by Ann Purser
"No problem," Dot said in an elaborate whisper. Her curiosity was immediately aroused, and she looked forward to Alastair Blairgowrie's next visit. Blimey, they certainly went in for tongue-twister names! She went back to shining up the bathroom taps, determined to show the old lady she was just as good, if not better, than precious Bill Stockbridge.
Halfway through the afternoon, Mrs. Blairgowrie appeared, this time with her stick, and said it was time they had a break, and she could certainly do with a cup of tea herself.
FIFTEEN
CLEM WATCHED CLOSELY AS BILL AND DOT EMERGED FROM Braeside at the end of the afternoon. How had it gone? Fancy him bumping into Dot Nimmo after all these years! She was a lot younger than him, of course, and she'd been hot stuff when he'd first seen her out with old Handy Nimmo. None of them could understand what she saw in him. After all, she came from a solid, respectable family, and nobody could say that of the Nimmos. Still, she'd stuck to him until he got shoved into the Farnden gravel pits. Accident, they'd said in the papers. Some accident! Nimmos were as crooked as a bent pin, and very good at proving their innocence.
Hadn't there been something about Dot's loopy son getting killed, too? Poor old gel, she hadn't had much luck. Perhaps he could nab her to come in for a cup o' tea sometimes, after she'd finished over the road. A trip down memory lane, that would be! He felt quite excited at the prospect.
Ah, there they were. He peeped around the edge of the curtain, and at once Dot waved and smiled in his direction. Same old Dot! Didn't miss a trick. Well, it would be very interesting to hear what she had to say about the ins and outs at Braeside. He went to check on Satan, and to tell him the latest news.
Some people talked to their bees, kept them up to date with family news. But Clem talked to Satan. He got more than a mindless buzz in return. The bird seemed to know, and always clucked and crooned in reply.
As Clem turned around to go back into the house, he noticed that his skinny neighbour's back window was uncurtained. This was very unusual, and Clem stood stock-still, making no noise. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then a dark shape came to the window, and as an arm was raised to draw the curtain he could see the shape of a woman. Rounded in all the right places, and with a fuzzy-looking hairdo. The curtains snapped shut, and Clem went in. Quite a day! First Dot, and now a woman definitely moving about next door. Maybe he'd hear some talking if he went to the listening place. He'd discovered this at the time of the previous tenant, and it had come in very useful. Inside a cupboard beside the fireplace the wall was very thin, and if he put his ear up close, he could hear every word.
It was all quiet at first, and Clem twiddled his finger in his ear, in case it was blocked with wax. He couldn't remember the last time he washed his ears, and he didn't much care, except that now it might be interfering with his eavesdropping. Then he heard a voice, a man's voice. He recognised it as his skinny neighbour's, and jammed his ear closer to hear the reply. Sure enough, it was a woman, speaking very softly so that he could not distinguish the words. After a few seconds more of the skinny one talking, the woman again replied, and this time her voice was stronger. But what on earth was she saying? It was not English, Clem realised. He had no idea what language it was, but now she was shouting and it sounded to him as if she was crying at the same time. Then a door banged, and all was quiet again.
Clem shut the cupboard door and sat down in his chair. "What's goin' on in there?" he muttered. He had a fleeting notion that the skinny man was running a brothel, and he chuckled. If he'd been a few years younger . . . He switched on the telly and concentrated on the football match.
When he was in bed, half asleep, Clem thought again about what he had heard and seen. He dismissed the idea of the brothel. There would be clients coming and going and he would have noticed. No, she must be a relation— but a foreigner? Perhaps. Or maybe old Skinny had got a cleaner. He felt drowsy, and as he fell asleep he reminded himself to ask Dot if Skinny was a New Brooms client.
Before he was deeply asleep, Clem was aware of unusual scuffling noises coming from outside. Something had woken him, and he got out of bed to check from the window. Nothing going on outside. The door on Satan's house was still firmly locked. He walked through to the front bedroom and looked down into the street. There was no light directly under his window, but in the shadowy darkness he could see the outline of a large van parked outside next door. Almost immediately, the engine started and it cruised down the street and out of sight. Everything was now quiet, except for a yowling cat at the end house. Clem shrugged. If the bugger next door had been burgled, it was his own stupid fault, he thought. God knows he had plenty of experience in keeping people away! Maybe the foreign cleaner had left the door unlocked. If there was a foreign cleaner. Anyway, nowt to do with him. Clem went back to bed, and fell asleep at once.
* * *
ALSO WAKEFUL, CLEM'S GRANDDAUGHTER TURNED OVER FOR THE tenth time and went through the relaxing programme she had learnt at yoga classes. Once more the spiral of thoughts went through her brain. Staff at the supermarket were being interviewed all over again, one by one, by the police, and she was on the list for tomorrow. She had agreed with her mates in the rest room that this continual questioning was making them feel guilty. They had all taken advantage of special privileges, but few had overstepped the mark, and then in a very minor and unrepeated way.
"O' course," Susie had said, "we don't know about new ones as they come in. But us lot are fed up with it. Can't we do something?"
"What new ones?" asked one of the others.
"Oh, they come in all the time. Mostly stacking shelves. Blokes, mostly."
Susie rolled over once more. This snippet of conversation had gone round and round in her thoughts, and she groaned. What else had they said? Some daft suggestions had been made, like refusing to speak to the police, or getting a solicitor—who could afford that!—and threatening to leave if they weren't left alone. This last suggestion had been firmly sat on. None of them could rely on finding other jobs.
Think of something pleasant, Susie told herself. In the rosy glow of the night light that she had had since childhood, she grinned. She thought of Granddad's new neighbour. Douglas, he'd said his name was. Man of the world, Granddad had said. Moving in on Saturday, probably. She planned to visit Granddad and casually offer help to the nice-looking young man. Just to be neighbourly an' that. He could certainly be very pleasant. I'd better wash my hair tomorrow, she thought, and finally fell asleep, soon dreaming of sandy-haired Douglas Meade in wonderfully erotic situations.
ALASTAIR, DRIVING THE CRUISING VAN, LOOKED BACK INTO THE empty interior. It was more of a minibus than van, though there were no windows at the rear. Under the seats he could see something whitish. Damn! He was halfway home after dumping his cargo, and had no intention of returning tonight. He continued driving, and in another half hour drew up outside a row of lock- up garages. Opening an up-and-over door, he drove in and switched off the engine. He climbed into the back and with relief saw the white object was only a crumpled newspaper.
As he walked to the end of the row of garages, he lifted the lid of one of the recycling bins placed there for the block of flats where he lived. "Doing my bit for the environment," he said aloud, and felt virtuous. His spirits rose as he reviewed what had been another successful mission. Lambs to the slaughter, he laughed to himself, and knew that he would sleep soundly tonight.
SIXTEEN
"HEY, MUM, HAVE YOU SEEN PICKERING'S HOUSE IS UP FOR sale?" Josie had left the shop in Gran's capable hands for half an hour and had run up to the house with the news. It wasn't just that the Pickerings were moving, and any removal from the village was hot news, but their daughter Floss was one of Lois's best cleaners and might be moving away.
"I know," said Lois, pouring out a coffee for her daughter. "But they're not going far. They've bought that empty house next to the Cullens in Blackberry Gardens. Mrs. Pickering was fed up with the old house, and said she wanted central heating,
taps that worked, and not to have to spend money on repairs every couple of weeks."
"That'll be cosy," Josie said. "Floss and Ben living next door to each other."
"Nothing wrong with that," Lois said. "They can set off for the church together."
"No, no. That's not how it's done. Husband-to- be stands trembling at the altar, waiting for his bride. He takes one look back, sees a vision of loveliness approaching up the aisle, and all his nervousness drops away. They will be One, for ever and ever."
"Yes, well, very funny. But I wouldn't know, since my children seem very reluctant to go anywhere near an altar." Lois tried to sound as if it was not really important to her, but secretly she hoped that one day she would be a proud mother of the bride.
"Give us time," Josie answered quickly. "Anyway, it'll be interesting to see who buys Pickering's old house. Seen anyone nosing about?"
"Not yet. Anyway," Lois added sternly, "I don't spend my time gazing out of the window. Too much work to do."
Josie took the hint and stood up to go. "Would you like me to keep you informed?" she said innocently. "Might be useful to get in there first with a New Brooms commercial."
Lois nodded. She knew that Josie was thinking of more than just New Brooms. All information was useful to Lois in her work for old Cowgill, and although at the moment she wasn't specifically ferretin'—as Derek called it—she had a knack of remembering what was useful.
"Thanks, Josie," she said. "By the way, does our notice in the shop need renewing? Could be a bit fly-blown by now."
"I'll get Rob to do it," Josie said. Her partner, Rob, was into computer graphics and would make a good job of it. "Cheerio, then, Mum," she said. "Better go and relieve Gran. She's started advising customers not to buy things she doesn't approve of. Could cost us millions! See you later."
She walked back down the street, and glanced over towards the Pickerings' house, where a For Sale notice had appeared. It would be really nice, she thought, if she could afford to buy it and move out of the flat over the shop. The phrase "living over the shop" was never truer than in Josie's experience. She was always on duty, spending much of her free time in the stockroom or setting out new displays while there were no customers to interrupt.
She walked on, and when she saw old Miss Beasley from Round Ringford being helped out of a car and into the shop, she ran the last few yards. Gran and Ivy Beasley were like sparring boxers in a ring. Sometimes amusing to watch, but they needed a referee.
"Morning, Miss Beasley," she said as they met on the steps. "Lovely morning."
"All right for them as can take time off to gad about the village," Ivy replied sharply. "I suppose you've got time to serve me? Your grandmother's on duty, I suppose, and she doesn't know a loaf from a biscuit."
Josie made a big effort and smiled. "Let me take your arm," she said. "We are both very pleased to see you."
AS IT WAS SATURDAY, JOSIE SHUT THE SHOP AT FOUR THIRTY AND SET off immediately for Tresham. Douglas was moving into Gordon Street, and she had promised to be sisterly and help him sort things out. She parked in the supermarket car park, as always, and walked down to Douglas's house. The street was jammed with his rented van, and angry shoppers were mounting the pavement outside Braeside in order to get by. Tempers had obviously risen during the day, and the air was blue.
"Stupid idiots!" Douglas said when he saw her. "Look at that fool over there, shouting his head off through a closed window. Ah, now the fist. Don't look, Josie. I ignore them. Come on in. I need you to help unload, and then I can park the van somewhere else."
"In the supermarket?" she said. He laughed and nodded. "Come and meet my helper," he added. "Works at the supermarket, but has time off. She's old Clem's granddaughter. And don't laugh, Josie. I think I've got a groupie."
"Blimey," Josie said. "That was quick work. Lead on, Dougie."
Susie blushed scarlet as Josie came in the door. She was dishevelled, dusty, and very happy. Since early morning she had made herself useful, and Douglas had been really nice to her. Now she said nervously, "Shall I make us all a cup of tea?"
Josie took pity on her and said that was a terrific idea. She'd come straight from the shop and a cup of tea would be wonderful. Susie blushed deeper, and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Very pretty," Josie said. "Maybe a bit young for you."
Douglas raised his eyebrows. "Just the right age gap," he said, and handed Josie a pair of work gloves. "Takes five minutes for that kettle to boil," he said, "so we can shift some stuff now."
"Yes, boss," Josie answered meekly, and followed him out to the van.
To Josie, who prided herself on being tough and healthy, the next two hours resulted in total exhaustion. She and Douglas and Susie, who refused to go home, worked solidly until everything was unpacked and in its place. Every so often Clem appeared in his garden to cheer them with good advice and encouragement.
"Yer don't want to carry it that way," he said, more than once. "If I was younger, I'd come and show you. No, grab the other end!" And so the time passed until the van was returned to the hirers, and all three sat slumped in Douglas's sitting room. A knock at the door caused them to look at each other, and Douglas reluctantly got to his feet.
"Hi, kids! We come bearing gifts!" It was Derek, carrying champagne and glasses—"In case you ain't got the right sort"—with Lois following up with fish and chips from across the way.
Susie began to say something, and then stopped.
"Spit it out, gel," said Derek cheerily.
Susie blushed again, and said, "Would it be all right if Granddad came in? He'll be a good neighbour, Douglas, and he's not a bad old boy."
Clem was fetched, and had news for them. "Did you see that son of hers over in Braeside?" he asked. "He arrived an hour or so ago, and has been at the bedroom window ever since, staring out over 'ere, watchin' what was goin' on. Nosy bugger. 'E got two fingers from me. That sent him packin'." Clem laughed happily, and downed a glass of bubbly in one go. "Not a bad vintage," he said. "I always get Sainsbury's meself."
SEVENTEEN
IT WAS STILL DARK WHEN DOUGLAS AWOKE. FOR A MOMENT, HE could not remember where he was. The outlines of the door and window were in the wrong place. Then he remembered. It was his first morning—or night?—in Gordon Street. He scrabbled about for his watch and looked at the illuminated dial. Ten past five. Then he heard it. A piercing alarm from just below his window.
So that was the famous cockerel. Well, complainers certainly had a point. Douglas had chosen to sleep at the back of the house to avoid traffic noise, but now he wondered if he would have to choose between two evils. A second succession of cock- a-doodle-doos shattered the peace of the darkness. It wasn't really that old comforting nursery sound at all. More like a soul in agony! Douglas pulled the duvet over his head and tried to get back to sleep. After three more avian alarms, each spaced so that it came just as sleep was returning, there was blissful silence, and Douglas slept soundly until his own clock woke him up at the right time.
After a quick breakfast, he decided to plan his day. Today was Sunday, and tomorrow his first day at the new job. He walked through to his small front room and looked over towards Braeside. There had been no movement yesterday, and he hadn't expected any help from the old blind lady. But this morning, curtains were drawn back and he could see the front door was ajar. To his surprise, he saw a figure emerge, bent and using a stick. Now he could see the figure was a woman, and she walked tentatively down her path towards the gate, tapping with her stick as she went. Should he go and offer help? No. He remembered once offering to escort a man with a white stick across a busy road, and had been told in no uncertain terms that his help was not needed, and moreover was unwelcome.
He continued to watch, ready to dash out, and saw that she was about to cross the road. She did this with firm steps and at speed. Where now? Maybe she was heading for the supermarket. They were all open on Sundays now. But no, she opened his gate and came up to the door. Douglas
was there at once, opening up with a smile.
"Come in, come in," he said. "Here, let me help you over the step." The old lady took his outstretched hand and walked daintily into the house.
"Good morning, Douglas," she said. "I do hope you don't mind my calling you by your Christian name, but I am fond of your mother, and have heard so much about you." She wondered to herself whether this wasn't piling it on a bit. Still, Alastair had told her to make friends as soon as possible with that Meade chap. He'd heard rumours about the boss of New Brooms and the police, and wanted to find out just exactly what went on.
"I do hope I'm not too early," Mrs. Blairgowrie said. "It wasn't possible for me to come over and offer help yesterday, but I would like to welcome you to Gordon Street and make sure that you know you have a friend across the way. I could hold a set of keys for you, that sort of thing. As you can see, I am pretty useless at most things, but I can take messages and so forth. Most people in this street are out at work all day, but I am there most of the time, unfortunately." She smiled bravely.