by M W Foolster
Cutting him short, she snaps,
“Well, it doesn’t really matter to you then, does it?”
“I didn’t mean…”
Following an uncomfortable silence, DS Fuller mumbles.
“If you want to show me then. The damage to your ceiling, I mean. Will see what I can do to help.”
“Do? Thought you was a copper, not a builder.”
“I might be able to, well, help you tidy up or something.”
His pathetic grin has her turning on her heels and pointing towards the flat.
“Whatever. See for yourself.”
He stoops to pick up several pieces of plaster before peering up at the huge crack running across the black ceiling, and at the half-moon shaped light fitting now swinging precariously by its cable.
"Could be a lightning bolt"
"WHAT"
"The crack. It looks like a bolt of lightning in the night sky. Kind of romantic in my opinion."
Susie, her mouth having dropped open, and now looking as though she's on the verge of exploding, can only stand and shake her head in exasperation. DF Fuller, still grinning, rubs his hands together enthusiastically.
“Right then, have you got any step ladders? Oh, and a tool box?”
“Excuse me?”
“The light fitting. Probably just needs screwing back in.”
Susie's hands go to her head, and shaking her head in anger, she screams at him.
“NO... I bloody well haven’t. And don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?"
She grabs his arm roughly, and pushes him towards the door.
"Just leave yer? Can't be dealing with this now. I’ll get Carlo to do it later.”
"But..."
He winces as the door is slammed behind him.
Panting into the brown paper bag that had contained the sausage roll, DI Jordan feels the panic attack start to subside. After a dismissive final look at the damaged wall, he stomps his way back down the stairs, baffled as to how Aleksey Kouchevski could still be snoring his head off after all that commotion. Finds a thoroughly deflated DS Fuller sat on the stairs, “Now whit?”
The DS points towards Susie’s door.
“Think I’ve blown it, Gov.”
“Wis nothing tae blow, yah pillock. Anyway, enough wi' the moping around, we’ve got work tae dae.”
12 Harry Frome
Now approaching the old bus garage, Jason is startled by a hand grabbing hold of his arm, accompanied by a very familiar voice,
"Jay, my boy, how good to see you."
"Harry.... How are you? Can't remember the last time I saw you, where have you been hiding?"
Captain Whitebeard, as he was affectionately known by the library staff on account of his enormous bushy, white beard, lowers his eyes and struggles to answer. Jason looking concerned as he studies him carefully, this just isn't like the Harry he has come to know and care about, has never known him to be lost for words. Always immaculately dressed in his trademark tweed suit, constantly smiling and always so incredibly polite. He'd often thought he could have stepped straight out of the 1940s, he certainly dressed the part and they had spent many an hour discussing his exploits in the RAF.
"Harry? Are you ok?... Harry?"
When he does finally looks up at Jason, his eyes have welled up, "It's Ellie, she passed away Jay."
"Jesus, Harry, I am so sorry."
Harry and Ellie had been coming into the library for as long as Jason can remember. A lovely lady, always so warm and endearing, the sweetest of smiles, and forever bringing in her delicious homemade cakes for the staff. It had been heart-breaking to witness her health deteriorate so suddenly, and the last time he'd seen her, she was in a wheelchair. But then she’d stopped accompanying Harry altogether.
"Would of been 70 years in December, Jay, she was so looking forward to our platinum anniversary. We got married in the church a few streets down from here, and that pile of rubble."
Anger in his voice as he points towards a derelict site close to the hospital.
"That is where we spent the first 10 years of our married life, good years, we were so happy. And our Gracie was born there. It’s a shame you never got to meet her, living in Canada now. Such a great relief to me, knowing she is safe and secure across there. What on earth…"
Harry suddenly rushes towards the curb, waving his fist, clearly in an agitated state, bellowing at the top of his voice,
“How many more times have I got to tell you... Yes you... You big hairy bastard. Stay off our roads! If you cannot keep your speed down, go find a racetrack to kill yourself on. You arseholes racing around here on your ruddy great bikes. Shattering our peace and quiet. Putting us all in danger. Get away with you. Go on, piss off.”
Jason is stunned into silence. He looks across at Harry shouting at the top of his voice. He then looks at the elderly woman now peddling her antiquated push bike for dear life, and struggles to make any sense of what is happening. The poor woman looks back at Harry, only to see him waving his fist viciously. She cycles harder, leaving a trail of shopping in her wake as it falls from the wicker basket attached to the back of her bike. Her front wheel wobbling precariously from the speed she is peddling at. She yet again glances back, loses control of the bike, mounts the pavement and collides heavily with a lamp post.
Harry still hollering, “Serves you right, you crazy bastard, now keep those bloody monsters off our roads.”
Harry walks back across to Jason,
“Sorry about that, old chap, but these powerful bikes really don’t belong on our roads, wouldn’t you agree?”
Jason looks along the road at the elderly woman, a passer-by helping her to her feet. Relieved to see that she isn’t harmed, Jason takes Harry by the arm and leads him away from the scene. Jim's Café is but a short walk, and Harry cheerily agrees to let Jason buy him a cup of coffee.
Now sat opposite each other, Jason realises that this just isn’t, well, it’s a mere shadow of the Harry Frome he’d known so well. It’s his eyes, they’ve lost that spark. A brief silence, both now slurping their coffee, the peace suddenly interrupted by a song blasting out from the Café’s radio:
♪ Where’s my life going
Cause I haven’t got a clue
Said she’d never leave me
Said we’d work it through
I showered her with flowers
I know I’ve been a fool
Thinking
Where
Where’d it all go wrong
Thinking
Once
We'd a love so strong
Said that she would call me
Said she needs some time
Suitcase packed for me
Sleeping in my van
Thinking
Where
Where’d it all go wrong
Thinking
This
Won't be for long
Said it’s all over
Said she needs a break
Am sat alone every evening,
Staring at the phone
Thinking
Where
Where’d it all go wrong
Thinking
How
To carry on
And no
She didn’t phone me
Guess
She doesn’t care
Looking in the mirror
A stranger staring back
Thinking
Where
Where’d it all go wrong
Thinking
Now
I know she's gone
Thinking
Time
To move along ♪
Jason runs his hand across his face. That damned song seems to be haunting him, being played everywhere. All things considered, it is not something he wants to listen to. Stares into his coffee, mind drifting, lost in thought. Replaying where it had all gone wrong in his own mind.
'The constant arguments with Cathy had grown steadily worse after we
’d moved home back in 2012. Leaving for work at 6am, not getting home until nearly 9pm, well, I was hardly going to be a barrel of laughs, was I? Rarely saw Ollie and Jamie, God, they were only 7 and 9 back then, and the journey had deprived me of spending any quality time with them at all during the week. Asleep when I left in the morning and back in bed by the time I got home. And why? So as to live in the catchment area for a poxy Middlesex Grammar school. Jesus, the local Academy school would have been ideal for them, never did me any harm, and the school was doing well enough according to the stats. I tried to argue the point that we were settled and all of us loved living in Tharston, that there was no need to rush anything, that we should wait a few more years. But ohhh no, Cathy being, well, Cathy, had decided that it had to be sooner rather than later, give the boys time to adjust. I gave in as usual, have never won an argument with her and didn’t think that there was any point in trying to get her to have a rethink. Even then, I was secretly hoping for a long delay but no such luck, it sold within three poxy months. I was officially classed as an extreme commuter, and then the problems really begun.
The new house was ok, nothing special, 3 bedrooms, an end of terrace Victorian cottage, in a pretty enough village. Good amenities. Locals friendly enough. First few weeks went smoothly. I tried so bloody hard to make a success of it but it all went wrong, well, more or less overnight. And all thanks to her, that crazy old woman, Elsie Warner. Almost as if she'd been on a one woman mission to destroy my marriage.
And it all started on that bloody Saturday morning in October. Told Cathy I would go get a newspaper, broadband connection was playing up and couldn’t get online, and wanted to read through the sports news. Walked to the bottom of the road, turned right heading towards the local newsagents. And there she was, Elsie Warner, about to walk up her garden path with several bags full of shopping. I smiled at her and said hello, fair enough, she didn't acknowledge me but she might not have heard. And then I'd noticed that she'd had left two carrier bags at her garden gate, probably too much to carry in one go. I did what any good Samaritan would do, picked them up and rushed towards her, just as she was opening her front door. Kind of a blur at that point but I know that a cat darted in front of me, and that I'd fallen over the bloody creature just as Elsie Warner was turning towards me. The carrier bags shot out of my hands, an orange flash as they'd flown into her hallway and me hurtling towards them head first. Next thing I'd known, I was face down staring at the biggest pair of white knickers I'd seen in my life, with Elsie Warner’s legs either side of my head. Up on my hands and knees, I'd quickly backed away from the thick tanned stockings and those hideous white knickers, mumbling my apologies. And then that foul stench had hit me. I'd had to blink several times because I just couldn't believe what my eyes were showing me, but surely enough, there was faeces covering the beige carpet, splattered up the magnolia walls and all over Elsie Warner. Then my head was nearly split apart at the sound of a shrill whistle being blown insanely. Elsie Warner, raised up on her elbows, staring at me with a look of sheer terror in her eyes, face smeared in faeces, and blowing on that damned whistle for all her life was worth. Next thing I'd known, was being dragged to my feet, arm painfully pushed up behind my back, manhandled out of the door and smacked face down on the soggy grass. Briefly caught sight of a shaven headed, burly man dressed in a green overall. Obviously not prepared to listen to anything I had to say, a deep, rasping voice repeatedly shouting, “Shut the fuck up, you dirty perverted bastard.”
The police arrived shortly afterwards, dumped me in the back seat of a Skoda patrol car, my head hung low with the embarrassment of it all as I was driven to the local police station. And as for that sniggering duty sergeant. I won’t ever forget that smirk on his face as he’d had me emptying my pockets, before reading me my rights. The humiliation of then being frog marched past several sneering police officers, all pointing in my direction, as they’d whispered amongst themselves. A hard faced, if young police constable asking me for my shoe laces and trouser belt, and then ordering me into a tiny cell. Four long hours later, I was finally released with no charges being pressed, but nevertheless, I still received an official caution. And then to find Cathy sat waiting for me at the police station reception area, her normally loving blue eyes looking very, very cold as they'd stared daggers at me. Was seriously tempted to ask to be let back into the cell for the night.
Found out at a later date that the spinster Elsie Warner was one of the more notorious characters in the village. She had an obsession with cleaning the streets, picking up litter etc. Unfortunately, she’d also taken it upon herself to cleanse the village of its’ dog mess issues too. I mean, for pity's sake, who the fuck goes around collecting dog shit in carrier bags? Perhaps if that had been the end of it all he might still be with Cathy. But no. That was just the beginning.'
Harry's coughing fit snaps Jason out of his daydream.
“Jesus, Harry, look, is there anything you need? Anything I can do to help?”
“Do not take the lord’s name in vain, young man. Help how?”
“I don’t know, anything at all?”
“I’d quite like to visit Gracie. See my grandson. Difficult now that I no longer have the car. She is living in one of those new towns, the name always slips my memory. You know, Jay, the town that arranged to have plastic cows dotted around in the fields, to give it more of a rural feel. Now what is it called!”
“But she lives in Canada, doesn't she?”
“Good God man, yes... Yes of course she does. Never been myself. Me and Ellie have discussed it but it’s the flight, old chap. Far too long.”
Jason is growing increasingly concerned and will contact Social Services at the first opportunity. Harry just isn’t in a fit state to be by himself, and he needs help. Jason’s startled as Harry suddenly leans across the table, speaking so quietly he is barely audible. But it is back. The spark in those intelligent grey eyes, the Harry he knows.
"Something is coming old chap. Something evil. Both me and my father, God bless him, we have shared the same nightmares. Have followed the rise of that dictator and his evil regime, and am telling you old chap, it is only a question of time before that evil arrives on our shores. And now I truly understand what is expected of me. I was coming to the library today, to say my good-byes, but you’ve saved me a journey. And to give you this.”
Harry rummages around in his crumpled raincoat pocket, Jay noticing that he is wearing pyjamas underneath, and pulls out what appears to be a brown envelope. Jason looks down at it, sees that it's marked for Jessica's attention, and slips it into his sports bag.
“You need to read it. You will find answers to questions you've yet to ask. Trust me on this, Jay, the atrocities witnessed in the 1st World War will be nothing in comparison. It’s coming, my boy, an evil the likes of which has never been seen, hell's fury about to be unleashed. God help us all."
"I don't understand Harry, what do you mean?"
But Harry's eyes have now grown vacant, seemingly lost in his own memories. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I don't understand Harry?"
"No idea what you mean old chap.” Glancing up at the café clock. “Is that the time? I have to go, Jay, Ellie will be wanting to read the Informer. She doesn’t get out much nowadays and after the near miss with the motorbike, she won’t use her motorised wheel chair anymore."
“Look Harry, I am on my way into work, come with me. I think...”
“Sorry old chap, another time perhaps. Much obliged for the coffee.”
He pats the paper he has been holding.
“Not a patient woman, my Ellie.”
Having now exited the café, Harry turns to him, "Mr Shah tells me Tharston has been cordoned off, all the traffic is being diverted, bloody ridiculous. Total chaos on the roads. Did you have problems this morning? Been some sort of an incident, Mr Shah heard it rumoured a gas explosion. Anyway best rush, Ellie will be getting worried. Cheerio Jay."
The incident in
Tharston was ten years ago. Jason stares after him for a few minutes, too choked up to move. Poor old Harry. Should he have told him that he was still wearing his house slippers and pyjamas? Probably not. He’ll speak to Jessica, and phone Social Services from work. Harry is in desperate need of professional help, and he’ll make sure he bloody well receives it. Jason looks back up the Borrington London Road, at the enormous piles of rubble that had so upset Harry.
He doubts that most people had even heard of this area of South London, not until that damned awful night back in August 2011, when the riots had erupted. Like much of London, the whole area had exploded into total chaos. Amongst the many living and working in the area, he had known something was brewing, word on the Street being to avoid the main shopping centres at all costs. And rumours galore on the social media networking sites that Borrington was being targeted. A hot and sultry night, an ominous feeling in the air, fear evident in the eyes of the few library customers who'd ventured in. And then came the large gangs of youths. The lure of free pickings had led to them swarming into the area in their hundreds, all intoxicated by their taste for the violence and mayhem that was to come. Even now, three years later, the thought of those scenes he’d witnessed made him shudder. The police had been under resourced, and stretched to breaking point that sorry evening. The few officers that were visible had struggled to cordon off the main shopping precincts, that, following orders from above, being their main priority. However, from North Borrington, all along the London Road, and right through to Tharston, in fact, all around this damned awful area, could only be described as a warzone. Groups of youths had roamed the streets, their lower faces disguised with scarves, free to reap havoc unopposed. People pulled from their cars, any unfortunate pedestrians still on the streets beaten and mugged, shop fronts systematically smashed in and looted, and buildings set ablaze with no thought for the safety of the poor occupants living in the flats above. What sickened him most was that so much of it had been extremely well organised. Evil ran amok that sorry night and even now, three years later, the scars were still very evident. He had been incredibly lucky, having cycled along this poxy road minutes before it all kicked off. He'd seen the groups of youths starting to congregate, and strangely enough, noticed that a lot of them had arrived on push bikes. He'd had a scarf across his mouth, as usual, because of the traffic fumes, and hadn't been in a desperate hurry, cycling along at a leisurely speed. Two youths, also on bikes, had suddenly appeared either side of him. One shouted, "This here road is marked, brov…. go find your own territory... You hearing me?"
