Paddy Bostock - Chosen

Dennis nodded. He could understand that part of the story. Sympathize even. “No-boots-on-carpets” Missus Crawford seemed to him a perfectly understandable reason to do a runner. What took him a little longer to get his head around was the choose/chosen argument Barry then explained, especially if it led to penury. Who would want to live without all that money, chosen or not bloody chosen, he wanted to know.

“Me,” said Jeremy, emerging from behind the kitchen door. “Thanks for doing your best to protect me, Barry, but I reckon it’s time I took up the tale.”

Dennis’s jaw dropped at the sight of one million pounds on legs. Not that he looked worth the money, mind you. Bonkers, yes, all messy and dishevelled and everything. But valuable…? Dennis/“Betty” didn’t think so. Almost felt sorry for the bloke.

“It’s all quite simple really,” Jeremy continued. “Barry was right. I just ran away from my old life, that’s all. Never been to Russia. Never had anything to do with spying or politics or anything like that. Believe the press, clap me in irons, and claim your reward if you want to, but you’ll never get your money because, like everything else about me out there, it’s a fiction.”

Dennis/“Betty” squinted back and forth between Barry and Jeremy like a spectator at Wimbledon.

“And just while we’re on the subject of money, perhaps I might further explain my current attitude to it? That be all right with you?”

Dennis/“Betty” nodded.

“What was that Dickens’ quote you came up with the other day, Barry? The one with Mister Micawber in it,” said Jeremy.

“‘Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence, result happiness.’”

“That’s it. Thanks. So you see, Mister policeman, it’s just a matter of cutting one’s clothes according to one’s cloth. Money is not the be all and end all of everything. A little more than you need is ample. But, in my experience at least, too much of it can be a burden. What was it your friend Karl Marx said, Bazza?”

“‘If money is the bond binding me to human life, binding society to me, connecting me with nature and man, is not money the bond of all bonds’? And that’s the last of my quotes if you don’t mind, Jezza. I’m not just a quote ma chine , you know. Also it gets boring.”

But it seemed Dennis/“Betty” had got the point.

“Mmm,” he said.

“Before long,” said Jeremy, “you’re doing what it tells you to do. Dancing to its rhythms. Needing this and needing that, fancy cars and suchlike, even though, if you think about it, you don’t really need them at all. You just want them. To show the world how successful you are. That’s how you get chosen by them, rather than making your own choice. That’s why…”

“You did the runner,” said Dennis.

Jeremy nodded. “Enough was enough. Arrest me if you must. For what crime, I don’t know. But that’s why you’re here, right?”

“That’s why I was here. Don’t s’pose there’s any of that nettle brandy left in the bottle, Mister…?”

“Just call me ‘Barry.’”

“Okay, Barry. And I’m Dennis. Look, I need a loo break. Could you show me where it is?”

“No problem. Step this way. I’ll fetch a fresh bottle while we’re at it.”

It was Dennis who returned first from the nether regions of the Shepherd’s Hut and, after the considerable thought he’d put into the matter while peeing, sheepishly confessed to Jeremy his recent Twitter activities. How keen he’d been on collecting the million-pound reward offered for any information leading to the capture of the megalomaniac bonkers banker on the loose. He even fessed up to his alias.

“ Betty ?” Jeremy laughed. “Some name for a copper with a beard.”

Dennis blushed.

“Anyway, Betty, it’s your call. Like I said, I’m here if you want me. Get the handcuffs out and go for the big bucks, if you still believe in them. But before you do, a further word of warning. The prime reason for suggesting that the million pound reward is a fiction is that Barry and I know the origin of the bonkers banker post and I should tell you Jackie Lamur’s boss isn’t the most reliable when it comes to shelling out that kind of money. Probably just offering one more of his rubber cheques to suck in the punters. But, like I said, it’s your call.”

“Here we are,” said Barry, returning with the fresh bottle. “Top-ups for everyone?”

To which everyone gladly agreed.

“‘Betty’ here is one of the tweeters who swallowed the Lamur post,” Jeremy told Barry when the topping-up was over.

“ Betty ?” said Barry, peering around the room.

Dennis blushed again.

“That’s what Dennis is called when he’s on Twitter.”

Barry frowned. “Some name for a copper with a beard.”

“That’s what I said.”

Dennis re-blushed and this time also squirmed. “Spur of the moment thing, wasn’t it? Copper’s pay ain’t all that brilliant. Surprised you didn’t have a go yourself, Barry. Gardening can’t bring in much.”

Barry nodded and smiled. “Like Mister Micawber, I make ends meet.”

“Also, Barry wasn’t al ways a gardener,” said Jeremy. “Used to be an Oxford professor before he thought better of it.”

“Bloody ’ell. The two of you make a proper pair. Anyhow, look, I’ve made up my mind, innit?”

“To take me in and claim your mythical reward, Betty?”

Dennis sucked at his nettle brandy. “Quit it with the ‘Betty,’ okay?”

Jeremy and Barry shrugged and nodded.

“No, I ain’t goin’ to take you in. And I ain’t goin’ to claim no reward neither. Enjoyed our little chat, didn’t I? Made a lot of sense to me.”

“Raaf, raaf ,” chorused Hans and Colin who’d been listening in.

“So, what I was thinkin’ was…”

Barry and Jeremy exchanged squints.

It was Barry who spoke up. “Yes?”

“See, only if you was willin’… I wouldn’t mind… only for a few days like…”

“Dossing with us?” said Jeremy.

“Well… um…”

“You’d be very welcome, old fellow,” said Barry. “It’s not a big house, but there’s room for all. There might be a few questions asked at your place of employment, of course. But that would be for you to negotiate. Let us just say we wouldn’t want any more strangers knocking on our door.”

Dennis dropped his head into his hands and fiddled with his beard. “See, the thing is, I’ve never liked being a copper all that much. Wouldn’t take me nothing to toss in my badge altogether and I’d never say nothing to nobody about where I’d gone. Honest Injun.”

“Raaf, raaaaafff ,” said Hans and Colin, who were as bored with being police sniffer dogs as Dennis was with being a police man . Hans was particularly pleased if the boss’s words meant he could spend some quality time with Shirley.

“Oink,” said Pete, more as an expression of general support than from any self-interest. Pete just liked it when humans got along with each other.

“Well, it’s an interesting idea and you’d be welcome,” said Jeremy. “Keep me out of the pokey for a while anyway.”

“Thanks. I’ll pull my weight, and there’s plenty of that, as you can see,” said Dennis, patting his belly. “There’s one other thing I haven’t told you, though. And you’re not going to like this. Before I came looking for you, I had a message from Jackie Lamur on my phone sayin’ she’d fancy a chat with me.”

“And?” said Jeremy.

“She sounded kosher and said she could be in Fanbury in two shakes of a dog’s tail. That was yesterday. But…”