The New Neighbours

by Costeloe Diney

  “In the shed of an empty house near us.”

  “Don’t the neighbours notice nothing?”

  “No, there’s a track down the back of the garden,” Oliver explained “and I just dump everything over the fence. Then when it’s quiet, I just go in the garden and stash the stuff in the shed.”

  “Show me,” ordered Scott, liking the sound of Oliver’s stash. He might make use of it himself until he was sure it was safe to go back to the lock-up.

  Oliver took his usual way home and they were soon on the track behind the Circle.

  “’Ere, what houses are these?” Scott demanded as they approached.

  “Dartmouth Circle,” Oliver replied. “Why? There’s a footpath through from this track.”

  “I’ll go over the fence at the back,” Scott said, “and meet you in the garden.” He had no wish to be seen anywhere near Dartmouth Circle.

  “OK,” Oliver shrugged, “I’ll do the same. The shed’ll shield us from the back windows of the houses.”

  With a glance round to make sure no one was in the allotments or on the track, Scott swung himself easily up and over the fence, dropping down into the Smarts’ garden behind the shed. Oliver scrambled over after him and the two peered in the window at the back.

  “I don’t usually come here till it’s getting dark,” Oliver said quietly.

  “Who lives in the houses?” asked Scott. “Will they be at home?” He needed to look at the stuff properly and was considering the risk of slipping round the shed in broad daylight.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Oliver replied. “The guy next door works at home and the lot on the corner are retired. But there’s some bushes near the front of the shed. Should be OK.”

  “You go round and get the door open,” ordered Scott, “and then I’ll come after. If you see anyone at the windows, do your rugby ball routine, and I’ll go back over the fence.”

  Oliver peered round the side of the shed. There was a light on on the ground floor of Mike Callow’s, but his upper windows seemed empty, and the Redwoods only had one window giving a clear view of the shed. Oliver decided to risk it, and within moments, he and Scott were inside the shed.

  Scott quickly sorted through the stuff he was being offered and nodded with satisfaction. “This’ll do,” he said. “Give you a hundred for this lot, including them tools.” He jerked his head at the Smarts’ strimmer and hedge clipper.

  Oliver was disappointed, he’d hoped for a lot more. “That’s not much for all this,” he objected.

  Scott shrugged. “’S what it’s worth,” he said. “Take it or leave it!”

  “What about the switch cards and driving licences?”

  “’Nother fifty,” Scott offered. He actually knew a bloke from the young offender centre he’d just left who was in the market for those. “Any social books?”

  “Yes,” Oliver remembered. “One child allowance and one pension.” He’d forgotten those.

  “Give you another fifty for those,” said Scott.

  “They must be worth more than that,” scoffed Oliver, determined not to be done down.

  “Only if you know where to shift ’em, mate,” grinned Scott. “And you ain’t taking none of the risks, see?”

  Oliver thought rapidly. It was a start, and he could always get more, find out exactly what Scott could deal in best.

  “OK,” he agreed, “you’re on. Where’s the money?”

  “I’ll bring my van round the back here on Friday, right? About ’alf seven, when it’s dark. You ’ave the stuff ready by the fence. I’ll have the cash with me.”

  Oliver agreed, and within moments the shed was bolted and they were back on the track.

  “Friday at ’alf seven,” repeated Scott as he turned away, “and be there ready. I shan’t want to ’ang about!”

  Oliver watched him jog off down the track and then made his way back into the Circle via the cut.

  Yes! He thought, punching the air. I’ve done it! Now I can really make money. Scott must be going to sell that lot at a boot sale or market somewhere over the weekend, and he’d need more. Yes!

  As he came into the Circle, he saw Annabel Haven coming up from the Dartmouth Road end. She was at the Tech now, doing her A-levels, not at Belcaster High. Oliver knew that her sister, Chantal was still at the High, and he felt a moment’s fellow feeling for Annabel. He knew what it was like to see your little sister still going to a proper school while you had to make do with Crosshills Comp or the Tech.

  “Hi,” he said as they passed.

  “Hi,” Annabel raised an apathetic hand in acknowledgement.

  Oliver opened his mouth to say more, but Annabel was already turning into her own house and clearly not interested in him, so he snapped it shut and slouched on.

  Silly cow, he thought, just like her sister. Getting fat, too. Fat and ugly. He grinned. She’d never embark on a life of crime. She was a good girl, doing her A-levels. Silly cow! And he laughed aloud as he went home.

  Friday came, and as soon as it was dusk Oliver crept into the Smarts’ garden and transferred everything behind the shed, ready to pass over the fence to Scott. Spot on half past seven, a small van edged along the track and stopped by the fence.

  “OK?” Scott hissed as he opened the van doors.

  “Yeah, all here,” replied Oliver and began passing the stuff over the fence. Within minutes it was all stowed in the van. Oliver heaved himself over the fence and handed Scott the cards and social security books. Scott stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans and gave Oliver a fistful of notes.

  “’S all there,” he murmured. “Let me know when you got somethink else. Tell Jay.”

  “Yeah, OK,” Oliver whispered putting the cash into his pocket. He turned to go, but Scott called him back.

  “’Ere mate,” he said, “do us a favour. Put this note into number four.”

  “Number four?” Oliver queried. “You mean the Havens’?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Cheers mate!” Scott got quickly into the van and pulled away into the darkness.

  Oliver went quickly through into the Circle and by the light of a street lamp looked at what Scott had given him. It was a crumpled brown envelope, addressed to Annabel Haven. He wondered what it was. What the hell would a guy like Scott Manders have to do with Annabel Haven? Oliver put it in his pocket and went home to open it and find out.

  The envelope was badly sealed and Oliver soon eased it open. Inside was a small piece of lined paper on which was written.

  Roxy Cafe. Monday 4.30. Scott

  Oliver stared at it for a moment. Something’s going on, he thought, and I’m going to find out what. Carefully, he resealed the envelope and put it in his pocket. Should he wait and catch Annabel somewhere outside her house, or should he just deliver it as asked? He decided on the latter course. He didn’t want Annabel to tell Scott that she hadn’t got the note straightaway, or he might guess that Oliver had read it first and realise he knew about their meeting. Much better to act as messenger and keep watch to find out what was going on. Information like that might well come in useful some time. It would be good to have a hold over Scott Manders, Oliver thought, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what it was yet, and so he slipped out of the house again to deliver the note. As he walked to the Havens’ house, he decided he’d ring the bell and ask for Annabel. If she wasn’t there he’d wait and deliver the note in person some other way.

  In fact, it was Chantal who opened the door, and her face tightened with anger when she saw who was on the step.

  “What do you want?” she asked rudely.

  “I want to see your sister,” Oliver said.

  “I don’t expect she wants to see you,” Chantal began to close the door, but Oliver jammed his foot in the way.

  “Just ask her,” he said calmly.

  Chantal turned away and called Annabel. “Oliver Hooper’s here, says he wants you?”

  Annabel came to the door. “Yeah?”

  “Got a message for yo
u,” Oliver said, watching her closely. “From Scott Manders.” The reaction was there, but Oliver wasn’t quite sure what it conveyed.

  “Who?” Annabel had been stunned, but hastily retained her control.

  Oliver proffered the note. “Scott Manders. He asked me to give you this.”

  Annabel took the note, and sticking it in her pocket said, “I don’t know anyone called Scott… whatever.”

  Oliver just grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “Whatever. Night.” He turned on his heel and walked away. As he heard the front door close behind him, he punched the air. Something was definitely going on there, and he meant to find out what it was. He needed Scott Manders at present, and to have something on him might ensure that he continued to give him his help.

  Sixteen

  Annabel trudged into the Circle. She felt exhausted, it was pouring with rain and she was longing to get home. Since she had left Belcaster High School she had found her days very long. She had further to travel to the technical college where she was now finishing her A-levels, and though life there was, in many ways more relaxed and the students were treated as students and not as schoolgirls, she found it difficult to settle down. She didn’t have to be at college unless she had a lecture or a tutorial, and because there were no other subjects to be studied, or extra-curricular activities to be undertaken such as choir or games or drama as there had been at the High, Annabel often found time hanging heavy on her hands. It was an effort to do anything.

  As she reached the front door, she fumbled for her key in her duffel bag. It wasn’t there. Huddling against the door, trying to get out of the rain, she searched through her bag again, and then her pockets, but with no success. Then she remembered, she had taken the key out of her jeans the night before.

  “Oh shit,” she wailed, “I must have left it on my desk.” She stared out into the darkening rain-filled evening in dismay. She knew her mother was working late that evening and that Chantal was visiting a friend after school, and realised she wouldn’t be able to get in for at least another hour. “Shit!” she muttered again, “Shit and double shit!” Then she remembered that Mary Jarvis had a key, so she hurried across to number five. The house was in darkness and though she rang the bell, she was not at all surprised that there was no reply. Now she wouldn’t be able to get in until one of them came home. In a fury of frustration, Annabel crashed the knocker against the door in an angry tattoo.

  A voice sounded sharply from a window above. “Mrs Jarvis is not at home.”

  Annabel stepped away from the door and looked up to see Sheila Colby leaning out of her window. In the light that spilled into the dusk, Sheila saw who it was and said, “Oh, it’s you, Annabel. Why are you banging like that on Mary’s door? She’s not at home, you know.”

  “I only wanted to get our spare key,” explained Annabel sullenly. “I’m locked out.”

  “I see. Well, you’ll get very wet standing out there. You’d better come in here and wait. I’ll open the door, just push and come up.” With that Sheila shut the window and disappeared.

  Annabel sighed, it was the last thing she wanted to do, to go and sit with Sheil until Mum got home, but there was nothing she could do about it now, and there was no point standing out in the rain. She went across to Sheila’s front door, and finding the catch already released, pushed it open.

  “Close the door and come on up,” Sheila called from the first floor. “I’ve put the kettle on, I expect you’d like a cup of tea.”

  Annabel climbed the stairs and looked into the kitchen. Sheila was busying herself with teapot and mugs, and putting biscuits on a plate. She glanced up at Annabel. “Take your coat off and get warm by the fire,” she said. “The tea won’t be a minute.”

  Annabel did as she was told, glad to be in the warm even if she did have to put up with Sheila. She sank into a chair by the gas fire and held out her hands to get warm. She was suddenly exhausted, and when Sheila came in with the tea and biscuits she was shocked to see how pale and wan the girl looked.

  “My dear,” she exclaimed, setting down the tray, “you look whacked! Are you all right?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Annabel said, managing a smile.

  “Well, this’ll warm you up,” Sheila said and handed her a mug of tea. “Have a biscuit.”

  Annabel took the tea gratefully and then reached over for a biscuit. When she looked up, she found Sheila was studying her and she coloured, raising her chin in her new and now ever-ready defiance, half-prepared for what the older woman said next.

  “I hear you’re having a baby,” Sheila said abruptly. “I expect you’ll think it none of my business, but I did hear you were planning to have it, not have an abortion I mean.”

  “It isn’t your business,” began Annabel defiantly.

  “You’re quite right,” Sheila said smoothly, apparently unruffled by her interruption. “All I wanted to say was that I think you’re very brave to keep it, Annabel. I admire you for it.”

  Annabel, who had expected only condemnation from someone like Sheila Colby, was stunned at this, and could think of nothing to say. Sheila went on, “It can’t be easy for you, even in these permissive days, people are always so ready to judge.”

  “No, it isn’t,” murmured Annabel, and to give herself time to think of something else to say, she took a mouthful of the tea.

  It certainly hadn’t been easy. A few days after she had told her mother she was pregnant, they had gone together to tell Mrs Harman, the headmistress at the High.

  They were shown into her office and offered coffee, and while they were waiting for it to come, Mrs Harman told Angela how much better Annabel had been doing.

  “When I heard you wanted to see me,” she smiled, “I spoke to each of Annabel’s teachers so as to have an up-to-date report for you, and I must say it’s very encouraging.”

  Angela took the plunge. “I’m very pleased to hear you say that, Mrs Harman,” she began, “because we’ve got a problem, and we are both hoping you will be able to… well, to treat it sympathetically.”

  “I’m sure we can sort it out whatever it is,” cooed Mrs Harman, and she glanced across at Annabel herself for explanation.

  “I’m pregnant,” said Annabel simply.

  Mrs Harman’s face froze, and as for a moment she said nothing, Annabel went on, “The baby’s due at the end of January.”

  “I see.” Mrs Harman’s voice was icy.

  “We want to arrange for Annabel to continue her studies so that if possible she can take her exams as planned in the summer,” explained Angela, but her heart was already sinking. It was quite clear that Mrs Harman was going to show no sympathy for Annabel’s predicament at all.

  “Then I suggest she transfers to the technical college as soon as she can. I’m afraid there is no place in this school for unmarried teenage mothers.”

  Stung by this, Angela almost snapped, “What about married ones?” but she bit the words back, the last thing she wanted was to antagonise the woman. She said nothing.

  Mrs Harman sat back in her chair and studied them for a moment across her desk before she went on, “This school maintains certain standards. I know it’s not fashionable these days to have high standards of morality, but we at Belcaster High do not bow to fashion. I’m afraid there is no longer a place for Annabel here, she must leave us today. I will arrange for all her work to be sent on to you, with her assessments so far. I think you are lucky in that the technical college follows the same syllabus as we do for most subjects, so the transfer should not be too difficult.”

  “I see.” It was Angela’s turn to be icy. She had been hoping that Mrs Harman would be able to keep Annabel at the school until Christmas at any rate, and then be persuaded to have her back in February, after the baby was born, but clearly the headmistress was not entertaining the idea.

  “And now of course,” Mrs Harman continued, “there is the question of Chantal.”

  “Chantal?” Angela was startled.

  “I’m
prepared to keep her on for the moment,” Mrs Harman said, “it would be a pity to move her just as she’s starting her GCSE course.”

  “I don’t see this has anything to do with Chantal,” began Angela angrily. “Why should she be penalised for a mistake her sister has made?”

  “I was only thinking of the child herself, the embarrassment she may face in the circumstances,” replied the head smoothly.

  There won’t be any embarrassment unless it comes from you, thought Angela hotly, but again she managed to bite back the words. She didn’t want to have to take Chantal away from the school as well, for the only alternative for her would be Crosshills Comprehensive, and Angela didn’t want her to go there.

  “I am happy to keep Chantal,” Mrs Harman was saying, “provided, of course, that she maintains the standards we expect.”

  “I will discuss it with my husband,” Angela said with all the dignity she could muster, “and we’ll let you know what we decide.” She got to her feet, and facing the headmistress across the desk said quietly, “I’m sorry you feel unable to stand by one of your pupils when she is in trouble, Mrs Harman. But as you can’t, I’d be grateful if you could indeed send on all Annabel’s work with any reports and assessments that have already been done, so that I can pass them over to the technical college. Good morning.” Annabel got up too, and together they walked out of the office. As they reached the door, Mrs Harman’s secretary arrived with the coffee tray.

  “I’m so sorry to have troubled you,” Angela said to her, “but I’m afraid we haven’t time to stay for coffee. Good morning to you.”

  “Mum, you were brilliant,” Annabel said as they walked to the car.

  “I didn’t feel brilliant,” Angela said. “I’m still shaking. Let’s go and find a cup of coffee somewhere else and decide what to do next.”

  They found a little café off the High Street and carried their cups to a table in a corner.

  “Well, you seem to have left school,” said Angela as they sat down. “We’d better go and see the people at the technical college. You realise that this may mean you can’t do the exams this summer after all, don’t you? If you have to change syllabuses or examining boards or something.”