My Neighbours Are Stealing My Mail

by Ian Edwards

  ‘Hurry up, Gary, I need a piss,’ Alan shouted and James laughed.

  Gary frowned at Alan and shook his head.

  ‘In second place…’ Gary stared at Alan again, warning him to remain silent. ‘…we have Harrio with an excellent 46 points. Well done.’

  Harry and Mario grinned at each other.

  ‘Which means, the winners of the first Cloven Hoof quiz night, with an almost perfect score of forty eight are the Lady Killers…’

  Rosie, Amy, Jayne and Sarah cheered loudly while Harry leaned over and congratulated them.

  ‘Well done ladies.’ Gary said. ‘If you’d like to come and collect your prize money.’

  ‘Hang on, Gary,’ Alan shouted. ‘What about us?’ he waved his arms over the table. You forgot us.’

  ‘No Alan, I really didn’t. You and James are disqualified.’

  ‘Disqualified? What for? We got all the answers right. I know we did,’ Alan shouted.

  ‘You’re disqualified for wasting my time. The judge’s decision, that’s me, is final.’

  ‘I demand a recount,’ James added and burped loudly attracting a glare from Amy.

  ‘Come on Alan, it’s just a bit of fun,’ Rosie said as she sauntered to the bar to collect her winnings.

  ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ you haven’t been cheated. This is Maradona’s hand of God all over again. It’s a stitch up. I formally protest,’ Alan rose from his chair in indignation. ‘It’s what England should have done in ‘86 and it’s what we’re doing now. Right James?’

  James silently raised his glass into the air, swishing more beer onto the table.

  ‘You see, we are united.’

  ‘Sit down you silly sod,’ Frankie said. ‘Gary is clearly suspicious that you two idiots got all the questions right. You should have mucked one or two up to make it realistic.’

  Alan sat down, chagrined. ‘I should have thought of that. I’m just too clever for my own good sometimes.’

  ‘Yeah, that’ll be it,’ Frankie replied, shaking his head.

  At the bar, Rosie collected five wrinkled twenty pound notes from Gary, squirming out of the way as he tried to put his arm around her waist and kiss her. She glanced at the bar, saw Alan’s answer sheets, picked them up and walked to her table, dealing out the winnings to her team.

  ‘Your round James,’ Alan sulked, pushing his empty glass into James’ table space.

  ‘I’m bloody well not, I’m just big boned,’ James replied, rising from his seat. ‘Same again?’ He asked and, without waiting for an answer, staggered towards the bar.

  ‘This is all your fault,’ Alan said to Frankie.

  ‘What did I do? I just gave you the answers. This is all on you, son.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. Disqualified. Oh, the injustice. I shall ring Amnesty International.’

  ‘You can see how Gary might have been suspicious that a pillock like you could have got all the answers right on a pub quiz, can’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘What was that, Alan?’ Rosie said. ‘Look, if it makes you feel better I’ll get this round in.’

  ‘I don’t want your money. It’s dirty money. I’m going to call the police.’

  Frankie snorted. Rosie sighed and patted her boyfriend on the head. ‘Of course you are, dear,’ she said.

  *

  At the bar, James asked for two pints. Gary shook his head and pulled on the hand pump. ‘You know, James,’ he began. ‘I thought you were better than this.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ James blushed.

  ‘Oh, I think you do. I know you’re up to something, Tell me,’ Gary whispered conspiratorially. ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ James repeated. ‘Can I just get my beer?’

  ‘OK, don’t tell me. But I’ll be watching you and that other idiot,’ he nodded to where Alan was deep in conversation with Rosie. He had moved tables to sit next to his girlfriend and it looked very much to James as though he was receiving a bit of a telling off.

  ‘I think I might stay up here for a bit, if that’s OK?’

  ‘I don’t blame you. I reckon he’s sleeping on the sofa tonight,’ Gary laughed as he handed over the two pints and accepted James’ cash.

  *

  ‘I just knew you two were up to something,’ Rosie said. ‘But I never expected cheating. Alan, how could you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. We didn’t cheat. It’s a conspiracy.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘OK then. Let’s have a look, shall we. For the question, who discovered America, you have Captain Birdseye…’

  This revelation caused the girls to giggle, while Harry and Mario, who had just joined the table shook their heads.

  ‘And how about this one. Which French mime artist is single handedly attributed to reviving the art of mime after World War Two? Joan of Arc. I mean, seriously Alan, did you really think you’d get away with it?’

  ‘I was led astray,’ came the muted response.

  ‘What about this one. Which famous chain of Hairdressers were formed by the Mascolo brothers? Anyone?’ Rosie looked around the table.

  ‘Toni and Guy,’ said Mario.

  ‘Yes Mario. Toni and Guy. But what did our two geniuses put? Come on, I bet you can’t guess.’ When no answer was forthcoming Rosie said. ‘Sweeney Todd. Sweeney bloody Todd. I ask you…’

  ‘But here’s the twist, people. Guess what their answer was to the question asking for names of two of the Cambridge Five spy ring working for the Russians. Want to guess what answer the boys had? Nope? Toni and Guy.

  ‘Alan, only you could be as stupid as to have all the right answers, but in the wrong order. Amy, you’re married to an imbecile.’

  Amy sighed. ‘I know. They can just about get by when they’re apart, but put them together and their effectiveness is halved.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Alan said, firing a stern look to the corner seat where Frankie sat, feet up on the table, hands folded across his chest giggling.

  ‘If you’re too pissed to write the answers in the proper place that’s hardly my fault. Frankie said gesturing at Alan and James’s table on which sat a dozen empty pint glasses.

  Alan opened his mouth to say something, thought again, closed his mouth and slumped back in the chair. He looked across at Rosie who was reading more of his answers aloud. Irritated, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

  Chapter 24

  Just after 3.00am and the Merton Palace Theatre stood empty.

  Hander’s night shift had departed a couple of hours earlier and Hander himself had walked the building, checking it thoroughly before locking the doors and setting the alarm.

  The theatre fell into silence. Hander took a slow final turn, mentally ticking off the list of tasks, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Satisfied all was well, he walked the few steps to the door. He searched through the keys on his chain, selecting the Chubb lock key that would see him escape. As he did so, a faint breeze brushed past his neck.

  Hander shivered. He sensed a presence behind him and his fingers trembled as he placed the key in the lock and opened the door, shutting it quickly behind him.

  ‘Something’s not right,’ Frankie said, as a door closed over his shoulder. ‘No, it’s definitely not right.’

  He was standing on plastic boards in what appeared to be a dimly lit hallway. Polythene sheets covered the walls. He crouched down with a groan and tapped the floor. ‘Plastic. That’s odd.’

  Frankie scratched his chin. He had no idea where he was. The last thing he remembered was sitting back on the comfy sofa in Rosie’s living room.

  ‘The trouble with being dead,’ he said aloud. ‘Is that no one can hear you ask for directions.’

  Frankie looked left and then right, unsure on which direction to travel. He thought for a moment, smiled and pointed left. After two steps, he changed
his mind and turned right along the corridor. After a few steps the plastic on the floor began to stretch up to cover the walls.

  ‘It looks like a building site. Why am I at a building site?’ Intrigued, he continued down the passageway. ‘It looks like a hotel, or office building,’ he said aloud. ‘No, it’s a theatre. I’m in a theatre,’ he announced to himself as he reached the end of the passageway and stepped into an open area. ‘OK, this must be the site office.’ He gazed at the plans pinned to the wall.

  Frankie walked over to the large entrance doors and pulled on the brass handles but the door remained firmly closed. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and walked forward.

  ‘Ow!’ he said, rubbing his nose as his ghostly form bumped into the door. I’m a ghost, he thought. Walking through solid objects is in the job description. Wondering whether there were classes to learn how to walk through walls, Frankie stepped back to look at the plans again. ‘If I want to get out of here,’ he said. ‘I’ll need to go back the way I came.’

  Frankie squinted at the plans taped to the wall again, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He momentarily wondered if this was how Alan felt whenever he materialised, pushed the thought to the back of his mind and peered more closely at the wall.

  ‘No way.’ He looked along the wall at the other plans. ‘No…it can’t be…’

  Somewhere behind him a door slammed shut with a loud bang.

  ‘Jesus!’ Frankie cried out. ‘Can’t anyone get any peace round here?’

  The door slammed shut again, this time with a little less force.

  Frankie turned toward the sound. Across the foyer, a door was banging against its frame. Shaking his head, he walked over to the door, grabbed the handle and firmly pulled it shut.

  Turning back to the plans, Frankie looked at the heading; ‘Merton Palace Theatre – Development Plans,’ he read. ‘I thought it looked familiar…’

  The door behind him swung open again, its hinges creaking.

  Frankie looked over his shoulder. The door stood open. He shivered as a tingle ran up his spine. ‘Someone’s just walked across my grave,’ he grinned at his macabre joke.

  He gently shut the door once more, hearing it click shut. He’d barely taken his hand from the handle when the door sprung open again, forcing Frankie to take an involuntary step back.

  ‘Clearly not the fire door,’ he said as he peered into the deep black space beyond. He could just make out some stairs descending into the gloom. He shivered and ran his hand through his hair, his fingers gently crackled with static. Must be a thunderstorm on the way, he thought as he stepped into the doorway, curious as to what lay ahead.

  Frankie carefully stepped through the doorway. The darkness engulfed him, taking his breath away. He grinned momentarily, realising he didn’t need to breathe. He walked slowly into the blackness, the cloying sensation increasing with every step until it felt as though the darkness was reaching out to touch him. His footfalls became slower as though he were walking through water.

  He was almost at the staircase, when cutting through the silence, he heard a soft cackle and the sound of a ball bouncing repeatedly on the ground. He slowly approached the stairs, concentrating as the distinctive sound continued.

  ‘Nope, not doing this!’ Frankie shook his head as he forced himself to walk backwards with ever quicker steps, never taking his eyes off the stairs.

  Once he had made his way out of the room, Frankie turned around, striding purposely, determined not to be frightened. The sound of the bouncing ball mocking him with its intensity. Frankie chanced a look over his shoulder and saw a small ball bobble slowly across the floor.

  Against his better judgement, Frankie bent down and picked the ball up. ‘I think I might have stumbled into a Stephen King novel,’ he said and rolled the ball back towards the door.

  ‘I’ve told you before,’ he called out. ‘No ball games indoors.’

  Frankie watched in disbelief as the ball gently rolled back towards him.

  ‘OK. Perhaps a small game then.’

  Frankie’s nervous attempts at humour betrayed his growing fear. He used his foot to trap the ball at his feet and saw the door begin to swing back and forth, the sound of footsteps gaining in intensity as they climbed the steps.

  *

  Frankie woke with a start. He rubbed a hand over his face, yawned and slowly sat up taking in his surroundings.

  ‘The comfy sofa,’ he mumbled, giving it a pat. ‘Still at Rosie’s then. That was one weird dream.’ He looked at the clock on the wall. Three thirty, probably a bit too early to run it by Alan.

  Placing his hand on the arm of the sofa, Frankie levered himself to a standing position with a groan. He wandered over to the window, and looked out at the night sky. ‘Still feels like a storm’s coming,’ he mused.

  Frankie’s attention was drawn to the floor where, sitting on the carpet just in front of the sofa was a small ball.

  Chapter 25

  Alan sipped his coffee, watching Dawn and Joy fussing around the kitchen. He deliberately avoided catching Rosie’s eye in case the pair of them collapsed into a fit of giggles.

  He watched as Dawn heaved a plastic crate onto the table.

  ‘Do you want a hand with that?’

  ‘In here are his blankets,’ Dawn said ignoring his offer of help.

  ‘That’s a big box. How many blankets does he need? You’re only going away one night.’

  Dawn patted the box. ‘Two for the night, an extra one if he gets cold, and a couple of spares.’

  Now he looked at Rosie. They had both heard the weather forecast that morning; high temperatures were expected across the country this weekend. Blankets, never mind spares were as redundant as central heating in the Sahara.

  ‘There’s also his afternoon nap blanket,’ Joy added.

  ‘He has special blankets for an afternoon nap?’ Alan repeated.

  Joy nodded, ‘Oh yes, he needs an afternoon nap otherwise he gets a bit too excitable.’

  Alan and Rosie looked down on the floor where Mr Licky was noisily working his way through a bowl of dog biscuits.

  Dawn placed three large boxes on the kitchen counter. ‘In here you’ll find his breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’ve written the portion sizes on the boxes so you’ll know how much to give him.’ She placed a packet on one of the boxes. ‘These are his treats. You can give him one or two after a walk, but no more or he’ll be sicky wicky, won’t you, Mr Licky?’

  The crunching subsided and was replaced with a slurping growl. Alan looked down and watched the dog attempt to lick the pattern off his bowl.

  ‘Is he alright?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘He’s fine. He does that to warn off any predators that take a fancy to his food.’

  Alan and Rosie took a look around the expensively designed kitchen. While it was certainly rich in modern appliances, it was significantly lacking in predators.

  ‘Very wise,’ Alan said nodding. ‘You can never tell when something’s going to have it away with your dinner.’

  Joy sat on the stool next to Alan. ‘We’re so grateful,’ she said. ‘And I know that Mr Licky is really looking forward to his weekend with his new friend.’ They all looked down to where Mr Licky, finished with his food, was now thoroughly concentrating on giving himself a good lick clean. ‘In fact we made this,’ she pulled a sheet of paper from the fridge door, placing it on the table.

  Alan could see it was a weekly planner. The previous six days had been struck through with red pen and written on today’s date was one word in bold letters – Alan.

  ‘Each day after dinner I would cross the day out while Dawn held him up so he could see how long he had to wait until he could see you again.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘That’s lovely.’

  ‘He’s been so looking forward to today.’

  Alan rolled his eyes and stole a look down. Mr Licky had finished washing and was now staring back at him. Refusing to be drawn into a staring cont
est with a dog, Alan said, ‘I’m sure we’ll have a great time. No need for you to worry about him.’

  ‘It’s not him we’re worried about,’ Dawn said, entering the kitchen. ‘It’s you. He can get quite fractious if he doesn’t stick to his routine.’

  ‘Routine?’ Rosie repeated.

  Dawn joined the others at the kitchen table. ‘This…’ She placed another sheet of paper next to the calendar. ‘Is his checklist.’

  ‘He needs a checklist?’

  ‘Absolutely. Part checklist, part aide memoire. Something to help you with him.’

  Joy picked up the sheet and cast her eyes over it. ‘Walks, feeding times, games and sleeps. It’s all there.’

  Rosie picked it up. ‘I’m sure it’s going to be fine.’

  Joy stood up. ‘OK then. If you’re fine with that we’ll be on our way.’

  Dawn passed a set of keys to Rosie. ‘Here’s the door keys and the code for the alarm is 1988.’

  ‘And finally,’ Joy added. ‘Here’s a picture of Dawn and I.’ Joy passed over a photograph of the two women sitting at a table and smiling. ‘If you put this by his basket when he goes to sleep it’ll help him relax.’

  Alan fidgeted on his stool while stifling a laugh.

  Dawn and Joy took turns in hugging Mr Licky, giving him a kiss goodbye while Alan and Rosie looked on awkwardly. They thanked Alan and Rosie several times before finally departing. It was only once the front door shut that Rosie said; ‘So what are we going to do with him?’

  Alan looked down at the dog who was giving himself another wash.

  ‘I haven’t a clue.’

  *

  Rosie stood in the doorway of the restaurant holding a tray of sandwiches and drinks. She scanned the rows of picnic tables for Alan. She finally saw him wave and headed in his direction, weaving carefully around the tables.

  Alan sat at one of the many picnic tables outside the Windmill Restaurant on Wimbledon Common. He had managed to secure the only available table, the rest spilling over with families enjoying the sunshine and ice cream. He smiled at Rosie as she carefully placed the tray on the table.