Warning at One

by Ann Purser

"Better go after her," Lois said, recovering her equilib

  rium. "She'll heave it up in the kitchen else." She watched as Douglas chased across the field, and returned more slowly, dragging a furious Jeems behind him. What on earth were a dozen pork chops doing floating down the river? She looked again at the label. The best-before date showed clearly as being a couple of days hence, so they hadn't been chucked out beyond their sell-by. In any case, who would chuck them in the river for all to see?

  "Ye Gods," said Douglas, puffing and red- faced. "I'm glad I decided to live in Tresham. Long Farnden's too racy for me!"

  Lois kissed his cheek. "What're you doing here, anyway, love? We didn't know you were coming . . ."

  "Had to go up to Birmingham. I decided to come off the motorway, and clinch my tenancy with the agents."

  Lois thought of Derek's letter, not yet in the post. "Well," she said, "we'd better be off home and get some tea. Gran'll be pleased to see you . . . but I suppose you called there first?"

  "Yep. She told me where you were. Just as well I found you, before you fainted away at the sight of twelve drowned pork chops."

  "Enough of that," Lois said. "Anyway, what shall we do with them?"

  "Throw 'em back? Fishes might be glad of them."

  "No . . . better not. Wrap 'em up again, and we'll think what to do."

  Lois had had a sudden picture in her mind of piles of food loaded precariously into supermarket trolleys in the middle of the night. Big multipacks of perishables, mysteriously taken, for no immediately apparent reason. She looked again at the label, but the rest was blurred and unreadable.

  EIGHT

  CLEM FITCH'S OLD WALL CLOCK HAD BEEN IN THE STATION waiting room when they began to demolish it. Locals had protested, trying to hold on to the comfort of the roaring fire made each winter evening by Clem, who took a pride in keeping his passengers warm. He had worked for the railway most of his life, and when he retired he was presented with the old clock, inscribed with his name and dates of service. "Couldn't have given me nothing better," he had said in his short speech of thanks. They had toasted him, and wished him a long and happy retirement, and then promptly forgot all about him as the new glass and steel station building, with no trace of a fireplace, went up in a matter of weeks.

  He looked at the clock to check when it was time for Susie, his granddaughter, to finish work at the supermarket. Then he would keep watch by the window for her bright figure, clicking along on her high heels, stopping at his little wrought-iron gate, and shouting cheerily for him to open his door.

  There she was! He was at the door before she opened the gate, and prepared to give her a big hug. "How are we today, me darling?" he said, and she extricated herself tactfully, wishing Granddad would occasionally take a bath.

  "I'm fine. Can I make you a cup of tea? I've brought some sandwiches, just past their sell- by. Perfectly good cheese and pickle. Okay?"

  Clem licked his lips. He cared nothing for sell-by dates, and followed her into the kitchen, where she filled the kettle and unwrapped the sandwiches. He stretched out a hungry hand, but she tapped him lightly and said, "No, wait for a plate, Granddad! Mustn't let standards slip. At least, not while I'm here."

  He looked fondly at her slim back and long, shapely legs. Her hair was natural blonde, and she wore it straight cut, like a pale Cleopatra. She had dark blue eyes and used very little makeup. She reminded him so much of his late wife that he swallowed hard. Please, God, he said irrationally to himself, don't let anything bad happen to her. If asked, he always said he was a devil worshipper—and that devil was Satan!

  "There we are then," she said, putting the mug of tea and plate of sandwiches on a plastic tray. "You can eat them in your chair, while I tell you what exciting things happened today in Tresham's poshest supermarket."

  She rattled away, mentioning names of new friends made among the staff, telling tales of complaining customers and lecherous men who sidled up to her when she was stacking shelves.

  "Honestly, Granddad," she said, "you wouldn't believe what 'orrible blokes we get comin' in."

  "Was it one of them what done the burglary, d'you reckon?" Clem said, scooping up crumbs from the plate and licking his fingers.

  She shook her head. "No. It was a big job. Well-planned, our manager says. All so neat and careful. He said he almost expected they'd left the money at the checkout! But o' course they didn't. Police have been sniffing round ever since, but I reckon they've not found nothing. I asked one, and he said they were following up several leads. Have you finished, Granddad?" she added. "I got some bananas, too. I know you like a banana."

  Clem refused flatly to have his banana peeled and cut up on a plate. "What's good enough for monkeys is good enough for me," he said, holding it in his hand and taking bites.

  When she had gone, blowing him a kiss from the gate, he felt the sun had gone in, and he shivered. I suppose, he thought, one of these days they'll put me in a home. But not yet, he vowed. For one thing, what would happen to Satan? In his son-in-law's cooking pot for sure. No, they'd have to carry Clem out feet first before that happened. He took a handful of stale bread crumbs from his chipped enamel bread bin and threw them into Satan's house. The bird pecked at them greedily. Just like the toys you swing round and hens peck at a wooden board, Clem thought. He smiled. He remembered buying one for Susie when she was little. He hoped he would still be around to buy another one for his first greatgrandchild, whenever that might be.

  As he turned to go indoors, he heard the rusty squeal of his reclusive neighbour's back door. He stopped and pretended to fiddle with Satan's water bowl. Don't even know 'is name, Clem said to himself, but he straightened up and said "How do?" to the skinny man. It was unusual to see him out during the day.

  "All right, thanks," the man replied, and made for the corner of his tiny yard. He carried a kitchen bin, which he tipped into the recycling box. All paper, as far as Clem could see. And empty orange juice cartons, loads of 'em. They won't take them, the old man chuckled, not with them lemonated surfaces. He clucked a goodbye to Satan and went back indoors.

  SUSIE WALKED INTO THE KITCHEN WHERE HER MUM WAS FRYING sausages. The smell was good, but Susie wished they could occasionally have something else for tea. She handed over a pack of four steaks and offered to cook them tomorrow to give Mum a rest.

  "Put them in the fridge, dear."

  Susie did so sadly, knowing that when tomorrow came the steaks would have mysteriously disappeared, and sausages would be on the sizzle when she came home from work.

  "Is our tea nearly ready, Doll? I'm starving." Tony, Susie's dad, had come in and peered at the blackening pan. "How did y' get on today?" he added, giving Susie a peck on the cheek. "Getting used to it?"

  Susie nodded. She was fond of her parents, in spite of their limitations. She knew that though they might have sausages for tea every day, and no fresh vegetables ever appeared in the house, her mum and dad would always be there, fighting her corner when necessary, and always protesting that she was right, even when she was wrong.

  Doll dished out burnt sausages, baked beans, and oven chips, and put a new bottle of tomato ketchup on the table. "There you are," she said. "Get that inside you and you'll be fine."

  "How's it going, then?" Tony said, slipping half a burnt sausage onto Susie's plate. "Any nearer catching them burglars?"

  Susie shook her head. "Don't know," she said. "The cops are still everywhere, asking questions. Most of us have already told all we know, which ain't much, and we're getting fed up with it. If you ask me, it was outsiders. Thieves from somewhere else, come off the motorway and finding the nearest supermarket. Then they're off up the motorway again, leavin' no trace. I doubt if they'll ever get them."

  Tony frowned. "It don't make no sense," he said. "Not considerin' what they took. There wouldn't be no resale value to them groceries. Bottles of wine and spirits, yes, but flour and sugar? Tea and coffee? No, I reckon it was something unusual. And locals, too, with inside kno
wledge."

  Doll was not interested in the burglary. She was not interested in anything very much, except her job delivering parcels for the local network company. Heavy packages of magazines, mail-order items of every sort, even quite small packs being sent by courier now that postal charges were up again.

  She changed the subject. "Did you pop in on Granddad?" she said. She was really pleased that Susie had started this visiting, since it saved her going into town several times a week to see her lonely old dad. "How was he? All right? Not too bothered about anything?"

  Susie said that he was fine, but that his house was filthy. He needed someone to give it a good turnout. "I could help you this weekend, Mum. It's my free time. Shall we go down and give the place a good scrub?"

  Doll answered that she would be very busy delivering, Saturday and Sunday. She couldn't possibly fit it in. But she reckoned that Granddad wouldn't be cross with Susie for turning him upside down. "I'd just get an earful," she said.

  Tony grunted. "Huh! The old bugger could do it himself if he'd get up off his lazy arse. Don't ask me to help, Susie. I'd tell him a few home truths, and that's for certain."

  Susie sighed. Ah, well, she could spare a few hours. She considered he was a nice old man, but she knew it was no good arguing with her dad. "I'll get some cleanin' things, then," she said. "Probably go down next Sunday."

  NINE

  BILL STOCKBRIDGE WAS WORKING AT THE CULLENS' HOUSE IN Blackberry Gardens when Lois called him on his mobile. The Cullens' son, Ben, had been one of Lois's team for a while, filling in time between university and finding a job in his field. This had finally come up, and he'd moved on. He was engaged to Floss Pickering, another of the cleaners, and they were to be married shortly.

  Lois's periodic reshuffling of the team had put Bill into Mrs. Cullen's house, and he liked it there, chiefly because she worked full-time, and so he had the house to himself one morning a week. He could clean the whole place thoroughly with no interruptions, and this was rare among the clients of New Brooms.

  "Hello, Mrs. M. How are you today?"

  "Fine, thanks, Bill. All well in Blackberry Gardens?"

  Ben said all was tickety-boo, and he would be finished shortly.

  "I'm just checking about tomorrow, Bill. You're at the new client in Gordon Street in the afternoon, right?"

  Bill confirmed this, at once on the alert. Mrs. M knew perfectly well where he would be tomorrow afternoon. She had the schedules, after all. He waited. From long experience and the sound of her voice, he knew that there would be something else.

  "I've been thinking about Mrs. Blairgowrie," Lois said. "She's very vulnerable, isn't she. And this burglary business in the supermarket . . . Some nasty characters about in that part of Tresham. Does she talk to you about being alone in the house?"

  Ah, thought Bill. Now we're getting there. "Not so far. But I agree with you. She'd be helpless if someone broke into her house. It'd be a doddle for a thief. On the other hand, we know that, but maybe not too many other people do. She says her son comes and goes. Still," he added, "if you'd like me to find out a bit more to make sure she's safe? Perhaps suggest one of them alarm things old people hang round their necks? She could press a button for help then."

  Lois was silent for a minute. Bill waited. "Good idea," Lois said after the pause, "very good suggestion. And maybe you could find out some more about her son. How often he visits, where he works, that sort of thing. For her sake, of course. So that we can get hold of him quickly if anything happens to her. I feel a bit responsible, to tell the truth, although it's not strictly part of New Brooms' service. See what you can find out, Bill. And be tactful. We don't want to alarm the old thing, do we?"

  Bill said he would be extra careful, and would be in touch if he could find out anything more from her. For her own safety, of course.

  "I'll let you get on then," Lois said. "Oh, and could you give me a ring after you've finished at Gordon Street tomorrow? Set my mind at rest. You know how it is."

  Bill was now pretty sure he knew exactly how it was. Mrs. M was on the warpath again. Poor old Derek.

  DOUGLAS MEADE HAD GONE BACK TO HIS FLAT IN CHELMSFORD, thinking he could write the report on his visit there, send it off to the office, and then call it a day. He checked his messages and swore. There was one asking him to be sure to contact his boss as soon as possible. He made the call and waited for the boss's dim secretary to put him through.

  "Ah, Douglas, thanks for ringing in." His boss was in his early forties and so slavishly followed the current image of a successful executive that Douglas sometimes thought he was a secret clone, with thousands of others, planted by some evil power to take over the world.

  "Something wrong?" Douglas said politely.

  Something could have been wrong, but it was difficult to tell, being so well wrapped up in jargon and ambiguity. "We have been looking at your details on file, Douglas, and see that you have two weeks' holiday still to come. Now, we also know that you have given notice to leave, and are quite prepared to work out that notice. But I and the MD have been discussing your loyalty and willingness to take on board any old bag of snakes whilst you have been working here. We would like to show our appreciation, Douglas."

  Not a gold watch, surely, thought Douglas. But no, the voice on the other end was becoming lyrical.

  "Your blue- sky thinking approach has been enormously helpful. Wonderfully encouraging! So it is with reluctance that we shall have to wave you off on your journey to what we are sure will be the top of the pile. Douglas, my friend, we here at what we like to think of as your career big-school, are going to make sure you are suitably rewarded financially, and also have time to settle in the Tresham house, get back into the old country, before starting at the new job."

  He paused, and Douglas rapidly disentangled what he'd said.

  "You mean you're turfing me out sooner? When?"

  A fit of coughing erupted from his boss, who finally said, "Soon as you like, old chap. End of the week?"

  "Won't that leave you in a mess?" Douglas decided to make him suffer.

  "Oh, well, nice of you to consider that. But no, we have a new man coming in. Not, of course, in your league, but we hope to groom him for stardom in due course . . . So shall we say end of the week?"

  Douglas put him out of his misery. "Fine. Suits me well. I have to go back to Tresham tomorrow, in any case. Something urgent has come up. Then I'll be in the office after that and can tidy things up."

  He made himself a coffee, and sat down to think. So, that was that. He was not surprised. The cutthroat atmosphere of the place had been a constant warning to watch out. Someone always anxious to step into your shoes. Well, the job he had in Tresham should be a gentler kind of place. Probably not such good prospects for making money, but a better pace of life all round. He finished his coffee and lifted the phone to ring Lois. He could move into the Gordon Street house much sooner, and she and Dad would probably be glad about that. For one thing, he thought wryly, he could start paying them rent.

  "Hello, Mum?" He never knew whether it was Lois or Gran, their voices being so similar.

  "Who else?"

  Now he knew it was Lois. He told her the gist of his boss's telephone call, and said as far as he was concerned it suited him well. He would have time to move into Gordon Street, furnish the place and get everything organised, before he started at the new company. In fact, he'd decided to be back in Tresham tomorrow to check one or two things, but wouldn't have time to come over to Long Farnden. "Might as well start as we mean to go on," he said. "Don't want to get in your hair."

  So he had been hurt by Derek's attitude, Lois thought. But she said only, "What about money from the old job? You gave the proper notice. They can't get away with that."

  Douglas explained. "They'll pay me up to the right date, Mum. They just want to get this new bloke in, and get me out so's I don't poison his mind against them."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Douglas. Of course they don't
think like that." Lois thought of her own New Brooms. The team were like part of the family, even awkward old Dot Nimmo, who had survived through thick and thin, and mostly thin, to be a loyal member. She knew for a fact that each one of them would stand by any of the others if they needed help.

  "Ah, well," said Douglas, "New Brooms is not exactly the murky world of big business, Mum dear. Anyway, I'll be in touch and keep you up to date."

  Huh! thought Lois crossly. Was she seeing another side of Douglas? The slick businessman, with a patronising air for those less experienced than he was? Well, sod that for a game of soldiers! She'd show him.

  TEN

  THE NEXT DAY, MRS. BLAIRGOWRIE HEARD THE DOORBELL and looked at her watch. "Oops!" she said, and walked through to open the front door as far as the chain would allow. It was almost certainly Alastair, but you never knew.