Heavy petting

That phone call last week really shook me up. I wasn't prepared for that level of personal abuse, tending, as I have to find the goodness in everybody whenever possible. It took me a couple of days to calm down enough to tell Dolores what I'd heard. She was moderately sympathetic, and asked me if I recognised the voice. When I told her it was a Welsh person who appeared to be in a pub she asked me if I was a public enemy of the Welsh yet. Her sardonic question led to a certain degree of disgruntlement on my part, and when she refused to see my side of things the inevitable argument ensued. We have been arguing a lot lately, mainly I think due to the stress. I feel some degree of responsibility. Take what happened earlier this week, for example....

As part of their on-going investigations into Incident no 1 (my misguided attempt to bring about modesty to a semi-naked girl in a field: see here for the story), two policemen turned up at the institute a few days ago to take a statement. The girl, I can now tell you, was accusing me of sexual assault. It was of course a preposterous charge, and no doubt made by the girl to protect herself against potential ridicule. The police knew this almost immediately, despite their reputation for preponderous ineptitude, and in fact were in the process of winding down the investigation into myself and cranking up their investigation of the girl instead for wasting police time.

So why were they visiting me again?

Well, as I 'm sure you are aware, stress affects people in different ways. I hope you understand in advance of this tale that all I wanted to do was protect Dolores and the twins from any further harm to their self esteem. They had all been the subject of a whispering conspiracy in the village and had complained to me on several occasions that certain village shop owners were refusing them service. My suggestions that they should go shop at Asda instead had not gone down well. After a short time of reflection I realised that had to do something to alleviate the situation. I wanted to bring closure, to prevent this sorry episode from spiralling into an unnecessary court case in which there would be no winners.

Enter Ravel, stage right.

Ravel, you may remember is my faithful research assistant from somewhere in Eastern Europe. He has been with me for some time now and is as keen as ever to help his boss whenever possible. These days his English is much improved (as is his dress-sense after Dolores took him on a shopping spree). He also owed me a favour or two.

I summoned the handsome lad into my office one morning and told him the truth about what had happened between myself and the young lady. He had heard some heavily distorte version of the story from village gossips, recognised the girl from my description of her physical attributes and indicated that he might know her. He was shocked to hear that the police were thinking of arresting me and asked if he could help. In fact, he actually insisted that he should help, in any way possible.

'Are you really sure, Ravel?' I aksed.

'Yes boss. I'm ready to help whoever the situation'

'whatever the situation Ravel....'

'Yes boss, like I said. What can I do to help? I have friends in Scotland now who know many things about this kind of situation. It is common in my home.'

'Well Ravel. It's like this. Sit down and listen carefully. Ok, basically what I need is for the girl to lose interest in having me charged for assault. To do this I think she needs, well, how can I put this...? Basically Ravel, I want you to, you know....take her out for....'

'Taking out boss? That is a step too far isn't it? Though I could arrange if you like. Is that what you want? You want me to take her out?'

There was something in the way young man's dark, heavy lidded eyes narrowed that made me hesitate for a moment. He seemed to be suggesting something that I hadn't previously mentioned, or even considered. Was he, I wondered, inclined towards a act of violence?

'You do know what taking her out means don't you Ravel?'

'Sure boss. I go round her house, take her out..'

'Then bring her back home....?'

'Sure boss. I can bring her here if you want. You can see for yourself how I take her out'

'Ravel, let's make this clear. You are going to date this girl, yes?'

'Sure boss. Whoever you say.'

We were inconveniently interrupted at this point by Twin X wanting Ravel to play football using cowpats for goalposts. I wasn't sure whether Ravel had completely understood my intentions, but didn't have another chance to talk with him before that evening. I tried to intercept him as he was leaving but Twin Y inconveniently managed to slice his finger open with a scalpel just at the same moment Ravel put on his leather jacket. The door slammed shut as my son pushed his lacerated finger in front of my face. 'Look dad' he squealed excitedly '...blood!'

************ TO BE CONTINUED **********