Old Walls - Part 1

 

‘Look,’ Roz gazed across the road in disbelief, ‘someone’s moving into Old Walls.’

 

Simon glanced up from his Ipad, his eyes sharpening as his mind processed what was being said. He hesitated for a moment, worried about what he might see, how his territory might be about to change, his fingers lightly gripping the top corners of the screen.

 

There had been something nice about knowing that the cottage across the road was unoccupied. No comings and goings, no noise or ugly vehicles on the driveway, only peace and quiet, the beginnings of peeling paint on the window frames and the garden gently swelling with wildlife.

 

It had been empty for over two years. Alan, a much loved neighbour and long standing resident of Mellorford had lived there for over fifty years. No longer able to cope alone, he’d gone into a care home. At first, his son, Martin had regularly popped over to collect the post and make a few performative cuts of the shrubs in the front, almost as if he could feel the opposite neighbour’s eyes on him compelling him to put on a brief display of maintenance. However they’d been no sign of Martin for several months now.

 

The house had gone on the market, appearing on the internet at an inflated price, then apparently off the market again. A gardener had come to mow and Simon had asked him to do something with the flagpole which had been rattling in the wind. Alan had flown several flags over the years, even a pirate one at one time. He’d been a keen gardener too and the wrap around garden was packed with flowering plants and trees. 

 

Simon and Roz had asked around the neighbourhood for any information about the house and had even enquired at the local estate agent but nobody seemed to know what was happening with Old Walls. The couple had been tempted to try purchasing it themselves, if they could get the price down and renting it out as a sort of nest egg but it needed some work and they felt a little too old for the project.

 

A big yellow lorry was parked outside, blocking half of the road. ‘Riley’s Movers’ it said, the gentlemen were wearing smart brown overalls as they carried cardboard boxes into the house. Roz stood up on her tiptoes and peered up and down the road.

 

Simon observed her plump little feet in sheer tights, slightly bobbled around the heel, they offended him. ‘Get back from the glass, Roz, they’ll see you!’

 

He gently closed the laptop and leant it up against the sofa, stood up and walked over to the window, hanging back slightly. A small woman in young middle age with dyed blonde hair in a ponytail was standing on the driveway smiling as she oversaw the removal men, pointing up as if to indicate the first floor. It was drizzling a bit now and Roz couldn’t help but feel concerned about their stuff getting wet.

 

‘Do you think we should offer them a cup of tea?’

 

‘No,’ Simon shook his head, ‘the first rule of house moving is that the box with the kettle, mugs, the teabags and milk is the last to be loaded into the lorry and the first to be removed, everyone knows that.’

 

Roz put her hands on her hips and sighed as she stared out at the scene unfolding across the road, a sofa being carried, grey and squishy, saggy even. ‘I know but it’s a big day, people are stressed, things can go wrong’ she said quietly.

 

‘Carol next door can help, she’s more of a busybody than us.’

 

‘I think she’s still away in Scotland, anyway there’s some distance between their two houses, even if she’s there, she’s probably unaware that anyone is moving in, just like we were.’

 

Simon paced around and looked out of one of the other windows. ‘I wonder if I can get my car out,’ he said.

 

‘Why, where are you going?’

 

‘Well nowhere but I don’t like to be blocked in, I need most of the road to reverse out. One of us might get injured or ill or something, there might be an emergency.’

 

Roz glanced in her husband’s direction in dismay. ‘I hope not,’ she said, ‘I’m going to start dinner now.’

 

The kitchen was Roz’s happy place, it was much more cluttered than Simon would have liked but she’d mostly banned him from there. They had a separate dining room for eating and the small square kitchen had everything she needed within an arm’s reach to create the perfect meal. Recipe books sat upon a long shelf with loose bits of stained paper tucked between the pages. Simon was very lucky to be married to such an enthusiastic cook, not that he was grateful; increasingly he was concerned that his wife was trying to sabotage his health.

 

‘What are you making?’

 

‘Chops with samphire and a swede and potato mash,’

 

Simon hesitated before saying, ‘Not too much butter in the mash, Roz.’

 

She turned into the kitchen, closed the door, switched on Radio Four, turned it up loud and tied the strings of her apron snugly around her waist. Simon returned to the window and watched the small blonde woman laughing and joking with one of the removal men. He thought of her as rather scruffy looking, cheap clothes, he thought but his attention was suddenly diverted to a large white vehicle pulling up in front of the removal van.

 

It sloped up along the curb at some speed, coming to an abrupt halt. What an obnoxious vehicle, he thought as he observed the slogan painted on the side, ‘Wildtrack’. He scuttled back to his spot on the sofa, flipped open his laptop and searched for that particular vehicle model, immediately forming an opinion on the character of its owner.

 

As Roz banged around in the kitchen, the noise was exceeded by a loud male voice across the road, speaking in what Simon’s inner voice described as rowdy. Through the window he saw a tall man, well built with broad shoulders and a dark beard, a beanie hat covering his head and he wore a football shirt, red, Man United perhaps but Simon wasn’t sure, he didn’t follow football. The loud chatter continued, the small blonde woman joined them and then went to the vehicle and removed a cat carrier which she carefully took into the house.

 

Then a teenage girl appeared, seemingly from nowhere, also blonde and dressed in leggings and a hooded top. Simon felt his little world imploding but he was self aware enough to know that he should remain calm, especially in front of his wife who was more easy going than him.

 

The loud male suddenly turned his head towards their house and appeared to look straight at him through the window which prompted him to step back and flee to the kitchen for comfort.

 

‘How are the movers?’ said Roz as she turned the chops on the grill.

 

‘Watch out, that’s spitting fat onto the floor!’

 

‘It’s okay. It’ll be me mopping the floor later, not you.’

 

‘I’m not sure.’

 

‘Not sure about what?’

 

‘The people moving in, they look a bit suburban, brexiteer types.’

 

Roz laughed. ‘We don’t know anything about them, Simon, please reserve your judgement,’ she said slowly and firmly.

 

Simon was ruffled. ‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged, ‘I suppose I’m just concerned they won’t fit in that’s all. I don’t want them to be unhappy. It’s just not the sort of house I would expect people like that to live in. There’s plenty for sale on that horrible new estate, why couldn’t they live there.’

 

‘People like old houses, all sorts of people do. We like them after all.’

 

‘Yes but we like antiques and fine things and you know, bespoke quality things. Have you seen his car? I doubt it will even fit on the drive. Its back end will stick out, obscuring the footpath.’

 

‘Nobody walks there, the pavement runs out after Old Walls so it doesn’t matter Simon.’

 

‘Is dinner nearly ready, only I need to walk Timmy?’

 

‘It’ll be another twenty minutes. I can keep it warm though. Maybe you should take him now, this drizzle is supposed to get heavier later. Maybe we should save them some dinner,’ she said, partly to provoke him.

 

‘They’ve likely already had cheeseburgers at some horrid service station with sachets of barbeque sauce. They definitely don’t look local.’

 

Simon grabbed his raincoat, clipped the lead onto Timmy’s collar and headed outside. It was getting dark now. He glanced over a few times at the new occupants and pulled a strange face, his mouth forced into a friendly smile, his hand half lifted into a wave but his eyes still horrified. Nobody responded or or even noticed he was there. This annoyed him even more and huffed and shook his head as he strode up the road towards the village, an open dog poo bag stretched over his hand in readiness for Timmy’s regulation deposit.

 

On the grass verge at the end of the street he bumped into Keith with his Beagle and told him about the arrivals. ‘I don’t think they’re local to the area. It’s a family, quite young, well a lot younger than us, early forties maybe.’

 

‘That’s good, Simon!’ said Keith with some enthusiasm, ‘young blood to keep this village flowing. And do they have children?’

 

‘I saw a teenage girl I think,’

 

‘Great news. They’ll breathe new life into Alan’s house, he would have hated to have seen it lying empty like that.’

 

Simon hummed in agreement and scuttled away, clutching his bag of dog poo.

 

The removal van was just starting up as he returned to the house. The food smelt wonderful. Roz was just plating up. ‘I hope I don’t have a problem in the morning,’ he said as he took off his jacket.

 

‘What do you mean, a problem?’

 

‘From the food.’

 

‘There’s nothing wrong with the food!’

 

‘I know but I’ve got an early start, the working party at the lake and if I don’t have the time and the right conditions to evacuate my bowels before I leave then it causes a problem.’

 

‘You could always pop home.’

 

‘No,’ Simon shook his head, ‘that would look suspicious, people would know.’

 

Roz sighed heavily. ‘Just relax and enjoy it, Simon. Would you like a glass of wine?’

 

‘Yes just a small one.’

 

 

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