Misadventures

by Sylvia Smith

  1993

  DENISE

  Denise was thirty-nine and the divorced mother of two teenagers. She lived in the next street to Jenny H and we all became friends.

  Denise began dating her neighbour Derek who lived in a house four doors away from her. Two weeks in to their romance they returned to Denise’s home after spending the evening in their local pub. They became very amorous and had sex together, resulting in Derek sharing Denise’s double bed for the night. The following morning he said to her, ‘Don’t get carried away by all of this. I really don’t want anything serious.’ Denise replied, ‘Okay,’ but found she liked him and secretly hoped a long-term relationship would develop.

  They continued seeing one another and had an affair that lasted several months until they had a flaming row. After this neither one telephoned the other and they would pass each other in the street. Denise coped quite well with this behaviour and was optimistic that Derek would eventually relent and contact her again.

  One Sunday morning Denise saw Derek parking his car with an unknown blonde sitting in the passenger seat. She watched as he picked up the woman’s suitcase and led her into his house. Denise became very upset and realised Derek had replaced her. As time went by her mood changed to fury and she decided to pay him a visit. She knocked on his street door. Some minutes passed before he opened it, wearing a dressing gown. As it was still daylight Denise was consumed with rage, ‘I want to know what’s going on here you bastard,’ she yelled as she pushed past Derek and stormed down the hallway. She discovered the blonde sitting in the lounge sipping a cup of tea, also wearing a dressing gown. It was quite clear to Denise that they were lovers. She screamed at Derek, ‘Oh, wasn’t I good enough for you then? Didn’t you like the way I did it? Does this slag know you’ve been bonking me for the last few months? How long has this been going on, you creep?’ Denise continued her tirade whilst Derek quietly listened. The blonde sipped her tea, trying to ignore the situation. When Denise finally paused for breath Derek said, ‘I told you from the very beginning that I didn’t want anything serious with you.’ Denise screamed in temper and left the house, slamming the street door behind her.

  Denise did not calm down. She became more and more angry. After a sleepless night, she planned her revenge. She carried her lawnmower along the pavement and used all her strength to lift it high into the air. Then she let it fall on to the roof of Derek’s car, causing an enormous dent. She removed his doorkey from her chain and walked around the car scratching the paintwork. Her deed completed she punched a hole through one of the small panes of glass in Derek’s street door, throwing the key into the hallway.

  Derek did nothing in retaliation to Denise. He saw the condition of his car when he returned from work and spoke to a neighbour who had witnessed the act but he did not report the matter to the police. He paid a garage to repair the damage and he replaced the broken glass in his door. His affair with the blonde didn’t last but he made no further contact with Denise.

  1993

  MARION

  Marion was fifty-five. I was forty-eight. I posted a householdware catalogue through her street door. We met when I returned to collect it.

  Irang Marion’s street doorbell to collect my catalogue. I saw her shadow through the frosted glass as she walked into her hallway. She called out ‘Who is it?’ I replied, ‘It’s Sylvia from Betterware.’ ‘Oh that’s alright then,’ she said and opened the door to me saying, ‘I’m Marion. Would you like to come in? There are a few bits and pieces I would like.’

  I followed Marion into her lounge and I saw she was using walking sticks and wearing a large scarf over her head. She pointed to an armchair and said, ‘If you’d like to sit down there I’ll write out my order.’ She asked, ‘Are you doing this in your spare time?’ I replied, ‘No. I’m unemployed and I’m trying to find some type of job.’ She said, ‘I’m off sick.’ I said, ‘I hope it isn’t anything serious.’ She replied, ‘I’m afraid it is. I’ve got cancer.’ I said, ‘God, that’s terrible!’ She said, ‘I started off with breast cancer and I’ve had a breast removed. Then a few weeks ago I had a check-up and the doctors told me the cancer has spread all over my back. I’ve got to go to hospital for further treatment next week.’ I said, ‘Well, you must be in with a chance otherwise they wouldn’t be treating you.’ Marion smiled and said, ‘That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?’ and passed me the completed form.

  Ten days later I returned to Marion’s house with the various products she had requested. We settled in her lounge. I asked her, ‘How did you get on at the hospital?’ She replied, ‘Unfortunately the doctors told me the cancer has spread too far and they can’t do any more for me.’ I said, ‘I’m sorry.’ She replied, ‘Oh, don’t be. It’s only one of life’s little battles.’ I asked, ‘Aren’t you upset about it?’ She replied, ‘Not really. I’ve got used to things now and I’ve always tried to live my life to the full. I know that I’m dying but there’s nothing anyone can do about it. I’m in a lot of pain at the moment but the hospital said they’d sort that out for me so I’ll just have to take things as they come.’ She was pleased with her purchases and continued talking to me. She said, ‘I spent three years teaching in New Zealand and then I got on a train and travelled from one side of Canada to the other. So I have lived quite a lot and I’ve always had enough money to have the things I wanted.’ She paused for a while. I asked her, ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ She thought for a moment and said ‘Would you mind doing my washing up? I Just can’t manage to stand that long. And I’ve got a few letters I’d like posted.’ I was pleased to help her and also gave the kitchen a quick clean. I said, ‘I could pop in once a week to see if you want anything.’ She replied, ‘Please do. I’ll probably have more letters to post.’ She gave me several stamped envelopes and I left her house.

  A week later I saw an elderly lady at Marion’s street door. I walked up the pathway and said, ‘I’ve come to see how Marion is.’ She replied, ‘I was doing the same thing dear, and I’ve just rung the bell.’ Marion welcomed us. I discovered the friend was named Miriam and they had both worked together as schoolteachers. We chatted until Marion finally said, ‘I’m sorry but I’m very tired now. If you wouldn’t mind going. I usually have a nap about this time.’ Miriam said, ‘Don’t worry dear, we understand.’

  A few days later I rang Marion’s doorbell. As there was no answer I shouted through the letterbox. She called from her upstairs bedroom, ‘I haven’t got anything I want you to do today. I’m in bed trying to have a sleep and I’m too tired to talk to you but thank you for the visit.’

  The following week I went to see Marion. Despite my efforts I could get no reply. Her next door neighbour saw me standing in the porch and came out to speak to me. She asked, ‘Are you looking for Marion?’ I replied, ‘Yes, I am. I wanted to know how she was getting on.’ The neighbour replied, ‘I’m sorry to give you bad news but she died last Friday.’

  Marion’s neighbour, Anne, and I both remarked how calmly Marion had taken her illness. Anne said to me, ‘When Marion was first diagnosed as having breast cancer the doctors wanted to operate immediately but she wouldn’t let them. Two months went by before she agreed and I think that delay probably cost her her life because soon after the operation she was told the cancer had spread to her back. Then she was eventually told there was no hope.’ I said, ‘I think it’s a terrible shame. She was such a brave woman.’ Anne replied, ‘My twenty-year-old son did his best to look after her. Marion said to him, “Please don’t be sad because I’m not.” She told him to take a cutting from her fuchsia plant in the front garden as something for him to remember her by.’ I said, ‘I used to knock on her door occasionally to see if she needed any help and she always used walking sticks. The cancer must have affected her legs as well.’ Anne replied, ‘That’s not right. Didn’t you know she was handicapped and she had walking sticks to help her walk? She also gave that as the reason why she never married. She said she felt it was very unfair fo
r her to marry a man with her disability so she never let any man get close to her.’

  1994

  MIRIAM

  Miriam was an elderly lady of eighty-seven years and in robust good health. We became acquainted whilst visiting a mutual friend dying of cancer. I was forty-nine.

  I always stopped to talk to Miriam when I saw her in the street. She was usually busy going to and from the local school where she taught part-time, or on a shopping trip. She was very religious and wore a brooch inscribed ‘JESUS’ on her coat.

  As I strolled through the park one afternoon I met Miriam. She seemed very downcast and I asked her what was wrong. She replied, ‘I was walking down Forest Drive about a week ago when a schoolboy, and he was only about ten dear, grabbed my handbag and ran off with it. I couldn’t possibly chase after him and I was so shocked that this type of thing could happen in broad daylight, especially from a child. I went to the police and they were wonderful but they didn’t hold out much hope of ever getting my handbag back again. It had my purse in it with a little bit of money, my house keys and my appointment card with the hospital. I thought I’d better change my keys and that cost me seventy-six pounds. Then I bought myself another handbag and purse and that cost me twenty pounds, and I had to telephone the hospital because I couldn’t remember when my appointment was. Then two days later I had a call from the police. They said they’d found my handbag with everything in it except the money in my purse.’

  Although I sympathised with her I thought it would have been a lot cheaper if she had waited a few days before replacing anything.

  1994

  VIRGINIA’S MUGGING

  Mr Manford was an elderly Jewish man and my landlord. He owned sixteen furnished houses. He divided each house into various-sized flats and let them out. Virginia was an attractive Jewish woman aged fifty-six whom he employed to manage his properties. She lived rent-free in one of his apartments. I was forty-nine.

  Every fourth Friday Virginia collected the rents on Mr Manford’s properties. She usually arrived shortly after 11 a.m. at the house I shared.

  On one such Friday morning I was watching television in my downstairs front room. Virginia knocked on my door for my cheque and slowly worked her way through the various apartments. She hurried down the pathway when she had finished. A few minutes later I heard a sudden squeal of brakes and looked out of my bay window expecting to see some type of accident. I saw Virginia sitting in the driving seat of her car, looking straight ahead, with a blue Ford alongside her. As the scene was peaceful I returned to my TV.

  Around lunchtime the communal telephone rang. I raced up the stairs to answer it. Virginia spoke to me. She asked, ‘Are you going to be in for the rest of the day, dear?’ I replied, ‘No, I’m going out in about half an hour.’ She asked, ‘Is Dave in downstairs?’ I replied, ‘Yes, he is. I’ll get him for you.’

  Dave knocked on my door. He said, ‘Guess what’s happened?’ I replied, ‘No, what?’ He said, ‘Virginia has just been mugged and it was right outside here.’ I said, ‘You’re joking!’ He said, ‘No, I’m not! Apparently there were two fellers lying in wait for her. One had a car and pulled up beside her, blocking her inside her car, and the other bloke opened the passenger door and nicked all the money. They were both wearing balaclavas and Virginia didn’t get their number plate so I reckon they’ve got away with it.’ I asked, ‘Now what’s going to happen?’ He replied, ‘Virginia wants someone in the house because the street door lock has got to be changed. The villains got everything, all the money, all the cheques, all the keys. And it wasn’t just the money from this house. She’d already collected the rents from four other houses as well.’ We both giggled and waited for future developments.

  Mr Manford came to the house in the afternoon and pinned a letter to the noticeboard in the downstairs hallway. It requested everyone to cancel any cheques they had left as payment for rent. He told us Virginia was quite well although a little shaken. A locksmith attended to the street door and Dave was given the new keys to hand to the other tenants as they returned home.

  I thought about the situation and realised I had witnessed the beginning of the mugging but when I looked out of my window all had seemed well so I had turned away and missed the most crucial part. I decided, ‘So much for my abilities as a sleuth.’

  1994

  DR SHAH

  Dr Shah became my GP when I moved to another area in East London. He was happily married and the father of four children. He was a Sikh. Because of his religion he was not allowed to cut hair on any part of his body. His long, black hair was tucked inside a black turban and a black beard trickled past his chest. He was always dressed in black. He was thirty-four. I was forty-nine.

  Dr Shah and I were on very friendly terms. Each time I visited him we would exchange pleasantries. On one of my visits he told me he owned two parrots, that the female had laid an egg, and as soon as the young parrot was old enough he intended housing him in a cage in his surgery. I looked around the room and noted the human skull on the shelf. I said, ‘I’ve never known a doctor have a parrot in his surgery. Don’t you think it’s an odd thing to do?’ ‘No, not at all,’ he replied, ‘It will probably take my patients’ minds off their problems.’ ‘Are you going to leave him on his own overnight?’ I asked. ‘No. I’ll take him home at the end of my day.’ he replied.

  A few weeks passed before I found it necessary to pay Dr Shah another visit. I entered his surgery expecting to see a parrot in its cage. ‘Where’s your parrot?’ I queried. ‘Don’t talk to me about my parrot!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why? What’s happened?’ I asked. He replied, ‘I bought a very nice cage and hung it in my surgery. The following day I drove here with the parrot in my right hand. As I got out of the car I dropped my keys and the noise upset the parrot. He wriggled free out of my hand and the last time I saw him he was flying over the roof tops.’

  On another visit to Dr Shah I sat in the waiting room while a five-year-old Indian girl was taken to see him. I was his next appointment. When I entered his surgery he said, ‘Do you know I had two chocolates sitting on the side of my desk and that little brat picked up both of them and ate them!’

  1994

  MRS MURPHY

  Mrs Murphy was an elderly Irish woman who lived in the next street to me. I became her cleaning lady, working every Friday morning from 10 a.m. until noon.

  My neighbour Rene worked in a Pakistani supermarket in Leyton High Road. One morning Mrs Murphy went into the shop to place an ad in the window for a part-time cleaning lady. Rene wrote out the card then suddenly thought of me. She saw me later in the day and asked me if I was interested. I thought it was worth a try and phoned Mrs Murphy. An interview was arranged for the following evening at 6 p.m.

  I knocked on Mrs Murphy’s street door at the appropriate time. It was opened by May, her daughter, who ushered me into the front room where Mrs Murphy was sitting in an armchair.

  I found out later that May was aged fifty-one, divorced with no children, and an executive secretary in the City.

  May proceeded to give me a grilling which I thought was more suitable for employing office staff and not for someone who was only going to use a vacuum cleaner and wash two floors. She told me they had a small poodle. I said, ‘I’m not very good with animals and I’m nervous of dogs.’ May pounced on this and added, ‘Oh, we have a little cat too.’ Mrs Murphy, who had been silently listening to our discussion, interrupted, ‘I can easily keep the animals out of her way.’ This did not placate May. She said, ‘We do have other applicants to see. Thank you for coming and we’ll let you know our decision in a few days’ time.’

  I walked home with the feeling that May found me totally unsuitable.

  A few evenings later the communal telephone in the upper hallway rang. I rushed to answer it. A voice said, ‘Hello, Sylvia. This is Mrs Murphy. I’m calling to see if you would like to be our cleaning lady?’ I replied, ‘Yes, I’d be delighted.’ She said, ‘We’ll see you at 10 a.m. Friday t
hen.’

  The next morning I saw Rene and told her I’d got the job. She replied, ‘I’m not surprised. I forgot to put the card in the window so you were their only applicant.’

  1994

  MRS MURPHY’S HOLIDAY

  Mrs Murphy was an elderly Irish lady whose house I cleaned for two hours every Friday morning for three years. She was seventy-eight. I was forty-nine. Her fifty-one-year-old divorced daughter, May, lived at the family home with her parents. Mrs Murphy was the mother of seven adult children, all of whom were happily married except for May.

  Mr Murphy was a semi-invalid and had been in poor health for some years and was almost bedridden, which meant that Mrs Murphy could never leave him for very long. She told me, ‘When my husband retired I thought we would spend our old age visiting, but it was not to be.’

  Sometimes I noticed Mrs Murphy was very down. She would frequently say to me, ‘I could do with a good holiday and a complete break from this house but I can’t leave Jack on his own with May working full-time as well.’

  One Friday an excited Mrs Murphy said to me, ‘My daughter Ann and I are having a week’s holiday in Dublin so I’m going to get a nice break after all. May is going to work shorter hours and take care of her father for me so I won’t have to worry about Jack. This will be the first time in years that I’ve had a proper holiday.’ I was very pleased for her despite her adding, ‘We won’t need you while I’m away, Sylvia.’