by Adele Abbott
“So you are going to throw it out of the window.”
“No, I’m not. It might hit someone and injure them. I’m going to put it in the spare bedroom, and then forget all about it.”
***
Mid-afternoon, I had an unexpected visitor.
“Jill,” Mrs V said in a whisper. “I have a Mr Tunes out there.”
“The new sign man? I wasn’t expecting him, was I?”
“No. He said he was in the area, so he popped in on the off chance.”
“Okay, you’d better send him through.”
“I should warn you, he talks like that other man, Mr Song.”
“In a sing-songy voice, you mean?”
“Yes. Why do you suppose they do that?”
“It’s hard to imagine. Perhaps it’s taught as part of the signage course.”
“I’ll send him through.”
Terry Tunes was several years younger than Sid Song, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was a baritone whereas Sid had been more of a tenor.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“No problem. Have you come to tell me the replacement sign is ready?”
“I’m afraid not. As you can imagine, things have been rather hectic since we took over Sid’s order book. In fact, the reason for my visit is to try and clarify your requirements.”
“I thought that was all sorted already.”
“Unfortunately, Sid’s paperwork leaves a lot to be desired. I’m sure it all made perfect sense to him, but for someone trying to pick it up—well, let’s just say it’s rather challenging. If you could clarify a few points, I’ll be able to get things moving.”
“Okay, what do you want to know?”
He put on his reading glasses and then took a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket.
“First, can you confirm the name to go on the sign. I have Jill and Max Well, but I can’t help but feel that’s a mistake.”
“There is no Max.”
“What happened to him? Did he leave?”
“There never was a Max. I used to be Jill Gooder, then I got married and changed my name to Jill Maxwell. When I tried to explain that to Sid, he misunderstood and thought I’d said Jill and Max Well.”
“I see.” Terry smiled. “Next question: Do you still sweat?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Before he could respond he was distracted by Winky who had just fallen off the sofa, laughing.
“Is your cat alright?”
“He’s fine.” But he wouldn’t be when I got my hands on him later.
“It’s just that one of the notes says Jill Maxwell – I Sweat.”
“That’s another mix-up. There used to be a fitness club just along the corridor. They were actually called I-Sweat. They were nothing to do with me or my business.”
“Okay, that makes sense. I thought it was a rather strange thing to put on a sign.”
“Anything else?”
“Are you still a clown?”
“No. After I-Sweat moved out, a clown school moved in. Again, they’re nothing to do with me.”
“A clown school?” His face lit up. “I must check that out. I love clowns, don’t you?”
“With a passion. Look, it might be best if I write down exactly what I want on the sign.” I grabbed his scrap of paper, and jotted down the following:
Jill Maxwell
Private Investigator
“And is that two signs or just the one?”
“Just the one.”
“You could probably save yourself a little money if instead of Private Investigator you simply had P.I.”
“Definitely not. I’ve already been down that particular cul-de-sac.”
“Okay, then. I’m all set to go.”
“And you know how big it has to be?”
“Two centimetres narrower than the last one supplied.”
“Correct. Any idea when I should get it?”
“A couple of weeks ought to do it.”
“Okay, but if you can get it finished any quicker, I’d be very grateful.”
“I’ll do my best.” He stood up. “You have an awful lot of books. Are you studying for something?”
“I—err, no. I’m actually going to be taking part in a TV quiz programme.”
“How exciting. Which one?”
“Err, Brain—err—drain. Braindrain.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen that.”
“It’s new. It hasn’t aired yet.”
“I’ll keep a lookout for it. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“Braindrain?” Winky climbed back onto the sofa. “Is that the best you could come up with?”
“You need to move those books.”
“Not until after my heat. I still have lots of studying to do.” He laughed. “You should have your own TV show. You could call it Where’s My Sign?”
“It really shouldn’t be this difficult. All I want is a simple sign. Do other people have all this trouble?”
“Nah, it’s just you.”
***
I was in the outer office, listening to Mrs V wax lyrical about her favourite songsmith, Brian Lion, who was apparently touring the UK, and due to perform in Washbridge the following week.
“You must have heard of him, Jill. He’s one of the country’s leading singer/songwriters.”
“I haven’t.”
“I can’t wait to see him. You must know his big hit, My Caravan Knows Secrets.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“What about The Carrots Are Lonely Now?”
“That’s a joke, right?” I laughed.
“Certainly not.” And to prove it, she began to warble said song.
Now, I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the world’s greatest singer, but compared to Mrs V, I have the voice of an angel. Fortunately, I was rescued from that awful racket by the sudden appearance of Kimmy, who was clearly upset.
“Kimmy?” I took her hand. “What’s wrong.”
“It’s Sneezy when I’m in costume,” she sobbed.
“Sorry. What’s happened, Sneezy?”
“It’s that awful PomPom again.” She took off her red nose, so that she could blow her real one.
“What’s he done now?”
“Come and see.”
“Okay.” I turned to Mrs V. “I shall probably go straight home after I’ve finished with these clowns.”
Ignoring Mrs V’s disapproving look, I followed Sneezy down the corridor to Clown.
“Come through to the main classroom, Jill. Breezy is taking a class in there. Or at least, he’s trying to.”
The students, seated at rows of desks, were all in clown costume. At the head of the classroom, was Breezy, who was clearly agitated about something.
“Thank you for coming, Jill.” He walked over to join us by the door.
“Sneezy said you’ve been having more trouble from PomPom.”
“We certainly have.” He gestured towards the class. “See for yourself.”
Up to that point, I’d been doing my best not to look at the student clowns.
“What exactly is it I’m supposed to be looking at?”
“Their bow ties of course.”
“They’re all spinning around. Is that part of today’s lesson?”
“No, it most certainly isn’t. They started to spin about ten minutes ago, and nothing anyone does will stop them.”
“And you think PomPom is behind it?”
“I’d bet my life on it. How are the students expected to study with that distraction?”
“It can’t be easy.”
“It’s impossible. I’m going to have to cancel today’s lessons.”
“This isn’t an isolated incident,” Sneezy chipped in. “Tell Jill what happened on Friday.”
“The buttonhole flowers wouldn’t stop spraying water. The floor was awash.”
“Have you spoken to PomPom, Breezy?”
“I rang him on Friday, and he denie
d all knowledge of it, but I could tell he was lying.”
“You have to help us, Jill,” Sneezy said. “If this carries on, we’ll be out of business within three months.”
“Okay. Leave it with me. I’ll pay our Mr PomPom a visit.”
***
Just as I’d hoped, I arrived home before Jack. If he’d been in, and he’d seen the cuckoo clock, he would have insisted that we put it up in the lounge. Having worked in the same room as one of those awful things once before, there was no way I was going to put myself through that torture again.
The spare bedroom had been practically empty after Jack had kindly donated his furniture to Lizzie, but it had already started to fill up again. Where did all these boxes come from? I emptied one of them, put the cuckoo clock at the bottom, and then replaced everything.
Phew! Crisis averted.
I’d no sooner got downstairs when there was a knock at the door.
“Hi, Britt.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Jill, but I was just wondering if you happen to have seen Lovely?”
“Not for a couple of days.”
“She didn’t come home last night, which isn’t like her at all. I’m really worried.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“Do you think I should put up some missing posters?”
“Perhaps not just yet. Maybe if she hasn’t come back by the morning.”
“Okay. You’ll let me know if you see her, won’t you?”
“Of course. And don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Jack had sent me a text to say he’d be a little late, so I’d got dinner started in order that it would be ready soon after he arrived home.
What do you mean, you’re surprised I didn’t just order in takeaway? Sheesh, anyone would think I never cooked a meal.
“Something smells nice,” Jack said when he walked through the door. “Did you order takeaway?”
“No, I didn’t. I’ve been slaving over a hot stove for the last hour.”
“Thank you.” He gave me a kiss. “What is it?”
“It was going to be a roast dinner.”
“Was?”
“Now it’s just the dinner. I forgot to put the meat in.”
“Never mind. I’ll just have more potatoes.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t tell me you forgot to put in the potatoes too?”
“Of course I didn’t. It’s just that when I called at the Corner Shop, Little Jack was all out of them.”
“No potatoes, then?”
“We do have a few.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Two each.”
“Oh well. That’s better than nothing.” He took something out of his pocket. “When our numbers come up, we’ll be able to dine out every week.”
“What are those?”
“Tickets for the Washbridge Lottery. Here, this one is for you. Put it somewhere safe.”
“We won’t win. I never win with those things.”
“We might. By the way, I don’t suppose you’ve seen my Hundred Best Strikes book anywhere, have you?”
“I didn’t realise you were interested in industrial relations.”
“Not that kind of strike. It’s about ten-pin bowling.”
“Oh, right.” Yawn. “No, I haven’t seen it.”
“I reckon it must be in one of those boxes in the spare bedroom. I’ll take a look after dinner.”
“No!”
“Pardon?”
“I meant that you don’t need to do that. You’ve had a long day. I’ll go up there and look for it.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”
“Nothing’s too good for my darling husband.”
Chapter 4
“Seriously, Jack, I’m telling you, it was so weird.”
“Ninety-nine percent of your life is weird. I’m the only sane part of it.”
My husband could be so annoying at times. There was I, trying to tell him about the weird dreams I’d had, and he was more interested in his stupid bowling book.
“Number thirty-two is a real doozy.” He held up the book so I could get a better look.
“How can one strike be any better than another? They all knock down the same number of pins, don’t they?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” He shoved a spoonful of muesli into his mouth.
“But there was a giant squirrel in my dream.”
“Nice.”
“He wanted to talk to me about storage solutions.”
“That’s interesting.”
“For his nuts.”
“Hmm.”
“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?”
“Fascinating.”
“I’m going to empty that bowl of muesli over your head.”
“Amazing.” He looked up. “Hold on. What did you just say?”
“Oh, hello. You are here, then?”
“Yes, but number thirty-nine is—”
“Incredible, yeah, I get it. Just wait until you want to tell me about your dreams.”
“I’m sorry.” He closed the book. “I promise I’m listening now. You were saying something about a nutty rabbit?”
“He was a squirrel; a giant one. And he was asking me about storage solutions for his nuts.”
“That is pretty weird.”
“I know. What do you think it means?”
“Probably that you’ve been eating too many custard creams just before you go to bed.”
I stood up from the table. “There’s no point in talking to you if you aren’t going to take it seriously.”
“How am I supposed to take a giant squirrel talking about storage solutions seriously?”
Men!
***
Jack didn’t have to go into work until later, so I was the first to leave the house.
“Jill!” Kimmy came hurrying across the road.
“Morning. I haven’t had the chance to do anything about PomPom yet.”
“That’s okay. That isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“I wondered if you’d seen our little fluffykins?”
“Bruiser? No, not for a while.”
“Oh dear. We haven’t seen him for a couple of days, and we’re starting to get a little worried.”
“I’m sure he’ll be okay. He’s a big lad; he can look after himself.”
“I used to think that too, but something seems to have spooked him. He’s been very quiet recently.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. Winky often disappears for days at a time.” Usually on a microlite. “But he always comes back.” More’s the pity.
What? Of course I’m joking.
“I do hope you’re right, Jill. You’ll let us know if you happen to see him, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
I’d considered telling her that Lovely was missing too, but I figured that might make her worry even more. It was probably just a coincidence anyway.
***
The carrot, AKA Mr Ivers, took my money at the toll booth.
“Morning, Jill.” Before I could drive away, the man himself popped his head up.
“Morning. Don’t you ever get bored of the vegetable hand puppets?”
“Never! I love these little guys. They’re my best friends.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that. “That’s nice.”
“I shouldn’t really be telling you this, but I have an exclusive interview in the next issue of my newsletter.”
“Probably best not to tell me, then. I wouldn’t want you to break any kind of embargo.”
“It’s okay. It’s my newsletter, after all, so I get to make the rules.”
“Still, I don’t think—”
“You’ll never guess who it is that I’ve interviewed.”
“I have no idea. Is it a Hollywood A-lister?”
“The next best thing.”
“I give up.”
“You saw Red Storm, didn’t you?”
“Most of it.”
“What did you think of the stunts?”
“The ones I saw were pretty impressive. Is your interviewee a stunt man?”
“Not exactly.”
“You’re going to have to tell me.”
“Vince Watts is second cousin to the stunt co-ordinator.”
“Second cousin? Are they close?”
“No, they’ve never met.”
“That’s certainly some scoop you’ve landed yourself.”
“I know. I’m expecting subscriptions to increase dramatically.”
***
“Morning, Mrs V.”
“Morning, dear. Did Jack like it?”
“Sorry?”
“The clock? What did Jack think of it?”
“He loves it. In fact, he stayed back this morning so he could hear it chirp.”
“Chirp?”
“I mean, cuckoo.”
“Did he have any problems putting it up?”
“No. Jack’s quite the handyman when he puts his mind to it.”
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Yes, please. I had a really weird dream last night. There was this—”
“Me too. Someone had cut me in half. I blame Armi and his magic tricks.”
“Right. Anyway, there was this giant—”
“Did I tell you that my cousin Agatha has moved into the area?”
“No, I don’t think you mentioned it.”
“I haven’t seen her in years. To tell you the truth, she’s always been a bit weird.”
“Talking of weird, in my dream there was this giant—”
“She used to collect mops. I’m not sure if she still does, though.”
“Bring my tea through, would you?”
Sheesh! Was no one interested in my weird dream?
“Hey, Winky, do you want to hear about my dream?”
“No.” He had his head buried in a book.
“You’ve started early with the reading.”
“I’ve been at it since four this morning.”
“You’re taking this very seriously.”
“What do you expect? Winky doesn’t do anything by half measures.”
Especially not the third person references.