The Best Things In Life

The past and present collide in this exciting short story by Della Galton.

Robbie had found a guilt-free way to relive his glory days. . .

REPORTS of the daredevil heist hit the front page of every national newspaper. Everyone liked reading about a good robbery. Why else were so many films made about them?

Especially back when it wasn’t so much about the technology.

These days you could probably spirit away vast quantities of money from a bank without getting out of your chair.

Back in the day, robberies were about meticulous planning, persistence and wiry men in balaclavas performing daredevil feats, scaling buildings, digging tunnels and outsmarting the authorities.

There was a kind of romance to it all. Especially if no-one got hurt, which they hadn’t on this particular occasion.

That was one of Robbie Leighton’s life rules. Hurt no-one and leave no trace that you ever visited.

A bit like the Countryside Code, he often thought.

“It’s not a bad life, is it?” he said now, leaning back on his sun lounger and lifting a glass to his lips.

“I’m not complaining,” Adele said from the lounger next to him.

She shielded her eyes to look out across the deep turquoise of the pool to the marble pillars beyond.

They had the place to themselves. It wasn’t the time of year for tourists: winter for the locals and not quite hot enough for most holidaymakers.

Spain. Robbie had fond memories of the place.

It was where they had come after the heist, little more than a bunch of idealistic boys, transformed from beggars to millionaires, buoyed up and bursting with adrenaline.

He hadn’t known Adele back then, of course.

It had been himself and four other lads, all in their twenties, all still blown away with shock that they’d actually got away with all that cash. A million apiece after expenses.

That had been a heck of a lot of money 40 years ago. Not like today, when it barely bought you a nice house in London.

“Fancy a swim?” he asked Adele.

She nodded and rose, graceful as a cat, from her lounger.

She was tanned, her olive skin loving the Mediterranean climate.

They weren’t as young as they’d once been, but she was still beautiful.

Who’d have thought he’d be happy and content with his lot at the grand old age of sixty-two?

Adele dived gracefully into the pool. Robbie followed with a splash, feeling the water shockingly cold on his skin.

He needed to do more exercise, he thought, pounding up and down the pool. He was out of breath after five lengths.

He hadn’t gone completely to flab, thanks to an expensive gym membership. He was still strong, just a little unfit.

Forty years ago he wouldn’t have looked at Adele. Forty years ago he’d have crossed the street to avoid her.

He’d have crossed the street to avoid any copper, Robbie thought later with a wry smile as they walked along the treacherous but stunning cliff-top path the next morning, hand in hand.

“Penny for them?” she asked.

“I was thinking about the past,” he said, squeezing her fingers.

“Ah, I’d forgotten. This was where you came after the robbery, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Robbie heard the irony in his voice.

“It must feel bittersweet.” “It does a bit.”

He’d felt it most keenly yesterday when they’d been sitting by the pool.

That long-ago pool had been bigger and more exclusive than the pool here.

They had booked the most expensive hotel in the area. They’d all been a bit punch drunk. Gung ho.

Too gung ho.

“It’s not a bad life, is it?” Sammy McIntyre had

said those exact words as they supped cocktails and smoked cigars, not realising how out of place they looked; how ostentatious and suspicious, splashing their money around.

No wonder they’d drawn attention to themselves.

They might have been smart enough to pull off a robbery, but they hadn’t been smart enough to stay free and spend the spoils, had they?

They’d had to give back the money and they’d spent a long time behind bars.

“Should we have gone somewhere else?” Adele’s voice broke into his musings. “Does it bring it all back?”

Before Robbie had the chance to reply, a little boy – burned brown by the sun – flew towards them along the path.

“Please, mister – please help. Please, you come . . .”

They glanced at each other, both of them too aware of traps set for unwary tourists.

They weren’t ostentatious now – he’d learned his lesson on that one – but it was clear neither of them were beggars.

Yet there was something in the boy’s voice that had the ring of authenticity.

“Is my grandfather,” he said. “Please. I show you.”

They didn’t have to follow him far. A few hundred yards along the track they saw a crowd gathered on a high point on the cliffs.

Two women, an old man with a stick and a big guy, all bluster and sweat, who was continually mopping his forehead with a white hanky.

As they drew closer, Robbie noticed they were all looking at something out of sight, just over the edge.

“Grandfather.” The small boy pointed and Robbie was beside him, swiftly summing up the situation.

The man must have fallen. He was lucky he hadn’t plummeted straight to his death.

Far below, the sea smashed against needlesharp rocks, but he’d been saved by a jutting-out piece of ground with a spindly tree.

It was barely big enough to hold him. He was clinging on for dear life.

“Help is coming,” the American said, “but we don’t know if it will get here in time.”

Robbie was already stripping off his jacket.

“What are you doing?” Adele grabbed his arm. “You can’t climb down there. You’ll fall.”

“I won’t.” He glanced around. “Everyone, take off your jackets.”

Luckily they were mostly locals and were wearing them. It was cool enough for locals to wear jackets.

The American wasn’t but, cottoning on, he took off the belt on his shorts.

Deftly, Robbie began knotting things together.

Some of the stuff would be too flimsy, but there were enough clothes to make a decent rope.

“That won’t be long enough,” the old guy with the stick muttered.

Robbie relieved him of his stick and incorporated that into his makeshift rope. People weren’t resourceful enough today.

It was amazing what you could do with decent knots, a bit of ingenuity, a dollop of courage and some luck.

He was definitely going to need luck.

Before anyone could stop him, he hopped over the edge.

He’d already worked out the footholds. There weren’t many, but he didn’t plan on climbing down far.

The length of his body, plus the length of his makeshift rope, should be enough.

The old man didn’t look heavy. A puff of wind would blow him away.

The people up top could provide the muscle: the American, the women, the other old man and Adele.

The boy was no longer there – the first thing Robbie had done was send him away to find more help. Adrenaline powered him. He’d always been an adrenaline junkie.

He didn’t get the chance to feel scared very often these days. Too much health and safety. Too many rules.

This was the kind of stuff he loved.

He should do it more often.

Maybe not climbing down 100-feet-high cliffs, but something similar.

Get out of the boring gym. Give his heart a proper workout.

He blotted out these thoughts that swirled in his mind to focus on the old man.

Robbie was close enough to see his eyes now, wide with fear.

His hands were gripped around the flimsy tree, his knuckles white.

He wasn’t going to let go in a hurry.

Robbie wasn’t going to get close enough to force him, either, and coercion might be out of the question – what with the language barrier.

He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

The old man didn’t smile back.

If anything, he looked even more terrified.

Robbie could feel the wind whistling round his ears. He held out his free hand. Five long seconds later, the old guy grabbed it.

After that it was inch by inch. A bit like it had been with the robbery.

It had been Robbie who’d scaled the building back in the day. He’d never been afraid of heights.

Back then it was money that motivated him. But it was something else now.

For more years than he cared to remember, a fair few of them spent at Her Majesty’s pleasure, it had been something more important than money that drove him.

****

Reports of the rescue didn’t make the papers. Not in Spain or back home.

There was nothing romantic about an ageing ex-con knotting together a bunch of clothes to haul an old Spaniard to safety.

Nothing exciting about a guy past his sell-by date who got more of a thrill out of peace of mind than he’d ever got from any material fix.

Nothing exciting about a middle-aged couple still in love after all these years.

He had met Adele when she’d written to him in prison.

Not many coppers did that kind of thing. Probably didn’t do their career prospects any good.

It had been down to her that he’d gone straight. Down to her that he’d seen

Robbie didn’t get the chance to feel scared very often

the error of his ways and taken up an advisory role with the Force.

He did school talks to help keep youngsters on the straight and narrow. He got them to think things through. Think about consequences.

Going straight had its pay-offs. He slept a lot better at night these days. Peace of mind beat money every time.

****

Robbie and Adele sat round a barbecue at the home of the Spanish man he’d rescued. They were guests of honour.

A woman offered them a plate of sweetbreads, her smile dazzling. Another poured them wine.

The old man headed up a real dynasty and lived in a beautiful house on a hillside, all terracotta floors, white walls and pink bougainvillea.

To the west of the house lay the ocean. An orange sun was balanced on the horizon, casting a glittering path across the water.

The sun hovered for a while, bathing them in light.

A light brighter than gold bars, Robbie thought with a smile, before it slipped beneath the sea.

He turned to Adele.

“You happy, my love?” “Very,” she murmured. “It’s not a bad life, is it?”

The End.