Murder-De-Sac

by Jim Bennett

  Two men dressed in hospital scrubs were wheeling a man about Julie's age down the garden path. His head lolled to one side. A proper looking woman stood on the doorstep without a hint of emotion present in her features. After they loaded the man into the vehicle, she shot Julie and Brian a disapproving look, as if they were loitering teens.

  'I don't get what the point is when he's a vegetable. What's he got waiting for him at the day centre? Shitting himself in a different chair?'

  'She probably needs a break'.

  ‘Wouldn’t want her for a nurse. Cruel woman. I’ve got communal access through their back garden, right. To bring my bins in and what have you. Although it's a bit more difficult when you’re on crutches. Anyway, I knocked over a plant pot and it smashed. Nothing I could do about it. Within seconds, and I mean seconds, she was outside screaming her head off at me. There’s no need!' This wasn’t much of a surprise to Julie. She hadn’t had much to do with Mrs Sinclair but during their limited interactions, her neighbour had always been cool with her. Almost like she was trying to rush through the exchange so she could return to something more important.

  What's the story there anyway?' Brian asked, bringing Julie back from her reflections.

  'He was in an accident I think. Mrs Sinclair keeps to herself really. Besides, it's not the kind of thing you can ask people about'. Julie fiddled with her keys and tried to decide whether she was jealous of Mrs Sinclair. The husband that she had known may be lost to her, but at least there was still a semblance of him still there.

  As she returned her attention to Brian, she realised he too has stopped listening. Instead of taking a few moments to ponder the sad fate of Mr Sinclair, he was staring at Julie's chest. She crossed her arms overself. However, with her work shirt being as tight as it was, it only exacerbated the problem. Brian's eyes were almost exploding from their sockets as he unashamedly continued to gaze on.

  'Listen love', he said, finally looking at her in the eyes again. 'Why don't you let me take you for an Indian tonight? Two lonely hearts finding love again, eh? It would be like a fairy tale, wunnt it?'

  'Brian', Julie said, but stopped herself. Detailing the many reasons why their exchange wasn't going to lead to a date for the old fellow felt like a civil duty. But Julie wasn't much of a one for public service. Instead she answered with a curt 'I'm busy tonight. Maybe next week'. Hopefully Brian would stumble across a passably attractive post woman and lose interest.

  She climbed into the car and gave Brian a small wave as she pulled away. The telephone engineer continued to eye her suspiciously as she drove towards the exit of the cul-de-sac. The accessible vehicle that was transporting Mr Sinclair and his comrades was struggling to pull out onto the main road. Julie sat contentedly behind them and thought idly that she was probably going to be late for work after all.

  Chapter Two

  As she approached the layby, Julie pulled into the left hand lane and began to slow down. She indicated much earlier than necessary to allow the especially belligerent to go around her as early as possible. Even this measure didn't entirely work, the odd few important looking men giving her pointed looks and exacerbated flurries of hand gestures as they overtook her. After five years, it really didn't bother her that much anymore.

  The recess at the side of the road was unremarkable in every way. If you were looking for it, and only if you were looking especially hard, there was a small, wooden sign on the far hedge with some faded writing scribbled on it. In its near dilapidated state, it was just possible to discern that it had the rough shape of an arrow pointing to a gap in the foliage. Julie got out of the car and removed the thin chain which hung across the space between the two bushes. After she had driven through, she reversed the process, before driving the remainder of the way up the gravel path.

  They wouldn't open for another hour. Julie and Mr Peg had discussed this a few times. Mr Peg was under the impression that by not opening the shop until 10 o'clock that they would instill such a sense of anticipation in their customers that, when they were finally allowed into the store, their commercial frenzy would be all the more fierce.

  Julie was of the opinion that they were unnecessarily keeping the handful of pensioners who relied on them for some daily human contact out in the cold for another hour.

  Mr Peg was standing outside the main building with both hands clutched to his head. Julie took a few moments to compose herself before leaving the car.

  There was always an agitated quality to Mr Peg's eyes that was entirely disproportionate to the situation that he found himself in.

  'Good morning Mr Peg', Julie said, fixing her smile as she walked towards him.

  'Julie, thank the heavens you're here. We're in the throes of a disaster'.

  Previous experience made Julie sceptical that they were in fact in any real peril. She also thought that if someone was truly in any real trouble, they wouldn't take the time to use the phrase ‘throes of disaster'.

  'I don't understand what you mean Mr Peg?'

  He looked at her startled.

  'Did you not hear the deluge last night?' He asked, his voice already squeakier than it needed to be.

  'I didn't, no'. Julie had been dead to the world by about half past nine, but had noticed that the paving stones outside were a bit damp. 'Has it ruined some of the stock?'

  'Worse', he said, the pantomime in his voice growing. 'Even worse than that'.

  He took her by the arm and led her to the rear of the shoddy structure that they laughingly called the shop. 'There', he said, pointing at the roof. 'Look at that'.

  Julie's eyes panned back and forth, but she couldn't find the slightest indication of jeopardy or even moderate inconvenience. She considered pretending she could see what it was that he was referring to, but the effort involved seemed too great.

  'I'm sorry Mr Peg, you're going to have to help me out. What am I looking at?'

  'That!' he almost shrieked. 'That', he repeated, jabbing at the sky.

  'The tree?'

  'The roof! Can you not see that slack water?'

  Julie looked again and could, with a bit of effort, see what Mr Peg was referring to.

  'It's just a puddle, I'm sure the sun will dry it up in a few hours'.

  'In a few hours is too late my dear! The enemy is already inside the walls. What if it breaks through the roof before then and causes an electrical fire? What if it takes out Mrs Jenkins, or even Mrs Stevens. You know she isn't very quick on her feet'.

  'Can you show me where it's leaking inside?'

  They walked back towards the main entrance of the shop, Julie flicking the lights on as they made their way through the double doors.

  Julie often found Mr Peg in this sort of state. The issue was that the source of his anxieties ran from the mundane and easier to ignore to the genuinely troubling. As Mr Peg was always crying wolf, it was very difficult to know when to take him seriously. Julie lived in constant fear that the call for help she finally ignored would be their first genuine emergency, and not like their most recent crisis, when Mr Peg had rang Julie at home to inform her that they had ran out of jam jars.

  Mr Peg had walked Julie to the middle of the first of the three rooms that made up the shops inside space. To be fair to Mr Peg, there was a fairly large amount of stagnant water spread across the tiles. The smell of damp, which was normally more of a background odeur, was also now very prominent, pushing its way into your nose and lungs with each breath. However, for anyone who owned a mop and some semblance of common sense, it would take maybe no more than 20 minutes to clean in its entirety. Yet, if you were to go by the look on Mr Peg’s face, you could be forgiven for thinking that it was the first water that had made its way through the hull of the Titanic.

  ‘Oh that’s not too bad at all!' Julie said, much too enthusiastically.

  Mr Peg gave her a condescending look as if she hadn’t grasped the gravity of the situation.

  'Why don't you go and see how the perennials are getting on an
d I'll have a think about how to fix it?'

  Mr Peg shook his head sadly, but walked in the direction of the garden plant section regardless. He kept one hand on top of his crown.

  Julie waited until he was out of sight before fetching the mop from the utility cupboard at the side of the shop. After she had collected the dirty water, she placed the bucket just inside the front door, and sat on the high stool behind the till for a few minutes. After a suitable interval had passed, she picked up the bucket, and poured it into one of the outside drains. She left the doors open as she went to try and air out the boggy smell.

  Julie was about to go back inside when she saw a tall figure walking up the gravel path from the main road.

  ‘We’re not open yet', Julie said in a slightly raised voice as she walked the man. The crunching of her wellies on the gravel made his response inaudible.

  ‘We’re not open yet’, Julie repeated slightly more loudly. The man continued to walk towards her, now with his hand cupped to his ear.

  Julie felt a wave of exhaustion come over her and considered just letting the customer come in. Even this, the most minor of confrontations, was more than her willpower could take today after the onslaught of Mrs McGrath. She wondered how long she would be able to go to sleep for in the back seat of her car before Mr Peg would notice that she was missing.

  Lost in her musings, Julie misjudged how close she was to the approaching figure, and therefore shouted ‘we’re not open yet', into his face from about three feet away. The man had been saying something at the same time that was entirely drowned out by Julie’s shouting.

  She could feel herself going a bit pink. He was about a foot taller than her five foot four. He had a strong jawline, but not in the way that you would notice one on a Hollywood star. Rather, his face was slightly too wide, and the jawbone looked like it was the necessary foundation to keep the rest of his features in place. The scruffy brown hair fixed atop his head reminded her of an old broom.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to shout. We’re not open yet’.

  He smiled at her nervously. ‘Sorry, I’m not a customer’, he said, offering her his left hand. ‘Michael. No, sorry, I mean, Mike. No one calls me Michael except my Aunty Jean '.

  ‘Hello’, Julie said, trying to sound chipper. ‘Nice to meet you’. They continued shaking hands for much longer than was necessary or comfortable. When this most recent awkward interaction had ended, they continued to look at each other for a few more beats.

  ‘I’m sorry to be rude’, Julie said, finally breaking the stalemate. ‘But who are you?'

  ‘Oh right. Yes. Sorry. I’m the new pot man. Sorry, I should have said that’.

  ‘That’s good', Julie nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know what a pot man is’.

  The smile on Mike’s face became fixed. ‘Ah, I was hoping you could tell me. Mr Peg wasn’t very clear in the interview’.

  ‘You had an interview?’

  ‘Last Thursday’, Mike said, pleased to be asked something he knew the answer to.

  Julie inwardly sighed. ‘My day off’, she said. ‘He’s always doing stuff like this. The month before when I left him alone, he ordered a metric ton of sand for god knows what'.

  Mike’s bark of a laugh startled Julie. This great lummox of a man had so much of the quality of a shaggy dog or a house plant that it had been easy to forget she was actually talking to another human being. ‘Maybe don’t tell Mr Peg I said that though’.

  ‘Sorry, yes’, Mike said, looking abashed. Julie tried to remember whether Mike had made it through a sentence without apologising to her yet.

  ‘I’ll take you up to Mr Peg. Do you want to move your car first?’

  ‘I don’t have a car'.

  ‘What do you mean you don’t have a car’.

  ‘I don’t have a car?' For some reason, Mike now phrased his response as a question. ‘It’s in for its MOT’.

  ‘We’re miles from anything. How did you get here?'

  ‘Lovely morning for a walk', Mike said. He still didn’t sound very sure of himself.

  Julie smiled and nodded before starting to walk back towards the shop.

  ‘Is there somewhere I can put my lunch?' Mike held up the carrier bag he was holding in one hand.

  ‘There’s a fridge in the …', Julie began to say, before taking a second look at the bag, which appeared to be holding some sort of congealed liquid. What Julie wanted to ask was ‘what the bloody hell is that?' but didn’t think it was appropriate, given they had only met about four minutes ago. Instead, she asked ‘is your lunch alright?’

  ‘Right, yes. Bit of chilli', He had been a bit pink through their whole conversation, but had now become positively crimson. ‘Couldn’t find any tupperware this morning'.

  ‘And you didn’t fancy any rice?' Julie asked as they began to walk towards the garden centre.

  ‘Couldn’t find any of that either. I probably looked a bit dodgy walking in now that you mention it. Looks like a bag of body parts’. Mike lifted his arm to give Julie a better look, guffawing as he did it. Unfortunately, as he held up his sack of terrors, he continued to look at Julie instead of the uneven path in front of him. He lost his footing and fell to the floor, the right hand side of his body crushing the bag as he fell against it.

  ‘Christ, are you alright?' Julie said.

  Mike lay on the floor looking shellshocked. The sauce had oozed out of the flimsy carrier bag and was plastered down the white t-shirt he was wearing. Julie did consider helping him to his feet, but he really was caked in the stuff.

  After he was once again upright, he began trying to wipe the sauce off with his bare hands. This only served to spread the stain to the further reaches of his clothing, making what had previously looked like a minor mishap now resemble a fatal wound. It was at this moment that Mr Peg emerged out of the rear yard and started to walk towards them.

  ‘Hello again’, Mr Peg said brightly, already having forgotten this morning’s drama. He was carrying a pile of long stem flowers with him. When he got a bit closer, he began to eye Mike’s messy top. He looked to Mike for an explanation, but the new employee just continued to smile.

  ‘Everything alright?' Mr Peg coaxed.

  ‘Very good, thank you. Excited to get started'.

  ‘You’ve got something on your t-shirt', Mr Peg tried.

  ‘Right, yes’, Mike looked down at himself as if he hadn’t already been aware. ‘I’ve soiled myself’.

  ‘Oh dear’, Mr Peg now looked at Julie. ‘Julie, do we have a shirt and trousers in the lost and found?'

  ‘I’m sure we can find something', Julie answered, wondering if they even had a lost and found box.

  ‘Thank you, sorry’, Mike interjected. ‘I don’t need any trousers. I only got it on my top half’.

  Mr Peg looked increasingly more uncomfortable as the situation progressed. ‘But you said you had messed yourself’.

  ‘No, right, sorry. I meant I had soiled my top'. He looked to Julie for reassurance. ‘I haven’t shit myself or anything’. He continued to look from one to the other of them, trying to convey that this was a good thing.

  Mr Peg took a few seconds to think of an appropriate response, but came up short. ‘Julie, could you take these please?' He awkwardly handed her the long stem flowers. ‘Bit past their prime I’m afraid. Can you put them out to pasture?'

  As Julie had left them standing there, she heard Mr Peg launching into the speech he had given her on her first day here. ‘Plants!' he had shouted theatrically. ‘We serve as their humble custodians and are privileged to have the right’.

  It was entirely by chance that she had discovered the job at all. She had been driving down the A-road when one of the tires had started making an alarming rattling noise. She had pulled into the layby to wait for breakdown assistance. It was only then that she had noticed the help wanted sign. When Julie had pushed through the hedgerow for the first time, she had found Mr Peg standing in front of the shop surrounde
d by his plants. He stood inert, staring at the foliage surrounding him. Julie had subsequently found Mr Peg in this state so many times that she now sometimes found herself believing that Mr Peg only became animated in the presence of other people. When alone, he would stand among the plants as if he was one of them, soaking up the sun and doing little else.

  Even now, Julie wasn't entirely sure how long the shop had been here for, nor had she ever spoken to anyone who could give her any real indication. Some of the old dears who came in regularly had been coming for years, but none of them could put a number on it. While she had never met any predecessor, she was sure that she couldn't have been the first of Mr Peg's employees. The plants very much came first in his mind, with the need to generate income a secondary consideration.

  To say that Julie and Mr Peg saw each other three to five days a week, they really didn't have much to do with one another. Mr Peg kept himself to the care of the plants, while Julie's remit was essentially everything else. There was the air of a disinterested marriage about their partnership, which suited them both just fine. Julie was curious to see how a third person would change the dynamic. Would Mike help to share the burden of looking after the old man and his plants, or would he take the role of their feckless son, who Julie would also be expected to care for.

  Julie had watched the two of them from behind the till as Mr Peg showed Mike around, explaining the inner workings of the shop. Unfortunately, the only thing that Julie had found for Mike to wear was a bright orange poncho which she had located in the back of a cupboard. It covered his arms sufficiently, but the bottom inch of his midriff was clearly visible if he stretched in any direction.

  Julie had soaked the t-shirt in soapy water and hung it out in the heat to dry. She had managed to remove the excess of chilli that had clung to it. The orange stains underneath had remained though, patchy and unsightly.