My Hero: a Story

There was no doubt about it. Of all the women on Andrew’s university course, Melanie Davies was the one to go for. She was everything he could wish for – great face, great body that went in and out in all the right places, definitely the one that got his hormones racing. There was only one problem, which was that her attractions had attracted just about every other red-blooded male within sight. Getting Melanie to succumb to his chat-up lines was not going to be easy. He needed a plan and it had better be a good one. It was while he was sitting alone in the bar one evening that he got his bright idea. Melanie was also there, but so was Simon Fletcher, and Melanie seemed to be annoyingly keen on Simon’s company. He could see them there on the other side of the room. Whenever Simon said something, Melanie grinned and laughed, clearly lapping up everything he said. Andrew could see where Simon had his hand resting casually on Melanie’s leg, and he could also see that Melanie was making no attempt to brush it away, even when the hand crept a little higher. If Andrew took no action, Melanie’s charms might well be unveiled privately in male company in the foreseeable future, but the male in question was unlikely to be Andrew. The piped music piped away at full volume. The song in question was Bonnie Tyler’s “I Need a Hero” with its deathless lines: “He's gotta be sure, And he's gotta be soon, And he's gotta be larger than life” That was it! Melanie needed a hero, even if she didn’t know it herself. He – Andrew Plumstead – was the hero she needed – sure, soon, and absolutely larger than life. That was what women wanted - men who would leap across chasms and march through fire to rescue them from monsters and demons. What woman – by whom he meant Melanie – could possibly resist Super-Andrew when he charged into action? The only problem was working out how Andrew’s heroism towards Melanie was going to present itself. Clearly some situation would need to be manufactured that involved placing Melanie in some sort of danger, from which Andrew would rescue her. That could be tricky – suppose the danger ending up causing Melanie real harm? A better plan might be to make the danger happen to Simon, then Andrew would show himself to be the one who was stronger and fitter to cope with the dangerous situation and therefore a much better bedtime companion for Melanie. Suppose he accidentally on purpose made Simon fall into the swimming pool while Melanie was there, and Andrew dived in and saved his life? There was only one problem with this idea, quite a big one in fact, this being that Andrew couldn’t swim and Simon would probably end saving him rather than the other way round. Suppose Simon were to drop a lit cigarette into a wastepaper basket and set fire to Melanie’s room, after which Andrew crashed through the door with a fire extinguisher and saved the situation? On reflection, this plan had plenty of flaws, not least the fact that Simon didn’t smoke and neither did he, so getting a lit cigarette to miraculously appear in Melanie’s wastepaper basket was going to be a real challenge. That was the problem with great ideas – they might be great as ideas, but in practical terms they were often of no use at all. At least Melanie had not fallen for Simon’s blandishments just yet. Andrew could see that the two of them went their separate ways as they left the bar, which meant that Andrew had a bit more time in which to work out his hero scheme. During most of the following morning they all had lectures and seminars, but were free in the afternoon. Andrew needed to do some work in the Library, but he kept finding his attention drifting away from thoughts of heroism in Greek Mythology to the more pressing issue of heroism in Andrew Plumstead. A voice interrupted his reveries. To his immense surprise the voice belonged to Melanie Davies. Unfortunately, it was not saying: “Andrew Plumstead, I find you incredibly desirable and I want you to tear my clothes off at the earliest possible opportunity” but was addressed to anyone in that part of the library who was willing to listen. The words spoken were: “I’ve got a flat tyre on my car. Can somebody help me change the wheel, please?” That was another reason why Melanie was so attractive. She had her own car. This was clearly the opportunity that Andrew had been waiting for. As heroic actions go, it was not quite in the rescuing damsels in distress from fire-breathing dragons category, but if a wheel change was what the damsel wanted, then a wheel change was what she was going to get. Despite having never changed a car wheel in his life before, Andrew jumped to his feet and followed Melanie out to the car park where her flat tyre awaited him. Andrew did his best to disguise his lack of expertise in car mechanics and somehow managed to work out how to get the car jacked up, remove the old wheel and put the spare one in its place. Although he got his hands extremely dirty, and trapped his fingers in the car jack at one painful point, Andrew felt that the beaming smile he got from Melanie when it was all over made the inconvenience extremely worthwhile. Unfortunately, the half-hoped-for invitation to jump into the passenger seat and be whisked off to Melanie’s place for an evening of passion did not materialize. But at least she now knew who he was and might be more easily persuaded to fall for any future suggestions towards intimacy that Andrew might make. What a hero! After getting cleaned up, Andrew had no option but to hop on the bus for his journey home. There was a hold-up along the way and the bus went very slowly as it passed the scene of an accident, which was attended by a fire crew. Andrew realized to his horror that the car in question was one that he had good reason to know well. It was Melanie’s! He got off the bus at the next stop and ran back to where Melanie’s car had clearly veered off the road and hit a lamppost. It seemed to have caught fire as a result, which was why the firemen were still there, dealing with the smoking remains of the car. There was no sign of Melanie, but still plenty of bystanders, some of whom had witnessed the whole incident. “That was unbelievable”, said a man whom Andrew could overhear. “The way that guy leapt off his motorbike and got the girl out of the car when it caught fire.” “He saved her life”, said the man’s companion. “I don’t think she would have got out by herself. That man had to practically tear the car door off to rescue her.” Andrew suddenly had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly who that knight in shining armour might have been. The next thing he heard made his feelings descend even further. “Did you hear what she said when he carried her out? About what made the car crash?” “Something about a wheel falling off because some prize idiot didn’t put the nuts back on properly?” “That was it. I wouldn’t want to be in that guy’s shoes when she gets hold of him.” Melanie and her hero Simon became a firm fixture from that point on. They moved in together as soon as Melanie’s injuries were treated and they announced their engagement a few weeks later. They got married not long after they finished at University and their first child was born only six weeks after the honeymoon. Andrew was not invited to the wedding © John Welford

Cruises Can Be Costly: a story

Rosetta Mary Swinburne. Born 7th July 1993. Died 23rd January 2015. Aged 22. Our Rosie - A Bloom That Faded Too Soon.

“How tragic”, Vicky thought to herself as she read the gravestone in a small village cemetery in Norfolk. “But Rosetta is about to rise from the grave and make me a lot of money”.

Vicky’s trade was conning rich and stupid people out of their money. She did this by pretending to have inside knowledge of investment opportunities that had to be seized at the earliest possible opportunity. This was best done by pretending to be someone else, and the best candidate for “someone else” was a dead person whose birth certificate could be obtained and used to get a fake passport and open a bank account in the false name.

Vicky’s scam was performed on cruise ships that hopped from port to port, such as around the Mediterranean or the Caribbean. All she had to do was buy a ticket, get on board, swindle a few victims out of several thousands apiece, get them to wire the funds to her fake bank account, then disembark before anyone could make too many awkward enquiries. 

It had worked several times in the past, with a new identity taken for each of her ventures. The expense of setting up the scam was always rewarded many times over.

Vicky liked to make sure that her false identity was believable. She was 28, which was only three years older than Rosetta would have been now, had she not been the unfortunate victim of a car crash on an icy Norfolk road that took her car into a water-filled ditch from which she could not escape. Vicky found this out from researching back issues of the local newspaper, which also had a colour photo of Rosetta. With the help of the right shade of hair dye, Vicky could easily pass for Rosetta. Although this was not strictly necessary for the task at hand, it was an added touch that pleased a consummate professional like Vicky.

Terry had been a steward on the Tourmaline Star for two years, having previously worked at a top London hotel. He enjoyed the work, not least the added bonus of visiting so many interesting places. Having customers who were there purely to enjoy themselves rather than be in town for important business reasons was also an advantage.

When Terry glanced down the passenger list before leaving port he had a shock. There was a name on it that he had had no occasion to remember for at least ten years, but he had clearly not forgotten it entirely. Just how many Rosetta Swinburnes could there be? 

The cruise of the Tourmaline Star on this occasion was a winter trip along the coast of Norway. The passengers would fly to Bergen and then be taken all the way to the North Cape and back, stopping off in various fjords and with an excellent chance of seeing the Northern Lights.

From Vicky’s perspective this provided many opportunities to work her scam as well as plenty of escape routes should anything go wrong.

For Terry, there would clearly be many chances to talk to his long-lost friend and renew his acquaintance with her, which had ended when her family had moved to Norfolk and he had stayed put in Southampton.

And so it was, on the first night out of port, that Terry was able to speak to “Rosie” on an otherwise deserted promenade deck. The average age of the passengers was well over 50, so a single woman in her 20s stood out from the rest and was easy to track down.

“Are you Rosie Swinburne?” he asked.

For a second, Vicky was about to say “No”, but remembered in time who she was pretending to be.

“Yes”, she said. “I am”.

“Do you remember me? I’m Terry Muldoon.”

Of course, the name meant absolutely nothing to Vicky, who was suddenly aware of her mistake in choosing a name that was unlikely to belong to anyone else. Had she chosen to impersonate “Claire Smith” or “Ruth Jones” a stout denial would have been perfectly acceptable. But as it was, this was not going to be possible.

“How are you?” asked Terry. “I often wondered what became of you.”

Clearly Terry had not heard about Rosetta Swinburne’s untimely end in a Norfolk ditch. But it was not going to be easy to play along with the deception for long, especially as Vicky had no idea just how well Terry had known Rosie ten years previously. And Vicky’s researches had not been thorough enough to allow for the possibility of meeting someone from Rosie’s past and getting away with it. 

“Have you been in touch with any of our old friends? Alan Bostock, for example? Or Bobbie Randall? You were great friends with Natalie Watts, if I remember. Did she end up marrying that guy from the bakery? You must know if anyone does”.

This was getting far too dangerous for Vicky. Getting into a conversation about people of whom she knew absolutely nothing would soon reveal that she was not who she said she was. Stewards on cruise ships were used to the activities of con artists such as herself, and once she aroused this man’s suspicions it would all be over for her.

She wondered about feigning an illness and leaving the scene without saying anything further, but that would have meant moving from the dark near the ship’s rail to a much brighter area. Although someone’s appearance can change a lot in ten years, she could not be sure that Rosie’s former schoolfriend would not have been able to see that she was not who she claimed to be. 

There was no-one else about. There seemed to be only one solution to Vicky’s problem. She had had some training in wrestling in her youth, and she knew that if she could take Terry unawares she could throw him clean over the rail and into the sea. What other alternative did she have?

Not being the woman she said she was, she was not to know that Terry had been the captain of his school’s judo team, and that he had kept up his training ever since. This would not be a one-way fight.

It did not last long. There was a single splash and then silence. 

The original Rosetta Swinburne had ended her days drowning in ice-cold water. Sometimes history repeats itself.

© John Welford