AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, Schumacher escapes the Vice-Chancelor’s vile presence wearing the maintenance uniform and carrrying the battered suitcase of a, perhaps the, grey-haired lady? And now, back to Ddwwchllyff and the call-girl.

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 21
‘So you see Miss Cassleberry…’

‘Please, call me Laytah’

‘So you see,’ he began again, ‘Laytah, that’s how I came to big a big star in Rangoon. Cigar?’ Ddwwchyllff concluded, placing additional emphasis on her name.

‘No, thanks. I’ll stick with the pipe. That’s a fascinating tale though Mr Dddwwchyllff, truly fascinating’ she lied, stifling another yawn and blowing another cloud of smoke. Next time she’d do it the other way round.

‘Err, that’s Ddwwchyllff… But, oh come now, call me Elvis’ he grinned, pronouncing it clearly to rhyme with ‘pelvis’.

‘I never knew your name was Elvis?’ came a genuinely surprised reply from her pipe toting cherry red lips.

‘It isn’t’ he blushed. He’d misjudged the mood. He hated it when he did that. He still barely knew himself, after all these years. There was a brief passage of time when neither person spoke out-loud. One of then was thinking how on Earth they could extradite themselves from such a sticky situation. The other one was thinking almost exactly the same thing, at the same time. He eventually spoke first, ‘So, what do you think about microchip technology?’ Yes, that was how he was actually feeling, he was in more of poll-taking mood.

An awkward, some might even say clumsy, silence once more filled the already substantial client / employee void that was inevitable in such a circumstance as this. For a moment she was lost in contemplation: How had she allowed herself to get into such a position? It was very unprofessional of her. What had lead her into the client’s bedroom? Was it some sort of unspoken yearning? Was it a desire, born of her lonely existence, for some, any, kind of meaningful human contact? Or was it just three flights of stairs and a short corridor?

She wrenched herself back from the silent brooding and blew a perfectly executed yawn ring into his face and looked at him with bulging eyes as smoke billowed from her ears. He reached from the bed and stretched to grab a hold of the large Hamilton’s© gin and tonic perched on the SteinercroftTM grand piano. At times he regretted having a grand piano in every room. He felt maybe he ought to have just been satisfied with having a drum kit, bassoon and double bass and left it at that?

‘You need to work on that,’ Ddwwchyllff advised, in a sudden mood swing. He suddenly found himself feeling tired. He’d been finding himself a lot lately. Like just the other day, for example, when he’d found himself at the front door.

She smiled broadly. ‘I will Elvis, I will – and has anyone ever told you that you look just like Elv-- ‘

Elffys, for by astounding coincidence this was Ddwwchllyff’s first name, cut her off, instantly realizing the consequences of having wrongly supposed that he’d wanted to be called by his given name. She’d assumed he meant Elvis, but of course he hadn’t told her that part of his life, he’d fed her the Chittagong story. The obvious solution would be to reveal to her that she was mistaken, his name was Elffys, not Elvis. But the obvious solution is not always the best solution. He could not risk her blabbing to her call girl chums about a client named Elvis who looked just like him, gossip, mental associations made, speculation…it was vital that no connection be made between Elvis and Ddwwchllyff’s pre-lottery self. Only Wolfcastle - days overdue in returning - knew about that. Something would have to be done about the call girl. Efficiently and soon. A diversion and then…

‘–What was that?!’ Ddwwchllyff sprang to his feet, raced to the Revolving©window .

Miss Casselberry couldn’t believe how easy this was going to be. The fool was inviting his own timely demise. She crossed to the window. Ddwwchlyff sprang to one side and pointed a trembling finger at the fenestration which was at maximum aperture and open to the fog, the fog – and the night.

Miss Casselberry knew there was nothing out there but the fog, the fog - and the night. How well she knew both. But she’d play along, lure him back. She shrieked ‘I see it!’ just as Ddwwchlyff’s soft slender delicate impersonator impersonator’s hands sprang from behind and gripped her neck ineffectually. Miss Casselberry was somewhat surprised. After all, what had she ever done to him? And why try to strangle her when other means were so much more obvious? She pretended not to notice his fingers nearly encircling her throat, and whirled and spun around, pivoting to face him. ‘It’s Wolf Castle!’ she screamed. ‘He’s back!’ Dddwwchlyff blanched and summoning up the last of his springing strength, he sprang to the window. And was gone. The Revolving© window didn’t just let in light and air, it let lifeforms out.

Elffys had definitely left the building. Judging by the sounds that had drifted up three floors through the fog, it sounded like he’d certainly made a good impression.

In the dimly lit, cold and damp basement of the deceptively luxurious house where Ddwwchyllff found himself, he found himself unconscious. This was, he deduced probably a result of the recent blown to the skull that he had suffered. Being unconscious was also, he further deduced, probably a good thing under the circumstances –it probably stopped him from having to deal with the considerable pain that otherwise would have demanded is attention.

It was plain to see that he was in some kind of basement. A basement that was dimly lit. A basement that was damp. A basement with assorted cardboard boxes full of unspecified items. A basement with an old work bench that had numerous rusty tools strewn over it. A basement with a door at either end and a wooden staircase leading up to the garage in the middle. It was plain to see all of these things - to anyone who wasn’t blindfolded like the captive Ddwwchyllff.

Back in the master bedroom on the third floor of Ddwwchyllf’s deceptively luxurious house, Laytah Cassleberry got dressed, extinguished the pipe and began to explore some of the house’s luxurious deceptions.