The Serial: The Green Years, Day 33

Although they were a match financially and intellectually, there was nothing happening in his heart

Ian barked at the two men. “On your feet,” he ordered, “the pair of you.” The duo staggered back to the guardroom where the other guard was having a cuppa and reading the football results in his Sporting Post, oblivious to the drama. “Phone Bell Street,” Ian said sharply, annoyed at his colleague’s laxity. “These two were trying to break in through the perimeter fence, but their luck was out this time,” he added. “Rebel spotted them.”

The phone call was made and Ian pulled off the balaclavas covering the intruders’ faces.

“What the ..... ” two pairs of narrow eyes blinked in the brightness of the strip lights. The pair looked familiar, but Ian couldn’t place them.

“How old are you two? Ian asked. The men looked at one another. “He’s 17,” one muttered, “and I’m his big brother.”

Ian shook his head. Losers. The police turned up within minutes. “What’s all this, then?” one of them asked Ian.

“I caught them trying to break in through the perimeter fence,” Ian explained, “but Rebel and me were too quick for them.”

“Don’t I know you?” the other constable said, tipping up the older man’s head to have a closer look. “It’s Ronnie Reid, isn’t it?” Handcuffs “So what if it is?” grunted the man, pulling his face away. The PC turned to Ian. “You’ve done the police a favour, mate,” he said, smiling.

“We’ve been trying to catch these two for a while now, but they’ve always managed to dodge us. But not this time, eh Ronnie,” he concluded. “And wee Johnny too,” he added. “What a bargain.”

“See you in court,” the policeman said to Ian, handing back Ian’s handcuffs and replacing them with their own, “and thanks again.”

The next day The Courier carried the story. HAVE A GO HERO SAVES NCR screamed the headline.

“Ian Brown and his faithful dog Rebel last night single-handedly captured two known thieves as they tried to break into the grounds of the National Cash Register Company,” read the story.

“The company has given Mr Brown three days’ paid leave in appreciation of his heroic action and devotion to duty and Rebel was rewarded with a juicy bone.”

Pictures of Ian holding Rebel’s paw and the two culprits being transferred to the cells by the police were splashed all over the page.

“Just doing my duty,” he told Fiona when she called in at his flat on Clepington Road, waving The Courier. The last person he wanted to see was Fiona, but the more he tried to dissuade her, the more determined she seemed to become.

“Duty!” echoed Fiona. “Don’t be so modest, Ian. Why it’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of and I’m so proud of you.”

She blew him a kiss. “That’s for being wonderful,” she added “and mum and dad have asked if you’d like to come to Sunday lunch tomorrow, as a bit of a celebration. What do you think?”

As usual, he felt boxed in by Fiona’s persistence. “Sorry,” he murmured, “I’ve got some unexpected leave, so me and Rebel are taking off to the hills tomorrow – to get some exercise,” he finished lamely.

“But, it’s the middle of winter,” Fiona countered loudly. “You can’t go out on the hills in this weather!” Relief Ian was beginning to wish he’d never met Fiona and her pushy ways.

“Look,” he said, guiding her towards the door, “thanks for the offer, but I really need some time away from this publicity nonsense, so if you could offer my apologies to your parents, that would really be appreciated.”

Fiona was silent, as she tried to think of something else to say that would prolong her stay in Ian’s company, but her wits had deserted her.

“Thanks for coming round,” Ian said, opening the door wider and pulling Rebel closer to him. “I’ll maybe see you at the badminton if I’m back by then.”

Ian closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. He really needed to do something about Fiona.

He knew how she felt about him and that her parents were secretly hoping that the two of them would get together, but although they were a match financially and intellectually, there was nothing happening in his heart. That place had already been filled by Maisie. Sunday dawned, frosty and bitterly cold. Fiona had been right, there was no way he would take himself and Rebel on to the hills today, but at least he’d managed to avoid the Sunday lunch.

“C’mon Rebel,” he said, stroking the dog’s ears. “Let’s at least give you a nice long walk along the beach at Broughty.”

He loaded Rebel into the car and headed east towards the Ferry sands.

There was no frost on the beach and Rebel plunged again and again into the water to retrieve the ball Ian had brought with him.

“Race you to the car,” he called out as he ran up the beach to the road with Rebel in hot pursuit.

The sound of gunfire startled both dog and man. It was coming from close by and Ian quickly realised it was the sound of rifles being fired at the T.A. training camp at Barry Buddon.

Pictures of uniformed men with their weapons firing at the targets filled his head. Maisie’s boyfriend might be there, learning to fight like a man while he – he was the ‘have a go hero.’ Pathetic.

Once more he felt his spirits fall, as he realised that Fiona and her parents were probably right and he should settle for Fiona.

He would never be man enough for Maisie Green. Heroics But Maisie had also read the story of Ian’s heroics in The Courier. “Isn’t he brave,” she breathed to Chrissie, as they pored over the newspaper in Chrissie’s mother’s kitchen.

“Who’s brave?” asked Mrs Dalton, coming into the room with a basket of washing she’d just retrieved from the clothesline.

Maisie showed her the newspaper. She was about to tell her about the Den o’ Mains episode, but realised in time, that Chrissie hadn’t told her mother about their scare and their rescuer.

Grace Dalton glanced at the headline as she folded the washing. “Have a go hero, eh?” she said. “You don’t see many of those around.”

“I think we’ll be going to badminton this week,” Maisie winked knowingly at Chrissie and kicked her gently under the table.

Mrs Dalton cast an eye over the giggling girls. “Are you staying for lunch Maisie?” she asked. “There’s a chicken in the oven.” More tomorrow.