Calling All Neighbours (Calling All... Book 4)

by Tara Ford

  Shaking her head in disagreement, Tiff placed her hand on the table top. “I really want to leave it here. I’ll have a lovely view, right in front of me, when I’m working.” She searched her brain for other excuses. “And… and I don’t need blinds… or curtains. We’re hardly overlooked. And I’ll get a hop-up stool to open and close the window if I have to.”

  “It’s up to you, babe. It’s your room – and your table.”

  “Then we’ll leave it here. Thank you, Mr Muscles, for picking it up.” Tiff moved around the table and kissed him on the nose. “Now go and get a shower. I’ll put the kettle on and we can have a coffee… and the last bit of Betty’s cake.”

  Chapter 8

  To

  Hayley and Wayne

  We would love to come to your BBQ – thank you very much for inviting us.

  From Joe and Tiff at No. 4

  Tiff pushed the thank-you card into the envelope and sealed it. Luckily, she always kept some spare hand-made cards in a box, for moments like this. The ‘Thanks a Bunch’ card was one of her particularly favourite designs. Simplistic yet pleasantly appealing, it was one of her most popular designs for cards such as Mother’s day and Easter. It also went down well as a general birthday card for women once the wording on the front was changed. A delicate posy of white and yellow flowers, tied-up in a tiny silk bow, decorated the lower central area of the card and the calligraphy script, in contrasting colours, finished off the top. That was another love of Tiff’s – calligraphy. Calligraphy on greetings cards, table place-holders, door plaques, picture frames and more. In fact, anything that she could write on would be subjected to the ancient writing technique.

  Pushing the card through the letterbox of number eight, she made her way towards her car. The sun had returned this morning and just for a moment, she wondered if Georgie would be out in her garden this afternoon. Not that it mattered to her as she would be at work most of the day. Climbing into her car, she noticed a piece of paper tucked underneath the windscreen wiper. She pulled herself back out, lifted the wiper, took the piece of paper and opened it. It was a typed note.

  I know you are new to the area and have seen you get in your car most mornings. I hope you will be very happy, here in Sycamore Close, but please try and keep yourself to yourself. People are not always what they seem around here. Best wishes.

  Tiff read the note for a second time – was it meant for her? What did it mean exactly? Who was it from? What was the note trying to say? Who was it aimed at? She had absolutely no idea. Standing by the side of her car, she peered up and down the road and then across the green to the houses in Sycamore Close. The note was obviously from someone there as they had said they hoped she would be happy, ‘here’ in the close. Unnerved by the fact that someone must be watching her to the extent that they knew which car she owned, Tiff drew in a deep breath. Was this note a warning? Or was it just some idle gossiper, going overboard with the ‘neighbourhood watch’ ethos? Whatever it was, she did not appreciate having anonymous, printed notes shoved under her wiper blade. Why hadn’t they simply posted it through her door?

  “I got a very strange note today,” said Tiff as she busily prepared a chicken salad, accompanied by large baked potatoes. “Here.” Passing the crumpled note to Joe, she frowned.

  “Who’s it from?” Joe unfolded the note and read it.

  “No idea.”

  “Must have posted it after I went to work. There was nothing on the doormat when I left.” Joe read the note again, just as Tiff had done earlier.

  “No – it wasn’t posted through the door.” Tiff picked up two healthy looking, loaded plates and carried them over to the table. “It was under my windscreen wiper. I noticed it before I drove away, this morning.”

  Following her across the room, Joe took a seat at the table and looked at the note again. “What’s it supposed to mean?”

  “Not sure.” Tiff sat down and proceeded to smother her meal with lashings of low fat salad cream.

  “Well, whoever it is better keep their opinions to themselves,” said Joe, angrily. “Who do they think they are? Telling us to keep ourselves to ourselves.”

  Tiff hadn’t quite seen it this way before but now that Joe had mentioned it she could see that the note was indeed, a downright cheek. “I get the feeling that the note is for me though. Rather than, us. Why would it be put under my windscreen?”

  “So…” mumbled Joe, chewing a mouthful of food, “who do you think it might be then? And who do you think is not what they seem?” He smiled warmly, showing her that he was not quite so het-up about it as he had first appeared.

  “I really don’t know.” Tiff stabbed a chunk of cold chicken with her fork. “We hardly know anyone yet.”

  “My guess would be that weirdo, Alvin Snotgrass.”

  “It’s Snodgrass,” Tiff laughed and the chicken fell off her fork. “Not Snot-grass.”

  “Whatever. He goes from one extreme to another – bet he’s not what he makes out to be.”

  “Ooh, Joe Frey, now you’re not being fair. You’re being very judgemental.” She gave him a wry smile. “I thought you said that we shouldn’t judge people and we should make our own minds up about someone, rather than listen to others.”

  “I have made my own mind up.” Joe picked up the glass of water in front of him and took a gulp. “He’s a freak and I don’t believe for one minute that he’s some kind of super-spy. How can he be, when he dresses like a one-hundred-percent-nerd in his spare time? A secret-service agent by day, and a dogtrot-degenerate by night? I don’t think so.”

  Tiff sniggered into her plate. “Maybe we’ll find out more on Saturday night. We could do some secret surveillance of our own.”

  “OK, Miss Moneypenny, you do the field work and I’ll be your James Bond.” With a flirtatious wink, he gave an inviting smile before parting his lips and licking them deliberately.

  “Finish,” Tiff mocked as she pointed to his dinner. “Then I might be your Moneypenny.”

  Another week sailed by at such a pace that Joe and Tiff didn’t have time to discuss the note any further, or Alvin, or secret spies or anything else for that matter. The slip of paper had remained in the ‘junk-drawer’, in the kitchen, since Tiff had received it. Yet, each morning, she had wondered if she was being watched as she walked around the green to her car. She half-expected another note to be poking out from underneath the wiper blade but there was nothing, thankfully. So she really didn’t need to feel so spooked every morning.

  The weather report for Saturday’s barbecue looked favourable. Tiff secretly wondered if Georgie would be invited. She was intrigued by the woman and, as of yet, she hadn’t had an opportunity to meet her, face to face. In fact, she had hardly seen anyone in the close, all week. But then again, she was at work most of the time.

  Joe arrived home early, as was usually the case on a Friday evening. “Come on babe,” he called up the stairs. “Let’s get a takeaway tonight. I’m starving.”

  Bounding down the stairs in her grey tracksuit and pink and grey, cheap trainers, Tiff flung her arms round his neck and kissed him hard on the lips.

  “What’s that for?” he asked, wiping a hand across his mouth.

  Shrugging her shoulders, Tiff smiled. “Don’t know. I just felt like it.”

  Joe laughed and shook his head quizzically. “You’re a mad woman.”

  “I’m looking forward to the weekend – aren’t you?”

  “I am now…” said Joe, turning to open the front door.

  “What do you mean, ‘now’?” Tiff followed him out of the door and locked it behind her.

  “Had to put Mum and Dad off. They wanted to come and see the house tomorrow.”

  “Oh – so soon?”

  “Well, we have been here practically a month now.” Joe placed an arm round Tiff’s shoulder as they strolled around the edge of the green towards her car. “But don’t worry – I put them off. Told them we were really busy tomorrow and then we have the neigh
bour’s barbecue in the evening.”

  “Were they OK about it?”

  “You know what Mum’s like – she wanted to know everything about our neighbours.”

  “What did you say?”

  Joe shrugged his hefty shoulders. “Just said we had the standard quotient of weirdos in the close.”

  Tiff giggled and peered up at him. “We’ve only got one haven’t we?” she whispered as they passed by number nine.

  “Georgie’s a bit strange too –”

  “What makes you say that?” Tiff snapped. “I mean – why do you think she’s strange?”

  As they approached the car, Joe walked round to the driver’s side. He always drove when they went anywhere together and Tiff was more than happy with that. She wasn’t as confident a driver as he was and particularly in unfamiliar areas.

  “Chinese?” he asked.

  Tiff nodded. “So, why do you think Georgie is strange? I thought you said you liked her.”

  Joe glanced briefly at her, a puzzled frown across his face. “I hardly know her, babe. Like I said before, she seemed nice enough when she stopped to talk to me that day. I’m purely going by the Cyril and Betty story, if that’s what you’re asking. Maybe she’s not strange – I don’t know. And I don’t care either. Why do you snap at me whenever her name is mentioned?”

  Tiff lowered her eyes and consciously wiped the glare from her face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap… Guess I’m just suspicious of everyone around here. You know… the note… and creepy Alvin.” She sighed as they pulled out on to Oakwood road and drove away. “I just wondered if you knew something I didn’t. That’s all.”

  Shaking his head, Joe kept his eyes on the road. “No. I don’t know any more than you do.”

  Shifting guiltily in her seat, Tiff toyed with the idea of telling him everything she knew. But she couldn’t. Not now. He would wonder why she hadn’t said anything before. Worst of all, he might want to find out more for himself and become obsessed with the view from the craft room. Just as she was consumed by it. Astonishingly.

  The weather was going to be good for the barbecue this evening, going by the glorious sunshine streaming through the slit in the bedroom curtains. The weather reports had remained consistently correct, for a change, although the balmy conditions were more suited for July and August rather than early May.

  Tiff dragged herself out of bed, leaving Joe asleep. They had woken an hour earlier but as usual, at the weekends, Joe’s daybreak libido was up before him. He was hard to resist in the comfort of a cosy warm bed. His hot naked body was soft and smooth to touch. Sensual and strong, he had taken her in his arms and loved her with tenderness before the birds had even begun to sing.

  Quietly closing the bedroom door behind her, Tiff tiptoed into the craft room and leant right over the table. She could just see Georgie’s garden if she stretched far enough. Why on earth was she peering into Georgie’s garden at 8.30 in the morning? She had no idea. As if the woman was going to be sunbathing at this time of the day. As if Georgie would be fornicating over the cement mixer in broad daylight. Tiff tutted to herself and shook her head in annoyance. She had to stop it. She had to block the bizarre images from her mind.

  Across the field, in the distance, she spotted a person walking along the tree-lined path which led all the way down to the river. A dog raced along the pathway, weaving in and out of the trees, stopping to sniff things and then racing ahead of its owner. A woman? Tiff peered with squinted eyes. Was it Georgie? The dog looked like Georgie’s, even though it was so far away. She strained her eyes to focus on the figure walking along. It was difficult to see who she was as the trees obscured the view. Tiff knew it was a woman by the way she walked and swung a dog lead in her hand. Frozen to the spot, she watched as the woman got further and further away. Her long blonde hair bobbed up and down as her energetic gait speeded up. It was Georgie.

  A glint of gold caught the corner of Tiff’s eye and she turned to look to the right of the fields. Again, through the trees on the right, chinks of gold flashed as the morning sun reflected on something moving swiftly along the other path.

  Tiff held her breath.

  She had to get the old set of binoculars from one of the boxes in the cupboard under the stairs. They had belonged to her dad, years ago, when he’d enjoyed a spot of ship-watching from the old harbour walls on the south coast. Tiff had just remembered that she had them. They were buried somewhere in the bottom of a box, along with some sentimental ornaments and childhood memory-boxes.

  The gold colour flickered along the path behind the wide trunks of the sycamore trees. Gold Latex. Speedos. With spindly legs attached. Pulling his knees high up to his chest as he pranced along, Tiff was pretty sure that it was Alvin, making his way, rapidly, towards Georgie.

  Muffling her gasp with a hand cupped to her mouth, Tiff stepped backwards. Were they meeting each other? Why were they both at the back of Sycamore Close? Ordinarily, Alvin and Georgie could have had genuine reasons for their individual romps through the fields, early in the morning, but they weren’t ordinary people. And Tiff suspected that they weren’t planning to be ‘individuals’ for too long either, by the speed that Alvin’s sleek, gold pants were moving through the trees towards Georgie.

  Tiptoeing out of the room, Tiff pulled the door closed and crept down the stairs as her heart thumped with every footstep. She had to find the binoculars. They would come in handy anyway for looking across the fields. For looking at the river and admiring the view. But she would keep them hidden in her craft accessories drawer. There was no way she wanted Joe to use them, ‘to look at the view’ or to peer into anyone’s garden for that matter.

  The cupboard under the stairs went as far back as the bottom step. Filled with unpacked boxes, shoes, Joe’s old motorbike gear and countless stacks of books, the small box, which Tiff was looking for, had to be somewhere near the back. She scrabbled around in the dark, ducking her head down further and further as the ceiling above her dropped steeply. It had to be in there somewhere. But where?

  “Tiff?”

  A voice, from outside the cupboard startled her. She froze. Thinking of a plausible reason for being on her hands and knees in the depths of the stair cupboard, she began to shuffle backwards.

  “Tiff? What are you doing in there?” asked Joe, amusedly. “What are you looking for?”

  Scuffling back through the boxes, books and motorbike paraphernalia, Tiff edged her way out of the cupboard like a breech birth. “Oh… you’re awake now.” Pulling herself to her feet, she dusted off her pyjama trousers. “Just looking for any craft bits… you know,” she stumbled, “stuff I might have missed…”

  Shooting a puzzled stare, Joe frowned. “At this time of the morning?”

  “It must be getting on for nine o’clock, mister lazybones.” Playfully, she poked him in the tummy, closed the cupboard door behind her and walked away to the kitchen with flushed cheeks. “Cup of tea or do you want coffee?”

  Chapter 9

  Coffee and the weekend’s usual lashings of marmalade on several pieces of toast. Tiff had been on edge throughout breakfast and Joe had noticed her impatience.

  “You OK this morning, babe?”

  “Yes,” she replied, scooping her hair away from her face. “I’m fine. I’m looking forward to getting on with the rest of the fence.”

  “Cool, we’ll get it finished today.” Joe paused, thoughtfully. “Is there anything else to do in your room?”

  “No.” Picking at the piece of toast on her plate, she looked up and smiled weakly. “I… err… I’ll sort out everything as I go. No need to worry about that room anymore – it’s finished.”

  “Are you missing some bits though?”

  “No, why do you say that?”

  “You were looking for something earlier?” Joe propped his chin up with his hand. “I’m sure I put all your craft stuff together.”

  “Yes – you did. I don’t know what I was looking for really. Just wanted
to check what was left under the stairs.”

  “OK,” replied Joe. “Come on then. Let’s get dressed and get that fence finished.”

  She’d missed it. Whatever ‘it’ might have been. Maybe it was nothing. But Tiff had a feeling that it would have been more than nothing. Quite irked by the fact that she hadn’t been able to see or watch what Alvin and Georgie were up to, she couldn’t help but sulk. What was becoming of her? Was she turning into a freak? Why was she so preoccupied with the neighbours? Tutting to herself, she made a concerted effort to forget about them and enjoy her day, painting with Joe.

  “Morning,” called Joe.

  Tiff turned and looked at him, puzzled. He wasn’t talking to her. Peering back over her shoulder, she could see Georgie walking across the green with her tired, heavily panting dog. It was the first time she had seen the woman up close. Surprisingly, she looked a dishevelled mess. Her mud splattered tracksuit bottoms were crumpled and her hair looked fit for a bird to lay its eggs in. She smiled as she approached and mouthed a ‘good morning’, directing her gaze towards Joe.

  Tiff smiled awkwardly. “Hello,” she spluttered. “Nice to meet you.”

  As Georgie drew closer, she lowered her head, coyly. “You too.”

  Thinking about what she’d seen earlier, Tiff blurted out, “Looks like you’ve been on a long walk – your dog – he seems to be worn out.” Looking down at Georgie’s filthy trouser bottoms, she screwed her nose up and added, “Has he been dragging you through mud?”

  Peering down at her legs, Georgie replied stiffly. “Yes – near the river. He’s hard work. Drags me around all over the place.”

  “I can see that.”