11. THE DARK CELLAR

THE CASE OF THE DIAMOND DENTURES 11

The landlord looked outraged when Royston accused him of being a thief. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go with the intention of bellowing his refute at maximum volume, and then clamped it shut again without so much as uttering a single decibel.

“My lover boy would do nothing of the sort,” said Janie, aware that someone ought to fill the brief silence before it sounded very much like guilt.

“I most certainly would not!” grated Nobby when he’d recovered sufficient composure to make a sound. “And if you think I would you’d best say it out loud so as I’ve got witnesses! And if you must know, my plastic nose is for charitable purposes, and for charitable purposes alone!”

“Charitable?” asked Angelina, “not the television thing, what do they call it, Comic Relief*? When everyone is encouraged to buy red noses? And when usually sensible people do ridiculous things in order to raise money for good causes?”

“That’s the one!” snapped Nobby, “and if you care to take a look down into my beer cellar you will find an old tin bath filled with old unwanted beer slops, and my challenge is to go and sit in it dressed only in my undies for as long as I can! I was about to get into it for a practice run when you lot trolled up and I didn’t like leaving the bar to Ronnie because he’s three sheets to the wind and doesn’t understand weights and measures properly.”

“Woof!” protested the pipe-smoking Ronnie’s dog.

“Same here!” added Ronnie.

“So let me get this right,” said Royston slowly, “you’re going to sit in a bath filled with cold beer slops...”

“I never said nothing about cold!” put in Nobby.

“Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t! But beer slops, hot or cold, doesn’t really matter then. And folks are going to make donations to charity because you’re doing it? Tell me, then, if that’s the case how will anyone know that you’re doing it if you’re down in your cellar?”

“Closed circuit telly!” replied Nobby proudly, “I’ve got a television camera trained on my bath and Janie here will be the announcer. She’s good at stuff like that, got a real proper accent when she wants one. Go on, our Janie, show him!”

“What? Now?” squealed the barmaid.

“Just for fun,” coaxed Nobby.

“Oh, all right, then,” said Janie, and she cleared her throat. “Ladies ans gentlemen,” she announced in the sort of accent adopted by those who want to speak as if they were born with a silver spoon in their mouths but most obviously weren’t, “We are gathered here to witness our Nobby attempt a world record by sitting in cold beer slops for a very long time indeed. Ahem.”

“And there’s the screen, just there.” Nobby pointed to the elderly television set that dominated half the room.

“It might only be black and white, but it’s okay,” added Janie, the barmaid.

“Come down the cellar if you don’t believe me,” encouraged Nobby, “I say, Janie, be a sport and show ‘em and make sure they don’t pinch any booze while they’re admiring our charitable set-up.”

“I’d better stay here,” grunted Blinky, “I’m not exactly 20/20 in the vision department at the moment.”

“He means he’s blind,” explained Angelina, “and Royston here’s blacked out again. He’s always blacking out. He doesn’t seem to be able to do anything about it, just goes in and out as if that’s all that matters.”

“And he’s your driver?” queried Nobby, “doesn’t seem right having a bloke who blacks out at the drop of a hat being the driver of a motor vehicle!”

“He’s not done it while he’s been driving,” explained Angelina, wondering why she’d never thought it unwise to let Royston drive her anywhere. Maybe, she wondered, it’s because she fancied him.

“I wouldn’t go two feet with a bloke like that behind the wheel,” stated Nobby, and the expression on his face suggested that he meant it.

“Show me that bath of beer slops you were on about, then,” said Angelina, more as a means of changing the subject than because she wanted to be shown into a dark cellar by a buxom barmaid.

“This way, then,” cooed Janie, and Angelina found herself making her way behind the bar to where a door opened onto a staircase that led downwards into the darkness of a beer cellar. The smell was definitely one of stale beer, but she guessed spiders and other creepy crawlies might have added to it over the years, giving it a frisson of decay..

“Go slowly,” advised Janie. “I’ll go first so you know where to put your feet, and you can follow me.”

It was with great caution that Angelina went down those steps, thinking as she went that it was probably an advantage in life to be either blind or unconscious. There were about a dozen steps, and when they got to the bottom Janie flicked a switch and an untidy and very dusty and cobwebby cellar was flooded with dim yellow light.

“This is far as we go, my lady,” said Janie. “Look!”

In the centre of the open space was a tin bath, the sort that used to hang on many an outhouse wall in the days when working men took their baths in front of a fire after work on cold winter nights and their women did their best not to seem to peep whilst peeping.

And that bath was almost filled to the brim with a mass of very sloppy liquid that Angelina guessed was the quantity of beer slops the poor landlord was intending to sit it.

“They’re warming up,” said Janie, pointing to a single feeble gas ring with a flickering yellow flame playing on the underside of the bath. “He’ll be cosy in there,” she said, “and if he gets hungry I’ll be around with pickle sandwiches. He likes those.

“He was about to get undressed and get in when you three came and needed to be served. He was, er, trying to talk me into joining him but I didn’t fancy it. There’s the telly camera. They say that Noah had one, but it slipped overboard in a storm!” She pointed to an ancient television camera, the sort that was on a wheeled frame and needed someone to push it while the cameraman operated it.

“I’ve seen enough,” murmured Angelina, “let’s get back up there. It’s a brave thing he’s doing, though.”

“He’s a good lad, is our Nobby,” agreed Janie, “and if you want to witness his hour of glory it’s on a telly screen near you this very night! Yes, we’ve rigged out own television set up so that anyone can see him squirming in the bath. We’re expecting a crowd.”

“Pity we’re off as soon as the sun starts setting,” Angelina told her as they climbed up the stairs.

“You can stay the night if you like,” Janie told her, “I happen to know there’s a few spare rooms in the Ginger Nut Inn for tonight. Why don’t the three of you stay and witness history in the making? And while you’re doing that you could be making a donation yourselves. It’s a good cause, you know.”

“I’ll put it to the others and see what they think,” replied Angelina, a shade doubtfully. But when she arrived back in the bar it was to find Royston still comatose and Blinky incapable of seeing anything.

“Looks as if they’ve made the decision for me,” she said with a groan. “Okay, then, we’ll have two rooms, one for the blokes and one for me, and the blind bloke’s paying!”

© Peter Rogerson

*Comic Relief: a British telethon charitable appeal during which red noses are bought in their millions.