Flights of Fantasy

FLIGHTS OF FANTASY

“Timothy, are you up yet, your egg’s getting cold.”

         Tim Titterton turned over in bed and gritted his teeth. God, how he hated his mother. He’d prayed the night before, as he always did, that she would die in her sleep but the Almighty was either elsewhere or enjoyed watching him suffer.

         “Coming,” he grunted, “And don’t call me Timothy.”

         “It’s the name you were christened and that’s what I’ll call you as long as I live,” came the predictable reply.

         “Which won’t be much longer if I’ve got anything to do with it,” muttered Tim as he forced himself from his warm bed.

         At least it was Friday, last day at the crisp factory which he hated, payday and the evening Katrina, the insurance agent visited the house. Drop dead gorgeous that one; just the thought of her made it difficult for him to pull on his greasy jeans. He’d always found it difficult to talk to girls and even on Saturdays at the pub, lubricated by alcohol, his chat up lines always failed miserably. But he was sure Katrina really fancied him; the way she looked at him, her smile and her more frequent visits to the house. Maybe tonight he’d pluck up the courage to ask her out. But he had the day to get through yet. Fantasies about Katrina would make shovelling the crisps from the hot fat more tolerable and help him get through.

         “About time too,” complained his mother as he stumbled into the kitchen. “God, you look a sight and will you move this bloody heap of plastic off the draining board.”

         “It’s not a heap of plastic; it’s a Hawker Hurricane, so you leave it alone, I put it on there to dry out of the way of your bloody cats; rotten, stinking fleabags.”

         “At least my cats are real and serve a purpose, “ snapped his mother. “ You and your bloody stupid Airfix models cluttering up the house. One day I’ll trip over one and break me bloody neck I will.”

         “ In my dreams,” whispered Tim as he pulled on his coat.

         “Timothy, you haven’t had your breakfast,” yelled his mother to his retreating back.

         “TIM!” he shouted before slamming the front door.

         By the time he reached the crisp factory on the other side of town, the walk and the fresh air had calmed him some and cleared his head. But thoughts of dispensing with his mother would not go away so easily. He had hated her with a venom from way back. He had never known his father; mother having told him they had married young and he had died tragically in an accident. He often wondered what sort of a man he had been; a pretty desperate one he’d concluded to take up with that woman. Not the most feminine of creatures; not like Katrina.

         “Ah, Katrina.” He sighed as he turned over the crisps, bubbling furiously in the fat. Ten years now she’d been coming to the house to collect the money on the life insurance. It didn’t matter that she was older; he’d been obsessed with her even as a spotty teenager. Now in his twenties, he knew he was in love, the lifelong problem with girls he blamed on his mother.

         “Morning Tim, “ smiled Vic, his only friend at the factory, as he stopped his fork lift truck for a quick chat. “How’s your mother this morning? Mine’s been a pain.”

         “Same as usual, moaning and miserable. Be happy enough to take me wages off me tonight though, I’ll bet, just to pay for her bloody animals.”

         “ Aye, about time we got away from all this if you ask me. See you down the pub tomorrow then?”

         “Sure. In need of a stiff drink or ten,” replied Tim.

         Saturday night out with the lads was his only pleasure these days, apart from making his models, but it usually left him stony broke as his mother had always demanded the bulk of his wages. Christ, to be rid of her. No more moaning, money in his pocket and free to ask Katrina to move into what would then be his animal free home.

         Life with Katrina occupied his thoughts for the day until he hurried home in anticipation of seeing her in the flesh, the woman of his dreams.

         “Timothy, is that you?” mother screeched before he’d even set foot through the door. “Put the kettle on, make us a cuppa, no sugar for Katrina remember.”

         “Hello Tim,” smiled Katrina warmly as he entered the room carrying the tray of tea and biscuits. “I was just telling your mother her life policy has matured now. Good news for you isn’t it, Muriel?”

         “Aye, be alright if I drop off me perch, you will Timothy, “ she sneered begrudgingly “And move this bloody plane thingy off the coffee table. Flaming models!”

         “It’s not a plane thingy, it’s a Westland Whirlwind Helicopter and you keep your mitts off it, I live here too you know. “ Tim handed over his wage packet. “ God knows I pay enough for the pleasure; I’ll deserve that payout when you pop your clogs, it’s been paid for out my money.”

         “Ungrateful bugger.” Muriel turned to Katrina, “Always done me best for him, he knows I’ve never been able to work. Giving birth to him damaged me permanently you know, but I’ve suffered in silence all these years. Given him everything and what do I get in return?”

         “A pine coffin preferably.” Tim, out of earshot, climbed the stairs to his bedroom to work on his Lancaster Bomber, his biggest and best model yet.


“Well, did you ask her out?” enquired Vic the following evening as he passed the refilled pint pots around the table unsteadily. The lads had been at the ‘Cat and Parrot’ public house since eight and were well on the way to entering the state known as paralytic.

         “ No, never got the bloody chance with me mother hovering round all the time. Tell you what though; the old bag’s life insurance policy has matured. If I could just find a way of bumping her off I’d be made. No more crisp factory, house to myself and Katrina in me bed, it’s tempting I can tell you.”

         “ Aye, maybe it’s worth a serious thought or two, “ agreed Vic. “Come round to my place tomorrow and we’ll talk it through. Oh, and bring your Messerschmitt; not seen that one yet.”

         But Tim didn’t make it to Vic’s house on Sunday. The police concluded he'd tripped on his Lancaster Bomber, carelessly left on the stairs when he’d staggered drunkenly to bed the previous night. Accidental death.

         “Oh my God, “ Muriel had sobbed. “ I was always telling him not to leave the damn models lying about everywhere. And now he’s gone.” She had appeared inconsolable.

         After the police had left, Muriel poured herself a large brandy. Still trembling she slumped into the chair. Her mind went back to the past. Pregnant at sixteen and dumped by the bastard who'd put her in the club, she developed a severe hatred of men. She’d resented Timothy from the day he was born and set out from the start to make his life as miserable as her own. With no intention of working she had feigned illness and devoted herself to her many and varied pets.

         Timothy was a thorn in her flesh. A failure at school and hopeless with girls he had taken to making Airfix models as a substitute for sex. A no hoper, he'd ended up in a dead end job at the crisp factory, his meagre income only just enough to keep her animals and pay for the life insurance. His, not hers.

         But then, ten years ago, Katrina had walked into her life and Muriel had realised at that moment exactly why she had such an aversion to men. They had wanted to set up together right from the start; only lack of funds and her bastard son stood in their way. They had planned it together and it looked like they’d pulled it off.

"I knew those models would come in useful one day," she'd muttered absently as she’d planted the plastic aeroplane on the stairs, knowing Timothy would come home legless that night.

         Smiling smugly, Muriel picked up the phone and dialled.

         “Katrina, my sweet. It worked. It’s all over. Pack your case and bring over a bottle of plonk. Monday morning we cash in that policy and take the first flight to somewhere exotic. Oh, and will you call in Asda and get a dozen cans of Kit-e-Kat. The neighbours will see to the cats. Love you.”