Whiskey tango foxtrot, p.1
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, page 1
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
The further adventures of Constable Mavis Upton
Gina Kirkham
Copyright © 2021 Gina Kirkham
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The right of Gina Kirkham to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2018.
Re-published in 2021 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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www.bloodhoundbooks.com
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Print ISBN 978-1-914614-24-8
Contents
Also by Gina Kirkham
1. 1999
2. Goodbye Cruel World
3. Present Day
4. Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds
5. A Flash In The Pan…
6. Fluffy socks & Furballs
7. Nelson’s Delight
8. Frank-ly, My Dear
9. Jerome & Milly Rimple
10. Mariners Maledict
11. Lost property
12. Under The Covers
13. Granny Pants & Superman
14. When Life Gives You……
15. Effing & Jeffing
16. A Kipper A Day
17. What’s It All About Alfie…
18. Rod, God & PC Plod
19. Clifford From The Broom Cupboard
20. Fatal Attraction
21. Cracker & A Kodak
22. Rigor-ously Rigid
23. Dame Edna
24. The One
25. A Pair Of Marilyn Monroe’s
26. Suits you, Sir
27. Frances And The Jam Pot
28. I’m A Creep, I’m A Weirdo…
29. Victorious Secrets
30. Pork Chops, Sausages, Pasties & Pies
31. Air On An Extra Large Thong
32. Hey Big Spender……
33. The Honeymoon
34. Are you lonesome tonight?
35. Meditation, Musings & Mirth
36. Home, Home On The Range…
37. Storm In An ‘F’ Cup…
38. Potato, Potahto…
39. Mother Of The Year
40. These Boots Were Made For Walking
41. As Much As Is Needed…
42. Silence Is Golden
43. Kilroy Was Here…
44. A Serious Lapse Of Judgement
45. The Christmas Sprouts
46. Here’s You Hat, Here’s Your Coat…
47. Confession…
48. Did I Eat That
49. The Naked Truth
50. Pork Pies And Readers’ Wives
51. Bye, Bye, Baby (Baby Goodbye)
52. Mr Fix-It
53. It’s a dog’s life
54. Thongs For The Memory…
55. Brazilian, French Or Hollywood
56. Unmasked
57. The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers…
58. Passing Ships
59. Ashes In The Wind
60. Keeping Mum…
61. Heaven Scent
62. Underpanticus Maximus
63. Firkles Make Fugitives
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
You will also enjoy:
Love best-selling fiction?
About the Author
Also by Gina Kirkham
The Constable Mavis Upton Adventures
Handcuffs, Truncheon and a Polyester Thong (book 1)
Blues, Twos and Baby Shoes (book 3)
For my dad, Anthony ‘Tony’ Dawson
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The Piano Man
1933 – 2009
‘The Song has sadly ended but the melody lives on’
1
1999
“All stand.”
I sat nervously in the corridor, jiggling my right leg as the usher's voice seeped through the oak panelled door to Court No. 1.
“Feckin’ hell Mave, it’s not the trial of the century, it’s a simple shoplifting job with a Common Assault.” Bob blew his nose, inspected what was deposited on the greying handkerchief, folded it over and shoved it back in his trouser pocket.
“Fine for you to say, but you’re not the one giving evidence against your own dad, are you?” I flicked through my notebook, giving the neat handwriting a once over. For the first time in my career I didn’t need to memorise my evidence, this job would be etched in my brain for all eternity and beyond.
I, Mavis Jane Upton, or better known to my colleagues and bosses over the previous ten years as Constable 1261 Mavis Upton, ace police driver, apprehender of naughty people, lover of crisps (any flavour) and hater of big knickers, had undertaken, albeit unwittingly, the job of arresting my own itinerant, belligerent and delinquent father. A father I hadn’t set eyes on since 1962 when I was four years old.
I looked out of the tall, sandstone-edged window and watched a single white cloud scoot across the blue sky.
Arthur Albert Upton.
My dad.
My drunk dad.
My missing for over thirty-five years dad.
The dad who thought leaving a one-page note and a yellowing coupon for a moulded foam cup bra just like Jayne Mansfield wore, would be sufficient to explain away his abandonment. The dad who felt having a police officer for a daughter was something to be ashamed of. I bristled with betrayal. I’d read the court reports attached to the CPS file. His defence was centred around his long-term love affair with several bottles of Johnnie Walker and a well-documented diagnosis of dementia.
Well it wasn’t going to wash with me. The Court might give him a chance but I sure as hell wouldn’t.
I sighed, trying to fight off a brief feeling of pity that had started to gnaw at my stomach. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t deserve pity, in fact he didn’t deserve any emotion I could rustle up.
“Dementia is just when you forget things isn’t it, Bob?”
“I suppose so, probably a bit more to it than that, Mave, but that’s probably the gist of it, why?”
I fiddled with the crested police pin, pushing the popper back into place through my black & white chequered tie so it sat neatly. “I was just wondering what he’s going to come up with in Court that’s all.”
I stood up to shake some feeling back into my leg, shuddering as pins and needles quickly made their way into my foot. I stamped my highly-polished boot on the woodblock flooring, feeling anger and contempt pushing to the surface again.
“Oooh, sorry your Worships, I just picked up three bottles of Morrisons finest Scotch...” I threw up a salute, just as Dad had in the Custody Suite when he’d proudly announced his rank in the Navy.
“.… and forgot I’d shoved two down my trousers and one inside my jacket before I ran out of the store like a gorilla with a pair of swollen crotch nuggets,” I mimicked, whilst pulling a face.
Bob laughed and snorted down his nose which called for another vigorous wipe with his crumpled, crusty hanky.
2
Goodbye Cruel World
“Six months suspended as long as he goes to residential rehab at Birchwood. With his previous record up and down the country, Dad’s been lucky.” I hooked the coat hanger onto the rail in my locker and watched my uniform jacket sway from side to side as I pulled my utility belt around my waist and clipped it into position.
It felt strange saying the word dad.
“He’s asked me to visit him, wants to make amends.” I paused to snap the leather strap across my handcuffs. “Never in a month of Sundays is that going to happen.”
“Oh, come on Mave, you’ve got to give him a chance, having you back in his life could be what he needs.” Martin heaved his briefcase from the bottom of his locker and lumbered along the aisle, boot laces trailing after him. “Just think on it, don’t dismiss it straight away.”
I followed him, fiercely knocking an open locker door back into place with the palm of my hand. It hit the frame, giving off a metallic clang as the momentum sprang it open again smacking Petey in the face as he tagged along behind us.
He rubbed his forehead and smirked as a large purple lump began to sprout above his right eyebrow. “Oooh look lads, I’m getting a bump of knowledge, how cool’s that?”
“Wrong place son, bump of knowledge is…. right…. there….” I watched in awe as Degsy swiftly smacked him across the back of the head with his Maglite torch. “… now can you feel the difference Petey, it’s a larger lump, isn’t it?”
Petey nodded excitedly. “Yes, yes, it is Degsy, you’re so right, much bigger…” He paused to rub the second bump that was now overtaking the smaller one I’d accidentally given him. “… wow at this rate I will have a head stuffed full of knowledge, won’t I?”
The collective groans that followed were almost louder than the urgent call that shrieked from our radios.
“Patrols, we’ve got reports of a male on the motorway bridge, threatening to jump.”
Bursting out through the back door onto the car park, my stomach flipped as I jiggled the car keys in my hand. “Petey, jump in with Bob, mine is on the back row, his is n earer.” I ran through the parked cars, clicking the remote key as my radio continued to produce Heidi’s high-pitched voice.
“We’ve got conflicting reports as to which bridge he’s on. It’s either Brookside Road or Arlington Pass. Whichever one it is, he’s already on the wrong side of the barrier, just trying to clarify for you now and on to Traffic to put on a rolling road block on the motorway…”
Heidi signed off, leaving the air clear for Bob to shout through, suggesting we should split patrols, half to Brookside, half to Arlington Pass. I got Brookside.
Heights.
The one thing that can make me cower in terror and squirm in fear, all courtesy of a day trip to Blackpool Pier in 1983, where I’d stood frozen to the spot staring through the wooden slats like a myotonic goat at the sea below. I still felt guilty that some poor octogenarian had been tipped out of her wheelchair onto a nearby bench so I could be accommodated and wheeled back to terra-firma, complete with her crocheted blanket and a hip flask full of gin.
Arriving at the scene, I pulled the key out of the ignition and almost fell out of the car in my haste to reach the hunched, solitary figure on the wrong side of the railings. The wind buffeted my unzipped coat, making it sail behind me, the rumble and roar of the motorway traffic below adding to the tension. I held the button down on my radio.
“1261, it’s Brookside, repeat, Brookside, silent approach please Heidi.” Already my heart was hammering in my chest, threatening to burst through my Gossard Wonder Bra.
“Err, are you okay mate?” That clever snippet popped into my head and out of my mouth before I could stop it.
Oh, for feck’s sake you bloody numpty, of course he’s not okay, that’s why he’s sitting on the wrong side of the railings, perched on a six-inch-wide ledge dangling his ruddy Lacoste clad legs over a busy motorway.
I wanted to kick myself.
Shaking, as the wind hit his face and hair, catching in his navy blue puffa jacket, tears mixed with grit ran down his face.
“She’s gone, she’s fuckin’ cleared off… taken the kids. Me heart’s broke Miss; what’s left to live for, you tell me that, hey?”
I inched closer to him, taking it steady, not wanting to spook him, hoping against hope it was attention seeking, a cry for help rather than a serious attempt to die.
No sudden moves Mave, sneak it like a ninja.
Actually, come to think of it, ninjas don’t wear size 20 knickers and cut the labels out do they? They’re always lean and light on their feet.
Shit, I really was doomed before I’d even begun.
Clenching my jaw until the tightness radiated into my neck making it difficult to swallow, I edged forward until I was standing next to him. Gingerly peering over the railings, nausea spread into my stomach.
If I misjudge my reaction to his emotional state, this isn’t going to end well. I can almost see the headlines in the local rag, proudly typeset next to an advert for Zimmer frames and incontinence aids. Standing up, gripping the railings, he shuffled around until he was facing me, his back to the motorway below. The rolling road block hadn’t had time to be effective, the constant engine noise and tyres pressing on the tarmac surface only served to confirm that.
Oh, please don’t, just keep looking at me, don’t let go, please don’t let go.
My heart isn’t playing ball, it’s still pounding. I’m cold but there is a dampness to the back of my shirt, I can feel it clinging to my skin. My mouth is dry, swallowing hard, I launch in.
“Look, let’s talk about this, there’s always something to live for, now just the other day I was saying to Bob… Bob’s my workmate by the way, lovely guy, you’d like him, tends to pick his nose a lot, but well, you know what men are like…. oh, I haven’t introduced myself, have I? My name’s Mavis, but you can call me Mave if you want.” I paused waiting for a response, he gave nothing back. I tried again.
“To be honest Tuesday’s aren’t a very good day to die, maybe you could try another day, say a Thursday… or err… a Friday. Friday’s are good to go, matey, you get a long weekend in the chapel of rest…”
Keep going, don’t give him time to think. Please just a few more minutes, I know the others will be here to help me. Even though they’re not using their sirens, I just know they’re close, I can feel it.
I drone on and on, about anything and everything, but I don’t care. I’m buying time. He’s so mesmerised with my onslaught, he doesn’t even notice that I’ve managed to link my arm through his as I carry on discussing the latest episode of Coronation Street and his love of football, like we’re the best of friends.
I desperately try not to look down, but in a perverse way, my eyes keep being drawn to the road below. At last, he speaks.
“Do yer know sumfink Miss, you’re okay, but youse don’t ‘arf go on like, has anybody ever told you that?” He rolled his eyes and sniffed, a tentative smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“Mmmm actually, now I come to think of it, yes, I suppose they have!” I gave him a conspiratorial grin, whilst watching the blue lights from my back-up form a dancing display in the distance.
I just need to keep going a little longer, just a few seconds more and they’ll be here. Please, please don’t do anything stupid. My head is swimming as I look down at the drop forty feet below.
“Me names Tommy by the way.” Another gust of wind caught his jacket making him shudder and sway. “Gotta say your name’s a bit shit though innit? Mavis. I mean who calls their kid Mavis?” he let go of the railings to offer out his hand in greeting.
My heart misses a beat.
Feck me! I’ve got a potential suicide who just happens to be a bloody gentleman.
“Noooooooo don’t…”
Too late.
His body momentarily jerks backwards, his feet scrabbling to retain a hold on the ledge as the realisation hit him that a formal introduction by way of a handshake when you’re hovering over the M53 probably hadn’t been one of his better ideas.
Horrified I grab at his jacket with my spare hand, thrusting my other arm further around him, squeezing tightly, trying to grip the other side of the nylon material.
Shit, shit, shit….
He’s too heavy, I’m going to lose him.
My feet lift off the ground as his weight pulls me over the railings. Frantically, I jam my knee and thigh through the metal struts of the railing, the top rail digging painfully into my stomach. I’m eye to eye with Tommy; his terrified face must surely mirror mine. His eyes are bulging as he flails his arms in a frenzied attempt to grab at the railings, or worse still, grab at me. Jeez, I’ve done it again, when will I ever learn? Another risk taken.
The motorway below is now empty, which only seems to enhance the distance between us and the tarmac. A thought flits through my mind, I want to laugh. Was it Shakespeare’s Sister or Daffy Duck that said it first, I can’t remember…
Goodbye cruel world.
… and then the hands are there, pulling at me, grabbing hold of Tommy and we’re hauled back over the railings, collapsing in a heap on the pavement, panting with fear, pain and relief. Heaving and spitting on the ground, Tommy shook his head.
