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

by Tara Ford

  “Decapitating everyone –”

  “Yes, most definitely. Actually…” Tiff shook her head, alarmed by the thought, “I can’t bear to think what might have happened.”

  Shrugging her tiny shoulders, Lilly glanced over at the trimmer. “All right dearie. I’ll be getting indoors for a brew now then – out of this sun. No good for the skin you know. It’ll give you cancer if you stay out in it too long.”

  “I know. Luckily, I’ve got sun cream on so I’ll be OK to finish my planting – without having to worry about what you’re doing. Please don’t frighten me or anyone else like that again. Using that thing is murderous,” Tiff pointed to the trimmer with a wobbly finger, “could have turned out far worse than getting skin cancer.”

  Lilly waved the back of her hand as she tottered off, up the path to her house. “Cheerio dearie. Nothing like keeping the neighbours on their toes though.”

  “Goodbye Lilly – you certainly did that. I’ll send Joe round later.”

  “Thank you, dearie.”

  Tiff drew in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly as she watched Lilly’s tiny frame disappear inside her house. She wasn’t quite sure what Joe would say about her offering his services to Lilly but she dreaded the thought of Lilly getting impatient and attempting to start the motor up again to have another go.

  Wandering off, back down the path towards her own front garden, Tiff played the scenario through her head. Joe would come home from golf, feeling exhausted. She would tell him he’d have to trim Lilly’s bushes today or tomorrow. He would sigh exaggeratedly and possibly grumble and moan about having to do the fence as well. She would plead that it was literally a matter of life or death. He would agree to do it, resignedly. Sorted. No decapitations on Sycamore Close. Although there was just one – or maybe even two heads – that sprung to mind as possibilities. If only she could get away with it.

  “Good morning.”

  Tiff turned around quickly, startled by the gentle voice behind her. “Oh – hello Betty. I didn’t see you there.”

  Seated on a low gardener’s stool, Betty was looking over the fence with a wide smile on her powdered face. “Hope I didn’t make you jump.”

  “Well – yes – but not as much as someone else did, a minute ago. Sorry, I was deep in thought.”

  Hauling herself up from the stool, Betty pulled a pair of pink gardening gloves from her dainty little hands and tucked them into her apron. “What on earth was going on over there?” she whispered, gesturing with a hand towards the tall hedge on the other side of her garden.

  “Oh my goodness,” Tiff whispered back. “Lilly – she was trying to use a huge, petrol, hedge trimmer. It’s twice the size of her.”

  “Thought so. I was on my way out here when you were shouting at her.”

  “I didn’t mean to shout at her so loud but she couldn’t hear me over the trimmer. It was so scary.”

  Betty shook her head. “Oh dear,” she mumbled. “The dear old lady is mad.”

  “Very impatient, that’s for sure. Nearly took my head off as she swung it round.” Tiff let out a little giggle. “You wouldn’t have recognised me on the way back.”

  Betty gave a puzzled look. “Why do you say that?”

  “If she’d taken my head off? You wouldn’t have…”

  “Oh, I see now. Yes.” Betty laughed into her hands. “I would have sent Cyril out to help…” Betty paused and looked down at her hands, “but he hasn’t been so well lately. I tell him to go to the doctors – but he won’t go.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What’s wrong with him?”

  Betty shook her head and frowned. “I don’t really know but there’s something not right about him. He sleeps a lot and he’s got no energy.”

  “That doesn’t sound too good. Could you ask the doctor to come out to him?”

  Betty shook her head. “Cyril would hide away with his birds, if he thought a doctor was coming round.”

  “It must be difficult for you.”

  “It can be sometimes. No point in dwelling on it though.” Betty peered over the side of Tiff’s garden fence. “I see that you’ve been busy this morning. It will look very pretty when you’ve finished.”

  “Yes – I thought it would look nice with a few more flowers.” Tiff giggled. “I just hope I don’t manage to kill them off. I’m useless with houseplants.”

  “Oh, they will be fine in the ground. Give them a little water once you’ve finished and then water them regularly until they are established and especially during the dry periods.”

  “Thank you, Betty, I will. You never know – I might even turn into a full-grown gardener.”

  Betty giggled into her hands again. “You might like to come and see my fairy garden out the back.”

  “Fairy garden? What’s a fairy garden?”

  “Would you like to come and see? We could have a cup of tea and a slice of fruit cake? I made it this morning. It’s still warm.” Betty giggled again. “Fruit cake always tastes best when it’s still warm.”

  Tiff’s tummy gurgled hungrily. “Are you sure? What about Cyril? I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

  “Not at all. Cyril’s pottering around with his birds at the moment anyway.”

  “Well, if you’re absolutely sure, that would be lovely. Thank you.” Tiff smiled warmly, she really liked Betty. “I’ll just go and lock my front door.”

  “All right. I will pop the kettle on. Please, just walk in the door – no need to knock.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  Once again, Tiff stepped back in time as she walked through Betty’s house towards the kitchen. “Only me,” she called out, politely. A rich, homely smell of freshly baked cake drifted up her nose, making her tummy rumble loudly.

  Betty was already preparing two teacups and saucers on to a tray, along with two small plates. “Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to the classic 50’s dining chairs.

  Tiff pulled out a chair and sat down. “The cake smells lovely.”

  “I’m sure it will taste very nice too. We’ll have this…” she said, gently pushing a cake slice through the fruit cake, “and then I’ll show you the fairy garden.”

  “Is Cyril not joining us?” Tiff had noticed that there were only two cups on the tray.

  “No, I made a flask of tea for him earlier and he has a big slice of cake, wrapped up in a serviette – just how he likes it. He’ll be out with the birds most of the day. He cleans them out thoroughly at the weekends.”

  “Oh, OK.”

  Carrying the tray across the room, Betty placed it on the table. “Would you like me to pour yours?” she asked, staring down at the teapot.

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

  “Help yourself to some cake.” Betty grinned and picked up the teapot.

  Tiff’s hunger had been satisfied after she’d hesitantly agreed to have another, larger, piece of cake. She stretched back in the chair and patted her tummy. “Thank you Betty, that was so nice.”

  “You are very welcome.” Patting her mouth with a serviette, Betty smiled. “Now, would you like to come and see the garden?”

  “Ooh – yes please.”

  Betty’s fairy garden was behind the aviaries. “That’s odd,” said Betty as they passed by the second birdhouse, “I thought Cyril was down here cleaning out the birds.” She peered through a small window, in the wooden shed-like building. “Cyril? Are you in there?” she called, rapping her knuckles on the glass.

  Nothing.

  “I’ll just check he’s all right,” said Betty, a worried expression on her face. She walked back round to the door and opened it hesitantly. She looked back at Tiff. “Don’t want to let any birds out if the cages are open.”

  Tiff nodded her head and mouthed an ‘OK’.

  “Not in there.” Betty closed the door and frowned. “I’ll check the other one.”

  Waiting patiently, Tiff could see that Betty was a little concerned about Cyril.

  �
�Not in that one either. He’s a little devil, he must have sneaked back upstairs when I was out the front.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t mind betting that he’s gone for a lie down, half way through the job. He does that quite a lot lately.”

  “I can imagine it’s tiring work, cleaning out those sheds every week.”

  Betty sighed again. “Yes, it is. I have said to him that there will come a day…” she paused thoughtfully, “when he won’t be able to care for the birds anymore.”

  Tiff stared down at her shoes, awkwardly, before looking back up. “I suppose we all have to retire at some point, even from the things we love doing.” She smiled stiffly. “I can’t imagine I’d be able to do such intricate craft work when I’m older.”

  Betty drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, through her nose. “I can’t imagine not baking cakes ever.” She let out a tiny giggle. “I’ll still be whisking up cake-mix on my death bed, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t tell me – then you’ll ask someone to put it in the oven for you?”

  “Yes.” Betty beamed. “That’s right – but the oven will be right next door to my bed, so I can watch the cake rise and cook. I do like watching them bake.” She gently took Tiff’s arm and pulled at it. “Come and have a look at the fairy garden.”

  Going behind the aviaries was like walking into yet another world. A magical miniature world filled with the most endearing, woodland landscapes carved out in perfect proportion to the little fairy houses, their adjoining dinky gardens and the well-hidden fairies.

  “Oh – wow – this is just amazing.” Tiff scanned the area, searching for the tiny fairies, dotted around under bushes, tucked away in the gardens and partially hidden under tree bark. “Oh, Betty – I love this.” Crouching down, Tiff peered at each garden’s furniture, the minute garden tools, stoneware pots, some filled with microscopic plants and the tiny benches. “Are they real?” she asked, pointing to the potted plants.

  “Yes, they are just single stems of a variety of alpine plants.” Betty giggled. “They don’t last very long – the pots just aren’t big enough, but I do enjoy helping the fairies to do their gardening.”

  “Oh, this is just incredible. I absolutely love it.”

  Moving around the side of the miniature garden, Betty picked up an oval dish and passed it to Tiff. “Do you like this?”

  Taking the dish, Tiff stared down at the mini world in her hands. Several, tiny, flowering plants lined the outer edge of the dish. In the middle was a miniature swing, made from sticks and string. Underneath it, a pathway of small pebbles weaved across the soil to one of the plants and then disappeared under a little bush. Five brightly coloured toadstools were scattered around the soil and as Tiff took in the magical scene, she spotted the smallest set of gardening tools and the tiniest pair of wellington boots that she had ever seen. “Betty – “she exclaimed, “this is so beautiful.”

  “Would you like it?”

  Tiff turned and stared Betty in the eyes. “No, I couldn’t. You must have put so much work into this.”

  Betty smiled graciously. “I make the swings myself.” Tapping the teeny twig-seat, she beamed as it swayed backwards and forwards for a moment before stopping.

  “You are so talented. I love this.”

  “Then you can have it.”

  “No, I really couldn’t…”

  “Yes you can – take it.”

  “Let me give you something for it then.” Tiff wrapped an arm round the dish so she could free up her other hand. She gently tapped the swing’s seat and watched it move. “I’ll only have it if you will take some money for it. This must be worth at least twenty, twenty-five pounds.”

  “I sell those ones for eight pounds,” said Betty. “However, that one isn’t for sale because it’s yours and I don’t want anything for it. Please, do me the honour of taking it.”

  “Oh, Betty, this is so very kind of you.” Tiff grinned and felt a tiny tear prick in her eye. She really liked Betty a lot. It wasn’t because of her generosity. It wasn’t because she had fed Tiff on two occasions now. It was because she was such a beautiful, kind and gentle person. She was caring and serene. There was a fairy-like quality to her. Tiff wondered, just for a moment, whether she was actually a real fairy. Then she smiled to herself. Of course she wasn’t a real fairy – fairies aren’t real. Are they?

  Placing the dish carefully on the ground, Tiff crouched down again and gazed in wonderment at the teeny tiny gardens. It didn’t matter how long she stared at it, she still managed to find something new, hidden away somewhere, between the cute little bushes, under pieces of bark and behind rocks. “I wish I were a fairy,” she whispered, “this place makes it look like the little fairies have so much fun in their gardens.”

  “Oh, they do,” Betty whispered back, before letting out a tiny giggle. “They have lots of fun.”

  The bright sunshine warmed Tiff’s back as she continued to survey the gardens with admiration.

  “Would you like another cup of tea?” Betty had been tidying the plants by pulling little, unruly shoots from them and popping them into a small, galvanized bucket, by her side. “I’m sure you could squeeze another slice of cake in.”

  “I’d love another tea – thank you. And then I’ll have to get home. Joe will be back soon.” Tiff laughed. “But I really don’t think I could squeeze another slice of cake anywhere.”

  “Then I’ll cut up a couple of slices to take with you. I’m sure Joe would like some when he gets home.”

  “I’m quite sure he would. Thank you Betty, you are too kind.”

  “I don’t think you can ever be too kind.”

  “That’s true.” Tiff smiled and pulled herself up from her bended knees. She leant over to pick up the dish and peered, lovingly, at the swing. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m quite sure. Come on – let’s have another cup of tea and I can see where that young Cyril has got to.”

  Tiff grinned and proudly followed behind Betty, carrying her new prized possession.

  Chapter 19

  “Where shall I put this?”

  “Ah, just pop it on the table, there, on top of that newspaper.” Betty pointed to a paper with yesterday’s date on it. “Cyril collects them – for the birds. They make a good base for underneath the gravel paper.”

  Tiff carefully placed her fairy garden on top of the paper and took a seat.

  Once again, Betty filled her tray with clean teacups and saucers. She cut two thick wedges of fruit cake and wrapped them in white serviettes. Then she popped them into a food bag. “That should be all right,” she said, passing the bags to Tiff.

  “I feel like you’re really spoiling me – what with all this cake and the little garden.”

  “I don’t have anyone else to spoil, so why not my nice new neighbours.”

  “Thank you again Betty.”

  “No need to keep thanking me. I should thank you for coming in to have a cup of tea with me. I do get a bit lone…”

  “Not feeling good…”

  “Cyril?”

  Clutching his chest, Cyril stood behind the central pillar looking as grey as pewter. Wearing only a brown, toweling dressing gown, he held on to the pillar in an awkward stance as beads of perspiration dripped down his face.

  “Cyril?” Betty peered at him with a fearful gaze. “Where’ve you been? I didn’t hear you come downstairs.”

  “Leaning… here… behind the pillar… I… can’t move…”

  Tiff stood up and looked from Betty to Cyril and back again to Betty. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, feebly. “Should you sit down? Would you like me to lea…”

  Cyril made a horrible rasping sound, screwed his face up and slid down the pillar.

  “Oh my goodness – Cyril?” Betty dropped the sugar bowl on to the tray and scuttled across the room. “Cyril?”

  “Shall I call an ambulance?”

  Reaching Cyril’s side, Betty took hold of his face and directed his wide-eyed stare towards h
er. “Cyril?”

  Groaning and grimacing, he continued to hold on to his chest as he slowly slumped further down.

  “Where’s your phone?” Tiff called out, patting at her pockets to double check that she didn’t have her mobile with her.

  “Cyril – dear. Cyril?” Betty wasn’t responding to anything else other than her distressed husband.

  “Betty! Please – where is your phone?”

  Cyril was now lying flat out on the floor. He writhed around, moaning and gasping. “Am…bulance. Bet –“

  Betty shot a sideways glance. “Over there – by the sofa. Please – hurry.” Clinging on to Cyril’s hands, she turned back and leant over him. “We’re getting an ambulance, Cyril. You stay still now.”

  Tiff stepped over Cyril and reached the phone, expecting to be able to grab it from the side table, call the emergency number and take it over to Betty. However, as was the case with everything in Betty’s house, the phone was as ancient as they were. It was a typical retro 1950’s, pastel pink, rotary phone. Picking up the receiver, Tiff placed a finger in the number nine of the rotary dial and pushed it all the way round. She assumed she was doing it correctly as she had seen them being used in the old, classic films that her mum and dad used to like to watch. The dial returned to its starting position and Tiff quickly repeated the process another two times. Too scared to turn round and look at Cyril or Betty, she peered out of the window as the ringing tone started.

  “Nine, nine, nine, which service do you require?” asked a woman’s voice, systematically.

  “Ambulance, please.”

  A brief click could be heard down the phone line.

  “Ambulance service. Is the patient conscious and breathing?”

  “Err…” Tiff turned her head and looked over at Cyril’s body lying on the floor. “Is he breathing?” she shouted out.

  “Are you still breathing Cyril?” Betty shook his shoulder and Cyril moaned.

  “Yes – I’m sure he’s still breathing. Please hurry.”

  “What’s the address madam?”

  “Err…” Tiff had to think quickly where she was. “Number five, Sycamore Close.”