Of All Things

By JB Garrity

    Under the unassuming noses of family and friends arrive three uninvited guests whose sole purpose is to transform an ever-changing planet. They embrace their new bodies and surroundings with their own peculiar blend of uniqueness. A difficult transition for the three otherworldly arrivals' each initially forced to inhabit a cramped, flabby pelt. Both indigenous and foreign parties try together to adjust to a life less ordinary and face their demons head-on in the hope everything will work out fine, but rarely life goes to plan. The unasked-for guests very soon realise that stumbling along the path of enlightenment together with their new hosts, poses more difficulties and dangers than they could ever have imagined. And while the interlopers attempt to adapt to their novel, albeit unusual existence, their ensuing presence takes an insidious turn when the unlooked-for guests eventually reveal their true identities …and intentions. Distinctions are drawn between two species, wickedness will always exist in one form or another, lies, infidelities, sexual perversions and mutilations are the norms. How hard will these two opposing life forms push to find an equal balance, or perhaps, a day of reckoning?

• Language: English
• Publisher: To the Moon and back
• Release date: Jun 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393355571

Book preview

Chapter One

Not so neighbourly

As per the norm, the day began with a spate of disparaging remarks as soon as the eiderdowns were thrown to one side and the old men’s bare feet touch the threadbare rugs. Eighty-three-year-old Cuthbert, the eldest of the two brothers by eleven months, struggled to sit up in his bed. Unfortunately for Cuthbert, Jonah shared the same bedroom and was first to rise and shuffle off to the doorway spitting back the same verbal vitriol Cuthbert drooled at him from across the room. This bitterness between the brothers was nothing out of the ordinary, some days were worse than others, but the verbal spat eventually broke down into petty back-biting which lasted all day, most days.

"It’s my turn to go first Jonah you went first the last time, and you made the bally seat wet too if you had half a brain cell in that thick skull of yours you would have at least learned to sit on the dang seat by now!"

Ah, stick it where the sun won’t shine Cuthbert, Jonah dribbled The last time you went I had to sit in worse ‘sides I do sit on the dang thing when I need to, he stood in the doorway glaring at his brother You’re the one who has trouble hitting the mark!

It’s my turn to go first this time, I’m bursting, insisted Cuthbert, ignoring his brother.

First come, first served, Jonah chuckled, over his shoulder It’s all yours if you can get there before me.

You’re a frapping twit Jonah, just hurry up.

I don’t know how long I’ll be, he chortled I may have to sit for this one! Jonah trundled to the bathroom. Cuthbert struggled to his feet with the aid of two walking sticks he had propped between his bed and side table. The old man’s brother shuffled to Jonah’s side of the room and fished about inside the front slit of his pyjamas. He pulled out his wrinkly penis and began to urinate into the top draw of Jonah’s bedside cabinet. When Cuthbert had finished, he shut the drawer and shuffled from the bedroom through the bungalows untidy hall to the kitchen. He lit the gas under the kettle while Butterball, Jonah’s mangy blonde tomcat, sauntered into the kitchen through the cat flap with a fresh kill dangling from his mouth. The cat jumped onto the breakfast table.

I see you’ve already made your breakfast butt-face, Cuthbert scowled and slapped his buttered knife against the feline’s bottom, causing the cat to drop its kill and flee the table. The old man picked up the dead bird and laid it just inside the bread bin next to the whole-meal muffins, then quietly closed the lid.

That’ll do him, the old man smirked, and sat at the table with a piece of buttered bread, albeit a little hairy, which he dipped every so often into a large mug of black tea. After breakfast, Cuthbert abandoned his used crockery and headed into the sitting room. He shuffled to his favourite armchair, next to the bay window and looked out onto the unkempt garden. Here the old man sat feeling inexplicably restless for something to do, but there was nothing to do nowadays, nowhere to go and no excess energy to expend on it if he had. After a little while, Jonah sauntered from the hall into the living room.

You can go now it's empty, he announced But I’d give it a few minutes if I were you, and chuckled, Cuthbert, did not reply neither did he get up and rush to the toilet, as Jonah might have expected. Jonah eyed his older sibling suspiciously Oh no, you haven’t been already, have you? Where did you go this time? Did you go in my shoes again? As usual, Jonah regretted baiting his brother, especially first thing in the morning. There was no telling where Cuthbert might squirt out of spite, and he shuffled off to the shoe rack to check his shoes. Cuthbert simpered and watched Jonah leave the living room. He felt in no mood to play this game, which had proved to be mildly entertaining over the years. A loud thump sounded at the back door of the kitchen as it was carelessly thrust open by the Clack brother’s domestic help, Marigold Plunkett.

I’m here, she called, taking off her coat walked the length of the building to a coat peg just behind the front door. This place is a darn mess what have you two been up to, it stinks in here, she donned a pair of rubber gloves and watched Jonah shuffle forward, shoes in hand.

I think he’s peed in my footwear again, he sulked and handed over his shoes for Mrs Plunkett to inspect.

They don’t seem to be wet, she said, shoving her hand into each shoe she examined her gloved fingertips I don’t think he’s been in there this morning, she confirmed, looking down the inside length of the footwear He must have gone elsewhere, and smiled at Jonah Isn’t he filthy though.

"He’s a damned health hazard is what he is! Jonah bristled angrily We should report him to the environmental health department and have him carted off to a place he can’t offend against decent people!"

Stick it in your craw Jonah, Cuthbert dribbled It’s your fault for goading me, you should have learned by now that you’ll never get the better of me for as long as we live. Cuthbert was right, at their age, Jonah should have learnt that much by now.

Yes, well, we’ll see which of us is better tomorrow morning see who gets to the bathroom first, shall we? He then shuffled into the kitchen to make himself breakfast.

The Clack brothers, of whom there had initially been seven including parents, originated from the north of England and had owned several slum properties. There Mr Alfred Clack and his two eldest boys had run a sort of protection racket. They were successful in twisting more than their fair share of hard earned cash from their fiscally challenged tenants over the years to make a gainful difference. The Clacks managed to accumulate enough of a fortune to relocate from their roots and head for a less embittered career south of the border, to Fairmont new town. Here Mr Albert Clack invested his cash into a small hardware store and a couple of respectable properties on a new housing estate bordering east of Fairmont’s busy town centre. Of these two newly purchased properties stood a three bedroom semi on Cedar Street, which they rented out, and a bungalow next door where the Clack family resided. Over the years, mother and father Clack fell by life’s wayside followed by their three eldest children until only the youngest, Cuthbert and Jonah were left. The hardware store was long gone by then, and the only existing properties the Clack brothers owned was left to deteriorate so severely that the small income from the house next door hardly covered the bungalows fuel and repair bills any more.

You have another letter here Mr Clack, said Marigold, and held out a brown envelope to Cuthbert It looks official, she said, laying it on the side table next to his armchair You best not leave it too long before looking at it. A cry from the kitchen had Marigold racing from the lounge to see what had upset Jonah.

"That dirty old sod has put a dead bird in the bread bin again! He cried Look at it laying there amongst the crackers and bread muffins you should be locked away Cuthbert you filthy beast!"

Are you sure your brother is to blame? Asked Marigold Perhaps Butterball did it himself, she looked doubtful You know what the cat is like for dropping dead things all over the place. It was only the day before yesterday. I found two dead mice behind the sofa and a dead rabbit under the kitchen table. The only reason Mrs Plunkett had found the mice behind the sofa is that she had chased the cat behind the furniture while attempting to beat it with the broom handle for bringing in a dead rabbit. She hated cats with a passion, especially the Clack brothers’ tom, apart from the fact it stank fit to make her eyes water the damned animal shed fur all over the place. It sprayed copious amounts of pee against the flower pots outside the kitchen door and occasionally crapped in the bungalows in dark corners, adding to the everyday foul odours. And even though Mrs Plunkett’s cleaning skills left a lot to be desired that sort of unnecessary mess made her angry. Not that either Clack brother complained about her lackadaisical approach to housework she happened to be cheap enough to employ.

It couldn’t have been the cat, Mrs Plunkett, it must have been that dirty old sod in there because he shut the lid afterwards. Said Jonah, lifting the bird from the bread bin he casually threw it into the chockfull plastic rubbish bin. I ought to stuff the damned thing down his throat, see how he likes the taste of raw bird! He said, taking several muffins from the container Jonah bit into one. Marigold cringed and went back to the lounge to finish flicking the dust from one surface to another. Jonah shuffled into the room after her carrying with him a hot drink in one hand and a plate of muffins in the other. He settled in his own armchair, adjacent to his brother, and began to eat his breakfast.

We have another letter from the darned town council no doubt telling us the property next door needs renovating, nosey bleeders, I wish they would keep their accursed beaks out of our business, Cuthbert snarled I wish the bloody place would fall down completely and save us the time and expense!

I know it isn’t much to look at Cuthbert but apart from this bungalow the property next door is all we own of fathers investments, and it does earn a little bit for the coffers, not much I grant you, but anything is better than nothing. I’m sure I can come up with a plan to fix up the place without spending a fortune.

Oh, well that’s all right then Jonah, Cuthbert drawled But how will you do it? Shinny up the chimney flue with your pockets crammed full with fairy dust perhaps? How will you conjure up enough magic to keep from falling off the dang roof when you’re up there securing the loose tiles, rendering the chimney, mending the loose guttering and fixing the rotting soffits? Grow a pair of wings, perhaps? He turned to their cleaner It appears that our worries are over Mrs Plunkett, that delusional old goat there, he rudely pointed at his brother Is going to fix up our place next door with his magic wand.

As usual Cuthbert, you sound ridiculous, I did not say I was going to fix up the place but meant we should reinvest some of the money it earns to pay someone on the cheap to give it a bit of a facelift. What’s wrong with that, we’ve done it often enough in the past. I don’t see why we can’t carry on.

Mrs Plunkett could see Cuthbert’s cheeks darken to a peculiar mottled mauve, a precursor to an outburst, that involved his spitting obscenities at his younger brother.

Now, now Mr Clack let’s be nice, I don’t think my ears could stand another verbal assault from your awful temper again this week. You’ll end up doing yourself mischief, Marigold scowled at the old man now dribbling into his handkerchief, she pointed to the missive. Look, you haven’t even opened the letter yet before you’re trying to guess what’s in it.

"That’s because just recently the damned letters have been threatening the same thing, a notice of compulsory purchase if we do not bring the building up to a standard. Like it’s any of their damned business. I don’t tell them how to conduct their affairs. Why do they insist on telling me how to conduct mine, Bureaucratic balm-pots!"

Open the letter, Cuthbert, Jonah snapped You’ll give yourself a heart attack, and for what?

"For sticking up for my right to be left alone or die trying, that’s what! The old man spluttered angrily And then I’d haunt the bally lot of them."

Just give it to me I’ll read it, said Jonah, rising from his chair with his arm outstretched.

"No, you will not it’s addressed to Mr C, Clack not Mr bloody nobody Clack!"

Suit yourself you old fool, I hope you do have a heart attack I could do with the peace and quiet!

Oh, Mr Jonah sir, that wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Mrs Plunkett gasped, although her concern belied her real feelings. That she wouldn’t have cared less had they both dropped down dead, except she needed the work. That’s a horrible way to speak to your brother. Although it was nothing, she hadn’t heard a thousand times before.

It’s no more than he deserves, Jonah sulked, to wit she inwardly agreed.

Up yours, Cuthbert concluded.

Mr Maurice Hayes, a middle-aged, paunchy looking man in his early fifties. Stood with his gardener and clucked disapprovingly at the wall of ever advancing weeds and brambles growing in abundance from the back garden of the house next door, number forty-four Cedar Street. The tangle of wild growth threatened every growing season to encroach upon the Hayes immaculately landscaped property. A tangle of weeds poked out here and there from the ‘Granger Twain’ designer fencing panels Mrs Penelope Hayes had erected the year before. The unruly wilderness spoilt the overall effect of the ornate latticework. It caused the retired Mr Clarence Rainy, the Hayes underpaid, part-time, landscape gardener and handyman from across the street, no end of consternation.

I’ve pulled up that lot countless times since the spring, but the bloody stuff -, he turned sharply to face Mrs Penelope Hayes, a slim, sharp-featured woman in her early forties standing quietly next to her husband. Mrs Penelope Hayes, although not altogether a bad woman, had an aggressive temperament which bordered on bullying when she felt the circumstance occasioned. She frowned at her impertinent employee while feigning her disdain, he squirmed sufficiently to halt a firm riposte Excuse my language, Mrs Hayes, I do apologise reservedly, he blushed then skipped straight to the heart of his complaint. But the blinking stuff keeps coming back time after time until my hands are sore from plucking and tearing at it. Something ought to be done about their allowing their garden to get into this state not to mention the darn house itself, just look at it! He moaned "It shouldn’t be allowed."

The three neighbours disdainfully eyed the red brick edifice with its old paintwork, graffiti scribbled outer walls, overgrown pathways, debris-strewn patio and rotted fencing and they seethed at the sheer unsightliness of it all.

I have expressed our outrage of this place to the local authorities repeatedly only to receive nothing for my trouble. I feel it is an outright affront they have not bothered to act on our behalf. What more can a man do to uphold his right to live unmolested in his own property! Bristled Maurice while he peevishly gestured his disapproval at the architectural eyesore.

"We’re not the only people to have voiced a concern, Mr Hayes. At one time, some years back, the place stank so horribly the whole neighbourhood had cause to complain. I remember the occasion distinctly, terrible it was. Mr Rainy shook his head in a disapproving manner. I have complained numerous times about this place over the years. About the extreme dilapidation, noise and conduct of former tenants expressing to whoever may care in authority that we locals, as a collective, should not have to suffer this outrage, all without any success!"

So what shall be done about it, Maurice, demanded Penelope Hayes "You’ll have to do something before we’re overrun, just look at my Granger Twain, it looks awful!"

What can I do that I haven’t already tried to do, my love, replied Maurice. I have done everything I can.

Have you approached those old rascals recently? she asked, knowing full well that every time Mr Hayes had approached the Clack brothers he had been sent away by one or other, or both, with his ears still ringing from their obscenely explosive tempers

That will not do any good my darling they just get too defensive.

You mean lewd, obscene, filthy-mouthed, huffed Mrs Hayes "The whole street has had to tolerate those uncouth, mealy-mouthed pensioners for decades. They should have been put away years ago. How old are they anyway ninety, a hundred? Those inconsiderate villains should have had the decency to die by now and give us all a little peace," she snorted, stomping back to the house.

I’m not going over there again I’ve learnt my lesson, Maurice shuddered "Let the authorities deal with the filthy beggars. I shall not quit harassing our complacent pencil-pushing council members’ until they do something constructive, anything." Maurice turned and followed his wife back to the house, stopping only to call over his shoulder for Mr Clarence Rainy to carry on weeding the Granger Twain ornamental fencing.

Jonah sat in his armchair watching Marigold swipe tiny flecks of dust into the air from the shelving unit just behind Cuthbert’s chair, causing the old man to sneeze fitfully. After several bouts of attempting to expel the tiny pieces of skin dander and dust particles from his airways into his handkerchief, Cuthbert began to moan.

I think I’m coming down with something, he complained through the soiled cotton cloth I can feel it on my chest.

It’s only dust Cuthbert, you silly fool, you’re not suffering from anything other than a mild irritation from breathing in dust.

So, Cuthbert rounded on his brother You’re a faffing doctor now are you? And sneezed several more times into his filthy handkerchief before accusing Jonah of playing down what could very well be Cuthbert’s suspected diagnosis of pneumonia.

Marigold sauntered into the kitchen to find some respite since Jonah and Cuthbert had begun swearing at each other again from opposite sides of the living room. They made her ears ache from their constant bickering, although she would never admit to it openly for fear of a verbal backlash. Now standing in the messy kitchen amongst years of old newspapers, empty bottles and a collection of useless bric-a-brac Marigold wondered, for the thousandth time, where to begin cleaning. She kicked Butterball in the face as he attempted to enter the house through the cat-flap. The old tom retreated nosily while Marigold barred the little opening with a bundle of old newspapers. Mrs Plunkett ambled to the filthy butler sink, stained from years of use and never adequately cleaned. She rinsed the breakfast cups and dishes under the cold tap and left them to dry amongst the pots, pans and cutlery stored permanently on the draining board. Her working day at the Clack household consisted of two hours cleaning in the morning and another two in the evening cooking dinner and turning down their beds. Considering the amount she earned for the work she did each day not an awful lot of housework got done. Most of the time, she spent moping around the place looking for something, other than chores, to occupy her time.

Mrs Plunkett lived with her two daughters on Maple Avenue in a semi-detached three bedroomed council house just a few streets from her employers. A convenient enough distance for her to be able to walk to work without having to pay a fare or use the car she could ill afford to run on her poultry wage. She had considered, for a little while at least, swapping her car for a bike but had changed her mind after struggling the short distance to and from work through the snowstorms last winter.

Mr Norman Plunkett had not so long ago abandoned Marigold and their two daughters for a cosier lifestyle with a doting spinster named Ms Rosalind Hickory whom he had met on his window cleaning round. The initial appeal being Miss Hicks lived by herself owned her own property and seemed to have a plentiful supply of disposable income. She was fifteen years his senior insecure about her looks and therefore effortless to flatter. Norman found her an easy target to take advantage of. There was no end of little jobs he could perform gratis, while he toadied unashamedly for her affections. She possessed everything he had ever wanted most in a partner. She appeared to be less demanding around the house, garden and his wallet than Marigold had been and was generally more attentive to his own personal needs. Ms Hickory had asked for nothing more demanding than his company, so far.

Bethany, the eldest of the Plunkett girls, aged twenty last birthday appeared to be a little plain, a little chubby and quite rude. She had an aggressive attitude which threatened any chance of her finding a decent love interest, not that it seemed to bother her much. She had, up to date, held down several dozen menial jobs since the four years of leaving school without any qualifications and currently worked as a checkout cashier in a local twenty-four/seven corner store, which she seemed not to mind.

Ruth, the second Plunkett girl, aged eighteen slim and somewhat timider than her sister, earned her living working on her own in an office in a large warehouse running errands and filing data. She did not enjoy her work; it was not fulfilling nor exciting, but it was all she had known since leaving school the year before. Even though Ruth disliked her job, she felt reluctant to take a chance looking elsewhere for something new and more engaging which might better suit her needs just in case, like her mother, fate dealt her a raw deal.

Marigold wiped her hands dry on her apron and ambled from the kitchen into the Clack brother’s stuffy bedroom on the way she kicked a dirty sock and paperback lying on the floor under the chest of drawers. She smoothed down the brother's blankets, and eiderdowns then sat on the end of Cuthbert’s bed and tried to look past the green/black mould growing on both sides of the window pane blocking her view into the overgrown garden beyond. She listened to the melodic sound of a blackbird happily chirping in a bush nearby, but the birdsong ended abruptly replaced by an ear piercing scream before disappearing entirely into the distance. Marigold guessed that Butterball must be the culprit behind the song bird’s sudden departure and scowled. If she found the opportunity again that day to hurt the damned cat, she would! Marigold looked down at her wristwatch, only three-quarters of an hour to go before she could leave to go home.

Back at number forty-six Cedar Street, more battle plans were being drawn up by the Hayes who, in their spare time, had spent over a year writing letters of complaint to the town councillors only to receive nothing for their efforts. As a result of this, they decided to change tactics, instigated by Penelope Hayes. She had already spent several hours that morning at their writing desk itemising a considerable list of infractions she alleged was currently being perpetrated by the Clack bothers. Apart from the apparent visual violations, the letter also contained an unsubstantiated allegation that both pensioners must be suffering from a form of dementia. The reason being that, in the past, whenever ‘the Hayes’ had politely approached the pensioners about the property situation, all they had got for their trouble was an unreasonable amount of verbal abuse. And because of the Clacks cantankerous behaviour, nothing could be done to sort out the problems the old rogues were causing in the neighbourhood. Penelope intended to distribute the lengthy essay, with signature slips attached, throughout the local area to stir up as much bad feeling as she could muster against the Clack brothers. She hoped the recipients of her written protest would respond in kind so the Hayes could validate their accusations against the old rogues and finally affect some course of action from the local authorities.

I think we should start enlisting help from people in the neighbourhood, rally as many people on our side as we can and approach those damned rogues mob handed if need be! Penelope bristled "God only knows we have tried to be reasonable with those cantankerous old fools, but there is no talking to them, they’re impossible! At least if we descend upon them on mass, they can hardly single out us as their prime harassers. We have given those Clack fools enough time and warning about that awful eyesore next door. And now that the authorities have bought in someone new it’s time to redouble our efforts, Maurice. We shall collect names for our petition and take them to the town council and slap them straight under the nose of the new head councillor William Newport!"

"I’d rather leave the new man out of this if it’s all the same to you my love and deal with the same council members we have always dealt with. After all, we must have made some impression on them; it only stands to reason. Anyway I’ll need to start printing off this list if you wish me to send out this rather hefty petition to our neighbours, Maurice dawdled in the study doorway Start the ball rolling I suppose," a timbre of doubt sounded in his voice.

What is it, Maurice, you sound a little uncertain.

"Well, apart from anything else my darling, it’s just that you ...I mean we have written a comprehensive list of our own personal grievances which might very well be misconstrued as a list drawn up by ...by troublemakers. What do you think? I mean, it is five pages long, do you suppose the neighbours will even read it?"

Ah, that’s a good point, are you suggesting we shorten it?

Well, not so much shorten it, my dear, he mumbled Perhaps we should just knock from door to door and explain our concerns briefly and find out if anybody agrees and feels the same way as we do. Then we could collect the petitioner's names as we go, there is no telling whether any of our neighbours agree with our criticisms or even if they would return their signatures afterwards if left to their own devices. What do you think?

I think you may be right, Maurice, replied Mrs Hayes "We’ll have to don our walking boots and get out there to the great unwashed masses ourselves. Convince the people it is within all our interests to deal with this problem quickly and efficiently. Besides, I suspect my petition would be lost on the young families around here judging by their language, I wonder any of them can speak properly, let alone read!"

Yes, my petal, I think it best.

No, no wait a minute, Maurice, Penelope looked excited I have an even better idea! What if we throw a garden party and invite the whole neighbourhood, including the council house riff-faff at the end there. She waved her hand, lazily at the window and pulled a disdainful expression. Then they could see for themselves the state of next door. And hopefully, after a few drinks, to mollify their mood, our guests could be influenced into signing our petition on our doorstep and without much persuasion.

That is an excellent idea, my love, but what reason could we give to complete strangers for inviting them to our house?

We are having a party, she harrumphed "Free food and good company how could they refuse? They are our neighbours, after all."

Yes, but we have hardly said two words to most of them since our moving here, two years ago, they may have taken us for snobs by now.

Who cares what the yokals’ think once they have signed the petition they can go back to their hum-drum lives and leave us in peace with enough ammunition to solve the problem we have fought so hard to resolve over the years. Hopefully, within the foreseeable future as a result of our endeavours, we shall end up living next door to a decent looking property if by some providence it doesn’t fall to rubble first. Another acceptable alternative considering.

Yes, dear, shall I start writing out the invitations to our barbeque?

"Certainly not," huffed Penelope You shall inform our guests, and she considered for a moment "That Mrs and Mr Hayes cordially invites you to their afternoon garden soiree, smart attire requested (please bring a bottle). She announced grandly After all, we do come from a better class of people, don't you think?"

Yes, dear.

Next door to the Hayes residence, at number forty-four Cedar Street, lived a retired postman by the name of Stanley Phipps, aged seventy-seven. He had resided at the Clack brother’s ramshackle residence since leaving his conjugal home after an acrimonious divorce eight years earlier. The marital breakup had come as quite a shock to him, in the beginning. When left to consider his circumstances, Stan realised the decision had been the better option and felt irritated that he had not thought of it first, perhaps a couple of years after the ceremony. In fact, he had not quite fully realised just how much he had grown to despise Mrs Edith Phipps until the litigation papers against him were bought to his attention. For months afterwards Stanley found himself ruing the fact that they, as a couple, had spent possibly forty out of those forty-five years in marital misery. Still, brew as he might, he could not bring back the time wasted so decided instead to make up for it by carousing bowling greens, bingo halls and afternoon ballroom dancing venues for occasional dates. But, in the end, even this became too much for him. Nowadays he spent most of his time watching television or reading books he seldom left the property. Apart from the fact that Stanley Phipps was bone idle, there was never enough money left from his pension to do anything else anyway. He shared the accommodation with two other people, an unemployed car mechanic and vocational thief Nigel Oats thirty-three, nicknamed Spooner and a fellow lodger Wayne Daily, aged twenty-five an avid gambler and occasional black market trader nicknamed ‘Have-a-go-Hugo’ or Hugo for short.

Beryl Mercer used to pop in every other day to see Stanley, having been a long-term friend and former work colleague. But now the house had become skin-crawlingly filthy she found visiting increasingly difficult under the circumstances. In the past, she tried several times to clean up the place, but her efforts had always been taken for granted, more so by Stanley than the other two, which frustrated her no end.

I’m not going to call here again if you can’t be bothered to make an effort Stan this place is a terrible health hazard you should feel ashamed. She said scanning the filthy kitchen filled to the brim with every kind of rubbish including a whole host of paraphernalia that did not belong there I’m not cleaning for you anymore it just encourages you to be even lazier, and I will not visit again until you have done something about all this. She swept out both arms in a gesture to encompass the whole of the lower rooms of the house. Even the hallway is jammed packed with crap, how can you live like this!

C’ mon now Beryl, don’t start, Stanley sighed I’m not the only one who lives in this mess; it’s not all down to me.

Oh, give-over Stan, you’re telling porkies now. I’ve seen you chuck your crap about the place as if you don’t give a damn. I haven’t once seen you pick up anything unless you’re going to eat it, read it or wipe your nose on it, you don’t wash anything, including yourself until everything stinks and is caked in filth. You have no pride, and I mean it when I tell you I’m not going to visit again until this place is half decent.

You’re just saying that, moaned Stanley, half hoping she would relent but knowing what she said was right, he had never had any pride in anything ‘born bone idle’ his mother had regularly accused. This having been the leading cause of his ex-wife’s frustrations and eventual grounds for divorce You don’t mean it, he smiled You’re the only one I trust enough to come in here to help me clean. I don’t let any old person in, you know, you’re the only one I trust.

Yes, because I’m a bloody mug! She scowled You can stare at me as long as you like with those baggy blues and flatter me from here to the middle of next week, but it just won’t work, I mean what I say, Stan. I am not coming back here until this place has been cleaned up, with that said Beryl walked out of the house and Stanley had not seen her since. He had, on several occasions, picked up the phone to ring her but had second thoughts when scanning his filthy surroundings.

Maybe I ought to clean up first, he told himself replacing the phone receiver, but that is always as far as he got.

Who are those old fogies yelling at today? I haven’t had breakfast yet, it’s not even eight o clock! There’s never a dull moment over there, Hugo said, poking his head out of the lounge window to hear better what was being bellowed.

They’re always shouting at each other, said Spooner, taking a huge drag from his joint What are they saying?

I dunno, I can hear them shouting but can’t make out what is actually being said except the occasional bally and blast, he sniggered, I think they’re arguing over money again, have you paid this month’s rent yet?

Not yet, I was waiting for Walker to weigh me in, he owes me, Spooner sighed But as it happens, something else came up.

Huh, good luck with that, exclaimed Hugo Walker’s known for ducking out on what he owes, and he turned from the window to his housemate What came up, could you lend me a couple of smackers ‘til Wednesday?

Didn’t you have a big win on the horses the day before yesterday, where’s it all gone?

"What the hell Spooner, who’re you ‘me mother’. Snorted Hugo You know I’m good for it. I just had a run of bad luck yesterday. I live right here, it isn’t like I’m going to do a runner for want of owing you a few quid."

It’s a good job things have gone well for me this week, sighed Spooner Stan has already tapped me for a tenner this morning. He pulled out a bundle of notes from his pocket How much, twenty, thirty? Hugo could not take his eyes off of the thick wad of cash gripped tightly in Spooner’s fist. His housemate must have held at least two thousand smackers sitting there, Hugo could hardly believe his eyes.

Well, since you’re offering, how about a ton?

"A hundred quid, blimey, take the shirt off me back, why don’t you!" Spooner gasped.

Aye, don’t be like that you’ve got plenty to go round. How come you’ve got so much cash on you anyway, you told me yesterday you were barassic.

I’m doing a favour for a local businessman, said Spooner, counting out carefully a few notes from the bundle Here Hugo, which he passed to his friend A hundred smackers.

Thanks, mate, that’s great! Hugo smiled, snatching the money eagerly from his housemate’s reluctant grasp I can feel my luck changing already.

Give it back by Wednesday, right?

Yeah mate, no worries, beamed, Hugo How did you manage to lay your hands on so much money? And is there a job opening for me too? This was said tongue-in-cheek, but when Spooner agreed, there might very well be a small stipend for services rendered Hugo became wary. What did you have to do to earn that amount of dough in so short a time, and who’s the employer?

I was paid yesterday to get rid of a car from James Fayden’s lockup. He gave me a set of keys and one petrol can, which he told me to fill before I took the vehicle away to burn. I haven’t done it yet though I dumped it on Turn side industrial wasteland, behind a derelict building. I’m going back there tonight. Fayden won’t be any the wiser.

You mean you’re risking your neck for that bloody crook Jaffa? Hugo gasped That old bastard isn’t known for his generosity, Why haven’t you done it and why the hell get involved in the first place?

"I ain’t had time yet, and it wasn’t like I ‘ad a choice! Once he’d given me the money, I took the car straight away because I wanted to get the job over and done with. After I dumped it at the Turn side, I set off on foot to the nearest petrol station for gas. But, as sod’s law would have it, I bumped into Dennis Hutton halfway down Ridge Street. He insisted I finish the work on his car, which I’d started a few days before. Spooner held up a fist to imply he had been threatened He’d already paid me so I couldn’t say no, and by the time I’d finished, I was too knackered to start the job Fayden give us, at least, not before I had a sit-down and summit to eat first. Anyway, Jaffa isn’t going to know any different, I’ll do it tonight."

Why the hell did you get involved with the likes of him?

"It wasn’t my fault. How could I say no when Jaffa's goons had already dragged me off the street and threatened to smash my face in if I didn’t go quietly. I only know Jaffa by reputation, we’d never actually crossed paths before ‘til I was summoned out of the blue yesterday to one of his business locations. Believe me, I’m not that stupid, I know enough not to cross paths with the likes of him unless I’m forced to. In the beginning, I thought he wanted me to assess the damage done to a vehicle he owned, but when I saw its condition, I knew something nasty had happened. No one mentioned the liberal amount of claret spattered all over the back seat. I wasn’t given an option in the matter. He told me what he wanted from me after which he threatened me to keep shtum then bunged me a wad of cash."

How much cash did he give you?

Enough.

And that’s it is the job almost finished?

Not exactly, sighed Spooner The old scrote wants me to fence some gear for him too.

What did he ask you to fence?

Nothing yet, he said I would find out when he arrives here tonight at midnight, Spooner watched Hugo ponder the information Are you in, do you want any of the action?

It doesn’t look like I’ve been given any choice!

Back at number forty-two Cedar Street, the Clack brothers had once again got into a row, Marigold had left an hour since glad to be free of the noise, while the brothers continued to argue back and forth. One brother accused the other, and vice versa, of shirking responsibility for the upkeep of their property next door. The letter Cuthbert wildly waved in his brother’s face contained yet another threat from the authorities for court proceedings should number forty-four remain unaltered. And the authorities expected renovations to proceed immediately. The communique went on to say. Alternatively, the brothers could relinquish ownership of the property to the council as a compulsory purchase at the lower end of the market value.

That’s the trouble with you Cuthbert you sit on your bloody laurels until the empire starts to fall about your ears and then you have the brass neck to blame me for your procrastination, how dare you! Jonah bellowed "I told you we should have invested a little money back into the place if only to keep the wolves from our door but oh no, you know better, I think not!"

"But that isn’t the point, is it? Who are they to tell us what we should or should not do with our own property on our own land, no less! It’s a damned impertinence those greedy, bureaucratic fools consistently poke their bloody noses into our business, why can’t they can keep their thieving hands off of our stuff! Cuthbert’s complexion had turned from violet to a dark purple I will not allow those bally sneak-thieves to snatch my property out from under my nose."

"Our property, Jonah added somewhat churlishly You cannot win a losing battle, we’ll just have to do the place up or sell it on for as much as we can get the land alone must be worth a small fortune judging by today’s market."

I don’t want to sell it, Cuthbert sulked It’s ours, and I want to keep it, besides if they find the bodies buried in the cellar and under the garden patio we could spend the rest of our lives locked up.

Oh yes, I’d forgotten about those, Jonah frowned Dear, dear, and here I was thinking, at last, we might be able to take that blasted millstone off from around our necks and finally settle down to a peaceful existence with a little extra in the coffers. Well, that does it, we’ll have to spend money renovating the place we have no option.

But Jonah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, we do not have that kind of money, snorted Cuthbert The upkeep of this bungalow alone eats into any money number Forty-four brings in, and we cannot raise the rent because of the state of the place, we’re caught between a rock and a hard place. I can’t think what we are going to do about it, any suggestions?

We have no choice Cuthbert, we’re going to have to evict the tenants and rid the property of the bones ourselves before we’re found out, bearing in mind it is not going to be easy since we’re both in our eighties and nowhere near as strong as we used to be. But if we do manage to clear the place of bones we would then be able to find a buyer, a developer perhaps, I will not even mind if we don’t get the full asking price. I would like to live out the rest of my life without the sword of Damocles hanging over my head.

Agreed, said Cuthbert We’ll start the ball rolling today. And the two brothers spent the late morning pouring over plans to rid themselves of their current tenants and work out how to remove the corpses from the cellars foundation and back garden patio.

About midday Cuthbert and Jonah donned their overcoats and shuffled to their property next door with a plan formed resolutely in their minds.

Leave the talking to me Jonah if any of them get snotty let me deal with them, alright?

If you insist Cuthbert, but I have just as much say on the matter as you.

So what, Cuthbert sniffed That’s beside the point. I do not want to confuse the matter with having to argue with you, let me do the talking.

Very well, Cuthbert, but that is all I am saying, I have opinions too.

So you keep saying, spat Cuthbert angrily All I am asking from you is enough breathing space to put across to our tenants our intentions. You don’t have to cloud the issue by sticking that big nose of yours into it, let me do the talking! The brothers pushed through the narrow gap in single file in the tall unkempt hedge.

My nose is no bigger than yours, huffed Jonah, as they shuffled carefully over the rotted wooden gate laid flat on its side over the path I do not see why I cannot help.

Shut your bloody mouth, will you! growled Cuthbert, negotiating the rambling weeds growing across the little concrete path of the neglected front garden.

Have it your way, you miserable old bugger, but I don’t see why you should keep giving me orders, watch your step there, I am my own man, you know.

You are also a colossal bore and bally irritating too! snorted Cuthbert and rapped on the weather-worn front door with the hooked end of one of his two walking sticks Just be quiet, he hissed, and they waited under the sagging porch for one of their tenants to open the door.

It appears they have all gone out, said Jonah after a little while Nothing seems to be stirring, he bent down to look through an oblong gap in the door into the properties interior I cannot see anything.

That is just our bloody luck! Cuthbert spat, angrily hitting out at the door with his stick once more.

Watch it, you almost had me there Cuthbert, said Jonah, straightening up from looking through the hole where a brass letter box had once been.

"I didn’t touch you, you old faker as per usual you’re making it up as you go along, Cuthbert replied, If we hadn’t spent so much time dallying over our plans this morning we might have caught someone at home, damn it!"

We shall just have to come back later there is no point in you getting your drawers all puckered up over it, they turned to leave as the front door squeaked open on its rusty hinges and Stanley Phipps stood there on the thresh hold worriedly staring at his landlords.

May I help you, he smiled and grimaced almost simultaneously Sorry the place is a bit of a mess I haven’t had time to clean it yet.

The house is what we have come to speak with you about, said Cuthbert May we trouble you to come in for a little while? And both he and Jonah pushed past Stanley without a by-your-leave. Mr Phipps followed them into the living room. He offered the old men a seat on the cluttered sofa which they politely accepted then watched Stanley nervously fumble with the book he held.

What can I do to help you? Asked Stanley, dropping his paperback atop a small, jumbled coffee table I expect it’s something important we seldom see you around here, is it about the repairs?

"Well, you could say it is something along those lines," Cuthbert smirked.

No, it isn’t, blurted Jonah We can’t afford to keep ploughing money into this place.

Be quiet Jonah, snapped his brother Like Mr Clack says Cuthbert stared at his tenant Mr Phipps we can no longer afford the up-keep of this property. Regrettably, we have decided it’s time to sell up, which means we are required to give you a week’s notice to quit and find somewhere else to live.

The same applies to Mr Daily and Mr Oats, Jonah interjected.

But ...but ...but, stammered Stanley I have nowhere else to go and even if I had a week, it still is not long enough to make such arrangements.

Nevertheless, snorted Cuthbert, sweeping away his tenant's concerns with a wave of his hand It is what we expect you to do.

You -You can’t mean it, I live here, I have rights you cannot do this to me, I am a sitting tenant.

Oh no you’re not Mr Phipps, you haven’t signed a contract with either of us, so it’s a case of our house our rules, bristled Jonah You get out when we tell you to get out!

So get out, barked Cuthbert.

You get out! demanded Stanley Go on, get out the both of you I shall seek legal advice on the matter, you can’t just drop a hot brick like that into my lap at a moment’s notice!

Don’t make this any harder on yourself than needs be Mr Phipps it’ll end up costing you money that you can ill afford!

I told you to get out! Shouted Stanley, following the brothers out of the living room into the hallway You’re going to have a fight on your hands, said the disgruntled tenant rushing to open the front door for the Clacks to leave instead was loath to see them walk into the filthy kitchen.

And how much sympathy will you get if we report the state of this place to the authorities no one will want to house you after witnessing the way you treat other people’s property. Cuthbert simpered You don’t have a leg to stand on.

And by the by, interjected Jonah You owe us rent, and held out his hand expectantly.

The Hayes had taken an occasional day’s holiday from work that week to plan an all-out propaganda assault on the Clack brothers. Maurice had been directed by his wife to spend most of the day printing invitations and writing yet more letters of complaint to the authorities. After hours spent buckling down to her wants Maurice resurfaced that evening from the study, he looked pretty pleased with himself.

It’s all done my love, he said, his arms filled with neatly folded invitations I’m starving, is tea ready yet? Penelope placed her empty dinner plate into the sink and cottage-pie back into the oven before snatching an invitation from the top of the pile.

That’s all well and good Maurice, but you have forgotten one major detail, she brought the piece of paper sharply up to the end of his nose Do you see what it is? Mr Hayes could not see anything with the invitation held so ridiculously close to his face and pulled back to study his work. He read the sentences over and over in the time she had thrust it into his line of sight. She waited for his reply, but he could not see where he had gone wrong.

No, my dear, I cannot see what you mean. I cannot see anything wrong with it. I have requested the neighbours’ company, in a proper address, concisely conveyed informing them how we expect them to dress. And if I say so myself, have done a very tidy job. I cannot imagine where you think I have gone wrong.

Well, then Maurice, you must be deaf as well as blind because I clearly stated that you should ask our guests to bring a bottle to save us the expense of plying the damn liquor ourselves! And you’ve neglected to mention any such thing as far as I can see. I am certainly not going to pay out for unnecessary frivolities. The fact they’ll be eating free of charge is more than enough. You’ll have to re-do the lot, huffed Penelope, screwing up the invitation she dropped it to the floor in front of him.

But I’ve used up all the printing paper my sweet there is no time to get more because the shops are closed, it’s too late, he lamented I am such a fool, a stupid, stupid fool! He watched his wife glare unkindly at him. Her disapproval made him feel all the more wretched.

You said it, she growled You’ll just have to pen in a postscript at the bottom which will spoil the overall effect, she scowled And do it quickly I want the invitations sent out this evening. We have less than a month. to plan our attack, I mean the garden party.

May I have my tea first, I’m famished.

I haven’t finished making it, she lied Have a banana to tide you over. In the meantime, amend those damned invitations. With that said, she snatched up a magazine from the kitchen side turned her back and strolled into the lounge.

Yes, dear, right away, he muttered, taking an orange from the fruit bowl. He returned to the study, picked up the phone and dialled a friend.

Hello, Clarence, I was just wondering whether I might impose on your time for a couple of hours this evening.

Chapter Two

Let’s kill the cat

When Spooner arrived back at his lodgings that evening, he found Stanley anxiously hovering between the hall and kitchen doorway. He appeared to be cleaning up judging by the bundles of clutter he kept forcing into a bin liner already filled to the brim. Spooner placed a full can of gasoline in a little cubbyhole under the shoe stand in the hallway then approached his housemate.

Good grief Stanley I never thought I’d see you tidying up, who died? he giggled This has got to be a first has Beryl decided to come back for a visit?

We’re being kicked out of here by the end of the week the brothers came over this afternoon to give us all notice to quit, snorted Stanley It’s not fair, it’s not legal, we have rights, and looked at his housemate Don’t we? The look of sheer panic on Spooner’s face shocked Stanley What is it, what’s the matter?

"What exactly did they say? Are you sure they said the end of this week?"

Very sure, but I for one shall not be bullied from –,

Oh, shit, they can’t do this! Spooner but in "They can’t do this to me! What did they say exactly?"

They said they can’t afford to keep pouring money into this building, exasperated he rolled his eyes As if they have ever spent whats really been needed on the place. And that they’ve been given written warning by the council to either pull out their fingers and get this property up to spec or the authorities will take compulsory ownership of it for less than half it’s worth. I told them that I was sorry to hear it but, with all due respect, the problem is theirs, not ours! At least be given more than a week to find somewhere else to live, I feel half inclined to ring the police to ask their advice as paying tenants whether what those old rascals have in mind is legal!

"Don’t you dare Stanley for my sake, you’ll end up getting me into bother Jaffa has paid me to look after some goods here I can’t believe we’re being evicted by those bloody old fools they can’t do this to me, not now!"

What shall we do, I’m in just as much a bind as you which will mean my ending up sleeping under a bloody bridge at this rate. And at my age, I won’t last long. I told those old fools that they were not playing fair, but the old misers didn’t give a hoot all they seemed concerned with is getting us out as quickly as possible. He paused and then blasted angrily "And the old rogues bullied this month’s rent from me into the bargain. I protested their unreasonable demands, but they just threatened me with wilful vandalism and laughed in my face. They said this place is theirs and have every right to throw us out! He held out his arms to indicate the general disorder They said this mess gave them all the ammunition they needed to have us immediately removed from their property. That all they need do is complain to the right people."

Oh Christ, this isn’t happening, Spooner ran his fingers through his lank, shoulder-length hair while he momentarily pondered their situation I’m going to have to go over there and talk to them see if I can’t bargain a bit more time from them. He turned to Stanley What do you reckon, do you reckon they’ll go for it?

I’m not sure Spooner they seemed pretty determined to get us out though it wouldn’t hurt to try.

I’m going to have to, he snorted I’ll be in shit-street otherwise.

The hours had whizzed by for Marigold she looked at the kitchen clock and saw it was almost six o clock and time to revisit the Clacks again. She felt drained, she did not want to go to work, but that was nothing new, she always felt like that nowadays.

Bethany, she called up the stairs "Beth, can you hear me, Bethany?"

"What," her eldest bellowed from her bedroom "I’m busy," and went back to