Chapter 1
Following two months of extensive and imaginative labour, Do-Do and Ray Baker had at last moved into their newly renovated wooden bungalow on the grounds of the Just Us Kids orphanage in Siem Reap, Cambodia.
Their ever-supportive fellow-Englishman Mr Fix-It, Fudge McKinney, had overseen the work and the result was far better than initially imagined. The happy couple were totally delighted with everything, especially the dark wood interior features and the wide wraparound outside verandah.
Brexit, the orphanage’s resident mutt, had moved in with them as he was an ever-present family item these days and stuck to Ray like shower steam on a bathroom mirror.
The dog was called Brexit as he too had started life, like the kids, at the orphanage as a homeless being.
However, he then walked out of the place on a certain June 23 - the very day UK voted to leave the EU. Brexit though returned - a move many in the UK would also like to make - and stayed.
‘They don’t know if they’re coming or going, that lot…’ was Ray’s opinion of most UK politicians. And once Do-Do and he came on the scene all doggy thoughts of leaving the orphanage vanished.
A year ago, back in their hometown of Stockport, in England’s northwest, the chip-shop-owning pair had won big on the UK Lottery to the tune of over 66 million pounds.
Six months after the win they had set out on a Grand Asian Tour to recharge rather drained batteries.
After a few rather unexpected - and hilarious - experiences in their first stopover spot, Thailand, their giant-troll plans were halted at their next stop - Siem Reap, Cambodia.
Having been invited to visit a certain orphanage by an English teacher lady they sat next to on the flight from Bangkok the couple had fallen hook, line and sinker, for the 12 kids in the place, and a certain pinkish (his mother was a red head who ‘played away’ a lot) curly-haired dog with the very non Cambodian name of Brexit.
The Grand Tour was cancelled when the couple decided to stay put and help the failing orphanage get back on its feet. Not by giving them loads of money but through a series of creative initiatives that brought in funds and set the place on
an even keel for the future.
Do-Do’s mantra for her new role at the orphanage was Donate - Donate - Donate, and people did exactly that. Quite often actually. So much so that within a few weeks the orphanage’s finances showed healthy improvement - thanks to Do-Do’s imagination and creativity - and hadn’t looked back since.
The long-time childless couple had announced that Do-Do was expecting at a Christmas gathering for relatives and friends (visiting and local) at their smart Siem Reap hotel.
After the initial shock and absolute delight numerous soon-to be aunts and uncles were busy knitting bootees, jumpers and scarves - all small size. Yellow wellies (size 1) had also been ordered for the September rainy season.
Do-Do was now almost 6 months pregnant and doing fine, the same amount of time they had been in Cambodia. It was thought that the child had been conceived after Do-Do had a painful foot reflexology session near the Grand Palace in Bangkok.
Those in the know reckoned the foot stimulation had kick started her long-dormant inner baby-making areas into action and baby Baker was now baking nicely within the mothership.
Do-Do planned to head back to Stockport soon to prepare for the birth of their long awaited and longed-for child, gender still unknown. These two liked surprises.
The couple were now both around the forty-year old milestone, though Do-Do still insisted she was 29 and six eighty-fifths (the decimal point numbers changed daily) and had been married for 20 years.
The much anticipated birth was now not too far away and her local Siem Reap doctor described her as ‘sailing through’ her pregnancy, not that she spent any time on boats. Landlubber excitement though was building nicely.
Ray walked into the tastefully completed lounge with its emphasis on polished dark wood, wicker and cane, and joined Do-Do on the comfy settee facing the open entrance. She sat up and poured him a nice cup of fresh tea while smiling at her helpful husband.
‘Any post?’ She enquired, sliding the steaming cup on its supporting saucer his way. A plate of cream biscuits sat temptingly close.
‘Looks like there’s some fan mail for you.’ He examined the front of a mucky, badly creased envelope with tyre marks all over it. Do-Do looked puzzled as Ray read the address, emphasising the first part…
‘‘Mrs Highness Richness, Justice US Orphanage, Siem Reap, Vietnam - crossed out - Hong Kong - crossed out - Taiwan - crossed out - Cambodia. Got there in the end, fourth time lucky, eh?’
‘Who’s Justice US when he’s at home?’ Do-Do wondered.
‘No idea, though it could be here, the orphanage. Just Us… Kids?’
‘Oh yes. Maybe. Where’s it from?’
‘The stamp says Bali, so it must be from one of your island admirers.’
‘Don’t be daft. I’ve never been so how could there be any fans there?’
‘Some of your stories have obviously been in the Balinese newspapers, as well as all over the Internet. Fame is but a click away these days.’ Ray nodded knowingly.
‘How on earth did it get to us with that address? Most of the begging-letter post goes to the chip shop in Stockport anyway.’ Do-Do wondered.
‘Lower stamp prices to Cambodia from Bali than to England, I s’pose. Inter-Asia and all that, one price fits all.’
‘Oh yeah…and other than the tyre marks the envelope looks quite damp so it probably came by sea part of the way I’d say.’
‘And it found you through some great detective work by the Siem Reap postal service - Tricky Address Division - I reckon.’ Ray passed over the envelope and his wife quickly opened it.
‘Go on then, read it out please,’ he requested while sipping his English breakfast tea and eyeing a certain cream biscuit that happened to be waving at him for attention.
‘Dear Mrs Richness Pound-note Dildo,’ she read out loud, then gasped as her mouth fell open and she looked at Ray shocked.
‘Dildo..! Whoever this is, they just called me Dildo! This is too much…they must think I’m running a sex supplies shop.’
‘There’s a lot of it about. You’ll find it’s one of the world’s top ten fastest growing industries, I read about it in something like the Macclesfield Messenger a while ago.’
‘Not here, it’s not.’
She read on.
‘I liv on Cantik Island, close Bali. I write wish you husband swap. I come there and you send you husband take my place in village. He live here with my 85 year old wife, 16 children, 6 dogs, 8 cats, 5 cows, 9 goats, two humming birds and one eyed parrot.’
Do-Do (or should that be Dildo?) gasped. ‘What a line up…’
‘The parrot would come in handy for the pantomime season. I bet it’s in their Treasure Island panto every year, Ah-ha, Jim lad, should be dead easy to learn for the average parrot.’ Ray felt.
Do-Do gasped and shook her head.
‘Any partridge in a pear tree?’ Ray wondered.
‘Not so far. Hold that thought though, there are still eleven days to go.’ She looked at him with some alarm, then continued.
‘I be best ever reserve husband and service you 5 times every day - 6 on weekend - 7 on bank holiday - 8 in rainy season…can’t go out anyway - floods everywhere and TV on blink.’
‘Such an unbeatable offer, bring out the waterproof bedsheets and you’re away.’
‘This is impossible,’ Do-Do shook her head.
‘Impossible to turn down, I’d say.’ Ray felt the offer of some merit.
Dildo grimaced, quivering at the cheek of the man. ‘Sounds quite appealing, actually.’ Ray kept a straight face.
‘More like appalling, and he wants to service me…flipping cheek.’
‘Calm down. He probably has a garage by a beach and thinks of you as just another Volkswagen Golf in need of a grease and oil change.’
‘I don’t play golf…’ Do-Do wasn’t playing around these days either, no matter who was asking.
‘I bet he doesn’t either…just fancies a…’
She interrupted him, right handing shooting up in the air.
‘Stop! Stop! Stop! No hole in one jokes, thanks.’ Cottons on quick does Do-Do Dildo, some times.
‘OK. Obviously his humming birds can’t remember the words of the songs in the pantomime, so just hum.’ Ray was loving the show.
‘You have to be kidding. Anyway, can I remind you that a heading-for-ninety year old wife awaits you in the deal? That’s older than my mother, probably older than my grannie!’ Do-Do declared.
‘Mind you, with so much well-seasoned leather close by, you could probably open a trendy handbag shop once she sheds her current skin layer come spring.’
Ray considered the possibilities of that one carefully. He wasn’t a member of Entrepreneurs Are You for nothing.
Do-Do continued to read.
‘Please send you husband with air ticket for me go Vietnam’ scratched out - ‘Hong Kong’ - scratched out - ‘Taiwan’ - scratched out - ‘Cambodia. Thirst class.’ I take it he means First class.
‘Of course, nothing less.’
‘You pay me US$1 thousand a week - cash - and I attend all you needs, and you farm animals.’ She read on.
‘He expects a thousand dollars a week but can’t even get my name right!’
‘Sounds like he’s also after Brenda the cow, and the chickens and ducks.’
‘Confident in his capabilities,’ Do-Do felt, nodding. ‘Not half.’
‘Please ask you husband bring candles and matches as kerosine running out. Wife keep drinking it, say keep her young.’
‘Glad something does.’ Ray felt. Though time was not on the lady’s side.
‘They’re a right pair these two, by the sound of them.’ Was Do-Do becoming slightly impressed?
‘It’s an acquired taste is kerosine.’
‘How do you know?’ Wifey wondered.
’Must have read it somewhere.’
Quick with an answer, he was. Some times.
‘It’s signed…Iwan….PO Box 999, Cantik Island, via Bali. Must be his emergency number - 999.’
‘Iwan. Full name ‘I wanna get out of Bali and make my fortune thanks to you.’ Ray felt.
‘Well, I don’t want him here, there’s no way that’s happening even when the moon beams over the cowshed.’ Do-Do loved her childhood sayings. ‘Ignored…rejected…not today, thank you, chuck. Burn it.’
She tore the letter into a hundred pieces and threw them in the nearby wastepaper basket. Thanks, but no thanks.
Ray looked at her, rather forlorn. New surfboard order about to be cancelled.
‘I’ve always wanted to visit Bali. So…you know…why not?’
‘You rat-bag. Here I sit, a long-suffering pregnant wife, about to be cast off just because you fancy becoming a Bali surfer boy - at your age! No thanks. It’s not on. You’re not going anywhere, so there.’
‘OK, if you say so. It all sounded quite good for a while, if you ask me. Apart from the aged wife, Kerosine Kitty.’
Both sat in silence for a while, each pondering the age question.
‘You have to do these things while you can, you know. Or in your case, before much longer. Dildo.’
‘Evil. You are, evil, Stingray.’ She flared, using the name her Bangkok reflexology lady had given Ray when she’d had a killer knuckle session there last September.
‘No need for such language in front of the baby, thank you.’
‘The baby’s not here yet so what’re you going on about?’ The frustrated Do-Do clenched her fists. ‘I shall tell Brexit to bite your bum if you keep being horrible.’
At the mention of his name the dozing dog looked up from his spot on the cool wooden floor just inside the lounge entrance and wondered what they were going on about now. He again stirred as steps were heard on the outside wooden verandah. The tail started to wag and he slowly stood up. No rush with anything these days for the resident Mutt of the Month.
A knock on the doorway was followed by an, ‘Hello, hello. Anyone home?’ and their most capable handyman assistant Fudge McKinney stood there, smiling. Brexit again sat down then rolled over to allow him to tickle his tummy as he entered, as all fearsome guard dogs do.
‘Fudgie, please come in. You’re just in time for tea and biscuits.’ Do-Do advised as they both stood up.
‘Perfect, thanks so much. Good timing, eh?’ The happy Englishman grinned again.
Fudge left his sandals outside and entered the home in his usual safari suit - this one pale grey. Do-Do kissed him on the cheek and Ray patted his shoulder as their very welcome guest looked around the room.
‘Good to see you,’ Ray declared.
‘And you. The bungalow looks great, really good now you have some furniture around the place. How’re you settling in?’ Fudge cast his optics around, taking it all in.
‘Fine, thanks. It certainly is smashing, much better than we dared hope for. We love it.’ Do-Do declared.
‘Your workmen did a great job,’ Ray backed up the claim. ‘So thanks again for all the effort, and well done.’
Fudge worked part-time for a local travel agency and in that capacity had cared for Do-Do and Ray when they first arrived in Siem Reap last September.
Once the couple had decided to stay and get involved with the Just Us Kids orphanage he helped with switching visitor visas for work passes as he seemed to have more connections around town than a rubber hose.
Fudge had also helped them get their new fish and chip shop cum -restaurant project going and with caring for a bunch of friends and relatives when they came out from Stockport last Christmas.
After over 5 months in a hotel Do-Do and Ray had been glad to move into their own place, even if the hotel had been one of the best in Siem Reap and excellent in every way.
Nothing like a bit of your own space though, they felt, so Fudge had led the redevelopment of an empty, aged bungalow on the orphanage grounds. All of which meant super-dog Brexit could now be with them continually which all three felt was as it should be.
‘No sugar?’ Do-Do checked.
‘Sweet enough, so they tell me…thanks…’ Fudge smiled again as Do-Do looked questioningly wide-eyed at the claim from within a questioning tilted head.
‘I brought your air ticket to Manchester,’ Fudge reported as he passed an envelope to Do-Do.
‘Thanks so much,’ she took it from him, smiling happily.
‘Won’t be long now,’ Fudge declared. ‘Just ten days to go and you’re off, eh?’
‘Indeed,’ Do-Do smiled.
‘By the way, belated birthday greetings to you for last week, March 11, eh? Kept that quiet, didn’t you?’
‘No publicity, thanks. Though how did you know? It’s s’posed to be a state secret.’
‘I have a copy of your passport.’
‘Oh, yes, course you do. Thanks, I s’pose. I don’t bother about such events these days, this is a no-fuss family.’
‘Especially since she found that modern calculators don’t go as high as her latest age, or backwards.’ Ray kept a straight face as she threw a cream biscuit at him. He failed to catch it in his mouth, not having been a seal in a former life. Penguin yes, seal no.
‘Did you get many birthday cards?’ Fudge asked, looking around the place which drew a blank. No sign of any.
‘She got exactly 40, which was spot on,’ Ray revealed as his wife stared at him for mentioning a certain number. ‘They’re all in the cupboard draw, waiting to go on the bonfire.’
‘But it’s not Bonfire Night for months.’ Fudge knew his Events calendar quite well.
‘No, but rehearsals in these parts start this weekend,’ Ray winked.
‘I received a few cards…’ Do-Do admitted. ‘None of which were opened.’ Not interested, obviously.
‘It’s just a passing number.’ Fudge felt.
‘I know, and for me I’m still on 29 and six eighty seconds, or whatever the extras are this week, and there I shall stay.’ Do Do had spoken.
‘Right, sorry I mentioned it.’ Fudge felt, with a gulp. ‘Me too, age is but a myth.’ Do-Do was not a happy possum.
‘A hit and myth in her mind as she hit the big four-oh, and badly mythed her teen and twenties years.’ Ray was skating on thin ice. Torvill & Dean they weren’t but she was ready to drop him where the ice bites deep during his next spin.
Two more cream biscuits came his way, both direct hits on his head.
‘Life begins at forty, so they say.’ Fudge was trying his best.
‘Not round here…’ the lady of the house was not a happily ageing camper.
‘Never mind, chuck. You’ll soon have nappies and bibs covered in sick to worry about, dates won’t mean a thing then.’ Ray was being double wicked.
‘Can we end all this birthday talk, please?’ Do-Do had spoken.
‘OK, what about Jane’s ticket?’ The broken-biscuit-battered Ray sought to change the subject and asked about the English girl out of the two orphanage teachers - Aussie surfer-girl Marsha being the other - who was travelling with Do-Do on a two-fold mission.
The plan was for Do-Do to travel back to Stockport 6 months into her pregnancy, which would be late March, and for Ray to follow in early June, in time for the birth at the end of that month.
Ray had though been anxious about Do-Do travelling alone. So as Jane’s hundred and eighty-something year old grandmother (give or take a century) was about to undergo a delicate gallstone op. in Brighton it had been decided they would travel to Manchester together. Then, after a couple of days taking it easy, Jane would take Ray’s car from the chippie rear garage and drive down to Brighton in time for grannie’s operation.
‘She has it. I passed it to her as I came through the compound gates. Seats next to each other in Business class, all confirmed, so you’ll both be fine…’ his audience smiled.
‘Actually, you’ve chosen a good time to be away as April is usually very hot and humid here, so you can luxuriate in the English rain, fog and cloudy weather and think of us dripping away in the heat. Lucky you.’ Fudge felt.
Do-Do looked at him, then responded.
‘I could be dripping too, from all the rain. Actually, it should be nice and if it snows in May, as I can recall it did once, that will be fine with me too.’
‘Do-Do likes the snow, she has a dream of being an Olympic ski jumper.’ Ray mentioned.
‘Wow! Good for you. After Eddie the Eagle, here comes Do Do the Duck…low flying or otherwise.’ Fudge felt.
‘Not till a certain package has been delivered.’ She pointed to her stomach. ‘Though I do fancy the idea of scratching the itch on the end of my nose with one of the skis as I fly through the air flat out. Maybe one day.’
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