ILLUMINATION BOOK CHAPTERS (UPDATED LIST OF CHAPTERS HERE).. ROMANTIC COMEDY — QUIRKY ROMP — CO-STARS MOOCHER THE DOG

‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ — Chapter Sixteen

Fire!!! The Malvern Road theatre continues.

On second thoughts, all that talk about kitchens and cake had made her hungry. She couldn’t do a decent job of sleuthing on an empty stomach so she rushed around to the friendly local store and bought a quiche. Got it home and ripped its box off. Well, drat: it wasn’t cooked! Or maybe it just needed heating. She wasn’t sure, but although now starving, she thought she’d better play safe and so she struggled to light the oven.

How come other people’s ovens light themselves at the touch of a button, whereas she had to struggle with a match in the back of hers and then have a bath to get rid of all the grease she’d collected? She hated cooking.

Then she read the box and it said to take the foil plate off it first and put it on another oven-proof plate. Why? And, of course, it didn’t want to come off. By the time she’d removed the foil plate the quiche was decidedly out of shape. She hated cooking.

Then she had to wait for it. She glanced out of the window and was immediately transfixed by the sight of Lydia’s new furnishings. The swing arbour thingy was not in her back garden. It was round the side of her back extension, facing Liz’s breakfast room window. How blatant! At least until now they’d been able to pretend that she really didn’t sit and stare into her neighbour’s house all day.

Lydia and Simon were cosily ensconced on its stripy, brocade seat. To the side, on one of the wooden benches she’d seen earlier, sat a sulky-looking Julie. Quite the family party. What a shame for them no amputations and police comedies were appearing in the window opposite. There weren’t even any potential lodgers doing a getting-in-without-keys test.

Then she spotted Tony and Melanie through Lydia’s breakfast room window. They were putting things on trays and she could smell their barbecue hotting up. And then she realised none of them were looking over here, but she was peering out of her window, into Lydia’s, living her life.

How ironic.

No one had invited her, or Moocher, to the barbecue. They were obviously persona and canina non grata.

Well then, she’d have to change her plans a bit and take Moocher with her to number two hundred. She didn’t want him looking out of the breakfast room window and realising he’d been scorned and rejected all because he smelt like a hold full of rotting mackerel.

She raced to the bottom of the stairs and yelled: “Moocher, oh, Moocher. Come for a walk.”

That must have surprised him. He’d just been for a walk. It didn’t take him long to recover, though. Liz identified the particular thud that meant he’d fallen off the bed. Then came the thunder of his feet as he ran down the stairs, gathering speed as he came. He appeared on the first landing and, tongue flapping behind him with his speed, he flew down to her, hitting her squarely in the chest. She fell over like a rotten log.

Her boobs would never be the same again. They would never recover and rise again from where they’d been driven between her ribs. Moocher thought it was hilarious. It wasn’t often she was sport enough to lie full length on the floor and let him jump up and down on her stomach.

“Get off!” she yelled when she was able to draw breath. Crestfallen, he immediately stopped and merely stared deeply and sadly into her eyes, breathing dog-breath into her face. Gack! “Lovely dog, I didn’t mean to shout.” His ears perked up and he flung himself full length onto her again. Oomph! His mouth was inches from her face. As the full charm of his nature inescapably claimed her nose she realised Lydia might have had a point. Moocher smelt like a bog rat. Perhaps he needed a bath. Horrible thought. He didn’t like having baths. But, that was for later.

They made it, finally, out of the house and down the road in pursuit of their investigation. They presented themselves to the inevitable net-curtain-twitching inspection before the door to number two hundred was thrown open by a tiny woman with a large wart on her chin. Angela really should get herself some glasses.

“Do come in, dear,” the woman said, obviously recognising Liz whereas Liz was sure she’d never seen Betty Needles in her life before. She wasn’t a near neighbour. Her house was right the other end of the street from Liz’s. Could this woman possibly be Hugh’s new mole?

“And you’ve brought your lovely doggie to visit me, too.”

Liz instantly warmed to this discerning and tasteful woman. She could see nothing wrong with lime green shoes, a ruggedly checked skirt in violet and yellow, topped off with a fluorescent pink wraparound blouse. Nothing wrong at all. The woman was obviously very bright. Very bright indeed.

It took several weak teas and a mountain of ginger nuts, custard creams, chocolate digestives and lemon cream wafers before getting round to Kevin. Plus two trips out to Betty’s back garden for Moocher, and a bowl of water for him to top up his reservoirs again. He couldn’t be expected to walk back up the street empty-bladdered when the time came for them to leave.

Finally, Liz got her chance: “Oh, Kev,” she said, “I’m sure I remember him from, um, from table tennis club. I expect he remembers me too.” He’d need a brain transplant from someone who had actually met her to do that, but never mind. She thought she’d caught just the right note of familiarity.

“Really, dear. I don’t remember him playing table tennis, but I’m sure you must be right.”

“How is the dear fellow these days? What’s he up to?”

Liz wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Betty brightened even more. “He’s just got himself a new job. I’m so relieved. He’s been sitting around doing nothing much for far too long. And he’s got a head on his shoulders, that one.”

Well, that’s a relief. Could have been sticking out of his knee. Where would he get trousers to fit?

“You mark my words. He’ll go far, that one. He’s a fine catch for any sensible woman.”

Liz ignored that. Betty couldn’t possibly mean her. “Oh, what kind of job is it?”

“Driving. It’s a driving job.”

This was promising. Liz asked, “Is it the kind of job where he drives his own car or someone else’s?”

“When it hasn’t been stolen, he drives his own.”

“Oh, yes. I heard about that.”

“I thought you might,” Betty said and smiled. She obviously knew Angela well enough to know she’d be straight on the phone passing on this bit of gossip. Liz smiled back at her.

“Just as well he hadn’t had it signwritten yet,” Liz said, hoping that would spark off more information. “Has he got it back yet?”

“Haven’t heard from him today,” Betty said. “But I’m sure he’ll have it sorted out by now.”

Liz didn’t want to embarrass her with searching questions about yesterday’s little incident, as she hadn’t offered the info. So she settled for a more indirect question: “Who does he work for?”

“Himself. He couldn’t get a job so he’s set up his own business. Here’s a card you could have. Perhaps you could put a little business his way. Oh, and he’ll need an accountant. You could be good for each other. You’re about the same age, too.”

Liz did not like the way Betty looked at her when she said that. She pressed a small rectangle of cardboard into Liz’s hand. The card read: ‘Kev Speedwell for all your Driving Needs’. And there was his telephone number. She could see at the bottom, unsuccessfully obscured by a thick, black line, another phrase that said; ‘For that Once in a Lifetime Occasion’. He must have realised that ‘Once in a Lifetime’ wasn’t that diplomatic these days if he wanted wedding work.

Liz clipped Moocher’s lead on to his collar and got up to leave. She thought the best part of three hours was enough to give for this information. She sidled towards the door. “Thank you so much, Betty. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Will you get in touch with him soon?”

“Yes I will. I promise.”

Betty beamed at her, and Liz beamed back from outside her front door. Moocher patiently waited for his opportunity to leave messages all up the street for his pals.

“Good Day,” she said and shut the door.

Liz and Moocher didn’t move off straightaway. Liz had glanced up the road and was wondering what it was about the Bettys and Angelas of this world that they used the expression, ‘Good Day’, when it so obviously wasn’t. She could see fire engines outside her house and could clearly visualise that bloody quiche going in to the oven and her carefully putting the timer on for twenty-five minutes. No way she’d hear it from Betty’s house. Should she just walk in the opposite direction and leave her shoes, socks and Moocher’s collar on some deserted beach somewhere? Or should she go home and find out what damage had been done? Oh, what to do, what to do…

She could also see a police car. Obviously, they’d used the excuse of a call to the fire station for the next top-of-the-list privileged person to visit Malvern Road. As Moocher and she were the main characters in their very own little soap, she wanted to spoil their anticipation by not turning up for the curtain call. But it was her house and she wanted to know how it had suffered. Drat.

Her writhing thoughts were rudely interrupted by the impatient blaring of a car horn. She turned and there was Hugh looking more than ordinarily like a patronising, bad-tempered Superman. However, he had turned up too late to rescue a house in distress. He should be sacked. She looked at him. He looked at her. He said, “I’ll see you up the road. Okay?”

Oh, well, there was no disappearing off a lonesome beach for them, then. And no lift up the road either. He must have heard about Moocher’s current aroma.

Moocher and she slogged home, to find, oh joy, Angela waiting for them. She launched straight in: “This is what comes of having all kinds of people sharing your house. When will you learn?”

Tony said, “Sorry, Liz, but hers was the only number we could find on the board.” Liz approved of his immediately picking up on the situation with reference to her sister. She also approved of the way he pretended not to see when Angela batted her eyelashes at him. All of a sudden Liz liked him a lot.

“What’s Hugh doing here then?” she asked. She thought he was supposed to be ignoring her these days, regardless of whether a mole had apprised him of recent developments concerning fire engines.

“No idea. He just arrived.”

“Just as well he is here.” Angela just had to say it. “You need someone to sort this mess out.” She couldn’t help it. She was naturally obnoxious. Born like it. She was well past the age of growing out of it, too.

In some trepidation Liz went into her house and ventured down the hall to the kitchen. What a relief! It was only the kitchen that had been gutted. She’d been meaning to have a whole new one for a long time. When she was filthy rich that was. In the meantime, who needs kitchens when there are biscuits to be had in just about any shop you care to enter? She would need something to cook Moocher’s food on though. She’d get one of those little ring things. All the lodgers seemed to be quite happy to take their meals in Lydia’s. They could get on with it. She was a teeny bit fed up one way and another. She would just lower their rents a little to allow for no kitchen.

Her audience had followed her in. Angela let out a sob and holding her arms out to her cried: “I know it’s a tragedy, but Hugh will help. Your kitchen…”

Liz stared at her with what she sincerely hoped was a freezing glare. “Angela, it’s a kitchen. Just a kitchen. There are no corpses, human or otherwise in here. A kitchen — you know, cooking and washing things, pots, pans and cupboards. A kitchen.”

Hugh said: “Calm down, Liz. I’ll sort it out. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Hugh,” she said. “I know you mean well, but I’m not worried, and it’s not your business. I’ll sort it.” Liz didn’t have the nerve to ask him how Charity would feel if she let him sort it, but she certainly didn’t want to cause any trouble in that quarter. She really wanted him to be happy.

Tony said: “I’ll give you a hand, Liz. If you want.”

“Thank you, Tony. I might take you up on that.”

Hugh frowned.

Ha!

Melanie said: “I’ll bring down the little electric oven I’ve got in my room.”

She had an electric oven in her room? “Thank you, Melanie. You’re very kind.”

Julie said: “You don’t need to worry about us. Dad and I are moving into Lydia’s. She’s asked us to lodge with her.”

Liz contented herself with a glare because she could think of nothing to say. The betrayal by her neighbour deprived her of words. Criminy, a kitchen down the pan and now two rents gone as well, one of them someone she’d thought she could rely on.

“Suit yourself,” Liz said, determined to be nonchalant, although she couldn’t help but cast an icy glance at Lydia. She at least had the grace to drop her gaze. Liz also noted, with some satisfaction, that Lydia was tearing a lace handkerchief to shreds, as though she wasn’t aware of what she was doing.

Simon mumbled something that sounded like he was dying for a smoke, despite there being plenty in the kitchen, flicked her a petrified look that could have meant anything, and scuttled outside, fumbling in his pocket, no doubt for an old stogie two centimetres long. Liz had to confess that she felt hurt by Simon’s betrayal, but she ought to know by now that you could never tell about people.

The two new PCs craned to see over the crowd in her kitchen. They were probably waiting for Moocher to whip out his tambourine and do a rendition of ‘I’d like to teach the world to sing, in finger harmony’. They suddenly whirled around at the sound of breaking glass. Everyone galloped off to the front room. Liz didn’t bother. She really didn’t want to see another broken window, her home under attack yet again. It was getting tedious and upsetting. The only thing more upsetting was going to be the state of her spreadsheets when she added in this little lot. That was going to be very tiresome indeed.

Moocher licked her hand. He knew everything, that dog. PC Number One, or should that be Number Five, came in and, instead of giving her the note from off the new, just-arrived brick, insisted on reading it to her, no doubt to add dramatic flavour to the proceedings. It said: ‘This time just the kitchen. Next time the whole house if you don’t give us what we want.’ PC One was very excited about this. He must have been a very junior PC, that’s all she could say. She was sure that after a slightly longer spell of duty, the advent of note covered bricks through people’s front room windows would become old hat.

He stood there hopping from foot to foot in his excitement, speculating on the deep and profound meanings of the note.

“What could they want?” he demanded.

“I don’t know what they want,” she said.

“You must have some idea.”

Simon had come back in to the kitchen surrounded by a more peaceful aura than he’d had when he left it. He must have been chain-smoking furiously to gain this much tranquillity in such a short space of time. Liz envied him.

“Well, come to think of it,” she said. “Simon here is an arch criminal. He did a big job years ago and didn’t share the loot with his mates. They’ve come back to get it.”

Simon looked startled. As well he might.

“No, seriously,” PC Number One said, glancing with a tolerant smile at Simon. “You must have some idea.”

Liz sighed. Hopeless case. He must be very good at poker because he sure as hell couldn’t tell when someone was telling the truth. He continued: “Aren’t you worried about your house? About them coming back and torching your whole house?” He thought she was a very odd specimen. She thought him a very odd policeman — relishing his job a tad too much.

She couldn’t tell him that she found it impossible to take seriously the threats of a bunch of part-time thugs who couldn’t even remember their power tools. They weren’t even capable of successfully kidnapping someone as static as Simon Medley!

“Look, they’re just opportunistic. They didn’t set fire to my kitchen. I did. They’ve just used the opportunity to throw a brick through my window. Probably makes them feel big. That’s all.”

“You set fire to your own kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“Insurance fraud I suppose?”

“Quiche and a greasy oven.”

“Yeah, right. You had a finger in your fridge too. A one-digit snack for your dog.” He fell about laughing.

The PCs, after questioning everyone in sight, left. They took the note with them and said they’d be back.

Everyone else left, too, without too much ear-bashing from her sister and her ex, for which Liz was very grateful, although also extremely puzzled. Hugh had said nothing about the brick through the window or anything. Not even a, “Now, Liz…” How very odd. In fact, thinking about it, he’d been very low-key the whole time he’d been there, almost as though he hadn’t really been there at all.

Then she heard a commotion and went to investigate. In the front room Tony and Julie shouted at each other. Tony yelled, “I still say it’s ludicrous that you’re moving into Lydia’s.”

“Mind your own business, Tony.”

“It is my business. As well you know.”

“I am over eighteen. And anyway, now I’ve got Dad to look after me.”

Liz’s uncontrollable mirth at the idea of Simon looking after anybody gave her away, but she was beyond embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping.

“Come on then. Explain,” she said.

Julie looked her up and down as though she was something from the bottommost regions of Moocher’s basket. “Tony’s my adoptive brother of course.”

Of course. Silly me, Liz thought.

Tony, who, of course, was Julie’s adoptive brother, said he’d sort out the window. Again. Liz felt she should attempt to find out what was going on. At least it explained the lack of embarrassment when he unclothed her to get her out of the dog flap. But, why was Tony so willing to fix everything all the time? Why were these two lodging in her house? And why did they omit to mention their relationship? But she didn’t have the energy for any more sleuthing that day.

She went to bed. It was time she went to bed, even if it was only seven-thirty.

Chapter Fifteen of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ is here!

Chapter Seventeen of ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ will be here next week!

All ‘White Lies and Custard Creams’ chapters to read are here.

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