Overend - Chapter 02

Overend - A Year In Crime

Chapter Two

Sunday March 24th 2002

The house, “Little Hardings,” was nestled in the hillside amidst the remnants of the ancient forest, which was once draped across the whole of the southern landscape.
The garden sloped gently away from the house and he looked out across the valley to the distant lights of Abbeyvale, the nearest town, and beyond to Grace Hill on the far side of the valley.
He looked up at the clear night sky.
The sky was clear but for the heavens bejeweled with stars, were their more stars in the sky tonight, no of course not, it’s just been a while since he enjoyed the simple pleasure of the night sky.
There was frost in the air and his breath showed like plumes of smoke as he exhaled.
“Smoke.” He heard himself say “if only.”
He found himself wishing he hadn’t stopped smoking, he hadn’t thought about smoking for months.
Bill had stopped smoking nearly a year ago, St George’s day.
He had defeated the nicotine monster as St George had defeated the dragon he would have said it was symbolic were it not for the fact that he hated symbolism so much.
He had been a serious smoker for almost thirty years.
What prompted him to stop?
It certainly wasn’t the insufferable bores who would wave their hands exaggeratedly in front of them and cough irritatingly while simultaneously rolling there tongue out and grimacing when ever they are in a smokers presence.
People like that only make you wish you smoked a pipe.
Nor was it the endless health warnings where smoking was the cause of every illness from cancer and heart disease to athlete’s foot and piles.
Bill always thought that every smoker accepted that smoking was harmful to your health.
But they took a gamble that it wouldn’t happen to them, that was certainly his view.
Even the fact that his brother, who was five years his senior, and a heavy smoker, had had a series of heart attacks when he was Bills age didn’t deter him from smoking.
And he was certainly feeling the effects of smoking like the morning cough and the breathless gasps climbing stairs.
As for National no smoking day he always found it to be an amusing concept.
Many more smokers would participate if there were also a national smoking day when all the sanctimonious little prigs would have to have at least five good drags on a Woodbine.
That would give them something to cough about.
Then there is the annual ritual of the Chancellors Budget, when anything which might give the slightest pleasure to the great unwashed, must be taxed. But even having to pay more for the privilege didn’t persuade him to stop smoking.
What finally pushed him over the edge was the realization of the fact that he was an addict.
He was no longer choosing to be a smoker; he was one because he was addicted.
He was no better than a common junkie.
And that just made him mad.
He’d never really tried quitting before and he wasn’t sure how too.
There were plenty whom did have the solution to his problem and they weren’t backwards in coming forwards.
The funny thing was that most of them had never smoked in their lives.
His Aunt Mary suggested Hypnosis.
He really didn’t fancy hypnosis at all just incase they discovered he was the reincarnated embodiment of Attila the Hun, Vlad the Impaler or even worse a new labor supporter.
The woman in the off license suggested acupuncture.
Acupuncture was never going to do it for him.
He didn’t believe in alternative medicine.
And if you don’t believe in the treatments one hundred percent they will never work.
Also he thinks there is something faintly ridiculous about some one who sticks pins in people for a living.
And he lost count of the people who swore by nicotine substitutes, patches, chewing gum, lozenges, tablets or inhalers, all designed to replace the nicotine you would normally get from tobacco.
To his way of thinking if you want an efficient means of getting nicotine into your system then have a fag.
Now as a confirmed cynic he happened to think that nicotine substitutes are more effective at keeping affluent Pharmaceutical companies affluent than helping people to break the habit of smoking.
The addiction was to nicotine after all.
In the end he chose cold turkey, why do they call it that? , He didn’t know.
With a little positive thinking and an awful lot of will power he did it.
It was a lot easier than he thought it was going to be.
The first week was by far the hardest but he did start to feel the benefits, such as more energy, improved sense of taste and smell and tackling the stairs without getting breathless, which boosts you up when your will power might get a little shaky.
He found the hardest things were social events especially those involving alcohol, but it could be done.
He never really suffered any withdrawal symptoms but he has suffered the most extraordinary side effects in the form of unusual and extraordinarily vivid dreams.
Just a few nights ago for example, it should be mentioned that under no circumstances could Bill be described as a Cricket fan.
His knowledge of the game is virtually non-existent, this may seem an odd subject to dream about then when he detests it so much but nonetheless he did.
It amused him greatly as he thought of it.
He had on many occasions described the games rules as unfinished because the games inventor died of boredom before he could complete his work.
He always enjoyed baiting cricket fans with his suggestions as to
How to improve the game, such as “tip and run” a concept familiar to most young boys forced to play the game.
Or playing with a burning ball, that would liven up the game.
So why someone so disparaging about the game should dream about it is one of life’s imponderables.
He had been selected to represent England in a test match against the West Indies in Trinidad.
If that wasn’t amazing enough he was to open the batting with Phil Tuffnell, you see even his subconscious knows nothing about Cricket.
Now for some reason there was an unpronounceable Pakistani bowling and Bill hit the last ball of his first over for a huge six.
As he began acknowledging the crowd’s applause, Tuffers began walking down the wicket so Bill walked to the middle to meet him, he shook Bills hand warmly and then he reached in to his pocket and brought out a packet of menthol cigarettes and offered him one.
And they stood there smoking and soaking in the atmosphere.
As they stared about them they saw the West Indies captain talking animatedly with the umpire and they turned their gaze on Tuffers and Bill and walked towards them.
Bill naturally thought they were in big trouble and even Phil looked a little nervous.
As they reached the middle the umpire said “I am sorry Gentlemen to interrupt your smoke break but do you think I could trouble you for a match”? And he took out his pipe.
And that was how it continued after every over they would meet in the middle and have a smoke.
And that is fairly typical of the dreams he has from time to time.
I suppose the big questions are firstly, does he miss it?
Yes he does, not that he has cravings.
What he misses is the habit, the ritual and the feel of a cigarette in his hands.
And secondly would he ever smoke again?
Yes in a heartbeat but he would regret it so he refrains.
He would kill for one now though.

He looks at his watch
2.00am.
He shakes his head and sighs.
He is standing in the middle of his lawn in his back garden at 2.00am on a cold march night wearing dressing gown and slippers wishing he hadn’t stopped smoking.
He looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes.
Correction wearing wet slippers and wishing he hadn’t stopped smoking.
Just then bright yellow light spills into the darkness behind him illuminating the lawn but for his large shadow stretching into the darkness.
“Bill are you coming in?” A woman’s voice called softy.
It was his wife Sally also donning dressing gown and slippers.
Sally however, sensibly chose not to venture out into the night air and just put her head far enough around the French door to call to Bill without waking the neighborhood.
“I’ve made coffee.” She waited a few moments.
“OK sweetheart” Bill returned in equally hushed tones without turning round.
“Ill be in, in a moment”
He heard the door close and the bright light disappeared as Sally drew the curtain back across the door.
He looked at his watch again 2.05am.
Bill despaired.
He had had some intriguing cases over his career and he was certainly no stranger to sleepless nights, either because of his work or because of the children.
Every parent experiences it at some time even with the best of children.
But this was different this was a new experience.
And it was something totally out of his control he could do nothing.
He could not help in any way, he felt redundant.
He was about to become a Grandfather for the first time.

Sally was sitting in her armchair giving every outward appearance of dignified calm.
She was in her normal corner beneath her lamp, cross-stitching, the normal paraphernalia scattered about her.
But for the fact that she had re-stitched the same area six times she was coping well.
She was wishing now that she had not insisted that her son in law, Paul, phone the moment, Isabel went into labor.
“We could have had a good nights sleep and woken to the happy news” She said to herself.
But it wasn’t the lack of sleep that worried her it was not being with her daughter to help.
She looked at the clock again.
“It hasn’t bloody moved” then she laughed.
She was always onto Bill about swearing.
The door handle rattled as Bill opened the door, there was some fumbling behind the curtain and then Bill appeared.
“My feet are wet,” he said
“I m not surprised” Sally said unsympathetically.
“Your coffee’s by your chair it’s probably cold by now”
Bill sat down and kicked off his slippers and picked up his coffee.
Putting the mug to his lips he took a mouth full and grimaced
“Uh that’s horrible” and put down the mug.
Sally set her stitching to one side and got up.
“You go and dry your feet and I’ll make some fresh” she said and took his cup.
“It’s all right love I’ll do it, its my own fault it’s cold, you carry on with your stitching” Bill protested.
Sally reached to her full five feet two inch height and kissed him warmly.
“Go and change,” she said
Bill hugged her to his chest and kissed her forehead.
“I love you,” he said
She reached up and kissed him again.
“Of course you do, why wouldn’t you love me I am wonderful after all” she walked nonchalantly out of the room suddenly her head reappeared around the door.
“I love you too”
They both laughed helplessly.
It was amazing how, no matter how old he got, he still loved her as much as he did when he first saw her all those years ago.

It was 4.00am.
Sally had gone back to bed at three o’clock but Bill had decided to sit up a little longer. He should have gone to bed with Sally as he was fighting to keep his eyes open.
He had been struggling with the “long blinks” for the last half hour.
The blinks were getting longer and longer and..
Bill was hacking his way through the dense jungle with a machete while Stanley and Livingston offered words of encouragement.
Bill stopped to mop his brow with his handkerchief.
“Let’s press on Overend” called Stanley.
Bill acknowledged Stanley and went to work again with the machete in a short while he broke through into a large clearing.
Very soon thirty or forty pygmies surrounded them from a previously undiscovered tribe.
They were led through the jungle by the fierce looking pygmies for about an hour until they suddenly found themselves in the pygmy’s village.
The pygmies spoke a very strange language that none of them had ever heard before yet funnily enough they could understand every word.
They were introduced to the tribal chief amid great ceremony and then they were led into a large hut.
The hut was lined with the tribal elders and the visitors were introduced in turn finally they were invited to sit in close proximity to the Chief.
After a magnificent feast, complete with music and dancing girls, the Chief clapped his hands three times and a serving girl came into the hut carrying a large tray.
She presented it to the chief and he gestured grandly to his guests and the serving girl offered round a box of Wintermans slim panatelas cigars.
Bill woke with a start.
“No I don’t do that anymore”
He looked around the room and for a moment he didn’t know where he was.
Looking down he saw the cat curled up on his lap and he stroked her.
“Hello Blackberry old girl”
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
He replaced his glasses and looked at the clock.
6.40am.
“Breakfast time eh girl”
She jumped down purring loudly and trotted off in the direction of the kitchen.
Getting to his feet Bill paused to stretch then he walked to the French doors and through back the curtains letting in the weak morning light.
The cat mewed loudly from the kitchen doorway and Bill turned and walked towards the kitchen.
“Ok you stupid creature I'm coming”
As he walked into the kitchen he picked up the kettle and checked the level, finding it sufficiently full he replaced it on the stand and switched it on.
Then he opened a cupboard and took out a sachet of cat food and a clean bowl.
The cat was in a frenzy not knowing whether to meow or purr and performing figures of eight around Bills Feet
“Ok Berry, ok, here it is, anyone would think you’d never been fed before”
Bill placed the bowl on the cats mat then he turned his attention to the tea.

With the cat fed and the tea made Bill took a sip of his coffee before he made his way upstairs with Sally’s cup of tea.
He walked into their bedroom and walked around to Sally’s side of the room,
“Cup of tea Sal” he said as he put her tea down on the bedside cabinet.
“Thanks love” she said sleepily
“What’s the time?”
“Just after seven” Bill said as he sat down on the edge of the bed his coffee in hand.
“Any news yet?” she asked
“No” Bill yawned “not a thing”
Just at that moment the phone rang, Bill and Sally looked at each other.
Sally reached out her left hand and clasped Bills hand tightly and with her other hand she picked up the phone.
“Hello”
“Paul, Hello what news?”
A Pause.
“A boy, that’s fantastic seven pounds eight ounces”
She’s looking at Bill all the time.
“A good size”
Another pause to absorb more information
“Mother and baby both doing well”
She lets go of Bills hand to wipe her eyes
“Oh Paul were so proud”
She wipes away another tear.
“Yes we would love to, ok well see you later bye”
Bill put down his coffee in preparation.
Sally hung up the phone looked at Bill and dissolved into tears and launched herself into his arms.

After the tears had subsided Bill got up and took off his dressing gown then he pulled back the duvet and slipped under the cover and snuggled up close to Sally.
“And what do you think your doing?” said Sally suspiciously
“It just occurred to me that I’ve never made love to a granny before”

It was late afternoon when Bill and Sally drove slowly into a space in the hospital car park.
The clear blue skies of the morning had been replaced by clouds the color of slate and the bright, warm spring sunshine had given way to a sharp northerly wind carrying on it the last remnants of winter with showers of sleet, hail and snow.
They had arrived at the Churchill Hospital in Abbottsford.
The hospital was named after Winston Spencer Churchill, a true hero who had led the British people through their darkest hour.
It was named at a time when his achievements were still fresh in the minds of a grateful nation.
Bill liked it and no matter what the Liberals, Socialists or the Politically Correct chose to call it in the future it would always be the Churchill to him because to Bill he would always be a hero.
Bill got out of the car and walked briskly to the ticket machine.
He fumbled in his jacket pocket and fished out some coins he put the appropriate coins in the machine and took his ticket.
He returned to the car at the same brisk pace, opening the passenger door he handed the ticket to Sally who placed it on the dashboard.
Then Bill stood holding the door against the wind and waited while Sally gathered together her assortment of bags.
Bill reached out a hand and helped her out of the car.
“Come on Granny” Bill said smiling
“I’ll give you a slap” she responded
He quickly locked the car and still holding Sally’s hand they ran, well perhaps jogged would be more accurate, towards the main entrance, and relative warmth.
Once inside they followed the signs to the Maternity department and Clementine ward.
When they had been passed through the security they made there way to the nurses station from there they were directed to ward four.
Each ward held four beds but on this bitter Grey Sunday afternoon only two of the beds in ward four were in use.
A large black woman, who Bill thought looked vaguely familiar and old enough to be a grandmother, occupied the first bed on the left of the entrance.
Then he chastised himself for being uncharitable.
There was a large group of visitors around the bed to meet the new member of their family.
The man he presumed to be the father had his back to Bill as they entered the ward but as they passed the group he turned around and Bill found himself staring into the familiar face of Tyrone Carter.
Overend and Carter were the same age and the two had met on many occasions most of which ended with the latter being arrested by the former.
In fact Bill could almost have made a career out of just nicking the Carter’s and their equally troublesome white counter parts the Fosters.
As Bill passed, still staring at Carter’s face, Carter look away and sucked air through his teeth, in that irritating way that West Indians do, that was when it dawned on Bill where he had seen the woman in the bed, she was called Charisma and the reason why this semi clad black woman was a familiar sight to him was because the best time of day to nick a villain was just after first light while they were still in their beds in the bosom of their significant other.
Carter removed his coat and hung it by the sign on the wall, which read “ONLY TWO VISITORS PER BED PLEASE”.

Diagonally across from the Carter clan lay Isabel, her eyes shut and her long chestnut hair lying loosely across her pale face.
As they neared the bed they could hear the baby stirring.
Just then Isabel’s eyes flicked open and she smiled.
“Hello darling” said Sally
Sitting delicately on the side of the bed she reached down to hug and kiss her daughter.
“How are you feeling?”
“Hi Mum” said Issy “I’m fine”
Bill had gone to the other side of the cubicle and while he waited for them to finish he looked down at the little bundle that was his grandson.
The baby lay squirming, wriggling and contorting it’s little face and them produced the most foul smelling fragrance, which was nonetheless vaguely familiar.
“Well that’s a charming way to greet your grandfather” he said softly “your just like your mother”
He was suddenly hit by the significance of his remark his little baby girl now had a baby of her own.
Suddenly he looked up and saw Sally and Isabel smiling broadly at him.
“What’s the matter, have you never seen a proud Grandfather before”? He said
“Was he like this when I was born”? Asked Issy
“Worse” Sally replied, “He cried”
“I had something in my eye” he said pompously
“Now let me kiss my daughter”
Bill leant over and kissed his little girl
“Hi Issy” he said “well done poppet well done”
“Thanks Dad”
He felt his eyes begin to fill up with the sting of tears and with a final hug he stood up.
“I don’t know what it is about hospitals but I've got something in my eyes again” he said dabbing at his eyes with a hankie.

While Bill attended to his tears, Isabel attended to young Benjamin’s bottom.
Soon the little chap was cleaned up and sweet smelling again.
“Well do I get to hold my Grandson” Sally asked
As she did so she reached her hand up to wipe away a stray tear from Bill’s cheek.
“What the” Bill said “I think you need to warm your hands first there as cold as a witches heart”
“Oh goodness yes” she said rubbing her hands together and blowing on them theatrically, after a few moments she turned and placed one hand on each side of Bill’s face.
“Is that better?” She asked a little flustered.
Bill couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her flustered.
“Yes sweetheart, much better” Her said kissing her forehead.
Sally settled into the armchair and Isabel placed little Ben in her arms.
“Where’s Paul” Bill asked his daughter.
Issy sat on the bed next to her Dad and he put his arm round her and she rested her head on his shoulder.
“He’s gone home to shower and change,” She answered
They both watched Sally cradling Ben in her arms and smiled as she sat cooing.
“He’s picking up Jim and Evelyn and bringing them in this evening.
Jim Warwick was Paul’s father and he had broken his collarbone a week previously and was unable to drive his wife Evelyn had never learned to drive.

Bill had his turn in the armchair with his grandson and then the little lad decided he wanted his tea.
Issy had decided she would attempt breast-feeding as long as she could.
But if she couldn’t then she couldn’t.
Everyone had told her “Breast is best” but don’t feel a failure if you cant do it.
It’s difficult, when you’re told that something is best for your baby, not to feel guilty when you cannot provide it.
Anyway it was time for breast-feeding.
Bill and Sally took their leave as much as he loved his daughter and grandson he didn’t think he was ready to watch his little girl breast feeding.

As they had had a disturbed night and an exhausting day, Bill suggested a Chinese takeaway.
They didn’t often have a takeaway as they lived so far out in the sticks.
Sally phoned home on the mobile and took the orders.
Apart from the children there was also Sally’s parents, Arthur and May who had offered to look after the kids while they were at the hospital, not that the children needed looking after but they liked to feel needed.
After the Chinese feast had been consumed and everyone had had their fill it was decided that a visit across the green to the “Woodcutters” was the order of the day.
So Abby and her boyfriend Steve, Danny and girlfriend Sarah, young Harry who had no girlfriend, that he would admit two anyway, Arthur and May the old grandparents and Bill and Sally the new grandparents.
So off they went laughing and joking with Bill in one of his flamboyantly jovial moods, which everyone enjoyed so much.