AYBS Fan Fiction Writings

Are You Being Served – The Lockdown.

Classicsitcom

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631145

Confusing

PicnicAtHangingRockGirl
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8814451/1/ConfusingThe True Face of Old Mr. Grace
BasilBJr
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13119242/1/The-True-Face-of-Old-Mr-Grace

In Efficiency (4217 words) by Ajisai
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Are You Being Served?
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Betty Slocombe, Cuthbert “Jug Ears” Rumbold, Wilberforce Claybourne Humphries, Shirley Brahms, Stephen Peacock, Mr. Harman, Dick Lucas, Young Mr. Grace (Are You Being Served), Ernest Grainger, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)
Additional Tags: Period Typical Attitudes, Sarcastic banter, Surveillance, silliness, that special hell that is retail work, Epistolary
Summary:

Grace Brothers hires an efficiency firm to evaluate its staff. What could possibly run amok?

Ladies and Gentlemen (1621 words) by SCFrankles
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Are You Being Served?
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Mr. Humphries, Mr. Lucas
Additional Tags: Humor, Community: fan_flashworks
Summary:

Mr. Humphries decides it’s time Mr. Lucas learnt how to treat women properly.

AYBS? (2 words) by LRRH
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Are You Being Served?
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Mr. Humphries, Mr. Lucas, Miss Brahms, Mrs. Slocombe
Additional Tags: Fan Art
Summary:

chibi doodle of several main AYBS chars

Secret Santas (3864 words) by Lorelei
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Are You Being Served?
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Mr. Humphries, Mrs. Slocombe, Captain Peacock, Mr. Grainger, Mr. Lucas, Miss Brahms, Mr. Rumbold, Young Mr. Grace
Summary:

The Grace Brothers staff organize a holiday gift exchange.

POWER PLAY
BY DALE JACKSON

I write. A lot. One of the things I write a lot of is fan-fiction and it’s pretty much always Are You Being Served?. You see, I firmly believe Lloyd and Croft could have done so much with the programme. There is a plethora of subjects they could have delved into that would have made splendid stories for the show and possibly would have prevented Trevor Bannister from leaving.

Alas, we shall never find out. At least not unless someone can get me a bleedin’ Tardis…

*coff* Anyway…so, I’ve shared these with AYBS?+ and now I’ll share them here. I hope you enjoy them!

This first one is called Power Play, as I couldn’t think of anything better, and is inspired by RPG #12. Here we find that the women have been put in charge. The younger men go to work on the ladies’ counter and the managers are reduced to common sales persons. How will they cope?

Rowan Adams is an original character I created who first appears in another FF I did called Model Staff, which I’ll add later. She’s pretty much an anti-Humphries: he’s a passive, thin, feminine blonde; she’s a tough, muscular, masculine brunette.

Power Play
by Dale Jackson

As autumn crept over London, Shirley Brahms felt the chill in the air and hugged her arms for warmth. The heat had not yet been turned on inside Grace Brothers Department Store, making it quite chilly. However, she and her superior, Betty Slocombe, had also used it as an excuse to sell more jackets and coats to unsuspecting female customers that came in looking for other garments. At the moment Miss Brahms was actually helping a middle-aged woman choose a wool overcoat from the rather dismal stock.
“Are you sure this is all you have available?” the woman asked, her tone quite haughty.
“I’m afraid so, Madam,” Miss Brahms replied. “Our new stock doesn’t come in ’til Monday.”
The woman flicked through the rack again until she found a dark green coat. Her snooty expression turned to slight satisfaction as she took it down and held it against her body. Finally she removed her own coat and tried on the green wool one.
“Have you a mirror?” she asked.
“Right ‘ere,” Miss Brahms said, gesturing to the full-length floor mirror nearby.
The woman marched up to the mirror and scrutinised the coat. She tugged it this way and that, brushed the sleeves, and did up the buttons.
“Oh yes,” Miss Brahms muttered under her breath. “I’d forgotten. It’s vampires what can’t see their reflection, not witches.”
The woman did not hear this remark, for she was too busy staring at herself. “I’m not terribly keen on the colour,” she said, turning to admire her profile. “I don’t suppose you have this style in black, do you?”
“Why, that’s just the colour I was thinking of,” Miss Brahms smiled, then as she took the coat away she added in an undertone, “It’ll go nicely with your soul.”
She fished a black version of the coat from the rack and handed it over. Nearby, Mrs Slocombe had just finished ringing up an older woman’s purchases. As soon as the customer had begun trundling toward the lift she dropped her ingratiating smile and massaged her jaw.
“Ugh, I thought she’d never leave,” Mrs Slocombe sighed. “I’ve never ‘ad to keep that smile goin’ for so long. I think I might’ve pulled a muscle.”
She looked left and right, then slipped her hand into a drawer where she kept her supply of gin. She removed a tiny bottle and took a meagre sip that made her shudder. Tucking it away, she looked over and saw Miss Brahms’ customer sifting through the rack of coats again.
“Once more unto the breach,” she said to herself, and put on the ingratiating smile as she strode over. “Good morning, Madam,” she greeted the woman. “Are you being served?”
The woman stopped long enough to look Mrs Slocombe up and down, then replied, “Yes, your assistant is serving me.”
“‘Ere we are, Madam,” Miss Brahms said, appearing from behind another rack with another black coat on a hanger, which she offered to the customer. “This one’s a size larger.”
The woman accepted the coat and slipped it on. As she gazed at herself Mrs Slocombe took Miss Brahms aside and said, “Where’d you find that Black Suffolk in a size larger? I thought we only had one left in stock from last year?”
“It’s the same one,” Miss Brahms whispered. “I just said it was a size larger. Mr Humphries showed me ‘ow to do it when you get a really picky customer. ‘E does it all the time. Never fails!”
“Yes, this is much better,” the woman said, pushing her hands into the pockets of the coat. “I’ll take it.”
“Sale, Mrs Slocombe,” Miss Brahms smirked.
Mrs Slocombe watched in shock and awe as Miss Brahms folded the coat into a bag and rung up the sale.

Across the floor Mr Humphries was about to his technique on a man whose demeanour was very much like that of Miss Brahms’ customer. The man had handed over the jacket he was trying on, stating that it was too small.
“I’ll just nip over to the peg and see if we have a slightly larger one,” Mr Humphries said, using his own ingratiating smile. He minced around the counter with the jacket over his arm and waited until he was out of the man’s sight. Then he moved the garment to his other arm, checked his hair in a mirror on one of the counters, and minced back.
“You’re in luck, Sir,” he said. “I found a size larger on the peg. If Sir would like to try it on…”
He slipped the jacket onto his shoulders and stepped back. The man tugged at the lapels and grunted his satisfaction.
“Yes, much better,” he said. “Much more play under the arms. I’ll have it.”
“Sale, Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries called to his junior.
“Sale, Mr Humphries,” Mr Lucas grinned as he made out the bill.
“Cash or account?” Mr Humphries asked as he pushed the jacket into a bag.
“Account,” the man replied. He signed the bill in a large, loopy signature that left ink streaks on the counter. Snatching up the bag from Mr Humphries, he tipped his hat and muttered a hasty “Good morning.”
“Good moaning,” Mr Lucas simpered as soon as the man was out of earshot, mocking his snobbish attitude. “Blimey! He wasn’t half pretentious. Mind you, it made your size trick all the more hilarious!”
“Gets ’em every time,” Mr Humphries chuckled. “Now go on, tell me about your date last night.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Mr Lucas said. “I took her to the carnival they were having over at Victoria Park. I asked her what she wanted to do? She said she wanted to get weighed. So I took her to the ‘Guess Your Weight’ booth and the guy was off by half a stone, so she won a prize.”
“They always think I have two stones more than I actually do,” Mr Humphries said. “So what else did you two do?”
“We rode a couple rides, played a few games,” Mr Lucas went on. “Then I asked her what else she wanted to do. She said she wanted to get weighed again. I thought that was odd, so I found this scale that gives you your fortune. After that we bought some fish and chips, then I took her home.”
“Sounds like you two had a good time,” Mr Humphries remarked.
“Well, you’re wrong!” Mr Lucas snapped. “She was in a right foul mood when I got her home. She got out of the car, slammed the door, and marched up to her mother’s house. Then I overheard her mother ask, ‘How was your date?’ She said, ‘It was wousy.'”
Mr Humphries clapped a hand to his mouth to suppress the laughter that threatened to spill out.
Mr Lucas sighed and began working on the figures in his bill pad. Meanwhile, Captain Peacock was dusting the male mannequins on the centre display stand. Mrs Slocombe approached him and tapped his shoulder as he straightened the tie on one dummy.
“Captain Peacock, I believe we are to change the centre display stand on Monday, correct?” she said.
“Yes, you are correct, Mrs Slocombe,” he replied in his usual pompous tone.
Before she could say anything else Mr Grainger appeared, his hands clasping his tape measure to his chest. He trundled over with a sour look on his face.
“Did I hear correctly?” he growled. “Are my trousers to be replaced by women’s underwear on Monday?”
“Oh ‘eck,” Mrs Slocombe groaned. “Not this again!”
Captain Peacock held up a hand to silence her. “Mr Grainger, the agreement was that the centre display stand would be changed every other week to incorporate the sale items. Mrs Slocombe’s underwear is to be shown this coming week as they are already half off.”
Over at the men’s counter, both Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas did a double-take.
“And what about my trousers?” Mr Grainger demanded. “They are also being reduced for the sale next week.”
“It has already been decided that the ladies are to be displayed,” Captain Peacock said. “If you wish to appeal the decision you may speak with Mr Rumbold.”
“I shall do just that!” Mr Grainger said, and turned on his heels to hobble off toward Mr Rumbold’s office.
“Have you ever met anyone so rude, obstropulous, and impotent in your life?” Mrs Slocombe grumbled.
Captain Peacock started to answer, then thought better of it. “Don’t you mean ‘impertinent’?” he asked.
Mrs Slocombe rolled her eyes. “Whatever! He’s a right cantankerous curmudgeon, he is.”
“Do you think ‘e’ll talk ol’ Jug Ears into givin’ ‘im the display stand?” Miss Brahms asked.
“I think not,” Captain Peacock said confidently. “The decision to rotate the stock was mine and approved by Mr Rumbold. As such I believe he shall continue to honour it and force Mr Grainger to abide by my ruling.”
“That oughta make his day,” Mr Humphries said, walking over with Mr Lucas by his side.
“Maybe we could compromise,” Mr Lucas said. “We could put Mr Grainger’s trousers on the dummy and have him holding up a pair of Mrs Slocombe’s underwear.”
“Ooh, your mind’s a cesspool of filth,” Miss Brahms said, crossing her arms. “All you think about is sex!”
“Ah, but for once you’re wrong!” Mr Lucas grinned. “At this very moment I’m thinking about how right you are, that all I think about is sex.”
“That is enough,” Captain Peacock said. “Mrs Slocombe, go ahead and choose your garments for next week so that I can look over them. Mr Humphries, Mr Lucas, back to your counters.”
At that moment Mr Rumbold came onto the floor, followed closely by his curvaceous secretary and curmudgeonly Mr Grainger. He had a smile on his face and rather than return to his counter he moved to the centre display stand, where he stood with a confident grin on his façade.
“Gather ’round everybody!” Mr Rumbold called out, then saw they were already gathered. He cleared his throat and clutched his hands behind his back in the most authoritative manner he could muster.
“Oh hell,” Mrs Slocombe groaned.
“I’ve just had a word with Mr Grainger regarding the centre display stand,” Mr Rumbold began. “He feels that by showcasing Mrs Slocombe’s underwear, which is already greatly reduced, we shall be losing quite a lot in sales next week. Our figures are already looking a bit dismal as it is, therefore I have decided that his trousers should be put on display instead, for they are only twenty-five per cent off next week.”
“Hang on a minute,” Mrs Slocombe interrupted. “What about the agreement we all made to change the display every Monday?”
“I really don’t think that’s been working too well,” Mr Rumbold said, “so the agreement is off for now.”
“Is this an upper management decision?” Captain Peacock growled.
“Yes, it is,” Mr Rumbold said, not quite catching the dangerous tone the floor walker was using. “And from now on I shall be approving or denying what goes on the centre display stand. That should be a relief to you, Captain Peacock, as I’m sure you were getting tired of having that responsibility on your shoulders.”
Captain Peacock did not look relieved at all. He looked mutinous. Mrs Slocombe looked as though she was ready to explode. Miss Brahms looked terribly disappointed. Mr Grainger looked thrilled. Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas simply looked like they were enjoying the show.
“Typical!” Mrs Slocombe snapped. “Typical! Once more the men stick together and give it to the women!”
“Every chance we get,” Mr Lucas grinned.
“One more word out of you and I’ll smack your chops!” Mrs Slocombe exclaimed loudly.
“Please lower your voice, Mrs Slocombe,” Mr Rumbold said.
“Oh, go an’ boil yer head!” Mrs Slocombe snarled. “It’s no wonder I’ve been turned down over and over again for a managerial position. The boys stick together, don’t they!”
“It’s sex discrimination, that’s what it is,” Miss Brahms said.
“I never discriminate when it comes to sex,” Mr Lucas said. “Do you, Mr Humphries?”
“Have you ever known me to be discriminatory against anyone?” Mr Humphries replied.
“Oh, belt up, you two!” Mrs Slocombe drew herself up and puffed out her chest. “Miss Brahms, get me my handbag. And get yours, too. We’re going to see young Mr Grace right now!”
“And do what?” Captain Peacock said.
“And we’re gonna tell him that if we are not given the same opportunities as what you men are given,” she said, “then we’re going to sue for sexual discrimination!”
Miss Brahms passed over Mrs Slocombe’s handbag. Both women turned on their heels and marched up to the lifts. The doors opened and they disappeared inside, still fuming.
An hour later the women were still not back. Mr Humphries took it upon himself to serve at the ladies’ counter, making several successful sales in the process. Captain Peacock did not deter him in the least. He did not necessarily approve, but someone had to do it and Mr Humphries did have a knack for it. Too much of a knack, really, in the floor walker’s opinion.
“Oi, nearly time for lunch,” Mr Lucas said, stepping over to the ladies’ counter while Captain Peacock busied himself with a nubile blonde customer. “How’s it comin’ over here?”
“Very well, actually,” Mr Humphries replied. “I’ve sold three fur coats so far worth about two thousand pounds each!”
Mr Lucas’ eyes grew wide. “Two thousand pou- are you serious?! That’s sixty pounds in commission!”
“Very good, Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries grinned. “Now multiply that by three and you’ll get a nice replacement for the old boiler in my basement.”
“Blimey, is that any way to talk about your mother?” Mr Lucas chuckled.
“I shall smack your wrist in a moment,” Mr Humphries said, then took out a catalogue. “Here, have a look at this. It’s a top of the line model: the HeatMaster 2000, or, as they call it up in hardware, the ‘H2Oh-my-god-that’s-hot’! It’ll heat water to as high as one hundred and fifty degrees Fahrenheit and holds up to sixty gallons.”
“That’s still not as much hot water as Mr Lucas will be in if he does not return to his counter,” Captain Peacock said, startling Mr Lucas.
“I-I’m sorry, Captain Peacock,” he stammered. “I only came over to check on Mr Humphries, to make sure he was able to handle everything by himself. I mean, how much experience can he have with women’s underwear?”
“You’d be surprised,” Mr Humphries grinned.
“Mr Humphries is fine,” Captain Peacock said gruffly. “Now get back to your counter!”
Mr Lucas nodded and started back to the men’s side when the lift bell dinged, signalling the arrival of the women. Both strode down the stairs with an air of superiority about them that caught Captain Peacock’s attention straight away.
“Am I correct in assuming you are still employed with Grace Brothers?” he said to them.
“Indeed we are,” Mrs Slocombe replied, smirking coolly at him.
“That is good to hear,” Captain Peacock said. “Now, if you would kindly return to your counters so that Mr Humphries may return to-”
“No,” the women said together.
Captain Peacock raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard us,” they said, once again in perfect harmony.
“Your insubordinate attitudes have been noted,” Captain Peacock warned them. “And if you continue to behave in this manner you shall both be given a written warning.”
The women looked at each other and shook their heads sympathetically as they tutted. Nearby, Mr Humphries had come over to listen to the conversation and was soon joined by Mr Lucas and Mr Grainger, who seemed very curious as to why the women were acting so peculiar.
“I shall give you all until the count of three to return to your positions,” Captain Peacock said threateningly. “After that I shall be handing out written warnings. One…two…”
Just as he was about to say ‘three’ the lift dinged again. This time young Mr Grace toddled out, supported by his secretary and personal nurse. They helped him down the stairs as he was greeted by the staff in their usual manner.
“Good morning, Mr Grace,” they chorused.
“G-Good morning, everyone,” he replied. “Gather ’round! I have an announcement to make.”
“Ah, I’m glad to see you’ve all gathered here,” Mr Rumbold said as he stepped onto the floor. “I have a very important announcement to make.”
“Young Mr Grace already gathered us here,” Captain Peacock said.
Mr Rumbold gave him a puzzled expression, then he looked around and finally noticed the firm’s ancient CEO standing near the centre display stand. With a guilty start, he muttered, “Oh, I do apologise, Mr Grace.”
“He’s not half stupid, is he?” Mr Grace muttered to his entourage. Then he cleared his throat and spoke up. “I’ve just come from a meeting with these two lovely ladies, who feel that they and the rest of the female staff are being overlooked too often for managerial positions. Therefore, I have decided to let them have a go at it. Starting Monday, Mrs Slocombe shall be promoted to department manager and Miss Brahms shall be the new floor walker.”
“Does this mean Captain Peacock and I are to be promoted as well?” Mr Rumbold asked, an expectant grin on his face.
“No, no,” Mr Grace replied. “You are being demoted.”
The grin faded from Mr Rumbold’s face and Captain Peacock’s became red with fury.
“Demoted?!” they cried together.
“Well, what do you expect?” Mr Grace said. “Sales have been down all year and you two have done very little about it. Besides, this is just a trial. They get to be at the helm for one month. If they are successful then their positions could become permanent. However, if they fail, they shall return to their regular jobs and you two will go back to yours.”
“This is outrageous!” Captain Peacock snarled.
“Think of it as a review of sales,” Mr Grace advised him. “Then, when and if you’re a floor walker again, you’ll appreciate your position more.”
“So, does that mean the men’s counter will have five assistants?” Mr Grainger asked.
“And who’s going to run the ladies’?” Mr Rumbold asked.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” Mr Grace mumbled. He turned to the women. “Well? What do you two think? You’re in charge now. You need to be able to make managerial decisions on the spot.”
“I already have the perfect solution,” Mrs Slocombe replied. “Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas shall be reassigned to the ladies’ counter while Captain Peacock and Mr Rumbold can join Mr Grainger on the men’s counter.”
“What?!” the men all cried together.
“I didn’t think you’d mind being surrounded by women all day, Mr Lucas,” Miss Brahms giggled. “You can use that charm of yours to flog knickers to our customers. In fact, there’s one now!”
Miss Brahms gestured toward a chubby, middle-aged woman whose bright blue hair colour made Mrs Slocombe’s coif look downright boring in comparison. Mr Lucas’ eyes widened in terror and he tried to hide behind Mr Humphries.
“Well, I don’t mind serving on the ladies’ counter,” Mr Humphries said, rolling his eyes at his junior. “I’ve already spent an hour there and sold three fur coats, two dozen bras, and a package of those ‘naughty knickers’ that Mrs Slocombe can’t stand.”
“There, you see?” Mrs Slocombe said, smiling fondly at Mr Humphries. “An executive decision that is already working well!”
“Excellent, excellent,” Mr Grace beamed. “Well, have Mr Rumbold show you around his office before you leave tonight and get his keys to the front door and the executive washroom.”
Mr Rumbold paled at this statement.
“Then pop ’round to my office,” Mr Grace went on, “and we’ll have a drink to celebrate your new position. Well, carry on, every body! You’ve all done very well!”
“Thank you, Mr Grace,” the staff chorused.
Young Mr Grace waved at them, stumbled, and turned to go back up the stairs. As soon as he disappeared behind the lift doors the women resumed their cocky smirks.
“Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs,” Mr Lucas said. “Can you believe it?!”
“Well, I, er…er…” Captain Peacock tried to begin.
“Belt up and get back to work!” Mrs Slocombe ordered them.
The men glared at her, then went to their positions.

Miss Brahms arrived early and signed in while wearing her new floor walker attire: a black jacket, waistcoat, and a knee-length grey skirt. A brilliant red carnation stood out against the dark fabric of her jacket and her hair was pulled back in an authoritative bun. She put her overcoat and handbag away, then checked her watch. Just then the lift dinged and out stepped both Captain Peacock and Mr Grainger.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she greeted them. “Nice to see you both on time.”
Neither said a word to her as they signed the time book. The lift dinged again, revealing Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas.
“I see you’ve already begun your duties as floor walker,” Mr Humphries remarked to Miss Brahms, then wiped a bit of lint from her arm. “Are we to expect a written warning for arriving so close to the edge or will you be assaulting us with that rapier wit of yours?”
“Just sign the book, Clever Chops,” she replied.
The two younger men signed the book and started to go toward their old counter. Miss Brahms cleared her throat loudly, whereupon they both froze, each with one foot in the air.
“Aren’t we forgetting something?” she said.
“You’re quite right, Miss Brahms,” Mr Lucas said.
He crossed the floor and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Miss Brahms stepped back and gave him a very dirty look.
“Not that, you stupid git!” she snapped. “You two are on the ladies’ counter, remember?”
“Banished to the bras,” Mr Humphries said dramatically. “Can you think of a worse fate, Mr Lucas?”
“Being knackered in the knickers,” Mr Lucas quipped.
“Just get to your counters!” Miss Brahms ordered them. “And if you make one more cheeky remark, Mr Lucas, I will write you up for insubordination and sexual harassment!”
Mr Lucas knew he was treading on thin ice. He nodded and walked away to his new counter, followed closely by Mr Humphries. They both entered the stock room to hang up their coats when they realised there was no peg or anything. Confused, they walked out, looked around, then went back inside. Finally Mr Lucas went out again and addressed Miss Brahms.
“There’s no peg to hang our jackets,” he said.
“I know,” Miss Brahms said, not unkindly. “They broke off three years ago. We tried askin’ for new ones but ol’ Jug Ears never would do nothin’ about ’em.”
“You mean ‘he never did anything about them’,” Mr Humphries corrected her.
“Right, he never did no any thing about it,” she said. Then she paused and frowned. “Bloody hell…you know what I mean!”
Just then Mrs Slocombe strolled onto the floor looking very smart in her own grey two-piece suit. Her skirt was also knee-length and her hair had been retouched over the weekend so that she appeared to be three inches taller. Clearing her throat, she called to the staff in her poshest, most authoritative tone.
“Do gather ’round, every body,” she said. “I have some announcements to make before the bell. Where is Mr Rumbold?”
“He’s not arrived yet,” Mr Grainger replied.
“Then I shall ask you to kindly repeat my words to him later,” Mrs Slocombe said. “Now, firstly, as you are all well aware, Miss Brahms and I are in charge now. We shall be running a very tight ship and will have no lolly-gagging about. You will address us both with the respect due to any manager and if I catch any of you speaking crudely, performing lewd acts, or molesting anyone…” She glared at Lucas, who tried to feign innocence. “…you shall be written up, postal-chase!”
Mr Humphries started to correct her, then thought better of it and shook his head.
“Secondly,” she went on, “upon inspecting Mr Rumbold’s files I have noticed that we were given a travel allowance over a year ago that was never paid.”
The men exchanged curious expressions. Even Captain Peacock looked shocked to know that there had been a travel allowance.
“I shall be launching an investigation straight away in order to find out where the funds ended up, although I have my suspicions,” Mrs Slocombe continued. “At five-thirty I shall return to the floor and dole out this week’s travel allowance to each of you. With that said, I expect everyone to be on time from now on, Mr Lucas.”
Mr Lucas’ eyes widened. Miss Brahms gave him a friendly smirk. Mrs Slocombe started to speak again when the bell rang overhead, signalling that the store was open. At that moment the lift opened once more to expel a panting Mr Rumbold.
“I’m here, I’m here!” he cried as he came to a stop beside Mrs Slocombe.
“You’re also screwed,” Miss Brahms muttered under her breath.
“You are late, Mr Rumbold,” Mrs Slocombe stated firmly.
“I…I do…apologise,” he panted. “I forgot…the arrangement…started today…”
“See me in my office at ten o’clock,” Mrs Slocombe said. “Mr Grainger, I shall expect you to set an example for your new subordinates.”
“Subordinates?!” Captain Peacock said incredulously.
“As of now you are the second assistant on the men’s counter,” Mrs Slocombe said. “And you, Mr Rumbold, are the junior.”
“What?!” he snapped. “I’ve been with this firm for over twenty years!”
“So has Captain Peacock,” Mrs Slocombe replied. “And Mr Grainger has been here for over thirty. Ergo, he has the most experience and should be in charge. Captain Peacock has spent more time on the floor and therefore has more experience than you when it comes to handling customers and merchandise. To that end, I shall leave him and Mr Grainger the responsibility of refreshing you in sales techniques.”
Mr Rumbold looked livid and embarrassed at the same time.
“Well, I believe that is all for the moment,” Mrs Slocombe said, and began walking away, adding over her shoulder, “Carry on, every body! You’ve all done very well!”
The staff did not know how to respond. They simply shuffled off to their new positions.
At the men’s counter, Mr Rumbold started to hand over his coat to Captain Peacock until Mr Grainger passed over his. Captain Peacock did the same with a very smug expression on his face. Mr Rumbold sighed and went to hang both up.
Across the floor Mr Humphries was showing Mr Lucas around, explaining the stock, and forming a plan to earn them both a nice pay packet.
“I was thinking over the weekend,” Mr Humphries told him, “with your wit, my knowledge, and our combined charm, we could easily rake in the commission. We could even split it fifty-fifty and still have fat wallets.”
“After seeing your figures on Friday,” Mr Lucas nodded, “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Then we’re a team,” Mr Humphries said, holding out his hand.
Mr Lucas hesitated, then he shrugged and grabbed his friend’s hand in a firm, manly shake. When he released it he turned to pick up a bust while Mr Humphries winced and massaged his hand. A moment later a somewhat chubby woman, perhaps in her forties, came over to the ladies’ counter and began browsing the new coats. Mr Humphries nudged Mr Lucas and both walked over to stand on either side of her.
“Good morning, Madam,” they chorused.
The woman jumped slightly and looked back and forth between them. “Oh, you startled me!” she said.
“Devil’s after you,” Mr Humphries grinned.
“He always goes after the cute ones, Mr Humphries,” Mr Lucas said.
“He’s been chasing her for weeks, then,” Mr Humphries said. “No wonder she’s so thin!”
The woman clutched a handkerchief to her mouth as she giggled. The two men grinned at each other and continued to pour on the charm.
“We couldn’t help noticing that you were admiring our new coats,” Mr Lucas said. “Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”
“Well, I was hoping you might have a nice wool coat,” she said. “It’s been so chilly lately!”
“That it has,” Mr Lucas nodded.
“Have you considered vicuna, Madam?” Mr Humphries asked. “I only inquire because the tan colour would go so well with Madam’s hair and eyes.”
“Not to mention that vicuna is a softer material,” Mr Lucas said, taking a vicuna jacket from the rack while Mr Humphries removed the woman’s coat. “It’s just as warm as wool and lasts about fifty per cent longer,” he added, slipping the jacket onto her shoulders.
“This is rather nice,” she said. “Do you have a mirror?”
Mr Lucas smiled and pushed the full-length floor mirror over. The woman peered at herself in the coat, then caught a glance at the price. Her jaw dropped.
“Two hundred pounds?!” she exclaimed. “My husband would kill me!”
“Ah, but just think of how much you’ll save in the long run,” Mr Humphries said. “A wool coat will last maybe five years at most. I’ve seen vicunas that were ten, twenty years old before they lost even one button.”
He was brushing some lint off the left cuff when the button fell into his hand. He quickly shoved it in his pocket and pretended nothing had happened.
“Of course, if you do lose a button,” Mr Lucas said, “our repair department is one of the fastest in London and you can have it sewn on within minutes for free. Just make sure you have your receipt handy when they ask for it. Feel how warm that is.” He stood behind her and pressed the fabric against her. “Perfect for brisk autumn weather or winter snow!”
“Guaranteed to withstand wind chill factors up to minus twenty degrees,” Mr Humphries cut in.
“Not to mention,” Mr Lucas said, coming to the climax of their sales pitch, “that vicuna goes with anything in your wardrobe. No more messing about with different coats, trying on this or that while your husband frets that you’re late for your sister-in-law’s dinner party. No more, ‘Come along, Alice! We’ll be late again because of you!’ or ‘Keep your shirt on, Ralph! I’m not the one who agreed to go in the first place!’ No, you’ll be ready in no time and Ralph’s only remark will be about how lovely you look.”
“I’m still not really sure,” the woman said, turning this way and that to admire herself in the mirror. “It’s so tempting, it really is…”
Mr Humphries had an idea. He whispered to Mr Lucas, who swallowed hard and nodded.
“Well, I understand if you’re unsure,” he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders nonchalantly. “I mean, two hundred pounds is a lot of money.” He adjusted the collar and ‘accidentally’ brushed her cheek, causing her to blush. “Mind you, I’ve seen them sell for much more at Lally and Willets.”
“So you’re really getting a bargain,” Mr Humphries said, stroking the arm of the jacket. “This is a rare opportunity, is it not, Mr Lucas?”
“I couldn’t agree more, Mr Humphries,” Mr Lucas nodded solemnly. Then he looked down at their reflection in the mirror and tutted. “Dear me, look at that.” He dusted some make-believe lint from the lapels, making sure to ‘accidentally’ run his hands over her chest. She shuddered. Then he buttoned up the jacket and gave her the best ‘bedroom eyes’ he could muster given the circumstances. “That’s better,” he whispered in a sultry voice, causing the woman to practically melt in his arms.
“I’ll take it!” she gasped.
“Sale, Mr Humphries,” Mr Lucas said, still using the sexy tone.
“Sale Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries said. He took the jacket from the woman and added in an undertone, “See if you can flog some knickers while I sew this button back on!”
Mr Lucas shot him a look of shock and utmost loathing, then guided the woman to the counter.
Over at the men’s counter, the older assistants were not faring as well. In the short time they had been there Mr Rumbold had upset a drawer full of socks, lost his glasses, stepped on Mr Grainger’s toes, and accidentally ripped a pair of Y-fronts. Now he was trying his best to remember how to take an inside leg. Mr Grainger was already getting frustrated in his attempts to guide the former manager while Captain Peacock stood for the training session.
“Try it one more time,” Mr Grainger instructed him. “Hold the metal end in your thumb and forefinger, then press it to – not like that, boy!”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of this,” Mr Rumbold whined as the tape measure slipped out of his fingers for the fifth time.
“Here, I found these while I was changing the centre display stand,” Mr Humphries said, and handed a pair of glasses over to Mr Rumbold.
“Changing the centre display stand?” Mr Grainger said. “Why were you doing that?”
“Mrs Slocombe said we’re going back to the every-other-week schedule,” Mr Humphries explained. “So I’ve put your trousers and shirts on the counter for now. I’ll have our bras and negligees on in no time.”
“Your what?!” Mr Grainger snapped.
“Temper, temper!” Mr Humphries trilled.
“Oh shut up!” Mr Grainger snarled. “You’d lost your temper, too, if you had to work with this incompetent berk what cannot even take an inside leg!”
“Leave it to me, Mr Grainger,” Mr Humphries said. He nudged Captain Peacock aside and cleared his throat as he stood in place. “It’s quite simple, Mr Rumbold. Grab the metal with your hand, tell the chappy where to stand. Up the leg and to the crotch, keep your thumb right on the notch. To the ankle, here we go! Not too high and not too low. One quick tug removes the slack. Put your finger on the tack. Read the number, that’s your cue! What’s the line at?”
“Forty-two,” Mr Rumbold said.
Mr Humphries frowned and looked at the tape in Mr Rumbold’s hand. With a sigh he took it from him and turned it around before handing it back.
“One more time,” he said. “Grab the metal with your hand, tell the chappy where to stand…”

Three weeks later Mrs Slocombe proudly strode into Mr Grace’s office with the latest sales figures. The ladies’ department was flourishing and the men’s department had finally caught up recently. She handed these over to Mr Grace, who put on his sunglasses by mistake.
“I can’t see a thing,” he said.
“Maybe you should try these,” his secretary suggested, removing his sunglasses and passing over his reading glasses.
“Much better,” he said, and began reading the figures. “Oh yes…yes, very good, very good. Well, I must say I’m impressed, Mrs Slocombe. You’ve done extremely well!”
“Why, thank you, Mr Grace,” she simpered.
“You’ve got one more week in this trial, though,” he added. “If there are any major hiccoughs then we may have to reconsider. Keep this up, though, and you can stay where you are if you like. Same goes for Miss Brahms. Which, by the way…” He gestured for her to lean over. “Do you think you could talk her into altering that skirt of hers?”
“Of course, Mr Grace,” Mrs Slocombe replied. “How much longer do you want it?”
“Longer?!” he squeaked. “I was hoping she’d get it shortened!”
Mrs Slocombe fought back the urge to roll her eyes. She forced her ingratiating smile again and said, “I’ll see what I can do…”

Back on the first floor Miss Brahms was strolling up to an older male customer who had just come from the lift. She greeted him and asked him, “Are you being served, Sir?”
“Course not,” the man grunted. “And I rather doubt you could help me.”
Miss Brahms crossed her arms defiantly. “Try me,” she said, her voice cool and steady.
The man bristled at her boldness, but said, “Very well. I have come for a pair of navy blue trousers, size thirty-four with a thirty-one-inch inside leg.”
Miss Brahms nodded and walked over to a rack that was full of trousers. She quickly selected the exact ones the man had described and thrust them into his arms. He looked them over and seemed very taken aback by her confidence.
“Will there be anything else, Sir?” she said, giving him a nasty smirk.
“Er, a pair of braces?” he replied.
Miss Brahms nodded and turned to call across the counter, “Oi! Steve! Sid James ‘ere wants some braces! Shift it!”
Captain Peacock became bug-eyed with fury at being addressed by his first name. Never the less, he took a set of braces from a drawer and walked over. The man (who did look an awful lot like Sid James) followed Captain Peacock back to the counter and began paying for his goods.
“Blimey,” Miss Brahms sighed as she went over to the quiet-for-once ladies’ counter. “I’m startin’ to wonder if it’s all worth the trouble.”
“Whaddya mean?” Mr Lucas asked.
“My back’s killin’ me,” she said. “My feet are throbbin’, an’ I’ve just about ‘ad it with these older blokes what come in an’ act like it’s some sorta crime for a woman to be a floor walker.”
“You have to admit,” Mr Humphries said, “the idea of women in power is still very fresh. Some people just aren’t going to like it no matter how well you do.”
“And you and Mrs Slocombe have been doing one hell of a job,” Mr Lucas said.
Miss Brahms smiled and patted his hand. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Mind you, it doesn’t make up for the headaches we face every day. An’ the money ain’t that great, either.”
“That’s right, you’re not getting commission any more,” Mr Lucas said. “I’m curious, what do floor walkers make?”
Miss Brahms looked left and right, then whispered in his ear. He frowned and shook his head.
“That can’t be right,” he said. “You can’t live off that kinda salary.”
“How much is she making?” Mr Humphries asked, and he frowned as well when Mr Lucas whispered the amount into his ear. “Really? Just that?”
Miss Brahms nodded.
“That can’t be right,” Mr Humphries said. “I wonder…but they can’t…they’re not supposed to…”
“Spit it out, mate,” Miss Brahms said.
Mr Humphries wrung his hands. “Well, I’m wondering if maybe they’re holding back on you and Mrs Slocombe. You’re supposed to be making the same as all the other floor walkers and managers, right? Well, what if because you’re a woman they’re not paying you as much as they would a man?”
Miss Brahms chewed her lip thoughtfully. “You may have a point there, Mr Humphries. But how do we find out?”
“It’s simple,” Mr Humphries said. “You just have to find out what the other managers are making and compare.”
“Not easy,” Miss Brahms said. “Those are conformational records. No one’s allowed to see them.”
“Confidential,” Mr Humphries corrected her. “And I think I know just how to access them…”
Mr Lucas raised an eyebrow, then he realised what his friend was thinking. Miss Brahms caught on as well.
“We should probably tell Mrs Slocombe what we’re up to,” Miss Brahms said. “She’ll wanna know what everyone else is makin’ as well.”
“Right, on three we go to work,” Mr Humphries said. “One, two, three!”
Miss Brahms went to the centre of the floor while Mr Lucas went to take care of a customer. Mr Humphries went to the phone and dialled. He cleared his throat and waited for a reply.

Over at the men’s counter the phone rang. Captain Peacock answered it in a very butch “Men’s wear?”
Across the floor Mr Humphries was caught off guard by this. He gathered his wits quickly and spoke in an androgynous voice, which was surprisingly not difficult for him to pull off.
“Hello, this is Adams from Accounts,” he said. “I wonder, is Miss Brahms available?”
“One moment,” Captain Peacock said. “Miss Brahms? Adams from Accounts wishes to speak with you.”
“Thank you, Captain Peacock,” she said, taking the phone from him. “This is Miss Brahms.”
“Right, you send me to Accounts,” Mr Humphries said. “Then you go talk to Mrs Slocombe. I should be back in less than fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, I’ll send him down,” Miss Brahms said, and shot a subtle wink across the floor. She hung up the phone and walked over to the ladies’ counter, where Mr Humphries was pretending to do some figures on his bill pad. “Are you free, Mr Humphries?”
He looked left and right. “I’m free!” he grinned.
“You’re wanted in Accounts,” she said. “I believe Miss Adams has some paperwork for you.”
“I’m sure she does,” he said, and went to the lift.
Miss Brahms watched him go and went back to the men’s counter. Captain Peacock was folding some vests by himself. She sighed and figured he would probably be the best choice for their plan.
“Captain Peacock, are you free?”
He looked up from the vests and glanced left and right. “At the moment, Miss Brahms.”
“Would you mind taking over for me while I have a quick word with Mrs Slocombe?” she asked.
“I would be delighted,” he replied, and stepped out from behind the counter.
Miss Brahms nodded and left for Mrs Slocombe’s office, hoping that Mr Humphries was wrong about their salaries.

A few minutes later Mr Humphries reappeared on the floor looking grim. He slipped behind the ladies’ counter and nudged Mr Lucas, who followed him to the cabinets. There they pretended to work on one of the sticky drawers while Mr Humphries spoke.
“Rowan showed me the payroll for all the managers,” he said, “and none of the female managers are making as much as the men.”
Captain Peacock saw them talking and wandered close to listen.
“They’re gonna be furious!” Mr Lucas whispered. “They can’t find out or they’ll quit and we’ll go back to our old positions.”
“I know,” Mr Humphries said. “That’s why I asked Rowan to check into it. Meanwhile, I asked her to sort of fib a little about everyone’s salaries for now. I said ‘make up something, anything, just keep them happy!’ and she said she’d try.”
Captain Peacock heard all he needed to hear. He slipped away and went to the men’s counter, where he relayed everything to Mr Rumbold and Mr Grainger.
“So if they find out they’re not making as much as we did,” he said, “then they’re sure to want to give up their positions. Then you and I are back in, Cuthbert.”
Mr Rumbold flushed at the use of his first name. “Yes, but how do we get the information?”
“I don’t know,” Captain Peacock said. “What do you think, Mr Grainger?”
“What do I care?” Mr Grainger replied. “I wasn’t management. Deal with it yourself, boys.”
Mr Rumbold watched him walk away and sighed. Then his face brightened. “I have it!”
“What?” Captain Peacock asked.
“It’s simple,” Mr Rumbold said. “We can request our tax information from Accounts and they’ll give us copies. Then it’s just a matter of ‘dropping’ them and letting the ladies accidentally look at them.”
“Aha!” Captain Peacock said. “Well done, Cuthbert!”
Mr Rumbold smiled in spite of this act of familiarity. He picked up the phone and dialled Accounts, whereupon he asked for Adams, the payroll accountant.
Ten minutes later, Rowan Adams, the androgynous accountant friend of Mr Humphries, stepped out of the lift carrying a few folders under her arm. She saw Captain Peacock and Mr Rumbold, whereupon she stopped at their counter and began rifling through the papers. Each one was labelled with a name and she chose ‘Peacock, Stephen’ as well as ‘Rumbold, Cuthbert’.
“Here we are,” she said, and passed the folders over. “I don’t know why you two need these. Tax time doesn’t come up for probably another five months or so.”
“I, er, lost some of my records recently when our basement flooded,” Captain Peacock lied as he took his.
“I just want a second copy in case I lose the first one,” Mr Rumbold fibbed.
“Fair enough,” Rowan shrugged. “Well, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me I have been summoned by the Wizard herself.” She saluted Captain Peacock, nodded to Mr Rumbold, clapped a hand on Mr Grainger’s shoulder, and turned to wave at Mr Lucas and Mr Humphries across the floor.
“Now what?” Mr Rumbold said.
“Now we wait,” Captain Peacock replied.

Mrs Slocombe was still chatting with Miss Brahms about the latest gossip concerning Mrs Axelby when there was a knock at the door. She called out ‘Enter!’ in her snobbiest tone and dropped it the moment Rowan came inside.
“About bloody time!” she said. “Close the door! Well, what did you find out?”
“I won’t lie,” Rowan said, “even though Clay asked me to.” She sighed heavily. “The blokes are making more than you two.”
“I knew it!” Mrs Slocombe growled. “Men! They’re all the same!”
“Yeah, well, I’ve contacted the labour board,” Rowan said, “and they’ve told me what steps to take to get you and all the other women in this firm the equal pay that we deserve. When I’m done here I’ll go talk to Mr Grace and before the day is done you two and all the other female managers and staff should be getting the exact same pay as the blokes for doing the exact same work.”
“And how much is that?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
Rowan took one of the folders and removed a slip of paper. She slid it across the desk to Mrs Slocombe and another to Miss Brahms. Both frowned when they saw it.
“That’s not much different,” Miss Brahms remarked.
“It’s just barely more than we’re getting now,” Mrs Slocombe said.
“I know,” Rowan said. “You could try asking for a pay rise. After all, you two have turned this department around in next to no time and you helped uncover two bits of dodgy dealings. You certainly deserve some sort of compensation for all your hard work.”
“Yeah, but it won’t help my aching feet,” Miss Brahms said, plopping into a chair.
“Or my headaches,” Mrs Slocombe sighed.
“It’s up to you,” Rowan said. “Personally, I’d stick with it.” She looked down at her watch. “I’d best be off. Keep me updated, yeah?”
Miss Brahms and Mrs Slocombe gave a non-committal ‘sure’ as Rowan left the office. They then exchanged very exhausted glances. Finally Mrs Slocombe reached in her desk drawer and took out a bottle of gin. She poured a healthy measure for them both and they clinked glasses.
“To girl power,” Miss Brahms said dully.
“And to reducing the power supply,” Mrs Slocombe said.
They knocked back their gin.

The bell rang at five-thirty, signalling that the store was closed for the day. The few customers left filed up the stairs and disappeared behind the lift doors. Miss Brahms picked up her coat and handbag, glad to put the day behind her.
“Good night, Miss Brahms,” Captain Peacock said on his way to the lifts.
He pretended to trip and the folder he carried fell from his hands, the contents spilling everywhere. Mr Rumbold started to help him until his own folder ‘accidentally’ fell from his own hands. Miss Brahms stooped over to help them and both men grinned with glee as she held up a few of the tax forms.
“Stupid boys,” Mr Grainger grumbled as he put on his coat.
“What was that about?” Mr Humphries asked, coming over to help.
“Nothing, nothing,” Mr Rumbold and Captain Peacock said.
“Here you go,” Miss Brahms said, sounding very tired. She pushed the papers into their arms.
“I, er, hope you did not see any of the contents of my tax forms,” Captain Peacock said.
“I think I sorta glanced at them,” Miss Brahms said. “Sorry.”
“Perfectly all right,” Captain Peacock said. “Well, good night, Miss Brahms. See you tomorrow.”
Miss Brahms sighed and waved him away. He exchanged a somewhat panicked look with Mr Rumbold as they started to ascend the stairs. They were stopped by Mrs Slocombe, however, who called everyone back down to the floor.
“Gather ’round, every body,” she said, and sounded just as exhausted as Miss Brahms. “I’m afraid that even with our increased sales and two recently discovered shenanigans, Miss Brahms and I are going to be hanging up our managerial hats. As of next week, Mr Rumbold shall be returning to his position and so shall Captain Peacock.”
Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas looked as if they were about to cry. Mr Rumbold and Captain Peacock tried to hide their mirth. Mr Grainger rolled his eyes and Miss Brahms looked relieved.
“I won’t hide the reason, either,” Mrs Slocombe said. “We realise now that you two had very important positions that held many responsibilities. Your work was hard and stressful.”
The two men puffed their chests out, feeling very macho indeed.
“Can’t take the heat, eh, ladies?” Captain Peacock chuckled.
“Oh, let them be, Stephen,” Mr Rumbold said, although he wore a cocky grin as well. “It’s not their fault they can’t handle our jobs. We’ll just have to return to our old positions and show them how it’s done.”
“It’s not the jobs we can’t handle,” Mrs Slocombe said. “It’s the money! You two hardly made anything!”
Captain Peacock and Mr Rumbold snickered to themselves. Their plan had worked after all!
“You can bloody well have your jobs back,” Miss Brahms said. “They’re not worth the aches and pains.”
“Sounds fine with me,” Mr Rumbold chortled. “Shall we resume our reigns, Stephen?”
“I suppose so, Cuthbert,” Captain Peacock replied.
They began laughing again until the lift dinged. Young Mr Grace toddled out looking very pleased about something. As he came down the stairs, once again supported by his nurse and secretary, he greeted them in his usual manner.
“Good evening, every body!”
“Good evening, Mr Grace,” the staff chorused.
“I’ve just had a chat with Adams from Accounts,” he said. “It seems that we are a bit behind the times. The women managers have been paid almost half as much as the men, it would seem. Now, we can’t have that in this day and age. Someone might sue for sex discrimination.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Mr Rumbold said. “So, what do you plan to do about it?”
“I’m going to make things right,” he said. “As of next week I’m cutting the salaries of all the male managers. That way they’ll be on the same level as the women from now on.”
Captain Peacock and Mr Rumbold both looked as though they had been smacked in the face with a halibut. Mr Grainger, Mr Humphries, and Mr Lucas snickered from behind their hands. Miss Brahms and Mrs Slocombe simply smirked.
“Well, that’s all,” Mr Grace said. “Carry on, every body! You’ve all done very well!”
He stumbled as the staff chorused, “Thank you, Mr Grace!”
As soon as the elderly CEO was out of sight and earshot Captain Peacock rolled his eyes and put on his hat.
“I think I made more as a salesman than I will as a floor walker,” he grumbled.
“I agree,” Mr Rumbold muttered. “Er, I don’t suppose you ladies would like to stay on as management a bit longer, er, would you?”
Miss Brahms and Mrs Slocombe chorused, “Not on your nelly!” and ascended the stairs.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

BETTER THE JUNIOR YOU KNOW
BY DALE JACKSON

A well-dressed middle-aged gentleman stepped out of the lift and looked down to find there were stairs before him. Puzzled, he stepped down them and found himself face to face with a very tall fellow with a red carnation in his jacket.
“Good morning, sir,” he said with a genial smile. “Are you being served?”
“Er, no,” the gentleman replied. “I’m looking for a gift for my mother-in-law. Can you assist me?”
“I’m afraid not, sir,” the fellow replied kindly. “I am the floorwalker. I believe you require the services of our Mrs Slocombe. Please, follow me.” He led the gentleman over to a counter. “Mrs Slocombe, are you free?”
A middle-aged woman popped up from below the counter, frightening the gentleman. Her hair was a shocking pink, very similar to the shade of bubble gum. She looked left and right before answering, “At the moment, Captain Peacock.”
“The gentleman seeks a gift for his mother-in-law,” Captain Peacock informed her before returning to the centre of the floor.
“Oh yes?” Mrs Slocombe gave him a benevolent smile. “What did Sir have in mind?”
“I’ve no idea, I’m afraid,” the gentleman said. “You see, she rather loathes me and I promised my wife I’d try to be nice to her, so I thought I’d buy her some sort of gift. Trouble is I’ve no idea what to buy a sixty-three year old woman.” The gentleman’s face brightened all of a sudden. “Ah! Perhaps you might suggest something? You have similar features.”
Mrs Slocombe’s smile flickered for a second and she blinked rapidly in irritation. “Certainly, Sir.” She turned to her assistant and said, “Miss Brahms? Are you free?”
A younger woman stepped forward, wearing a very sweet smile that practically showed off every single tooth in her mouth. “Yes, Mrs Slocombe?” she replied.
“Would you bring me a box of scarves from the stock-room?” Mrs Slocombe requested. “I believe we might be able to find one that suits Sir’s mother-in-law.”
Miss Brahms curtsied politely, turned around, dropped the grin, and muttered something under her breath as she went to fetch the scarves.

Across the floor Captain Peacock was delivering a young man over to the men’s counter. “Mr Grainger? Are you free?”
“I’m afraid not, Captain Peacock,” replied an elderly gentleman. “I’m just serving an American tourist that requires trousers.”
“Is Mr Humphries free?” Captain Peacock asked.
“I’m free!” cried a thin blonde man who stepped from behind the cabinet, adjusting his tie as he flitted forward. “How may I assist Sir today?”
“I’m looking for some underwear,” the young man said. “I’ve just moved out so I can attend university and I’ve never bought ‘em before. My mum always did.”
“You don’t say,” Mr Humphries smirked, taking in the young man’s attire, which consisted of ripped denims, a stained Oxford shirt over a vest, and decrepit leather sandals. “Well, I’m sure we can find something that will suit you.”
“I want somethin’ real sexy that the girls will dig,” the young man said with a grin. “Got anythin’ saucy?”
Mr Humphries blinked a few times. “That depends on what you term ‘sexy’ and ‘saucy’. We have Y-fronts, jockey shorts, and boxer shorts. What do you fancy?”
“Boxers, mate,” the young man nodded, still grinning.
Mr Humphries smiled his charming smile, then turned and addressed his junior. “Mr Lucas? Are you free?”
Mr Lucas had been sneaking a peek into a large textbook when he heard his superior call for him. He shut it quickly and pretended he had been waiting for that very moment. “You seem to have caught me in the middle of nothing, Mr Humphries.”
“Do tell,” Mr Humphries smirked, for he knew better. “In that case, would you care to assist in selling some sexy saucy skivvies to Sir?”
“Say that five times fast,” Mr Lucas chuckled, taking out a drawer full of boxer shorts.

Back at the ladies’ counter Mrs Slocombe was losing her patience with the middle-aged gentleman. Scarves were strewn everywhere, as well as several hats and about ten pairs of gloves. Despite everything she’d shown him the gentleman was still unsure of what to purchase.
“I just can’t make up my mind,” he frowned. “Do you have any other suggestions?”
Mrs Slocombe gripped the edge of the counter for support. “Indeed I do,” she said through gritted teeth. She fought the urge to tell him what she really wanted to say and replied, “I shall have my assistant fetch one more item from the stock-room. Miss Brahms? Would you get me the new dressing gowns from the stock-room? I believe the Vicar of Dibley line should do nicely.”
“But they’re on the top shelf,” Miss Brahms exclaimed. “Oh, please don’t make me go up there, Mrs Slocombe. I’ve no head for heights!”
“Oh very well,” Mrs Slocombe grumbled. She then caught the eye of the floorwalker before calling, “Captain Peacock, are you free?”
“At the moment, Mrs Slocombe,” Captain Peacock drawled.
“Would you please assist my junior in obtaining some dressing gowns from the top shelf of the stock-room?” Mrs Slocombe requested in her most obliging tone.
“Unfortunately I am unable to do so, Mrs Slocombe,” Captain Peacock sighed. “I’m afraid I did my back in this past weekend playing golf with an old Army chum. However, I shall have Mr Lucas come and assist you.” He left the ladies’ and walked over to the men’s counter. “Mr Lucas, please step forward.”
“I’m sorry, Captain Peacock,” Mr Lucas refused politely. “I’m just helping Mr Humphries with this young man.”
“Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock said, with a very impatient note to his voice. “Step forward. Now.”
Mr Humphries looked at the junior, who had gone a bit pale. Abandoning the boxer shorts in his hand Mr Lucas did as he was told. When he was close enough Captain Peacock gripped his arm roughly and led him away from the counter. Once they were out of earshot the floorwalker quietly snarled, “I am in charge of this floor, Mr Lucas, and when I give an order you are to hasten to obey it, regardless of whether you are assisting a customer or another salesman. Do I make myself clear?”
Mr Lucas stared at Captain Peacock, shock written all over his face. He nodded. “Yes, Captain Peacock.”
The floorwalker released his arm, pointed to the ladies’ stock-room, and growled, “Miss Brahms requires some assistance in obtaining some stock from the top shelf. You will go and fetch the items for her. And if I hear one complaint from either of the ladies you will go on report straight away. Understood?”
Mr Lucas nodded again and walked away quickly. Miss Brahms was nearby and looked almost as pale as he did.
“Blimey, what’s gotten into ‘im?” she asked when he reached the counter.
“I have no idea,” Mr Lucas replied. “Just show me what you need so I can get it done and maybe not piss him off any worse.”
“The Vicar of Dibley dressing gowns on the top shelf,” Miss Brahms told him. “They’re a little heavy.”
Mr Lucas waved her concern away and went into the stock-room, followed by Miss Brahms. A moment later there was a crash, the sound of splintering wood, and a shout. Mrs Slocombe dropped the gloves she was showing to the gentleman and ran into the stock-room, where Mr Lucas was lying on the floor. The ladder he’d been standing on was broken; three of the rungs had snapped in two, sending him crashing to the ground. In an attempt to steady himself he’d grabbed onto the shelf, which snapped off in his hands and showered him with boxes of merchandise. A large welt was forming on his head as well as a few bruises on his chest where his shirt had been ripped down the middle. He clutched his back and winced as he tried to sit up slowly.
“Are you alright, Mr Lucas?” Miss Brahms cried out. She got down on her knees to examine him.
“I think I might’ve pulled something,” Mr Lucas groaned. He gave up trying to raise himself and allowed Miss Brahms to comfort him. She picked a pair of carnation-pink knickers off his head as Mrs Slocombe kneeled as well.
“You poor lad,” she simpered. “’Ere, someone call Sister and get ‘im an ice pack!”
“You stupid boy!” Captain Peacock snapped as he arrived at the scene. “What were you playing at?”
“I was only doing what you told me to do,” Mr Lucas retorted. “You said help Miss Brahms and I did. Only the ladder’s got dry rot and gave way when I got hold of the dressing gowns. Next thing I know I’m on my back and covered in lacy things.” He pushed a pile of frilly lingerie off his lap in disgust.
“Anything I can do?” Mr Humphries asked, poking his head into the stock-room.
“I think we can manage, Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock drawled. He turned his attention back to Mr Lucas, who was being doted on by the women. “I suggest you get on your feet and start cleaning up this mess at once.”
“I thought I heard shouting,” came Mr Rumbold’s voice from nearby. He looked in the stock-room and did a double-take. “Mr Lucas! What on earth are you doing?”
“’E was helpin’ me get some stock off the top shelf,” Miss Brahms explained. “The ladder broke and he tried to grab ‘old of the shelf, but it gave way as well.”
“I’ve called Sister,” Mr Grainger grunted as he hobbled over. “She’s on her way down with some ibuprofen and ice packs.”
“Ridiculous,” Captain Peacock growled. “I had worse when I was in the desert. He’s perfectly alright.”
“Captain Peacock’s right,” Mr Lucas groaned. “I’ll be fi- AUGH!” He’d tried to sit up again but apparently the pain was too much. Miss Brahms reached under him and extracted a knobbly handbag that he’d been lying on.
“That’s better,” Mr Lucas panted. “Thank you.”
“Captain Peacock, we’re not in the desert now,” Mr Rumbold reprimanded the floorwalker. “And we are certainly not in the Army. Grace Brothers has a strict policy regarding accidents on the job. This should have been reported to me the moment it occurred.”
“But you came out, anyway,” Mrs Slocombe said, her brow knitted partly in concern for Mr Lucas but mostly in annoyance with Mr Rumbold. “So you know what’s ‘appened.”
“Well, yes,” Mr Rumbold concurred. “True. But I shall need to start the necessary paperwork now. Excuse me. Oh! Here comes Sister now.”
A kindly nurse came down the stairs and parted the crowd of onlookers to get to Mr Lucas. Upon seeing the welt on his head and bruises on his chest she tutted and began administering the ice packs in her hands.
“He’ll need some X-rays,” she said. “Here, take these.” She opened a bottle and forced some tablets into his hand. “They’re a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug. That should bring down the swelling and relieve some of the pain. Can you sit up?”
Mr Lucas made a final attempt to raise himself to a sitting position with the help of the ladies. He winced in pain but was soon propped up and able to swallow the tablets.
“Right, everyone out,” Sister commanded. “You two keep him sitting up. He mustn’t lie down for thirty minutes after taking those. Someone call a cab. Who’s going to accompany him to hospital?”
“I will,” Miss Brahms and Mr Humphries said together.
“I think it would be best if Mr Humphries went along,” Mr Rumbold said. “He can assist Mr Lucas in the emergency room should they require him to change into a hospital gown.”
“I don’t mind if Miss Brahms comes with me,” Mr Lucas whimpered. “She’s been a great comfort to me.”
Mr Rumbold shook his head. “No, Mr Humphries shall go with you.”
Mr Humphries smiled as he stepped over the strewn merchandise to take Miss Brahms’ place behind Mr Lucas, who was mumbling under his breath.
“I shall call a cab for them,” Mr Grainger stated and wandered over to the ladies’ phone.
“What about Mr Grainger?” Captain Peacock demanded. “You can’t expect him to run the counter alone.”
“Quite right, Peacock,” Mr Rumbold nodded. “You shall take Mr Humphries’ place for the remainder of the day.”
Captain Peacock’s face flushed crimson with fury. “I shall take his place?”
“That’s right,” Mr Rumbold said. “Mr Humphries, if you would, please, loan Captain Peacock your tape measure and chalk?”
Mr Humphries looked as though he’d been asked to pet a starving Rottweiller that was foaming at the mouth. He dipped his hand into his pocket and extracted both items. With a shaking hand he held them up, whereupon Captain Peacock snatched them violently before turning and heading toward the men’s counter.
“The cab is on its way,” Mr Grainger said. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, Mr Grainger,” Mr Rumbold said, clapping a hand on the senior salesman’s shoulder. “Captain Peacock shall be assisting you for the rest of the day. Carry on, everybody!” He waited until the staff dissipated back to their counters before lending a hand to Mr Lucas. He and Mr Humphries pulled the junior up to his feet. “Now, as soon as you hear anything from the doctor you are to phone me straight away and let me know.”
“Thank you, Mr Rumbold,” Mr Lucas whimpered. With Mr Humphries’ help he staggered upstairs to the waiting lift.
“Perhaps you and Miss Brahms can attend to the merchandise,” Mr Rumbold said, pointing to the jumble of goods. “I shall call Mr Mash up to take care of the shelves and ladder.”
“You know, that could have been one of us,” Mrs Slocombe remarked, running her hand over one of the broken rungs. “That poor boy. I actually feel terrible for him.”
“I’m sure Mr Lucas will be right as rain in no time,” Mr Rumbold assured her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I must start the necessary paperwork regarding this unfortunate incident.” And with that he was gone, leaving the women with the mess. Mrs Slocombe bent over and picked up a dark green dressing gown, draping it over her arm.
“Oh, that’s perfect!” cried the gentleman, who had been watching the entire affair. “I’ll take it!”
“Sale, Miss Brahms,” Mrs Slocombe sighed.

Later that afternoon the lift doors dinged open, revealing a very doped-up Mr Lucas who was being directed by Mr Humphries. He had a small bandage on his forehead and his shirt had been repaired with medical tape to prevent baring his chest for the world to see. He swayed a little at the top of the stairs before plodding down them and nearly colliding with the centre display stand. Fortunately he stopped just in time and giggled at the sight of a male mannequin wearing only a pair of bright blue Y-fronts.
“Lookit tha’ one,” he said to Mr Humphries. “’E barely fills ‘em out.”
“You’re one to talk,” Mr Humphries said with a derisive snort. “Come on, we’d better find Jug Ears and give him a report.”
“Oh, Mr Lucas!” Mrs Slocombe cried out. She sprinted toward him. “Are you all right?”
“Never better, Betty-baby,” Mr Lucas drawled. He caught her in a warm, friendly embrace. She stood frozen and looked quite nervous, but allowed him to pat her on the back affectionately. Then he gave her a kiss on the cheek and she looked as though she might faint.
“You’ll have to forgive my friend,” Mr Humphries said. “They gave him an injection of muscle relaxer and a bottle of the same.” He held up a vial of pills, giving it a shake to demonstrate. “You should have seen him when I came in the room. He took one look at me and started singing Puff the Magic Dragon, only he exchanged ‘Puff’ for ‘Poof’ and didn’t stop until I threatened to perform a certain Jewish operation. Even then he started giggling.”
“He’s going to be all right, though, isn’t he?” Miss Brahms asked as she joined them in the middle of the floor.
“’Allo, Shirley,” Mr Lucas grinned. “You’re looking lovely today. You know, I don’t half-fancy you. Whaddya say we go back to my place an’ I’ll…I’ll…” He swayed on the spot until Mr Humphries took his arm to steady him. “Ugh…I think that stuff they gave me was a bit potent.”
“All the more reason we should go see Mr Rumbold, tell him what the doctor said, and then get you home,” Mr Humphries said, trying to lead Mr Lucas away from the women.
Captain Peacock came out from a fitting room just then; he went directly to Mr Humphries, looking quite relieved. “Ah, you’re back,” he said. “And Mr Lucas looks perfectly all right. You will be wanting your tape measure and chalk back, I imagine…” He took both items from his pocket and offered them.
Mr Humphries shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not until tomorrow. Mr Lucas is a bit tipsy at the moment from – OI!” He gave Mr Lucas’ arm a hard yank when he noticed the junior was about to slip away toward Miss Brahms. “He’s had an injection of muscle relaxer, which is the only way he’s able to walk without pain.” Just then Mr Lucas’ knees gave way and he plopped onto the floor. He shook his head in much the same way a dog shakes when doused with water, then began chuckling as if someone told him a very naughty joke. Mr Humphries sighed and pulled him back to his feet. “I think I may need a few of these pills myself tonight.”
Captain Peacock’s expression turned very sour. He watched Mr Humphries struggle with Mr Lucas and was reminded of a petite woman who has bought a fourteen-stone English Mastiff without the luxuries of obedience training or sterilisation.
“What did the doctor say?” Miss Brahms asked.
“Hang on a minute,” Mr Humphries said. “Mr Grainger, might I borrow your chair for a moment?”
“Certainly, Mr Humphries,” Mr Grainger replied. He brought out a wooden chair and set it near the counter. Mr Humphries directed Mr Lucas to it, forced him to sit down, and took the tape measure from Captain Peacock. He tied it around Mr Lucas’ chest, securing him to the chair somewhat, then told him, “You will stay there until I’m ready for you. Move one foot and I’ll be more than happy to call a mohel tonight.”
“You look exhausted, Mr Humphries,” Mrs Slocombe remarked. “Do you want me to go get Mr Rumbold?”
“I think that would be best,” Mr Humphries said. “I can’t leave him alone for more than a few seconds or he wanders off and gets into all sorts of mischief. I had to stop him from groping several nurses and one time he tried to pinch a packet of biscuits from an elderly patient. Not to mention the foul language he used when the doctor told him he has to abstain from certain activities for two whole weeks!”
“What sort of activities?” Miss Brahms inquired.
“That will do, Miss Brahms,” Mrs Slocombe interrupted. “I’ll go get Mr Rumbold.” She left the floor while Mr Humphries smacked Mr Lucas’ wrist when he tried to pinch a female customer’s ample rear.
“Aside from the obvious injury to his head, he seems perfectly fine,” Captain Peacock remarked.
“He could have brain damage, you know,” Miss Brahms snapped.
“It would be very difficult to tell,” Captain Peacock snorted.
“Why is there medical tape all over his front?” Mr Grainger asked.
“Ah, that was my idea,” Mr Humphries said, leaning on the counter for support. “His shirt is ripped beyond repair and he was a bit self-conscious about his exposed chest, so I found some water-proof tape and did a quick fix while the nurse’s back was turned.”
“What about this?” Miss Brahms asked, pointing to the bandage.
“It’s a very minor cut,” Mr Humphries replied. “I’m more worried about the bump on his crown. I’m afraid vinegar and brown paper won’t be enough for it, but they’ve given him some anti-inflammatory medicine to keep the swelling down.”
Just then Mr Rumbold appeared on the floor, followed closely behind by Mrs Slocombe. She stood by Miss Brahms, who was still fussing over Mr Lucas while Mr Rumbold looked him over, tutting as he did so.
“Oh dear,” he muttered. “He does look terrible.”
“You’re not so pretty yourself,” Mr Lucas smirked.
Mr Rumbold bristled at this remark until Mr Humphries sighed and said, “He’s drugged up, you can’t take anything he says personally. He’s already told me at least ten times that I’m his best friend, even though I’m about as macho as Judy Garland.”
“I see,” Mr Rumbold nodded. “Well, what did the doctor say?”
“That I’ve got the sweetest ass she’s ever seen,” Mr Lucas replied.
“No, she said you were very sweet, even if you are an ass,” Mr Humphries corrected him. “She also said he’s pulled several muscles in his back and to keep an eye on the bruises. She advised that he stay home from work the rest of this week and he’s not allowed to lift more than ten pounds when he returns. He has an appointment for a recheck in two weeks. Here’s a copy of his Dos and Don’ts for the next fortnight.” Mr Humphries took out a few sheets of paper that had been folded and tucked into his inside coat pocket. He sifted through and handed one to Mr Rumbold. “Here’s his work excuse…copy of the bill…copy of the medical chart…and a receipt for the cab fares.” He passed each one to Mr Rumbold, whose expression turned a shade graver as he took them.
“Yes, this seems to be in order,” he said as he scanned the pages. “Very well, Mr Lucas, you are excused for the rest of the week. However, we shall require certain documents to be filled out each and every time you see the doctor for this particular condition.”
“Ooooh,” Mr Lucas cooed. He’d just realised that Miss Brahms was right behind him and had craned his neck so he could get a look at her ample bosom. “Wibbles wobble but they don’t fall down!”
Miss Brahms jumped back, clutching her hands to her chest, her expression one of shock and fury.
“I’ll explain everything to him later when the drugs wear off,” Mr Humphries groaned. “I’d best get him home now. Come along, Mr Lucas!”
“Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock demanded. “Mr Lucas has been excused from his position, not you.”
“That’s quite alright,” Mr Rumbold said, waving aside Captain Peacock’s remark. “It’s obvious that Mr Lucas would be lost without a trusted friend. You are excused for the remainder of the day, Mr Humphries.”
“Thank you, Mr Rumbold,” Mr Humphries said. “Mr Lucas, are you…oh, right…” He removed the tape measure restraint and handed it back to Captain Peacock. “Just stick it in my drawer when you’re finished with it,” he added.
“Do you mean to tell me that you’re going along with this charade?” Captain Peacock practically spat. “The boy is perfectly fine! Why, I had worse injuries when I was fighting Rommel in the desert, yet I still carried on.”
“Captain Peacock, we’re not in the desert anymore,” Mr Rumbold reprimanded him.
“He wasn’t in the desert then,” Mr Grainger muttered under his breath to Mrs Slocombe.
“Still, I see no reason why he cannot do his job,” Captain Peacock snapped. “Other than the obvious lack of mental capacity that was present before he was hit on the head.”
“You’re just cross because you’ve had to take up Mr Humphries’ position today,” Mrs Slocombe growled, “instead of walking around being a pompous twit.”
“I will not be spoken to like that,” Captain Peacock fumed.
“Quite right,” Mr Rumbold stated firmly.
“Thank you,” Captain Peacock said.
“I am the only one with the authority to tell you that you’re a pompous twit,” Mr Rumbold said.
Captain Peacock was fuming now. “I am merely pointing out that Mr Lucas’ condition will in no way interfere with his job duties and that he is being coddled in a manner that will not be beneficial to his physical or mental health.”
“Oh go blow it our your ass, Steve,” Mr Lucas suddenly snarled.
Everyone turned to stare at Mr Lucas, who was suddenly quite lucid. He jerked his arm free of Mr Humphries’ grip and walked right up to Captain Peacock. Their faces were inches apart and although Mr Lucas was slightly shorter than the floorwalker he still seemed to tower over him with his rage.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” Mr Lucas growled, “but I’ve had it with you. Ever since I started here you’ve been downright horrible to me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it but it ends now.”
He took a step back and the staff could see that Captain Peacock was shocked and trying his best to hide it. Mr Lucas turned and addressed Mr Rumbold now in a much calmer tone.
“I would like to request a transfer to another department when I return,” he stated firmly. “I refuse to work under this man any longer. To do so would jeopardise my emotional and physical health even worse than it is now. And if need be I will consult a solicitor regarding this matter.”
Mr Rumbold shook his head, rocking back and forth on his heels. “There will be no need for that, Mr Lucas,” he said, holding his hand up defensively. “I quite understand. I shall make some inquiries this week and see that you are transferred to another department. I believe there is an opening in Electronics that might be suitable.”
“Thank you, Mr Rumbold,” Mr Lucas said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my doctor has ordered that I take as much rest as possible this week.” He turned to Mr Grainger and shook his hand. “Mr Grainger, it has been a privilege.” Then he addressed the women. “Mrs Slocombe, Miss Brahms, it has been an honour.” He took their hands and even kissed their knuckles in a gentlemanly fashion.
He turned to Mr Humphries last and embraced him like a brother. “Thank you for everything. You really are my best friend, you know. I’ll miss working with you.”
Mr Humphries looked quite alarmed. “You can’t leave us,” he whimpered. “Who am I going to share my confidences with?”
“You’ve got my number,” Mr Lucas replied.
Mr Humphries pressed his handkerchief to his mouth to stifle the sobs that were on their way. Mr Lucas smiled affectionately, gave the sales assistant a friendly pat on the back, then started ascending the stairs. At the top he pressed the call button, stepped into the lift, and turned around. “Oh, and Captain Peacock?”
“Hmm?” the floorwalker answered.
Mr Lucas blew a raspberry and gave him the two-finger salute before disappearing behind the doors.

The next few days were somewhat tense as Mr Rumbold interviewed applicants for Mr Lucas’ old position. On the floor Captain Peacock acted as if nothing had happened while Mr Humphries silently seethed in anger. Mr Grainger forgot more than once that they had no junior and would start to call for Mr Lucas, then catch himself and shake his head solemnly. In fact, the only persons who seemed a bit relieved by his absence were the women.
“I hate to say it, but it is much nicer without Mr Lucas here,” Mrs Slocombe observed at lunch on Friday.
“I know,” Miss Brahms said. “No rude comments, no insults, no sarky remarks…”
“And no laughs,” Mr Humphries sniffled.
“He was always very kind to me,” Mr Grainger reminisced. “Even though he made all those jokes at our expense, you had to laugh.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Mrs Slocombe retorted disdainfully. “He was thoroughly aggregating to myself and Miss Brahms.”
“Aggravating,” Mr Humphries corrected her. “Aggregating is where you collect or gather into a group.”
“What, like at special events?” Miss Brahms asked.
“Sort of,” Mr Humphries replied. He looked down at his Lancashire hot pot, which he’d hardly touched, and had an idea. “Here, this is a good example.” He pushed all the carrots to one side of his plate. “You see, the carrots have aggregated to one side.”
“Why not just say they’ve joined up togevver?” Miss Brahms inquired.
“I don’t know,” Mr Humphries said. “Ask Mrs Slocombe. She’s the one who brought it up in the first place.”
“I did not,” Mrs Slocombe snapped. “I merely pointed out that since Mr Lucas is not here the atmosphere is much more amiable and congenital.”
Mr Humphries looked at her with a mixed expression of irritation and pity. “Mrs Slocombe, do you ever stop and think before you speak? It’s times like this when I think of giving you a dictionary for your birthday next month.”
Mrs Slocombe puffed up in fury but before she could retort they were joined by Captain Peacock. No one said a word to him as he sat down. Mr Humphries even went so far as to move to the end of the table, taking up Mr Lucas’ former place. Captain Peacock ignored this and actually began humming under his breath.
“Ah, I’m glad you’re all here,” Mr Rumbold said as he approached their table. “I’ve got some good news. I’ve found a suitable applicant to replace Mr Lucas. He’s young, friendly, energetic, and has some former experience in sales, so he should be able to bring some fresh ideas to our department.”
Mr Humphries looked away from the table as he tried to repress a sob. Miss Brahms put a consoling hand on his arm while Mrs Slocombe inquired, “When will he be joining us?”
“Monday morning,” Mr Rumbold beamed. “As he is new to Grace Brothers I would like for you all to arrive at eight-thirty sharp to meet him and welcome him to our floor.”
“And does this new staff member have a name?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Oh yes,” Mr Rumbold replied. “Martin Smith. Charming young man. Just left Cambridge last year. Well, I shall leave you to your lunch. Carry on, everybody!”
Mr Grainger watched as the manager walked away and grumbled, “That didn’t take long.”
“It’s not a difficult position to fill,” Captain Peacock said airily. “The only qualifications necessary are having a body temperature of approximately ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit, knowledge and skills directed toward inspiring and expiring air from one’s lungs, and the ability to count without the aid of one’s fingers.”
“In other words, you would only just be qualified for the position,” Mr Humphries muttered under his breath.
“I heard that, Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock drawled. “You would do well to respect your superiors or you might end up looking for such employment yourself.” He picked up his newspaper, which was folded to the comics section, and took a bite of his sandwich.
Mr Humphries turned quite pale but said nothing. Instead he returned his aggregated carrots to the rest of the hot pot, but didn’t eat them. The others were also quite shocked by Captain Peacock’s statement; Mrs Slocombe was now puffed up like a blowfish. She looked ready to pop at any moment. But it was Mr Grainger who spoke next.
“Captain Peacock, I don’t think that was very fair,” he said as amiably as he could given the tense atmosphere. “Mr Humphries is still quite upset about Mr Lucas leaving us. They were quite close, you know. Almost like brothers. And the Canteen is a place where we are allowed to speak freely without fear of reprimands or repercussions.”
“Very true, Ernest,” Captain Peacock replied without looking up from his paper. “However, as floorwalker and an ex-officer of the Royal Army I do demand the respect due to me, whether we are on the floor, in the Canteen, or at the social club.”
“You’re quite correct, Captain Peacock,” Mrs Slocombe said.
Captain Peacock gave her a warm smile. “Thank you, Mrs Slocombe.”
“And allow me to show you some of the very respect you deserve,” she simpered. She stood up and gave him the two-finger salute along with a particularly damp raspberry. Then she picked up her plate and stalked off to another table, followed by Miss Brahms, Mr Grainger, and Mr Humphries.
On Monday morning the staff arrived at eight-thirty and began signing the book. Captain Peacock, as usual, stood nearby glancing at his watch. However, as they were all on time he had no reason to admonish them or make snide remarks so he focused instead on their appearances.
“Miss Brahms, you have been told more than once that you are not allowed more frills on your blouse than years you have worked here,” he stated. “Mrs Slocombe, please attend to your junior’s attire. Mr Grainger, you’re missing a button on your waistcoat. Have Mr Humphries repair it for you. I believe he has quite a lot of experience with seamstress work.”
Mr Humphries glared at him and as soon as his back was turned he held up a middle finger. He dropped this when he heard the lift open once more and Mr Rumbold came out.
“Ah, excellent! You’re all here.” Mr Rumbold removed his executive bowler and beamed at everyone. “Mr Smith should be here at any moment. Line up in order of seniority, please.”
The staff quietly took up their positions and waited patiently. Mr Rumbold walked down the line, nodding as he went. He stopped when he came to Miss Brahms and stared at her chest. She’d removed the frills according to Captain Peacock’s command but it had left several inches of cleavage exposed.
“Miss Brahms,” Mr Rumbold sighed, “please cover yourself properly.
“Wif what?” she asked.
Mr Rumbold shook his head and turned to look at the ladies’ counter. He found the frills that had been cut from her shirt and picked them up. Offering them to her, he said, “Perhaps you can pin these to your blouse for now.”
Miss Brahms smirked as she took the frills back and tucked the edges into her shirt, covering her cleavage nicely. Just then the lift doors dinged and Mr Rumbold exclaimed, “Ah, there he is! Now let’s make him feel welcome by calling out to him in a warm, friendly, jovial manner. Ready? Now!”
“Welcome to the first floor!” the staff chorused.
Mr Lucas stepped out of the lift, grinning from ear to ear. He looked much different in a dark blue three-piece and a shorter haircut. “Blimey!” he chuckled. “You lot miss me that much?”
“Mr Lucas, what are you doing down here?” Mr Rumbold demanded. “You’ve been transferred to the Electronics department; that’s on the fourth floor.”
“Actually, Mr Grace transferred me again,” Mr Lucas replied. “They gave the gig in Electronics to some new bird and he sent me to Accounts. I’m just here to collect my textbook, which I forgot to take with me Thursday.”
“Accounts?” Captain Peacock scoffed. “And what qualifies you to manage Grace Brothers’ financial matters?”
“Aside from the fact that I’m back at university studying business?” Mr Lucas replied casually, tugging the sleeves on his jacket. “Well, there’s also the three years I helped out at the skating rink mum worked at, doing book-keeping and pay-roll for the manager. Since Mr Pendley is on medical leave for his gallbladder surgery, Mr Grace thought I’d be the perfect replacement. Sure, it’s a temporary position at the moment but if Mr Turner does retire at the end of the year, well, it could be permanent.”
Mr Rumbold looked confused while Captain Peacock appeared mutinous. The women and Mr Grainger just stared while Mr Humphries tried his best not to burst out laughing as he passed Mr Lucas his book.
“Anyway,” Mr Lucas sighed, “I’d best get down to the basement or Mrs Thompson will have nicked all the coffee. I’ll see you lot at lunch!” With a cheery wave he went back to the lift and was gone. A second later the other lift dinged and a young, tall, dark-blonde fellow burst forth . He nearly tripped on the last step and came to an abrupt halt in front of Mr Rumbold.
“Sorry…sorry I’m late…Mr…Rumbold,” he panted. “Only…my alarm failed to go off…and I couldn’t get a taxi due to the terrible traffic.”
“Never mind that,” Mr Rumbold said, not unkindly. “Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the staff. You will be under Mr Humphries, the sales assistant. He is under Mr Grainger, the senior salesman, who is under Captain Peacock, the floorwalker.” With each introduction the men inclined their heads politely.
“And now the ladies,” Mr Rumbold continued. “This is Miss Brahms, junior to Mrs Slocombe.” The women inclined their heads in the same manner. “Everyone, this is Martin Smith. He is from Croydon, I believe, and just left Cambridge where he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English and Literature. During his years at university he worked for Lally and Willets, in not only their men’s department but also Haberdashery and Shoes.”
“May one ask why he left Lally and Willets?” Captain Peacock asked.
Mr Smith shrugged as he replied, “There wasn’t much room for advancement. Couldn’t see myself going anywhere in that place. I’ve got too much ambition, too much drive…”
“Pity you’ll be stuck in neutral here,” Mr Humphries muttered under his breath.
Mr Rumbold clapped a hand on Mr Smith’s shoulder. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be very happy here at Grace Brothers. Now, let’s all give Mr Smith a warm welcome to the department.”
The staff murmured a rather chilly welcome, but Mr Smith grinned broadly.
“Right! Where do I go and what do I do?” he asked.
“I shall leave that to our Mr Grainger and Mr Humphries,” Mr Rumbold replied. “Well, carry on, everyone!” He smiled at the staff and left for his office.
Mrs Slocombe and Miss Brahms started to leave when the junior jumped and squeaked.
“Are you alright, Miss Brahms?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Someone just pinched me,” Miss Brahms snapped.
Captain Peacock raised an eyebrow in alarm. “Who pinched Miss Brahms?” he demanded. “Own up or we shall remain behind after the store closes. Mr Grainger, was it you?”
“Certainly not, Captain Peacock,” Mr Grainger replied sullenly.
“Mr Humphries?” Captain Peacock drawled.
“Innocent,” Mr Humphries said. “But thanks.”
“I can only conclude that it was you, Mr Smith,” Captain Peacock said, turning to the new junior. “I will overlook it this time since you are new. However, any future incidents will result in a reprimand then you will be on report. Understood?”
“Understood, Mr Peacock,” Mr Smith said.
“Captain Peacock,” the floorwalker growled.
“Yes sir, Captain sir,” Mr Smith replied, saluting.
“Just get to your counter so that the men may begin your training,” Captain Peacock groaned.
Mr Grainger stepped behind the counter, followed by Mr Humphries, who looked back and beckoned for Mr Smith to follow. He then took out a drawer and placed it on the counter.
“This will be your personal drawer,” Mr Humphries explained. “Inside you will find the previous junior’s tape measure, chalk, and…” He looked inside and sighed. “…his copy of The Magician’s Nephew.” Mr Humphries shook his head sadly and pocketed the tome. “I’ll take this down to him later. Oh…he might also want his spare handkerchief. The rest is yours. You are to keep your tape measure and chalk in your pocket. On no accounts are you allowed to drape your tape measure around your neck. That privilege is reserved only for the senior salesman, Mr Grainger.”
“Got it,” Mr Smith said, taking the drawer and peering inside. “So, when do the customers get ‘ere?”
“The opening bell will sound at nine o’clock sharp,” Mr Grainger replied. “When they arrive they shall be doled out according to seniority. I am given the first customer, then if I am still engaged the next customer goes to Mr Humphries, unless he is assisting me. The next customer after that, if we are both engaged, is yours. However, at any time Mr Humphries or myself may require your assistance. In which case, unless you are with a customer yourself, you are to avail yourself to our needs. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Mr Smith nodded.
Mr Grainger looked the junior up and down, sniffed disdainfully, and walked away. Just then the opening bell went off and the lift doors opened, expelling a handful of young women who went right for the ladies’ counter. Mr Smith watched them with a broad grin on his face.
“Cor, blimey!” he breathed. “Check out the birds!”
Mr Humphries glanced over at the women but was obviously unimpressed. “Those shoes are so last autumn,” he scoffed.
“Who cares?” Mr Smith said. “Here, cover me. I’m goin’ in!”
“No you’re not,” Mr Humphries said, catching Mr Smith by the arm. “We’re not allowed to leave our counters.”
“Say what?” Mr Smith exclaimed. “What if we’ve got to drain the lizard?”
Mr Humphries blinked several times before replying, “First, we do not use the phrase ‘drain the lizard’. We excuse ourselves politely before attending to our bodily functions. And should the need arise you are to alert myself or Mr Grainger before leaving the counter. You are allowed up to five minutes and I hope I needn’t explain the necessity for you wash your hands properly before returning to your position.”
“I quite understand, really,” Mr Smith nodded. “So, would it be alright if I, er, attend to my bodily functions, then?”
“Oh very well,” Mr Humphries sighed, waving a hand in exasperation. “Go on.”
Mr Smith smiled and straightened his tie, then started toward the gents’ toilet. He looked back at the last second, saw that both men had their attention elsewhere, and changed direction, headed for the girls. A moment later there was a loud ‘SMACK!’ and Mr Smith was propelled backwards into the centre display. He crashed into the male dummy that was displaying the same blue Y-fronts, sending its arms flying.
Captain Peacock whipped around when he heard the crash and quickly sprinted over. When he saw Mr Smith looking dazed and confused atop the broken centre display unit the floorwalker flushed scarlet with rage.
“Mr Smith, what on Earth do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Trying to get a date for Friday night,” Mr Smith replied. “So far no luck.”
“Get up!” Captain Peacock growled. “And get back to your counter this instant!”
Mr Smith stood up and brushed himself off. Then he picked a pair of underwear from his shoulder and offered it to Captain Peacock, who snatched it from him and pointed to the men’s counter. Mr Smith did as he was told, slouching the entire time.
“What were you playing at?” Mr Humphries hissed.
“Just wanted a bit of crumpet, that’s all,” Mr Smith shrugged.
“I told you not to go over there,” Mr Humphries said. “Oh! Mr Rumbold’s going to have a fit when he sees that lot!”
Captain Peacock looked over the damage and sighed. Then he went to the men’s counter, holding up a dismembered plastic arm.
“Mr Grainger, are you free?” he asked.
Mr Grainger looked left then right before replying, “Yes, I’m free.”
“Would you please gather your assistant and junior and meet me at the centre display?” Captain Peacock requested.
“Certainly, Captain Peacock,” Mr Grainger replied. He waited until the floorwalker stepped away then turned to the others. “Mr Humphries, Mr Luc-, I mean, Mr Smith? Follow me.”
Mr Humphries gave Mr Smith a nudge and they queued up behind Mr Grainger, who led them to the centre display. Captain Peacock glared at both men rather nastily.
“Mr Smith, did you ask for permission to leave your counter?” he demanded.
“Yes sir,” Mr Smith replied.
“Who gave you permission?” Captain Peacock inquired.
“Mr Humphries did, sir,” Mr Smith said.
“Mr Humphries, did you give Mr Smith permission to leave his counter to address those girls at the ladies’ counter?”
“Certainly not, Captain Peacock,” Mr Humphries replied. “He asked to be excused to the gents’ toilet and I said he could go.”
“Is this true, Mr Smith?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Not really,” Mr Smith answered. “I asked if I could attend to my bodily functions. There was no mention of the toilet.”
Mr Humphries rounded on Mr Smith. “You implied that you were going to the gents’!”
“Ah, you assumed I was going to the gents’,” Mr Smith grinned. “Remember, when you assume you make an ass of ‘u’ and me.”
Now it was Mr Humphries’ turn to be livid but before he could say anything else Captain Peacock interrupted.
“I will not have this sort of behaviour on my floor.” He thrust the arm into Mr Humphries’ hands. “You two will clean up this mess while I go see Mr Rumbold about replacing it and docking both your wages.”
“What, mine as well?” Mr Humphries exclaimed.
“Yes, yours as well,” Captain Peacock said. “Perhaps from now on you will assert more control over your junior.”
Mr Grainger shook his head slowly and tutted. Captain Peacock heard him and added, “And you, Mr Grainger…where were you when all this occurred?”
Mr Grainger looked up and blinked. “I was at my post, waiting for a customer.”
“Why weren’t you supervising these two properly?” Captain Peacock growled. “Instead of wasting time standing around?”
“I was not wasting time,” Mr Grainger snapped. “And I shall not be spoken to like that in front of my assistants!”
“Then I suggest you set a better example for them,” Captain Peacock said firmly. “You two – get to work! I want this lot cleaned up before I return. Mr Grainger shall attend to any customers while you two are working.” He then stormed off to Mr Rumbold’s office.
Mr Humphries waited until the floorwalker was out of earshot before shoving the arm at Mr Smith. “A fine mess you’ve gotten us into. If you can’t keep your hormones under control I will be more than happy to castrate you myself!” He went to the stock-room to get a broom and dust-pan. As soon as his back was turned Mr Smith gave him the two-finger salute before busying himself with the broken bits of mannequin strewn on the floor.

At one o’clock the staff queued up for some of the dreariest looking bangers and mash they had seen in years as well as pilchard salads that looked like they had been made three weeks previously. The tea was translucent, even when you added milk, and the coffee’s viscosity was similar to that of tapioca pudding – complete with lumps. The staff paid for their food and filed into their seats looking quite disgusted. This time, however, it wasn’t just because of the food.
“I wonder what’s going on with Captain Peacock,” Miss Brahms said. “I mean, he’s been ever so horrible lately. You’d think with Mr Lucas gone he’d lighten up a little.”
“Is he always like this?” Mr Smith asked.
“Not always,” Mrs Slocombe replied, looking upon the junior with much distaste. Turning to the others she added, “I wonder if things at home aren’t exactly peaceful these days?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Mr Humphries said. “Remember at the last Christmas party, when he kept chasing Mrs Thompson from Accounts with his blow-tickler? Mrs Peacock found out and he slept on the sofa for a fortnight.”
“That blow-tickler of his will cause him quite a lot of trouble one day,” Mr Grainger grumbled. He shovelled a forkful of potatoes into his mouth, spilling half of them into his lap.
“Feeding bag for Mr Grainger,” Mr Humphries sighed.
“He does bring it all on himself,” Miss Brahms remarked. “Don’t none of us ask to be pinched or tickled or molested. He and half the other men in the store do it on their own.”
“What do you mean, half the men in the store?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Well, there’s Captain Peacock what does it,” Miss Brahms replied. “Mr Lucas, of course. Then there’s Mr Bentall, Mr Franklin, Mr Davis, Mr Lewison, Mr Franco, Mr Theobold, and Mr Bradford.”
“Is that the same Mr Bradford what works in Bathroom Fittings?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“The very one,” Miss Brahms said. “I went up there to buy a ball cock unit and I know he did not misunderstand me!”
Mr Humphries had been drinking from a glass of water; when he heard this he accidentally sprayed a mouthful of liquid, then stared at her in horror.
“Disgusting,” Miss Brahms snarled.
“Well excuse me!” Mr Humphries exclaimed, wiping his mouth and face with a napkin. “I wasn’t prepared for that part of your story.”
“Not you,” Miss Brahms grumbled. “I mean the way we women get treated. I mean, surely there’s something in the tribunal about sexual harassment and misconduct in the workplace. We should try and look it up.”
“I quite agree, Miss Brahms,” Mrs Slocombe concurred. “I shall speak to Mr Rumbold and see if we can do a bit of research. Then we’ll complain to management and they’ll put a stop to it!”
“Mind you, Mr Grace won’t care, will he?” Miss Brahms pointed out. “I mean, he’s the worst one, innit he? And since he’s the owner he figures he can get away wif anyfing.”
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Mr Grainger said.
“You know why Captain Peacock does it,” Mrs Slocombe muttered. “He’s probably not getting what he needs at home. Either that or he’s suffering from…well, you know.”
“Know what?” Miss Brahms asked.
Mrs Slocombe looked around then whispered into her ear. Miss Brahms’ brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, he’s imported?”
Mrs Slocombe rolled her eyes. “Not imported,” she said. She whispered again into her junior’s ear. Miss Brahms’ expression switched from bewilderment to horror and she clapped a hand to her mouth.
“Thank you for the mental image,” she cried. “Ugh, I don’t think I can eat these now.” She pushed away her plate of bangers.
“I’ll trade you,” Mr Humphries said, offering his pilchard salad.
Captain Peacock came over just then with his own plate of dismal sausages and lumpy potatoes. The staff went back to their food quietly. The floorwalker tapped a pair of sugar packets with his fingers, looked down the table, then said, “You’re being awfully quiet this afternoon.”
No one said anything for a moment, then Mrs Slocombe spoke up. “We were actually discussing you just a moment ago.”
Captain Peacock raised an eyebrow. “Do tell?”
“We hoped you might do that yourself,” Mrs Slocombe replied. “We’ve noticed you’ve been in a rather cantakerous mood lately.”
“And you’ve been takin’ it out on us,” Miss Brahms said.
Mrs Slocombe softened her expression as she leaned closer, whispering, “Is there anything you want to tell us, Captain Peacock? I mean, you and I do go back many years. If there is something bothering you we’d like to know.”
Captain Peacock shook his head and waved her concern away. “There is something, but I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Come now, Stephen,” Mr Grainger said, patting his arm in a brotherly manner. “You and I have been friends for twenty years now. We’ve shared all sorts of troubles and tribulations with each other. Not to mention the good times. Remember back in 1965, when Mr Prentice was about to retire? Remember the prank we pulled on him his last day in the shoppe?”
Captain Peacock managed a small smile. “Ah yes, the fake crime scene in his office. It took us an hour to get that chalk outline out of the carpet.” He chuckled a little at the memory. “Such good times! However, I’m not terribly keen on venting any issues at the moment. Perhaps later. But thank you, Ernest. Betty.” He raised his cup of tea to each of them before sipping it.
“Oh come on, Captain,” Mr Smith chimed in. “Tell us what’s wrong. Is the missus not givin’ you any again?”
Captain Peacock’s eyes bulged and he sprayed hot tea from his mouth. He turned and glared at the junior, who had his head cocked to one side in mock concern.
“How dare you?” Captain Peacock demanded.
Mr Smith looked very taken aback. “Sorry, I’m just curious, that’s all. I mean, this lot’s real worried about you. They’ve been trying to figure out if you’re not happy at home or…”
Mr Humphries shook his head fearfully and made a cutting gesture across his neck while Mrs Slocombe silently formed the words ‘Shut UP!’ Miss Brahms merely pressed a finger to her lips while Mr Grainger scowled. Still, Mr Smith went on.
“…or maybe Mrs Peacock was making you sleep on the couch ‘cause you groped some girl. Then they were wondering if maybe you were impotent or something.”
Captain Peacock stood up so quickly that the table was jettisoned forward six inches. Mrs Slocombe rose from her seat as well and had her right fist up like she was about to wallop Mr Smith. Mr Humphries became very pale and could be heard muttering a certain four letter word under his breath.
“Oh dear,” Mr Smith said quietly. “I think I may have offended some people at this table.” He got up and slowly moved away. “Perhaps it would be best if I finish my meal elsewhere.”
Mrs Slocombe made like she was about to pounce and he jumped, then quickly retreated to the furthest table he could find.
Captain Peacock said nothing but it was obvious he was absolutely livid. He straightened his tie, tugged his jacket into place, and stalked away from the table. They watched him leave and Mrs Slocombe reclaimed her chair while Mr Humphries pulled the table back into place.
“That boy has got to go,” Mr Grainger said.
“For once I agree with you,” Mrs Slocombe said. “He has to be the stupidest, most sexist, chauvinistic, pig-headed twit I have ever had the misfortune of encountering in my life!”
“Sorta makes you appreciate Mr Lucas, dunnit?” Miss Brahms remarked.
Mrs Slocombe closed her eyes for a moment before replying. “Sadly, you are correct, Miss Brahms. Even I will admit that we never had this much calamity with Mr Lucas.”
“D’ya think we could get him back?” Miss Brahms asked.
“I doubt he’d come back,” Mr Humphries sighed. “His new position pays better and technically he now outranks both Rumbold and Peacock. One word from him and their pay could be docked. Or worse! He could easily have them sacked.”
“That’s it!” Mrs Slocombe exclaimed. “Mr Lucas could get rid of that Smith boy. Course, persuading him to come back will certainly be a challenge.”
“Not really,” said a familiar voice behind them.
They all turned to see Mr Lucas standing nearby with a cup of tea in his hand. He took his old place at the table, smiling kindly at them the whole time. “Miss me?”
“Oh yes!” Miss Brahms cried, flinging her arms around his neck. “Oh, it’s not the same without you. That stupid boy’s got us all into trouble and he hasn’t even been here one whole day!”
“Makes you appreciate what you had, doesn’t it?” Mr Lucas grinned. “So, what’s the plan?”
“What do you mean ‘what’s the plan?’” Mr Grainger asked.
“You lot want me back, don’t you?” Mr Lucas replied. “And to be perfectly honest I want to come back.”
“Are you serious?” Mr Humphries said. “Aren’t you getting paid more?”
“And what about all that authority you have now?” Miss Brahms said.
“Not to mention the fact that you don’t have to deal with Captain Peacock’s vicious mood swings,” Mrs Slocombe pointed out.
“Yeah, but it’s not all it’s cracked up to be down there,” Mr Lucas sighed. He started to speak again when a look of sheer terror crept across his face.
The others turned to see an older overweight woman with a moustache similar to Captain Peacock’s. She was beckoning to Mr Lucas, smiling sweetly at him and suddenly made a kissing noise. Mr Lucas gulped and raised a shaking hand in greeting. She was soon joined by a very homely-looking girl who had large, thick eyeglasses and orange frizzy hair. Both made kissy-faces at him as they waved, then they ran off giggling.
Mr Humphries turned and gave Mr Lucas a slight smirk. “Someone’s popular.”
Mr Lucas stared him and shook his head. “That was Miss Baker and Miss Yearling,” he said. “They won’t leave me alone. Mrs Thompson is the worst, though. She’s not bad-looking, but she’s very bold. So very bold.” He shuddered a bit then sipped his tea.
“Is that why you want to come back so bad?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“That and the giant rats down in the basement,” Mr Lucas joked. “Nah, I miss you lot. I miss sharing stories with you, Mr Humphries, and hearing your war tales, Mr Grainger. I even miss getting bitched at by you, Mrs Slocombe.”
“What about me?” Miss Brahms asked, pouting slightly.
“I definitely miss you, Shirley,” Mr Lucas nodded. “I miss trying to chat you up, even though you always turned me down.”
“I miss telling you to sod off,” Miss Brahms smiled. “Oh, do come back!”
“Well, like I said – what’s the plan?” Mr Lucas said.
“I should think it’s quite simple,” Mr Humphries replied. “In your new position you have much more power than we do. All you’ve got to do is give Peacock and Rumbold an ultimatum: they can give you back your old job or lose theirs. Then it’s just a matter of sacking that stupid Smith lad.”
“What, Edward Smith?” Mr Lucas asked. “The one who lives in Carshalton, and works in Do-It-Yourself?”
“No,” Mr Humphries said. “That bloody Martin Smith from Croydon, who just came from Lally and Willets.”
“Oh yeah, that one.” Mr Lucas scratched his chin thoughtfully, then stood up. “Right. I’ll take care of this. Don’t you worry! I’ll be back at the men’s counter before you know it.”
“Here, here!” the staff chorused.

At five-thirty the closing bell sounded and the last few customers wound their way toward the lift. Captain Peacock watched them go and when the lift doors closed on the last one he turned to retrieve his hat and coat from the stock-room. He passed the men’s counter without a word; he hadn’t spoken to any of the staff since lunch. This was almost preferable to his former attitude, but it did make for a very tense atmosphere.
Mr Grainger and Mr Humphries had nearly finished covering the counters when Mr Rumbold appeared on the floor, closely followed by Mr Lucas. The younger man gave a subtle wink to his co-workers as well as a thumbs-up.
“Ah, I’m glad you’re all here,” Mr Rumbold said nervously. “I have a very important announcement.” Mr Lucas cleared his throat, prompting Mr Rumbold to correct himself. “Er, that is, we have an important announcement. Where is Captain Peacock?”
“Over here,” the floorwalker replied, returning to the floor. He saw Mr Lucas and for a moment his expression softened slightly. Mrs Slocombe saw this and nudged Miss Brahms.
“I’ll bet he hasn’t heard about Mr Lucas’ ultimatum,” she whispered. Miss Brahms shook her head.
“Well, first of all,” Mr Rumbold began, “I’m afraid to say that we will no longer require your services, Mr Smith.”
“What?” Mr Smith cried. “You’re givin’ me the sack?”
“I am, actually,” Mr Lucas spoke up. “You see, the damage you caused earlier today with your little stunt amounts to more than most new juniors make in a month. Believe me, I speak from experience!”
“Yes,” Mr Rumbold agreed. “And none of us can justify docking Mr Humphries’ wages as well as yours to pay for the mannequin and the centre display unit. Therefore we believe it would be best if you were no longer employed here.”
“Nice,” Mr Smith grumbled. “Real nice.” He muttered several vulgarities as he ascended the stairs to the lift, where he jabbed the call button repeatedly until the doors opened. A moment later he was gone and the staff breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“I cannot tell you how grateful I am,” Mr Humphries sighed. “Not only for not docking my pay but for sacking that horrible boy!”
“Yes, well, this now leaves a vacancy on the men’s counter,” Mr Rumbold said. “However, Mr Lucas has graciously offered to return to his position and I have already made the necessary arrangements.”
The staff were delighted with this news. Mr Humphries even burst into tears while Mr Grainger shook Mr Lucas’ hand. Captain Peacock, however, still had a sombre look about his countenance.
“May one ask when Mr Lucas will be resuming his post?” he asked.
“Tomorrow morning, Stephen,” Mr Lucas smirked. “And may I add that Mr Grace has made it quite clear that I may return to Accounts at any time I please. Given what you lot have gone through today with that bloody Martin Smith from Croydon, I think it would be wise to learn to appreciate the junior you know rather than the junior you don’t know.”
“Here, here,” the staff chorused, except for Captain Peacock. He merely rolled his eyes and asked, “Is there anything else?”
“I believe that’s all for today,” Mr Rumbold said. “I shall speak to you in the morning, Captain Peacock. Well, good night, everyone!” And with that he left them on the floor. Captain Peacock shook his head and went upstairs to the lift without a second glance behind him. Once he was in the lift the others crowded around Mr Lucas, congratulating him on his return.
“Oh, you’re too kind,” he grinned.
“We’re so glad you’re back,” Miss Brahms bubbled.
“So am I,” Mr Lucas said. “Cor, you wouldn’t believe that Thompson bitch from Accounts. Bold as brass, she is! I really feel for you girls, I do.”
“Did she insult you?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Or make rude, sexist comments?” Miss Brahms added.
“No, but she certainly left her mark on me,” Mr Lucas replied. He turned around and revealed a pair of black handprints on his rear. “She got me while she was changing the toner in the Xerox machine,” he explained.
Mr Humphries shook his head and chuckled. “Well, I did warn you, didn’t I, that that sexist attitude would come back to you in the end?” he cracked. “I was right, too, wasn’t I?”
Mr Lucas turned back around, smiling. For once he didn’t mind being the butt of the joke.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

THERE’S NO ACCOUNTING FOR POOR MANNERS
BY DALE JACKSON

London can get up to 33°C in the middle of summer. The horrendous heat will make any of the city’s denizens rife with irritation as they wipe buckets of sweat from their bodies. In Grace Brothers Department Store the feelings of contempt were even worse as the central air conditioner had gone off again. To make matters worse the maintenance department was on strike once more for better wages, shorter hours, and a new kettle for their kit down in the basement. As such the store was sweltering with no relief in sight.
On the first floor, the staff of the ladies and gents departments were dealing with the high temperatures as best they could given the circumstances. Shirley Brahms and Betty Slocombe had brought electric oscillating fans from home to keep the air circulating. Across the floor, Ernest Grainger was sipping from a bottle of ice water while his two subordinates, Claybourne Humphries and James Lucas, kept tugging at their collars and wiping their faces. The young junior even fanned himself with an old science and history magazine he had found in a drawer that was severely outdated. He stopped for a moment to rest and took a quick glimpse at an article on the inside.
“Did you know that before our ancestors settled here,” Mr Lucas said to his co-worker, “London was nothing but humid, festering swampland?”
“Not much has changed in the last few centuries,” Mr Humphries grumbled as he patted away the sweat that was threatening to roll beneath his collar. “Now put that away before Peacock sees it.”
Mr Lucas shoved the magazine under the counter and loosened his tie. “Blimey! If that lot from maintenance doesn’t hurry up and get back to work I think I may turn into one of those dehydrated meals what they send up with the astronauts!”
“You’re thinking of freeze-dried food,” Mr Humphries corrected him. “And I wouldn’t mind being frozen right about now.”
“Well, here comes Miss Brahms, back from her tea break,” Mr Lucas said. “She’s awfully cold. Wonder if she’d come over and freeze us with her words.”
“You’ve gone off her quick,” Mr Humphries remarked. “What happened?”
“I just decided she wasn’t worth botherin’ about,” Mr Lucas replied sullenly. “I mean, let’s face it, every time I’ve tried to be nice to her she’s turned her nose up at me or made some sarky remark.”
“And you’ve been a perfect gentleman?” Mr Humphries said, raising an eyebrow at the junior.
Mr Lucas had the audacity to appear shocked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Humphries.”
“My how the memory fades with age,” Mr Humphries sarked. “I seem to remember an incident back in 1973, when you tried to send her a note saying ‘Dear Sexy Knickers…'”
“Oh yeah,” Mr Lucas frowned. “I’d forgot about that.”
“…then there was the time we were stuck in the store during those transport strikes,” Mr Humphries went on, “and you tried to persuade her to accompany you to the Bedding department…”
Mr Lucas frowned even more and started to look a bit guilty.
“…and I seem to recall an evening at the social club where you two were dancing to a Beatles tune,” Mr Humphries said, “and when the song switched to Lay Down Sally by Eric Clapton, you took the lyrics to heart and-”
“All right!” Mr Lucas snapped. “I get the picture. I haven’t exactly been Ashley Wilkes from Gone with the Wind, have I?”
“You’re not even Rhett Butler,” Mr Humphries chuckled. “Why don’t you try a little visualisation experiment?”
“A what?”
“A visualisation experiment. I use them all the time when I’m trying to determine the possible consequences of my actions.”
“Yet you still went to the club with that Scottish gymnast.”
“I had no idea he was in training for the Olympics when we went out that night.” Mr Humphries patted his face again with his handkerchief. “Mind you, he should have had the foresight to wear something besides his kilt if he knew he’d be turning those back-flips. I’m just glad no one recognised either of us.” He tucked the handkerchief into his sleeve for the moment. “Anyway, try this. I want you to close your eyes and imagine you have a younger sister.”
“I don’t have a younger sister,” Mr Lucas said. “I’m an only child.”
“That’s why I said to imagine you have a younger sister,” Mr Humphries snapped. “Now pay attention! Imagine you have a younger sister. She’s twenty-one, has long, blonde hair, blue eyes, and quite a lot of…” He held his hands out in front of his chest for a moment, then said, “…personality. Can you see her in your mind?”
Mr Lucas blinked a few times at his co-worker and closed his eyes. “Right. Yeah, I see her.”
“Good,” Mr Humphries said. “Now imagine that a suave, good-looking young man has come to chat with her. He’s using all his charm on her. All of a sudden he begins groping her. She squeals out in fright and anger. He simply laughs, for he thinks it’s just her way of being coy. Now, how would that make you feel if that was your sister being molested like that?”
“I’d want to kill the guy,” Mr Lucas growled.
“Exactly,” Mr Humphries said. “Now stop being that young man and try treating her like a good friend instead of a sexual conquest. You’ll be surprised at how she reacts.”
Mr Lucas shrugged and started to take out his magazine again when Captain Peacock appeared at the end of the counter. He was wearing his usual look of contempt which he usually reserved for the junior salesman.
“Fix your tie, Mr Lucas,” he said wearily, as if the effort of speaking was hardly worth it. “And wipe your face. You’re dripping perspiration into your collar.”
“I’m sorry, Captain Peacock,” Mr Lucas said. “But I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about my perspiration.”
“I suppose it’s only to be expected from one who has never served in the military,” the floor walker sighed. “I was fortunate to spend all that time in the desert, learning to survive on very little food and water. Naturally my body grew accustomed to the heat. To this very day I rarely break a sweat, even during the sweltering summer months in London.”
“Bully for you,” Mr Lucas muttered under his breath.
“Any idea when maintenance will give in and come back to fix the air?” Mr Humphries asked hopefully.
“It will be quite a while,” Captain Peacock replied. “Young Mr Grace refuses to give in to their demands. I’m afraid we’ll just have to stick it out for the moment.”
And with that he turned to walk toward the centre of the floor, whereupon both Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas noticed a very large, dark, damp area on the back of the floor walker’s jacket. The two salesmen exchanged looks of utter glee and went back to their duties.

Across the floor Miss Brahms was standing in front of an oscillating fan that had been locked. The breeze it created was of great comfort to her. She even looked left and right before pulling her shirt open an inch or so to allow the cool air under the fabric.
“Watch what you’re doing!” Mrs Slocombe hissed at her. “And shift over so I can have a go.”
“We can’t both be over ‘ere,” Miss Brahms argued, “or Cap’n Peacock’ll come over an’ start in with us.”
“That’s all we need,” Mrs Slocombe sighed. “More hot air.”
Just then the fan sparked and gave a sputter, then the blades slowed down. Both women groaned in disappointment as it stood still. Miss Brahms snatched the cord from the wall and stowed it away under the counter as a chubby, middle-aged woman approached the counter.
“Good morning, Madam,” Mrs Slocombe said in her poshest voice. “Are you being served?”
“No, and I will definitely need an experienced assistant,” the woman replied. “You’ll do very nicely.”
Miss Brahms repressed a giggle and Mrs Slocombe put on her best fake smile.
“I am delighted that Madam has such faith in me,” she said. “Now, how may I assist you?”
“I’m looking for a bathing costume,” the woman said. “My neighbour has a swimming pool and has asked my husband and myself to attend a party this coming week end. And I’m afraid my old bathing costume must have shrunk in the wash. It’s just so small!”
Mrs Slocombe looked the woman up and down, taking in her ample girth. “Yes, I’ve had the same problem with my own. If Madam would like to step this way I believe we have some lovely one-piece selections on sale.”
“Oh, I do like this one,” the woman said, choosing a silvery swim suit from the peg. “Do you have it in my size?”
“Of course!” Mrs Slocombe said cheerfully. “I’ll just have my assistant collect one from the stock room. Miss Brahms?”
“Yes, Mrs Slocombe?” Miss Brahms answered.
“Would you be so kind as to fetch a silver one-piece from the stock room?” Mrs Slocombe requested. Then, lowering her voice, she added, “From the Sea World Range.”
Miss Brahms smirked and went to procure the garment.

Back at the men’s counter, Mr Grainger had his water bottle tipped up all the way in order to drain the last drop. He lowered his arm with a sad sigh and hid the bottle back in his personal drawer. Then he reached inside and took out another. Checking all around to make sure no one was watching, he opened it and began sipping the cool water.
“Are you free, Mr Grainger?” Mr Humphries’ voice trilled nearby.
The elderly salesman was startled and promptly spilled half of the bottle’s contents upon himself. He swore and capped the bottle, replying, “I’m afraid not, Mr Humphries. I’m just off to check on some shirts.”
Around the other side of the cabinet, Mr Lucas grinned mischievously and waited until Mr Grainger had stepped into the gents’ stock room. He tip-toed over to the senior salesman’s drawer and opened it, revealing a stash of cold water. He peered around just as Mr Grainger had, and pinched one of the bottles.
“You’re too kind, Mr Grainger,” Mr Lucas said in a nearly perfect mimicry of Mr Humphries voice. With a chuckle he slipped away to his end of the counter and held the bottle so that it was hidden from Captain Peacock’s sight. He twisted the cap, pretended to drop a pencil, and bent down to drink. It was liquid heaven!
“Blimey,” he sighed. “That hit the spot!”
He started to cap the bottle when Mr Humphries crept up behind him and squeaked, “Mr Lucas!”
The junior cried out and in his shock he nearly dropped the bottle. Water splashed out onto the crotch of his trousers, causing him much embarrassment when he turned around to face his superior. Mr Humphries noticed the moist splotch straight away and clapped a hand to his mouth in amusement.
“Our Ada!” he laughed. “I didn’t realise you were that desperate to beat the heat!”
“Oh, sod off!” Mr Lucas grumbled.
“Psst!”
Mr Lucas frowned. “Was that you?” he asked.
“No,” Mr Humphries replied.
“Psst! Over here!”
Mr Humphries looked to his right and smiled when he saw what appeared to be a young man in his late twenties poking his head around the cabinet. The blonde salesman cleared his throat and called out, “Mr Lucas, would you assist me in the fitting room?”
“I would be glad to, Mr Humphries,” Mr Lucas declared just loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. He knew the drill and followed both Mr Humphries and his friend into the fitting room.
“I was starting to wonder if you’d come,” Mr Humphries said to the lad.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy getting away,” was the lad’s reply…in a somewhat feminine voice. The young man, it seemed, was not a man at all, but a very masculine woman in a waistcoat, tie, and trousers. She had a canvas bag slung over her shoulder and it was from this that she produced two bottles of very cold water. “I would have brought more but I had to use one on Mr Patterson. He just won’t take no for an answer!”
“Mr Patterson from Accounts?” Mr Lucas said, disbelief tingeing his voice. “Isn’t he in his late forties?”
“And thinks he’s God’s gift to the female gender,” the woman said, rolling her eyes.
“Take no notice of him, Rowan,” Mr Humphries said, and took a long pull from one of the bottles. “Oh, that is lovely.”
“I’d offer you one,” Rowan said, scrutinising Mr Lucas’ unfortunate accident, “but it looks as if you’ve had more than enough!”
Mr Lucas mumbled something under his breath that made Mr Humphries cuff his arm.
“I’d best be off,” Rowan said. “I told Mr Patel I was delivering some change to you lot. If he asks, we found a roll of ten p coins stuck in the back of your till when I arrived.”
“Are we still on for tea tonight?” Mr Humphries asked, which made Mr Lucas do a double-take.
“Eight o’clock at your place,” Rowan replied cheerfully. “See you then!”
Mr Humphries grinned fondly as he watched her exit the fitting room. He caught Mr Lucas staring at him and the grin was reduced to a polite smile. He left the fitting room as well, tucking the water bottles in his own personal drawer.
“Hold the phone,” Mr Lucas said, following his superior back to their positions behind the counter. “Are you…and her…?”
“That is none of your concern, Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries said firmly.
“Now that’s rubbish,” Mr Lucas scoffed. “We tell each other everything!”
Mr Humphries looked very uncomfortable all of a sudden. “There’s…well, there’s nothing to tell. We’re just friends. That’s all.”
“You could’ve fooled me,” Mr Lucas said, “the way you were smiling at her just now. You fancy her, don’t you?”
Mr Humphries shrugged and bent over his bill pad, pretending to do some figures. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”
Mr Lucas laughed and thumped his friend on the back. “And about bloody time! You know, you had me real worried for a while. So many times I thought to myself, ‘Poor Mr Humphries. All alone there in that house in Notting Hill with only his mother for companionship. I wonder if he’s ever even been out with a girl? Or is he…?'” Mr Lucas let his voice trail off and started to attend to some socks that had been left out of the drawer.
“Or is he what, Mr Lucas?” Mr Humphries demanded sternly.
“Nothing, nothing,” Mr Lucas said, feigning innocence.
“No, out with it,” Mr Humphries said, looking quite cross now. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re not the first, either.”
Mr Lucas sighed and rubbed the back of his head in shame. “Yeah, you’re right. I have thought it many times, especially when you talk about your mates Roger, Bobby, David, Greg…it makes people wonder, you know…”
“Well, let me put your fears to rest right now,” Mr Humphries said, slamming his pencil onto the counter. He winced a little and rubbed his knuckles, then gathered his disdain once more and said, “I am not, as you and so many others assume me to be, a virgin!”
Mr Lucas nodded, then his eyes widened. His jaw dropped and he stared at his co-worker, who was standing with his arms folded defiantly across his chest. This was not what he was expecting at all.
“You’re…you’re not…you mean…with a woman?” Mr Lucas stammered.
“Not that it is any of your business, James Lucas,” Mr Humphries said, “but yes, I have known a woman before…in the biblical sense.”
“And?!” Mr Lucas practically squeaked.
Mr Humphries let his arms fall to his sides. “And what? You know what it’s like.”
Mr Lucas thought of all the times he had been asked to fetch a glass of water for Mr Grainger. Now he felt as if he could use one himself. He shook his head to clear the jumble of thoughts that had collected there and composed himself. Mr Humphries’ statement still had not quite sunk in and taken root. It just seemed impossible. It seemed…wrong?
“You’ve really been with a woman before?” he asked, doubt creeping into his voice.
“Is it so hard to believe that I could land a date with a lovely young woman?” Mr Humphries asked, clearly exasperated by the conversation.
“Well…I don’t know…maybe?” Mr Lucas said lamely. “I just can’t see you as the type who beats them off with a stick.”
“On the contrary, Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries said, “quite a lot of women have thought twice about me.”
Mr Lucas shrugged and nodded.
“Trouble is,” Mr Humphries added with a frown, “it’s usually the second thought that puts them off.”
Mr Lucas blinked a few times. “So, what about Adams, then?” he asked. “Does she fancy you?”
“I don’t know,” Mr Humphries replied. “I’ve not asked.”
“Why don’t you ask her, then?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“What if she doesn’t?”
“What if she does?”
“Oh, I don’t know what would be worse,” Mr Humphries whimpered. “If she did or if she didn’t!”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Mr Lucas said. “Ask her tonight when she comes over for tea.”
“Perhaps,” Mr Humphries said weakly.
Just then Mr Grainger returned from changing his shirt. The phone rang as he walked by and he answered it in his gruff voice.
“Gents’ Ready-Made? Oh, hello Miss Adams. Er, yes he is. I’ll just…oh…oh dear. I see. Yes. Yes, I’ll tell him.”
He replaced the receiver and toddled over to the two younger assistants. “Mr Humphries, are you free?”
“I’m free!”
“I’ve just spoken to Miss Adams from Accounts,” Mr Grainger said. “She asked me to pass a message along to you. She said that she’s very, very sorry, but she has to cancel the appointment you two had for this evening. Apparently she has to work late this evening and cannot attend.”
“Oh no,” Mr Humphries said softly, looking very disappointed. “And I was going to make Coq au Vin tonight!”
“Cheer up, Mr Humphries,” Mr Lucas said, feeling sorry for his friend. “Tell you what, I’ll come have your Coq tonight.”
Mr Humphries pressed his palm to his face and groaned, “That’s very kind, Mr Lucas, but I really don’t think it would be quite the same…”

For once the staff were looking forward to their lunch as the Canteen was selling ice cream, lollies, and other frozen novelties at half-price. Kitchenware had even been kind enough to lend a few of their blenders so that cold milkshakes could be whipped up as well. Mr Lucas ordered six of these in vanilla and chocolate, which he carefully brought to the staff’s table on a tray.
“Good thinking, Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock praised the junior as he reached for a glass.
“They’re fifty p each,” Mr Lucas said. “And I’m skint, so cough up!”
The floor walker scowled at him before placing a coin on the table. The others did the same and Mr Lucas collected the money. He noticed there were two left on the tray and glanced down the table. The women were sipping theirs through straws with looks of sheer delight on their faces while the two older men were practically turning theirs vertical. Only Mr Humphries seemed to have neglected to take one.
“Aren’t you having one, Mr Humphries?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
Mr Humphries looked up from his cock-a-leeky soup, which he had barely touched, and shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m trying to watch my figure.”
“You’re nothin’ but skin an’ bones, though,” Miss Brahms said.
Mr Humphries started to retort when Mr Grainger cried out in pain. The staff watched him snatch his glasses from his face and clap his hand across his eyes. Then they heard incoherent growls and mumbling coming from him.
“Whatever’s the matter, Mr Grainger?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Brain freeze, I’ll wager,” Mr Humphries said. “You drank too fast, didn’t you, Mr Grainger?”
Mr Grainger whimpered painfully. “I don’t drink milkshakes that often, so I forget and drink them too quickly. Oh! Fortunately, the pain does not last very long.”
“I have the same problem,” Mr Lucas said. “I get so excited that I suck them as hard and fast as I can. Goes right to my head.”
Mr Humphries blinked curiously at the junior. “You know, I would never have expected that from you, Mr Lucas.”
Mr Lucas shrugged and sipped his milkshake carefully. As he did Rowan walked into the Canteen and snuck up behind Mr Humphries. She clapped a hand on his shoulder in a brotherly fashion, causing him to jump and upset his soup spoon.
“Sorry, mate,” she said, and crouched down to pick up the utensil. “I’ll get you another. I just wanted to come over and apologise again about tonight.”
“It’s quite all right,” Mr Humphries said, taking the spoon from her and wearing his most charming smile, which he normally only reserved for the most snobbish customers that came into the store. With her, however, there was quite a lot of obvious sincerity behind it. “I understand. We’ll have to try again another night.”
“Definitely,” Rowan agreed. “And we’ll need lots of vodka, too. Guess who’s offered to stay late and help me.”
“Who?”
“Patterson.”
“Pull the other one!”
Rowan shook her head slowly. “I think I may pop ’round to the off-licence next door for a small bottle and hide it in my desk for tonight. I swear, if he tries to put his hands on me one more time-”
There was a loud snap and the staff were shocked to see that the spoon in Mr Humphries’ hands had broken in half. He placed the pieces on the table and pretended nothing had happened. Rowan, on the other hand, looked worried.
“Are you all right, Clay?” she asked.
“What?” Mr Humphries said, his voice a bit higher than usual, which was saying something. “I’m fine. I’m just concerned about Mr Patterson’s blatant disrespect for you, not to mention his utter disregard for your personal space and…and…”
“Calm down, mate,” Rowan said. “The old fool still hasn’t sussed it yet that I’m taking tiger-style kung fu. If he tries anything I’ll use this new technique they taught us last week. It’s called ‘Wrath of the Moody Tigress’.”
“‘Ow does it work?” Miss Brahms asked.
“It’s really simple,” Rowan said, and took Mr Humphries hand in her own. “When the bloke goes to grope your goods, you grab his wrist like this…” She put her hand on Mr Humphries’ wrist, causing him some excitement that she did not notice. “And you twist it as fast and hard as you can, like this.” She rolled his arm outward, causing him to topple out of his chair. “Then you give a quick punch to the sternum, just to knock the wind out of him. But I won’t demonstrate that one.”
“Thank heaven for that,” Mr Humphries whimpered from the floor.
“Sorry, mate,” Rowan apologised, and literally hoisted him up and into his chair. “I’ll ring you later. Have a good lunch!”
Mr Humphries massaged his wrist and smiled fondly at the accountant as she walked away. He caught the others watching him and stood up quickly. He started to gather up his broken spoon when Mrs Slocombe’s hand snatched at his jacket and pulled him back down to his chair.
“What was that about?” she said in a low, curious voice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mr Humphries said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need another spoon.”
“I know what I saw,” Mrs Slocombe said, holding his shoulder in her vice-like grip. “You’re keen on that one, aren’t you?”
Captain Peacock snorted derisively until Mr Lucas piped up, saying, “He is.”
“Ha!” Captain Peacock laughed. “Our Mr Humphries? With that…woman?”
“Maybe he likes ’em butch,” Miss Brahms shrugged. “It would explain why none of the other girls ‘ave ‘ad much luck with ‘im.”
“She does have a certain masculine charm that you don’t find in a lot of women,” Mr Humphries said, a faraway look coming over his façade. “And I must admit, when she came over and repaired some leaky pipes for us last week I did get a little thrill watching her grip her spanner.”
“Is she your girlfriend, then?” Miss Brahms asked.
Mr Humphries was brought crashing back to Earth with that question. “No, we’re only friends,” he said, the smile fading from his lips. “I’m not even sure if she fancies me.”
“And I’m telling you, you just have to ask,” Mr Lucas said.
“I can’t just walk up to her and say, ‘Hello Rowan. I’m curious, do you fancy me?'” Mr Humphries shook his head sadly.
“What if one of us asked her for you?” Miss Brahms said.
“How juvenile!” Captain Peacock said. “We’re not in school any more, Miss Brahms. And it is none of our concern what goes on in Mr Humphries’ love life.”
“What about a letter?” Mr Grainger offered.
“What, you mean a love letter?” Mr Lucas said.
“Yes, exactly,” Mr Grainger said. “I remember when I was courting Mrs Grainger I was too nervous to approach her myself, so I wrote her a note.”
“What did it say?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“I don’t remember the exact words,” Mr Grainger replied. “But I believe it went something like, ‘Dear Sandra, It’s me, Ernest Grainger. I don’t half-fancy you. If you’re keen on me as well then send this note back with your reply. Sincerely yours, Ernest.'”
“And they say romance is dead,” Mr Lucas snickered.
“Well, we were only eight years old at the time,” Mr Grainger chuckled. “But it worked! She sent the note back with her answer straight away.”
“And what was her reply?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“‘Boys are gross!'” Mr Grainger said. “‘Get knotted!’ Like I said, we were only eight.”
“I should hope that Rowan is a bit more tactful when she replies to my note,” Mr Humphries said, taking pencil and paper from his pocket.
“You’re going to write her, then?” Mrs Slocombe said.
“I suppose it’s worth a try,” Mr Humphries said. “Only I’ve no idea what to say.”
“How about this?” Mr Lucas said. “‘Dear Sexy Knickers…'”
“We’re not going down that road again,” Mrs Slocombe said warningly.
“All right, then,” Mr Lucas said. “‘Dear Sexy Calculator…'”
Miss Brahms gave him a hard pinch. Then she turned to Mr Humphries and said, “What if you wrote it as a secret admirer?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Mrs Slocombe said. “You can say whatever your heart wishes to convey and then wait for her to reply with her own message of passion. Ooh, it’s ever so romantic!”
“What if she recognises ‘is ‘andwriting?” Miss Brahms pointed out.
“I’m glad you said that,” Mr Humphries said, putting down his pencil at once. “She does know my handwriting.”
“Then I’ll write it,” Mrs Slocombe said, picking up the paper and pencil.
“Good thinking,” Mr Humphries said. “Now, how’s this: Dearest Rowan…” He stopped and frowned. “That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
“What about something poetic?” Miss Brahms suggested. “Something like, ‘I write this from the shadow, to hide my heart from your eyes. If you would truly have me, then I will remove my disguise.'”
“That’s quite good, Miss Brahms,” Captain Peacock said. “I had no idea you were so ‘well-versed’, as it were.” He chuckled at his own pun while the others rolled their eyes.
“Right, put that lot down,” Mr Humphries said. “Now, what else?”
“Let me think,” Miss Brahms said. “Hmmm…I’ve got it! ‘Meet me in the Canteen, no later than half one. We’ll talk a bit over lunch…'”
“‘Then back to my place for some fun!'” Mr Lucas grinned.
Mr Humphries picked up his broken spoon and threw it at Mr Lucas.

Mr Lucas volunteered to deliver the note to Rowan Adams the very next morning. He arrived earlier than usual and snuck down to Accounts. There he found her desk and taped the letter to her chair. His mission accomplished, he darted back to the lifts and went up to the first floor.
“You’re early, Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock remarked as he finished signing his name to the time book. “What’s the occasion?”
“Just helping out a friend,” Mr Lucas smiled as he signed in as well.
The lift dinged and Mr Humphries bounded out and down the stairs. As soon as he signed in he followed Mr Lucas into the stock room and whispered, “Well?”
“Signed, sealed, delivered,” Mr Lucas replied.
“Oh my,” Mr Humphries said softly. His hands began to shake, then his legs. Sensing danger, Mr Lucas helped him to a stepping stool.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I just feel so…so…” Mr Humphries swallowed hard and began chewing at his knuckles.
“Ah, you’ll be fine,” Mr Lucas said, thumping his back in a brotherly fashion.
Mr Humphries coughed from the manly affection and looked down at his hand where his teeth had left a very unique impression on his skin. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.
“You’re right,” he said, and got up to hang his hat and coat. “I’m being silly.” He went out to the counter and began removing the dust cloths. “She’s probably arriving right now and has found it. She’ll read it and wonder who sent it. Of course, as we’re so close, she’ll come to me and ask if I recognise the handwriting. And of course I’ll say I haven’t a clue.”
He stopped folding the cloth in his hands as a horrified expression overcame his features.
“I can’t lie to her,” he whimpered. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no! What have I done!”
“Calm down, Mr Humphries,” Mr Lucas said.
The lift doors dinged and Mr Humphries cried out.
“It’s her!” he squeaked.
He bolted to the end of the counter and shook out the dust cloth then threw it over his head.
“What are you doing?” Mr Lucas demanded.
“If anyone asks, I’m a dummy,” Mr Humphries replied. “I certainly feel like one!”
Mr Lucas shook his head and turned to find Mr Grainger signing the time book. Miss Brahms and Mrs Slocombe were right behind him. He took the elderly salesman’s hat and coat, gave them a shake, and as he walked by to put them away he whispered to Mr Humphries, “False alarm.”
“Oh good,” Mr Humphries said, exhaling in relief.
“Hey Clay!” Rowan said, sneaking up behind him.
Mr Humphries cried out again and threw the dust cloth over his head once more. Rowan raised an eyebrow and bent over to pick up the edge of the cover. She lifted it and peered inside, whereupon she grinned and chuckled.
“Hello Nervous Nelly,” she tittered.
Mr Humphries pulled the dust cloth off. “Very funny,” he snorted.
“Are you cross with me about last night?” Rowan asked.
“Not at all,” Mr Humphries said, trying to keep his tone conversational. He gave her his charming smile and asked, “How did it go last night?”
Rowan groaned. “Patterson kept bugging me to go out with him. I finally got so fed up I told him I would if he’d shut up and let me work.”
Mr Humphries’ smile disappeared to be replaced by a mixture of disappointment, anger, and confusion. “You what?!”
“Yeah, I know,” Rowan sighed. “It gets worse, though.” She held up the note Mr Lucas had delivered. “I found this taped to my chair this morning. It’s a cheesy secret admirer note. And I know exactly who it’s from.”
“D-do you?” Mr Humphries whimpered.
“Yeah,” Rowan replied. “Mrs Slocombe.”
Mr Humphries did a double-take. “From…from Mrs…what?!”
Rowan unfolded the note and tapped it with her finger. “I know nearly everyone’s handwriting in this store. This is Betty Slocombe’s penmanship, I’m sure of it. I just never would have guessed that she…you know…”
Mr Humphries face-palmed. He let his hand slide down his face, tugging at his skin slightly. Nearby he heard Mr Lucas sniggering and hoped he would shut up.
“Makes you wonder about her and that Mrs Axelby she talks about,” Rowan said, frowning slightly. She gave a shrug. “Anyway, I’d best be off. I’m going to try to avoid Patterson until I figure out a way to renege on my promise. Wish me luck!”
“All the luck in the world,” Mr Humphries muttered.
Rowan saw Mrs Slocombe walking toward the men’s counter and gave her a nervous smile. The senior saleswoman grinned and waved. Rowan returned the wave reluctantly, then headed toward the lifts as quickly as possible.
“How did it go?” Mrs Slocombe asked Mr Humphries when she got to the counter.
“Not as well as I’d hoped,” he replied, his lip starting to wobble.
“Does she know it’s from you?” Mrs Slocombe inquired further.
“No,” Mr Humphries said, and pressed his handkerchief to his face. “She thinks it’s from you!”
Mrs Slocombe’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “Oh bloody hell,” she groaned.

That afternoon the staff crowded around their usual table and sipped cold water. The air conditioner was still out of commission and some of the staff were complaining that they were losing commission. To make matters worse the Canteen had run out of ice cream and frozen novelties. The only ice lollies left where the raspberry flavoured ones that turned your tongue and lips bright blue. Mr Lucas bought several of these and slurped them greedily.
“Disgusting,” Miss Brahms remarked, giving him a sour look.
“What?” Mr Lucas said.
“You look like you’ve been kissin’ a Smurf,” Miss Brahms said.
Mr Lucas rolled his eyes and started on another ice lolly. Down the table Mr Humphries was picking at his spaghetti. He rolled one of the faggots around as his mind wandered.
“Cheer up, Chuck,” Mrs Slocombe said consolingly. “We’ll try it again. Only this time we’ll type it out.”
Mr Humphries shrugged and continued toying with his food.
“It’s no use sitting there like that feeling sorry for yourself,” Captain Peacock said gruffly. “This is just a minor drawback. You can’t give up just yet.”
“I’ve not given up,” Mr Humphries said, and watched the faggot fall off his plate.
Mrs Slocombe stabbed the faggot with her fork. “And neither have I!”
“We’re all behind you, Mr Humphries,” Miss Brahms beamed.
“Some of us not so closely,” Mr Grainger muttered.
Mrs Slocombe pushed the faggot back onto Mr Humphries’ plate. “Now sit up straight and quit playing with your meat like that. You’ll give the first floor a bad name!”
Mr Humphries smirked at her. “You know, you’re right. I’ve just got to…”
Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by a sudden din of voices. A moment later Rowan stomped into the Canteen, followed closely by a middle-aged man. He was practically shouting at her as they entered the dining area, whereupon Rowan whipped around to face him.
“I don’t get it,” he snapped. “Do you do this to every man you meet? Promise them a good time then go back on your word?”
“I don’t remember making a blood oath that I’d go out with you,” Rowan snarled at the now presumed Mr Patterson. “I didn’t want to go out with you to begin with! I just wanted to finish my work so I could go home. I missed havin’ tea with Mr Humphries because of that lot last night.”
“Oho!” Mr Patterson said. “So you’re seeing the poof, are you?”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. She shoved Mr Patterson against the wall of the Canteen and pointed at him warningly.
“Don’t you ever call him that,” she growled in a very dangerous tone, then released him. “Mr Humphries is ten times the man you’ll ever be.”
Mr Humphries heard all of this and beamed until he heard Mr Lucas mutter, “She must not know a lot of men.”
“Belt up!” Mr Humphries said. He started to get when he and the others saw Mr Patterson grab Rowan’s arm.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” he barked at her.
“Let go!” she demanded.
“Not ’til you say you’ll have me,” Mr Patterson said.
“Get your damn hands off me,” Rowan said, and reached for his wrist.
“Let her go, damn it!” screamed a voice no one had ever expected.
Everyone in the Canteen stopped what they were doing and stared in wonder at Claybourne Humphries, who had stood up quickly from his chair, overturning it in the process, and crossed the room in two steps. He shoved Mr Patterson back and placed himself between him and Rowan. Both looked completely shocked by his behaviour. He glared up at Mr Patterson, who was several inches taller, and gave him an ultimatum even though his voice shook.
“If you ever lay a hand on her again I’ll…I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” Mr Patterson chuckled. “Stammer at me? Let’s go, Rowan.”
He grabbed Rowan’s arm again. She started to execute the ‘Wrath of the Moody Tigress’ until Mr Humphries beat her to it. He snatched Mr Patterson’s wrist and twisted it as hard as he could. When the accountant went down Mr Humphries went to one knee and reached back as far as he could. Then he punched Mr Patterson in the stomach, putting all his weight and muscle into it. The accountant moaned in agony and rolled over, clutching his abdomen painfully.
“I don’t believe it,” Rowan said, offering her hand to Mr Humphries. “That was brill, mate!”
“Rowan, I need to tell you something,” Mr Humphries said. “I…I’m rather fond of you and…well, I…”
“Go on!” Mr Lucas shouted.
“Tell her!” Miss Brahms cried out.
Mr Humphries swallowed hard. “I…I was wondering if I could have the pleasure of your company one evening to…to…”
Rowan blinked a few times, then smirked. “Claybourne Humphries, are you asking me out?”
He swallowed again and nodded.
Rowan’s smirk turned to a kind smile. “I think I’d like that very much,” she said.
Mr Humphries sighed with relief. “Tea at my place?” he said.
“Eight o’clock,” she replied. Then she moved closer and kissed him sweetly on his cheek. “I’ve got to run. I only came down for a coffee and ended up with something much better. See ya tonight, Ducky!”
Mr Humphries watched her go and his hand touched the spot where she had kissed him. He practically floated back to the table where he was getting a round of applause from his co-workers. As he sat down his appetite came flooding back and the spaghetti on his plate suddenly looked like the most magnificent thing in the world. Then the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins must have worn off, because he clutched his hand and began massaging his fingers, wincing painfully. He picked up one of the ice lollies and pressed it to his knuckles.
“Well done, Mr Humphries!” Captain Peacock praised him.
“Congratulations, my boy!” Mr Grainger said proudly.
“I knew you had it in you,” Miss Brahms said.
“We all did,” Mrs Slocombe added. “So, what are you going to cook tonight?”
“I still have that chicken marinating in the refrigerator,” Mr Humphries replied, shifting the frozen novelty on his hand. “Perhaps I’ll offer her my coq tonight and see if she likes it!”
Mr Lucas sprayed sugary ice lolly all over the table.
Miss Brahms grinned as she passed over a napkin. “Bib for Mr Lucas,” she quipped.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

THE WAR WITH DRUGS
BY DALE JACKSON

For nearly two weeks the staff on the first floor had put up with the unbearable noise upstairs due to the remodelling of a large section of the second floor. The thuds, bumps, grinding, groaning, not to mention the occasional vulgar outcry from one of the workmen, was giving everyone headaches. Sister had dispatched more aspirin and paracetamol in three days than she had in three months to the irritated employees.
“I don’t know how much more I can take,” Shirley Brahms sighed heavily. She cast her eyes skyward as another thud sent a shower of dust over her and her superior, Betty Slocombe.
“Well, Mr. Rumbold said they should be done today,” Mrs Slocombe told her junior.
“He said that yesterday,” Miss Brahms snapped sullenly. “And the day before that. And the day before that as well!”
Just then there was another heavy thud and the two women were treated to more dust Mrs. Slocombe passed a rag to Miss Brahms and they wiped down their counters once more.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation,” came a voice from nearby. “And I can assure you both that the workmen will be done shortly. They are simply putting the final touches on the counters upstairs.”
“Is that so, Captain Peacock?” Mrs Slocombe replied coolly. “I seem to remember hearing that yesterday as well, from Mr Harman.”
Captain Peacock flicked a few specks from his shoulder. “Not to worry, Mrs Slocombe,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I’ve just been up there to check on the progress. It looks like we’ll have our new chemists’ shoppe by the end of the week.”
“How many new staff is Mr Grace taking on?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“As I understand it,” Captain Peacock replied, “young Mr Grace has chosen two chemists and they in turn have selected five technicians to work under them. Two were picked from our current staff, if memory serves me right.”
“Oh yes,” Miss Brahms interrupted. “Miss Hurst from Novelty Candles, she’s going to be up there, isn’t she?”
“I believe so,” Captain Peacock said, with a slight involuntary grin. “She is being trained elsewhere for the position. Until she is fully qualified they will have her selling natural and herbal remedies.”
“What sort of natural remedies?” Mrs Slocombe inquired.
“Oh, you know the sort of thing,” Captain Peacock replied airily. “Vitamin pills, kelp extract, melatonin tablets… There is a thriving market for such things that supposedly keep one healthy and ward off illness. Just to be kind I bought a bottle of yohimbe bark extract from her yesterday before they took her counter upstairs. She said I would find it quite useful.”
Miss Brahms began snickering and tried her best to control it. This did not go unnoticed by the floor walker, who raised an eyebrow at the young woman.
“What is so funny, Miss Brahms?” he demanded in his calm, authoritative tone.
“Do…do you know what yohimbe extract is for?” she giggled.
“What’s it for?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Impotence!” Miss Brahms cackled.
Mrs Slocombe’s eyes widened in shock, then she too burst into laughter. Captain Peacock, however, took a small bottle of pills from his jacket pocket as well as his glasses.
“What I want to know,” Mrs Slocombe chuckled, “is how does she know he needs ’em?!” And with that both women fell apart with unbridled mirth.
Captain Peacock put his glasses on, read the fine print on the bottle, and blushed scarlet before slipping the bottle back into his pocket and walking away from the laughing women.

Over at the men’s counter, Mr Lucas was folding vests and waiting patiently for his superior to finish with an elderly customer.
“Now if there is any problem with the jacket, do not hesitate to bring it to our attention,” Mr Humphries trilled to a geriatric gentleman. “And don’t worry if the sleeves are a bit long. They will ride up with wear.”
The older fellow gave a nod and a smile before hobbling away. Mr Humphries waited until he was at the foot of the stairs before returning to Mr Lucas, who had been in the middle of a very interesting story.
“So, like I was saying,” Mr Lucas continued, “there I was at this club in Soho. I’d just had my hair cut and styled by that woman you recommended – which, she did a great job, by the way, thank you – and I was wearing this really groovy suit, not to mention this great cologne what’s supposed to drive women mad. At least it does in the commercials. Well, I’m walking around, looking smooth, looking cool, and none of the birds want to know me!”
“I hate it when that happens,” Mr Humphries sympathised. “All that work and for nothing.”
“Yeah, well, just wait ’til I tell you what happened next,” Mr Lucas said. “I came across this chap who was looked as if he fell from the Ugly Tree and hit every branch on the way down. But all the birds were crowded around him! They couldn’t get enough of him! Finally I got my courage up and said, ‘Oi! What’s your secret, mate? Why are all the girls digging you?'”
“And what did he say?” Mr Humphries asked.
“He said it was this concoction called Funky Cold Medina.” Mr Lucas frowned for a moment. “I’d never heard of it. But he sold me a vial of it and said to put a drop in a girl’s drink, that she’d be all over me within seconds. So I went up to this girl. Her name was Sheena, I believe. Well, I thought, let’s give this stuff a go! She asked me for a drink and I put a couple drops in the glass. She took a sip, licked her lips, and I knew that I was in!”
“Oh my,” Mr Humphries breathed. “Do you have any spare with you? I could do with a little help myself.”
Mr Lucas dug into his pocket and produced a small vial. “I thought you might. You can have the lot. I’m not messing around with it anymore.”
Mr Humphries took the bottle and turned it over in his hands. “Why not? If it works so well why are you giving it to me?”
“Because it works a little too well,” Mr Lucas said, repressing a small shudder. “You see, I had the house to myself so we went back there, went upstairs, and she turned around, had me unzip her dress. So I unzipped it, real slow and seductive-like. It fell from her shoulders – and she wasn’t wearing anything else. No bra, no knickers, not even tights!”
“Oh, my word!” Mr Humphries grinned. “I’ll bet your heart was racing!”
“It was,” Mr Lucas nodded. “Until she turned around, then it sort of fell into my stomach. Turns out that Sheena was a man.”
Mr Humphries clasped a hand to his mouth to prevent him from crying out. “You’re joking!” he whispered, unable to hide the hint of glee in his voice.
Mr Lucas shook his head slowly.
“What did you do?”
“I threw him out. I don’t mess around with no Oscar Meyer wiener.” Mr Lucas folded the last vest and slid the drawer back into place under the counter. “You must be sure that the girl is pure for this Funky Cold Medina.”
Mr Humphries looked down at the vial again and thought for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll remember that. Thanks!” And with that he disappeared around the corner. A moment later Mr Lucas could hear him on the phone, talking to someone named Terry.

Miss Brahms just finished wiping off a mannequin and was rather pleased with how she’d arranged its clothing when another thud sounded overhead and bits of plaster came down from the ceiling. A few small pieces floated into the dummy’s hair while the dust clung to every bit of fabric it could find. Miss Brahms swore under her breath and started to walk away when she heard Captain Peacock’s dulcet tones.
“Gather around, everybody,” he called out. “I have a very important announcement to make.”
Miss Brahms followed Mrs Slocombe to the centre of the floor, where they were accompanied by Mr Grainger, the elderly senior salesman, as well as Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas. Captain Peacock waited until they had assembled then cleared his throat.
“Ah, excellent,” came a voice from just around the corner of the men’s department. A middle-aged man with a shining pate and rather large ears strolled out onto the floor, coming to a halt beside Captain Peacock. “I’m glad I caught you all here. I have a rather important announcement to make regarding the new chemists’ shoppe upstairs.”
“I was just about to do that, Mr Rumbold,” Captain Peacock said, with a slight edge to his voice that the other man obviously did not catch, for he carried on as if no one had spoken.
“The workmen have nearly finished now,” Mr Rumbold said merrily. “And the new technicians are beginning to stock the shelves. However, in order to be ready for Monday morning they need a few spare hands. Each of the departments has chosen one or two individuals to assist them in stocking the shelves and counters, and I have come down here to see if there are any volunteers.”
The staff simply stared at him in much the same way one stares at a calculus word problem. Boredom and a bit of irritation passed through them all. Rumbold, once again, was oblivious to it. He rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, and waited for a moment before speaking again.
“I see,” he said. “Very well. I shall simply assign one of you to go upstairs and help. Mind you, I was going to offer a bit of a bonus to whomever volunteered for the job.”
“How much?” Mrs Slocombe demanded.
“It’s too late now,” Mr Rumbold said, waving her query aside. “I can see that the staff here are not the friendly, jolly, supportive persons that I described to Mr Grace this morning at the board room meeting. A shame, really…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mr Humphries sighed. “I’ll do it. I’ll go upstairs.”
“That’s the spirit, Mr Humphries,” Mr Rumbold said, beaming at him. “Just for that I will give you the bonus, anyway.” And with that he passed an envelope to the thin blonde man, who opened it tentatively. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he tucked the envelope into his jacket before giving a wry smile to his colleagues, then walking toward the lift.
“Well, carry on, everyone,” Mr Rumbold said, rubbing his hands together.
The staff went back to their counters and Captain Peacock watched as Mr Rumbold strolled back to his office, looking quite smug.

At one o’clock the staff queued up in the Canteen for lunch, which was its usual abysmal fare. They settled down at their regular table, which they had occupied for every tea, coffee, elevenses, and lunchtime for many years, and scowled at their plates.
“What did you pick, Shirley?” Mr Lucas asked.
“Some sort of soup,” she replied. “I’m not sure if it’s chicken or minestrone.”
“Does it smell like garlic and Old Spice?” Mrs Slocombe inquired.
Shirley sniffed it gingerly and nodded.
“It’s chicken soup,” Mrs Slocombe stated knowingly.
“How do you reckon that?” Shirley asked.
“I went out with the cook who makes it from his own recipe,” Mrs Slocombe told her quietly. “And he’s quite liberal with his aftershave. It gets all over his face, neck, and arms, then it somehow gets into the soup.”
“Is that the one what looks like Ringo Starr?” Shirley asked.
“No, it’s the one what looks like Robin Williams,” Mrs Slocombe replied.
“You mean the bloke with more hair on his arms than Chewbacca?” Mr Lucas chuckled.
“He’s a very charming man,” Mrs Slocombe snapped. “Which is more than I can say for you, Mr Lucas.”
Shirley shook her head, then shuddered violently when she spooned up some of the soup and found a thick, dark, coarse hair in it. “It’s disgusting the way they feed us,” she whimpered.
Captain Peacock filed into his seat along with Mr Grainger. “Does anyone know if Mr Humphries will be joining us today?” he asked.
“I am,” Mr Humphries panted from behind. Captain Peacock jumped, then composed himself as the younger man walked around with a brown paper bag and settled himself next to Mr Lucas.
“Ah, are you finished assisting the technicians?” Captain Peacock inquired casually.
“As far as I’m concerned they can take every milligram of diazepam in stock and overdose!” Mr Humphries snapped as he dumped the contents of the sack onto the table. An apple rolled off the edge but was deftly caught by Mr Lucas and returned to Mr Humphries, who was seething with rage.
“This isn’t at all like you, Mr Humphries,” Mrs Slocombe declared, very unnerved by his anger. “What happened up there?”
Mr Humphries took a deep breath to calm himself. “I have never in my life encountered such rude, arrogant, nasty people in my life. The moment I set foot on the floor they took one look at me and started with the insults. At first I didn’t catch what they were saying, then it became more and more obvious they were having a go at me.”
“What exactly were they having a go at?” Mr Lucas asked. He had a pretty good idea, but he also felt bad for his friend and wanted to be supportive.
“My intellect, for one thing,” Mr Humphries snarled. “Yes, maybe I didn’t graduate magna cum laude from Cambridge with a doctorate in pharmacology, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what erector pilli are! And mine were certainly standing at attention today, I can tell you that.”
Mr Lucas stared at him then subtly moved his chair a few inches away under the premise of readjusting his position in it.
“What’s an erector pilly?” Shirley asked.
“That’s the muscles connected to the fine hairs all over your body,” Captain Peacock explained. “It’s basic biology.”
“I didn’t know that,” Mr Grainger said. “You learn something new every day!”
“I didn’t know that, either,” Mrs Slocombe concurred. “I mean, it must not be common knowledge, really.”
“Mrs Slocombe,” Mr Humphries said slowly, clearly trying to remain calm, “that is not the point. When you’re trying to help someone prepare for their new position and they make a remark to a co-worker that, ‘the poof is checking out your erector pilli’, it tends to give you the urge to bitch-slap said person.”
“So they tried to make you look stupid,” Mr Lucas observed. “Is that all?”
Mr Humphries gave him a very nasty look. “No, Mr Lucas, that is not all. I heard remarks about my clothing, my voice, and even my hairstyle. But the straw the broke the camel’s back was when I mistakenly placed several bottles of penicillin in the antidepressant section one of the chemists literally took his arm and swept every bottle off the shelf, then berated me as if I were a small child. At that point I stood up and told him where he could stick every single capsule before leaving the floor. I was nearly at the lift when one nasty girl, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, called out, ‘Thanks for the laughs, Ginger!'”
Mr Humphries closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and began peeling a banana. Mr Lucas watched as he shoved about a third of it in his mouth and chewed somewhat aggressively.
“Did you mention any of this to Mr Rumbold?” Captain Peacock inquired.
Mr Humphries swallowed and shook his head. “No. I just went down to the first floor, grabbed my lunch, and headed toward the Canteen.” He unwrapped a sandwich and peeled it apart to peek inside. “Ugh! I don’t know why I let Mother pack my lunch sometimes. I can’t stand salami.”
Mr Lucas, who had just taken a pull from his cup of tea, suddenly spat it out, clearly shocked by his co-worker’s statement.
“I think you should bring this up with Mr Rumbold immediately,” Captain Peacock advised.
“I doubt he’ll be able to persuade Mother to put turkey in my sandwiches,” Mr Humphries grumbled.
“No, I mean your complaints regarding the chemists and the technicians,” Captain Peacock corrected him gently. “You have every right to be angry and if that’s the way they treat the staff, who knows what sort of comments they might make to customers.”
“Not necessarily,” Mrs Slocombe interjected. “I mean, look at the way we talk about some of the other staff, yet we know to treat the customers with respect and decorum.”
“Not to mention the nicknames we’ve come with for some of the management,” Shirley added.
“We used to come up with all sorts of silly monikers for the really dumb managers,” Mr Grainger reminisced fondly. “There was a Jug Ears well before Mr Rumbold’s time. Mr Garrison, I believe his name was. Turned out later he was a closeted homosexual with a fetish for hand-puppets. A very odd fellow indeed.”
“Oh, I remember him!” Mrs Slocombe chirped. “He had this one puppet he called Mr Hat! And the things he’d make it say to you. Oh! Such a vulgar man.” She frowned for a moment. “Whatever happened to him?”
“He went to an asylum for a few months,” Mr Grainger replied. “Then he became Miss Garrison.”
“I heard about that,” Mr Humphries said. “He still writes to me sometimes. Or, rather, she writes to me.”
“We’re getting off the subject here,” Captain Peacock snapped. “And that is that Mr Humphries should report what occurred today to Mr Rumbold. He deserves a public apology for the emotional distress they have caused him.”
“Here, here!” the staff agreed unanimously.
Mr Humphries’ demeanour softened considerably at the support he was receiving from his co-workers. Then his eyes screwed up and he clasped a handkerchief to his face. His sobs were incomprehensible to everyone except Mr Lucas, who had known him long enough to be able to translate for the others.
“He says he’s very touched,” Mr Lucas told them. Mr Humphries gestured and mumbled something else.
“What was that?” Shirley asked.
“He says that he’s never known such loyalty, such honour, and…” Mr Lucas listened for a second to his superior’s sobs. “And such kindness. He appreciates you standing behind him.”
Mr Humphries’ whimpers settled down and he composed himself once more. Just then Mr Rumbold came into the Canteen, looking a bit grave.
“There you are, Mr Humphries,” Mr Rumbold snapped. “I want a word with you regarding your time on the second floor today!”
“And Mr Humphries would like to register a complaint,” Mrs Slocombe stated firmly. “Several complaints, actually. The staff of the chemists’ shoppe were exceptionally rude and nasty to him while he was attempting to assist them.”
Mr Rumbold looked somewhat taken aback by this. “I was told he was rude to them! The chemist in charge this morning said that he corrected Mr Humphries when he made a mistake with some drugs and that Mr Humphries told him to…oh, what did he say…” Mr Rumbold consulted a piece of paper on a clipboard he had been carrying under his arm. “Ah, yes. He said Mr Humphries told him that if he didn’t shut the…well, we won’t repeat that word…that he would slap him so hard that his grandmother would feel it. Then he told the chemist he could take the entire shipment of penicillin and…well, do something perhaps physically impossible with them.” Mr Rumbold took off his glasses and frowned. “Now, really! This is not at all like you, Mr Humphries! In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve always come across as genial and personable.”
“He is!” Shirley interrupted. “It’s them what’s rude and mean and deplorable! Tell ‘im what happened, Mr Humphries!”
Mr Humphries started to speak when a young man in a white lab coat strolled into the Canteen, saw him, and called out, “Oi, Ginger! You left your bill pad behind! ‘Ere!” And he threw it across the room where it nearly collided with Mr Humphries head. He ducked and picked up the pad while the technician leered at him before joining his co-workers at another table.
“How ignomonious!” Mrs Slocombe growled.
“It gets worse,” Mr Humphries whimpered. “Look what they’ve written in my bill pad!”
He passed it over to Mr Lucas and they all crowded around it to look at it. Anyone who walked by at that moment would have heard both women gasp, a few four-letter words from Captain Peacock, and Mr Grainger mumbling, “I’m not sure I understand half of it, but it sounds dreadful.”
Mr Rumbold snatched up the bill pad. “My apologies, Mr Humphries,” he said. “I should have known better than to doubt your veracity. I shall take this matter up with young Mr Grace personally.” With that he started to leave until Mr Humphries called him back.
“I actually need that,” he said, pointing to his bill pad.
“I shall have someone from Accounts bring you a fresh one,” Mr Rumbold told him. “Oh, but you will need these…” And he tore out a few sheets of paper that had figures written down from the past week, passed them to Mr Humphries, then left.

At five-thirty the staff had already covered their counters and busts, eager to get home and relax, when Mr Rumbold appeared at the foot of the stairs.
“Ah, good,” he beamed. “You’re all here. I have a quick announcement to make regarding the incident today with Mr Humphries and the chemists.”
“Are they going to apologise to our Mr Humphries?” Mrs Slocombe demanded.
“Er, I’m afraid not,” Mr Rumbold replied solemnly. “I spoke to young Mr Grace about their rudeness and, well, it fell on deaf ears.”
“You mean he won’t do anything about them?” Miss Brahms squeaked.
“No, I mean he didn’t hear a word I said,” Mr Rumbold sighed. “His hearing’s nearly gone and he refuses to wear his deaf aid most of the time. Says the batteries cost too much.”
Every member of the staff rolled their eyes in irritation.
“So, if they’re not going to apologise to Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock said, “then why have you detained us?”
“Well, I was considering the matter in my office this afternoon,” Mr Rumbold began. “And I had an idea. Perhaps if we take the high road and turn the other cheek, as it were, they might reflect on their actions and perhaps choose to make amends.”
“And if they don’t?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Er, well, we shall cross that bridge when we come to it,” Mr Rumbold replied. “But for now I say we simply show them the same courtesy and respect that we’d show any other employee here at Grace Brothers. And just to show there are no hard feelings I think we should invite them to the staff social club tomorrow evening for amiable conversation and light frivolity. Who knows? Once they see how charming and friendly our Mr Humphries is, why, he might have a new circle of friends by the end of the evening.”
Mr Humphries raised his eyebrows and puffed his cheeks, clearly at a loss for words.
“I take it, then, that you will be extending the invitation to them this evening?” Captain Peacock drawled.
Mr Rumbold thrust his chest out proudly. “I’ve already done it, actually. And Mr Weinstock, their departmental manager, has already accepted.”
“Then what’s the point of even asking us if we’ll do it if you’ve already gone and done it herself?” Mrs Slocombe snapped.
Mr Rumbold waved this aside. “Yes, I realise I should have discussed it with you all before, but time was of the essence. However, I can understand if you are unable to attend tomorrow evening due to previous engagements or, well, lack of desire due to the circumstances. But let me also remind you that each of you has applied for a wage increase in the last month and I am still considering every application.”
The staff looked around at each other, speechless. Mr Rumbold nodded and bade them goodnight before setting his executive bowler atop his head and stepping into the lift.

The next day passed without incident, if you do not count Mr Lucas trying to pinch Miss Brahms on the rear and finding his hand had fallen instead on Mrs Slocombe’s posterior. This resulted in a few choice words and a threat to bat him ’round his ear hole. There was also a very confused customer who originally came in to purchase a handkerchief and some gloves, only to walk out with said items as well as two pairs of trousers when Mr Humphries insisted on taking his inside leg and fitting him.
“Did you see those pants he came in with?” Mr Humphries chirped to Mr Lucas at lunch. “I had to do it, otherwise he’d still be walking around London wearing lime-green polyester bell-bottoms. Ugh!”
“Are you two going to the club tonight?” Mr Grainger asked, tucking into his custard.
“I thought I’d give it a try,” Mr Humphries replied. “I’ve brought my casual evening wear with me. I just hope Rumbold’s right about ‘turning the other cheek’.”
“I’ll bet you’ve turned many a cheek, Mr Humphries,” Mr Lucas joked.
“I’ll smack your wrist in a minute,” Mr Humphries snapped. But a slight grin was tugging at his lips all the while.
“I’m afraid I shan’t be able to attend this evening,” Mr Grainger went on. “Mrs Grainger wants me to help her clean up the spare bedroom for her sister. She’s arriving Sunday afternoon and staying with us while her house is being fumigated.”
“Blimey! How long will that take?” Mr Lucas asked.
“Oh, I expect a few hours,” Mr Grainger replied. “She likes to be very thorough in the bedroom, Mrs Grainger.”
Mr Lucas and Mr Humphries exchanged knowing grins. “I mean, how long will it take to fumigate your sister-in-law’s house?” Mr Lucas chuckled.
“Oh, that.” Mr Grainger shrugged. “I have no idea. But she’s staying for a week. It will be nice to see her, really.”
“Well, Miss Brahms and I have also brought our evening wear for the occasion,” Mrs Slocombe said, joining the conversation. “You never know, they might turn out to be very classy, sophisticated individuals. And one of us could get lucky with one of the chemists! They do make very good money, you know.”
“Not to mention all the free yohimbe extract you could ever need,” Miss Brahms chuckled, catching Captain Peacock’s eye. He ignored her and kept his attention focused on his cottage pie.
“Well, what if they’re still rude and nasty, even if we’re nice as pie to ’em?” Mr Lucas asked.
“Good point, Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock agreed. “I suppose if things do not change then we will have to consider other options. Of course, going to Rumbold has proven ill-effective so far. We could always try putting the matter before young Mr Grace…”
“With a bullhorn,” Mr Humphries added, rolling his eyes.
“Yes,” Captain Peacock muttered. “But for now let’s try to be positive. When we arrive at the club tonight, all smiles, good attitude, and we shall pretend the incident yesterday never happened.”

At six-thirty sharp the Ladies and Gents department queued up outside the social club in order of superiority. Captain Peacock adjusted his cravat and led them into the lamp-lit room, whereupon they immediately were greeted by a short Hebrew gentleman.
“Ah, Captain Peacock!” Mr Weinstock beamed, taking the taller gentleman’s hand and shaking it warmly. “I’m so glad you all could make it! My staff are on their way down right now. They a few last-minute issues with the stock, but it’s all been worked out.”
Captain Peacock smiled at him and began introducing everyone. “May I introduce you to Mrs Betty Slocombe, head of Ladies wear, and her junior, Miss Shirley Brahms.”
The women bowed slightly when their names were mentioned and Mr Weinstock returned the gesture.
“Mr Ernest Grainger, I’m afraid, could not be here this evening,” Captain Peacock went on. “But I have here Mr James Lucas, the junior, and Mr Claybourne Humphries, the first sales assistant.”
“Ah yes,” Mr Weinstock said, stepping forward to shake hands with the men. “We met yesterday. On behalf of my department, I sincerely apologise for any emotional distress their comments may have caused you.”
“Apology accepted,” Mr Humphries replied, giving Mr Weinstock his charming smile.
“Are we to understand, then,” Captain Peacock said, “that the staff will also be offering their regrets concerning the matter?”
Mr Weinstock sighed heavily and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I’m afraid not. I’ve tried to convince them they should, but they just laugh at me. Then they pat me on the head and tell me there’s a penny on the floor. So, really, it’s not just you that they’re targeting. It’s pretty much anyone who doesn’t have some sort of medical degree. Which is to say, most of the staff.”
“But you’re a manager,” Captain Peacock interjected. “Surely you can control your subordinates and instruct them to show some courtesy to other staff members?”
Again Mr Weinstock sighed and shook his head. “My hands are somewhat tied. You see, we didn’t have a lot of applicants for the job due to the fact that young Mr Grace doesn’t want to pay proper chemists’ and tech’s wages. We had to take what we could get. It’s not the best but we need to keep them. For now, anyway. So it’s not like I can threaten them with termination when I can’t back it up and they know it. Reprimands are about all I can do until we find a few more decent people.” He gave another sad shake of his head, then looked up. “Oh! Here they come now.”
The first floor staff turned to see seven well-dressed individuals file into the club. The two eldest stepped forward and gave the Ladies and Gents appraising looks.
“Ah, Dr Furter, Dr Scott, thank you for coming tonight,” Mr Weinstock bubbled. “Allow me to introduce you to the first floor staff. Ah, you’ve met Mr Claybourne Humphries already, I believe.”
Claybourne gave them a warm smile, which was not returned. Instead he received icy glares.
“Yes, well, this is Captain Stephen Peacock, Mrs Betty Slocombe, Miss Shirley Brahms, and Mr James Lucas…” As he spoke their names each staff member bowed slightly and gave a kind smile. “Our staff are all on first-name basis with each other, except for our chemists. May I introduce you to Dr Frank Furter, Dr Everett Scott, Brad, Janet, Rocky, Sarah Jane, and Angeline.”
As the chemists and technicians were introduced they simply inclined their heads sharply to acknowledge the others, except for Angeline Hurst, who gave Captain Peacock a deft wink. Sarah Jane gave a tiny wave and giggle, which earned her several reproving glares from her co-workers.
“Well, this looks rather jolly,” came Mr Rumbold’s voice from the door. He came in, rubbing his hands with confidence, and surveyed the scene, which looked remarkably like a Mexican stand-off.
“I could use a drink,” Captain Peacock muttered, breaking the icy silence.
“Hear, hear,” Betty and Claybourne chorused together.
Everyone broke off and went to acquire drinks or tables. The managers and Captain Peacock retired to a small table where a bottle of scotch was already waiting for them, along with a bucket of ice and three chilled glasses. Once out of earshot, James nudged Claybourne and gestured discreetly towards the technicians.
“‘Ere, you’re right,” he whispered. “They’re not a friendly lot, are they?”
“I could feel the boys undressing me with their eyes,” Shirley muttered.
“So could I,” Betty said, giving the male technicians a surly look.
“No wonder they looked so grave,” James said over the rim of his glass.
Betty shot him a nasty stare before turning up her gin and tonic, draining the glass in a few swallows. She set it back down and motioned for the bartender to fill it back up.
“Easy on the gin,” came a sweet voice from behind the Ladies and Gents. “It’s terrible for your liver, you know.”
“Miss Sarah Jane Smith,” James greeted the young woman. “So glad you could join us this evening!”
“Yes, well, you keep your hands to yourself,” Sarah Jane warned him. She addressed the bartender with her order as well as that of the entire chemists’ shoppe. She took the drinks on a tray and gave them all a kind smile before retreating to a table towards the back of the room.
“So, what are we supposed to do tonight?” James asked, casting a glance at the technicians and doctors. “Do we ask them to dance? Chat? Play Sardines?”
“I have an idea,” Claybourne replied. “There’s a billiards table over there. Why don’t we challenge them to a friendly game?”
“I haven’t played pool in years,” Betty chuckled. “Now darts, that’s another story.”
“I don’t think we should partake in any sort of game,” Claybourne said, “that involves throwing sharp, pointy objects.”
“Yes, I agree,” James nodded briskly. “Instead we’ll play a game where we slap our balls around while stroking long shafts of wood.”
Claybourne gave him a reproving glare and began racking up the balls. “Just go over and ask if they want to play.”
James chuckled merrily and went over to the furthest table, where the staff were engrossed in conversation.
“Sorry to interrupt,” James said politely. “But we were wondering if you’d like to have a friendly game of billiards?”
His invitation was met with stony stares, except for Angeline, who stood up quickly and replied, “Oh, that sounds fun! Come on, Brad! You’re always going on about how good you are. Let’s see what you’ve got!”
Brad, a somewhat athletic-looking twenty-something stood up and shook his dark blonde hair back. “Alright,” he said. “Rack ’em up!”
James smiled warmly and led them all over to the table, where Claybourne already had the balls racked up and was chalking up his cue. A lit cigarette dangled from his mouth and he was looking much more macho than usual with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up. His co-workers looked at him with respect as he took a puff and gestured toward Brad.
“I’ll break, if you don’t mind,” he drawled. “And Shirley’s my team-mate.”
“Suit yourself,” Brad muttered, obviously bored and unimpressed.
Claybourne took his place behind the cue ball, lined up a shot, and there was a loud ‘CRACK!’ as all fifteen balls went shooting in every direction on the table. Two striped balls went into a corner and side pocket. He took another drag off his cigarette and gave Brad a grin before knocking two more striped balls into corner pockets, calling them each time. His co-workers applauded him after each shot and when he missed the third they still cheered him on.
“Well done, Claybourne!” Shirley bubbled. “‘Ere, we didn’t know you was so good!”
“It’s just a knack,” he said, giving her a wry smile before taking a seat and sipping his cosmopolitan.
Brad selected a cue, chalked it up, and began knocking solid balls into the pockets. He had five in before he missed, which was possibly due to the fact that Angeline had leaned over to get a better view, exposing her ample cleavage.
“Oh, what rotten luck,” Claybourne sympathized, but was grinning all the same. “You’re up, Shirley.”
Shirley took Claybourne’s cue and lined up a shot. She put a striped ball in the side pocket and was applauded by her co-workers, Betty being the loudest due to the four gin and tonics she’d already put away. Shirley got ready to take another shot but before she could strike the cue ball, Janet walked behind her and Shirley jerked. Her stick contacted the cue ball and it rolled forward a few inches, bumping a solid on its trip.
“Oi!” Shirley exclaimed. “What are you playing at?”
“I beg your pardon?” Janet replied, looking very cool and calm.
“You bumped me,” Shirley snapped.
“I did no such thing,” Janet simpered. “I merely walked behind you in order to acquire some salted cashews. I can’t help it if your rear is so large that it hinders pedestrian traffic in a room.”
“Oh, how dare you!” Shirley cried out. “You’re one to talk, anyway!”
Janet cackled derisively. “My bottom is perfectly proportioned to my body. Yours, however, has more jiggle than a gelatine commercial!” And with that she gave Shirley’s tuckus a hearty pat.
Shirley was seething now. James grinned appreciatively; any minute now there would be a saucy girl fight and he was practically in the front row. His glee, however, turned to disdain when Betty got up from her seat and addressed Janet.
“You shut your mouth, you nasty little girl!” Betty snarled.
“Cor, blimey!” Rocky coughed. “I can smell the fumes from here. No one light a match or she’ll explode!”
Betty tossed her glass aside and launched herself at Rocky. Fortunately Claybourne and James caught her under her arms and held her back. That didn’t stop her from tossing out a few four letter words as well as some garbled language that sounded an awful lot like, “I’ll tear yer tits off!”
“Mrs Slocombe!” Rumbold cried out. “Mrs Slocombe, control yourself!”
Betty might have heard him but she was drunk and enraged. She kicked out and tried to free herself from the men, who were having a hard time holding on.
“Captain Peacock!” Claybourne squeaked. “I’m about to lose my grip!”
“Limp wrist failing ya, Ginger?” Brad jeered.
“Oh, it’s ON, pretty boy!” Claybourne shouted. He relinquished his hold on Betty and both attempted to make a full frontal attack on the technicians. Fortunately Mr Rumbold was able to catch Claybourne around his chest and Captain Peacock latched onto Betty’s arm, with Shirley grabbing her middle and James holding on to her other arm.
“What is the meaning of this?” Mr Weinstock demanded. “Have you lot been instigating issues again?”
Brad raised his eyebrows. “‘Instigate’. That’s big word for you, isn’t it?” He chuckled and high-fived Rocky.
“How dare you?!” Mr Weinstock snapped.
“Because we know you’re screwed for staff,” Rocky explained. “And it’s fun messing with this lot.”
Betty stopped struggling and was helped into a chair. She was breathing hard, clutching her chest, and giving the technicians a very nasty look. Claybourne was put back on his feet, but restraint was handed over to Captain Peacock, who accepted reluctantly.
“That’s it,” Mr Weinstock groaned. “I’m done! I’m going back to Haberdashery. They’re your problem now, Rumbold!”
“H-how do you figure that?” Mr Rumbold asked.
“I’m handing the reins over to you until Mr Grace can come up with a permanent solution,” Mr Weinstock replied. He swung his coat on and jammed his hat on his head. “I’ll see you all Monday morning. Good night!” And with that he stomped out the door.
Mr Rumbold turned to address the chemists and their technicians, but they too were putting on their hats and coats.
“We’re outta here,” Rocky drawled.
“Now see here,” Mr Rumbold snapped. “I will not tolerate such behavior from my staff!”
“Bite my ass, Jug Ears,” Dr Scott chuckled. He led the others through the door and a few moments later they all heard the familiar ‘ding!’ of the lift.
Captain Peacock released Claybourne, who had calmed down somewhat. “You see what I was talking about?” he said.
“Insufferable twits,” Betty growled.
“Rude, vile pigs,” Shirley seethed.
“Assholes,” James snarled.
“Don’t worry,” Mr Rumbold assured them. “I shall be in front of Mr Grace first thing on Monday morning to address this situation straight away! Until then, I suggest we refrain from speaking to them unless absolutely necessary. Do not even look at them if you can help it.”
The staff muttered in agreement. There was a scraping of chairs on the floor and a few minutes later they filed out of the social club and into the lifts. The barman heaved a sigh and closed up for the night. For once something interesting had happened on his shift and now he had some gossip for the boys in Packing.

Monday morning came sooner than everyone would have preferred and they all had to be there early for the grand opening of the chemists’ shoppe. Mr Grace was wheeled to one of the counters, where Angeline Hurst stood amongst her natural remedies, and handed a speech.
“It gives me great pleasure,” he read aloud, “to welcome you all to Grace Brothers’ new chemists’ shoppe on the second floor.”
The entire store applauded politely, but there was some muttering among more than the first floor staff. Mr Lucas nudged Miss Brahms and pointed to Miss Featherstone of Bathroom Fittings, who was giving Dr Scott a very cold stare.
“What do you think’s eating her?” Mr Lucas whispered.
Miss Brahms shook her head and they turned their attentions back to Mr Grace, who had stood up and was holding a small piece of paper in his hand.
“I…I shall now hand over the first prescription to our Dr Furter.” He passed over the paper to Dr Furter, who read it and ordered Brad to fill it. Two minutes later he produced a bottle of pills that Dr Furter recounted before pressing a label onto it and handing it to Mr Grace.
“What’s this for?” he asked.
“That’s your prescription, Mr Grace,” Dr Furter reminded him. “That’s your heart medicine.”
“Oh, thank goodness for that,” Mr Grace said. “My new secretary has been giving me fits. Maybe this will help me calm down.” He passed the bottle to his nurse, then raised his hand in salutation to the staff. “Carry on, everybody! You’ve all done very well!”
“Thank you, Mr Grace,” fifty plus voices chorused in unison.
The crowd dispersed quickly; it seemed that hardly anyone wanted to stick around and see what the chemists’ shoppe had to offer. Mr Rumbold could be seen chatting with Mr Grace, who kept nodding and finally motioned for him to follow upstairs.
“Oh good,” Miss Brahms whispered. “Maybe he’ll get something done about this lot.”
“I doubt it,” Mr Humphries said. “You remember what Mr Weinstock said Friday night. They’re hard up for staff that will accept the wages he’s offering. They have to take what they can get.”
“Oh, let’s not get into it again,” Mrs Slocombe grumbled. “Come on, let’s get back to our own departments and get ready for the customers.”

Lunchtime couldn’t come sooner for the staff, who had all gotten up early to attend the grand opening ceremony. After queuing up they trudged toward their regular table, led by Captain Peacock. However, just as they left the cashier he stopped suddenly.
“I don’t believe it,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong, Captain Peacock?” Mr Grainger asked. Then he saw it.
They all saw it. And they were furious.
Their regular table was occupied by seven individuals in white lab coats. They were eating, drinking, and laughing merrily.
“Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock said. “Hold my tray, will you, while I address these scoundrels.” He passed his tray to the junior and walked up to the table. The others watched as a heated discussion took place between Captain Peacock and Dr Scott. Then all seven gave him the two-fingered salute and blew raspberries. Furious, Captain Peacock returned to the staff and motioned for them to follow him to another table.
“But that’s our table,” Mrs Slocombe argued. “It’s been our table for more than twenty years!”
“I know, Mrs Slocombe,” Captain Peacock growled. “But at the moment it is being usurped by those…those…”
“Assholes,” Mr Lucas suggested casually.
“That’s not quite the word I was looking for,” Captain Peacock sighed. “But it will do nicely.”
They settled around a smaller table that had a wonky leg. Just as they were about to tuck in to their toad-in-the-hole, Mr Rumbold entered the Canteen and joined them at their table.
“I’ve some bad news, I’m afraid,” he told them. “Young Mr Grace has heard our complaints but refuses to do anything about it. He says that until we can get some better staff for the chemists’ shoppe we’re stuck with the lot. I say…” He looked around at them all. “What are you doing at this table? Isn’t your regular table over…?”
He spun around and saw the second floor staff sitting at the other table.
“Never mind,” he sighed.
“It’s a disgrace!” Mrs Slocombe snapped. “That has been our table for more than twenty years! Have they no shame? Have they no decorum?”
“Have they any idea who they’re messing with?” Mr Grainger growled.
“What do you mean?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
Mr Grainger stood up slowly to his full height (which wasn’t saying much) and addressed his co-workers:
“My friends, there comes a time in a man’s life when he must stand up for himself and take what is rightfully his.”
“And hers!” Miss Brahms chimed in.
Mr Grainger ignored this. “The time for manners, niceties, and politeness is over. They want a war, I say we give it to them!”
Mr Rumbold shook his head. “Now really, I cannot condone this at all!”
“Are you with us or against us, Jug Ears?” Mrs Slocombe snapped.
Mr Rumbold looked very taken aback. He stood up from the table and said, “Be it on your own heads. I don’t want to know!” Then he left for the executive dining room.
“Typical!” Mrs Slocombe huffed. “Weak as water! I’m behind you, Mr Grainger! If it’s a fight they want then it’s a fight they’ll get!”
“Now, I don’t think violence is the answer here,” Captain Peacock advised.
“Oh, I quite agree,” Mr Grainger smiled. “However, there are other ways to wage war.”
“What did you have in mind?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
Mr Grainger sat back down and beckoned them all to lean in further while he explained his plan.

The next day Mr Humphries was sent to the Canteen ten minutes early to save seats at the table for the staff. However, when they arrived he was sitting at the other table, but looking very confident.
“I see you were unable to acquire our usual table,” Captain Peacock remarked casually.
“I’m afraid so, Captain Peacock,” Mr Humphries smiled. “They were quite rude again, but I stood my ground. Or sat, really. Unfortunately that one called Brad physically lifted me from the table, chair and all, and placed me here.”
“So, does that mean we’re ‘stuck’ here?” Mr Lucas chuckled.
“It would seem that way, yes,” Captain Peacock grinned.
“They’re ‘sticking’ to their guns, then?” Miss Brahms giggled.
“Oh well,” Mrs Slocombe sighed. “It’ll get them in the end.”
The staff were now fighting back their mirth and with good reason. Twenty minutes later Janet started to stand up and found she could not. She struggled and finally realised she was literally stuck to her chair. The others experienced similar difficulty when they attempted to rise. Only Sarah Jane was able to leave the table and only because she’d worn her lab coat, which prevented her skirt from sticking to the chair, which Mr Humphries had given a liberal painting of rubber cement along with all the other chairs.
The entire Canteen was soon roaring with laughter as they all watched the chemists and technicians struggle with their seats, which were now cemented to their trousers and skirts. Sarah Jane even snickered a little until Dr Scott snapped at her. She ran from the Canteen crying and later they all learned that she was also snubbed and ridiculed by the second floor staff. She was returned to her old position in Bedding that very afternoon.
Meanwhile the chemists and technicians were forced to go upstairs to Sister, where they had to remove their trousers and skirts and wait patiently for replacements to come from home (for you see, they refused to purchase garments from the store; they considered them inferior goods). Mr Harman was slipped a tenner by an unnamed floorwalker to slip in and take photographs that wound up in the staff magazine the next day – as well as in the hands of Mr Lucas.
“Cor, blimey!” he chuckled at their tea break. “Lookit that lot!”
“I must say, Dr Scott does have rather nice legs,” Mrs Slocombe giggled.
“I haven’t had this much fun in ages,” Mr Harman grinned. “You lot let me know when and if I can assist you with any furver warfare regarding the second floor staff.” With that he stood up and went back to work, for it was nearly his tea break.
“You know, I’m feeling a tad energetic,” Mr Humphries remarked. “I wonder if they’ve switched tea bags to something stronger.”
“Come to think of it, so do I,” Mr Lucas said. “Maybe the Canteen actually used decent tea…oh…wow…”
“Are you alright, Mr Lucas?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
Mr Lucas’ eyes were very wide now. He stood up slowly, bent over, and hobbled off to the men’s room. Captain Peacock followed suit as well as Mr Grainger, who clutched the tables for support as he staggered through the dining area after the floorwalker.
“What’s the matter with them?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Probably the same thing as me,” Mr Humphries whimpered. “I think we were all slipped something.”
“Like what?” Miss Brahms asked.
“Well, I couldn’t help noticing that the natural remedies section had a few aphrodisiacs for sale,” Mr Humphries explained. “And there are two in particular that might have been slipped into our tea. One of them is yohimbe bark extract.”
“That’s the impotence herb!” Miss Brahms exclaimed.
Mr Humphries nodded. “Not that I’ve ever needed it, but I know what it’s for. A friend of mine is very proficient in homeopathic remedies as well as natural herbs. And, well, the other thing they might have used is…well, I have some myself and tried a little on my cat this past weekend. Not even ten seconds later she began howling and scratching at the door. Soon every tom in the neighbourhood was trying to get in.”
“What is it?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“It’s something Mr Lucas gave me,” Mr Humphries replied. “Called Funky Cold Medina.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that,” Miss Brahms whispered. “It’s supposed to make you irresistible to the opposite sex.”
“Yes, well, fortunately I don’t think they’ve gone that far,” Mr Humphries said with a sigh of relief. Then he looked at Miss Brahms’ cup. “You’ve hardly touched your tea, Miss Brahms.”
“It’s disgusting, really,” Miss Brahms said. “I took one sip and spit it out.”
Mr Humphries frowned then looked at Mrs Slocombe’s cup in horror. There was maybe a drop left at the bottom. His eyes widened in fear as he looked up and saw she was staring at him. She gave him a wink and his lower lip began to quiver.
“You know, Mr Humphries,” Mrs Slocombe said, moving her chair closer to his, “I don’t think we’ve ever had the chance to sit and talk, one on one. How would you like to come over to my flat this evening and, ah…” She whispered into his ear.
Mr Humphries stood up quickly from the table, then doubled over in pain. Clutching his groin he limped toward the men’s room as fast as he could under the circumstances.

By Tuesday morning the effects of the yohimbe bark extract as well as the Medina had worn off completely. But the memory was still fresh on everyone’s minds. Mr Lucas was given a mission that morning by Captain Peacock: go to Hardware and gather whatever equipment he needed to secure the table for him and his co-workers. At twelve-thirty he was sent to the Canteen to carry out his mission. Mr Lucas saluted Captain Peacock with respect for the first and possibly only time in his life before hoisting a sack onto his shoulder and heading toward the lift.
At one o’clock the staff went upstairs, confident that they would have their regular table back. However, they were quite disappointed when they arrived and saw the chemists and technicians seated around it.
“Oh, that’s torn it,” Mr Humphries sighed. “We’re never going to win this war.”
“Where’s Mr Lucas?” Captain Peacock growled.
“Mr Lucas!” Miss Brahms shrieked, pointing to the other table.
They ran over to find Mr Lucas’ limp body lying on the table, tied down with rope and chains. His mouth was agape and his eyelids slightly ajar. Mis Brahms wept and pressed her face into Captain Peacock’s shoulder. He comforted her while Mrs Slocombe stared aghast next to Mr Grainger, who made the sign of the cross over his chest. Mr Humphries choked back a sob as he pressed a shaking hand to the junior’s forehead, smoothing back his hair.
Mr Lucas snorted loudly and swallowed a mouthful of drool, tried to turn over, then flatulated loudly.
“He’s alive!” Miss Brahms squealed with joy.
“And he had eggs for breakfast,” Mr Humphries coughed, fanning the air.
“He’s been drugged!” Mrs Slocombe exclaimed.
“With what, though?” Captain Peacock asked.
Mr Humphries bent over and picked up a bottle with his handkerchief. “With this: zolpidem tartrate. Generic Ambien. He’ll be out for at least twelve hours.”
“That’s a controlled substance, that is,” Miss Brahms stated defiantly. “That’s what they gave my brother last year when he had insomnia so bad.”
Mrs Slocombe drew herself up and said, “Right. That’s it! They’ve gone too far!” She turned on her heels and stalked away.
“Help me untie him, Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock said.
The two men released Mr Lucas from his bindings and together they took him back to the department. A camp bed was set up for him in the fitting room so he could sleep off the medicine. However, they weren’t sure how much he’d been given so they called in Sister to check on him and advise. Just as the nurse was checking Mr Lucas’ pulse Mrs Slocombe returned to the first floor, looking very triumphant.
“What are you looking so smug about?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Mrs Slocombe simpered. “Pass me that bust, Miss Brahms. It needs to be adjusted.”
Miss Brahms gave a confused look but did as she was told. For the rest of the day Mr Humphries and Mr Grainger took turns checking on Mr Lucas, who slept very soundly.
“What will we do at five-thirty?” Mr Humphries asked Captain Peacock as he removed the junior’s tie.
“I suggest one of us order a cab and either take him to his own home or give him shelter for the night,” Captain Peacock decided. “Someone will need to keep an eye on him until the drug wears off.”
“Fortunately the half-life isn’t very long; two to three hours, if I’m not mistaken,” Mr Humphries said.
“I did not know you were conversant in pharmaceuticals,” Captain Peacock said.
“It’s a common drug given for insomnia,” Mr Humphries replied. “I took it very briefly. It works wonderfully. The only problem is that it can cause somnambulism, strange dreams, and amnesia. I took it one night and the next morning I woke up with a pair of hair clippers in my bed, lots of calico hair, and my poor cat Agnes was shaven clean!”
“You shaved your pussy?” Mrs Slocombe asked, for she’d been listening to the whole conversation.
“I did, Mrs Slocombe,” Mr Humphries nodded.
“A remarkable drug indeed,” Captain Peacock remarked.

At five-thirty Mr Humphries called a cab and with the help of Captain Peacock they used the camp bed as a stretcher and brought Mr Lucas out onto the floor. They had just finished wrapping his coat around him when a policeman and policewoman stepped out of the lift and came down the stairs.
“We’re looking for a Betty Slocombe,” the policeman said. “And a James Lucas.”
“I’m Betty Slocombe,” said the head of the Ladies counter. “And the poor unconscious lad you see there is James Lucas.”
“Have you any idea how much he was given?” the policeman asked, taking out his pencil and paper.
“We’ve no idea,” Mr Humphries replied.
The policeman sighed and made a few notes. “That’s alright. We’ve still got them on the marijuana charges.”
“The what?” Captain Peacock and Mr Humphries chorused together.
“The second floor staff,” the policeman replied. “We received an anonymous tip that they were dealing marijuana under the counter. We sent an undercover officer in to check it out and just a few minutes ago we arrested the lot.”
Mrs Slocombe tried to hide her glee but was quite unsuccessful.
“Even Miss Hurst?” Captain Peacock gulped.
The policeman checked his notes. “Er, no, we don’t have a Miss Hurst here. We have an Everett Scott, Frank Furter, Brad Weiss, Janet Weiss, and Rocky Horror.” He sniffed disdainfully. “Terribly fake. Pseudonyms, I’m guessing. Sounds more like the cast of a camp play, to be honest. But we’ll soon have them sussed out. Right! I must be off. Have him call me when he wakes up. He’ll need to file a report and let us know if he wants to press charges.” The policeman then passed a card to Mr Humphries, tipped his hat to the ladies, and disappeared into the lift.
“Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs,” Captain Peacock said with a smile. “Would you believe it? They’ve been dealing illegal drugs this whole time!”
“You know, I had no idea when I made the call,” Mrs Slocombe said.
“You made the call?” Mr Humphries asked.
“I did,” Mrs Slocombe replied. “You see, I’ve got friends in high places.”
“Like who?” he asked.
Mrs Slocombe grinned at the policewoman standing next to her. “If I may introduce my dear friend here – Claybourne, Stephen, Shirley, Ernest, this is Ethel Axelby.”
Everyone’s jaws dropped as Ethel Axelby tipped her hat and gave them a smile.
“The famous Mrs Axelby,” Captain Peacock beamed, taking her hand warmly. “We’ve heard so much about you!”
“That can’t be good,” Mrs Axelby chuckled. She looked down at Mr Lucas. “My word, you weren’t kidding, Betty,” the policewoman whispered. “He is downright adorable! Pity he’s out cold.”
Mrs Slocombe blushed a bit and pretended to fuss with her coat.
“What’s just happened?” Mr Humphries whimpered.
“Ah, I shall explain,” Mrs Slocombe said. “After we found poor Mr Lucas drugged like this I called Mrs Axelby, who was about to leave for her shift. She’s a volunteer officer for Scotland Yard. I told her what happened and suggested that perhaps the chemists and staff were maybe doing other illegal things. She then called in her superior and arranged to have an undercover officer go in and try to buy some ‘special herbs’. Well, I didn’t even think of Miss Hurst. I mean, she hasn’t the brains or the snarkiness to do something so horrible to Mr Lucas. But fortunately the chemists irritated her something awful and she went back to Novelty Candles right after lunch.
“Well, about a quarter after three I got a call from Mrs Axelby. She said that the police were on their way over to arrest the chemists and the three technicians, but to keep quiet about it. So I kept mum until now.”
“So, really, you only reported that Mr Lucas had been drugged,” Miss Brahms said, “and that the chemists were suspected?”
“That’s right,” Mrs Slocombe nodded. “The rest was good timing, I suppose. And I did have a bit of a hunch.”
“Oh, there you all are,” Mr Rumbold said, coming from around the corner of the men’s department. “I’ve some semi-good news. The entire second floor staff have been sacked. Turns out they were dealing marijuana under the counter.”
“So we heard,” Captain Peacock drawled.
“Oh?” Mr Rumbold turned and saw Mrs Axelby. “Oh, officer! I’m glad you’re here. I’m afraid we must file a report. You see…”
“I already know,” Mrs Axelby interrupted, holding up a hand. “No worries. Once he wakes up we’ll file a report and see if he wants to press charges.”
“Splendid!” Mr Rumbold beamed. “Well, I shall see you all in the morning. Good night!” And he too disappeared into the lift.
“Well, all’s well that ends well,” Captain Peacock said, rubbing his hands together. “Mr Humphries, will you be taking Mr Lucas home this evening?”
“Why not?” Mr Humphries grinned. “My hot water bottle broke last week. He can keep the bed warm for me tonight. Come on!” And with Captain Peacock’s assistance they heaved the camp bed into the lift and down to the ground floor, where a cab was waiting for them.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

THE PHANTOM OF THE FITTING ROOM
BY DALE JACKSON

The heat outside was almost suffocating London, especially on the High Street. Those who were forced to wear long sleeves, thick skirts, and trousers were suffering as they walked to their jobs. Worst of all were those in business suits; you could see the sweat pouring from them the moment they left their air-conditioned homes. It soaked their clothing so quickly that many had started bringing extra shirts and such with them to work.
James Lucas was no exception to this. The moment he arrived at work he went into the fitting room and peeled off his shirt. The cool air graced his skin and he found a vent nearby where it was blowing nicely. There he stood for a moment, his eyes closed, a relaxed smile on his face, and a sigh escaped from his lips.
Little did he know he was not alone.
“Great minds think alike, don’t they, Mr Lucas?” said Mr Humphries as he joined the junior. His jacket, tie, and waistcoat came off revealing his own sweat-soaked shirt. He peeled this off, much to Mr Lucas’ chagrin, and his eyes rolled back in his head as relief washed over him.
“I’ve never known June to be this hot,” Mr Humphries remarked casually. “Have you?”
Mr Lucas shook his head, all the time watching his superior, a frightened look on his face. “No, Mr Humphries, never,” he concurred. He backed away a few paces.
Mr Humphries didn’t notice this. He took a spare handkerchief and patted his face and neck dry. “Shirts back on, Mr Lucas,” he said. “We’ll be open in just a minute. Can’t walk around like this all day, can we?”
Mr Lucas nodded and quickly put on a fresh shirt. As he swung his jacket back on the bell rang overhead, signalling that the shoppe was open. He checked his tie and followed Mr Humphries out onto the floor, where they both took their positions behind the counters. Mr Grainger was late again, but after forty odd years of faithful service no one was about to complain or make any sort of fuss.
Over at the Ladies counter Miss Brahms stood alone, rearranging a bra display. Captain Peacock came toward her with a middle-aged woman in tow.
“Miss Brahms, where is Mrs Slocombe?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s, er, otherwise engaged,” Miss Brahms replied. She shifted her eyes to the fitting room as subtly as possible.
Captain Peacock recognised the international sign for ‘She’s hitting the bottle again’ and rolled his eyes. “Then perhaps you can assist this lovely young woman. She’s looking for a new bra and was asking if we had the new WonderWear model in yet.”
“Oh yes,” Miss Brahms smiled. “They just come in Monday.” She pointed to the display she’d been working diligently on for roughly ten minutes. “I bought one meself when they came in and I love it!”
“Do you?” the woman said, looking a little unsure now.
“They’re great for this wevver,” Miss Brahms went on. “They’ve got this thick padding and breafable cotton that keeps you cool and dry, even on days like this. What’s more, they come in five colours; black, white, beige, blue, and red, so they’ll go with anyfing you’ve got on. What size is Madam?”
“Er, thirty-four C,” Madam replied, still looking a bit wary. But Miss Brahms had already whipped out a black WonderWear bra and was ushering her into an empty fitting room.
Captain Peacock watched them disappear and decided to check on Mrs Slocombe. He knocked on the door frame and cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence. No one answered. “Mrs Slocombe?” he called gently. “Are you free?”
“Just a moment!” came Mrs Slocombe’s voice. There were a couple of thuds and a couple choice vulgarities muttered before the curtain parted and Mrs Slocombe’s face appeared. “Yes, Captain Peacock?” she said sweetly.
“It is after nine o’clock,” Captain Peacock reprimanded her. “Your place is out here on the floor, attending to customers. Miss Brahms has already taken a customer into a fitting room because you were unavailable.”
“I’m sorry, Captain Peacock,” Mrs Slocombe apologised, with a slight edge to her voice. “I was merely attending to my new morning medication regime. I shall take over at once.” And she started for the other fitting room.
“You will not,” Captain Peacock stated firmly, stopping her in her tracks. “Miss Brahms is doing fine on her own. Besides…” He leaned in close and whispered, “I can smell your Plymouth prescription from five feet away.”
Mrs Slocombe narrowed her eyes at him as he walked back to the centre of the floor.

Back at the men’s counter Mr Humphries had watched the entire exchange and was praising himself for learning how to read lips. Although he was still a beginner he picked up the gist of the conversation between Mrs Slocombe and Captain Peacock easily. He glanced left and right before nudging Mr Lucas.
“You’ll never believe what Peacock just said to Mrs Slocombe,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, which wasn’t easy given its natural pitch. “He reprimanded her for not being on the floor, told her to leave Miss Brahms alone with her customer, and then told her he could smell the gin on her from five feet away.”
Mr Lucas shot a quick glance at the Ladies counter, where Mrs Slocombe was still fuming as she rummaged through a drawer full of women’s underwear. They saw her slip out a miniature bottle of gin and surreptitiously knock it back while Captain Peacock’s back was turned. She gave a shudder and recapped it, stuffing it back in amongst the knickers. A female customer drew up to the counter and she immediately switched from her sour demeanour to one of dignity, charm, and grace as she addressed the woman.
“How much do you think she’s had?” Mr Lucas asked.
“Who knows,” Mr Humphries replied. “She’s been like this for a few days now. I noticed something was amiss when she didn’t call me Tuesday night.”
“Does she call you every Tuesday night?” Mr Lucas inquired.
“Yes, that’s when Coronation Street comes on,” Mr Humphries said. “At eight-thirty sharp she rings me and we chat for about half an hour about what happened on the programme. When she didn’t call this week I rang her but she never answered.”
“What did you do then?”
“I waited ’til I saw her here the next morning and asked her if everything was alright. She said she was fine. Apparently she and her friend, Mrs Axelby, went out for the evening and lost track of the time.”
“That’s her story.”
Mr Humphries frowned, but he knew Mr Lucas was right. Something was up with Mrs Slocombe.
One of the lifts dinged and a surly-looking Mr Grainger hobbled out. His face was beet red, what little hair he had was askew, and he was panting hard.
“Are you alright, Ernest?” Captain Peacock inquired, looking very concerned.
“This blasted heat’s got me perspiring buckets,” Mr Grainger growled. “And it’s knocked the power out on my street. Mrs Grainger woke up at seven o’clock and gave me a hard shove that pushed me out of bed. Fortunately her sister is visiting and has a car, she leant it to me so I could get here before ten. However, the air conditioner is broken and all the way over I had to keep the windows rolled down so I wouldn’t suffocate from the heat. I’m still puffed from the short walk from the parking garage to here.”
“Anything I can do?” Mr Humphries asked.
Mr Grainger gave him a reproving look. “No thank you, Mr Humphries.” He took a few steps toward the fitting room and seemed to change his mind. “On the other hand, do you think you could procure for me a new shirt to replace this one? I’m afraid it’s a bit damp from my sweating so much. I just hope I don’t become dehydrated after all that.”
“Glass of ice water for Mr Grainger,” Mr Lucas grinned.
Mr Humphries gave him a sharp tap on the wrist and passed a new shirt to Mr Grainger.

Meanwhile, Miss Brahms was finishing with her third customer that morning; a nightgown and lingerie for a young woman of about twenty-five.
“I’ve tucked the receipt in the bag,” Miss Brahms said, giving a very toothy smile to the customer. “Don’t worry if the nightgown seems a bit long. It will ride up with wear.”
“It was actually a bit short,” the woman replied.
“In that case, it will ride down with wear,” Miss Brahms corrected herself. “But if you have any complaints don’t hesitate to bring it back. We’ll be glad to exchange it as long as you have the receipt, the garment hasn’t been worn, and it’s within ten days of purchase. Good day, Madam!”
The woman nodded, looking a bit confused, and went toward the lift. Captain Peacock appeared at the counter, smiling genially at Miss Brahms.
“You seem to have the golden touch today, Miss Brahms,” he remarked.
“Well, I’ve got first crack, don’t I?” Miss Brahms replied.
“Where is Mrs Slocombe?” Captain Peacock asked.
Miss Brahms didn’t say anything, but gestured silently with her head toward the ladies’ room upstairs. Captain Peacock nodded and looked at his wristwatch. With a heavy sigh he shook his sleeve back into place and went back to the centre of the floor just as Mrs Slocombe came out of the restroom. She pretended not to notice him glaring at her as she took her place behind the counter again. Captain Peacock said nothing but took out a small pad and pencil, made a note, and tucked them back in his jacket.
“Do you think he’s going to write her up?” Mr Lucas whispered to Mr Humphries.
“I don’t know,” Mr Humphries muttered. “But I think we need to get to the bottom of this before it starts trouble for her.”
“I think trouble just found her,” Mr Lucas said as a plump middle-aged woman approached the ladies’ counter.
“Excuse me,” the woman called out to Mrs Slocombe. “Are you a senior?”
Mrs Slocombe narrowed her eyes and slowly swaggered up to the woman. “Are you inferring that I am a Jerry-hat-trick?” she demanded sternly.
“I was merely inquiring if you were the senior salesperson on this counter,” the woman stated haughtily. “I am in need of a new handbag and wish to be served by only the most senior person on the floor.”
“A haaaaandbag?” Mrs Slocombe slurred.
The woman blinked a few times, then sniffed the air. “I say,” she said. “Have you been drinking?”
“Certainly not, Madam,” Mrs Slocombe snapped. “I believe what you are smelling is my new mouthwash.”
“Since when does a mouthwash smell strongly of gin and lemon?” the woman retorted.
Mrs Slocombe smiled sweetly and replied, “Since about the time you began to smell strongly of manure and straw, you fat, stupid cow!”
The woman clasped a hand to her mighty bosom and gasped. “Well, I never!”
“You should,” Mrs Slocombe said. “It’s fun. And you look like you’ve never had a day of fun in your whole life, you snooty bitch.”
The woman gasped again, took out a handkerchief, and pressed it to her mouth before turning on her heels. As she stomped up the stairs to the lift Mrs Slocombe smirked and gave her a two-finger salute.
Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas both stared, open-mouthed. Then the older salesman nudged his junior as Captain Peacock walked by. They pretended to be busy while he surveyed the nearby displays. Once he had wandered off again they resumed their watch on the ladies’ counter. However, Mrs Slocombe had already disappeared again so they resigned themselves to assisting customers.

At one o’clock the staff queued up for steak and kidney pie, rissoles, and some sort of green salad that was somewhat past its prime. As they stepped into the dining room Mr Humphries nudged Mr Lucas and nodded toward a lone figure sitting in the corner. It was Mrs Slocombe and she looked thoroughly depressed.
“Tell Peacock I’ll catch up in a minute,” he told the junior and went over to join the senior saleswoman. “How are you, dear?” he asked her.
Mrs Slocombe looked up from her rissoles, which she’d barely touched. Her eyes were bloodshot and a bit puffy.
“You’ve not been crying, have you?” Mr Humphries asked, genuinely concerned.
“Oh, no,” she replied. “I just had a bit of bother with my contact lenses before lunch.”
Mr Humphries nodded. “Yes, I can see how that would give you trouble. If you wore contact lenses, that is.”
Mrs Slocombe smiled guiltily and took a sip from her coffee cup. She wrinkled her nose up at it then added some sugar.
“Now don’t lie to me,” Mr Humphries admonished her lightly. “I’m worried about you. First you didn’t call after Coronation Street, then you forgot to buy cat food for Tiddles, now we find you’re drinking on the job.”
“I am not drinking on the job,” Mrs Slocombe snarled.
Mr Humphries gave her his best ‘bitch please’ look, then picked up her handbag and gave it a shake. Glass bottles tinkled inside. Then he picked up her coffee cup, sniffed it, and immediately regretted it as his eyes began to water from the fumes.
Mrs Slocombe took the cup back. “Perhaps I have been taking an occasional nip…” she began.
“Mrs Slocombe,” Mr Humphries coughed. “If I were to light a cigarette right now and you breathed on it just right you’d be an instant flame-thrower. Now what’s going on? This is not at all like you.”
Mrs Slocombe hesitated then her lower lip began to wobble. She started to speak but all that came out was a whimper before she dissolved into tears. She covered her face with a handkerchief and allowed herself to be comforted by Mr Humphries, who looked a bit uncomfortable but still patted her arm consolingly as she sobbed into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she hiccoughed. “B-b-but I’ve just been so depressed lately.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mr Humphries asked. “Aren’t we friends? Friends look out for each other, through good times and bad. Now what’s got you so down?”
Mrs Slocombe hiccoughed again and started to reach for her cup, but Mr Humphries intercepted and pushed it away.
“You’ve had enough for today,” he said sternly. “Now talk to me.”
She sniffed a few times and blew her nose loudly on her handkerchief. “It…it was twenty-four years ago, on Friday…that was the last time I saw Mr Slocombe. H-he went out to Sainsbury’s for a pound of b-butter. S-slightly salted. He…he never came back.”
“Oh my,” Mr Humphries breathed. “What did you do?”
“I h-had margarine on me toast,” Mrs Slocombe sniffed.
“I mean, what did you do after that?” Mr Humphries asked. “Did you file a police report or anything?”
“N-no,” she stammered. “I figured everything out when I bounced a cheque at the market a week later. He drained our bank account dry. Then I got a credit card notice in the posts. The stupid ass forgot to change his address when he left. There were charges made in some place called Littlehampton, at a rock factory. Some bloke called Neville Sutcliffe, he bought several cases of rock off him after he…he…left me!”
She broke down again and Mr Humphries was at a loss for words. Then he furrowed his brow.
“Neville Sutcliffe,” he repeated. “Why does that name sound…familiar…oh my word, I think I know him! Is he a blonde fellow that looks like that dandy John Inman, but dumb as a box of…well, rock?”
“How should I know?” Mrs Slocombe wailed. “All I know is last week I was walking through Paddington with Mrs Axelby when she veered into a market, said she needed something from the dairy case. It was slightly salted butter. We were in Sainsbury’s. And then it hit me…he’s been gone twenty-two years.” She pressed the handkerchief to her face again as her body shook from silent sobs.
“I can see now why you’re so depressed,” Mr Humphries said consolingly. “But you mustn’t let it affect you so badly that you turn to the bottle. You could lose your job if Peacock decides to get nasty and tell Rumbold.”
“I know,” Mrs Slocombe sniffed. “You’re right. I must hold my head up and not let it get to me.”
“Tell you what,” Mr Humphries said. “Let’s go out tonight. We’ll check out that new club that opened last month. I heard they make a great cosmopolitan – and they get a lot of cute young sailors on shore leave.”
Mrs Slocombe giggled and pretended to shove Mr Humphries, who was grinning at her. “You are terrible, Mr Humphries! But not tonight. I’ve got to do me laundry and Mrs Axelby’s coming over to help me move some furniture.”
“Tomorrow night, then,” Mr Humphries said. “Now come on, let’s get back to our regular table.” He picked up his plate and gently smacked her wrist when she started to take the spiked coffee with her. She gave him a pout but left it alone.
“Ah, there you two are,” Captain Peacock said as they sat down in their usual positions. “Is everything all right?”
“Nothing to worry about,” Mr Humphries said, giving Captain Peacock a deft wink. “Mrs Slocombe was just feeling a little under the weather. We’ve sorted it all out.”
“Good to hear,” Captain Peacock nodded.
“‘Ere, I’ve been looking for you,” Mr Harman said. He came over to the staff’s table and sat down without invitation.
“Mr Harman, this is not your table,” Captain Peacock snapped. “Kindly remove yourself at once.”
Without batting an eyelid Mr Harman looked at the floor walker and said, “Then I guess you don’t want to ‘ear about the takeover bid, what they’re talking about up in the board room at this very minute.” He started to stand up but Mr Lucas reached over and grabbed his arm, preventing him from rising.
“How do you know about a takeover bid?” Captain Peacock asked.
“I was just up there,” Mr Harman replied. “An’ I could overhear them talking in low voices.”
“Do you know who it is?” Mr Lucas asked.
“I heard a few names mentioned,” Mr Harman said. “And one of them was a bit familiar.”
“Well?” Captain Peacock demanded.
Mr Harman turned to Mrs Slocombe and said, “The surname was Slocombe. I wondered if you might know ‘im.”
Mrs Slocombe shrugged. “It’s not an uncommon name,” she said. “My husband had three brothers, twelve cousins, and five nephews. It could be any one of them for all I know.”
“What were their full names?” Captain Peacock inquired.
“Well, one was called Sutcliffe,” Mr Harman replied. “I fink it was Neville Sutcliffe.”
“Say what?” Mrs Slocombe gulped.
“And the uvver was a Cecil Slocombe, if memory serves me right,” Mr Harman added.
Mrs Slocombe became very pale and her hands began to shake. Then her eyes rolled back as she collapsed in her chair. Mr Humphries cried out as the others huddled around her, and he took out his vial of ammonium carbonate to waft under her nose.

At six o’clock the staff found themselves huddled around a table at Beppo’s Café, where they were sipping decent coffee. Mrs Slocombe had calmed down greatly since but had refused to discuss anything until after work when they could all have some privacy.
“I take it you know Cecil Slocombe,” Captain Peacock said when their sandwiches arrived.
“I do,” Mrs Slocombe replied softly. “He’s my ex-husband, who left me in June 1951.”
“Our Ada,” Mr Humphries whimpered. “No wonder you were so upset.”
Mrs Slocombe took a mini-bottle of gin from her handbag and opened it. This time no one stopped her from draining it. Smacking her lips she stared at her co-workers, bleary-eyed, and continued her tale.
“It was eight o’clock in the morning, twenty-four years ago this Friday. I’d made breakfast and he was sitting at the table, real quiet and calm. We’d had a bit of a row a few nights before, but we’d made it up. Anyway, all of a sudden he stood up and announced that he was going down to Sainsbury’s for a pound of slightly salted butter. He never came home. A couple weeks later I received a notice from our credit card. He’d made a bunch of charges in Littlehampton, for cases of rock at some factory owned by a Neville Sutcliffe Senior. I figured it out and filed for a divorce. It was all done through the posts. I thought I’d never see him again, would never have to be reminded that I was dumped like that.” She sniffed heartily and pressed her handkerchief to her face.
“I had Mr Harman ask some questions,” Mr Humphries added, taking out a small notepad from his jacket.. “He did a little reconnaissance for me. According to this, Cecil bought all that rock from Sutcliffe because the factory was losing money. He then sold it at a nice profit and used it to become a shareholder in the Littlehampton Rock Factory. Turns out that Neville is his long-lost brother. He has a son, Neville Junior, who’s only taken over in the last few months. Neville Junior owned a fish and chip shop in Blackpool. He sold it to pay off some outstanding debts the factory had. However, he’s since recruited Cecil to help him run the business and now they’re making very nice profits. We actually sell some of the rock at Grace Brothers.”
“I-is that how you know N-Neville?” Mrs Slocombe snuffled.
“Sort of,” Mr Humphries replied. “He was in London, giving out free samples to local businesses, trying to get them to flog it. He offered me a pulled banana and I totally misunderstood him. But we worked it out and ended up having drinks at the pub.” Mr Humphries got a faraway look in his eyes as he reminisced. “Nice chap, but not very bright.”
“Why’s he back in London, though?” Miss Brahms asked.
“According to Harman,” Mr Humphries said, “they’re looking into other businesses, such as sweet shops, restaurants, and department stores. Cecil has already bought a few ailing businesses, turned them around, and then resold them at a very nice profit. He’s hoping to do the same with Grace Brothers.”
“Grace Brothers is doing fine, though, isn’t it?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Not as well as could be expected,” Mr Humphries replied. “That little stunt the chemists and technicians pulled last year has not been good for public relations. You remember, it was in the news for two weeks solid. Things have improved slightly but we’ve still a long way to go before we’re back to where we were.”
“That’s not saying much,” Miss Brahms sighed.
“So, let me get this straight,” Mr Lucas said, slathering mayonnaise and mustard on his turkey club. “Cecil Slocombe left you all these years ago and moved to Littlehampton. Now he’s back and trying to buy Grace Brothers so he can turn it around and sell it.”
Mrs Slocombe nodded sadly. She took out another mini-bottle and used it to wash down her ham and Swiss on rye.
“How many of those are you carryin’ aroun’? Miss Brahms asked.
Mrs Slocombe shrugged, but Mr Humphries snatched up her bag and shook it. They heard the tinkle of several bottles inside. He and Miss Brahms exchanged a look, nodded, and he turned it upside down. About twenty tiny bottles fell out along with a flask and a vial of lemon juice.
“What did you do?” Mr Humphries asked. “Raid a miniature wet bar?”
“Give me that,” Mrs Slocombe snapped. She swept the bottles back into her bag and shoved it back under the table where no one could grab it.
“Do you think he knows you’re still at Grace Brothers?” Miss Brahms asked.
“I don’t know,” Mrs Slocombe sighed. “But he’ll find out soon enough, won’t he? If he makes a good enough offer Mr Grace will hand over the keys right then and there. Then when he sees me he’ll probably push me out the door first!”
“That’s if he decides to buy Grace Brothers,” Mr Lucas said, shoving the sandwich into his mouth.
“What do you mean, ‘if’?” Captain Peacock said.
Mr Lucas finished swallowing his mouthful and motioned for everyone to lean in closer. “Well, what if he found that the store was in too bad shape to purchase? Say, the plumbing and wiring was shot? The workers keep striking? A bit of food poisoning from the Canteen?”
“You’re describing the store in its current state, Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock muttered. “And others have nearly bought it.”
“Good point,” Mr Lucas sighed.
“What if the store was haunted?” Mr Grainger spoke up.
The others stared at him.
“Mrs Grainger and I nearly bought a house in Coventry once,” Mr Grainger said. “It was quite nice. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, not far from the bus stop…and the back garden was very roomy. But when we spoke to the neighbours they warned us that it was haunted. Well, at the time Mrs Grainger and I weren’t about to listen to such fallacies. We made an offer and had just started to move in when odd things began happening.”
“Like what?” Mr Lucas asked.
“We’d unpacked a couple boxes with things for the kitchen,” Mr Grainger replied, “and had some plates lying on the table. Then we went out to the car to get a few other boxes. When we returned to the kitchen all the plates had been put back in the box.”
“Perhaps you were imagining things,” Captain Peacock said. “Or your wife put them away and you didn’t notice.”
Mr Grainger shook his head. “Oh no. I asked her and she said she hadn’t touched them.”
“Eerie,” Mr Lucas muttered.
“Then we heard voices that night,” Mr Grainger went on. “It sounded like there were two people in the room with us, talking about something. But when we switched on the light there was no one there.”
“Sound does carry, you know,” Captain Peacock remarked. “It could have been the neighbours talking and you overheard them next door.”
Again Mr Grainger shook his head. “We had the windows shut. But the thing that drove us out of that house was when I woke up late that night and saw a young girl standing at the foot of my bed. I thought I might have been dreaming until my wife woke up as well and saw the girl. Then she disappeared like she was made of smoke. The next day we packed our things, withdrew our offer, and went back to London.”
“Creepy,” Miss Brahms shivered.
“So you’re saying if the store was haunted,” Mr Lucas said, “then he might not want to buy it.”
“Well, that’s simple enough,” Mr Humphries said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll just pop ’round to Coventry, pick up a few bored ghosts, and see if they’d like hanging around Grace Brothers.”
“I was actually thinking,” Mr Grainger explained, “that we could come up with some fake ghost stories and when he comes to inspect the departments we casually mention them.”
“He’d never believe it,” Mrs Slocombe said. “He’s too stubborn.”
“But what if the spirits made themselves known somehow?” Mr Grainger said with a mischievous grin.
“I think I follow you,” Mr Lucas said, with a grin of his own.
“Good,” Miss Brahms sighed. “Because I’m lost.”
“It’s simple, really,” Mr Lucas explained. “We just rig up a few ‘special effects’ around the department and when Cecil Slocombe comes down to inspect – and he will – we’ll casually mention a few tales of paranormal activity. Then when he scoffs we’ll back ’em up with, I dunno, say, a moving mannequin or a creepy mist that suddenly appears.”
“Voices from the fitting room,” Mr Humphries giggled. “Tape measures that take inside legs on their own…”
“I’m not so sure about this,” Captain Peacock said quietly.
“It’s worth a try,” Mr Lucas said. “I mean, if it keeps ol’ Cecil from taking over and possibly sacking all of us…”
“What makes you think he’d sack the entire staff?” Mr Humphries asked.
“That’s what you do when you take over a business,” Mr Lucas replied. “You get rid of the old staff, bring in fresh blood, remodel the building, bring in new stock, then have a grand re-opening. It’s what I’d do, anyway.”
“It’s very frightening,” Captain Peacock muttered, “when you actually make a very valid point that makes perfect sense.”
“He’s right, you know,” Miss Brahms said. “If you’re so business smart why are you working at Grace Brothers?”
Mr Lucas sipped his coffee and shrugged. “I never finished my degree at university. I keep telling myself I’ll go back and get it, but then something pops up.”
“I’ve just had a thought,” Mr Humphries interrupted. “Two thoughts, actually…”
“Bully for you!” Mr Lucas chuckled.
Mr Humphries shot him a dirty look. “First, shouldn’t we come up with some sort of ghost stories? Say, maybe a few former assistants who have since passed, and their ghosts still come to work?”
“Real assistants or made-up ones?” Miss Brahms asked.
“Either or both,” Mr Humphries replied. “The other thing I thought of is a friend of mine works for the BBC. She’s done some work on Doctor Who, she might be able to lend us some tips as well as equipment that would make for a very spooky and realistic ghost encounter.”
“Good thinking,” Mr Grainger said. Then he became concerned. “Mrs Slocombe, whatever’s the matter now?”
They all looked at Mrs Slocombe, who had silent tears streaming from her eyes and splashing into her coffee. She turned away for a moment to dab at her face, then said in a shaky voice, “I have never been so moved in my life. To think that you all – even you, Mr Grainger – would go to such lengths to help me. I’m so touched!”
Mr Humphries and Miss Brahms, who were sitting on either side of her, put their arms around Mrs Slocombe’s shoulders as fresh sobs racked her body.
“Should we tell her that we’re mostly looking out for our own hides?” Mr Grainger whispered from the corner of his mouth to Captain Peacock, who sighed and shook his head in response.
“Right, let’s get started,” Mr Humphries said after a moment. He whipped out a notepad and pencil. “Let’s come up with some names and scenarios. I’ll call my friend tonight and make some arrangements. You never know, this might just work.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Then we start updating our CVs,” Mr Lucas replied.

The next morning the news that two gentlemen were possibly going to buy the store had spread like wildfire. There were a few whispered conversations in the Canteen when Mrs Slocombe passed by with her morning coffee, but no one said anything to her. Meanwhile Mr Humphries was discreetly bringing in equipment and hiding it in a fitting room. Captain Peacock had not been very helpful the night before and had said more than once that he could not condone what they were planning, but he still looked away every time Mr Humphries walked by with a box in his arms.
Mr Harman gathered more reconnaissance for them when he could and they finalised their plans during lunch: Cecil Slocombe would be inspecting the store on Thursday afternoon along with Neville Sutcliffe, who was financing most of the venture. When he arrived on the first floor Mrs Slocombe would slip into the fitting room while the others greeted her ex-husband. They would then tell him about some of the ‘odd things that had been happening’ and to make sure it was driven home they would operate some of the machines Mr Humphries’ friend had brought from the BBC, including a fog machine, miniature speakers, a radio microphone, and a few well-placed pulley systems that he and Mr Lucas would be installing after the store closed that would raise the arms on some of the dummies and even lift one female mannequin’s skirt up.
“I think we should have a little rehearsal as well,” Mr Humphries suggested at lunch. “Just to be sure everyone knows the stories properly and how to use the machines.”
“What a good idea!” Mrs Slocombe chirped. “Ooh, I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I flip the switch and show him my knickers!”
“I know that’d frighten me,” Mr Lucas muttered.
Mrs Slocombe gave him a sour look, then nodded to Miss Brahms who punched him on the arm.
“Easy!” he snapped. “Remember, I’m trying to help you out. I’m staying late to put this lot together.”
“True,” Mrs Slocombe agreed. “But I am still your superior and you must show me some respect. Otherwise you’ll get a bat ’round the ear ‘ole!”
“Shall we say five-thirty?” Mr Humphries continued unabated.
The others murmured in agreement then quickly changed the subject when Mr Rumbold walked by on his way to the executive dining room. Somehow they had a feeling he wouldn’t be too pleased with what they were planning.

At five-thirty the staff checked to make sure no one else was around and began setting everything up. Mr Harman helped them with the wiring and some of the pulleys, saying that he could use the overtime.
“But this isn’t part of your job,” Mr Lucas pointed out.
“It’s gonna save the store,” Mr Harman replied. “Now pass me that minyatore speaker.”
In no time they had everything ready and after a few quick tests Mr Humphries nodded his approval and gathered everyone in the centre of the floor.
“Now, we’re going to pretend that Cecil Slocombe has just walked in,” Mr Humphries explained. “Mr Harman, would you be so kind as to act the part of Mr Slocombe?”
“What about the other one?” Miss Brahms asked. “What’s his name? Neville Something?”
“Sutcliffe,” Mr Humphries replied. “And don’t worry about him. He’ll be easy to persuade. It’s Mr Slocombe we need to worry about. Now, Mr Harman has kindly agreed to alert us when Mr Slocombe has arrived in the building. He will call us and I will give the signal to Mrs Slocombe. We’ll take it from there. Everyone to your positions!”
The staff scurried to their positions behind the counters. Mr Humphries picked up the phone and pretended to listen, then he replaced the receiver and nodded to Mrs Slocombe, who stared at him.
“Mrs Slocombe,” Mr Humphries said, walking over to her counter. “That was your cue.”
“You just nodded to me,” Mrs Slocombe said. “That could mean anything.”
“We must try to be subtle,” Mr Humphries told her. “What if Jug Ears is on the floor when Harman calls?”
“‘Ere, what if you just call our phone and tell me,” Miss Brahms suggested. “Then I could tap ‘er on the shoulder and…” She gestured with her head toward the fitting room.
“We’ll use a code word just in case,” Mr Humphries said. “When I call I’ll tell you…ah, I’ll tell you that I’m having trouble with my tape measure. That’ll be your cue to cue Mrs Slocombe. Right! Let’s try it.” He walked back to his counter and picked up the phone. The phone at the Ladies’ counter rang a few seconds later.
“Ladies Intimate Apparel,” Miss Brahms answered.
“I’m having trouble with my tape measure,” Mr Humphries whispered into the receiver.
“Sorry?” Miss Brahms replied.
“I’m having trouble with my tape measure,” Mr Humphries repeated, slightly louder.
“You’re having a mumble with your grape pressure?” Miss Brahms said, looking a bit confused.
“I’m having trouble with my tape measure!” Mr Humphries shouted into the receiver.
“Oh, right!” Miss Brahms replied. She hung up and tapped Mrs Slocombe on the shoulder, who nodded. Then she flattened herself against the wall and crept toward the fitting room in a manner that would have made Dan Briggs proud.
“Now then,” Mr Humphries continued. “Mr Slocombe will come out of the lift and walk down to greet Captain Peacock.” He gestured to Mr Harman who was standing next to the lifts. He came down the stairs and walked up to Captain Peacock.
“Mornin’ Squire,” he addressed the floor walker.
Captain Peacock groaned audibly, but answered, “Good morning, Sir. Welcome to the first floor. I am Captain Stephen Peacock, the floor walker. May I be of assistance?”
“I’m just lookin’ ’round,” Mr Harman said casually. “Might be buying this dump soon. I do that, you know. Buy up old businesses what’s about to tank and then turn ’em aroun’. I thought I’d check out your floor firs’, see what needs to be replaced.”
Mr Grainger, who had fallen asleep in his chair, chose that moment to give a very loud snore.
“Cor, blimey!” Mr Harman chuckled. “He’ll be the firs’ to go!”
Mr Humphries rolled his eyes and bent over to whisper into Mr Grainger’s ear. “Are you free, Mr Grainger?”
Mr Grainger snapped to a full alert state and stood up quickly. “Y-yes, I’m free!”
Captain Peacock clapped a hand to his face. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Perhaps you would like to visit the Men’s department first? I’m sure our Mr Grainger could give you a quick tour. Mr Grainger?”
Mr Grainger stepped forward and smiled. “If you’d walk this way, sir?” He led Mr Harman over to the counter, then stopped abruptly. “Oh my,” he said quietly.
“What’s wrong?” Mr Harman asked.
“It’s just that…he’s been here,” Mr Grainger muttered cryptically.
“Who’s been here?”
“Mr Franklin, my old boss.”
“So?”
Mr Grainger turned slowly and raised an eyebrow. “He’s been dead fifteen years.”
“D’you mean to tell me this place is haunted?” Mr Harman scoffed. “I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Oh, it’s true,” Mr Lucas chimed in. “We’ve had lots of paranormal activity around here. Every day Mr Franklin makes his presence known by waving a dummy’s arm about. It’s eerie, it is.”
“In fact, I wouldn’t stand so close to that one,” Mr Humphries said, indicating a male mannequin wearing a yellow and black sweater that stood next to the counter. “That’s the one he’s been using lately. Right, now that’s your cue, Mr Lucas.”
Mr Lucas nodded and subtly tugged on a thin wire hidden under the counter. Nothing happened.
“Mr Lucas, you’re supposed to pull the wire,” Mr Humphries chided him.
“I am pulling it,” Mr Lucas snapped. “It’s caught on something.”
Mr Humphries sighed and began examining the dummy. “Everything looks fine here,” he said.
“Wait, I think I’ve got it,” Mr Lucas said. Then he yanked hard on the wire, causing the dummy’s hand to jerk upward and catch Mr Humphries in the groin. He cried out in pain then leaned on the counter for support.
“Are you alright, Mr Humphries?” Mr Lucas asked, looking very concerned.
Mr Humphries whimpered something that sounded very much like, ‘Get stuffed.’
“Perhaps we should move on,” Captain Peacock suggested in a very bored tone.
“Yes,” Mr Humphries squeaked. He cleared his throat and limped toward the fitting room door. “Now, you know the script. Carry on!”
Mr Grainger led Mr Harman to the fitting room. “I must warn you, there have been stories of people hearing whispers while they’re in the fitting room. It’s very peculiar. I’ve heard them myself a few times.”
“Rubbish,” Mr Harman stated firmly. He walked toward the door and Mr Humphries opened a drawer that contained a small box. He pressed a switch and they were treated to a loud recording of Mr Lucas mimicking an old man’s voice. One of the miniature speakers sparked then blew out while the other blasted incomprehensible garble. Mr Humphries shrieked and nearly dropped the tape recorder as he fumbled around for the volume. Finally he located it and turned it down to a low whisper.
“What happened?” Miss Brahms asked, racing over from her counter.
“Someone left the volume cranked up,” Mr Humphries replied, clutching his chest. “Oh, Sheryl’s not going to be happy. Those speakers cost five pounds each. How am I going to replace them?”
“We’ll think of something,” Mr Lucas said. “We only need one up there, anyway. Try it again.”
Mr Humphries pressed a shaking finger to the switch and Mr Harman listened closely.
“I can’t hear anyfing,” he said.
Mr Humphries turned the volume up slightly.
“A little more,” Mr Harman said. “A bit more…wait…yeah, I can ‘ear it now.” He listened for a moment. “What’s ‘e sayin’?”
“‘Don’t let Jug Ears near you in full sunlight, otherwise you’ll be blinded’,” Mr Lucas laughed.
“Enough fooling around,” Mr Humphries said. “Let’s try the Ladies department.”
Miss Brahms went back to her counter as Captain Peacock led Mr Harman over. “This is the Ladies department,” he explained. “I’m afraid our senior assistant has been called away for the moment, but I’m sure Miss Brahms will be happy to help you.”
“Good morning, sir,” Miss Brahms bubbled. “How can I assist you this morning?”
“I can think of a few ways,” Mr Harman replied, staring at her ample cleavage.
“Mr Harman, please!” Mr Humphries cried.
“Er, you can show me aroun’,” Mr Harman added quickly.
Miss Brahms curtsied and started to leave the counter. However, she stopped dead in her tracks and muttered, “Oh no, not again.”
“What’s wrong?” Mr Harman asked.
Miss Brahms gestured for him to come closer so she could whisper, “It’s Mrs Harrison. She used to be the senior ‘ere, but she was forced into early retirement five years ago. It was too much for her. She died six months later. The doctors said her last words were, ‘I’ll make them pay! I’ll make ’em all pay for givin’ me the sack!'” Miss Brahms narrowed her eyes and adopted a mean, bitter voice to go with the words.
“Blimey,” Mr Harman shuddered. “That’s enough there to give anyone the collywobbles.”
“What’s more is when a man goes into the ladies fitting room she shouts at them to get the ‘eck out,” Miss Brahms continued.
“But she asks Mr Humphries where he gets his nails done,” Mr Lucas cracked.
Mr Humphries glared at Mr Lucas.
“She’s the phantom of the fitting room, she is. If you don’t believe me, go on in,” Miss Brahms said, stepping aside and pointing to a stall. “Go on. I dare you.”
Mr Harman grinned and shook his head, then walked into the fitting room Miss Brahms had indicated. He pulled back the curtains and waited. Nothing happened.
“We’re never going to get home tonight, are we?” Mr Lucas grumbled.
“Mrs Slocombe?” Mr Humphries chirped. “Mrs Slocombe? You missed your cue.” He pulled back the curtains on the adjoining stall to find Mrs Slocombe passed out inside.
“Bloody ‘ell,” Mr Harman coughed. “I can smell it from ‘ere! How much ‘as she ‘ad?”
Mr Humphries gently shook Mrs Slocombe awake. She raised her head slowly and a small avalanche of miniature bottles that had been supporting her like a pillow fell onto the floor. A Plymouth label was stuck to her cheek and her lipstick was smeared across her face as well as the wall.
“Will you take over, Miss Brahms,” Mr Humphries groaned, “while I take Mrs Slocombe to hospital to have her stomach pumped?”
“You’ll be there all night,” Mr Lucas chuckled, earning him a few hard smacks from Miss Brahms.

By Thursday morning Mrs Slocombe was involuntarily sober and the staff were confident they could pull the stunt off. Mr Humphries kept checking the wiring as well as the volume switches on the radio microphones and tape recorders. Mr Grainger tried his best to stay awake but ended up nodding off just after lunch. Miss Brahms kept a close eye on Mrs Slocombe and had even rummaged through her bag a few times, confiscating more tiny liqueur bottles as well as a fresh lemon and a can of mace that she knew was reserved for the ex-husband.
At a quarter to three the phone rang on the men’s counter. Mr Humphries rushed to answer it. He nodded and hung up, then dialled the Ladies counter.
“Ladies Intimate Apparel,” Miss Brahms answered.
“I’m having trouble with my tape measure,” Mr Humphries said softly into the phone.
Miss Brahms glanced over and nodded. She hung up and tapped Mrs Slocombe on the arm.
“Shove off,” she said. “Cecil’s on his way up.”
Mrs Slocombe looked terrified but she took a deep breath, puffed out her chest, and went into the fitting room.
A moment later the lift doors dinged and out came a stoutish man of about fifty with greying ginger hair. He had a younger blonde man following him, who could easily have been Mr Humphries’ long lost twin if he was an inch taller and fifty IQ points smarter, which he demonstrated by trying to chat up the first male dummy he saw.
“My, what a lovely jacket,” he purred to the mannequin. “It brings out your eyes so nicely,” he added, even though he was looking nowhere near the mannequin’s face.
“Neville, you’re flirting with a dummy,” the older man sighed heavily.
“He looks smart enough to me,” Neville grinned.
The older man grabbed Neville’s arm and led him away. Captain Peacock saw them and intercepted.
“Good afternoon, Sirs,” he greeted them. “Are you being served?”
“No, thank you,” Neville replied with a toothy smile. “We’re here to inspect the building in case we decide to buy the business. My name is Neville Sutcliffe and this is my partner, Cecil Slocombe.”
“Business partner,” Cecil added quickly.
“Ah yes,” Captain Peacock replied. “We’ve been excepting you. Perhaps you’d like to inspect the men first?”
Neville looked startled then excited as he started to move toward the men’s counter, but Cecil threw an arm out to stop him.
“I think you should look at the Ladies’ section,” he suggested.
“I don’t want to look at them,” Neville protested.
“You’ll do as you’re told,” Cecil snapped. “Remember when the business was going south and who pulled your ass out?”
“Extremely well,” Neville muttered.
“Just go check out the Ladies,” Cecil sighed. “I’d do it myself but my ex-wife still works here and I don’t think we need a scene.”
“Your ex-wife?” Captain Peacock repeated, trying to sound surprised. “You mean…you and Mrs Slocombe…?”
“Betty Slocombe, yeah,” Cecil growled. “And I’d rather not run into her if I can help it. Get going, Neville.”
Neville tossed his head and minced over to the Ladies counter, where Miss Brahms immediately went into her routine. Within seconds she was leading him toward the fitting room.
“If Sir would follow me,” Captain Peacock addressed Cecil. “I’m sure Mr Grainger would-”
Captain Peacock’s next words were drowned out by a loud shriek. Neville burst out of the fitting room and was caught under the arms by Captain Peacock. His face was very pale and his whole body was shaking.
“What’s the matter, Neville?” Cecil asked. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Worse than that,” Neville whimpered. “I went to look in the fitting room and when I pulled back the curtains I saw…I saw…” He broke down into convulsing sobs.
“Calm down there, mate,” Cecil said, patting Neville awkwardly on the arm. “I’ll go ‘ave a look.”
Cecil turned and went toward the fitting room, then he too screamed and bolted from it.
“Come on, Neville!” he cried. “We’re leaving!” They ran up to the lift and jabbed frantically at the buttons. When the lift doors opened they fought to get inside and punched at the buttons until the doors closed.
“My word!” Mr Humphries chuckled. “It worked! They were really convinced the store is haunted.”
“Not really,” Miss Brahms said, looking a little guilty.
“What do you mean?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Well, I thought Mrs Slocombe was in the first stall so I had Neville open the second and she was in there,” Miss Brahms explained.
“So?” Mr Humphries said. “That shouldn’t have frightened them.”
“Not under normal circumstances,” Miss Brahms winced. “I went in there after Neville bolted and found this.” She held up a nearly empty Plymouth bottle. “She’s got a hidden stash in there and she’s been nipping from it all day. I reckon she went in and turned up the bottle when I gave her the cue.”
“Oh dear,” Captain Peacock sighed.
“But why would that scare them?” Mr Humphries asked. “We’ve all seen her drunk before. She’s actually quite fun.”
“Not when she’s this blotted,” Miss Brahms replied. “And has mistook the fitting room for the ladies’.”
All four of the men stared open-mouthed at her. Mr Lucas shook his head and stepped forward. He went into the fitting room, pulled the curtain back ever-so-slowly, and quickly shut it again. He turned around and made a retching sound in the back of his throat.
“How bad is it?” Mr Humphries asked.
Mr Lucas took out his handkerchief and mopped his face, which had broke out into a cold sweat. “She’s passed out,” he said. “And…and…” He shuddered violently and began weeping. Mr Humphries went past him and took a look for himself. A moment later he returned looking very grave.
“Well?” Captain Peacock and Mr Grainger asked together.
“Let me put it to you this way,” Mr Humphries replied as casually as he could. “I now realise why Cecil Slocombe left her, aside from the obvious reasons. Alcoholism and bitchiness aside, she’s a lovely woman…until she shows you her pussy.”
Captain Peacock and Mr Grainger stared, shocked, at Mr Humphries. Mr Lucas let out a fresh wail and Miss Brahms had her face pressed into her right hand. Just as Captain Peacock opened his mouth to admonish Mr Humphries a jellicle cat pelted out of the fitting room, jumped up on the men’s counter, and began preening herself. The poor thing had no teeth, was bandy-legged, and had bits of fur missing here and there.
Mr Grainger looked relieved and Captain Peacock leaned on the counter for support. “My word,” he breathed. “For a moment I thought…but never mind.”
Mr Humphries smirked and snorted, “Hmph! If you think that’s bad, you should see her muff. She’s lying on the floor in there, passed out, with her knickers ’round her ankles and her legs spread wider than the A1.”
It took two hours to calm Mr Lucas down. Mr Grainger called his wife and told her several times how much he loved and cherished her. Captain Peacock took the gin bottle and finished it off before going into the men’s fitting room to lie down. Miss Brahms roused Mrs Slocombe after a while and helped clean her up, then called Alcoholics Anonymous. Mr Humphries simply hummed Sweet Painted Lady to himself as he filed his nails and waited for the next customer.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

SHIRLEY’S KNOT
BY DALE JACKSON

“There you are, madam,” Shirley Brahms chirped as she handed a bag across the counter to a stout middle-aged woman. “Your receipt is inside. If you are not satisfied with the garment don’t hesitate to bring it back. We’ll gladly exchange it, provided you bring it back within ten days, have the receipt, you haven’t worn it, and it isn’t creased.”
The woman blinked a few times in confusion. “Should I write this all down?”
Miss Brahms smiled even wider now as she took the woman’s receipt and wrote everything down for her. With a flourish she slipped the receipt back into her bag and gave a cheery wave as the customer ascended the stairs to the lift. Normally at this point Miss Brahms would abandon her grin and only revive it upon greeting a new customer. Today, however, she could not help smiling continuously. And it was getting on her superior’s nerves.
“What are you so bloody cheerful about?” Betty Slocombe demanded.
Miss Brahms tossed her hair back before answering, “Nick and I’ve been going out for six months now and we celebrated last night with some cheap plonk. It was quite nice, really.”
“Has it been six months already?” Mrs Slocombe wondered aloud. “I don’t suppose he’s even offered you a ring yet, has he?”
“No,” Miss Brahms replied, still smiling. “But we’re taking things real slow.”
“Very wise,” Mrs Slocombe said sagely. “You mustn’t give away too much in the beginning or he’ll start treating you like a doormat.” She closed her eyes as fond memories washed over her. “Ooh, I used to dangle myself like a carrot in front of all the boys! But I never let them get so much as a nibble. Well, except one time. And that was Mr Slocombe.”
“Let me guess,” Miss Brahms giggled. “He bit off more than he could chew?”
Mrs Slocombe narrowed her eyes. “Oh, belt up,” she muttered.
A customer approached just then, a young man with blonde hair and a very confused look on his face. Mrs Slocombe abandoned the conversation to approach him, inquiring, “Are you being served, Sir?”
The young man jumped a little, then did a double-take when he saw her bright blue hair. “Er, no,” he replied. “I…um…”
“Is there something I can assist Sir with today?” Mrs Slocombe pressed him.
The fellow kept staring at her hair and finally said, in a dull American accent, “Is that a smurf on your head or did you piss someone off at the salon?”
Mrs Slocombe’s smile was gone in an instant. “How dare you!” she snarled.
Captain Peacock, sensing trouble, crossed the floor in three strides. “Is there a problem, Mrs Slocombe?”
“I should say so!” she growled. The man reached up slowly in an attempt to touch her hair, as if he couldn’t tell if it was real or not. She swatted his hand away. “This…person, has just asked me…OH!” She beckoned the floorwalker closer and whispered in his ear. Captain Peacock’s eyebroWs shot upward. He looked at the man, who was still staring at her head.
“I shall take care of this,” he said to her quietly. Straightening his tie he gently took the man’s arm and steered him away from the ladies’ counter and closer to the men’s counter. He looked the fellow in the eyes and saw they were quite bloodshot. “Your eyes are very red, young man,” he stated. “Would I be right in guessing you have been smoking marijuana?”
The man blinked at him a few times. “Your eyes look a bit glazed, buddy,” he replied. “Been eatin’ doughnuts?”
Mr Lucas, who had been straining to hear the entire conversation, snorted and smirked with delight. Captain Peacock shot him a dirty look before addressing the fellow again.
“Young man,” he said, “We at Grace Brothers do not tolerate the use of illicit substances among our staff or our customers. I suggest you leave the store now or you will be forcibly removed, either by myself or the security guards. Do you understand?”
The man blinked at him a few times. “What?”
Captain Peacock’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Leg it, Boy!”
“Oh,” the man muttered, comprehension dawning on his face. “Yeah, okay, I’m going. But…like, could you point me to the restaurant? I’ve got the munchies somethin’ awful.”
Captain Peacock groaned and pointed to the lift.

Mr Lucas watched the stoned fellow walk up to the lift and waited until Captain Peacock went back to the ladies’ counter before nudging Mr Humphries. They moved to the end of the counter, where Mr Humphries found a drawer full of neatly folded vests. He dumped them out on the counter, tossed them around a bit, and motioned for Mr Lucas to help fold them so they could gossip.
“You just missed it,” Mr Lucas told him. “While you were in there with that German tourist Peacock threw out a stoner.”
“A what?” Mr Humphries said.
“A stoner,” Mr Lucas repeated. “You know…” He mimed taking a hit off a joint. “That bloke had to have been hitting the pipe all day.”
“Oh!” Mr Humphries grinned appreciatively and a faraway look came over him. “You know, I haven’t done that since I was in Tools and Do-It-Yourself. This one fellow I worked with, Mr Baldwin, could make a bong or pipe out of anything. We’d look for the most insane combination of objects and somehow he’d always find a way to smoke something with them. One time I cheated and went to this adult store on my way in to work one morning and got, ah…” He whispered into Mr Lucas’ ear. The junior’s face turned bright red and his expression became one of utmost shock and fear.
“Why am I not surprised?” he squeaked. “Did you look for the biggest one or…?”
“I shall smack your wrist in a moment,” Mr Humphries snapped. “It fit easily in my hand, so I’d say it was normal-sized.”
“How many have you held in your hand?” Mr Lucas cheeked.
Mr Humphries smacked his junior’s wrist, but was grinning in spite of himself. “Anyway, I kept it in the paper bag and when we went outside for a smoke after lunch I slipped it to him. Do you know, within five minutes he’d whittled some holes in it and was sparking some Columbian Gold. Oh! I wish I’d had my camera with me! I thought we’d all die laughing!”
“Well, between the pot and the dong-bong, I can see why,” Mr Lucas laughed.
“You know, that’s exactly what we called it!” Mr Humphries cracked up. “We hid it in a skip behind the store until it was time to go home. I was going to take it home and save it for parties. However, when I went to retrieve it that afternoon, it was gone.”
“Someone nicked your dick?” Mr Lucas chuckled.
“They copped my cock,” Mr Humphries snickered.
“Do you know who did it?” Mr Lucas asked.
“I have a very good idea who might have stolen it,” Mr Humphries replied. “But I don’t think she realised what had been done to it. All I know is the next day I saw her staggering around, looking very disoriented.”
“Who was it?” Mr Lucas demanded eagerly.
“Put it to you this way,” Mr Humphries whispered, “for months afterward I used to ask Mrs Slocombe if her pussy was paranoid.”
Mr Lucas’ grin faded and his eyes became wide with horror. A retching sound issued from the back of his throat and a moment later he was rushing off to the gents’ while Mr Humphries shuddered a bit, then returned the vest drawer to the counter.

Back at the ladies’ counter Miss Brahms was checking her watch and glancing up at the lifts expectantly. Mrs Slocombe was just finishing with another customer when she caught this. After thanking the woman she turned around and said, “Miss Brahms, are you alright?”
“Yes,” Miss Brahms replied. “I’m just eager for lunch. Nick called and said he was comin’ to join me. ‘E said he’s bringing some gyros and bally-clava for us.”
“Bonk-lo-va, Miss Brahms,” Mrs Slocombe corrected her, although poorly. “That’s very sweet of him!”
“Innit?” Miss Brahms grinned. “‘E should be ‘ere any minute now. It’s nearly one.”
As if on cue the lift doors dinged and a young man with dark hair strode down the stairs. He saw Miss Brahms and smiled wide. She waved to him and he went toward the ladies’ counter.
“Hello my love,” he greeted her fondly, with a kiss on her cheek.
“Hello Nick,” she giggled. “‘Ere, this is Mrs Slocombe.” She gestured to her superior, who smiled kindly and offered her hand. Nick took it in his own and bowed respectfully.
“How nice to finally meet you,” she simpered. “Miss Brahms has spoke of you often.”
“She has told me many stories about you as well,” Nick said. “But she did not tell me you were such a tiny thing!”
“Oh, you Greek men,” Mrs Slocombe tittered. “You’re all the same!”
“Are you ready for lunch, my dear?” Nick asked Miss Brahms.
“In just a minute,” she replied. “Captain Peacock always tells us when we can go.”
Nick turned around to face the rest of the floor. “Which one is Captain Peacock?” he asked.
“The tall snooty one,” Miss Brahms whispered.
“Oh yes,” Nick nodded. “With the stupid red flower in his lapel? Yes…you were right. He does look like a pompous ass.”
Captain Peacock didn’t hear any of this, for he was busy wiping some lint off a mannequin. He straightened up, glanced at his watch, and began calling to his subordinates.
“Mrs Slocombe, Miss Brahms,” he called to the ladies. “Mr Grainger, Mr Humphries, Mr Lucas, it is now one o’clock.”
“Oh good,” Mr Grainger said, removing his tape measure from around his neck. “I’m famished! I wonder if they’ll have spaghetti in the Canteen today.”
“I don’t think I can eat now,” Mr Lucas said, still looking a bit pale.
“Try to put it out of your mind,” Mr Humphries whispered to him.
Mr Lucas nodded, but as soon as Mrs Slocombe came close he took one look at her, turned green, and raced off to the gents’ once more. She watched him go up the stairs and disappear into the restroom, a bewildered look on her face. Mr Humphries shook his head and took her arm.
“Don’t mind him,” he told her. “He’s just feeling a bit queasy. Probably something he didn’t eat…”

Mr Lucas eventually joined the others at their regular table, where Nick was seated next to Miss Brahms. While the others picked their way through rollmop herring, halibut, and lentil stew, Nick and Miss Brahms feasted on gyros and seasoned chips. For pudding he offered everyone some of the baklava he’d brought, which was an instant hit. Mr Grainger, however, wasn’t too keen on it a moment later when it cemented his teeth together.
“Glass of Polident for Mr Grainger,” Mr Humphries sighed.
“Mr Lucas, are you feeling any better?” Mrs Slocombe asked the junior.
“Yes, yes, much better,” Mr Lucas squirmed, not meeting her eye. “Thank you for asking.”
“Shirley, could I speak to you in private?” Nick whispered.
“There’s no privacy ‘ere, really,” Miss Brahms muttered. She rolled her eyes and glanced around the table. “Anything you say will be heard by someone and by the end of the day the whole store will know abou’ it.”
“Well…” Nick looked a bit nervous and drummed his fingers on the table. “I suppose I could say it here. I mean, you’ll tell your friends, anyway.”
“Tell us what, Nick?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
Nick seemed to be searching for words. Finally he shrugged and in one swift movement he slipped his hand into his jacket and went down on one knee in front of Miss Brahms. Her eyes became very large and her jaw dropped as he stammered, “Sh-Shirley, I want you t-to be my wife. W-will you marry me?” He held up a diamond ring to her while grasping her hand in his.
Mrs Slocombe and Mr Humphries both clapped their hands to their mouths. Mr Grainger dropped his teeth, which he’d just removed, into the remnants of his lentil stew. Captain Peacock appeared to be quite surprised while Mr Lucas looked as though someone had just punched him in the stomach.
Miss Brahms began squealing with utter delight. “Oh yes! Yes, Nick!”
Nick laughed out loud and with shaking hands put the ring on her finger. She jumped up from her chair and he rose from his kneeling position to kiss her. She then proceeded to practically dance over to Mrs Slocombe and Mr Humphries, both of whom were also squealing and bouncing on the spot in pure glee.
“Congratulations, Nick,” Captain Peacock said pompously, shaking Nick’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder.
“Y-yes, well done,” Mr Grainger said, rising from his chair. “We’re all very fond of Miss Brahms, you know. I trust you will be taking very good care of her?”
“Oh, I shall be very good to her,” Nick grinned.
“I really didn’t need to hear that,” Mr Lucas grumbled to himself.
“Oh, wait til Mrs Axelby hears this!” Mrs Slocombe giggled.
“You’ll be one of my bridesmaids, right?” Miss Brahms chirped.
“Of course,” Mrs Slocombe replied.
“What about me?” Mr Humphries asked.
“He can be a bridesmaid, too,” Mr Lucas snapped.
“You’re going the right way for another smacked wrist,” Mr Humphries warned him. He walked away from the cackling girls and sat down next to the junior. “What’s wrong with you? I’d think you’d be happy for her.”
“Oh I am, Mr Humphries,” Mr Lucas said, albeit unconvincingly.
“Yes, I can see the joy welling up inside you,” Mr Humphries sarked. “Come now! What’s going on?”
“Never mind,” Mr Lucas said quietly. He rose from his seat, abandoning his coffee. “I’m going back to the department.”
“It’s only one-thirty,” Mr Humphries said.
“Then I’ll go down to Tools and Do-It-Yourself,” Mr Lucas snapped. “I’ll take a pair of flimsy knickers with me, see if Mr Baldwin can make me a thong-bong.”
Mr Humphries watched him stalk off toward the lift and sighed heavily.

Miss Brahms was right about the speed of gossip within Grace Brothers. By the end of the day everyone in the store knew she was engaged to Nicodemus Mavros. The next day she was besieged by requests to see the ring, queries about when and where the wedding was to take place, and squeals of delight from every female staff member in the store. Even the men offered their congratulations to her, although a few were somewhat hesitant to do so, as she was considered one of the ‘best-looking birds in the store’ by so many.
Only Mr Lucas seemed truly unhappy about her forthcoming marriage. In fact he appeared to be downright depressed about it and took to brooding behind his counter. Mr Humphries tried his best to get him to explain his chagrin, but Mr Lucas kept shrugging him off.
“Give over,” he growled at the second salesman. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“If you’d just tell me why you’re so upset…”
“I’m not upset.”
“Then why do you keep glaring at her?”
“I’m not glaring at her.”
“Yes you are! I just saw you.”
Mr Lucas rubbed his temples and sighed. “Look, it’s none of your business. There’s nothing you can do about it, anyway.”
“The way you’re going on about I’d almost think you…were…” Mr Humphries’ jaw dropped as he realised what was wrong. “NO! Not you!”
Mr Lucas shook his head. “It’s not like that…”
“The hell it isn’t!” Mr Humphries said. “You’ve got it bad for her, don’t you?”
“Sod off,” Mr Lucas snarled under his breath, for Captain Peacock was within earshot. He tried to look busy by picking up his bill pad and pretending to work out his figures.
Mr Humphries waited until Captain Peacock darted toward a nubile young woman then snatched the bill pad from Mr Lucas. “Does she know?”
Mr Lucas looked mutinous now. For a moment he glowered at his superior, then his head dropped to his chest. “No,” he muttered. “And fat lot it would do now.”
“True,” Mr Humphries sighed. He dropped the pad on the counter. “Well, I won’t give you the same sad clichés I’ve been given all my life. You know – there are plenty of fish in the sea. There’s someone for everyone. It’s better to have loved and lost, et cetera, ad nauseum.”
“Nauseum’s right,” Mr Lucas said, repressing a belch. “Ever since you told me that story about the bong my stomach’s been turning.”
“Too bad that’s the only thing,” Mr Humphries muttered under his breath.
“Here it goes again,” Mr Lucas grimaced. “Cor! Now I know how ol’ Grainger feels when his gastritis starts up.” He began hobbling toward the gents’ restroom. As he passed Mr Grainger, the senior salesman took a quick look at him then went right to Mr Humphries.
“What’s wrong with our Mr Lucas?” he asked. “He looks rather pale and green.”
“It’s envy,” Mr Humphries half-joked.

“So, when is the big day?” Mrs Slocombe demanded.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Miss Brahms said. “It’s this Saturday.”
“That soon?” Mrs Slocombe looked concerned. “You’re not in trouble, are you Miss Brahms?”
“No!” Miss Brahms replied. “Nick’s just a little impatient, tha’s all. Thing is, because it’s such short notice we can’t do a big fat Greek wedding like his mum wants. But we have ‘ired a Greek vicar and ‘is family’s gonna do the caterin’.”
“Ooh, we’ll have to look through stock and find you a proper gown,” Mrs Slocombe said.
“Oh, my mum’s given me ‘ers,” Miss Brahms smiled. “It’s absolutely gorgeous! But we should find you somefing nice. You’ll be standing with Mum and my cousin Lisa. Nick’s gonna ‘ave ‘is brother, dad, and uncle wif ‘im. I think it’s ‘is Mum’s brother, ’cause ‘is name was…oh, what was it? They named Nick after ‘im…Kit Mataxis! That’s it!”
“You’ll never catch me with a wog,” Mrs Slocombe sniffed disdainfully.
“Anyway, it’s at two o’clock Saturday afternoon,” Miss Brahms went on. “I’ll have to tell everyone at lunch. Oh, I ‘ope they can all make it! Especially Mr Lucas. Course, I don’t think ‘e’s too ‘appy abou’ all this.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Well, look at ‘im,” Miss Brahms said, gesturing toward the mens counter. “‘E’s been mopin’ abou’ ever since Nick proposed to me. You don’t suppose ‘e’s jealous, do you?”
Mrs Slocombe laughed and shook her head. “My dear, think of the young man you speak of! He’s only ever been interested in one thing and it’s certainly not romance.”
Miss Brahms glanced across the floor at Mr Lucas. He caught her eye and looked away quickly. She shrugged and said, “Maybe you’re right.” She sighed and began pricing some dusty crocheted berets she’d found in old stock.
A moment later a shadow fell across her counter and Miss Brahms looked up. She gasped slightly when she saw Mr Lucas staring back at her, a kind smile playing across his lips.
“Alright Shirley?” he said. “Listen, while Peacock’s on his coffee break I thought I’d come over and…well, offer my congratulations. I hope you and Nick are very happy together. And if he ever breaks your heart you can be sure I’ll break his legs.”
Miss Brahms batted her eyelashes at him. “Why, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she purred. “Thank you, James. That means a lot to me.”
“Yeah, well,” Mr Lucas looked around and coughed. “Don’t go telling everyone I’ve gone soft on you.”
“Promise,” Miss Brahms giggled.
“So, er…” he stammered, “have you two set a date yet?”
“Oh yes,” she replied. “Saturday at two.”
His smile flickered for a split-second. “You’re keen, aren’t you?”
“Actually, it’s Nick’s idea,” she said. “‘E says he can’t wait to get started on our life togevver. Isn’t he wonderful?”
“Yeah,” Mr Lucas said quietly. “Sounds like one hell of a guy.” He shifted from one foot to another, obviously very uncomfortable now. “Er, I should get back to my counter now. I, er…” He hesitated for a moment, then making sure Peacock was nowhere near he quickly leaned across the counter and pecked her on the cheek. She blushed and touched her face. Mr Lucas gave her a quick grin before retreating across the floor. As soon as he was behind the counter Mr Humphries was at his side.
“Well?” he demanded. “What happened?”
Mr Lucas leaned on his palms against the counter. “She’s already set a date: Saturday. At two.”
“What?!” Mr Humphries exclaimed. “That soon?!”
Mr Lucas nodded and hung his head. “If you’ll excuse me…” He clutched his abdomen painfully. “I think I may need to visit Sister once Peacock returns.” With that he hobbled off to the gents’ again.
Mr Humphries watched him and felt horrible for his friend. “Poor lad,” he sighed.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Nick.
Mr Humphries jumped and whipped around. “Oh! You gave me such a fright!”
“My apologies,” Nick said, flashing a toothy grin. “I wonder if you could help me? I need some measurements for my tuxedo. I have to have it ready by Friday evening. Shirley said you were the best.”
Mr Humphries blushed and was just reaching into his pocket for his tape measure when Mr Grainger arrived.
“Can I help you, young man?” he asked, looking up at the slightly taller Greek lad.
“Well, I guess you both can if you like,” Nick replied. “I need to be measured for my tuxedo.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Mr Grainger nodded. “Eh, Mr Humphries? Perhaps you could assist me in taking this young man’s measurements.”
“Certainly, Mr Grainger,” Mr Humphries smiled. He whipped his tape measure from his pocket and held it at the ready. “If you would like to step over this way, we shall begin.”
Mr Grainger took out his bill pad and licked his pencil. “Ready when you are, Mr Humphries.”
“Right!” Mr Humphries threw the tape around Nick’s neck. “Neckline!”
“Neckline,” Mr Grainger repeated.
“Fourteen!” Mr Humphries read out.
“Fourteen,” Mr Grainger repeated.
“Shoulders!”
“Shoulders.”
“Twenty-five!”
“Twenty-five.”
“Chest!” “Chest.” “Thirty-four!” “Thirty-four.” “Waist!” “Waist.” “Thirty-two!” “Thirty-two.” “Inside leg!”
“Thirty-three,” Nick interrupted.
“Fail!” Mr Lucas grunted from behind the cabinet.
“Just as well,” Mr Humphries snorted. “My knees are sore today.”

Normally the staff worked until noon on Saturdays, but today they were allowed to leave half an hour early due to Shirley’s wedding. At eleven-thirty Claybourne had already thrown the covers on the counters and was changing into his three piece day suit. He stepped out of the fitting room and glanced at himself in the mirror. Just as he reached up to straighten his tie he saw Ernest come out as well, followed by his wife, Sandra, who kept fussing over his jacket.
“You’ve been nibbling pork pies again, haven’t you?” she nagged.
“I have not, Woman,” he snarled at her.
“Don’t lie to me,” she snapped. “You’ve got crumbs all over your jacket. Look!” She brushed some debris from his lapels.
Ernest harrumphed and started pulling on his jacket. “What time are we leaving, Mr Humphries?”
Claybourne began to reply but was momentarily distracted by the sight of James staggering toward them from the gents’ toilet. He looked very pale and there were beads of sweat on his brow. Looking very concerned, both Claybourne and Ernest helped him to a chair, where he collapsed into it.
“I…I don’t know…” he panted. “I don’t know…if I…”
“You probably shouldn’t,” Claybourne replied. “Glass of water for James.” When Ernest merely stood there looking confused Claybourne clicked his tongue in irritation and went to fetch the water himself.

Meanwhile, Shirley and Betty had just finished throwing drop cloths on their counters when a middle-aged woman bustled down from the lift looking very harassed about something.
“Oi!” she shouted as she approached the ladies’ counter. “C’mon, Shirley! We ‘aven’t got much time!”
“It’s only eleven-thirty-five, Mum,” Shirley replied. “It won’t take but a few minutes to do my hair and make-up.”
“Oh, my sweet little girl,” Mrs Brahms sniffed. “All grown up and about to leave me. What’ll I do without my baby?”
Shirley smiled at her mother and took her hands in her own. “You’ll have to get Michael to keep you from smashing the telly when M*A*S*H comes on,” she grinned. “I’m almost ready. You remember Betty, right?” She gestured toward her supervisor.
“Mrs Slocombe, of course,” Mrs Brahms said warmly. “How lovely to see you again.”
“And to see you,” Betty smiled. “Right, let’s get cracking! I’ve got everything we need right here in this bag.” She held up a large elaborately decorated canvas bag that had a photograph of a jellicle cat printed on both sides. “Make-up, hair essentials, everything a bride needs for her big day. Even ginger!”
“Come again?” Claybourne said, whipping around when he heard ‘ginger’.
“For nerves,” Betty explained. “I had the worst case of nervous stomach when I married Cecil all those years ago. My mother gave me a bit of ginger tea. Cleared it right up! So I did the same for my nieces and cousins when they got married.”
“I am a bit nervous,” Shirley admitted.
“Don’t worry, Love,” Betty said, patting her arm. “I’ll make you a nice cup of ginger tea when we get to the church.”
“Make two,” Claybourne told her as he helped James stand up. “This one could use a strong cup. His stomach’s been bothering him for a few days now.”
“Oh you poor lad,” Betty simpered. “Right, well let’s get going. I’ve got my own frock to get on as well as taking care of hair and make-up for everyone. And Mrs Axelby said she would help with the flowers…”
While Betty prattled on Claybourne put an arm around James to steady him. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ll slip a little brandy into your ginger tea when we get there.”
“Thanks,” James mumbled shakily.

When they arrived at the church it was just a little after noon. The women dashed off to a spare room to get changed and work their magic on each other. James, however, went right for the toilet along with Ernest. However, the elder salesman left well before his junior.
James emerged from a cubicle some time later and clutched the sink for support. He pulled off his jacket and draped it over the swinging door. After splashing some cool water on his face he felt someone tap his shoulder. Looking up into the mirror he saw Claybourne smiling kindly at him, a cup in his hand and a small bottle of whiskey in the other.
“You’re an angel,” James said. He took the cup and raised it to his lips. The bite of ginger combined with the burn of whiskey somehow began to soothe his stomach. He drained the cup quickly and set it on the counter. “That’s better,” he sighed.
“Well, now we’ve got your gastronomic issues covered,” Claybourne said, “what are we going to do about that green-eyed monster you’re dealing with?”
James shook his head. “What does it matter? She’ll be spoken for in a couple hours. I’ll get over it.”
“You’re not doing a very good job of it at the moment,” Claybourne snorted.
James shot him a dirty look. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror and groaned. Sweat was dripping from his face and had soaked the underarms of his shirt.
“That’s marvellous,” he grumbled. “Simply marvellous. Cor! How’m I supposed to fix this lot?” He raised his arms and winced as he saw how much he’d actually been sweating.
“I have an idea,” Claybourne said. “Follow me.”
James picked up his jacket, shaking his head, and followed Claybourne out of the toilet and down a corridor. He ducked into a dark room where a clothes rack held some Biblical-looking costumes as well as some robes and vestments. A changing screen had been pushed against the wall while a large fan was plugged in and blowing a cool breeze.
“Here,” Claybourne said, pulling the screen away from the wall. “Take your shirt off and get behind here with me.”
James’ eyes became wide with concern. “Er, Clay…”
“Just do it,” Claybourne told him.
James pulled his tie loose, took his shirt off, and stepped behind the screen. Claybourne snatched it from him and draped it over the screen. He moved the fan so it was blowing on James and the shirt, drying both off at the same time.
“Oh that does feel nice,” James said, closing his eyes and enjoying the cool air. Any nausea that was still with him after the ginger tea was disappearing quickly now.
“Here, sit down.” Claybourne pushed a folding chair behind him, forcing the younger man to plop down on it. “Now wait here while I go get a towel.”
“Here, wait a minute,” James said. “How’d you know this lot was here? And how do you know they’ve got towels?”
“A friend of mine is in the choir here,” Claybourne replied. “I used to come listen to them practice on Wednesdays. I used to help her get ready for concerts. Her boyfriend used to meet her in here and they’d, er…” Claybourne pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes. “I’ve said too much already. Let’s just say I quickly learned to duck behind this screen and later found out where the towels were kept.” He raised an eyebrow at his friend, smiled, and started to leave.
James watched him mince out of sight and peered around the screen as he wondered about his friend. Any thoughts that had begun to form in his mind were interrupted a few seconds later when Claybourne froze at the door. He looked to his left then ran back and ducked behind the screen.
“What are you doing?” James demanded. Then he heard voices and quickly clicked the fan off.
Through the tiny slits that formed the hinges of the screen, Claybourne and James watched as two figures entered the room. They were obviously a young man and woman and both were giggling. James sucked in a breath as he watched the boy kiss the girl’s neck and fondle her chest. She smiled appreciatively and reached out to shut the door behind them. Then she pushed him away and took something from her handbag that rattled slightly. A moment later they realized it was a box of matches as she scraped one against the side and the tip burst into flame. She lit a nearly-spent candle and both men clasped a hand over the other’s mouth when they saw who the man was.
It was Nicodemus Mavros!
James and Clay both watched, wide-eyed, as the girl turned around. She obviously wasn’t Shirley, for she was shorter and had curly black hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She pushed the straps of her dress off and it fell to the ground, revealing that not only had she ‘forgotten’ her bra, but also her underwear. James heard Claybourne whimper a bit and he almost did the same, but for perhaps different reasons.
“How far along is Agatha?” the girl asked.
“Two months,” Nick replied, unzipping his pants.
“I still don’t see how this will keep your name clear,” the girl said, leaning against the wall.
“Shirley won’t suspect a thing,” Nick said. “Because by the time the baby is born we’ll be living in Yorkshire, far from her family.”
“You’re a real berk, Nicodemus,” the girl purred. “Maybe that’s why I want you so bad.”
James and Clay watched as Nick began kissing the girl again. Claybourne leaned back from the screen and plugged his ears, but James listened as the two lovers began their tryst. The candle went out a few minutes later but the two still went at it, with Nick hushing the girl occasionally when she began to get loud. Finally James realised what he was seeing and sat back on his haunches. The nausea that he thought had finally gone away was back, but this time it was from rage. How dare he do this to Shirley?
All four jumped when they heard what sounded like a small stampede go by the door. Then they heard small children laughing. James looked through the slit again and saw that the two had broken apart. Nick swore under his breath in Greek and pulled his pants back up.
“Sorry, Katina,” he whispered. “We’d better stop here.”
Katina swore as well, but began putting her dress back on. Nick waited until she was fully clothed again before opening the door a crack and peering out.
“It’s clear,” he told her. “I’ll go ahead. You come out in a few minutes.”
“Hey,” she said, grabbing his arm. “When are we gonna finish this?”
Nick smirked at her. “We are finished,” he replied. “Sorry, but this was the last time.”
Katina looked appalled and started to speak but Nick simply pressed a finger to her lips.
“And if you think about ratting me out,” he said, “I’ll be only too happy to tell your mother about your sister.”
“You wouldn’t,” Katina snarled. “You’re the one who knocked her up!”
“They’d never believe I’d do that,” Nick grinned. “I’m Shirley’s man, remember?” He pecked her on the cheek and disappeared into the corridor.
Katina looked mutinous. She began muttering to herself in Greek as she paced up and down. James looked over at his friend, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He had removed his fingers from his ears and looked very shocked and confused. A few seconds later they heard the door open and shut once more. Katina had left. They slipped out from behind the screen and Claybourne crossed the room to lock the door and switch on a proper light.
“Did you hear that?” James growled.
“Every word,” Claybourne said quietly. “Wh-what should we do?”
“What?!” James stared at him. “We’ve got to tell Shirley, that’s what!”
“But…” Claybourne wrung his hands as his lip quivered. “But she’d never believe us. She’s just so happy and…and…”
“Better to hear it from us than Katina,” James said, snatching up his shirt. It wasn’t quite dry yet but he didn’t care. He put his tie back around his neck but didn’t tie it. Instead he pulled his jacket on and went right for the door. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got a wedding to crash!”

On the other side of the church, Betty was putting the final touches on Shirley’s make-up. She spun the chair around and allowed the bride to see the final results, which were a bit disastrous. Had Tammy Faye Bakker been nearby, even she would have face-palmed.
“Er, you might want to cut back a little,” Mrs Brahms said politely.
“I’ll do it,” Shirley said. She began dabbing away the excess with a sponge just as a knock came at the door.
“Oh, who could that be?” Betty growled and opened the door, revealing a very pale James Lucas and his blonde friend, Claybourne Humphries.
“‘Ere!” Shirley exclaimed, snatching her dressing gown and tying it properly. “What are you playing at?”
“We need to talk to you, Shirley,” James panted. With a glance at Betty, who was glaring at him, he added, “Alone, if you don’t mind.”
Shirley saw the anxious look on his face and sighed heavily. “Oh, all right. But make it quick. Mum, Betty, could you give us a moment?”
The men stepped inside and Claybourne held the door while Betty and Mrs Brahms reluctantly left the room. James flopped into the chair that Mrs Brahms had abandoned and mopped his face with his handkerchief. Shirley now looked concerned and asked what was wrong.
“He’s just seen something very disturbing,” Claybourne replied. “And so have I.”
“It’s Nick,” James blurted out. “We just saw him with Katina in another room. They…they were…and her sister’s…with his…”
“You’re not making much sense,” Shirley said, her brow furrowed with worry.
James took a deep breath to calm himself, then said, “We just caught Nick with Katina and overheard him say he put her sister Agatha in the club two months ago.”
Shirley blinked at him, then her brow creased in anger. Sensing danger, Claybourne moved toward his friend and said, “I’m afraid it’s true, dear. I’m so sor-”
Any kind words he might have had for her were drowned out by the clap of her palm against James’ face. He clutched his cheek and stared at her in absolute shock.
“I know what your game is,” she snarled. “You’re jealous! An’ you’ve talked Clay into going along wif your little story!”
“No, never!” James argued weakly. “I swear on the staff handbook, it’s true!”
“An’ you,” she growled, rounding on Claybourne. “I’d’ve thought better of you! ‘Ow could you go along wif this?”
“No, you don’t understand,” Claybourne retorted. “We saw them! We heard them!”
“I don’t ‘ave time for this,” Shirley snapped. “Both of you – out!”
“Shirley, please,” James pleaded. “We’re only thinking of you. You’re our friend!”
“You’ve got a funny way of showin’ it,” she said nastily. “On your bike, basket, poof!”
“How dare you?!” Claybourne suddenly bellowed, causing both James and Shirley to jump, startled by his raised voice. He glared at her and took a step forward, saying, “We are your friends and we would never voluntarily do or say anything to cause you distress. Now, I realise that you are nervous and looking forward to this event – an event that should be the happiest day of your life, but will be marred in shame the moment you realise that we have been telling the truth.”
He pointed out toward the hall in a dramatic gesture. “That bloody wog has been lying to you for months! And if you have any shred of decency, any self-esteem, any trust in those who have called you ‘friend’ for so many years, you will heed our warning and confront him as well as Katina and Agatha!”
Shirley shrunk back as he glowered at her. Finally she stood straight and went to the door, which she opened as she quietly said, “Please leave. I need some time to think.”
Claybourne still scowled at her as he took James by the elbow and steered him out of the room. They heard the door click behind them and both exchanged curious, anxious glances. With a chorused sigh they ambled toward the church hall.

Fifteen minutes later the two friends were seated with the Peacocks, the Graingers, the Rumbolds, Betty, and her friend Mrs Axelby. While the other staff were sharing excited whispers, James and Claybourne simply stared ahead. An organ played light music in the background, drowning out a lot of conversations. Occasionally Claybourne would sniffle and press his handkerchief to his face. James, however, looked too depressed to do anything but keep his gaze fixed on a painting of Christ performing the Sermon on the Mount. Silently, he began to pray, for it was his last hope.
“Hello God,” he whispered. “It’s me, James Lucas. Look, I realise we don’t talk much and I haven’t exactly been an angel lately. All right, not for the last ten years. But I need some help. Please! I can’t bear to think of Shirley marrying that Nick guy. He doesn’t deserve her! He’s already lying and cheating on her. What’s he gonna be like in five years? Ten? Twenty?”
“Who are you talking to?” Claybourne muttered through the corner of his mouth.
“I’m praying, mate,” James replied. “Now butt out! I have to concentrate.”
Claybourne poked his tongue in his cheek, as he was wont to do when giving something heavy consideration. Then he nudged his friend and both gazed at the painting as they spoke together.
“God, please don’t let her marry that wog!”
“Amen,” James said, his voice cracking a bit.
Claybourne sniffled again and started to put his arm around James, although he was not entirely sure it would be welcome, when there was a loud din from the back of the church hall. Heads turned as there was another crash, then raised voices. The doors swung open and Shirley Brahms stamped down the aisle toward Nick and his party. Her dress was gone, replaced by a simple t-shirt, jeans, and trainers. The organ stopped and a small, elderly Greek woman peered over it to ask, most likely in her native tongue, as to what was going on to cause such a racket.
“Shirley!” Nick beamed at her as she came closer. “We’re not ready yet. You see…”
Shirley stopped just a few inches away from her fiancé and reached back with her fist. It came forward and collided with his face. Nick stumbled backward, clapping both hands to his nose as blood began to ooze out. His best man caught him under his arms just as the groom nearly fell.
“You,” Shirley growled in a voice that sounded almost otherworldly. “How dare you?! How very dare you?!”
“We could ask you the same thing,” said the best man, who was helping Nick to his feet.
“Katina told me,” Shirley snarled viciously. “She an’ Agatha both told me. You’ve been on the nest wif both of ’em an’ ‘ave been for months. How bloody well dare you, Nicodemus Mavros?!”
Gasps rang out on both sides of the church hall and Shirley’s two friends jumped up to run to her side, shouting a ‘hallelujah’ as they rushed forward. They were just in time, too, for Nick’s family had stood as well and were shouting nasty things at her in both English and Greek. James and Claybourne both laid their hands on her shoulders and were soon joined by the rest of the staff, as well as her family, which was still small compared to Nick’s lot. A sudden shrill whistle caught everyone’s attention, causing a miracle that is still spoken of in Greek families to this very day: they were all reduced to silence.
“Oh belt up, you bloody wogs!” Betty shrieked, her two fingers ready to be pressed against her teeth in another whistle should the crowd become raucous again. “Shirley Brahms, I’m proud of you. Now come on. Let’s do a bunk and find us a proper English pub!”
Shirley’s party nodded and mumbled in agreement. Claybourne and James, their hands still on her shoulders, steered her away from the altar and toward the door. She took one final look at Nick and a single tear trickled down her cheek, then she turned away and went away with those whom she knew truly loved her.

Outside the church everyone began filing into their vehicles straight away with only one thought in mind: liqueur and lots of it. Claybourne led the trio to a car he had borrowed from a friend and started to offer the back to James when Shirley threw her arms around his neck and began sobbing.
“I’m sorry, Clay,” she wept loudly. “I’m so sorry! I should ‘ave known you two would never…ever…”
“Calm down, dear,” he said in his most consoling tone. “I understand. I really do.”
She released him and immediately grabbed James, who held her close and let her cry into his shoulder. After a moment she let go and he held the back door open so she could slide in the backseat. Just as he was about to close it Mrs Brahms grabbed the door for the front passenger seat, the dress and accessories in her hand and a frustrated look on her face.
“Give us a hand, moosh,” she said to Claybourne, and thrusted the clothing into his arms. She opened the door and sat inside, adding, “And while you’re at it, give us a lift to the pub.”
“Are you by any chance related to Betty Slocombe?” Claybourne asked.
Shirley let out a watery chuckle and beckoned to James to join her in the back. He blinked, then smiled before accepting her silent invitation. Claybourne put the wedding gear in the boot of the car, walked around to the front, got in, and started the engine.
“The Horse and Groom pub, Islington?” he asked his companions.
“As long as they ‘ave whiskey,” Shirley said, leaning against a somewhat elated James, “I don’t care. In fact, d’you know anyone what might be able to score us some green?”
“I do, actually,” Claybourne grinned. “And I have the perfect vessel for enjoying it. It was returned to me last night by our dear Betty, who has assured me that it has never been used for anything else.”
James, who had been smiling sweetly at Shirley and stroking her hair affectionately, suddenly looked up in horror. The blood drained from his face and he swallowed hard before saying, “Oh God…I hope so…”

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

LUNATIC CYCLE
BY DALE JACKSON

Shirley Brahms was in a foul mood even though it was a beautiful spring day outside. She seethed to herself as she climbed the stairs to the first floor, as the lifts were shut off due to biannual maintenance and inspections. The walk usually didn’t bother her, but this morning she was grumbling the whole way up.
Her supervisor, Mrs Slocombe, was already signed in and uncovering the counters and busts when Miss Brahms stomped down the stairs. She signed in and whipped off her coat, then became enraged when she noticed the wet spots under her arms.
“Bleedin’ ‘eck!” she snarled. “Stupid idiot! I knew I shoulda taken this bleedin’ thing off before I started up them stairs!” She stamped over to the ladies’ counter, much to the disdain of Mrs Slocombe.
“Miss Brahms, are you alright?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“I’m just in a foul mood,” Miss Brahms growled.
“Well, keep it to yourself,” Mrs Slocombe snapped.
“Don’t you start wif me!” Miss Brahms retorted.
“I will not be spoken to in that manner!” Mrs Slocombe stated firmly.
“Oh go blow it out your ass,” Miss Brahms said defiantly.
Mrs Slocombe’s eyes became very large and she puffed up indignantly. Captain Peacock, sensing danger, walked over to the counter anyway and asked, “Is there a problem, ladies?”
Both women whipped around to glare at him. Captain Peacock took a step back involuntarily, as if he’d just realised he’d walked into a lion’s den.
“I-I was just concerned,” he stammered.
“Bollocks!” Mrs Slocombe snapped. “You just came over because you thought there might be a cat-fight between us and you wanted to watch. But we’re on to you, Stephen! So you just watch your back or the fur that flies will be yours!”
This time it was Captain Peacock’s turn to puff up but before he could retort both women turned and went into the stock-room, whereupon he could hear them clucking to each other about what a pompous ass he was. Glowering now, he returned to the centre of the floor where he could sneer down at Mr Lucas when he arrived. However, he was denied this as Mr Lucas was already signing in under the watchful eye of Mr Humphries.
“Fifteen days in a row without being late,” Mr Humphries grinned. “Must be a new record.”
“It is, Mr Humphries, it is,” Mr Lucas agreed wholeheartedly. “Mind you, I thought I might be a bit behind today when I woke up late and my mother couldn’t give me a ride because her invalid carriage was broken down. Still, here I am! And with five minutes to spare.”
With nothing to snarl at Mr Lucas about, Captain Peacock walked away and glanced at his watch. The boy was right; it was 8.55am. Mr Grainger, however, was nowhere to be seen. The thought of admonishing the old man livened him up a bit and he even smiled a bit in spite of himself. The delighted expression upon his face soon faded when he saw Mr Rumbold appear on the floor.
“Ah, good morning everyone!” he beamed at the staff. “I have a quick announcement to make. But first, Captain Peacock, I should tell you that Mr Grainger will be an hour late this morning due to a doctor’s appointment. He and I spoke a few days ago about the matter and I gave him the green light to be tardy.”
A muscle twitched in the floorwalker’s neck.
“Now, gather ’round, everybody,” Mr Rumbold called to the staff. “I have an important announcement to make.”
The two men stepped forward and stood at attention while the women slouched miserably, their arms crossed over their chests. A very bored expression was written on both their faces as they watched Rumbold, who failed to notice their hostility.
“As you may have noticed,” Rumbold began, “the lifts have been temporarily shut down for their biannual maintenance as well as inspection by the HSE.”
“What’s the HSE?” Miss Brahms asked.
“Health and Safety Executive,” Captain Peacock told her.
“Whadda they do?” she inquired further.
“The Health and Safety Executive inspects a company’s building as well as its equipment and staff to ensure that the health and safety of the staff is prioritised,” Captain Peacock informed her. “They can fine a company for not enforcing safety rules, for shoddy workmanship on the building, or for lack of maintenance to the equipment.”
“Grace Brothers will be bankrupt by the end of the day,” Mr Lucas muttered.
“Grace Brothers will not be bankrupt, Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries stated firmly.
“Thank you, Mr Humphries,” Mr Rumbold beamed.
“Mr Grace has a bit of dosh set aside for bribes,” Mr Humphries whispered to his junior.
“As I was saying,” Mr Rumbold continued, “they will be inspecting all of the lifts this morning, but they should be done soon. After that they will be spending the next day or so examining our work areas. Let’s try to clean the place up a bit and do remember to follow all safety regulations as stated in your staff handbook, which you received the moment you were hired on.”
“I didn’t get one,” Mr Lucas piped up.
“Neither did I,” Miss Brahms said.
“Really?” Mr Rumbold looked a bit worried now. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t remember getting a ‘andbook,” Miss Brahms told him. Mr Lucas just shook his head.
“Oh dear,” Mr Rumbold mumbled. “Very well, then. I will have my secretary acquire two copies of the book and have them brought out to you as soon as possible. Until then, perhaps Mr Humphries and Mrs Slocombe would be kind enough to explain some of the safety regulations in use around the store?”
Mrs Slocombe cast a bored glance at Miss Brahms while Mr Humphries nodded politely.
“Excellent!” Mr Rumbold beamed again. Just then the opening bell sounded overhead. “Ah, the store’s open! To your positions, everyone!”
He walked away swiftly toward his office, leaving the staff in the centre of the floor. They each shrugged and started to go to their own counters. Mr Lucas, feeling a bit frisky, waited until Miss Brahms’ back was turned and pinched her rear affectionately. A split second later there was a loud ‘CRACK!’ and she had him shoved up against the wall, her fists gripping his lapels so tightly her knuckles were white. His face was just as pale except for a hand-sized red mark on his left cheek.
“I have had it with you, James Lucas!” she snarled. “You touch me one more bloody time and I’ll break every bone in your hand and your arm!”
“Miss Brahms!” Captain Peacock cried. “Release him at once!”
“And you,” she growled, relinquishing her grip on Mr Lucas and rounding on the floorwalker. “If you so much as look at me funny today I will have you on the carpet so fast the pile will be smoking!”
Captain Peacock became just as pale as Mr Lucas, who had slid down the wall and was sitting on the floor. For a moment the floorwalker was speechless, then when he regained his voice he stammered, “Y-you…how…how dare you speak to your superior like that?!”
“I say she has every right to,” Mrs Slocombe sneered. “The way you treat women, I’m surprised you’ve not been sacked for sexual harassment or misconduct or…or whatever else they have here that’s sexual!”
“I will have you know that I have always behaved in a manner befitting a gentleman,” Captain Peacock argued, tugging his lapels into place.
“Oh please,” Mrs Slocombe drawled. “May I remind you of Christmas party 1965? A certain floorwalker from Soft Furnishings kept chasing me with a strand of mistletoe dangling from a stick attached to a hat he was wearing, and wouldn’t stop until he’d cornered me in the social club. Without going into details, the next thing I knew we were in a broom cupboard, me knickers were gone, and there were marks all over me neck!”
Captain Peacock blushed a little. “I-I don’t recall the events of that particular party very well.”
“Oh? Perhaps this might jog your memory.” She opened a drawer and took out a pair of bright pink underwear. She then stomped over to the floorwalker and in one swift movement reached up and jammed them on his head.
Just then the lift dinged and a very miserable-looking Mr Grainger stepped out. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he called out as he hurried down the stairs. “I had an appointment this morning with my doctor and it was over sooner than I’d expected, so I rushed over.”
He came to the bottom of the stairs and surveyed the scene before him: Mr Lucas was sitting on the floor with a large red welt on his face; Miss Brahms was fuming by the ladies’ counter; Mrs Slocombe was glowering at Captain Peacock, who had a pair of bright pink knickers on his head; and Mr Humphries was face-palming.
“Did I miss something?” Mr Grainger asked delicately.
Mr Humphries sighed heavily and took his superior’s hat and coat. “I’ll fill you in later,” he said.

The rest of the morning was very tense and the men were keen to steer clear of the ladies for fear of being reprimanded or attacked, either verbally or physically. Only Mr Humphries seemed undisturbed by the current state of the women, although he still kept his distance.
“I don’t get it,” Mr Lucas muttered as he glanced over at Miss Brahms. “I chatted with her last night on the phone, havin’ a bubble, and she was sweet as a nut. All of a sudden she’s this nasty blighter. What gives?”
Mr Humphries looked up from his bill pad and rolled his eyes. “Clueless,” he snorted.
“What?” Mr Lucas glared at him. “You know something, don’t you?”
“It should be quite obvious,” Mr Humphries said.
“What should be obvious?” Mr Lucas demanded.
“You really haven’t a clue, have you?” Mr Humphries chuckled, then went back to his figures.
Mr Lucas stared at him, looking extremely agitated. Captain Peacock came over, apparently still looking for a reason to admonish the junior.
“Mr Lucas,” he started, “Your spare time would be better employed in tidying up your work area, as per Mr Rumbold’s orders.”
“Not until he tells me what’s going on with Miss Brahms,” Mr Lucas growled, pointing at Mr Humphries.
“What?” Captain Peacock stared at the second assistant. “You mean to tell me Mr Humphries is privy to the cause of the ladies’ foul moods today?”
“And he won’t say a dicky,” Mr Lucas snarled.
Without looking up from his bill pad Mr Humphries coolly replied, “Say please and I might.”
“Please!” both men chorused.
Mr Grainger appeared from behind the cabinet just then. “What’s going on now?” he demanded.
“Hopefully Mr Humphries is going to explain what’s wrong with the women,” Mr Lucas explained.
Mr Grainger glanced at his immediate junior. “And how does he know what’s going on?”
Mr Humphries finished writing a few figures and closed his bill pad with a heavy sigh. He looked up at the men who were watching him eagerly. Shaking his head, he said, “Surely you must have figured it out by now, especially you two.” He nodded toward Captain Peacock and Mr Grainger. “You’ve both been married, what, twenty or thirty years?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Captain Peacock snapped.
“Everything,” Mr Humphries said. When they still looked confused he sighed and tried a different tack. “In all the years you’ve been with your wives, didn’t you see a certain pattern? Say, once a month? All of a sudden they’re moody and emotional? Next thing you know there’s a bunch of Cadbury wrappers strewn about the place and they’re screaming at you for something you did five years previously.”
“Oh yes,” Mr Grainger said wistfully. “My wife used to get that way on occasion. At least until about twenty years ago. She’s been perfectly reasonable ever since.”
“Come to think of it, my wife used to be like that,” Captain Peacock said, leaning on the counter as he considered the matter. “She used to have these terrible mood swings until…oh, I don’t know…maybe a year ago. Seems like she sort of settled down somewhat. Mind you, she still has her moments.”
“Same with my mother,” Mr Humphries said. He opened his personal drawer, took out a small book, and opened it up. “But then I started keeping track of when she’d have these mood swings and such and I found a pattern. Well, I was about twelve or thirteen and I wondered about it all so I asked my teacher about it one afternoon after class. She sat me down and explained everything to me. After that it all made sense and from then on I learned to steer clear of mother during her, ah, time of the month.”
Mr Grainger nodded, but still looked puzzled. Both Captain Peacock and Mr Lucas exchanged looks of bewilderment while Mr Humphries face-palmed. He looked up after a moment and said, “Surely you know what I’m talking about?”
All three shook their heads.
“They’ve got the painters in,” Mr Humphries said.
Mr Lucas shrugged and blinked. Captain Peacock raised an eyebrow. Mr Grainger just stared.
“Aunt Flo has come for her monthly visit,” Mr Humphries persisted. He jabbed a finger in his agenda. “Look! She’s right on time, too!”
“Shirley doesn’t have an Aunt Flo,” Mr Lucas said.
“Neither does my wife,” Mr Grainger added.
“Nor mine,” Captain Peacock said, shaking his head.
“You three have to be the thickest lot I’ve ever met in my life.” Mr Humphries rolled his eyes, then gestured for the men to lean in close while he whispered. A moment later their faces bore horrified expressions and Mr Humphries looked relieved, although still slightly exasperated.
“Bloody hell,” Mr Lucas muttered.
“In more ways than one,” Mr Humphries quipped. He smirked at the men, who were disgusted and embarrassed at the same time. He glanced down at his watch. “Would you look at that? Time for my coffee.” And with that he slipped away to the Canteen, leaving his co-workers looking very uneasy.

At lunch the men chose to sit at a separate table from the women in order to maintain some harmony between the departments. Mr Humphries still spoke to the women as he walked in with his brown bag and they responded kindly. However, he still joined the men who were huddled around a table together against the wall.
“There you are,” Mr Lucas said when Mr Humphries came over. “‘Ere, you seem to be the expert here. How long is this supposed to last?”
“I don’t know,” Mr Humphries replied. “I’ve found that it can be a few hours or a few days. It depends on the woman in question. I try to keep track of it in my little agenda, as Mrs Slocombe can turn into quite a dragon when it’s her turn. Mind you, when they’re in close quarters for extended periods of time – no pun intended – their cycles sort of start to merge and then it can be a living nightmare for all involved.”
“Meaning…?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Meaning that the entire store could be on the same schedule eventually,” Mr Humphries explained, taking out his sandwich.
“Blimey,” Mr Lucas shuddered. “Can you imagine if they all got like this at the same time every month?”
“It’ll happen eventually,” Mr Humphries warned them. “It happened at this all girls school my friend Vivian went to when we were teenagers. She said within a year her entire class was on the same cycle. They would all get moody and emotional at almost the exact same moment.”
“What if it’s already happened?” Mr Grainger whimpered. “I don’t know if I can handle it. I could barely keep up with my wife when she…well, when she still had…you know…” He cut himself off, clearly too embarrassed to continue.
“I rather doubt it’s already happened,” Mr Humphries said, picking at his sandwich. “It could take years, depending on how many women are involved and how much contact they have with each other.
The men nodded and grunted in agreement. Nothing else was said as they tucked into their meal.
Meanwhile, unnoticed by the males, two women joined Mrs Slocombe and Miss Brahms at their regular table. A moment later three more sat down. Then three more. Soon they were connecting tables together and chatting amiably amongst each other. Still the men talked and ate without worry.
All of a sudden there was an angry cry, a crash, and several chairs were overturned. The men turned to see Miss Brahms and Miss Howard holding back Miss Hurst as she tried to claw at Mr Fenwick, who had pressed himself up against the wall in fear.
“You chauvinistic pig!” she screamed. “First you sack that lovely Mr Beauchamp for being a woofter and now you try to grope me! I should duff you up right here, right now!”
“I didn’t sack Beauchamp!” Mr Fenwick replied, still cowering. “He left on his own! And I didn’t try to grope you. I was just walking by. I swear!”
Sensing danger, Mr Humphries threw his sandwich into his bag, chirped, “See you after lunch!” and ducked out of sight before slipping out the back door.
“Calm down, Angela!” Miss Brahms cried. “Violence never solved anyfing!”
“You’re one to talk,” Miss Bakewell snorted. “I heard what you did to Mr Lucas this morning.”
“Like you’ve never walloped ‘im for pinchin’ yer bum,” Miss Brahms snarled.
“After what I heard you two’ve been up to, I don’t see why a pinch on the rear’s so bad,” Miss Howard sniffed.
Miss Brahms released Miss Hurst and went after both women. Mr Fenwick made a dash toward the Canteen door. Within seconds there was an all out brawl amongst probably every female staff member in the store. At first the men watched in amusement, then they saw Mrs Slocombe glaring at them. They looked at each other then jumped up from the table and raced after Mr Humphries.

Downstairs in the Bargain Basement, the men were led by Mr Humphries, who told them it was the safest place at the moment. They opened the door to the empty social club and scavenged for food behind the bar. Sadly, all they could find were a few packets of peanuts, some stale bread, mayonnaise, and a few packets of ham and turkey that were a day past their expiry. Still they took it out and formed an assembly line as they made sandwiches. As they worked together Mr Lucas suddenly looked up toward the door.
“I hear footsteps,” he said. “Quick! Hide!” He ducked behind the bar, but Captain Peacock edged toward the door cautiously.
There was a tap at the door and a timid voice called out, “Let us in! We’re frightened!”
“It’s Mr Fenwick,” Mr Humphries said, recognising the voice.
Captain Peacock opened the door and a shaking Mr Fenwick toddled into the room, followed by a dozen other male staff members. They looked pale, sweaty, and terribly scared.
“Oh thank you,” Mr Fenwick said. “We saw you come down here, so we followed. We would have been here sooner but Mr Harvey insisted on stopping in the gents’.”
“I told you, my prostate’s acting up,” Mr Harvey hissed.
“It’s alright,” Captain Peacock said. “You’re safe here. We’re all safe here. At least according to Mr Humphries.”
“Yes, we saw you following him,” a tall lanky junior piped up. “At first we weren’t sure if we should do the same, considering his reputation.”
“What sort of reputation?” Mr Humphries asked.
“Well, rumour has it that you’re not exactly one of us,” the junior said. “That you’re a bit of a…what’s the word?”
“A pansy,” Mr Harvey suggested.
“That’ll do,” the junior nodded.
“Just who are you, anyway?” Mr Lucas snapped.
“Bert Spooner,” the junior replied. “Hardware and Do-It-Yourself.”
“Look here, Spooner,” Mr Lucas drawled. “Mr Humphries is the one what led us down here to safety. He knows what’s going on with the women and I’ll bet my last quid he’s got a plan to get us out of this mess!”
“Thank you, Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries groaned. “But I don’t.”
Mr Lucas rounded on him. “But…but…you know them! You know how they think! You know what makes them tick! Surely you’ve thought of something.”
“Well, yes, but it involves being upstairs behind my counter with that lovely…” He stopped in mid-sentence. “No, that won’t help us now…”
“Don’t tell me he’s our leader,” grumbled Mr Tebbs. “He wasn’t even in the military!”
“I was in the Navy,” Mr Humphries retorted. “For a week or two, anyway.”
“I think Captain Peacock should take charge,” Mr Tebbs stated. “He’s already a supervisor on the first floor and has an extensive Army background. He can lead us out of here and to victory!” Mr Tebbs stuck his thumbs under his braces and looked around as if expecting a rousing stir of agreement. Instead he received blank stares.
Captain Peacock started to speak when there was another knock at the door. He crept to it and the men held their breath in anticipation. Then a quavery old voice called out, “Help! We’ve got wounded!”
“It’s young Mr Grace!” Mr Fenwick cried out. “Let him in!”
Captain Peacock opened the door to allow the feeble old man to enter. He was escorted by his chauffeur and followed by several managers. Two were holding up Mr Rumbold, who had gone very white and had a large lump on his crown.
“Good heavens!” Captain Peacock exclaimed. “What happened?”
“M-m-my secretary,” Mr Rumbold gasped. “A v-v-vase of flowers…on my head…all I did…was ask…ask…for a file…”
“Touchy,” Mr Spooner muttered.
“You would be, too, if you were dealing with what they’re cursed with,” Mr Humphries snapped.
“Cursed with?” Mr Fenwick repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know?” Mr Humphries asked.
There was a collective murmur amongst the males; they had no clue.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mr Humphries said. “Half of you are married or have girlfriends and not one of you knows what’s going on?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend!” squeaked a voice in the back.
“I know you don’t, Mr Davison,” Mr Humphries sighed. “And the answer is still no.”
“Bugger,” Mr Davison griped.
“Look, Mr Humphries knows what’s going on,” Mr Lucas addressed the crowd. “He knows these women inside and out.”
“He should,” Mr Spooner cracked. “He’s practically one himself!”
“I’ll smack your wrist in a minute!” Mr Humphries warned him.
“It’s true,” Mr Lucas said, earning him a reproving glare from Mr Humphries. “I’ve seen him dissolve into tears over the littlest things. He knows how to sew a button on a jacket and actually knitted me a jumper for Christmas last year.”
“Then there’s the Cadbury bars he keeps in his personal drawer, but hardly touches because he’s worried about keeping his figure trim,” Mr Grainger added.
“How do you know about those?” Mr Humphries demanded.
“I’ve been nicking one or two every once in a while,” Mr Grainger chuckled.
“That explains why you had me measure your waist last week,” Mr Humphries giggled.
“Point is,” Mr Lucas interrupted, keen to make his point, “not only does he know how to deal with them, but also what to say to them and such to appease them. They respect him and allow him to move unrestricted amongst them. If anyone can get us out of this mess it’s Mr Humphries!”
“For once I must agree with you, Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock said. “Humphries is the man for the job. Hands up those who agree he should be our leader!”
Nearly every hand was up in the air. Even Mr Spooner reluctantly raised his.
“I think that should do it,” Captain Peacock nodded. He turned to Mr Humphries. “What next?”
Mr Humphries looked quite nervous now. “I…alright! I have an idea. First, we’re going to finish lunch in here. We’re going to have a very stiff drink as well. Then I shall go upstairs and check each department at two o’clock. If I can reach a phone I’ll ring the bar to let you all know how things are upstairs.”
“What if you’re caught?” Mr Lucas asked, looking very concerned.
Mr Humphries shook his head. “No worries. They consider me one of their own sometimes. Even if I am caught they would assume I’d come to join them and allow me entrance.”
“Wait a minute,” Mr Spooner interjected. “‘Ow do we know that’s not what you’re going to do, anyway?”
There was a murmur of dissent amongst them all. Mr Humphries rolled his eyes and shook his head again. “In all honesty I’m on no one’s side here. I am but a diplomat. In fact, after that little incident with Beauchamp…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Never mind. Just trust me on this. I won’t let you down.” He turned to the juniors. “Mr Spooner, please pass out these sandwiches. Mr Lucas, Mr Howard, keep making more until we run out of ingredients. Mr Grainger, Mr Fenwick, would you two serve as bartenders for a while? I think we could all use a strong drink.”
The men did as they were told. Soon they were all munching sandwiches and sipping alcoholic beverages, which calmed their nerves greatly. Mr Humphries wolfed down his own lunch and kept an eye on his watch. At ten to two he crushed the paper sack and tossed it into a bin. Standing as tall as he could manage he started to walk toward the door, his back erect, his legs stiff, and his whole manner butch. Everyone stared at him; they weren’t used to seeing him act so masculine.
“There goes a real hero,” Mr Harvey muttered.
At the door to the club Mr Humphries stopped and took a deep breath. He held out a shaking hand for the handle and started to turn it, but his nerve failed him. Mr Lucas, sensing his fear, came up behind him and turned it for him.
“Do you want me to go with you?” he whispered.
Mr Humphries nodded. Mr Lucas tried to put on a brave face as he pushed the door open. A moment later they were outside the social club with the door latched firmly shut behind them.

Several minutes passed by without a word from the two men. Captain Peacock kept glancing at his watch, then at the phone. Mr Grainger passed the time by counting the olives in the tray on the counter while Mr Fenwick smoked a cigarette.
A knock on the door made them all jump and Captain Peacock ran to it. “Who’s there?” he called.
“Packin’ and Maintenance,” came a thick Cockney accent. “Let us in!”
Captain Peacock let out a sigh of relief and opened the door. Mr Harman came in, followed by Mr Mash, Seymour, Warwick, and three others.
“Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas found us in the broom cupboard on the first floor,” Mr Harman explained. “They said you lot was hiding down ‘ere and we should join you.”
“We’ve given ’em a couple of these,” Mr Mash said, holding up a radio. “They said they’d contact us as soon as they reached the first floor.”
As if on cue the radio crackled into life and Mr Lucas’ voice came over. “Cheeky Monkey to Harman’s Heroes! Cheeky Monkey to Harman’s Heroes! Do you read me?”
Mr Harman held up his own radio. “I read you. How’s the scenery?”
“The sea is calm,” Mr Lucas responded. “I repeat, the sea is calm. It is safe to return to the first dock.”
“That’s good news,” Captain Peacock said. Just then the radio crackled again and this time Mr Humphries voice could be heard.
“Blueboy to Bangers and Mash,” he called. “Can you read me?”
“Loud an’ clear, Blueboy,” Mr Mash replied. “‘Ow’s the waters lookin’?”
“The sea is calm at the second dock,” Mr Humphries said. “I’m going to check the fourth dock while Cheeky Monkey checks the third. We will rendezvous at the fifth dock before checking the pier.”
“That’s the board room,” Mr Mash explained. He held up his radio and said, “We’ll keep the lighthouse on. Keep us updated. Over and out!”
“I guess we can go back upstairs, then,” Mr Howard said quietly.
“Yes, let’s return to our departments,” Captain Peacock agreed. “Mr Mash, Mr Harman, would you be so kind as to stay here and relay information to the men?”
Both saluted the floorwalker. “You can count on us!” they chorused.
Captain Peacock shook his head and beckoned to Mr Grainger, who abandoned his olives reluctantly to follow.

When they reached the first floor they were hesitant to step out onto the floor, but Captain Peacock crept forward slowly until he was sure nothing was waiting to attack him. He edged around a cabinet and glanced around the corner. He was shocked to see that Mrs Slocombe and Miss Brahms were chatting amiably at their own counter.
“Astounding,” he muttered.
“What?” Mr Grainger asked.
“They’re acting as if nothing happened,” Captain Peacock whispered. “Look at them! You’d think they were mother and daughter the way they’re getting on.”
Mr Grainger peered over the top of his spectacles at the women. “You’re right, Stephen,” he mumbled. “I hope it’s not a ruse.”
“It’s not,” came Mr Humphries’ voice from behind them.
Both men jumped and Captain Peacock cried out. Catching his breath he gave Mr Humphries a severe look. “How do you know?” he demanded.
“That’s just the way they are,” Mr Humphries said. He strolled past the two older men and took up his normal position on the counter. A moment later Mr Lucas bounded onto the floor and took his position as well.
“Well done, both of you,” Captain Peacock commended them. “What should we do now?”
“Act as if nothing has happened,” Mr Humphries advised.
“What do you mean, ‘act as if nothing has happened’?” Mr Grainger sputtered. “Something did happen!”
“I know,” Mr Humphries said. “But we must act as if everything is perfectly fine. If I’m not mistaken we’re over the worst of it and by tomorrow everything will be back to normal.”
“As normal as this place will ever be,” Mr Lucas remarked.
Captain Peacock looked to be at a loss for words. In order to keep up his façade of authority he glanced around for customers then addressed the men by saying, “I think we should employ ourselves now in cleaning our department in preparation for the HSE.”
“Already ahead of you,” Mr Humphries said casually. “Mr Lucas and I have everything ready. Don’t we, Mr Lucas?”
“Yes, yes,” Mr Lucas agreed. “I think we might just get a gold star this time!”
“Yes,” Captain Peacock drawled. “Very well. I shall see how the ladies are doing.” Then he hesitated and looked at Mr Humphries. “Er, should I check on the ladies?”
“Act as if nothing has happened,” Mr Humphries told him. “Go on!”
Captain Peacock nodded, tugged at his lapels to straighten them, and proceeded to stroll over to the ladies’ counter.

“Anyway, we went down to Victoria Park,” Mrs Slocombe told her junior. “And he was ever so polite. Not once did he try to kiss me or grope me or anything like that. So I thought it’d be quite safe to let him take me home.”
“And did you?” Miss Brahms asked.
“I did,” Mrs Slocombe replied. “And when we got there I asked him if he’d like to come in and see my pussy. D’you know, he became so excited he nearly dropped the bottle of ouzo we’d picked up at the Greek market. Good thing he didn’t! That stuff costs nearly three pounds a bottle! Anyway, he came in and I showed him my Tiddles. He seemed rather disappointed, but he stayed for a while and we had a lovely chat.”
“How long did he stay?” Miss Brahms asked.
“Oh, a few hours,” Mrs Slocombe said. “And you know, I think that ouzo wasn’t brewed properly or something, because I started to feel quite dizzy after a couple glasses.”
“How big were the glasses?” Miss Brahms inquired.
“Oh, maybe this tall,” Mrs Slocombe said, demonstrating the height by holding her hands roughly four inches apart. “And about this big around.” She cupped her fingers to show the width, which was about the size of an orange.
“Did you finish the bottle?” Miss Brahms sighed.
“We did,” Mrs Slocombe nodded. “And I think we opened a bottle of gin as well.”
“Blimey!” Miss Brahms exclaimed. “You two were lit!”
“Certainly not, Miss Brahms,” Mrs Slocombe retorted. “We just got a little tipsy, that’s all.”
“Did he stay over?” Miss Brahms whispered.
“Well, yes,” Mrs Slocombe admitted. “It was quite late and he’d had a few too many, so I let him sleep on the couch. But he never set foot in my bedroom that night! The next morning he was gone. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Shame,” Miss Brahms said quietly. “I don’t suppose you’ll ever see him again, will you?”
“Oh, I dare say he’ll be back,” Mrs Slocombe smirked.
“What makes you say that?” Miss Brahms asked.
“He left a note saying he’d call me,” Mrs Slocombe replied, “that I had the best pussy in London, and he couldn’t wait to see me again so he could stroke it!”
Miss Brahms stared at her superior in shock. Before she could say anything Captain Peacock came over, smiling kindly at them.
“Good afternoon ladies,” he greeted them. “I trust you’re ready for the inspector’s visit?”
“Indeed we are, Captain Peacock,” Mrs Slocombe tittered. “Miss Brahms and I have checked every nook and cranny for dust and dirt. Not to mention we’ve discussed the safety regulations as well.”
“Excellent,” Captain Peacock nodded. “Er, carry on, then.” And with that he walked away quickly.
“Blimey, he’s acting strange,” Miss Brahms remarked.
“Men are like that sometimes,” Mrs Slocombe said sagely. “They get in these funny moods where you just can’t talk to them. Mr Slocombe would get like that about once a month, it seemed, and you just couldn’t reason with him. Eventually he’d storm off to the pub for a few hours and come back acting as if nothing had happened.”
“Good thing us women are more mature and sophisticated than that,” Miss Brahms sniffed.
“I quite agree,” Mrs Slocombe nodded.

“What did I tell you?” Mr Humphries grinned as Captain Peacock strolled by. “Perfectly fine! And they’ll get better over the next day or so.”
“I will admit, you do seem to know what you’re talking about,” the floorwalker admitted somewhat begrudgingly. “I just hope you’re right and that they don’t have any more vicious mood swings like earlier.”
“I think they’ll be fine,” Mr Humphries said. “Unless…” He poked his tongue into his cheek, as he was wont to do when contemplating something. “No…I doubt that would happen…”
“What?” Mr Lucas asked. “What could happen?”
Mr Humphries looked a bit concerned now. “Well, say someone were to go over there and say the wrong thing at the wrong time – and even I can’t tell sometimes when it’s the wrong thing or the wrong time – well, there could be repercussions.”
“What do you mean by ‘wrong thing at the wrong time’?” Mr Lucas demanded. He gripped Mr Humphries’ lapels. “Tell us!”
“Calm down!” Mr Humphries snapped. He shook off Mr Lucas’ hands and smoothed his jacket. “Look, just think before you speak and everything will be fine.”
Just then the lift door opened and two men stepped out holding clipboards in their hands. Captain Peacock strutted up to them and said, “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Are you being served?”
The taller of the two puffed out his chest as if seeing the floorwalker as a bit of a challenge in pomposity. “We do not require service, my dear fellow,” he drawled. “We are from the Health and Safety Executive, here to inspect your floor for safety issues and to ensure that your staff are well aware of the regulations as well as their rights as employees. If you could show me to the…” He glanced down at his clipboard. “…Gents Ready-Made counter? You may then direct my associate to…Ladies Intimate Apparel,” he finished, gesturing to the shorter man.
Captain Peacock’s face pinkened slightly from this obvious challenge, but he remained calm and smiled politely at the two men.
“If Sir would follow me?” he said, bowing slightly at the waist. He led them over to the men’s counter. “Mr Grainger, are you free?”
Mr Grainger looked up. “Y-yes, I’m free, Captain Peacock,” he replied.
“This gentleman is from the Health and Safety Executive,” Captain Peacock said. “He will be inspecting your area. Would you be so kind as to guide him and assist him where necessary.”
“Ah yes, of course,” Mr Grainger smiled. “If Sir would step this way, I shall show you our stock-room first.”
The taller man nodded his approval and followed Mr Grainger.
“If Sir would come with me,” Captain Peacock said to the other, “I shall lead you to the ladies’ counter.”
“Jolly good,” the shorter man chirped.
Captain Peacock ignored this and went over to the ladies’ counter. “Mrs Slocombe?” he called. “Are you free?”
Mrs Slocombe glanced left and right before replying, “At the moment.”
“This gentleman is from the Health and Safety Executive,” Captain Peacock explained. “Would you please assist him by showing him your area?”
“But of course,” Mrs Slocombe simpered. “If Sir would follow me, I shall show you our stock-room first, then we shall move on to the fitting rooms.” She led the shorter fellow into the back while Miss Brahms checked in some stock.
Captain Peacock returned to the centre of the floor, whereupon he began his usual pacing. He looked over at the men’s counter and saw Mr Humphries finishing a sale to a rather nervous-looking young man. Nearby Mr Lucas was attending to a middle-aged man by showing him some socks. Grunting his approval he started to glance over at the ladies’ counter when all of a sudden there was a loud ‘CRACK!’ followed by shouting.
“How DARE you!” bellowed Mrs Slocombe from the stock-room.
The shorter inspector shot out of the stock-room, his clipboard snapped in two, and his hair dishevelled. “I-I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean you, ma’am!”
“You male chauvinistic pig!” she shouted.
“Mrs Slocombe!” Captain Peacock cried, sprinting over to the ladies’ counter. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Ask him,” she growled, pointing at the shorter inspector, who was now cowering behind the floorwalker.
“All I said was that blouse looked lovely,” he whimpered, “and that my wife had one just like it, only she’s a bit smaller.”
Mrs Slocombe puffed up and looked as though she might breathe fire at any moment.
“Oh no,” Mr Humphries whimpered. “He shouldn’t have said that. He might as well have said she’s big as a house!”
“What do we do?” Mr Lucas cried.
“I’ve got this,” Mr Humphries said and whipped open his personal drawer. He fished around for a moment, then squealed, “My Cadbury bars! They’re all gone!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr Humphries,” Mr Grainger apologised as he came around the corner. “I took the last one this morning. I really should have replaced them all by now.”
Mr Humphries became very pale and beads of sweat formed on his brow. “You fool! That was to keep the women calm! I always keep some on hand for when they get like this. You’ve doomed us all!”
“Not necessarily,” Mr Lucas said. He jerked open his own drawer and took out an unopened Dairy Milk bar. Standing tall, he crossed the floor and went right up to Mrs Slocombe, who was seething with hormonal rage. She narrowed her eyes at him as he came closer, much in the same way a samurai sizes up his opponent before drawing his sword.
“What do you want?” she growled.
“I come bearing a gift,” Mr Lucas said. He held up the candy. “You’re looking a bit peaky. I thought this might make you feel better.”
Mrs Slocombe’s expression softened as she took the chocolate from him. “How kind,” she said quietly. “I have been feeling a bit light-headed today. Thank you, Mr Lucas.”
Mr Lucas bit his tongue in an attempt to prevent himself from making a smart-ass remark. He took a deep breath, turned on his heels, and walked back to the men’s department where Mr Humphries was leaning against the cabinet. Wiping the perspiration from his face he said, “Well done, Mr Lucas! It must have cost you every ounce of discipline not to say something cheeky to her.”
“She did leave herself wide open,” Mr Lucas sighed. “Ah well. At least she’s calmed down now. Poor ol’ Peacock, he looks like he’s been through a nightmare.”
“We all have, Mr Lucas,” Mr Grainger said.
The men looked over at the centre of the floor, where Captain Peacock was consoling the shaking inspector. Mrs Slocombe had opened up the chocolate bar and halved it with Miss Brahms. They munched it happily and their whole demeanour changed to one of peace and calm.
“Are they going to be like this every month?” Mr Lucas asked.
“I’m afraid so, Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries sighed.
“How long will this peace last?” Mr Lucas inquired further.
Mr Humphries dug into his personal drawer and extracted his agenda. He thumbed through it and replied, “If they all stay on the same schedule, we have twenty-eight days. So, until the eighth of next month.”
“Then I say we start preparing now,” Mr Lucas said. He shoved his hand into his pocket and produced a few coins. “I’m going down to the sweet shoppe on the corner and stocking up on Hershey bars.”
“I’m with you,” Mr Humphries nodded, grabbing his hat and coat. “Come along, Mr Grainger. You owe me eight Dairy Milks, three Curly Wurleys, and five packets of chocolate buttons!”

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

DO YOU FANCY THIS DRESS?
BY DALE JACKSON

A cool autumn breeze ruffled James Lucas’ hair just before he dashed into the employee entrance at the old department store. It felt nice, really, for he was sweating profusely under his jacket; he had run all the way from the bus stop in the hope of being on time for once. He raced to the lift and jabbed the first floor button, panting as he did so, and removed his jacket. The machine groaned and gave a mighty shudder as if young Lucas were asking it to carry a small pachyderm instead of just one man in reasonable good shape. However, it managed to rise up and a moment later it dinged to announce his arrival on the first floor.
Captain Peacock glared at him as he got out of the lift. Mr Lucas glanced down at his watch and was amazed to see he still had five minutes to spare.
“Would you look at that?” he remarked to the floorwalker. “Five minutes to go! Must be a new record,” he joked.
Captain Peacock held up his own watch. “Not according to my watch,” he said. “You are two minutes late, Mr Lucas.”
“Well, that can’t be right,” Mr Lucas replied. “I just set my watch last night and…” He looked down again and saw that the hands were not moving. Swearing under his breath he tapped it a few times. The second hand gave a feeble jerk. The battery must have just gone.
“I will look the other way this time, Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock sighed. “But only because it is quite clear that you have been making a real attempt to be here on time. You’ve purchased a new watch, albeit an unreliable one; and Mr Humphries informed me just the other day that you not only have been setting your alarm for an earlier waking time but you have also obtained a bus schedule and nearly memorised it. However,” he added, “you are still arriving well after nine o’clock. You must make a better effort or face the consequences.”
Mr Lucas nodded solemnly. “Will there be anything else, Captain Peacock?”
“No,” the floorwalker replied gravely. “Now put away your coat and assume your position.”
Mr Lucas did as he was told and a minute or so later he was at his usual spot at the end of the counter, whereupon he looked around to make sure no one was watching before taking out a small paperback copy of The Fellowship of the Rings. Mr Humphries walked by, looked down, and tutted.
“Put that away before Peacock catches you,” he advised.
Mr Lucas sighed and stuck the book back into his personal drawer.
“Now come over here and help me with these new vests,” Mr Humphries said. “They’re supposed to be fantastic for keeping you cool and dry. According to the label they pull moisture away from your body, even if you’re running a marathon. Harman was supposed to deliver the new display model this morning.”
As if on cue a middle-aged man came strolling onto the floor pushing a covered display in front of him. He hummed a merry tune to himself as he positioned the display in front of the mens counter.
“‘Ere you are, Mr Grainger,” Harman called out. “The new Sweat-Smart wicking vest display model.”
“Mr Harman,” Captain Peacock groaned. “How many times have I told you that staff from Maintenance and Packing are not allowed on the floor during opening hours?”
Mr Harman reached into his coat and extracted a small book. He flipped it open and searched for an entry. “As of today…” He took out his pencil and made a quick note. “…three hundred and forty-two times.”
Captain Peacock rolled his eyes. “Just leave it and get off the floor.”
“I’m afraid I cannot acqueese to your demands,” Mr Harman replied in his thick Cockney accent. “I was instructed by a higher aufority to deliver this display then to await furver instruction from Mr Rumbold. As he has not arrived yet and given me said instructions then I shall remain here.”
Captain Peacock flushed but before he could say anything Mr Rumbold appeared on the floor carrying a clipboard. His newest secretary followed, bouncing jubilantly in his wake, much to the appreciation of Captain Peacock and Mr Lucas.
“Ah, there it is,” Mr Rumbold said, beaming at the still-covered display. “Gather ’round, everyone!” he called to the staff. “Mr Harman is going to demonstrate the new Sweat-Smart wicking vest display.”
Mrs Slocombe and Miss Brahms left their counters and came to stand next to Captain Peacock. Both looked very bored and had every right; the display had nothing to do with the ladies’ department.
“Please begin, Mr Harman,” Mr Rumbold requested, gesturing with his clipboard.
Mr Harman gave a stiff bow. “My lords, ladies, and gentleman,” he announced, “may I present the new Sweat-Smart wicking vest!”
He yanked back the sheet to reveal two male dummies standing together side by side. One was wearing a smart suit over the new vest while the other was wearing the vest with running shorts.
“No matter if you’re running a marathon from Yorkshire to Souf’end,” Mr Harman continued, “or simply making a presentation in front of the board members, the new Sweat-Smart wicking vest will ensure that you stay dry and comfortable by pulling moisture away from your profusely perspiring body and absorbing into its organic cotton fibres. Shall I demonstrate?”
Mr Rumbold smiled and nodded. Mr Harman pressed a switch and the dummy in the suit began moving his arms up and down and it swivelled once to face the other dummy for a moment, as if addressing a group. The other dummy, however, remained motionless.
“What’s wrong wif that one?” Miss Brahms asked, pointing to the athletic dummy.
“Maybe he’s got a cramp?” Mr Humphries grinned.
“Sorry ’bout that,” Mr Harman apologised. “Must be a short circuit somewhere. Lemme have a look.” He switched them off, prised a panel open on the back of the sporty dummy’s head, and twiddled about inside for a moment with his screwdriver. Then he snapped the cover shut and pressed the switch again.
Both came to life this time. The business dummy began gesturing then turned to face the sports dummy, which was running in place. There was a loud ‘ping!’ and all of a sudden it turned away from the business dummy and bent over where it remained still. The business dummy, however, still moved its arms up and down and even bent over a little at the waist.
The visual effect was all a bit much for Mr Humphries, who fainted on the spot and was caught under the arms by Mr Lucas.
At lunch time the staff huddled around their regular table, which they had just won back after a short battle with the now-defunct chemists’ shoppe. The first few meals and breaks had been small celebrations of victory. Now they resumed their usual gripes about the terrible food offered by the Canteen.
“Is it just me,” Mr Lucas grumbled, “or does this shepherd’s pie seem a little underdone?”
“It would explain why it tastes so ‘baa’d,” Mr Humphries bleated as a joke. He grinned but everyone else groaned. “Oh come now,” he chuckled. “They’re always trying to pull the wool over our eyes! ‘Ewe’ have to give them credit. Otherwise they’d just try to ‘ram’ it down our throats.”
This time he was rewarded by chunks of bread that were thrown not only from his own table but from a few other staff members who heard him. He still chuckled at his puns as he tucked into his minestrone soup.
“What are you so chipper about, anyway?” Mr Lucas snapped.
“Halloween is nearly here,” Mr Humphries replied. “And this year they’re having a fancy dress party and competition down in the social club. I’ve got my costume all ready and I know it will win!”
“What are you going as?” Miss Brahms asked.
Mr Humphries shook his head briskly. “I shan’t say. Don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“Oh come, give us a hint,” Miss Brahms coaxed.
Mr Humphries looked around to make sure no one was listening, then they all leaned in close to listen.
“Without going into details,” he whispered, “it involves a lot of latex, makeup, and a few pairs of socks.”
“I know,” Mr Lucas said. “You’re going as a creature from Doctor Who.”
Mr Humphries rolled his eyes. “No, Mr Lucas. I’m…” He leaned in closer so only his immediate coworkers could hear. “I’m going in drag.”
No one seemed the least bit surprised or shocked at this revelation. Miss Brahms even gave Mrs Slocombe a look that clearly said, Who didn’t see that coming?
“How’s that going to win the contest?” Mr Lucas asked. “I mean, lots of guys dress as girls for fancy dress parties. It automatically gets you laughs.”
“Ah, but not like this,” Mr Humphries winked. “By the time I’m done with my frock, my makeup, and made my-” he pretended to grab non-existent breasts on his chest- “adjustments, no one will recognise me.”
“Except for your voice,” Miss Brahms pointed out. “And that wonky tooth of yours.”
Mr Humphries, who had been grinning up to that point, suddenly closed his mouth and seemed to be contemplating his dental issues.
“When is this party?” Mr Lucas asked.
“Eight o’clock, next Friday,” Mr Humphries muttered, trying not to show his teeth.
“Tell us about the competition,” Mrs Slocombe said, trying to cheer her friend up.
Mr Humphries sipped his soup and grimaced slightly before responding. “There’s a notice on the staff board, it’s got more details. But I believe they’ll have four categories; best male costume, best female, best couple, and best overall. The best overall winner receives forty pounds and a charcoal grill from the camping department.
“Some good that’ll do,” Miss Brahms scoffed. “It’s October. No one wants to cook out in this wevver.”
“I think that’s why they’re giving it away,” Mr Humphries chuckled. “They ordered too many over the summer and now they’re trying to get rid of them to make room for the new stock.”
“What about the other categories?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Best female, male, and couple wins twenty pounds and a new toaster each from Kitchenware,” Mr Humphries replied. “They ordered too many of those as well and they can’t shift ’em fast enough.”
“Mrs Grainger would love a new toaster,” Mr Grainger mused aloud. “Our old one quit working weeks ago. She’s been toasting our morning crumpets under the broiler. Half the time she forgets and burns them.”
“I could definitely use a new toaster,” Miss Brahms said. “And twenty nicker.”
“And I would love to have a grill for cooking out next spring,” Mrs Slocombe added. “Mrs Axelby and I used to cook out nearly every weekend, rain or shine, spring through autumn! Only last month we were grilling some shish-ka-boobs and little did we know that the bottom of the grill had worn through. We were talking and laughing about all sorts of things without a care in the world. Next thing I know my pussy is wailing like a banshee. A coal had slipped through and landed on her poor tail, singing it to the skin!”
Mr Lucas and Mr Humphries both looked very shocked and aghast at this statement.
“Well, it seems we all have some interest in the prizes at hand,” Captain Peacock remarked. “Perhaps we should all attend the party and enter the competition.”
“But I’ve no idea what to dress up as,” Miss Brahms complained. “I ‘aven’t got any costumes at ‘ome. Not to mention I’m nearly skint.”
“All you’ve got to do is visit a consignment shoppe,” Mrs Slocombe told her. “Or a thrift store. Get some cheap second-hand clothing and use your imagination.”
“Yes,” Captain Peacock nodded. “You could even find some used costumes there as well.”
“That’s how I’ve prepared mine,” Mr Humphries added. “I went to this thrift store down the road. Friend of mine owns it. They’ve got a magnificent collection and you can find just about anything you like for next to nothing.”
“How late are they open?” Captain Peacock asked.
“I think they’re open ’til eight-thirty,” Mr Humphries replied.
“Well, why don’t we all make a little trip there after work?” Captain Peacock suggested. “We can have a good look together and perhaps advise each other on costume ideas.”
“I know what he’d really like to look at,” Miss Brahms muttered under her breath. No one heard her, though, for they were all nodding in agreement with Captain Peacock.
“Very well then,” he smiled. “Mr Humphries, would you care to escort us to this thrift shoppe after five-thirty?”
“Why not?” Mr Humphries replied. “I’ve been wanting to go back and see if I can find another skirt.”
“For your costume?” Mr Lucas asked.
“Not necessarily,” Mr Humphries grinned.
At five-forty-five the first floor staff arrived at Buttons and Bows, which was just down the street from Grace Brothers. Mr Humphries led the way into the shoppe, where he was immediately greeted by a stout woman with brilliant red hair.
“DAH-ling!” she cried out before embracing him warmly. “It’s been too long, Claybourne!”
“It’s been a week, dear,” Claybourne corrected her. He gave her his charming smile and they exchanged air-kisses. “Allow me to introduce my coworkers: James, Ernest, Betty, Shirley…and Stephen. This is Deidre, the owner of the shop. We’re all attending the fancy dress party next week at work”, he told her, “and they need costume ideas.”
At the mention of his first name Captain Peacock bristled slightly but said nothing. Shirley and Betty went right for the womens section to peruse while James and Ernest merely looked bewildered.
“Well, this looks interesting,” Captain Peacock said casually, admiring a tuxedo in the mens section. “Yes…I imagine with a toy pistol and a nice watch I could create an ensemble and go as a secret agent. James Bond, double-O-seven!”
“You’d make a better Bond villian,” James chuckled. This earned him a nasty glare from the floorwalker.
“I-I’m not sure where to look,” Ernest stammered.
“You could always put on a suit and carry ’round a cigar, go as Churchill,” James said. “You’re always going on about your days in ENSA when you’d do your Churchill impersonations.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Ernest nodded. “And that won’t cost very much, either. What a good idea, Mr Lucas! Thank you!”
Betty took her time sorting through the racks of clothing, until finally she pulled out a beaded dress.
“Ooh, would you look at that!” she said to Shirley. “It gives me a wonderful idea. I think I’ll go as a flapper girl.”
“Then you’ll want these, then,” Shirley said, and handed over a pair of long gloves. “I think I saw some beaded necklaces and a feathered headband somewhere, too.”
“Isn’t this fun?” Betty giggled as she clasped the clothes to her bosom. “I’m going to try this lot on, see how it suits me.”
“I think I’ll try this on,” Shirley said, holding up a fringed leather skirt. “Not for my costume, though. It’s just too groovy not to try it on.”
“We’re not here to buy casual wear, Miss Brahms,” Betty reminded her. “We’re here to find ideas for the fancy dress party. I’m determined to get that grill!”
“Oh, I’ve already decided on my costume,” Shirley grinned.
“What’s that, then?” Betty asked.
Shirley merely gave a sly wink. “You’ll see.” And with that she disappeared into one of the fitting stalls with the skirt. Betty scowled after her before slipping into the next stall.
Back in the mens section James was trying to find something interesting to wear that stayed within his pathetic budget.
“I’ve got three pounds to my name,” he bemoaned to Claybourne, who was eyeing a beaded dress similar to the one Betty took in the fitting stall. “What can I do that won’t cost me much and might win me that ten quid?”
“Very little,” Claybourne drawled. “You’d have a better chance of getting together with Shirley and going for the couples prize.”
James snorted back a laugh. A few seconds later he looked up from the rack and scratched his chin as an idea formed. He went to the fitting stall and just as he was about to knock on the door Betty’s door was flung open, revealing her in a tight-fitting gold beaded dress with a neckline that plunged deep into the abyss that was her cleavage. She looked just like a flapper girl from the 1920s…if flapper girls had bright green hair and were in their late forties.
“What do you think, Mr Lucas?” she asked, somewhat indifferently, in accordance with the flapper girl attitude.
James looked as if he’d just walked in on his parents in a compromising position. “I-I-I…” he stammered.
“That good?” Betty drawled. She sauntered out and struck a pose in front of a long mirror that was on sale.
“My word,” Claybourne remarked. “Josephine Baker rides again!”
Betty winked at him and turned to Deidre. “I’ll have the lot,” she said. “Oh, and do you have any fake pearls? I could do with a couple long strands. To complete the look, you know.”
“You’ll have to do something about your hair,” Claybourne advised.
“Mrs Axelby can help me with that,” Betty said. “She does a wonderful finger-wave. I’ll call her tonight and see when she’s available.”
Deidre brought over a few strands of large white beads that looked somewhat like pearls. Betty put them on and nodded. Just then Shirley stepped out of the other stall wearing the fringed leather skirt and a very tight spaghetti-strap blue shirt.
“What do you think?” she asked, posing in front of the mirror. “It’s a bit snug but I think I prefer it that way.”
None of the men could answer; not even Claybourne, who was staring open-mouthed at her. Betty rolled her eyes and replied, “Don’t you think it’s a bit revealing?”
“Then it’s perfect,” Shirley chirped. “I’ll take this lot home with me.”
She started to go back into the stall when James came to his senses and stopped her. He whispered in her ear and instead of striking him in protest Shirley raised an eyebrow, then whispered back. James nodded and she went into the stall to change back into her work clothes. Betty followed suit.
“Well, I believe we have everything we need, then,” Captain Peacock stated confidently. “All except, ah, James.”
But James shook his head. “No worries, Steve. Everything is already taken care of. And I dare say I’ve got an excellent chance of winning a prize next week!”
Captain Peacock flushed at the young man addressing him so casually. He started to say something when Claybourne squealed with delight.
“OH! Would you look at that?!” He held up a black shirt that had the words ‘I’m free’ written on the chest in glittery paint. “I simply must have this for the club! It’ll go fantastic with my green lame suit.”
“Trust you,” James chuckled.
Ten minutes later they walked out of the shoppe with their purchases (all except James and Ernest) and bade each other goodnight before disappearing in different directions.
The days leading up to the fancy dress party were filled with speculation, excitement, and even rejection as a few staff members attempted to land dates for the event. Captain Peacock could be overheard in the Canteen bemoaning to Mr Rumbold’s voluptuous secretary the fact that Mrs Peacock refused to attend with him. She feigned sympathy until he subtly dropped the hint that he’d like for her to come with him as a Bond girl. At that point she dropped the sweet smile and told him she already had a date – at another party altogether – before walking away with her coffee in hand.
“Why can’t you get Mrs Peacock to come be a Bond girl?” Mr Lucas asked casually as the floorwalker sat down at their regular table.
“Ah, well…” Captain Peacock stirred his own coffee as he tried to think quickly. “Well, Mrs Peacock is a bit shy when it comes to dressing…oh, what’s the word?”
“Like a slut?” Mr Lucas offered.
Captain Peacock glared at him. “I shall ignore that, Mr Lucas. I believe it could be phrased as a ‘tart’ or ‘coquette’. Anyway, she’s a bit old-fashioned and tends to prefer her skirts fall below her knees.”
“And I’ll bet you would prefer they simply fall off,” Mr Lucas grinned.
Captain Peacock shot him a belligerent look before sipping his coffee, which made his expression all the worse.
“Did you ever find a costume, Mr Lucas?” Mr Humphries asked.
Mr Lucas nodded. “Yes, everything’s ready for tomorrow night,” he replied.
“What are you going as?” Mr Grainger asked.
Mr Lucas shook his head. “It’s a surprise,” he grinned.
“You’re not going to come naked,” Mr Humphries asked, “stick a potato over your goods and call yourself a Dick-Tater?”
“Why not?” Mrs Slocombe smirked. “That’s his middle name.”
Mr Lucas stared, shocked, at Mrs Slocombe. “How do you know about my middle name?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice.
“Mrs Johnson in Accounts told me,” Mrs Slocombe said, still smirking. “And I would warn you…if you’re cheeky to me at all tomorrow evening I shall let it slip to everyone at the party.”
Mr Lucas muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like, “Flippin’ flapper fu-”
“What was that, Mr Lucas?” Mrs Slocombe asked sweetly.
“Nothing, nothing,” he lied before taking a long pull from his coffee.
At five-thirty the next day everyone scrambled either to get home and change or they bagged the fitting rooms. Mr Humphries had brought his drag with him and kept it under wraps the entire day. When Mr Lucas tried to take a peek he was quickly admonished by his superior and told that if he tried it again he’d get his wrist smacked.
Soon people were making their way down to the basement where the social club was located. Fake cobwebs were hung everywhere with fat plastic spiders. A mummy in a coffin was propped next to the door and when someone walked by it reached out to grab the person’s arm, making them shriek with fright. At least until they realised it was only Mr Mash, then they walloped him.
Betty swaggered into the club wearing her flapper girl outfit and looking slightly uncomfortable. It was tighter than she’d realised when she bought it the week before. Still, she looked sensational with her faux pearls, finger-waved red hair, and enough makeup to cause even Tammy Faye Bakker to shake her head in disapproval.
Captain Peacock arrived a few minutes later wearing a tuxedo and carrying a toy pistol in his jacket. A young girl was with him, giggling coyly in her sequined mini-skirt and skimpy blouse. He ordered a martini – shaken, not stirred – before spying Betty and giving her a warm smile.
“My word, Betty, you look absolutely charming,” he complimented her. “One would almost believe it was 1927 all over again.”
“Why thank you, Stephen,” Betty trilled. “It’s too bad Mrs Peacock couldn’t accompany you tonight.”
Captain Peacock blushed for a moment. “Er, yes. A tragedy.” He sipped his drink and nodded in satisfaction. “Has anyone seen Ernest or the others?”
“H-here I am, Captain Peacock,” Ernest said, appearing at his elbow. “I would have been here sooner but I had to stop and buy a packet of cigars. What do you think?” He turned slowly on the spot to show off his dark grey suit, his arms stretched out, a cigar in his right hand.
“A superb effort,” Captain Peacock said.
“You know, in this light,” Betty remarked, “you do look a bit like Churchill.”
“Oh, just wait until I do my old impersonations,” Ernest beamed. He cleared his throat before speaking, “We shall fight them on the beaches, we shall fight them on the landing grounds, but we shall never surrender!”
“Ooh, it sends shivers up me spine,” Betty whispered in awe.
“Thank you, Mrs Slocombe,” Ernest smiled. “And may I say how lovely you look this evening?”
“Will Mrs Grainger be joining us tonight?” Captain Peacock asked.
“Y-yes, she’s coming in just now,” Ernest replied.
An older woman dressed as a nun joined Ernest, smiling cheerfully at everyone. “You know,” she said to him, “I still think you should have dressed as a vicar so we could try for the couples prize.”
“You really think so?” Ernest asked.
“She has a point,” Betty said. “You two would fare better if you entered as a couple.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” Ernest sighed, twiddling his cigar between his fingers.
“Not necessarily, Ernest,” Captain Peacock countered. “You could slip up to the mens department and borrow some items from stock for the evening. I think we might have some seconds that would fit you.”
“And we could easily make a white collar,” Mrs Grainger added.
Ernest grinned broadly and led his wife through the crowds. “I’ll be right back!” he called over his shoulder.
“So, Stephen,” Betty said, sidling up to the floorwalker. “Are you going to ask me to dance?”
Captain Peacock smiled genially at Betty. “Under other circumstances I would love to, but as there are so many staff here tonight and my wife is not here, perhaps it would be wise if we refrain from such frivolity.”
“It’s just a quick turn on the dance floor,” Betty simpered.
“Nonetheless, I would prefer not to risk idle gossip amongst the others,” Captain Peacock stated, firmly but with a note of kindness in his voice as if trying his best not to hurt her feelings.
“Oh well,” Betty sighed. She ordered another gin and tonic from the barman. Just as she was about to knock it back a couple entered the social club dressed as Alice and the Mad Hatter. The resemblance was uncanny! Except…there was something just not right about Alice. She was a bit taller than the Mad Hatter and was walking a bit stiffly.
“Alright there, Betty?” came Shirley Brahms voice from under a large top hat. She tipped it back so she could wink at her coworkers and gave a big grin.
“My word!” Captain Peacock chuckled. “I had no idea. You look splendid!” He then turned to Alice and suddenly could not contain his laughter. “Which is more than I can say for young James here!”
“Charming,” James Lucas grumbled. He adjusted his blonde wig and muttered a few vulgarities under his breath.
“How did you talk him into that lot?” Betty giggled.
“‘E wanted to come as a couple, so I said I’d only do it if we could go as Alice and the Hatter,” Shirley explained.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t tell me I was supposed to dress as Alice,” James snapped.
“I saved that bit for tonight,” Shirley chuckled. “But I knew he’d do it if there was a bit of bob involved.”
“And a bit of boob as well,” James said. “Don’t you forget the other part of our deal!”
“And what would that be?” Betty demanded, suddenly becoming quite stern.
“Oh, I told him if we won I’d go out on a couple dates with him,” Shirley said. “It’ll be worth it if we win tonight.”
“Win or lose, we’re going out,” James reminded her.
Shirley ignored him and ordered a couple of drinks. “Where’s Claybourne?” she asked.
“We haven’t seen him yet,” Betty replied. “Course, the way he was going on about his costume we may not recognise him at all.”
Just then the girl Captain Peacock had come in with grabbed him by the arm. “Oh, I love this song!” she cried out. “Come dance with me, Stephen!”
“Why not?” Captain Peacock smiled, and he went out on the dance floor with her.
Betty watched them and seethed. “Doesn’t want to invite gossip? Humph!”
“Isn’t that Mr Davis’ new secretary?” James asked.
“I think it is,” Shirley agreed. “Yes, that’s Karen Goodman. She only started a couple weeks ago.”
“Oho!” Betty knocked back a third gin and tonic in one gulp. “I wonder now if Mrs Peacock even knows about this party.”
“I highly doubt it,” came a very familiar voice to their left.
James, Shirley, and Betty turned to see who had spoken and all three stared in absolute shock. A woman of about thirty stood next to them wearing a tight blue sequined cocktail dress that was slit up the side. Her suspender belts barely peeked out from under her skirt and her dark blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was sipping a cosmopolitan demurely and watching the party from her bar stool. Then she uncrossed and crossed her legs seductively, which made James sincerely wish he hadn’t dressed as a seven year old girl.
“And what makes you so sure?” Betty asked, not impolitely, but with some reservation.
The woman raised an eyebrow and gave her a knowing smile that revealed perfect teeth. “How long have we known Stephen?” she asked. “How many times has he proven that his loyalty to Mrs Peacock is, shall we say, less than perfect?”
With these words their jaws dropped even more, for they now recognised the woman, who was indeed not a woman.
“Claybourne Humphries?!” James whimpered in utter shock. “I-is that…is that really you?”
“I told you,” Claybourne smiled. “I’m a shoe-in for that grand prize! We’ll have to cook out this weekend to celebrate.”
“But…your teeth!” Shirley pointed. “How did you fix them so fast?”
Claybourne looked around first then reached into his mouth and extracted a prosthetic cover that looked like real human teeth. Then he grinned, showing off the gap between his front incisors. “I borrowed these from a friend. She’s got to have them back in the morning before she goes to work at the corner deli. Fortunately she lives just down the road from me.”
“Aren’t you worried about contamination?” James asked. “I mean, you never know where those have been.”
“I do know, actually,” Claybourne winked. “But I’ll save that story for Monday morning.”
Betty shook her head and turned back to watch Captain Peacock dancing merrily with Karen. She was obviously angry with being turned down and didn’t mind who knew.
“I have an idea,” James said, grinning maliciously. “Since Clay here is practically unidentifiable in his current state of dress, it would be easy for him to get any of the blokes here to dance with him, right?” The others nodded. “So, what if Mrs Peacock were to pop in right about the time that Captain Peacock was dancing with him?”
“That’s low, even for you,” Shirley snapped.
“I quite agree,” Betty said. “Even though he has been quite rude to me I shouldn’t want to cause any friction between him and his wife.”
“We’d let her in on the joke,” James assured them. “Eventually, anyway. Oh come on!”
But Betty was shaking her head. “No, I shall simply let this pass.”
Just then Captain Peacock returned, looking a bit disheveled.
“Oh…that was fun,” he panted. “I will need to catch my breath for a moment. Oh my,” he added upon seeing Claybourne. “Who is this charming young lady?”
Before Claybourne could answer James stepped in and said, “This is Blanche. Blanche Pruitt, from Kitchenware.”
“How lovely to meet you,” Captain Peacock said, pouring on the charm. “I am Captain Stephen Peacock, floorwalker for the Ladies and Gents department on the first floor.”
Claybourne smiled sweetly and shot James a confused look. James, however, was fighting back his laughter.
“Where’s your friend, Stephen?” Shirley asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
“Ah, Miss Goodman has gone to powder her nose,” Captain Peacock replied. He glanced down at his watch. “She’s taking her time, too. Ah well. I could do with another drink. Barkeep!”
“I could do with another ginnentonic,” Betty slurred slightly. She ordered her fourth and fifth at the same time.
“To your good health, Betty,” Captain Peacock said, raising his glass in her direction
“And to yours, Stephen,” Betty said. She knocked back half the drink and smacked her lips in appreciation.
“Walk with me Betty,” Captain Peacock said. “I’d like a quick word…er, if you can walk.”
Betty slid off her bar stool and staggered slightly until Captain Peacock took her arm in his. They walked a few feet away before he spoke again.
“I hope you are not terribly disappointed that I would not dance with you earlier,” he said. “I danced with the lovely Miss Goldman because her father is an old friend of mine and he asked me to look after her tonight.”
Betty rolled her eyes but Captain Peacock didn’t see this. She drained her glass and set it carefully on the bar. “Think nothing of it, Stephen,” she said. “I’m certainly not.”
“That is good to hear,” Captain Peacock said. “I wouldn’t want anything to sour our friendship.”
“You needn’t worry,” Betty told him. “I quite understand.”
Captain Peacock nodded and led her back to her bar stool, where she needed a bit of help resuming her perch upon it. Once she was settled he picked up his martini and gave a sly wink to Claybourne.
“What was all that about?” Shirley asked.
“Oh, he was just trying to get back into my bood gooks,” Betty slurred. “But I can’t really stay cross with him, you know. He really is a gentleman in many respects.”
Just then Captain Peacock crossed over to Claybourne and whispered something into his ear. Claybourne’s eyebrows raised sharply and he clutched his own bar stool for support. He gave James a significant look before nodding to Captain Peacock, who took his glass and set it down on the bar with his martini before leading the young man in drag out onto the dance floor.
“There goes Captain Oblivious,” James chuckled.
“What?” Betty drawled. Then she looked up and saw Captain Peacock holding Claybourne’s hand as they walked onto the dance floor. She was instantly furious and the five gin and tonics were not helping one bit. She stood up quickly, nearly fell over, composed herself, then grabbed James and led him away. They had a swift exchange before she left the social club, still fuming. James, however, was beside himself with glee.
“I have waited a long time for this,” James chuckled.
“For what?” Shirley asked.
“Vengeance,” James replied. He ordered a beer and gave an evil laugh before turning up the bottle. Betty returned a few minutes later and took her back her spot at the bar.
“Your attention, please!” came Mr Rumbold’s voice over the speakers. He stood on a small stage toward the back of the room, wearing a cheesy prison outfit complete with ball and chain. “It’s time for the contest! Our judges will be walking around for the next ten minutes to have a good look at your costumes. If they deem yours suitable then you shall be given a red ribbon to wear. Mr Harman here will play a few more songs and once the ribbons are handed out we will have you come up to the stage. Good luck, everyone!”
Ernest and his wife finally returned to the party. He looked exactly like a priest, except he still had the cigar in his hand. His wife tutted at him to put it away but Ernest shushed her and lit it.
“Cor, blimey!” Shirley laughed. “I’d hate to be in confession with him listening!”
“How many Catholic priests smoke cigars, that’s what I want to know,” James grinned.
“Yes, I know,” Ernest smiled. “But I do love a good cigar every once in a while. And since I’d already bitten the end off I thought, why not?”
“Well, put it out soon,” Shirley told him. “The judges are going around, handing out ribbons. If you get one you’re in the finals.”
Just then a short Hebrew man dressed as Colonel Sanders walked up to them. “Oh, you all do look wonderful!” he bubbled.
“How are you, Mr Weinstock?” James greeted him.
“It’s just Max tonight,” he said, still smiling. “And I’ve got ribbons for nearly all of you! Your costumes are fantastic. Not like poor Mr Franco over there.” He pointed over his shoulder to a man in boxing shorts and gloves. “Not very original, you know. Anyway, let me get these pinned on you.” Max took out a handful of ribbons and pinned them on Ernest, Mrs Grainger, and Shirley.
“‘Ere, wha’ abou’ me?” Betty asked.
“What about me as well?” James asked. “I mean, we’re supposed to be a couple, me and Shirley.”
“Well, it’s just not all that original,” Max replied. “I mean, guys dressing as girls…it’s been done to death. Now if you looked like Mr Humphries over there…” He gestured to Claybourne, who was still dancing with Captain Peacock and had a ribbon pinned to his dress. “You might have had a chance. Maybe next year.”
“Marvelous,” James grumbled. “I get all dolled up like this and for nothing.”
“Not sessanarily,” Betty slurred.
“Sorry?” James said.
Betty responded by taking a small camera out of her handbag and clicked a few photos. Then she began cackling.
“That’s the last time I help you out,” James snapped.
“Oh, like you’re not getting any fun out of this,” Betty giggled. “Oi, take this and get a few shots of yer own.”
She handed the camera to James, who looked as if Christmas had come early. He found a good position and began snapping shots of Captain Peacock and Claybourne dancing. Then he passed the camera back, saying, “Before we leave tonight we’re going up to the one-hour photo lab to have those developed! Doubles! I want copies!”
Betty gave him a hearty wink and they clinked their beverages together.
“Your attention, please!” Mr Rumbold addressed everyone. “It’s time to select the winners of the fancy dress competition. If you received a ribbon please come up to the stage now.”
“That’ll be us, Ernest,” Mrs Grainger said.
Ernest, Mrs Grainger, Shirley and Claybourne went up to the stage. They stood with several others, including someone in a gorilla outfit, the Lone Ranger and Tonto, a construction worker, a Native American, a sailor, a police officer, a cowboy, a soldier, a biker, and Fred and Wilma Flintstone.
Max Weinstock and three other judges surveyed the competitors. Soon they began whispering amongst themselves.
“The judges are conferring,” Mr Rumbold said into the microphone. “Now, if they come up to you and remove your ribbon, that means you are out of the competition and you must leave the stage.”
Almost immediately one of the judges walked up and took the gorilla’s ribbon. Then another judge took the ribbons from the Lone Ranger and Tonto. More ribbons were removed until only Ernest, Mrs Grainger, Claybourne, Shirley, and the biker were left.
“We are now down to our final contestants,” Mr Rumbold called out. “Oh, and it looks like the judges have their final decisions! If you would please come up, Mr Weinstock…”
Max stepped forward and took the microphone. “The winner for best couple is obvious, as there is only Ernest and Sandra Grainger left. Congratulations!”
Everyone applauded the Graingers, who were beaming with joy. Mr Rumbold handed them an envelope and a box that said Toast-O-Matic on the side and featured a photo of a shining red toaster on the sides.
“And now, for best male…” Max announced. “John Klein of Cutting!”
The biker grinned as he received his envelope and toaster from Mr Rumbold before leaving the stage.
“Now, us judges need a little more time to determine which of these two receives best female and best overall,” Max told everyone. “If you would, please, model your costumes for us.”
Shirley went first. A spotlight was shined down as she stepped forward, turned around, and walked the length of the stage. She tipped her hat to the judges as she passed by and gave a wink to Max. When she finished Claybourne minced forward, much more daintily than usual, gave a couple turns, and pouted for the judges.
“He’s got it,” James said to Betty, who was sobering up slightly.
“Where is he?” a voice demanded nearby.
Both James and Betty started as Mrs Peacock arrived at the bar. She looked quite livid and was brandishing a rolled-up umbrella at them.
“Where’s Stephen?” Mrs Peacock snapped. “You, you’re James Lucas, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes, how’d you know?” James stammered.
“I received a call from Mrs Slocombe,” Mrs Peacock explained. “She said to come find the two of you, that you knew where Stephen was tonight. And it wasn’t a poker game with his old Army buddies!”
“Poker game with his Army buddies?” James chuckled. Then when he saw Mrs Peacock’s expression he cleared his throat and said, “He’s somewhere in the crowd. Shall I retrieve him for you?”
Mrs Peacock started to answer but Max’s voice over the speakers caught her by surprise.
“We now have our winners!” he cried. “Best female costume goes to…Shirley Brahms of Ladies Intimate Apparel!”
Shirley smiled and gave Claybourne a friendly hug. He pressed a handkerchief to his mouth and looked as if he were about to begin weeping, which he was wont to do.
“Which leaves us with tonight’s winner,” Max grinned.
Claybourne squealed with delight and Captain Peacock rushed forward to congratulate him, still unaware of the drag performance he’d been treated to that evening. He kissed Claybourne lightly on the cheek and both posed when a photographer began clicking away.
“STEPHEN PEACOCK!” Mrs Peacock roared over the crowd.
Captain Peacock exhibited a perfect ‘deer-caught-in-the-headlamps’ look. Just then Max passed an envelope over and said, very loudly into the microphone, “Congratulations to this year’s best overall costume winner, Mr Wilberforce Claybourne Humphries of Gents Ready-Made!”
The applause went on for a good five minutes. Claybourne fought back tears of joy and took out his prosthetic teeth. Captain Peacock fainted. Mrs Peacock followed suit. Shirley threw back her head and laughed with James, who was taking more photos with Betty’s camera. Poor Betty, however, had passed out at the bar.
“You mean to say that woman,” Ernest said once the applause died down, “is not a woman at all? That’s our Mr Humphries?”
“Indeed she is,” James laughed. “Or really, he is.”
“B-b-but she…I mean…” Ernest looked terribly confused and disoriented. “She looked just like a real lady! She walked and talked just like a member of the fairer sex!”
“That’s our Mr Humphries,” Shirley beamed. She high-fived him as he returned to the bar, looking positively beside himself with mirth.
“A round of drinks on me,” he said, and removed his wig to reveal his own short blonde hair. He looked a lot more like his normal self (or as close as he could get). “Mother will be thrilled when I bring this home tonight.”
“‘Ow are you gonna get it ‘ome?” Shirley asked.
“A friend of mine is picking me up in about an hour,” Claybourne replied. “She’s got a van, we can load it in the back.” Their drinks came and he raised his glass. “To the Graingers!” he toasted.
Betty woke up and snatched up her own glass just in time to echo with the others.
“And to Captain Peacock,” James said as the floorwalker staggered up to the bar. His hair was sticking up in several directions and he was drenched with sweat. A large bump was visible at his receding hairline, no doubt from Mrs Peacock’s umbrella.
“I’m afraid I shan’t be able to return home tonight,” he huffed as he heaved himself onto a bar stool. Then he saw Claybourne and snapped, “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
“You never gave me a chance,” Claybourne retorted. “As soon as we got on the dance floor it was all I could do to keep your hands off me, you cheeky thing!”
James spat his drink out and soon was bent double with laughter. His wig fell off and Shirley caught it, then traded it for her top hat, which Claybourne donned in place of his own wig. Captain Peacock looked irate, guilty, and bewildered at the same time. Ernest and his wife exchanged a warm embrace and admired their new toaster.
Poor Betty, however, passed out again on the bar and Claybourne had to give her a ride home with his friend.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MR LUCAS
BY DALE JACKSON

Spring might have been just around the corner but you couldn’t tell in London. The wind blew fiercely sometimes, causing hats to be blown away and skirts to be blown up. James Lucas caught an eyeful several times as he walked to work and wished he had a small camera for those moments.
For once he was on time but that hardly lifted his mood. Even when the lovely Shirley Brahms, who was just a few paces ahead of him, had her skirt whipped up by a gust of wind he merely nodded his appreciation but made no remark to her. She jerked it back down and grabbed the door to the employee entrance, scowling at him when she saw how near he was.
“One word out of you and I’ll have you on the carpet,” she warned.
He merely shrugged and held the door open so that she and Betty Slocombe could enter the store. They gave him an odd look when he passed and didn’t insult Mrs Slocombe, which was quite unusual for him.
“That was strange,” Mrs Slocombe whispered to Miss Brahms. “Not that I mind, but doesn’t he usually have a sarky comment to make in the morning?”
Miss Brahms nodded and they followed him into a lift. Nothing was said between the three and Mr Lucas simply stared at the doors. They opened a moment later and still he was silent as he trudged down the stairs, signed his name in the book, and went to the back to hang up his coat. Both women stared in wonder.
“Maybe he’s just tired or somefing,” Miss Brahms suggested.
“Maybe he’s finally learned to shut his cake-hole,” Mrs Slocombe muttered as she signed the book.
The lift doors dinged and out came Claybourne Humphries, who was assisting his superior, Ernest Grainger. The elderly man looked as if he could barely walk and was a bit red in the face.
“There you are, Mr Grainger,” Mr Humphries said kindly, leading him to the signing-in book. “I’ll check my personal drawer, see if I can find some aspirin for you.”
“Whatever’s the matter, Mr Grainger?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“M-Mrs Grainger asked me to help her with some chores this weekend,” Mr Grainger stammered. “Unfortunately I did too much and now all my j-joints are stiff from overuse. It’s going to take a w-week or more to limber back up.”
Mr Lucas had been watching from his position on the men’s counter but didn’t say anything. The women were getting worried now, for that was too good an opportunity for him to pass up. However, he simply stood there and began folding some shirts that had come in over the weekend, apparently lost in thought.
Mr Humphries took Mr Grainger’s hat and coat after signing them both in and started to walk toward the back when Mrs Slocombe caught his arm. She motioned for him to follow her to the centre display stand where she said, “Have you noticed that Mr Lucas is acting a bit queer?”
Mr Humphries raised his eyebrows in alarm. “H-how do you mean?”
“He’s passed up so many chances to make snide remarks or insult someone,” Mrs Slocombe said. “I don’t mind, really, but it is a bit worrying.”
Mr Humphries glanced over at the junior, who was now checking a shipment of ties. “He does seem a bit furtive,” Mr Humphries agreed. “I’ll see if I can coax it out of him.”
“If anyone can pull someone out it’s you, Mr Humphries,” Mrs Slocombe said, beaming at him.
Mr Humphries poked his tongue into his cheek, as he was wont to do when trying to think of how to respond. Then he seemed to decide it was best to simply walk away, which he did. As he passed the counters Captain Peacock came around the corner and checked his watch. He spied Mr Lucas behind the counter and did a double-take.
“Do my eyes deceive me,” Captain Peacock said, smiling kindly at the junior, “or have you actually arrived on time for once in your career, Mr Lucas?”
Mr Lucas looked up from the ties and gave Captain Peacock a bored, if not exhausted expression before taking a box of jockey shorts into the stock room. The floorwalker raised an eyebrow in suspicion, then heard someone “psst!” to him from around the corner. He looked up and saw Mr Humphries beckoning to him from behind the cabinet. Even more suspicious now, but for different reasons, he walked toward the sales assistant.
“Something’s wrong with Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries whispered. “Mrs Slocombe says he’s passed up several chances to be rude to people.”
“Has he?” Captain Peacock said, looking very concerned now.
“Don’t worry, I’m on the case,” Mr Humphries grinned. “If anyone can get him to talk it’s me.”
Captain Peacock nodded and went to the centre display stand. Overhead the bell sounded, signalling that the store was open. A moment later the lift doors dinged and a handful of customers trickled out. A rather large woman wearing a vicar’s ensemble approached the ladies’ counter and was immediately claimed by Mrs Slocombe.
“Good afternoon, madam,” she said in her poshest tone. “Are you being served?”
“No, and I definitely need some assistance,” the female vicar replied. “You see, I’m looking for a bra and I don’t know if you can tell but I’m a rather big girl.”
Mrs Slocombe gave her a kind smile and held up her hand. “Not to worry, we’ll soon have you sorted out. Miss Brahms? Are you free?”
Miss Brahms, who had been watching from a few feet away, looked left and right before replying, “I’m free, Mrs Slocombe.”
“Would you be so kind as to fetch some bras from the back for me?” Mrs Slocombe said. “Madam looks to be a size forty-two double-D, if I’m not mistaken .”
The vicar’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Well, that’s impressed me! How’d you know?”
Mrs Slocombe smiled wider now. “When one has been in the business as long as I have one is able to gauge a customer’s measurements from afar.”
“No wonder you got mine right first-crack,” the vicar grinned. “You were probably working here when the bra was first invented.”
Mrs Slocombe’s smile did not falter for a second. Instead she turned to her junior and said, “On second thought, Miss Brahms, I believe I shall allow you to assist Madam, in order for you to gain a bit more experience.” Then she walked away muttering some rather vulgar words under her breath.

Over at the men’s counter Mr Humphries had just finished serving a young Irish man with a pair of trousers. After bidding him good day he looked around, saw there were no other customers, and went straight over to Mr Lucas. The junior was folding and refolding a cardigan, still lost in thought.
“Is anything the matter, Mr Lucas?” Mr Humphries asked.
Mr Lucas shook his head. He passed a very neatly folded sweater over and began on the next one without a word. Mr Humphries decided to try a different angle.
“Oh! Would you look at her?” He gestured toward the very full-figured female vicar that Miss Brahms was looking after. “The last time I saw a sight like that she was catching a fish at an aquarium in Southend.”
Mr Lucas looked up for a second but was still silent. He stacked the last sweater and put them away in a drawer.
“Mr Lucas, this is not like you at all,” Mr Humphries said softly. “Now what’s gotten into you?”
Mr Lucas gave him a very depressed look then finally muttered, “My birthday’s next week.”
“Really?” Mr Humphries grinned broadly. “What day?”
“Friday,” Mr Lucas sighed. “First day of spring.”
“I thought you might be a Taurus,” Mr Humphries said. “You should be quite happy. Birthdays are a celebration of life. Last year Mother made me this wonderful pina colada cake and we had some friends over for a game of Postman’s Knock. Unfortunately Mrs Slocombe got a bit carried away and Mother ended up chasing her off the lawn with the garden hose.”
“You invited Mrs Slocombe to your birthday party?” Mr Lucas said, looking a bit surprised.
“She’s a very nice woman,” Mr Humphries told him firmly. “She’s very lonely, though. I have to occasionally remind her that we’re only friends and I’m not interested.”
Mr Lucas nodded and went back to checking in the fresh stock. Mr Humphries leaned against the counter and casually asked, “So, how old are you going to be? If you don’t mind me asking?”
Mr Lucas lost his grip on a box of socks and sighed heavily. He picked it up again, straightened up, and growled, “Thirty.”
“Thirty?” Mr Humphries repeated. “Is that all?”
Mr Lucas swallowed hard and nodded.
“What’s so terrible about that?” Mr Humphries asked. “You’re not much younger than I am.”
“That’s not the point,” Mr Lucas sighed. “I’m nearly thirty and this is all I’ve done with my life: fold clothes in a department store and, if I’m lucky, sold a few pairs of trousers. Do you know, I went to university for business? I came this close to my degree…” He held his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart to illustrate how near he’d been.
“Why didn’t you finish?” Mr Humphries asked.
Mr Lucas picked a pair of lurid green socks and sneered at them. “I was dating this bird at the time and things were going really well. Then she pulls me aside after class one afternoon in the middle of my last term and says she’s late.”
“Late for what?” Mr Humphries asked.
Mr Lucas stared at him. “Late! As in…you know…” When Mr Humphries still looked confused Mr Lucas rolled his eyes and whispered into his ear. For a moment he still appeared bewildered then his face went scarlet and he clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Now it all makes sense!” he nearly cried out. “When I was nineteen I came home one day and Mother was going on and on about…well, being late. She had me go to the chemist’s with five pounds and a piece of paper and made me swear not to look at it. Whatever it was the chemist gave me a rather nasty look before thrusting a box into a paper bag and handing it over.”
“So, everything was fine, then?” Mr Lucas inquired.
“Do you hear me talking about any siblings?” Mr Humphries chuckled. “Anyway, go on.”
“Well, she said she was late and I figured I should be a man about it,” Mr Lucas continued. “I quit school and started looking for work. I took the first job I could get – dishwasher at the Savoy. I started saving up for a ring and a month later was nearly ready to do the honourable thing when I went over to her flat and caught her with my best mate, Jeff.”
“My word,” Mr Humphries breathed. “What did you do?”
“We had a row and I told them both to take a flying leap,” Mr Lucas said. “Eight months later she gave birth to a baby girl with bright red hair.”
“Her head wasn’t red, I take it,” Mr Humphries said.
“No,” Mr Lucas grumbled. “But Jeff’s was.”
“So, you mean to say you gave up your chance at a degree in business so you could do the honourable thing and marry that stupid girl?” Mr Humphries looked at his co-worker as if they’d just met for the first time. “You know, this explains so much about you.”
Mr Lucas nodded. “What’s more is when I left school I lost my scholarship and my parents couldn’t afford to pay for my books and tuition. I tried to apply for financial aid and other scholarships but then some other things popped up and we needed my pay at home. Things worked out after a while but by the time they did I was working here and sort of gave up hope of finishing my degree.”
“No wonder you’re rude, sexist, and now depressed,” Mr Humphries said. “I think I would be, too. But cheer up! It’s Grace Brothers’ tradition for the staff to pitch in and get you a nice birthday gift. Now what would you like?”
“Forget it,” Mr Lucas replied. “And don’t tell anyone about it. I’m trying my best to forget it.”
“Come now,” Mr Humphries cajoled him. “Anything you like. It is, after all, a special occasion.”
Mr Lucas thought for a second. “A bottle of Southern Comfort and a noose,” he grumbled.
“Now, now, Mr Lucas,” Mr Humphries comforted him, patting his arm affectionately. This was not comforting at all to Mr Lucas, who stared at his co-worker’s hand as if it were a tarantula. “Turning thirty is not all that bad. Why, I remember my thirtieth birthday as if it was just last week.”
“You mean last decade?” Mr Lucas snapped.
Mr Humphries started to admonish him but realised what had just happened and grinned. “There! That’s the James Lucas I know and love.”
This was also not comforting to Mr Lucas, who shook his head and went to put away the excess stock.
At lunch the staff sat down to generous portions of chicken and ham pie that smelled more like clam chowder for some unknown reason. Mr Lucas picked at his for a while before excusing himself for a moment. Once he was out of earshot Miss Brahms nudged Mr Humphries.
“What’s eatin’ ‘im?” she demanded.
Mr Humphries looked around to make sure Mr Lucas was nowhere to be seen before gesturing for everyone to lean in close. “His birthday is on Monday,” he whispered. “And he’s turning the big three-oh.”
“That’s it?” Mrs Slocombe said. “You’d have thought someone died the way he’s been acting.”
“Come now, Mrs Slocombe,” Captain Peacock said. “It’s a landmark birthday for many people. And it is Grace Brothers’ tradition that we all chip in to buy him a little something to commemorate the occasion.”
“’Ere,” Miss Brahms said, slapping a five pence piece on the table. “That’s my contribution.”
“Surely you can do better than that,” Mr Humphries frowned. “After all he did choose your birthday present last year.”
“I remember,” Miss Brahms growled, narrowing her eyes viciously. “I gave that push-up bra to my friend Hillary.”
“Here’s mine,” Mrs Slocombe said, pushing another five pence over. “And that’s all you’ll get from me!”
“I see that I shall have to set an example,” Captain Peacock said. He placed a fifty pence on the table next to the other coins. “Now, that wasn’t so difficult. And he’s been just as rude to me as the rest of you.”
“I think I can spare five bob,” Mr Grainger said, counting out a few coins and laying them on the table.
Mr Humphries stared at his co-workers, his forehead creasing with frustration. “You are all terrible, you know that? Perhaps Mr Lucas has been a bit cheeky in the past but right now he’s in a horrible depression that’s eating at him. And this is how you treat him?”
“He’s been more than cheeky,” Miss Brahms snapped. “He’s been downright sexist and insulting and mean and a bunch of other things!”
“He does have his good points, you know,” Mr Humphries said. “Remember when he first started here and he’d help you two with your stock, even though Mr Grainger adamantly forbade him to do so? Or when he assisted you on the Ladies’ counter when he had that horrible cold.”
“All right, all right,” Mrs Slocombe snapped. “You’ve made your point. He does have a nice side. Pity he rarely shows it.”
“He’s still very rude, inconsiderate, and sex-crazed,” Miss Brahms snarled.
“Not to mention his complete disregard for authority,” Captain Peacock harrumphed.
Mr Humphries drew himself up further. “I also seem to remember he passed me an extra pound last year when we were out buying Captain Peacock a bottle of Hennessy for his birthday and came up short with the takings. I wasn’t supposed to reveal that but I’m just so flustered right now who knows what other secrets I might divulge.” He glared at Mrs Slocombe now. “Especially things that happened at my own birthday party last year, when someone got a little tipsy on the Sangria and had to be escorted out by Mother and a garden hose.”
Mrs Slocombe glowered at him but said nothing. He then rounded on Captain Peacock. “Not to mention a game of Sardines at this past Christmas party, where an unnamed manager mistook me for Miss Hurst of Novelty Candles when we were hiding in a broom cupboard on the second floor.”
Captain Peacock flushed scarlet and looked away quickly. Mr Humphries glanced over at Miss Brahms, who immediately pointed a finger at him warningly and said, “Don’t you even start on me!”
“I wasn’t going to say a word,” Mr Humphries said softly. “I would never tell anyone what you confided to me about that night in Paddington, with the shepherd, two quarts of olive oil, and a pair of Wellingtons.”
Miss Brahms looked very frightened now. Before Mr Humphries could turn on Mr Grainger, Captain Peacock held a hand up in protest, saying, “We get the point. Now what do you want us to do?”
“For a start I think we should plan a nice party for him,” Mr Humphries said. “I can get a cake and some decorations for next to nothing if you lot will come up with a couple of nice gifts, a card or two, and maybe even a few games.”
The others grumbled but agreed to help Mr Humphries. He took out his notepad and pencil and began writing while his co-workers exchanged irritated looks.
“Now, as his birthday is Friday, I say we have it after work, at the social club,” he said as he wrote. “I’ll make the arrangements with Mr Mash, Mr Harman, and Mr Prescott.”
“Who’s Mr Prescott?” Miss Brahms asked.
“He’s the senior in Soft Furnishings,” Mrs Slocombe told her, “and he usually works the bar when the club is open.”
“There’s the voice of experience,” Captain Peacock muttered.
“Is this going to be a surprise party?” Miss Brahms inquired.
“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Mr Humphries said. “I’ll take him down there on the pretence of buying him a couple drinks, maybe dinner, and you lot can be waiting down there to surprise him. Now, what sort of food should we have? I was thinking we could all bring some sort of finger foods. You know the sort of thing; cheese platters, smoked salmon sandwiches, Angels on horseback, taramosalata…”
“Mr Humphries, this is Mr Lucas we’re talking about,” Captain Peacock interrupted. “Not Prince Philip.”
“I quite agree,” Mrs Slocombe added. “I think we should stick to simple savoury things, like sausage rolls and crisps.”
“Not to mention he’d probably prefer pub fare over that posh lot,” Miss Brahms pointed out.
“Oh, very well,” Mr Humphries sighed. “We’ll have traditional British pub fare. Now, what is everyone going to bring?”
“I believe Mrs Grainger has a recipe for sausage rolls somewhere,” Mr Grainger offered. “They’re quite good, you know. She made them for my niece’s wedding many years ago and they were very popular with the guests.”
“I suggested the sausage rolls,” Mrs Slocombe said haughtily, “therefore I should be allowed to make them.”
“That’s all I know how to make,” Miss Brahms spoke up. “Sausage rolls and souvlaki, but I’m not making souvlaki for that git.”
“We’re going to be covered in sausage rolls,” Mr Humphries groaned.
“I believe I can coerce Mrs Peacock into making some vol au vents,” Captain Peacock suggested.
“Ooh, that sounds nice,” Mr Humphries bubbled. “I’ll check my recipe collection, see if I can find something some sort of starter to bring as well. And if any of you can come up with something besides sausage rolls, please do. Some party this will be if we have a hundred sausage rolls to go with vol au vents and cake.”
The two women scowled at him, then tucked into the rest of their chicken and ham pie.

“And don’t worry if the stockings are a bit long, Madam,” Mrs Slocombe told a middle-aged female customer the next day. “They will ride up with wear. Good afternoon!” As soon as the woman had turned to go upstairs to the lift Mrs Slocombe whipped around and rejoined Miss Brahms, who was rearranging a scent display.
“Don’t you get tired of using that same lie over and over?” Miss Brahms asked.
“What do you mean?” Mrs Slocombe replied. “It’s true. They will ride up with wear. That’s why we’ve had so many complaints. I figure I might as well be up front about it. Anyway, what about that conversation yesterday at lunch?”
“I know,” Miss Brahms grumbled. “That’s the last time I confide anything to Mr Humphries.”
“Not that,” Mrs Slocombe said, shaking her head. “But tell me about it later. I mean, the whole idea of giving him a party and buying him gifts and such. I suppose it could be fun, really. Pity it’s for that pig-headed excuse for a junior.”
“It’s no good complaining,” Miss Brahms pointed out. “We might as well start looking for something to give ‘im.”
“True,” Mrs Slocombe sighed. “You know, I’ve no idea what he would want.”
“I do,” Miss Brahms snorted. “An’ he ain’t gettin’ it!”
“Besides that, Miss Brahms.” Mrs Slocombe drummed her fingers on the counter. “May we could ask Mr Humphries? After all, those two talk about everything together. Maybe he’s picked up on something and will share with us? I’ll give him a call.” She picked up the phone and dialled the men’s counter.
“So, there I was, stark naked, bent over nearly double,” Mr Humphries was recalling to Mr Lucas, “and Roger was asking me if I was really ready. I said, ‘Just get it over with before I change my mind!’”
“And did he do it?” Mr Lucas asked.
“Did he ever!” Mr Humphries replied, shivering a little at the thought. “He grabbed my shoulders and shoved me as hard as he could off the side of the boat and into the water. I did two laps around the boat then climbed back in and put my clothes back on.”
“I’ll bet you were freezing,” Mr Lucas chuckled.
“It was bitterly cold,” Mr Humphries said. “But now I can honestly say I’m a member of the Polar Bear Club. Not to mention I’ve finally taken the plunge and gone skinny-dipping, even if it was at Southampton. Anyway…” But he was cut off as the phone rang. He minced over and answered it in his baritone, “Men’s wear?”
Mrs Slocombe stared into the receiver for a moment then shook her head. “Mr Humphries, I wonder if you might assist myself and Miss Brahms with the matter of selecting a suitable gift for the birthday boy?”
“I would be more than happy to,” Mr Humphries smiled. “Are you thinking practical or personal?”
“Practical,” Mrs Slocombe stated firmly.
“I’ll see if I can dredge up some information,” Mr Humphries replied.
“You’re very obliging,” Mrs Slocombe simpered.
“Only to a point,” Mr Humphries told her, then hung up. He went back to Mr Lucas, who was calculating some figures in his sales book. “Anyway, that was this past weekend. I think this weekend Mother wanted me to stay home and help her finish repainting the trim in the parlour. This Friday, though, are you doing anything?”
“Oh, nothing, really,” Mr Lucas said, shaking his head. “Probably buy myself a bottle of scotch and get a bit tanked while I sit naked in a beanbag eating Cheet-Os.”
“Sounds depressing,” Mr Humphries grimaced. “Why don’t you come with me to the social club after work? I’ll buy you dinner and a drink.”
Mr Lucas stared at his superior with a look of shock mixed with fear and revulsion. “Um…I don’t know…”
“Oh come now,” Mr Humphries said, patting his arm kindly. “I want to do something nice for your birthday. We are friends after all.”
Mr Lucas still looked quite nervous and seemed to be trying to come up with a decent excuse. However, when he opened his mouth all that came out was a pathetic whimper.
“I shan’t take no for an answer,” Mr Humphries told him, giving him his charming smile. “Five-thirty, after work, you and I will go down to the social club for a little while. Then you can go home if you like, flop into your bean bag, and do…well, whatever you fancy. And while we’re on the subject of your birthday, I want you to think hard and tell me something we can get you that you might want or need. And do hurry, it’s already Wednesday.”
“I can tell you right now,” Mr Lucas whimpered. “A better job, my degree, and a cute bird with gargantuan knockers.”
Mr Humphries poked his tongue into his cheek for a moment before saying, “Mr Lucas, I am not an employment agent, a professor, or a pimp.” He looked at the junior thoughtfully and added, “What about an electric razor? You mentioned not long ago yours was nearly done in. What about a cordless model that recharges overnight?”
Mr Lucas shrugged, then nodded. “That would be quite useful, yes.”
“Or perhaps a nice silk shirt for when you go out to the clubs,” Mr Humphries thought aloud, brushing lint off Mr Lucas’ shirt. “I’ve seen some lovely ones over at Lally and Willets.”
“What were you doing at Lally and Willets?” Mr Lucas half-laughed.
“What, you think I buy the rubbish here?” Mr Humphries chuckled. “My work shirts, yes, but anything else – forget it!” He blinked a few times then sneezed. “Ugh, I hope I’m not getting a cold,” he sniffed.
Mr Lucas started to respond but was interrupted when Captain Peacock came over with a customer. A split-second later Mr Humphries was on his knees taking the gentleman’s inside leg until the floor walker, with a pained expression on his face, said, “Mr Humphries, the gentleman is merely seeking a tie and handkerchief.”

When the bell rang at five-thirty Mr Humphries caught Mrs Slocombe’s eye and she understood. She, Miss Brahms, Captain Peacock, and Mr Grainger hung back while Mr Lucas trudged up to the lift and disappeared behind the doors.
“Right!” Mrs Slocombe rushed over to the men’s counter, where Mr Humphries was putting on his coat. “What did you find out?”
“Well, he’s agreed to come with me on Friday, though I didn’t give him much choice,” Mr Humphries said. “And he seemed interested when I mentioned a cordless electric razor.”
“Oh, those kind that recharge overnight?” Miss Brahms said. “I bought one of those for my boyfriend a few months ago. They’re a bit expensive but well worth it.”
“Let’s see how much we have to work with,” Mr Humphries wondered aloud, taking out the collection from earlier. “Let’s see…five, ten, fifteen, seventy, eighty-five…and I’ve got a pound here,” he added, glaring at the ladies. “That’s one pound and eighty-five. How much are those razors, Miss Brahms?”
“You’ll need more than that,” she replied. “The one I got Nick cost nearly four pounds.”
“Perhaps you should ask Mr Rumbold to contribute as well,” Captain Peacock suggested. “And considering his position as a manager he might be able to procure the razor at a better discount than yourself or I.”
“Good idea,” Mr Humphries said. “Maybe he can attend the party with something other than sausage rolls. Where is he?”
“He’s probably gone home already,” Miss Brahms said.
“’E’s not,” came a voice from behind the men’s counter. Mr Harman came out from the shadows with a screwdriver in one hand and a few wires in the other. “’E’s in his office. Apparently ‘e was late this mornin’ and therefore is late with some of ‘is paperwork what’s got to be ‘anded in by tomorrow mornin’.”
“How good a mood is ‘e in?” Miss Brahms asked.
“Not the best,” Mr Harman replied. “But I imagine you could talk ‘im into contributin’ to the pot.”
“Let’s go, then,” Mr Humphries said, then sneezed again. Wiping his nose on his handkerchief he led the way to Mr Rumbold’s office.

Miss Egelstein knocked on Mr Rumbold’s door and waited for him to call out, “Enter!” She did as she was told and asked, “Will there be anything else today, sir?”
“I think that will be all, Miss Egelstein,” Mr Rumbold sighed. “I can finish these papers myself. You may go.”
“Thank you, sir,” Miss Egelstein replied. “Oh, and the first floor staff are waiting outside. They want a quick word with you before they leave.”
“Very well, send them in,” Mr Rumbold grumbled.
Miss Egelstein left and Mr Rumbold watched as the staff arranged themselves in his office by order of seniority, then he looked around and asked, “Where’s Mr Lucas?”
“That is why we’re here, sir,” Captain Peacock began.
“What has he done this time?” Mr Rumbold groaned.
“For once we have no complaints regarding Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock replied. “We are here because Friday is Mr Lucas’ thirtieth birthday and Mr Humphries has insisted that we pay homage to the occasion with a birthday gift and surprise party.”
“Have you seen him lately?” Mr Humphries snapped. “He’s thoroughly depressed! Why, in the last forty-eight hours he’s had numerous opportunities to be rude to all of us and he just stands there looking miserable.”
“Not that we’re complaining,” Mrs Slocombe said. “However, I’ve been thinking, perhaps we have been a bit harsh to him in the past. If we show him this kindness perhaps he will finally start showing his superiors the respect they deserve.”
“You’ve been drinking again, haven’t you?” Miss Brahms muttered to her senior.
Mrs Slocombe narrowed her eyes but said nothing.
“Anyway,” Mr Humphries continued, “we were wondering if you might contribute to a small gift. We’ve decided to purchase a cordless electric razor for him.”
“Oh, the kind that recharge overnight?” Mr Rumbold bubbled excitedly. “I have one of those! They’re quite handy to have.”
“Yes,” Mr Humphries nodded. “Only, we’re coming up a bit short and could use your input, as well as your managerial discount.”
“How much have you collected?” Mr Rumbold asked.
“One pound, eighty-five p,” Miss Brahms grumbled.
“Oh dear,” Mr Rumbold said. He sat back in his chair and chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Well, I would be more than happy to contribute, say, a pound. Would that be enough to purchase the razor?”
“I’m afraid not,” Captain Peacock replied. “According to Miss Brahms they are approximately four pounds.”
“Ah.” Mr Rumbold looked thoughtful again, then smiled. “Not a problem. I will add my pound to the lot and acquire the razor using my managerial discount. Now I think about it, I believe they have a display model in Health and Cosmetics that will do nicely. I shall use my influence to obtain it at cost. We can use what’s left for a nice cake or something.”
“Oh, the cake has already been taken care of,” Mr Humphries beamed. “A friend of mine works in a bakery; she loves to do all sorts of things with cakes and pastries. I’ve told her all about Mr Lucas and she says she’ll create something to suit his personality.”
“Knowing Mr Lucas,” Mrs Slocombe said with a disdainful smile, “on Friday evening we shall be cutting into a horse’s rear end.”
“That will do, Mrs Slocombe,” Captain Peacock said warningly.
“How much do you think will be left over?” Mr Grainger asked.
“Well, if my calculations are correct…” Mr Rumbold wrote down some figures on a spare piece of paper. “…we should be left with one pound and ninety-two pence.”
“Might I use it to purchase a second gift for Mr Lucas?” Mr Grainger requested. “I have an idea and I think Mrs Grainger might be able to help me with it.”
“If the others agree to it, I see no reason why not,” Mr Rumbold replied.
The staff murmured their agreement and Mr Humphries put the change on the desk. It was divided up between them, then Mr Rumbold asked, “Now, what about the surprise party?”
“Ah, I’ve already spoken to Mr Mash and Mr Prescott,” Mr Humphries replied. “They’re going to open the club up at one o’clock so that I can go down there and decorate on my lunch break. At five-thirty you will all go down there and wait for me to bring him down on the pretence of having a small two-man celebration. Then you all will shout out when he arrives and we’ll have a fantastic time together.”
“Excellent!” Mr Rumbold said. “But what about food?”
“We are each bringing a starter of some sort,” Mrs Slocombe said. “We’ve decided on traditional British pub fare.”
“Oh that does sound jolly,” Mr Rumbold grinned. “I shall, of course, contribute. I believe my wife has a superb sausage roll recipe tucked away somewhere. I shall ask her tonight if she will make some for the occasion.”
“Such generosity,” Captain Peacock muttered.
Mr Rumbold didn’t catch the sarcasm in Captain Peacock’s voice, for he merely blushed. “Well, if that’s all I really must finish this paperwork. Do keep me informed if there are any changes.”
With that the staff filed out and made their way toward the lift.
On Friday morning Mr Lucas came in looking absolutely miserable. He didn’t say a word to anyone when he signed in and even when Mrs Slocombe bent over to pick up a bit of litter on the floor he was silent. The others watched and worried, all except for Mr Grainger, who was very excited about the party.
“What are you so chipper about?” Mr Humphries asked, somewhat hoarsely.
“I’m looking forward to seeing his expression when he opens our other gift,” Mr Grainger replied. “Oh, shouldn’t you be down in the basement getting everything ready?”
“Not until one o’clock,” Mr Humphries said. He cleared his throat and winced. “Do you have any lozenges, Mr Grainger?”
“Oh yes, here,” Mr Grainger said, passing over a wrapped sweet. “Are you feeling all right, Mr Humphries?”
“Not really, Mr Grainger,” Mr Humphries coughed. “I think I’m coming down with something. I started getting a sore throat yesterday, then this morning I woke up with a cough and my nose is running.”
“Oh dear,” Mr Grainger tutted. “It’s from that Polar Bear Club thing you went to, isn’t it? I told you you’d catch your death of cold doing that!”
“So did Mother,” Mr Humphries muttered. He sneezed and blew his nose on his handkerchief. “I had to ask her to make something for the party last night so I could go to bed early. I’d bought some lovely cheese and fruit to make a nice cheese platter but when I got up this morning none of it had been touched. Whatever she made it’s in a large covered bowl, hidden in the Canteen’s larder along with perhaps a hundred sausage rolls and some vol au vents.” He unwrapped the lozenge and popped it in his mouth. “Oh, that is soothing. Thank you, Mr Grainger.” Then he leaned against the cabinet and mopped his face with another handkerchief.
“Perhaps you’d better lie down for a few minutes,” Mr Grainger offered. “If you feel worse then we’ll get Sister down to give you something for that.”
Mr Humphries nodded and went to the fitting room. Meanwhile Mr Grainger called out, “Captain Peacock, are you free?”
The floorwalker looked left and right before replying, “At the moment, Mr Grainger.”
The elderly salesman stepped forward. “Might I have a word, Stephen? Regarding tonight’s events?” he whispered.
Captain Peacock bristled slightly at the use of his first name but nodded and led Mr Grainger further away from the men’s counter.
“Are you aware of Mr Humphries’ current condition?” Mr Grainger asked.
Captain Peacock blinked a few times. “To what are you implying, Ernest?” he replied.
“I’m afraid my assistant has come down with a rather nasty cold,” Mr Grainger said. “I’ve just given him permission to lie down in the fitting room for a few minutes but I do worry that he may not be up to finish preparations for young Mr Lucas’ party.”
“You should have asked me first before allowing Mr Humphries to step away from the counter like that,” Captain Peacock said, somewhat haughtily. “But this time I shall overlook it. If you are concerned for his well-being then perhaps we should ask if one of the ladies will attend to the decorations over lunch.” He looked up toward the ladies’ counter and called out, “Mrs Slocombe, are you free?”
Mrs Slocombe looked left and right, just as Captain Peacock did, before answering, “At the moment.”
“Would you please join us?” Captain Peacock requested.
Mrs Slocombe turned to Miss Brahms. “Captain Peacock has called me to the centre of the floor. Will you take over, Miss Brahms?”
Miss Brahms smiled and nodded enthusiastically, then when Mrs Slocombe walked away she muttered, “Pompous bitch.”
When Mrs Slocombe was close enough Captain Peacock motioned for them to move further away from the men’s’ counter, as Mr Lucas had just approached a customer. Then he addressed her.
“Mr Grainger has just informed me that Mr Humphries has taken ill,” Captain Peacock said. “He’s instructed him to lie down for a while but is afraid that he won’t be up to the task of decorating the social club this afternoon. Would either you or Miss Brahms be willing to take on such duties?”
“I believe one of us would be able to handle it,” Mrs Slocombe replied. “What time was he going down to the club?”
“He said he was going to do it on his lunch break,” Mr Grainger said.
“Oh dear,” Mrs Slocombe sighed. “I was rather looking forward to lunch. I brought my own this time. And so did Miss Brahms. We’re trying this new diet where you limit your carbo-hybrid intake and it helps you lose weight.”
“I have an idea,” Captain Peacock said. “The Canteen usually offers sandwiches that travel easily. If you and Miss Brahms would be willing to help with the decorations then I will procure a sandwich for myself and assist you in the process. Between the three of us we should have it done in no time.”
“What a good idea!” Mrs Slocombe chirped. “I shall inform Miss Brahms.”
Captain Peacock nodded and watched her return to her counter. He followed Mr Grainger back to the men’s counter where Mr Humphries had emerged with a fresh handkerchief.
“My word, you do look pale, Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock remarked.
“I feel horrible,” Mr Humphries croaked and both men were taken aback by the entire octave that his voice had dropped to within the last few minutes. “My throat feels better but I can’t breathe through my nose, even though it’s running like an old tap.” He looked down at his watch. “Our Ada! I need to go downstairs in a few minutes.”
“Don’t worry about that, Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock said. “We’ve discussed the matter and we’re going to attend to the decorations.”
Mr Humphries stared at him for a moment. “Are you sure?”
“I dare say we can handle a few streamers and balloons,” Captain Peacock smiled. “Besides, you’re in no shape to handle it on your own. If you want to come with us and supervise you may, but I suggest you go up to Sister and see if she can give you some sort of cold relief medicine.”
Mr Humphries nodded and made his way toward the lift. Mr Grainger and Captain Peacock both shook their heads and tutted when they saw he felt so horrible that he walked in a stiff masculine manner.
“It’s nearly one o’clock now,” Captain Peacock said. “Mr Grainger, inform Mr Lucas we’re going to lunch and that since the rest of us have errands to run he is welcome to take his lunch wherever he desires. Then meet me and the ladies downstairs. I’m afraid we won’t have Mr Humphries’ supervision, but I think we can handle it.”
Mr Grainger nodded and went to carry out his mission while Captain Peacock signalled to the women.

Mr Humphries returned to the first floor just a few minutes before five-thirty, looking somewhat better. He went right up to Mr Lucas and said, “Are you ready for the club?”
Mr Lucas stopped unfolding the drop-cloth in his hands and gave his superior a concerned look. “Blimey, you look terrible. Are you sure you want to do this? Shouldn’t you go home and get some rest?”
“I’ll be fine,” Mr Humphries replied. “Sister gave me a hot toddy and it knocked me out for a few hours. When I woke up just a few minutes ago my head had quit throbbing and I can now breathe somewhat through my nose.”
Mr Lucas shook his head and finished covering the counter. “You know, you’re a really good friend, Mr Humphries. When I first met you I thought to myself, ‘Lookit that ol’ poof! Betcha he’s this nasty little ginger with an attitude.’ But I was wrong, wasn’t I? You took me under your wing, showed me the ropes, taught me the tricks of the trade, made me privy to your confidences, listened to my stories, and now you’re comforting me when you’re the one who should be relaxing and takin’ it easy.” He smiled wide now and shook his head. “Tell you what, let me buy you a drink tonight. We’ll celebrate our friendship.”
Mr Humphries’ lip began to wobble and a moment later he let out a wail that was drowned out by the closing bell. Mr Lucas put a hesitant arm around his shoulder while keeping his head back a bit for fear of catching the cold. While Mr Humphries sobbed and blew his nose the others began sneaking toward the lift. When they were gone Mr Humphries dabbed at his face and said, “Right, let me get my coat and we’ll be off.”
“Allow me,” Mr Lucas said, eager to remove his arm from Mr Humphries’ shoulder. He dashed away to the stock-room and returned with both their coats. Mr Humphries took his time putting on his heavy woollen overcoat and tying the sash around his waist. Finally he placed his hat atop his head and gave a smile to his friend.
“Shall we, Mr Lucas?”
“For once I’m right behind you, Mr Humphries.” Mr Lucas gave him a friendly grin and followed him up to the lift.

Downstairs the staff had arranged the food on a table, along with a large box that held the cake and two small packages containing the gifts. Mrs Slocombe added a card to the pile while Miss Brahms waited at the door, keeping a watch for the two men.
“This is quite exciting,” Captain Peacock remarked. “I think it will be well-worth all the effort not only to give Mr Lucas a nice surprise but also to allow us to, as it were, let our hair down and kick up our heels.”
Mr Rumbold grinned and looked over the spread. He picked up a tiny blue plastic bowler and placed it atop his head, snapping the rubber band in place. “What do you think?” he asked.
Captain Peacock rolled his eyes and was about to answer when Miss Brahms cried out, “I hear the lift! They’re here!”
“Quick, everyone get ready,” Captain Peacock whispered urgently. They all formed a line in front of the table and waited.

Mr Humphries staggered out of the lift, looking a bit peaky, and held up by Mr Lucas, who asked him again, “Are you sure about this? I could see you home if you like.”
“No, I shall be fine,” Mr Humphries assured him.
They came to the door and Mr Humphries stayed back to allow him to enter first. Mr Lucas stepped through the door and was greeted by a chorus of “SURPRISE!”
“Blimey!” he laughed. “I don’t believe it! You lot arranged this?”
“It’s all down to Mr Humphries,” Miss Brahms grinned. “’E did most of the planning. Course, we took over when he started feeling sick.”
Mr Humphries had a wide smile when he entered the club, but it was quickly replaced by a look of horror when he saw the decorations. The streamers were scattered here and there across the walls and ceiling; most of the balloons were half-inflated and placed higgledy-piggledy everywhere. But the worst was yet to come.
“We’ve each prepared a little something for the occasion,” Captain Peacock said. “Come! Let’s uncover the food and start eating.”
“Oh good,” Mr Humphries whimpered. “I could do with a bite of something.”
They began uncovering bowls and platters, revealing the starters. Mr Humphries looked down at the table and covered his face with his hands. Mr Lucas, however, was overjoyed.
“Sausage rolls!” he cried out. “Cor, there must be a hundred of ‘em! How’d you lot know?”
“No, surely not,” Mr Humphries whined. He grabbed at a bowl at the end of the table and whipped the lid off. Looking inside his face screwed up in agony and he had to sit down. Mr Lucas picked up the bowl and laughed merrily before taking out a sausage roll. He stuffed it in his mouth and moaned in appreciation.
“Your mum makes the best sausage rolls,” he mumbled, for his mouth was full of the savoury goodness.
“Oh dear,” Mr Rumbold said, looking at Captain Peacock’s contribution. “I thought your wife was making vol au vents.”
“Apparently not,” Captain Peacock sighed as he placed a tray piled with more sausage rolls onto the table. They heard Mr Humphries begin sobbing while Mr Lucas giggled.
“I can’t believe it,” he bubbled. “You guys are the best!”
“Ah, but don’t forget your presents,” Mrs Slocombe said, passing him a package. “This is from all of us and we hope you find it quite useful.”
Mr Lucas put Mr Humphries’ bowl down and ripped apart the wrapping. “Oh yeah! I could definitely do with one of these,” he grinned upon seeing the razor. “Would ya look at that? It’s the kind that recharges overnight! Thank you!”
“That’s not all, Mr Lucas,” Mr Grainger said. He held up a large envelope. “I think you will find this to be very beneficial.”
Mr Lucas looked confused but opened the envelope and tapped a few sheets of paper into his hands. His eyes scanned the top page and his brow furrowed, then slowly relaxed. He began to smile. “How…how did you do this?”
“Do what?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“He’s found me another scholarship,” Mr Lucas laughed. “I can finish my degree! How’d you do it?”
“I overheard you telling Mr Humphries why you left university,” Mr Grainger explained. “And I mentioned it to Mrs Grainger. You see, her brother is a professor at Regents. You might have met him: Doctor Henry Davison.”
“Yeah, I had him a couple times,” Mr Lucas nodded.
“Yes, well, we had some money left over after buying your gift so I asked if I could use it to see about a second gift. I gave it to Mrs Grainger and she used it for bus fare to go see her brother. She told him your story and not only did he remember you but he used his influence to see that you received another scholarship that would allow you to finish your degree. He said you could take evening classes and that it would take a little longer but you should be able to graduate in about eighteen months or so.”
Mr Lucas looked as if he was about to join Mr Humphries in an emotional moment. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and without warning he’d grabbed the senior salesman in a powerful hug. Mr Grainger grinned and allowed the junior to embrace him while the ladies dabbed at their own eyes. Mr Humphries let out a fresh wail, this time of joy, while Captain Peacock and Mr Rumbold shifted uncomfortably where they stood. Finally Mr Lucas released Mr Grainger and said, “You don’t know what this means to me. Thank you! Thank you all!”
“Enough lip, let’s have a look at the cake,” Mrs Slocombe snapped.
Mr Lucas laughed and grabbed the top of the box that held the cake. He whipped it off to reveal a very realistic replica of a pig wearing a jacket and tie. For a moment he stared at it then he threw his head back and roared with laughter, soon accompanied by his co-workers. Mr Humphries saw the pig pastry and clapped both hands to his face in sheer agony; to him the party was a disaster. But to Mr Lucas it was the best he’d ever had.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

Posted: 12:16 PM – Feb 01, 2012
Libby_W
OMG!!!! LOVED IT!! You should’ve been one of the writers! it was AWESOME!

MODEL STAFF
BY DALE JACKSON

Shirley Brahms stood in the queue at the Canteen to wait for her morning coffee. Next to her was the staff notice board, peppered with the usual requests for suggestions that the board would never read, announcements regarding open positions (the post for second assistant in Soft Furnishings had been filled weeks ago, but the advert still remained), and the occasional reminder that the social club would be having some sort of function that no one would attend, for they were all boring.
Miss Brahms sighed and took a tentative step forward when the queue finally moved. She was tempted to leave the store and go across the street to a local café that was known for its speedy barristas and delicious Cappuccinos. However, she was nearly skint after the lousy week she and Mrs Slocombe had endured. If things did not pick up soon, she was already considering finding another position at another store.
The queue moved slightly again and she found herself staring at a new advert on the board. She read a few lines and was intrigued, for it said:

Grace Brothers Department Store Seeks Lovely Lady Models
All female staff between the ages of 18 and 35 are welcome
Please see Mrs Comlosi in Cosmetics to apply
Winners will receive a free photography session and an extra five percent commission for the duration of their placement in the sales paper
Applications will be accepted until 18 April 1975; Contest ends 20 April 1975, with winners notified the same day at 5.30

Miss Brahms chewed her bottom lip. This was it! This was her chance to get some extra bob and possibly even some publicity. Everyone in the store said she was the prettiest bird around. Now was her chance to prove it – and score some lolly! She had to hurry though; it was already 17 April. Why had she not noticed this sooner?
Without bothering to get her coffee, Miss Brahms turned on her heel and went right to Cosmetics.

Lunchtime in the Canteen was its usual sombre affair that afternoon. As the staff trudged toward their usual table, laden with trays of cold toad-in-the-hole or stale cottage pie, they took no notice of the staff notice board. That is, except for Mr Lucas.
“Oi, did you see that lot about Grace Brothers wanting models?” he said to the others as they sat down.
“Where?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“On the staff notice board,” Mr Lucas replied.
“I saw it,” Miss Brahms said. “They’re taking applications until tomorrow. I’ve already applied. I could do with the lolly.”
“Ooh, so could I,” Mrs Slocombe mused aloud. “Perhaps I should apply as well.”
“I wouldn’t bother,” Miss Brahms said. “It’s only for female staff between eighteen and thirty-five.”
“Drat!” Mrs Slocombe exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “Just missed it.”
“By about twenty miles,” Mr Lucas quipped.
Mrs Slocombe gave him a nasty look before tucking into her salad. To her left, Mr Humphries was trying to slice through his sausage with a very blunt knife. He gave it another good stab and the sausage won by shooting out from under his utensils and striking Captain Peacock in his face. The blonde salesman clutched his hand to his mouth and tried not to laugh.
“I’m so sorry, Captain Peacock,” he said, barely suppressing his chuckles. He stood up and retrieved the rogue banger. “I’m usually quite good at handling sausages. I don’t know what’s come over me!”
“Quite all right, Mr Humphries,” Captain Peacock sighed, wiping grease from his cheek. He still shot him a rather dirty look as he subtly shifted his chair over a few inches. Mr Humphries still noticed this and rolled his eyes as he went to fetch a fresh sausage from the queue. Captain Peacock glanced down the table and decided to switch the subject back to the modelling contest by asking, “Do you know how many girls have applied so far, Miss Brahms?”
“Not a Scooby,” she replied.
“Well, do you know who will be judging the contest?” he pressed her further.
“No idea,” she said with a shrug. “All I know is several of the lads in Soft Furnishings whistled as I walked back to the lift. I figure they think I ‘ave a good shot at it.”
“Damn right you do,” Mr Lucas told her confidently. “You’re the best-looking bird in the store! If you don’t get it, why I’ll…I’ll…”
“Go to speech therapy for stuttering?” Mrs Slocombe teased him.
Mr Lucas bristled at her, then said, “If Miss Brahms doesn’t get it, I’ll…I’ll kiss Mr Humphries – on the mouth!”
Mr Humphries returned to the table just as Mr Lucas made his declaration and became wide-eyed. He started to speak, closed his mouth, then opened it again. Words failed him once more and he decided to shovel some potatoes into his mouth instead to keep it busy.
At five-thirty on the 20th of April, Miss Brahms began covering the counters and went to grab her things. By the time she returned to the floor there was still no sign of Mrs Comlosi or anyone else to announce the results of the contest. With a sigh, she began trudging toward the lift.
“Hang on, Shirley,” Mr Lucas said, stopping her at the bottom of the stairs. “Wait a couple minutes. They’ve got an entire store to go over, so it might take a bit before you know for sure.”
“D’you really think so, James?” she asked, a bit pitifully.
“I know so,” he replied. “I hope so, too, otherwise I’ll have to…”
Mr Humphries walked by at that very moment and immediately skirted around them by an extra metre on his way to the lift, giving them a quick “See you tomorrow!” over his shoulder. As soon as he reached the third stair Mr Rumbold came strolling from his office with some papers in his hand.
“Ah, Miss Brahms,” he beamed at her. “Just the person I want to see. Is everyone still here?”
“I was just about to dash off, but I’ll stick around for a moment,” Mr Humphries said, stepping down to join them.
“I believe you’ve caught us all,” Captain Peacock said, glancing around the floor. Then his brow furrowed. “Where’s Mr Grainger?”
Mr Lucas shrugged and Mr Humphries walked over to the counter. He rolled his eyes when he saw that a large lump was sitting in Mr Grainger’s chair, covered with a dust cloth. He whipped it off and found the elderly salesman kipping with his head leaning on the cabinet. Mr Humphries shot a dirty look at Mr Lucas, who had come over to have a look as well. Then the blonde salesman cleared his throat.
“Mr Grainger, are you free?” he trilled delicately.
Mr Grainger snapped awake and jumped up. “Y-yes, I’m free!” he exclaimed.
“Time to go home,” Mr Humphries said, and handed him his hat, coat, and brolly.
“Oh, th-thank you, Mr Humphries,” Mr Grainger said with a smile. “Mrs Grainger would not be happy if I was late again. The last time I came home late she let dinner burn. Y-you see, she times our meals so that when she hears my key in the lock she knows to take everything out of the oven. If I’m late she’ll leave it in there at regulo three until it starts to smoke.”
“Well, I don’t think a few minutes will hurt it,” Mr Humphries said, leading the geriatric salesmen over to the group. “Mr Rumbold has an announcement for us, you see.”
“It’d better be good,” Mr Grainger grumbled. “Mrs Grainger’s making spaghetti Bolognese and I don’t feel like scraping burnt sauce from the bottom of the pan.”
“Ah, there you are, Mr Grainger,” Mr Rumbold said, bouncing on his heels. “Well, now that we are all gathered, I have some very exciting news!” He held up the papers for everyone to see. “I have here in my hands the list of winners for Grace Brothers’ modelling contest. And our own Shirley Brahms has been selected!”
Miss Brahms let out a squeal of joy and hugged Mrs Slocombe. Mr Lucas and Mr Humphries both breathed a sigh of relief while Captain Peacock and Mr Grainger beamed at the junior assistant.
“Well done, Miss Brahms,” Captain Peacock congratulated her.
“Y-yes, well done,” Mr Grainger agreed. “You’re such a pretty little thing, it was only to be expected.”
“I told you,” Mr Lucas grinned. “Cor blimey! We’ve got a star working with us!”
“Oh no,” Miss Brahms giggled. “I’m not a big-time model. Not yet, anyway.”
“Ooh, just think of all the fun you’re gonna have!” Mrs Slocombe tittered. “All that glamour and bright lights and flashing cameras…”
“You make it sound like she’s going to be followed by The Sun,” Mr Humphries said.
“Well, here is the paperwork you need to fill out,” Mr Rumbold said, handing her a thick stack of sheets. “It’s just the usual legal documentation stating that you’ll perform so many photo shoots, stay with the company for so many months, and releasing Grace Brothers from responsibility if you’re injured on the job.”
“How’s she gonna be injured on the job while modelling knickers?” Mrs Slocombe asked, a curious look on her face.
“You never know,” Mr Lucas shrugged. “One day she might be putting on a pair of Nifty Nicky’s Naughty Knickers without realising the elastic’s faulty. Just as Mrs Slocombe gets the word that they’re recalled, Miss Brahms will be snapping them against her hips. The elastic will break and a piece of it will fly up and strike her face, taking out her eye. From then on she’ll have to wear an eye patch. No one will want her to model knickers or anything else any more. Even regular customers will steer clear of her. Eventually she’ll leave Grace Brothers, distraught, depressed, and disillusioned by life. And all because she signed that waiver, indemnifying Grace Brothers from responsibility for her injury.”
“Are you done yet?” Miss Brahms snapped.
Mr Lucas gave her a cheeky grin.

The sales paper came out a week later and sure enough, Miss Brahms was on the front page with two other girls from Haberdashery and Bedding who had also won the contest. Mr Lucas and Mr Humphries were caught flipping through it several times, with the junior giggling excitedly. Mr Humphries would giggle as well, but for different reasons.
“Lookit her!” Mr Lucas squealed. “In three pages she’s sported knickers, showed off gardening supplies, and even made a lawn mower look sexy.”
“Oh, I do like those fishnet rights Miss Wallace has on,” Mr Humphries grinned.
“On her legs or yours?” Mr Lucas asked.
Mr Humphries batted his eyelashes and turned the page. “Would you look at that! They’ve got Kitty Krunchies on sale for tuppence a can! I’ll have to get some for Agnes. She does love tuna and liver flavour.”
“Mr Humphries, Mr Lucas,” Captain Peacock groaned, “how many times have I told you both to put the sales paper away until your coffee break or lunch?”
“So sorry, Captain Peacock,” Mr Humphries said, folding the paper and tucking it away. “We’re just so proud of our co-worker, aren’t we, Mr Lucas?”
“Bursting with pride,” Mr Lucas agreed, nodding vigorously. “Coming out of the seams!”
Mr Humphries glanced down and shook slightly with laughter. “Although I believe Mr Lucas might be about to burst elsewhere with more than pride.”
Mr Lucas shot a fearful look at his superior, then moved back a few inches. This, too, caught Mr Humphries attention and he rolled his eyes.
“Well, I must admit, I too have been sneaking glimpses of our Miss Brahms when things are quiet,” Captain Peacock said, and took his own sales paper from his pocket. “She does have a knack for making even the most mundane objects appear attractive.”
“You think that’s good,” Mr Lucas said, gesturing toward the lawn mowers, “have a look at page four.”
Captain Peacock flipped through and his eyebrows shot up. “Oh my,” he muttered. “Who knew that towels could be so…interesting…”
Mr Humphries peered at the advert as well and snorted, “You wouldn’t catch me flogging those towels. Spots are so last year.”

Sales went up that week and young Mr Grace actually kept his word, giving the young assistant an extra five percent commission. She was thrilled to be able to catch up on all her debts and even had enough money left over to buy some new shoes for work (from Lally and Willets, mind you). At her next photo session she began to garner even more attention from the male staff, who would clamour over her with such fervent admiration that in one week she received three dozen roses, four boxes of assorted chocolates, two handbags (also from Lally and Willets), and fifteen proposals (not one of them were for marriage, either!)
“Lookit her,” Mrs Slocombe snorted one afternoon in the Canteen as three young men escorted her through the queue, all hoping she would accept their invitations for the social club’s dance that weekend. “Strutting about like that. Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, you know.”
“So is Gluttony,” Mr Lucas said, nodding toward her heavy helping of trifle.
Mrs Slocombe shot him a very nasty look as Mr Humphries chimed in, “Don’t forget Envy.”
Mrs Slocombe whipped around. “Don’t you start as well!”
“I’m only being fair,” he retorted. “And it is one of the cardinal sins, dear. Lust, Gluttony, Avarice, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride. You’re just as guilty as she is!”
Mrs Slocombe looked very hurt and turned her attention to her trifle. She started to take a bite, then pushed it away and rested her chin on her hand. She sniffled and cast another longing look at Miss Brahms, who had finally broke free of her admirers and was on her way to the staff’s table.
“Blimey!” she puffed. “If I’d known being a model would be this much work I think I’d’ve stayed behind my counter.”
“Hey Shirley,” Mr Lucas said, scooting his chair closer, “how would you like to go with me to the pictures tonight? Monty Python and the Holy Grail’s showing down at the cinema tonight.”
Miss Brahms patted his arm sympathetically and tutted. “You’re very sweet, but I’m already goin’ out with Peter Lewis from Haberdashery tonight at seven, then Mark Jones from Soft Furnishings at nine.”
“What about tomorrow?” Mr Lucas asked hopefully.
“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m seeing Freddy Irving from Bedding right after work an’ then Travis Walker from the second-‘and book shop is picking me up at eight.”
“Hang on a minute,” Mrs Slocombe interrupted. “We were supposed to meet up at the pub tomorrow night at seven for ladies’ night.”
Miss Brahms chewed her fingernail, trying to think. “Oh…oh, that’s right. Well, I’m afraid I’ll ‘ave to cancel.”
“I suppose you’re also cancelling our dinner Sunday night,” Mrs Slocombe snapped.
“Ooh, I forgot about that as well,” Miss Brahms said. “I promised Davey Longbottom that I’d go with ‘im to the park.”
“And what about our little date?” Mr Humphries piped up.
At that point everyone at the table turned to stare at Mr Humphries, then at Miss Brahms. Their gazes shifted from one to the other in harmony until Miss Brahms said, “I’m sorry, Mr Humphries. I forgot!”
“So, I’m right in assuming I’ll be going to my cousin’s wedding on Saturday alone, then?” he sniffled.
“I’m really sorry, Chuck,” she apologised.
“Oh don’t worry about me,” Mr Humphries sobbed, clutching his handkerchief to his face. “I’ll just go ask Miss Adams if she’ll accompany me!”
“You mean that bird from Accounts what looks like an eighteen year old boy?” Mr Lucas interjected.
“The very one,” Mr Humphries said, standing up so quickly that he overturned his chair. He righted it, then glared at Miss Brahms before adding, “And I’ll thank you to return the corsage I bought for you.”
“Somehow I can’t see Miss Adams wearing a corsage,” Mr Lucas said, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“No, but I will!” Mr Humphries wailed as he left the table.
Miss Brahms looked extremely awkward and chewed her lip thoughtfully. “I’m sorry, everyone,” she said. “I’ve been getting all this attention lately an’ I’m not used to it. It’s gone right to my ‘ead, it has.”
“And your thighs,” Mrs Slocombe growled.
Miss Brahms ignored her comment and went on. “Look, I’ll try to be more thoughtful of you lot, I really will. I mean, you did stand by me an’ offer me all that encouragement when I applied for the modelling contest in the first place.”
“And we stand by what we said,” Captain Peacock told her firmly. “You are certainly the most lovely girl in the store and no one deserves this opportunity more than you do.”
“Here, here,” Mr Grainger nodded.
“Thank you,” Miss Brahms smiled sweetly.
“Now, I say we move the conversation along,” Captain Peacock said. “Has everyone found their partners for the dance at the social club on Friday evening?”
“I haven’t,” Mrs Slocombe grumbled. “Not one bloke in the store has even bothered to ask me.”
“Well, as Mrs Peacock will be away at her sister’s this weekend,” Captain Peacock said, “perhaps you would be kind enough to join me?”
“How kind,” Mrs Slocombe said, giving him a warm smile. “Thank you, Stephen.”
“That reminds me,” Mr Grainger said. “I must bring Mrs Grainger in to have her hair done. She said she wants to get a terminate waif done for the dance, whatever that is.”
“Don’t you mean a permanent wave, Mr Grainger?” Mrs Slocombe asked.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Mr Grainger said. “My, that would have been embarrassing.”
“Indeed,” Mrs Slocombe said. “I’m glad I don’t make vocational blunders like that.”
Mr Lucas blinked at her a few times. “You mean vocabulary, right?”
Mrs Slocombe frowned for a moment, then closed her eyes in frustration. “That, too, Mr Lucas.”
“What about you, Miss Brahms?” Captain Peacock asked. “Do you have a date lined up for the dance.”
“Actually, I don’t,” Miss Brahms replied. She looked at Mr Lucas and said, “Whaddya say?”
Mr Lucas looked very taken aback. “What? Me?”
“Well, after I’ve been so terrible to you lot, I figure I owe you one,” she said. “Now come on. Take me to the dance.”
Mr Lucas’ face split into a wide grin. “All right, I’ll take you,” he said. “I’ll meet you at eight.”
Mr Humphries returned to the table just then, his face still splotchy from his weeping fit. He looked rather chipper now and tucked into his bangers and mash with more gusto than usual. Mr Lucas leaned across the table and watched him wolf down his food with amazement.
“Did you ask Miss Adams out?” he inquired.
“I did,” Mr Humphries said, shovelling potatoes into his mouth as quickly as possible. “She said yes.”
Mr Lucas nodded in what looked like an almost sympathetic manner. “So, what’s with the face-stuffing?”
Mr Humphries swallowed his current mouthful with some difficulty before replying, “In order to get her to accompany me, I had to promise to help her prepare for her kung fu meet next Saturday. She gave me a light, playful punch on the arm and knocked me backward into Mr Davison. So I’ve decided to bulk up a little.”
“About time, too,” Mr Lucas said. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been nothing but skin and bone.”
“Skin, anyway,” Mr Humphries said, pulling Mrs Slocombe’s trifle over. “Not for long. I plan on putting on at least a stone before week’s end, especially as I asked her to come with me to the dance at the social club.”
“You’d be better off putting a stone around your neck,” Mr Lucas said, “and throwing yourself into the Thames.”
“You wanna say that again, Clever Chops?” said a soft, masculine voice.
Mr Lucas looked up and saw a young woman with short, dark hair glowering at him from behind Miss Brahms. She was wearing a waistcoat, tie, and trousers with her shirt sleeves rolled up, showing off her powerful forearms. She cracked her knuckles menacingly and gave him a loathing stare. Mr Lucas shook his head and as she walked away he began shovelling down his own sausage and potatoes, then followed Mr Humphries back to the queue for a second helping.
On Friday evening James Lucas was wearing his best suit and tie as he waited at the bar for Shirley to arrive. She was already fifteen minutes late and he was getting worried. Was she in trouble? Had her car broken down? Was her mother unwell? He thought about calling her, but then again the last time he had asked for her number she had given him the one to the abstinence hotline for virginal teenagers. He had not bothered to ask again.
Captain Stephen Peacock and Betty Slocombe were already on the dance floor, with Betty was already on her fifth gin and tonic. She kept treading on the poor captain’s toes as they twirled around, trying their best to waltz. Finally Captain Peacock gave up and led her to their table, where Mr and Mrs Ernest Grainger were sharing a basket of sausage rolls.
“I say, they do have some lovely sausage rolls,” Ernest said, biting into one of the savoury pastries. “It’s surprising, really, considering everything else they serve at the Canteen is disgusting. I remember taking home a pork pie from lunch once and left it on the counter while I went to hang up my hat and coat. When I returned the cat had found it and was trying to bury it in his litter box.”
At that moment Claybourne Humphries arrived with what appeared to be a short, young man by his side. Upon further inspection the staff realised it was actually Miss Adams, who had added a jacket to her usual work clothes. Claybourne still looked very pleased with his date and was dead chuffed when she held his chair out for him.
“Thank you, Ro,” he said, giving her a friendly smile.
“You’re welcome, Clay,” she said, and flopped into her own chair.
“Your name’s Rose?” James said, joining the others at the table with a fresh drink.
“It’s Rowan, actually,” she replied in her quiet, butch tone. “Mum wanted me to have a really unique name when I was born. Thought I should stand out in a crowd.”
“I think she got her wish,” James muttered into his drink.
Rowan rolled her eyes at James and went to get drinks for herself and Claybourne. As she walked away her attention was diverted momentarily by the arrival of Shirley Brahms, who was wearing a very low-cut green dress, revealing not only her ample bosom but also her firm thighs, as the skirt was slit on both sides to expose them. She was not alone, either; a young man with dark hair was on her arm, looking very pleased with himself.
“Oi, isn’t that your co-worker, the model?” Rowan whispered to Claybourne.
Claybourne whipped around and his jaw dropped. “It is! What’s she doing with Whelan from Sports?”
James twisted in his seat and his eyes boggled. His drink fell from his hands and the glass shattered on the floor, along with his heart. The entire club heard it smash and looked up, along with Shirley.
“Oh dear,” she said under her breath.
“What’s wrong?” Mr Whelan asked, still smiling fondly at her.
Shirley released Mr Whelan’s arm and went over to James, who had stood up and was shaking with rage. She wrung her hands guiltily as she said, “I’m sorry, James, I really am. I…well, I forgot and…”
“Don’t bother,” James growled through clenched teeth. He sat down and turned his back to her.
Shirley looked to the others, who also turned away from her in disgust. She hung her head in shame and went back to Mr Whelan, who had already procured beverages for them. Rowan walked by as they went to their own table and shook her head sadly.
“Poor, dumb girl,” she muttered. “I do feel for her.”
“How can you say that?” James burst out angrily. “She’s been acting like a toffee-nosed bitch ever since she became a model for the sales paper!”
“She’s been right in-supper-able,” Betty grumbled into her gin and tonic.
Claybourne gave her a withering look. “Don’t you mean ‘insufferable’?”
“That too,” Betty slurred.
“Look, she simply has her head in the clouds, that’s all,” Claybourne said. “Give her time, she’ll come around.”
“She’s actually just about to come back to Earth,” Rowan said, tapping a cigarette against the tabletop. “She’s been replaced.”
The others turned to stare at her in utter shock.
“What?” James said.
“How do you know?” Captain Peacock asked.
“I’m a payroll accountant,” Rowan replied, taking out a small box of matches. “I’m the one who figures up how much commission each of you lot get in your packets. Just this morning I was told to take away Shirley Brahms’ extra five percent and give it to Eleanor Jacobson.”
“Really?” Ernest said, leaning over the table now. “Are you sure?”
Rowan lit her cigarette and took a puff before passing it over to Claybourne. “Yeah, I even asked Mr Patel about it. He said Miss Jacobson’s been promoted to Mr Grace’s secretary and he thinks since she’s younger and cuter that she should replace Miss Brahms in the sales papers.”
“Oh dear,” Captain Peacock said quietly. “Does she know yet?”
“I rather doubt it,” Rowan replied. “And I’m not supposed to know, either, so keep your mouth shut.”
Just then Miss Jacobson entered the club with young Mr Grace on her arm. The elderly CEO trundled over to the table where Shirley sat with Mr Whelan and addressed her politely.
“G-good evening Miss B-Brahms,” he stammered feebly. “I trust you and y-your gentleman friend are having a g-good time?”
“Oh yes, Mr Grace,” Shirley said, batting her eyelashes at him.
“That’s good,” Mr Grace said, and leaned on one of the chairs for support as he added, “Well, I only popped ’round to say hello to everyone and to thank you for your h-hard work. You’ve all done very well!”
“Thank you, Mr Grace,” the occupants of the club chorused at once, giving a slight bow.
“I shall see you Monday morning,” he said, giving Shirley a somewhat grandfatherly pat on her arm.
“Monday?” Shirley said. “But the photography session is tomorrow mornin’. Aren’t you coming to watch like you usually do?”
“Oh yes, I will,” Mr Grace chirped, or as well as a man of eighty can chirp without doing himself a mischief. “But I’m afraid th-that you’ve been replaced by Miss J-Jacobson here. I’m surprised you haven’t heard. G-gossip does tend to spread l-like wildfire in this store. Anyway, do carry on.”
And with that, he hobbled off to chat with Mr Mash before stumbling out the door.
Shirley looked crestfallen and started to reach for her drink when Mr Whelan snatched it up. She cried out in protest, but was too late. He had already crossed the room and sat down with Miss Oleander from Haberdashery, who was one of the other models. Now thoroughly dejected, she frowned and began weeping silently to herself.
“I’ve been such a fool,” she sobbed. “Fame and glory went right to my ‘ead an’ I shunned my friends. I’m a ‘orrible, ‘orrible person.”
Nearby the staff of the first floor kept their heads turned away from her. Shirley chanced a glimpse in their direction and her face screwed up as a fresh wave of tears overtook her. Only Rowan, who was not familiar with the coldness that the first floor staff could exhibit in times of trouble, looked sympathetic toward the junior sales assistant.
“Poor, simple thing,” Rowan muttered to herself more than anyone else. “Lookit her. She’s really in pain over there.”
Betty glanced over her shoulder and snorted. “Perhaps.”
“She does look utterly miserable,” Captain Peacock said.
“Not to mention thoroughly depressed,” Ernest remarked, a note of pity in his voice.
All of a sudden Claybourne broke down and wailed, “Oh, I can’t take it any more!” He jumped up from his chair and ran to Shirley’s side. The two embraced warmly and she began crying into his shoulder. Rowan joined them, sniffling audibly, and one by one the rest of the staff became a part of the group hug that was enveloping Shirley. Her tears stopped flowing and they gathered her up to lead her to their table, where Captain Peacock held a chair for her and Betty passed her a strong drink.
“Th-thank you,” Shirley hiccoughed. “I’m so sorry. I’ve acted like a right bitch, I ‘ave. I do hope you’ll all forgive me.”
“Of course we have, dear,” Claybourne said, patting her arm fondly. “We’re your friends! We love you no matter what!”
Shirley sniffed and sipped her drink. The alcohol calmed her down and she found herself watching James, who gave her a slight smile. She returned it with a flirty grin and tweaked his nose playfully.
“Give a girl another chance?” she asked.
“Oh, I suppose so,” James said, and stood up. “Care to dance, Shirley?”
“I’d love to!” Shirley said, and linked her arm with his.
The staff watched them frolic merrily on the dance floor. The Graingers exchanged a quick peck on the lips while Captain Peacock fought to keep Betty upright after her seventh gin and tonic. Claybourne looked at Rowan and raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner as he nodded toward the dance floor. She grinned and they got up to join Shirley and James for the Beatles tune that was playing.
Just as the song ended Mrs Edna Comlosi went up to Claybourne and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and gave her a very surprised look. Before he could ask why she had approached him, she began speaking in her usual haughty tone.
“I’ve been watching you all night,” she said. “You have a very attractive body, you know.” She winked at him subtly and smiled. “How would you and this young man like to model Y-fronts together in this coming week’s sales paper?”
Claybourne’s eyes widened in shock while Rowan blinked confusedly at the older woman. Then she frantically reached forward to catch Claybourne under his arms as he collapsed into hers. The thought of them both posing for photographs in nothing more than a pair of briefs had been too much for him.
James began laughing and nudged her, saying, “You’ll get used to it in time,” and passed over his bottle of ammonia.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?

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