“Where did you come from?”
The cat circled and nudged in exactly the same way as Anticat. I wondered if they were twins. I dropped some nuggets into the bowl and watched as the white version of Anticat wolfed them down. I'd have to try to find out who owned these cats. There'll be some poor widow somewhere wondering where her beloved moggies had gone. I hoped.
The search for paper took me upstairs to the small landing between the two bedrooms. This obviously served Aunt Flora as a sort of office area. The view was stunning from here, looking out across the field with the oak tree and to Glastonbury Tor in the distance. A wooden desk sat underneath the window and I sat in the chair and searched the drawers. I couldn’t work out whether the various pens, pieces of string, rubber bands and other assorted desk drawer detritus had once belonged to Aunt Flora or had been placed there by the agents for use by tenants. It didn't matter I supposed, but it felt somewhat comforting if I believed they were Flora's belongings. A sort of connection. I found what I was looking for, at least partly. The drawers gave up a pad of lined paper but unfortunately no envelopes or stamps. That would have been expecting too much. I did however find a bunch of keys. I tossed them into the air and caught them triumphantly then headed downstairs to do battle once more with the patio doors. My short-lived triumph soon faded though as each of the four keys would not even fit the lock. Giving up I dumped the keys on the window ledge.
I returned to the desk on the landing to pen my reprimand to Messrs Hunter and Parks. But first I had to persuade the white cat I could actually write a letter without his help and that sitting on the pad did little to endear it to me and might in fact even threaten future Happy Cat supplies. White Cat seemed to understand and set off downstairs. I returned to my missive to the letting agents and explained at length how their use of the term 'Service' could be construed as misleading under the Trades Description Act then went on to give them two pages of advice on customer relations. It never does to piss off a writer. I folded the paper around the cheque which I'd already made out for a sum exactly ten pounds light of what they'd requested, embuggerance factor charge.
I made a list of essentials, envelopes, stamps, birdseed. I glanced out of the window and thought for a moment then added chainsaw to the list. Another moment's pause then included microwave. Hmm, this list might be beyond the resources of Trembly but I'd start there at least.
The village general store doubled as a Post Office. It also seemed to double as a bookshop, an off-licence and a haberdashery. From the outside it looked quite small but once inside it extended through a rabbit warren of rooms and annexes. I eventually managed to locate everything I needed with the exception of the microwave and chainsaw. Although I wasn't convinced I wouldn't find those in here if I looked hard enough.
The man behind the counter was tall and rotund with a pair of red braces stretched taught over his stomach. “Afternoon, Mr Faulkener,” he greeted. “I tried to order some of your comics when I heard you was here but the wholesalers said they don't stock them. That'll be five pound seventy please.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And they're graphic novels, not...” Oh sod it. I could be having this conversation for the rest of my life. “Do you know if anybody has lost a pair of cats? A black one and a white one?”
“Old Flora used to have cats. Strays I think mostly. Not of a mind as to anybody losing one though. You could put a notice on my board.” He waved his hand towards a notice board near the door.
“Thank you. Do you have a postcard to write it on?”
I bought a pack of blank postcards, wrote the note and paid for two weeks. That should cover it.
“Just pin it to the board as you go.” he said.
My advert joined a dozen others on the board in amongst prams for sale and babysitting services. One notice in what looked like very neat child's handwriting caught my eye. It advertised general repairs, gardening and locksmith. The postcard suggested I call Wayne for all my odd jobs and gave a mobile phone number. I wrote the number down on one of the postcards.
After dropping my shopping inside I pulled out Wayne's number and gave him a ring. He answered quickly and seemed quite confident when I explained my problem with the patio doors. He said he'd be round dreckly, which threw me at first until I realised he meant 'Directly'.
As I made myself a cup of tea I remembered the little brown bottle the woman in Glastonbury had given me. I tapped a couple of drops of the liquid in my tea and settled down at the kitchen table to await Wayne. The green cooker stared at me from the corner reminding me I'd forgotten to get fuel for it. Although I wasn't sure what the damned thing ate as it had gone through my bag of wood in no time. The tea tasted slightly sweet, I never used sugar so it was noticeable but not unpleasant. I watched through the window as evening drew in and the colours in the garden changed with the fading light. The little brown birds fluttered around the empty bird table so I opened the new packet and went out through the front door and round the back to the bird table. They were gone by the time I got there, probably hiding again. There were certainly plenty of places for them to hide in this garden. I sprinkled seeds on the table and headed back to the kitchen. I checked through the window and as earlier, they appeared to have eaten the lot in the time it had taken me to get back to the kitchen. They would have to make do. I could see I could keep this up all day. My eyes scanned the kitchen. It seemed slightly odd that there was no back door. It would seem to have been an obvious thing for a cottage kitchen to have a back door to the garden.
The sky outside darkened and there was still no sign of Wayne. I rang his number and he said he hadn't forgotten and he'd be along directly.
“But it's dark outside now, Wayne,” I said. “Won't it be difficult to see to work?”
“I'm not coming tonight,” he said, sounding surprised. “I'll be along tomorrow, like I said, dreckly. Can't do doors in the dark!”
“Okay,” I said. “I'll see you then.” I switched the phone off and realised I hadn't sorted out a time with him. It seems the word 'Directly' has a different meaning in Somerset. I supposed I was going to have to get used to a slightly different pace of life here. I felt strangely calm and briefly wondered why I hadn't given Wayne a slice of my usual acerbic anger that I usually kept in reserve for idiots that stole my time. My eyes caught the little brown bottle on the table.
Chapter Four
I struggled with the thumping in my head. The total silence of the Trembly night had made it difficult to sleep and I'd enlisted the aid of a rather large gin and tonic. The thumping continued and I forced my eyes open. I stared around the little bedroom wondering for a moment where I was. The thumping came again and I realised it wasn't a particularly loud hangover but was actually coming from downstairs. I grabbed some jeans and pulled them on then headed downstairs. As suspected the thumping was coming from the door. I opened it and daylight attacked my eyes. I squinted and made out the shape of a man against the brightness.
“Morning, guv!” the shadow cheerfully greeted. “Said I'd be along directly.”
“Oh, yes. Wayne, good morning. You're here to do my lock?” I stepped aside to let him in. Wayne was a big, well built man probably in his mid twenties. He wore oil stained jeans and a T-shirt with holes in which had probably once been an England supporter's shirt. I wasn't sure I wanted an England supporter in my house before coffee. No matter how relentlessly cheerful he appeared to be.
“Do you want to see my certificate?” he asked dumping his tool box on the hall carpet while he rummaged through his pockets.
“No, Wayne. Thank you. I'm sure it's fine.” I showed him through to the lounge and pointed at the patio doors. “I need the lock changing. Idiot estate agents lost the keys.”
“Locks... Ah...yes I do locks.” Wayne's face gave the appearance of being slightly less convinced than the words he uttered. Which didn't exactly fill me with confidence. “I've got a tool for that,” he continued.
“Would you like a coffee?”
I asked.
“Tea would be good, Guv. Thanks. White with four sugars please.” He opened the top of his toolbox and started spreading various strange looking artefacts across the carpet. I headed into the kitchen to make the drinks and by the time I'd returned he had the door open and the lock removed. With surprisingly little mess. He took the tea.
“That was quick, Wayne.”
“Nothing to it.” He took noisy slurp of his tea. “Got a special tool for that.” He gazed around the mess of implements all over the floor. “Somewhere,” he added.
“Soon have it done then?” I was feeling slightly more human as the Gold Blend kicked in.
“Well, I would do if I had a new lock to put in there.”
“You haven't got a new lock?” I thought this was going far too smoothly.
“Might have one back in the yard.” He dumped his empty cup in my hand and picked up his keys. “I'll just go see. Be back dreckly.”
I stood in the lounge feeling somewhat bemused. The patio door was at least open now, although it might never close again. And it did have a hole in it where the lock lived. I took the empty cups back to the kitchen, made myself a refill then went upstairs to shower and dress properly.
An hour later and there was still no sign of Wayne's return. There was however plenty of coming and going of cats. Both the black one and the white one seemed intensely curious about something at the back of one of the units in the kitchen. As I sat there with my third coffee, the one that usually finally kick-starts me, I watched them slipping in and out through a small gap I'd not noticed before. I decided to call the white one Possicat, at least until its owners turned up. They slipped out of the gap and through the kitchen then back again as if playing chase with each other. At one point I lost track of which was where and could have sworn there were two black ones.
I wanted to go into Glastonbury to see if I could find a microwave oven as I was not going to be able to survive on Cornish pasties forever. I decided that with the patio doors being currently lockless there probably wasn't much point in worrying about security. I left a note pinned to the front door for Wayne saying that if he returned while I was out just to carry on. I wouldn't be long. I was tempted to add I'd be back 'dreckly' but thought better of it.
A remarkably successful visit to B&Q yielded both a microwave oven with grill and bake facility and an electric chainsaw. For good measure I also bought an extension lead that should see me as far as the oak tree in the field. I returned home, it seemed like home already, this time leaving the car in the lane next to Wayne's van as I was intending to do battle with the drive and the chain saw.
There was no sign of Wayne as I carried the microwave into the kitchen but a quick glance in the lounge revealed that he'd been back and made quite a neat job of the door. He'd left the doors open and the keys in the lock. And several of his tools still across the floor. Probably gone off to collect some other vital component. I played with the door briefly, all seemed okay. Finally, I locked the doors and placed the keys on the window ledge along with the other mystery ones. I returned to the kitchen and tested the microwave. All seemed okay. I'd need to nip down the shop later for some microwave suitable food. I heard a banging noise from the lounge, probably Wayne returned. I looked in but there was no sign of him. The doors were still shut. Just as I turned to leave the banging returned. It sounded just like somebody knocking on the patio doors. I walked cautiously to the doors and peered through the glass. I caught a glimpse of somebody disappearing round the side of the cottage and opened the doors to look. Nothing, just the usual jungle. Mind you there could be the lost tribe of the Amazon living out there for all I knew. I just hoped my chainsaw was up to the job.
It took me an hour to assemble the chainsaw. Never had much use for mechanical gardening implements at my flat in Ealing. Very little need for rotovators or sit-upon mowers with a potted Torbay palm and four-square feet of concrete patio. There was still no sign of Wayne, maybe he's gone for lunch or something. I trailed the extension lead down the drive as I figured that was probably the best place to start. It would make life a lot easier if I could get the car closer to the cottage instead of climbing over the roof.
Once I'd got the hang of it, the chainsaw made light work of the bushes that encroached into the drive. Along with a portion of a trellis fence, an apple tree and half the house sign. I also now had a pile of debris that would have served as the Guy Fawkes bonfire on Hampstead Heath. I dragged the pile onto the centre of the front garden and checked my watch. Five minutes past twelve, time for lunch. I'd have a quick pint at the Camelot then pick up a sack of microwavable food.
The chalkboard declared the menu of the day to be local cod and fresh fried potatoes with Somerset beans in a delicious tomato sauce.
I ordered the special at the bar and collected my pint then settled myself at the window table. The only other occupant was George and I purposely sat facing the window which meant I had my back to him. Hopefully that would forestall any conversation. I thought wrong
“Cutting down your hedges I see,” he said.
I twisted in my seat to face him. “Yes, trying to clear the drive a bit.”
“You're going to need to do the stuff overhanging the lane as well,” he reminded me. “Brambles nearly had my hat off on the way to church.”
“I might have to buy a longer extension lead for that.”
Arthur placed my lunch on the table rescuing me from further inanities with George.
“Getting your doors done then,” he said as I laid my knife and fork carefully each side of my plate.
“Locks, actually. How did -.”
“My boy, Wayne, told me he was going there to do it. Did I tell you he'd done a course in doors?”
“Ah yes.” The penny dropped. “I remember. Retraining course or something you said.”
“That's right, he got made redundant from the cider farm when the French bought it. Or it might have been the Americans. But he does a good job in doors.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “He's surprisingly good.”
Arthur left me in peace and I finished my fish and chips and ordered a second pint. The day drifted by outside in that lazy way that Somerset afternoons have. A couple of walkers headed briskly along the street complete with alpine walking sticks, always useful on the Somerset levels. I watched in bemusement as a caravan the size of a small village was being dragged through the tiny street by a huge four-wheel drive Sanyoara Blitzkrieg or something. Why do people say they're going to 'get away from it all' and then take it all with them?
Warmed and relaxed by the sunshine and beer I popped into the shop for some microwavable supplies then headed back home. Wayne's van still sat in the lane outside. I thought about moving my car up the drive now it was clear but decided to do it next time I went out. Admiring my hedgemanship as I wandered up the drive I nearly tripped over Anticat as she hurtled out of a gap in the hedge and down the drive. I'd never seen her run so fast. A few seconds later and Possicat headed after her. Ah, cat games.
The house was deserted, even though he had no key I'd half expected Wayne to be there. His tools were still where he'd left them however. I gathered them up to place them in the hall cupboard. Just as I opened the door to the cupboard, Anticat slipped out and rubbed up against me, offering that pathetic little meow she does when trying to persuade me to feed her. I dropped the tools in the cupboard and she followed me into the kitchen. It was only when I was sprinkling the cat nuts in her bowl I realised I'd just passed her in the drive. She certainly hadn't slipped in the door with me, unless of course they had a secret entrance. I remembered them rummaging around behind the units at the back of the kitchen. That would be about the area that backed on to the hall cupboard. I fetched my torch and lay on the floor with my head between the units trying to see if there were any secret cat doors. Anticat came to help and walked over my head then sat in front of me so I couldn't see a thing past her. I pushed and poked at her but she just took that as affec
tion and purred loudly. I drew myself out and decided to investigate later when I was more catless than I was now. It did however suggest that my hunch had been right, I seem to have more than one of the black ones.
I sat for a while in front of my computer which I'd laid out on the desk at the landing window. This was a pleasant place at which to work. The swallows swooped and balled across the Levels hurtling round the huge oak in the meadow before strafing my roof. I turned my attention back to my computer and the looming finality of issue 172, The Death of The Falconer. I'd written all but the final scene. At the moment he was trapped in a cave by the Bat People. This is usually the point where I'd concoct an outrageous escape involving a secret miniaturised laser or something. But not this time. This time there was no escape for The Falconer. I shut the computer down and decided to go for a walk across the meadow.
Schrodinger's Cottage Page 4
