Mouse

by D. M. Mitchell

  ‘Oh my God!’ she said in alarm, her hand pressed into her mouth, unsure what she should do.’ Oh my God, what have I done?’ She began to panic. Froze to the spot, terrified of getting out. She glanced fearfully in the wing mirror and saw a man emerging from the car behind her. ‘Oh my word! This is terrible! Terrible!’

  The man came slowly round to her window. She heard a light tap of fingernail against glass. Without looking up she wound the window down, expecting the worst. A loud, blazing voice, a torrent of verbal abuse.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘We appear to have a little problem.’

  Her heart crashing, her chest feeling as if someone were stamping all over it, she turned her head to look at him. It was a handsome, smiling face that greeted her. Blue eyes, blonde hair, a set of quite extraordinarily white teeth.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry!’ she stammered. ‘I’ll pay for it. I’ll pay for everything! My attention was elsewhere, I’m so, so sorry!’

  He looked back to his own car. ‘Really, it’s not that bad,’ he said. ‘And you know, I think my attention was just as far away as yours. You’re not entirely responsible. In fact, I’d say it was entirely my own stupid fault. I was pulling out far too fast for such a small car park.’

  ‘It sounded awful!’ she said, hardly daring to look at him.

  ‘Really, it’s not as bad as it sounded. It rarely is. Please, come and take a look for yourself.’

  Reluctantly she opened the door and accompanied the man to the rear of the car. There were pieces of broken rear light on the ground, and the bumper of his car was dented. ‘Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry, really I am!’ she said.

  ‘I’m more concerned about what I’ve done to your lovely little Hillman Imp,’ he said. He bent to his haunches. She couldn’t help but notice the way the sunlight bounced off his healthy-looking hair. ‘See, it’s not that bad, but you’ll need some minor work doing. Largely cosmetic, I’m happy to say.’ He rose to his feet. ‘And all my dratted fault for not looking where I was going. That will teach me not to be so impatient.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a notebook and pen. ‘I suppose we ought to swap names and addresses for insurance purposes,’ he said. He held out his hand. ‘Casper Younge – pleased to meet you!’ he said, flashing that warm, engaging smile again.

  She shook his hand. ‘Laura Leach.’ The contact brief. ‘I really don’t want the bother of involving insurance companies,’ she said. ‘I’ll pay for anything, whatever it costs. I can write you a cheque.’

  He held up both his hands. ‘Hold on there – I’ve said it was my fault. It’s up to me to pay. OK, to save no-claims bonuses I’ll stump up the cash.’

  ‘I couldn’t let you…’

  ‘You don’t have a choice!’ he replied brightly. ‘I insist. It would hardly be proper of me to take advantage of a lady in distress, would it?’ He scribbled on the piece of paper. ‘Here you are; this is my telephone number. When you’ve taken the car to the garage and got a quote then give me a ring and I’ll settle up.’ He put a finger to his lips to stem her protestations. ‘I insist,’ he said, thrusting the paper into her hand.

  With that he gave a smile and a wave and went whistling to his car.

  She stared at the phone number, her heart racing.

  * * * *

  5

  An Elephant in the Room

  They were waiting for him, their eyes button-bright, like a pack of hyenas anticipating the collapse of a wounded animal. He knew he was in trouble the minute he opened the door to the staff canteen, the conversations dribbling into quiet and all heads turning towards him.

  ‘I need some water for my bucket,’ Vince said, almost apologetically.

  The cleaners were finishing off their shift, downing the last dregs of tea from their mugs, one or two of them already having bags in their hands and ready to leave. But his presence halted them. It halted everything. Something was in the air and Vince didn’t like the smell of it one bit. Of course, it had to be Monica who spoke first.

  ‘Well here he is! Here’s lover boy!’ She cackled loudly and the others followed suit. ‘Lover boy Vince!’

  He avoided looking into her nasty little eyes, but she was blocking his way to the sink. ‘I need water for my bucket,’ he said again.

  ‘Water for your bucket!’ she echoed and made it sound real dirty. ‘I’ll bet you do. My, you’re a dark horse, aren’t you, Vince? Still waters really do run deep where you’re concerned,’ she said, refusing to stand aside so he could get to the sink taps.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.

  ‘Didn’t think you had it in you,’ she said. ‘Didn’t think you had the inclination.’

  ‘I’m sorry…’ he said, shrugging and squeezing past her to put the bucket into the sink. He brushed against her body and didn’t like the way it felt.

  ‘That’s it, Vince. Stick it in and fill it up!’

  The women all laughed shrilly and he felt his damned cheeks beginning to betray his embarrassment like beacons on a zebra crossing.

  ‘Oh, leave the young man alone, Monica; you can see he can’t take it,’ said another cleaner, but clearly enjoying the baiting.

  ‘He can’t take it, but he looks like he can give it, eh?’ said Monica. ‘What’s this we hear about you having a crush on the Witch of Devereux Towers? That true, Vince? She’ll eat you up and spit you out, a woman like that!’

  And again everyone burst into laughter. Vince ran hot water into his bucket and squeezed in a bit of washing-up liquid, watching the bubbles froth up like his desire to get out of there. It filled up too slowly for his liking and his discomfort grew and grew till he felt he might run from the room. But he tamped it down, held onto the sink’s edge with his knuckles glowing white.

  ‘Mark my words, Vince,’ Monica continued, ‘you’d do well to keep away from her; she’s damaged goods. I should know; I’ve done some cleaning for her a while ago and she’s as batty as hell.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ he said quietly.

  ‘No? What do you know, lover boy?’ She came closer to him and he could smell stale cigarette smoke on her breath. ‘Do you want me to give you a few lessons, Vince?’

  He turned off the tap and hoisted the bucket. Water slopped out and put a dark stain on his groin. He noticed how Monica’s eyes widened even more in amusement. ‘I wish you’d all just shut up!’ he said, head down and rushing for the door. He heard them snigger at his back. Why did Edith have to go spreading things like that around, he thought? Now he was a complete laughing stock.

  He was still smarting as he cleaned the doors to the projection booth. The phone on the wall rang; apparently the film delivery they were expecting that afternoon was going to be late, possibly causing problems. Vince thought he should notify Martin Caldwell at once so he hurried downstairs, threaded through the narrow corridors and went to his office. The door was slightly ajar. He knocked timidly.

  ‘Mr Caldwell?’ he said. ‘I’ve got a message for you.’

  He heard a noise from within the office so he slowly pushed open the door.

  Martin Caldwell was standing in front of his desk, his trousers and underpants around his ankles, his white rump pumping back and forth. He was gripping Monica’s flabby bottom and she lay slumped across his desk. She was gasping in a way Vince found most alarming, and Caldwell was grunting as if he were lifting heavy weights and about to have a heart attack in the process.

  Caldwell’s head swung round suddenly, his eyes glazed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Caldwell,’ said Vince not knowing where to look, ‘but I’ve got a message…’

  ‘Get out! Get out!’ Caldwell yelled, pushing himself away from Monica and scrabbling to raise his trousers.

  Vince scuttled away, feeling like one of those cartoon characters whose legs seem to run for ages before finding purchase and actually going anywhere. He almost sprinted up the stairs to the projection booth, his cheeks firing up for the second time that day.

&
nbsp; An hour later, just as Vince was getting ready for the first screening, Caldwell came up to the projection booth and closed the door after him. He asked Vince how he was; made a half-hearted attempt at discussing the weather before turning to the real reason he was there.

  ‘Look, Vince, there’s an elephant in the room…’

  Vince blinked, glanced around him. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘That thing, earlier, in my office.’

  ‘Ah…’

  ‘She was helping me out,’ he said, first looking up at a spot on the ceiling and then down to his Chelsea boots. ‘I know what it looked like, but it’s not that straightforward. These things never are, are they?’ Vince shook his head. Carried on inserting the anamorphic lens for the Panavision picture he was about to show. ‘Doesn’t mean a thing. I love my wife, you understand?’ He laughed nervously. ‘You know how it is, one thing leads to another and then wham! Look, we’re both men of the world…’ He stared fixedly for a second or two at Vince. ‘Well, maybe not. Listen, what you saw in my office, it never happened, right?’ Vince remained quiet, going about his business. ‘What do we pay you, Vince?’ he asked, and Vince told him. ‘Seems you’re about due for a raise. I’ll put something forward to HQ. There, how’s that, Vince?’ Vince told him it sounded OK. ‘I’ll look after you and you look after me, eh, Vince?’ he said, rubbing his hands down his trouser legs. ‘I’m glad that’s all sorted then!’

  And with a clap he left a bemused Vince to finish off what he was doing and start the show.

  Monica wasn’t so forgiving or generous. She purposefully sought him out the next morning, pinning him against the corridor wall, her face a few inches away from his.

  ‘You say one word about what you saw yesterday, you little toe-rag, and you’re dead! Do you hear me? Dead!’ How anyone could cuddle up to a woman whose clothes reeked of week-old fish and chips, Vince would never know. He didn’t say anything, just averted his eyes. ‘I thought as much, you wimp. Are you a fucking man or a mouse?’ she said contemptuously, thumping him squarely on the shoulder.

  Mr Caldwell is a married man,’ he said.

  ‘It speaks!’ Monica said. ‘So fucking what?’

  ‘So it’s wrong, is all,’ he said.

  ‘What do you know? Who asked for your opinion, you dozy little twerp? Get back inside your little box where you belong and keep that mouth shut!’

  She left him, lighting up a cigarette as she tottered away on her too-high heels. He was tempted to call out that there was to be no smoking in this part of the building but he simply wasn’t that brave.

  He spent the remainder of his shift sinking into the doldrums. He felt he should have been able to say something to her, to defend himself, and even to stand up to Mr Caldwell to tell him how wrong it was for a married man to be going off like that. But he couldn’t and that was that. All of which all made him feel real bad about himself.

  He was glad to finish for the evening and get on his bike. But instead of going straight home he decided to ride out to Devereux Towers. He’d not been there in ages and he might just catch a glimpse of Laura Leach.

  He stopped at the edge of the field. From here he could see the building plain enough, like a child’s discarded building block, incongruous and a little forbidding. He decided to take a closer look, stuffing his bike into the undergrowth and making his way on foot over the barbed-wire fence and along the edge of the field. Up close he could make out Laura’s little blue car parked outside, but no sign of any activity. All was completely still and quiet.

  He lingered there for half an hour or so, the sun still strong, slapping his neck with its heat. He was about to call it a day and go home when he saw a car in the distance, going up the track that led to the house. It looked like a white Ford Cortina. It parked some way from Devereux Towers, hidden from its view by a small copse of trees in full leaf. A man got out. He had a pair of binoculars through which he scrutinised Devereux Towers and appeared to make one or two notes on a piece of paper before getting back in the car and driving away.

  What was all that about, he thought? Who on earth could that be, hanging around the place like some kind of spy? He felt immediately protective of Laura, concerned for her safety. After all, out here, isolated from everyone and everything, Devereux Towers must attract all manner of strange, snooping people.

  * * * *

  6

  Double Promise

  Laura Leach took her car to the local garage for a repair estimate. The mechanic bent down to survey the damage, rubbed his stubble-peppered chin, strolled around the Hillman, crouched down to the rear of the car again and gave his grave verdict.

  ‘It’s not going to be cheap,’ he said. ‘It will cost you at least a hundred and fifty pounds. There’s a dent, a minor re-spray, that kind of thing. That’s just an estimate, of course; in reality it will be more than that.’

  She thanked him and booked it in to be repaired. She never once considered ringing the number of Casper Younge, though for some reason she’d hung onto the piece of paper he gave her. In case she should ever need it, she told herself.

  Another two weeks passed and another Monday morning shopping trip came around. She was in the process of returning to her car with her fully laden carrier bags when a voice at her shoulder caused her to start.

  ‘Well, good morning, Ms Leach!’

  She immediately recognised it as belonging to Casper. She couldn’t understand why her hand now struggled with the key to unlock the boot, or why her heart began to race as if she’d been running. ‘Good morning, Mr Younge,’ she stammered.

  ‘We bump into each other yet again,’ he said. ‘Here, let me give you a hand with that.’ He lifted the boot for her, grabbed the handles of the bags and stowed the groceries away. ‘Good job you don’t eat much; this little boot couldn’t cope with much more.’ He slammed the lid down. ‘I am most disappointed in you, Ms Leach,’ he continued.

  ‘You are?’

  ‘You never rang me to tell me the cost of repairs to your car.’ He bent his head to check out the car’s rear. ‘And I see it looks as good as new. I insist you let me pay for the job. What did it cost you?’

  ‘Oh no, it doesn’t matter to me,’ she said. ‘It’s all done and dusted now. Best forget all about it.’

  ‘Absolutely not!’ he said adamantly. ‘You must tell me at once so I can settle up.’

  ‘No, really…’

  ‘Then I refuse to leave this spot until you have told me the cost. You will have to run over me with your car to get out of here. You wouldn’t want two accidents in the same car park, surely?’ He smiled broadly, raising a Roger Moore eyebrow.

  ‘I certainly don’t want to knock you over, Mr Younge, but I have made my mind up and that’s that.’

  He sighed. ‘In that case I insist I buy you dinner instead.’

  She was taken aback. ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean,’ she said, somewhat flustered.

  ‘If you will not let me pay for the damage done to your poor little Hillman then at least let me take you out to dinner. It is a small price to pay and it would be an honour,’ he said.

  An honour! The quaintness of it made her smile in spite of her nervousness. His gentle expression had her warming to him. ‘I hardly know you,’ she said.

  ‘Then perhaps we ought to use the opportunity to get to know one another better.’ His face fell serious. ‘Forgive me, I am being overly presumptuous. I notice from the small amount of shopping that perhaps you are not buying for two. At least, it is my hope that is the case.’

  ‘Yes, you are correct,’ she said, ‘I am buying for one.’

  ‘That’s settled then!’ he said.

  ‘It is?’

  ‘I can pay for dinner in lieu of your repairs and there is no Mr Leach about to throttle me for making the suggestion!’ He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a pencil and piece of paper.

  ‘Do you always keep those things handy in case of accidents?’ she said. ‘Or for inviti
ng women to dinner in car parks?’

  He laughed. ‘I used to be a police officer,’ he said. ‘Old habits die hard.’ He handed her the paper.

  ‘I have your number still,’ she admitted.

  ‘I’m flattered it wasn’t consigned immediately to the waste bin. There is a lovely new restaurant opened up in Langbridge. Apparently they do a mean fish dish.’ He pocketed the pencil. ‘Please say yes, Ms Leach, and help quash this poor man’s horrid sense of guilt.’ He leant against the boot of her car. ‘Otherwise I might have to lie down in front of your tyres till you say yes.’

  Bemused, enthralled, frightened, Laura said yes. ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight?’ he replied.

  ‘As soon as that?’

  ‘Why not?’

  She frowned. ‘I don’t know…’

  He put a hand to his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, there I go again. It’s a habit of mine, being so impetuous and always assuming other people feel the same. I understand if you don’t want to go out to dinner. I mean, as you say, we hardly know each other and yet here I am badgering you as if we’ve known each other years!’ he stood away from the car, held out his hand for her to shake. ‘I’ll let you go now, and if you decide – ‘

  ‘Yes!’ she said breathlessly. ‘Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you tonight.’

  ‘You will? That’s wonderful! I mean, it will be just fantastic to eat in someone else’s company again.’ His attractive face fell dark, then faintly sheepish. ‘There I go, off on one again. My wife died two years ago. Not a great deal of fun eating on your own.’ He pointed to the boot of the car. ‘Sort of takes one to know one,’ he said. ‘But you will still come, won’t you? You won’t refuse me simply because I open my big mouth and make an ass of myself, will you? I promise to be on my best behaviour tonight.’ He wandered over to his white Ford Cortina, pointing out the damage on his own car. ‘Terribly lazy, unlike you. I’ll get it fixed some time or another!’ He paused at the car’s door. ‘Give me a ring and let me know where you live so I can pick you up. Promise?’