Archibald's Aunt

By John McDermott

Archibald’s aunt is not someone to be messed with. Join her in taking on property developers and local councillors.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TSL Publications
• Release date: Aug 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781913294731

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Archibald’s Aunt

John McDermott

Copyright

Published in Great Britain in 2020

By TSL Publications, Rickmansworth

Copyright © 2020 John McDermott

Cover image: Duncan Bourne

ISBN: 978-1-913294-73-1

The right of John McDermott to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

For Marjorie

1

Archie stopped the car and peered through the splattered windscreen at the scene ahead. It wasn’t an encouraging sight. After driving all day, the last thing he needed was for his journey to end in a lane covered in mud and potholes. Okay if you were driving one of those off-road affairs, but not for the old banger that had struggled to get him this far. He switched off the engine and lights and climbed out into the darkness. The rain had stopped but the air was cold. He decided that rather than risk being marooned in the mud, it would be better to abandon the car and his luggage and walk the rest of the way.

After the noise of the city, this was a tranquil sort of place, disturbed only by the occasional small animal making its way through the undergrowth or the hoot of an owl somewhere in the distance. But for most of the time, there was only the soothing sound of water as it trickled its way over the weir on the nearby river. Pausing for a moment to enjoy the peace, he tried to remember how much further there was to go. Perhaps no more than a few hundred yards, but far enough when you had to find your way through mud on a night made dark by heavy cloud.

Progress wasn’t easy. Slipping and sliding without anything to hang on to, he just about managed to stay upright until he stuck his foot into the middle of a pothole and cold water shot up his leg. As he teetered about, his mood darkened and he roundly cursed dark country lanes, potholes, hooting owls, the rain, and everything else that was keeping him out of a warm bed on a chilly autumn night.

He stumbled on, eventually spotting a light over to his left as his hand encountered the top of a low fence. Finally, he’d arrived at the front garden of the cottage. Feeling his way along, he came to the familiar wooden gate and pushed it open, causing the hinges to give out a loud groan. It was a déjà vu moment. Years on and the rusty metal still awaited that soothing spot of oil.

Inside the garden he paused. As a boy he’d spent many long summer weeks here with his mother’s sister, Ruby, who was married to Fred, a sergeant in the police. When his father’s job had taken the family to America, he’d missed home and the holidays spent in this part of the English countryside. He felt especially bad when news reached him that Fred had died, leaving Ruby on her own in the isolated cottage. That decided him. He’d get back as soon as possible to surprise her and offer his support. Now, having finally arrived at the old place he was looking forward to his stay.

The light from the cottage window was low and flickering. ‘Great,’ he thought, ‘she’s still using oil lamps!’ Not as convenient as switching on electric lights of course but totally in keeping with the ambience of the place. He was roused from these thoughts when it started to rain again.

The glimmer from the window did little to light the surroundings but he was confident he knew the garden well. He moved quickly along the path, his mind occupied with thoughts of a warm welcome, a hot drink and a seat by the fire in the big living room.

He hardly noticed the ground under his feet no longer had the feel of a garden path and progress was becoming difficult. Eventually, as the building loomed up in front of him, he reached out a hand and felt the rugged stone of the old place. He paused to enjoy a moment of relief that he’d finally made it.

He moved cautiously on and so focused was he on reaching the door, that he failed to notice before him the stick-like object that rested against the cottage wall. This was brought to his attention as he took his next step and something hard and unyielding leapt out of nowhere that struck him a resounding blow on the head. What followed seemed to happen almost in slow motion. For a split second he remained upright, before executing a sort of half pirouette and falling flat on his face into the nearby flowerbed. He landed with a thud and immediately felt as if someone was sticking pins into his legs. His mouth opened and a loud yell escaped it before his face buried itself in soft mud. The noise caused an immediate stir inside the cottage.

There was a scrambling sound, a lock scraped and the noise of bolts being drawn before the door flew open. Light illuminated the scene and through the opening shot a small female figure exuding outrage. She was carrying some sort of weapon in one hand. ‘All right!’ she yelled. ‘The game’s up. Come on out with your hands up!’

Archie was in no mood to mince words. ‘Over here, Aunt Ruby,’ he yelled. At least that was the intention. But owing to the amount of mud he was chewing on, it came out as ‘Obberearantuby.’

The effect was immediate. She bounded over and stood over him. The end of what felt like a gun barrel was poked into his back and at the same time the beam of a torch flashed into his eyes

‘I know who you are,’ she said. ‘You’re one of Bradley’s lot aren’t you? A foreigner by the sound of it. Is this another of his dirty tricks? Were you hoping to frighten me by making noises and maybe shoving something nasty through the letterbox again? Lucky for me that you trod on the garden rake. That put a stop to your gallop didn’t it? Anyway, you can tell your boss that he’s not going to scare me. Maybe it’s time I called the police.’

‘Ug,’ said Archie.

‘And the same to you,’ said Ruby. She brought the torch nearer to the scene. ‘What’s this?’ she said, suddenly very animated. ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ she yelled. ‘You’ve only gone and flattened my Alpine Sunset you vandal! It’s my prize winning rose and now you’ve ruined it!’ She gave the gun another push.

‘Stuffyeralpnansnst,’ said Archie.

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ said his aunt. ‘I know what I’ll do. Wait there and don’t move.’ Saying which she turned and marched back into the house.

‘Wait here?’ Archie mused. ‘Did she think he was about to rise effortlessly and take a turn round the garden with a rosebush stuck to his chest?’ He moved to try and free himself and groaned as a particularly large thorn stuck itself into his leg.

When she came back she bent over him and grasped his hands. ‘About time!’ he thought, preparing for the heave-ho that would get him back on his feet. Instead he felt cold metal snap round his wrists.

‘Regulation handcuffs,’ said Ruby. ‘I wasn’t a policeman’s wife for nothing.’

2

A few weeks earlier, two men were to be seen sitting together in the corner of a quiet country pub called the Pied Bull. They were an odd-looking couple. Charlie Leggit was a short, rounded figure of a man, dressed soberly in a suit that he managed to fill to capacity. He had the look of someone permanently pleased with himself. By contrast, his companion, a beanpole figure who looked as if he’d make a promising entry for the local scarecrow competition, was rather less sunny as he regarded his companion with a scowl.

‘I don’t like this,’ he said.

‘Why? What don’t you like, Joe?’

‘Well this, of course. This is the second time we’ve been together in public. Somebody could put two and two together and make five.’

‘Relax! We’re in the country, miles away from anywhere. That’s why I chose it. No one we know is going to be here. Besides, we’ve nothing to hide. I work for an insurance company and I’m also a councillor. You run a local building business and we just happen to be friends. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’

Joe Bradley gave him a sour look. ‘Who said we were friends, councillor? You said you wanted to talk business, that’s all. In future we’ll meet somewhere rather less public.’

‘Okay, okay!’ The councillor always considered himself at his best when pouring oil on troubled waters, although some would prefer to say he was a greasy blighter. ‘There’s no need to get het up about it. Let’s just say we have a bit of business to discuss and this is a pleasant way to do it. So let’s start with the fact that you’ve now bought the field known around here as The Meadow, right?’

‘Yeah, and made myself nearly bankrupt in the process. A field and no planning permission. What am I supposed to do with it? Grow potatoes?’

‘Oh very droll Joe, but don’t knock it! It’s thanks to me you beat all the other bidders for that field. Anyway, the delay is due to objections from the owner of Oak Tree Cottage next door. As soon as that’s sorted out, you’ll be okay.’

The builder gave him a cold look. ‘It’s all right for you councillor, shuffling bits of paper round on your desk, but I’ve got a gang waiting to get started. Any more delay and I’ll have to start laying some off. How come one old biddy is allowed to chuck a spanner in the works like this?’

‘It’s called democracy, Joe. Anyway, I thought you went to see her?’

‘I did.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing. She refused to talk and ordered me to clear off.’

‘I see. So have you tried anything else?’

‘Yeah. I sent Dooley round one night with instructions to frighten her. He hung around the garden making the sorts of noises that usually scare old ladies into thinking they have a prowler. But it didn’t work on her. She’s tough.’

‘She must be. Dooley’s face is enough to scare anybody.’

Bradley looked at him scornfully. It was dark you idiot. She didn’t see his face. Anyway, before he left he posted a dead rat through her letterbox.’

‘And you think that scared her?’

‘I dunno if it scared her or not, but now she knows who was responsible.’

‘Oh, how come?’

‘Because Dooley posted a card with it.’

‘What sort of card?’

‘A With the compliments of builder Joe Bradley sort of card.’

‘I see. What sort of idiots do you employ, Joe?’

‘The sort that’ll work for half the money everyone else gets. That sort.’

‘Right. Well, let me think about this.’

There was a long drawn out silence. The councillor furrowed his brow while Bradley gazed into his half-empty glass and looked despondent.

‘Okay!’ Leggit said finally, ‘There is something else we can try.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah! Suppose someone was to make an offer for the place? In the circumstances, she might think twice about turning them down. It would be an opportunity for her to end the hassle once and for all.’

The builder looked at him in disbelief. ‘Oh yeah? And who d’you think would be daft enough to buy a cottage with no electricity or running water and a row hanging over it about the field next door?’ he sneered.

The councillor smirked. ‘Well who do you think, Joe?’

As the implication sank in, Bradley reacted furiously. ‘Who, me? You can forget that idea councillor. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? I’m broke!’

‘Ah, but you haven’t heard the best bit yet. There’s no need for money to be involved. You simply offer her one of your brand new bungalows in exchange for the cottage. Tell her you’ll build it to her own specification! That has to be an offer she can’t refuse, right? If you could pull that off, you’d have a lot of extra land to build on, with a cottage thrown in. And you’d have no problem selling the cottage, once it was modernised!’

Bradley thought hard about the idea. He looked at it from all angles but failed to spot any immediate snags. Charlie Leggit smiled into his beer. Sometimes he dazzled himself with his own cunning.

‘Okay,’ said Bradley finally, ‘but all this is so much hot air until I get the go-ahead to build. Just how long is it going to take?’

‘You’ll get the go-ahead just as soon as all the other objections have been dealt with.’

Bradley glared. ‘What other objections? You mean there are more?’

‘Joe, there are always objections to this sort of scheme. We just have to deal with them.’

‘Is that so? So who are these people?’

‘Well villagers, mostly. The Meadow has always been there and they’d like to keep it that way, even though it’s no longer used as a kids play area. The new leisure centre takes care of all that. Anyway the point is, if our plan works and she does sell the place, that sort of opposition will fade away.’

‘And what if she won’t sell?’

‘If she won’t, then we’ll just have to go back to scaring her off.’

Bradley looked incredulous. ‘Oh, good. Let’s try something that’s already failed.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. It failed because it wasn’t personal enough.’

‘What do you mean, not personal enough?’

‘Well, while a dead rat through the letterbox isn’t going to scare a tough countrywoman like her, I think she’d be a lot more frightened of say, a threat to her reputation. If we could dig up something shady, we could apply a bit of pressure. After all, everyone has some sort of skeleton in the cupboard.’

‘Speak for yourself. So how do we find this skeleton?’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘Good, well while you’re planning that, you can get me another drink.’

3

‘Feeling better?’ Ruby enquired solicitously.

Archie was sitting by the fire with the last drops of a glass of brandy now safely inside him. He was dressed in pyjamas and a dressing gown that had belonged to Ruby’s husband, Fred. While grateful for the makeshift nightwear, he couldn’t help thinking that one leg of the pyjama bottoms would have made an adequate windsock for Heathrow airport.

He scowled. ‘Could be worse after