Samurai Badger

Mr. Badger liked his bed. Of course, he loved his wife, but his bed was what he loved the most. He had a long-lived affair with his bed. Who could blame him? He dedicated sixty years of his life towards the creative arts and child welfare. When he wore his Salvation Army uniform for the last time, he envisioned a quiet life by the countryside.

It was easy to spot him anywhere; leopard-striped shorts, white vest, and a heart-shaped beard. His wife and son used to say men of his age should dress sensibly: he took no notice. And that was another reason why he liked his bed: nobody could tell him what to wear.

He never did move to the countryside as he spent most of his life savings on frequent holidays, samurai swords and a motorbike. His wife had traded him in for a younger model but didn't bother divorcing.

A policeman knocked on his door.

"Are you Maurice Badger?"

He went blank, then shook his head. "I've never heard of a Maurice Badger."

"That's funny," the copper snapped. "We only know of one Mr. Badger in this property."

"Yes, I'm Mr. Badger."

"Well, we've had reports of a man matching your description wandering around Bicester Village waving samurai swords."

"Really?" Mr. Badger acted surprised.

"I have a warrant to search the property. If we find anything, we can charge you for holding a dangerous weapon."

"Be my guest!"

The police were there for about half an hour. They couldn't find a thing. Mr. Badger was furious, he had only made the bed nice earlier and now it looked like a bomb had hit it.

"You found anything?" Mr. Badger asked with a toothy grin and folded arms.

"No," the copper shouted. "I'm off. I've got better things to do then follow old nutters like you."

Mr. Badger jumped straight back into the bed again. "Don't forget to shut the door behind you."

He waited until the police had left before calling his son.

"The person you are calling is not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the beep."

"All right Son? Don't forget to bring my swords back when you've got the time."

His neighbour, Stephen Duffy, barged through the door, squeezing through the narrow corridor. Behind him was his wife, Ai.

"Mr. Badger! We're here!"

He groaned. Will he ever be able to get his peace and quiet, he asked himself. Mr. Badger sat himself up as Stephen and Ai took a seat on the green chairs in the corner of Mr. Badger's room. Ai's emerald dress blended with the chair. "You've been painting again," she said. "I love that picture of Kyoto Bridge: takes me right back to my childhood."

Mr. Badger nodded. "Thank you. How did the case go?"

Stephen leant over towards Mr. Badger.

"It's a happy ending! Take away the fees, I'm getting £25,000 in compensation."

Mr. Badger raised his fist in the air. "You teach those heartless bastards a lesson," he roared. "I just had the police round."

"What for?" Stephen asked.

"For waving swords about in Bicester Village," he laughed. "Why would I be in Bicester Village for?"

Ai shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know."

Mr. and Mrs. Duffy thought that Mr. Badger was sensational—he knew it more than anyone else. They thought that he couldn't even hurt a fly.

"These coppers don't know what they're doing," Stephen was interrupted by a knock on the door. "I'll get that!" He opened the door. "Hello, Audrey!"

"Hello, I've brought Mr. Badger's shopping."

"Audrey!" Mr. Badger squealed in delight with the soft sound of her voice and the rattles of glass bottles. "How lovely to hear your voice."

Audrey was so thin and small that Mr. Badger couldn't spot her behind Stephen's bulky frame, he was amazed his chairs could even hold his weight.

"Where are you, Love?" Mr. Badger called.

"I'm in the fridge putting your stuff away."

"Thank you so much!"

Then there was another knock on the door. This time it was his nephew, James Dozen. He was an aspiring author.

"Uncle Badger! My, you're popular today."

"Oh James, it's you. Have you got anything new for me to read?"

"Yes," James said as he ran to his uncle's bedside. He presented his uncle with a blue paperback.

"A Journey Through The Haunted Country by James Dozen... this looks exciting. How is your biography on Alan Rickman getting on?"

"Selling reasonably well," James admitted. "Not quite the bestseller yet."

"And what's this novel about?"

"It's a ghost story mainly: all the characters are dead."

Mr. Badger chuckled. "I better be careful, or else I'll be in the sequel."

The next two hours felt like mere minutes. He was happy to have visitors, but even more happy to have that tranquillity that he always wanted. He could finally go to bed, he thought. He didn't care that it was only three in the afternoon. By the time he woke up, the sun was down. His fingers twitched out of boredom. He didn't fancy reading anything or staying in the house, so he hopped out of bed and took a ride on his motorbike.

He drove outside his wife's bungalow and noticed her standing outside the window. He pulled over by her window. If the motorbike's engine didn't wake her up, he didn't know what would. It was his turn to knock the door for a change.

"What do you want, Maurice?"

"Sylvia!" Mr. Badger squeezed her with both his arms. "I missed you so much."

"I didn't."

"I've been quite lonely without you."

"Stop playing games," Sylvia shrieked. "You come driving into my house in the middle of the night and act as if nothing has happened."

"But you love me..."

"Not anymore," Sylvia hissed. "You've changed Maurice. You used to be a nice and gentle man. Now you wave swords about in public and pretend to be bedridden so half the street worships you."

"I don't do that," Mr. Badger said. "Now don't be silly. I've got the kettle in at home. Let's have a cup of tea together."

"It will get cold by the time we get to yours."

"It will be fine: I will ride fast on my motorbike."

"That piece of junk?"

"It's not junk - her name is Sylvia II."

"As daft as it is, it's..."

"Sweet like you?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth there."

Mr. Badger took Sylvia by the hand. "Let's go home."

The deal was sealed with a kiss.