Captain's Day (15 page)

The girls passed by and after he had appreciated their bottoms and imagined cupping them in his hands and fondling them he was about to re-apply himself to the task of coming up with a suitable form of revenge on Mr Captain when a tractor from the stables passed by travelling in the opposite direction; and the combination of the tractor and the girls' bottoms gave him exactly the thing he was looking for, and Mr Captain’s day was well on the way to being well and truly spoiled.

When Garland had been teeing off at the fourth, and Harris and Ifield had been watching him, Jason had taken the opportunity to determine if despite being tied to Garland's trolley he could still get at the penknife in his trousers' pocket. He smiled to himself when he found that with a little effort he could. He already knew his chance of escape would come sooner rather than later; he had often seen the members of Sunnymere playing golf and knew it wouldn't be very long before one of them lost their ball and the others helped him find it.

The chance to escape presented itself when Harris's sliced approach shot ended up in the azaleas about forty yards to the right of the fourth green. Garland had hit the green with his own approach shot and after pulling Jason along with his trolley to the green's edge he now parked them there whilst he went to Harris's assistance. No sooner was his back turned than Jason took out his penknife, cut through the laces binding him to the trolley, and was off long before Garland became aware of what was happening. In fact if Jason hadn't called out “I'll get you back for this you bald-headed old bugger!” before running off it would have been even longer before Garland found out. The vice captain gave chase but not being in the best of condition these days he soon realised the futility of it and gave up, contenting himself with waving a fist at the departing Jason and shouting that he would fucking crucify him if he ever laid hands on him again.

After leaving Daddy Rhythm Millicent had proceeded to the beer tent, where she was to help out when the golfers called in for their drink with Mr Captain. Assisting her in this task would be the lady captain, Mrs Jordan, who had already entrenched herself in the beer tent when Millicent arrived, even though it was still some time away from when the first of the golfers were due to arrive.

Millicent had long thought it would have been more apt if Mrs Jordan had been called Mrs Gordon, judging by the amount of the gin of that name she drank, and would have much preferred one of the other ladies to help her out, or indeed done without any help at all if the only help on offer came in the shape of the lady captain. However Mrs Jordan had insisted and Millicent could hardly turn her down.

The reason for the lady captain’s insistence and for her premature arrival became apparent to Millicent the moment she entered the beer tent and noted that already one of the bottles of gin was a third empty. “It spilled as I was putting the optic on,” the lady captain explained, with an innocent smile, on noticing Millicent looking at the bottle with raised eyebrows.

“
Yes and your throat just happened to be in the way before it could hit the floor,” thought Millicent, but said, “What a shame, Lady Captain. I know they can be a bit tricky so perhaps you’d better let me put the optic on the next bottle of gin when the present one is empty, I seem to have the knack.”

“
Of course,” said the lady captain sweetly, whilst at the same time making plans that would ensure Millicent would be putting the optic on the next bottle without too much delay.

10.00 a.m.

P Norris (4)

R Oates (5)

S Pemberton (7)

Paul Norris, Ray Oates and Simon Pemberton teed off at the first then made their way, abreast of each other, for they were accomplished golfers, down the fairway. They were also accomplished wits.

“
Corey Pavin,” said Norris

“
Fuzzy Zoeller,” said Oates

“
Howard Twitty,” said Pemberton.

After taking a four at the par four ninth to remain two over par gross at the halfway stage Arbuthnott began to believe for the first time that he could win the competition. He had said as much on the way to the first tee, and had meant what he'd said, but he had done this on numerous occasions in the past but not really believed it. It had been said as a way of finding inspiration, of geeing himself up into making some sort of a show of it. The difference this time was that it seemed to be working; instead of his challenge petering out after a few holes (or not even starting, as it did the day he tried out his new Lee Trevino swing and went nine off the tee at the first after hitting his first three attempts out of bounds and accomplishing an air shot with his fourth attempt), he seemed on this occasion to be very much heading for a win. Now, anxious to keep his round going, he was more than glad that they wouldn't be stopping off at the beer tent for a drink with Mr Captain, with the consequent risk of his concentration being thrown out of kilter.

“
You must be in with some sort of a chance if you can manage to keep it together, Arby,” said Bagley, as they left the green and started to make their way over to the tenth tee some eighty yards away.

“
It's early days yet,” said Arbuthnott cautiously, not wishing to tempt providence, but also not to give Chapman the opportunity to accuse him of crowing again.

Chapman was completely unconvinced by Arbuthnott's apparent and unexpected show of modesty. “
Very
early days, for a crower,” he said. “I remember once being in a similar position after nine holes myself.”

“
You must have a bloody good memory,” said Arbuthnott, unable to resist giving Chapman a bit of his own back.

Standing outside the beer tent, waiting to play mine host to Arbuthnott, Bagley and Chapman, Mr Captain was wondering why they were heading towards the tenth tee and not towards him. Could they have forgotten? Surely not. Surely they wouldn't have
overlooked such a long-standing tradition as a drink with the captain at the halfway stage of the Captain
’
s Prize competition? He raised an arm aloft and hailed them. “I say!” The threesome didn
’
t hear him, or if they did they chose to ignore him. He shouted again, this time at the top of his voice, so it was quite impossible for them not to hear him. They stopped and looked over in his direction. He beckoned to them to join him. Chapman shook his head and all three turned and continued on their way to the tee. Totally bemused, Mr Captain shouted again. “I say!” The three stopped, turned resignedly to face him again, but made no attempt to join him. Mr Captain reluctantly cast himself in the role of Mohammad and made for the mountain, radiating concern.

“
What
’
s going on, gentlemen? Surely you’ll be having a drink with me?” he said on arrival.

“
No thank you, Mr Captain, we
’
d rather not,” said Chapman, rather abruptly.

“
You won
’
t?” Mr Captain's main concern up until then had been how he could keep everyone down to one drink; this was something he
hadn’
t bargained for. “But whyever not?”

Chapman shrugged as if to say
it was a matter of little importance.

Arbuthnott shrugged but at least had the decency to accompany the gesture with a wan smile.

Bagley was more forthcoming. “We've decided not to bother with the beer tent this year, Mr Captain.”

“
Not to bother with it?”

“
If it
’
s all the same to you.”

“
But it isn’t all the same to me.”

“
Well all right then, if it isn
’
t all the same to you,” said Chapman, the more blunt of the three. “We still don
’
t want a drink with you.”

“
But....I don’t understand?”

“
Well it's the no swearing rule if you must know, Mr Captain,” said Arbuthnott.

“
The no swearing rule?”

“
We think it stinks,” said Chapman, in case Mr Captain should be in any doubt.

“
Neither my playing partners nor I particularly want to swear,” Bagley explained. “Personally I never do. But we don't much like being told we can't. We see it as a golfer’s prerogative and something that is almost bound to happen with most golfers occasionally. So I'm afraid we won't be having a drink with you, in protest.”

Faced with this sudden spanner in the works, Mr Captain was at a loss as to what stance to adopt. However after a few seconds
’
thought he decided that as it was only three out of a total of a hundred and fifty golfers taking part in the Captain
’
s Day competition who wouldn’t be partaking of his hospitality that he would opt for a cavalier approach. “I see,” he pouted. “Well of course that is your decision to make. But it is a pretty misguided, not to say petty, decision, if I may say so.”

“
You may, but that's the way we feel about it,” said Chapman.

“
Well it's no skin off my nose; it certainly doesn't matter to me that you refuse to have a drink with me. All the more for the others taking part, say I.” With that Mr Captain turned smartly on his heel and started to make his way back to the beer tent.

“
There won't be any others,” Chapman called after him.

Mr Captain stopped in his tracks. He turned to face Chapman. “What? What do you mean?”

“
I
’
m afraid all the members feel the same way about it as we do,” said Bagley. “None of them will be having a drink with you.”

From being in the position when having three of the members refuse to accept his hospitality in the beer tent would be no skin off his nose a whole noseful of skin now suddenly shed itself from Mr Captain's proboscis. He was completely crushed. “N….none of them?”

“
You made your bed,” said Chapman, before turning and heading for the tenth tee. Arbuthnott and Bagley fell in behind him.

Mr Captain watched them go, completely at a loss. If what they had said was true it would be disastrous. Apart from it completely spoiling his day what on earth would the Lord Mayor think if he found out the members of the club held him in such low esteem that they even refused to have a drink with him, and a free one at that? He saw his chances of becoming a town councillor and a future Lord Mayor dwindling rapidly. Something would have to be done about it, and pretty quickly too if his day wasn't to be spoiled.

“
How much do you want?” asked the man on the other end of the telephone.

Tobin told him. Then changed his mind and doubled the amount, just to make sure. Muck or nettles he thought, then smiled to himself at the allusion.

“
And where do you want it delivered to?”

Tobin told him.

“
What? Are you sure?”

“
I’ve never been surer,” said Tobin.

“
Father,” said Millicent, positively.

“
Father?” echoed Mr Captain, then added, doubtfully, “Your father?”

“
Well of course. I'm sure he'd be only too happy to help.”

On discovering from the Arbuthnott threesome that the entire field was going to refuse to have a drink with him Mr Captain had returned to the beer tent to counsel Millicent. Two heads were better than one and it was clear that some pretty quick thinking would have to be done if he were to overcome the latest crisis to be dropped in his lap. However by offering her father as a solution to the problem it was clear to Mr Captain that Millicent wasn't yet thinking along lines that might prove fruitful. “It is golfers we are short of, Millicent,” he said in reply to his wife's suggestion. “Golfers seen to be having a drink with me during the Mayoral visit. How on earth can your father help? He's never played golf in his life.”

“
He doesn't have to have played golf. All he has to do is stand here with you in the beer tent and have a drink; I'm sure he knows how to do that.”

Mr Captain wasn't. As far as he could remember Millicent's father didn’t drink, her mother having seen to that. He pointed this out. “I thought you father was a teetotaller?”

“
What? Well he is,” said Millicent, a little cross. Her husband could be so pedantic sometimes. “There are soft drinks, aren't there? He can have a soft drink. I'll get him to bring along a couple of his friends, they can pretend to be golfers too. There, there’s your threesome.”

It seemed like a possible way round the problem but Mr Captain was still a little dubious. “He'll be all right, will he, your father?”

“
What do you mean, all right?”

“
Well, since your mother....I mean he hasn't long been a widower has he.”

“
Mother passed away almost three months ago, Henry. And it isn't as though we're asking father to scale Mount Everest, is it? All we're asking him to do is have a drink with you. So do I go for him or don’t I?”

Mr Captain still wasn’t comfortable with the idea but had no better solution to the problem. “I suppose it will be all right,” he said, but in the hope that he would come up with something better before the Lord Mayor arrived.

10.10 a.m.

C Healey (14)

J Bramwell (17)