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

by Tara Ford

“But I don’t have her number.”

  “Phone the hospital then. Find out what’s going on.”

  “Could do I suppose.”

  “You’ll have to, surely. You can’t exactly go out for the evening and leave her there.”

  “I know,” said Tiff, resignedly.

  “Right, I’m going for a bath. Do you think I should put more of that cream on after?”

  “Yes, definitely.” Tiff grinned as he hobbled past her. “Why are you walking like that?”

  “Ache everywhere. Don’t know what’s worse, rugby or a round of golf?”

  “Surely golf is nowhere near as energetic as rugby.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he replied as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “All that walking up and down hills, grappling around in the bushes and swinging the clubs many more times than most people because I couldn’t hit the bloody balls – it’s hard work when the sun’s beating down on you.”

  “Fair enough,” said Tiff, rolling her eyes. “Go and soak those weary old bones of yours in the bath then.”

  Tidy up the kitchen first. Avoid making a phone call to the hospital. What was she supposed to say anyway? She didn’t have a clue where Cyril or Betty might be. Sort clothes out to wear tonight. Still avoiding making that phone call. Iron said clothes. She wouldn’t know which department to ask for or anything. Avoiding a phone call further. Text Hayley to check what time they were going tonight. Avoiding the inevitable. And what if Cyril was dead – she did not want to hear that over the phone. Avoiding the inevitable further.

  Tiff heard Joe’s footsteps upstairs. He was obviously out of the bath. She couldn’t avoid it any more. She had to call the hospital. Time was ticking by and she’d heard nothing from Betty – which wasn’t really a good sign. The inevitable had caught up with her.

  She opened Joe’s laptop and searched Google for the number of the General hospital. She typed it into her dial pad. The doorbell rang. Excuse to avoid the inevitable again. Placing her phone on the arm of the sofa, she went to the door.

  “Oh,” she said, surprised by the visitor. “What are you doing here? I… I was… just going to call you. I mean call the hospital. Betty, please come in.”

  Betty was standing at the door holding the fairy-garden dish with the cute swing. Also, hanging from one of her hands, was the food bag containing the fruit cake wedges she’d lovingly sliced earlier. She smiled sweetly and stepped into the house. “Thank you,” she said. “I caught the bus home. I thought it was a little too late to be dragging you out from your home. I hope you don’t mind me popping these things round to you. I think they were overlooked – what with all the hullabaloo earlier today. My sincerest apologies.”

  “Oh, Betty, please don’t apologise. I was just about to call the hospital to see what was happening.” She was just about to do it. She really was. “I was all prepared for coming to get you and it would not have been any trouble at all. Anyway, you’re here now but more importantly, how’s Cyril?”

  “He’s all right. They fitted two stumps into his veins. He had a very large blood clot.”

  “Oh dear. But I’m so pleased to hear that he will be OK. By the way, I think they’re called ‘stents’.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Stumps, stunts, stents – it means nothing to me.”

  “They open up the veins, I do believe, to allow the blood to flow easier.”

  “Yes, that’s right – I do remember the doctor saying something like that.”

  “Let me take that from you,” said Tiff, graciously accepting the dish from Betty’s hands and carrying it through to the dining table. “Would you like a cup of tea? Then you can tell me all about Cyril.”

  “That would be very nice, thank you. Are you sure I’m not stopping you from doing anything?”

  “No, it’s fine, honestly. We’re going out later, with Hayley and Wayne from number seven so Joe’s having a bath at the moment. But we have at least an hour. Only problem having a cup of tea is… I don’t have posh teacups like you do.”

  Betty giggled sweetly. “A mug, or any sort of cup, will do just fine. I’ve brought yours and Joe’s cake round too,” she said, holding the food bag up.

  “You are so thoughtful Betty, even when everything is stacked against you. You still manage to think of others first.” Tiff gladly took the bag from her.

  “I may as well spoil others while I can,” she replied, “Cyril won’t be able to eat cake like he used to.”

  “Oh?”

  “I do believe they will be advising him to go on a strict diet. It’s his waistline, you know – he’s far too round.”

  “Did they think it was to do with his weight then? Is that why he had a heart attack?”

  Betty nodded her head, sadly.

  Tiff took three clean mugs from the cupboard. “Are you sure a mug will be OK?”

  “Of course – I do like tea in a mug from time to time.”

  “Hello,” said Joe, padding into the dining room in his dressing gown and slippers. “How’s Cyril? Tiff told me the news.”

  “He will be all right,” said Betty. “They said he could be home by Monday.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Joe replied. “Once he’s home, he’ll be able to relax better.”

  “Oh yes,” Betty said sternly. “And relaxing will be all he’ll be able to do. There won’t be any birdcage cleaning for him. I think I might have to start doing that myself.” Betty peered down at her feet. “It’s not something I’m looking forward to doing either.”

  “Then we will help you.” Tiff shot a swift glance at Joe. “Won’t we Joe?”

  “Err…yes, sure we will.”

  “I couldn’t ask you two to do something like that?”

  “You’re not asking – we’re offering.”

  Tiff met Joe’s eyes and he gave her a polite smile.

  “That’s most kind of you both – thank you. And I am sure that I am speaking on behalf of Cyril too. The doctor said he will have to take things easy for some time when he comes home.”

  “Understandably,” said Joe.

  “We will help you for as long as you need us to.”

  “You can even feed us in cake,” laughed Joe. “We’ll eat Cyril’s share. I heard what you were just saying about his diet.”

  Betty giggled. “Now that is one thing that I’ll have to discuss in length with dear old Cyril. He will miss his cake.”

  “I’m sure he will. I’m relieved to hear that he is OK though.” Joe smiled and picked up his mug of tea from the worktop. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed and tend to this scorched face of mine.”

  Betty peered at his face, thoughtfully. “I thought you looked rather… burgundy, in colour.”

  Tiff nodded. “It’s even worse now he’s had a bath.”

  “I take it you got burnt this morning?”

  “Yes – far more than I realised.”

  “So…” mumbled Joe, “that’s now the hedge trimming at Lilly’s house, cleaning bird cage’s next door, collecting a fence panel from next door the other way, and fitting said fence panel in our garden – I’ve got a busy Sunday haven’t I?”

  “Well, obviously, I will help you to do the birds and I can go to Lilly’s with you – I’ll help pick up all the trimmings as long as you don’t slice my head off in the process. And if I really have to, I’ll go next door and get the fence panel, that’s if I’ll be able to lift it,” replied Tiff, defensively.

  “Between you and Georgie, you’d be able to carry it round.”

  Tiff nodded her head, reluctantly. “So it’s not as bad as you first thought.”

  “No, I suppose not. I was looking forward to a day of rest though, to be honest with you.”

  “I know you were but we should help our neighbours out, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve already agreed, haven’t I?” Joe opened his mouth and began to contort his face this way and that. “This is getting worse,” he mumbled, grumpily.

  �
�Put some more cream on then – we’ve got to go in a minute. Your face is probably soaking the cream up straight away, it’s so burnt. I don’t know why you didn’t…”

  “What?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Just make sure you take sun cream with you next time.”

  As Joe and Tiff left their house to walk down to Hayley and Wayne’s, there was an air of indignation seeping from every singed pore in Joe’s face. Partly because he had so much to do tomorrow, on his day off, but mostly to do with the fact that his face was on fire and it was all his own fault.

  “Come on Mr Beetroot,” Tiff whispered, linking arms with him, “we’ll get through tomorrow together. Even with that face of yours.”

  The small community centre was just a ten-minute walk away from Sycamore Close. A new build, the centre was fresh-looking and very white. Everything was white. Both the inside and the outside were so white that Tiff wished she had brought her sunglasses along. Of course, the glare inside the community centre only accentuated the glowing faces of both Joe and Wayne. Tiff and Hayley had spent the whole of the ten-minute walk, strolling behind the men and giggling discreetly, so as not to upset them any more than they were already. Both of their faces looked like the inflamed back-end of a baboon.

  An extremely elderly man, wearing black trousers, a white shirt and a silver waistcoat ushered the small crowd into a large room on the right side of the building. He appeared to be enjoying his all-important job and Tiff wondered, for a moment, if this was the highlight of his week. It was quite endearing.

  The room was filled with round, white tables, each with four white chairs which were tidily tucked underneath. There was a small, curtained stage on the right side of the room, with two white chairs and a smaller, white table on it. Over on the left was a wide serving hatch with a closed shutter. Rows of plastic beakers lined the hatch and a small, ‘Help yourself to beakers’ sign hung from the shutters. A smell of fried onions wafted around the room making Tiff’s mouth salivate and her tummy rumble. She was starving and wished she’d had at least a tiny bite of the delicious fruit cake, still in its food bag, on the kitchen side.

  Hayley grabbed Tiff by her arm and pulled her along to the back of the room. She placed her handbag and a carrier bag, laden with alcohol, on a table. “Shall we sit here? Don’t know about you but I hate being at the front.”

  “Sure – I wouldn’t like the front either.” Tiff did the same with her bags and pulled out a chair.”

  “There’s some hard-core quizzers here. They take it very seriously. That’s why I don’t like sitting at the front.” Hayley giggled. “We get most of the questions wrong.”

  “Oh dear – I doubt that me or Joe will be of any help to you then.”

  “I came for the giggle, so don’t worry. Wayne takes it far more seriously than I do – don’t you Wayne?”

  Wayne and Joe had just strolled over to the table.

  “Sorry? What was that?” Wayne was still looking as miserable and scorched as Joe was.

  “I was just saying to Tiff that you take these quiz nights more seriously than I do.”

  “Oh, yes. No point coming otherwise.” He turned around to Joe and they started to talk in low, inaudible voices as they slowly wandered off to the hatch to collect some beakers.

  “I’m surprised by the number of people coming in.”

  “Oh yes, it’s quite popular around here.”

  “Anyone else from our close come to these quiz nights?” Tiff asked, scanning the sea of faces walking into the room.

  “Haven’t ever seen anyone – except for Georgie, of course.”

  “Georgie? Wouldn’t have thought that this was her kind of thing.” Tiff tried not to show her disappointment.

  “I thought I told you – she helps out here sometimes. She quite often does the cooking for the quiz nights. She’s probably behind those shutters right now, covered in grease and up to her elbows in onions.”

  “Ah, right. You probably did. Sorry.” Great! Tiff thought quietly, whilst conveying a polite, contented smile.

  There must have been at least 80 people in the room. Taking their seats, talking in groups or milling around the entrance, the crowd were mainly middle aged to elderly. Only a few were of a younger age group, similar to Tiff, Joe, Hayley and Wayne. Tiff hadn’t expected it to be quite such a big affair and she was starting to feel a little nervous about her utter lack of general knowledge.

  “Ladies and Gentleman…” A rotund, middle-aged man, wearing black trousers, a white shirt, a black bow tie and holding a microphone, called out from the stage. “Please be seated.”

  Joe and Wayne joined their table and sat down. The rest of the crowd scrabbled through the maze of tables and chairs, trying to reach their seats as quickly as possible. Every now and again, someone would take a double-take at Joe or Wayne’s face and shake their heads, either amusedly or sympathetically.

  “This all looks so serious,” Tiff whispered as Joe sat down next to her.

  “Thank you,” said the man on the stage. “What a turn-out we have here. Welcome to Quiz-night number thirteen. Unlucky, some would say.”

  The audience laughed and many people mumbled to their friends.

  “As always,” the smartly dressed, authoritative man continued, “we have the delightful and sophisticated, Peggy Swanson, joining us. Our very own illustrious adjudicator and administrator – and the only woman who is able to keep me in-check.”

  Again the audience laughed, followed by a babble of excited voices.

  “A round of applause please, for… Peggy.”

  Tiff clapped her hands together heartily and watched as a figure appeared on stage, from behind the curtains. She squinted and frowned as the white-haired woman came into full view. Nudging Joe, Tiff leant over and whispered in his ear. “I know that woman.”

  “Who?” shouted Joe, over the continuing applause and cheering.

  The woman stepped out to the front of the stage, wearing a very similar attire to the man next to her and bowed several times. Then she waved her hand around the room, like she was royalty, and smiled widely.

  “That woman – up on the stage.”

  “Do you?” Joe’s burnt face appeared a little worried.

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s the woman who… I’m sure it is her…”

  “Who?”

  “Well, I haven’t seen her for quite a while now but I’m sure it’s her.”

  “Tiff,” said Joe, impatiently, “who do you think she is?”

  “The woman who keeps coming in our garden and sitting on the little bench – remember?”

  “Oh, really?” Joe peered up at the stage. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m pretty positive.” Tiff looked at the woman again as she continued to point at groups of people at the tables and wave to them, as she mouthed, ‘hello’.

  “Thank you Peggy. I’m sure you’ve had quite enough accolade for now,” said the man on the stage.

  A roar of cheering and laughter filled the room again and one man called out from the tables over on the far left. “You’re only jealous Charlie. Our Peggy’s more popular than you.”

  “You’re probably right. Now, please, calm yourselves down and we shall begin the quiz evening.”

  “You’re not going to say anything to her, are you?” said Joe, eyeing Tiff in a way that she thought was just a tad suspicious.

  “Why do you say that? I thought you wanted me to ask her why she was in our garden.”

  “No – just forget about it now.”

  “But?”

  “Forget it Tiff. You can’t say anything to her tonight – that wouldn’t be right. Just leave it now.”

  “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be right.” Tiff frowned at him. “It was you who said I should go out and talk to her – that day when I pointed her out to you.”

  “Yes but… that was then. It’s different now. You can’t say anything – that would be embarrassing.” Joe paused, thoughtfully. “Like you
said – you haven’t seen her in our garden just lately anyway. Let it go babe.”

  “OK,” said Tiff, resignedly, as a little niggling doubt began to grow in her mind again. A doubt about what? She really wasn’t sure. But Joe just didn’t seem to be the same as he used to be. OK, there were no problems whatsoever in the bedroom, but there was something that wasn’t right. She just couldn’t work out what it was though. He was snappier than usual and on edge sometimes. As for his elusive mobile phone? Well, that remained elusive despite Tiff’s constant searching to try and track it down when he wasn’t looking or when he was in the bath. He’d apparently left it in his car or at work on at least two more occasions since the first time. Tiff had casually commented on his apathy one day, but only the once, as she hadn’t wanted to sound overly concerned. His reply had been brusque, ‘I must be getting forgetful in my old age – it’s just a phone, Tiff’.

  Placing an arm round her shoulders, Joe pulled her closer to him and pecked her on the forehead as the hubbub around the room died down. “Don’t say anything to her please – just forget it.”

  “OK, if you say so.” She eyed him skeptically as he watched the couple on the stage. A slight grin etched on to his crispy face.

  The tables were equipped with answer sheets and pencils. Wayne picked up a sheet and looked around at everyone on their table. “What shall we call our team then?”

  Hayley turned to Tiff and Joe. “I think you two should name our team. What do you say?”

  Tiff held her tongue momentarily, as her automatic response was to shout out, ‘Sick-amour-four’. “Ooh, I don’t know. What do you think Joe?” she said instead.

  “Err… no idea. Guess it could be something like… The Sycamore-close-gang?”

  “What about…” Tiff grinned. “The Sycamore Four?”

  “I love it,” squeaked Hayley. “Sycamore-four. Wayne – write it down.”

  Wayne scribbled on the top of the sheet and then looked up as the man on the stage spoke.

  “Here we go then… question number one. Good luck everyone. In which television series might you hear Victor Meldrew say, ‘unbelievable’?

  “One Foot in the Grave,” whispered Tiff, instantaneously.