Jack by the Hedge (Jack of All Trades Book 4)

by DH Smith

  A question normal people asked. Her heart racing, guessing the outcome from his dour face. Not wanting to be told.

  ‘He’s dead,’ he said.

  ‘Oh no!’ Her hands slapped to her cheeks. ‘How can that be?’

  ‘He died half an hour before we arrived,’ said Jack. ‘The doctor took us to the mortuary. There he was, still in hospital pyjamas, as if he were asleep.’

  She uncovered her face, a tear slid down her cheek, that she caught on a finger.

  ‘How did Mr Swift take it?’

  ‘He was quiet on the way back. Worried about what’s going to happen to him.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘It’s always the living that suffer.’ And felt she should ask, as anyone would ask. ‘Did they say what it was?’

  ‘Some sort of poisoning. They don’t know what. There’ll be an autopsy.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, overcome with exhaustion, ‘I just want to close the park. Send everyone home. Bring down the shutters on today.’

  ‘You’re the boss now.’

  ‘I don’t want to be anyone’s boss,’ she said dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

  ‘You’ll do it better than he did.’

  ‘He was my neighbour,’ she said. ‘I’d hear his television faintly through the wall. He helped me put up my bean poles.’ Speak no ill of the dead. Everyone knew that. She handed out further memories like old photos. ‘I gave him tomatoes, he gave me broccoli… I pruned his roses while I was pruning mine. I looked after his rabbit when he was away. We had a drink together on Christmas morning…’

  It had happened. The event she’d put in train when she gave him lunch yesterday afternoon. Did anyone know they’d eaten together? Zar must keep quiet about the mushrooms in the park. Her thoughts flowed under his words like a second sound track.

  ‘You can’t help wondering,’ said Jack. ‘Or maybe it’s the way I think, but could it have been deliberate, the poisoning?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said, knowing absolutely what he meant.

  ‘Suicide or even murder,’ he said.

  She flapped a hand in dismissal. ‘I can’t believe it. This is not gangland drugs turf. It’s a park. These things don’t happen. Not here.’

  ‘Put it down to my sick mind. Too many crime movies.’

  She was trembling. She wanted him out of her space but didn’t know how to get rid of him. Ian was dead. Did she seem too upset? Not upset enough… or in the right way? Why wouldn’t the builder leave? Was he watching her?

  ‘You’ve a smudge on your cheek and forehead,’ he said. He took the tissue out of her hand and wiped them off. ‘That’s better.’

  ‘Thank you, Jack. Now I’m suitable for the troops.’ She managed a half smile, her stomach tumbling like a drier. ‘How’s the weather doing?’ Always a safe topic.

  ‘It’s stopped raining,’ he said looking out the window. ‘Well, well. Might get some work done today. Blue patches are opening up.’

  She looked at her watch. ‘It’s almost lunchtime. I’m going home. I can make something for Mr Swift.’

  ‘He looks rather lost,’ said Jack. ‘I said he could help me with the bricklaying this afternoon.’

  ‘That’s good of you.’

  Go, she thought. She needed to compose herself. Take in this new world. Not chit chat. Or what might she say? And then it occurred to her, she could at least restrain speculation in the mess hut over lunch.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone about Ian,’ she said. ‘We’ll have a meeting after lunch and I can tell them formally. Better than piecemeal.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll leave it to the boss. I’m off to eat.’

  And he left.

  Just like that. As if nothing much had happened. He came, gave the news. He went. She sat numbly in Ian’s chair. Hers now. With a whole half day to get through. Home first, shut the door on the world for an hour, weep her eyes dry. Make sense of it, if sense there was. And return to the new regime.

  Chapter 36

  As Jack left the park office, Rose came out of the tool shed. Her hair was awry, her face grimy. As she saw him she frowned; a second earlier and she might have ducked back into the shed.

  ‘I’m sorry about your telescope,’ she said.

  ‘Some giant was wandering round the park,’ he said. ‘Knocking things over.’

  ‘Really,’ she said, not catching his eye. ‘Quite a fairy tale.’ She bit her forefinger, then added, ‘I will give you back the thirty quid I borrowed.’

  ‘Nicked,’ he said.

  ‘Just borrowed,’ she retorted. ‘I saw it laying around.’

  ‘In a drawer?’

  ‘Well, that’s not exactly in a safe,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, so it’s my fault then. I get it. I shouldn’t leave money around my flat. At least, not if I invite you over.’

  Hands on hips, she said, ‘You going to call the police on me?’

  ‘No. But I want it back.’

  ‘OK. You’ll get it.’ Her nose screwed up. ‘Alright, I shouldn’t have done it, but I was so bored.’ Then she added with a placatory grin, ‘I did mean to come back last night. But you know what it’s like at a club…’

  ‘I don’t, actually.’

  She shrugged. ‘Come throwing out time, you just do what everyone else is doing. You follow whoever is going on to somewhere else.’

  It occurred to him; there was Rose tagging along in the early hours with the oddbods chucked out of the club. Maybe…

  ‘Did you stay in the pavilion last night?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘My new address. Spartan, but somewhere to crash. Besides, it was so late… Zar was there too.’

  ‘Quite a guest house,’ he said. ‘Might there have been a big man you brought along from a club?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Jack stared at her for any hint, she stared back, daring him to challenge her.

  He held a finger up. ‘Wait.’ And stepped into the tool shed. In the gloom, Zar and Bill were hanging up tools on hooks. ‘Zar!’ he called. The young man turned. ‘Just a word, Zar.’

  Zar nodded and came to the entrance.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Did Rose come on her own to the pavilion last night? Or was she with someone?’

  Zar looked at Rose. Her face was stony. He turned back to Jack.

  ‘She was on her own,’ he said.

  Jack was exasperated, he’d seen no communication. Rose was grinning smugly. Were they lying? He couldn’t tell. Did it matter? Yes. His telescope was in bits.

  ‘What were you doing in the pavilion anyway?’ he said to Zar.

  ‘My parents kicked me out…’ he began, then corrected himself, ‘Or rather, I left before they kicked me out.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Zar shrugged. ‘It was going to happen. Just happened a little sooner than I’d planned… Sorry about your telescope.’

  ‘I should pass the hat round,’ he said bitterly. ‘Not that I’d get a bent penny from you,’ he added, prodding Rose on the shoulder.

  ‘Lay off,’ she said resentfully, pushing his hand away.

  Jack looked at his watch. ‘I’m going to wash up for lunch.’

  ‘Jack,’ she called as he began crossing the yard. He turned. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, waving a hand in the air. ‘It was the wind that done it.’

  Chapter 37

  He ate his lunch on the wall, placing a plastic sack underneath him, to keep the damp off. He’d unrolled his shirt sleeves and put his denim jacket on. He was too grumpy for the mess hut, wanting no more sympathy for his telescope. Besides which, Liz had told him not to tell anyone Ian was dead. So best that he keep his own company, and read the Mirror.

  He thought of Rose. Lively and attractive, too lively, promising everything to everyone, but that only works for so long. Her sister had kicked her out, had enough of her. He didn’t trust her either. But then again, what was he up to himself? She’d been the und
erstudy, knowing the audience would be disappointed when she came on. Could he really complain when she wasn’t in his bed, waiting?

  Hardly. But yes, there was resentment. The 30 quid didn’t matter. Not much anyway. The telescope, yes, but she wasn’t part of that. Or at least, she didn’t do it herself. Some drugged up giant, who she may well have pulled in from the clubbing scene.

  Forget Rose.

  It had to be Liz. A star session tonight? Last night’s hadn’t happened. And his telescope was kaput, but he had his binoculars – and the skies were clearing. He could suggest another go. Though she did seem overwrought. Understandable, suddenly being manager, Ian’s death, and on top of it all the fuss about tomorrow’s ceremony. She hadn’t exactly been chummy in the office. Maybe it was his attitude and she’d picked up on it. The busted telescope, the rain, a trip to the mortuary…

  He cared a lot less about Ian than she did. Well, she was his neighbour, he’d been here less than two days and the man had hardly said a pleasant word to him. No wonder he couldn’t grieve.

  He’d been so proud of his 8 inch Newtonian. But it was a heap of junk. Get used to it. Unless he could find a dealer who supplied telescopic mirrors. At a price he could afford. They didn’t give them away.

  Lunch over, he walked over to the cottages to pick up Mr Swift. And found him ready for work, in his overalls and boots. He had a spirit level, a string line and a bricklayer’s trowel.

  ‘I see you’ve got the gear,’ he said, looking him up and down.

  ‘It’s been sitting around a while,’ said the old man. ‘Let’s see what I still remember.’

  Liz waved to them from her kitchen window. Jack waved back. She blew him a kiss. And Jack wondered. Sometimes it was better not to talk.

  ‘How was your lunch?’ said Jack.

  ‘Liz made me up a salad with some very nice pie. I don’t know what was in it. Some vegetarian thing. Surprisingly good. Tasted almost like meat. And we talked about Ian. She’s more upset than she’ll admit.’ He shook his head. ‘Ian went to lunch there yesterday. They were getting close. And now…’ He flapped a hand weakly.

  Ian for lunch and me for supper? Well, well, thought Jack. Either she’s very sociable – or what? It could have been just a working lunch. Why make anything of it? They were neighbours, they had a big event on. Did there have to be any more to it than that?

  They were walking across the lawn, their footfalls squeezing water out of the short grass.

  ‘There’ll have to be a funeral,’ went on the old man. ‘I can’t face that. All the people to phone up and whatnot. And a cremation or burial. What do you think’s best?

  ‘It’s up to you,’ said Jack with a shrug. ‘When you’re gone you’re gone. What do you prefer?’

  ‘If there’s heaven,’ said Mr Swift, ‘then, surely, you need a body to walk up all those steps? I always feel with cremation, all that heat would burn up the soul.’

  ‘Isn’t it supposed to float off when you die?’ said Jack. ‘The body being just a shell. Mind you, I’m a heathen. When I’m dead, you can put me in the dustbin. I won’t be around to gripe.’

  ‘I got some savings.’ The old man bit his lip. ‘I think a burial with a marble headstone… Maybe Liz could make a poem to go on it.’

  ‘The funeral won’t be a while yet,’ said Jack. ‘There has to be an autopsy when there’s an unexplained death. And then an inquest.’

  The old man went on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I was thinking of singing Down by the Sally Gardens at the funeral service… Do you think that would be suitable?’

  ‘I do,’ said Jack. ‘Well, I enjoyed it. It’s a song full of regret, for things that should have been done better.’

  ‘So say all of us,’ said the old man.

  They were at the wall. Jack paced the gap.

  ‘Do you think you could set your line up this side?’ said Jack, ‘while I bring the bricks out and then make up the mortar.’

  ‘If I can get down to ground level, I can manage that.’

  ‘There’s no hurry,’ said Jack. ‘Do it at your own pace.’

  ‘You’ll never make a foreman.’

  ‘And never want to be.’

  He went into the yard, and to the tool shed. The wheelbarrow was there, neatly against a wall, his tools still in it from yesterday. Jack wheeled it out and over to the pile of reclaimed bricks. He removed the tools and filled the barrow with bricks. Then laying the tools on top, set off back to the wall.

  While dropping off the bricks, he noted that Mr Swift knew what he was doing, though he was a little creaky on hands and knees. The old man had set up a line, running from both sides of the old wall, across the gap, at one brick height.

  ‘The first course of bricks is the important one,’ said Mr Swift. ‘Get that right and you’ve got a good level to work from.’

  Jack left him, and returned to the yard with the wheelbarrow, to make up the mortar. It made a change to have a mate to work with, though he’d have to take care the old boy didn’t push himself too hard. One death in the family was more than enough.

  Chapter 38

  They were seated round the mess hut table: Zar, Rose, Amy and Bill, with Liz at the head. She wasn’t sure how to begin, but she had to tell them the news. Her hands were below the table trembling. She would keep the meeting short and get them all out working. And busy herself too.

  ‘I’ve sad news,’ she said, deciding there was no easy way in. They were all looking at her, wondering. ‘Ian died this morning.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ cried Bill.

  ‘He can’t have,’ exclaimed Amy. ‘He was right as rain when I left yesterday.’

  Rose said, ‘Who’s been putting pins in him?’

  ‘He was younger than my dad,’ exclaimed Zar.

  ‘Forty-six years old,’ said Liz with a sigh. ‘Jack took Mr Swift to the hospital this morning and they gave them the news. Ian had been in intensive care all night, but it didn’t work. Sadly. Jack and Mr Swift were taken to the mortuary to view the body. So there’s no doubt.’

  ‘Do they know what killed him?’ asked Amy.

  ‘No,’ said Liz. She would not mention poison, not with Zar here. Let it come out later, when she was more capable, when events were fuzzier, some time ahead, not now. ‘There will be an autopsy,’ she went on, ‘and an inquest. But for now, it’s an unexplained death.’

  ‘Heart,’ said Bill knowledgably. ‘These things. Usually the heart. They find a weakness no one knew about. Living on borrowed time, I bet you.’

  She might have stopped him, but he was offering other possibilities. Clouding the issue.

  Amy said, ‘Five o’clock yesterday, I was talking to him in the playground. I’ve never seen him so cheerful. So full of energy.’

  ‘He was grinning all afternoon,’ agreed Rose. ‘I wondered what he was on.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Zar, ‘he came in here when we were eating cakes. Remember? And for once, he wasn’t looking at his watch all the time.’

  ‘He made a little speech,’ said Amy. ‘Something about us all being like a family.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘It’s so sudden. I can’t believe it. Dead.’

  ‘We’ll make up a floral tribute,’ said Liz. ‘It’s the least we can do. Close the park for the day of the funeral.’

  They were watching her; she wished they weren’t. As if she had answers. And maybe she had, but none she wanted to give them. Amy was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Bill was Bill, no different it seemed. He’d been Ian’s confidant. But then Bill always expected the worst, so perhaps was the least surprised of them all.

  She said, ‘We’re a bit pushed today. We’ve lost a morning with the rain. I’m leaving the tennis courts shut. There’s puddles in there anyway, and it’s too much trouble to clear them. Let them dry out over the afternoon. Bill and Zar, you two carry on with the flowerbeds. Get them cleared and dug over this afternoon. I’ll give you some overtime if needs be. Hopefully, we can get at least some of
the flowers put in tomorrow morning before the Mayor and his party arrive. In fact, it will look good with the two of you working on the beds when everyone comes. Boxes of colourful primulas and all that. I’m going to be watering the plants in the greenhouses, and I have to test out the hose and connections for the cascade. Rose – you can go in the playground…’

  Amy interrupted. ‘That’s my job, Liz.’

  ‘Rose, you can go in the playground,’ repeated Liz.

  ‘That’s mine, I always do that,’ insisted Amy.

  ‘Be fair,’ said Rose, smiling at Amy. ‘Share and share alike.’

  ‘I’m the playground worker,’ went on Amy. ‘Ian always has me there. It has to be me.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ said Liz, angered by Amy’s tirade. ‘You can leaf vac this afternoon for once.’

  Amy stood up and pointed at Rose. ‘It’s a family thing!’ she exclaimed. ‘Not even in his coffin and you’re playing favourites.’

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ exploded Liz. She stood up. ‘You are an assistant gardener, the same as Rose. You do not tell me where you are working.’

  ‘I always do the playground, Liz,’ she said, visibly weakening.

  ‘You do not always do the playground, Amy.’

  Liz was determined not to lose this face off. She was either the manager in the park or not.

  ‘I know where everything is,’ insisted Amy, ‘I know all the mums, they trust me.’

  Liz stood her ground. She was boiling inside, but could see Amy was beaten.

  ‘Amy, are you the manager of this park?’

  ‘No. I’m not. But, Liz, it’s my right.’

  ‘I don’t know what right you are talking about, Amy. Your contract of employment says you will work anywhere in the park as requested by your manager. That being so, it’s Rose in the playground this afternoon. And you, Amy, on the leaf vac. And that is an end to it.’ She gazed round at them all; they’d stayed like kids watching a fight. ‘You all know what you have to do. Let’s go.’

  Bill and Zar left. Rose too, working to hide a grin. Amy stayed.

  ‘Please, Liz,’ she wheedled. ‘I need to be in the playground.’