'Clive and Min' - Bonus Episode!

 As promised, a second episode of 'Clive and Min' because it is Easter and we can't go out and it'll give you something to read for 10 minutes or so. I spent all day gardening yesterday, and am paying for it today in the thigh muscle department so a bit of writing and editing has been just the ticket! Enjoy! Stay home, and stay safe, you lovely people!

The journey to Florence’s home was not long – through town and away in an easterly direction, just  before you hit the retail park – and soon Connie was pulling into the neat driveway of a small, 1930s bungalow, two bay windows flanking a cornflower blue front door that was tucked back inside an arched storm porch. Clive jumped from the roof of Connie’s car, landing in front of Willow and making her squeal.

‘Is that Clive?’ snapped Min. Really, she could do without all this faff.

‘Yes,’ said Willow, fanning herself with her hand and glaring at Clive, who shrugged.

‘Just as well,’ said Min, addressing the space next to Willow which she imagined was occupied by her brother. ‘He needs to be aware of all the aggravation he is causing. I hope he feels suitably embarrassed.’

Clive stuck out his tongue in Min’s direction, and blew a raspberry which caused Willow to supress a nervous and spontaneous giggle at his childish response to his sister’s chastisement.

‘What?’ said Min. ‘Is it him? What’s he saying?’

‘Nothing,’ said Willow. ‘Ignore me. Irrational reaction to a crazy situation.’

‘I see those all the time at work,’ said Connie, who had indeed witnessed some very peculiar responses to death in those who were grieving.

Min, though, wasn’t in the mood for conversation and was marching to the front door of the bungalow and ringing the bell, which, in a bit of light humour from Florence, was in the shape of a nightingale. Halliwell, as always, was by Min’s side, ever devoted, ever watchful, ever territorial. He sat on the doormat eyeing the bird-shaped knocker and licking his lips.

‘Did you call ahead?’ said Connie, when no answer was forthcoming. ‘To let Florence know we were on our way?’

‘Should I have?’ said Min, who always expected Florence to be at home, knitting.

‘Might have been prudent,’ said Connie. ‘Save us a wasted journey…’

‘Yoo-hoo!’ came the sound of voice from behind, and everyone turned to see a woman jogging up the driveway towards them, waving exuberantly. ‘Here I am! I’ve been jogging!’

Min raised an eyebrow. She had never, in all their years of friendship, known Florence to exercise any part of herself, save for her hands and arms when knitting, and her mouth when chatting.

‘Jogging?’ she said, as Florence bobbed up and down on the spot in a precariously wobbly manner, whilst rootling through a small bag attached around her waist in search of her door keys. ‘Seriously, Florence? Jogging??’

Locating her keys, Florence parted the crowd gathered at her front door and inserted one of the bunch into the door lock. ‘Indeed!’ she said. ‘Most invigorating. I have to admit, though, that when I say ‘jogging’, I actually mean ‘fast walking’. And some of it was slower walking. And I had to catch my puff a couple of times, because of the exertion, you know. But I did manage some actual running between the florist shop and the chemist on the High Street.’ She beamed proudly. ‘Pretty good for only my third outing, I thought.’

‘The florist  and the chemist who are next door but two to each other?’ said Min. ‘Separated by a distance of, what, 10 yards?’

‘Yes, that’s it!’ said Florence, a sense of cheerful accomplishment garnishing her words, like the pointless piece of parsley that is always left on the side of a dinner plate. ‘Come in, come in!’

Min looked at Connie, who shrugged. ‘Must be the endorphins flooding her brain,’ muttered Min, as they all followed Florence into her house. ‘Endorphins. Pah! The poor person’s gin and tonic, that’s what they are…’

‘What are we doing here?’ said Clive, falling in step beside Willow, and wondering if Min was ever going to change her habit of stream-of-consciousness wittering, and actually, how he quite missed it.

‘Min thinks Florence might be able to help,’ said Willow. ‘You know, with our situation.’

‘Our situation?’ said Clive. ‘What do you mean, ‘our situation’? There isn’t a ‘situation.’ All you have to do is tell Min what I need her to know. I don’t see what her friend has got to do with anything.’

‘Florence is a psychic,’ said Willow. ‘I think Min needs some affirmation that you aren’t a figment of my over-tired imagination. I have tried to tell her, but I don’t think she believes me. Not 100%.’

Clive let out a huge and unrestrained guffaw. ‘That Florence is most certainly NOT a psychic!’ he said, once he’d regained his composure. ‘At the best she is a fairground fortune teller, at the worst a mere attention-seeking charlatan. Give me five minutes and I’ll prove it.’

By now, everyone was inside Florence’s living room, settling onto her sofa and armchairs whilst she popped to the bathroom to shower and change, having given Min instructions to ‘get a brew going, and there’s some biscuits somewhere in that cupboard. Left over from last Christmas, but I expect they’ll do.’

‘A charlatan?’ said Willow. ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’

‘Is he here? Clive?’ whispered Amazing, sensing Willow was engaged in conversation with Clive; either that or had taken to talking to herself.

‘Yes,’ whispered Willow. ‘He is most definitely here. He thinks we are wasting our time.’

‘Goodness me,’ said Amazing. Could this morning become any more exciting? She jolly well hoped so.

Min had vanished to the kitchen with Connie; they could be heard chattering companionably whilst clattering around with kettle and cups, banging cupboard doors in search of biscuits.

‘What else does he say?’ said Amazing.

‘That Florence isn’t a psychic,’ said Willow. ‘That she is a fairground charlatan.’

Amazing popped her eyes in an expression of shock, before leaning back into the soft arms of the sofa and folding her hands across her stomach. ‘This could be an occasion of very great interest,’ she said, smiling softly. Min and Connie appeared carrying a tray of tea things. The scene, Amazing felt, was being set for theatre.

As if on cue, the star of the show, Florence, made her appearance costumed in lime green dungarees over a turquoise long-sleeved top, her hair encased in a pink towelling turban.

‘Good Lord, Florence!’ said Min. ‘What on earth are you wearing?’

‘Do you like it?’ said Florence, performing a twirl. ‘I’m trying out a different look.’

Min perused her friend with narrowed eyes. ‘Everyone, may I introduce my friend, Florence Bell, who appears to have taken leave of her senses. Florence, these are my more sartorially elegant friends – Connie Franks, Amazing Hibiscus Park and Willow Reginald. Oh, and Halliwell. My cat,’ she added, as Halliwell nudged against her legs in gentle reminder.

‘Lovely to meet you all!’ said Florence, and there followed a round of handshakes and serving of tea. ‘And please,’ said Florence, ‘call me Flo.’

Min nearly spat out her first sip of tea. ‘Flo? You’ve always hated being called Flo…’

‘Yes, well that was B.S,’ said Flo. ‘Before Sixty. I have decided that now I am A.S…’

‘After Sixty?’ ventured Min.

‘…indeed,’ said Flo, ‘that l am going to live life differently. I’ve decided to give up knitting for a start…’

‘What??’ said Min. Florence might just have well announced she was giving up breathing.

‘It’s passé,’ said Flo. ‘I need to do something more modern, more…youthful, with my life.’

‘Like jogging?’ said Min.

‘Exactly that,’ said Flo. ‘Jogging is just the start. I’m starting Pilates next week, and I’m signed up to do a taster course on Applied Science at the local college. I have also revamped my wardrobe, as you can see,’ and she gave another twirl.

‘I’ll say,’ sighed Min, wondering if she would have similar urges to change her life when she reached 50 because she certainly had no such urges when she turned 40. ‘I hope you haven’t given up your link to the spirit world, though, because we need some help in that department of some considerable urgency.’

‘Pah!’ said Clive.

‘Ahem!’ said Willow, managing to disguise her reprimand as a biscuit crumb gone down the wrong way.

Flo perched on the end of the sofa. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘in what way?’

‘I don’t know quite how to put this,’ said Min, ‘but Willow here is receiving, er, messages, from Clive.’

‘Clive? Your brother Clive?’ said Flo.  ‘Dead Clive?’

‘Yes, all right,’ said Clive. ‘Why does everyone have to keep pointing out my deadness? Discrimination, that’s what I call it…’

‘Again…’ said Willow.

‘Pardon me?’ said Flo.

‘Sorry,’ said Willow. ‘It’s him. Clive. Wittering on…can’t you hear him?’

‘Of course she can’t hear me,’ snorted Clive. ‘She’s a charlatan. She’s no more psychic than that bunch of chrysanthemums,’ and he pointed to the vase of flowers on the sideboard.

‘Oh well,’ said Flo, ‘no, I can’t hear him at the moment. I need to be in the right conditions. I need to create a receptive atmosphere…’

‘Atmosphere, schmatmosphere,’ snorted Clive. ‘Willow, she is talking rubbish. Tell her she’s talking right out of the backside of her lime green jumpsuit.’

‘There’s no need to be like that,’ said Willow.

‘It’s true,’ said Flo, a sense of aggrievement edging into her voice.

‘I’m talking to him,’ sighed Willow. ‘Sorry, but it’s like having a three way conversation where only I can hear everything that’s going on.’

‘That’ll be your inexperience, dear,’ said Florence, patting Willow’s arm. ‘Don’t you worry. You’ll get used to managing the vibrations…’

Min decided to intervene before some sort of psychic fight broke out. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘how about we come back at a more convenient time, Florence. Can you arrange a séance, perhaps?’

Florence pushed back her shoulders. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘That would be better. I would have time to attune myself…’

‘Hark at her,’ sighed Clive. ‘What does she think she is? Radio 4?’

Willow raised her eyebrows in warning and Clive rolled his eyes. Florence had closed her eyes and was swaying gently.

‘The vibrations will be in alignment the day after tomorrow,’ she said. ‘At 8.30 in the evening. Straight after Eastenders.’

‘Seriously?’ said Clive, who was by now feeling more than a little testy. ‘Come on, let’s go. This is a waste of time.’

‘Righty ho!’ said Min. She drained her cup of tea and stood up. ‘We’ll see you then, Florence. Thank you.’

And although Amazing was disappointed and Willow could see this date would be a futile exercise, they left and Florence went to dry her hair.