I can travel there instantly for no cost at all? After casing out the big banks I took in some sightseeing. Might as well enjoy myself while I am here, I thought, after which I Transported myself back home. Then it was off to bed early, setting the alarm for 3am, although I didn’t sleep much because of the intense anticipation of what was about to happen.
After grabbing a couple of sacks, I instructed Kev which bank vault in London to Transport me into. Before I knew it I was there… oh, what a sight. All those bank notes! I was like a child in a sweet shop, I couldn’t help it. In a mad frenzy I filled up the two sacks with bank notes. All I needed was a red suit and I would have looked like Father Christmas. I paused for a moment to admire my handiwork and then gave a military salute, saying, “Thank you, greedy bankers,” as I instructed Kev to take me back home.
Once settled back in my own familiar surroundings, I emptied both sacks of money onto the floor. I then started grabbing handfuls of bank notes, tossing them into the air and laughing ever louder. After that I just flopped out on the sofa, eventually falling asleep until Felix woke me up by licking my face. From that day on, I travelled and lived the good life, from the pyramids of Egypt to the Taj Mahal and from the Grand Canyon to the Great Wall of China. I stayed in the best hotels, eating at the best restaurants and when the money ran out, I just pulled another bank job.
Now you might be wondering why was I living a life of excess like this? Well, when I was young my parents hit hard times, so when you have money you make the most of it. Mind you, I once saw a TV programme about the great train robbers of August 1963. I think the interviewer was talking to one of the grown up children of one of the robbers, many years after the event. She made a very interesting point by saying that, in her opinion, suddenly acquiring lots of money without having had the education to know how to look after it and invest it wisely was a recipe for disaster. I think she had a very valid point. I remember my mother taking me to the pawn shop when I was a teenager. It was to be seared into my memory for life. What a sight confronted me when we arrived. The pawn broker was at one end of the street and the Labour Exchange was at the other. I think they are called Job Centres now. They both had queues so long they almost met in the middle, but not quite. My mother and I slotted in at the end of the pawn broker’s queue, slowly working our way to the front.
On entering the shop proper, what confronted me were endless rows upon rows of goods wrapped in brown paper. Mister Beetham, the proprietor, was in negotiation with a customer who was in the process of depositing goods with him. With arms waving energetically out in front of him, he was saying, “I’m only lending you money on the goods, not buying them.” After further haggling, terms were agreed and his assistant, a tall, slim older man who reminded me of a character out of a Charles Dickens novel with his bald head and spectacles, laboriously entered the transaction in his ledger. A ticket was given as a receipt to the customer along with the cash amount that had been agreed.
Next, the moment of truth. My mother’s turn had arrived and, not for the first time, she had her typewriter to pawn. It must have had its own season ticket to that place.
“Hello, Rita,” Mister Beetham said, smiling as he spoke. “How are you getting on with the book you are writing?”
My mother had written a book back in the sixties called Love Tears and Laughter, based on her experiences of life in the thirties and forties. Alas, she could not get the book published. I remember when I was a youngster, the postman delivering the mail and my mother, seeing the envelope, being in a state of excited anticipation but the response from the publisher was always the same. A flat rejection; a Dear John; thanks but no thanks. I did read the book when I was old enough to understand it. All these years later I can only remember fragments of it. I do remember reading the part when my mother was a teenager in London during the very early part of the war during the blitz. She worked for a Doctor Sears. He had two little girls who my mother helped to look after and they later grew up to be film stars, Heather and Ann Sears.
The only other part of the book I can remember in full was when my mother left school in 1937, aged fourteen. Her first job was in a seafront boarding house in Blackpool. Henry Hall and his big band were staying at the boarding house; he would have been playing at the Winter Gardens. My mother said he always gave her a good tip for polishing his shoes to a good standard. But when it came to washing the dishes, things were a little more unorthodox to say the least. My mother was just about to make a start on washing the dishes when the proprietor of the boarding house, who had his dog with him, instructed my mother to hold out the plate for the dog to lick clean. This the dog proceeded to do, very energetically, after which my mother washed and dried the plate. This process was repeated until all the washing up was complete. I suppose you could call it recycling 1930s style, with nothing going to waste, the dog being the waste disposal unit. Well, I suppose it saved on the pet food bill. I thought it was hilarious and it has stuck in my mind ever since.
There is another scene I remember from the book. During the war, my mother was dancing with an army officer who had a false arm. She found that out when it came off his shoulder by mistake and ended up in her hands. That must have been a sight to see, but not for my mother and the officer.
When my mother passed away the manuscript was lost forever, never to be seen again.
“The book is coming along nicely, Mister Beetham,” my mother replied. Then it was down to business. Terms were agreed, receipt and money issued and that was that, until the next time.
And what of me? How had this life of excess affected my personality? Well, I am afraid only for the worse, turning me into a morally bankrupt person, devoid of any conscience. Little did I know that this life of excess would soon be coming to an end; in fact, before long none of us would have any time left at all.
Five
I was in Los Angeles in California, one of my favorite haunts. English-speaking, of course, nice all year round climate – their winter was like our summer – what a great place to be. In the past I had done well out of their presidential elections. The two basic rules to remember are, firstly: never back a particular party to serve more than two terms in a row. Only once since 1952 has that occurred, with the Reagan/Bush years of 1980 to 1992. Secondly: always back a sitting president to be re-elected. Only once since 1932 has that failed to happen, when Carter failed to get re-elected in 1980. Mind you, it is only a two-horse race so you have a 50% chance of winning anyway and the prices are very poor.
Anyway, this particular night I was eating out at one of my favorite restaurants – one of the most expensive, of course. Only the best for me now. During the meal the waitress made a mistake by accidently knocking a glass of wine over me when she was delivering one of the courses. The old me would have laughed it off and thought nothing more of it, but not the new, nasty John. I immediately demanded to see the manager and I made such a song and dance about the affair that in the end the manager gave her the sack, or as the Americans called it, let her go. The last thing I remember as I left the restaurant was the waitress crying and wiping away the tears with her hanky. I didn’t even bat an eyelid, but just thought to myself, you cannot get the right staff these days. That was the new me, morally bankrupt and totally devoid of any conscience.
As I left to make the short walk back to the hotel, a figure stepped out of the shadows. Of course, at the time I did not realise he was following me; there were plenty of people about and nothing to arouse my suspicion.
On arrival back at the hotel the receptionist said, “Did you have a good night, sir?”
I growled back, “Nothing has been good about it.” With that sarcastic comment I made my way back to my penthouse suite, the best the hotel had to offer. On entering my room, I locked up and was just about to shower and then retire for the evening when there was a knock on the door. Who on earth could it be at this time of the night?
I opened the door saying, “I didn’t order room service… oh
, you remind me of the guy who plays the lead role in Peaky Blinders. Anyway, get lost. Whatever you’re peddling, I’m not interested, goodnight and goodbye.” I attempted to slam the door in his face. He was quick, though, and used his foot to stop the door closing.
“I want to talk to you, John,” he said, opening his jacket to reveal, around his waist… guess what? Yes, there it was in full view, a Guardianship belt the same as mine. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I noticed his foot was away from the door, so this time I managed to slam it shut. I turned around, telling Kev, “Transport me back to my home in England.” As always, he complied very quickly and before I knew it I was back home in my living room in Leeds, where I thought I would be safe. That was a close call. I did not want to go through that experience again. But I had been lulled into a false sense of security. As soon as I turned around I could see a familiar white disc forming as my nemesis stepped through the portal to confront me once again.
“John, don’t go,” he said. “I only want to talk, that’s all. Just a few minutes of your time and then I will be gone.”
I came to the conclusion