My Neighbours Are Stealing My Mail

by Ian Edwards

  ‘Yeah, and I want to see if I can get to ride in the front seat on the way back.’

  ‘You could act your age, you know.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to get any older, so there’s that,’ Frankie laughed.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Alan replied and made his way to where Sarah was handing the train driver a card.

  Chapter 5

  Sarah paused at the entrance to the council offices, phone clamped to her ear. ‘Sorry can you repeat that.’

  She stepped away from the revolving door listening carefully to the response.

  ‘It was your guy Ned who was performing here last night,’ the manager of the comedy boutique explained. ‘He brought the house down.’

  ‘Really?’ Sarah said, surprised. Ned was one of her long standing clients whose act consisted of him juggling hedge trimmers while delivering corny puns. Although he had been known to be mildly amusing on occasion, the sporadic applause he usually received was one of relief from those in the front row who had survived being maimed by flying gardening equipment.

  ‘I’m afraid he had a bit of an accident.’

  ‘What happened?’ She asked. ‘One hedge trimmer too many?’

  ‘Actually no,’ the manager laughed. ‘He hadn’t allowed for the slightly low ceiling. He hurled his first hedge trimmer upwards which caught in the ceiling. When he tried to pull it out he brought the ceiling down.’

  Sarah sighed. ‘Was he hurt?’

  ‘It took the fire brigade fifteen minutes to dig him out, but he was conscious when they took him to hospital.’

  Not for the first time Sarah wondered whether Ned should be encouraged to retire his act. ‘OK, thanks for letting me know,’ she said and added as an afterthought, ‘Was anyone else hurt?’

  ‘No. They were just a bit dusty. Most people thought it was part of the show. ‘Anyway, could you thank him for me and I’ll be in touch when the place reopens.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Sarah asked. ‘You’d like to rebook him?’

  ‘Oh yes. Once the insurance pays out I’ll be having the whole place renovated. It wouldn’t have been possible without Ned.’

  Sarah ended the call and, still shaking her head, entered the council offices.

  *

  Sarah had a very strict rule when it came to work. She was adamant that being an agent and manager to her clients would not encroach on her day job for the Arts Council. As such she dismissed all thoughts of Ned and his hedge trimming antics as she entered the council offices.

  Following the directions given to her by the reception staff, she made her way to the first floor meeting room.

  ‘Sarah.’

  Sarah saw Kris, her boss, as soon as she entered the room. He gestured at the empty seats surrounding the table.

  ‘Grab yourself a coffee and we can get started,’ he said.

  Sarah smiled at the two men already seated, poured herself a coffee from the pot in the centre of the table and sat down.

  ‘OK everyone,’ Kris said. ‘Thanks for giving up your time this afternoon. I know you’re all very busy so I’ll keep this as short as possible.’

  Sarah looked around the table at her fellow attendees; Kris sat alongside her, the other two men directly opposite. The man on the left, David Crozier, was the liaison between the Local Authority and the Arts Council. Sarah had met him on numerous occasions and always left feeling like she needed a shower. Typically, Crozier was leaning back in his seat, appearing thoroughly disinterested, trying to discreetly to look at his phone under the table.

  The man to the right, Ralph Hander, was busy separating a wad of papers into four bundles. He smiled at Sarah and went back to his papers. Hander’s company had been awarded the contract for the refurbishment of the Merton Palace Theatre.

  Sarah gave a little wave. ‘Hi guys.’

  ‘Mr Hander would you like to bring us up to date?’ Kris asked.

  ‘Thanks Kris,’ Hander said, standing. An act Sarah found a bit silly given there were only four of them in the room. ‘OK ladies and gents, to briefly recap, my firm has been responsible for the refurbishment of the Merton Palace Theatre.’ He paused and took a sip of water. ‘Since October we’ve worked closely with the Local Authority,’ he smiled at Crozier who ignored him, ‘and the architects to deliver the project on time…’

  ‘Can you cut to the chase?’ Crozier interrupted. ‘Are you going to be finished on time and on budget?’

  ‘Ah, well, you see there’s no easy to answer to that. There are many variables,’ Hander said awkwardly.

  ‘Why not? What variables?’ Crozier snapped.

  ‘Any problems that we should be aware of?’ Kris asked.

  ‘Not really…’ Hander paused. ‘It’s simply that I’m having trouble retaining staff, which means that progress is slower than we expected.’

  ‘Any reason for that?’ Kris asked.

  Hander shrugged. ‘Not that I’m aware of. We offer a good rate of pay, offer benefits and haven’t lost any employees in a work related incident for months.’ He handed out a bundle of papers around the table. ‘This is a report on where we are and a revised date for completion.’

  Kris and Sarah looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

  ‘I thought we’d agreed on a completion date?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I’ve had to tweak it slightly,’ Hander said. ‘Not by much, and it doesn’t impact on your proposed opening date.’

  Crozier pursed his lips. ‘It does seem to be drifting a little.’

  Hander held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘It’ll be completed in time, don’t worry.’

  Kris scratched his chin. ‘I think I’d feel more comfortable if we had a greater presence on site.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘Sarah, can you make the theatre project your priority. Work closely with Mr. Hander? Let’s try and keep this project on track.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘OK.’ She turned to Hander. ‘How about a walk through the site first thing tomorrow?’

  ‘That’ll be fine,’ he said.

  ‘David. Do you want to join us?’ Sarah asked. ‘In case we need council input.’

  Crozier shrugged and replied with a sigh. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Kris said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. ‘Let’s get this project finished and the theatre open again.’

  *

  Crozier stormed into his office, slamming the door behind him. ‘Bloody Hell!’ He said, dropping down into his chair.

  ‘Meeting not go well?’

  Crozier looked over at Alison, his secretary, who was standing in the corner of the room, her head and wrists secured into a Pillory.

  ‘Do you know what those idiots have done now?’ He said.

  Alison shook her head as best she could, considering it was restrained by a large wooden board. ‘What idiots?

  ‘Those idiots at the Arts Council have decided to get more involved in the theatre project and thought it would be a good idea if I went on an inspection walk round the site tomorrow morning… It’s not like I haven’t got anything better to do.’

  ‘To be fair,’ Alison said, ‘you are the Local Authority liaison for these types of project.’

  Crozier scowled at her. As annoyed as he was, he knew she was right. A few months earlier the Local Authority had had an internal reorganisation and Crozier – Head of Commercial Planning (as he liked to tell people) had found himself with significantly more to do but with no increase in pay.

  Irritated by his secretary’s unarguable logic, he reached into a bucket of water that was on the floor next to his chair, took out a sodden sponge and threw it at her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her blond hair plastered to her face. ‘I was getting a bit thirsty.’

  Chapter 6

  Sarah walked along the High Street, following the curve in the road as the Merton Palace Theatre came into view. She felt incredibly proud of the role she had played in saving the theatre from the plans of a property developer. Although it was currently in a s
tate of refurbishment and concealed behind eight foot tall plywood hoardings, she had seen the plans for the refurbished site and was excited about the future.

  Graffiti scrawled across the hoardings drew Sarah’s attention as she walked past – she doubted that what Gazza wanted to do to Beverley was physically possible and apparently Robbie was a homo. Shaking her head, she briefly wondered whether it was worth return late at night and adding Sapien to the barely legible scrawl. She was sure that would completely confuse the Banksy wannabe.

  Sarah followed the hoardings until she came to the stage door, the only part of the theatre that remained accessible. Crozier was leaning against the hoarding looking at his phone. He nodded at Sarah.

  ‘Morning,’ she said. ‘Hander not here yet?’

  ‘He’s over there,’ Crozier said, nodding at a white transit van parked on the kerb. Sarah looked over and could see Hander in what appeared to be an intense conversation with a workman.

  ‘That looks serious,’ she said

  Crozier shrugged. ‘They’ve been at it since I got here. Neither of them look very happy.’

  They both watched as the workman stormed off.

  ‘Everything OK?’ Sarah asked as Hander came over to them.

  ‘Yeah fine,’ he said, clearly distracted. ‘Let me show you over the site.’

  Sarah and Crozier exchanged glances and followed Hander into the theatre.

  *

  They followed Hander through the dusty passage ways and corridors of the theatre, their shoes making squeaking noises on the plastic boards laid on the floor. Sarah shuddered briefly at the slight drop in temperature, the polythene covering the walls undulating as she passed. She had seen gradual improvements each time she visited, but for some reason this time it didn’t feel like any progress had been made. There was something strange about the theatre this time, though she couldn’t work out what made this visit different.

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be much work going on,’ Crozier said as they climbed a flight of stairs.

  ‘That’s it,’ Sarah exclaimed. ‘I knew this seemed different to my previous visits, there’s no sound.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Every time I’ve been here before you could hear sawing, drilling, hammering. You know, the sounds of workmen,’ she explained.

  ‘Today nothing,’ Crozier said. ‘Unless they’re having a late breakfast?’

  Sarah looked at her watch. ‘A very late breakfast.’

  The theatre’s entrance foyer had been taken over as the centre of operations. Plans of the theatre showing several different views had been stuck to the walls while a scale model of the theatre sat on a table in the centre of the foyer.

  ‘Welcome to the centre of operations,’ Hander announced as they stepped into the foyer.

  Sarah watched as a man with a heavily bandaged hand pinned a notice to the wall advising visitors that they must adhere to the health and safety regulations. He stepped back, looked at the notice and, satisfied with his handiwork, disappeared back into the box office which now served as the site office.

  ‘Tea’s up,’ Hander said, emerging from the site office with a tray of hot drinks. He put the tray down on the table, sliding the model theatre precariously close to the edge. Sarah instinctively reached out to prevent the model falling off the edge of the table.

  ‘Help yourself,’ he said, nodding at three chipped mugs full of warm milky tea.

  ‘There’s not many people around,’ Crozier said from a corner where he had been examining the rolls of polythene sheeting.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hander said.

  ‘I expected it busier than this,’ Sarah said. ‘When I’ve been here before there were workmen all over the place.’

  ‘They’re having breakfast,’ Hander told them, reaching for a mug. ‘There’s a café just down the road, does a great fry-up.’

  ‘Everyone?’ Crozier asked.

  ‘Not everyone, no. Fingers is still here.’

  Sarah and Crozier exchanged looks.

  ‘Fingers!’ Hander yelled. ‘Get out here.’

  The man with the heavily bandaged hand reappeared from the office. ‘Yes boss?’

  ‘It’s alright, Fingers,’ Hander placated him. ‘These people were concerned about the lack of workmen.’

  ‘They’re at breakfast boss,’ Fingers confirmed.

  ‘You see,’ Hander said smugly, turning back to Sarah and Crozier. ‘Everything’s fine.’

  Fingers crept back to the office shutting the door behind him.

  ‘He’s a good lad,’ Hander explained. ‘Been with me since he was an apprentice.’ Hander paused, ‘and had a complete set of fingers.’

  ‘Not too good with a saw is he?’ Crozier asked.

  Hander laughed. ‘No, he’s not the best. He’s probably the most accident prone chippy I’ve ever known. We still haven’t found the last finger he lost.’ He took a swig of tea. ‘It’s around here somewhere…I’m sure it’ll turn up eventually. Probably in the place you least expect.’ He gestured at the tray. ‘Drink your tea before it gets cold.’

  Sarah frowned at the chipped mugs. ‘I’m fine thanks, I had one before I came out.’

  Crozier simply shook his head and went back to examining the polythene.

  Sarah wandered over to the plans. ‘So where exactly are we?’

  ‘This is the foyer, we’ve taken over the ticket office for the site office…’

  ‘She means where we are in respect of the completion date,’ Crozier interrupted.

  ‘Oh right, sorry,’ Hander said, shuffling over to the plans. ‘This one,’ he jabbed a finger at the first plan on the wall. ‘This is phase yellow. We completed that three months ago.’ He pointed at the next plan which looked identical to the previous one, but in purple. ‘This is the purple phase which we hope to have finished within the next two months. We’ll then be left with …’

  ‘What is it with all the colour references?’ Crozier interrupted again. ‘This isn’t a Lego building. I can’t go back to the council and say that we’ve done yellow, nearly finished purple and we’re starting turquoise next month. They won’t know what I’m talking about, and neither will I.’

  ‘It’s green,’ Hander said.

  ‘What is?’ Crozier asked, confused.

  ‘The last phase. It’s green. You said it was turquoise. It’s not. It’s green. That’s probably why you’re confused.’ Hander turned to the third plan. ‘Look, its green not turquoise.’

  Sarah watched as Crozier’s face turned a shade of purple, matching the current construction phase.

  ‘Can you just tell us what’s been done, what’s left to do and when you hope to finish it?’ Sarah said attempting to diffuse the situation.

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Without using colours,’ she interrupted.

  Hander turned his back on the plans. ‘We’ve replaced the electrics and the plumbing, opened up the back staircase and made safe the structure. We’ve still to refurbish the auditorium and convert the cellars to performance studios.’

  ‘How long will that take?’ Crozier asked.

  ‘All being well, six months.’

  ‘And I can take that back to the council?’

  ‘Oh yes, no problem,’ Hander confirmed.

  Sarah looked at Crozier for a reaction, who simply nodded.

  ‘OK then Mr Hander, thank you for your time,’ Sarah said. ‘We’ll leave you to get on with things.’

  Sarah and Crozier said their goodbyes and made their way back through the theatre.

  ‘What do you think?’ Sarah asked as they left the theatre and made their along the road.

  ‘A man obsessed with colours and a clumsy carpenter with less than the normal number of fingers. I can’t see any reason to worry.’

  Sarah grinned. ‘I’m still puzzled by the lack of work going on though.’

  ‘Didn’t you buy his explanation that they were off having breakfast?’ Crozier asked.

  ‘
Not really. I wasn’t sure at the time and now I’m convinced it wasn’t true.’

  ‘Why?’ Crozier asked.

  Sarah put her hand on his arm causing him to stop. ‘Look in there,’ she said, pointing inside a café window. ‘It’s where Hander said his men had gone to.’

  Crozier looked through the window. ‘What about it?’

  Sarah looked up at him. ‘It’s empty.’

  *

  Hander and Fingers stood at the top of a staircase looking down. Hander tried the light switch several times without any success. Sighing, he handed Fingers a torch.

  ‘You’d better take this.’

  Fingers made no effort to take the proffered item. ‘The men aren’t coming back are they?’ He asked.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Hander replied. ‘But the agency has promised to send me a dozen replacements. They should be here tomorrow.’

  Fingers nodded, still showing no interest in the torch.

  ‘In the meantime you and I will just have to go down there and sort out the electrics.’ He offered the torch again. ‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘You first.’

  ‘Why do I have to go first?’ Fingers asked, not unreasonably.

  ‘With your track record for accidents I don’t want you following me down these stairs. If…’ Hander corrected himself, ‘when you slip, I don’t want you knocking me down arse over tip.’

  Fingers tentatively reached out and took the torch from his employer. He switched it on and fanned the light out. An illuminated disc of yellow shone on a very dark and very dusty flight of stairs spiralling to the right, making it impossible to see the bottom.

  ‘Go on then,’ Hander urged.

  Fingers took a step onto the first step and paused. ‘Listen,’ he hissed.

  The two men looked at each other as they heard what sounded like a ball rolling down stairs. Fingers thrust the torch nervously toward the sound, the light shaking slightly, revealing nothing.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Fingers said.

  Hander confirmed that he had.

  ‘It sounded like a ball, you know, one of those cheap plastic footballs you get bouncing up and down.’

  ‘It can’t be a football, this isn’t a gym,’ Hander said, less confident now.