Nanowrimo - Chapter 39
Here's another chapter with young Francis' Dad Nigel...
CHAPTER 39
I ran blindly towards the garden, not blindly in the sense of knocking into things, blindly in the sense of without consideration of my action, my life still seemed pretty fucked and like I was a horrible person. My child was safe but not because of me, because of chance and that he hadn’t wandered into a sex offender’s house but into one of a friendly family. He shouldn’t have even been there to wander into it. Why was my kid wandering out of our house and into the countryside? Could it be that he’s inquisitive? Could he be bored? Could it be that he hates us? Fuck.
The realisations that dawned upon me made my skin boil, my head almost involuntarily went into my hands and I screamed at the top of my voice.
It’s probably for the best that I didn’t see Superintendent Edwards’ anguished reaction to my actions and it’s probably for the best that I didn’t see the jackal journalists reactions’ while they lurking outside my residence either.
The bellowing made them realise something was up and with a large 6ft wooden panelled fence into the back garden separating them and the action, what seemed like a frenzied kids sports day style obstacle race ensued albeit with the PE kit replaced by jeans and trendy shirts or suits.
The farmer hedgerows that encased our back garden were the handiest things in the world at the moment as they stopped the telephoto lenses penetrating through or over. The 6ft height of them that had been a bone of contention with the neighbours, Mr and Mrs Thwaites, would never be an issue again. They shielded me from them and probably from a few assault court cases, had they managed to film me at that moment.
The screaming stopped just in time to see Edwards racing across the garden to grab me. That was a scary enough site, he still looked physically fit and his face was awash with ire at the situation he was now embroiled in, a set of events that he would no doubt feel did not need to happen at all.
He didn’t shout it at me but whispered quietly into my ear when his arms were firmly tightened around my shoulders:
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” he whispered with all the sinister intent of a waiting mugger.
He dragged me back into the house, I went into a kind of limp lump, not fighting the policeman but not really making much of an effort to go the same way as him either.
“I don’t want an explanation for that but the next stupid thing that you do that I have to clear up and I will knock shit out you!
PC Barker will corroborate my story here as firstly, he needs my support to earn his promotion that he wants and secondly, I know that he is a crossdresser and he wants that keeping secret...”
“Ok, ok!”
“Furthermore, any attempt to joke about PC Barker’s personal habits, shall also result in me kicking the shit out of you. Understood?”
A muttered yes from my despondent face was the best response he would get, he grunted and beckoned to ensure my return to the front room where the TV news was on.
It was only in the front room where I could feel the true noise and close proximity of the news helicopters...
“They’ve caught all that on tape, did you get bored of not having your face on the telly?!”
Not that it made much difference, there was still lots of inaccurate, vague and utterly pointless discussion of what ‘they’ might be planning for us on Earth. After five minutes or so of speculation, including the baffling question of whether or not they have ‘fast food’ or not, the presenter turned to the camera to deliver the ‘in other news’ section of the programme, almost apologetically:
“Obviously other things have happened today in the world but our main story is going to take precedence, some events have happened in rural Kent, where we have live footage of the Father of little Francis Potsworth having a possible mental breakdown..!
“It’s not having a mental breakdown to show some fucking emotion...” I exclaimed
“This extraordinary footage and more after the break!” claimed the almost mocking voiceover.
I watched this crazy man on the TV and could barely see it was myself, that didn’t look like me, I was normally so in control, so on top of things, always wanting to do whatever I pleased and not being bothered by others. I could barely look, how would this look to my friends? Would the damn thing ever be off Youtube?!
Edwards was flashing him a look of utter disdain. His eyes locked into mine and refused to let go, he looked massively unimpressed.
I went to move away.
“Stay!” barked Edwards.
“We’re going to watch this together...”
My thoughts were still with how I was going to sort my life out after all this and rebuild the relationships in my family but I had a feeling that he was running with this and was probably going to make a rather large point why what I did was one of the stupidest ideas of all time, since the Hindenburg Disaster or since Robson and Jerome’s musical career.
The adverts were interminable. Who cares about Oil of Olay when all this is going around us and who cares if we’re getting wrinkly, extra terrestrials are on the Earth and my kid is with some strangers a couple of miles away and I can’t do anything about any of this until some lowlifes stop camping out in my garden. A situation I’ve realised that I’ve made worse by having a massive spazzy fit on National TV!
The helicopters were still buzzing around at a low altitude outside, making mincemeat out of the privacy and harassment laws while they could.
What they hoped to find by flying lower near a house where all the windows and doors were tightly shut, Lord knows.
Not a word was said, into the report the news anchor lead...
“Now for the latest developments in the story of the missing child, Francis Potsworth, it features his Father having a moment of erm, unsteadiness and scenes may be distressing to those of a easily disturbed nature, here’s our reporter Antonia Bengalbalm...
“The scenes of a person on the edge, the furious, extreme reaction of a man who yesterday believed his child had been abducted but was found less than a couple of miles away from the family’s luxurious detached countryside home."
A Policeman, whom we believe is Superintendent Paul Edwards of the Kent Constabulary, dashes out to restrain Mr Potsworth...”
“RESTRAIN!?” I shouted...
Edwards told me to sit down again.
“Helicopter pictures show it even more clearly, here is the only footage as we were the only airbourne crew at the time of this episode...”
It reverted back to the live camera shots of the house.
Bengalbalm flicked her hair back and nonchalantly carried on:
“What was the meaning of this sensational outburst? Did he find out some more bad news? Did an argument explode in the house? Or did his brain just ‘pop’ under the pressure he is under? It’s a look into the strain on Middle England in these unique times.”
“Thanks, Antonia!” the anchor coolly replied.
“We’ll be keeping our eyes on that one. Now back to the aliens in Bolivia, does anyone know of any films, books, computer games, even extreme religious cults who predicted today’s events happening? If so, send us a tweet and we’ll send you a prize..!”
I briefly despaired at the ‘research’ going on in TV news stations these days.
Meanwhile, Edwards was clearly still pissed off at me and announced that we’ll have to do a press conference to get rid of these people once and for all, since I’d fanned the flames and got the story back on the news stations.
An awkward angry silence followed before Edwards asked:
“If you’re not too busy trying on croptops, could you please help get this thing set up, please PC Barker?”
He scrambled into action with unsaid hatred for Edwards on his lips, I wondered what to do as Sky showed the results of their latest viewers’ poll:
“78% think that we still have a decent chance of complete annihilation as a result of the aliens landing! Interesting results there, Patrick Moore?”
It was an interesting battle as the portly veteran astrologer tried to inject some
sense into the news channel that was pumped full of sensationalism, it was as pointless as trying to inject some chocolate into a Tyrannosaurus’ leg. The channel appeared to be hoping for bloodshed and that the aliens would soon create an ‘Independence Day’ style scenario!
Patrick Moore looked on in the background visibly shaking his head at the sheer insensitivity of it all and probably wished we could return to the days where there was only one news channel, just so the idiot he had been talking to couldn’t pollute as many minds as he was now.
Edwards was putting the plans into motion, he spent a while making phone calls, he would wander into different areas of the house to talk, deliberately moving as far away as possible to stay out of earshot.
When it looked like I was getting to close to the scene, he gave me a look similar to one you might give if you were shitting out a wasps’ nest.
The most I heard was “Yeah, I don’t know what was going on in his head, bollockbrains has caused us a few more...oh here he is now! I’m going to go into another room...”
So, he probably was talking about me then!
I gave up trying to follow him and once more felt the guilt of the situation I had created. Why did I need to go outside and do that? What good was I doing? Why did I not see the repercussions? Thinking of other people is harder than it appears.
Hang on, it wasn’t just me. Where’s Jemima? I desperately and quickly scanned the room for her, hoping that she had quietly passed out in the corner of the room or on one of the sofas and was quietly snoozing. WHERE WAS SHE?
Word Count - 1,730.
CHAPTER 39
I ran blindly towards the garden, not blindly in the sense of knocking into things, blindly in the sense of without consideration of my action, my life still seemed pretty fucked and like I was a horrible person. My child was safe but not because of me, because of chance and that he hadn’t wandered into a sex offender’s house but into one of a friendly family. He shouldn’t have even been there to wander into it. Why was my kid wandering out of our house and into the countryside? Could it be that he’s inquisitive? Could he be bored? Could it be that he hates us? Fuck.
The realisations that dawned upon me made my skin boil, my head almost involuntarily went into my hands and I screamed at the top of my voice.
It’s probably for the best that I didn’t see Superintendent Edwards’ anguished reaction to my actions and it’s probably for the best that I didn’t see the jackal journalists reactions’ while they lurking outside my residence either.
The bellowing made them realise something was up and with a large 6ft wooden panelled fence into the back garden separating them and the action, what seemed like a frenzied kids sports day style obstacle race ensued albeit with the PE kit replaced by jeans and trendy shirts or suits.
The farmer hedgerows that encased our back garden were the handiest things in the world at the moment as they stopped the telephoto lenses penetrating through or over. The 6ft height of them that had been a bone of contention with the neighbours, Mr and Mrs Thwaites, would never be an issue again. They shielded me from them and probably from a few assault court cases, had they managed to film me at that moment.
The screaming stopped just in time to see Edwards racing across the garden to grab me. That was a scary enough site, he still looked physically fit and his face was awash with ire at the situation he was now embroiled in, a set of events that he would no doubt feel did not need to happen at all.
He didn’t shout it at me but whispered quietly into my ear when his arms were firmly tightened around my shoulders:
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” he whispered with all the sinister intent of a waiting mugger.
He dragged me back into the house, I went into a kind of limp lump, not fighting the policeman but not really making much of an effort to go the same way as him either.
“I don’t want an explanation for that but the next stupid thing that you do that I have to clear up and I will knock shit out you!
PC Barker will corroborate my story here as firstly, he needs my support to earn his promotion that he wants and secondly, I know that he is a crossdresser and he wants that keeping secret...”
“Ok, ok!”
“Furthermore, any attempt to joke about PC Barker’s personal habits, shall also result in me kicking the shit out of you. Understood?”
A muttered yes from my despondent face was the best response he would get, he grunted and beckoned to ensure my return to the front room where the TV news was on.
It was only in the front room where I could feel the true noise and close proximity of the news helicopters...
“They’ve caught all that on tape, did you get bored of not having your face on the telly?!”
Not that it made much difference, there was still lots of inaccurate, vague and utterly pointless discussion of what ‘they’ might be planning for us on Earth. After five minutes or so of speculation, including the baffling question of whether or not they have ‘fast food’ or not, the presenter turned to the camera to deliver the ‘in other news’ section of the programme, almost apologetically:
“Obviously other things have happened today in the world but our main story is going to take precedence, some events have happened in rural Kent, where we have live footage of the Father of little Francis Potsworth having a possible mental breakdown..!
“It’s not having a mental breakdown to show some fucking emotion...” I exclaimed
“This extraordinary footage and more after the break!” claimed the almost mocking voiceover.
I watched this crazy man on the TV and could barely see it was myself, that didn’t look like me, I was normally so in control, so on top of things, always wanting to do whatever I pleased and not being bothered by others. I could barely look, how would this look to my friends? Would the damn thing ever be off Youtube?!
Edwards was flashing him a look of utter disdain. His eyes locked into mine and refused to let go, he looked massively unimpressed.
I went to move away.
“Stay!” barked Edwards.
“We’re going to watch this together...”
My thoughts were still with how I was going to sort my life out after all this and rebuild the relationships in my family but I had a feeling that he was running with this and was probably going to make a rather large point why what I did was one of the stupidest ideas of all time, since the Hindenburg Disaster or since Robson and Jerome’s musical career.
The adverts were interminable. Who cares about Oil of Olay when all this is going around us and who cares if we’re getting wrinkly, extra terrestrials are on the Earth and my kid is with some strangers a couple of miles away and I can’t do anything about any of this until some lowlifes stop camping out in my garden. A situation I’ve realised that I’ve made worse by having a massive spazzy fit on National TV!
The helicopters were still buzzing around at a low altitude outside, making mincemeat out of the privacy and harassment laws while they could.
What they hoped to find by flying lower near a house where all the windows and doors were tightly shut, Lord knows.
Not a word was said, into the report the news anchor lead...
“Now for the latest developments in the story of the missing child, Francis Potsworth, it features his Father having a moment of erm, unsteadiness and scenes may be distressing to those of a easily disturbed nature, here’s our reporter Antonia Bengalbalm...
“The scenes of a person on the edge, the furious, extreme reaction of a man who yesterday believed his child had been abducted but was found less than a couple of miles away from the family’s luxurious detached countryside home."
A Policeman, whom we believe is Superintendent Paul Edwards of the Kent Constabulary, dashes out to restrain Mr Potsworth...”
“RESTRAIN!?” I shouted...
Edwards told me to sit down again.
“Helicopter pictures show it even more clearly, here is the only footage as we were the only airbourne crew at the time of this episode...”
It reverted back to the live camera shots of the house.
Bengalbalm flicked her hair back and nonchalantly carried on:
“What was the meaning of this sensational outburst? Did he find out some more bad news? Did an argument explode in the house? Or did his brain just ‘pop’ under the pressure he is under? It’s a look into the strain on Middle England in these unique times.”
“Thanks, Antonia!” the anchor coolly replied.
“We’ll be keeping our eyes on that one. Now back to the aliens in Bolivia, does anyone know of any films, books, computer games, even extreme religious cults who predicted today’s events happening? If so, send us a tweet and we’ll send you a prize..!”
I briefly despaired at the ‘research’ going on in TV news stations these days.
Meanwhile, Edwards was clearly still pissed off at me and announced that we’ll have to do a press conference to get rid of these people once and for all, since I’d fanned the flames and got the story back on the news stations.
An awkward angry silence followed before Edwards asked:
“If you’re not too busy trying on croptops, could you please help get this thing set up, please PC Barker?”
He scrambled into action with unsaid hatred for Edwards on his lips, I wondered what to do as Sky showed the results of their latest viewers’ poll:
“78% think that we still have a decent chance of complete annihilation as a result of the aliens landing! Interesting results there, Patrick Moore?”
It was an interesting battle as the portly veteran astrologer tried to inject some
sense into the news channel that was pumped full of sensationalism, it was as pointless as trying to inject some chocolate into a Tyrannosaurus’ leg. The channel appeared to be hoping for bloodshed and that the aliens would soon create an ‘Independence Day’ style scenario!
Patrick Moore looked on in the background visibly shaking his head at the sheer insensitivity of it all and probably wished we could return to the days where there was only one news channel, just so the idiot he had been talking to couldn’t pollute as many minds as he was now.
Edwards was putting the plans into motion, he spent a while making phone calls, he would wander into different areas of the house to talk, deliberately moving as far away as possible to stay out of earshot.
When it looked like I was getting to close to the scene, he gave me a look similar to one you might give if you were shitting out a wasps’ nest.
The most I heard was “Yeah, I don’t know what was going on in his head, bollockbrains has caused us a few more...oh here he is now! I’m going to go into another room...”
So, he probably was talking about me then!
I gave up trying to follow him and once more felt the guilt of the situation I had created. Why did I need to go outside and do that? What good was I doing? Why did I not see the repercussions? Thinking of other people is harder than it appears.
Hang on, it wasn’t just me. Where’s Jemima? I desperately and quickly scanned the room for her, hoping that she had quietly passed out in the corner of the room or on one of the sofas and was quietly snoozing. WHERE WAS SHE?
Word Count - 1,730.