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  “Please?” Said Ray, now standing beside him. “You can’t let them pull it down!”

  Ted noticed a commotion from the back of the crowd. Then, quite clearly, a voice shouting in irritation. “Let me through!” he heard a female voice calling, and then the crowd finally parted and Fork Handles pushed her wheelchair into the moonlit clearing. “That’s better.” she said, now stopping and looking at the tree from her new position right in front of it. “You were right, Ted.” she said. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” she turned to face the now visibly shaken Vanderbilt and Boniface. “Too beautiful to let this pair of arseholes pull it down, anyway. I mean to say. A gazebo! Pfft!” The two members of management took a step backwards.

  “But we’ve got no other suggestions.” explained Ted. Then he had an idea. “What would you do with it, Ethel?” he asked politely, pleased to be able to recall that Ethel was her real name, and not Fork Handles as Ray had called her.

  She paused slightly, and looked up through the arms of the tree, and she was lost there for a while, remembering. Finally she came back down to Earth again. She seemed reluctant to begin, but once she started it seemed that there was no stopping her.

  “When I was a kid.” she began, “The one thing I wanted above all I never got. Never did.” She paused for a second or two and silence fell across the garden. Eventually she sighed to herself and seemed to come to a decision.

  “You know Ted, I think this oak tree would hold up a pretty fine tree house.” She stopped, made up her mind. “Yes. That’s what I want. I want a tree house, Ted.” There was a slight pause. “After all, it is my twenty fifth birthday next year, isn’t it? I think I’ve waited quite long enough to have a tree house, don’t you?”

  Silence fell across the garden, and then slowly, gathering pace hands began to pump high into the air. “That’s what I want too.” Came one voice, and others shouted in agreement. “Me too!” Then another. “Tree house!”

  Boniface and Vanderbilt tried to interrupt but nobody seemed to be listening.

  “This is absurd!” yelled the home manager, moonlight seeming almost to reflect off his shining bald head. “This is a residential home for old people!”

  “Well.” said Ted, stepping down from the stone now so he could look Boniface straight in the eye. “Looks like somebody forgot to tell them that!” he said angrily, pointing at all of the residents gathered there.

  Now the cheers were beginning to rise loudly around the garden and Boniface and Vanderbilt made their way back to the home in disgust. Ted noticed Dorven standing next to the tree. Now he was definitely smiling.

  “That’s showed them!” yelled Ted to cheers from all around. Then he noticed Sherbet Lemon pushing forward through the crowds, and he held his hands up for hush, which amazingly given the circumstances he got. He looked a little embarrassed by this, but decided to carry on anyway.

  “Then you shall have my plans!” he said loudly, before adding almost apologetically, “I was an architect before I retired you see.” and this got a loud cheer just as The Pacamac Kid pushed through the crowd and waved his mac in the air.

  “And you shall have my mac!” he said, laughing. “To keep the tree house dry while it is built. God knows I’ve got enough of them!” This got a big laugh from everyone, followed by another cheer. From the corner of his eye Ted saw Dorven suddenly move from the base of the tree and with one fluid movement remove a large double headed axe from his back. Ted realised as he did so that this was what he seen sticking up from behind the gardeners back earlier on.

  “And you shall have my axe!” Yelled the small gardener, and he swung the weapon high above his head. Ray and Ted jumped back instinctively as there was dull ring of metal, a brief flash of sparks in the relative darkness of the garden and then the axe stood upright, embedded in the stone. Cheers and whistling erupted about the garden, filling the night air.

  “Well.” said Ted as the cheers and applause threatened to drown him out. He looked up at the great oak, moonlight filtering through the branches of the tree, and began to rub his chin, already thinking and planning about what would be needed to be done next. “A tree house it is then.”

  Part Two: Sherbet Lemon and The Pacamac Kid.

  Councillor Oliver Nudshall put down his tea cup and took one more look at the planning application on the table in front of him. Across the table Vanderbilt and Boniface waited impatiently for him to come to a decision.

  “It’s quite difficult, really.” he said, and the two home managers frowned slightly.

  “I don’t see what is difficult about it at all.” said Boniface, helping himself to another custard cream. Vanderbilt butted in.

  “They are old people. What possible use have they for a tree house? It’s just trouble making if you ask me. Ted and Ray. They are the instigators. Kicking up a fuss for no good reason at all.”

  “Nevertheless...” began Nudshall, but now Boniface interrupted him.

  “There are serious health and safety implications here.” he explained patiently. “Setting to one side the fact that there are the questions of financing the build, how on Earth would they use it? It’s simply preposterous! A silly act of defiance if you ask me.” He paused, taking a bite of his biscuit. “I mean, they wouldn’t be able to get into it, even if they did get it built. Sheer lunacy!”

  The councillor sighed and returned his attention to the plans. “I take it you have examined these closely?” he said, and knew by the look on their faces that they had taken no more than a cursory look at them.

  “I don’t see the point in poring over them.” snarled Vanderbilt. “It isn’t going to get built anyway.” She looked at the plans as if she was considering picking them up and throwing them in the bin. “It doesn’t matter what the plans contain. They are probably total nonsense, anyway. The planning committee will no doubt look at them as if they are the work of a lunatic! A stupid waste of time!” she finished, giving her verdict and crossing her arms. The councillor, to Boniface’s disappointment sighed and put his glasses back on and picked up the plans.

  “I had a conversation with a number of members of the planning committee.” explained the councillor, quietly. “Contrary to your opinion of the plans, on a preliminary basis at least the members of the committee were extremely impressed. Very professional, in fact.” He removed his glasses and put them back into the breast pocket of his jacket, noting at the same time Vanderbilt’s rapidly reddening face. Boniface just looked lost for words. “Considering the overall size of the proposed tree house, which I may say is considerable; it meets perfectly with all health and safety regulations.” Vanderbilt snorted at this. “As for the question of how they are going to get into it, the plans specify a spiral staircase around the trunk which allows them to gain access that way. Quite clever, really.”

  “A great many of our residents cannot use stairs!” laughed Boniface, and Vanderbilt nodded in agreement, a smug expression crossing both of their faces.

  “No matter.” said the councillor, standing up to leave. Apparently the meeting was over. “If you had taken the trouble to examine the plans perhaps a little more carefully then you would have discovered that they have that problem covered.” he smiled, heading for the door. “They have, rather ingeniously, I think, built a lift into the design as well.”

  “A lift?” whispered Boniface nervously. Vanderbilt visibly twitched.

  “Indeed.” said the councillor. “A lift may be over-engineering it perhaps, but certainly a hoist. Quite a large one, too. It has a moving platform and what have you.” He opened the door and prepared to leave. “I’d say you would most definitely get a wheelchair on it. Quite clever if you ask me.” Vanderbilt had plucked the plans from the table and looked as if she was really going to throw them in the bin this time.

  “Surely you can do something.” pleaded Boniface. “I can’t understand the opposition to a gazebo. I like a nice little gazebo.”

  “Oh I can do something alright.” explained Nudshal
l. “This, if you hadn’t realised already is a council election year. How many residents do you have her, Mr Boniface?”

  “Eighty two.” answered Vanderbilt for him, which the councillor figured that she probably did quite often.

  “Well.” said the councillor smiling. “I do indeed intend to do something. The something I intend to do is to get right behind this scheme straight away. That’s eighty two potential votes now, is it not?” He headed into the corridor, followed by a rapidly glowering Vanderbilt and Boniface. “I think that by getting behind this scheme that the said eighty two votes are possibly in the bag, so to speak. Now, I must be off, for I have a meeting with a Mr Ted Rogers.” This revelation increased the scowling in the corridor by about five hundred per cent. “Let’s hope he hasn’t brought Dusty Bin with him, shall we?” he finished, and with that he stood there, waiting for directions or at least a chuckle at his little joke. Neither seemed to be forthcoming.

  “Ask the receptionist!” barked Vanderbilt and slammed the door in the councillor’s face. He stood there for a moment staring at the door, from behind which he heard shouting begin. Then he spun on his heel and made his way back to reception. After a slightly surreal conversation with Wilma, who seemed to be trying to convert him to Wicca, the councillor finally managed to get the location of Ted’s flat from her and made his way upstairs in the lift.

  ***

  Ray heard Ted’s front door bell ring and stood up from the table to go and answer it. Ted hardly seemed to notice. The plans for the tree house were spread across his kitchen table, along with several other forms that included amongst other things a list of materials needed and planning applications. They were beginning to give Ray a headache, and so he was glad of the break. In the room were several other members of what they had decided to call the tree house planning committee. Sherbet Lemon was there and The Pacamac Kid. Dave from the shop was lounging in the corner, idly playing with a pen and notebook on which several figures were written. Ray noticed with no surprise whatsoever as he stood up to go to the door that most of the numbers seemed to be zeros.

  Opening the door he stood back for a second as the man there thrust his hand forward and shook Ray’s hand furiously.

  “Nudshall.” said the man earnestly.

  “Bless you.” said Ray, much to the newcomers apparent consternation.

  “I am looking for Ted Ray.” he smiled, not sure of himself enough to crack the obvious joke. “You are?”

  “Ray. Just Ray.” Ray welcomed him into the flat, whilst at the same time calling behind him. “Ted. There’s a man at the door with a cold.” In the kitchen Ted stood and crossed to the front door, noticing the distinguished looking man standing there looking more than a little confused.

  “Oliver Nudshall.” he announced, and noticed with some disappointment that neither of the two men seemed to have a clue who he was. “Councillor?” he finished, almost as if this was a question.

  “Ah.” said Ted, remembering the appointment. His mind had been concerned more with the plans and he had a little trouble shaking them from his mind. “Yes. Councillor Nudshall. Please come in.” Ted returned to the kitchen, Ray and the councillor following him, Ray rubbing his chin.

  “I remember now.” he said. “You’re the councillor who’s in the local rag all the time.” Nudshall smiled broadly at this, pleased that he had been recognised at last. Ray hadn’t finished yet, though. “You turn up all over the place and get your picture taken pointing at things.” he finished.

  The councillor smiled again. “I do try to keep a high media profile, yes.” he said. “It doesn’t do any harm to let my constituents know what I am up to.”

  “Pointing, mostly.” snorted Ray, and the councillor’s face darkened somewhat.

  Ted sat down and everyone shuffled up to let the councillor sit down. Ray stood at the edge of the table, crossing his arms as Ted seemed to be out of chairs.

  “Have you come to point at our tree house, then?” asked Ted and Nudshall smiled.

  “Call me Oliver.” he said brightly, flashing his best photo opportunity grin whilst simultaneously resisting the urge to point at something.

  “I haven’t called you anything yet.” said Ted, scowling. “And I’m not going to until I find out why you are here in the first place.” Oliver glanced over the plans laid out on the table.

  “You have no need to be suspicious of me.” he said. “Like it or not the application for the tree house has caused a bit of a stir in the local community, and a considerable amount of interest too. I would imagine that will only increase if and when the construction commences.”

  “And you want to ride the bandwagon?” asked Ted. Behind him Ray crossed his arms just a little more tightly. Sherbet Lemon snorted loudly whilst The Pacamac Kid just sat staring at the councillor.

  “Gentlemen.” said Nudshall, “There is an element to that, for certain. However, I do have links with the planning committee that could be beneficial to your application. Never look a gift horse, and all that.”

  “The application is going to sail through.” smiled Ted. “No fears on that one. I can however see that the publicity would be useful to you, councillor. After all, it is an election year, is it not?” Nudshall spluttered a little, but was forced to admit that this was indeed the case. Ted continued. “So I can see what is in it for you, councillor, but for the life of me I can’t see what is in it for us. Perhaps you would like to expand on that area?” Sherbet Lemon grinned widely, revelling in the councillor’s obvious discomfort. The five of them waited for a reply. Dave even put his pad down for a minute to listen.

  “There’s no such thing as bad publicity.” smiled Oliver.

  “There’s also no such thing as a free lunch.” said the Pacamac Kid, and Nudshall’s face darkened once more. Ted decided to take the initiative.

  “Since you seem to be at a loss councillor, I’ll explain what we want.” Ray leaned in closer, listening.

  “First of all, as you say, publicity would be nice. However, we find ourselves at a loss with regards to our budget.” Sherbet Lemon laughed at this.

  “Bit like the bloody council.” he snorted, and Nudshall visibly squirmed in his seat. Ted went on.

  “In fact, we don’t seem to have a budget at all. Which gives us a problem. We need wood - and lots of it - to build the tree house, along with various other materials.” Ted let this sink in before carrying on. “So how good are you at cadging things?” he finished, and the councillor looked slightly perplexed.

  “I won’t deny I have lots of contacts with local businesses that could be beneficial to you.” he said. “Though I may have to call in a few favours, I am sure I will be able to help in some way.”

  “Good.” said Ted. “Because let’s get this quite straight. Your part of this is to get as much stuff as you can get that will help us build this thing. When you do, then - and only then - can you come around and have your picture taken pointing at the tree house. No wood, no tree house. No tree house, no photograph. No photograph, no pointing. Understand?”

  Nudshall got up to leave, fastening his coat as he went. “I understand completely.” he said, catching and holding Ted’s eye for a few seconds. Ray was pleased to see that it was the councillor who looked away first. “If you will excuse me gentlemen I have a few calls to make.” As he made his way out of the kitchen he stuck his head back through the doorframe once more. “Hold the front page.” he smiled, and then quickly left.

  Ray closed the front door behind him and returned to the kitchen. “Arsehole.” he said, taking up his seat once again.

  “Completely.” stated Ted, smiling. “But a useful arsehole. Just make sure you don’t vote for the bastard.”

  “That’s what that was all really about.” laughed Dave, picking up his pad once more. “Though any stuff that he can get will help. I can get some odds and ends.” he looked closely at the pad. “Well, perhaps more than a few odds and ends. Depends on what my contacts tell me.” he finished, my
steriously.

  “What? Whether the night watchmen decide to turn a blind eye more like.” said Ray, laughing. Dave looked a little put out but eventually a smile crossed his face.

  “Possibly.” he said. “Though I don’t give away my sources.” he finished with an even larger grin.

  “Just make sure that they don’t get copped!” Grinned The Pacamac Kid, and they all decided to leave it at that.

  “What about the actual building of it?” asked Dave. “We can hardly go and do it can we? I’m sure Dorven would do a fair bit of it if we let him, but even he can’t do it all himself. Not if we want it ready for Fork Handles birthday in February.

  Ted thought about this. It had been a deciding factor in convincing the old people to decide to build the tree house in the first place, and Ted was a man who kept his promises. Nevertheless, it was quite a difficult schedule. It was now nearly September, and it was looking as if it would be the middle of that month before the planning application would be approved. Unwittingly, they had decided to build the tree house at the worst time of the year, what with winter approaching, and Christmas too. Ted however, was determined that the tree house would be completed by Fork Handles birthday at the end of February.

  “I have the leader of the local scout group coming this afternoon. He seems to think that they could help with the construction. Other than that we’ll have to see what our friend” (he accentuated this word, rolling his eyes as he did so) “can come up with.”

  Shortly after they decided to call it a day and they all departed. Ted had a quick sandwich and got ready to meet the scout master who was due at two o’clock. Ted had arranged to meet him in reception as he wanted to show him the oak so that he could get some sort of idea what the construction entailed. At five to two he descended to the ground floor and exiting the lift crossed to the reception desk.

  “Is there a Mr Wigall here for me, Wilma?” he asked the receptionist.

  “Tall guy, covered in badges?” she enquired.