by Tara Ford
“We took a mobile phone away with us,” said Betty as she poured freshly boiled water into the teapot. “She could have called us. But she didn’t.”
“What was her excuse for not contacting you?” asked Tiff.
“Lost our number. We don’t believe that for a moment – do we Cyril?”
“No.” Cyril stretched back in his chair and rubbed at his chest. “I had bred a lot of those birds myself. They were like my babies, you know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Joe and Tiff, at the same time.
“Are they worth a lot of money?” asked Joe, before adding, “Not that that is the issue, I’m sure.”
“Not really. I suppose I could get £100 for a pair of the more popular ones. But it has never been about the money, for me. They are my hobby – my life. Bet’s got her baking, I’ve got my lovebirds.”
“Did you get the money back from Georgie?”
Cyril let out a laugh. “Oh yes, we got £10 back. She said she’d spent it all. Said she’d pay it back in installments. That was six years ago.”
“And nothing since?” Tiff was disliking the woman next door more and more.
“Not a penny. Not even a proper apology. Took me weeks to nurse the survivors back to peak health. They were dehydrated, I can tell you.”
“That’s when she started divorce proceedings on her husband as well,” said Betty. “Lovely man – always takes his daughter to her, every other weekend now. Thank God he was awarded custody of the poor girl though. As for Georgie, she’s under a psychiatrist, I do believe.”
Cyril winced as if in pain, as he rubbed his hand across his chest again. “She’s a hussy,” he said, forcibly. “Loose morals – and particularly when it comes to young men.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tiff, curiously.
“There are always different men going in and out of her house, especially during the week when her daughter isn’t there.” Pulling himself up further in the chair, Cyril leant over the table, uncomfortably. “So there you are. Watch yourselves. She’s a cunning cat.”
“Well, thanks for giving us the heads-up, Cyril. I’m sure that we’ll be very cautious with her. Won’t we Tiff?”
“Oh, most definitely.”
Chapter 5
“Come on, let’s get the fence finished. We’ve still got plenty of time.” Joe unlocked the front door and reached for the paint tin and brushes.
“Can’t believe we’ve been round there for over an hour,” said Tiff as she brushed past Joe and stepped inside. “Beautiful birds – wouldn’t mind some of those myself.”
Joe looked up and grinned. “Let’s get some then – or ask Cyril if we could buy a couple from him.”
“Good idea. But let’s get the house sorted out first.” Tearing up the stairs in front of her, Tiff shouted back, “I’ll be back in a minute – had too much tea.”
Walking out of the bathroom, she halted at the top of the stairs as curiosity began to build in her mind. She turned and walked into her craft room. The smell of fresh paint gave her the perfect excuse to go and open the window. Was that woman, Geordie Ford, out in her garden, baring her breasts again? It was no good, she had to take a look.
Although it was only late April, the weather had been more tropical than spring of late. And there she was. Bathing in the sunshine, wearing nothing more than a thong bikini bottom. At least she wasn’t exposing her breasts this time, as she laid on her front, but her bare buttocks would have been just as alluring for any man’s eyes. At the top of her right shoulder was a tattoo of some description. She was too far away for the artwork to be seen properly. However, from a distance, it looked like an ice-cream, in a cone. Tiff thought it odd that she would have a tattoo of an ice-cream on the back of her shoulder and dismissed the idea. Opening the top window, as quietly as possible, she peered out at the fields in the distance and the dazzling river beyond. It was a heavenly place. If only the woman next door would keep her clothes on.
Joe had already made a start on the fence when Tiff arrived. “You’ve been a while,” he muttered nonchalantly, engrossed in the sweeping up and down of his paint brush.
“Opened the craft room window – it really stinks of paint in there.”
“You know,” said Joe, dipping his brush into the paint tin, “you’ve got the best room in the house there.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The view – you’ve got the amazing view out the back.”
“That’s why I chose it. I can look out of the window and get those creative juices flowing.”
Joe laughed. “Don’t think you need any more creative juice do you? You’re ultra-creative already – certainly compared to me anyway.”
“You can never have enough, Joe.”
“If you say so. I might even take my laptop up there – the view could help me to do the weekly round-up report on the website.”
Tiff knelt down, grabbed the other brush and dipped it in the paint. “Err… well, I was thinking that it would be just my room. You know how much stuff I’ve got. I don’t want to be worrying about clearing enough space for you to work in there as well.”
“I’m joking babe. It’s your room.” He shot a quizzical glance towards her. “The view’s all yours too.”
Attempting to back-track, Tiff added, “Well of course the view’s not mine. You can go in there just… err… look at the view from the back wall. Once I get my big table in there, it’s going under the window. You won’t be able to get near the window at all.”
“Tiff…”
“Yes?”
“You seem a little edgy. It’s like you think I’m going to take your room away from you. It’s like you don’t want anyone seeing the view.”
“No, I don’t think that. And yes, of course I want people to see the view. Aren’t we being a bit silly now?”
“You just seem a little edgy about the room, that’s all.”
“I’m not. Really I’m not.”
“OK,” said Joe, displaying his brilliant white teeth in a smile. “Love you, even if you are a little bit crazy sometimes or should we say most of the time?”
“Love you too and you’re not much better than me Mr Frey.” Tiff began to paint the fence post next to Joe’s. “Why didn’t you mention that you’d spoken to that woman next door, this morning?” she whispered.
“Don’t know really. Never thought about it.” He stopped painting. “She seemed very nice and friendly though.”
“First impressions can be deceiving.”
“Yes, I know but we haven’t heard her side of the story have we?”
“Are you defending her?” snapped Tiff, without meaning to.
“I don’t think we should judge her by what someone else has told us.”
“So you think we should be nice to her?” Tiff could feel a jealous fear bubbling inside her.
“Well, I think we should be fair. We shouldn’t have a preconception of her, just by what our other neighbours say. That would be wrong.” Joe had lowered his voice considerably.
“Sounds to me like you’re defending her.”
“I’m not defending her, babe. I don’t even know the woman. She’s our neighbour and we have to give her the benefit of the doubt – surely?”
“Well you know her better than I do, after all, you’ve been chatting to her all morning.” Tiff cringed as she realised that she’d let her jealous demon loose. “Sorry – I didn’t mean to sound nasty.”
“It’s OK babe. I can tell that you’ve taken an instant disliking to her. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t be judgemental – particularly as we have to live right next door to her.”
“OK… you’re right I suppose.” Ethically, Joe probably was right. He was a fair man. However much Tiff hated it, she had to agree with him. He was always right.
“Wow,” exclaimed Joe. “What a difference it has made.”
Standing back on the green, Joe and Tiff admired the front row of picket fencing.
Brilliant white and shiny, it stood out amongst the back row of houses.
“Taken longer than I thought it would. Maybe we should finish it off next weekend.”
Tiff glanced at her watch. “We’ve probably got enough time to finish off that side,” she said, pointing to the fence adjoining Cyril and Betty’s front garden.
“Are you sure? What about the second coat in your room? Thought we might be able to get that finished today. We could both do it…”
“No.” Tiff bit down on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “No… err… I’ll get it done during the week sometime. I’m way ahead of my work quota. I could probably take a whole day off in the week.”
Joe peered at her questioningly. “If we painted it today, you could be moving your stuff in there during the week.”
“Hmm…” Tiff feigned contemplation for a moment. “No – I would much rather do the painting myself. You know how much I like doing it. Let’s get some more of this finished.”
“OK, your call.”
As Tiff helped Joe collect the tin of paint and the tray of brushes and carry them into the front garden she noticed a tall, dark-haired man walking straight across the green, towards them. Wearing beige Chinos and a brown checked shirt the middle-aged man held his head high. His black hair swept across the top of his head and down one side of his face, ending in a neatly cropped style around his ears. For a man who appeared to be at least in his early forties, his hair was unnaturally dark. His pointed features and clean shaven, angular jawline made him appear somewhat Dracula like. With one hand in his pocket, he sauntered up to the fence.
“Afternoon,” he said forcibly, offering a handshake to Joe over the garden fence. “Alvin. Alvin Snodgrass is the name. Number nine.”
Joe reached across and took the man’s hand. The grin on his face suggested he was slightly amused, either by the man’s name or his demeanor, or both. “Hello, nice to meet you. Joe Frey… and this is Tiffany.”
Alvin held his hand out to Tiff and smiled pretentiously. “Good to meet you, madam.”
Taking his hand, Tiff winced as he squeezed hers tightly and shook it forcibly. “And you,” she spluttered, before snatching her hand away.
“Looking good,” said Alvin, eyeing the fence. “Been here long?”
“Three weeks now,” replied Joe. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, to get it how we want it.”
“Old John – lived here before you – he let the place go. Died in his sleep apparently. What a way to go.”
Joe and Tiff smiled awkwardly.
“We heard he lived to a really good age,” said Joe.
“No point living forever if you can’t enjoy it.” Alvin stroked a hand over his smooth chin and then rubbed a finger across a noticeable nick on the bottom of his jawline. It looked like a deep, old scar.
Tiff tried to hide the look of surprise on her face and Joe smiled stiffly.
“Met any of the Sycamore tribe yet?”
“Sorry?” Joe frowned quizzically.
“Neighbours man, neighbours.” Alvin let out a chilling snigger. “4 Sycamore Close, right?”
“Oh, I see what you mean,” Joe interjected. “Yes, a couple of them.”
Alvin leant closer, over the fence. He glanced down at the wet paint and shuffled his legs backwards a little. “They’re all a bunch of nutters,” he said in a quiet voice. “Except for Georgie, she lives next to you – there.” Discreetly, Alvin signaled with his eyes to the house next door. “She’s a good girl. A very good girl.”
“Yes… I met her this morning. She seems nice.” Joe shot an uncomfortable glance at Tiff. “She had just returned from walking her dog and we had a quick chat.”
“Delightful, playful dog,” said Alvin, as a cunning grin crept across his thin lips. “I’m talking about the dog – not Georgie.” Alvin winked his eye, exaggeratedly and sniggered.
Joe let out a short nervous laugh. “Yes, I knew what you meant. So… err, have you lived here long?”
Tiff could sense the tightness in Joe’s voice and could tell that he felt uncomfortable and didn’t particularly like the man.
“Depends what you would call long, I suppose, young man.” Alvin pulled himself upright and breathed in deeply, puffing his chest out. “Not as long as old John did and I never will do. I’ll be long gone before that. Or you’ll find me hanging from a tree in the copse, by the river, at the back there.” He flicked his gaze over the rooftop of Joe and Tiff’s house. “Purple-faced with a limp tongue drooping down my chin.” Alvin smirked. “Just hope I don’t dribble – don’t want to be remembered as the dribbler of Sycamore Close now, do I?”
Dumbfounded by Alvin’s words, Joe and Tiff were speechless. They stood motionless with stupefied expressions on their faces.
“Come on my friends – I’m teasing you. The look on your faces.” Alvin mocked. “I’ve been here for twenty years, that I can remember.” He sniggered again. “Honestly, the pair of you look like you’re just about to be hung yourselves. Lighten up guys.”
Simultaneously, Joe and Tiff breathed a sigh of relief and released themselves from their frozen stance.
“You’ve lived here quite a long time then,” remarked Joe, unsure of what else to say.
“Sure have man. I’m not around much though. I work away quite often. In London. I’m taking a short break at the moment.”
“What do you do for a living?” asked Tiff, politely.
“Top secret, I’m afraid. Let’s just say I work in a particular governmental department. Think – spy. Think – covert operations. Then you’ll be on the right track.” Alvin eyed Tiff pointedly. His dark and narrow eyes were eerie and intimidating.
“Ah…” said Joe, lightly, “a secret agent of some kind then?”
Alvin nodded his head. “Let’s just say I work undercover, now and again.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Tiff.
“Not for your ears girl,” Alvin kinked his upper lip into a half smile.
“Oh,” mumbled Tiff, rather shocked by his response. “Is it for men only then?”
“It tends to be a man’s world – yes. Have to deal with all sorts in the secret service but I haven’t told you that – right?”
“Right.” Tiff peered at Joe incredulously, before turning back to Alvin. “Err… so… do you know many of the people around here?” she added, curious to know how he might respond to her next question.
“All of them, I’m sorry to say,” he replied, with an egotistical smirk on his face. “You’ve got the couple at number one – they’ve got two little brats. Keep themselves to themselves, luckily.”
Tiff felt a little braver and challenged the odd looking man. “I take it you don’t like kids?”
“Hate the little wretches. Do you have any?”
Both Tiff and Joe shook their heads. “No, not yet anyway,” replied Tiff.
Alvin placed his hands back in his trouser pockets and snorted. “Georgie’s got a girl. Thankfully, she’s not so much of a brat as the rest.”
“Yes, we know she has a daughter, we’ve heard her in the garden.” Hesitantly, Joe added, “Sounds a bit of a handful, if you ask me.”
“Joe,” Tiff retorted. “You shouldn’t say that.”
“I’m just saying that we’ve heard her outside and she sounds quite demanding. I’m not being nasty.” Joe tried to retract from his words.
Alvin eyed him with contempt. “I think you should think twice about having kids yourself, my friend – they’re hard work apparently. Unless of course…” He looked down at Tiff disdainfully, “you’re going to let your woman do all the nasty work. After all…” He let out a gravelly laugh, “that’s what they’re for isn’t it?”
“Hang on a minute…” said Joe, pulling his wide shoulders back and placing his hands on his waist.
“Err… anyway…” Tiff stepped in sharply, sensing that Joe was beginning to get a little annoyed, “do you know everyone here?”
“Not sure you’ll want my opinio
n on the residents of Sycamore Close…”
“I think we’ll be best finding out for ourselves,” Joe butted in. “It’s been nice to meet you though.”
“It’s not every day that I go around the block introducing myself to people, you know.” Alvin grinned through a perfect set of unnaturally white teeth. “I need to keep a low profile most of the time.”
“Because of your job?” Joe asked, inquisitively.
“That, and the girls…”
“Girls?” Tiff scrutinised Alvin’s well-dressed, well-presented, and slightly false appearance.
Puffing out his cheeks, Alvin let out a slow breath. “Got a lot of young lady admirers you know.” He smirked arrogantly. “Can’t say more than that.”
“Lucky you,” blurted Joe, before snapping his mouth shut and giving Tiff a sheepish grin.
“Is Georgie one of your admirers?” asked Tiff, making sure she kept her voice low enough that none of the neighbours could hear.
“Georgie is my number one girl – comes out for a trot with me now and again She likes a good trot.”
“A trot?” Tiff was growing more and more curious by the man’s utter contempt for women and children.
“A run. You must have heard of the word ‘trot’ woman?”
“Yes,” replied Tiff, stiffly. “I have. I just wondered if that was what you were implying.”
“Nothing more, nothing less.” Alvin winked an eye at Joe. “We go off through the woods, on the other side of Oakwood. She takes her dog sometimes.” Alvin glanced across to the upstairs windows of number three. “Good girl, is our Georgie. A very giving girl.” Again, Alvin winked at Joe, a conceited smirk plastered on his face.
“How do you mean?”
“How do I mean what?” Alvin seemed to snarl at Tiff.
“Sorry, I mean – why do you say Georgie is very giving?” Tiff paused thoughtfully. “I don’t mean to pry.”
“Ah, you ladies are all the same. You do mean to pry. Don’t you think so Joe?” Alvin laughed off his comment as being insignificant.
Joe had kept silent for a moment, obviously listening with intrigue, to the strange man standing before him. “Sorry? What was that?”
