle Henry’s son Michael at his graduation.

“Look Jon, doesn’t Michael resemble your Granddad?”, my dad asked while pushing a photograph in my hand. There was, of course, no resemblance, but then I suddenly realised how totally different the two brothers standing in front of me looked from each other. “Your Uncle’s on his way to see your Nan and just wanted to ask us what he should say about your little trouble”, Dad had a habit for understating things. Here was I on the front of every newspaper with suggestions I had murdered my bride and he called it my ‘little trouble’. Should I stop Henry going to see nan because she might tell him what she told me. But then does he have a right to know?
Just then the phone rang and my dad disappeared into the hall to answer it. My parents still had a telephone on a small table in the hall and even though the call was nearly always for my mum it was my dad’s duty to answer it.


“So what did happen to Becky then?” Uncle Henry enquired. “I don’t think I ever got to meet her. Pity she wasn’t at the wedding. Oh, that reminds me, can you send the silver cutlery set back quite soon that was our wedding gift to you. We have got another wedding to go to next month and it would save us buying another present”. Perhaps now would be a good time to tell him his parents were blown up!


My dad walked back into the room looking totally stunned. Something was wrong I have never seen him look so pale.

“What is it love?” Asked my mum.

“I can’t believe it, she’s dead” replied dad.

Week 19 - Doorstep Sleeper

Chapter Nine – Doorstep Sleeper

Sitting in a packed end of Villa supporters at Highfield Road it was significant that the only empty seat was the one to my right. I don’t know if I had wanted Pete to turn up or not, but I had decided that as I had don’t nothing wrong I wasn’t going to miss this game. The game went well for the Villa with us winning by two goals to one, but my head was just not really there. I was very cross and for the first time since I was eleven I really wanted to hit someone. That just wasn’t me and I was angry that my ‘former’ friend Pete had made me feel like this.

Despite the Villa winning I didn’t watch ‘Match of the Day’ that Saturday night and just sat on my bed trying to make sense of the Pete-Becky news. I thought we had an unwritten rule that we never went after the same girls. Mind you I didn’t usually get the type of girls Pete fell for. I especially didn’t get the Tracey Taylor thing even if they did share a passion for Gary Numan. For Pete there were always two types of women. Firstly, the one you just bonked and then didn’t see again, or secondly the ones you worshipped and ended up making a complete fool over. This was the Tracey Taylor case. So how did I really feel about Pete now? Had Pete been the ‘best man’ for both me and Becky? No, I didn’t want to think about any of this. The thought of them together is something my brain could not cope with.

To the left of my bed was my birthday present off Pete. It was the brilliant matchstick model of the old Villa Trinity Road stand. All Pete’s own handy work. He probably built it to help him to deal with his own guilt over screwing his best mate’s fiancée. I was feeling so full of rage and hatred. The easy thing to do was to smash the model into hundreds of pieces. Inside my wardrobe was my prized cricket bat signed by Ian Botham and Bob Willis at that famous Headingly 1981 test match. So I picked the bat up with both hands and raised it above the wooden model. All it would take was one blow and I could destroy weeks of Pete’s hard work. No, I couldn’t do it. This just wasn’t me and how could I even think of causing damage to the sacred Trinity Road stand even if it was only a model. I decided to go for a midnight stroll.

As I was walking I began to think about a fact that I had overlooked all day. I had been focusing too much on not thinking about Becky and Pete together that I had forgotten that Becky was still missing. Where could she be? Maybe Pete has seen her since the wedding fiasco. I certainly wasn’t ready to confront Pete though. So I just walked and walked knowing that there would be nobody worrying about me.

It was nearly half past three in morning when I actually arrived back at home. I was shocked to see a pretty young lady sleeping on my door-step. She was covered by her coat to keep her warm and for a few seconds I thought it was Becky but then realised it was the delightful Heather. I decided not to wake her and unlocked the door before lifting the sleeping beauty up in my arms and carrying her inside. Still she didn’t wake so I took her to the bedroom and placed her on the bed. I was tempted to undress her and stroke her back again but it didn’t seem appropriate. As I was thinking about covering her up Heather half-woke up and just quietly told me she had been worried about me. This was sweet and then she surprised me even more by saying that Pete had rung her and told her the two of us had had a big falling out. Now this really shocked me. Firstly that Pete had been so concerned about me that he had rung Heather, or was he just trying to get inside her knickers as well. No, that was unfair. Secondly, that he had described it as ‘a big fallout’. I mean he had just told me something and then left the pub. Heather then closed her eyes and within seconds was snoring and grunting like a little pig.

I spent the next four hours just sitting on the bed with Heather’s sleeping head on my lap. Things actually felt right and the position seemed comfortable and natural. The world didn’t seem quite as scary with Heather smiling in her sleep. I did kiss her forehead several times and stroked her lips with my middle fingers.

At quarter to eight Heather woke with a jolt and announced she had to catch the train to London at ten o’clock as she was heading back to Paris to meet Jean Pierre. This surprised and disappointed me but I decided not to question it. So I just offered to drive Heather to the station in my new Golf convertible car. Well, I second-hand but new to me and even had a six track CD multi-changer in it.

At the station I was thinking about Heather’s lack of luggage. She had reassured me that she was only going for two days at most and just had to give Jean Pierre something. Maybe I was supposed to ask what, but I wasn’t in the mood for any games. Heather did tell me that I was taking her out to the new Italian restaurant on Thursday evening at eight o’clock so at least another meeting was planned. I leant over to kiss Heather’s left cheek, but she grabbed my face in her hands and pulled our mouths together. It turned into quite a passionate snog and I just started thinking how ace she smelt. Even without a shower and in the same clothes she arrived in last night Heather smelt as sweet as a garden centre. The kiss was stopped short though by a loud clicking sound. I looked around to see a person with a rather large camera walking away. This was strange but I just returned to the kiss before waving Heather goodbye. For a few moments I had completely forgotten both my missing bride and my two-faced Best Man.

Leaving the station I decided that as I had been distracted last night and not even checked the Villa’s league position that I should buy a Sunday newspaper. My normal choice was ‘The People’, but it was the headline on the front of the ‘News of the World’ that caught my eyes. ‘JILTED JOHN DENIES BRIDE KILLING’. Oh, no this day was not going to improve. I had to buy a paper.

“He’s a local bloke as well, you know. I bet he done her in”, said the paper seller.

I returned home with not only the ‘New of the World’ but also ‘Sunday Mirror’ and ‘The People’. All contained at least two pages on the missing bride from Lichfield. The number of inaccuracies in the stories and the total disregard for the truth were shocking. One called me ‘’A loner” and another claimed “John, aged 34, had a history of violent behaviour”. Well, I am just thirty and the last person I hit was when I was eleven. ‘The People’ had lots of lovely sweet pictures of Becky that made her look like the gil nextdoor. Actually I really liked the one and cut it out. But the ones of me were horrible. One was from my Council Identity Card and I looked like I had just been released from Broadmoor. The fact that it was taken the week that I had been suffering with conjunctivitis did not help. All the newspaper stories seemed to now be suggesting that soon Becky’s body would be discovered and that there was only one suspect. Where was this going to end? I would probably end up as the lead story on ‘Crime Watch’. Oh, Becky where are you? I didn’t care about being public enemy number one I just wanted to know Becky was safe.


Just as I was really starting to think about the possibility of Pete being involved in Becky’s disappearance the phone rang. I picked up the phone but didn’t say anything in case it was a journalist. Maybe I needed a lawyer.

“Is that Mr Jon Stadler? The mad-axeman of Lichfield”, said the croaky voice. I replied by just saying “yes Nan”.

Nan was very excited and not only because she had managed to get an outside line on the phone in the main staff office without anybody knowing. She was delighted that her grandson was national news. She was apparently enjoying her new title in the home as “Jilted Jon’s Nan”. Mr Patel was currently in the process of making her a badge. Nan was being her totally mad self. At least some things don’t change. I told Nan that I was in fact not a murder.

“Oh, I know that, I mean if you killed Becky who was that girl who came to visit me last Tuesday”, Nan then broke into an uncontrollable fit of giggles followed by “Oh blast, I have wet my pants. They were clean on last Thursday as well”. The phone went dead.

Next Week : A shocking trip to Nan's home