The King's Park Irregulars

by David Wilson

  After they were gone, he wandered around the house unsure what to be up to. He found the loss of his beloved slippers quite unsettling and couldn’t find the patience to sit down to read or watch television. He went into the kitchen where Sophie was sitting at the table, ‘Aren’t your work expecting you in today at all?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I told them I’d have to take the whole day off. They were fine; they know it’s quite an ordeal dealing with a break-in and the police and everything. Besides, I can use the time to try and find our new guest of honour for Sunday. I can’t believe we’re in this situation. I’ve advertised us having a guest of honour and it just knocks everything off if we don’t have one.’

  Alasdair opened and closed the cupboards around the kitchen. ‘Can’t you just do it, or what about old Bridget, ask her? That’ll make her happy again.’ He proceeded to open the fridge now.

  ‘I’m not asking her to do it, she’d love that. I could do it but it’s not quite the same as having a guest of honour, besides I’ll be too busy on the day running things.’ She looked up, distracted by the doors opening and closing. ‘What are you doing? I’m trying to concentrate.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m not sure, just knocks you for six when something like this happens. I can’t settle.’

  ‘Maybe you could go and be unsettled somewhere else so I can think about this?’ He picked up a sheaf of papers from the end of the worktop, his list of items from the carbon neutral people, and skimmed over them.

  ‘Maybe I’ll go out and see how much some of these things cost. Might as well do something to kill the afternoon. Do you want anything?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Alasdair put on his jacket and stepped outside the house, surveying the street to see if there was anyone he could tell about his dramatic event, but unfortunately there wasn’t. However as he was about to start walking, a movement across the road caught his eye. It was his neighbour, Dorothy Grey, waving at him from her bay window to beckon him over.

  He walked over the road to her house and being that there was no doorbell, raised his hand to knock on the door. As he did so, the door opened a crack and Dorothy Grey’s small curious face looked through at him, ‘Oh come in, please.’ The door opened further and the small, grey-haired woman was smiling at him and gesturing him into the hallway, ‘I saw you coming out of the house and thought I should try and talk to you about your incident. I obviously spoke to the police as well and they seemed interested in what I saw, but I thought it would be good to tell you also if the chance presented itself. As you may know I don’t go out much, but my armchair faces out of the window so I do sometimes see what happens in the street. It’s just unavoidable. Would you like a cup of tea?’ She closed the door and walked briskly past Alasdair into the lounge with him following behind, suddenly feeling old compared to the apparent energy this elderly woman had. She motioned him into a chair and then disappeared into the kitchen, and a moment later her bright face peered back round the door at him, ‘I’m sorry Mr Mills, I don’t think you know my name, we’ve never really chatted. It’s Dorothy, like in The Wizard of Oz and Grey, like the Earl.’

  He did know her name but it was true they had never really chatted. He thought it funny that here were two people who had lived across from each other for years and the only things they knew of each other were what they heard from others. Then again, he thought, there were some families that were like that so it’s not so surprising I suppose. Her head disappeared again and Alasdair rose from his chair to follow her into the kitchen. The room was warm from the Aga, which was nestled in between some free-standing units that looked like they had been there since before the war. A small round table and one chair sat in front of the window, and scattered across it were various components of a Sunday newspaper.

  She noticed him glancing around, ‘I’m sorry it’s such a mess,’ quite oblivious to the fact that it was in fact very tidy. ‘It takes me all week to read the Sunday paper, although I do like the articles in the magazines, usually very interesting. It keeps the brain active, along with books as well of course. I don’t have a television you see, so I do read an awful lot. I used to have a television, but when the picture went I never bothered to replace it. Do you have a television, Mr Mills?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he replied, ‘I must have it for the news and the documentaries; I like to keep up with what’s happening in the world.’

  She beamed at him. ‘I quite agree, I find the internet very good for that. It’s my one concession to technology, after the telephone of course – we must keep our window on the world,’ she chuckled, ‘as well as my window on the street!’ She smiled at him, and then bustled past him with a tray on which rested a teapot in the shape of a cat preparing to pounce, and two cups of which the handles were small mice hanging off the rim. Alasdair followed her in and they sat down. She’s as batty as anyone I’ve ever met, he thought, watching as she poured the tea – nice, but batty. He took a cup from her and settled back into the chair, ‘So the police already spoke to you did they? I didn’t have much faith in them at all; I didn’t think they were taking it very seriously. Not impressed.’ He scowled into his tea, remembering his conversation with the officer who had taken their statement.

  Dorothy considered this for a moment. ‘I can understand that you might think that. After all, when it’s a crime being committed against oneself you never think the police are doing enough. But the police officer did seem very attentive, and he was at your house for some time. I assume that was the forensic team who called this afternoon? Did they find any clues?’ Alasdair mumbled that they might have been there long enough but they didn’t turn up any clues or evidence. ‘Ah, so it must have been a professional job,’ she sipped her tea thoughtfully, ‘perhaps someone you’ve offended in some way or a competing collector for those slippers? I remember it being in the newspapers that they had been sold at auction; the paper gave you a small mention with your photograph so anyone would know where to find them I suppose.’

  ‘I hadn’t considered that, although I should have thought about it beforehand. Hindsight and all that. You mentioned that you had told the police something interesting?’ She put her cup down and her face took on a conspiratorial expression and her voice hushed to a whisper.

  ‘Well, Mr Mills, I was sitting in my chair listening to the evening play on the radio, when I noticed a van pull up outside your house. I thought, you’ll not get any answer there, since I had seen both you and your wife go out earlier. I was sitting in my chair a while you see, one can’t help but notice things. Two men got out of the van, and instead of going to the front door, they immediately went straight round the path to the back of the house.’

  Alasdair raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? I saw a van parked further up the road when I went out last night but no one was in it.’

  ‘Did you notice the name on the side?’ He shook his head, a little annoyed that it might have been important and he hadn’t noticed. But then why would I, he thought, since at that time I didn’t know I was about to be burgled.

  ‘So the men went round the back of the house?’ he asked

  ‘Indeed they did, and they were carrying a bag with them, which I assumed must contain tools to do a job you had hired them to do. The sign on the side of the van was,’ she pulled a small notebook out from the side of her cushion and flicked through it, ‘Castle Roofing.’

  ‘You took a note of it? That’s quite a clever idea.’

  She smiled at him. ‘First rule of neighbourhood watch Mr Mills, take note of anything out of the ordinary. If it turns out to be nothing then so much the better, but you never know. Anyway …’ Alasdair was frowning, which stopped her mid-sentence.

  ‘But why did you think someone coming to look at our roof was out of the ordinary? It seems fairly ordinary to me.’

  ‘True, but this was a small van, and you have a large house on which the roof is quite a climb,’ she raised her eyebrows expectantly for him to fill in the blank but the only blank was his expre
ssion, ‘They had no ladders Mr Mills.’ Alasdair felt stupid for not guessing it.

  ‘Of course, so did you see anything else?’

  ‘No, not really, they were out of sight for roughly,’ she consulted her notebook, ‘eight minutes, and then they came back out and drove off. I didn’t think any more about it until I saw the police this morning and I wondered what had happened. I managed to attract the attention of that delightful PC Buchan as he was leaving your house and he came over to speak to me.’

  Alasdair finished his tea and placed the cup down, rising to leave. ‘Well, thank you Mrs Grey, you’ve been very helpful. I wonder why he didn’t come back and mention this to me before he left.’ She now blushed ever so slightly.

  ‘I gather he didn’t feel you were particularly receptive to the police.’

  Alasdair puffed himself up indignantly. ‘I would have been more receptive if they’d had something to tell me.’

  Dorothy smiled at him again. ‘But they did you see, but you weren’t receptive to hear it. If I may say Mr Mills, and forgive me for paraphrasing from your Mr Walter Scott whom I’m sure you know better than I, but generally, attitude is equally as important for success as ability.’ Alasdair frowned and then turned to leave. ‘Mr Mills, perhaps this may be helpful,’ he turned and she handed him a small page from her notebook.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘That is the registration number for the van. I wrote it down too just in case. I gave it to the police; you should have it too so you’re up to speed with us.’ She smiled and wished him a pleasant afternoon as he went off up the street, with a little flea in his ear!

  Chapter Twelve

  The afternoon passed uneventfully as afternoons often do and Abigail and Emma had sat and talked for a while. Abigail noticed that Emma looked very tired. ‘Perhaps you should take a lie down? Maybe a nap?’

  ‘If that’s OK I think I will,’ she replied, ‘I didn’t sleep at all last night and I just feel drained.’ Emma went up to the guest room, undressed and slid into bed. The chill from the fresh sheets was soon replaced by the warm comfort of the blankets and she drifted off.

  In the lounge Abigail went over to the sideboard and picked up a photograph album and returned with it to her armchair. She opened it and flicked through the pages, the photographs of her wedding day and she and Arthur on their honeymoon in Blackpool bringing back vivid memories. That was back in the day when Blackpool was the place to go, she thought, no money for foreign holidays back then and thankfully no hen or stag parties in Blackpool. At least not ones like people have there now, all noise and cocktails. She sat back and allowed the memories to wander through her mind, remembering them fondly as she drifted off into the latest in a long line of afternoon naps.

  Abigail woke with a start, with the clock saying it was five fifteen, and Emma’s voice drifting down the stairs. Her tone was defiant which Abigail took to mean it was her hopefully now ex-husband she was speaking to. She put the photograph album back on the sideboard and went to the kitchen to prepare something for dinner. Emma appeared a few moments later, ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  Abigail was putting some leftover casserole into the oven. ‘No thanks dear, this just needs heated through. How are you feeling, everything OK?’

  Emma’s face was still a mix of stress, anger and worry. ‘I’ve no idea to be honest. That was John on the phone, demanding that I come home straightaway.’

  ‘Oh? That doesn’t sound like a man filled with regret.’

  ‘No. I think he’s angrier about the fact that I might have left him, rather than the fact that I’m gone. You know what I mean?’

  Abigail pondered it for a moment. ‘Yes, and that just says to me that you’re making the right decision. Maybe I’m a little biased because it’s nice to have company in the house again. But the real question has to be if you feel that you’re doing the right thing?’

  Emma raised her eyebrows and exhaled a puff of air. ‘I don’t think I could go back now even if I wanted to. I feel terrified by the thought of what I’ve done, but at the same time I can’t help feeling relieved and a little excited as well. I’m really grateful to you for taking me in but don’t worry I won’t stay long, I just need to figure out somewhere to go.’

  Abigail waved her hand to dismiss the notion. ‘Oh, I’m quite glad to help and you can stay as long as you want. The old place has felt quite empty since Arthur passed on. This house just wraps me like a warm blanket and keeps me safe so there’s no reason it can’t do the same for you if you let it. As I said before, you’re a lot stronger than you think. I’m sure you’ll do fine.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ she smiled, ‘and I hope you’ll be fine too?’

  ‘Oh, I know I’ll be fine. I lost a big part of me when Arthur died, but I remember him saying to me once that if he went first I was to think of our life together like a really good book. “You’ll be sad for a while that you’ve finished it,” he said, “because you loved it while you were reading it. But then you remember all of the exciting things that were in it and they make you smile.”’

  ‘That sounds like a nice way to think of it.’ The phone ringing interrupted them and Abigail went to the hall to answer it, returning a minute or so later.

  ‘That was my friend Alasdair Mills, he and his wife were burgled last night.’

  ‘That’s terrible, are they both OK? Did they lose much?’

  ‘They’re both fine, just Alasdair’s antique slippers were stolen. The police think they may have been broken into specifically for those since nothing else was taken.’

  Emma raised her eyebrows. ‘He has antique slippers?’

  ‘Oh yes, they once belonged to Sir Walter Scott. Cost him eight thousand pounds at an auction not so long ago.’ Emma’s face looked shocked, ‘You’d understand if you met him. I’ve said I’ll go round after dinner to see them, since Alasdair likes to make a crisis out of a drama. You can come if you like, might be good to get out and have some civilised company for a change?’ Abigail realised what she’d said, ‘Not that you don’t have civilised company. I’m sure you do, I just meant …’

  Emma smiled. ‘I know what you meant, don’t worry. Although I’m not sure if I’m up to being sociable.’

  Abigail smiled this time. ‘I understand. Well the offer’s there if you want to and maybe some of my casserole will give you a boost. I can guarantee that an evening with Alasdair will take your mind off your troubles!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Having been unable to persuade Emma to accompany her, Abigail walked around the corner a little after six thirty to visit Alasdair. The weather had turned and there was a light drizzle but the clouds looked foreboding, suggesting they could unload their contents at any moment. As she approached the Mills’ garden path, Sophie was just coming out of the front door. ‘Hi Abby, how’s things? I take it you heard our news?’

  ‘Yes, how are you? It must have been a shock, it’s a terrible thing people coming into your house like that.’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine. I was a little shaken up, not that you-know-who noticed since he’s in mourning for his slippers. But we’ve had a locksmith round today to put better locks on the doors so we’re all secure again. I think its a little easier knowing they seem to have come for the slippers rather than it being a normal break-in.’

  Abigail nodded. ‘I suppose that’s true, although what an awful business coming to your house for those.’

  ‘I know, and they were tatty old things as well. I guess there’s no accounting for taste! But with the break-in and the problems with the high tea event I’m just about run ragged.’ Sophie explained the problem with the guest of honour pulling out at almost the last minute, ‘Don’t suppose you’ve any suggestions have you? Or even better anyone you know who we could ask? I’m just off to a brain-storming session with the committee and my mind is more of a breeze at the moment than a storm.’

  Abigail shook her head. ‘Not that I can think of from the top of
my head, but if I can come up with anyone I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thanks Abby. Anyway, I better dash, he’s in the study I think, just go in and shout through. There’s a supply of G and T in the drinks cabinet!’

  Alasdair was pacing around his study gazing sorrowfully at the empty glass case on the bookcase, when Abigail’s voice wafted through the house. ‘I’m in here Abby,’ he shouted back, ‘come through.’ A moment later Abigail appeared in the doorway holding a glass with a gin and tonic she had prepared on the way past. ‘Thanks for coming Abby, it’s been a trying day.’

  Abigail nodded sympathetically. ‘I can imagine. I saw Sophie on the way out, it must have been a shock for her too.’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose. Although it’s me that’s lost one of our national treasures; what are people going to say about that. It’s my reputation which could lie in tatters if this gets out.’

  Abigail looked over at the glass case. ‘So that’s where they were taken from is it?’

  ‘Yes, no leads from the police of course. The forensic people were here this afternoon but they didn’t find any fingerprints on the case. They must have been wearing gloves.’

  Abigail frowned. ‘I’d be surprised if they could find anything in this gloom. Why is it so dark in here?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve kept the curtains closed, for security and to keep any press photographers out. You can’t be too careful with the paparazzi you know.’

  Abigail walked over to the desk. ‘Yes, maybe, but you could put another lamp on so we can see what we’re doing!’ She switched on the desk lamp, which grew from a small point of light into a very dim glow hardly throwing any light around the room at all, ‘There must be something wrong with this one.’ She strode over to the other side of the room and a small side table on which stood another lamp which she switched on, with much the same effect as the first one.