9. Dikkerby's Plan

9.                                Dikkerby’s Plan                                         

Johnny and Elsie were in a right old tizz.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Johnny  flapped as he paced up and down his study.

Elsie was unflappably sitting in a red leather armchair.

“Oh, calm down, lad. Nowt to worry about!”

“Nothing to worry about, “he corrected. He went on, “Nothing to worry about. We’ve hardly any students. The staff are all leaving and we’re absolutely

broke.” His clipped tones were definitively showing signs of stress.

“A few more 100% bursaries?” she asked quietly.

“What? What? Are you mad, woman? That’s one of the things that got us into this mess. What are we going to do?” He wailed the question.

“Don’t forget, lad. I’m off on ‘t holiday tomorra in ‘t morning.”

“I know. I know, “ he snapped. “You’re always off on bloody holiday,” he mumbled inaudibly to himself.

Suddenly the door flew open and in stepped Dikkerby, dapper as ever with his shoes shone bright, his hair standing whitely up, psoriasis under cream control and a faint, scornful smile at the left corner of his mouth.

“Now then. What’s all the fuss?” His beautifully elocuted tenor voice calmed them both down.

Quickly Johnny explained the mess.

There was a long silence. Dikkerby was gazing at a point near the ceiling.

“Well?” asked Johnny.

“Any ideas, lad?” asked Elsie.

Dikkerby snapped slowly out of his trance. He rubbed his hands like a melodrama villain, walked to a hook on the wall, took down his black gown, put it on and sat definitively in Richard’s swivel chair.

“Dikkerby, that’s my .....” Johnny attempted.

Dikkerby steepled his fingers and his cruel grey eyes glared over his spectacles at them both.

“Fear not, boys and girls, for I have a Plan.” You could hear the capital letter.

“A plan! Jolly good!,” said Richard.

“Ay, lad. I knew we could rely on you,” chipped Elsie.

“We’re going to build,” Dikkerby slowly enunciated.

“Build?” You can’t, “ said Elsie.

“That’s exactly what got us into this ..................” said Richard.

“Bloody mess” Elsie finished.

“The pre prep.”

“The reception.”

“The two storey prep building”

“They’re all empty and full of cobwebs.”

“My mistake, continued Dikkerby slowly, was in not thinking big enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ay, spit it out, lad”

“We’ll get a loan from the bank. We’ll cover the whole lawn. It will be a beautiful building. Made of white Carrera marble. It will boast towers and minarets. There will be fountains and pools. Arches will adorn the facade.....”

“Neighbours?” asked Elsie.

Dikkerby stood up and punched his fist into the open palm of his other hand. His voice purred with a growl of passion.

“They’ll love it!”

Johnny had stopped pacing. Elsie was sitting up.

“Parents?” asked Richard.

“They’ll love it.”

The lure of the dream. The money. The fights. The beautiful white building dominating the site.

“I have a photograph of the sort of thing,” said Dikkerby, reaching into a pocket. He brandished a colour print.

“ But .......” said Elsie.

“It’s...........” went on Richard.

“I know. My final resting place.” Dikkerby smiled smugly. “The Taj Mahal,” he whispered,” Here. In Cale Green. It will be glorious.”

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