One Last War, page 22
Carl screwed the lid of his flask tight, picked it up and went to the back door. A loud crescendo of rumbling, like that of a storm, or to Carl’s mind, that of a passing jet, breaking into a sonic boom, as it dropped its payload of bombs, broke his silence and made him drop his thermos in fright. It cracked upon the tiled flooring but held its contents. Carl cursed as he saw the damage, it was a gift from his friend, the last birthday present from Gavin. He picked it up, studied the crack for a moment and then stepped outside. He made his way to the bird-table and bath, intent on restocking the seeds, nuts, and fat-balls. As he walked down his lawn, carefully walking on the ornate stepping-stones, he was shocked to see the table and bath lying on their sides. They appeared pushed towards the centre of the lawn, away from the wall. As he neared, he could see that a large chunk of the stonework had been damaged from the bath and that a deep crack was within its centre. The table’s woodwork had been splintered in several places and the apex roof had been torn off and laid haphazardly further up the lawn. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed in disappointment.
A bald head popped up over the wall and then a sardonic wide grin, ‘Shame that!’ Simon mocked in fake commiseration. ‘I expect that a cat or the wind must have knocked them over.’
Carl stared at him, knowing full well that there had been no strong winds last night and that the chances of a cat overturning both of his prized possessions were minimal. This had been retribution for calling the police yesterday. This was confirmed by the cackling laughter followed by the merry whistling coming from Simon as he made his way back to his house.
Simon stood over Millie with a hammer in his hand, ‘You’ll do as you’re damn well told woman,’ he warned. ‘Now get out there quick, before he goes indoors.’
‘But I don’t want to,’ she protested, ‘he’s such a lovely man.’
‘Fancy him, do you,’ mocked Simon. ‘I can think of a better use for this.’ He held the hammer in front of her menacingly, with a snarl upon his lips. ‘Get it done, or else,’ he firmly threatened.
Millie reluctantly took it from him, rose painfully from the kitchen chair, and made her way to the back step.
Simon watched her gloatingly, hotly anticipating the reaction of Carl after Millie did his bidding. He watched from the kitchen window as she lifted the hammer and banged it against their back-step railings and then rattled the railings, hard, along their length, or as far as her arthritic limbs would stretch. She appeared to bob, almost in an apologetic courtesy, then made her way slowly and unsteadily indoors, hoping that Carl, or his family, wouldn’t see that it was her.
Simon grinned as he looked through his window and towards the arbour. Through its slatted wooden structure, he could see Carl visibly stiffen in shocked reaction to the sudden, violent noises that interrupted his moment of solitude. Simon guffawed with glee, like a naughty schoolkid playing a prank on a fellow pupil, rubbed his hands together and did a little dance on the spot. ‘Let’s see him complain about her now,’ he sneered aloud.
‘No, Millie, no way,’ protested Tilly as she looked on at her husband in bewilderment. ‘She wouldn’t do that; does she even have the strength?’ She’s a frail old lady.’ She looked at Carl, wondering if he was imagining all this.
BANG, BANG, BANG.
‘Tell me you heard that?’ protested Carl.
‘Yes, I did.’ Tilly looked out of her window and saw Millie sweeping her path.
BANG, BANG, BANG.
‘Well, that solves that little mystery. Millie can’t be making those bangs, she’s outside, sweeping, again.’
Carl, heart racing, jumped up from his armchair and paced the room, like a roused panther in a zoo enclosure. ‘I don’t think I want to be in here, listening to that lot. It sounds like he’s slamming his bedroom door several times in a row. I can hear it, no matter what room I’m in.’
‘Okay, we’ve obviously upset the man, let’s not go near him for a few days and see if he’ll get bored and stop. I don’t think that we should be upsetting the man. He’s a bit deranged if you ask me.’
Their doorbell rang before Carl could agree. He went to answer it and was puzzled to see Bruce and Yvonne, the police officers from yesterday on his doorstep.
‘Can we come in please sir,’ Bruce formally addressed Carl.
‘Of course, is it about the bangs?’
‘Bangs?’ questioned Yvonne as she entered after her colleague.
‘It sounds like slamming doors, in quick succession.’
Bruce nodded discretely to Yvonne as they followed Carl through to the lounge. ‘Good morning Ma’am,’ he said to Tilly. ‘You can stay if you wish.’ He turned to Carl, ‘We’ve had a complaint that you threatened your neighbour.’
‘Eh?’ said a puzzled Carl.
‘From your neighbour’s son.’
‘I’ve never even met the guy,’ protested Carl.
‘We’ve received an interesting video. It’s been heavily cropped and jumps about in scenes. It only shows you, no-one else.’
The penny dropped with Carl, the large woman behind the wall with the barking dog. She’d been filming him on a camera.
‘From your neighbour’s CCTV.’
Carl had forgotten about those.
‘We can’t see your neighbour, that seems to be the bits that have been cropped.’
‘I’m not surprised, he was pushing me, well trying to.’
‘Yes, we thought as much. His son is claiming that his father is a frail ninety-year old.’
‘My foot!’ exclaimed Tilly. ‘He’s only in his late sixties, maybe early seventies.
‘We aren’t charging you, nor cautioning you, there isn’t enough evidence. As I say, the film is heavily cropped. Your elderly neighbour doesn’t appear nor speak in the bits we have seen, so we can’t say who you threatened, though we have two witnesses, both of whom are closely related, so it’s a bit hearsay. We shan’t be taking the matter further. But we strongly advise you to stay away from your neighbour.’
Carl nodded, funny how the banging had suddenly stopped. I bet it’ll restart as soon as these two left the building. ‘Of course, officers, I get the picture. Will that be all?’
‘For the moment sir, we’ll see ourselves out.’ The still standing duo, turned, and left, smiling reassuringly at the two small children coming down the stairs.
When Tilly heard the front door close, she turned to Carl and said, ‘Dotty warned me that he was devious. He’s edited those recordings to make you the bad guy.’
‘And him the victim,’ rued Carl.
Their children walked in, Gordon carefully scouted around Carl, rubbing his throat self-consciously. They sat on the sofa and looked to their mother.
BANG, BANG, BANG. echoed around their house,
‘I told you that it wasn’t us,’ avowed Annabelle. ‘Now will you stop blaming us daddy. It frightens me, all this noise.’
Carl, heart racing, paced the room and then sat by his children, his soul wrenched when he saw Gordon flinch and then rub his neck.
Tilly nodded in encouragement.
Carl, in a low voice, said, ‘I’m so sorry Gordon. That was so wrong of me and will never happen again. I had a nightmare and my mind was elsewhere. You know that I’d never intentionally hurt you.’
The children nodded sagely, their mother had spoken to them earlier and described that daddy had been fighting in the army and sometimes he relived experiences and had to be left alone, to wake up gently and not be suddenly roused from his bad dreams.
‘I hope it doesn’t hurt too much mate?’ questioned Carl gently.
Gordon rubbed his throat and shook his head.
‘Friends again?’ ventured Carl.
Gordon nodded again and his father held up his hand for a high-five. Gordon left him hanging.
Simon handed over, begrudgingly, a twenty-pound note to Millie, along with a sheet of paper with a list of items to buy.
She dutifully took them from him, flinching in anticipation of a smack, or worse.
A smile of pleasure crossed his face as he saw the fear in her eyes. ‘And I’ll expect some change.’ He lifted his hand, palm outstretched towards her, ‘Now get going and give me some peace.’
Millie scurried off, relief on her face. She stopped at the lobby cupboard and took out her two canvas shopping bags and left her home. As she walked up her path, eyes cast downwards, shame on her face for what she had done to the nice young man next door, she didn’t see her pal across the road, nor Tilly with her, deep in conversation. Millie made her way to the nearby bus stop.
‘It’s probably best not to give her any attention, or call across, it’ll make Simon angry with her,’ warned Dotty.
‘The poor woman, he is so controlling,’ replied Tilly pitifully. ‘She has two large shopping bags; won’t he give her a lift into town and help her carry them?’
‘No, and with her arthritis too. It’s a pitiful sight, isn’t it?’ Dotty didn’t wait for a reply, she knew it was. She’d seen these events play out for too many years. ‘You should see her struggle off the bus when those two bags are full of groceries. But that’s not the half of it,’ she continued with a sigh, ‘Watch Simon, he’ll be by the lounge window, watching her make her way to the bus stop.’
Tilly discretely looked out at the corner of her eye and sure enough a smirking Simon was by his window, staring at his wife.
‘Now watch,’ cautioned Dotty. ‘Look out for her.’
Tilly looked at her pal with a puzzled look and then saw a woman with bobbed hair, which accentuated her round face, make her way over a wall, having to heave one oedematous leg over the brickwork with both hands, and then repeat the procedure with the other. Once over, she stopped to catch her breath and then floundered across his side driveway, along Simon’s path and let herself into his house.
‘Oh, I hadn’t realised that they were such good friends to just let herself in like that.’
A rueful expression crossed Dotty’s face, ‘Watch the bedroom window.’
Tilly did as bidden, this time turning all the way around so that she could have a more comfortable look. She was shocked to see the woman at the front bedroom window, reach up and close each curtain. Just as the drapes finally shut out her view, she saw a beaming Simon in the background. Stunned, Tilly turned back to Dotty with an incredulous look upon her face, ‘You can’t mean?’
‘Yes, it’s awful, isn’t it? That’s been happening for years. They are so close, well as close as folk can get. I’m sure that I don’t need to paint you a picture.’
Tilly shook her head, ‘Please don’t. She must be half of his age.’ She shuddered at the thought.
‘Her husband, Wayne, he works full-time, during the week, in Aberdeen, so she knows he’s away from home. She’s well-known for having gentleman callers shall we say. Though for Simon, she makes house calls.’
Tilly looked appalled, ‘That’s awful. You hear of such things, but to actually see it going on.’ She looked aghast and lost for words. After a few moments she asked, ‘Does Millie know?’
‘I think that she suspects, but how do you even begin to tell a friend that her husband is seeing someone with voracious appetites behind your back. That’s why he sends her out on the bus, he knows that he can have an undisturbed two hours. By the time she gets back, Daniella, that’s the hussy’s name, climbs back over the wall.’
Tilly didn’t know what else to say and merely shook her head.
‘It’s bad enough that he won’t give her a lift into town when he has a perfectly good car, nor helps her push the trolley around the supermarket and lift the heavy bags, but he treats her like that, and for all the neighbours to see. He’s no respect for her. Well, he doesn’t, does he? Otherwise he wouldn’t beat her every day. I’m so sorry that we didn’t warn you before you bought the house.’
Tilly nodded, ‘I wish we had known, but don’t blame yourself, we didn’t know you then.’
Chapter Twenty-One
BANG, BANG, BANG.
Carl sprang up from his bed, shouting, ‘GAVIN, GAVIN, NO.’ He screamed out the last word and it seemed to echo around the bedroom. He was actioning as if he was aiming a rifle at someone and shooting. He then dropped to his knees and felt around in an imaginary combat vest for some equipment. All the while he shouted, ‘MEDIC, MEDIC, MAN DOWN.’
Tilly, still groggy from her medicines, forced herself awake and switched on the main light and found her husband on his knees, arms wrapped around an imaginary comrade, forcing life into a downed friend. She sighed; she didn’t know how much longer she could cope with the broken nights. ‘Carl, can you hear me.’
Carl looked at her, though his mind wasn’t in the present. He looked puzzled and then shouted, ‘Help him, he’s been hit.’
‘Gavin is dead Carl, you are home. Look at me, why would I be in Afghanistan?’
Carl looked at her again, and then down at the carpet and then to his hands. He was cradling thin air. ‘But I can taste his blood in my mouth,’ he shouted in protest.
Tilly looked aghast. Over the years her husband had saved her the knowledge of the missions he and his comrades had taken part in and he’d shared no details of Gavin’s injuries, nor the event that cost him his life. She shuddered at the thought of having someone’s blood in her mouth and was horror-struck at the thought of what his injuries may have been. Her imagination placed terrors in her head as Carl shouted out, ‘I had to spit one of his teeth out.’
At that fresh revelation, Carl sat with his hands to his eyes, trying desperately to stem the flow of tears.
Tilly reached for the phone. She didn’t care that Millie may suffer more for her actions: she had her husband to protect. She dialled 101.
‘Police Scotland, how may I help?’ asked the brusque operator with a hint of a Glaswegian accent.
‘There is a disturbance next door, it sounds like he is banging on the wall.’
‘From your neighbour you say, can I have your name and address please?’
Tilly offered the information, speaking a bit louder than normal so that her voice would carry above the noise of her weeping husband. She also gave the name of Simon and his address.
‘Perhaps he is doing DIY?’ offered the operator helpfully.
Tilly looked at her mobile phone incredulously at the suggestion, and the time, ‘It’s three in the morning!’ she exclaimed in bewilderment.
‘Ah, yes, sorry, that was a daft suggestion. Have you tried talking to your neighbour?’
‘Yes. but he shouts and pushes my husband. The police have advised us to stay away from him.’
‘I see,’ said the operator. He was silent for a while, as he read the screen before him. I see that you’ve had to call before. I’ll send officers around as soon as possible. Could you please answer the door to them? They’ll want to hear the noise for themselves. You could also try the local council, though I don’t think your area operates a twenty-four-hour service.’
‘Thank you, we’ll do that.’
The operator thanked her and hung up.
Tilly put her phone down on her cabinet and slid down the bed and joined her husband on the floor. She put her hands around his neck and pressed her forehead to his. ‘Are you with me now?’
Carl nodded his head, slightly bumping heads with his wife with the movements. ‘I can still taste his blood.’
Tilly reached down to his shoulders and held him tight. After a while she said, ‘I know you won’t tell me what happened, but can you see that now is the time to see the GP.’
Carl reluctantly nodded.
‘Good, it’s about time. I thought that almost throttling Gordon would have been a wake-up call. You need treatment for PTSD, whether you like it or not.’
The doorbell rang. Carl sprung up and reached for his dressing-gown. ‘I don’t have PTSD, just nightmares when that lunatic starts his banging. That’ll be the police, I’ll let them in.’ He left the room and swiftly went down the stairs, leaving Tilly to shake her head in despair.
Simon sat up in bed, rubbing his hands in glee as he watched the screens before him, on the adjoining wall. The large TV screen was split into eight sections, one for each camera doted around his property. On the sixth segment, trained at Carl’s front door, he could see those gormless bobbies who had bothered him the other day. They were the same pair who he’d shown the video clips of Carl, daring to be in his property, that his grandson had carefully edited at work. Not that they did anything about it. He watched as they entered Carl’s house.
Simon smugly looked at the hammer and piece of wood and cloth he had on his bedside table, next to his pair of hearing aids. He’d taken great delight in placing the fabric and block of wood upon his wall, to prevent damage to the wallpaper and plasterboards, and then hammered out his frustrations. He kept his vigil on the screens. He’d get busy once those constables cleared off.
‘Thank you for coming out, we’re sorry to disturb you,’ offered Carl as the officers went through to the hallway. ‘Please go into the lounge.’
‘Thank you, sir, we had reports of noises. Is it arguing and fighting again?’ asked Bruce.
‘No. This noise has been going on for weeks. But we’ve had enough. It’s not normal to make bangs through the night.’
Yvonne looked to her colleague knowingly, ‘Loud bangs?’
‘Yes, enough to wake us every night, several times a night. Always three in a row,’ answered Tilly as she entered the lounge and sat down on her armchair. She ushered her hands to the sofa, ‘Please get comfy.’
‘I see, wouldn’t your neighbours be fast asleep now. Their house is in total darkness.’
