Yes Son

By Garry Baker

Yes Son tells the story of how Madeleine’s life is shattered when she is jilted by her rich sailor fiancé, Jake, after he finds out that she is pregnant. Because of this, she desires rich luxuries and plans to rob a bank in Queensland and to help out her poor sister, Matilda. Needing an alibi, she has a birthday lunch with her alcoholic mother, Annabelle. But her plans are scuppered when she is wanted for the murder of a motorcyclist. His brother, Hamish, a Portuguese drug lord and ruthless vigilante, vows to kill Madeleine in revenge. And so, she hides from him and the Australian Federal Police with her family including her childish brother, Henry, inside a haunted church in a sleepy village of Bibury in the Cotswolds. Years of mental bullying from her father, Maxwell, and her involvement in witchcraft leads her to kill him. Little does she know that he’s an alien on borrowed time from a far-away planet and he has adopted his family in order to study them. Is she guilty and can she escape the Australian Federal Police?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781528925556

Garry Baker

Gary Baker was born in Ashington, Northumberland, but lives in Hartlepool, Co Durham. In his youth, he worked for 5 years as a wage/administration clerk at various nuclear power stations and later for a housing regeneration company. He volunteered for 5 years at Kyle’s Dream, doing scriptwriting / film making. He wrote a screenplay The Chair Is a Killer and a short story Schmuck but had no commissions. He is sure that people thought he was a Walter Mitty, a dreamer that will amount to nothing!

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Spaceship

Dedication

Dedicated to Mr Hay, my old English teacher from High Tunstall College of Science, Hartlepool, Co Durham, in 1980s.

Copyright Information ©

Garry Baker (2021)

The right of Garry Baker to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528922791 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528925556 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgement

Dawn McManus – Illustrations

Ian McManus – Photography

Chapter 1

The Beginning and

Madeleine Returns

It is night-time in April, modern day. We are inside an ancient church, located in a quaint, sleepy countryside village of Bibury, Cotswolds, England. Upon the weathered internal wall, a very large plaque reads ‘Saint Lawrence Church – 15th Century’ and a substantial-sized gold-framed painting shows an industrial landscape. There is also a pretty arched, cracked, oak entrance doorway with black bolts, long black hinges and a lion’s face doorknocker located to the front, off-set from the centre. To the front, on the left-hand side is an old, weathered grandfather clock with a gold dial and circular face. There is a stone spiral staircase leading down to the chapel crypt. To the right side, there are medieval stone sculptures along the defensive wall as well as flickering candles covered in adjoining cobwebs. There are four rows of ancient cracked wooden pews to the left to centre and an altar with a large, beautiful golden phoenix to the right. Moonlight shines through pretty colourful stain-glassed windows at the front. The beautiful sound of bells that chime softly can be heard in the background. A few bats that have come out of hibernation dart around the towering ceiling. This place is all too familiar to Maxwell, Henry’s 70-year-old father who, with his round spectacles, is wearing a Harris Tweed waistcoat with matching pantaloons. A shirt and tie, and a gold pocket watch are attached to his breast pocket on a chain. His weathered face is framed with long, straggly, unwashed silver hair and long, matching beard. His mammoth, size-15, black shoes are decorated with gold buckles. He speaks in a British accent.

Henry, Maxwell’s adopted, autistic, 50-years-old son, sits awkwardly with his legs crossed upon the concrete floor. He is naked apart from a nappy, which has a musket, an ancient firearm half-exposed inside of it. Henry, fat, also wears spectacles just like his father, but his spectacles are much bigger, square and black. Henry is a child trapped inside an adult’s body. He also has a British accent and faces left. Maxwell is sat upon a weathered pew not too far away from where Henry is sat upon the floor. Something weighs heavy upon his conscience.

Why on Earth have you got a musket hanging out from your nappy, Henry? Maxwell asks inquisitively.

I want to shoot jackrabbits with it, Henry replies.

Jackrabbits? At night? Maxwell shakes his head. That’s just crazy. Hand it over now or else you’re in deep trouble.

But, Dad, Henry moans.

I don’t care how old you are.

But, but I’ve done nothing wrong. How come Benjamin always gets away with murder?

This is a fair question, thinks Maxwell. If anyone is in trouble in the family, you can almost guarantee that it is Henry.

Speaking of which, where is your younger brother?

I’m not sure, Dad. He said something about going surfing in Cornwall this morning.

It’s just that it’s his 30th birthday coming up, Maxwell says, worried. He takes out a white lace handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, dabs his sweaty face with it and replaces it.

Henry shrugs. I’ve not seen him. He gestures as if to say, I’m not really bothered.

Maxwell is feeling uncomfortable with Henry’s reply and is more forceful.

Now, hand over the musket, otherwise you will sit on the naughty step, Maxwell says as he leans towards Henry and outstretches his right arm.

Henry knows his father means business, just by that certain look upon his face.

No! Henry says stubbornly.

Sometimes, Henry can be pig-headed, and Maxwell knows this only too well. He’s had years of experience looking after him.

Hand it over now, this instance, Maxwell shouts angrily.

It appears that the whole church is listening and his voice echoes around the building. Again, Henry refuses and shrugs, as if to say, What are you going to do about it?

Maxwell stands up in front of Henry, confrontational, and points his finger towards him. Any parent would do the same really.

He continues, Okay then. You’re grounded.

Henry sits in the huff for a moment, folding his arms like a baby.

It looks like there’s a big storm brewing, Maxwell says, concerned.

Dad, Henry says sheepishly.

Maxwell calms down a little. He immediately regrets his harsh words. It is his son, after all.

Yes, Son? Maxwell replies, in anticipation.

Can we have an owl?

Maxwell thinks, This is a very strange question, but is typical of Henry. He feels guilty.

I’m sorry that I shouted at you. It’s just that I’ve been under a lot of strain lately, what with your mother and all.

He ruffles Henry’s hair and Henry returns a smile.

That’s okay, Dad.

Erm, yes, Son. You can have an owl. Maxwell returns the smile in admiration.

And can we keep it in the shed?

Yes, Son, we certainly can, he says happily.

Henry stands and hugs his father with delight. The feeling is mutual. A partnership based on mutual respect and understanding. Henry withdraws the firearm from within his nappy and offers it over.

Here, Dad, you can have my gun.

Maxwell takes it.

That’s okay, Son, you can keep it.

He returns the musket back to Henry who, in turn, replaces it back, half exposed inside his nappy.

We shall go hunting for jackrabbits another day, Son.

Do you promise, Dad? Henry says excitedly.

Yes, Son, I promise.

Maxwell ruffles Henry’s hair once more.

He thinks his father is the best dad in the whole wide world. A few bats fly past them and then disappear up into the ceiling as Henry watches in silent wonderment.

And, Dad…

Yes, Son? Maxwell says in a half-conscious state. He takes out the handkerchief once more from his Harris Tweed waistcoat pocket, dabs his sweaty face with it and replaces it.

Why is Mom pregnant?

Who, Annabelle? I don’t know, Son.

This question makes Maxwell feel uneasy. He doesn’t like to talk about his wife Annabelle very much. Also, the feeling is mutual as far as she is concerned.

Well, don’t you think you should find out?

Maxwell avoids this awkward question.

Let’s take a seat.

Maxwell and Henry proceed to the ancient wooden pews at a leisurely pace. There is no need to hurry. After all, they have all the time in the world. But you wouldn’t have thought so, as Maxwell constantly checks his gold pocket watch attached to his breast pocket upon a golden chain. It’s as though he is waiting for someone, or for something to happen. He can sense that something is not quite right about this evening, but he cannot put his finger on it as to why. Maxwell really loves his adopted son and the feeling is mutual. They both sit.

Henry changes the conversation and asks, Can I have a pizza for my 51st birthday, Father?

That’s a strange kind of question, thinks Maxwell.

Yes, of course, Son, Maxwell says. It’s strange how you and Benjamin were born on the same day.

Henry ignores Maxwell’s remarks because he is excited.

A big 14-inch pizza?

Steady on, Son, he says feeling uneasy. Do you think I’m made of money?

Well, how about a 12-inch one?

Henry pulls a baby-type face, with puppy dog eyes and a smile as wide as the planet. His eyelashes flutter as he piles on the emotion.

Oh, go on then. Yes, Son.

Henry waves his fists in the air with pure joy and shouts: Yes!

The sky is darkening. But Maxwell has more pressing matters to sort out. Eating pizza is the last thing on his mind. Maxwell yawns. He feels agitated and Henry’s persistent questioning is not helping. Henry stares at Maxwell’s mammoth size-15 shoes, with their dazzling gold buckles.

Dad, why are your feet so big?

This is a fair question, Maxwell thinks.

I shall tell you later, Son. He yawns once more.

The bells cease to ring. Suddenly, they hear a thunderclap and see a lightning strike through one of the colourful arched, medieval stained-glass windows to the front right. Henry, frightened, seated, cups his ears and lunges his body forwards. Maxwell comforts him, placing his arms around him.

It’s all right, Henry; it’s okay. The storm is far, far away.

Sensing imminent danger, how could he tell Henry the truth? A moment later, Henry relaxes, as though nothing has happened.

Dad? Henry says sheepishly.

He has that face that everyone makes when they want something.

Can we go hunting for bears in the forest?

Maxwell laughs in a light-hearted way.

There are no bears in the Cotswolds.

Maxwell flips open the lid of his gold pocket watch attached to his breast pocket upon a golden chain, checks the time, closes it and replaces it back inside his waistcoat pocket.

Yes, there is. I’ve seen one.

When did you see one? Maxwell asks inquisitively.

The other day.

Don’t be silly, Henry, laughs Maxwell, as he slowly paces back and forth.

Have you been drinking like your mother?

Henry bows his head. Sorry, Dad.

Only Henry could think of something as ridiculous as this.

Suddenly, some bats dart around their heads, making a fluttering noise. Their ears must have picked up their echoes during the conversation. Henry stands to touch one that hovers close in front of his face. The bat sees Henry eye to eye, pauses for a moment, and then disappears into the ceiling. Both Maxwell and Henry are in awe, excited, both their jaws drop in amazement.

Wow! remark Henry and Maxwell in unison.

Henry sits back down on the ancient pew to let the dust settle.

Maxwell dabs his sweaty face with the lace handkerchief and replaces it back inside his Harris Tweed waistcoat pocket.

Suddenly, a ghostly shadow roams across the rear of the colourful stained-glass windows to the front of the chapel and makes a ghostly noise, then vanishes.

Did you hear something there, Father?

Henry’s hearing is sensitive with being on the autistic spectrum, and loud noises can be painful. He covers his ears to block out the noise.

Hear what, Son?

It’s unusual for Maxwell not to hear anything as he normally has ears like ‘Spock’ from Star Trek. Suddenly, there is an awful odour. Henry turns red with embarrassment.

Father, he says feeling guilty and worried.

Yes, Son?

I think I’ve soiled my nappy.

I thought that I could smell something.

Maxwell’s smell and hearing are very acute. It’s as if he’s from another planet.

Oh, don’t worry about it, Son, Maxwell continues and does nothing about it.

Suddenly, lightning strikes a corner of the church pinnacle with a loud bang, bringing down debris, masonry, roof slates, dust and parts of the building’s façade scattered around them, narrowly missing the altar in front of them off-centre to the right.

It knocks over the beautiful golden phoenix statue, considerably close to them. There is a large void in the roof with rain very slowly pouring in. The rest of the roof is in a very precarious state and could collapse at any moment. There is a clear bag of butter croissants next to the altar that remains intact.

Henry is shocked and shaken. He crouches, screams and buries his hands in his face. Henry knew there was a storm brewing, but the lightning strike has caught him off guard.

It’s all right; it’s okay, Son.

Maxwell comforts and cradles his traumatised son, holding and wrapping his arms around Henry’s body tightly for a moment. A tear rolls down Maxwell’s weathered face. Henry is Maxwell’s favourite son.

There, there. I’ve got you. I’m here now. It’s okay. You’re going to be all right.

Do you promise, Dad?

Maxwell smiles. He makes a declaration, a promise, and an assurance that everything will be okay.

He removes his round spectacles for a moment and wipes a tear from his eyes, then replaces them.

Yes, Son. Jesus, that was close.

Don’t take the lord’s name in vain, Father, he replies. I’m okay now.

Are you sure that you’re okay?

He smiles. I’m quite satisfied, Dad.

Let’s just count ourselves lucky that we both survived, Maxwell says. He replaces the handkerchief into his breast pocket.

Yes, Father.

It has always been Maxwell’s priority to take care of his adopted children, especially, to look after Henry, who is his pride and joy.

Henry is fed up of being treated like a child. But it’s his own fault really as he acts like one. He sniffs the air.

I can smell cheese.

Maxwell has an acute sense of smell. He can smell a fart three miles away. It’s as if he’s an alien from another planet.

That’s wishful thinking, Son, but you’re sadly mistaken.

Henry is thinking of stupid thoughts. This is not unusual. The wheels are turning inside of his brain.

He picks up what appears to be a document from the pew next to him and reads it out loud.

A Gospel. What’s a gospel, Dad?

A Gospel is a written account of the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. There are four gospels of the new Testament—Mathew, Mark, Luke and John.

Jesus, who? Henry asks, only half interested.

Maxwell doesn’t believe in Jesus, but Henry, on the other hand, is open to belief. They’re inside a church, after all. Henry stares to the left and sees the statue of Saint Mary the Virgin through a stone archway. Again, a familiar sight.

I’ve been thinking, Maxwell says.

Go on? Henry says curiously.

We haven’t been abroad for years.

Ah, you mean like a holiday?

Yes, exactly. Somewhere hot like the Costa del Sol.

Henry is picking his nose.

I don’t like those sorts of holidays where you just sit upon a sun lounger all day, bored, stiff, doing nothing. I like to go places, travel about, Henry moans.

It won’t be like that, Son, I promise you, and stop picking your nose.

Henry starts to rock backwards and forwards.

What on Earth are you doing, Henry?

Henry is worried.

I told you my nappy needed changing ages ago.

It’s okay, Son, don’t worry about it.

Once again, Maxwell dismisses his plea. A request made in an urgent manner. Maxwell takes out his white lace handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and dabs his sweaty face with it. A pigeon flies past them and disappears behind some wooden beams, high above the rooftops. Henry points to it like an excited child. It makes a cooing sound, dirties, and then flies through the void in the roof, much to Henry’s pleasure. Maxwell replaces the handkerchief.

Pigeons are strange creatures, Father.

Erm, yes, Son.

Maxwell falls asleep on the front pew next to Henry. His lips vibrate like a horse. There is a dusty, loft type of smell in the air. The storm ceases and bells chime softly.

Wake up, Dad, Henry says.

He continues to shake him. Wake up!

But it is to no avail. Suddenly, the ancient oak entrance door slowly creaks open towards the front. Henry’s 40-year-old sister Madeleine enters awkwardly.

She has been in awe of the exterior blue clock face with its golden Roman numerals upon the domed tower, with its bronze bell and turret crosses from bygone times. She speaks with a very noticeable and strong Western Australian accent, unlike her brother Henry’s British accent. She has a pointed hooked nose and wears a flowing black robe, which is pretty strange for a doctor and a physician. She wears a ridiculously substantial-sized pentagram, a satanic symbol, around her neck and adjusts her red stiletto heels. They don’t match with her black robe. She also has a bite mark upon her arm and a bruised wrist. Madeleine carries a woven gift bag, which reads ‘Visit Australia’ and she carries a whopping great voodoo doll that has big feet. This explains why Maxwell kept checking his pocket watch and who he had been waiting for. He knew fine well that his adopted daughter was on her way. He had a really strong sensation and a feeling about it. But he is missing out as he’s still in a state of sleep. Madeleine pauses at the front entrance for a moment. We can tell she is very irate. She continually sticks big knitting needles into the voodoo doll.

Take this, you bastard.

Henry can just make her figure out through his square, thick black glasses. Why would she have knitting needles and a voodoo doll? he thinks.