Hello, listeners, how are you? I hope you're well. No news
this week, so let's just jump straight into it, shall we. Here
we go. Underwood and Flinch, Season five in Tanner Bress, Written and
performed for podcast by Mike Bennett. This podcast is intended for an adult audience.
Listener discretion is advised. Episode four, Cynthia and Gerald's Toyota rav turned
off the road and drove through the unmarked gates of the Cassa Underwood estate.
Gerald was Cynthia sat in the passenger seat, and Monica sat in the back,
her glassy eyes on the endless rows of olive trees streaming past the open
window. She was humming quietly to herself, at you. Neither of the
bend since had ever heard before, but were now becoming quite familiar with,
because neither of them had had the heart tell her to stop. It had
a lilting sadness to it. To Gerald, it sounded more like a Russian
folk song than a contemporary pop hit, not that he would have known a
contemporary pop hit if he'd heard one. I'm going to have that tune in
my head all day, said Cynthia. Yes, said Gerald, pushing his
sunglasses back up to the bridge of his nose. Very pleasant, though,
isn't it. I rather like it funny how she can sing like that,
smiling away to herself back there. You think she'd be pissed off, wouldn't
you know? I would be. I suppose that's the power of fascination for
you. Yes, perhaps you're fascinating, they did, You're cheerful by default,
Gerald replied, kind of like a sheep? Are sheep cheerful by default?
I have no idea, but they always seem fairly shiver, don't you
think. Cynthia didn't, but saw on no point in saying so. It
was almost eleven a m. The sun was high in an azure sky,
and the graveled dirt road ahead of them shimmered in the heat. Despite the
open windows. The smell of bleach lingered heavily in the air as a result
of each of them getting splashed with the water they'd used to clean Lydia's stolen
taxi earlier. It had been an efficient enough job. Cynthia, conscious of
leaving any of their DNA behind, had kitted them all out with carrier bags
to wear over their hair and rubber washing up gloves. They'd first washed the
exterior, then vacuumed the interior, wiping down the upholstery and surfaces. Then
they'd turned their attention to the boot with its gruesome cargo. On opening it,
a wave of warm air, ripe with the odor of early decomposition had
caused all faces to turn away. Oh it's the heat, said Gerald,
speeding up the process. The naked body lay with its back to them.
Lydia had shoved and tucked it into a crude fetal position. Do you think
we should give it a wash? Asked Gerald. What Cynthia looked at him
as if he just tracked dog excrement into the house. You mean the body?
Well, yes, and the boot could be some of Lydia's hair and
what not in there. We'll pull him out, hose him down, vacuum
them. No, dear God, Gerald, I am not having you hose
down a corpse on my driveway. What if someone comes calling? Now,
If Lydia's left any hairs in there, then that's her look out. And
anyway, it's not as though she's even human any more. Her DNA's probably
unrecognizable. Oh yes, I suppose it could be like an alien species.
I never thought of that no neither had iron until now, although I wish
I'd thought of it half a bloody hour ago. She slammed the boot shut.
Earlier, over a hasty breakfast, they'd checked Google Maps for arroyos in
remote areas near roads, and as Liddy had said they would, they located
some on the road to Seville. Using Google Earth. They'd scanned the areas
for the most suitable locations, and on finding one, had entered the GPS
coordinates into the Toyota's Sat Nav. Later, with the taxi cleaned and glittering
wet in the early morning sun, Cynthia had stripped off her carrier bag,
hat and rubber gloves and ordered Monica to do the same before they got into
the Toyota. Gerald was to drive the taxi, so he left his gloves
and hat on and donned an additional pair of carrier bags to cover his shoes.
The road to Seville was just that, a road, and not a
motor two lane traffic all the way. It was quiet the best of times,
and at six a m. It was practically empty. It ran through
vast areas of open farmland, fields of wheat, rolling over hills stirred by
the breeze and shimmering like giant ocean swells. As the Bensons neared their destinations
coordinates, the landscape grew more barren, just baked earth and scrub vegetation.
Then Cynthia pointed ahead to the cops of trees they'd noted on Google Earth.
The trees they knew were close to the arroyo, though there was no sign
of it from the road. Gerald turned the car off the road and headed
out to the trees. They didn't see the arroyo till they were practically on
top of it. It was roughly twenty feet wide and ten feet deep,
a shallow serpentine canyon with a bone dry river bed at the bottom, With
the trees screening them from the road. Cynthia and Moda put their rubber gloves
back on, and all three of them got behind the taxi to push it
over the edge, which crumbled away with the car as it tumbled down,
and a cloud of dust landing upside down, wheels revolving slowly to the sky
like the twitching limbs of a slaughtered beast. That done, they stripped themselves
of their head, hand and, in Gerald's case, shoe coverings and all
got back into the Toyota to head back to al Messina. As Gerald drove
them away from the sight, Cynthia had looked back repeatedly for some projecting sign
of the taxi, but it was as if the earth had swallowed it whole,
leaving nothing but a ghost of dust to fade on the breeze. They
were in and out of Miguel's small terraced house within fifteen minutes. They'd been
fearful of an interaction with his neighbors. The last thing they wanted was to
be quizzed by some busybody in and loose the thick and incomprehensible regional dialect,
but thankfully that didn't happen. They got his passport and a phone they found
in his kitchen. In the bedroom, they picked out the clothes they had
seen him wear most often, packed them into a case they found under his
bed, and with a quick visit to the bathroom to grab his badly worn
toothbrush, they were away to Lydia's apartment in town, which was situated over
her estate agency. The office was located on the high Street, the bottom
of the hill that led up to the church and castle. The street was
narrow and always busy, with cars parked along one side, leaving just enough
room for one way traffic to pass. The Bensons parked in a side street
nearby, and with Monica along to help carry bags, walked along the narrow
pavement to the office, both of them keeping their heads down and hoping they
didn't run into anyone. They knew. The office was open for business,
and a smartly dressed Spanish woman the Bensons didn't know was sitting at the front
desk, gazing into the screen of her life laptop. They moved quickly past
to a door next to the office frontage that led up to the apartment.
Cynthia located the key and the three of them entered the short entrance hall at
the top of the stairs. Upon entering the apartment, they were hit by
the smell of rotting food. They went through to the open plan kitchen diner.
Flies buzzed everywhere, but congregated most thickly around the pedal bin. Cynthia
grimaced and stepped on the pedal. Flies and stench rose from the almost full
bag within. She gagged and stepped back oh Monica. The bin emptied the
bin. Monica looked blankly at her, evidently empty. The bin wasn't part
of her English vocabulary. Cynthia waved Gerald to the task. He held his
breath and went to it, tying the sack at the top and taking it
out to the balcony while Cynthia opened all the windows. I do think she'll
do with this place, said Gerald, Not just flat with the business card,
knows, said Cynthia. That bins like a metaphor for her old life.
She's past caring about things like that. Now do you think we will
too? What? Stop caring about our family, our friends, other friends,
I mean old friends. Cynthia was slightly taken aback. Why of course
not? Why ever do you say that? Well, it seems pertinent,
doesn't it. We won't be able to see them again, will we?
At least not as we do now. It'll always have to be at night,
and at some point, not at all. I mean, we won't
be able to hide the fact that we're not getting any older. Of course
we can. Cynthia touched her hair, had a bit of gray here and
there. Gerald snorted, huh, come on, sin, it's going to
take more than that. I am graying as it is. I am not
going to dye my hair white every dime. We can go to see people.
Well, we'll handle it one way or another. Frankly, I think
visiting friends and family is going to be the last thing on our minds.
She opened the wardrobe and began flicking through Lydia's clothes. We'll have far more
interesting things to be worried about, I'm sure, yes, I know.
To be honest, they're worrying me already. Don't misunderstand me. I want
this as much as you do. But it's pretty scary, isn't it.
Cynthia turned to face him. What is all of it? Cynthia laughed,
Well, it's a bit late to be getting cold feet now, Gerald,
you should have thought of that three years ago. I'm not getting cold feet,
Gerald interjected. But surely it's natural to be feeling a tad apprehensive.
I mean, we're going to die for God's sake, yes, but then
we'll be reborn. Yes, I know all that, but oh, hang
it all sin. Aren't you in the least bit anxious? Well, in
the least bit yes, Cynthia shrugged. Who wouldn't be. It's a big
step. I can't imagine a bigger one. Neither can I. I just
I don't know. It's It's just also sudden, isn't it. Cynthia went
to him and took him gently by the arms. Darling, if you don't
want this, we don't have to go through with it. We can still
change our minds. No, I still want it. I do Christ that
not a day goes by when I don't wonder if I'm going the same way
as my old dad. Anytime I forget where my bloody keys are or the
name of some actor in a film we're watching, I'm wondering how long it's
going to be before I'm breaking eggs into the bloody kettle for breakfast. She
touched a hand to his cheek. Well, you won't need to worry about
that at least once we have vampires. All the cares of human and frailty,
the diseases and the ghastly degeneration, none of it will matter anymore.
Will be immortal, Yes, forever young, well, forever middle aged.
Anyway, he managed to smile and took her hand. God, I'm sorry,
I don't know what I'm getting so worked up about. I mean,
this is what we both want, isn't it what we've wanted for ages,
but now that it's finally here. He looked away to where the sunlight streamed
in through the open window, and he paused, listening to the happy chatter
of people in the street below. Then he said, you won't get tired
of me, will you? Sin what? Cynthia frowned. You're not serious,
chariot forever. It's a pretty long time, darling. Oh my god,
Gerald, She hugged him to her. Silly, I can never tire
of you. You'd know that, don't you. Well, yes, sure,
when we're saying never in terms of a normal lifetime, but no.
She held him from her so she could look into his eyes. Not in
a thousand lifetimes. I love you, Gerald, as much to day as
the day I married you. Gerald smiled. Really, yes, really,
you ask? But what about you leaving me? What with your appetite for
nookie? I think it's a more likely prospect, isn't it. Oh God,
No, no, never, never, ever. I could never grow
tired of you, Cynthia. I know sexually we occasionally enjoy other people,
but it's always together as a couple, and as far as I'm concerned,
it always will be. God, he chuckled, without you. I doubt
I could even rise to the occasion. Oh, Cynthia gave him an admonishing
pat on the chest. But that's not what I saw last night, Gerald
recalled Lydia sitting on his lap, the nearness of her, the strength in
her hands as she held him down. He'd never felt so powerless, so
vulnerable, and yet regardless aroused. It sent a shiver through him that only
a laugh and a shake of the head could dispel. How come on,
darling, she was squirming on my lap, of Heaven's sake. Knock on
his door. Then the old chap wakes up. You know that, yes,
don't die. Just their eyes met, and Cynthia knew his moment of
doubt had passed. They kissed, then held each other. She was surprised,
but not unpleasantly, to feel Gerald's old chap starting to stare again.
All right, she said, moving from his embrace with a pointed glow,
answered his lap. Enough of that. We've got bags to pack and then
another bloody house to get to. But are you all right now, Yes,
said Gerald, with a smile coarse. I am just a bit of
a wobble, that's all. And so Cynthia had gone through Lydia's things and
packed her bags, and Gerald had gone through her fridge and fed a selection
of the foods that were about to reach their consume by date to Monica,
who ate up everything just as she was told to. You know, I
have to say I'm starting to feel rather fond of Monica, said Gerald,
as they continued to drive along the track to Cassa Underwood. She's a bit
like a pet, isn't she. Yes, a pet with benefits, said
Cynthia. That's what you're thinking. No, I mean it. She depends
on us, doesn't she, Only because she can't think for herself. If
that spell Lydia put on her broke, she'd probably flay her eyes out.
Gerald laughed, ha, Yes, But still it makes you think, doesn't
it. Maybe when we become vampires, we could find some other woman and
have her as a pet or a man, even far more practical for carrying
the groceries and things. Not that we'll be doing any grocery shopping, mind
you, no, but we could carry out corpses, coffins, things like
Hello, what's that? Gerald nodded ahead to whether the large white house was
now drawing near. What's what up? There. He pointed two windows open
up stairs. See Cynthia saw he was right. Well, maybe David left
them open before he went off to Malaga. He had a lot on his
mind at that time. But anyway, this is hardly some London sink stage,
Gerald. Chances of his being burgled a practically zero er, maybe,
but it could be. Like Lydias said, the police are here and snooping
around. I hardly think airing the place would be high on a police list
of things to do, but it could be, con't it. Well,
just act normally and we've got nothing to worry about. We've come out to
see our friend David. Nothing illegal in that. Hello, look a car,
tell you? Gerald pointed to where a green hatchback was now visible,
parked beneath the trees outside the wall that surrounded the property. It's a car.
That doesn't mean it's a police car. For one thing, it looks
too cheap. Who else would it be? I don't know. Olive Pickers,
a housekeeper, said Cynthia, as they parked alongside the green car.
Man is dead, remember, yes, But David could have hired someone else.
Cynthia told Monica to stay where she was. Then she and Gerald got
out. The driver's window of the green car was open, and Gerald peered
inside. Well, said Cynthia, any policeman lurking in there? No,
they must all be in the house, all of them, the whole squad
that drove out here, in that shitty hatchbag. She gave him a doubtful
smile and led the way under the archway into the inner courtyard, where the
fountain splashed and sparkled in the sunshine. Look, if by some chance it
is the police, just play the stupid gringo, all right, you mean,
just be myself, Yes, just act naturally, No ablo espannal por
fovar, and then ask for David. Right o. As they came up
to the front door, they both noticed it was very slightly a jar.
They exchanged a look, it's open, said Gerald. I can see that,
said Cynthia, in a whisper. She pushed the door open, raising
a finger to her lips to indicate that they should be quiet. Once inside,
they listened, The house was still, and, but for the sonorous
ticking of the grandfather clock, completely silent. They looked around, both of
them, noticing as they did so that almost all the furniture was adorned with
little orange squares some kind of stickers. Gerald went to a stickered table by
the door for a closer look. It was a post it note, unmarked.
There was another one on the umbrella stand beside it. He raised an
eyebrow at Cynthia and whispered housekeeper. Well, it's certainly not the police,
that's for sure. She turned into the house and called, how La,
what are you doing? Hissed Gerald? Is there someone here? Gerald?
We can't very well go ahead and take Lydia's things from her room, now,
can we? If they walk in on us, we'll look like a
couple of burglars. From the corridor off the entrance hall came the sound of
footsteps on the tiled floor. The Benson stiffened and smiled like they were posing
for a family photograph. Then a young woman walked into view. On seeing
them, her anxious expression lingered only a beat before she smiled warmly. Hola,
it's mister and missus Benson. No, yes, said Cynthia. I
I'm sorry. I know your face, but I don't think we've ever been
formally introduced. She put out her hand. I am Concita. My friends
call me conchie. I was John's nurse before he died. Conchi took the
prophet hand and then moved in to kiss Cynthia lightly on the cheek. She
did the same to Gerald, who chuckled at the unexpected yet welcome informality.
Conchee smiled, it's okay, we are all sacked. No, we met
at Lord Underwood's resurrection. Oh, said Cynthia, pleasantly surprised. I see,
I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. Don't worry. It's normal. We
were wearing the robes and this was such a night. It's not surprising you
don't remember God. Yes, wasn't it so sad what happened to Anna?
You must have known her if you were working here. Yes, it was
very sad. But if we are to die, I can think of no
better way to go than in the service of Lord Underwood. Anna brought him
back to life, and no, she would be happy for this, So
I am happy for her, Yes, said Cynthia, with a note of
doubt that she hoped sounded like compassion in her voice. Yes, of course
you are here to see David, asked Conchie. Yes, if he's around,
But it's actually Lydia. We're looking for, said Cynthia. We haven't
seen her for a few days now, and we can't seem to contact her
either. We were wondering if she might be here. No, no,
she is not here. She's not in Malaga, no, said Cynthia.
We called her offices, both in Malaga and in al Messina, and they
say they haven't seen her. Gerald said, you mentioned David. Can't she
is he here? No? No, he's not. I haven't seen him
for a few days either. Oh. Gerald feigned disappointment, but he dropped
the act when he noticed a post it note on the portrait of Lord Underwood.
I say, what's going on with all the post it notes? Can't
she looks like you're pricing everything up for a yard sale. Oh no,
it's not a yard sale. It is a how do you say in English?
They are a moving house, moving house? Said Gerald, who the
flinches, Not the flinches, only the things, the things of the house.
It is they that are moving. This took the Bensons completely by surprise,
and it showed on their faces. Gerald said, Mark, So the
furniture is going, but the flinches are staying. Does this mean that his
lordship is leaving us? No, it's it's not that. She sighed and
lowered her head, pressing a hand to her brow as if to soothe a
gathering headache. Then she straightened and laid a hand on each of the Benson's
shoulders. Oh, my friends, I'm so sorry to have to be the
one to tell you, but you have seen the news of the gunfight in
the Mallaghan night club. Yes, said the Bensons in Unison. Well,
this fight was Lord Underwood and David against some very bad men. Normally I
would say nothing of this, but you you are not just sect. You
are friends of the family. The Bensons reacted with feigned surprise. Good God,
said Gerald. Are they all right, Con' She shook her head.
No, David is in jail and Lord Underwood, Lord Underwood is dead.
Oh no, Cynthia exclaimed, Oh dear God, No, he's only just
been resurrected. Are you sure, con She nodded sadly. This is what
I am told. Yes. The family lawyer is in malag to represent David,
and David told him everything that happened. And I am afraid it is
not just Lord Dunderwood who is dead. She squeezed their shoulders and her lips
tightened. It is Lydia too. For a moment, the Pensans could only
stare at her. I'm sure how far they should go with their fake emotions.
Then Cynthia clutched at Gerald as if to steady herself. Oh my god,
I am so sorry, said Conchy. I don't know the details,
and I know I should say nothing, but I see you here now and
I know you were friends. Cynthia cut her off with a wail as she
buried her face in Gerald's chest. Deare there, darling, said Gerald,
holding her. It's all right. I've got you to con't she, he
said, There's no could be a mistake. No, it was David who
said this. The lawyer Senor Hernandez has been in touch with Lord Underwood's solicitors
in London and they will be making a statement to dis Sect members as soon
as they know more. In the meantime, they have read Lord Underwood's Testament
and it says that all of his Lordship's homes around the world are to have
the possessions, the furniture and so on sent to London. Really, said
Gerald, his face puzzled. Oh Lydio. Cynthia sobbed loudly into Gerald's chest.
Poor poor girl. Gerald hugged his wife and patted her gently. To
Conchy, he said, why are they doing that? Are they going to
sell the houses? Conche shrugged. I don't know about the other houses,
but not this one. This is to be David's. Cynthia straightened suddenly and
turned to Conchi, her face somewhat crumpled, but her eyes dry. What
you mean Underwood's left it to him. It is in his testament, yes,
said can't she? Maybe you say in his will? Yes, said
Cynthia, Then, remembering she was supposed to be overcome with grief, she
clung to Gerald as if a support, and added, in a faltering voice,
and does that include lydious things? I don't know, Senor Honandez has
not said anything about this, but yes, if she is dead, then
I suppose so. Oh no, poor girl, Cynthia plunged her face back
into Gerald's bosom, holding on to him like a rock climber whose rope has
just snapped. Do you know what she was doing at this club? Can't?
She asked Gerald? I can't? She looked uncomfortable. I don't know,
but I presume she and David were there to help Lord Underwood. Yes,
yes, that sounds like her, said Gerald. She was very devoted
to him, as you know, so as you say, no better way
to have died than in his service, Oh, Lydia, Cynthia cried louder
than before, her hands clawing Gerald's shirt into wads. I can't believe she's
gone, I know, sin, said Gerald, gently, trying to ease
open the hand that was clutching painfully at his left move. Come on,
I think we'd better get you home. Cynthia allowed herself to be led to
the door, where she finally broke off from Gerald to stand unaided again.
She wiped away a tear that didn't exist, sniffed loudly, and then turned
back to Conche with a brave smile. Satan, bless you can't, she
dear, thank you for telling us, can't. She held up her hand,
and you too, missair Migos take care. Once they were back in
their car, Cynthia said, well, bloody hell, I know, said
Gerald. No chance of getting Lydia's stuff out now looks like David's going to
inherit a load of posh frocks, as well as the house and grounds.
Yes, that is assuming he even gets out of jail. Those dresses could
be sitting in that house for years, just gathering dust. Poor girl.
Oh god, Dan stout that again, said Gerald, pointedly, nursing his
chest. You almost tore a chunk out of me in there, sorry,
dear, I was acting? Was I good? Outstanding? He chuckled,
Which is just as well, because I didn't know what to do with myself.
Do you think she believed us? Oh? I should say so.
Why wouldn't she? Gerald started the car, and on glancing in the rear
view mirror, saw Monica watching them from the back seat. All right,
mony, Monica smiled and repeated, all right, Charley good. Gerald chuckled,
delighted to see he'd increased her store of English. From an upstairs window
of the house, can she watched the Benson's car recede from the house in
a cloud of dust, like them. She also wondered if they had believed
her, and as she came to the same conclusion, why wouldn't they?
She looked up at the sky, where the sun was now just past its
zenith. There was much to do before it's set. At that time,
she would go to Lord Underwood's bedroom and as for her instructions give herself to
him for breakfast. A shudder of pleasure ran through her. She closed her
eyes, savoring the anticipation for a moment before taking up her post it notes
and going back to work and soul listeners. Is the imminent reality of becoming
a vampire causing Gerald to get cold feet? Or was? It is?
Just as he says a wobble, join me next time for episode five of
season five of Underwood and Flinch. The music you're listening to is Ahmad Ahma
by Farid Farjad from the album and Rusa Volume four, courtesy of Taranay Records
and our good friend Fawaz al Malud. You can stream the track from Spotify,
YouTube Music, Google Music, and all the other music streamers out there.
Thank you for listening. I hope you enjoyed this episode, and if
you did, I'd be very grateful if you could leave a few kind words
about the podcast on whatever podcast app you use, if you can. As
everyone knows, nothing quite sells a podcast to curious potential new listeners like a
good review, so if if you could do that, you know it doesn't
have to be an essay, just a few kind words that would be fantastic,
so thank you very much in advance. Now, I've been a bit
erratic when it comes to posting episodes of season five so far, and so
I'm going to make a pledge to you now that going forward, I will
endeavor to get a new episode out every Friday for the duration of this season,
and that includes this Friday, too, which is nice. Rather like
this one. Episodes may not have too much in the way of chit chat
at either end of the story, but I'm sure that won't blight your enjoyment
too much anyway. So then before I go, a listener called Ian left
me a question in the episode comments on Spotify. Ian asked, how do
you remember how each person talks? Do you slip up every now and then?
Not really? No, characters like Underwood and Flinch pretty ingrained in me.
You know, I just just sort of turned them on, you know,
and they just pop out of me. Same when you're writing the character,
you know, you write in the character's voice. You give them the
dialogue that fits the way they are, which fits the way they talk.
So and so no, I don't tend to get them mixed up too much.
Sometimes when a character's new It's a bit trickier because you know, as
I'm writing them, I don't know who they are fully, and when I
start voicing them, I don't know who they are fully, And it develops
over time, you know, and so by about the sort of fourth appearance,
I've probably got them pretty much sorted out. But you know, I
can always just go back and check a previous episode, listen to how I
voice the character, and then just do it again. So no, really,
I don't tend to slip up too much, but you know, maybe
your ears tell you otherwise. I'm sure if I do an accent from whichever
part of the world you live in, you think, oh, we got
that wrong, But yeah, that's neither here nor there, is it.
The only reason I voice characters the way I do, you know, give
them these individual voices, is to make that your understanding easier, you know,
as to who's talking and when. So yeah, and that's that really,
Thank you for the question, I and I hope that I'll say it.
And so then with that said, I will see you on Friday,
my friends, when the moon will rise again over Underwood and Flinch. Until
then, farewell,