Ten Minute Tales :Springfield Road by Annie Whitehead

Ten Minute Tales

For your entertainment

a different Ten Minute Tale* every day

(except Friday when we have Novel Conversations)

Enjoy!

Springfield Road

by

Annie Whitehead

Well he’ll never get that in there. That shed is rusted shut. And it’s no good looking at me; if I agree to take it in, I’ll have to carry it back to my house and I’ve just locked up and got going. I might only live next door, but I can do without the palaver. I don’t know why No 17 ever orders anything anyway, it’s not like he’s ever in. He comes home from work, or whatever it is he does all day and then he goes out until really late. I hear his front door slam. Helen says it’s only because I’m a light sleeper and that I should expect it at my age, but I never was a light sleeper when her father was alive. And then just as I get back to sleep I hear him go out again. When Barbara down the road had some jewellery go missing I knew it was him. Why else does he sneak about so late at night, and then go straight out again? Turns out that it wasn’t him, after all, that took the jewellery, but I still don’t want him knocking on my door to get his parcel, not after I told the police I thought it was him. 

And now look at him at 25. Outside smoking again. He’s always lurking when he should be at college. Or getting himself a job now he’s left school. Bob always used to say that all he needed was a baseball cap to complete the look. I used to laugh but now it’s not funny when I walk past on my own. Helen said that he has some sort of ‘special needs’ and she says that if I ever looked I would see the community bus that takes him to the centre three days a week, but I can’t see if I’m inside. These days I have my chair pointing straight at the telly. No point in turning it round, not now there’s only me. Apparently the lad has a job delivering the free paper and as soon as Helen told me that, I knew who it was who kicked all the bins over the other evening. Bob would have sorted him out but I had to phone the police.

Oh, that paving slab nearly got me again. It bothers me now that I don’t have Bob’s arm to steady me.

Now what on earth has No29 put in her window? Some ghastly ceramic elephant is it? Mrs Knick-Knacker must spend her life dusting all those hideous ornaments. Best thing I ever did, getting rid of all my tat. Helen said I should have kept some of the statuettes and trophies and old teddies, but I don’t have loads of grandchildren; she seemed a bit hurt by that remark but I’m only speaking the truth, and in any case it just reminded me of Bob and who wants to be constantly reminded? At least it will be easier for her when she has to clear the house out when I’m gone. Mrs Knick-Knacker is just being selfish, hanging onto all her stuff. I probably should know her name but I don’t recall. I do remember when she came out and spoke to me and asked my name. I hate that. Put me in a certain age bracket that did, always has.

“Shirley? Oh, was you named after Shirley Temple then?”

And I said, like I always do, “She’s not the only famous Shirley.”

And I got, “Can you sing, then, like Shirley Bassey?”

Common woman, with all her junk shop china and her awful grammar. Helen thought she was just being friendly but I’m not convinced. Anyway even if we are pretty much the same age, doesn’t mean we have to be friends. Why do people think that all old folk are the same? And she hasn’t been so keen to be friendly since I reported her for poisoning those cats. Helen says that just because she has a nice garden and no cats of her own doesn’t mean she hates everybody else’s but it made sense to me. 

Bother, here’s that nosy one from 31. She’s seen me staring. I can’t even pretend that I’ve stopped to do up a shoelace. Damn these Velcro shoes; they’re like those trainers that mums buy their children because they’re too lazy to teach them to tie their laces. Old Lady Shoes, they are, and I hate them. Once, my ankles weren’t so swollen. Once they took me down the track half a second slower than the GB record. Now a trip to the village takes most of the day.

“Can you take 17’s parcel in, Shirl? I would but we’re off to Prestatyn for the weekend.”

“Sorry, I can’t. Got to get to the Post Office before it shuts.” I’m not going to look behind, I’m just going to keep walking. Honestly, time was when you respected your elders. ‘Shirl’ indeed. In my day we called people Mr and Mrs Such-and-Such. I’m Mrs Harris and she knows it. I remember when Marjorie and Ronald lived there. Before we got friendly we always called each other by our titles, and they were Colonel and Mrs to everyone else even after we formed a Bridge four.

            Thank goodness there’s no-one in at 41. I don’t understand a word he says. He came out and shouted at me last week and I found it rather upsetting. He wouldn’t have done that if Bob had been with me. Helen thinks he works at the hospital but that’s only because her friend’s husband thinks he saw him there. Once upon a time everyone would introduce themselves when they moved in but honestly what would be the point when we can’t understand what this chap says? Besides, I’m not one for gossip so I’m not going to guess what he does for work, and if he was shouting at me for reporting him then he should be ashamed of himself for frightening an old lady. I was only doing what I thought was right. Bob always made sure that the tax disc on our car was up to date. If people want to be respected as citizens, they need to abide by the law and make sure their cars are legal. There was a time when nobody on the street would have stood by while a woman on her own was harangued like that, but I bet half of them don’t even know that I live on this street. I certainly don’t know half of them.

Still, there is a glimmer of hope. I noticed that there is a new couple over the road at 32. They never park their car in the garage and I bet that’s because it’s crammed full of lovely toys for the children. They must take them to the park though, because you never see the kids playing in the street. I like the idea of families moving back into the area, as long as the children are well-behaved. When Helen and Mark were little there were always kids playing in the gardens and we mums were in and out of each other’s houses all the time. Now the street is full of old people. Them, and new folk that I don’t know. And all the gardens have water features and decking and those annoying wind chimes. It seems to have got worse since Bob died. Helen says it hasn’t, it’s just that I notice it more. But she doesn’t see it; she only visits once a month now.

Well, that would have taken less time if that silly woman had got all the right forms ready before she went and held up the whole Post Office queue. It’s all very well getting your passport forms checked but not if it holds up the rest of the customers. Who needs to travel abroad anyway? Bournemouth always suited Bob and me well enough. And she was parked on a double yellow and that made me even later because then I had to wait around for the traffic warden so I could let him know. I don’t know what folk would do if there weren’t still some law-abiding citizens to maintain standards. And what am I supposed to do with these new self-sticking stamps? Young folk don’t understand that we seniors like to peel off stamps from envelopes if they haven’t been franked, and then re-use them. They call it fraud; we used to call it thrift. Apparently not many people send letters these days anyway. Seems like I’m not ‘people’ any more. And now that’s the church clock chiming 12. Honestly, my poor little Gertie will be starving. She might be only a budgie but she still needs my attention. Hello, what’s going on here? This doesn’t look quite right; I should probably investigate…

“If I could just ask you a few questions, I know it’s distressing. Did she have any enemies? Anyone who would have reason to hurt her?”

            “She kept herself to herself, I suppose, always stayed on her side of the street. There’s a daughter I think and someone once saw a son, but I never have. No-one on this side really knew her. Erm, Barbara could probably tell you more. Barbara?”

“Oh I’ll tell you. Shirley Harris. Reported everyone on her side of the street to the police for one thing or another over the years. Well, since Bob died, anyway.”

“Shirley Harris, you say?”

“Yes. Busybody, but not in a nasty way, I don’t think. More that she got scared, being on her own. Ah there you are. Just saying Shirley love, you’d be the one to ask if anything out of the ordinary had been going on.”

“Yes, I heard you.” I was only just behind you and I’m not deaf, just slower than I was. Fussy Barbara who has to call everyone ‘love’ Imagine anyone thinking Barbara would know what goes on round here. She even forgot that she took her jewellery to Peter Dodds in town for cleaning and then I had to report it stolen. She made me look rather silly. “What’s been going on, Officer?”

“Oh Shirley love, the woman at 32’s been murdered. They found the body in the garage and there’s no sign of the husband. They think she’s been lying there for weeks.”

Dear God almighty. I’m going to have to put my bags down because my hands have suddenly gone all sweaty. Here come the palpitations again. It’s like my heart is knocking to be let out. I’m not going to ask to lean on anyone’s arm, but I do feel giddy. How could such an awful thing happen here on our road?

“Can you describe the husband for us Madam?”

‘Madam’, I like that; nice manners. “Well he’s, he’s er…” No, I can’t describe him can I? Because I never noticed him. I didn’t think that a young family would pose any kind of problem for the street and I thought Bob would probably have liked them. I was too busy looking for trouble on my own side of the street. Well, at least this will make Helen check on me more often. And maybe Mark might… well, one can always hope. “Barbara? We’ve all had a shock; come into mine for a nice cup of tea and let’s discuss setting up a Neighbourhood Watch scheme.”

I’ll be in charge, obviously.

 © Annie Whitehead 

website anniewhiteheadauthor.co.uk

<Previous Story .... Next ...>

On an Amazon near you
http://viewauthor.at/HelenHollick