"Ten more days and you'll be back on your own. No more babysitting for us... thank God."
Sliding silently shut, the rock door behind Peter made some of the cobwebs in the cellar sway as it did so. The old lady gestured for Peter to go up the spiral staircase ahead of her, he obliged, poking his head, and then the rest of his body, through into the living room of his house. Bounding up two steps at a time, the old lady followed. Once they were both through and out of the way, she yanked hard on the Galileo thermometer that sat on top of the light coloured piano. Sliding around in an arc, the piano came to a rest atop the entrance to the dusty old cellar.
Across the sitting room, lounging on the sofa, next to a pile of discarded knitting, sat a very similar looking old woman, albeit slightly more colourful. This one wore luminous yellow tights with a bright red skirt, a shockingly blue shirt and a pink tank top. The ever inclusive facial hair once again raised itself, but this time instead of a tickly beard, this one had more of a moustache, something Magnum PI would have been proud of.
'Nearly all the colours of the rainbow,' Peter mused, looking over her attire. 'I think a unicorn must have swallowed a rainbow and then thrown up all over her, and her pet moustache.'
Unfortunately, these dear women were experts at reading thoughts amongst other things, and had no doubt picked up on both of these ideas, at least that's what he'd heard, anyway.
"There I was thinking I looked quite dashing," quipped Mildred, in a very confused Scottish accent, from the sofa.
"Ohhh... you do dear, you do," replied June gruffly, from behind Peter.
Flashing them his best false smile, he'd become bored many weeks ago with the very strange banter that the two of them shared.
Both old ladies (dragons in reality) had been waiting for him when he came home from hospital, a little over four weeks ago. Posing as his Aunt Mildred and her best friend June, the two were in fact highly placed members of the King's Guard, both there in case Manson or any of his cohorts should try to come back and harm him, something he hadn't thought too much about until he'd met these two. Every time he looked at them, all he could think about was his nemesis returning to exact revenge. They were constant reminders of the battle that he'd fought and how his life had now changed forever.
June threw herself down on the sofa next to Mildred, causing the discarded knitting to jump into the air as she did so. Picking up the television remote control, she switched on 'Deal Or No Deal,' their favourite programme, before turning towards Peter.
"Get the tea on then, oh gorgeous nephew of mine."
Both turned back to the television, giggling hysterically.
'Playing their parts just a little too well,' he thought, skulking off towards the kitchen. 'Ten more days, only ten more days to go... it's going to feel like a hundred, I just know it is. All I want is for things to be back to normal.'
Sitting down at the kitchen table, Peter held his head in his good hand, the sound of Noel Edmonds leaking through from the living room.
'It's no good, I have to get out or I'm gonna go insane,' he thought, frustrated. Carefully he pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket, no mean feat with only one good hand and very tight jeans on. Retrieving it, he one-handedly sent Tank a text pleading with him to help him out. Waiting five minutes, hoping that his friend would respond straight away, after no reply he decided he was probably still working hard at the Mantra Emporium, in which case there would be no phone signal for him to have gotten the message.
Rising from the table, his arm in the sling noticeably started to hurt quite a lot. The pain from the wound would generally come and go, but now it throbbed agonisingly. Using his limited dragon powers he tried his best to heal it, but just like all the other times, it made very little difference.
Abruptly, a shout from the living room interrupted his healing effort.
"Any closer with that tea yet nephew?" shouted Mildred over the television. June laughed in the background.
Everything was unexpectedly interrupted by the front doorbell ringing. Immediately June tottered down the hall towards the door. Mildred, up from the sofa, signalled to Peter to stay in the kitchen, something he knew better than to argue with, despite the fact that he knew who it was at the front door. The echo of the security chain resounded up the hall, followed by the creak of the door opening.
"Hello there June," mocked Tank, pushing his way past the old lady's squat frame, patting her on the head as he did so. June snarled at the young rugby playing dragon after she closed the door. Peter bounded down the hallway, his arm aching as he did so.
"Pete, how are you?" asked Tank.
Rolling his eyes, Peter hoped he would take the hint.
"Ahh... you know, okay I suppose."
Tank's eyes sparkled just a little, having picked up on his friend's predicament. Then he came out with the words Peter longed to hear more than anything else in the world at that moment.
"Fancy coming to the sports club for a drink?"
Injury or not, he nearly wet himself with excitement.
"That would be fantastic."
"Hrrrhhh... hrrrhhh," coughed Mildred from the entrance to the living room.
"What harm can it do... really?" pleaded Peter.
Both old ladies sidled up to Tank, giving him an evil look.
"The first sign of trouble, you call for help, do you understand?" ordered June.
Tank let loose one of his massive grins.
June smacked him around the shins with her dark wooden walking stick.
"Ouch!" yelled Tank, loudly.
"Do you understand?"
"Yeah... um... sure... no problem," answered Tank, hopping about nursing his bruised shin.
"This isn't some kind of game you know."
"He knows," replied Peter defensively.
Mildred and June, for that's how he thought of them, stared menacingly at the two friends.
"So be it," said Mildred quietly. "But take heed of what we've told you."
Putting his good arm around Tank, Peter checked he had his keys, phone and wallet, before guiding his friend, who was still feeling the pain from his shin, out through the front door. Walking down the garden path, Peter apologised for June and Mildred's behaviour.
"It's okay Pete," answered Tank. "Some of those King's Guards can be right nut jobs."
"Sssssssssssshhhhhhhhh," whispered Peter. "They'll hear you."
"I don't care if they do," replied Tank, unlocking the car and then opening the passenger door for Peter. Before Tank could start the engine, Peter stopped him.
"Thanks for coming round tonight. No really, I mean it. It got to the stage where I'd just really had enough."
"I know mate," replied Tank sympathetically. "It must be really hard with those two clowns around all the time. Anyway, let's go and have a drink and a laugh shall we?"
"Magic," uttered Peter, as Tank gunned the car into life.
Five minutes later they pulled into the sports club. Walking across the car park to the club house in the dark, Peter marvelled at the Astroturf pitch, lit up with footballers playing six-a-side on it. This was the first time he'd been back since that fateful night and the pitch looked as good as new, if not better. It was odd how not even a single scratch remained from the devastating battle that had taken place some six weeks previously.
Tank caught his friend gazing across at the pitch.
"Incredible isn't it? The thing was all but destroyed, and in only a matter of hours they'd returned it to its original state. The really amazing thing is that," Tank touched the side of his nose as he continued, "apparently they only had two dragons working on it. In the past, it would have taken over ten dragons to repair something that big in that kind of timescale. Spooky, eh Pete?"