The Stranger Next Door

by Barnes, Miranda

  'We could go fishing today,' she suggested. 'After breakfast let's see if we can find the nets we bought last summer. They're in the garage, aren't they, Lisa?'

  Lisa nodded but didn't say anything.

  'Tom, will you help me look for them?'

  Tom slowly chewed at a piece of toast.

  'Tom?'

  He looked up and stared blankly at her, as if he hadn't heard.

  'Oh, Tom! You're worn out, aren't you? What you need is a good sleep.'

  So did she and Lisa, as well. But she knew that going to bed in the daytime wasn't a real solution. What she needed to do was find a way of stopping that dreadful man waking everyone up at night again.

  She would have to try harder to meet him. Failing that, she could always send him a letter, she supposed. It seemed ridiculous even to think of doing that to a next-door neighbour, but what else could she do? Ring the police or the district council? How pathetic! That's what they would think anyway, if not say.

  She heard the chainsaw again the next night, and the one after that. Not for a terribly long time, but for long enough to ensure that the three of them were exhausted again in the morning and for much of the day that followed.

  Once more! she muttered to herself. Just do it one more time, Mister, and I'll … do something!

  She didn't even bother trying to go to sleep the following night. She waited. She was poised, ready to leap out of bed and do something – anything!

  But it didn't happen. Nothing happened. Eventually, exhausted, she fell asleep. She slept soundly. They all did. It was ten the next morning before Anna woke up. Even then, it was only because the doorbell was ringing. And Lisa and Tom were still in bed asleep.

  'Anna! Is anything wrong?'

  She stared, bleary-eyed, at Pippa through the half-open door.

  'Wrong?' she said slowly, shaking her head. 'No. Come in, Pippa.'

  'Are you ill?'

  'No, of course not. Please come in.'

  Pippa came inside and turned to look at her with concern. 'Anna, you look terrible. What is it? And don't you dare tell me nothing!'

  'Just a bad night. That's all.'

  'Why?'

  There was no fending off Pippa in this mood. With reluctance, Anna brought her up to date. 'I'm exhausted,' she concluded.

  'I can see that. Where are the children?'

  'In bed. They're exhausted, too.'

  'You'll have to do something, Anna. You can't go on like this.'

  'You don't think I'm just being a silly woman?'

  'Of course not! Sleep deprivation is a form of torture. No wonder you look so bad.'

  'The question is what?'

  Pippa became all brisk action. 'Presumably he still doesn't answer the door?'

  Anna shook her head.

  'What about that woman who comes to the house? Can you speak to her?'

  'I never know when she's coming. She gives me no chance to speak to her anyway. She's straight into the house or into her car.'

  'Write, then. A letter of complaint.'

  'I wondered about that.'

  'Do it!'

  'Then what?'

  'Contact the authorities. Every one you can think of, starting with the police and the council. Take out an injunction, or whatever it's called.'

  Anna smiled. Pippa was so wonderfully indignant and gung-ho. 'You don't think I'd be over-reacting?'

  'Certainly not! This situation has gone on long enough – far too long, in fact.'

  'Thank you, Pippa. I'll do it. If it happens again, I'll do all those things.'

  She felt better already. It was a relief just to know someone else thought as she did.

  Chapter Six

  It was a beautiful, lonely night. She knew it as soon as she woke up. Her room was bathed in brilliant moonlight that eased its way effortlessly through the curtains. It was still, too, and quiet. Or it would have been if somebody not far away had left his chainsaw in the shed!

  She grimaced and sat up. How could he do this yet again? She'd hoped it was over, that part of her life where this terrible noise tore her from sleep.

  Well, she knew now what she must do. She would make a start first thing in the morning. No more dithering. Pippa was right. She would write a note and post it through his letter box. It would be a start.

  If that had no effect, she would contact the Parish Council and the District Council. She would write to the local newspaper. She would canvass local opinion – not that there was a lot of it to canvass, up here on the hill – and she would contact the solicitor, the one who had helped her sort things out after Bob had died. All this she would map out in a second note, to be delivered immediately the first one had been ignored and proven not to have had any effect.

  She felt so satisfied by drawing up this mental programme of action, and she was so exhausted anyway, that she fell asleep even before whatever was going on next door had finished for the night.

  In the morning she wrote the first note and delivered it even before the children were up for breakfast. Right! she thought grimly, and with some satisfaction. If it's war you want, Mister, I'm in the mood.

  Pippa said, 'Good for you!' when Anna phoned to bring her up to date. 'That's telling him. Exactly right. What did you say?'

  'Not much. Just that the use of a chainsaw in the middle of the night is unacceptable to me and my family, and that we want it to stop immediately. If it doesn't, I said, my next step will be to contact all relevant authorities urgently with a view to seeking a court injunction.'

  'Wow!' Pippa said eagerly. 'Did you really say all that?'

  'Certainly I did. A bit more, as well, actually.'

  'I'm proud of you, Anna. Well done!'

  'Thank you, Pippa. Now can you come over to tea this afternoon?'

  'Oh, not today. I can't. Sorry. I'm expecting the carpet fitter. Can you come here?'

  'To see your new carpet? Certainly. I wouldn't miss it for the world.'

  She may have done well in Pippa's eyes, she thought. She had even done well in her own opinion. Made a start, at least. But it hadn't worked.

  She lay half-asleep, listening absently to that dreadful noise once again. There was nothing like it. There was nothing that could compare. Why couldn't he just play the violin music at night? As loud as he liked! She didn't mind that. Playing the violin was something she'd long wanted to do herself. Not as much as driving a car. But she would still like to be able to do it. Play it.

  Or the fiddle. She was confused. Was it a violin or a fiddle she'd heard? She couldn't remember. She listened hard, and couldn't hear it at all now.

  But it wasn't a violin or a fiddle, was it? Neither one. Not tonight. She sat up, wide awake. Of course it hadn't been a violin, or a fiddle. It had been a so-and-so chainsaw – again!

  But now she couldn't hear it. It had stopped. Very soon. It had been going no time at all. Strange.

  She got out of bed and went to the window. She peered into the gloom. There was a light at the bottom of the garden next door. But she couldn't hear anything.

  She was puzzled. Something was different. She didn't know what, but something. In fact, something was wrong. She felt it strongly.

  She hesitated. Maybe it was just that there was no noise to go with the light? But the feeling that something was wrong was too strong to deny. She couldn't just return to bed. She had to know.

  She dressed quickly, throwing on jeans and a jumper. Downstairs she pushed her feet into the rubber boots she kept handy near the back door. Then she let herself out. She stood still for a moment, listening, feeling the night chill on her face. Then she set off, senses alert.

  There was no noise at all now. Not a sound. No breeze even to make the trees whisper and sigh. Nothing. Almost nothing. At first, anyway. Then a distant barn owl hooted. She paused, to listen harder. Another faint sound carried to her then. No more than a whisper, a whimper, on the night air. It came from the trees.

  She reached the end of the hedge and stepped ov
er the low fence between the two gardens, her eyes on the lamp that seemed to be shining unattended. She called softly, a greeting with a question mark after it. There was a groan in response. She gasped and felt her heart begin to race.

  'Are you all right?' she called less tentatively.

  There was nothing for a moment. Then : 'No!' It was a man's voice.

  Ordinarily, the response from an unknown person in the darkness of night might have frightened her. Now it reassured her. It was no longer just her imagination at work. She pressed forward, pushing aside low branches and bushes as she worked her way towards the lamp.

  She reached it, a battery-powered, heavy-duty lamp, and picked it up. She swung round with it and immediately spotted a man on his back, with a heavy tree branch across his legs. The dreaded chainsaw lay a few feet away.

  'What happened?' she asked, gabbling. 'Are you hurt? Can you move? What can I do?'

  He grunted and groaned, and turned his face away from the light. 'Get that damned light out of my face!' he snapped.

  That brought her back to reality, and out of shock.

  'I take it you can't move your legs?' she said more calmly, eyeing the massive branch. 'And you can't move that branch either?'

  'That's right,' he said sharply, his face still turned away from her.

  'Is anything broken?'

  'I don't think so. There would be more pain if …. It hit me on the head,' he added.

  She swallowed hard, forcing herself to think, and to be logical. He was having that effect on her.

  'I live next-door,' she said. 'I guessed something was wrong. What can I do? Go for help?'

  'Not necessary – yet.' He sounded calmer himself now. Coherent, too. As if full consciousness was returning.

  'If you can just ease that branch even slightly,' he gasped, 'I might be able to wriggle out.'

  'I can't lift it myself,' she said, wondering if she should phone Derek.

  'You need a lever,' he said through gritted teeth. 'A pole or a smaller branch. Stick one end under and ease it up. See if you can find one.'

  The first thing she tried was a long thin branch. It snapped. She cast about for something else.

  'Try the spade,' he suggested, pointing it out.

  She did. But nothing happened.

  'It's not long enough,' he said. 'Not enough leverage. Give me that. You find something else.'

  She did as he suggested. His manner and voice carried authority. He knew what he was doing. There would be time later to remind him that maybe he didn't.

  She found a fence post. Between them, her with the post and him with the spade, they managed to achieve some leverage. They didn't raise the branch much, if at all, but they were able to ease it up enough to take the weight off his legs. With a lot of effort, and much grunting, he pulled himself free.

  He lay curled up and still then, gasping from the effort or from pain. She couldn't tell. It could have been either. She stood back and waited, giving him time. She wanted to see if he could move his legs before she did anything else.

  With a groan, he sat up. Then he held on to her arm and gingerly levered himself to his feet. He stood a moment, flexing his legs and ankles. Then he began to shuffle away. No broken bones, she thought with relief.

  'Thanks,' he said over his shoulder.

  'How does it feel? Anything broken?'

  'Probably not, no.'

  She couldn't help herself. 'What were you doing?'

  'A spot of pruning.'

  'Pruning? In the night?'

  'In the night,' he agreed. 'This way,' he added, taking the lamp from her and turning to head towards the house.

  She shrugged and followed. She sensed he resented her questions, and perhaps her presence – or the fact that he'd needed her help.

  Well, she resented it, too! She resented everything about this night, and the nights that had preceded it.

  She got nothing more from him. At the house, without looking at her, he thanked her again, curtly, and wished her good-night. She shook her head, dumbfounded that that was seemingly all there was to be for it. No proper explanation. No account of himself. Nothing, really. Not even introductions.

  As he turned to mount the steps, the light in the porch caught the side of his face. She stared in horror, and was still staring when the door slammed shut, leaving her alone in the night.

  Chapter Seven

  Thinking about it afterwards, she realised there was a lot she didn't know about the man next door. Nearly everything, in fact.

  She sat in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea and reflecting on the events of an extraordinary night. The clock on the wall said it was nearly three but she didn't feel like even attempting to go back to sleep. There was too much on her mind.

  She had caught only the briefest of glimpses of his ruined face but she had been shocked by what she had seen. No wonder he had tried to keep his face turned away from her. The fact that he had done just that suggested, too, that it wasn't a long-standing disfigurement. He was self-conscious about it, and he wouldn't have been if he was used to it.

  He wasn't a youngster. Probably forty-ish. By his age, he wouldn't even think about it any more if his face had always been like that. Her guess was that something had happened, and probably not such a long time ago either.

  Something must have happened. An accident of some sort? A car crash? Fire? Probably. It looked as if he'd been burned. She winced. How horrible! Poor man.

  But her discovery went some way towards explaining his strange behaviour. And there was no getting away from it : his behaviour was strange. Odd. Eccentric even. Unsociable, as well.

  Reluctantly, she smiled. Whoever heard of anyone felling trees – pruning, as he'd put it! - during the night? With or without a chainsaw?

  Eccentric, then. Certainly. And self-indulgent? Eccentricity alone couldn't excuse his using a chainsaw at night without a care – or, worse, a thought – for the people who lived around him.

  But perhaps she'd discovered a reason, an excuse rather. That made it seem better somehow. Less objectionable. More understandable. There's always a reason, she told herself ruefully.

  So she wasn't sure what to do now. Think about it, probably. Not rush in with her programme of blanket exposure and condemnation just yet. Losing a bit more sleep wouldn't matter that much. Besides, you never knew. He might be different from now on, now they'd met. You just couldn't tell.

  One thing she did know, though, was that she felt a bit better about her neighbour. Setting eyes on him at last had pricked the bubble of frustration and anger that had been building inside her these past few weeks. She knew now for sure that it was a human being living next door to her. Anything else she could cope with.

  A couple of days later she took the children down to the village, and while there they dropped in on Pippa. As luck would have it, Derek was at home, too.

  'Just the man I wanted to see!'

  'If you knew him like I know him, you wouldn't say that,' Pippa said tartly. 'Under my feet all the time, interfering, arrogant, opinionated ….'

  'Lazy, conceited ….' Derek contributed. 'And they're not my worst points!'

  Anna laughed.

  'Problems?' Derek added, looking at her with a smile. 'What is it? The bloke next door again?'

  'Well ….' She hesitated. She didn't really want to say much more on that subject. She needed more time to think things through first. 'Not really.'

  'Special P.C. Plod in the village couldn't tell me anything,' Derek continued. 'He hadn't heard a thing about him. And I've not been able to catch the head man at the estate agent's either. So I'm no further forward yet.'

  'It doesn't matter. It's not about him, actually, Derek. What I wondered was if you would come and check out Bob's car for me sometime. I'm thinking of learning to drive at last, and I wondered what the car's like after all this time.'

  'The Mondeo?'

  She nodded. 'It's not been out of the garage since …. since Bob last took it out.'
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  'There shouldn't be much wrong with it,' Derek said slowly. 'The battery will be knackered. And the brakes have probably seized. It'll want new plugs and points, of course. And an oil change.'

  'Not much wrong with it?' Anna said with a grimace.

  'No. That's all fixable. I'll come up and have a look. How about this afternoon?'

  'Would you? Oh, thanks, Derek! That's very good of you.'

  'If you want driving lessons,' Pippa said, 'I can recommend Kenny Armstrong in the village. He's good. Very patient. He taught me to drive – a few years' ago now, mind.'

  'Deserved a medal for it,' Derek muttered.

  'Oh, be quiet, you!' Anna warned. 'Pippa's a very good driver.'

  'Take no notice of him,' Pippa said, ushering Anna towards the door. 'Well done, by the way,' she added. 'I think you're doing the right thing, thinking about learning to drive.'

  'It would make my life a lot easier, wouldn't it?'

  'Of course it would.'

  'You never know. I might even be able to think about a part-time job if I'm more mobile.'

  'Good for you!'

  Another positive step, Anna told herself, as she collected the children and headed for the village shop. Something to look forward to, and to feel good about. She needed things like that. As many as she could get, in fact.

  'No, Tom! You can't have an ice-cream this morning.'

  'But I want one!' he wailed.

  'You want one every day.'

  Tom wasn't happy. Nor was Lisa, who was aggrieved that she'd missed out on an ice-cream when she was at Katy's.

  'Tom always has his way!' Lisa complained bitterly.

  'He's not getting it today,' Anna told her firmly.

  Tom was about to give further voice to his disappointment when he spotted his friend, Jack, who had just entered the shop with his mother.

  'Jack!' he shrieked with great joy, rushing to grapple with the other boy.

  'I owe you an ice-cream,' Anna said quickly to Lisa. 'I know Tom got one the other day, and you didn't.'

  'That's all right, Mum.'

  'No, it isn't. Fair's fair. You missed out the other day. But I can't buy you one today without getting one for Tom, as well, and I don't want him to think he's getting one every time we come into the shop.'