Hello again, Dave

This week we're delighted to host an extract from the new novel by Betty Valentine. Betty is a writer and also the '15 minute poet' (check out her Wordpress site!) living in the Channel Islands.

'1958' is the diary ('Dave') of George Potter, written 1958-2012. He is a stuttering henpecked little man, who finds escape from his dull life and his bossy wife in the shed on his allotment. Life changes for George when the Mullers, Henry and Clara, move in next door. They are German refugees, and Henry runs a bookshop. George and Henry become the best of friends and later on they become lovers; they stay that way for the next 50 years.

This snippet comes from 1961, just after their first weekend together. Eileen is George's wife and Eric is Eileen's terminally dim pug.

Hello again Dave

Things have settled a little. Eileen is no longer narked with me because I brought her roses from the allotment. It always cheers her up when I do that.

Henry is back home because he has a new tenant. Creepy Derek the assistant has moved in upstairs at the bookshop, he has fallen out with his mother who is a war widow, over her new boyfriend. He had nowhere else to go to that he could afford, so Henry said he could use the flat, but just until he found somewhere else. So we have to content ourselves with furtive kisses in the shed and the odd passionate moment when Eileen’s back is turned.

It is not ideal. I realised in the flat with Henry that lovemaking is an entirely different thing when both partners truly want each other. That probably sounds naieve but my only previous experience has been with a woman who would rather not bother, so I assumed that that was the way it was meant to be. 

Now I know different, I want so much more and I am not getting it! It’s a funny thing for a middle aged man to find himself falling in love for the first time. Finding yourself really wanting someone else when you are over 40 is a strange new feeling. It is a physical need, I burn to be with him and he burns to be with me, that need is not being satisfied which is making us both irritable with the people around us.

I have been a little short with Eileen, she keeps asking me if I need something to sort out my bowels because I am being bad tempered, branflakes keep appearing on the breakfast table. I loathe branflakes which is not helping at all.

Dear Dave

I am a much happier boy

Henry surprised me today and sent creepy Derek out for an early lunch break as the shop was quiet. He told him to call in at the stationers and to go to the bank to get some change on the way back. As soon as he was gone Henry locked the door and pretty much dragged me into the office to have his evil way with me, as he put it. 

Not that I was complaining because I was more than keen. Something inside me has woken up after all the years of being starved of affection both physical and mental. Sometimes the madness of this little affair of ours seems utterly reckless and abandoned, but neither of us seems to be able to do a thing about it.

After a glorious time together we emerged smirking and very much happier, only to find a furious Derek standing on the doorstep in the rain because the bank was shut for early closing. Thank goodness he had forgotten his keys!

When I got back to the office one of my colleagues asked if I was ok because I seemed a little flushed. I went scarlet and mentioned that I had a slight headache. I shut the office door and bent over my papers.

When I was working in the garden before dinner, we stopped and chatted politely across the fence for a few minutes, like neighbours do. Just about how the roses have done this year, pretty tame stuff considering the two of us had spent lunchtime in each others arms, and I don’t mean doing the fox-trot!

Comrade Dave

Yes it is catch a ‘Commie’ week down here at the allotments, seriously it really is. Reg Braithewaite our fearless leader [he thinks] has joined the Civil Defence Corps and is now obsessed with hunting down the red menace, he sees communists everywhere!

Most people think he is a bit loopy and ignore him, or tell him to go cool his head under the tap, or worse, but he is relentless in rooting out what he thinks are ‘Red’s’ under the vegetable beds.

What he expects to find the Lord only knows, but extreme vigilance is called for in case we are infiltrated. 

There have been several humorous suggestions that he may be looking for Commie Carrots or Pinko Parsnips, Henry suggested Bolshie Beets.

It is ruddy hilarious.

He wants us to mount nightly patrols to stop the Communists from running riot during the darkened hours. 

Nobody has signed up of course, but I might just do it. Not because I want to help him in his lunatic scheme you understand, it’s just that he will have to be nice to me all night, which will really annoy him!

Regards Tovarisch Dave

Comrade George

I think I have found my one

This week we're delighted to host two short extracts by Betty Valentine. Betty is a writer and also the '15 minute poet' (check out her Wordpress site!) living in the Channel Islands. She's just completed her third novel which will be published by Green Cat Books next year.

Overture and Beginners is a romance between two sixty-somethings: famous little actor Jimmy and in-the-closet Pete, whom he employs to paint his windows.

Lots of people commented that I was looking well. The only one who twigged that there might be a new man in my life was my agent, Esther Bloom. At least she was the only one who came out and said anything to my face. Esther has never been one to hold back; it’s what makes her so very good at her job.

We have been friends for more years than either of us care to remember. We met when we were just starting out. Like all young actors just out of drama school, I was doing the rounds and looking for representation. I found Esther, who had recently finished a business and marketing degree. She had a few clients and was looking for more, so we agreed reasonable terms.

Esther is universally known throughout the business as ‘Brutus’. The origins of this nickname are lost in the mists of time. I have heard it said that it is in tribute to one of the large and menacing crocodiles in Peter Pan!

She certainly snaps at the best roles for her clients. Legend has it that people have lost fingers to Brutus. Kinder folk say she eats a couple of raw bollocks for breakfast every morning just to keep in trim; the smaller ones she wears as earrings!

She has been a bloody good friend to me over the years. I have returned the favour as we have both climbed to the top of the tall, greasy pole that is show business.

We have fallen out plenty of times and our spats are legendary. One of us, usually me, will back down and we will make it up. We share a special bond that can never be broken. She knows all my secrets and I know most of hers.

I went to see her at her office, as I had some contracts to sign and we had things to discuss.

“Jimmy, darling,” she said, giving me a long appraising look. She is as bad as me for smoking and we were both sporting an e-cigarette.

“You look amazing! Well it’s either Botox or a new man.” Her dark eyes narrow, “Oh not Botox then, do tell.”

I said, “It’s nothing,” but Brutus is not an easy one to fool.

She gave me another look and she said, “I do hope you haven’t been dipping into the sweetie jar again, Jimmy, remember all the trouble we had with Todd?”

“How could I forget!”

Brutus always called my younger boyfriends ‘The Sweeties’, because according to her they were pretty to look at and lovely to pig out on for a while, but they ended up being expensive and incredibly bad for you in the end. Most of them were not worth the calories, in her assessment.

I knew I was fighting a losing battle, so I gave in and confessed.

“OK, yes there is someone,” I said. I told her, “I think I have found my one, Bru.”

She looked over her Larsen glasses and snorted, “Heard it all before, dear, but I will be there with the hankies when he leaves you for some twink in the chorus.”

“When will you ever learn, Jimmy. Who is it this time? No don’t tell me, thirty-five, drop dead gorgeous, moving in next week because you can’t bear to be without him? That’s the usual recipe for one of your disastrous flings.”

I shook my head. “Not this time,” I told her. “He’s different. He’s older than both of us and he’s not in showbusiness.”

She smiled. Her teeth are small and sharp like a little rodent. She laughed and said, “My God, Jimmy P, how loved up are you? Do I hear wedding bells, dear? A celebrity hitch is always good for business.”

I told her it was far too early to be thinking along those lines and we got down to work on the contracts I had come to sign. I consider myself to have got away lightly and extremely lucky that she hadn’t wormed a name out of me. She was a master at that, the devious cow.

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We were happy, really happy. I lost weight because Pete cooks healthy food. Our first little bump in the road appeared in the shape of my youngest nephew, George.

George managed to get himself suspended from his boarding school. He had a furious bust up with his father, my brother Doug, who is just as stubborn as he is.

He walked out and ended up on my doorstep. Good old Uncle Jimmy took him in. I didn’t want him running off where we couldn’t find him and at least I knew he was safe.

George liked staying with me, so he stayed…and he stayed. The problems with this were many fold. I had to take him with me everywhere I went because I couldn’t leave him home alone. Wendy, bless her, minded him when I was working, but I had to take him to the theatre one night because she was busy. He really enjoyed himself and everyone backstage made a huge fuss of him. 

The second problem was even worse. Pete wouldn’t come near the place while George was in residence. You know how it is at the start of a relationship, those first wonderful weeks when you just can’t get enough of each other mentally or physically. That even happened for two mature gentlemen like us. We needed to be with each other, it was a hunger that wasn’t being satisfied and I was as cranky as hell.

Finally, after ten days of babysitting, no Pete, and no sex, I had had quite enough.

I got George a coffee and myself a scotch then I sat him down and laid it on the line.

“Look George,” I said, “I think it’s time you went home.”

He shook his head and said, "No way, you have a very cool life for an old bloke, Uncle Jim.”

I was fifty-eight, but obviously to George I seemed ancient.

Time to bring up the big guns.

“Did it ever occur to you, George, that I might have another life besides being on the telly and being your long-suffering uncle?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said. It was plain that this had never occurred to him.

“Well I do, and frankly, kid, you are seriously cramping my style.”

He gave me a look and said, in all innocence, “I’m not sure what you mean, Uncle Jim.”

George is a smart cookie. He knew exactly what I was talking about and I knew it too.

“Don’t play games, Georgie,” I said, giving him a raised eyebrow and a stern look.

“Dad told Mum you were off men after Todd. Just the odd casual pick-up,” he said.

“Did he?” I said icily, “Well he was wrong. As it happens, I do have a new boyfriend, but he’s a bit shy and he won’t come near this place while you are here.”

George enjoyed every moment of watching me squirm. Finally, he said, “You mean you aren’t getting any!”

I sighed, “Much as I think discussing my love life with a fifteen-year-old is a seriously bad idea, you have hit the nail squarely on the head. Now do your old uncle a favour and bog off home like a good boy.”

George winked and said, “Yeah OK, I get the message. You go to it, Unc, whatever you can manage to get up to, at your age!”

“Thank you,” I said, “I’ll try to survive it somehow.” Cheeky little beggar!

“Is he nice?” George asked. “I don’t want you getting all depressed again like you did with Todd.”

He was eleven when I kicked Todd out and I know it worried him.

“He’s not like Todd,” I said, “He’s a lovely man and he makes me very happy. I hope you can meet him some day, but not just now.”

“Good,” he told me, “Todd was a dick. You deserve better, Jimmy.” I was touched. We are a close family and underneath all the teenage bullshit there is a really nice kid.

“Remember, George,” I said, “Mouth shut, OK? And I will return the favour some time. I don’t want the entire Porter clan asking questions.”

He nodded and went to phone his Mum for a lift.

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P.S. If you fancy a bit more Betty, have a look at A Twist of Starlight.