by Jim Bennett
The older youth watched all this unfolding before his eyes with absolute bemusement. Not wanting to lose face, he took an incredibly tentative step towards his elderly combatant.
‘Try it', she said, holding the cane in front of her like a sabre. He didn’t reply, but he also didn’t make a move towards them. The dazed look on his face was now transforming into one of wounded pride and fury.
Mrs McGrath turned away from him and walked with her usual limp towards the exit of the car park.
Slightly shell shocked, Julie started to collect the pennies that had fallen out of her purse.
‘What are you doing, woman', Mrs McGrath called. She had already cleared a surprising distance.
‘Right, sorry’, Julie said, dropping the few coins still collected in her hand and ran after her.
Julie was thrilled to find the car where she had left it. She was so giddy that she struggled to press the button to unlock the car. Mrs McGrath didn’t help by pulling at the door handle every few seconds.
‘Get a hold of yourself’, Mrs McGrath said with even less compassion than usual. Julie was alarmed to see their attackers emerging from the same path they had walked down a few moments ago. Their progress had been hampered by the need to bring their bikes with them. Julie noticed that the youth who had suffered the assault on his testicles was nowhere to be seen, but instead, the ring leader was riding his BMX.
‘You can look at them all you like when we’re in the bloody car’, Mrs McGrath said, bringing Julie back to the moment. She managed to make her finger connect with the unlock button and they both climbed in.
They pulled away and the group immediately gave chase. Julie was so preoccupied with checking their position in the rear view mirror that she didn’t pay attention to where she was going. The park was a mass of junctions and turnings that very quickly led to dead ends. More than once, Julie took a wrong turn and had to perform a very dodgy maneuver to get the car back on route. It did mean that despite her pressing want to affect a quick getaway, their assailants managed to remain within reaching distance of the car.
After having to once again correct a wrong turning, the young man got so close to the vehicle that he was able to grab hold of the wing mirror on Mrs McGrath’s side of the car. The little yob then started to throw his crooked elbow against the window. Julie let out a little yelp, more in surprise than anything else. While the assault on the vehicle appeared to be having no discernible effect on the glass, the muffled thud each impact made was fairly unsettling.
Now on the last straight stretch that led to the main road, Julie could finally speed up and make their escape, but was reluctant to do so while the youth was still clinging on to the side of the car for fear of inflicting some real damage. During the incredibly low speed chase that had ensued, Mrs McGrath had remained sitting with her arms crossed looking bored.
As Julie slowed on the approach to the main road, one of the cohort burst from the pack and attempted to bring his body between the car and their salvation.
‘What if he gets in front of us', Julie said in a much too shrill voice. ‘We’ll be stuck’. Mrs McGrath looked over at her with a look of stinging disapproval and Julie realised that she had probably momentarily lost her sense of perspective.
Without looking around, Mrs McGrath pushed the button to lower her window.
‘Don’t do that’, Julie said, her voice again piercing. ‘They’ll get in’.
Mrs McGrath didn’t answer her. Instead, she gripped her walking stick with both hands. With one decisive jab, she rammed it into the side of the youth closest to her who immediately let go of the side of the car, toppling into his comrade who was attempting to impede their escape. Both fell to the hard ground. The final member of the party managed to slam his breaks on in time, narrowly avoiding a further collision. Not looking round to survey the havoc she had wreaked, she wound her window back up and returned her stick to the footwell.
In her haste to get away, Julie pulled into a gap in the traffic a fraction too small and recieved a long, resounding honk because of it.
‘Not bad that', Mrs McGrath said as they came to a stop in the late afternoon congestion.
Julie looked at her passenger incredulously. ‘We were almost attacked!' She sounded a lot more haughty than she actually felt. Yes, she had been in an almost constant state of panic since they first left the car but it had been exciting. If she was honest with herself, it was down right exhilarating.
‘Not that', Mrs McGrath said, disregarding Julie’s concern for her safety, however contrived it may have been. ‘I mean the information’.
‘Was it? I didn’t think it was very surprising. I was pretty sure Jack didn’t take hard drugs anyway'.
‘Injecting cannabis then, was he?'
‘What?’
‘What was the needle on the floor about if he was only buying dope from that dipstick?'
‘Maybe someone gave it to him? Or he was at a party and they had some left over'.
‘How many parties have you been to where they divvy up the leftover drugs at the end of the night? It’s not a bloody pasta bake'.
‘Alright then, what are you saying happened?'
‘Dunno yet. We’ve only just started investigating. I’m just saying I was right in thinking that it didn’t add up'.
‘One small part of it doesn’t fit what you already know. It doesn’t mean he was murdered'.
‘What about the money?'
‘What about it?'
‘If he wasn’t dealing drugs, then why did he have all that money?’
‘He was doing some gardening', Julie said. Mrs McGrath looked at her like her brains were slowly dripping out of her ear. ‘Quite a bit of gardening. And he was working in the bar’.
‘They should get someone to go into schools, and tell the kids it’s not worth going to university. Much better money in landscaping and serving drinks'.
‘Yes alright', Julie said, irritated.
‘It’s going to take a lot of work to make a detective out of you girl’, Mrs McGrath said, settling down in her chair to go back to sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Julie walked over the field towards the attractions with a tupperware crammed full of biscuits.
She had convinced herself that it had definitely been her intention to make them herself. However, the police had only left her house late the previous afternoon. Therefore, she decided that their occupation gave her the perfect excuse to go to Tesco for her baked goods instead. In order to ensure that their authenticity wasn’t questioned, she dragged them across her cheese grater, adding a more rustic quality to them.
On the journey here, Julie had spotted a few posters for the event billing it as a ‘family fun day’. The only issue with them was that they were entirely posted on trees once you had turned onto the drive of the care home. Therefore the only people that would see them would already be on their way here.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun continued to bombard them with its ferocious heat.
Somehow though there were sections of the field that remained abjectly muddy. More than once, Julie lost a flip flop to the saturated dirt and had to pause to reclaim it.
‘Oh, very nice’, Tracy said, taking the container of biscuits from her from her place behind the cake stall. ‘Nice to have something homemade. All we’ve had so far is Penguin bars’.
‘It did say 12.30 on the leaflet, didn’t it?'
‘12.00 arrival for a 12.30 start, yeah’, Tracy said, placing the biscuits on a plate.
‘There’s just less people here than I would have thought’. Julie looked around again and confirmed her first impression. Only a handful of the 50 or so residents had anyone sitting with them.
‘It’s the smell’, Tracy said frankly. ‘Granny piss. That’s why we do it outdoors. Less chance of it getting into your clothes that way'.
‘Oh yeah?' Julie said, wondering if Tracy had once again forgotten she was related to one of the residents.
<
br /> ‘That’s why we struggle to recruit too. Young people can’t hack it'.
‘I’ll go and say hello to Betty then’.
‘Right you are', Tracy said, unwrapping a chocolate bar that she hadn’t paid for.
Betty gave her the little sweet smile that she always greeted visitors with. Julie bent down to kiss her cheek and her mother in law was gracious enough to pretend she knew who she was. For some unknown reason, she was wearing her coat and clutching her handbag. No doubt she had got the wrong end of the stick when they had told her she was going on a day out. It broke Julie’s heart a bit to see she was wearing what she used to call her best hat.
‘Well, aren’t I popular', Betty said smiling, as Julie settled in the chair next to her.
‘Not as popular as me', said another old lady sitting to their right. ‘That’s all my lot there'.
Julie looked at where she was pointing and saw a large group of people walking across the field. Unusually, half were in wheelchairs and the other half were attempting to push them across the uneven ground. On either side, there were a few stragglers who weren’t wearing the uniforms that you would normally associate with health care professionals .
‘It’s my Robert and his boys’, the old lady said, leaning forward to make eye contact with Julie. Betty looked uncomfortable and focused on her shoes. Julie tried to follow suit, but the slightly manic woman ducked her head so she had to meet her gaze.
‘It is. Go and ask him'.
‘I’m sure he is’, Julie said smiling placatingly and attempting to turn in her chair away from the nuisance. Before she could, the woman grabbed her arm and stopped her mid pivot.
‘No, go and ask him’. The look in the woman’s eyes was nearing deranged, so Julie thought it would be easiest to humour her.
‘I’ll be right back Betty’, Julie said, getting out of her seat. Betty glanced up at her very quickly, like she didn’t want to risk getting involved. She took a few steps to the approaching group, before realising that she recognised one of the number on the far right fringe. Mrs Sinclair was walking across the green with her arms crossed over her chest. It had taken her a moment longer to recognise her as she had done something rather drastic with her hair. Now in place of her dark silky hair that had once cascaded down her back was a rather severe boyish style. It was the kind of haircut that women in the Autumn of their life affected when they finally realised that the daily maintenance of one’s do simply wasn’t worth the effort anymore. In spite of this, it still had the potential to be stylish. The natural wave could be teased into something resembling glamorous with the right inclination.
It was jarring to see it on Mrs Sinclair, who was probably a few years younger than Julie. Despite looking worn, the beauty in her features was still obvious. Julie expected that the poor woman hadn’t managed to recuperate from the events a few nights previously. First needing to call an emergency plumber and then having to call the paramedics.
Julie’s eyes wandered to the right and she saw Mr Sinclair. He looked none the worse for his ordeal earlier in the week, whatever it may have been. A powerfully built man pushing Mr Sinclair’s wheelchair, the rough terrain not even registering with him as an issue. His much weedier colleague was struggling several feet behind him, the back wheels of his patient's chair planted firmly in the mud. Even from this distance, Julie could hear the old gentleman in the chair shouting ‘go on lad, put some balls into it'.
‘Mrs Sinclair?' Julie said when the group reached her. Clearly lost in her thoughts, she looked surprised that someone was talking to her. So severe was the expression that it bordered on shock or even terror. ‘It’s Julie. Julie Giles. I live across the road from you?’
Mrs Sinclair nodded. ‘Yes, I remember’.
‘I haven’t seen you here before', Julie said. ‘I didn’t know you had a relative in Thorneywood?’
‘I don’t’, Mrs Sinclair said abruptly.
‘Just fancied a day at the fair did you?'
‘They thought it would be good for Mr Sinclair and the others to try something new', she said, with real reluctance and avoiding eye contact. She made Julie feel like it was an effort to talk to her. Of course she knew the woman was reserved. After all, they had lived across the road from one another for over many years now and all she could usually muster was a slight incline of the head in Julie’s direction. But this was taking it to the next level.
‘Well I won’t keep you', Julie said. She hadn’t meant for it to sound sarcastic but had almost definitely failed. Without even a cursory goodbye, Mrs Sinclairleft Julie standing alone and went to rejoin her group.
Julie went back over to where she had been sitting ready to answer the woman’s questions, but she had lost interest. She was now trying to convince the old gent on the other side of her that she had 100 percent almost been chosen as a representative for the British shotput team in the 1976 Olympic games.
Julie and Betty had been sitting in companionable silence for a few moments when the old woman put her hand on her leg and squeezed it affectionately.
‘Let’s go and have a look at the stalls, shall we?' Betty said. ‘It’s been years since I’ve been to the fair'. It didn’t matter to Julie that Betty likely had no idea who she was. It didn’t even matter that three days previously, she had found a dead body in her spare room. Her warm little face made her feel wanted. Not because she was willing to cook and clean, but just because she wanted some company to go around the fair. Without a doubt, it made her feel happy in such an uncomplicated way that she experienced a sense of joy that would have felt alien to her a few moments ago.
As delicately as she could manage, Julie helped Betty out of her chair and they went off to explore what wonders the Thorneywood Care Home Summer Fete had to offer them. Betty wasn’t interested in the tombola or the raffle. Nor could Tracy and her thin selection of baked treats tempt her. However, when she saw the hook a duck stand, she began to pull on Julie’s arm like a dog straining on its lead.
‘Hello there ladies’, said the greasy man behind the stall. Julie had never seen anyone over the age of 16 with such severe acne. It was a shame that he had chosen a profession where he had to wear a money belt. It was fixed just under his enormous belly, further highlighting his enormous girth. His hair had gone without a thorough wash for so long that it actually looked wet to the touch. ‘Welcome…', he said and paused for dramatic effect, ‘to reap a sheep'.
Julie looked at the attraction for the first time and saw that it wasn’t actually plastic ducks, but sheep that littered the small pool before her. Weirder still, they weren’t floating. Instead, they were standing still in about an inch of water.
‘What’s the aim of the game?' Julie asked.
He looked at her blankly. ‘You’ve never played hook a duck before?’
‘Of course I have, but… well, they’re not ducks, are they?’
‘Same difference’, he said, shrugging. He turned his gaze to Betty ‘£2 please love’. She handed it over to him without hesitation and the vendor handed her a pole with a hook on the end.
‘I don’t understand. Why would sheep be swimming?'
‘Why would you be picking up ducks from a hook sticking out of its head? Nothing makes much sense if you question it too much, love'.
Julie felt irritated that he did in fact have a point.
‘Well there’s not much sport in it, is there? They’re not even moving’.
He nodded towards Betty who was struggling to capture one of the stationary sheep. The greasy man then turned back to her and looked smug.
Julie spent five minutes watching Betty try to catch the wayward sheep and then another five minutes attempting to steady her hand and guide it towards the troublesome animal. When that failed, Julie snatched the pole out of her mother in law’s hands and after taking a moment to calm herself down, managed to hook the thing herself. In reward of her efforts, Betty received a lump of cotton wool with a crudely drawn face in felt tip. As Julie took her mothe
r in law back to the larger congregation of older people, she made a list in her head of all the things she could have done with the ten minutes she just wasted.
After all that excitement, Betty wanted a sit down and Julie desperately needed some time to herself. She left her charge with her friends, proudly showing off her new pet sheep. Julie wandered through the dozen stalls and quickly came to the other end. Not wanting to return so soon, she carried on walking until she found herself standing behind the grand grey structure that the old dears called home.
As she strolled, she had been thinking about Jack and what Mrs McGrath had said in the car yesterday. Could someone have killed him? He had been a bit of a shit, but was that really reason enough to kill someone? Maybe he was a sweet boy who had been having a bit of an off period. If being a bit unpleasant was a reason to be killed, then the majority of the people at the local supermarket on a Saturday morning were in for an early end. He had been a veritable tsunami in Julie’s own life. If anything though, that was testament to how humdrum and without incident her daily routine was. That being said, Jack had seemed to cause conflict wherever he went. His jilted lover at work looked ready to slap him, not to mention his rival behind the bar or the older bloke that he had the scrap with. And what about that great bulk of notes that he was carrying round with him? Maybe Mrs McGrath was right and Jack had a talent for trouble lurking below that charming facade.
Lost in her own thoughts, Julie turned the corner of the building, which took her to the side of the building farthest away from the fete and she was surprised to see Mrs Sinclair sitting on the back steps that led down from the kitchen.
‘Oh hello’, Julie said, trying to sound friendly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude'.
Mrs Sinclair looked at Julie impassively. She didn’t say anything. Instead, she appeared to be waiting for Julie to tell her what she was doing there, like she had some greater claim on the back steps of a care home through some unknown lineage. Julie saw anew the dark rings around her eyes. Her face was pale and yet her hands were violently blushed as if she had recently fended off some horrendous skin condition.
