Come In Number 13 - Your Time Is Up

by Peter Dorney

Synopsis

Stockport fish and chip shop owners Do-Do and Ray Baker won big on the UK Lottery a year ago to the tune of 66 million plus pounds...and after 6 months of getting used to being rich took off on a Grand Tour of Asia. After a riotous time in Thailand during which Do-Do had killer reflexology treatment that left her legless the couple fell for a failing Siem Reap (Cambodia) orphanage and the 12 remaining kids there. The grand tour was cancelled as the couple decided to help the orphanage get back on its feet, not by throwing money at the place but through some creative initiatives. We rejoin the couple as Do-Do prepares to head back to England for the birth of their longed-for baby while Ray takes on general improvements at the Just Us Kids orphanage...ably assisted by their dog Brexit. More dramas come their way as a new year unfolds...and the fun continues to roll along.If you loved The Bakers' Dozen...you'll lap this tale up as well. It's all go as all the appealing characters from the first book appear once more...and the adventures continue. Sit back, relax and prepare yourself for some great laughs.

Release date: August 4, 2019

Print pages: 340

Sample

 

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.’