Odd socks

Odd socks

“Sleeping is a waste of time!” I woke up to one of the Scheveningen Grannies shouting at the camera. Though her skin was Botox-tight, the area around her lips showed a delta of smokers’ wrinkles. I was glad to see some proof the lady I called Fashionista was human, and nicotine had once had me in its power as well. A long time ago.

“Sleeping is a waste of time,” I repeated to my partner Jim, who was snoring away in the recliner next to me. I had already turned up the volume of the TV a notch or two. He didn’t look bothered.

Tux, our black-and-white cat, opened one eye to me. He had dug himself into my Snuggle, just his little head sticking out of his blanket. After a second of intense disagreeing through his stare, he closed his eye again. Chieny, our black-and-white dog, was watching with me though, to be fair, he might have been waiting for me to take him out on a night walk.

The lady on the screen of this new reality show had already run, I swear, run down the stairs, and hopped onto the Vespa of another Granny. Off they went, I thought back to my failed attempts at driving a slow scooter on Jim’s cousin’s birthday do the previous summer, and sighed.

But what was that look? I took the remote from Jim’s hand and pressed rewind. The Granny on the other scooter—I called her Bunny, because she always had her hair up in an enormous bun like that singer, what was she called again, from Cry Me a River or the likes. Long ago. Why had Bunny given Fashionista a killer’s look?

My mind was probably playing tricks on me. I needed to get with it. These septuagenarians and octogenarians were dancing the night away in a club, way after midnight. This must have been recorded, and I am away with the fairies at nine on a Friday night.

True, we’d had the odd adventure in Luxembourg only a few weeks ago. We’d solved a murder along the way, and after returning to the Netherlands, had been witnesses at the wedding we had held for our friends Wesley and Mitch. Sure, but that should not keep us from living it up.

Jim woke up with a start, looked at me and said, “Jill! Just closed my eyes for a second.”

“Sometimes seconds feel like hours, eh Jim,” I replied. “But never mind, we are off to Scheveningen tomorrow. The grannies are hosting a beach party and we are going to dance the night away at their Waste No Time Fiesta.”

Jim opened his mouth to object. “Too late. I have already booked, tickets include accommodation as well. I’m so eager, and I can’t hide it…. Nothing’s gonna stop us now. Tux will be fine on his own for a day and Chieny can stay with your cousin.”

But I was talking to snores once more; Jim had escaped from overenthusiastic me. Chieny yawned, stretched and jumped off his couch to fetch the lead.

No idea when the night walks started, but they have brought me more adventure than I could have imagined. Before our daring adventure in Luxembourg a few months ago, I was already hooked, and on one of those nights, I stumbled on a body—it was the same night I had met Chieny. As I have some experience in solving murders in my quiet home town, and because the police would not let me leave the city and I had no faith in the stick insects who handled the investigation, I took charge. You might not have guessed, but Jim can have amazing insights, especially when he pursues his passions: model trains and Gastronomy. Both were in abundance in Luxembourg, so we solved the case between us, and made some great friends.

“I love sleeping though,” I said to Chienny, who looked up at me and winked. I think that’s when I have my best inspiration, so let’s go back and catch a few winks.

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“I am sorry,” I said to Jim the next day as we sat on the train to The Hague. Scheveningen is the coastal suburb of the Dutch government city. It takes about three hours to get to The Hague Central from Leeuwarden station. And then it’s about fifteen minutes by tram to the beach in Scheveningen.

Jim didn’t say a word.

“Alright, I’m not,” I admitted. “But won’t it be good to be inspired by our foreland? These Granny reality stars have an average age of 75, and they are always on the go.”

“But have they solved any murders?” Jim asked. I got his point. We get around, we travel, we solve murders.

“That’s not the point, Jim. They are famous, they inspire people.”

Jim muttered, “Not me, they don’t.” I pretended I had not heard and continued.

“These girls can party like it’s 1999,” I said.

“But Prince or the artist formally known as him, is dead, it’s utterly unfortunate, and it is 2025,” Jim threw back at me.

“So what, they are cool and we are going to let that coolness rub off on us!” I took my knitting needles out of my bag and started on a sock.

Jim rolled his eyes and suggested it might be cool to finish a pair of socks. I never do.

“I know. I am so boring,” I admitted and Jim laughed.

An hour on the way, the train passed the town of Zwolle with the famous three-Michelin-star restaurant star De Librije. We have, of course, dined there.

“I have wrinkles and I don’t dare ride on a Vespa.” It was all I could think about after last night’s episode of The Scheveningen Grannies.

“We should visit Bologna next year,” Jim said. “Wesley and Mitch have bought a villa and want to rent it out.”

“Great! They are so not-boring. I’ll rent a Vespa too,” I exclaimed. It was time for a change. Jim nearly choked on his cola zero.

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All the Grannies stood outside the beach café. They looked glamourous, and I wished I had put some make-up on apart from my primrose lipstick.

“Haiaiaai,” Fashionista greeted us, almost as if they were in pain to see us. “So glad you could make it.”

“Was it a last-minute thing?” she said looking at us, up and down. But I could only see the hatred that Bunny was showing Fashionista again. When she saw me see, she looked away. But back to more important issues.

I had chosen my best frock, okay it was 20-years old but at least I could still get into it.

“So sorry,” I said.

“No, you’re not, the fashionista and Jim said simultaneously.

But my partner added, “And you shouldn’t be, you are gorgeous as you are, must be the amount of sleep you get.”

“That and the vino!” I replied, keeping my most boring secret in the bag. We all laugh.

“Go in and grab some,” Fashionista says. I can’t help but admire the way she has filled the lines in her face. It’s like a no-effort tattoo, but it must have taken some effort. She winks as I stare and says that she has enjoyed our chat, but that they must now move on to the next guests.

Staring at the poster of the Scheveningen Grannies on the wall I wish I was more exciting. More glamourous like them. But here I am by the bar waiting for my 0.0 cava. Since I turned 60, seven years ago, more and more of life’s enjoyments have started to disagree with me. The new me’s only sense of adventure came from stumbling over bodies, solving the mysteries they presented, and night walks. Knitting socks and singing seemed so mondain compared with these fab grandmothers. Look at them on all the posters lighting up on the walls! They had such a sense of joie-de-vivre, they are like the Senior Spice Girls.

Someone shoved me to the side. Ah, of course.

She spoke with a Spanish accent. “You like to take on the bull, mrs floral dress,?” She made it sound like the worst insult in the world whereas I had done my best to dress up.

“The only one who enjoys taking on bulls is Chieny during our walks along the Frisian meadows,” I said, my voice steady and calm. My experience as a sleuth has taught me some things.

“But why are you so upset with Fashionista?” I asked her in return.

“Fashionista?” It hit her how appropriate my name for her nemesis is and she laughed. “Yes, she is certainly that, and she is a beautiful woman. She is also a bitch.” She spit out the word ‘bitch’ as if it was the foulest word in the world.

I looked Bunny in the eye. “Bunny,” I said, and that got her going. She had the most outrageous laughs, like a grass mower and a boiling whistle kettle creating a song. Her eyes were beautiful, too, when she was laughing.

“I love your nickname for me, I am not even going to tell you my real one,” she laughed.

“Doesn’t matter, what has Fashionista done to deserve your venom?” I asked.

“This here, who do you think is paying for that?” Bunny waved around her.

“I bought tickets,” I said.

“Do you honestly think 50 euro is enough for free food, free drink, free music and free accommodation?” she asked.

“Of course not,” I said. “I am so silly…”

“Don’t keep putting yourself down,” she sounds angry. “Otherwise I’d have to kill you too!”

“No, please, don’t kill Fashionista,” I said. “I have just returned from Luxembourg where I solved this murder, they dressed the victim up like Melusina, a mermaid.”

“Ah, a mermaid, that would be a nice touch for Fashionista.”

“But I have to, she is bleeding my brother dry, see that guy there,”I follow her finger’s directions and see a man in his 80s maybe, a walking stick, glasses, bent back but with the hughest smile on his face.

“If you touch Stefan, you touch me,” she promised. Bunny haha, wolf more like.

“Surely, there must be another way.”

“I have tried talking to her, but Fashionista, unlike all of us, did not marry a wealthy man, she married for love. Where does that get you? And she is a widow, like we all are widows but she is a poor widow. And she is now pretending to be in love with my brother. Can only kill her before she actually marries him…”

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Jim had gone to bed, but I stayed until the last guest left. Adrenalin about the upcoming murder I wanted to prevent and the loud music worked like a charm to stay awake. Bunny looked my way now and then, and flicked her hand as if to say: Scam. A few times she came by and sissed “Go away !” in my ear. She is fierce, she is a strong lady and I’d say she is one of the younger Grannies.

She is totally concentrated on her ‘enemy’, really I don’t understand why I am the only one that is onto her.

“Ah she is just who she is,” Fashionista said during a brief moment that I had to express some concern to the near-victim.

I took my chance when Bunny was away for a moment. Stefan went out on the beach so I went after him. He took a cigar and was searching his pockets for a light. Tip, for all you non-smoking pseudo detectives, always have a lighter in your handbag.

“You are not smoking yourself,” Stefan said.

“Ah, I’d love to but you know”… and I waved circles in the air.

“Yes,” he said. “I do, well a bit,” he said as he sat down on one of the chairs.

I took the one next to him and enjoyed the quiet and the sound of the sea.

“But I am not long for this world.”

“Nonsense,” I said, “Look at you all sharp and partying.”

The door behind us opened and Bunny came out, clearly intent on getting me away from her brother.

“Well, I am sharp, and I am also flattered that you think so. Not everyone does.”

And he looked straight at Bunny. See, it’s my life and I want to spend it with who I choose to!”

Bunny came forward and sat down across from her brother.

“But she is taking advantage of you!”

“I don’t care! How often do I have to tell you. But I won’t let you kill my last love.”

Fashionista also appeared and said, “Kill me, just try!” and sat on the last vacant chair. We all laughed, even Bunny.

I took out my knitting needles, and say “Any of you fancy some mismatched socks?”