The Exquisite Art of Getting Even, page 9
“I thank my lucky stars that Rose chose Colin,” Elaine confided to a friend. “When you think of what some parents get when it comes to sons-in-law, the blood runs cold.”
“Ice cold,” agreed her friend. “No known faults?”
Elaine shook her head. “Not as far as I know. He’s not the most exciting man in Scotland, but who wants excitement?”
“Not me,” said the friend, perhaps a bit wistfully.
Rose and Colin’s house had a name: Pentland View. This was a reference to the Pentland Hills, which rolled out from the southern boundaries of Edinburgh; soft, feminine hills, unlike the higher mountains of northern Scotland. The name was appropriate, as the view from the house was, indeed, of the Pentlands and of the stretch of farmland between the city and the hills.
On either side of Pentland View were houses built at the same time, but of rather different style and, in both cases, slightly smaller. One of these houses was called Waverley, and the other was called Cairnside. Waverley was owned by a retired couple who spent much of their time away, at a country cottage in the Scottish Borders, near Selkirk, not far from Abbotsford, the home of Sir Walter Scott, author of the Waverley novels. That provided the key to the house’s name. Rose and Colin met this couple on the day they moved in, when the husband brought over a bowl of home-grown strawberries as a welcome gift.
“This is a very friendly community,” he said. “We’ve been happy here, and I’m sure you will be too.”
Rose asked about Cairnside, enquiring as to who lived there. Their neighbour hesitated. It was only a brief hesitation, but Rose noticed it.
“They’re away at the moment,” he said, glancing over the fence in the direction of the other house. “He’s an engineer in the oil industry up in Aberdeen. He spends quite a bit of time on the oil rigs, I believe. And she . . .” There was a further hesitation, again a short one, but eloquent for all its brevity. “She calls herself Tiger.” This was accompanied by a raised eyebrow. “I have no idea what her real name is. There’s a husband called Ray, I believe.”
Rose waited. Would more information be forthcoming?
The neighbour looked away. “We don’t see a great deal of them,” he said. And then he changed the subject. If she wanted help with the garden, he knew a man from Kirkliston who looked after gardens. He could put them in touch, if necessary.
“I’m planning to do the garden myself,” said Rose. “But I’ll let you know. Thanks.”
The neighbour smiled. “It will be good to see this garden properly looked after,” he said. “The last people made an effort, but I think they were too busy. His business was taking off and he had to go down to London a lot. She had a sister who wasn’t very well and needed a lot of help. They didn’t have the time.”
“I’m going to do my best,” said Rose.
“Good,” said the neighbour.
Rose and Colin had taken a week off to get everything sorted out in their new house. On the third day after they moved in, their other neighbours, the owners of Cairnside, turned into the drive and stopped in front of their garage door. Rose watched from her kitchen window, standing sufficiently far back so as not to be seen from outside. She had a clear view of the parked car and the people getting out of it.
She smiled as she saw Tiger alight from the passenger’s seat. Now she knew why the neighbour had hesitated. Tiger was a brassy blonde. Her hair was piled up in a beehive style, popular in the nineteen sixties and seventies but seen less frequently since then. She wore a tight, hip-hugging dress in pinky-beige. She looked as if she was somewhere in her thirties – not much older than Rose herself.
But it was her husband who was the surprise. He was short and stocky and wearing a T-shirt that displayed the muscled torso beneath. Even from a distance, she could see that his upper arms, knotty with biceps, were heavily tattooed. “Popeye,” she muttered, and smiled to herself.
More was to be revealed. Tiger now walked round to the back of the car and opened one of the rear doors. As she did so, a large dog pushed past her, almost knocking her from her feet, and began to career around the lawn. The muscular man shouted at the dog, which ignored him and tore round the side of the house, only to emerge a few moments later from the front, barking loudly. Above the sound of the barking, she heard Tiger shouting out the dog’s name. “Monty! Monty!” The dog ignored her too.
Tiger and the man went inside. Rose sat in her kitchen and thought about what she had seen. These were not the neighbours she had imagined for herself in Balerno, which had a reputation for quiet respectability. Tiger did not look the part, and nor did her husband, with his Popeye arms and tattoos. Of course, I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, she told herself. I must not become my mother. I must not. She is the last person I should turn into. And yet, she knew that people often became their parents. It was depressing, yes, but it was often true.
Half an hour later, when Rose was in her garden, surveying a bed where she was planning to plant shrubs, she noticed that her neighbours had emerged from the house. Ray was carrying a suitcase that he loaded into the car before turning to give Tiger a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he got into the car, started the engine, and reversed down the drive. As the car set off, Tiger stayed outside to wave before going back into the house. She did not see Rose watching. Rose wondered whether she should go over to introduce herself but decided against doing so. She would go tomorrow, she thought, as it was a Saturday and Colin would be able to accompany her.
But the meeting took place earlier than she had anticipated. She remained in the garden for fifteen minutes but when rain set in, she took refuge back in the house. It was at that point, though, that she heard a furious barking outside. Looking out of the kitchen window, she saw that the dog she had seen earlier on, Monty, had crossed over from the neighbouring garden and was standing at the foot of a tree in her backyard, barking at a squirrel that had scampered into the branches above.
Rose was not sure what to do. She had nothing against dogs in general, but this dog made her feel uneasy. It was large and clearly aggressive, a Rottweiler, or perhaps a mixture of Rottweiler and some other equally unpleasant breed. Rose shuddered: she had read in the newspaper a few days ago of an unprovoked attack by one of these large, aggressive dogs on a man in Glasgow. The victim had been lucky to escape with his life and had ended up being badly scarred by the mauling. She would certainly feel very uncomfortable if Monty were to make a habit of coming into her garden. There was a fence between the two properties, but it had not been maintained, and she had already noticed that there were several places where it would no real obstacle to a dog.
Suddenly Monty stopped barking, and Rose saw that Tiger had appeared. She went up to Monty, calling his name while admonishing him volubly. She had a leash with her, and she clipped this onto his collar at the same time as she happened to look up to see Rose staring at her through the kitchen window.
Tiger gave a friendly wave as Rose emerged from the house.
“Sorry about this,” Tiger called out. “Monty is a naughty boy sometimes.” She looked down at the dog, from whose jaws a tail of viscous saliva was dripping down. “Who’s a naughty boy, then? Who ignores Mummy when she tells him not to chase squirrels?”
With Monty having been scolded, Tiger beamed at Rose. “I’m Tiger,” she said. “I’m your new neighbour – or you’re mine. Same thing, I suppose.”
Rose introduced herself. Monty was looking at her, as if sizing her up. The saliva detached itself and fell to the ground.
“He dribbles,” said Tiger. “These large breeds often do, don’t they?”
Rose dragged her gaze away from Monty. There was something nasty about the dog, she thought. There was something menacing about his eyes.
“I’ve told him not chase squirrels,” Tiger went on. “If you find him going after them, don’t hesitate to tell him off. He knows that he shouldn’t be doing it.”
The two women looked at one another.
“I’m really glad you’ve moved in,” Tiger said. “The previous people were a bit . . . well, not to put too fine a point on it, a bit stuck-up.” She put a hand to her mouth and giggled, as if she realised that she had spoken out of turn. “I hope they weren’t friends of yours.”
Rose shook her head. “We didn’t know them.”
“Well, they thought of themselves as superior, if you ask me. What’s the word? Condescending.”
“Possibly,” said Rose.
“Anyway,” said Tiger. “They’re gone, and I’m not going to miss them.” She paused. “Was that your husband I saw earlier this morning? Going off in his car?”
Rose nodded. “Yes, Colin.”
Tiger grinned. “Dishy,” she said.
Rose was uncertain how to react. You did not say things like that about other people’s husbands – you just did not. She shrugged. “He’s my husband,” she said.
“I meant the car,” said Tiger, bursting out laughing. “Dishy car.”
Rose was flustered. This woman was playing with her. She did not mean the car – it was perfectly obvious that she was referring to Colin. There was no such thing as a dishy car.
“And that was yours driving off earlier on?” asked Rose.
Tiger pulled at Monty’s leash, to stop him sniffing at Rose’s feet. “Yes,” she said. “That’s my Ray. He works up in Aberdeen. He often goes out to the North Sea rigs. He’s a mud engineer.”
“Oh yes?”
“Yes. They’re the people in charge of pumping mud into the oil wells to bring the oil out. It’s an important part of drilling for oil, but most people don’t even know they exist. That’s what Ray does.”
“Fascinating,” said Rose.
“You and Colin should come round for drinks some evening,” said Tiger. “When Ray’s back. Not that I always know when that will be.”
Rose accepted the invitation. “That would be very nice.”
Tiger glanced around the garden. “It looks as if you’re going to transform this place,” she said. “It’s become a bit of a dump.”
Rose smarted at the insult. She had seen Tiger’s garden, admittedly only from her side of the fence, but she had not been impressed. “I hope we make an impression on it,” said Rose. “But it can take a long time.”
“London wasn’t built in a day,” said Tiger.
Rose frowned. “Rome,” she said.
Tiger looked surprised. “What about Rome?”
“I think that it was Rome that wasn’t built in a day.”
Tiger pouted. “I didn’t say it was.”
“Of course not.”
There was a brief silence. Then Tiger looked at her watch. “Monty needs his tea. I always feed him at this hour of day. They get used to a routine, you know. And these big dogs have a hearty appetite. You wouldn’t believe how much dog food we get through in a week.”
“I bet it’s a lot.”
“Seven kilos,” said Tiger. “Seven kilos!”
Rose expressed surprise. What was the point, she wondered, in having an animal like that eating one out of house and home? A West Highland terrier would be a much more manageable proposition and less of a drain on the earth’s resources. Of course, some people wanted to have a large, powerful dog. What she had seen of Ray suggested that he might be such a person, with his bulging muscles and tattoos. And Tiger herself, she imagined, would probably want a very masculine dog rather than a simpering lapdog. It all made sense, perhaps.
Tiger suddenly asked, “You don’t have a cat, do you?”
Rose replied that they did not. She liked cats, though, and had had a Burmese as a girl.
“Just as well you don’t have one now,” said Tiger. “It’s a bit of a relief, actually, because Monty, I’m afraid, is not good with cats.”
Rose looked down at Monty, who looked back up at her, his eyes filled with malevolence.
“Yes,” Tiger continued. “The people in your house before you . . . What were their names again? The people who sold you the house?”
“They were called Drummond, I think.”
“Yes, Drummond. Well, they had a cat – a very fat cat with one eye. I don’t know what happened, but this cat had only one eye. This meant that he couldn’t see as well as other cats.”
“I can imagine.”
“Anyway, he was also rather slow because he was so fat. It was their fault, I’m pretty sure. They fed him too much. He was always eating. And Monty, unfortunately, got him when he was outside and couldn’t get to a tree in time. It was awful, but I don’t think he felt very much. It was very quick.”
Rose looked down at Monty again. It seemed to her that he was grinning with pride now. Impossible. He could not understand what was being said.
“They were really unpleasant about it,” Tiger continued. “I didn’t order Monty to do it. It’s not as if I set him on the cat. The cat should not have been out on the lawn like that, especially since he only had one eye. What did he expect?”
Rose felt that she had to defend the cat. “I’m not sure. It was his garden, after all.”
“But animals don’t see it that way,” protested Tiger. “Animals don’t understand about human boundaries. How can they?”
“But animals do understand these things,” Rose corrected her. “Animals are very territorial. They have a very clear idea of who owns what.”
Tiger did not attempt to refute this, but she looked vaguely sulky.
“Anyway,” said Rose, “I mustn’t keep Monty from his food.”
“No,” said Tiger. “Monty can get very cross if we don’t feed him on time.” She looked down at Monty. “Who can be a very impatient boy? That’s right, Monty, it’s you that Mummy’s talking about. Very impatient.”
Rose resisted the temptation to call Colin at his office. She could not wait to describe Tiger to him, but she wondered whether she would be able to do her new neighbour justice. London wasn’t built in a day . . . It’s you that Mummy’s talking about . . . And the beehive hairstyle. Everything. It was all terribly funny. And yet, at the same time, that dog was not at all funny. That was an evil creature, as all those fighting dogs were. It should be illegal to keep dogs like that – in fact, some breeds were already illegal, she thought, although it must be difficult to decide what dogs fitted into which category. Siamese fighting dogs, she thought; no, it was Siamese fighting fish. She smiled at the confusion: perhaps it was illegal to keep piranhas. Pit bull terriers? Was it against the law to keep a pit bull terrier?
When Colin came back from the office, she opened the front door to him with a grin on her face.
“I met our new neighbour,” she said.
Colin put down his briefcase. “I need a drink,” he said. “I’ve had a hellish day.”
“Poor darling. Did you hear what I said?”
“No. Something about the neighbours.” He took off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. “Oh yes? Which one?”
Rose pointed in the direction of Tiger’s house. “That one. And she really is actually called Tiger. Can you believe it?”
Colin smiled. “Is that really her name?”
Rose said that it was the way she had introduced herself. “And it suits her – it really does. She has a beehive hair-do – blonde, of course. Lots of curves. Make-up caked on.”
Colin shrugged. “That’s what these places are like. Move to Balerno and that’s what you get.”
Rose shook her head. “I don’t think so. She’s really . . .” She hesitated. She had no word for it, and she could not use her mother’s term. She was not going to say that.
“Common?” said Colin. “That’s what your mother would say, isn’t it?”
Rose looked reproachful. “Mummy is old-fashioned. She doesn’t see anything wrong saying things like that.”
“I wasn’t criticising her,” Colin reassured her. And, he thought, it will take a lot for me to criticise any parents who give us six hundred thousand pounds.
Rose grinned. There was a certain pleasure in being on the side of the fallen angels – or at least on the side of the old-fashioned ones. “Actually, that’s exactly what she is. Brassy as Sammy Burns’ scrap metal yard.”
“Hah!”
“I didn’t meet her man,” Rose continued. “I saw him. He looks like Popeye the Sailor Man, but a bit rougher. He’s called Ray. He’s gone off to do his mud engineering up in Aberdeen.”
“Mud engineering?”
Rose gave the explanation that Tiger had given her. “They use mud to force the oil up. Apparently, that’s what they do.”
“Sounds messy,” said Colin. “Not for me.”
“But I did meet their dog,” Rose said. “A horrible creature. A Rottweiler crossed with something nasty – heaven knows what. Evil little eyes. Big jaws. Slobbering all the time.”
Colin made a face. “Not very nice.”
“No. He came over into our garden and chased a squirrel up a tree. Then she came back and started fussing over him like a mother hen. It was ghastly. Sick-making.”
Colin opened the drinks cupboard that they had placed temporarily in the sitting room. He poured himself a whisky.
“I take it that we’re not going to be close friends,” he said.
“Definitely not,” said Rose.
“Should we even try?” asked Colin.
Rose shook her head.
“Oh well,” Colin said. “We could plant a hedge. A big one.” He looked out of the window, into the garden. “And a fence. With a watchtower, perhaps. What do they say about fences?”
“Good fences make good neighbours.”
“Yes. That.” He looked at her, smiling wearily. “We don’t need this, do we?”
She sighed. “You know what’s been worrying me? It’s the thought – just a possibility, of course – that the reason why the Drummonds moved is because of . . .” She inclined her head in the direction of Cairnside. “Because of them. Tiger and Ray.”
