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

by Tara Ford

  “Thank you. What’s the patients name?”

  “Cyril… err…” Tiff looked over to Betty again. “Betty – what’s your last name?”

  Cyril continued to writhe around on the floor. The twisted grimace on his face was alarming.

  “Hanley,” replied Betty, “H-A-N-L-E-Y.”

  “Got that,” said the woman on the other end of the phone. “And how old is Cyril?”

  “How old is he, Betty?”

  “He’s 69.”

  “Sixty-nine.”

  “Thank you,” said the woman. “A paramedic is on his way. Could you open the front door please?”

  “Yes, of course… should I… err… hang up now?”

  “If Cyril is breathing and conscious you may hang up. The paramedic is almost with you.”

  “Oh – OK – gosh, that’s quick. Thank you.” Tiff placed the receiver down and went to the front door. She peered out across the green but couldn’t see anyone. She left the door ajar and returned to the pillar. As she got closer she halted abruptly as her eyes peered down at Cyril’s torso. His constant writhing around on the floor had made his dressing gown twist and turn around, revealing his loose black underpants. Tiff gasped as she stared fixedly, at a tiny, shrivelled grey-haired penis, resting on the side of Cyril’s leg. Her mouth dropped open but her eyes continued to stare rigidly at the ugly sight before her.

  The strange sound of a car’s engine filtered through the house. Tiff thought it odd as there were no roads close by. She looked across to the front door as a uniformed man appeared, carrying bags and equipment. He walked right in and moved swiftly across the room to where Cyril lie on the floor.

  Tiff looked again, she didn’t mean to but it was almost as if she had to be sure she’d seen what she’d seen the first time round. She was right. For sure. Cyril’s crinkly, old penis was poking out of his underpants proudly.

  “Hello,” said the paramedic, directing his words towards Betty. “Can I get down there?”

  Without hesitation, Betty pulled herself up and out of the way as the paramedic moved in closer and opened his bag. Quickly, he sprayed something into Cyril’s mouth, under his tongue. He opened Cyril’s dressing gown and began to stick little circular pads on to his chest, which he then connected to a machine. “Cyril – you are having a heart attack. I need to help you sit up.”

  Cyril was semi-conscious but managed to heed the man’s words and co-operate with him to pull himself up to a half-seated position. Perspiration dripped from his nose and his grey complexion had worsened.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Betty squealed, having just seen Cyril’s groin area. “Oh dear me.”

  The paramedic was crouching down alongside Cyril, continuing to administer treatment.

  Betty’s face flushed and her panic-stricken expression made her look quite different to the gentle, timid old lady that Tiff had come to know. She straddled the paramedic’s back and leant forward, over his shoulders, trying to reach Cyril’s private parts.

  “Ugh…” grunted the paramedic as he almost fell into Cyril’s lap, right on top of his protrusion.

  “I just need…” mumbled Betty, trying not to lose her balance as she continued to lean on the paramedics back, “to tuck him… back… in.” Grappling around with Cyril’s underpants, she tried to flick his penis back under the baggy material. She failed.

  The paramedic shrugged her off and peered round at her incredulously. “Please. Stop. I am trying to treat this man.”

  “But…” Betty pulled herself up once again and looked awkwardly at Tiff. “I need to wrap his dressing gown over,” she muttered, embarrassedly. “He’s indecent.”

  “Betty,” said Tiff, calmly, “it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that Cyril gets treatment.” Putting an arm over her shoulder, Tiff gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Let the paramedic do what he needs to do.”

  “But…” cried Betty, pointing at Cyril’s pants.

  “No – leave it. It’s not important.” Tiff tried to comfort her by keeping an arm round her.

  An ambulance arrived on the green. Tiff watched through the window as it quickly drove across the grass, coming to a halt next to the paramedic’s car. A young man and a beefy looking woman jumped out, both carrying bags. They entered the house, calling out as they did so, and went straight over to the paramedic. The young man and the paramedic started up a conversation straight away and Tiff could just about get the gist of what they were saying. They were taking Cyril to hospital. He was having a massive heart attack. Tiff gulped as fear began to rise in her. Was Cyril going to make it? How would Betty deal with it if he didn’t make it? She had no one else.

  The woman paramedic went back out of the front door and walked to the back of the ambulance as the two men continued to work on Cyril. She returned moments later with a wheelchair. Between the three of them, the paramedics hauled Cyril up and into the wheelchair and the woman covered him over with a blanket, hiding his little, shrivelled pecker from prying eyes.

  “Mrs Hanley?”

  Betty turned and peered, dazedly, at the young man from the ambulance. “Yes?”

  “We are taking Cyril to the General. Do you want to travel in the ambulance with him?”

  Betty turned and looked at Tiff, worriedly.

  “Yes – go on. You need to go with them.” Tiff rubbed her arm affectionately. “I’ll come and pick you up later if you want me to.”

  Betty nodded her head.

  “Are you a family member?” asked the paramedic.

  “No, I… I live next door.”

  “Perhaps you could assist Mrs Hanley in ensuring the house is locked safely.”

  “Yes – yes, of course. Betty, have you got a piece of paper and a pen? I’ll give you my phone number,” said Tiff as her mind spun round in circles.

  Betty nodded again and tiptoed past the paramedics who were just about ready to leave. She fetched a piece of paper and a biro and handed them over to Tiff.

  “We’ll be in the ambulance, Mrs Hanley. Please come in when you’ve locked your house up.”

  Betty responded obediently with a nod of her head. Her dazed expression and nervous rubbing together of her hands made her look vulnerable.

  “Betty, get a coat and your handbag, if you use one. It might be cold later,” said Tiff, feeling quite nervous herself. “This is my number. Give me a call when you need to come back home or call me if you just want me to sit at the hospital with you.”

  Betty took the slip of paper from Tiff and went to get her coat and bag.

  Tiff watched as the paramedic car and the ambulance drove across the green, slowly bumped down the pavement and sped off down the road. Once out of sight, she could hear the peal of the siren starting. She desperately hoped that Cyril would be all right as the ambulance’s warning sound sent shivers through her.

  Both Tom and Jean, from number two, were walking along the path towards Tiff. They’d been in their front garden, watching the goings-on at number five. No one else from the close was out, which surprised Tiff. She’d imagined that everyone would have been wondering what was going on and come out of their houses to see. Maybe it was because the ambulance hadn’t had its sirens going when it arrived or indeed, when it left, not until it was out on the main road anyway.

  “Was that old Cyril?” asked Tom, as they arrived at Tiff’s front gate.

  “Yes, it was. He’s… had a heart attack.”

  “Oh dear me,” said Jean. “Will he be OK?”

  “I don’t know to be honest with you. Betty went with him.” Tiff slumped against her gate as the adrenalin began to wear off. “I do hope he will be OK. I’m going to pick Betty up from the hospital later.”

  “Please, tell her… if there’s anything we can do, she should let us know,” said Jean.

  “It’s a good job they’ve got a friendly neighbour like you,” said Tom. “You’re nothing like that little madam next door to you.” Tom shot a cursory glance towards Georgie’s house. “She’
s a good for nothing…”

  “Tom!” Jean poked him in the side with her elbow. “That’s enough. Come on, let’s go. We have some gardening to do.” Glancing at Tiff, Jean frowned. “Sorry about that. I can’t take him anywhere.”

  “It’s fine, honestly.”

  Jean shoved her arm through Tom’s arm and pulled him away. “Please could you let us know how he is?”

  “Yes, of course I can.” Tiff smiled waveringly as the realisation of what had just happened, began to sink in.

  Slumping on to the sofa, Tiff closed her eyes for a moment and relived the last couple of hours. She’d almost had her head hacked off earlier by a six and a half foot jagged-toothed-blade. Lilly’s hedge trimming capabilities were well below par. The dear old woman was a danger to herself – a menacing old maid. Then there was Betty and poor old Cyril with his withered penis. Tiff cringed as she tried to stop the images from entering her mind. But she couldn’t. They came and they were vivid. Right down to the tiniest of hairs. How could she ever look at him the same way, again? Poor Betty – she must be so worried and alone at the hospital.

  “Caught you.”

  Tiff opened her eyes wide and looked up, startled by the voice. She’d been asleep. She rubbed her face and peered at the clock on the wall. The time was 1.30pm. Unsure of how long she’d been asleep, she pulled herself up. “Oh, I must have nodded off when I got in.”

  “Got in? Where’ve you been then?” Joe kicked off his shoes and walked through to the kitchen.

  “Huh,” huffed Tiff. “Where do I start?”

  Joe frowned and then flicked the kettle on. His face was bright red, it looked burnt by the morning’s sun.

  “You’ve burnt your face.”

  “I know – it’s probably wind-burn more than sunburn.” He touched his forehead and screwed his face up tightly. “It’s bloody sore.”

  “I’ll get some cream for you in a minute. There’s some in the bathroom,” mumbled Tiff, sleepily.

  “So, where have you been?”

  “Next door, mostly. Cyril’s had a heart attack – he’s been rushed into hospital.”

  “Oh no – is he OK?”

  “I don’t know. Betty’s got my number. She said she’d call me if… or when she needs a lift home.”

  “Doesn’t she drive?”

  “Yes,” said Tiff, hoping she hadn’t already missed a call, “but she went with Cyril in the ambulance.”

  Joe nodded appreciatively. “OK, I’m with you now.”

  “I’d better check my phone,” said Tiff, trying to think where she’d left it. Peering around the kitchen and dining area, she couldn’t see it anywhere. Bag, she thought to herself. She probably hadn’t even taken it out of her handbag since her shopping trip yesterday. That wasn’t unusual for her, she didn’t use it much and didn’t get many text messages or phone calls from anyone apart from her mum anyway and maybe sometimes, Joe, but that was very rarely. “It’s probably in my bag,” she said, thoughtfully, “I’ll get you some cream while I’m upstairs too.” She giggled and gently kissed Joe on the cheek. “That’s really going to burn up by tonight – you’ll look like an embarrassed radish by the time we go out.”

  “Thanks for that,” Joe replied and tapped her bottom with his foot as she left the kitchen. “I’ll make a drink and you can tell me what’s happened with Cyril. Poor old sod.”

  No messages or missed calls. Tiff couldn’t even contact Betty as she didn’t have her number. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe they were still treating Cyril or maybe… No, Tiff couldn’t let the other thought enter her mind. He couldn’t die. Could he? Grabbing the after-sun cream from the makeshift bathroom cabinet, she returned downstairs to Joe, who was resting his weary feet on the sofa, a mug of coffee in his hands. His eyelids looked heavy and Tiff knew it wouldn’t be long before he was asleep. And probably for the whole of the afternoon.

  “Left yours in the kitchen babe, sorry.”

  Tiff smiled and threw the tube of cream into his lap as she walked past and headed to the kitchen. “Anyway,” she continued, “that was just one thing that happened this morning. I tell you…” She returned with her cup of coffee and sat down on the sofa opposite. “Sycamore Close has all sorts of things going on when you’re not around.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, I nearly had my head chopped off this morning, before I went to Betty’s.”

  “Your head chopped off? How the hell…?”

  “Lilly…”

  Joe laughed. “Don’t tell me… She didn’t use that great big trimmer did she?”

  “Uh-hu.” Tiff nodded her head slowly and deliberately.

  “Bloody hell – how did she manage that?”

  “Well, she didn’t – that’s the whole point.”

  Joe eyed her, puzzled.

  “She didn’t manage it at all. The monstrously big thing nearly took her flying across her garden. And she almost decapitated me in the process.”

  Joe shook his head despairingly. “Blimey. Are you OK? Why couldn’t she just wait?”

  “Well, I’ve told her that she has to now. She soon realised that she couldn’t handle it. And I wouldn’t have been able to either. It’s very powerful.”

  “It would be. It’s probably more powerful than an electric one. She’s bloody mad.”

  “Anyway…” said Tiff warily, “I’ve, err… told her that you’d do it.” She screwed her face up and waited for the aftermath. “Either today or tomorrow?”

  “Great.” Joe tutted. “It’ll have to be tomorrow then – I really can’t be bothered this afternoon, I’m knackered.”

  “That’s fine. I did say it might be tomorrow. Thanks Joe.”

  “Huh – I can hardly say no, can I?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Tiff turned down the corners of her mouth and gave him a sad look. “Sorry babe. It’s for the best. If she started that machine up again and tried to do it herself, she’d end up killing someone, if not herself, believe me.”

  “Yeah, suppose.” Joe’s eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. “What about Cyril? Will he be OK?”

  “I really don’t know. He didn’t look good…” Tiff broke off. “Joe?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I can’t believe you’re falling asleep while I’m talking to you.”

  “Hmm… sorry babe…”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you later. Finish your coffee, put some cream on your face and have a nap. I’ll go and finish planting the new plants.” Suddenly Tiff remembered that she had left her fairy garden and the slices of cake at Betty’s house. She shrugged to herself and wandered outside as Joe’s breathing became deeper and turned into just a faint little snore. There were more important things to think about than the miniature garden and cake. She desperately hoped that it would turn out all right at number five.

  Chapter 20

  Finally, Tiff pulled herself up from the mud, took an admiring glance around the front garden and dusted off her jeans. She picked up her phone from the empty plant tray and peered at it. Still nothing from Betty. It was almost five o’clock. Had Cyril died and she was still at the hospital, sitting in a corner somewhere, crying her eyes out, alone? Tiff shook her head. No, please.

  Sycamore Close had been quiet all afternoon and she hadn’t seen a single person. Not even Alvin. She’d half-expected to see him limbering up, outside his house in his ridiculous gold pants, before prancing, ostentatiously, away with his binoculars or even another rucksack.

  Clearing away the garden hand-tools she’d been using, Tiff stretched her back and walked down to the front gate. She had to pop into Lilly’s and tell her that Joe would do the hedges tomorrow. She hadn’t dared to ask him to go and tell Lilly himself, as he looked a little rough when he came home and he was also burnt to a crisp.

  Lilly eventually opened her front door and thanked Tiff for letting her know about tomorrow. She seemed oblivious to the goings-on next door to her, earlier that morning and Tiff had decided not to en
lighten her. It wasn’t really her place to go around telling all the neighbours about poor Cyril’s misfortune. She still hadn’t had any further information as to his condition so she didn’t know whether she might be speaking of the dead if she said anything. She was sure that Lilly would find out for herself sooner or later.

  Returning home, Tiff scooped up the tray and hand-tools and carried them indoors. Surprisingly, Joe hadn’t moved from his spot on the sofa all afternoon. She walked straight through to the back garden and dumped the tools underneath a tough plastic sheet (their makeshift shed). Then she returned indoors and put the kettle on.

  “Oh – you’re awake now,” she said, startled by Joe, standing behind her looking crinkly faced and glowing from ear to ear. “That looks really bad.”

  Joe opened his mouth to stretch out his face and winced. “It is. That cream hasn’t done a lot of good.”

  “There is a limit Joe. It’s not going to cure third degree burns.”

  He smirked and went to sit down at the dining table. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as that. What are we having for tea anyway?”

  “I haven’t thought about it to be honest. I’ve been busy all afternoon and I’ve just come back from Lilly’s.”

  “Oh dear lord, has she been – ?”

  “No, before you ask, she hasn’t. Thankfully.”

  Joe sighed. “Good.”

  “Oh wait,” said Tiff. “I just thought – we’re going to that quiz night, aren’t we? I’m sure Hayley said there’d be food there.”

  “Oh, yeah. Think there is. Well that’s that sorted then. We can get something there. I need a bath before we go anyway so we can scrap the idea of cooking.”

  “That’s a relief. I’m a bit worried that I still haven’t heard from Betty yet. I’m supposed to be picking her up at some point.”

  “Call her and find out what’s going on.” Joe pulled himself up from the chair as if every muscle in his body ached. “I’ve got to go and have a bath babe.”