Writing for Fun
February 2020
Suspicion - Pete Norman
She headed towards the table on the far side of the room – which was out of the line of sight of the television. John called out, ‘I’ll have it on my lap. O’Sullivan is going for the maximum.’ His eyes never once left the screen and the cry of, ‘Go for it, Ronnie!’ rendered any resistance utterly futile. She went back to the kitchen and returned with a large tray.
She made certain that he was in full control of the over-full plate and then looked back at the window. There was an eerie glow which was flickering behind the curtains. She pulled them to one side and then screamed out, ‘The garden’s on fire!’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake! Perfect bloody timing this is!’
John almost threw the tray on the table and joined her at the window. The garden was indeed on fire. The Leylandii was incandescent and the fence behind it was already joining in the fun.
John rushed out of the front door. Sarah phoned the Fire Brigade. Benji, seeing the front door open, sat in the hallway, hopefully staring up at his lead but somehow he knew it was not going to happen.
It was only a small cul-de-sac, with only a few houses but when the concerned residents gathered on the opposite pavement it was like a Bonfire Night party. The only thing missing was the guy on top of the tree.
Roy, his immediate neighbour, was throwing bowls full of water over his own fence but his efforts were useless and it took a fire engine and five burly fireman – and one equally burly fire woman – to extinguish the blaze. When it was out, John stood staring at the burnt remains – his own fence was badly damaged and the Leylandii was almost completely destroyed.
‘How on earth can a tree, that’s green and growing, burn so quickly?’ he asked.
The Fire Chief shrugged his shoulders. ‘If you look at them, the tree’s only green on the outside few inches; in the middle all the branches are bare and, what with the dry dead leaves that collect underneath, it don’t take much to get it going. Unfortunately all the yobbos know that too. A little bottle of petrol or a tin of lighter fuel and whoosh! Up it goes up like a Roman Candle.’
While the other residents were crowding in around him to glean something useful he added, ‘Happens a lot, I’m afraid, folks. We haven’t had many incidents on this estate recently but I suggest you keep an eye out, because once you get one there’s usually more to follow.’
John stood watching the fire engine as it reversed carefully out of the street. His nostrils were burning with the smoke; his clothes reeked of smoke; even over the sound of ‘THIS VEHICLE IS REVERSING’he could hear the creaking of his mutilated fence as it gradually cooled down.
He felt a tap on his shoulder.
Now, it is a well known fact that every street has an unofficial spokesperson; a curtain twitcher; a nosy parker, a general busybody. And Azelia Close? Well, Azalia Close had Sidney.
In an exaggerated conspiratorial whisper he said to John, ‘Look around the street ... take a good look. Everyone’s come out to gawp, haven’t they? – everyone, that is, except that Gordon from number 14.’ He took a moment to make sure he could not be overheard and then added, ‘It’s him what’s done it, you mark my words. He’s never liked these hedges and he’s never been short of saying so either. We’ve got to get the Police involved and we’ve got to tell them about Gordon.’
John looked up the road towards number 14. ‘We can’t put him up as a suspect on just suspicion alone. Surely we need a bit of evidence first, don’t we?’
Sidney shook his head. ‘It was him. I know it. I can feel it in my bones.’ He checked all around them again to make sure he could not be overheard. ‘There’s only two other trees left in this little Close and now that he’s done yours those other two ain’t gonna last much longer, I’m telling you. We’ve got to catch him in the act next time.’
‘And how do you propose to do that, eh? Hide in the garden for weeks on end until it happens again?’
Sidney smiled. ‘No need – you see I’ve been meaning to get a security camera for ages. What if you and I both get cameras and with the two of them we can cover most of the street and when he does it again we’ve got him.’ He smacked his fist into his palm, ‘Bang to rights.’
John returned to his house and leaned up against the fridge as Sarah re-heated his cold dinner. He told her about his conversation with Sidney. The microwave pinged and she said, ‘You can’t go implicating an old man without any evidence – he could have you for defamation of character. I hope you think carefully before you start doing all this vigilante stuff. Besides, that Gordon doesn’t look like the kind of man as would do something like that.’
John shrugged his shoulders. ‘What do you reckon an arsonist looks like, then, eh? All he wants to do is to put up a couple of cameras and try to catch the bugger out next time it happens.’
Sarah carried his plate back into the lounge and set it it on the table again. ‘Whatever you want to do, dear but be careful, you’re playing with fire.’
John laughed at her unintentional pun and sat down to eat, grateful that he had had taken the time to press the record button before he dashed out.
Benji curled up in front of the radiator again, a faint sigh heralding his disappointment.
Sidney used Next Day Delivery to get the cameras quickly but then he couldn’t actually fix them to their walls until he was certain that Gordon had gone out. ‘To the Betting Office, no doubt!’ he sneered.
It took longer for him to set up the wiring and the computer connection but eventually it was done and, with John walking Benji up and down the street the system was road tested. Neither camera could reach as far as Gordon’s house but Sidney’s covered number 11 and John’s had a clear view of number 6 and on both of them John and Benji could be easily identified.
When they repeated the process after dark, John and the dog appeared as ghosts but they were still vaguely recognisable.
At first Sidney was keen to offer John a beer each evening while they sat hunched over his laptop and fast forwarded through hours of inactivity but after the initial excitement it quickly settled into a tedious routine. They agreed to leave it until there was a possibility of something happening for real.
At Sidney’s suggestion John began to take Benji out for evening walks – at a different time every night, they agreed, ‘to confuse the enemy’. John was actually enjoying the exercise and Benji was in Doggy 7th Heaven.
A few weeks later, on a quiet Sunday evening, John hitched up the excited dog and put on a scarf against the chill of the evening. They walked at a sniffing dog’s pace up the Close, with John giving his usual cheery wave to Sidney’s camera in passing. It was only a short walk to the swing park, which was Benji’s most favourite place in the whole world and he took his time investigating every interesting smell before adding his own to it.
As they walked back into Azalia Close the Leylandii at number 11 was lit up like a torch. Dragging the poor dog behind him he sprinted down the path to Sidney’s house and hammered on the door. To a startled Sidney he shouted, ‘He’s done it again. Call the Fire Brigade.’
By the time they arrived the tree was beyond saving but they dutifully damped it down and rendered it safe. Sidney checked around. The whole street was out again to watch the excitement – all, that is, except for Gordon.
‘Sidney stabbed his finger down the Close. See? See? I told you – he’s the only one not here. Let’s go and check out the footage.’
They had to fast-forward quite some way until the first movements appeared – it was a bit obscure but they could just make out John and Benji walking up the Close, with John giving his usual cheery wave to the camera. There was a period of nine minutes and forty seconds before a shadowy figure dressed in dark clothing, with a balaclava covering his face, hurried down to number 11, fumbled around beneath the bush for a few moments and then ran back. The bottom of the tree was glowing brightly.
Sidney banged his fist on the table. ‘The sneaky bugger’s had us over. I never expected him to hide his face.’
The video ran on and it was another five minutes and seventeen seconds before John and Benji could be seen running down the Close and by now the tree was well ablaze.
Sidney called the Police but they did not have anyone available. ‘At this time on a quiet Sunday evening for God’s sake!’ he complained and once again he banged his fist on the table. ‘We’re going up there and confront him ourselves. If we search the house we can find his balaclava, there’s your proof for you.’
John put his hand on his arm. ‘No, Sidney, we can’t do that, can we. We’re not vigilantes. There’s a PCSO coming round tomorrow morning – we have to let them deal with it.’
Of course, the Police were not that interested and, after making a quick search in number 11’s garden and knocking on a few doors, they left.
It all went a little quiet on the radar, though John kept up his evening walks – much to the delight of a small fluffy mongrel. A month passed without anything exciting happening but on another quiet Sunday evening John set off for the park with the dog, as usual, waved at Sidney’s camera, as usual and they made their way round to Benji’s favourite spot, as usual.
A few minutes later a shadowy figure dressed in black jogged down the Close, his face covered by a balaclava. It took just a few seconds to do the deed and then he was running back again.
John unhitched a rather disgruntled dog from a small tree and dropped the balaclava into a nearby wheelie bin – he wouldn’t be needing that any more. As they took a leisurely stroll back home he chuckled to himself. He had no idea who had set fire to his own tree, however he was actually glad to be rid of it. He would probably have cut it down when they first moved in if he had thought Sarah would let him but even she had admitted now that it was so much lighter in the lounge without it.
He had always hated the damned things anyway and it seemed somehow appropriate to remove the rest of the unsightly things from their otherwise pristine little Close.
The usual palaver followed as he reached home but this time Sidney was far less enthusiastic about the whole thing. He mumbled that, ‘It had only been a matter of time,’ and that, ‘The bugger has won.’
Sarah listened to him as he regaled her with the events of the evening and she tried to keep a deadpan face but behind the mask she was delighted. She knew that John had liked their own tree but she had hated it with a passion and it simply had to go. She could never tell him what she had done and she knew that John would never tell her what he had done but she did know that it would be so much brighter in the street without them.