Best Eaten Cold and Other Stories Read online

  ‘You know something, Ellie?’

  ‘Tell me,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’ve always loved it here. Before I came to Canaan, the fact is, I’ve never lived anywhere beautiful in my entire life. Oh, I know the park is run down and the Centre’s like a reception area at a mortuary. But that doesn’t matter. I was lucky enough to find a place with a marvellous outlook and whenever I see those breaking waves, my heart lifts. The aches and pains of old age fade away. Am I making sense?’

  She nodded. Of course, she felt exactly the same.

  ‘That’s your answer, then. I don’t want to give this up for a tiny caravan on that tatty pitch at the other end of the park. Even if it is out of shouting range for the people from the estate. I’ve not done anything wrong, it’s all a pack of lies, even if plenty of folk who should know better have been taken in.’

  ‘Not me.’

  He nodded and for a brief moment she saw an unexpected tenderness in his faded blue eyes. ‘No, not you. Well, I’m not going to run away and hide. That wouldn’t just be admitting defeat. It would be like saying they are right, there’s no smoke without fire. Any road, I’m happy to take my chances. Never mind about an Englishman’s home being his castle. My caravan is my castle. Nobody’s going to drive me out of my castle, Ellie. Nobody.’

  Jess’s face hardened as Ellie explained that she’d failed to convince Norman of the wisdom of moving. ‘Well, they say there’s no fool like an old fool…’

  ‘Jessica!’ Barry was breathing heavily. It was a muggy, uncomfortable afternoon and there were huge sweat stains on his shirt.

  ‘Sorry, but I speak as I find.’ Jess shook her head. ‘Well, our consciences are clear. So should yours be, Ellie. It’s not your fault.’

  Ellie said anxiously, ‘Norman promised to ring the police the moment there’s any sign of trouble.’

  ‘By the time they turn up, it might be too late.’

  ‘You have your dogs.’

  ‘Meaning what, exactly?’

  ‘Only that…perhaps you could scare the children off if they turn up again tonight.’

  ‘You have to be careful with those dogs,’ Barry said. ‘Especially when Jess starves them. They aren’t fluffy poodles, you know. Once they get in the mood for a fight…’

  ‘Of course, you would need to keep them on their leashes.’

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see what happens,’ Jess said. ‘If I were you, Ellie, I’d take a sleeping pill. Just in case.’

  ‘I don’t believe in sleeping tablets.’

  ‘It’s up to you, pet. All I’m saying, is that if Norman intends to stick it out next door, Barry and I can’t be answerable. He’s made his bed, he’ll have to lie on it.’

  That night the shouting began long before midnight. Ellie’s habit was to retire early unless there was something worth watching on the box (which was hardly ever, in her opinion), and she was determined not to stay up specially to see if there was any more trouble. That would in itself give the thugs a sort of victory. But it was too hot for sleep.

  She dared not speculate what was going through their minds. Was it really possible that Norman had done something shameful with one of their number, and that their revenge, although cruel, was somehow justified? She knew a good deal about vengeance, it was a recurrent theme in the Bible stories she had taught in Religious Studies for thirty years before retiring. And she knew that there were few more powerful human impulses, few that could have such shocking consequences.

  She made out a low thud. Something hard thrown against the side of Norman’s caravan, she guessed. A brick, perhaps, or a fragment of stone or concrete. Was he phoning for the police? What if his pride prevented it?

  Switching on the bedside lamp, she clambered out of bed. Once she’d found her spectacles and re-installed her hearing aids, she put on her dressing gown and slippers. It struck her that she’d had a comfortable enough existence. Ordinary, yes, unremarkable – but seldom troubled. Sometimes she felt lonely, but didn’t everyone? She’d never had to endure anything like the agony that Norman must be experiencing right now.

  She could hear with uncomfortable precision the terrible things the people outside were shouting. Norman was a stranger to them, and yet they were behaving as if he were a cancer that would destroy the whole of Canaan if not cut out. She knew little about paedophiles, other than what she read in the newspapers, but she found it impossible to believe that a fellow as reserved, as decent as Norman could behave wickedly towards young boys. Of course, she wasn’t entirely naïve. She was well aware that wicked men traded on giving the impression that they were kindly and caring in order to win trust. But Norman wasn’t like that. The stories could not be true.

  A shattering of glass, a series of tearing noises as the remaining panels of the fence were torn asunder. Furious voices, coming nearer, nearer, nearer.

  She shuffled to the window and parted the blind a fraction, praying that she would not attract attention. The Park Manager’s cottage was in darkness, curtains firmly drawn, but the lamp above the door to Norman’s caravan was glowing and there was a light at his window. She saw shadows advancing towards her neighbour’s caravan, fifteen people or more. Some of them were wielding weapons – strips of fencing panel, perhaps – like gladiators. But they weren’t going into battle, their enemy was a disabled old man who could entertain no hope of defending himself.

  She could almost smell the rage of the mob. There was anger in the way they strutted, bent on a vengeance that lacked rhyme or reason. The night was sultry, but she couldn’t help shivering. She wrapped the gown tight around her thin shoulders for comfort.

  The door of Norman’s caravan swung open. She saw him in the doorway, bathed in the bright glow from the lamp. Three steps ran down to the ground; he was standing above his oppressors, hands stretched out, as if in supplication.

  His mouth twitched. She couldn’t hear what he said, but she could see the anguish etched on his face, she could read his lips.

  ‘Please. Please.’

  The shadows kept moving. They had scented blood, they were not going to stop. A stone hammered against the side of the caravan, missing Norman’s head by inches. Dizzy with fear, Ellie held her breath.

  Norman’s face creased in anguish and pain. Suddenly he swayed, then pitched head first down the steps.

  ‘A stroke, was it?’ May Billinge said. ‘Oh dear me, how dreadful.’

  Midday in the Centre and there was only one topic of conversation. Norman had died and it seemed to Ellie that the air was heavy with a sulky unhappiness, not quite grief, not quite guilt. Although he’d kept himself to himself, he’d lived at Canaan so long that everyone knew him, if only by sight. Now folk were wondering if they’d been too quick to believe the vicious hearsay. They belonged to a generation that didn’t speak ill of the dead. After all, nobody seemed to have come across a shred of evidence to substantiate talk that the old man was some sort of child molester.

  ‘He was frightened to death, if you ask me,’ Ellie said.

  ‘Oh dear.’ May swallowed. ‘How awful.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But the people outside didn’t – hurt him, did they? It was – natural causes.’

  Ellie sniffed. ‘If you ask me, there’s nothing natural about hurling abuse at a defenceless old man, or throwing stones at his home, or tearing down a fence.’

  ‘Barry said that by the time help arrived, there was no sign of any of the troublemakers.’

  Ellie nodded. After seeing Norman collapse, she must have fainted. She’d fainted a couple of times lately; perhaps her doctor was right to suggest that she was anaemic, although so far she’d never bothered to take her prescription to the chemist. By the time she came round, a police car and an ambulance were parked outside Norman’s caravan and Barry and Jess were deep in conversation with a uniformed constable. The lane was deserted, the threatening shadows had disappeared. Feeling old and helpless, Ellie had crept back to bed. There was nothing she could
do.

  She’d woken half an hour later than usual, drained by the horrors of the night. As she made herself a cup of tea, Barry turned up at her door. While he explained that Norman had died in hospital, she sipped at her drink and said nothing. Her mind whirled with confusion and dismay. He told her that the police were conducting inquiries on the estate, quizzing the people outside to see if they could identify the ringleaders. Though the sergeant had confided in him that they didn’t hold out much hope. The people on the outside would stick together. The fence might be down, but the police would run into a wall of silence.

  ‘Makes you question your faith, don’t you think?’ May said sadly. ‘That such a thing can happen in this day and age. Such a pointless waste of life.’

  Ellie stared across the table at the faded, anxious face. ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m going to speak to Barry and Jess.’

  ‘Feeling better, then?’ Barry asked. ‘You looked all in this morning, I’m glad to see a bit of colour’s come back to your cheeks. Can I offer you a cup of tea?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ For all her anger, Ellie never forgot her manners. They were sitting in the living room of the cottage. The window was open to let in some air and Ellie fancied she could smell the salt of the sea. ‘I just wanted a word.’

  ‘It’s about Norman?’ Jess asked. ‘Well, you mustn’t distress yourself, dear. He’d reached a ripe old age. He’d had a good innings.’

  Ellie glared at the woman. The customary clichés were of scant comfort. But that wasn’t the main reason for her quiet fury.

  ‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’

  The couple stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’ Jess demanded.

  ‘I mean this.’ Ellie took a deep breath. ‘I want you to know, I hold you responsible for Norman’s death.’

  Jess’s powdered face darkened. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘None of this made any sense. Not these absurd stories about Norman, not the way the people from the estate have been behaving. None of it. Until May Billinge made me realise what has really happened?’

  ‘May Billinge? But she’s…’

  ‘Ga-ga?’ Ellie gave a grim smile. ‘Not quite. She said that Norman’s death was pointless, but actually, his death was extremely convenient for you.’

  ‘That’s a wicked thing to say!’ Barry exclaimed.

  ‘But true.’ Outside the cottage, the dogs started barking. ‘You wanted rid of him from next door so that your mother could move in to his caravan. But Norman was settled. He couldn’t be tempted. So you decided to force him out.’

  Jess gave her a bleak look. ‘I hope you don’t repeat that accusation outside, Ellie. Not unless you have a very good lawyer.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances. Because I’m right, aren’t I? You spread a wicked rumour that didn’t have a shred of truth in it. You wanted to stoke up anger amongst the people on the estate. You know as well as I do that they can’t bear us, they’d latch on to any excuse to make mischief.’

  ‘A load of good-for-nothings.’ A faint smile played on Jess’s scarlet lips. ‘Yobs.’

  ‘And easily led. Or misled.’

  ‘Look here,’ Barry said. ‘You can’t…’

  ‘Hear me out,’ Ellie interrupted and Barry subsided like a punctured balloon. ‘You didn’t call the police at all, did you, Jess? You pretended you’d rung them, but really you were just warning the people outside that they ought to make themselves scarce. You still hoped Norman could be persuaded. You thought you could use me to twist his arm.’

  Barry turned to Jess. ‘She’s lost the plot, hasn’t she? She’s doolally.’

  But Jess wasn’t paying attention to him. Her eyes didn’t leave Ellie’s white, unhappy face. ‘If only he’d listened to reason.’

  Ellie stood up. ‘But people don’t always listen to reason, do they? And the people outside won’t. Not now you’ve stirred them up. Do you realise what you’ve unleashed?’

  Jess laughed, a harsh and bitter sound. ‘Should I be scared?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ellie said. ‘You’ll come to a bad end.’

  ‘You’re rambling, Ellie. If I were you, I’d have a word with your doctor. Perhaps he can prescribe something. Help you settle down.’

  The shouting began at ten o’clock. Ellie was in the bedroom, but she was still fully dressed. She’d wondered if the police might leave someone on guard, to make sure there wasn’t any trouble. But of course, she kept reading in the paper that the local force was woefully under-manned.

  The people outside started banging bricks against dustbin lids in a dull yet forbidding rhythm. Barry’s dogs were barking in furious response, but she guessed that they were still tied up in his back yard. She couldn’t help being afraid. Even though she was an old woman and, like Norman, she’d had a good innings. That wasn’t the point: she wanted to live, as Norman had wanted to live. She owed it to him not to give up without a fight. Whatever the people outside tried to do to her, she would be ready. On her bedside table lay a steak knife and a heavy iron paperweight.

  Glass tinkled. Another broken window, but not in her own caravan, thank God. It must belong to the cottage. She couldn’t make out what the people outside were chanting. At first the sound reminded her of a football crowd on television, mindless and drunken. But then she realised where she’d heard such a noise before. In a film about an army of infidels, marching into war.

  She hurried to the telephone. She’d never dialled 999 before, but she’d never been so afraid before.

  The phone line was dead.

  Oh, dear God.

  Blinking away tears, she stumbled to the window and parted the blind. The telephone line was no longer suspended between the telegraph poles. For a moment she thought she was going to be sick.

  She glanced round and saw that tonight the lights were on in the cottage. At an upstairs window, the curtains were parted. Jess was sitting there, arms folded, defiant. Thank goodness. Even if the phones were out of order, she could use her mobile. Of course, Ellie didn’t have one.

  Suddenly she remembered that when Sara came to visit, she used to complain that her mobile didn’t work at this end of the park. She’d had to walk to the Centre to get a signal.

  The people from outside were advancing towards the cottage, just as they had advanced towards Norman’s caravan the previous night. They were still beating out their cruel tattoo.

  But never mind. The front door of the cottage opened and Barry’s bulky frame was silhouetted against the light. He had a leash wrapped tightly around his hand and the two pit-bulls were straining to get out of the house and enter the fray. The dogs were barking. Their expressions were wicked. What had Barry said about Jess starving them? He shouted something at the mob that Ellie couldn’t catch. It made no difference. The people from outside kept moving. Someone threw a stone and it smacked against the white wall of the cottage.

  They blame Barry and Jess for causing the police to come round and start asking questions.

  As soon as the thought struck Ellie, she knew she’d guessed right. But what good was guessing right if you were going to die?

  Barry seemed to have second thoughts. He slammed the door shut and disappeared from sight. Vicious barking. The dogs had been cheated of the fight they craved.

  A stone smacked against the door. The barking grew wilder still. The mob kept chanting. Now they were within touching distance of the cottage door.

  Ellie gasped.

  Darkness, darkness, darkness.

  When Ellie came round, she was in a warm hospital bed. For hours she drifted in and out of consciousness. Eventually, a pretty young nurse told her that when she’d fainted again, she’d hit her head. That was why it throbbed so badly. She’d been out for the count for half a day.

  ‘What happened?’

  The nurse smiled, but her eyes were frightened. She didn’t answer.

  Each time Ellie asked, the staff were evasive. T
hey were protecting her from something. She wondered if she’d hurt herself more seriously than they’d suggested. It was better to know the truth, so she put the question. But she was assured she was going to be as right as rain.

  ‘The people outside. Did they – just go away?’

  ‘Yes,’ the nurse said. ‘In the end.’

  ‘Did Barry manage to drive them away?’

  The nurse scurried out of the ward.

  It took hours and a visit from a nice woman police officer to piece together the truth. A truth too terrible to dwell upon.

  In the act of bolting his own front door, Barry’s over-taxed heart had surrendered. He’d suffered a massive coronary. As he lay dying at the foot of the stairs, it seemed that Jess had come hurrying down. In her haste and horror, she had missed her footing and fallen to the ground. She’d broken not only her leg, but her pelvis. The pain must have been agonising. She could not move.

  The dogs were ravenous, they’d gone too long without food. Maddened by the heat and by the uproar from the people outside, they had shown no mercy.

  All that Ellie could think of, as her mind spun, was a passage from her teaching days. The story of Naboth’s vineyard, a tale so brutal that it became imprinted on her memory. Her lips moved soundlessly as she recalled the stern words that the Lord instructed the prophet to repeat to Ahab:

  In the place where dogs licked the blood of Naboth shall the dogs lick thy blood, even thine.

  And when the prophet spoke to Ahab’s wife, he’d said this:

  The dogs shall eat Jezebel.