(Note from Gareth for the purposes of North American readers: Jim'll Fix It was a TV show on the BBC that ran in the late 1970s - early 1980s. Hosted by Jimmy Saville, children would write in with a request ie to meet a celebrity or to visit a factory. Jimmy would then try and arrange it and the results would be shown on TV. It was very popular and could only take a small sample of the hundreds of children who wrote in every week!!!)

Episode 1: The Ambition

"Hey, Daph, come and look at this!"

"What is it?"

"It's that woman who was on that celebrity gameshow with Frasier. You know, the one where he made a fool of himself the first time."

"'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire??"

"Yeah, come and look. It's er... er..."

"Debbie Rose," said the voice from the TV, "the internationally famous violinist, will be joining us after our first feature, 'Before They Die' which we'll be going to after these messages."

"Oh Great. I like this, Daph; it's all about people's ambitions to do something exciting while they're still alive."

Daphne gave him one of her looks. "Doesn't everybody have to be alive to do anything?"

The slightly sarcastic tone was lost on Martin. "Yeah. That's what this programme's all about. 'Cause afterwards. It's too late."

"Realising her lifetime's wish today is hundred-and-two-year-old Daisy May Wilkins from Seattle. She's always wanted to do a parachute jump," continued the TV voice.

"Ooh. It's a bit like 'Jim'll Fix It'," said Daphne. "I always used to watch it on Saturdays if I was at home. But a lot of people that wrote in to that were children. Once, my....." Martin waved his hand to halt what he guessed was the beginning of a long story, lowered the front of his chair and leaned forward towards the TV screen. An old lady was smiling as she stood at the open door of an aircraft, being prepared to jump in tandem with her handsome young instructor. Some scenes of first rapidly, and then more slowly-moving, breathtaking scenery followed. Daphne walked back towards the kitchen.

Martin sat motionless and sighed. Daphne turned and looked at him, thoughtfully. A few minutes later, while the commercials were on, she came back, carrying two coffees. She gave one to Martin and sat down to join him. "I don't suppose there's anything you've .........?"

"Nah. 'Course not. "

"Don't believe you." He didn't answer. He stared again at the screen, hoping she'd forget and move on to another subject. No such luck.

"I mean, remember what happened to you. There you were. One minute you were at work, in the prime of life, looking forward to your retirement, and the next minute you....."

"All right it's starting again."

"There must've been something you were planning on doing after you retired."

"Yeah, living by myself. Deciding what I was going to eat and when I was going to eat it. Nobody telling me where I should be, and when to be there, and what to wear when I got there....."

"Are you saying you regret moving in here with us, where you and Eddie can go out in the garden, you've got your own front door to the granny flat, you have your mates in there anytime you want and you don't have to ride eight floors to get some fresh air?"

Martin recognised the tone. He'd be called 'old man' any minute now. "Aw, no. I was just trying to change the subject. Drop it will ya. I want to watch this."

"You ought to go on this programme." She was worse than Eddie with a bone when she'd got a bee in her bonnet.

"Look. No, I told ya. Anyway, it's not unusual enough. They wouldn't be interested in my..." Oh no. He'd let her do it again. Just like with Hester. At least Hester had a psychology degree and training in forensics. How did this woman do it?

"Practice, old man." She was smirking to herself. Could she read everyone's mind, or just his? She got up and switched off the TV. "Gotcha! What is it you want to do?"

"Shan't tell you." He wriggled to get comfortable in his chair but it didn't help.

"OK then. None of my business." Daphne stretched to her full height and put the remote control on the highest shelf of the bookcase. "Time for those exercises. That's why you came in here. "

"All right I'll tell you. "

*******************

Martin reached for his coffee and took a sip. He wished he had a beer. Daphne was watching him with that "I'm waiting, old man," look of hers. He wasn't going to get out of this.

He began, "Well, just before I was shot I bought something.." He paused again.

"Go on. Don't stop now you've started."

"It was something for myself." His hands began to shake and he had to put down his coffee. Daphne wasn't saying anything . He'd started so he'd better carry on.

"Y'know, it's expensive, having bright kids. There's school fees, music lessons, drama clubs. Everything they want to do costs money and ya don't want to hold 'em back if ya can afford not to. Then there was university, Med schools. Two of 'em! Even with kids that are smart enough to win scholarships it costs ya. We had two good salaries coming in but there was not much left for ourselves, I can tell you."

"I think that's pretty normal. Not many people are well off when their children are young. We were lucky I suppose. There were grants for University in Britain in our day. It's a bit different now. My nephew George...... " Daphne stopped herself. "Never mind. Go on."

He took a deep breath. He'd thought he was going to escape there. Once she got started on her family... but it didn't work this time.

"Not that my boys weren't generous after they started making money themselves. They saw to it that Hester and I never went short of anything once they were no longer dependent on us. But even when you've stopped paying for things for them you've still got your loans to pay off, there's furniture that's worn out after thirty years. You need to buy a new washing machine, a freezer, curtains, a coupla decent cars," He smiled as he remembered that house. "It was a relief, being able to go out and get stuff, knowing we could afford it. The boys were happy, seeing we didn't have to go without any more. But it was a long time before we got out of the red."

He drank some more of his coffee. It was starting to go cold.

"But you started to see your money eventually, you could buy a little of what you wanted, not just what you needed?" She was still listening to him. No side-tracks where Aunts and Uncles were on their uppers before they won the pools. He'd have to go on.

"Yeah. Well, it was not long after Hester died I started to notice I'd got money left over at the end of the month. Everything was paid off and a month came when I hadn't spent what had been left over from the month before. It was kinda sudden. I realised I'd got money for myself. I never knew what that was like before. It was happening to some of the other guys at the precinct too. We got to talkin' about what we were gonna do when we retired. A bitta capital, no debts, kids doin' well, reasonable pensions. I started saving for what I was going to do. Something I wanted to do, not something I'd got to do."

"You wanted to play golf."

"What?"

"It's what everybody wants to do when they retire. Or did, before they had mobile phones."

He wasn't going to ask her what she meant. He'd nearly finished now.

"So, I had a coupla lessons. The pro said I was doin' OK. I did a few rounds with the guys. And I kept it to myself. If I'd told Niles or Frasier about it they'd have been falling over each other to get me the right kinda golf jacket, the right trousers, hat, shoes, radio-controlled trolley. They'da maybe even chosen the clubs they thought I oughta have. That way Niles wouldn't get talked about if I ran into any of his fancy friends at the golf club and Frasier wouldn't have to come and see me. And I could have kept my money in the bank but."

"You wanted ownership of your own decision."

"What does that psychobabble mean?"

"You know what it means. Carry on. You'd got enough money for some good clubs and you went out and got a full set of really good clubs in a bag that wouldn't shame Nick Faldo let alone Maris." He noticed she said Maris's name without shuddering.

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Read your mind."

"You did not. You musta seen the clubs."

"Course I did. I knew they weren't Eddie's."

"Coulda bin Frasier's."

"Too small."

"Well. I never got to use 'em." He stood up and leaned on his cane. "I got shot!"

Daphne frowned at him. "Oh sit down! You're a lot better. Stay there and put the telly back on. I'll go and phone the pro at Four Winds to book you in while you watch your programme."

"What do you mean? 'Phone the pro'?" He was shaking again and had to sit down.

"Look, your walking has been a lot better lately. Your balance is improving. I don't know about getting round the course but you could try a few shots at the driving range and see if you don't fall over when you follow through. You'll have to have some lessons to remind you how to stand properly, that sort of thing. We don't want you getting a bad back or a sprained wrist do we?"

He stared at her open-mouthed.

"You've been thinking about this haven't you?"

"No. Why should I? Here's the remote control. Find out what Debbie Rose has to say. I'll go and make the arrangements while you're in the mood."

Daphne went out of the room and Martin switched on the TV. At first he wasn't listening. Had he heard properly? His hip had improved enough for him to do a golf-swing? Why hadn't she mentioned this before? Of course! The same way she got him to do everything else. Make the old man think it's his own idea. Ah well. No point thinking about it now. It might be a whole different story when he was standing there with a pro.Head down, hands like this, feet a shoulder-width apart. He could go A over T and have to forget the whole damned thing. He listened to the TV : "Yes Debbie, you and our own Frasier Crane won a lot of dollars for charity on Who Wants to Be A Celebrity Millionaire. Have you decided yet where the money is going?"

"Head down, that's right, eye on the ball, knees, feet, hip and....... brilliant." The ball soared up, away, and out of sight. Marty was pleased with himself.

"I think we can try nine holes any time you like." The pro's suggestion was music to Martin's ears. "Six o'clock tomorrow morning here. O.K?" Daphne was trying to sound matter-of fact and business-like but Martin knew she was as pleased as he was in her way. If he'd made it this far, it was in no small way thanks to the way she'd stuck at her job.

He was surprised how well he slept that night. He was already up and ready when Daphne came for him. She could hear the voices from the TV from across the yard.

"No, not yet. We haven't decided what to do with the money Frasier Crane and I won on 'Celebrity Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?'. Frasier knows a lot of worthy charities in this area and we've had a lot of charities get in touch with us. But, may I refer to your previous feature, because you've given me an idea for something?"

"Sure," said the interviewer, glad to get a word in.

"Frasier was telling me how he'd not spent his own $16,000 winnings yet. He's saving it for a treat for himself, or a friend or relative who might just want some fun. And when I saw your 'Before They Die' feature it gave me an idea. It's made me decide to get around to something I've been intending to do for years."

"Yes?" The interviewer was trying to seem interested without sounding worried that the programme was being taken over.

"Well, I've always wanted to go back to my home town and find the teacher who gave me my first violin lessons at school when I was a girl. In those days some teachers thought only boys were worth teaching the violin. More girls used to start than boys but gave it up because they hadn't got enough strength to get a good sound out of the instrument."

"Do go on," interrupted the interviewer . Debbie Rose just smiled , not appearing at all irritated. "I've made a lot of money recently, especially from my cross-over work and when I think how many years I've been performing professionally, I realise that that teacher must be very old now. And I think I'd like to give her a treat."

Here the studio audience whooped and Martin joined in. "Yeah!"

"I don't know," continued Debbie, "whether she ever married that millionaire she used to say she was looking for, or whether she's all alone eking out a pension. Either way...." Here she paused, waiting for the interviewer who was just nodding, "there must be something she still wants to do, and I'd like to treat her to it."

Once more Martin joined in with the audience . He waved his arms and heard, "Are you watching that again?" Daphne had appeared behind him.

"Yeah, just somethin' to do while I waited for you. Have you counted how many times she mentions Frasier? And do you know he took her out to dinner and she didn't make an excuse not to see him again? Now there's a nice, kind, generous young lady. And I bet she can out talk Frasier as well."

"Perhaps she got that from her old teacher too. Are you going to find something else to do instead of starting those nine holes or are we going?"

Martin got out of the chair and followed her to the car, his heart beating furiously. This was it! He was going to do it! He was on his way! The words, 'I'm going to do nine holes today,' kept going round and round in his head to a half-familiar tune. He was like a big soft kid on a school trip. Now what was that tune?

Daphne began to hum it softly as she drove up the main drive of the golf course. She'd done it again. How did she manage it?

"What's that tune?"

"Don't you know it?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I'd recognised it." He was trying not to show he was nervous.

"'On Ilkley Moor, Baht ' at'. Do you want me to sing you the words?"

"No thanks." It was spooky enough. He was afraid she'd sing his own words back at him.

The pro met them at six o'clock with the golf buggy and took them to the first tee. Martin had wondered at first whether having the pro with them had been a good idea. This could take hours - but, well, apart from the lessons he hadn't spent much money on golf for nearly a decade. Hang the expense. Just this once.

It took seven shots to get onto the green, and four more to hole the ball. That really wasn't a bad start. And what's more, he felt fine. Not a twinge from his hip. Maybe Daph was right about his going on that TV programme. He was just about to shoot his arms into the air and yell when he remembered where he was and so merely nodded with satisfaction.

"I think I'll walk from here, " he said.

"All right. Just to the next tee and then we'll see how far it is to where the ball lands." Daphne sounded cautious, but then she would, wouldn't she. Got to show this pro she knew her job.

"We don't want to overdo it, do we?"

Yeah yeah, nag, nag .

"OK Daphne!"

At the second tee he felt he was beginning to cope. He sent the ball over 150 yards off a three wood. It would have been a tremendous shot for a novice like him if it had gone in the direction of the green.

He looked at the pro, then at Daphne and got into the buggy to go towards the ball. She looked stern when she thought nobody was watching but gave that false-camaraderie laugh of hers whenever the pro said something he thought was funny. Perhaps she wasn't enjoying herself. Why on earth not? It was a lovely morning, sun not too hot yet, birds singing, smell of fresh-cut grass. He got out and took a seven iron. "Good choice," said the pro approvingly, "not had enough yet?"

"Hey. I'm never gonna get enough of this." What was he talking about? Halfway through a swing on the fourth fairway he knew. He had to admit the reason for missing the ball was that it was beginning to hurt.

"Time to come off, Marty?"

He didn't want to look stupid in front of this kid half his age, but ..... "We can get off the course fairly easily from here. We won't get in anybody's way if we take the path just the other side of those trees over there. It leads to the nineteenth hole," he added encouragingly. "You can get some breakfast."

Daphne came over, to them, holding up a spare card. "That's sixty strokes you've managed today." She grinned conspiratorially at the pro," It's very good, isn't it?"

"If you've had a bad hip it is. Maybe he'll break a hundred for the nine next time." He knew they were trying to be cheerful and encouraging so he had to put a brave face on it.

"Not bad, eh?" he said, trying his hardest to hide his tremendous disappointment.

In the nineteenth hole Martin ordered for breakfast everything that Daphne would never normally let him eat. He had ham, eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread, potato-waffles, mushrooms, a chop with cheese sauce and buttered toast.

While he was on his third coffee he watched Daphne and the pro who were standing at a TV screen. The pro was playing a video of Martin's golf swings. He paused from time to time and drew on the screen with a coloured pen. Daphne nodded as the pro pointed out various things. They came over to sit with him. Daphne ordered a croissant and coffee for herself. That was her way of hinting that Martin had had too much but that she wasn't going to say anything to him this morning. Well if she thought he was going to ask her why she wasn't having anything more, she'd got another thing coming.

"You started off really well," said the pro. "But, well, it looks as though you stiffen up when your hip's been given too much to do. Your muscles get tired. Now I can see the idea of doing nine holes so soon wasn't such a good one. We maybe ought to have built up to it more gently. It's harder when you're actually out on a course. Your perspective's different. Direction and distance matter more than on a range. You have to concentrate differently. Your muscles tighten. I think, when you've had some treatment and your hip's better, that you need to get used to making shots in an open space. Work on your short game. You need to spend longer building up. Start by going a few times a week to the pitch-and-putt."

Martin didn't answer straight away. He took a deep breath. Well, at least they weren't suggesting he give up the whole idea. But pitch-and-putt! Yes, that was where golfers practised short game or took the kids when they were too small to take on the golf course. But it wasn't where they went because it was all they could cope with. If that was all he could manage now, how ever old would he be before he could get all the way round a proper course? Would he ever do it at all? He looked at the two of them.

"OK. OK. I knew there was only one way to find out what I could do. I know now that I was trying to run before I could walk. But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna walk, right? I'll go on the pitch-n-putt tomorrow." He tried to keep a note of annoyance from creeping into his voice. Why should they be disappointed as well? They were, after all, only trying to help and he had of course played more golf this morning than he'd played in the last ten years.

"Come on, let's go home and get that bath and massage," said Daphne. "And I'll tell you when you can go on the pitch-and-putt."

**********************

It was quite a few days before the pain had worn off sufficiently for Daphne to consider letting him practise even on the driving range but eventually they were going to the pitch-and-putt nearly every day.

"Oh yes," he heard her saying into the phone one morning as he was getting his things together, "much better. He's built up to all eighteen holes on the pitch-and-putt now. Ooh, usually about seventy. Oh no, not walking. He hires a parkmobility scooter. That's like a pavement scooter but they let him use it on the course when the grass is firm. Good job there's not been much rain lately. What? Oh yes, I think he'd like that! Tomorrow morning? Seven thirty? See you then. Thanks very much."

"Was that the pro you were talking to?" Martin's heart was beating the way it hadn't done since that first morning when they'd set out to try the nine holes.

"Yes. He sounds quite pleased with how you're doing and he suggests you have another go at some of the full-size course holes. They're a lot longer, of course...ha ha. Course, get it? Ha ha." She could see he wasn't laughing so she went on, "He says there's a way onto the course at the fifteenth. You can do four holes, that's one more than you did last time, getting used to the longer distances and a wider field, and then see how your hip is. I think now you've had more open-air practice you should take fewer shots anyway, less strain. But we'll see. No guarantees."

Her air of wariness mixed with optimism made him determined not to sound uneasy himself.

"Well, yeah, it's an improvement. We're getting there. OK. Tomorrow, like you told him." Martin still couldn't see how at this rate he was going ever to build up to a full round but at least if anybody he knew saw him coming off after the eighteenth they'd not know he hadn't started at the first. He cared more then he admitted about what people thought. His boys got that attitude from him.

When they were out on the fifteenth fairway the next morning, Martin felt a lot better. He was proud of the shot he'd just made and realised that getting the feel of being in a more open space was important. He thought, what if next time he could manage these four holes and then have a go straight afterwards on the pitch-and-putt course? Then he'd know whether he was up to doing these four twice. If he could ever get that far, then maybe he'd manage nine holes one day. Then, who knows, some time, eighteen?

He shook himself. "Nah. Stop dreamin' How many years is that gonna take?" It was just then that he heard a shout of "Fore!" and a ball flew over his head and landed a hundred yards or so in front of him. At first, he couldn't see where the ball had come from. Then a tall, handsome young man of about sixteen appeared, pulling a trolley with a green golf bag on it. But it was what he saw next that took his breath away...

**********************

Some way ahead of them there was a bunker. A ball shot out of it and landed just short of the green. From out of the bunker rode a fat, middle-aged woman on what looked like a parkmobility or pavement scooter. Martin stared, open-mouthed. How on earth could one of those things, which so far as he knew got stuck in grass when it was wet, get into a bunker and out again with its passenger still in place? He turned questioningly to the youth with the green bag and trolley. "That's my Godmother," Martin was surprised to hear an English accent, not quite like Daphne's. "Not my Grandma. Not my Mum." He was obviously accustomed to answering that sort of question.

"What's that she's sitting on?" Martin wanted to know as he saw another amazing thing. The woman pulled up near her ball and then swivelled her seat to address it. She took an iron out of a bag attached to the vehicle and without standing up, pitched into the green. The seat seemed to move with her as she made her swing.

"It's her handigolf," the youth answered, "do you mind if I play through, please, Sir?"

"Huh?"

"My ball's ahead of yours. I've been looking for it. If I can play it now, I can catch up with her."

"Oh, sure, go ahead, son." Martin stepped back as he watched the lady with the handigolf ride onto the green and, still from a sitting position, sink her putt. He noticed that Daphne, who had gone over to the green in the golf buggy, was standing near the hole, having lifted the flag for her. They both moved off the green, leaving a clear view for the lady's Godson to make a perfect shot onto the green with a seven-iron.

Daphne came back for Martin after he'd made his own shot and the other golfers had disappeared from sight. "We're meeting them later and they're going to tell us all about that handigolf," she said. "It looks like the sort of thing that might suit you. He knew she was trying not to sound excited, but there was a note in her voice that he hadn't heard for weeks. "Now, let's see how many more shots it takes you to get to the nineteenth this time."

He knew it was going to be hard to concentrate.

***********************

"Feel free to try it out for yourself, I'm going shopping this afternoon, using my other scooter, so you're very welcome to borrow it ," said the handigolf lady, whose name was Janet. Daphne poured her some more coffee and handed it to her.

"Are you kidding?" Marty was dumbfounded.

"Not at all, the handigolf association is always looking for new members, all over the world. And if you've got somebody who could actually buy one for you...... "

Martin looked at Daphne. It wasn't like her to be indiscreet. She was a chatterbox, yes, but wouldn't discuss family business with strangers.

"It's OK. Janet knows all about us. She's a friend of Debbie Rose. You know, the one who was on..... "

"Celebrity Millionaire with Frasier. Yeah. How d'ya do . Say, you're not.... ?"

"Yes. Debbie's old teacher. I expect you were imagining someone older. Well, so was she. " They all laughed for a minute as they remembered how their teachers had seemed so much older when they were at school.

"I was only in my early twenties when I taught her and her friends. I certainly was more than twice her age though. She obviously thought I still was. "

"She taught my Mum as well, and my Dad, and my ...." her golfing Godson began and then suddenly stood up, as if to attention and his voice tailed off. He looked at a young girl who'd just come in, as if it was she who really ought to be speaking.

"Please, Daphne," she said, in a strong, clear voice, "I'm so glad it's you we saw on the course. We thought it was. Papa has tripped over something and his knee hurts. Could you possibly take a look? We really would appreciate it."

Daphne stood up. "Of course, ma'am . I'll go at once. Is he in the treatment rooms?"

"Actually, he's still out on the course. He wants to finish his round. I can take you to him in the golfcart." She looked towards a military -looking man who was standing in the doorway. He bowed and stretched out an arm to guide them.

"I shan't be long." Daphne said to Martin and followed the girl out. The man in the doorway stayed close to them. Gordon bowed as they left.

"What was that?" Martin looked from Janet to Gordon. "That guy looked more like a bodyguard than a golf-pro and Daphne just got up and left to see to that kid's father as if they were royalty." He looked at Gordon again, "and you stood so proudly beside her you'd think she was a princess!"

"Well, she was taught to play by Tiger Woods," said Gordon, "I read that in the paper, but she's a real princess, too."

"Oh yeah, 'course." These English people were nuts. Some guy Daphne knows sends his kid to fetch her to fix his knee and they all act strange. Judged by the guy in the doorway he must be somebody shady. Oh well. Daphne could take care of herself. Gave him more time to talk to this lady. He thought he'd better change the subject anyway.

"So, what brings you way out here? Did you come from England just to play golf?"

"It's not the only reason, " said Gordon. Janet looked annoyed.

"He's worse than my late husband for that sort of thing. He used to finish my sentences off for me until I trained him properly. Sometimes I think Gordon is so like him we should trace their family trees. I think they must be related somehow."

"Not necessarily," said Martin. "my late wife used to say most men were like that."

They laughed again. Gordon announced he was off to practise on the driving range and left.

"My trip out here was really a present from Debbie. I wanted to come and see some episodes of my favourite American TV show being made. Travelling is so difficult for me-and expensive since my accident that I was beginning to get out of the habit. It's a journey I'd been promising myself for a long time but kept on putting it off. Debbie said it would give her pleasure to arrange it and I'm certainly enjoying myself now I'm here."

"Careful, or they'll get ya on that 'Before They Die' show."

"Oh, I don't mind. It sounds fun. They know something about me already. Why disappoint people? It's a popular show. TV stations out here have to make money to keep going."

"Sounds like you know something about business yourself. Thought you were a teacher? Or did you marry a millionaire after all?" Martin was feeling relaxed with this Janet. As if he could go on chatting all day.

"Not a millionaire, no, but we did build up a reasonable living between us. When he died I sold our outdoor pursuits business and he left me fairly well off in other ways too. I still have a feeling I ought not to be wasting money, though, which is one reason I've not been taking the handigolf around the world until now . It's not a waste, just that I need practice in enjoying myself I suppose."

"I'm just the same. My wife died some years ago. This playing golf is the first time I've felt I was having fun since I got shot. But until I saw you on your handigolf, I was beginning to think it was an ambition I might have to give up."

They carried on chatting until Daphne came back. Janet arranged for the handigolf to be left at the course for Martin to practise on and then left when Gordon's mother and her careworker came to take them shopping. They had a vehicle which could carry all of them and which could easily hold both the handigolf and a pavement scooter. It was almost as big as his Winnebago.

"Well, she's obviously hardly a poor widow, but it's a good thing she's got a rich benefactor as well," said Martin as he waved goodbye.

"I thought we'd decided that you had, too?" smiled Daphne.

"Oh yeah. Frasier's $16,000."

"Look, he still hasn't found anything to spend it on and you know what you were saying about how you kept it from them about your golfing ambition so they wouldn't be falling over themselves to buy you things. Well I think he'll enjoy showing off to Niles how smart a handigolf he can get you. Niles is sure to want to buy you some accessories for it. But it won't be like one of their competitions because Frasier won the money in a competition. He's already told Debbie that he wants to use it to treat friends and family and she's told all of Seattle on the TV. So, Niles won't get really jealous. Give them some pleasure. And it won't cost $16,000 anyway. He can spend the rest on a trip taking you somewhere interesting to play. You can go and watch some tournaments together. You'll have a good time and he'll think he's indulging you."

"You mean you want me out of the way for a while? I know it's getting to be a burden, all this getting up early and following the old man about while he chases after a ball."

"Don't start that. I might say 'Yes'. You're in the mood for a grumble that's all. Aren't we halfway to solving two problems and haven't you met a nice lady you fancy?"

"I didn't say that. I needed to be polite. She's doing me a favour after all."

"Oh yeah. Come on, let's go and get some practice on that contraption before she comes back for it."

The TV in the grannyflat was blaring. Daphne was pretending not to hear. It wasn't as if she'd not seen it before. Many times. It was supposed to be his hip that was injured, not his ears, and even his hip was getting better. Must be, if he could play golf, even though he used his handigolf, which he showed off whenever he had the opportunity.

"You found something to do with your own 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?' winnings then, Frasier?"

"Yeah. My son bought a great piece of sporting apparatus for me."

"Really, Martin?"

"It's called a handigolf.." He turned to the screen and announced in his best accent, "I think we're about to see a clip of it now."

Daphne knew that they were sitting on the studio sofa, looking at a TV screen, which merged into the 'Before They Die' programme screen for all the viewers to see. There was a scene of Martin teeing off, and a close-up of the ball landing on the fairway. Martin would then be seen following it on his handigolf. The clip concluded with a shot of a green on which Martin was holing a putt. The studio audience applauded. Daphne could hear Martin joining in.

The interviewer was trying to regain control, "and I hear you have also decided where your 'Celebrity Millionaire' winnings are going?"

"Yes. Debbie Rose is going to make an announcement at an ..er...an event next week." Frasier was sounding uncomfortable.

"An event?"

"Yes." Daphne could picture Frasier on the sofa, smiling through his teeth, holding himself still, trying not to fidget, looking like Bob Hope as he struggled to look pleased.

"It's at a reception after a charity golf match." She found Frasier's predicament amusing. Her mind went back to the day she was massaging Martin's shoulder.

**********************

"This one's a bit stiff. You've been gripping your golf clubs too tightly."

"Can't a bin. Don't get a good wrist action if yer too tight."

"Oh yes? And you've got the perfect swing?"

"Did OK last Sunday. McGinty's against that English pub you used to go to, The Fox and Trumpet. OWW!"

"Whistle."

"Do you ever go there now?"

"Not often. For one thing, Niles tries to drink pints and pulls a long face. For another, they've not forgotten the time Frasier went there and was rude about the monarchy. Somebody usually finds a reason to bring that up. If ever I find a way of getting my own back on him for what happened down there....."

"Owwww. You've found another pub anyway."

"What?"

"Yeah. Somebody rang from there."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She stepped back and looked at him.

"Well I figured they must want you, not me. I told the guy you'd call back later, when you got home."

She knew there was no point in asking why he'd not mentioned this before.

"All right. After we've done your other shoulder. Are you sure it was a pub? I don't know how many there are in Seattle. Was it The Dog and Partridge?"

"Nope. That wasn't it. Sure sounded like one though. I wrote the name down and the phone number."

A few minutes later as Martin was doing up his shirt he heard a groan, "You silly old man."

"Eh?"

Daphne took a deep breath and her voice rose an octave but she still managed to speak slowly to draw out the agony, "Did he happen to mention what he wanted, this 'somebody from the pub'?"

"Couldn't hear him very well over the TV. Thought he said 'golf' but it couldn't ha' bin that."

"It - might - very -well - have - been -golf."

Oh Jeez. Now what was she getting all het up for?

"He didn't want me. He wanted you, you silly sod. There isn't a pub in Seattle called The Duke of York."

**********************

She laughed aloud as she recalled what happened next, after Martin had returned his call, with her on an extension to ensure there were no more misunderstandings. Martin couldn't wait till Niles got home. He phoned him at his office.

"Ya know how you and Frasier wanted to be royalty when we had that antique valued? No, I'm not going crazy. It's gonna be your old man for a change doing charity fundraising. No Niles, it's not for new coasters at McGinty's. This is the big stuff. Like you and Frasier like to be seen doing. Are you listening? Well I'm playing golf with real royalty. To raise some real money. No, I'm not going to call Frasier. I'm going to tell him to his face."

Frasier's face had indeed been a picture.

"Of course. You won't want to come," Martin had said, "what with you disapproving of the British monarchy. Nobody'll notice you're not there anyway. If they do they'll just assume you're at some other charity shindig. Something you're on the board of and can't get away."

Martin had always wanted to do something for Daphne, to show how he'd appreciated what she'd done for him over the years, all the while putting up with his sons. The noises that came from Frasier's throat, he knew, were the gift she coveted most.

**********************

The TV went silent. Daphne waited for a few minutes, knowing it wouldn't be long before she heard it again. She was guessing that he was changing the tape. She was right. The cheers and yells started again.

"And now Tiger Woods will present the trophies."

Daphne remembered those two lovely mornings.

**********************

She'd been worried there would be a downpour but as it happened, the forecast had been right and the weather was fine all weekend. Gordon and his mother, who was acting as caddie, had been staying with them. They'd set off together.

"We tossed for who was going to come to this golf match with Gordon," his mother moaned, "and his Dad won."

"My parents are not golf fans," Gordon explained.

The juniors played first. Gordon and Princess Eugenie were up against a boy and girl who were already champions but they didn't mind. They both had handicaps anyway, and they had come to enjoy themselves. To their surprise, their round went well. Everyone around the course seemed to be holding their breath as Gordon addressed the last ball on the 18th green. As it rattled into the cup a collective breath was let out again. They had won!

"Juniors, mixed pairs, Her Royal Highness Princess Eugenie of York and Mister Gordon Webber," Tiger Woods' voice came from the grannyflat.

"Adults, amateur men's pairs, His Royal Highness Prince Andrew Duke of York and Mr Martin Crane."

Martin's own noise drowned out the announcement of the ladies' result. The reception in the evening had not been covered by the television news, so that gave the TV Company another reason to have Frasier on their morning show again. He'd of course after all been present at the golf matches and the reception. He was glad, naturally, to be where he could be seen by anybody who was anybody in Seattle. His father had been playing in a match, and Debbie had been invited and she needed an escort for the evening, so how could he stay away? Chris Tarrant and Regis Philbin were both there with their wives and he was glad to meet them again and be photographed shaking hands. He simpered like a schoolgirl when he was introduced to The Duke and The Princess. Debbie nudged him just in time to stop him performing a curtsey. If he'd been photographed doing that his father would never have let him hear the end of it.

The charity that had been hosting the golf event asked various local fundraisers to speak after their own official announcement of how much had been raised that day by the golfers. Debbie and Frasier between them said a few words about where their 'Who Wants To Be A Celebrity Millionaire?' winnings were to go.

Frasier was happy once more to be seen on the TV.

"It's to be divided equally, five ways," he smiled, comfortable again now that all the attention was on him at last. "One fifth each to the charities we've chosen," he explained further, for anyone in Seattle who was having trouble counting that morning, "and they are : The Handigolf Association, Mencap, The Duchess of York's Children in Crisis Appeal, The International Youth Orchestra and the Seattle Police Orphans' Fund." There was a pause for applause.

"And did you make any other kind of announcement?" asked the TV interviewer.

"Such as?" Frasier's voice was deliberately playful.

"An engagement?"

"Between whom? Do you mean Debbie Rose and me?" taunted Frasier with a look whose 'no' meant 'yes', "but we're just good friends." He looked disappointed not to be pressed further as the interviewer went on, "Well, it's time to go to our regular feature now, 'Before They....." and the volume went down.

She fetched a cloth. Time to polish the trophy.