by Graham Smith
‘Surely the registry office at Kingussie should have picked up on this?’ Seeing Johnson’s blank look, Dave told him that they had had to send their wedding banns there.
‘We can only assume that as the real Reverend had done a wedding up there, the registry office were familiar with the name and didn’t question it. I can tell you though, that the Grampian CID are looking at this very closely and will of course be investigating how Byrne got away with this for so long.’
‘So what do we do now? Who do we speak to, to find out about what we need to do regarding our own marital status?’
‘I reckon you’d get the best information from the registry office you mentioned before. Kingussie, didn’t you say?’
The two detectives left with promises to keep Dave and Kayleigh informed as to developments.
* * * *
Two days later Johnson and Daniels returned to see the Stirzakers with some news. The Grampian police had extracted a confession from Mrs Byrne. She had killed her husband in a jealous fit after discovering his four year affair with the head housekeeper. The note had been her way of trying to shift the blame onto one of the couples her husband had falsely married.
* * * *
Three weeks after the visit from the two detectives, Dave and Kayleigh had a secret registry office wedding so that they were legally married.
Accounting for Dummies
I derived this story from a short online piece I wrote. I fleshed it out differently as I wanted to explore the causes a little further and there’s something to be said for keeping accurate and detailed accounts.
The terror in Adrian Keane’s eyes filled my heart with elation. He was after all the man who had ruined me.
‘You should buy a new car,’ he’d advised me. ‘You can claim the VAT back on work clothes,’ he’d said.
I’d been eager to agree with the accountant I’d retained to manage my company finances.
I owned and ran a construction business. It was nothing fancy, two brickies, a joiner, a sparky, two labourers and me running round organising everything while still helping whoever needed me most.
‘I think it’s time you went Limited. You will save even more on tax,’ Keane told me during one meeting. This was the best thing I’d heard since Leanne said, “I do”, five years ago.
For three years Adrian Keane kept me one step ahead of the taxman. Until a VAT inspector took a close look at some of his “fudging”.
The inspector was a weasel faced jobsworth who seemed to take great delight in summoning me and Keane to his office so he could break the bad news on his own turf.
‘I’m sorry to tell you that you owe Her Majesty’s Government thirty two thousand, six hundred and seventy four pounds, sixty three pence in back tax..’
Keane had tried to argue each point but weasel face would have none of it and told me I had fourteen days to pay or he would instigate bankruptcy proceedings.
‘I can’t pay that much so soon. All my capital is tied up.’
‘Then I suggest you untie it Mr Willoughby. If you haven’t paid within two weeks then bankruptcy proceedings will begin and you will likely be prosecuted for tax evasion.’
Shell shocked by my predicament, I had spent a week calling in every penny I was owed and managed to pay the tax bill with a day to spare. I hadn’t had time to re-mortgage my house so I’d had to sell my car and one of my vans to raise the necessary funds.
I’d made it though, and although my bank account was in the red I had enough work on my books to pull myself out of the hole.
At least that’s what I’d thought until Adrian Keane dropped his bill on my desk. The bastard had charged me for every minute of the time spent extricating my business from the shitpile his worthless advice had landed it in.
I argued with him for three weeks until he notified Company House that I hadn’t paid his bill.
The next week a letter arrived announcing that he was taking legal action against me and that if I didn’t pay his bill then I would be declared bankrupt.
With nowhere left from which to raise the eight thousand pounds he was demanding, I ended up losing everything. My house, my business, the respect of all my contacts and worst of all, Leanne left me and moved in with Keane.
Now I had him tied to a chair in the luxury apartment I’d renovated for him.
‘You’ll appreciate this Adrian,’ I said patting the shotgun.
‘One shotgun. Bought second hand online. One hundred and sixty five pounds.’
Keane struggled against the duct tape he was bound with.
‘The duct tape holding you. Three pound fifty per roll.’
He looked relieved when I opened the breech, but when I pulled a pair of twelve gauge cartridges from my pocket a damp stain spread from his groin and down his leg.
‘These cartridges? Six quid for a box from a gun shop on the edge of town.’
His eyes were locked on the breech as it snapped shut with the cartridges installed, Keane tried begging through his gag but nothing other than grunts were audible so he switched to pleading with his eyes.
‘Seeing the fear in your eyes as you sit there pissing yourself. I’d pay a grand for that.’
He struggled with such violence that he toppled the kitchen chair he was bound to and crashed onto the floor.
I righted him then put the muzzle of the shotgun in front of his tear filled eyes and tightened my forefinger. ‘Watching your brains getting blown out. Priceless.’
Suburban Combat
With most of my stories revolving around the seedier side of life I wanted to see what would happen if I pitted a couple of middle class neighbours against each other. The results surprised even me.
Becky looked at her new husband in that way women have when they want something done.
Luke put down the plates he’d lifted from the box and went to answer the door. Opening the door he found a middle aged couple standing there holding a bottle bag. Before he could speak the man proffered the bottle bag forward. ‘Hello. I’m Bernard Hattersley and this is my wife Marjorie. We live next door. This is just a little something to welcome you to the cul de sac.’
‘Thank you very much. I’m Luke Gordon. My wife Becky is inside unpacking if you’d like to come in and meet her.’
‘That would be splendid thank you.’
Luke led the couple through to the kitchen where Becky was busy filling cupboards with crockery.
‘Becky, these are our neighbours Bernard and Marjorie Hattersley.’
‘Hello there, nice to meet you.’ Becky shook hands and apologised that she couldn’t offer them a cuppa just yet as they hadn’t found the tea or coffee.
They chatted for about five minutes and then the Hattersley’s left them to continue with their unpacking.
‘They seem nice.’
‘I dunno. Bernard couldn’t take his eyes off you.’
‘Don’t be daft Luke. He’s old enough to be my father.’
‘And how old was the barmaid your Dad had the affair with?’
‘You know fine well she was in our class at school.’
‘I rest my case.’
Luke and Becky bantered all night as they worked at getting their new home into some kind of order. They both had the rest of the week off work, but they wanted to get as much done as soon as they could, so they could have a couple of days enjoying their new home before going back to work.
A procession of neighbours came to the door bearing gifts and smiling welcomes.
As they continued with their unpacking, Luke and Becky decided to have a barbecue on the Saturday evening so they could get to know their neighbours better.
The next morning Becky wrote some invitations out and put one through each letterbox in the cul de sac
* * * *
Saturday came and while Becky prepared salads, Luke went shopping for meat and booze.
The barbecue went well although Luke and Becky both felt that their neighbours were all very staid and conserv
ative in their views.
‘I see what you meant about Bernard. Three times I caught him trying to look down my dress.’
‘You got off lightly. I got a half hour lecture on keeping the garden tidy and our grass trimmed. I’m supposed to cut our side of the hedge every time he cuts his as well so that it’s neat and regular.’
‘He must have been joking. Nobody can tell you when to cut the grass.’
‘Believe me, he wasn’t joking. Apparently Bernard has been cutting our grass and hedge since the last owners moved out. He also seems to be the natural leader of the group. You should have seen the way the others all deferred to him.’
* * * *
Rising late the next morning Becky started preparing brunch while Luke went outside to finish tidying up any mess from last night’s barbecue.
Stepping out of the back door he was greeted with a cheery wave from Bernard who was cutting his already immaculate lawn.
The neighbour on the other side called Peter Kenyon was also walking back and forth and Luke could hear more mowers chugging in the distance.
When he finished he went inside, only for Becky to dispatch him to the shop for milk and bread.
As he climbed into his car Luke noticed that every man in the cul de sac was cutting their front lawns.
Twenty minutes later when he returned he saw that his neighbours had replaced their lawnmowers with washcloths and were all labouring over their cars as they washed and polished them to showroom levels of perfection.
Luke shook his head and went in to be presented with a large fried breakfast. A knock at the door interrupted him as he was wiping a piece of bread across the empty plate to soak up the egg yolk.
Stuffing the brad into his mouth he went to the front door swallowing hard to clear his mouth.
Bernard was standing alone on the doorstep twitching his pencil moustache.
‘Good afternoon Luke. Sorry to trouble you but I er… see that you haven’t cut your grass yet or washed your cars. May I ask why?’
‘Of course you can Bernard. It’s quite simple really. We haven’t bought a lawnmower yet as we haven’t got a shed to keep it in. We plan to get a shed and a lawnmower this week sometime after work.’
‘You mean you’re not getting them today?’
Luke straightened up from his position leaning on the door frame. ‘That’s right. We’ve worked hard all week moving in and today we’re having a lazy day. I trust that’s okay?’
‘Well er… I guess that would be acceptable. Provided you wash your cars at least.’
‘You’re joking me right?’
‘Absolutely not! We take our Sunday chores very seriously here in Kings Close.’
‘I’m sorry Bernard. But you’re mistaken if you think I am going to mow my lawn and wash our cars at the same time as you and everyone else. I’ll be getting a lawnmower within a week and of course I’ll use it regularly. But it will be when I decide to do it, not anyone else.’
‘But … But your cars haven’t been washed or polished.’
‘And they’re not gonna be either. I only wash them for weddings or funerals. We’re going to neither so there’s no need. Besides clean cars don’t run any better than dirty ones.’
Before Bernard could answer him Luke shut the door in his face without a goodbye.
Becky came downstairs with an armful of laundry and asked him who had been at the door.
When he told her she laughed at first and then got angry at the impertinence of Bernard expecting them to do their chores to his timetable.
‘I’m gonna go over there and tell him to keep his bloody nose out of our business.’
Knowing that his hot-headed wife could easily start an argument that may rumble on for years, Luke wrapped an arm around her waist and knocked the laundry from her hands.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m taking my wife upstairs to christen the spare bedroom.’ When Becky giggled and kissed him he continued. ‘Now hurry up and get up those stairs because the football is on soon.’
* * * *
When they returned downstairs they could here a petrol engine puttering outside. Dismissing the noise Luke settled down on the couch with a tin of beer, switched on the TV and began flicking through the channels until he tuned into the match he wanted to see.
Halfway through the first half Becky gave a shout that startled Luke and had him running upstairs towards her voice.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘Look. Just look at what that presumptuous prick is doing.’
Luke eased his wife out of the way and peered out of the window to see what she was so irate about.
‘He’s taking the piss now.’
Running downstairs he flew out of the door and confronted Bernard.
‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’
‘Maintaining the standards Kings Close expects from its residents. You are having a lazy day so I thought I’d help you out until you get your feet on the ground.’
In the face of Bernard’s pleasant smile and unthreatening demeanour Luke was lost for words.
Finding his voice he stood toe to toe with Bernard and told the elder man to get off his drive and leave his cars alone.
‘But I’m not finished with this one,’ Bernard protested.
‘Leave.’ The one word from Luke held enough menace for Bernard to gather his cloth and bucket before leaving in a hurry.
* * * *
Returning inside, Luke told Becky all about the exchange and had to physically stop her going round to give Bernard a piece of her mind.
‘It could have been worse,’ he told her.
‘How?’
‘Well he could have been making love to you, while I was washing the cars and cutting the grass.’
The clack of the letterbox interrupted her answer. Becky went to the door and came back holding a handwritten note.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s from that old sod next door. He says that the residents of Kings Close expect certain standards of exterior maintenance and that if we fail to maintain the expected standards then they will do the work themselves and send us a bill for their time.’
‘What? The cheeky bastard.’
‘Hang on, there’s more.’
‘What else has he put?’
‘He says that in the interest of friendly neighbourhood relations he won’t charge us for the work he has done today.’
‘If he sends us any bill bills then I’ll go round there and turn him into a pelican.’
Seeing his wife’s raised eyebrow he explained. ‘I’ll teach him how to stick his bill up his arse.’
* * * *
They heard no more from Bernard for the rest of the week but whenever they saw other neighbours they found themselves shunned. Nothing nasty or vindictive happened but cheery greetings and waves went unanswered. Backs were turned and frosty glances replaced the happy smiles they’d first encountered.
By the Friday they had given up trying to get on with their neighbours and instead had shopped online for the things they would need to maintain their garden.
It galled them that they were appearing to cave in to Bernard and his cronies but their desire to fit in and have a nice place to live overrode their anger. Although Luke was insistent that he would do his chores when it suited him and would not fit in with the schedule set by Bernard.
Saturday saw a small shed delivered from a local garden centre along with a lawnmower, hedge trimmer and various other gardening tools.
It was a nice day so Luke and Becky worked together and erected the shed on the flagged area at the back of their garden.
Just as they were fitting the final roof panel Bernard’s voice disturbed them.
‘Excuse me but would you mind putting your shed at the other side of the garden. It’s in Marjorie’s sight line when she’s washing dishes.’
‘But that would put it into my sight line when I’m washing dishes.�
� Becky folded her arms across her chest to block Bernard’s blatant attempts to look down her vest top.
‘Ah. Well you see we lived here first.’
‘It’s on our property Bernard, so we’ll put it where we want to. Now take you eyes off my wife’s chest and toddle back indoors. The shed is staying where it is.’
Luke and Becky soon finished the shed and had all their new purchases stowed inside. Bernard had retreated back into his own house but he could be seen watching them from an upstairs window.
‘We need to put a stop to this nonsense Luke. It’ll spoil everything if this kind of behaviour goes on.’
‘I know darling. It’s supposed to be a happy home where we can bring children up. I don’t want to fall out with all the neighbours. Especially over something as trivial as cutting the lawn.’
‘Me neither.’
‘We should go round and see him to patch things up. Explain to him that we’ll cut the grass and hedge regularly. Just on our schedule, not theirs.’
‘I’ll put on that dress you like. He’ll be so busy looking at my legs he’ll agree to whatever you say.’
‘I’d much rather you didn’t. Him leching at you get’s right up my nose. I think you’d be better wearing jeans and a baggy top.’
‘Don’t you want to show me off?’
‘Showing you off is one thing. Putting you on display is another. If that old perv isn’t careful I’m likely to clock him one.’
‘Jeans and jumper it is then.’ Becky sensed Luke was serious and she needed him to be calm and focused when they went round to Bernard and Marjorie’s. It was no use taking an olive branch if it ended up as a weapon.
An hour later they were stood on their neighbour’s doorstep waiting for someone to answer their knock.
Bernard answered the door and when he saw who it was a scowl crossed his face. ‘What do you want?’
