Cravendish
The sun must have had a falling out with the sky, because accompanying this new morning there was present a distinct threat of heavy rain. Even the air smelled damp, though that could have been from the dozens of windows billowing with steam, while the occupants showered for their working day. For Cravendish, his working day had started a few short minutes ago.
Brayburn Police Station was a small affair, tucked quietly out of the way at the other end of the High Street. The entrance was ramped for the convenience of wheelchair users and at the top the double doors opened into the Police Station proper, replete with a desk, a Police Officer and three blue plastic chairs for the waiting of. The range of posters rivalled even the Doctor's Waiting Room, except here, they were about such diverse subjects as burglary, theft and assault. Other than the headings and the content, there remained the same colours, font and style, so that they could quite easily have decorated the walls of the Council Offices, Doctor's Waiting Room or here, in the Police Station. Cravendish walked up to the desk, but before he could speak, the Desk Officer, Tony called out behind him, "Sarg? He's one of yours."
Cravendish watched as the balding, podgy man with mandatory moustache made his way exhaustively to the desk. Sergeant Ken Swaye stood expectantly, until Cravendish's face eventually came into focus, "Thanks, Tony. Ah. You again? What is it this time?"
Cravendish was astonished at the lacklustre approach, "Surely you know of the missing girl? And the cat?"
Ken eyed Cravendish with the experienced eye of an idiot, "Is that a question or a confession?"
Cravendish continued, "As part of my pending case -"
Ken scratched his belly and a button popped undone on his shirt, "Oh, give it a rest, eh? Let us Coppers get on with the real work!"
Cravendish continued again, "The service I give is -"
Ken snorted, releasing a green bat from the cave, "The service you give is next to useless! You're not a Detective! Your an odd-job man!"
Cravendish was blinkered and single minded, "As I said, as part of my pending case -"
Ken leaned forward, using the desk for support, "You know how much time we waste on amateurs like you? I'll tell you - wait a minute, I got it on a piece of paper here somewhere -"
Cravendish didn't have time for this, "There is a girl missing! What steps are you -"
Ken returned his attention to Cravendish, brandishing a ballpoint pen, nib first, at him, "Now now! That's a serious allegation you're bandying about there! Don't make me come round there -"
Cravendish was a little confused, but carried on unabated, ”I’m just trying to find out what you know about it?"
Ken's brow furrowed, or rather hedged, "About what?"
Cravendish was exhausted, "The missing girl and the cat with the diamonds!"
"Is that the missing girl, with a cat, and she has diamonds, or a girl and a cat, with diamonds, or -"
"I mean there is a cat that's gone missing, and it has a diamond-studded collar, plus there's also a hiker who's gone missing." corrected Cravendish, calmly.
"Oh, that bunch?" Ken waved the pen dangerously, "Had some German bloke in here yesterday, hollering about his girlfriend. I told him, if she's been missing a couple of hours, maybe she just wanted a rest from him? And as for that cat -"
Cravendish was ever insistent, "Still, they are part of my overall investigation?"
Ken picked at a stain on his clip-on tie, "Look - I'm gonna cut you a thingy, okay? I was walking down by the Bandstand earlier, before work, and there were some people nattering on about something or other, of a girl or something - bright jacket, they said - over by the cliffs? I thought nothing of it, quite frankly, but if you want to talk to them yourself, go ahead. Don't let me stop you."
Cravendish finally looked relieved somewhat, "Thanks Uncle Ken." he smiled at last.
"Alright." nodded Ken, "Give your Mother my love, eh, son?"
#
"Cravvy! Fancy meeting you here!" expressed the snake-like figure of Charlie Light. He pulled his convertible up beside Cravendish and jumped out unceremoniously from the driver's seat.
"Cravendish. Hi Charlie."
"So, I talked to a chap up in the Province about your Old Dear? There's a place for her at a Masonic Widows Care Home, out near the south coast. Out of sight, out of mind, eh?" slapped Charlie, "Then, you can come on some of the jollies with me and the boys! Get you more involved within the Lodge? The Province looks kindly on the carouser, don't you know!" laughed Charlie.
Cravendish looked through hooded and tired eyes at the absurdity that was the Millionaire Charlie Light, and spoke just as his mind engaged to save him, "You know what, Charlie? I've got four words for you - see you next meeting." The words he was going to say had become smothered with a soft pillow by the assassins of bad taste and bad blood. Cravendish left Charlie there, bemused, and walked away with a smile.
Cravendish had some personal decisions to make, and right at that moment it was neither the time nor the place. He needed to reappraise his infatuation with Claire, and think seriously about his Mom and what would become of her. The case, well, that would just have to find a circuitous route around Cravendish's increasingly mangled, mingled and muddled mind. Why, oh why didn't he just listen to everyone and go into Accountancy? Or something equally mundane?
Then the truth hit him like a conjoined twin surprising its sibling by suddenly running for the bathroom. Astoundingly, remarkably and exhaustingly, he was finally on that adventure he had so craved, except now he could see it for what it really was, and he felt the teeniest bit excited. He was able to observe it from a detached perspective, standing beside himself and wondering when he was ever going to buy a suit that fitted him. Oh, and that he was wearing odd socks today. Quelle surprise.
#
Up the stairs, behind the closed door, within the Cravendish home, came the dulcet tones of Cravendish, with the woman who had brought him into the world.
Cravendish was already in mid argument, "Mom, he is not eating your crisps! How do I know? Because he is on the telly, and, so far as I know, no one can come through the telly to - I know, Mom, but I've got this case, see, and - yes, I know what Uncle Ken said - Mom, look, there's a girl missing and a cat with diamonds - no, Mom, the cat has the diamonds! Does the girl have the cat? I don't know, Mom! I haven't finished my investigation yet - yes, I know Margaret's niece is lovely, but - Mom, she's fifty six - I know, I know, beggars can't be - alright, Mom, I'll bear it in mind? There's this brooch, too that - no, Mom, I don't have the brooch! It's part of my - No, Mom. I'd never send you away to live in some scary Care Home, I promise you that. Not ever. Mom? Yes, okay! I love you too!"
And all was well.
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