Paws for Alarm (10 page)

‘Fat lot of good that will do,' Arnold said. That cat wouldn't know what to do with a mouse if it walked up to him and spat in his eye. He'd probably apologize to it for being in its way.'

‘Don't sell Esmond short.' I was whistling in the dark, not quite convinced myself, but you have to do the best you can with the material to hand. ‘He may have a few bits missing, but he's essentially a cat.'

Arnold shrugged, but his eyes were clouded with worry. I knew there was more bothering him than Esmond's shortcomings.

‘Okay,' I said. ‘What's the matter?'

‘This is going to sound silly –'

‘Go ahead.' I just stopped myself from saying that it couldn't sound sillier than a lot of things he said.

‘I've been thinking it over and –' Arnold glanced at me, as though trying to judge how I'd react. ‘And, well, there was something
funny
about the way those soccer hooligans came at me.'

‘Downright hilarious.'

‘No, honey, you know what I mean. Funny peculiar. There was a whole crowd of us waiting for that train – and I wasn't on the outside. They had to push past three or four other people to get at me. I mean, why me?'

‘I don't know. Did the police have any theories?'

‘I didn't mention it. I mean, I've only been thinking about it the past couple of days and realized that's what happened. Do you think I should tell them?'

‘They've probably forgotten all about you by this time.' In the intervening two days, there had been a spectacular murder, a political scandal and an international incident. Arnold's problems weren't likely to be looming very large on the official horizon.

‘Probably.' Arnold nodded gloomily.

‘Look –' I had developed a theory of my own. ‘Were you the only American in that crowd or were there others?'

‘I was the only one.'

‘There you are!' That fitted in with my theory. ‘It was just a touch of that old anti-American spirit coming to the surface. “Yankee go home!” and all that stuff.'

‘But how could they know I was American? They were too far away to hear my accent.'

‘Arnold, you
look
American. It's written all over you. You might as well go around wearing a star-spangled shirt and whistling
Yankee Doodle Dandy.
You'd even look hopelessly American in a Savile Row suit.'

‘You think so?' Arnold looked into space pensively. ‘I've got to admit it, honey –' He paused and took a deep breath for the confession. ‘I'd really love to go home wearing a Savile Row suit.'

‘If you do,' I warned, ‘I'm buying a Jean Muir dress.'

Arnold brightened perceptibly. ‘It's a deal, Babe!'

With Arnold hanging around the house all day, the week took on a different shape. Also, we had the car back, which was a great help. I had to do all the driving but Arnold, once he had painfully settled himself into the passenger seat, seemed perfectly happy there. Too happy — he went everywhere with me.

Of course, that immediately doubled the grocery bills. Arnold is unsafe at any speed in a supermarket. Let me turn my back for one second and he loaded the shopping trolley with enough extras to provision an army.

He was as bad as the twins and they all had the same sneaky trick: they buried their stuff under the things I was buying so that I didn't know what they'd done until I'd reached the checkout cashier and it was too late.

‘Okay, you guys –' I whirled on my brood as the cashier's hand unearthed yet another surprise packet. ‘Who the hell put in those pickled eggs?' As though I didn't know.

‘I thought they might make an interesting cocktail nibble, honey,' Arnold owned up. Behind him, there was a surreptitious giggle and I turned back to the cashier in time to see her tapping the cash register for half a dozen chocolate bars and a big cake.

‘Okay,' I said darkly, ‘but I'm confiscating those and only handing them out when you deserve them.'

Another little giggle answered this threat. Arnold was smirking suspiciously, too. What else had they done?

I soon found out. I took one look at the next item the cashier tossed on to the counter and almost fainted. The giggles rose to a crescendo. I swallowed hard and lost my temper.

‘Don't you
dare
ring that up!' I thundered at the cashier. Her fingers froze over the cash register.

‘I suppose you think that's funny!' I rounded on Arnold and the kids.

They did. They thought it was the funniest thing they'd seen since Errol tangled with a skunk at home and we'd had to spend half a day with clothes pegs over our noses bathing the furious cat in tomato juice.

‘And you -!' The cashier had begun to snicker, too. ‘I think that's revolting! I don't know how you can sell such a thing. It's obscene!'

‘It's a very popular item,' the girl sniffed. ‘Particularly among our older customers. They like to make their own brawn.'

‘All brawn and no brains,' Arnold muttered. He still thought it was hilarious.

I didn't. I'd seen that ... that ...
thing
... in the meat compartment and shrunk away in unbelieving horror. And one of my loving family had caught the motion and picked up the item and buried it at the bottom of my shopping trolley – doubtless hoping to send me off my trolley, and damn near succeeding.

It was a pig's head. To be precise – and even more disgusting – a pig's head split in two. It was neatly laid out in a large tray; one half was cloven side up, displaying veins, brains, gristle and all manner of horrifying inner workings; the other half was perhaps worse, it was the head in profile, one evil little eye feebly glittering.

I took a few more deep breaths, trying not to retch. I saw with relief, out of the corner of my own eye, the cashier slip the sickening object out of sight beneath the counter.

‘Heh-heh –' Arnold tried, too late, to turn it into a cough.

‘I hate you, Arnold Harper!' I stormed. ‘Some day I'm going to do myself a favour and divorce you. And, when I do, I'll make damned sure
you
get custody of those rotten little monsters!'

‘Please forgive me for telephoning so early, but I just had to know – ?' Hazel's voice throbbed with concern. ‘Are you all right? Is everything all right?'

‘All right?' I looked at the telephone receiver blankly. Arnold and I were having a lazy Sunday morning. I'd made coffee, toast and scrambled eggs and brought them upstairs on a tray. We were in bed surrounded by an assortment of Sunday papers, the twins curled at the foot of the bed with what passed for the comics in a couple of the papers, and even Esmond had joined the party and was disposing of his share of scrambled eggs and coffee cream. Things couldn't have been more all right.

‘Everything's just fine.' I didn't bother to disguise the puzzlement in my voice. ‘Why shouldn't it be?'

‘Oh, forgive me. I'd heard –' She broke off abruptly.

‘Heard what?'

‘Oh, I'm sorry. Someone said – Obviously, she'd got things wrong. Just forget I said anything.'

‘Oh no you don't. Come on, Hazel, you might as well tell me. The more you don't say, the worse I'll think it was.'

‘I suppose so. Oh, dear,' she wailed, ‘I should have known it was just silly gossip.'

‘Hazel –'

‘Oh, it's nothing, really. I mean, I know that now. It's just that one of my neighbours was standing in the queue behind you at the supermarket yesterday and she heard — She thought you were serious about ... about a divorce. And she knew that we were friends –'

‘Relax,' I said. “That was yesterday. I kind of lost my temper. I guess I've got a pretty short fuse –'

‘Wouldn't have you any other way, Babe.' Arnold patted my thigh. I leaned back against him, rolling the earpiece to one side so that he could hear the other side of the conversation. No one would have been worried about the state of our alliance if they could have seen us now.

‘And they were all deliberately plaguing me –' I went on.

‘Heh, heh, heh,' Arnold snickered.

‘Anyway –' I gave him a moderately heavy thump on one of the few uninjured parts of his anatomy. ‘There's no problem. We're not getting a divorce. Forget it.'

‘I'm so glad!' Was she? A faint note in her voice didn't ring true. Inevitably, it brought back the memory of her arms around Arnold under the porch light. Had she called to establish her place in the succession if I was abdicating?

‘We kid around a lot,' I said firmly, giving Arnold a dirty look. He responded with a look of injured innocence, not knowing the reason for my sudden hostility.

‘Of course, that isn't the only reason I called.' Hazel had recovered herself and was proceeding smoothly.

‘There's quite a delightful outing coming up this week. It's been on the stocks for some time, but I'm not sure if anyone has thought to tell you about it.'

‘No.' I was intrigued. ‘Nobody's said anything to me about any outing.'

‘I was afraid not. I know Lania has booked for it, but I wasn't sure that she'd thought to tell you.'

‘I suppose we can't be surprised that she isn't rushing to let us in on any treats.' Nevertheless, I felt gloomy about it. ‘I guess we really – what do you say? – blotted our copybooks with her, all right.'

‘Never mind.' Hazel laughed lightly. ‘She'll get over it. I'm sure you'll find she grows friendlier as the hedge grows out again.'

‘We won't be here that long.'

‘At least, she's on speaking terms again.' Hazel seemed determined to be a little ray of sunshine. ‘That's something.'

‘Sure.' Lania rallied round in an emergency, and undoubtedly she'd let us know if the house was on fire. But she wasn't exactly what I'd hoped for in the way of neighbours when I left home. I was really missing the friends I'd left behind. Even Celia was beginning to seem like a bosom buddy compared to Lania.

‘Anyway, about the day trip. We planned it and booked the coach ages ago, but there are still a few places left. If you're interested, we could fit you in easily. I think you'd enjoy it.'

‘Enjoy what?' I was still suspicious. Even Hazel's friendliness might have an ulterior motive. The image of those arms around Arnold, having recurred to me, would not fade. It led to a bemused wonder as to just how she had said goodnight to John Blake the night he met his death. Had she given
him
something to think about that night? So much that he was distracted and not paying attention to his driving when that other driver had come at him? Rosemary had blamed Hazel for his death – was she righter than she knew?

‘France —' The magic word drove everything else out of my mind. ‘Boulogne. Shopping. We do it four or five times a year. The coach takes us straight to the supermarket and we pick up our duty-frees and shopping and don't have to worry about carrying it. After that, we have lunch and explore the shops in the centre of town, then catch the last ferry home and are delivered straight to our doors. It makes a nice day's outing.'

‘Day? You mean you can do it in a day? Go to France?' I was aware that my voice had risen to a squeak. Arnold and the kids looked at me expectantly.

“The bus will leave here at eight in the morning, it's less than an hour's drive to the coast, the crossing is about seventy-five minutes on the ferry. The coach will take us straight to the supermarket, wait until we've done our shopping, then drive us into town and leave us. We'll make our own way to the ferry at the end of the day – the dock is right across from the main shopping area — and the bus will be on board waiting for us. It couldn't be easier.'

‘You've just picked up four more passengers.' Arnold was nodding enthusiastic agreement. ‘When do we go?'

‘Wednesday. It's a market day in Boulogne, so we'll leaflet, ‘a man would sail his own boat across the Channel, load up with booze and tobacco –'

‘You haven't got a boat and you don't know how to sail.'

‘Smuggling – that's the only way to beat them!' Arnold's eyes narrowed. He struck a stance and declaimed: ‘
Four-and-twenty ponies, trotting through the dark –
'

‘That reminds me,' I said. ‘Brandy is even more expensive than rum – the best brandy.'

‘Ah-ha!' Arnold swung his attention to the twins. They cringed under his sudden calculating scrutiny. ‘And they fitted up their cohorts with body-belts for gold, hollow-heeled shoes, coats with secret pockets –'

‘I gotta go look for Esmond,' Donald said uncomfortably. ‘I haven't seen him all day. Maybe he's in trouble.' He began hobbling off.

Hobbling
? ‘Wait a minute,' I said. ‘Come back here. What's the matter with you?'

‘Nothing – honest.' He paused in the doorway, shaking his head. ‘I'm okay, Mom.'

‘Then why are you limping?'

‘Oh, that —' He looked to his twin for support. ‘That's nothing – just a blister. I'm okay, honest.'

‘Me, too.' Donna imitated his gait as she crossed to him. For a fleeting moment, I wondered which one really had the blister.

‘Come here – both of you.'

‘It's okay, Mom, it burst this morning. I've got a plaster on it.' Donald backed away.

‘Me, too.'

‘
Brandy for the parson
–' Arnold roared suddenly. ‘
baccy for the clerk –
' He made a sweeping gesture with the wrong arm, paled and staggered. ‘Oh, my God – I've burst all my stitches!'

‘All right, dear, all right.' I rushed to his side. The twins melted into the hallway. ‘Here, lean on me. You're overdoing it. You'd better lie quietly again. Are you sure you're going to be okay for such a long trip on Wednesday?'