‘Gert ya.’
‘Gert ya.’
She put the phone down, turned her back to the hall table, bowed her head and closed her eyes.
By the following night the tree not only was installed in its butter tub, but also had coloured fairy lights entwined from the top branches.
Bill was standing on top of a pair of steps and the children were arguing among themselves which glass bauble would be suitable for which branch. Willie, holding a white glass swan, handed it up to Bill, saying, ‘Put this on the top, Mr Bill,’ only to be shouted down by Katie, crying, ‘Don’t be silly! The fairy goes on the top.’
‘Needn’t.’
‘She does, doesn’t she, Mam?’
‘Well, yes, she usually does. But Willie’s swan, I think, would look better on that branch sticking out there.’ She pointed. ‘See, Bill? What do you say to that one for Willie’s swan?’
‘Aye, yes, I think it would show better there. Hand it here, fella.’
When the swan was resting precariously on the swaying branch, Fiona stepped back, apparently in admiration, saying, ‘Oh it looks lovely with the pink light shining on it.’
‘Swans are not pink.’
‘Katie!’ There was a warning in the name, and Katie, giving herself a shake, said, ‘Well, he’s always contrary.’
‘Oh! Oh! Look who’s talking.’ Mark now laughed, and Katie rounded on him, saying, ‘Don’t you start on me, our Mark.’
Then a voice boomed over them all, crying, ‘An’ don’t anybody start on anybody! And if you want my opinion, everybody is a little tired, so I think we’ve all had enough for tonight. Look at the time, it’s nine o’clock. It’s past my bedtime. So come on, scram Sam! the lot of you.’
Bill stepped down onto the floor and amid oohs and aahs and protestations he bundled them all into the hall, where Willie exclaimed loudly, ‘I want something to eat, I’m hungry.’ And Bill, looking at Mark, said, ‘Captain, would you mind taking this crew into the kitchen and feedin’ them milk and two biscuits each. No more! Two’s the limit because we don’t want anybody being sick in the night. Do we now? Do we?’
‘Will do, sir.’ Mark saluted smartly, and with this he marshalled the small gang of protesters kitchenwards. Then as Bill, laughing now, went to follow Fiona into the sitting room, the phone rang and they both stopped and Fiona whispered, ‘That’ll likely be Mother.’
‘Let me deal with her.’
‘No, no.’
‘I say, yes.’
He went and lifted up the phone while keeping his eyes on Fiona. But the voice he heard wasn’t that of Mrs Vidler, but that of his nightwatchman, Arthur Taggart, who said, ‘This is Taggart. That you, boss?’
‘Yes, yes, Arthur. What is it?’
There was quite a long pause before the voice said, ‘Got bad news, boss. The…the show house, it’s…it’s been wrecked. It’s…it’s a mess. But I got him, at least Dandy did, as he was coming out of the window. He had taken the pane out, professionally like with brown paper.’
Bill was no longer looking at Fiona but staring into the phone, saying, ‘Who? Who were they?’
‘No they, boss, just one.’
‘A man?’
‘No, no, it’s a lad. I’ve got him. He’s in the tool shed. Dandy’s standing guard. He’s petrified now. There’s another thing, boss. You…you know who he is.’
‘I know who he is? What d’you mean?’ He was yelling now.
‘Well, I know who he is an’ all. You see, I told you I worked there for a time afore you set me on. I did odd jobs for him, but never liked him.’
‘My God! The Brown lad?’
‘No other, boss. I…I was gonna call the pollis straightaway, but thought, what’ll I do? Will I ring ’em, boss?’
Bill held the phone some distance away from him and didn’t answer for a moment until the nightwatchman’s voice came again, saying, ‘You there, boss?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m here, but I’ll be with you in a few minutes. And no, don’t phone the pollis, I’ll see to it meself.’
He put the phone down, then turned and looked at Fiona who was standing close by his side now, and without any preamble he said, ‘That Brown bastard has wrecked the show house.’
‘Oh no!’
He moved from her. Going swiftly to the wardrobe in the hall, he took down his coat and cap, saying as he did so, ‘Now get yourself to bed; I don’t know how long I’ll be.’
‘Oh! Bill, what next?’ She put out her hands and buttoned the top button of his great coat, while he repeated her words, ‘Aye, what next? But I’ve been expectin’ something—I didn’t know what—yet, I never thought it would come from the lad.’
‘If…if you’ve got to stay very long will you phone me?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll do that, but don’t stay up. Now promise me? Go straight to bed, and don’t tell them I’m out.’ He thumbed towards the kitchen.
‘But they’ll hear the car.’
‘I’ll run her out quietly into the road.’ He kissed her hurriedly, then went out…
In less than ten minutes he was on the site. The light was on in the men’s cabin and also in the tool shed. Arthur Taggart met him in the yard.
‘Has he said anything?’
‘No, nothing. He would have defied me if I’d been on me own. He used his feet on me when I caught hold of him. But he’s scared stiff of the dog. D’you want to see him first?’
‘No; let’s look at the damage.’
The show house had been just that, a show house. He had been proud of it and proud of Fiona’s choice of furnishings and colours. The sitting room had been done in tones of mushroom, shell pink, and grey; the dining room had been furnished with very good reproduction furniture. Now, as he stepped onto the paint-smeared carpet and looked at the ripped upholstery of the couch and chairs and the paint-smeared walls, the blazing anger died in him, and he felt the oddest feeling, such as a woman might have felt, for he had the inclination to cry.
The sight that met him in the kitchen was even worse, for the fittings had been ripped from the wall, levered off as Arthur Taggart pointed out.
Then, leading to the upstairs rooms, the banisters had been daubed with red and green paint, and the landing walls and carpets sprayed with what looked like tar.
When Bill picked up the silk bedcover that had been torn in two he looked at Arthur Taggart and said, ‘It must have taken him some time to do all this. Where were you?’
‘On me rounds, boss. I do it every hour, honest to God! An’ I don’t only go round the blocks, I go in and out of the houses; except of course, the six that are already occupied at yon end. And Mr Rice in the end one, he could tell you; he said the other night he timed his watch by me.’
‘Aye, and somebody else has timed their watch by you, Arthur. He couldn’t do this kind of damage without a torch. But he knew what time you’d be round here again. Did you change your routine the night?’
‘No…well, not exactly. And I don’t keep to it strictly. You know what I mean? I might go to the east side and end up with the west, or vice versa some nights. But it was as I came round the bottom end that Dandy’s head went up and he started to sniff, and I always know what that means. And I let him off, and he caught him getting out of the pantry window. It’s amazing how he got through, it can’t be eighteen inches. But apparently he knew where it was. Have you seen him round, boss?’
‘No; he hasn’t been round to my knowledge. But then there’s Sunday and I’m rarely here then, one or the other take over…Well’—he ground his teeth together—‘let’s go and see him.’
The tool shed was lit by a single electric bulb but it showed up vividly the boy in the paint-smeared overalls crouching among the tools, with the dog lying, paws and head forward, staring at him.
Bill did not go near him nor did he make any comment, but the boy, spluttering, said, ‘T…t…take th…th…that dog…awa…away.’
‘Not frightened of a dog are you, a brave lad lik
e you?’ This came from Arthur Taggart. And the boy, now looking towards Bill, said, ‘I…I want my father.’
Still Bill did not speak, until, turning and going out of the door, he muttered, ‘You’ll get your father. Oh, you’ll get your father.’ And Arthur, after commanding the dog: ‘Stay! Dandy,’ followed him.
Bill now unlocked his office door and, going straight to the directory, he found the number he was looking for and dialled it.
A woman’s voice said, ‘This is Mr Brown’s residence. Who’s speaking?’
Bill said, ‘Tell Mr Brown to come to the phone.’
‘I’m…I’m sorry, Mr Brown isn’t in.’
‘Listen to me, missis, you go and tell your boss that his son is in dire trouble.’
‘What!’
‘You heard.’
‘Yes, yes, I heard. But…but I tell you, Mr Brown isn’t in. He isn’t here. They’ve both gone out to dinner.’
‘Where?’
There was a pause before the answer came. ‘The Gosforth Park Hotel.’
Bill banged down the phone, thumbed quickly through the directory, and once more lifted the receiver.
‘Gosforth Park Hotel. Can I help you?’
‘Yes, you can. Have you a Mr and Mrs Brown dining with you?’
‘I…I can enquire, sir.’
‘Thank you. Do that.’ He drummed on the desk as he waited, looking now and again at Arthur Taggart. Then the voice came to him, saying, ‘Yes, Mr and Mrs Brown have had dinner. They’re in the lounge. I think they’re on the point of leaving.’
‘Well, will you be kind enough to tell him to come to the phone? It’s very, very important.’
‘I’ll…I’ll do that, sir.’
Again there was a long wait, longer this time; then the recognised voice, ‘Yes? Who is it?’
‘This happens to be Bill Bailey here. I just want to tell you that your son has completely wrecked my show house. And…’
‘What are you saying? What are you talking about? Now look here!’
‘If you’ll shut that mouth of yours for a moment you’ll hear what I’m talking about. Your son was caught leaving the show house through a back window, and evidence is all over him. He is under guard now. I thought I’d put you in the picture before the police take him in.’
‘My God! You’ve set this up.’
‘Yes, of course, I’ve set this up. I hired him to come and smash the place up. Don’t be such a bloody fool, man. Well, there you have it.’ He was about to put the phone down when the voice yelled at him, ‘Wait! Wait! Are the police there?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You haven’t rung them?’
‘No; but I intend to when I put this phone down.’
‘Bailey. Look. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll be there.’
Bill stared into the mouthpiece of the phone, then slowly he replaced it, and when a minute later he hadn’t picked it up again to phone the police, Arthur Taggart said, ‘A patrol car passes around here about this time, you could get them if you phoned the station.’
He looked up at the man, then said, ‘I’ll hold me hand, Arthur; if the police come they’ll yank him straight off. I want our Mr Brown to see his son exactly where he is now with the evidence all over him. You know what he said? He said I’d fixed it.’
‘No! He must be bloody mad.’
Bill now picked up the phone again and rang Fiona.
‘Listen, love,’ he said, ‘I’m likely to be here for some time yet. Brown’s on his way.’
‘Is it bad?’
‘Couldn’t be worse if a fire had hit it.’
‘And you’ve got him?’
‘Oh, yes, we’ve got him. And I’ve got Brown an’ all. By God! I have. And I mean to turn the screw…Are you in bed?’
‘No, no, of course not.’
‘Well, do what you’re told, d’you hear? because I could likely be another couple of hours if the police come in on it.’
‘Haven’t you called the police yet?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘I suppose you have a reason.’
‘Yes, I have a reason. Now get to bed, dear. Bye.’
‘Are you going to bring him in here?’ said Arthur Taggart now.
‘No; no, he’s goin’ to stay where he is cringing like the young swab he is, and so his dear papa can see him.’ Then he added, ‘You’ve got a good dog there, Arthur.’
‘The best. Within seconds he had torn the pants off him.’
‘He tore his pants?’
‘Yes, overalls, pants, the lot, they’re stripped down the back.’
‘Huh! That’s funny. Poetic justice that.’ He didn’t go on to explain about the poetic justice, but after a moment he said, ‘Put the main lights on outside, Arthur, so the great man can see where he’s going and not run into the mixer. Not that I’d mind that happening…’
It was fifteen minutes later when Brown drove his car into the yard. Bill was standing in his office doorway and he kept his surprise hidden when, not only Brown came towards him, but his wife also.
‘What’s this? Now what are you up to?’
He ignored the man for a moment and, looking at the tall woman with the pale face, he said, ‘Good evening, Mrs Brown.’
Her reply was hesitant, but when it came it sounded cold: ‘Good evening, Mr Bailey.’
‘Cut the pleasantries for God’s sake! Where’s my boy?’
Bill now motioned the nightwatchman towards him, saying, ‘First things first. Lead the way to the show house, Arthur.’
A minute or so later they were all standing in the vandalised house. And it was evident that even Brown was shocked. As for his wife, she turned a painful look on Bill and shook her head, but she said nothing. But what he said was, ‘Mind where you step, Mrs Brown…the carpet has been freshly painted.’
When, after going round the ground floor, Mrs Brown went to mount the stairs, her husband said, ‘You needn’t go up there.’
She turned and looked at him, but still she did not speak; then slowly she mounted the stairs.
When they were all outside once more, Brown, blustering now, said, ‘I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it. Anyway, who was with him? He couldn’t have done this on his own. Who are the others?’
‘There were no others, sir,’ Arthur Taggart replied.
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s my job to know, and that of my dog.’
‘Dog?’
‘Yes, sir, my dog got him backing out of the window.’ He pointed along the side of the house. ‘He had done the job thoroughly, prepared for it, worked it out like: brown paper pasted on the window to kill the noise of broken glass…’
‘Where is he?’ Brown was now looking at Bill. Bill made no reply, but walked away and the others followed.
When he opened the door of the tool shed they all filed in, but the only immediate response to the crouching boy was a gasp from his mother. But even now she didn’t speak. It was the boy who spoke, saying, ‘Dad, that dog, they…they set the dog on me, Dad.’
When, making to step forward, Brown dislodged some shovels, the dog turned its head in his direction and bared its teeth and growled. And at this Arthur Taggart commanded, ‘Up boy! Here!’ And the dog, slowly rising, backed two steps then turned towards its master and stood by his side.
‘Dad. Dad.’
‘Get up!’ The boy struggled to his feet, then leant against the partition, his hands behind him holding up his torn clothes. Then turning his head away from his father’s furious gaze, he whimpered, ‘Mother. Mother.’ Then added, ‘I…I didn’t do it. I was just passing, and I saw.’
‘Shut your mouth, you idiot!’
The boy, now seeming to lose all fear for a moment, straightened up and cried, ‘Well, you were always on about him: what you were going to do, and you never did it. And they were laughing at me at school, and…and giving me a nickname, and…’
When the blow struck his head the boy reeled to the s
ide and almost fell into the tools. And now Mrs Brown did speak: ‘That has come too late,’ she said.
They were all looking at the tall indignant figure who had now turned to Bill, saying, ‘Is there any place where we may talk, Mr Bailey?’
‘Yes; come into the office.’
Brown did not even wait for his wife or son to precede him into the office but marched ahead.
Inside, Bill offered Mrs Brown a chair, but she refused it with a small shake of her head while she kept her eyes fixed on her son, who was now gripping to his side a length of his torn trousers and overall in his trembling rubber-gloved hand.
‘Have you notified the police?’ Brown’s voice was a growl.
Bill answered calmly, ‘Not as yet. I thought it would be wise for you to be here when they came, for anything he says then could be taken down and used in evidence against him. That’s how the procedure goes, isn’t it?’ He glanced at the boy as he spoke.
‘Well, as far as I can see, it’s a…well it’s a private matter. I’ll make good the damage, so we can let it rest there.’
‘Oh! no. Oh! no. Not this time.’
‘What do you mean, not this time?’
‘I let it rest there when he burnt my son. And it’s poetic justice, don’t you think, that the dog should have got him in the same place, only his teeth didn’t go far enough, not like a flaming firework. So there’s no way you’re goin’ to settle his latest escapade in your own way. I’ve had enough of you and your undercover tactics from the beginning, only they’ve increased over the last weeks. You couldn’t come yourself so you sent your stooge. And you’ve trained him well. So…’
‘Mr Bailey.’
He looked at Mrs Brown.
‘I’m sure you won’t be troubled any further with my husband’s tactics, undercover or otherwise.’
‘No? What guarantee have you for saying that Mrs Brown?’
His voice was quiet but held a firm enquiry.
‘Oh, I suppose you haven’t heard, but he is resigning from the Finance Board.’
Bill Bailey Page 19
