My Neighbours Are Stealing My Mail

by Ian Edwards

  Hander looked from Sarah to Crozier who nodded in support of Sarah’s stance.

  ‘It’s difficult,’ Hander said leaning against the wall.

  ‘Go on, we’re listening,’ Sarah urged.

  Hander sighed. ‘Look, I really want to get to the hospital and see Fingers. Maybe it would be easier if you saw it for yourself.’

  Sarah and Crozier looked at each other quizzically.

  ‘If you could come back tonight about eight, perhaps I could show you what’s going on.’

  ‘I’m busy tonight,’ Crozier told him. ‘There’s a public planning meeting at the council and I’ll be expected to be there.’

  Hander frowned. ‘Honestly, it will be much easier if I showed you.’

  Sarah bit her lip. She had been asked by a new comedy venue to provide three comedians for a show that evening and whilst her presence wasn’t necessary, she preferred to be present when an act of hers played a new venue for the first time. Still, she thought, Alan was more than capable of dealing with any issues that occurred.

  ‘I can be here at eight,’ Sarah said. ‘If it makes things easier.’

  Hander nodded, relieved. ‘OK. Meet me here at eight tonight. Look, I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve got to lock up, so if you could see yourselves out…’

  He ushered Crozier out of the foyer and into the corridor, Sarah following behind. ‘What do you think that was all about?’ She asked Crozier as they exited the building.

  ‘He’s playing for time.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘He’s given himself a few hours to come up with an excuse as to why he’s not getting the work done.’

  ‘You think so?’ Sarah frowned.

  ‘Definitely,’ Crozier said. ‘I’ve seen it plenty of times before. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him.’

  Back in the foyer, Hander slid the large bolt across the door down to the basement and clicked the heavy padlock shut. He shivered as a tingle ran down his spine, the feeling of being watched following him out of the building and into the busy street.

  Chapter 30

  Alan unscrewed the lid from his bottle of water, took a long pull, closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the sun lounger.

  Through his headphones the Eagles were welcoming him to the Hotel California, he was warm and happy. No need, he thought, to do anything for an hour or so. A cool breeze wafted across him and he opened one eye. Frankie was sitting the other side of the vast garden table.

  ‘Afternoon.’

  Alan gave him a wave and closed his eyes.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘Gardening.’ Alan told him.

  ‘Oh, right… It’s just that it looks like you’re lying on a sun lounger.’

  Alan pulled the headphones down his neck. ‘Rosie asked me to cut the grass while she was at work, I thought I’d have a bit of a rest and then get started.’

  Frankie looked at the untouched lawn. ‘Hardly Percy Thrower are you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Before your time son.’ Frankie said dismissively. ‘So what’s the plan with the curse, the missing post and the witches?’ He added while trying to keep a straight face.

  ‘I’m considering my options at the moment …including getting all the villagers to march down here with blazing torches and then reintroducing the ducking stool.’

  ‘So you’ve not given it any thought at all?’

  Alan shook his head. ‘No, it’s work in progress.’

  Frankie laughed. ‘Good to see you’re on top of things.’

  Alan raised his bottle of water in mock salute. ‘Always.’

  ‘Anyway.’ Frankie said pulling his chair closer to Alan. ‘I need to talk to you about this weird dream I had the other night.’

  ‘You mentioned it the other day.’ Alan said, drinking some more water.

  ‘I tried to.’ Frankie paused, saw he was getting no reaction from Alan and continued. ‘Anyway I was back at the ….’

  The Dr Who theme cut across Frankie and scared two birds who flew off the roof where they had been happily sitting all afternoon.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ Frankie

  ‘It’s Sarah.’ Alan told him and took his phone from the table. He flashed it in Frankie’s direction so that he could see the word Sarah displayed on the screen.

  ‘Hi Sarah.’ He said answering the call.

  ‘Alan.’ She said. ‘Look, somethings come up and I can’t make it tonight.’

  ‘’OK, no problem. ‘I’ll let Harry know, he’s picking me up.’

  ‘Do you know where you’re going?’

  ‘Err…’ Alan looked at Frankie and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think so but you’d better give it to me again. Harry’s probably forgotten.’

  ‘Ok, you’d better write it down, do you have a pen?’

  Alan mouthed the word pen at Frankie who made a show of patting his pockets and then said, ‘are you trying to be funny?’

  ‘OK. Fire away.’

  ‘It’s the Rising Sun, Bren…’ Sarah’s voice was drowned out as a plane flew low over head. ‘Did you get that?’ She asked.

  ‘Yes. The Rising Sun, got it.’

  ‘Thanks Alan.’ She said. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be there, you know I normally like to be at a new venue the first time I have a booking there.’

  ‘Stop worrying. It’ll be fine. In the unlikely event that I need to speak to you I’ll give you a call.

  ‘Thanks Alan,’ Sarah said and apologised again.

  ‘So where are you going tonight?’ He asked. ‘Is Giles treating you to a night out at the cock fights?’

  ‘Alan,’ Sarah said sternly.

  ‘Don’t forget to listen to his advice when it comes to putting a bet on. He’ll know what to look for as he’s such a big co…’

  Alan looked at Frankie. ‘She hung up on me.’

  ‘I’m surprised the call lasted that long, Frankie said. ‘What did she want?’

  ‘She can’t make tonight’s gig. She was worried we wouldn’t be able to cope without her.’

  Frankie chuckled. ‘You did tell her there’s no need for her to worry, Harry can help you cross the roads?’

  ‘Funny man.’ Alan grinned. ‘It’s a shame you’re dead. You could have been a comedian.’

  ‘Where is this gig anyway?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘She said the Rising Sun, it’s in Brentwood apparently.’

  Frankie nodded. ‘That’s quite a drive, you’d better get started on that lawn.’

  Chapter 31

  ‘I just don’t understand why I can’t be Pavarotti for once,’ Jim said from behind the wheel of his Mini.

  ‘Because, Jim,’ Freddie said from the front passenger seat. ‘You don’t have a beard. Gerry here,’ he gestured to the seat behind. ‘Is the only one with a beard.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Jim argued. Placido Domingo has a beard.’

  ‘Yes, but Gerry is also morbidly obese…’

  ‘Oi,’ Gerry shouted.

  ‘Come on, mate, as the saying goes, you are what you eat. And it looks like you’ve eaten a very fat man.’

  ‘I take offence at that,’ Gerry sulked and stared out of the window at the passing greenery.

  ‘But I don’t want to be Carreras any more,’ Jim wined. ‘I feel I’m more flamboyant. More centre stage. More Pavarotti.’

  Freddie sighed. ‘For the last time, we are a Three Tenors tribute act. They are all equal.’

  ‘Yes, but everyone’s heard of Pavarotti. Who knows who Jose Carreras is?’

  ‘Presumably all the people who pay to see us,’ Freddie said, not unreasonably.

  ‘Well, yes, them. But no one else.’

  ‘Look, can we talk about this another time, I’m getting car sick,’ Gerry said from the back seat.

  ‘We never talk about it, that’s the problem,’ Jim moaned.

  The small car filled with a stubborn silence, the three occupants lost in their own thoug
hts.

  After several minutes Freddie asked, ‘So how far is it now?’

  Jim glanced at his sat-nav. ‘About half an hour. Say, did you hear there’s a new Three Tenors outfit featuring a bunch of teenagers?’

  ‘I heard that,’ Freddie said.

  ‘I bet they don’t argue about who gets to be Pavarotti,’ Gerry added.

  ‘That’s because they’re using their own names,’ Jim said. ‘We could do that, if we wanted.’

  ‘You just don’t want to be Carreras,’ Gerry said.

  ‘Oh, shut up Gerry,’ Jim shouted. ‘Look…’ he turned to gesticulate at his friend.

  ‘Watch out you idiot!’ Freddie said. ‘Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road!’ he shouted as the car veered left.

  Jim turned to face Freddie. ‘And I’ve had just about enough from you too…’ he said.

  ’Christ sake!’ Freddie shouted. ‘Look where you’re going…’ The car veered further left, car horns blared.

  ‘Shit,’ Jim said as the car careered over the hard shoulder and shot into the air, landing with a bounce into a ditch.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Jim shouted. ‘Is everyone OK?’

  Freddie and Gerry nodded they were fine.

  ‘Well, that could have gone better,’ Jim said. Further comment ceased as the airbags exploded into their faces.

  *

  ‘Did you see that?’ Harry asked from the front passenger seat. ‘That car behind us just veered off the road. Should we stop and help them?’

  ‘Can’t. We’re late enough as it is,’ Tony Head said from behind the front wheel. ‘This imbecile,’ he poked his thumb over his shoulder at Alan sitting quietly in the back. ‘Got the directions all wrong. How hard is it to read a map?’

  ‘It’s not my fault. I got thrown out of my Geography class,’ Alan said.

  ‘For poor map reading?’ Harry asked.

  ‘No, I stuck my compass into Smelly Simon’s arse.’

  ‘What did you do that for?’ Harry asked.

  ‘He kept farting. It was getting on my nerves.’

  ‘So you thought stabbing him would stop him farting?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Dunno. I got thrown out of the class.’

  ‘You must have seen him outside of class..?’ Harry asked.

  ‘No, his mum made him change schools. No idea why, though.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘Bloody hell.’

  *

  ‘It’s not much further,’ Tony announced. ‘No thanks to Ranulph Fiennes here.’

  ‘Oi. It’s not my fault. Sarah’s instructions were complicated,’ Alan replied.

  ‘That’s what sat-navs are for, dear boy,’ Tony replied. Alan harrumphed loudly. A cold blast blew across his right arm.

  ‘Alright son?’ Frankie asked, materialising in the spare seat behind Tony. ‘We off to the gig, then? Listen, Alan, I need to talk to you about something. It’s been bothering me for a while and I need to talk to someone. And you’re basically all I’ve got.’

  ‘Anyone else cold?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I’ll turn the heating up,’ Tony replied.

  ‘I’m not listening to you,’ Alan said.

  ‘Charming,’ Tony added.

  ‘It’s just, well, I had this dream…’ Frankie began.

  ‘Right, here we are,’ Tony said as he pulled into the Rising Sun’s small and suspiciously empty car park.

  ‘The locals obviously heard we were coming,’ Harry grinned. ‘Either that, or they’re all disqualified drink drivers.’

  ‘As opposed to qualified ones?’ Tony smiled as he pulled the handbrake up and stopped the vehicle. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

  *

  Alan led Harry and Tony through the pub’s stiff double doors and into the main bar. Three things struck him at once. One, Frankie had disappeared. Two, the bar was empty except for a small man in an ill-fitting sparkly grey suit. Three, the man in the bad suit was shouting into a phone.

  On seeing Alan, Harry and Tony, the bad suit man ceased shouting into his phone. Instead he began shouting at them.

  ‘Where the bloody hell have you been? You’re late,’ he shouted.

  ‘Why, what happened?’ Tony quipped. Alan stifled a giggle, earning a nudge in the ribs from Harry.

  ‘You don’t look like the Three Tenors,’ the man looked them up and down.

  ‘Thank heavens for that, dear boy,’ Tony added. Alan giggled again, earning a slightly harder nudge from Harry.

  ‘Right, well, OK. I haven’t got time to mess about, you’re late enough as it is. You’d better get changed. There’s a little cloakroom out the back,’ the man ushered them through into a small room.

  ‘Are you sure you’re the Three Tenors?’ the man asked again, eyeing Alan suspiciously.

  ‘Seriously mate, we’re not the Three Tenors,’ Alan said eventually. ‘But I could be Fifty Cent if you like. It’ll be cheaper.’

  ‘What do you mean you aren’t the Three Tenors?’ The man replied. I booked the Three Tenors. And I expect to see the bloody Three Tenors.’

  ‘Really, you booked the actual Three Tenors? Here? In this shi…’

  ‘Alan!’ Harry interrupted. ‘I think what my friend here is saying is we aren’t who you think we are. Or not what you thought you booked, at least.’

  ‘Well what are you then?’ The man asked, not unreasonably.

  ‘We’re comedians,’ Alan explained. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for comedians. I asked for opera singers,’ the man shouted.

  ‘Really?’ Alan asked. ‘What ones?’

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’ The man raised his voice.

  ‘That’s usually the idea, yes,’ Alan smirked.

  ‘Right, I’m ringing Sarah to get this sorted out,’ the man said, angrily tapping at his phone.

  ‘Well, that could have gone better,’ Alan grinned.

  ‘You don’t help yourself sometimes, son,’ Frankie said from behind Alan’s shoulder, making Alan jump.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Harry said to Alan.

  ‘How long have you got?’ Tony added.

  ‘Listen…’ Alan was prevented from further comment as the man was waving his phone in his general direction.

  ‘Sarah wants a word,’ the man said.

  ‘Good, because I’ve got a few for her too,’ Alan said, snatching the phone from the increasingly agitated man.

  ‘There’s obviously been some kind of mix up,’ Harry said to the man as he watched Alan on the phone.

  ‘No shit,’ the man said. ‘This is a nightmare. What am I going to do?’

  ‘Well, we’re here now. We could tell a few gags. You know, lighten the mood,’ Harry suggested.

  ‘I doubt that. Is he funny?’ the man nodded to Alan who was listening intently to the voice on the phone.

  ‘Well, we are,’ Tony said. ‘Him, not so much.’ Frankie laughed out loud, earning a finger to the lips from Alan, who had recovered a piece of paper from his pocket.

  ‘Where are my opera singers, that’s what I want to know.’

  ‘Well, it’s kind of a funny story,’ Alan said, handing the man his phone. ‘According to Sarah you did indeed book the Three Tenors…’

  ‘I know I just spoke to her, which is why she wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘But here’s the funny thing…’

  ‘I bet it’s not,’ Tony said.

  ‘No, well, it’s like this. The Three Tenors are supposed to be here. But we’re not.’

  ‘What do you mean we’re not?’ Harry asked. ‘Where are we supposed to be? You said The Rising Sun Brentwood, Essex.’

  ‘Yeah, I double checked after Sarah tore into me. We’re supposed to be at the Rising Sun, Brentford, Middlesex.’

  Frankie guffawed. Harry sighed. Tony said, ‘I knew you’d cock this up. It’s no wonder Sarah had a pop at you.’

  ‘Yeah, about that. It was the wron
g Sarah.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’ Tony asked.

  ‘Sarah booked the Three Tenors for this pub. But that’s not us, obviously, and it’s a different Sarah. Not our one.’

  ‘What a mess,’ Harry shook his head. ‘I’ll ring her myself,’ he tapped at his phone.

  ‘I might keep quiet for a while,’ Alan mumbled.

  ‘That sounds like a very good idea,’ Tony said.

  ‘I can’t get through to Sarah, our one,’ Harry said. ‘What do you want us to do?’

  The man thought for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose you could go on for a few minutes, at least until my opera singers turn up. I’d better go and tell the crowd. I don’t want them turning ugly.’

  ‘Bit late for that if they’re in an Essex pub waiting for opera. It’s not where the good lookers hang out, is it?’ Alan suggested.

  ‘I thought you were going to be quiet?’ Tony said.

  ‘I lied.’

  *

  Harry took a deep breath, picked up Old Man Ernie and stepped out on to the tiny stage. He had agreed to go on first after the man, who they finally learned was called Geoffrey, had explained the situation to the audience, who reluctantly agreed they would like some comedy before listening to some opera.

  ‘Hello, opera lovers,’ Harry said into the mic. ‘This here’s my friend Old Man Ernie. He can sing a few songs can’t you Ernie?’ he said.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Geoffrey said from the side of the stage. ‘This is a nightmare.’

  ‘What ‘til he tells his knock knock joke,’ Tony replied.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Geoffrey put his head in his hands as onstage an old man and an even older dummy bumbled their way through an old music hall hit to a growing chorus of boos.

  ‘Right then,’ Harry said. ‘Knock knock…’

  *

  The audience sat in stunned silence as Harry finished his joke. Harry grinned, manoeuvred his hand so that Old Man Ernie’s mouth fell open.

  From stage right, Geoffrey ran on the stage, grabbing the mic from Harry. ‘We’ll have no more of that. Get off my stage.’

  ‘What?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Gascist,’ Old Man Ernie said as Geoffrey forcibly removed Harry from the stage as a stray sandwich flew from the crowd, landing on the dummy’s head.