The Big Brother Hole Ch. 05

"I charge each and every one of you that remember Tina with this one task; simply - you must tell Daisy often what a bright, vibrant, lively and loveable girl her mother was, the girl that loved to dance, that sang often, that always had a smile, the girl that loved her daughter to distraction. That way, while Tina is kept alive in our hearts and in our memories she can never truly die." There was a barely withheld sob from everyone in the church for that one.

She was taken off for a private interment and again Emma was there. Her Mum, still hugging granddaughter Daisy to her, asked if I could say my goodbyes again seeing as I'd pretty much buried her the last time. I agreed, and took a small handful of earth and, struggling for decent last words, settled on something from the bard,

"Goodnight Tina and God bless; and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

The soil was light and dry and I blew it from my hand, and it seemed a fitting end to the girl I never knew but who, without knowing, told me so much and that all was not well in the Big Brother Hole.

I was glad that we went; everything about the Big Brother Hole was evil and having that poor innocent girl removed from it and buried in the same plot as her grandmother gave us the first sense of closure from that damned place.

We were home in time for Christmas and it was tough even for a hard faced old agnostic like me not to be picked up and carried along with it all. I hadn't put up Christmas decorations with someone else in years, probably not since the last Christmas my Mum was at home. I didn't have anything other than a small tree with everything attached that I just put up and plugged in each December.

Emma had everything and it was wonderful just being there and helping her hang the various garlands and streamers, and watching as she put up the tree and hung tinsel and lights from it. Then she took out any number of glass baubles and hung them with care, asking my opinion on some of them. Finally she took out a faded and slightly battered fairy and asked me to place her at the top.

"It's all your hard work Em," I said, "you should."

"Yeah but it's your tree as well now Baby," she beamed that wonderful smile at me that I never grew tired of, "don't forget, this time next year we'll be doing all this with a baby running the place. It's a man of the house thing Harry," she said, "Trust me."

I reached up and sat it right in the top most branch, and I did get a bit of a buzz from it.

Emma's parents came to our house for Christmas along with Ann, David and their boys. Since our wedding and I was 'persona grata' with all the Rogers extended clan.

Ann had the same sense of humour as her sister and we clicked straight away, she would shorten my name to just 'H' which made me refer to her as 'Annie'. Likewise with David - when bored we would start to talk in soldier language right up until our wives told us not to - and perhaps a little while afterwards if we wanted to live a little dangerously.

I hadn't called anyone Mum in twenty two years; to my surprise I started to call Charlotte that, and it came really easily. 'Charlotte' was such a long name and Emma had already told me that 'Charlie' was Tom's pet name for her when they got frisky so I just went with Mum.

On the wonderful first Christmas I played host while my wife, mother-in-law and sister-in-law did all the real work. With two of the women in the kitchen being general practitioners that had both had two children, Emma received very little sympathy for her barely visible bump however much I suggested she play on it.

We had a huge lunch, and then chilled in front of the roaring fire. I played with my two nephews because we all shared a nerdish love of Lego and 'Uncle Harry' just had to be consulted on any tough construction decision - Em and I had bought them both 'Star Wars' models of course.

Having built them a swing in the tree in our large garden I became even more popular and we had a snowball fight. I was joined by David and the snowball fight became regimental. At the end of it we were called in for a tea of monumental proportions they'd prepared in our absence.

"You're going to be a great Dad," said Ann, patting me on the shoulder and kissing me on the cheek.

Ray arrived for tea, and he played the piano for a while and we sang some songs. It was absolutely the best Christmas I could ever remember. Having my gorgeous red head pregnant wife driving it all along only added to the magic.

The afternoon of Boxing Day, my phone rang and Em picked it up as I was walking Mick the mad retriever in the adjacent field. It was my Grandpa, and he asked for me by name, Em asked who was calling and he introduced himself. She explained who she was and they chatted on the phone for half an hour or so. I came back from walking the dog and just figured she was talking to one of her friends.

Tom and Charlotte were at the kitchen table with the crossword from that day's newspaper and I thought no more of it, and poured more tea. She laughed uproariously and handed the phone across,

"It's Gramps," she said simply and took my half full teacup. She's called him that ever since.

"Hey Gramps!" I said down the phone.

"Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas mate," he said, "your wife sounds like a lovely girl, you'll be pleased to know I told her what an obnoxious little shit you were when you were a young man."

"Thanks Gramps," I said with a grin and Emma looked across at me grinning behind my tea mug

"She must have seen some good in you I suppose; anyway give that gorgeous wife of yours a kiss on my behalf and I'll see you soon mate."

"Oh, sod you then," I said sounding hurt.

"No, I've learnt all I need to know from your wife and I've told her what she needs to know about you. Job done mate. You take care now, and take care of your wife and the baby you didn't tell me about. Love you mate."

"Love you Gramps, see you soon."

Em came across and told me off for not introducing her to my wonderful Grandfather. She had two grandmothers, both of whom I'd met at the wedding, but my cheery cheeky Gramps was something new and like all women that met him, she was hooked.

Two months after that, I was called back to the Old Bailey and the Central Criminal Court number one for the trial of the Mad Professor and his various cronies.

The Mad Professor had decided he was going to defend himself even though he had no legal training. Even the QC said it was because the mad old bastard just wanted to hear the sound of his own voice and somehow justify his own insanity.

It was a farce; they were charged with two counts of manslaughter, one count of being an accessory to a murder and five counts of kidnapping, four of unlawful imprisonment, then possession of drugs, firearms offences for the Taser plus a small Chinese automatic pistol they found in with Sean's stuff that I was glad I didn't know about and various other shitty things.

Sean had pleaded guilty and gave evidence against his mad employer (stopping short of the Russian mafia of course) while the Professor, finally getting his day in court, wanted to drag things out for as long as he could.

The judge constantly stopped him from grandstanding and trying to propound his concepts of social science and the need for humans to learn more basic skills.

I told the court my story. How we discovered we were being filmed, how we realised the only way to get fed was to 'perform' and how the amount and quality of food improved or reduced depending on what we did. I told them about my small oxygen tank in my medic bag and how I'd used it to find out what was going.

I looked at the Mad Professor; now he had his explanation and mouthed something like 'bloody Sean again' and shook his head. After that he finally got his blow by blow account of how we escaped; I saw the bastard was making notes - he didn't seriously believe that he'd get another chance surely.

Fired with a new hatred for the man, I continued and the Professor sat in the dock, sighing and shaking his head whenever the QC made a particularly good point. Then it was my turn to be cross examined.

Straight away he adopted the same superior condescending tone he'd used when we talked for the first time all those months ago.

"Harry," he drawled contemptuously as if I was the man on trial.

"My friends call me Harry, you can call me Mr Scholes." I quickly threw in.

"Mr Scholes then," sighed the Mad Professor, with an edge to his voice and holding the edges of his jacket like some batty version of Rumpole of the Bailey, "I understand that you and Reverend Rogers are now married?"

"What's that got to do with it?" I said. The prosecution QC had warned me not to let the mad bastard get in my head.

"Just answer the question please Mr Scholes." sighed the Mad Professor as if the answer was keeping him from the gallows.

"I don't see what it has to do with anything, but I'll answer if the judge tells me to." I looked at the judge.

"I don't see that it's pertinent to the case, Mr Jones."

"Professor Jones..."

"Your honour," said the QC, "PROFESSOR Jones is wasting the court's time in his latest vain attempt to either upset the witnesses or stave off the verdict."

"Professor Jones, please keep your questions pertinent to the matter in hand."

The Professor held up his still battered hand with just a thumb and his two smallest fingers.

"That I will come on to your honour."

There had already been three weeks of fun and games as he argued the validity of all of the witnesses that had been called - from the estate agent that rented the place to him, to the builders, the suppliers of the gas, even the two IT specialists that had come in to work on the cameras and move them around.

Both had been arrested for being accessories to most of the other offences with an additional couple of 'attempting to pervert the course of justice' thrown in for good measure when it was shown the various defensive options they had built into the control room to hide the servers uploading the video and the electronic locations of the Big Brother Hole.

Then it was the turn of the police officers; and he called every single one of them that had written a statement, in his wasted attempt to cast doubt on their take on the damning evidence he himself had written or recorded as part of his research.

He said and turned to me, "Mr Scholes, you and your wife, you made love to each other in the laboratory?"

"Yes," I said, "while we kept imprisoned in that big hole we worked out very quickly that we were being filmed and that if we performed we got fed. I suppose it was like lab rats getting their food pellet for a job well done?"

"Just answer the question Mr Scholes," he sighed. I looked at the QC who just smiled and waved his hand indicating I should do so.

"Yes," I said, "We made love. And shortly after we first made love, you and Sean gassed us and left us with two dead rabbits. When we made love in the open you left us an entire deer. Thanks." I said.

There was a patter of light laughter across the court. Even the judge smiled at me and shook his head.

"Happily married Mr Scholes?"

"Deliriously so," I said, "except for when one of us has a nightmare and wakes up in a cold sweat thinking we're still down there." That was true, but it had only happened to us once or twice and immediately prior to the court hearing.

"So if I hadn't brought the two of you together, you would never have met, and you and Mrs Scholes would never met, married and have fallen pregnant?"

"That's right, if you hadn't dug that big hole and drugged us and imprisoned us, we'd never have met; and three people would still be alive today, Tina would still be alive to raise her daughter and the others would be meeting their life partners and having their families, but they're all dead now." There was a snarl from the public gallery as members of the late Mary Connors family, all aggrieved Irish Travellers, let him know they were there.

The judge called the court back to order,

"Professor Jones, the court isn't interested in what has happened since the events of September last year and Mr Scholes isn't on trial here," Snarled the QC.

"Well perhaps he should be!" shouted the Professor. He raised his stump of a hand, "I have to have someone cut my food, I can no longer play the piano, I can no longer write!" he screamed.

"Well perhaps you shouldn't have pointed a gun at me while I was holding one."

He leaned forward from his place in the dock,

"IT WAS A TASER!" he grunted, "and would have done you no more harm than a hospital anaesthetic." He held up a sheet of paper he'd already prepared, "As used by law enforcement agencies the world over including the Home Office." He said being very business-like.

"Yeah but it would have seen us both back into the hole where you would have continued your sick experiments until we died of it." He went quiet as if that outcome hadn't even been an option, I stepped up, "No sorry I forgot, you were going to let us go home at Christmas weren't you. Was that on the understanding we came straight back first week in January?" He didn't rise to my bait, "Answer the question Professor..."

More laughter.

He flushed angrily knowing I had him on the ropes, "I'll remind you that you are being cross-examined Harry."

I let the 'Harry' reference go, but looked to the judge for support, "Your honour?" the judge grimaced and just shook his head. He took one of his hundreds of deep breaths during that trial,

"Get on with it Professor Jones, my patience is limited at the best of times and this isn't one of them."

The Mad Professor had one last try,

"Have you no regrets about that day Mr Scholes?"

"Yes," I said thinking back to what the crown prosecutor had said all those months ago, "I'm beginning to regret not aiming at your head."

The QC hid his smile extremely well, the light laughter happened again, and the Professor yelled, "Objection!"

"You aren't in a sixties crime drama Professor Jones!" said the judge, "And unless you have any pertinent questions I rather think we should stop wasting Mr Scholes valuable time." The Mad Professor made to open his mouth, "Any more of this nonsense and I will hold you in contempt of this court!"

"I certainly have no more questions your honour," said the QC.

"You may step down Mr Scholes," said the judge, I did.

"But..." mumbled the Mad Professor; the judge stared him down in silence, visions of extra time on which ever sentence he was bound to get.

So damning was the evidence against him that the prosecuting QC said that he was happy not to call Emma, who was by this stage seven months pregnant and this 'farce' could have a detrimental effect on her mental state and her health and the health of our unborn baby.

The Mad Professor asked if this was fair,

"Is this justice your honour?" he cried out, "that I should be denied the full process of law just because two wanton people could not keep their hands off of each other and were no better than rutting anima..."

"MR JONES" shouted the judge over the outrage in court, "I advise you to think extremely carefully about your next words!"

"Professor... Jo..." he mumbled weakly guessing he may have just pushed his luck rather too far this time.

My lovely Emma was staying with her Mum and Dad in Salisbury just in case she was called and picking up on my body language (I was forbidden to discuss the case with her after all) she wasn't looking forward to her time in witness box. We were both having nightmares.

Reading the feeling in the courtroom probably for the first time, he decided that he wasn't going to call her, and after another week of time wasting he got half way through his summing up what he considered to be the gaping holes in the prosecution's case and highlighting the value of his research, when he eventually changed his plea to guilty and was sentenced to life imprisonment with no parole until he had served at least 30 years.

The judge also castigated him for time wasting and trying to terrorise me during his cross examination.

Sean got twenty five years for his trouble, reduced because he pleaded guilty straight away, while Viktor received five for his part in the deal. He could not remember the name of his Russian boss who used to come along to the hole nor did he know anything about a young boy's body found under a pile of old deck chairs in Lowestoft.

Once the trial was over we met Tina's Mum again; she asked Em to christen young Daisy and again she agreed straight away and we became her God-parents. She occasionally comes and stays with us during summer.

Two short months later our daughter Grace was born in York Hospital and was a bit of a star once two of the midwives recognised who we were.

Far from the prying and ogling I'd expected, they both just said how pleased they were that we'd escaped and 'those bastards' were getting what they deserved in prison.

Once home at the vicarage, Em just morphed into the perfect mother; with some support from Mum and Dad and Ann, she leapt out of bed on her second day and just got into the whole thing of being Mum.

Admittedly, she had been on hand when her second Nephew Nicko was born and the bathing, changing, feeding, burping was old hat. Add to that taking a nap, getting meals for us and getting three loads into the washing machine all just became second nature to her. I took my turn as well I must add here.

Gracie helped out by sleeping through the night from six weeks old, and generally being the cutest baby in the world ever. OK perhaps I'm a bit biased here.

That summer we took Gracie to visit family in the south, which included both of Em's Grandmothers and of course my Gramps. We went to his house and my Nan just about remembered me, while Emma went straight into parish priest mode and it was like my Nan had known her all her life.

After a while Nan called her Evelyn and started to talk about a clothes shop but Em just carried on.

Gramps took hold of his Great-granddaughter and didn't put her down for the entire visit, and she was just as captivated by him as all the rest of the women that ever met him. My half-brother Paul arrived to babysit Nan so we could all go out for curry. He barely looked at me, and said nothing other than complain that there were no good football games on Gramps' Sky Sports.

At the end of splendid evening, Gramps congratulated us on our good fortune and he promised to come north for her christening later that year. I still see him two or three times a year - Nan is in full time care now, and he has been up North to visit us several times.

We received a letter and a parcel from Suffolk Police. The Detective Chief Inspector told us that the Big Brother Hole was in the process of being filled in, and they'd sent us back our two Coke tins with lids made from a third. They still have pride of place in our fire place, a tiny reminder that we should always be grateful for our comfortable life.

The two London Ambulance Service blankets that the tins were wrapped in now line the basket of our black flat coated retriever Paddy, and I'm now working very hard to train him as a gun dog (yes they also sent me back my shotgun and I got a new one to replace the one that Sean wrecked) while all my girls spoil the hell out of him.

I still drive in a fast car yellow and try to save lives for a living and Emma is still the Vicar to her two parishes in the Dales and has no plans to move; Gracie now has a younger sister called Faith, and they both love their Nanny and Grandpa from Salisbury and Auntie Ann and Uncle Dave and their cousins. They almost worship Great-Gramps.

Everything is perfect; but I regularly asked myself that question that the Mad Professor had thrown at me during the trial. Do I owe him?