Calling All Neighbours (Calling All... Book 4)

by Tara Ford

  Alvin raised a hand in acknowledgement as Tiff approached him. “Morning,” he chirped, merrily. “Off to work, are you?”

  “Yes,” she replied as she walked down the path. “I take it you are too?”

  Darting his eyes from side to side, Alvin moved closer towards the end of the path. “Big business this morning. Been called up unexpectedly.”

  “Oh, right.” Mimicking Alvin’s clandestine approach, Tiff lowered her voice. “Called up? Where are you going?”

  Again, Alvin’s narrow eyes flicked from side to side. “London. Head office. Can’t say any more than that.”

  Tiff nodded her head. “OK – I understand. Must be difficult having a job like yours.”

  “It is.”

  “Well,” said Tiff, edging away. “I really must be going. Lots to do today.”

  “And what is it that you do?” Alvin asked, with what seemed like a genuine tone of interest.

  “I’m a stone-craft artist.”

  “A stone-craft artist? Sounds interesting.”

  “Not half as interesting as your job, I’m sure.” Alvin’s behavior was somehow different today. Yesterday, Tiff had not liked him at all. She thought he was belittling of her, yet this morning he seemed to be showing an interest in her.

  “No, it’s far from interesting – more like stressful. Unpredictable and unnerving at times. Very unsociable hours too.”

  “Oh dear,” Tiff replied, feeling a little sorry for him. “Guess it must be like that. Never thought about it in that way. I’d imagine most people would see you as a James Bond type of figure.” Tiff let out a short, nervous laugh. “You know, all the glamour and girls that 007 gets.”

  “Oh yes. That all comes with it too.” Alvin paused for a moment, as if he was thinking about something. “But too much of a good thing… well, you know what they say. I’m probably a little complacent with it all.”

  “Really? Most men would jump at the chance.” Tiff smiled uncomfortably. “Right, well, I really must be going. Hope it all goes well for you.”

  “It will – I haven’t failed a mission yet.” Alvin winked an eye and placed a hand on Tiff’s arm. “Have a productive day, young lady,” he said in a low, husky voice, before gently squeezing her arm.

  “Err… yes. Thanks. You too.” Edging away from Alvin’s touch, she shuddered slightly. “Bye.”

  Walking past him, Tiff headed for her car, parked in the lay-by, on the main road. She didn’t turn round once but she could feel his eyes on her. On her bare legs. On her high-heeled shoes. What a creep.

  Chapter 7

  Tiff had almost met her whole week’s quota by Wednesday evening. She’d changed her plan earlier in the week and would have today (Thursday) off instead. Knowing that she wouldn’t have a huge amount to do on Friday, she hoped that she could get away early tomorrow too. She loved the flexibility of her job and enjoyed doing the work. Her position allowed her to take days off, midweek, providing she could fulfill her order schedule and this arrangement suited her. Also, her craftwork hobby at home had been paying for itself, and more, for some time now, so she had the best of both worlds. Going to work or working from home, either way, she loved what she did and got paid for it.

  Luckily, she hadn’t seen Alvin again during the week and guessed that he had jetted off somewhere to secretly plan and execute some sort of mysterious undercover mission. Tiff admired him for that. It was just such a shame that he was a total creep in other respects. Also a salacious brute if that night in Georgie’s garden was anything to go by.

  Peering out of the bedroom window, Tiff watched Joe walk around the green and head off to his car. He worked long hours some days, and today he had a conference to attend near London. He would catch the train though. It beat getting stressed when trying to find parking in the city and his company paid his expenses anyway. So, Tiff had all day to get the painting done and build her new, flat-pack craft table.

  A young couple walked out of number seven, both dressed in suits. They marched purposefully down to the main road and got in a small black Vauxhall Corsa. Tiff had seen them, briefly, once before and guessed that they didn’t have any children as they both looked far too professional, focused and well-polished.

  There was a young couple at number eight as well. One morning, as Joe and Tiff had left the house together, they had met the man as he was leaving his house. He’d been polite and wished them a ‘good morning’. His partner was standing at the door wearing a rose pink dressing gown and white fluffy slippers. Lovingly, she had waved the man off and at the same time, nodded her head and smiled at Joe and Tiff as they passed by. Joe had thought it was ‘kind of cute’ that the woman had gone to her front door to say goodbye to the man and wave until he had disappeared out of sight.

  Tiff wondered, as she continued to look out of the window, who lived at numbers one and two, to the right of her and also at number six, the last house on the back row, which was shrouded in tall hedges. Number six was the only house that didn’t have a picket fence at the front. She hoped that the other residents would be normal, ordinary people, just like herself and Joe and of similar ilk to the residents of numbers five, seven and eight. At least then, numbers three and nine would be far easier to cope with. Tiff liked mainstream. She did not like the goings-on that she had witnessed so far. And Joe hardly knew any of it. But it was probably better that way. Better for Tiff anyway.

  The weather wasn’t as warm today. Small white clouds puffed up and morphed into bigger ones with a tinge of dark grey, as they floated across the blue sky, changing shape as they went. On several occasions, during the rare moments when the sun did appear from behind the greyish-white billowing masses, and lit up the room, Tiff had peeped out of the craft room window. Just to check. Just to see if Georgie was out there. Just curious. But she wasn’t there. However, Georgie’s rusty old cement mixer, in the corner of her garden, stood as a constant reminder of their weekend’s shenanigans.

  By lunchtime, Tiff had finished the second coat in the craft room. The lilac walls looked deeper and richer now that the patches had disappeared. She opened the window to air the room and went downstairs. Date and walnut cake and a milky coffee were calling her.

  A small envelope lay on the front door mat. It must have been hand delivered as there was no stamp and the address read simply, No. 4. Curiously, she opened the sealed envelope.

  Dear No. 4

  Welcome to Sycamore Close!

  We are having a BBQ this Saturday (weather permitting) and would really like you to join us. We’re mainly a close-knit community and it would be wonderful to welcome you to the close, along with some of the other residents.

  If you are able to make it, we would love to see you around 7pm. Completely understand if you can’t make it at such short notice.

  Kindest regards

  Hayley and Wayne (No.8)

  p.s. Please bring a bottle if you would like to have anything more than the Pimms punch we will be making for everyone. We will be doing the traditional bangers, burgers, chicken and assorted skewers and salad to garnish. You’re welcome to bring anything else along with you, particularly if you have any special dietary requirements.

  Hope we might see you here.

  Look forward to hearing from you.

  Tel: 0758982837 (Hayley)

  Tiff read the message again and smiled. It had to be the woman she’d seen wearing a pink dressing gown, the other day. How sweet. Tiff was definitely interested in going and she knew, without a doubt, that Joe would be up for it too. He loved a good barbecue and a drink – especially on his own doorstep. At least they wouldn’t have far to go home, should the urge arise to down a few drinks. Joe didn’t drink often but when he did, he did it big style. Being one of the rugby team, in the past, Joe and his friends were all experts in the art of downing pints at the rugby club. However, Joe also knew when to behave himself. He knew that Tiff would not approve of him getting too drunk when the acceptance of the neighbourhood was at stake
. He always knew when he had to rein himself in by the look he got from her. It was enough to stop him in his tracks at any given moment, yet, he never held her accountable for ‘The Look’. He just seemed to obey it and all of its connotations.

  By five o’clock, Tiff had finally managed to piece together the craft table. It had been far more difficult than she’d first thought. The instructions were sparse and the few diagrams didn’t help much at all. But she’d struggled through and completed it. The problem was that the table was upside down on the floor. There was no way she could lift it up and turn it over on her own. She would have to wait until Joe arrived home. She would have to drop her guard about him going anywhere near the window. Tutting to herself, she was well aware that her obsession with ‘the view’ was becoming absurd. But she needn’t be so obsessive about it today anyway, as the weather had been too cloudy for sunbathing. It was also getting late and Alvin had gone off on a cloak-and-dagger operation. So Georgie wouldn’t be fornicating in the garden, whilst riding her cement mixer either. Would she?

  Joe was later than usual. Peering up at the clock, Tiff noted the time was ten to seven. He should have left London around half past three. Surely he’d be home by now? Just as she was doing her usual worrying about every conceivable calamity she could think of, the front door opened.

  Walking into the kitchen, Joe looked weary. He hung his jacket over a chair, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. He smiled and moved across the room, towards Tiff. Kissing her on the lips, he then rested his forehead on hers.

  “Good day?” she asked, relieved and excited that he was home.

  “Boring.” Joe stood upright and stretched his back. “Usual harping on about health and safety issues and new measures. Paving the way forward in management and that kind of stuff. Tedious tripe.”

  “You sound really fed up.”

  “Don’t know why they have to call us all in for a so-called conference, when they had already sent out the new outlines for progression beforehand.”

  “I expect it’s because, like you, most people don’t read any of it.”

  “Hmm.” Joe nodded his head agreeably. “Anyway, how’s your day-off been?”

  “Very productive.” Tiff grinned. “Sit down, I’ve done some dinner.”

  Pulling a chair out, Joe sat down.

  “Only sausages, mash and peas, I’m afraid. I’ve had a busy day.” Tiff removed the two plates from the oven and placed them on to the table mats, which had been lovingly crafted from a cardboard box. “Careful, the plates are hot. Thought you would have been home earlier, so I’ve been keeping dinner warm.” Returning to the kitchen, she whipped up some gravy in no time and joined Joe back at the table.

  “Sorry babe.”

  Tiff watched as he heartily began to plough through three sausages, a mountain of mashed potato and a splattering of peas. In comparison, her dinner was much smaller.

  “Got the room finished,” she said, in between mouthfuls of food. “Looks nice.”

  “Good – you all moved-in there now then?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been waiting for you to come home.”

  “Huh,” Joe huffed. “Sorry, I would have been in a bit earlier but that Alvin bloke stopped me as I got out of the car.”

  Tiff stopped eating and held her fork midway between the plate and her mouth. “Really? He’s obviously back from his latest underground intelligence assignment then.”

  “His what?”

  “All that espionage stuff. He was called up on Monday, apparently. Thought we’d seen the last of him for a while.”

  “How do you know that?” Joe gave a quizzical look.

  “I bumped into him as I was going to work. He told me he was off on a mission.”

  “Well, he’s back then. I had a hard job getting away from him…” Joe paused, bemused. “He was wearing that moronic jogging outfit again.”

  “Oh no,” said Tiff. “And the binoculars?”

  “Oh yes. Asked me if I wanted to go with him and did I have my own binoculars as he could highly recommend the ones hanging around his neck, if I didn’t.”

  Tiff shook her head, in disgust. “What on earth is he looking at when he goes out in the dark, how can he see anything?”

  “Bird-watching, probably.”

  “In the dark?”

  “Depends what sort of birds he’s watching.”

  “What a creep.” Tiff shuddered as she remembered his hand squeezing her arm and the way he looked at her. Sleazy was putting it mildly.

  Joe laughed. “He wants me to go over to his for a few drinks on Saturday night –”

  “No,” Tiff said, emphatically. “You can’t. We’ve been invited out.”

  “Oh, don’t worry babe. I have no intention of going round there.”

  Pausing thoughtfully, Tiff lowered her fork and placed it on her plate. “If he’s invited you to his house on Saturday night, that means…” She smiled with relief. “That means he won’t be going where we’ve been invited.”

  “You’ve lost me now.”

  “We’ve been invited to a barbecue,” she said. “At number eight.” Peering around the kitchen, she continued. “There’s a note over there somewhere, from… Hayley and Wayne. I think that’s their names.”

  “OK, cool. Take it he, Alvin, hasn’t been invited then.”

  “I guess not, if he wants you to go round to his for a drink. I hope that’s not going to be awkward.”

  “Doubt it,” Joe mumbled. “I said I wasn’t sure if I could go and would have to speak to you first as you made most of the arrangements. He gave me an odd look as if I was stupid to check with you first.”

  “He’s a freak. Anyway, well done. So you can now tell him that I’d already agreed that we would go to the barbecue – yes?”

  “I’ll text him.” Joe pulled his phone from his pocket and swiped the lock screen.

  “Text him?” Tiff was taken aback. “Have you got his number then?”

  Peering across the table, Joe smiled. “Well… obviously.” He let out a chuckle and then smirked. “Best buddies now – Alvin and me.”

  “Yuk. Good luck to you.”

  “He insisted I had his number. Asked me if I had my phone on me and wanted me to put him in my contacts there and then.”

  “He’s creepy. I don’t like him at all.” Tiff hesitated. “Why… why do you think he wanted you to have his number?”

  “Just being friendly, I guess.”

  “Well don’t give him any more details.”

  “I won’t. Stop worrying, babe. He’s just the friendless, neighbourhood dork.”

  Tiff mouthed an, ‘OK’ and finished her meal with far less vigour than before.

  Carrying his plate to the kitchen, Joe picked up the note on the windowsill and read it. “Number eight – that’s the couple we bumped into the other day.”

  “Yes. The furry white slipper woman.”

  “Waving to her husband or whoever he is. Should be good. Are you up for it?”

  “Yes, definitely. They seemed like quite nice people.”

  Joe nodded his head. “Be good to meet some more of the neighbours too.”

  “That’s what I thought. Now, when you’ve had your shower, could you give me a hand to turn the craft table over? It’s far too heavy for me.”

  Returning to the table, Joe pecked her on the top of her head. “Your wish is my command, madam. Will we also have to christen the table and the room?”

  “Christen?” Tiff shot a quizzical glance at him. “What do you mean?”

  “You know… perform some sort of loving ownership ceremony in the room. After all, we’ve practically christened every other room in this house.” Joe squeezed the tops of her shoulders, softly. Then he ran a finger down the middle of her back, causing her to squirm and shudder.

  Tiff giggled. “Joe Frey – you’re insatiable. And no. My craft room is going to remain virginal. Go and get in the shower.”

  “OK – how about the shower
again, then?”

  “No – I’ve got clearing up to do and you have a table to turn the right way up.”

  “Garden?” Joe grinned.

  “Shower – now. You are sex mad.”

  Joe slumped off and went upstairs.

  Placing her knife and fork on the plate of unfinished food, Tiff stared out of the patio doors as the light began to fade. Why had he said the garden? Was she becoming completely paranoid? She knew that he liked to be spontaneous in their sexual relationship and wouldn’t think twice about which room he was in… but he had never, in all the time she’d known him, mentioned the garden. So why now?

  “Where do you want this?” shouted Joe from the top of the stairs.

  “Coming.” Tiff bounded up the stairs, two at a time. “How did you manage to pick it up on your own?” Tiff stood with her hands on her hips, staring, surprised, at the upright, oversized table.

  Holding his arms up, Joe struck a strongman pose, clenching his fists to accentuate his muscular arms. “You’ve either got it babe –or you haven’t.” He laughed. “So obviously, you haven’t.”

  “I definitely haven’t. I thought you were having a shower first.”

  “No, get the work out of the way first. So, where do you want it?”

  Pointing a finger towards the window, Tiff smiled. “There please – right under the window.”

  Heaving the table across the room, they shifted it into place. Tiff flicked her gaze out of the window, checking for any activity in the neighbour’s garden. She was on edge now she knew that Alvin was back home. She did not want Joe seeing anything untoward.

  “Are you sure? You’ll never be able to get anywhere near the window, babe.”

  “Yep. I really like it there,” she replied, falsely.

  Joe frowned and rubbed his chin. “Look, “he said, grabbing hold of one end of the table. “If we turn it around, you could still look out of the window – you’d just have to turn your head. But at least you could get to the window to open it.” Joe peered at the window thoughtfully. “What about curtains or blinds – you’d need to be able to get to them to open and close them.”