My Nasty Neighbours (4 page)

I
started immediately. I searched every drawer and cupboard in Great Uncle Albert’s house, including the pantry cupboards. The medal was in none of them.

‘Perhaps he lost it,’ Mum suggested. ‘Or gave it away.’

But I knew he wouldn’t have done either.

Mum grew more irritated. ‘David, we’ve just one day to clear this whole house. You’re making it more untidy, if that’s possible. I insist you clear out the rubbish instead of chucking it from one place to another.’

Dutifully, I spent the next couple of hours loading stuff on the skip. By the time I was finished, it was nearly full.

That evening Mum stood in the empty sitting-room. Its emptiness pleased her, but to me it meant there was little chance of finding the
medal.

‘If I called round to visit Mrs Ridgewell, I could ask her about the medal,’ I suggested.

‘No more elderly neighbours!’ cried Mum. ‘Come on, give me a hand with this old chair,’ she instructed, taking hold of the last piece of furniture in the room.

Reluctantly I grabbed hold. ‘It weighs a ton,’ I complained, as we lugged it towards the front door.

‘Uncle Albert probably stuffed it full of five-pound notes,’ joked Mum.

I dropped my side of the chair. ‘Of course.’

‘David, I was only joking,’ Mum protested.

‘I know, but that’s exactly the sort of thing he would do,’ I jabbered. ‘Put something valuable in a good hiding place!’

I was too excited to speak clearly. Suddenly I was sure I knew where the medal was.

I raced out to the skip, delighted with my idea. Then I saw the state of the skip. A mountain of furniture, old rugs and junk of all sorts sat there. And I knew the socks were right at the bottom.

I clambered onto the pile.

‘None of that rubbish is coming in here
again!’ yelled a voice from an open upstairs window.

‘I only need one sock,’ I called back. One after another I threw objects off the skip.

It took twenty minutes before I glimpsed the dark mess of socks nestling at the bottom. I dragged an old burnt pot and grey mattress off the pile, desperate to reach them.

The upstairs window opened again and Mum poked her head out. She looked as if she was about to be guillotined, and she had an expression to match. ‘Every item is going back in that skip, David, even if you don’t find what you’re looking for.’

‘Promise,’ I called out recklessly. I had reached the socks. I grabbed one and plunged my hand in. Nothing. I tried another.

Mum’s curiosity got the better of her. ‘Found anything?’ she asked, still from the upstairs window.

But I was silent, amazed at what I had discovered wedged into the toe of one sock.

‘David! What’s the matter? Are you okay?’

I gulped. A ten-pound note. Another sock rustled as I felt it. ‘The socks are filled with
money!’ I cried.

Within seconds Mum was downstairs and clambering on to the skip, using the chairs that I had chucked out. Together we searched for socks. Each contained a single ten-pound note.

‘Twelve, thirteen,’ Mum was counting excitedly. ‘That’s one hundred and thirty pounds.’

I pointed to a tangle of shirts. ‘We might have missed some. Let’s look in that lot.’

‘Aha!’ cried Mum, after plunging her hand amongst the shirts. ‘What’s this?’ She unearthed a small pile of socks. I never thought the sight of Great Uncle Albert’s old socks would fill me with such excitement. Each rustling sock delivered another ten-pound note.

‘One hundred and sixty,’ I whistled. ‘Wonderful socks.’

‘How did you guess?’ asked Mum.

‘I didn’t,’ I confessed. ‘I wasn’t looking for money.’

‘What were you looking for then?’

‘For his medal.’ I tried to explain what it meant to me. It was connected to my disappointment about the glass ship. ‘I wanted something of Great
Uncle Albert’s …’

Mum nodded as if she understood. ‘Well, how about this?’ she asked brightly, pointing to a plaster statue lying on the lawn. It was a shepherd boy about three feet high. Age had faded all the colours to a murky green and the nose was broken off.

‘I threw it away when I was cleaning out the sitting-room. I didn’t know you wanted to keep something,’ said Mum apologetically.

‘Well, not just anything …’ The tall boy was no great work of art.

‘Remember how Uncle Albert used to keep his trilby hat on it?’ Mum reminded me. ‘It always stood on the sideboard.’

Great Uncle Albert was an incredible shot. He would take off his hat and spin it at the tall boy from the sitting-room door. He never missed.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll take it.’

‘Good,’ said Mum. ‘So now you have two things to remember your great uncle by. The tall boy and the money.’

I was puzzled. ‘The money?’

‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘You found it, David. It’s
yours.’

As we drove away the next morning, my final view was of Cyril Bently clambering onto the skip in search of more mementos of his non-existent friendship with my great uncle Albert.

T
he first sign of trouble back at Elm Close was the net curtains billowing out of open windows.

‘It's far too cold to have all those windows open,' said Mum. ‘So much for our nice warm house.'

Dad was silent. He pulled into the drive, leapt out and headed towards the front door.

Mum stood on the front lawn pointing. ‘What's that?' she asked indignantly. A sprinkling of cans littered the grass.

‘Some passer-by must've …' I began, although I already recognised the brand that Ian had been sneaking into the house before we left.

Dad's shout from inside interrupted, ‘Come and look at this.'

I charged in ahead of Mum. Compared to this the ferry from Holyhead looked neat and tidy.
Cans and crisp packets clung to every surface except the ceiling. Most of the furniture was shoved back in one corner. Mum rushed towards the television set. ‘Blood!' she shrieked.

I scratched the dry red stain on the screen. ‘Lipstick,' I corrected. ‘Someone's written …' I traced the letters and shut up.

‘What does it say?' asked Mum, as I tried to rub out the words with the sleeve of my jumper. At least I managed to smear them so that they were illegible.

‘Exam pressure,' shouted Dad. ‘I'll give Ian exam pressure. This is what they had in mind.' He was pacing back and forth in the sitting-room. ‘A party, the mother of all parties! Where are they?'

Mum suddenly looked worried. ‘Perhaps it was intruders who did this, and they've harmed Helen and Ian.'

‘Nonsense. Helen and Ian perpetrated this deed,' shouted Dad, looking as if he was ready to harm them himself.

‘Then where are they?' wailed Mum.

‘Not up yet, probably,' I said. I could see what the next few hours would be like. Any hope of a
decent meal was gone. The sooner we started, the sooner the arguments would be over and I'd get fed.

I leapt up the stairs and into Helen's room, but it was empty and so was Ian's.

‘They're not in their beds!' I shouted down. Downstairs I could hear windows being shut and Mum giving a commentary on the further damage she was finding.

I sat on the top stair and called down, ‘They're not here!' If I managed to get Mum and Dad worried about Helen and Ian, they'd be easier on them when they did come face to face. Then this little crisis might be over in a decade or two …

But Helen spoiled it all by coming out of the bathroom.

‘David,' she said in a feeble voice, ‘I have a headache.' She was wearing a long silky dressing-gown and gliding about like Greta Garbo in one of those old black-and-white films, while I had just endured a lousy ferry journey and was close to death by starvation. As usual there was no gratitude for my help.

‘No kidding!' I said more loudly. I resented
her manner. ‘Helen's up here,' I called down the stairs, ‘And she's got a headache.'

The noises downstairs had changed pitch. I heard Ian's voice low and sulky, answering a battery of questions. I slid down a few stairs so I could observe what was happening. Ian was standing in the hall, looking decidedly rough. He was unshaven and beneath the stubble his skin was pale and blotchy. He clearly didn't like the questions, but one followed another so quickly he couldn't have answered even if he'd wanted to.

Eventually he exploded. ‘Look!' he said so loudly that Mum and Dad stopped. Actually he meant ‘listen' not ‘look' but I didn't point that out – the atmosphere was tense.

In a monotone, as if he was explaining something of great simplicity to idiots, he said, ‘I thought I'd have a few friends round. More than I expected turned up. Things got a bit … out of hand. I was airing the place and would have finished tidying up if Helen had helped.'

I admired the way he put it: ‘finished', as if he had done hours of work and just needed a few
more minutes to make the place perfect.

Helen heard her name and shot on to the landing. ‘If I'd helped!' she shrieked. ‘Why should I help clear up after your friends? They are some of the rudest, ugliest, most disgusting … They completely ruined the gourmet dinner I cooked for Harry.'

‘That was ruined the minute you turned on the oven,' said Ian wearily.

‘So, in other words,' shouted Dad, ‘you abused our trust. You …' he jabbed a finger at Ian, ‘did no work. And you …' he turned to Helen, ‘you devoted your time to trying to impress that pompous–'

‘Harry is not pompous,' contradicted Helen. ‘He's sophisticated. None of you know what that means.' She sank down on the stairs, sounding close to tears. ‘You've never given Harry a chance …'

‘A chance to do what?' demanded Dad, but more gently. He couldn't bear to see Helen cry, as she knew.

‘I think I'll have hysterics,' complained Ian. ‘She only has to sob into her hankie and Mum and Dad'll forgive anything.'

But Mum and Dad had neither forgiven nor forgotten. We had to wait a few days to discover their plans, but the conspiratorial mutterings told us something was going on.

‘What do you think they're up to?' Helen asked me nervously.

We had to wait until Friday evening to find out, when Dad declared he had an announcement to make. We filed into the sitting-room, trying to look unconcerned.

I picked up the latest Radio Times. ‘David, put that down,' Mum ordered. I put it down, picked up the TV controls and turned the Eurosport channel on.

‘David, will you turn that off. We have something very important to tell you,' insisted Mum.

‘Are we going to have new curtains in the sitting-room?' I asked. I could have watched TV with the sound turned down. The only drama I liked came on Eurosport.

‘We are not doing anything,' snapped Mum. ‘We are separating.'

Now this was a shock. We stayed quiet for a
minute, then Helen, screwing up her lips in disapproval, said, ‘You mean, you and Dad are splitting up?'

‘No, no,' Dad tutted. ‘We're not separating from each other. We're separating from you.' He waved a hand towards us as if flicking away insects.

‘You can't–' I started to say, but my protests were drowned by the stupid, squealing noises Helen was making.

Ian seemed equally delighted. He came close to smiling. ‘Great. We can have a place of our own,' he said.

‘Next door to us,' Mum stressed. ‘We'll hear everything you do.'

‘But at a distance,' Dad added, beaming.

‘We'll be the neighbours you have to consider,' Mum went on.

Helen stopped squealing and began to ask questions. ‘So, we'll have two houses?'

‘Two houses,' Dad confirmed. Ian thundered up the stairs and began a triumphant drum roll that reverberated throughout the house.

‘Two of everything,' exclaimed Helen. ‘Two bathrooms, two front doors, two TVs.'

‘Two kitchens, two washing machines,' Mum added, in an attempt to bring Helen down to earth.

‘Two telephones?' questioned Helen, ignoring her. ‘Two telephones!' she sang in time to Ian's drumming as Mum nodded. ‘Everything we want for ourselves.'

‘Yes, but who's we?' I muttered. Mum and Dad had thought of an unusual way to stop family arguments. Helen and Ian would be close at hand but out of the firing line. They were all delighted. But nobody had mentioned me. Where was I to live?