Disclaimer: I'm sure all of the characters and situations relating to "The Good Life" or "Good Neighbors" as it is known in the US are owned and copywritten (sp?) by BBC or other good companies. I mean no harm, and offer only my deepest respect for the company, whoever it is. Why can't Hollywood produce such wonderful characters?
Tom looked around the room, wondering where to begin. The destruction was so complete, so heinous, that he still felt overcome by it all. At least those hooligans hadn't broken the windows or slashed the furniture. All of the damage would be repairable or replaceable – if they could come up with the funds. Tom shook his head once more, and began to gather up bits of broken pottery and glass from the floor. No sense letting Barbara cut herself on this mess, Tom thought brokenly.
"Twenty five eggs this morning, Tom," Barbara called from the kitchen. "At least the chickens weren't bothered by those vandals." She swung the door open, and entered the big room where Tom was stooped on the floor. "Can you imagine, little swastika's painted on Lenin's beak? He would be outraged!"
She managed a small laugh, then knelt down beside her husband. "Is there anything worth saving out of this mess?" Her voice was smaller, and sounded almost fragile.
"Not down here, love," Tom replied gently. How was he going to break it to her that they had lost so much? Yes, he was pretty adept with the potter's wheel, but he couldn't replace the memories that their few little treasures had held. They hadn't lost anything too valuable, but the bastard's had broken the few records they had left. What would they play for the tomatoes now that Peter Dawson was gone? He sighed deeply. He knew that they would have to be strong now more than ever, and not let this get on top of them. "But, you know, I'm sure they didn't get to everything. Let's just get the worst of it cleaned up, then we need to go look into a billy goat for Geraldine. Right now, milk production is more important than broken trinkets."
"You're right, of course." Barbara stood, and moved toward the dining room table, and picking at the bits of glass scattered across the surface. "We mustn't let this get to us. They caught those hooligans, and I for one would like to see them locked up for life!" Her voice rose again, angry and disgusted with the mess they had been left.
"Now Barbara, You know that won't happen. The judicial system these days will bind them over and let them off the hook. They only lock up the real criminals – Like me!" He puffed up his chest and tried to look macho. Barbara giggled.
"Oh, yes, you villainous man, you! You're about as dangerous as Geraldine." Barbara giggled again, and started cleaning with an earnest.
"Now wait just a minute. That goat is viscous. You've got her trained as an attack goat. We should post warning signs in the front garden: Beware of goat!"
"Exactly," Barbara said, trying to put on a serious face. "People should beware of you, you old goat!" She burst in to peals of laughter, unable to contain herself. Tom sidled towards her, a broken record in hand. Barbara picked up a splinter of chair leg, and prepared to defend herself.
There came a knock on the glass doors just as the pirate battle was getting into full swing. The knock sounded again, and the door swung open. "Tom? Barbara? It's me, Margo."
"Look Barbara," Tom panted with exertion, "It must be Margo." Barbara took the opportunity to whack the record piece from his hand, disarming the Dreaded Pirate Tom once and for all. The piece hit the floor with a clatter.
"Why yes, it must. Good morning, Margo!"
"Good morning, Barbara, good morning Tom. Still cleaning up the mess, I see." Margo looked around the room with a disapproving eye. "It really is such a tragedy. You had so little to start with. Now I suppose you're going to have to replace everything."
Tom shook his head. "No - we'll just have to make do with what's left."
"When we decided to do this two years ago, I didn't think I would have to clean up after the messes of animals like those. Pigs, chickens, and goats, surely – but not beasts." Barbara shook her head in disbelief once more.
"Well, with Jerry now the Managing Director of J.J.M., we can afford a few extras for our dearest friends. I'll have him write you a check for whatever you need."
"Thanks, all the same Margo, but we'll manage. We always do. But why did you come over?" Tom leered at Margo's dress, and made crude gestures toward the couch. "I thought I told you, not while the little woman is home."
"Oh, Tom, don't be ridiculous." She paused to right a wooden object d'art on the sofaback table. "I have come to invite you to a little celebratory fête I am having this evening, to commemorate Jerry's triumph over that gumboiled lout, Mr. Snetterton. Who, as a matter of fact, will be out of a job…" Margo checked her watch. "In less than twenty minutes. Good riddance."
"Margo! Is Jerry really going to fire him?"
"Yes, Barbara. Well, more precisely, Jerry expects Mr. Snetterton to quit. But if he doesn't, Jerry intends to divest J.J.M. of one of its more, shall we say, unsavory aspects. In any case, will you join the festivities?"
They answered at once.
"We wouldn't miss it!" - "We'd love to!"
"But first, Margo, could we use your phone?" Barbara looked at Tom. "I've had an idea about where to find a billy goat."
"Certainly, Barbara. But can you really afford more animals at a time like this?"
"Oh, we don't want to buy one – just rent him. I'll explain on the way 'cross the gardens."
* * *
Barbara returned from the Ledbetter estate in cheery mood. For once, she felt, Tom wouldn't tear her idea to pieces. The chickens were producing so much these days that, even without Peter Dawson to encourage them, they were laying enough to provide a payment plan for billy goat service. A dozen fresh eggs a week until Geraldine gave birth didn't seem too much to pay to ensure their milk supply for the next couple of years. She gave Geraldine a pat on the head, and went inside.
"Once again, I have solved our problem," Barbara announced as she threw open the door. "The billy goat will be here tomorrow."
"How?" asked Tom as he swept the last of the shards from the floor under the loom. "What have you promised away?"
"Nothing we can't spare. Do you remember Mr. Betts, the one who wanted to give us that lovely horse, Brian?" Barbara closed the door behind her and sat down at the dining table.
"Yes, I remember Brian the horse. You just have to name every animal around here, don't you?"
"Who named the cockerel Lenin, Mr. Pot-Calling-the-Kettle-Black? Anyway, I remembered that when Mr. Howe was being so gracious…"
"And looking at your hips…" Tom interrupted.
"Yes, and looking at my hips. He mentioned he has a brother who lives in the country. He was going to have Brian go live at his brothers, but that fell through because Brother Dearest has goats, and they leave nothing for a horse to eat. Included in that bunch of goats was at least one billy goat."
"So you went over to use Margo's telephone to call Mr. Betts' brother and rent his goat. What are we swapping for it? We don't have anything left!"
"Oh, Tom. We do too. We have our animals."
"You're swapping that Bolshevik cockerel for another goat? Best trade you ever made!"
"No…I'm trading his children. Twelve a week until Geraldine has her kid."
"We can't hatch 12 chicks a week – it does take time to incubate them, my dear."
"No, no, NO! The eggs – Mr. Betts' brother wants fresh eggs every week – and he lives not far from our allotment. We can drop them off every Friday on our way back from weeding!"
"Eggs! EGGS! That's brilliant, Barbara! We've got eggs coming out of our ears – well, out of the chicken's bums, actually but … of course! Aren't you glad I thought of it?" Tom looked smug.
"Yes, well, your mind is so much quicker than mine, most of the time I just can't keep up with you. My being just a lowly woman and all." Barbara climbed out of the chair and knelt on the floor, bowing at Tom's feet.
"Careful, woman, I'll tread on you like the dust beneath my feet that you are. What time should we expect Mr. Betts' brother and his goat Romeo?"
Barbara stood, and said, "Sam and Buster will be here first thing tomorrow morning."
"But," Tom asked with a grin, "Which one is the goat?"
* * *
"Barbara, are you ready to go? Margo said 5:30, so that we can be there when Jerry gets home from work." Tom was dressed in his evening finest: his best pair of denim trousers, a white button-down shirt, and the dress jacket and tie to his old suit. He knew what Barbara would say about his little ensemble, but hopefully it would be too late to change by the time she came downstairs. "Barbara, come on!"
"I'm not going!" Barbara called from upstairs.
"Why ever not, love? You were so enthusiastic this afternoon!"
"I don't have anything to wear."
"Wear your posh frock. I'm all tricked out, myself." He looked down at his clothes and winced.
Barbara appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "I can't wear this Tom…I just … can't." She burst into tears.
Tom looked up. Barbara's lovely dress had been ruined. It was torn across the front, trodden on, and sprayed with red and green paint. "Oh, love. I'm so sorry." He knew their wardrobe had been tossed, with clothing thrown everywhere. But they stored her posh frock and his dress clothes in a cupboard in the W.C., to keep them from getting dirty with their every day clothes. The cupboard hadn't look like it had been disturbed. What a surprise those horrible men had left for Barbara. "We'll get you a new one."
Barbara sobbed, "How? Trade the baby goat we don't have yet? This is it – this is the topper. I can't take it anymore. Tom, we have to do something. Even though we've got the house cleaned up, I keep thinking about those … those fiends… violating our beautiful home. I need to go see them, face to face, and give them a piece of my mind. I don't know how else to get over this." Tom went to her, wrapped her up in his arms, and held her until she cried herself out.
"I'll find out when they are coming to court, and we'll make time to go. The bastards…" Tom shook his head. "You go change into comfortable clothes. I'll go let Margo know we have to cancel. I'm sure she'll understand." He gave Barbara one last squeeze, and opened his arms towards the stairs. "Go on up and have a lie down, love. I'll make dinner tonight."
She shook her head and sniffed. "No, Tom, we promised Margo. Anyway, I could use a party, and some Peapod Burgundy to drown my sorrows. I'll go change into a skirt & top, and we can take a couple of bottles over to liven the party. Of course," she sniffed again, "I don't know what you all will drink, but I'm sure Jerry will provide." She gave Tom a weary smile, and went back up the stairs.
* * *
"For he's a managing director,
"For he's a managing director,
"For he's a managing director,
"Which nobody can deny!"
Tom and Barbara finished their song and burst into applause. Margo gave Jerry a peck on the cheek. "Good evening, Jerry. How was your day?"
"Yes, Jerry, do tell us…what happened with Mr. Snetterton? Did he bow out with grace, or was there much tooth gnashing and hair pulling?" Barbara was all smiles for the husband of her best friend. She sat on the sofa and put her chin on her fists, watching Jerry attentively like a little girl at story time.
Jerry sat down in his chair and loosened his tie. "Well, grace has never described old Snetterton, but he did quit before I had the chance to let him go. 'It just wouldn't do,' he said, 'for me to work for you, knowing I had a chance at your job.' I told him that given another twenty or thirty years, he might be up for it again." Jerry laughed. "Of course, I gave him a generous bonus for his 'years of dedicated service,' and wished him good luck. Good business practices, you know."
Margo made her way to the bar and poured out four gin and tonics, and gave them to Tom to hand around. "I don't think that leech deserved anything. He tried everything he knew to steal this job away from you, and he doesn't deserve one penny for that. But of course, Jerry, you know best."
Tom, being ever-so-suave self, asked "So why were you so late? It's almost six – thirty. If Snetty didn't throw a tantrum and hold you up, who did?"
"Not who, what. London Bridge, of course. Being a Managing Director doesn't change the traffic. Most of an hour and a half tonight." Jerry looked glum. "I suppose I had hoped that traffic would change."
"Well, I think they should get everybody out of your way. You're an international executive now. People should be so in awe of you, that they automatically pull over when your car approaches." Barbara smiled more broadly.
Tom piped in with more jest. "Yes, I think you're quite right, Barbara. I mean, it's not every day they get to share the road with someone as important as Jerry, right?"
"No, Tom, only Monday through Friday." Unlike Jerry, Margo didn't seem to get the joke very often. "I think Jerry should hire a driver. It would do him worlds of good to relax after a hard day's work, instead of having all of the stress of traffic. But he refuses. He says that the expense would be… oh, what was the word you used, Jerry?"
"I believe I said prohibitive. Or at least, that's what the accounting department would say. But enough chatter about me. How are you two doing?"
Barbara's smile vanished, and her face dropped. She and Tom exchanged significant glances, and then he replied, "Fine. The chickens are producing more than ever, and we have found a billy goat to rejuvenate our milk supply. Now, if we can just get the last of the soft fruits planted for next year's surplus, we'll be in the pink." He looked from Jerry to Margo and back again, as if to judge whether they bought his cheerful manner. "And, anyway, isn't it you we're here to celebrate? When will the rest of the party arrive?"
"I'm sorry, Tom and Barbara. It will be just the four of us tonight. I'm afraid I adopted a bit of a ruse. We wanted you to come for dinner tonight, because we have a bit of bad news. Jerry?" Margo turned the floor over to her husband.
"Oh, yes. Well, you see, those thugs that ripped your place up are coming up for trial on Friday, and as you are concerned parties, they want you to go to court and testify."
Tom looked sharply at Barbara, whose head had just jerked up off her hands. She glanced at her husband, then turned back to Jerry. "So what's the bad news?"
"That's just it. The police phoned up here today, asking for you, and turned them over to me. I tried to get you out of it, saying you had no way to get there, and that it would be a hardship, but the constable told me that if you weren't at the trial, the vandals would probably get off." Jerry paused, and leaned forward. "I'm sorry, I know you probably don't want to go, but…"
"THE HELL I DON'T!!!" exclaimed Barbara, jumping out of her seat. "Those criminals not only vandalized my house and broke my dishes, they ruined my last posh frock!" Her face turned red with anger. "I can't wait to tell those felons a thing or two about what they've done!"
Tom reached for his wife. "Barbara, Barbara, Barbara. Calm down, love. If you behave like that in court, the barristers will find you out of order. We'll have to present the facts of the case in a sensible manner, not rave at the defendants like a couple of loonies. Even if they are scum and completely deserve to have the book thrown at them."
Jerry looked at the couple in awe. "You mean you actually want to go to court? Do you really think it's a good idea? One would think that after the last time, you'd avoid it like the plague!"
"This time, we are completely in the right. We are invited guests, not summoned with charges against us. What time did they say we should be there?"
"10 A.M. Tom, I really don't think…"
"Margo," Tom interrupted, "May we borrow your car Friday? We have some important business to attend to."
* * *
They rang the Ledbetter's doorbell, and Margo answered almost immediately. "Come in, Tom and Barbara. Would you like a drink?"
"No thanks, Margo, we have too many things to do at home. We just dropped by to return your car keys. Thanks for letting us borrow it." Tom looked grim.
"Well, at least stay long enough to say how the trial went. It's nearly four o'clock! Did it really last all day?" The couple stepped inside, and Margo showed them to the drawing room. "Have a seat. Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink?"
"Two brandies, please, Margo." Barbara interjected before Tom could refuse again. "I think, after today, we could use a little fortification."
"That bad was it?" Margo asked, while pouring out three glasses of their best brandy.
"Grueling," answered Tom. "We sat in a courtroom with those menaces all day, and never got a chance to tell them what we thought."
"You didn't get to testify? Why on earth did they call you in, then?"
"I meant we never got to tell them what we thought of them. But yes, we got to testify. We even showed them Barbara's dress that was ruined. All the defense had to say was that we couldn't prove that it was them what did the deed."
Margo looked worried. "Oh, Tom! Were those horrible men acquitted?"
Tom looked at Barbara.
Barbara looked at Tom.
"Oh, tell her, Tom." They both broke into enormous grins. "WE WON!!! Not only do they have to go to jail…"
"For three months!" Barbara interjected.
"Yes, for three months. But, they also have to pay for everything they broke. Including…" Tom trumpeted a fanfare, and reached into his pocket, producing an envelope. "A check, written out this afternoon, for the amount of eighty pounds, to replace Barbara's posh frock!"
"We immediately took the check to the bank and cashed, so those thieves can't rob us again!"
Tom opened the envelope and spread out the cash inside. Margo exclaimed, "Tom! Barbara! How wonderful! Jerry will be so pleased! Finally, the system rewards the little people!"
Tom looked indignant. "I'm only a pygmy when it comes to business, Margo."
She looked confused. "I'm sorry Tom, I didn't mean…"
"Oh, give it a rest, Tom." Barbara elbowed him in the side and grabbed the envelope from his hands. "She meant me anyway." Fanning herself with the cash, she added, "So Margo, when would you like to go shopping?"