I stepped carefully off the chairs and used my foot to clear a piece of floor space in which to place one of the chairs back by the table. I sat down and stared up at the new hole. If up until now I'd had even the vaguest notion of dismissing the whole business as just imagination, this latest view destroyed that option. There was something very odd here. I glanced over to the clock. It was twelve fifteen. My internal timer had failed me, obviously my sense of disorientation had disrupted my routine. I went to the fridge and removed a can of Budweiser. The new window hole was disturbing. I think I could possibly grow used to the other views, given time. One could almost believe they were just essentially all the same. But a forest where a garden should be was just too far away for even my skills in self delusion. I needed something to cover it.
As I still had a lot of my possessions in boxes finding something suitable to hang there proved problematic. Eventually I found a framed Luis Royo that showed a naked girl and an alien monster. It was one of my favourites but usually more suitable for an office wall rather than kitchen. But as it was the only one I could find easily it would have to do for the moment. Another bit of drilling for a hook, which I found surprisingly difficult to do whilst avoiding looking at the hole and resulted in another snowfall of plaster. I hung the picture and picked up my beer. The can was empty. How had that happened? I dumped the can on the table next to half a brick and pulled another from the fridge.
A knocking on the front door followed by a call of “Cooee!” startled me. I froze.
The “Cooee” repeated, followed by a “Ian? Are you there?”
Oh hell! Tania! I'd completely forgotten. I put my Budweiser on the table and brushed some of the dust off my shirt as I headed for the door.
“Look, Tania... I’m sorry. I completely forgot.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ian. I guessed you might so I got a taxi from the coach stop.”
We performed the obligatory chaste hug and peck on the cheek then as she stepped back she realised I'd just covered her in brick dust.
“Lovely,” she said as she brushed at her suede jacket with the back of her hand. “I take it this err... stuff...” she looked again at the dust. “This is in some way related to The Falconer issue 172?”
“Not entirely. I sort of got distracted.”
“I can see.” She paused and stared at me for a moment and then, “Well? Aren't you going to invite me in?”
I recalled the chaos in the kitchen. “I thought it was just a flying visit. As you said, drop by on your way through.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Ian.” She pushed past me and headed for the kitchen. I followed quickly, half hoping to head her off into the lounge.
She stepped into the kitchen and stalled. I manoeuvred around her and brushed off one of the chairs for her. “Have a seat,” I said lamely.
“Thank you.” She sat in a sort of disbelieving daze.
“Can I get you a cup of tea, or something?” Act naturally and it won't arouse suspicion.
“Tea? Oh, yes, tea would be nice.” Her eyes wandered around the chaos. “I have to say I love what you've done with the place.”
“Yes. It's sort of in the... err... preliminary stages. Not much more than, erm, constructive planning.” I filled the kettle and flicked it on. “Exploratory feasibility studies.”
“I see.” Anticat slipped in through the new hole, padded around in the dust then jumped on her lap. She tried to push her off but Anticat just saw that as affection then purred loudly. “Never had you down as a cat person?”
“They sort of came with the house. I adopted them. Or they adopted me, not sure really.”
Anticat spied Anticat number two, wriggled her bum slightly then pounced from Tania's lap, causing Tania to wince as the claws dug in for purchase. She tried to brush the dusty footprints from the suede skirt.
“Never been keen on them myself. I don't trust them.” Her eyes settled on the closed, and by now dust covered laptop. “And how goes the writing?”
“Oh, yes. Good. Just taking a bit of a break, you know.”
She drew a finger across the top of the laptop, leaving a line in the dust. “Yes, you need a break every so often.”
I tried to ignore the edge in her voice. “I'm at a tricky bit in the story. Just needed to get away for five minutes.” I poured boiling water on a tea bag.
“I can see.” Again her eyes ran round the room. “Are you feeling alright, Ian?”
“Yes, I'm fine. Never better. Why?”
“Only, this is not the first kitchen you've done this to, if I remember rightly.”
“Ah, yes. Sorry.” I put the tea in front of her. “I was in a difficult place then.”
“I see you've brought professional tools for this one though.” She poked at the pickaxe with her foot.
“It's not the same. There used to be a door and window here before.” I wanted to tell her. I wanted to show her the different views. That would prove I wasn't going mad, if she could see it too. But what if I told her and then she couldn't see it? Could I risk that? That would prove I was heading for another breakdown. What did Schrodinger say? The state of the cat is not determined until it is observed.
“Do you think you ought to come back to London for a while?”
“No, really. I'm okay. Just settling in. Would you like something to eat?” I glanced around the kitchen. “I've got... pizza.” I remembered my last attempt at pizza. “Only I'm not sure how to work that thing.” I nodded towards the oven.
“Tell you what,” she said as her eyes swept the chaos in the kitchen. “Let's say we eat out. My treat. There must be a nice pub around here.”
*****
The Camelot was offering a lunchtime special of 'Pie and a Pint' for £5.99.
“This your lady?” Arthur asked as he took our orders.
“No,” I said. “That is... A long time ago... Before...”
“We used to be lovers and now we're not,” Tania helpfully clarified.
We took our drinks to a table near the fireplace.
“It's a bit basic,” I apologised. “But they're friendly here.”
“You going to clear up that pile of hedge cuttings?” George said from a nearby table. “It’s started to spread onto the lane.”
“It’s on the list,” I said to George, and then I turned to Tania. “That’s George, been here all his life. He likes to josh me.”
Tania took a sip of her tea. “Are you ever going to finish that story, Ian?”
“Nearly done. Just filling in the fine details.”
“You’ve been telling me that for three weeks. You can’t expect them to wait forever you know. They’ll pull your contract.”
Might not be a bad thing, I thought. Take the decision out of my hands. “Tania, I’ve been meaning to tell you something about this latest issue.”
Arthur placed two casserole dishes on the table. Steam escaped from under the pie crust sat on top of each one. “There you go. One steak feast special and one vegetarian moussaka pie.”
“Which is which?” Tania looked up at him.
Arthur pointed to the one nearest him. “That’s the steak one... or the vegetarian. One or the other. I’ve forgotten now.”
I poked my fork into the pie in front of me. More steam escaped along with some brown liquid. “Looks like gravy so I suspect this will be the Steak Feast.”
Tania repeated my experiment with her pie. Similar steam but this time with an off-white sauce. “You were saying?”
“What? Oh, nothing. Just that I think this will be the best issue for a while. Got a few surprises.”
“Well don’t make them too severe. You know how fans dislike major changes.”
We made idle small talk as we finished our meal. I came to realise that we had nothing in common any more. Maybe we never did. Just good sex, perhaps that’s the best for which one can hope.
When we returned to the cottage she insisted on 'The Tour'. I showed her around studiously avoiding pointing ou
t any discrepancies through various windows.
“I suppose it will be nice when you finally get it the way you want,” she said as we stood in the lounge. “I love the fireplace, is there a Priest Hole up there do you think?”
I'd never really given it any thought. The cottage was old enough and the fireplace certainly big enough. “I've never looked,” I said. I also wasn't inclined to explore, the cottage was doing my head in as it was, I certainly didn't need any further quirks to deal with.
“I see you've started work on the garden.” She nodded towards the patio doors. “Can I see? I miss having a garden in London, it's the one downside to living there.”
That and the crime and the dirt and the constant noise and the masses of people pressing in on you all the time, I thought. But what I said was, “You could always get some plants for your courtyard, same as I did.”
“I don't think one solitary Torbay Palm constitutes a garden.” She smiled at me and opened the doors to step into the garden. I followed her. “It's really quite big out here,” she said.
“Yes, apparently it's more than an acre.”
“Really?” She ventured out of the cleared patch and started to head past the kitchen window, picking at the odd flower as she went. “You've got some unusual plants here.”
I followed her and couldn't help staring at the patch of wall that ought to have a hole in it to match the one on the inside. After my experience with the kitchen doorway I’d been expecting this but it was still a bit of a shock. There was a definite raised area to the rendering but that was all.
“Yes,” I said. “I need to get a book on plants. And birds, I get a lot of birds.”
She went round the corner of the cottage to the path between the wall and the log shed. As we went past where the doorway ought to be I wondered if she’d notice but she didn’t seem to. Did that mean it wasn't there and I'd imagined it? Or did it mean it was there but she hadn't noticed? Which would be better for my sanity. I ran my hand over the wall.
“Ian?”
I suddenly realised she'd been talking at me. “Huh?” I managed.
“I’m going to have to go, I’ve a coach to catch. Are you sure you're alright?”
“Yes. Fine.” I risked another glance at the wall. “Right as rain.”
“Okay, if you say so. Now are you going to give me a lift to the coach stop or do I get another taxi?”
“Oh, of course. No problem. I’ll just get my keys.” I hurried back through the patio doors, picked up my car keys and locked the doors behind me. By the time I’d found Tania, she was already round the front.
“Where’s your car gone, Ian?”
I stared at the drive in front of the cottage where I had left my car. Nothing. Yet it had been there when we’d returned from the pub not twenty minutes ago.
“I don’t believe it,” I said. “The nerve and in broad daylight too!”
“Oh dear. But you are insured, right?” Pragmatic and practical Tania as always. Never one to let a disaster disturb her equilibrium.
“That’s not the point. Some thieving git has been here and had my car away whilst we were just there.” I pointed at the cottage. “It can only have taken them a couple of minutes.”
“You’d better call the police,” she said. “And I’d better ring a taxi or I’m going to miss by coach.”
“Oh hell!” I realised. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Ian.” She pulled her phone out of her handbag and scrolled through the numbers. “As the Dalai Lama once said, ‘Shit happens’.” She pecked me on the cheek and headed off down the drive stabbing buttons on the phone as she went. “You take care now,” she called back as she disappeared from view.
I pushed at the front door. It was locked. Of course, I’d come out the back doors. I headed back round the side of the cottage, getting momentarily distracted by the wall where the hole in the kitchen wall should be. I ran my hands over it. Would I have to do everything in the place twice? Two doors to create, two gardens to clear? I went back through the patio doors and locked them behind me. Time for a coffee.
I picked my way through the chaos in the kitchen and had a quick peep through the hole in the wall. Still a lawn in need of mowing and a stone wall.
It took me half an hour to finally get hold of a human being in a police emergency call centre in Mumbai. I tried to explain about my car and how important it was to me. I described it in detail including the scratch marks on the side from when I managed to get it stuck in my drive. I even gave a description of the contents of the glove box if that would help recognition later. They in turn gave me a crime number.
By the time I’d finished on the phone my adrenaline levels increased to such a point where ‘going postal’ seemed like a perfectly rational course of action.
Instead, I hefted the pickaxe and set about enlarging the hole until it resembled the shape of a door. When I’d finished, I stepped back panting to admire my handiwork. Not bad. Of course, the shape had been there all along, all I’d had to do was knock out the bricks. I ventured to look through it. I had a clearer view of this new world. Without the high hedge and the sheds of my own cottage, this garden appeared much larger. A van drove up the lane and I slid my head back in. I wasn’t brave enough to go any further through the hole. It only then dawned on me that perhaps I hadn’t completely thought this through. I had a door sized hole in my wall but no door with which to fill it. I searched through the piles of packing materials I’d left in the spare bedroom and found a large plastic sheet. I found some tacks and nailed it across the opening. The semi opaque nature of the sheet diffused the view enough to allow me to kid myself there was nothing untoward on the other side. I rolled the small blue crystal in my hand.
I took a fresh coffee into the lounge and switched on the television. An Australian soap, Noel Edmonds and his sodding boxes, and a clutch of inane quiz shows. How I missed Virgin Cable. I’d have to arrange satellite. I glanced towards the patio doors. The late afternoon was beginning to smear the sky a deep red. It would be dark soon; I locked the patio doors and pulled the curtain. Giving a last glance in the direction of the doors I settled down to read some more of Schrodinger’s Cat. I was asleep before I’d finished a page.
Chapter Eight
Breakfast the following morning represented a slight challenge. The task of preparing toast and coffee whilst picking my way through a building site and simultaneously avoiding looking at doors, windows or gaping holes proved problematic. I ended up with a slight dusty film on my coffee and crunchy bits in my butter.
I heard a knock on the front door and wondering what sort of nutcase I would encounter this time I opened it with a sense of caution.
PCSO Proudfoot stood just outside, his bulk blocking the sunlight. “Mr Faulkener?” he asked
“Yes,” I replied. “You’re Police Community Support Officer Proudfoot if I remember?”
He seemed slightly fazed. “Ah yes,” and handed me a card.
“I already have one,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
“You reported a stolen car? A blue Ford Escort estate?”
“Oh, yes. I didn’t really expect...”
“And where was it when you last saw it, sir?”
I squeezed past him to step outside. “Just there,” I said, pointing at my car.
“So would I be right in saying that the motor vehicle you reported as being stolen would look something like this one?” he asked, following the line of my finger.
“Erm... I don’t understand. It wasn’t there yesterday? You can ask my agent, Tania Evans. She’ll be in Cornwall with her sister. I can —”
“That won’t be necessary, sir. You do know that insurance fraud is a very serious crime, don’t you?”
“Insurance fraud? No, look, it had gone. Really.”
“Well, I’ll report it as a case of forgetfulness. Sometimes that happens. You know, a hard day and you can forget where you leave things.”
I walk
ed over to my car and patted the roof just to make sure it was actually there. “How could I forget where I’d left it? I mean my drive is hardly Gatwick Airport car park is it? Somebody stole it.”
“And it looks they brought it back. I think we’d best leave it there, sir or I might have to charge you with wasting police time.” He closed his notebook with an air of finality.
I was tempted to suggest his very existence was a waste of police time but resisted and just said, “Thank you, officer,” then watched him amble out of my drive in that sauntering way that only beat officers seem to have.
After I’d double checked the car was still there, I returned to the chaos in the kitchen. I needed to do something about this. I searched for a piece of paper on which to write a list. The only paper I could find was a letter from British Telecom mourning my absence and begging me to return to them. That would do, ignoring their pleas I turned it over and began writing; ‘Door and frame, Polyfilla, Thing to spread Polyfilla on with, Nails, screws...’ I glanced around me, ‘Hoover, shovel and bin bags.’
The sound of flapping polythene caught my attention. I looked up just in time to see a shadowy figure through the sheet which covered the door space. I started back in my chair. A head poked round the sheet.
“Hello!” said the head. “Anybody in?”
My hand fumbled across the table feeling for something with which to protect myself. It settled on a tin of baked beans I’d left there after clearing out the cupboard. Great, so as long as I wasn’t about to be attacked by anything more deadly than a packet of biscuits, I should be okay.
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