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Listeners' Fantasies |
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We is Family
by Deb Z
 An unexpected take on two recent storylines, from the Fantasy Archers topic of .
Satisfied with the outcome of the meeting at Home Farm, Matt shrugged himself into his camel coat and walked at a leisurely pace towards his car, searching in his pockets for his car keys, to no avail.
"Damn," he thought, "I must have left them on the table."
He was about to retrace his steps, when a stocky figure stepped out of the shadows.
"'Ello Matt, lost somefing?"
"Sorry?" Matt turned and a second figure, slightly taller than the first, with popping eyes reminiscent of somebody suffering from a thyroid complaint, appeared behind him.
"I said, 'ave you lost somefing?" repeated the first figure, turning to his companion, he muttered in an audible aside, "Gettin' a bit deaf in his old age."
"Mutton Jeff," confirmed the other.
"Look," said Matt, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable, "Do I know you?"
"Know us? Nah, not as such, but we know all about you, don' we Reg?"
"Yeah," affirmed Reg, "All about yer."
"Right then," said Matt, striving to inject more confidence than he actually felt into his voice, "In that case, you will know that I am a very busy man…"
"Very busy," agreed the first man, "But not too busy to go around raking up ancient history and stories that don' concern him, eh?"
"Nah," said Reg, "Not that busy."
"Look," said Matt, "I don't quite see what anything I do has to do with you."
"No? He don' see, Reg. Nah that's a bit sad, innit?"
"Yeah, Ron, real sad."
Not entirely unaware of the London gangs of the 1960's, Matt felt cold sweat start to run down his spine.
"Yeah," said Ron noticing his unease, "The Duchess was a great admirer of 'em. You wos called Charley orignally. Yer parents wot adopted you changed that soon as they could. Yer see we're family. You was lookin' fer family, wasn't you?"
"Family?" Matt swallowed hard. "You mean…?"
"Yeah, we're your bruvvers," confirmed Reg.
"Half bruvvers, Reg, half bruvvers. Let's be exact abou' it."
A few weeks ago, Matt would have been ready to clasp the two of them to his bosom, buy them expensive cars, set them up in their own businesses and hire them useless, but attractive secretaries. But now, it was not only the unfavourable economic climate which made him pause.
"Problem is Matt, you been disturbing the Duchess, an' we don' like that, do we Reg?"
"Nah," agreed Reg, adding, apparently on his own initiative, "Thass bad, very bad." In confirmation of just how bad this was, he shook his (rather small, now that Matt got a better look at it) head.
"Look," said Matt, striving to gain the upper hand, "If you would just like to state your business..."
"Oooh, 'ark at him! State our business, shall we?" Ron smiled sarcastically, "I 'spose you got that phrase from your bit of high class totty?"
"Annabelle!" suddenly Matt was distraught, "If you've harmed a hair on her head…"
"Annabelle," repeated Ron, reflectively, "'Sfunny, I could 'ave sworn she said 'er name was Lilian. Anyway, as the Bard 'imself said, what's in a name? Eh Tiger? Moss 'elpful she was too. Moss 'elpful."
"Yeah, nice gin too," agreed Reg, "Shame abou' the legs."
"Legs?" Matt would have blanched visibly, if it had not been for the fading light.
"Turn of phrase Matt, turn of phrase. Mind you, she told us all about anaerobic digesters, didn't she, Reg? So nah we know what exactly anaerobic digesters does, don' we?"
"You do?" Matt was rather surprised at this.
"Yeah, anaerobic digesters digest" explained Reg. "They digest specially grown for them crops, farm waste, supermarket waste, all kinds of waste, ain't that right Ron?"
"Thassrigh' Reg," confirmed Ron, "'Course, some might say that human waste is somefing altogether different, though I 'spect there is some tribe in Papua New Guinea that might say ovverwise. But you never know 'til yer tries, does yer?"
Trying to respond, Matt found, unaccountably, that his front teeth appeared to be stuck to his upper lip.
"Yer know what, Ron?" said Reg, suddenly expansive, "I always fink that Hammersmith Flyover is a Work of Art."
"Indeed it is Reg, indeed it is. A veritable work of art. Better than anyfing that Damien Hirst cobbles together. But somefing like that is difficult to find in this neck of the woods. But an anaerobic digester. Nah that holds promise. Jus' fink what you could put in that, an' nobody any the wiser."
Something in Matt (genes maybe?) began to make him warm slightly to his half-brothers. Finally he found his voice, and he uttered a phrase that he had sworn never to make in business.
"OK. What exactly do you want?"
"What we want exactly is this: one, you go back in there and you tell them you've 'ad second thoughts. Borchester Land will support them."
"But what about the board?"
"Matt, Matt," Ron shook his head sadly, "A man with your talents… However, we could always go round a see this Annabelle…"
"You leave her out of this."
"As you wish, Matt, as you wish. Secondly, you leave the Duchess alone. She didn' ask for you to be born, gave you away as soon as she could an' forgot your very existence. Thass as it should be. Will be. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes." Matt waited for more. There was none. "So that's the deal?"
"That's the deal."
"And what, if anything, do you get out of it?"
"Not that it's any of your business, but we get peace of mind for our dear ol' mum and a nice handy digester in a place so obscure it's not even mentioned on the ordinance survey maps. An' of course, you, bein' family, will lend us a hand should we need somefing disposed of. Nice doin' business wiv you Matt." Ron put out his hand and reluctantly Matt took it, only to find his own hand grasped in a grip of iron and Ron's face uncomfortably close to his. "You got off light," hissed Ron, "But then yous family, ain't you?"
***
"You know, remarked David to Adam, as Ruth and Debbie went in search of Jennifer, "I think Debbie's lost all interest in our digester."
Overhearing this through a not quite closed door, Debbie smirked to herself. Maybe now she could show Brian what keeping things in the family really meant.
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