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Meanwhile Gardens:
An Urban Adventure
Written by Charlie Caselton
Chapter
Forty-nine - Just What We're Looking For
Gorby quickly showered in the tiny cubicle before changing
into a fawn pair of slacks and a dark green turtleneck. He
pulled on his favourite cardigan which, luckily, was also
the cleanest, opened his back door and stood on the stern
of the longboat that was his home. Gorby inhaled deeply. He
loved this time of the evening when the day slipped into twilight
and the dull waters of the canal changed to a slick black.
Waving to his neighbours two boats down Gorby crossed the
gangplank linking him with the adjacent larger boat. He gave
his familiar knock and pushed open the door to the 'Morrisco'.
Entering the cozy interior he found his friends busying themselves
around a table set for supper.
"Bang on time!" Ted turned with a grin, his neck forever stooped
by the barge's low ceiling.
"What can I get you? Wine, orange squash or - " His wife called
shrilly. " - tea?"
"I think he drinks enough of that at work eh?" Ted smiled
at Gorby and handed him a glass of red wine.
Gorby raised his glass to his immediate bosses. "Cheers Ted,
Mary." He looked at the couple he had known for many years.
Gorby often wondered how old they were. He figured they must
be between sixty and seventy five years old - although how
close or far from those ages he could never tell. One thing
Gorby knew, however, would never change would be their love
of tweed. Ted was kitted out in worn tweed trousers with a
cotton tweed shirt, whilst Mary looked fetching in her tweed
blouse and skirt, her outfit garnished by a tweed apron in
shiny plastic.
"Oh," Ted winked at Gorby. "Listen to this!" He nodded to
Mary who smiled.
"A woman called the cemetery twice this week claiming she
had seen a ghost!" Mary hooted with delight at the thought.
She put one arm through Ted's. "How long have we worked there
darling?"
"Nearly twelve years."
"And how many ghosts have we seen?"
"None!" Ted said triumphantly.
"The spirit sounded interesting though - a frail young thing
with long blonde hair." Mary smiled at Gorby. "You haven't
seen anyone answering that description have you?" She said
jokingly.
"Well, I have noticed a young girl hanging around."
Ted looked up while the smile froze on Mary's face. "You should
have told us." She scolded.
"I was going to," Gorby replied. "but I didn't want to get
your hopes up until I was sure."
"And?" Mary's voice had a harshness to it.
"Now I'm sure."
The smile returned to Mary's face. "Really." She said slowly.
"Yes. I've found out where she's been hiding."
"How old is she?" Ted asked.
Gorby shrugged. "Sixteen?"
"Did she look untouched?"
"Unplucked?" Mary added.
"Positively vestal I'd say."
Ted and Mary exchanged an interested look. "Really." Mary
said again, although this time even more slowly than before.
"Was she - " Ted tried not to get his hopes up. "was she alone?"
"As far as I could tell."
"Could she be homeless?" Mary asked.
"If she is - " Ted began only for Mary to finish the sentence
for him. " - she could be just what we're looking for."
All three smiled at each other as the same thought filtered
through their minds.
Mary raised her glass. "To the ghost!"
"The ghost!" Gorby and Ted echoed. They clinked their glasses
and sat down to supper, excited at the thought of a homeless
young girl and all that could mean.
Chapter
Fifty - Return of the Cowboy
Having spent the last nine days
soaking up the sun in Brighton Wayne was feeling good about
things. He could even handle the phone call which, the screen
on his mobile told him, was from the person who had been chasing
him all week.
"Where on earth have you been?"
Wayne moved the mobile phone away from his ear but still the
clipped tones of his employer were clearly audible.
"I've left numerous messages and - "
"I engineered the first meeting." Wayne loved using this sort
of language, it made him feel so clever.
Slightly mollified Candida asked. "What did you wear?"
"I wore everything."
"Even the hat?"
"Everything."
It had been expensive kitting Wayne out at the Australian
clothiers on Regent Street, but Candida hoped it would be
worth it. How could Ollie resist a body like Wayne's in hulking
cowboy boots? She figured correctly that Ollie must have a
rancher fantasy somewhere in his psyche.
"How did it go?"
Wayne thought back to the park and Ollie's quizzical expression.
"He was in a bit of a hurry but it went ok."
Immediately after he said 'ok' he knew he'd made a mistake.
"OK?" Candida's voice went even colder than usual. "OK?" She
repeated. "I'm not paying you to be OK."
"What I mean is it went quite well."
"Quite well?" Candida's icy tones sent a shiver down his spine.
"Yes, I - " Wayne thought for several seconds to get the phrasing
just right. "I scoured the terrain, preparing traps to open
doors."
Candida correctly surmised that her exceptional looking lure
had spent the mini-heatwave out of London. Still, if he had
a tan to go with that body she would soon have the painting
she was after.
"Make sure you do - open the doors I mean. I want results,
Wayne. Results."
Wayne coughed. "There've been expenses."
"Keep the receipts and an explanation."
"You don't get receipts for information," Wayne knew how women
such as his employer liked being deferred to. Deciding it
was time to tug a forelock or two he added, "Miss."
That was something Candida liked about Wayne. Being called
'Miss' in her mid-thirties made her feel almost coy.
"When are you seeing him again?"
"Tomorrow Miss."
Ah, that 'Miss' again. Candida softened for a second. Then
she snapped out of it. "The next time you see him hum 'Bewitched.'"
He had dressed up in cowboy clothes which, admittedly, he
had quite enjoyed, he had booked an appointment with the hairdressers
that afternoon for a complete change of image (just in case)
and now he had to - what?
"Sorry Miss?"
"You know that 60's programme - " Candida began to whistle
the theme tune and was relieved when Wayne joined in.
"Just whistle that when you see him ok?"
Chapter
Fifty-one - Lady Peters!
The newly appointed editor of Ultra
put her turquoise pumps on the desk and gazed out the window.
In the square below secretaries ate sandwiches and drank Diet
Coke in the sunshine. Some - were these the popular ones or
merely the desperate? she wondered - snogged pimply young
men called Gary or Kev who lived in Leytonstone and hadn't
the faintest idea about skincare.
There were no sandwiches on the editor's desk. In front of
her was an exquisite lacquered Bento box, its small compartments
filled with no-fat Japanese delicacies.
Eschewing chopsticks for fingers Angie Peters marvelled at
what a title can do for a girl. Ever since Edwin had been
knighted for 'Services to Industry' her rise through the ranks
of contributing editors had been swift.
Astonishingly swift.
She had jumped over numerous 'Mrs', several 'Ms' and a couple
of 'Hons' until here she sat in the hallowed leather chair,
her position personally appointed by Luca Mortimer, the owner
of the publishing empire in which Ultra played a small, but
glittering, part.
She thought of phoning Jake on his mobile and talking dirty.
It was unfortunate, even downright unfair, that he was working
all this week but in some strange way the fact that she couldn't
dictate the terms made the 'relationship' even more enjoyable.
Being in charge at the magazine, she thought with a smile,
meant she could probably hire him as a personal trainer -
or 'bonkmaster-to-the-editor' as he would be known behind
his back - and let Luca pick up his salary, but she knew Jake
would never consent to that.
Besides she didn't want him around all the time.
Also she loved the wonder of the treehouse amidst the decaying
Victorian cemetery. Its exquisite proximity to Edwin's work
made it all the more delicious. That and the fact that no
one knew it were there.
And no-one knew she was there. Yes, all in all it was pretty
damn perfect.
The chime of the office intercom calmly interrupted her reverie.
Again she thanked God that her first task had been to change
the cardiac inducing buzzer to a more zenlike gong.
"Yes Miranda?"
"I have Johnson Ogle on line one Lady Peters."
Lady Peters!
Angie swivelled in her chair before clicking through. She
had met Johnson at Wanda Mozzoni's the previous week. Over
several glasses of Krug she had said the magazine would be
interested in the celebrated lifestyle enhancer doing a regular
column on design.
Which they would be. Johnson was always good value.
He was also one never to let an opportunity for self-promotion
slip by.
"Johnson sweetie."
"Angie." The decorator's rich voice oozed charm. "You don't
still have that chaise-longue in last year's leopard print
do you?"
Whilst Angie was wondering which was the best way to answer
this Johnson continued. "Because I have an offcut of the most
beautiful thick golden raw silk that a certain someone - the
most I can say is that her daughter is named after a certain
place of pilgrimage.... are you with me?"
Angie hoped he meant Madonna and not Ada Collaren, the wife
of the rockstar who followed suit and named her daughter Medugorge
after the faux Yugoslavian site. The style-bereft Ada, whose
husband's millions and the attention of the world's top stylists
had still not hidden the fact that she was the dernier cri
in naffness, was a renowned bandwagonjumper. Whilst Angie
was quite happy for the hapless Ada to appear in her magazine
looking frightful in Chanel she did not want to appear linked
to her in anyway. Even sharing fabric from the same decorator
would be too close.
As if reading her mind Johnson hinted. "Her initial is M not
A."
That did it. "Johnson, you're so clever. I was just going
to have it re-covered." Angie lied.
"Let me do it for you darling. Send it to the showroom a toute
vitesse. It'll be my welcoming present."
"Johnson I - "
With the trivia out of the way Johnson got to the real point
of the call. "Now about this column you mentioned at Wanda's."
"Interested?"
"Hmmmmmmmm - " Johnson hummed and hawed. He knew what the
editor really wanted. But it was not something he was prepared
to give. "You're not after design tips are you Angie?"
Johnson knew the game too well.
"Mainly but not entirely." What the editor really wanted was
high quality gossip for herself and her readers. She figured
that being editor of Ultra should entitle her to be privy
to the secrets of the rich and famous.
And Johnson was famously well connected.
He was also famously discreet.
"Johnson you know I wouldn't dream of asking you for any tattle,
at least not in print."
The lifestyle enhancer was tempted. It was risky though. His
top clients didn't want anything on their houses in any magazine.
"Anything about rockstars their wives and boob jobs - fine.
But anyone else?"
"We won't go there." Angie finished in her most soothing of
voices. She could tell he was nearly snared.
"Do a profile on me and we'll talk further. Get Nicky Dixon
for the photos - did you see her shots of Jim James?" The
weight of the hearthrob popstar (real name Dimitri Constanzos)
was a national talking point on a par with the weather.
"She took at least l5 pounds off him - and - "
Angie waited for some ludicrous demand.
"Think about where you're going to put the chaise-longue.
The silk shimmers beautifully at sunset."
Chapter
Fifty-two - Rhyme and Reason
Rion stood at the sitting room window. Halfway
down the cobbled mews she could see Auntie Em talking to Ollie
who lay in his y-fronts on a lilo in the sunshine. Hum lay
in the shadows beside him.
It had been ten days since she had been outside, ten days
of unusually hot weather which she hadn't been able to enjoy.
Although she was still feeling weak she was much, much better.
Rion knew she was well on the road to recovery and it was
all due to her new friends. Still, Doctor Gidwani had said
to stay inside and Auntie Em was making sure she did.
She had quickly learnt there was no arguing with Auntie Em.
It was easier to get round Auntie Gem but Auntie Em? No way.
Rion didn't mind their strictness, which she knew was borne
of love and was really 'for her own good'.
Her parents had often used that expression, 'for her own good',
but Rion didn't know how a beating could be for anyone's good,
especially when she had done nothing to deserve it. She had
often wondered what her parents were trying to beat out of
her.
She didn't have to wonder anymore. Rion had made up her mind
that it was all in the past and in the past it was going to
stay.
What Rion did wonder about though, was the nature of the conversation
in the mews.
Ollie squinted up at Auntie Em who was filling him in on Rion's
progress. In her hand she held a circular chain jammed with
keys. "It's too early of course, sweetness, and for the time
being she's certainly staying here but - " Auntie Em pulled
off a large rusty key from the chain. " - would you see what
needs doing in 1A? I'm sure it's just a question of clearing
out the pigeons but it would be best to see."
Ollie smiled and took the key. "Consider it done Auntie Em."
As Auntie Em went back up the mews to her house, Ollie, in
an effort to tan the white strip running from his armpit to
his waist, moved onto his side and stretched his arms over
his head like a highboard diver.
With eyes closed he stayed in this most uncomfortable of positions
until a vaguely familiar voice roused him.
"Those sides are always the worst aren't they?"
Ollie opened his eyes, blinking into the sunshine to see a
shockingly blond man smiling down at him. Ollie shielded the
sun with one hand to make sure that what he was seeing was
real. He tried not to stare but it was impossible not to.
The man had the most amazing body, toned and strong, squeezed
into t-shirt and jeans that were bulgingly tight without looking
sprayed on.
"Excuse me?" Ollie closed his eyes for a second, making sure
to brand the image on his brain. If all else failed he would
at least have this picture on file to provide happy moments
on otherwise dull days.
"The sides," The man gestured dangerously close to Ollie's
body. "need extra attention don't they?"
Ollie decided to play along. "They sure do."
"Can I park my van here for a couple of hours?" The man flashed
a dazzling smile at Ollie who thought 'with a smile like that
I bet you can do anything'.
"I'm doing some work on Golborne Road and they've started
clamping. It'll just be for an hour or two until," He looked
at his watch. "four at the latest."
Ollie knew Auntie Em's policy about strangers parking in the
mews but desperate times called for desperate measures. "Well."
He didn't want to appear too eager but it was difficult not
to. "If you park outside my house," Ollie gestured to the
yellow door behind him - was that too keen? "it'll be ok.
Just this once though." He said, smiling to make sure that
that wasn't necessarily the case.
The man quickly returned with a pick-up that rattled into
the mews and parked outside Ollie's.
"I'll be back at four." The man said dazzling Ollie with another
smile. "I owe you one, mate."
Wayne nearly jumped when he saw himself reflected in the pick-up's
side mirror. He still hadn't got used to the blond hair. Putting
phase two of the plan into action Wayne sauntered out of the
mews whistling the theme tune to 'Bewitched'
"I can't believe you let him do that."
Ollie turned to see Nicky coming out of her door opposite.
In one hand she carried a metallic case filled with photographic
accessories,in the other her crash helmet.
"Did you see - " Stuck for words Ollie gesticulated with his
hands. " - that?"
"You wouldn't have let him park there if he was ugly." Before
Ollie could protest Nicky held up her hand. "You wouldn't
have done." She said firmly.
"I have an ulterior motive."
Nicky rolled her eyes. "It's that builder fantasy isn't it
Ol? The one where they wear nothing but a hard hat and a belt
full of spanners and you talk about equipment and erections
and - "
No!" He said mustering as much indignance as he dared. "That's
the scaffolder's one anyway. If you must know Auntie Em asked
me to check out 1A, see if any work needs doing."
"And you think he might do the business so to speak?"
"That would be up to Auntie Em, but it would be tempting fate
not to find out. 'See a builder pick him up and all day long
you'll have good luck.'" Ollie recited.
Nicky slotted the case into one of the panniers of her black
Honda 550, pulled her helmet on and straddled the bike. "I
can't believe you have a rhyme for that." She started the
powerful machine, clicked the visor down and eased her way
out of the mews.
Chapter
Fifty-three - Racing Pulse
The man was as good as his word.
On the dot of four he ambled down the mews. Ollie immediately
phoned Auntie Em.
"He's here."
"I can see that sweetness."
Ollie looked out to see Auntie Em, phone in hand, at her sitting
room window.
"And this has nothing to do with the way he looks?"
Ollie knew he'd be fooling no one, least of all Auntie Em,
if he protested. "We do need someone."
"I'll be there in a sec angel."
Ollie clicked the phone off. Going outside he found the man
hovering about as if waiting to see him. Waiting to see him!
This was getting better and better.
"You couldn't have a look at something for us could you?"
Ollie blushed slightly at how the question could be construed.
Behind the man Ollie could see Auntie Em approaching from
her end of the mews.
"I'd be happy to." The man winked at Ollie leaving him slightly
breathless. What does a wink mean again? He must ask Nicky
when he next saw her.
"There's a property at the end that's been empty for ages
and could do with some attention." Ollie again struggled against
the unintended double entendre which had, he hoped, gone unnoticed.
He had taken a quick look at 1A earlier on. Apart from having
pigeons, both alive and dead, and some plastering that needed
redoing, the little house had weathered its neglect pretty
well.
With relief he saw that Auntie Em was now beside them. "This
is the owner, Ms Nelson."
The man turned to Auntie Em and shook her hand with just enough
strength to show he meant business but without crushing her.
"Wayne Watson."
He then turned smiling to Ollie. "We haven't met."
As Ollie took the outstretched hand he felt a shiver followed
by a spasm to the groin. The builder's hand had a rough firmness
to it and Ollie was sure he felt Wayne's middle finger graze
the soft underside of his wrist. He couldn't believe people
still did that, it seemed so seventies, so closeted.
But it felt surprisingly sexy.
"I'm Ollie."
Lost for words he looked at Auntie Em who took charge.
"Follow me Mr Watson."
Chapter
Fifty-four - Three stops past Barking
Entering the house at the top of
the mews, they moved through the narrow hallway where a child's
toy gathered dust in the corner.
"How long since it's been inhabited?" Wayne asked as they
filed up the stairs.
"Well, the old stabling part downstairs was used for storage
by some market traders but not for at least three years."
Auntie Em explained. "They used to wake people up at five
in the morning and so had to go."
"I can never understand how people can be so cheerful at such
an hour."
"Unless you haven't been to bed." Wayne added.
Ollie wondered if he was the only one who noticed how Wayne
stressed the final word.
Coming to the top of the small flight of stairs they stepped
into the large sitting room that made up most of the living
area. 1A had the same layout as the other houses in the mews,
except for Gem 'n Em's large C-shaped house at the end.
As in the others a kitchen opened off the large central space.
On each side of the kitchen, large enough for a stove, fridge
and small table, was a door leading to a small bedroom. At
the top of the stairs an opening led to a bathroom that contained
a sink and an old, rather battered, claw-footed bath.
Wayne looked around. He immediately spotted the hole in the
corner of the high ceiling where the pigeons came in and sometimes,
judging by at least two feathered skeletons, forgot to leave.
As he peered into the two small bedrooms on either side of
the kitchen Auntie Em whispered to Ollie. "I bet he knocks
on the wall." As if on cue they heard a series of taps. Auntie
Em rolled her eyes. "Cowboy!" She hissed, unaware of Candida's
recent expense at R.N.Williams.
"Give him a chance Auntie Em."
Wayne moved quickly through the sitting room to the tiny bathroom.
"Where are you working now Mr Watson?"
Wayne had already prepared the answer to this inevitable question.
"Just round the corner on the Portobello. D'ye know the old
greasy spoon opposite Valerie's Flowers?" He returned to the
large central space.
Auntie Em and Ollie nodded.
"Well its being refurbished, all bleached beech and bare brick.
There's alot of that round here isn't there?"
"It's a bit far to park your van isn't it?" Auntie Em asked.
"When the clampers are out it's any port in a storm I'm afraid
Ms Nelson." Wayne gave the room another once-over. "The only
major thing is the damp in the bathroom ceiling which'll need
to be proofed and replastered. Apart from that, and the loose
tiles which shouldn't be a problem, everything is pretty much
surface stuff - nothing a good clean and a couple of coats
of paint wouldn't put right."
Ollie looked pleadingly at Auntie Em.
"I could do it after work - it would take ten days/two weeks
maximum."
Auntie Em moved down the stairs followed by the two young
men. She strolled in thought to Wayne's blue pick-up. "Give
us some references and a written quotation Mr Watson, in the
meantime why don't you two - " Unseen by Wayne she winked
at Ollie. " - exchange numbers."
Wayne slung himself into the driver's seat of the pick-up
and rooted around in the glove compartment. "I'm fairly sure
I gave my last card out yesterday." Wayne scribbled his number
on a scrap of paper.
"I haven't even got one." Ollie said apologetically.
Wayne smiled as he handed over the scrap of paper. "You'll
have to phone me then won't you?"
Ollie was sure his gulp must have been audible.
"Where do you live Mr Watson?" Auntie Em continued her questioning.
"Dagenham."
"And you'd travel in every day?"
"If I got the job I'd try and find somewhere local to overnight
in."
Ollie could feel Wayne's eyes burning into him.
Wayne slammed the driver's door shut. A quick wave and he
reversed slowly out of the mews.
"Well at least he didn't whistle through his teeth." Auntie
Em turned to Ollie. "Let me know what his quote is but I'm
not going above £600. That's final."
Auntie Em was nearly at her front door when Ollie called down
the mews. "Thanks for getting his number for me."
"I'd watch him, angel. Those Dagenham boys - they're at least
three stops past Barking."
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