False Wall

by Veronica Heley

  ‘I came to apologize for the disruption,’ said Bea, hoping they’d invite her to sit down. ‘Apart from the problem of the wall, we had a fire next door. You must have seen it.’

  ‘Who is it?’ said the man. Alzheimer’s? Deaf?

  ‘We saw,’ said the woman. ‘And heard. I understand you set the fire to cover up the earlier damage, right?’

  ‘What?’ Bea was shocked. ‘No!’

  ‘We’re sending the bill to you, right?’

  ‘Who?’ said the old man, cupping his hand round his ear.

  They were sending the bill to her? For what? Bea wondered if she were going to fall down, or just faint or … perhaps she could just lie down on the floor and rest for a bit … ‘Why should you think—?’

  ‘The Admiral told us that’s what we have to do. You’re not getting away with it. Damages, as well. The shock to my husband’s heart.’

  ‘What is it you think I’m getting away with?’

  ‘What?’ said the old man.

  ‘Don’t pull that innocent face with me. It’s your respon- sibility, and there’s no way you can wriggle out of it. All bills to you, right?’

  A grinding, coughing noise started up somewhere, drowning speech. The woman shouted, ‘Oh, this is too much! Banging and crashing all day, and now …’ She rushed to the window overlooking the back garden and slammed the French windows shut. The noise muted, decreasing to a purr … rose to a crunching howl … and back to a purr.

  ‘Tree cutting,’ said the old man, hearing that noise perfectly. ‘I used to like using a chainsaw in the old days. I was a giant, if I say so myself.’

  Bea ventured to look over the woman’s shoulder down into their garden, which was of similar size and shape to her own, though not as well looked after as hers had been. There was an untidy pile of bricks where the wall they’d shared with the Admiral had fallen at the end of their garden, and also where it had brought down part of the wall they shared with Bea.

  A large man was in her own garden, attacking the fallen tree with a chainsaw, assisted by a twelve-year-old boy and his mother. All three were kitted out with safety glasses, and helmets.

  Hari didn’t do anything by halves, did he!

  ‘How good of them,’ said Bea. ‘That’s Zander, my sort-of-adopted daughter’s husband. She said they’d be over to help, but I didn’t realize they were going to start on the tree today.’

  ‘Well, tell them to stop it!’

  It was Bea’s turn to say, ‘What!’

  The woman gesticulated. ‘My bridge party. In half an hour I expect to have fifteen of my closest friends here for a charity bridge party, and I cannot have that racket going on. You must stop it, at once!’

  The old man said, ‘I used to cut up the logs when we had a wood-burning stove in the country at weekends. You remember that, Gayle?’

  Gayle leaned towards Bea, until Bea could smell her hairspray. ‘You will stop that noise, now, this minute!’

  Bea looked steadily back at her. ‘I understand that the noise is a nuisance, and I apologize for it. I hope it won’t be too distressing for your guests, but I have to take advantage of my friends’ help when they can give it. That tree has got to be cut up and removed as soon as possible. My friends and I have been working hard all day so that I can reopen the agency again tomorrow morning. I do realize this has caused you some inconvenience – the noise, the double parking – but if I’d done nothing, if I’d sat back and waited for builders and tree surgeons and the like, the noise and the disruption would have taken place over a much longer time, and put my staff out of work. This way it’s going to be all over quickly, and my staff will still have a job to go to tomorrow morning. It won’t be perfect, but it will be possible.’

  The old man said, ‘He’s making a good job of it. Taking the logs out through the house, are you? Gayle, can we burn logs here?’

  ‘No, we can’t.’ She turned back to Bea. ‘For the last time, will you shut off that racket?’

  Bea shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. No, I can’t.’

  The man had his hands on the catch to the windows. ‘Open up, Gayle! I want to go down and help him.’

  Gayle turned on Bea. ‘Now look what you’ve done! Let yourself out, will you? And remember what I said. If you don’t shut off that racket, I’ll put the damages on my bill!’

  Bea left. She felt like having a good weep.

  A woman was standing on her own doorstep. Fortyish, slim, business-like. ‘You the householder? I’m from The Gazette. Can you confirm that there was a fire here last night?’

  ‘The local newspaper? That’s quick.’ Bea plodded up the steps. ‘Yes, there was a fire.’

  ‘Was there much damage? Would it be possible for me to take a picture or two?’

  ‘I suppose so. Look, I’m dying for a cuppa. Why don’t you come in and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  At this moment, big Zander – Maggie’s husband – came up the steps from the basement with a load of chopped-up greenery, closely followed by a grinning twelve-year-old boy and his mother, Betty. All three of them were laughing. ‘Hi, there, Mrs A!’ said Zander. ‘We’ll stack the logs at the top of the steps here until we can get the truck round to collect it, right?’

  ‘Bless you, all of you,’ said Bea, moved almost to tears.

  The journalist raised her hand, and flash, flash … pictures were taken.

  Zander protested. ‘Hang about! What’s with the picture-taking?’

  A glinting smile from the journalist. ‘Your family? Son and grandson, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Bea. ‘Oh, this is getting complicated. Thanks, Zander; you’re a real hero. And, Betty, I love the hard hats! Come on in, Ms …? And I’ll try to explain.’

  The woman followed Bea into the hall. There was still grime everywhere. ‘Mind your clothes,’ said Bea, leading the way to the kitchen. Where was Dilys? Hadn’t she offered to make some tea? But a cable had snaked its way into the kitchen through the half-open door – the new door – so perhaps the kettle did work. And, hurray! There were thermos flasks and bottled water and packs of biscuits on the table.

  Winston was already pawing at the biscuits. ‘Shoo!’ said Bea. And he shooed. Temporarily.

  Suddenly, Bea realized how thirsty she was. She grabbed one of the bottles of water and glugged it down.

  The journalist had only got as far as the sitting-room door. ‘I thought your office was in the basement.’

  ‘It was,’ said Bea. She’d had enough water and craved tea. ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘June Jolly. And you are Mrs Abbot, the owner of an agency which I understand you are running without planning permission?’

  Bea gave her a straight look. ‘Where did you get that from? Everything is legal. My husband’s aunts founded the agency in the last century and the family have run it ever since.’

  The woman bared white – very white, too white? – teeth in what was meant to be a smile. ‘I understand that the matter is to be brought up in Council—’

  Do I detect the fell hand of the Admiral? Could be. But best not to point the finger.

  ‘Not that I’m aware.’ Bea sought for and found a couple of fairly clean mugs and ran them under the tap to rinse them out, then switched on the kettle – no, it didn’t respond. She popped some tea bags into the mugs and poured hot water from one of the thermoses, wondering whether or not she should take some aspirin for her headache now, or wait till she’d eaten something. It seemed a long time since lunch at Anna’s house.

  ‘I’d heard,’ said June, ‘that you were not doing too well financially, and haven’t managed to maintain your property as you should.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean? Oh, the fall of the wall? Well, you can see for yourself why it came down.’ She waved her hand to the kitchen door. ‘Have a look. It was ivy that brought it down. I don’t like ivy, and always cut it back when it encroaches on my garden, as you can see from the remains of my walls. The gardens on either side are
full of it. Someone pulled off the ivy from the other side of the wall at the end of my garden. There was a chain reaction which brought the lot down. My mother always used to say that ivy would take over the world, if not kept under control. Take what photos you like.’

  She opened the fridge door. The fridge was working again, hurray. One empty milk carton, and two full. Dilys had said she’d get milk, hadn’t she? Good for Dilys.

  The woman looked. ‘What’s this tree that they’re cutting up?’

  ‘A mature sycamore which grew at the bottom of my garden. It was brought down by the wall falling on it. We have pictures, if you need them, and I suppose the insurance people took some, too. I’ll give you the name of the insurance company, if you like. Sugar? A biscuit, if I can find some? I’m afraid we’re all at sixes and sevens. Some of my friends have come in to help but we still don’t have the power back on properly.’

  June gave Bea a hard glance. ‘Can you confirm that you had a fire here last night?’ Her gaze swept round the room. She ran a finger across the top of the nearest unit and held it up for inspection. ‘You must admit there was a fire.’

  ‘Of course.’ Bea had found the biscuit tin which was empty. In her experience, workmen could get through half a pack of biscuits each in five minutes or less. She emptied two packs of biscuits into the tin and hid the third at the back of the cupboard. She selected two chocolate digestive biscuits from the tin, placed them together, chocolate side in, and munched. Ah, that was good. She took a gulp of tea. Felt marginally better. The chainsaw started up again in the garden. Zander and Co. were having fun, weren’t they?

  Where was everyone else? Dilys? Hari and Anna? Was Keith still around?

  June said, in a silky voice, ‘I understand you have a cash-flow problem?’

  ‘What?’ Bea shook her head to clear it. ‘I’ve been saying “What!” all day. I still don’t understand why all this is happening. No, we don’t have a cash-flow problem. Let me tell you what I know. Yesterday evening, while I was out and the house was empty, someone broke the window below which gives on to what used to be my office in the basement. They must somehow have got into my garden over the remains of the wall, which had fallen down the day before. Having broken the window into my office, they poured an accelerant into the room and set it alight. The firemen broke down the front door to get into the house, and put out the flames. Don’t rely on my testimony. Ask them.’

  Another hard, assessing stare.

  Bea pushed the biscuit tin towards June. ‘Help yourself. No, I don’t have a cash-flow problem. In fact, we’re doing rather well. Where on earth did you get that idea from?’

  ‘We heard your house was up for sale.’

  TEN

  Bea inadvertently took a step back. ‘What! No! No! I cannot believe this. What is going on? Who said my house was up for sale?’

  June pursed her lips. ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. So, you deny that your house is up for sale? You deny that you have a cash-flow problem, you deny that you set a fire for the insurance, and you deny that you are responsible for the destruction of a party wall?’

  Bea bit back the urge to scream. ‘Yes, I do. Where on earth did you get these wild stories?’ It occurred to her that, if the newspaper printed a story accusing her of multiple offences, followed by a simple rebuttal from her without giving any evidence to back it up, readers would conclude that she was guilty.

  Bea’s thoughts flew across two gardens to Admiral Payne’s house, wondering whether it were he or she … probably him?… who had been responsible for these allegations. He’d certainly primed her neighbours to accuse her of damaging their walls. But, if she pointed the finger at them without proof, they would retaliate by accusing Leon of child abuse.

  She chose her words with care. ‘I’m asking you to look at the evidence and to judge for yourself.’

  June eyed Bea closely. ‘We received an anonymous tip-off from a concerned neighbour.’

  Bea shook her head. ‘I don’t think you’d go to all the trouble of calling on me if it was just an anonymous tip-off. You must know who your informant was, and have enough respect for him or her to take what they said seriously. You asked me for a comment on your story and I have given you one. Now you have a choice. Go back and write the story you’ve been fed or look at the facts. But if you print false information, rest assured that I will sue the pants off you. Understood?’

  June got to her feet. She went to the open door and would have stepped out on to the iron balcony if Bea hadn’t stopped her.

  ‘Don’t go out there! The flames went up the side of the house. The staircase will have to be tested before we use it again.’

  June looked out over the gardens. A nice sunny day. The happy growl of the chainsaw filled the air, accompanied by the merry shouts of the trio working to clear the tree away.

  June said, ‘Who are those people? How did you get contractors to work here on a Sunday?’

  ‘They’re not contractors. They’re friends. Which reminds me! Hold on a mo, and then I’ll show you around.’ Bea skated back to the main room, which was now the office, and put her head through the door. ‘Keith, are you there?’

  Keith and Anna had their heads together over a laptop on the big table in the window. ‘Yes …?’ He held up his hand to hold her attention. ‘Mrs A, we’ve got the data back down from the Cloud but—’

  ‘Bless you, but I’ve just thought. We’ve no landlines yet, have we? No, I thought not. We ought to send out an email to all our customers and clients, and to our staff, saying that all telephone calls should go through my mobile phone – perhaps give two phone numbers? – until further notice?’

  Anna said, ‘Good thinking. Would Carrie come back to help us on this?’

  ‘I have no idea. Possibly not.’ Bea handed her own phone over. ‘Use mine for a start, and I’ll ask Betty if she’d like to help you. She’s probably had enough of being a lumberjack by now.’

  Keith said, ‘Maggie’s upstairs, too. Dunno what she’s doing.’

  So Maggie had come with Zander as she’d threatened to? Bless her cotton socks!

  Back to basics. Bea called out to June to follow her, and took the stairs to the basement.

  ‘Phew!’ said June, encountering the damp, the dimness and the odour of fire in what had been the main office. The furniture had gone, as had the carpet. The floor still felt tacky, and the room was more like a smoke-lined dragon’s cave than an office.

  ‘Tell me about it!’ said Bea. ‘Through here … this is what used to be my office and – careful, Zander has had to break down the grille over the French windows to get into the garden! – and here’s what used to be the garden.’ She was surprised how much of the tree had already been removed. The boy was not – she was pleased to see – being allowed to operate a chainsaw himself, but was taking cut lengths of wood over to his mother, who was stacking them in neat piles.

  Bea raised her voice. ‘Betty, can you take a break? We need to update our customer and staff address book, and give everyone a couple of mobile phone numbers to use for the time being. We can use mine for a start. Also, I found a couple of mobiles in the desks when I cleared them. Perhaps one of them is still usable? If not, perhaps we could use yours for an hour or two, all expenses paid?’

  With some thankfulness, Betty abandoned her task. ‘I’ll come straight away.’

  Her son was not happy. ‘Aw, Mum! I don’t have to stop, do I?’

  Hari swung his chainsaw in the air. ‘I’ll look after him, missus.’

  June was taking pictures. ‘I see you have quite a few bird feeders out here and a birdbath, too. And were those stone planters filled with flowers? And shrubs around the walls?’

  ‘I am trying not to think about how it used to look,’ said Bea, distractedly. She was sure she’d forgotten to do something desperately important, to talk to someone, go somewhere … but she couldn’t think what it was. First off, she must deal with this importunate journalist. ‘If you nee
d pictures for comparison, we took some snaps a couple of weeks ago when we had a barbecue party here for Dilys’s birthday, and I could get them out for you – if I can get them off my computer. Oh. My computer’s imploded. But if we can get the stuff back down from the Cloud …’

  ‘Who is Dilys?’

  Dilys: that’s who she’d forgotten. Dilys was heavily pregnant. In fact, both she and Maggie were, but Maggie could take care of herself while Dilys was such a silly little twit in some ways she’d probably not tell anyone even if her waters had broken. So where was she? Upstairs? Bea turned back into the house, explaining to the journalist, ‘Dilys is Sir Leon Holland’s niece, who is married to Keith, our wonderful IT man. If we’re back on line tomorrow, it will entirely be due to him. I’m worried about her. I’d better go and check. She may be with Maggie—’

  ‘Who is Maggie?’

  ‘My sort of adopted daughter. She was one of my lodgers, and is now married to Zander, the man who’s perched on the top of the tree at the moment. She’s a magnificent project manager but also heavily pregnant. I don’t know which of them is due first, Dilys or Maggie, but I think I’d better find them, wherever they are, and tell them to stop whatever they’re doing.’

  June stopped and gestured to the garden. ‘Do you mind if I take a few pictures here?’

  ‘Be my guest.’ Bea was desperate to check on the two girls. The quickest way would be up the iron spiral staircase to the first floor, but she’d just told June not to use it and she mustn’t do so, either. Suppose it were to collapse while she was on her way up!

  Back through the dank space that used to be their office she went, and up the inside stairs, with Betty at her heels. Betty said she’d just wash her hands and then she’d see what she could do to with the spare phones …

  … which made Bea worry about the water situation. Was the water still on? Was the cable from the generator connected to the water heater so that they could wash in hot water and where, oh where were Maggie and Dilys, and what were they up to? Neither girl was anywhere to be seen on the ground floor.