My Neighbours Are Stealing My Mail

by Ian Edwards

  Rosie looked at the empty microwave cartons and shook her head. ‘Oh Alan,’ she said. ‘You really know how to spoil a girl.’

  ‘I know, I am the James Bond of romance,’ he replied, the faint stirrings of an idea forming in his fairly tipsy mind.

  Chapter 9

  Alan sat at his usual corner table at The Cloven Hoof mulling over his most recent performance. He thought it had gone fairly well. He’d stumbled a couple of times, but it was a totally new routine and he wasn’t going to beat himself up too much. Besides, the routine was increasingly based upon his current living arrangements, and that allowed for a certain amount of improvisation. And it was the improvised bits that had worked the best.

  He looked up at the sound of the bar door opening and saw James, who pointed at Alan’s pint. Alan grinned and gave James a thumbs up.

  A minute or so later, James wandered over to their usual table clutching two pints and a piece of paper. ‘Alright mate,’ he said to Alan. ‘Alright Frankie,’ he nodded to the empty chair next to Alan.

  ‘Don’t bother mate, he’s not here,’ Alan replied, sliding his new pint across the table.

  ‘He’s not been around much these last few weeks, do you think he’s finally, you know…’ James nodded to his left.

  ‘Do I think he’s finally…what?’ Alan mimicked James’ nodding.

  ‘You know,’ James nodded again.

  ‘I really don’t mate. What are you talking about?’

  ‘You know,’ more nodding. ‘Crossing over. To the other side.’

  ‘The other side?’

  ‘Yeah. Heaven. Or Hell.’

  Alan grinned. ‘You’re bonkers, you know that, right?’ he told his friend. ‘I wish he was crossing over. I’d finally get some peace and quiet. No, he’s still checking in, but he’s not the constant pain in my arse he was a while ago.’

  James smirked. ‘I’ll have to tell Frankie you liken him to a case of the ‘Farmers’. He’ll like that. Anyway, how are you? How was the other night? Sorry I couldn’t come, but, you know, Amy insisted I muck out Charlie.’

  Alan nodded as though his friend owning a llama called Charlie was the most natural thing in the world. ‘It went OK, I think,’ Alan replied. ‘You know I’m trying out new material, about living with Rosie? Well, that was a bit bland and I didn’t get much reaction so I had a bit of a rant about my mail. That seemed to work quite well, so I’m thinking about writing some stuff about that instead.’

  ‘You mentioned that the other day. You still not getting any?’ James sniggered.

  Alan returned James’s grin, appreciating the double entendre.

  ‘You sure you’re expecting anything?’ James asked his friend. ‘I mean, it could just be you’re not very popular.’

  ‘I thought about that, but I thought I’d get stuff like Council Tax and other Government demands with menaces. But no, nothing. So I was having a pop at the Post Office, when I started riffing on my funny neighbours. You know, the lesbians. Then I wondered if they’d stolen my mail. The more I talked about it, the more sense it made.’

  ‘Are Rosie’s neighbours lesbians, then?’ James asked, eyebrows raised.

  ‘OK, that’s what you take from this? I’m not getting any letters and you’re asking about Rosie’s neighbours.’

  ‘I was just asking. What would they want with your mail? Sounds a bit of a stretch.’

  ‘They don’t like me,’ Alan said.

  ‘Probably because you call them lesbians.’

  ‘Not to their face I don’t.’

  ‘Well, that’s alright then. Do you have any evidence?’

  ‘That they’re stealing my mail? No, but I wouldn’t put it past them. They look the type.’

  ‘Lesbians?’

  ‘No, they just look shifty.’

  ‘And what does Rosie say?’ James asked, not unreasonably.

  ‘She thinks I’m being unreasonable. She thinks they’re lovely. But she thinks everyone’s lovely…’

  ‘Except Sarah,’ James added.

  ‘Yeah, except Sarah. Look, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced of it.’

  ‘OK, let’s say I agree with you. What are you going to do about it? You can’t just accuse them of theft. You need evidence. Proof.’

  ‘How am I going to get that?’ Alan asked, taking a sip of his pint.

  ‘I dunno. Have you contacted the utility companies to see if they’ve sent any bills? That would be a start.’

  ‘I use Direct Debit. There’s no bills.’

  ‘If you use Direct Debit, you won’t get any mail. Isn’t that the point?’

  Alan shrugged.

  ‘OK, anything else? What about your subscription to Bouncy Ladies Monthly?’ James grinned.

  ‘It was cancelled when my cheque bounced,’ Alan replied. ‘I don’t know. If you’d asked me last week, I would have laughed. Now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘You’re going to need some kind of proof, I’m afraid. Anyway, changing the subject, have you seen this?’ James passed Alan the sheet of paper he’d carried from the bar.

  ‘A quiz night? Here? We’d be the only ones entering.’

  ‘Exactly, we’re bound to win.’ James said.

  Alan laughed. ‘Yeah, why not. Should we ask Rosie and Amy?’

  ‘It might be best. Unless all the questions are about Music or Football, we might be screwed.’

  ‘Language,’ said Frankie, materializing in the seat next to Alan, making him jump.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Alan said. ‘A bit of warning would be nice.’

  ‘You should be used to it by now, son,’ Frankie said. ‘You two in the pub again, I see. You know you have wives and girlfriends at home, right?’

  ‘That’s exactly why we’re here,’ Alan grinned.

  ‘Evening Frankie,’ James lifted his pint to what appeared to him to be an empty chair.

  ‘Alright, big man,’ Frankie replied.

  ‘Frankie says hello,’ Alan said.

  ‘So, what have I missed?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘Well, we’ve been discussing whether my neighbours are stealing my mail.’

  Frankie shook his head. ‘Which ones? Not the old couple, surely…’

  ‘No, the other side.’

  ‘Oh, the two young ladies. I’ve seen them about. They seem really nice. What would they want with your mail? Seems a bit of a stretch.’

  ‘That’s what James said. But what else could it be?’

  ‘As I said before, you’re not the easiest bloke to get on with. Are you sure you’ve had any letters? It might be that you’re just not someone who people want to contact.’

  ‘James said that as well,’ Alan admitted.

  ‘There you go, then. Problem solved. Now, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’

  ‘Hang on a minute. How is the problem solved? I’m still none the wiser.’

  ‘Don’t go there, son,’ Frankie grinned. ‘You’re not the sharpest lemon in the orchard. You’ve probably just re-directed all your mail to the wrong address.’

  ‘No, it can’t be that. It’s too obvious. I’m certain it’s the lesbians next door.’

  ‘I don’t think they’re lesbians, Alan,’ James said.

  ‘Listen to your mate, son. I think I head Rosie saying they were sisters. No, it’s got to be your fault somehow. It’s always your fault somehow. Now, I need to talk to you about that book you got for your leaving present.’

  Alan sighed. ‘OK. Sorry James, I’ll try and keep you up to speed. He’s got the hump about my leaving present from the Civil Service. So go on then Frankie, what’s the matter with it?’

  ‘It’s wrong. That’s what the matter is with it.’

  ‘What do you mean it’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s wrong. You saw the bit about me, didn’t you? Well it’s a disgrace. It called me a minor league comedian, and said that I faded into obscurity. I most certainly did not fade into obscurity. I just began to play to a more select audience.’

/>   Alan laughed. Turning to James he said; ‘He’s got the hump because my book says he disappeared without trace. Can you believe that? Silly sod disappears all the bloody time. If his comedy career was anything like his ghostly visitations, it’s no wonder he faded away.’

  James took a sip from his beer. ‘You showed me that bit. It did seem a little rude to me.’

  ‘Thank you, big man,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Look, Frankie,’ Alan said. ‘It’s just a book. Why does it bother you so much? I don’t want to be rude, but I hadn’t heard of you when you started haunting me. There’s no shame in it.’

  ‘That’s a fair point, Frankie,’ James chipped in. ‘I mean, in fifty years, everyone would have forgotten him too,’ he nodded to Alan.

  ‘Bloody cheek!’ Alan said.

  ‘I just don’t like seeing it in print, that’s all. I mean, I had a good life. Christ, I could write a book about my time on the stage.’

  ‘Ooh, can I be your ghost writer?’ Alan said.

  ‘How many times must you do that joke? I thought you’d understand. I wish I hadn’t bothered now. I’m going to see if I can find the author. A couple of days haunting should scare the crap out of him. See if he remembers me when I turn up in his shower.’

  ‘That’s a horrible image, Frankie,’ Alan said. ‘Won’t you get wet?’

  ‘No idea son. But it’ll be worth it,’ Frankie said before disappearing.

  ‘Well, looks like I’ve annoyed Frankie. He’s off to haunt the author of that book.’

  ‘Can he do that?’ James asked.

  ‘Probably not. But at least it means he won’t be bothering us for the rest of the night. Another one?’ Alan asked, rising from the table.

  ‘Of course,’ James replied.

  A couple of minutes later Alan returned with two pints. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ James replied.

  ‘No. This one’s a corker. That quiz night. What if we get Frankie along? He can feed us the answers.’

  ‘Mate, that’s brilliant. Only one problem.’

  ‘Oh, and what’s that?’

  ‘I think you’re going to have to apologise to Frankie first.’

  Alan took a sip of his beer. ‘Bugger,’ he said eventually.

  ‘We can rope Harry in.’ James suggested. ‘He must know loads of useful things.’

  Alan paused for a moment. ‘You’ll never guess what I found out about Harry?’

  James shrugged. ‘What?’

  Alan leaned forward as if protecting a secret. ‘Rosie told me that he’s seeing someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He didn’t say, but he told Rosie that they’d been out on a few dates.’

  James grinned. ‘The old devil. Where’d he meet her, the daycentre?’

  ‘Why a daycentre?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Harry’s old.’ James explained applying his own form of distorted logic. ‘Old people go to daycentres, they can have soup and arrange tea dances. I imagine they met doing a fox trot.

  Alan shook his head. ‘He told Rosie he met her at a gig.’

  ‘Oh,’ James mumbled slightly disappointed. Were you there?’

  ‘No, I don’t know what gig it was. Rosie said he was very cagey about things and she didn’t want to press him.’ Alan took a mouthful of beer. ‘She said that he will tell us in his own good time.’

  ‘Sod that.’ James said getting his phone out of his pocket. ‘Let’s call him now and find out.’

  Alan put his hand on the table. ‘I think we have to respect Harry’s wishes. He will tell us when he wants us to know.’

  James gave his friend a look.

  ‘And Rosie will go ape if she finds out I’ve been telling everyone.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ James said and raised his glass. ‘To Harry, there’s life in the old dog yet.’

  The friends knocked their glasses together attracting looks in their direction from the other three customers.

  ‘What’s everyone looking at?’ James asked.

  ‘They’re shocked.’ Alan explained. ‘No one has toasted anything in here since VE day.’

  James laughed. ‘So what do you reckon she’s like?’

  ‘Harry’s what…in his sixties?’

  ‘Something like that, say sixty seven,’ James added helpfully.

  ‘OK, I’d reckon she’s in her sixties too, probably late sixties, sweet little grey haired lady…’

  ‘She does voluntary work in the local library and makes her own jam,’ James added.

  Alan nodded. ‘Mavis?’

  James wrinkled his nose and shook his head. ‘Mabel?’

  ‘Too old. Ethel?’

  James laughed. ‘Gertrude?’

  ‘Constance?’

  ‘We think she’s in her sixties not from the 1860s.’ James quipped.

  ‘How about Edith?’

  James stared at Alan. ‘Do you know I think that sounds right.’

  ‘Harry and Edith.’ Alan said. ‘Yeah, that sounds right doesn’t it?’

  Alan and James leaned back in the chairs, satisfied that they had solved the mystery of Harry’s love life.

  James put his glass back on the table. ‘Of course there is something that we’ve overlooked.’

  Alan raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s that?’ He asked cautiously.

  ‘Well…’ This time it was James’s turn to lean forward. ‘What if she’s an internet bride?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘What if Harry’s gone on line and found himself a bride.’

  Alan drained his pint. ‘Where from?’

  ‘I don’t know Thailand? Russia? South America? Where do people get internet brides from these days?’

  ‘Would you be surprised to know that I don’t know the answer to that question? I thought it would be a tad unreasonable to move into Rosie’s and then start using her broadband to find myself a bride from Peru.’

  ‘Why?’ James asked, a smile on his face. ‘Hasn’t she got unlimited broadband?’

  Alan flicked his beer mat across the table at his friend. ‘Anyway, ‘he said. ‘I think that’s unlikely.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just picture the scene.’ Alan began. ‘The beautiful bride spends three weeks travelling across the planet hidden in the back of a lorry…’

  ‘You do know the difference between internet brides and people smuggling?’ James asked, interrupting Alan’s build-up.

  Choosing to ignore his friend Alan continued. ’After three weeks she is introduced to Harry who sweeps her off her feet, and carries her over the threshold of Hodges Towers. She’s tired and hungry and wants no more than a warm bed and a hot meal.’

  ‘And?’ James said, puzzled.

  ‘He opens the front door and there sitting in his own chair, dressed the same as Harry….’

  ‘Yes.’ James urged.

  ‘Is Old Man Ernie.’

  James gulped.

  ‘Now I don’t know about you but I’d be straight out of there and back on the next lorry out of Dover.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ James agreed.

  Alan sat back and put his hands together. ‘So Edith it is.’ He said.

  James raised his now empty glass. ‘To Harry and Edith.’

  Chapter 10

  James laid back on his sun lounger, closed his eyes and let the late afternoon sun beat down on his face. After a while he sat back up, took his off his shoes and socks and plunged his feet into Charlie’s water bowl. James smiled in relief while the llama stared blankly back at him, chewing hay.

  ‘Are you scowling at me?’ James asked.

  Charlie the llama continued to chew as he gazed indifferently between James and his water bowl. The llama looked at James once more before wandering off to his pen, an extravagantly adapted shocking pink Wendy House.

  James shook his head, leaned back in his chair and wiggled his toes in the cool water.

  ‘I thought I’d find you out here,’
Amy called out from over his shoulder.

  ‘Hi Amy,’ James said without looking round.

  Amy perched on the end of the sun lounger. ‘Why are your feet in Charlie’s water bowl?’ She asked, opening a can of coke.

  James groaned and wriggled his toes. ‘They’re killing me, I’ve had a bad day.’

  ‘I thought you were invigilating exams today?’

  ‘Yes, and that was the problem,’ James swirled his feet around in the bowl. ‘They kept asking for extra paper, sticking their grubby little hands up in the air.’

  ‘That’s good isn’t it? It shows they were doing lots of work.’

  ‘Class 5X!’ James scoffed. ‘No chance, they just needed extra paper to practice getting their names right.’

  Amy smiled. ‘So you must have walked, what, thirty metres today?’

  James put his head back and closed his eyes. ‘At least,’ he sighed.

  Amy took a long drink. ‘Where’s Charlie?’ She said, looking around the garden.

  ‘He threw a moody when I put my feet in his water bowl and stomped off to his pen,’ James told her without opening his eyes.

  ‘How unreasonable,’ Amy said sarcastically, doubting if llamas were capable of stomping.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ James opened his eyes and looked down at his feet. ‘I think they’re blistered.’

  ‘You really are out of condition aren’t you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ James replied, indignantly.

  ‘It wasn’t a question,’ Amy corrected him. ‘You are seriously unfit and, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve put on a bit of weight recently.’

  James shook his head. ‘Naa, I’ve always been fit. It’s my shoes. They rub in the heat and walking up and down giving out sheets of paper just made things worse.’

  Amy laughed. ‘You have to work at fitness, it doesn’t happen automatically.’

  ‘It’s in my genes,’ James protested. ‘I’ve always been fit.’

  ‘It may be in your genes, but you can’t get into your jeans.’

  James settled back on his sun lounger, choosing to ignore his wife’s attempt at humour.

  When was the last time you went to a gym?’ She asked, refusing to give up.

  ‘A few months ago…’ James paused. ‘Last year sometime.’