The New Neighbours

by Costeloe Diney

  There was group of residents from various houses standing outside the Madhouse, watching as students came out and wandered off round the Circle towards the town. Even as he watched, the residents began to melt away back to their own houses. Then a policewoman emerged from the student house, and with her, her wrist gripped firmly by the policewoman, was Chantal Haven. Oliver watched in delight as the girl was marched away to her own home, and wished Chantal had seen him, revelling in her discomfort as she had in his a few days earlier. He continued to watch as the Havens’ front door opened, and he saw Annabel in the light from the porch. Oliver hadn’t seen her for some time, but there was something strange about her, she looked different, and then as she turned sideways on to let her sister pass into the house, he realised. She was pregnant! Oliver was wondering idly who the father was when it struck him suddenly that of course he knew. It was Scott Manders! Of course it was! That’s what that note had been all about. Oliver hugged himself in delight. Now he really did have something on Scott, and something on Annabel too, maybe.

  He stayed in the shadows and watched as the policewoman returned and the police cars drove away. He was about to move on home himself when someone else came out of the house. Oliver stepped back into the shadows, not wanting to be seen anywhere near the Smarts’ house, and recognised Jill Hammond, going slowly back to her house.

  Mrs Hammond! Oliver almost whistled in his surprise. Now what in shit was she doing at the student party? He had seen Mr Hammond in the group by the front door, but he’d left several minutes earlier. Mrs Hammond walked to her house without looking back, but someone was standing at the door of the student house watching her. Oliver didn’t know his name, but it was the student with the ponytail, the one he’d seen working in the Hammonds’ garden. Oliver smiled a secret smile. When he got home, he would keep a note of all he had seen this evening in what he called his information book. Information was power, and though he had no idea how or when he would use the information he had collected, he knew that to have it, to know things about people, might give him some hold over them. It was a feeling he hugged to himself in pleasure.

  Now all he had to sort out was what had happened to Scott and to get the stash safely away in Scott’s van. He hoped they wouldn’t have to wait until next Saturday; Sunday was always a good day for Scott to move the stuff along, but maybe next Saturday would be too late.

  Oliver had no way of contacting Scott except through Jay, so there was little he could do the next day, and he hung about at home. There was minor excitement in the Circle when an ambulance arrived and took Mrs Peters from the house next door, but otherwise the day was very boring.

  “Died sitting in her chair,” Annie said, having been out to see what had happened. “That’s the way to go, I suppose, she was a good age.”

  On Monday morning, Oliver was collecting the dues from the juniors when Jay came hurrying in through the school gates. Oliver grabbed his arm. “Want a word with you, mate,” he said.

  They moved out of earshot of the arriving pupils and Oliver said, “Where the hell’s Scott? He was due to pick up stuff from me on Saturday night and he never showed.”

  Jay shrugged. “Dunno,” he said. “Ain’t seen ’im all weekend. Didn’t come round our place.”

  “Well, you’d better find out,” Oliver told him sharply, “or we could all be in the shit. Gotta get the stuff moved out fast, right? You tell him. Bring the van tonight, half ten.”

  Jay nodded. “OK mate,” he said. “I’ll try and find ’im this afternoon. I got a skive on anyway.”

  “Where you going?” asked Oliver.

  Jay tapped the side of his nose. “Business,” he said and grinned. “Come on, mate, there’s kids out there waiting to pay their dues. Mustn’t let them slip, eh?”

  That night Oliver was in the Smarts’ garden by half past ten, but Scott didn’t come and after waiting nearly an hour, Oliver went back home to bed. In the morning, he collared Jay the moment he walked through the gates.

  “Where the hell’s your brother?” he muttered. “He didn’t come last night, either.”

  “No,” agreed Jay. “An’ ’e won’t be coming, neither. ’E got picked up, and ’e’s in the nick.”

  “What?!” exclaimed Oliver, horrified.

  “Yeah, picked up Saturday, ’e was. Loading some computer gear he ’ad stashed in a garage. Must’ve been watching the place. I ain’t seen ’im, but somebody must’ve grassed ’im up.”

  “Who?”

  Jay shrugged his usual shrug. “Dunno, but I wouldn’t like to be them if Scott knows who it is.”

  “So, what happens next?”

  “’E’ll be up in court today and then out on bail… maybe. Depends on the beak.”

  “Hmm,” Oliver thought for a moment. “Well, if he gets out, tell him we’ve got to talk. OK?”

  “Yeah, OK. If I see ’im.”

  “Jay, you’ve got to see him, right? It’s important. We’ve got stuff to shift.”

  “ ’E may not want it now,” pointed out Jay. “I’ll take it off yer, if yer like.”

  “Better wait for Scott to decide,” Oliver replied, not wanting Jay as part of the deal if he didn’t need him.

  Jay agreed readily enough to wait and see what happened, he didn’t relish invading Scott’s territory without permission, and he was pretty sure Scott would get bail.

  It was Thursday, however, before Oliver saw Scott waiting on the corner at the end of school. He crossed over quickly and said, “You got out then?”

  “Yeah, for now.” Scott walked swiftly down the road and Oliver followed him to the Roxy café. Scott collected two mugs of tea and they sat down at a corner table.

  “Jay says like, you’re pressuring me, mate,” Scott said. “Don’t like to be pressured.” His voice was calm but cold, and it made Oliver uneasy.

  “Not pressuring, Scott, no, course not. Just worried about our stuff, in case these people come back before we can shift it, that’s all.”

  “Your stuff, mate,” Scott said blandly.

  “You want out?” asked Oliver, trying to sound casual.

  “Maybe. Gotta be careful for a bit. The filth’ll be watching me while I’m on bail. Gotta keep my nose clean, right?”

  “OK,” said Oliver. “I’ll deal with it myself.”

  “Hang about!” Scott snapped, and Oliver, who’d risen to his feet, sat down again. “I didn’t say we couldn’t do nothing, just we’d got to be careful, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Thought we’d use Jay,” Scott explained. “’E’d ’ave to ’ave a cut though.”

  “Yeah? How’d we work it?

  “Like, you could bring the stuff to school in a school bag and pass it over to Jay, right?” Scott suggested.

  “No way, mate,” Oliver replied. “Far too risky. He can come round on the track and I’ll pass it over in the usual way.”

  “No van,” Scott said.

  “Look, Scott, there’s five bin bags of stuff, a couple of switch cards and a pension book. Must be worth a hundred to you. D’you want them or not?” Oliver sounded firm and business-like and it appeared to be the right approach, for Scott said, “Yeah, I want them, just a question of how, that’s all.”

  “Easy,” Oliver said, getting into his stride. “You borrow a car, you come round to the track and collect, OK? Or Jay? Getting a car isn’t a problem is it?” He had no idea if Scott or Jay took cars, but he assumed they did. “I’ll be there this evening at half ten, and if you don’t come then, the same tomorrow, OK? After that I make my own arrangements.”

  Again, Oliver was about to leave when Scott stopped him. “You ever see that girl in number four?” he asked.

  Oliver looked at him and played dumb. “You mean that Chantal?”

  “No, the other one, Bel.”

  “Annabel?” Oliver was sure now, the shortened name had given the game away.

  “Yeah, Annabel.”

  “Saw her Saturday night in the distanc
e. She’s pregnant.” He eyed Scott across the table. “Yours is it?”

  “Like fucking hell it is!”

  Oliver knew he was lying, but all he said was, “What about her then?”

  “Nothing. Somebody grassed me up, that’s all.”

  “Annabel?” Oliver was incredulous. “What would she know?”

  “Enough,” growled Scott. “She’s a tart.”

  “Like her sister,” Oliver said.

  He left Scott sitting in the café and made his way home. He had a lot to think about. There was some connection between Scott and Annabel Haven, he’d known that before, and from the violence of Scott’s reaction he was sure that Scott was the father of Annabel’s baby, but there was something else too. If Scott were right and it was Annabel who’d been to the police, why had she done it? How could she have known about Scott’s garage, and the computer stash in it, unless Scott had told her? And why would he do that?

  That night he was waiting in the Smarts’ garden again. At about a quarter to eleven he heard a car on the track, and he looked over the fence. He could see the shape of a car and he heard the driver’s door close softly.

  “Scott? That you?” Oliver hissed.

  “No, me,” came Jay’s voice. “Got the stuff?”

  “Yeah, here in the shed. I’ll pass it over. You got the cash?”

  “Yeah. Seventy-five.”

  “We said a hundred,” Oliver said angrily.

  “This ain’t the time to talk about it,” muttered Jay. “’Ere’s the seventy-five, now give us the bags.”

  Oliver knew it was no good arguing with Jay now. He pocketedthe money and heaved the bags over the fence. Jay pushed them quickly into the car and then said, “Scott said two cards and a pension book.”

  Oliver smiled in the darkness. “On Monday,” he said, “if you bring the rest of the cash to school, I’ll give them to you. But tell him the price has gone up. It’s another fifty, or I sell them elsewhere.”

  “Scott won’t like that,” Jay remarked.

  “And I don’t like being messed about,” Oliver said sharply. “He should have paid what we agreed.”

  Jay grunted and got back into the car and with only sidelights on, drove off down the track. As Oliver watched him go, he wondered if it was Scott who’d changed the deal, or whether Jay had decided to help himself to the other twenty-five pounds, not thinking Oliver would dare to query it. It would be interesting to see what happened on Monday.

  He went back for one last look round the Smarts’ shed. It was completely empty. No sign that it had been used for anything unusual and no sign of any garden tools or implements, just an empty work bench. Oliver picked up a rag from the floor, and carefully wiped the door and both its handles. There were no other smooth surfaces to wipe, everything had gone.

  Oliver went to the fence for the last time and scrambled over it on to the track and then walked back through the cut into the Circle. As he emerged from the footpath, he almost bumped into David Redwood who was closing his garage door.

  The old man turned sharply seeing only a shadowy figure in the darkness, cried out, “Who’s there?” He made a sort of grab at Oliver, but Oliver shoved him away and turning back into the cut, pelted to the track beyond. He didn’t know if Mr Redwood had recognised him, but he knew he must get home before Mr Redwood had time to think about it and go across the Circle. He ran out and along the Dartmouth Road and into the office car park. Within moments, he was over the fence and unlocking the garden door. Diving into the safety of his room, he threw his clothes off and leapt under the duvet.

  It was less than five minutes later that the doorbell rang, and Mr Redwood stood on the step. Oliver could hear his father’s voice raised in surprise at being disturbed after eleven.

  “Oliver? He’s in bed. Has been for over an hour.”

  “Are you sure?” David Redwood was not put off. “I’m sure it was Oliver who pushed me over and ran off.”

  There were footsteps down the hall and Oliver’s door opened quietly. Oliver lay still, trying to keep his breathing regular as if in sleep. His father listened for a moment and then closed the door again.

  “Sorry, Mr Redwood,” he said, “but you must have been mistaken. Oliver is in bed, and he’s fast asleep. It must have been someone else who pushed you over.”

  David Redwood didn’t sound convinced as he said, “I suppose it must, but it did look like your boy. Jeans and a dark bomber jacket.”

  Steve Hooper laughed. “They all wear those,” he said. “It could have been anyone.”

  Oliver heard the front door close and then a long silence in the hall, before at last, his dad went back upstairs to bed. Shit! he thought, that was close. He got out of bed and took the cash Jay had given him, and the cards and pension book from his jeans pocket. He put them into the suitcase and having locked it, returned it to the top of the wardrobe. He wondered if Jay would bring the extra money on Monday.

  Twenty-five

  Madge Peters’ funeral was on Friday afternoon at St Joseph’s Church, where she had been a worshipper for over fifty years and one of the founders of the St Joe’s Day Centre. Frank Marsh, the vicar, had suggested to Andrew that it might be fitting to have the refreshments he planned to offer after the service in the day centre.

  “Most of our regulars knew her from when she was still able to come in and help,” he pointed out, “they’d like to feel included I’m sure, even if some of them can’t make it to the service. Mavis has already offered to lay on a tea if you want her to.”

  Andrew, who had been thinking he would have to arrange something at one of the Belcaster hotels, grasped the offered opportunity and having discussed what he wanted with Mavis, thankfully left it all to her. He liked the idea of using the church hall and knew that Madge would have approved as well.

  When he arrived at the church half an hour before the service was due to begin, he was amazed at the number of people who were gathering in the churchyard or already inside in the pews. He had supposed most of Madge’s friends to be dead, and indeed all her real contemporaries were, but she had always had the knack of getting on with people of any age and so she still had many friends living. Several of them had come a fair distance; her three godchildren, now in their sixties themselves were all present, and despite the solemnity of the occasion there was an eager buzz of conversation as old friends met up again after years apart.

  The Circle was well represented, much as he had expected, but he was surprised to see two of the students from the student house were there. One of them was the pretty little black girl, whom his mother had told him helped at the Day Centre when she was able, and the other was the girl, Madeleine, who owned the house and had, thanks to Fran, taken over Spike. Andrew had never much cared for Spike and though he wouldn’t have wanted to have him put down, neither would he have wanted to take the cat himself, and he was delighted Spike had found himself a good home. Dr Fran was there of course. She hadn’t just been Madge’s doctor, but also a good friend who went a long way back. Sheila and Gerald were standing with Mary Jarvis. Sheila was wearing a black suit and a large black hat, Gerald suitably attired in white shirt and plain black tie and Mary in a navy suit, but no hat. Andrew went over to speak to them and was touched by their concern for him, as they asked if there was anything any of them could do to help.

  “Even if it’s only sorting clothes or something like that,” Mary said.

  “That’s very kind of you,” Andrew said. “I’m sure I’ll need help with lots of things like that. Perhaps I can let you know.”

  He turned away to speak to one of the godchildren, but as he went he heard Sheila say, “Look, there’re two of the students. I didn’t expect to see any of them.”

  “Why ever not?” Mary said sharply, “Madeleine often used to visit Madge, and Cirelle works at St Joe’s.”

  “I think it’s lovely to see them here,” Gerald said repressively, “don’t you, Sheila? Madge would have been so pleased.”


  Yes, I agree, Andrew thought as he moved on to the next group. Everyone began going into the church now. Although the day was sunny, it was extremely cold, and the wind was chilly.

  Andrew waited in the porch for the hearse to arrive. He had decided that he wanted to be at the church to greet it, not to travel with the coffin, and so he had a chance to greet many of the mourners even before the service. Alison and Paul Forrester walked in together, Alison having waited at the gate for Paul to arrive. Jill Hammond hurried in at the last moment on her own, dressed smartly as always. The Redwoods were already in the church, Shirley a little anxious about leaving Melanie entirely alone with the children. She had hoped that Cirelle would have been able to come round, but Melanie didn’t want her and anyhow Cirelle had decided to keep Mad company and come to the funeral herself.

  “Anyway, if Melanie is going home next week, she’s got to get used to coping with the children on her own again,” David pointed out.

  Shirley wasn’t at all happy with the idea of Melanie going home the following week, but this wasn’t the place to get into such a discussion, so she simply nodded, and said no more.

  Just before the coffin was carried in, Angela Haven slipped into the back of the church. She moved into the same pew as Jill, and they exchanged brief smiles before the coffin was carried in past them, followed at last by Andrew.

  It was not a long service, but neither was it a sad one.

  “We are here to celebrate Madge’s life,” Frank Marsh told them firmly, and they sang Madge’s favourite hymns, “Praise my soul the King of Heaven”, and “Thy hand oh God has guided”. At the end of the service, before they went out into the cold churchyard for Madge to be laid in the grave next to her husband, Frank announced, “Andrew has asked me to say that he hopes everyone will come back into St Joe’s hall afterwards, for some refreshments. And I would like to add, if there is anyone who would like to go straight there and not stand out in the cold, all of us, I, Andrew and Madge herself will quite understand.”