To Catch a Creeper (23 page)

‘Chickens! You bought chickens?’

‘Yes, ma darling.’ He smiles indulgently. ‘I bought chickens.’

‘I thought you went to the Natural History Museum?’

‘That was to keep the surprise.’

‘Keep the surprise?’ I mutter. I think I’d have preferred if he had gone. ‘Right. But what are they for?’

‘For? Eggs of course. Didn’t you know, Cathy? Chickens lay eggs.’

‘Yes of course I bloody know chickens lay bloody eggs.’

‘Only,’ he continues adding a little chuckle, ‘there was that time you got a tad mixed up. Saw the neck inside a trussed up joint and began crying down the phone at me going, “I’ve just cooked a pregnant chicken. Boo hoo. Boo hoo.”’

‘OK. Right. Yes.’ Will he never let me forget it?

‘And I had to say…’ he chuckles, ‘Cathy, calm down. Chickens lay eggs, you know.’

‘Yeah, well I know now, don’t I? I buy them in a supermarket every sodding week. And they’re dirt cheap. We don’t need to fetch them from the bottom of the garden! What’s it going to be next? Goats? Cows? This is the middle of bloody North London, not the wilds of Wiltshire.’

I can’t help it. I’m trying to keep it together but…chickens? I watch as two of them start squabbling over a worm, and a third scratches in the dirt. What will the neighbours think? Will they crow in the mornings? Or are they all girls? If the dog gets them, they’re dog meat.

‘And I thought you’d turned vegetarian,’ I add sharply. ‘I mean if you’re really going to start a mini-farm, you’ll probably have to kill them yourself or send them off to the slaughterers to…’

‘No you don’t understand. You don’t eat them. They’re far too scrawny. They die of natural causes after a few years. Really the guy I bought them off said they’re more like egg laying machines. He helped me with making the run. In fact we had to dig right down…’

The kids have stopped their song and have now joined us, both sets of eyes sparkling and laughing as Declan prattles on about how he had to bury the wire mesh
deep into the earth so as to make the coop fox-proof.
Oh ha ha, Daddy’s gone mad, isn’t it funny?
Might not be so amusing when he’s admitted to hospital for a lobotomy.

‘Aren’t they sweet, Mummy?’ says Sophie.

‘Can I go in there again, Daddy?’ says Josh.

‘Not just now, sonny,’ Declan ruffles his hair. ‘We’ll let them settle for a bit. But you can feed them more pellets tomorrow. I’ll wake you nice and early.’

Chapter 22

‘Chickens? In Crouch End? Is he off his trolley?’ scoffs Janet. Isobel throws me a look and the sharp-eyed Henrietta swiftly catches it.

‘What is it?’ she asks concerned. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Might as well tell her, Cathy,’ advises Isobel. ‘More support you can get and all that…’

So then I tell them all about Declan’s downward spiral, Isobel intercepting each time I pause for breath with various theories and quotes from eminent psychologists.

‘One of my ex’s brothers developed this brain tumour,’ Janet says. ‘First symptom was terrible crippling headaches.’

‘What was the second?’ asks Isobel.

‘There wasn’t a second. He died. They did an autopsy though.’

‘Honestly, Janet,’ Henrietta scolds. ‘That’s not exactly comforting for Cathy, is it? Of course Declan hasn’t got a brain tumour.’

Yes, we’re at Tropicos again. Our usual table. Henrietta needed to have some normality back in her life and the others refused point-blank to my suggestion of water aerobics at Park Road swimming pool.

***

‘Don’t cry, H. Please don’t cry.’ Twenty minutes later Henrietta and I are in the toilets, while Isobel and Janet are relaying our food orders to Carlos.

The evening started off all right, what with the Declan chicken-buying situation keeping everyone highly amused. They kept calling me Barbara (from that old TV series
The Good Life
) before shrieking with laughter. But when Isobel brought up the subject of her dad and the police, Henrietta couldn’t hold back anymore. She promptly burst into tears so I had to speedily jump up and escort her over here.

‘Oh, Cathy,’ she sobs into my shoulder. ‘Neil and I had this massive argument tonight.’

‘Neil…and you?’ I almost fall backwards. Never, in all these years we’ve been friends with Henrietta and Neil, have I ever known them to have even the tiniest tiff. While Declan and I bicker, fight over petty issues, struggle for power, offend, irritate and annoy the hell out of each other (but have great make-up sex), Henrietta and Neil think the same way, talk from the same viewpoint, want the same things. He’s never lazy and controlling like Isobel’s Larry or opinionated and bloody-minded like Janet’s last ex, Suzie (though I’d often like to hear her side of it). No, Neil’s a true old fashioned hero. Totally in touch with his femininity yet manly enough to still be ultra hot. And their relationship is something all of us WOWs have long admired. He enjoys clothes shopping, shares the ironing and cooking and according to Henrietta is the best lay ever (though I’m not quite sure how she can be so definite, what with them being childhood sweethearts n’all).

‘What were you arguing about?’ I ask.

‘The dumb ass walking around the streets at night. I told him just lay off it a while. Just until the burglar’s caught, but he refuses to listen.’

‘It’ll be all right, H,’ I soothe. ‘He’ll come to his senses soon enough.’

‘No, Cathy, I don’t believe he will. I’m totally pissed off. All that he’s risking… He could be picked up again, anytime, anyplace.’

‘Anywhere,’ I sing softly to myself, before realising it’s the Martini theme song from way back and this wasn’t the right moment for singing, yet alone ancient commercial soundtracks.

‘Maybe you should say something to the other WOWs,’ I suggest gently.

‘What!’ Henrietta’s face drains of blood.

‘Sometimes,’ I add, ‘unloading on others helps. For example, telling you all about Declan’s worsening condition, that helped me.’

‘Only thing is, if I tell Isobel and Janet then even more people will know,’ Henrietta chews at her lip.

‘I think we can trust Isobel.’ I check the mirror to see how my face is doing. ‘We can always swear her to the Counsellors’ Code. Not certain about Janet though.’

‘Oh Janet’s fine, I guess too.’ Henrietta ignores my sniffy look. ‘Lighten up on her, Cathy.’

‘Lighten up? Me? After all
she
said about transvestites?’

‘If she needs educating, my dear,’ Henrietta puts on a Scottish accent, reminiscent of Maggie Smith in
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
, ‘then educate we must.’

***

‘Look, if we let you in on a highly delicate secret,’ I sit down and address Isobel and Janet, ‘you must both swear to keep it amongst yourselves. Ready spit…’ I hold out my palm.

‘I’m no way spitting,’ says Janet disgusted.

‘How about all hands in,’ suggests Isobel.

So we all hands in together, fingertips just touching like we’re about to hold a séance.

‘And say,’ I continue on in a grave voice, ‘I swear by the Counsellors’ Code…’

‘I swear by the Counsellors’ Code,’ Isobel smiles. ‘Gosh this is exciting.’

‘I swear by the Samaritans’ Code,’ says Janet.

‘Samaritans’ Code?’ I scoff. ‘You’re not a Samaritan.’

‘I am so,’ she says. ‘Dykes can do good works too, you know.’

‘I know that…I didn’t mean that. Just you kept it quiet.’

‘Well, we’re not supposed to blab about our clients over drunken evenings, are we?’ She returns fire.

‘But back to the delicious…er…I mean, delicate, secret.’ Isobel wriggles a bit in her chair. ‘Now that we’ve sworn.’

‘Isobel and Janet,’ Henrietta begins. ‘My husband is a…is a…a…transvestite.’

‘Oh…’ says Isobel, looking disappointed. ‘Is that all?’

‘Oh,’ says Janet and nothing afterwards.

She might well say ‘Oh’ and nothing afterwards.

‘Yes, and he’s
not
neither one thing nor another,’ I add with a slight edge to my voice. ‘Weak and confused.’

‘Although he is fairly weak and confused at the moment.’ Henrietta bites a great chunk out of my argument. Not that it is an argument or anything. But honestly I’m on Henrietta’s sodding side.

We quickly relay what’s happened.

‘Reason we’re telling you is we need everyone’s help in finding the Creeper before Neil’s picked up again and his secret reaches the community.’

‘Crouch End is a small place,’ Janet says.

‘Yes, it is a small place.’ Damn Janet. That was going to be my next line. ‘But it hides amongst us a burglar. A burglar who more than likely lives locally. We need
volunteers. We need them to check out schools, churches, temples, toddler groups, gay bars.’

‘I suppose that last is me.’ Janet freezes me with a look.

‘Take your pick,’ I reply coldly. ‘We need to explore all avenues, consult with whoever, whenever. Double glazing salesmen, window cleaners, postmen, paper boys, everyone. Whose spending pattern has changed? Who’s acquired white goods they couldn’t afford last year? Who has more money than they know what to do with? Who’s bought themselves fancy cars, expensive holidays, big range ovens?’ That last one just slipped out. ‘Who lives opposite you? Behind you? Down your alley?’

‘Up your Khyber,’ jokes Isobel.

‘I know my paper boy through his mother,’ Janet volunteers. ‘He lives in my street.’

‘Good starting point,’ I say, trying not to sound condescending. ‘You can visit him and then hit the gay bars.’

***

It’s the following morning. Declan’s carrying the bottle recycling box, I’m wheeling out the wheelie bin and Mrs Baker and her trusty stick are doddering their way down our path towards us both.

‘Hello there,’ says Declan brightly, all happy now he’s got his chickens to brag about. I’ve not really had too much time to discuss it this morning, what with getting in well after midnight. ‘What can we do you for?’

‘It’s Cathy I need to speak to!’ she snaps grumpily.

‘Oh yes.’ I step forward.

‘Yes. You know when you were at home yesterday, late morning?’

‘Yesterday late morning?
I don’t think so
.’ I raise my eyebrows at Declan and he smiles back.

‘You and that cleaner of yours. Sitting in the kitchen scoffing down cakes like they’d just ended rationing.’

I shake my head rapidly at her, while Declan stoops down to push the bottle box into the correct position.

‘But you were. About eleven a.m.?’

Declan’s head jerks upwards. ‘You must be mistaken,’ he says politely but firmly. ‘Cathy was at work. In Central London.’

‘Yes,’ I nod emphatically in agreement. ‘I was.’

‘She wasn’t, you know,’ Mrs Baker disputes, turning her back to me.

I use the opportunity to catch Declan’s attention, stick my right index finger against my temple and do a circling motion.

‘Oh, unless it was your twin sister?’

‘My twin sister?’ I give an astonished look. ‘What twin sister?’

‘Jaffa. Doing her washing round yours.’

‘Well, anyway, Mrs Baker,’ Declan tries his best not to smile, ‘does it matter?’

His eyes flicker over to me again, so I mouth a quick ‘crackers’ before she turns again.

‘Yes it does matter.’ Mrs Baker looks hurt. ‘She’s supposed to be my neighbourhood buddy.’

‘Yes, that’s right dear,’ I pat her shoulder, then link my arm through hers. ‘Now, have you been taking your pills? You know the little white ones Eleanor said you mustn’t ever ever forget?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Don’t worry, Declan. I’ll sort this out. After all,’ I begin leading her back towards her house, ‘I am your…’ I turn and wink hard at Declan, ‘…
neighbourhood buddy
.’

‘I don’t understand,’ she says, when we’re out of earshot. ‘I definitely saw you.’

‘OK, right. But do you have to broadcast it to the whole blinking world!’ I hiss sharply.

‘Broadcast it to the world?’ She looks even more confused. ‘But I was only saying…’

‘I know what you were saying but… Thing is…Declan…well he hates Jaffa.’

‘He does?’

‘With a vengeance,’ I nod. (Well, he hates Jaffa Cakes.) ‘He finds it hard to forgive.’

‘Forgive what?’

‘What she did.’

‘What did she do?’

‘Let’s just say…’ I screw up my nose, ‘it was very very…unforgivable. And leave it at that. Anyway, what did you want?’

‘Well it was about the neighbourhood buddy thing…’

‘Nominated Neighbour,’ I sigh, melting a bit. She obviously didn’t mean to blow my cover. ‘Why? Not had visitors, have you?’

‘No,’ she says, ‘but there was someone watching my house yesterday. I think it might be the Creeper.’

***

‘…someone watching her house yesterday, thinks it could be the Creeper,’ I laugh, as Peter hands me my mail next morning.

‘Who? Batty Ma Baker?’

‘I know. First it was bars at the windows, house being tapped and now she reckons she’s being watched. Anyone would think she’s hiding the Crown jewels in there.’

‘Poor dear,’ he chuckles. ‘Probably dying for some excitement in her life. It’s not funny.’

‘I know. Still she’s going to respite care soon for a fortnight’s visit – so at least she’ll get properly looked after there.’

‘Yeah.’ He points to the inside of my window at my new sticker. ‘What’s that?’

‘Neighbourhood Watch. We’re investigating the Creeper.’

‘You’ve joined up?’ he says with surprise.

‘Joined up?’ I laugh. ‘I’m practically running the show.’

Chapter 23

Way I see it, some people strive to be No. 1 in life and some are perfectly content with being No. 2s. I know this because I’ve always been a content No. 2 kind of person. I like being behind others, pushing them forward, acting as backbone – Rosa, Declan, bosses that I’ve worked for, ex-boyfriends that I’ve urged onto greater things. That’s me. Unwilling to take centre stage and leave myself vulnerable to criticism or even praise. I really don’t mind not having the glory, the medals, certificates, pips on the shoulder. I’ve always known my place and always been happy to stay there. Hidden and unassuming.

But now I’m here at the forefront like a general with my very own army. I’ve not only rallied the troops – I’m commanding them – and what’s more, I’m rather enjoying it.