“What naughty names did he call you PC Danson? It must have been bad,” asked the Sergeant in a very sarcastic and dead-pan manner as he looked away from the prisoner and across at his computer screen. PC Danson took out his notebook and began to read out his notes.
“It’s very disturbing stuff Sir. He said that we are plods,”
The Sergeant’s eyes flicked across at his colleague, and he tut-tutted as he fixed his gaze on Graham Ashworth.
“He also said we are stupid bastards…”
“I’ve heard enough. This is too much for me to bear,” said the Sergeant, shaking his head, and quite blatantly taking the mick out of the situation with his constable.
“No, please Sergeant, I must tell you the worst part.”
“Go on,” he said, slowly raising one eyebrow and fixing his eyes on the prisoner.
“I said you are fucking pleb pigs!” snapped Graham, his fury and contempt was back for all to see. He got no reaction. A few seconds passed before PC Danson spoke again.
“No, I don’t think you did.”
“I fucking did!” snapped the prisoner.
“Nope, I don’t recall that. You must be mistaken. I’d have remembered that.”
“I did and you know it! So fuck off!” hissed Graham, to a chorus of laughter from the Sergeant and PC Danson.
“Anyway, he’s drunk and disorderly Sir, and a night in the cells will give his neighbours a nice rest from him shouting “You’re all effing scum,” down the street at the top of his voice at two thirty five in the morning, evidence of which I have recorded on my body cam, Sarge.”
“I’m appalled, I really am,” said the Sergeant.
“Is this funny to you? Is it? You think that arresting me is funny. Well we’ll see what the Chief Constable has to say about this. We’ll see if you’re smirking then!” Graham Ashworth was red in the face as he expressed his fury at being in this situation which he considered to be absolutely ridiculous. The Sergeant paid him no attention as he filled out his custody sheet.
“Are you on any medication, Sir?” asked the Sergeant.
“No.”
“Are you on any other drugs?”
“No.”
“How many sugars in your tea?”
“None.”
“Okay PC Danson, cell six, thank you.”
The PC grabbed Graham by the arm and began leading him away. The prisoner offered no resistance, but turned to face the desk as he was led away.
“You’ve not heard the last of this Mr Plod. Fact.”
Chapter Six
Rachel was knackered. She’d had to get up at half past seven, and felt that she hadn’t had any sleep at all. She had been at the Ashworth house for almost an hour when she had finally managed to get herself away at 3.30. In that time, she had learnt a great deal about her new neighbours - in fact, she thought that she had probably learnt everything that there was to know. Every so often, as Mick was wandering about the house doing various last minute jobs before the kids were due to arrive, she would deliver another nugget of information as their paths crossed.
“Oh aye, she’s from Wythenshawe you know. So he’s getting himself all worked up because council house scum are moving in. And he’s only bloody married to one of us.” Rachel laughed at the expression that Mick pulled. It was probably the exact same as her own, when Suzanne had made the bizarre announcement a few hours earlier. “She torks terribly porsh though, she must have gone to electrocution lessons.”
“What’s that?” asked Mick.
“Electrocution. It’s where all the posh folk go to learn how to talk proper. Like that advert from years ago, the water in Majorca one.” Said Rachel as she hung a pair of her son’s jeans on a hanger.”
“I thought it was where hairy women had to go to get their moustaches chopped off. Anyway, how did some fat old posh bloke end up with a lass from Withenshawe if he thinks he’s such a big deal? Doesn’t add up.”
“They met when she started an office job at the council. He works there, one of the bosses apparently. She’s only twenty eight, he’s fifty!”
“She’s seriously fit though. She looks well maintained!”
Rachel threw a t - shirt at Mick. “You keep your boggley eyes off!”
“You know what I mean Rach - he must have a bob or two to keep her in tow. He’s not exactly George Clooney to look at. His face looks like a broken egg.”
“Hey, mister - you sound as judgemental as him. You can’t just make remarks and assumptions like that about people. Sometimes love knows no boundaries.” Rachel gave Mick a stern look, but he just laughed in response.
“You’re the one going on about her life history. I’m just looking for my hammer. I couldn’t give a shit about it. You’re boring me to death about them. They’re a pair of bell whiffs if you ask me. Have you seen my hammer?”
“I think it’s on the stairs. Don’t be making any holes in the walls, it’s strictly prohibited!”
“I’m not. I’m just trying to put the back on a bookshelf.” Mick walked over to the staircase and found his hammer. “Oh, here you go, your mate’s going off in her car. I bet she’s picking Victor Meldrew up from his porridge.”
Rachel jumped away from the ironing board and across to the lounge window to see Suzanne getting into her car.
“God, look at her - she looks fresh as a daisy. I look like I’m out of the Thriller video and I wasn’t even drinking! Hey, she was knocking them back as well last night you know. She’ll be well over the limit. I better go and say summat.” She started walking towards the door but Mick grabbed her arm.
“Nah love, leave it. It’s her problem. Besides, she’ll think you’re a right dick.”
Rachel considered what Mick had said and realised that it was a bit over-familiar.
“You’re right. Cheers love.”
“Anyway, you can change the record now. We’ve wasted enough gas on them two fucking loons. Let’s get back to talking about us, and the house - and the kids.” Mick looked at the clock on his phone. It read 8.06. “They’ll be here soon! Can’t wait to see their faces! They’ll be buzzing when they see this place!”
“Aw, I know, yeah.” Said Rachel, the idea forced a giddy wave to flutter through her belly.
Just as Mick began heading back up the stairs, the doorbell rang, three times in quick succession and whoever it was, was knocking loudly too. Rachel answered the door as Mick came back down the stairs to see who was visiting at such a ridiculous hour on a Sunday morning, particularly with such an over-the-top knock. It took a second, but Rachel realised that it was the couple from a few doors up, the couple who had been caught up in the trouble the previous night.
“Oh, hiya.” She said. The couple looked unhappy.
“Can we come in a minute?” asked the man. His wife looked like she was seriously stressed out, and neither of them looked as though they’d slept very much, if at all.
“Yeah, course, come in.” said Rachel, who introduced herself, and then Mick as the couple stepped inside.
“Alright. I’m Kev, this is Tania. From number twenty.” He looked like a stereotypical nineteen-nineties wannabe hard-man. He was standing at the door wearing a three quarter length leather coat and two fistfuls of sovereign rings. His chest was sticking out and his shoulders were back. Mick didn’t recognise him from anywhere, but he thought the man was a knob-head straight away. His wife looked like she’d fallen in a vat of tanning lotion, she lit up the room.
“Well, come in, have a seat in the lounge. Excuse the deck chairs - the sofa is on order!” said Rachel, blushing slightly and feeling mildly embarrassed by the fold out chairs. “Do you want a brew?”
“No, it’s alright,” said Tania. “Thanks, but we’re only passing. Just wanted to thank you for last night. It was exactly what you said, he was trying to get a smack so the police would lift us. His fucking face when they put him in the van!” said Tania, forcing a fake, humourless laugh.
“Anyway,” interrupted
Kev, “He’s getting a warning for that, yeah. I’m not having none of that shit. So, just make sure yous are not about tomorrow night. We appreciate you stepping in last night, it was good of yous. But leave it down to me now, yeah? Just go out for the night, and make sure you’re seen by plenty of people. I don’t want yous getting accused of anything. Alright?” Kev looked deadly serious. Mick was standing by the door, holding his hammer, looking a bit confused by what was being said.
“We just don’t want yous getting caught up in it, we don’t want that fucking wrong ‘un saying yous had anything to do with it.” Added Tania.
The conversation was over. Kev reached out and took Tania’s arm and led her to the door.
“And it’s nice meeting yous. We’ll try and get to know yous properly once all this shit has settled down a bit alright? Cheers.” They headed for the door.
“Alright, well, er, thanks for coming.” Rachel looked quite nervous. She closed the door behind them.
“What the fuck?” she mouthed to Mick as she watched the silhouette of the couple walk down the drive through the doppled glass on the front door.
“Does he still think its nineteen ninety two? That’s the last time I saw a coat like that.” Mick was smiling, shaking his head. “I bet he thinks he’s MC Tunes.”
“I know yeah, all he needs now is a pit bull and some nun-chakas?” replied Rachel, mockingly.
“An alcoholic Victor Meldrew over the road, a fuck-wit Tony Soprano next door but one. Fuck me.” Said Mick, shaking his head as he wandered off once again with his hammer. “The next neighbour I meet had better be a sane one, I’m telling you now.”
Chapter Seven
Suzanne was sitting on one of the solid steel waiting room chairs in the police station reception area, when her husband was released from custody. He was led through into the public area by a uniformed officer. Although she had been anxiously dreading the moment, she was also extremely relieved to see him, and to see that he was okay.
A young man in a tracksuit had been shouting “I want my fucking dog back!” over and over again for the past ten minutes, and was being very professionally ignored by the police staff who were sitting behind the glass counter. Although the waiting room had several other people inside, it was still a very intimidating and volatile place - and Suzanne couldn’t wait to get out of there.
“Darling!” she shouted as he walked into the public space. “How are you?” she asked as she warmly embraced her man. He just looked through her as he spoke.
“Don’t make a fuss Suzanne. Let’s just go, thank you very much.” Graham was in the worst of moods, and Suzanne realised at that moment, that it would be a lot nicer if he was still inside the police station.
“Of course darling. I’ve parked just around the corner, by the chip shop. Do you want to go and get something to eat? A nice big breakfast somewhere?” asked Suzanne as the couple walked out into the street. She was trying her best to be as cheerful as she possibly could.
“Please stop wittering on. Just give me some quiet please Suzanne, I must insist!” snapped Graham.
The walk to the car was silent. Suzanne hated these occasions where she felt that she was walking on eggshells. She was only trying to be nice, and welcoming, she thought. He’d have had a right cob on if she’d just said “hello” she considered, as they neared the car. He was completely out of order, not just last night, but now as well, she thought, as they approached the car.
“I’ll drive.” Said Graham, holding his hand out for the car key. “You smell like an alcoholic,” added Graham, seemingly unaware of how much he had personally drank the previous evening. Suzanne handed the key fob over as requested, and got into the passenger seat once Graham had deactivated the lock.
The drive back was silent. Graham just drove, occasionally blowing out an exasperated breath, whilst Suzanne just kept her eyes on the road ahead. She really wanted to give her husband a good yelling at for his crazy behaviour the previous night, but knew better of it. She would only make matters worse for both of them if she spoke her mind.
Eventually, Graham spoke. “I need to get a shower and get some clean clothes on. I feel itchy. All I had was a piss stinking cold plastic mattress, in a shit stinking cell. That was the most disgusting thing I have ever experienced.” He sounded as though he was feeling sorry for himself.
Suzanne didn’t know what to say. The voice in her mind was saying “it serves you right, you bloody pig headed idiot.” But her real voice had nothing to say.
“Did you just hear what I said to you?” said Graham, his tone was sharper this time, and he’d turned his head to look at his wife as the car hurtled along the by-pass at sixty miles per hour.
“Yes, of course I heard you. I just thought that you wanted quiet.” Said Suzanne, feeling a familiar tension bubble up from the very pit of her stomach.
“Are you being sarcastic Suzanne? Because if you are, I will pull this car over to the side of the road right now, and you can walk the rest of the way home.” Graham had an angry, crazy expression on his face. An expression that only Suzanne was familiar with.
“Darling, don’t be silly, of course I am not being sarcastic. You’re scaring me, please stop.” Suzanne started crying.
“How am I scaring you? HOW? Are you deliberately trying to force me to be angry with you? And what was that you said to me last night, in front of those police men?”
“I, I don’t know. What did I say?” Suzanne looked genuinely confused. She tried to cast her mind back to the incident. She had no idea what she had said.
Graham let out a loud, humourless laugh. He blew out a big breath again, and waited a few seconds before speaking. “You said that I have made of mess of everything! You have a bloody nerve, belittling me like that in front of those moronic fucking plods. I’ll never forgive you for that Suzanne. In fact, just get out.” He started indicating and pulled the car over by the side of the road. “You can find your own way home.”
“Graham, please.” Pleaded Suzanne, though her voice gave away that she knew that his mind was set. “Can we just talk about this…”
“You had your chance to talk last night. You had your chance to tell those bloody Nazi police men what was happening. Instead, you just took the opportunity to humiliate me.”
“Graham! I did not!” said Suzanne forcefully, between sobs. Tears were streaming down her face. Graham just smirked, and nodded.
“You ungrateful little bitch. Get out of my car, go on.” Graham’s voice was shaking with rage.
“No Graham, please don’t make me.” She pleaded.
“GET OUT!” he shouted, his face had turned a violent shade of red in an instant, and beads of sweat had begun pouring down his brow. Suzanne realised that it would be the best option to just open the car door and go. Obedience was key when Graham was being like this, she reasoned with herself. She unclipped her seat belt and opened the door as the car came to a complete stop. As she did so, her husband lashed out at her, shoving the back of her head violently as she turned to get out. Suzanne’s face smashed with a thud into the window, and she howled in pain as she stumbled from the car, landing in a heap on the grass verge by the side of the road. She tried her best to stand, but fell to her knees in the wet grass. Her vision had become a mixture of huge white dots and shooting stars, as she groaned in pain. Suzanne put her hand up and felt her face where her cheekbone had taken the full force of the impact against the rigid glass of the Range Rover window. As the pain throbbed through her face, and her vision cleared slightly, she saw Graham leaning over, looking at her, as she sat in a heap on the floor. Blood was pouring from her face.
“Close the door, please Suzanne,” was all he said. She did as she was asked and pushed the half opened door shut. Graham indicated right, looked over his shoulder and began driving off. Suzanne was left sitting in a heap in the long, wet grass, her face throbbing with pain, and feeling the familiar mixture of relief, sorrow and despair.
Chapter Eight
“Rach, they’re here!” shouted Mick from upstairs as he saw his mother-in-law’s car heading up the avenue towards the house.
“Aw, are they?” screeched Rachel, running towards the door. “About bloody time!” She threw open the front door and ran down the drive to greet her mum and the children.
“Hiiii,” she shrieked in the kind of really high pitched way that only women can say it. The kids burst out of the car.
“Hi mum, let’s have a look then!” Her eldest, Liam was first out of the car. He seemed to have got even taller in the twenty four hours since she had last seen him, too.
“Hiya mum! I’ve well missed you!” said her youngest, eight year old Shania, giving her mum a big cuddle.
“Hello mum!” hollered her other son, eleven year old Noel, as he slammed the car door closed.
“Noel, you knob-end!” shouted fourteen year old Britney, as she opened the car door and appeared, looking furious. “You nearly smashed my face in then you little mong. Hi mum!”
“Hiya guys, have you all been good?” Rachel was laughing as the children hurried past to get inside their new home and have a look around it for the very first time.
“Course we have!” said Noel as his walk developed into an enthusiastic jog towards the door.
“A’right Dad!” wheezed Noel as he dashed past.
“Hiiiii” said Britney in the high pitched tone to her dad, walking casually towards the house, checking her phone for any new notifications since she’d got out of the car.
“Alright love! Come inside and have a look around!”
The children were quickly running from room to room shouting things like “wow!” and “no way!” and “sick!” as they entered each room.
Rachel was still laughing as she hugged her mum.
Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 4