by Ann Purser
It was not Alastair. She knew that as soon as he spoke. It was an old man's voice, with a local accent, and from behind her dark glasses she blinked. "Who are you?" she said cautiously.
"Yer neighbour, miss," Clem said. "You must've seen me around." He realised what he had said, and corrected himself quickly. "At least, you'll have heard my cockerel wakin' yer up in the morning."
"Ah, yes," she said. "A lovely sound, a crowing cock. Reminds me of my childhood in Scotland. Can I help you, Mr. . . . er . . . ?"
"Fitch. Clement Fitch. Everybody calls me Clem. I just come over to see if you need any help. I've lived in Tresham man and boy, and all them years in Gordon Street in the same house. Not much I don't know about Tresham and Gordon Street."
"How interesting!" said Mrs. Blairgowrie. "I'd ask you to come in for a cup of tea, but I'm expecting my son any minute. He keeps an eye on me and does my shopping."
"I seen him, miss. Tall, dark chap with glasses? He don't live with you, then? How do you manage, you bein' er . . . um . . ."
"Blind?" said Mrs. Blairgowrie in an amused voice. "Well, I manage quite well. I have to be very careful, of course, and not let any strangers into the house. But I have my wireless for company, and the telephone, of course. Do you have family in the town?"
Clem shifted from one aching foot to the other, and wished she would ask him inside, regardless of the imminent arrival of her son. He told her about his daughter and son-in-law, the lazy sod, and his lovely granddaughter, Susie. "She calls in to see me, and sometimes does a bit of shoppin' if I'm not feeling too grand. I'm sure she'd do the same for you."
"How kind!" said Mrs. Blairgowrie.
She's a really nice old duck, Clem thought. "We'll have to think of a way of you attracting my attention," he continued. "I don't always hear the phone if I'm out back with Satan. I know!" he added, with sudden inspiration. "You hang a scarf out of yer bedroom window, and I'll know yer want some help. Have you got an orange one, or a good bright colour like that?"
Mrs. Blairgowrie would not have been seen dead wearing an orange scarf, but she was touched by old Clem and his kind concern. "I have a dark red one. Would that do?" she said.
"Not too dark?" said Clem, and Mrs. Blairgowrie replied, "Blood red, Clem. Should be good for the job. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must put food in the oven for my hungry son. He's always starving! Some boys never grow up, do they. Goodbye."
Clem went back across the street, pleased at having made contact with this nice woman. When they got a bit more friendly, he'd ask her over to his house. Mind you, he thought with a chuckle, he'd have to get Susie to come round and give the place a good cleanup first.
As he reached out to open his front door, a car drew up outside and Clem withdrew his hand. Then he began to fiddle with a mouldy-looking hydrangea in his square inch of front garden, keeping an eye on the car. His old mum used to say curiosity killed the cat, but Clem thrived on it. He straightened up to say good morning to the young man locking his car with a clunk.
It was Douglas, and he had seen the old man once or twice in his yard, tending the noisy cockerel, but now he saw an opportunity to talk to him. He intended to get on well with all his future neighbours in Gordon Street. He might even start a residents' association . . .
"Good morning! How're you, Mr. . . . er . . ."
For the second time that day, Clem said his name was Clement Fitch, though most people called him Clem.
"Glad to meet you, Clem," Douglas said, stretching out his hand. Clem knew his own hands were far from clean, so ignored the gesture. "You movin' in next door?" he said suspiciously. Was this a cockerel-loving tenant, or would he be like the others, causing a lot o' trouble for nothing?
Douglas nodded. "I intend to be here from the weekend," he said. "New job in Tresham. I've been in once or twice with Mrs. Meade. She's my mother, by the way."
Oh, sod it, thought Clem. Mummy's boy! Still, that Mrs. Meade hadn't done nothin' about reporting Satan. Leastways, he hadn't heard nothing since she came callin'. And that cop had seemed to admire the crowing, hadn't he? Should he mention it to this chap, or wait until the complaint came?
"And in case you were wondering," Douglas said, "I've heard your cock crowing, and it doesn't bother me in the least. It'll be very helpful when I have to get up early! But seriously, Clem, you needn't worry about that. By the way, my name is Douglas. Now, I must just check one or two things in the house, and then be off back to the office. See you soon, eh?"
Clem breathed in heavily. " Right-o then," he said, deeply relieved. "An' if you want any help movin' in, I'm always around." He watched until Douglas's door closed, and then turned his attention to his other neighbour. Curtains drawn across as usual. A glimmer of light showed that the recluse was at home. It was a situation which annoyed Clem more than anything. Fancy living in a terrace and not knowing the man next door! Any normal bloke would be friendly, have a chat now and then. With both of them living alone, they could be real mates and help one another. The recluse must be lonely, hardly ever going out, and then never looking anywhere but straight ahead, making it very obvious he didn't want contact with anybody. Clem shrugged. Ah, well, this Douglas seemed friendly enough. And her over the road, she could be a very interestin' neighbour, given time.
Clem limped into his house and through to the yard. "Hello, me ole beauty," he said to the cockerel. "How's Satan— ready for a bit o' bread? Sorry I ain't got any sinners for you today," he added, and cackled loudly.
WHEN HE HAD FINISHED CHECKING SMOKE ALARMS AND LIGHTbulbs, Douglas took a last look around and locked up. He looked at his watch, and saw that he still had time for another job or two. What should he do? Mum's cleaners were coming in for a spit and polish before he moved in. Maybe he'd introduce himself to the others in the terrace. He walked swiftly along, finding nobody at home at the other houses, except the one the other side of Clem. He could see a light through a chink in the curtains, though no one answered his first knock. He knocked again, and this time a voice shouted from the other side of the door that nobody was at home, and would he kindly bugger off.
Charming, said Douglas to himself, and as he came out of the little garden, Clem's door opened again. "Yer won't get no joy there, Douglas," he said. "The man don't 'ave nothin' to do with nobody. Bit of a mystery, if yer ask me. Still, when you come to live 'ere, you might have better luck than me. Mind you, I reckon somebody like that ain't worth knowing." He raised his voice to a shout on this last sentence, intending the miserable sod next door to hear.
Douglas smiled and nodded, then got back in his car and drove off, reflecting that living in Gordon Street was going to be even more interesting than he had thought.
ELEVEN
WHEN BILL ARRIVED AT BRAESIDE, MRS. BLAIRGOWRIE opened the door as he was walking up the path. She was smiling, as if she recognised him.
"Good afternoon," he said. "How did you know it was me? You must be telepathic!" He laughed, to show it was a joke. Well, that was Mrs. M's first question answered. The old lady could see enough to know he was approaching. But then she scotched this. "I heard the gate click open," she said sweetly. "When one faculty fails, our others become sharper, to compensate. Anyway, I was expecting you," she added, and beckoned him inside.
He followed her into the kitchen, and almost immediately she told him that her son was due to call in sometime soon. "He telephoned me this morning," she said, "but must have been delayed. He's a very busy man, and we mustn't delay him. I am sure you can keep out of his way. Oh, that sounds so impolite," she added anxiously. "I just meant that he can be very impatient, and it is best to accommodate him as far as possible."
"That's fine," Bill said. "I shall be invisible. Please don't worry. Now, I'll start downstairs so that when he comes I can be out of the way in the bedrooms. Does your son have far to come?" he added innocently. She said that he lived about ten miles away, which was far enough to mean a special journey to see her.
"Does he have a family?" Bill sorted out his cle
aning materials, careful to keep his question a casual one. Mrs. Blairgowrie shook her head. "No, he lives alone, like me," she said. "I wish he would find a nice woman to marry. He doesn't seem to enjoy himself much. No hobbies, and never brings a friend with him. I worry about him sometimes."
"I expect you'd like grandchildren . . . Is he your only child?"
"I'm afraid so. And yes, I would like grandchildren to indulge! Still, it's not too late. He may surprise me yet."
"Well, I must get on. I can skip my tea break if it is easier for you."
"How kind. Let's wait and see when he arrives. His food is ready, and if I'm making a cup for him, you shall certainly have one, too."
"I expect he'll make a cup for you," Bill said, and left her smiling at him as he went off into the parlour, as she called it, a room at the front of the house, overlooking the road.
Here it was perfectly clean and tidy, and Bill was pretty sure it was seldom used. A very pleasant sitting room at the back of the house was obviously where Mrs. Blairgowrie spent most of her time. A stack of audiobooks by her chair wobbled every time he dusted, and she had a smart new radio within reach. She seemed to have an unexpected taste for thrillers! Even so, he thought, she must be bored sometimes, a lady with her lively mind. He had moved on to dust a row of ornaments—strangely unlike what he would have expected to belong to Mrs. Blairgowrie, most of them being crude figures of children and animals. The sort of things you might pick up at a jumble sale. He shrugged. No telling what people liked. He had learnt that from his considerable experience with New Brooms. The thought gave him an unpleasant reminder that he had to speak to Mrs. M very soon.
A car drew up outside Braeside, and Bill busied himself near the window but out of sight. A tall, rather overweight man got out and approached the gate. He had horn-rimmed glasses and his dark hair had been slicked straight back over his large head. His suit was dark and well-cut, and he had the air of a man in a hurry.
The doorbell rang, and then straight away Bill could hear a key turning in the lock, and the door opening and closing.
"Hello? Can you hear me, Mother?"
Bill heard the man give a short, barking laugh, and then Mrs. Blairgowrie came into the hallway. "Ah, there you are, Alastair," she said, her voice husky and quiet. She added quickly, "My cleaner is here, but he has been kind enough to say he will work round us, and not intrude."
Their footsteps disappeared into the sitting room, and the door was shut firmly.
Bill decided to go upstairs. The sound of the cleaner humming over the carpets would probably annoy the impatient Alastair. He felt sorry for Mrs. Blairgowrie, who must look forward to her son's visits. But when he came, he was clearly always in a hurry to get away again. Poor old thing. He did hope she would make some local friends, and wondered whether to suggest a few organisations in the town which would welcome her. He knew there was a club for blind people somewhere. Mrs. M would probably know. He knew she was in the Tresham office this afternoon, and he could call on his way home and speak to her.
A sudden loud voice startled him. It came from the sitting room below, and was certainly not Mrs. Blairgowrie. Why on earth would her son be shouting at the poor old thing? Bill wondered whether to go down and investigate. But that would probably make things worse. He listened carefully as he went about his work, deciding that if it should happen again, he would go down with a convincing excuse to interrupt.
The next thing he heard was the sitting room door opening, and heavy footsteps in the hall. "No, I can't stay. You know bloody well I can't! I'm the one who's answerable for mistakes. So for God's sake, get it right next time." There was no answer from Mrs. Blairgowrie, and Bill waited until the front door banged behind a departing Alastair.
"Bill?" A tremulous voice called to him from downstairs. "I think I would like a cup of tea myself now. Would you be kind enough to make a pot for the two of us?"
Bill washed his hands quickly in the bathroom and went downstairs. He found Mrs. Blairgowrie sitting in her chair, her face white and her eyes closed. She had taken off her glasses, and her hands, usually so calm and capable, were trembling.
"Are you all right?" Bill said. "Was that your son? Has he gone?"
"Tea," said Mrs. Blairgowrie in a small voice. "Would you be so kind?"
LOIS WAS STILL IN THE OFFICE, CHATTING TO HAZEL ABOUT NEW clients and orders for cleaning materials, when Bill walked in.
"Hi, Bill!" Hazel said. "Nice to see you. How's the family?"
Lois nodded a greeting, and wondered what could have
brought him in this afternoon. "Nothing wrong, I hope, Bill," she said. He looked uncomfortable, and said no, not really, but he wondered if he could have a private word with her.
"Right," said Hazel, pretending to be offended, "I know when I'm not wanted. I'll be upstairs checking stocks. Then we can do the orders when our Bill has had his private word."
"What is it, Bill?" Lois was really worried now. "Nothing wrong with Rebecca?"
"No, no. Well, not in that way. The thing is, she's— that is, we—are expecting another baby."
"Bill! That's wonderful! But why are you looking so miserable? Isn't that what you wanted?"
He nodded. "Yes, we planned it. But there is a snag. A pretty big snag." He hesitated, and Lois waited quietly. She had an inkling of what was coming, but hoped against hope that it wouldn't be that. It was.
"The thing is," Bill continued, "Rebecca's going to give up work altogether now, and that means her salary will go. And I have been offered a full-time job with the vets and a big increase in what they pay me. I'm afraid it means . . ." He trailed off, and Lois took over immediately.
"You will have to leave New Brooms," she said sadly. "I knew it would happen one day. We've been really lucky to keep you for this long. I've relied on you for quite a lot, as you know. I shall miss you, and so will the others. But family comes first, as Gran is always telling me. When d'you think you'll go?"
"I can carry on for a couple of weeks, if that's all right with you. Then the vets need me urgently, as one of their lot has left already and they're up against it."
"All right, then. I'll start advertising straightaway." She tried to smile at Bill, but found it difficult. How would she ever replace him? He had been her steady rock in so many ways, and she could not imagine ever finding anyone like him. Well, she supposed the best thing would be to go for somebody completely different. She stood up and gave him a warm kiss on his cheek. "Well done, Bill. I was an only, and I'd have really liked a sister. One-child families are not a good thing. Ask Gran!"
Bill gave her a reciprocal kiss and a hug, and with a manly nod turned and went rapidly out into the street. Lois watched him go and sighed. Why did things have to change? It was certainly all change at the moment, what with Douglas coming back and being their tenant, and all not well with Josie and Rob, and Cowgill chivvying away at her again, as if expecting her to help with a crime that was yet to happen. There was a bit of a puzzle with that burglary at the supermarket, and the floating pork chops. But that surely wasn't it? Time for a talk with him. Then there was the new client at Braeside. Bill was going to tell her something about Mrs. Blairgowrie, but he must have forgotten. No wonder, really. She would remind him later.
"Hazel!" she yelled up the stairs. "You can come down now. Bill's gone, and I need a coffee. D'you want one?"
At this point, the telephone rang. It was Bill. "I'm just around the corner in my car," he said. "I forgot to tell you about Braeside. There's quite a lot to tell, so will it wait?"
"Sure," said Lois. "Oh, and by the way, is the good news public knowledge yet—can I tell Hazel?"
Bill was silent for a minute, then he said, "I'd really like you to tell the girls, Mrs. M. I'm not much good at that kind of thing. And anyway, it's not all unalloyed joy, is it. See you. 'Bye."
TWELVE
AFTER BILL HAD GONE, MRS. BLAIRGOWRIE HAD SAT FOR A long time looking out of her window into the garden. Had this move been a mi
stake? Maybe, but it was no good looking back to the old life. She reminded herself who she was now, and what she had to do. In the past, she had always prided herself on looking ahead and knowing when and how to make things work for the best. She had been on her own for a long time now. No family, no sisters to confide in. There was Alastair, of course, but she didn't count him. Especially after today. She'd never had many friends, and some of them were dead and some out of reach for long periods of time.
She had got up, put on her dark glasses, and opened the door into the garden. It was a mess out there, with old kitchen equipment dumped by the back fence. Why were rusting old fridges such a depressing sight? It had been a nice garden once. A garden seat stood crookedly on three legs, and under the aged apple tree the remains of a rabbit hutch suggested that once children had lived here happily. The grass was long around her ankles and, aware of overlooking windows, she had felt her way to a crumbling stone bench by the house wall, and gingerly sat down.