Second Bite of the Cherry Anthologies

By Sam Sparks

The Second Bite of the Cherry Anthology of stories are dedicated to those who dare to believe that there just could be a second chance at life, or love, or both!
People trapped in a loveless relationship, wistfully hoping for a change. Those who have suffered a fall from grace, but want to think they could claw their way back to better times, if only an opportunity might present itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Sparks
• Release date: Dec 12, 2020

Sam Sparks

Sam was born in London in the fifites.  He is a retired 999 Ambulance  Control Contact Handler.  Prior to actually  working for a living he was a Golf Professional and made a brief appearance on the "European Tour" (nobody noticed, actually not entirely true, his Mum spotted him on the TV once) He enjoys Tango, plays Golf and Harmonica ( well, he says he plays harp, others may beg to differ.) Sam's sense of humour, best summed up by a colleague as " 50 Shades of Dry"

Book preview

THE SECOND BITE OF THE CHERRY ANTHOLOGIES

Volume 1

RUSH HOUR ROMANCE

INVISIBLE PEOPLE

FRIENDS AND FOES

THE VIEWING

By

Sam Sparks

These stories are a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

Copyright © 2020 Sam Sparks. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author. The Author can be contacted at [e-mail]

Table of Contents

RUSH HOUR ROMANCE

INVISIBLE PEOPLE

THE VIEWING

FRIENDS AND FOES

RUSH HOUR ROMANCE

Chapter One.

Jack

The Chinaman placed his stack of gaming chips on red a split-second after the croupier had called No more bets.

Mr. Lu held a belief that the later he left the placing of the bet, the luckier it would make his choice. As his hand left the table, so did his bet. A robust shove of the croupier’s rake sent the stack flying, some landing on the floor. The roulette ball clattered its way around the wheel and… landed on the Chinaman’s denied bet. He instantly lost his temper; choice epithets of Mandarin came forth; heads turned at nearby tables.

‘You had…. no bet.’ Was the croupier’s icy response to the Chinaman’s tantrum.

Jack Jestico the croupier informed his last remaining clients that the table was closing. Mr. Lu stomped off in the direction of the manager’s office.

With his shift at an end, Jack collected his leathers and helmet from the staff room. He bade his colleagues goodnight and retrieved his vintage Harley Davidson from the underground car park. He slid the helmet visor down, mounted the machine and kicked it into life. It was gone two in the morning when Jack exchanged waves with the casino’s doorman. He headed up London’s Park Lane and on to his shoebox of a flat at the north end of Bayswater. Jack hadn’t always worked as a croupier and Jestico was not his real surname, the family name of Simpkins did not have the requisite street-cred for an eighties pop star.

Once back at home, he put the Harley in the lock-up and let himself in to his flat. The crash helmet was put on a human skull he’d mounted on the coat-stand in the hallway. Above was a homage to Jack’s previous life; a mounted disc of one of The Stickmen’s hit singles the recording label had turned into a presentation forty-five vinyl that Jack had made into a clock. He was handy that way.

The Stickmen had made some appearances on TV, had a gold disc to their credit and toured for a couple of years. Like so many bands they’d split up and gone their separate ways. The parting being amicable. Jack, Muz, Speedy and the late Big Dave even joking about a comeback when they were all needing sticks to get around. Their post music career local meet-ups became infrequent and they gradually lost touch.

After his spell in the limelight faded, he’d found occasional work as a session musician. The earnings were sporadic and his share of the Stickmen royalties weren’t huge. He became a carer for an elderly man with dementia, every day he’d pick up his guitar and play a couple of riffs that the old man recognised, which brought a smile to both their faces.

When the old man died, Jack found the family had made him a beneficiary in his will. Fiscal prudence not being Jack’s forte he lived off the bequest rather than work. When the money ran out he was in danger of not meeting the mortgage payments on his London flat. Jack ran into a friend who’d mentioned a West End casino was recruiting trainees. He got the job on the strength of the manager being a Stickmen fan. Gaming wasn’t his thing, but he needed the money.

He undid his ponytail and gave his head a shake, slumped into his armchair and caught sight of the voicemail light winking. He lit a roll-up, took a long draw, blew a couple of smoke rings, lent over and played the message.

Hey Jack, it’s Ralph, I’ve got a job for you, pop into the office tomorrow, best make it early.

A significant part of his life away from work was his local pub, patrons of The Dog’s Nuts tended, like him, to be colourful characters. They included a struck-off solicitor who stacked shelves by night, frequented the pub by day and dispensed discounted legal advice to anyone that required his expertise.

A retired Army officer, only ever referred to as The Major unsurprisingly a crease down the centre of the trousers, see your face in the shine of your shoes type who was a Speaker’s corner regular doing his bit to voice concerns on matters military.

An American called Ralph, who ran a private investigation outfit that employed Jack as an occasional cash in hand employee for tailing assignments. Also in Jack’s circle was a character who went by the sobriquet of Lord Sefton, who lived on a canal boat that he called his old tub, but was in fact very well appointed. An old Etonian by education (or so he said) and in his sixties, had a small private income and who now did something on the Internet.

Jack’s love life was an emotional wasteland, relationships never lasting long. He had remained single after his wife Denise left him for a band member of a heavy metal group. The marriage had lasted under a year. With the benefit of hindsight, Jack realised Denise was attracted by his small fame (he knew it wasn’t his looks). He now valued genuineness and thoughtful conversation, lipstick and high-heels did not impress.

After a fitful night’s sleep Jack woke later than intended, had a quick shower and shave. In his hurry, nicked himself with his razor and was without a styptic pencil to dry the flow. He pulled the Daily Telegraph (bought mainly for his new interest, the cryptic crossword) out of the letterbox and stepped out of his front door, clutching an increasingly reddening tissue to his chin. He immediately encountered The Major.

Jack’s bohemian attire almost always attracted a pithy comment from the military man. He wore his favourite scuffed at the elbows maroon leather jacket. His hair was let down onto his shoulders and he had on his favourite pair of steam-punk sunglasses with blue lenses.

‘I didn’t know you came out in the day-time JJ?’

‘Very funny Major.’

‘Looks like you’ve had a nasty razor versus chin incident there old boy.’

‘Yes, I was in a hurry, got a meet with Ralph, catch you at the pub later?’

The military man saluted in confirmation.

‘Try to smarten yourself up a bit though eh JJ?’

‘Very funny Major.’

Jack carried on to Bayswater tube station and changed onto the Bakerloo southbound line boarding at Baker Street taking a seat next to a dowdy middle-aged woman with a voluminous Mary Poppins style bag from which she produced the same crossword that he had just put on his lap. Hers had a few clues solved, he noted. At Piccadilly Circus the train was delayed. Jack had only managed two clues and was stuck.

He noticed her take a glance and return to her puzzle.

‘Tricky complier this week.’ Jack observed.

‘Yes… Hope he goes on holiday soon.’

‘Could be a woman.’

‘No definitely a man.’

Jack sneaked a look at her work.

‘Any ideas on ten down?’ Three, four. First day cover?’

‘Hang on, oh yes. Fig leaf.’ she replied.

‘Ha ha. Of course, I’m a recent convert to the dark art of the cryptic crossword.’

‘Reminds me of my favourite clue. "Something off the vegan menu that Adam gave up? Five three?’

‘Go on’

‘Spare rib! Brilliant.’

The woman twinkled a smile back at him. A face that had perhaps not known so much happiness was Jack’s reflection.

‘If you’re stuck with one across?’ he proffered.

Oh yes ..Let’s see "Rugby player employed in theatre; four letters. No idea.’

‘Prop.’

‘Are you sure, what’s that got to do.. ? Oh I’ve got it, that’s a position on the field right?’

Jack nodded.

‘I don’t know about Rugby. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you’re bleeding quite badly?’

‘Oh damn, thanks.’

Realising he was out of tissues he was about to wipe the area with the back of his sleeve. Sensing his predicament, the woman produced a tissue from her bag.

‘Here.’

‘Thank you, forgot the hanky this morning. My station; best of luck with the rest of it.’

‘Yes, you too. Bye.’

As he stepped onto the platform, she noticed a mobile phone in his vacated seat. She grabbed it and waved frantically at Jack. Too late, the train doors had just shut and the train started to move. They stared at each other in a kind of Brief Encounter way until the train disappeared into the tunnel. Annoyed with himself Jack continued his journey to Ralph’s office.

His mobile phone was ringing in the Mary Poppins bag. The callers ID showing as Ralph.

He arrived at Schader Investigations, near Covent Garden, he pressed the doorbell and waited, but the door remained shut. A wasted journey. Now at a loose end, he made an old times sake visit to the musical instrument shop he used to frequent back in his music career heyday.

Jack picked up a second hand Fender and started a riff. The senior salesman approached.

‘Can I help you Sir?’

‘No thanks. OK if I just tinker a bit?’

‘You tinker away all you like.’

The salesman busied himself running a duster over a drum kit, taking occasional furtive looks at Jack, which started to annoy. He put the guitar back and made for the door, as his hand went out for the handle he heard:

‘It’s Jack Jestico of The Stickmen isn’t it?’

‘Guilty.’

‘I used to serve you, back in the day. What? Must be best part of twenty years, perhaps more.’

‘That’s right. You’re…. don’t tell me… you’re Dennis right?

‘That’s me; I’m surprised you remembered my name. How nice. We had Muz in only last week. You making a comeback by any chance?’

Jack shook his head.

‘I can do you cost plus twenty on that Fender if you are interested.’

‘Thanks, but it was a memory lane visit, had time on my hands.’

A young sales assistant joined them.

Dennis turned to his colleague.

‘Look Wayne, its Jack Jestico of the Stickmen.’

Wayne looked blank and feigned a weak smile.

‘Never mind. He’ll never know what he missed will he?’

‘I best be on my way. Good to see you again Dennis.’

On the way home he called in at lost property for the Underground to be pleasantly surprised to find the woman had handed in his mobile phone.

Later in the pub he was recounting his tube journey experience to the Major and Ralph.

‘Pretty filly was she?’

‘Really Major.’

‘Just asking.’

‘No, but a nice smile and disposition. I’m going outside to join Sefton for a fag.’

Jack’s phone was on the bar-top. Ralph picked it up with an adjacent copy of the free daily London newspaper. He turned a few pages until he came to the Rush Hour Romance column, brought up a new text screen and started to type.

‘What are doing Ralphy?’

‘Bit of fun.’

‘How so old boy?’

Ralph showed him the newspaper column and the message he was typing.

‘Oh I see the game old boy. You’ll catch it from JJ if she responds. Better delete after sending, cover your tracks.’

Chapter Two

Penny

Just before midnight Penny woke up, a party political broadcast droned out of the television. A sherry bottle lay on it’s side on the floor.

She hauled herself up from the sofa and all but lost her balance when her foot found the upturned bottle. In the kitchen, Penny set out her breakfast bowl, cereal box, popped a tea bag in her cup, filled the kettle and was ready for the morning. A routine she had followed for as long as she could remember.

Brushing her teeth she looked at herself in the mirror, and leaned closer, some tell tale signs of the booze were starting to make their presence felt around her cheeks. Her mousy, bordering on unkempt hair needed a coiffeur that was for sure.

On the occasions her hair saw a pair of scissors they were wielded by the same hairdresser that visited her grandmother in the main part of the house. In a reversal of what might be considered the norm, she lived in the granny annexe of a town house near Swiss Cottage Tube Station for which paid a peppercorn rent.

‘Not a pretty sight.’ She told the mirror reflection. She cursed herself for falling asleep on the sofa, as she knew it would take her ages to get back off to sleep. When she did finally manage to sleep it was fitful with a wretched dream that reminded her that she was becoming an old maid. Visions of happy families in the park and couples walking hand in hand played out in her dreams. The alarm woke her.

Once readied for work, she popped next door and checked on Granny, received her regular encouragement to find a nice young man to bring home.

As she opened the door on the way out the postman was on the point of putting the letters through the box.

‘Here you go Miss Lane.’

She wished her parents hadn’t called her Penny, an irony as they were so not Beatles fans and oblivious to the hit record. Over the years she had been the butt of amused comment along the lines of did your parents name you after the song?

Her musical tastes had been influenced by her parents, a strict Presbyterian and pious couple and devoid of displays of affection that meant her emotional side had never developed. She laid the blame for her singleness at her parents’ door.

Though attracted to men, Penny had always felt awkward and gauche in their presence and was as a default, generally