Originally Posted: 12:21 AM - Jan 31, 2012

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!