Sleuths

By Mark Butler

When gangs of rioters, political activists and religious extremists descend on a small English town, stirred by corrupt politicians and officials, bent on bringing down the fabric of society, who will stand in their way? It's left to two amateur detectives, a gay marine, an escaped mental patient, oh, and a group of heavily armed Girl Guides. Not one of them under 70!

 

Sleuths is a riotous story of crooked men who plot to destroy the British government, abolish the monarchy and shut down the bars. Their carefully laid plans suffer a hiccup when they arrest Lady Wilsbrough, a woman with more connections than a Google server and a late husband who hoarded more weapons than many small countries have. Her neighbours, Cathy and Lynda, aspiring detectives, who have their fingers on the pulse of the neighbourhood, particularly the men, get together with gay, transvestite marine Trevor and Wilsbrough's son, Oswald, a recent inmate of an institution for the laughably insane.

Together with a grizzled hospital matron and the toughest bunch of girl guides ever to tote arms, they set out to right the wrongs and restore order. But with corrupt policemen, hapless MI5 agents and a rabid deluded sheikh to contend with, it's going to be an uphill struggle that can only end in a battle royale!

Some unlikely allies come forth together with some sinister foes. One thing's for sure, the little town of Warminster, along with the halls of Westminster, will never be the same again. It is said the first casualty of war is the truth! Not when you arm enthusiastic pensioners with submachine guns and mortars, it isn't!

Will the mismatched group prevail, or will the forces of the greedily evil play the final ace up their sleeve?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sante Books
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223106340

Book preview

Mark Butler

Sleuths

First published by Samjazju Print 2023

Copyright © 2023 by Mark Butler

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Mark Butler asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

First edition

Editing by Tom Lawrence

Cover art by Jim Brookes

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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For all those wonderful people in my life who make it oh so interesting. And to girl guides everywhere. Especially the heavy artillery division.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 1

Lynda’s eyes were, for a moment, crossed, not her normal stare but then again it wasn’t usual to be stun-gunned. The day had started out so well; she had arrived punctually at 8 am as requested, and Cathy was excited about something. She knew the minute she saw her coming down the stairs wearing her pink negligee and fluffy pink bunny slippers. Cathy loved pink she said it was part of her ‘disguise,’ no one would ever suspect that beneath the fluffiness was the world’s greatest detective, well, according to Cathy that was. Sometimes Lynda did wonder if really she wasn’t a bit, well, Potty and after the ‘unpleasantness’ of yesterday it was good to see Cathy in high spirits again.

‘Guess what I’ve got?’ Cathy squealed. ‘Guess, guess, bet you can’t.’

Cathy was, by this time, standing on the bottom stair, Cathy billowed. Some described her as a strong woman, which is a nice way of putting it. Plump was another, but of course, one would never say such a thing. Cathy’s build was best described as curvy. Her naturally blond hair made her look like a Viking shield maiden ready for a fight. Lynda looked for a moment at her own reflection mirrored in the double-glazed staircase window. A similar body to Cathy but less boobs and a shock of black hair. Yes, well I can talk, she thought for a moment; neither of us is going to see the right side of forty again.

‘So,’ asked Cathy, billowing rather more than normal, ‘can you guess, hmm, can you?’ Lynda thought for a second. ‘That Dresden ornament we saw yesterday?

‘Oh No,’ Cathy replied tersely, ‘and I would rather you didn’t remind me of such a squalid little man, suggesting I would steal such a thing!’

‘Well, you did walk out of the shop with it. It’s understandable.’

Cathy rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, yes, I do know that but things happened so quickly. One minute he was there and the next gone. It was that Sajid Mir that wanted Arab chappy, positive, positive it was him!’

‘But what would Sajid Mir be doing serving Wan Ton at the Oriental Dragon restaurant?’ Lynda interjected as Cathy paused for breath.

‘Ha, that’s it. He’s undercover, blending in with the natives.’

Lynda looked around furtively. ‘Um Cathy, I don’t think we are allowed to use the word native anymore. I think it’s banned. You know one of those incorrect words.’

‘Ha, piffle,’ snapped Cathy. ‘It’s not as if I said black.’

‘Oh Cathy,’ squeaked Lynda, ‘don’t say that you can’t say that. That’s treason or something now so they say, anyway, he’s not black.’ Lynda reddened, ‘Oh dear, I’ve said it now.’

‘Look!’ Cathy said, stepping off the last stair and almost landing on top of the ornate imitation Louis side table as the heel of her slipper twisted beneath her.

‘Heeled as well,’ said Lynda in what she hoped was an admiring voice, ‘fluffy pink heeled bunny slippers, not seen those before.’

‘Yes, I thought they were a little more upmarket than the usual home wear, and I needed a little cheering up, but you’ll never guess what I got. Come and see. I keep it in the study, of course.’ Limping slightly, Cathy made directly for the roll-top desk sitting majestically in the centre of the cluttered study.

‘I’m keeping it in the secret compartment along with my notes on the current investigation,’ she looked at Lynda, ‘just so you know if anything should happen,’ she added, pausing dramatically.

Cathy dropped to the floor and worked her way into the leg recess of the desk, which began to edge forward as Cathy tried to push her way into the space designed for a lot less of a person than was currently trying to fit into it. Lynda leaned diplomatically on the desk and waited for Cathy to resurface. The familiar wooden box appeared, followed moments later by a slightly rumpled Cathy. It looked like an electric razor.

‘I thought you were waxing?’

‘Don’t be daft, woman!’ Cathy snapped, heaving herself off the floor with a little difficulty. ‘It’s a taser!’ Lynda continued to eye it.

‘Oh, I use a Braun myself the Ronson tended to rip the hairs out and I’d end up with legs that looked like a chicken’s.’

‘Hmm,’ said Cathy with a tone, ‘Well, this is a taser!’

‘Oh, and that’s better, is it? Well, it must certainly be better than getting one’s hairs ripped out.’

Cathy sighed, ‘A taser,’ she paused, waiting for Lynda to express the right admiring comments. Lynda looked blankly. Cathy sighed. ‘It’s a stun gun!’

‘Oh my gosh, hmm, isn’t that slightly illegal?’

‘We women have to defend ourselves against ruffians and gangs who want to, well, enough said, it’s terrible that the police stand by and do nothing whilst women up and down the country are subjected to heinous crimes, we must strike a blow.’

‘I don’t think they stand by,’ said Lynda. ‘they’re not there so how can they stand by? If the police were there they wouldn’t let it happen but as they’re not there…’

‘I blame the judiciary myself, if they would only hand down the right sentences for the crimes, chop it off that’s what I say, stop the criminals from breeding that’s what I say!’ Cathy had begun to pant as was normal when she got worked up. Lynda had heard this a thousand times before, distraction was the only hope.

‘So how does it work?’

Cathy reached reverentially into the box and waved it at Lynda. ‘I was told to press this button.’ An arc of blue flashed across the device, leaving its imprint as blue and strangely pink lines, everywhere Lynda looked were startling blue lines.

‘Does it work?’

She remembered the thump and sudden spasms, and the pain.

‘I’ve put you some biscuits with your tea Lynda, it’ll buck you right up’. Lynda’s eyes began to focus.

‘And we’ll have to do something about your hair too, it’s still standing up.’ Cathy’s tone seemed almost disapproving.

‘You, you, what happened?’

‘Don’t worry you’ll soon get over it, and we had to see if it worked, and they’re custard creams too.’

‘You zapped me!’

‘No, dear the right term is stunned and it was only a little one. Just a test. Anyway, they say a jolt of electricity does you the power of good.’ A voice interrupted them.

‘Oh Hello darlings,’ shrilled Trevor, he leant on the door frame. Cathy’s glance caught the essentials.

‘You’ve been in my wardrobe again!’

Trevor, with one hand going dramatically to his throat, squeaked ‘What, me? Oh, never did.’

Lynda’s hands shook as she took the proffered cup, the tea sloshing into the saucer

‘Oh, do be careful Lynda, that’s my best china, the creams will be all mushy if you’re not careful. Can’t abide mushy biscuits myself, just finish that and we’ll have a go at that hair of yours. You really can’t go out looking like that. You’ll draw attention!’

Trevor smoothed the pink satin fabric and ruffled the fathered collar. ‘Rather nice, don’t you think?’ Trevor walked a couple of steps, hand on hip like some fashion mannequin, ‘and a little twirl, nice don’t you think? Oh tea, I could just murder a cup.’ Trevor looked at Lynda. ‘What happened to you, a bit rough was he, the brute?’

The steam had condensed, everywhere droplets were running down the walls and, more especially, the mirror. All Lynda could see for the moment was her left eye and the mascara had run, either that, or she’d been in a scrap with Mike Tyson.

‘Are you sure the bronze tints aren’t for you, dear? Wouldn’t take a mo.’

‘No, no, thank you Trevor,’ Lynda said.

‘Well, if you’re sure, then?’ Trevor looked hopeful.

‘Yes, yes, quite sure. Thank you, Trevor.’

‘I thought the highlights would look just so Fab, hmm, well it’s still a bit frizzy dear but at least it’s given your hair some bounce. You just fix your face and I’ll put the kettle on. See you downstairs OK, babe?’

With that, the bathroom was suddenly empty. Lynda wiped the water from the mirror and looked aghast at her own reflection. Frizzy! Bloody hell, it was going to need something to get this lot to stay down.

The kettle whistled and Cathy thought it sounded like a cat being slowly strangled. The sound of best china and spoons rose from the kitchen.

Trevor was in his element. His lace apron tied around his waist and a French maid’s uniform, the black moustache was part of the ‘fashion.’ He was naturally hairy as the unbuttoned blouse attested. In his high heels he stood just over 6 feet.

‘Coo-ee darlings, I made scones as well.’

Sherlock Holmes had played the violin to soothe his nerves and help his mind to wander over all those clues to arrive at exactly the right solution. Cathy was one of his most ardent admirers. She had tried the violin and the piano with remarkably little success, then whilst on a little foray into foreign places, she had discovered how gifted she was at playing an instrument called the Rababa. The neighbourhood had spent a tortured afternoon whilst she rediscovered her talent and the lost art of Rababa playing.

She’d explained to her neighbour about knocking on the wall and how it distracted her and that if he continued to do so, she would have no recourse but to soundly thump him.

‘It’s just not done,’ she explained, ‘and don’t think I don’t know you’re spying on me, watching me through the windows at night when I have little on, defenceless against your wanton lust.’

‘Hang on, hang on,’ he spluttered. ‘I haven’t.’

‘Oh Mr Jenkins, I know it’s just too naughty of you,’ her playful slap nearly lifting him off the ground. ‘I need something more than hot rough sex,’ her breathing quickened ‘more than a crop and riding boots, more than manly handling, I know you dream of throwing me to the floor, ripping my clothes off and taking me, having your wicked way with me. Oh, you animal!’ By now, she was panting.

He had gone from red to puce, in moments, the fear almost palpable ‘Oh! No, no really I don’t really, I didn’t, what window?’

‘Oh, Mr Jenkins,’ she breathed, ‘how could you?’

He finally managed to extricate himself from her vice-like grip as Trevor’s Coo-ee came from the kitchen, momentarily distracting Cathy. He made a run for the safety of his own place, the sound of his running footsteps followed by the slamming of his front door.

Bloody woman, he thought to himself, and they’ve made her chief of the neighbourhood watch. I told them she was mad but would they listen to me? Now she thinks I’m spying on her. How on earth did she know?

***

‘Oh yes, they are definitely foreigners. Mrs Tewksbury, you know her from number 24 whose husband went to visit his mother last year and has yet to return? She actually saw them arrive, says they were, um mm, well, Arabs, and I can say Arabs, can’t I?’

‘Yes, dear, you can say Arab but you can’t say wog.’ Cathy mused

‘Oh Cathy, someone will hear you,’ Lynda trilled

‘I only said that you can’t say wog and can’t say…’

It was at that moment Trevor arrived and that saved Lynda from learning all the other words you could now be put in prison for using, especially in company, as Lynda would say. Trevor smiled ‘You’ll never guess what I heard, that …’

Cathy interrupted ‘Foreigners moved into our close.’

Trevor’s smile froze. ‘Well, since you have all the news.’

‘Come on, out with it. What have you heard?’ Cathy’s patience was wearing a little thin, first the corner shop, yes OK they were open till 11 pm, whereas old Lasker used to close at 5.30 pm, and they were always polite, unlike old Larker, but she always felt she was letting the side down when she went there, now in the close itself, her close.

‘Tewksbury saw them arrive, said there were loads of them, and they were unusual. The men were wearing dresses and had big beards and some were hiding behind black scarves as if they didn’t want to be seen or recognised. It’s all very fishy.’

Cathy looked smug. ‘They all wear dresses in those middle East places.’

Trevor swallowed ‘Ooh, do they? Wow, wonderful, I might go and see what they’ve got, you know, some cultural exchange kind of thing.’

‘Hold on a minute Trevor, before you go and do something you’ll regret. It’s the religion that makes them wear a dress and that kind of thing. They are very religious.’

‘Wow, amazing,’ his Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down. ‘I think I’ll dress to impress, the sequinned off-the-shoulder, my Chanel bag, those gorgeous sling-backs, of course, the Armani style jacket. Everyone says I look Fab!’

Cathy sighed, ‘Sorry Trevor but it’s religious, and also tradition, not a, you know, sex thing.’

Trevor winced. ‘It’s not a sex thing at all. I would like you to know it’s a fashion statement, telling the world who I am and that I’m gay and proud of it.’

‘Well, that part of the world doesn’t want to know you’re gay. In fact, that part of the world doesn’t want to know anything about gay, or lesbians, come to that. And the only interest they might have in your exotic wardrobe is how many could they fit in it! So don’t do anything silly, baby, OK?’ Cathy smiled what she thought of as her reassuring smile. ‘You could get hurt.’

Trevor’s eyes told it all. ‘Tell you what, I’ll bake some fairy cakes and then we’ll go and welcome them to the neighbourhood’

Cathy sighed ‘Don’t wear anything girly!’

Trevor’s hand flew to his mouth in a mock ‘would I’ and he was off to the kitchen, high heels clicking with an impatience that said it all.

Lynda descended the last steps of the staircase, still looking slightly unruffled. Dragged through a hedge backwards was how her mother would have described it. The grunge look was still in fashion somewhere. Trevor had done his best but…

‘Do you think that’s such a good idea, Cathy? I mean Trevor and fairy cakes on the first visit. What kind of impression do you think that will make?’

‘Exactly,’ breathed Cathy, her eyes shining. ‘brilliant diversion tactics, I want to have a good look at those new residents.’ The word ‘residents’ carried more than a hint of disapproval.

Cathy sniffed. ‘People coming to our close and we don’t even know who they are. We don’t want the neighbourhood to go into decline, just one rotten apple can ruin the whole barrel. Just look at Milton Keynes.’ and with that, she went off to join Trevor in the kitchen.

Lynda stood for a moment. ‘I’ll just pop to the shop for some cigs,’ she called, ‘see you in five,’ and so saying, she made good her escape and headed down the front path at a fair pace. Experience had shown it was better to be quick about leaving, otherwise she would probably be summoned back and then it might be ages before she would get a quick look at the new residents without Cathy directing operations.

***

Cathy’s current boyfriend was once a monk. She had found this totally funny when he had first told her. He was now a sergeant in the local constabulary and it was due to his pillow talk that she had her finger on the pulse of the neighbourhood.

He had been a monk for some years. It had been a sort of confession. She had arrived home one day to find him kneeling on the bedroom floor, scourging himself in penance for his ‘animal passions.’ Well, at the time she didn’t know that, and thought well, kinky, and she was all for giving a little help. So, divesting herself of her clothing apart from the stockings and suspenders he had bought her, she opened the little wardrobe that she always kept locked, took out the riding crop and set to with vigour. He had never been happier.

Cathy was thinking fondly of her Gordon as Trevor whisked the cake. The mixer was a Moulinex Trevor had won at the bingo on his day out in Brighton. It was funny really. Trevor was a big chap, almost as big as her Gordon, though they couldn’t have been more different. Gordon looked and acted militarily and almost every date they had been on was conducted with almost army-like precision. So manly, she smiled to herself. He was one of the few men who had swept Cathy off her feet, and in Gordon’s case, it was literal. She’d missed the kerb and was laying flat on her back and the next moment, when she finally focused, there was Gordon checking her over. As she tried to rise, her ankle was already beginning to swell. Hoping to raise a bit of sympathy and get a little longer with this adorable policeman she moaned softly. He had simply lifted her in his arms and carried her to the car, at first she was a bit embarrassed at arriving home in a police car, you never know what the neighbours might say. That evening he had called with flowers.

‘Do you think the pink icing or whipped cream?’ Trevor’s question claimed her attention.

‘Definitely the pink icing, but no interesting artwork, like those you made for me. The Brown Owl said the guides had had no end of complaints from parents, a lot of questions were asked, and I had to use my position as well.’

‘I bet there were,’ Trevor winked. ‘There was a mix-up. I told you that the ones that were supposed to go to Pink Pride to raise money for the cause ended up with the guides and the…’

‘Yes, yes, I know all that. It was only having Gordon at hand that saved you from being reported for indecency. He’s such a blessing.’

Trevor was busy ladling cake mix into the baking trays. ‘I’m making a couple of dozen, thought we’d have some this evening, though I do have to watch my figure,’ he grimaced. ‘If I don’t, who else will?’

‘Yes, true,’ said Cathy, glancing at Trevor’s solid and muscular body. ‘I think I’ll have a nice long soak, and spoil myself a bit, some pampering is in order.’

‘Yes, you do that, and I’ll bring you up a nice cup of tea when I’ve got this lot in the oven. Do you think a cherry on top?’ he looked around the empty kitchen, ‘Right then, yes I think a cherry on the top would look rather nice, I could make some quips about ‘popping the cherry, he-he yes well, pink icing next.’ From upstairs came the sound of the bath filling and Cathy humming to herself.

It didn’t take long for Lynda to track down the newcomers to the close, the first thing she noticed was the curtains twitching at number 48 which wasn’t unusual but what was unusual was the police car slewed across the road and old lady Wilsbrough being taken away in handcuffs. She still had on the old house coat that she had worn for years, more darning than coat and in the end, she hadn’t been too bothered about colour matching so it more resembled a patchwork quilt than a house coat.

‘All I said was, what’s the world coming to?’ she mumbled, ‘That’s all, I went through the war you know, things were better in those days, at least we knew, and the bombs falling you know, had to watch out for bombers, and the blackout, ah, there are things I could tell you, it’s not right, is it?’ Lady Wilsbrough mumbled to the arresting officer.

Lynda was mystified. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked. Her at 36 was usually the name that Cathy used for Lady Wilsbrough. There had been a long-running dispute over the girl guide pack leadership, and in this case, it was a never forgive or forget situation.

‘She asked them what they thought they were doing moving into the old Larkin place,’ Mc Kullock told her. ‘Well, to be exact, she told them old Larkin had gone to the shops and she would call the police on them if they didn’t clear out.’

‘But old Larkin’s been dead for a couple of years now,’ said Lynda, still trying to understand how it was that old lady Wilsbrough was being, as they spoke, pushed into a police car.

‘I’m not saying anything,’ she said, ‘I know, name, rank and number. Emergency ambulance driver number 998233, Daisy Wilsbrough and that’s Lady to you, lad!’

‘So what’s she been arrested for? Not shoplifting again? Last time it was thrown out and the courts said that they thought the police had better things to do than to waste their time arresting 90-year-old shoplifters.’ Lynda was perplexed. ‘And it turned out that the jar of jam in her bag was one she’d made herself using an old supermarket jar with the label left on.’

‘Poor thing, not been the same since young Oswald was, you know, committed. It was on the cards. He was not the right age to be sitting on the roof spotting bombers. Afraid it was one jumbo too many in that case.’ Mc Kullock said with a strange satisfaction.

‘Yes, he flour bombed the police when they tried to get him off of the roof. The real problem was the machine gun nest he had built up there. No planning permission, they said. It was dangerous on that roof anyway, surprised he didn’t come a cropper, and when he turned on the hose he’d run from the bathroom.’ Lynda smiled broadly. ‘The whole street was pandemonium I remember, there was the fire brigade too, and as it turned out it was lucky, the ambulance had been called, that fireman took a flour bag right in the face and broke a leg when he fell off the ladder.’

‘As it was, the sash window had been booby-trapped and a copper had to hang upside down with his leg trapped for ages before they got him down.’ said Mc Kullock.

‘It wasn’t booby-trapped,’ interjected Lynda. ‘the sash cords had broken and he always propped it open. We had the same problem before we had them replaced but that still doesn’t explain whys she’s been arrested.’

‘Those new neighbours called the police and said they were being harassed. Victims of, you know, that race thing.’

‘Car?’ added Lynda helpfully.

‘Don’t be daft woman, you know. Just a moment, got it, racism, you know Ku Klux Klan, and burning crosses that kind of thing.’

‘No, really, old lady Wilsbrough was burning crosses?’

‘Well no, she did have a bonfire but that was going well before they arrived. Look, it’s still alight. Anyway, she just told them that Larkin was going to be back any moment and they should clear out.’

‘Is that all?’

‘No, they got her, for incitement as well.’

‘Yes, she told the Halliwells from 44 and others that those people shouldn’t be there and that they should help throw them out, so they got her for incitement too!’

‘Bloody hell!’ said Lynda.

‘That’s not all. She called them the Gestapo. Hitler’s henchmen, I think, was the term used, and she went for one with a bread knife. Would have got him too if he hadn’t been quick. She’s definitely feisty when riled. It was sad really to see her shuffling after that young copper waving the bread knife.’ Mc Kullock was certainly well-informed.

‘So what happened next?’

‘She ran out of breath and that was that. They cornered her on the front porch.’

‘But she’s an old lady,’ said Lynda.

‘Yes, well, ever since the government… well, you know what I mean.’

Their eyes met for a moment ‘Yes I quite understand’ added Lynda, ‘but it’s still not right.’ The second policeman got into the car and it sped off, siren wailing.

‘You’d think they just got Al Capone,’ piped up a voice from the gathering crowd, ‘Shame, shame, I never thought I’d live to see the day…’

Lynda drifted away from the little knots of people ardently discussing ‘the arrest of old Lady Wilsbrough’ and towards the house from where the problem seemed to have started.

Over the hedge, she could see several men leaning nonchalantly at the front of the house. Each of them carried a longish stick and almost all of them were identically dressed in white robes. All had long bushy beards and wore chequered headscarves, some had jackets on but it was the stick that caught Lynda’s eye. Hefty and useful seemed to be the message it conveyed.

***

‘Not the pink jeans, Trevor. Definitely not. I remember what happened last time you wore those. You scared the hell out of that poor taxi driver.’

‘Don’t worry Cathy, got it under control, anyway I thought blue jeans were OK!’

‘Ta Ra,’ said Cathy, appearing from the open door of her bedroom and giving Trevor a quick twirl. She certainly was going for the fashion statement. She positively jingled with the bracelets and necklaces, which stood out against the stretched fabric of her black two-piece which was flared as were the trousers.

‘So, what do you think?’

‘Hmm, I thought flairs went out in the seventies, dear.’

‘No, they’ve made a comeback. Bloody hell Trevor, those trousers look like they’ve been spray painted on. Doesn’t leave much to the imagination.’

Chapter 2

The sound of the backdoor shutting distracted Cathy from her next shrill ‘Lynda!’

‘So, you’ve finally arrived have you, we have been waiting positively ages for you to get back, say you’ll be gone five minutes and here we have to stand waiting for you for most of the day.’

Lynda reddened. ‘Sorry, Cathy but you’ll never guess what happened?’

‘Two for the price of one at Asda?’ The remark was flippant.

Cathy turned, heading for the front door, this was to be a grand affair thought Lynda following along. Trevor was gyrating as he walked. Lynda wondered how it was possible for him to actually manage to mince whilst carrying a plastic tub of fairy cakes, aptly named in his case, she thought, though she had no real animosity she was still of that generation who thought the closet was for keeping clothes in as well as the odd skeleton and in this case the oddity was profound.

‘Keep up Lynda,’ Cathy almost shrieked, turning she inclined her head towards Trevor and winked.

‘I saw that,’ said Trevor

Cathy smiled, ‘You saw what, dear?’

‘I saw that,’ he repeated, his eyes still fixed on the road looking for the oncoming traffic, Trevor found roads a little confusing when on foot, his driving ability was excellent the problem was he found it difficult to judge traffic unless actually behind the wheel.

Cathy’s smile broadened. ‘Come on, it will be.’ she paused, searching for the right word. ‘Interesting.’

Lynda had decided by now, that she would leave Cathy to her own devices on this occasion, it wasn’t often that she had something ‘juicy’ before Cathy, and she had tried to say something, hadn’t she, so when Cathy eventually found out she couldn’t actually complain could she? Hmm well, you bet she could, given the right set of circumstances and almost everything could, if she so wished could be construed as conspiring to create the right set of circumstances, not that one would say Cathy was a complainer, that is not if one wished to continue living.

‘Er, Cathy,’ Lynda’s mind had taken but moments to consider all the alternatives. ‘Cathy, you would never guess what happened when I went to the shop.’

They were passing the well-manicured garden of number 26 and the lace curtains had begun to twitch.

‘Ha! just look at that, old Miss Farmer, being nosy as usual, and just look at the garden. She has the Reid boy from the estate come at least twice a week, and you know what they say about that?’

Trevor rolled his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t mind having the Reid boy twice a week.’ he paused. ‘The garden’s hard work, especially with my bad back.’ he rubbed his back theatrically, the box of fairy cakes momentarily balanced in one hand.

‘I don’t think there’s anything in it, anyway he’s young enough to be her grandson,’ said Lynda

Cathy glanced at the curtains and let her eyes rove over the immaculately kept garden.

‘Well, you know what they say, no smoke without fire, and he looks as though he’s lit many a blaze, that one.’

‘Actually, from what I gather he has,’ said Trevor, dropping his voice to a loud whisper, ‘he’s from the courts you know, on probation and doing community service, so I hear.’

‘What! Where did you hear that one?’

‘Your Gordon.’

‘What? We’ll see about that. I’m not having a criminal in the close. We could wake up and find ourselves murdered in our beds, or worse,’ she added darkly.

‘I don’t think you need to worry about that, Cathy,’ Lynda said, rather more loudly than she had meant to, and the added chuckle, which hadn’t been there when she had said the sentence, suddenly broke the surface.

Cathy’s face had begun to redden.

‘I mean you have your strong Gordon to protect you, just thinking what a surprise he would get breaking into your place.’

Cathy looked at Trevor in his skin-tight jeans and Pink Pride top. ‘I think he might get a lot more than he bargained for if he tried to break into my house.’

Cathy had spotted the knot of people standing in the driveway of the Wilsbrough house. The place was a bit run down ever since the boy had been hospitalised, that was the nice way of saying it nowadays, the anti-aircraft post was still there though, she supposed the old biddy was not too bothered about having it removed. Her son had been quite a handyman by the looks of it, how on earth he had managed to get those sandbags all the way up the staircase? There were festoons of barbed wire around it, the weight on the leaded bathroom roof must have been considerable.

‘I wonder what’s happened there?’ Cathy sniffed. ‘Her at number 36 by the looks of it, always trouble those people, look at what happened with the son, in a nuthouse you know, and of course, she was too old for the guides, I kept telling her, it’s time to pass on the reigns, but would she listen, no, not her, called them her platoon!’

‘She’s been arrested,’ cut in Lynda as Cathy paused for breath

‘She’s What?!’

‘The police arrested her,’ Lynda added by way of explanation ‘They took her this morning, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, handcuffed her and carted her off in a Black Maria.’

‘Don’t be daft, woman. The police don’t use Black Maria’s anymore, so why didn’t you tell me, ha! Black Maria indeed, it was probably someone else!’

‘No, it was definitely her; she had her shawl and bedroom slippers on.’

‘That’s a lovely shawl handmade, you know, she said it was the silk from a parachute, it was,’ Trevor stopped mid-sentence. The look from Cathy was enough to crack stone.

‘So what have they arrested her for, I thought that mix-up of the cookies and Trevor’s decorative efforts had been sorted, I know some of the parents were miffed, to say the least, I mean you don’t expect the girl guides to be selling pornography with their fairy cakes old Wilsbrough almost had a heart attack.’

She threw Trevor another withering glance.

‘Especially when the police turned up to arrest her for corrupting minors, the whole troop had to go to the hospital for check-ups’

‘I think the child counsellor was a bit much, especially saying they might be psychologically damaged due to being exposed to pictures of, well, you know,’ added Lynda, ‘They shouldn’t have drummed her out of the guides though, it wasn’t right, not at her age.’

‘So what have they got the old biddy for this time?’ asked Cathy, her eyes still fixed on the persons, as she preferred to call them; gathering in the driveway opposite.

‘Well, you know, racism, incitement to riot, affray, and assault with a deadly weapon. I think that was about it, well it was when I last heard.’ Lynda had been watching Cathy’s face during the recital of the charges and was fascinated with its ability to run through a whole gamut of emotions ending with disbelief.

‘Absolute rot!’ said Cathy, ‘Don’t tell me she was fighting. She might be a bit of a tough old bird but affray, old Wilsbrough? How? No, don’t tell me, I’ll see Gordon this afternoon then I’ll actually get the truth instead of these versions everyone’s coming up with, it’s all probably nothing, parking tickets or,’ she paused, ‘yes, that’s it, the rubbish police I suspect, I heard that the council were cracking down.’ It was Lynda’s turn to look totally confused.

‘What rubbish?’

Cathy looked again at the group gathered in the driveway.

‘It was in the Sun newspaper. The council are cracking down on people who don’t sort their rubbish into its various components.’

Trevor began to look uncomfortable.

‘What components?’ Lynda looked puzzled ‘I’m sure ours didn’t have any.’

By this time, Trevor had begun to look worried.

‘Oh my god, you don’t mean you haven’t been sorting, bloody hell Trevor!’ Cathy’s voice dropped to a whisper, ‘it’s a hundred and fifty bloody pound fine you idiot, why the hell haven’t you been sorting?’ By this time, Trevor looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

‘Well, it’s all the different coloured bags, there’s the blue and the green and the black and what goes where and when. There’re different days you know, and they don’t half kick up a fuss if you put the wrong bag out on the right day. Well, you know what I mean, it just seemed simpler to stick it all in the black one like we used to. Anyway, it’s all yucky and I don’t see why I have to do it.’

Cathy smiled one of her ‘pleasant smiles’ as number 35 walked past.

‘Because they will cart you off if you don’t,’ Cathy hissed at Trevor, looking fretfully about in case they were within earshot of any snooping neighbours, which always amused Lynda as she thought Cathy actually was the most snooping neighbour anyone could ever have. ‘Rubbish has become political!’

Lynda smiled ‘No Cathy, I think you mean politics has become rubbish.’

Trevor shook his head desperately, ‘Don’t set her off,’ he mouthed.

‘When I think of that Councillor Jenkins next door to me, the old reprobate! I’ve seen how he looks at me, don’t think I haven’t, and to think they allow that kind of pervert to represent our close!’

‘It’s not just the close,’ said Lynda. ‘It’s the rest of the area as well.’

Trevor rolled his eyes heavenwards and then looked over the fence of what was locally known as the Larkin Place, and said by way of breaking the conversation ‘Oh look, we’re here.’

‘Yes, the area is what I meant. And I heard he wants to become mayor! Mayor! Would you believe it? He already lords it up and he’s right next door to me! I’m sure it’s him that keeps getting my extension blocked!’

Larkin’s place had been empty for almost two years. Trevor had thought it was never going to get sold.

‘Ooh, I think I can see people, look.’

Cathy always took an interest in the prospective buyers and somehow, it never seemed to suit any of the people the estate agents had sent to look over the house. Cathy had been appointed, after some struggle with the estate agent, to be the key holder. Somehow they had circumvented Cathy this time, and she was sure they were going to regret it very soon, and looking at Cathy’s face, it seemed that Cathy had come to the same conclusion.

Trevor chose that moment to wave at the group of men gathered in the garden.

‘Hello, dears.’

And with that, he opened the iron garden gate and started off down the path.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Cathy, as she finally turned to inspect their goal.

‘Come on, we’d better catch up. They’re not looking that friendly, and I suppose, as they say, we’d better show our colours.’

‘That’s in wartime,’ whispered Lynda stepping through the opened gate and following Trevor down the garden path towards the surly bunch standing in front of the garage up and over door, the formally empty garage now seemed to be packed solidly, boxes and cartons stacked one upon the other.

Cathy watched the blue antiquated Citroen pull up in front of Wilsbrough’s front door. It had been the same routine ever since her son had been committed. The car arrived at the same time every day seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, regular as clockwork. It was Wilsbrough, the daughter, a spinster of the old school; mind you back then that was all they had, ‘The old school.’

Cathy turned and began her journey down the overgrown garden path that had once been so well tended by the late Larkin, towards the expanding group. Trevor had initiated ‘Super Queen mode’ one hand on a tightly clad hip the other gesticulating wildly in all directions, ‘Darlings,’ he trilled, Cathy smiled, this might be fun after all.

***

‘You’re telling me that this Wilsbrough woman attacked you?’

The Sergeant’s face was incredulous, he looked through the security-reinforced glass into the