 
Tales of the Unexpected: Twisted Tales Episodes VI - X

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2020 Jason Cosnett

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Table of Contents

 Lip Service

 Flesh and Blood

 A Christmas Heist

 The Sweet Passing of Time

 The Other Woman

Lip Service

"Kiss, kiss"

Twenty-three years of marriage had seen plenty of ups and downs for Louise and I, but most of the memories we shared were good ones; two healthy daughters, a sound stable of friends, and a decent size house in the well-to-do area of Amberley-on-Heath were but three examples of what our married life had propagated. Though it wasn't entirely the grandeur lifestyle we had envisioned when we first tied the knot and mortgaged ourselves to the hilt, we lived a comfortable existence, minus the fast cars and fancy boats that our neighbours seemed to accumulate. Once the girls finished their private high school education, we reasoned we would also be able to indulge in such toys that the residents of this upmarket suburbia expected. But that was a few years off yet; for now, the garage was occupied by the estate in lieu of the coupe.

Louise was forty-two with twinkling blue eyes and a smile to melt your heart. I was a few years older (one should never reveal one's exact age suffice to say you can take 'few' as a literal meaning and perhaps even double it). I liked to think I kept myself in relatively decent shape for my age, and have always prided myself as a fine male specimen; twice weekly workouts and restricting all night booze-ups to every second month seemed to keep father time at bay, and many people often commented that I looked much younger than my years implied. And whilst I enjoyed a smoke, I wasn't quite a pack a day kind of fellow. But for all my outward appearances, I had of late noticed a decline in my most masculine of attributes: passion with the love of my life Louise. And this, dear reader, is where the trouble started.

At first, I had put it down to a couple of stressful work deadlines and an office restructure that had me come within a hair's breadth of a redundancy payout, but that was over six months ago now, and whilst my desires and urges for Louise were as strong as ever, it just didn't translate into an acceptable performance under our duck feather duvet. Louise had noticed the difference too; our love-making was less frequent and intense, and whenever she broached the subject, I found myself shutting her down with a cursory comment that my effort was the result of feeling tired or that I had other things on my mind. Which was partly true at least, but it wasn't the main reason behind my lacklustre bedroom routine. And truth be told, I hadn't a clue as to what it was.

I could understand if I saw Louise as a less attractive woman than she was, or I had a bit of fluff on the side that was occupying my masculinity in another queen size bed. But it was neither of these things. I loved Louise dearly and had no inclination whatsoever to consider having an affair with another woman, which made my dreary sex drive all the more frustrating. It was as if someone had turned off the switch to my sexual appetite, and all I was left with were the remnant memories of historic bedroom antics. I had hoped it was just a delayed reaction to being part of the midlife jungle, though with each passing week and little improvement, my mind had recently been thinking that this might be a more permanent arrangement. And as a man too stubborn to book an appointment with the family doctor (and didn't Louise cop a serve when she casually dropped that into conversation one night in bed), there seemed to be no respite in sight.

It was Louise who stirred me from my wandering thoughts.

'You've got that blank look on your face again,' she said.

'Mmm?'

'That look. The one where your mind is elsewhere. You haven't heard a word I said, have you?'

We were in the car together, my left hand draped over the centre console whilst my right casually lolled the steering wheel side to side. Beside me Louise looked as stunning as ever in that new low-cut dress she'd gone and bought, a glimpse of thigh showing through her tanned hose. 'Have you?' she repeated.

'Sorry. What were you saying?'

She sighed. 'Oh, Robert. Well I'm not going to go through it all again. I just wanted to know whether we should have the party at our house or hire a hall. Sally wants a hall, and-'

'Hall it is then, my dear. 'No mess to clean up. At least, no mess that we have to clean up.' Sally was the eldest of our two girls. Hard to believe that she was turning seventeen in a few weeks' time. Where does the time fly?

'Well, good. That's all I wanted to know. As long as you are happy.'

I smiled. 'As long as you and the girls are happy, then I'm happy.' Living in a household full of females meant compromise time and time again. As well as a little submissiveness.

I pulled up to a set of traffic lights and waited. 'Speaking of birthdays, remind me again which office bunny we are out celebrating? Jonice, wasn't it?'

Louise closed her eyes and twitched her nose. 'It's Janice! And it's not her birthday. She's had a baby. Bit of a difference there, dear. On both accounts.'

I frowned. 'The baby's not going to be at the pub, is it?'

'Of course not! And neither is Janice. She's still at the hospital with the newbie. This is just an opportunity to whet the baby's head. I did tell you all this when you were moping about the house earlier.'

'You lot make up any excuse to do a pub crawl, I swear.'

'We do not. It's not a pub crawl either. And besides, it's been ages since we've been out with the crew from work. I think the last time was the Christmas do from memory. Not that you could probably recall too much about that evening, drunken fool you were.'

'Mmm. Probably.' The lights turned green and I released the brake. That was about the last time we had engaged in an intimate encounter we had probably both enjoyed, I reflected. And evidently, I was half-cut to the nines of all nights.

It wasn't hard to find Louise's work colleagues. They were a noisy lot at the best of times and already it looked as if a few of them were going to be worse for wear at the office in the morning. We exchanged a few polite hellos with the marketing staff before nestling onto the end of a long bench. I was about to get up to join the queue for my customary pint and a smattering of whatever Louise felt like when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

'Robert, old boy. Good to see you!'

I turned around but already the man had swung onto the bench beside me. It was Louise's boss, Dale Andrews, Head of Strategic Procurement.

'Dale,' I said. 'Dale...Great to see you.' I was momentarily caught off guard. The Dale Andrews I remembered was a fifty-six year old balding man with a pot belly and spindly arms. This Dale Andrews had thick luscious hair with hardly an ounce of fat, and his arms- well, it looked as if he'd been spending his spare time lifting weights and knocking back protein shakes. 'You look...amazing.'

'Thanks.'

'Fancy a drink, Dale?' Louise offered.

'Already got one,' he replied, holding up a scotch and coke.

'I'll get us some drinks then,' she said. 'You stay here and catch up with Dale, love. You've probably not seen one another for a while.'

I hardly noticed her leave. I was still in awe at the transformation of the man before me, and my mind raced. When had we last seen one another? The Christmas party, wasn't it? When was that...ten, twelve weeks ago now? It didn't seem possible that he could have lost so much weight in that time and completely changed his appearance. Even the skin around his neck looked taut. Someone had shaved a good ten years of the man. Fifteen perhaps. It seemed impossible.

Dale had gone through a particularly messy divorce a couple of years prior, and it was common knowledge that he hadn't really been himself since the shackles of his marriage had been broken. Louise had mentioned a couple of times recently that he seemed to have started looking better, and I'd assumed she meant he was getting back on the saddle of life again so to speak. But the complete turnaround in his physical appearance could not all be attributed alone to his new found single lifestyle. It seemed incredible.

'So...how have you been, Dale? You look great, you really do. I'm not just saying that. I hardly recognised you for a moment.'

'Thanks. A lot of people of have been telling me the same lately.' He outstretched his arms. 'But it's still me. Just a bit less of me around the waist.' He moved in closer. 'But more of me in other ways,' he said cryptically, and laughed.

I smiled, unsure of how to respond. 'So, what have you been doing to turn yourself around? Hitting the gym? Sorry, I hope that didn't come out in a disrespectful way. It's just I know you were pretty down on things for a while.'

Dale pointed to his drink. 'Do you ever think moi would give up this for a life of sweat on the treadmill. No, I think not, old boy. And no offence taken; I know I was looking like a fat oaf in my old life.'

'What then? Surely you didn't go for the old nip and tuck?'

'No, no. Nothing like that. That kind of thing's too pricey for me. And I've a bitch of an ex-wife to support so I certainly can't afford that kind of luxury even on my salary.' Dale gave a friendly wave to a young woman on the other side of the room. She returned his gesture by blowing him a flirty kiss. 'Just the new girl Andrea from the mailroom,' he said. 'And what a bit of all right she is, let me tell you. I'll be giving her some mail to sort out a bit later in the back of the Volvo after we leave here I'm telling you.' He took a gulp of his drink. 'Just as well I don't have any daughters, otherwise my guilt-meter would be on par with the blood pressure I'll be experiencing later tonight.'

I glanced over to the girl and back at Dale. She looked only slightly older than Sally. 'You and that girl?' I asked incredulously. She blew out another kiss; this one seemed to linger, and there was no mistaking the dark and inviting eye contact that cut across the room.

'I know. Hard to believe, isn't it? A year ago, she wouldn't have given me the time of day. But now...' he smirked. 'Now, I feel like I can have any woman I want. And you know what Robert?' He leaned forward for emphasis. 'I do. But she's only a short-term arrangement...couple of weeks at best. She's already in the home straight as far as I'm concerned. Nowadays I tend to get bored easily. I'll probably have moved on to some other floosy by the end of the week.'

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Physical attributes aside, the Dale I knew was conservative and shy. But here was a man openly flirting with a work colleague almost a third of his age. And with his newfound youthful looks, why not?

'Amazing, isn't it?' he continued. 'Who'd have thought, eh?'

'What's your secret then? Is it some new-found freedom from your divorce? You must be doing something right. I hadn't seen you all that long ago.'

Dale downed the remaining drink in one swig. 'You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'

'I might. Try me.'

He cleared his throat. 'OK...but don't think any less of me for telling you, old boy. And I'm only telling you this because that wife of yours is not about.'

'I won't. I wouldn't.'

Dale set aside his empty glass. 'Now as a man, you'll understand. Or, at least I hope you'll understand.'

'Yes.' I wondered if Dale delighted in telling whatever secret he was about to reveal, and just how many times he had told it. There seemed something quite smug about his demeanour.

'Well, after Christmas, I set myself a task to...become a new person. I suppose I had wallowed in enough self-pity over that bitch of a woman I'd had the misfortune to call my wife for twenty-five years, and decided it was finally time to move on. One of my friends at the snooker club who had also gone through a bit of a rough divorce suggested the best way forward was to, er...clean out the pipes so to speak. He'd been looking particularly lean as of late and told me about a twice weekly treat he was enjoying that would do just the trick. He assured me that the change would be immediate.'

'Mmm.' I frowned.

'So anyway, he tells me to go to the big green house down on Ashburton Avenue, the one that's all fenced off at the front and where access is only via a side gate. Now of course, everyone knows that the big green house down on Ashburton Avenue is the local knocking shop, don't they?'

'Of course,' I replied, not really knowing this fact but feeling it best Dale not be made aware of my lack of local call girl knowledge. And to think I'd passed that house umpteen times without realising it was a place of ill repute servicing male clientele. It was so hard not to notice that monstrosity what with the flashing red light above the side door and the whole brickwork painted in racing car green.

'My friend told me about one girl I should ask for in particular- Nanjing.'

'Unusual name,' I offered.

'Well let's not beat around the bush- I don't think it's her real name. Chances are, it's probably where she's from. Oriental lass is our Nanjing, you see. And if you are ever perusing one of your encyclopedias at home, you can read up on this eastern offering that sits on the Yangtze, though I'm quite this girl won't get a mention. Her real name's probably some unpronounceable gobbledygook, and we all know these slappers pick and choose a different one anyway.'

'Oh, I see.'

'Speaks barely a word of English too, not that you need to be having a deep and meaningful conversation as she goes about her business. Now, I've never really been partial to Asian ladies myself- or knocking shops for that matter- but my friend said to keep an open mind about her, and to ask...' He paused and looked around before moving in even closer. 'And to ask for the lip service special. Whilst in her care, you won't regret it.'

I found it almost humorous that Dale had used the term, 'in her care', like she was a nurse administering first aid in lieu of sexual relief.

'Now I didn't know what the bejesus he was rattling on about at first,' Dale continued, 'and I'd personally never seen the need to visit a...whore in my life, even during the darkest recesses of my marriage. And let me tell you old boy, there were some quite dark recesses with that bitch. But it had been...oh I don't know...perhaps eighteen months or more since I'd last had some rumpy-pumpy of sorts. And I wasn't exactly the kind of man to go out to a bar, click his fingers and have women running to me from every direction.'

'Mmm.'

'And I was single, wasn't I? Why not treat myself to be a bit of fun, I thought.' He winked. 'And so that's exactly what I did.

'Now then, I will freely admit that the first time I went to this house, I was as nervous as they come. I had no idea what to expect or how everything worked. But once I was inside, my nerves subsided. And this Nanjing...oh my! What a sight to behold.'

'Gorgeous?' I asked.

'Gorgeous? Oh, God no. She's as ugly as they come...fifty...sixty years old, perhaps even older. Or maybe she's younger and has always looked like the backside of a dog. But whatever it is, there's no mistaking those voluptuous lips she pouts. Your eyes are positively transfixed on them the moment she comes into the room.'

'Her lips?'

'Gigantic they are!' he said, clamping his hands together and expanding them above his own mouth as if for effect. 'She could probably resuscitate your front tire with them in a heartbeat if you ever had a blow-out on the motorway.'

'I see.'

'But anyway, that's only part of the secret to all of this. You see, it's what she puts on her lips to keep them so puffed up that makes it all that worthwhile.'

'Ah ha.'

'Nanjing,' he whispered.

'Yes...' Admittedly I must have had a perplexed look on my face.

'You look confused, old boy. Nanjing is what she puts on her lips. The secret ingredient.'

'I thought that was her name,' I said. 'Or where she was from. Sorry...I think I missed something.'

'It is. Probably all three actually, old boy. Nanjing is also the name of...well, whatever it is she puts on her lips that puffs them up. Now obviously, that isn't the real name of whatever it is either...it's just what she calls it.'

'Obviously. 'This was all seemed very confusing.

'Anyway, whatever it is she smears on, and whatever her real name it...it matters not. It just works. You see the real magic happens when she does her business with those luscious lips of hers. It is safe to say that is the most mind-blowing, most intense pleasure you could ever hope to experience.' He smiled. 'Now you might think I've never been much of an expert in that particular field of pleasure, but I assure you, if there's just one thing the ex was good at, it was getting my ripe banana to merit certificate status when I was laying back watching the news at ten.' He tweaked his eyebrows a little, and I sensed he seemed quite chuffed with his analogy. 'And what's more, it leaves your manhood with...a lasting effect if you get my drift. It increases the size of your whatsit quite dramatically, much in the same way it increases the size of Nanjing's lips.'

'Oh?' This had piqued my curiosity.

'Now, it's only a temporary effect,' Dale said. 'I find that about three days is about the limit. But all at once, your carrot stick is a good fifty percent bigger when fully outstretched. Come to think of it, it's probably bigger even when it's not outstretched. And it will stay that way for at least a day or two. And by saying fifty percent bigger, I think I'm being rather conservative. Though I haven't actually measured it.'

'No!' I don't believe you.' I glanced over to the bar; Louise was still in line waiting to be served but she was edging forward. A couple of younger men were eyeing her off from behind and I could almost sense their enthusiasm at trying their luck with a pick-up line. She brushed the hair back over her ear from one side and I couldn't help but think how enticing that looked. She had recently cut her hair quite short which was apparently all the rage nowadays and the young blokes behind seemed to acknowledge the look with a devious expression.

'Honest, old boy. I have no reason to lie. My manhood was the biggest it's ever been and it stayed that way for ages. And the best part? Oh, my goodness! It's like every woman around can sense it...I seem to exude this sexual magnetism the likes of which I've never had before. No woman is off limits. And just look at me- I starting shedding pounds like the bleeding exchange rate.' He patted his left bicep. 'And where did this come from, eh? I haven't been to the gym since my honeymoon.'

I screwed up my nose and motioned to Dale's empty glass. 'How much have you been drinking?' I said.

Dale's mannerism indicated that he was deadly serious, or at least believed what he was saying.

'No, no, old boy. It's the truth. I mean...just look at me. I'm a new man. Practically get any woman I desire. Just look at Andrea from Accounts. You saw how she looked at me. And when we're together in bed...well...she claws at my back like there's no tomorrow.'

'The mailroom,' I corrected, trying to deflect the conversation before it became too detailed.

'Whatever. But there's something about this Nanjing lass and her lips which have made me a new man. And whatever it is, there's no doubt it works. I've never had an erection before that lasted three hours let alone three days. I'm surprised some genius hasn't already had a go at bottling whatever it is she smears over her lips. He'd make a bloody fortune!'

I shook his head in disbelief. 'So...do you see this Nanjing lady often? As in like getting a top up?' I couldn't believe I was asking this; the words just seemed to roll off my tongue. Rather like something else that rolled off this Nanjing's tongue every other hour I would imagine.

'Worth every penny too in my book,' he replied seriously. 'Twice a week usually, if you must know.'

'So, Dale...assuming this magical Nanjing does exist- the lotion or whatever it is she-'

'It does. I can't explain it otherwise. Just look at me, old boy. A year ago, I was this whimpering fruit salad of a man.'

'OK. Assume that it does...Apart from the obvious, er- physical benefit it supposedly brings about to yourself, what does it do for a prospective partner?' I wasn't really sure why I asked this question. 'I take it, she enjoys your...er...advances? Andrea, for example?'

He nodded thoughtfully. 'Ah, well then...this is the benefit of transference, is it not? You see, whatever this Nanjing substance is, it somehow...permeates the skin, embeds itself as it were DNA, straight into my manhood. And if I'm fortunate enough to partake in a bit of horizontal dancing with a partner who...enjoys au natural...well, let's just say that I'm giving to her what Nanjing has given to me. Admittedly, it's a diluted dose, but the effects are quite extraordinary. With it comes an exacerbated pleasure for her as well.' He grinned smugly. 'Andrea says I'm the best man she's ever been with...and since I've been visiting Nanjing, she's not the first to say it either.'

'No!' I exclaimed. My eyes cut across to Louise who was next in line to being served. She looked even more attractive all of a sudden as she went about her wifey pub duties.

'Scouts honour,' Dale said. 'And let me tell you something- those few ladies who have since enjoyed my companionship without me having to don a banana peel have not regretted one moment of it. They have positively glowed for days on end. And I'll tell you something else- their...love lips'- he pointed down to between his legs for emphasis- 'have engorged each and every time. They've sung my praises for days. It's been a win-win for both parties.'

I wasn't quite sure how to respond and felt that a cursory nod of the head would suffice. My mind was spinning.

'I'm telling you Robert, were it not for Nanjing, I'd still be the "has been" you all know and hate.'

'Oh, steady on Dale.'

'No, no. I knew what people thought of me, and I knew the man I'd become. Well, let me tell you- I've turned back the clock to a time when I was at the very peak of my sexual prowess. In fact, I think I've actually out-performed myself when I was at that peak.' He looked over to Andrea who was chatting with some friends. 'Any woman I want,' he said almost to no-one. 'And all it costs me is twenty pounds a pop. Forty quid a week tops. Best money I've ever spent.'

'It sounds...unbelievable.'

Dale nodded satisfactorily. 'If I could get hold of whatever it is she smears on those luscious lips of hers, I'd be a rich man, old boy. Every single man in the country would be clambering to get in on the action.' He gave me a nudge. 'Probably every married man, too. "Happy wife, happy life," as the saying goes, eh? Well, I tell you what; a bit of au natural in the bedroom with that stuff smothered over everyone's private bits and they'd be a heck of lot less divorces than there are now.' He gave a hearty chuckle. 'Eh, eh?'

To say that I put a bit more up and go into our lovemaking session later that night was an understatement, but to use a cricket analogy, effort in the nets didn't necessarily translate to runs at the crease. Louise did seem to appreciate the effort though as her fingertips were a little more pronounced than usual and whilst she was taken to a height not seen since her drunken birthday last year, the same outcome could not be said of my own gusto. But it was a markedly improved performance at least.

'You didn't finish again,' she said bluntly as we lay together staring at the ceiling which was in real need of a new lick of paint.

'Mmm.'

'I take that to be a no.'

'Sorry.'

'You don't need to be sorry. I just want you...want you to be satisfied.'

'I am, my dear.'

'Oh come now, Robert, it's the first rule of any male that when he gets a leg over, he's doing it with the necessity of procreating the species to which he belongs. And procreation only happens if you get your end away.' Louise always had a way with words.

'If you say so.' I took a long drag on my cigarette, my mind elsewhere. 'What on earth is going on with Dale?' I asked, outwardly deflecting the conversation but inwardly keeping it on the same subject. 'He is positively a new man.'

'Yes...he's undergone a bit of a transformation of late. I did tell you this before. The office crew put it down to his divorce finally coming through. But whatever it is, it's done him the world of good.' She gave me a playful slap with the back of her hand. 'Might be something in that for you, you know.'

Louise's words rumbled through my mind all night. I found it difficult to sleep for several reasons. Images of Dale in a carefree embrace with his little number from the mailroom in the back of his Volvo being one. And to think I'd been in the back of that car before; there wasn't enough room to spread your legs let along have all kinds of bodily appendages flailing about in a fit of passion.

It was likely that thought alone that prompted me to take a small detour on the way to work the next morning.

Normally I am a creature of habit when it came to the morning commute; the stop-start routine of High Street followed by a coffee at the petrol station near the big roundabout being my regular disposition. The following morning however, I decided to go east towards Copeton, and before long found myself crawling along Ashburton Avenue. I parked about fifty metres away from the green house which Dale had mentioned the evening before; I'd seen the property numerous times but barely given it a second look despite it's obvious luminous exterior and oversized gate- but had never really understood why it was painted that way or questioned if wanton acts went on within its walls. I had a good vantage of the house, and there didn't seem to be much activity going on; I assumed it was too early for wayward acts to be going on inside. But just before I left to return to my usual drive, the side gate opened and an older looking man took a left-to-right peek before sauntering out with his head discreetly bowed. I could almost sense the shame that resonated from his demeanour.

I should have buried every thought there and then of ever returning to Ashburton Avenue after witness to that man and his shameful exit. But I had already come this far, and whilst part of me was affront to everything it represented, the opportunity to bring back a spark to my marital pleasures was too good to pass up. After all, I owed this to Louise, I reasoned.

I returned later that afternoon having feigned an upset stomach in the office, although it wasn't far off the truth. My stomach had been turning knots all morning and I was rather short on colour in the cheeks, so an illness of sorts was not entirely out of the question. I parked at the supermarket carpark on South Terrace, walked up Hamstead Street, turned right onto Smith Street before following the hill down to Ashburton Avenue. Admittedly, it was a bit of a hike, but if my car was spotted at the supermarket, I could at least argue the point that I was getting something to settle my stomach as opposed to having to pull a rabbit out of the hat and explain why I was parked fifty metres away from a knocking shop. Plus, the brisk walk did me the world of good.

I stood on the other side of the street for what felt like an eternity, waiting for the right moment when it was clear of cars and pedestrians. I couldn't help but feel that I was being watched, and every second window curtain up and down the street moved just a little every time I thought about taking a step forward. I finally shuffled my way across the road, and practically ran up the front path and through the gate. Moments later I found myself inside the house, having entered through an open door with a couple of red flashing lights either side. My heart felt like it was beating outside it's chest, and though it was quite cold, I could feel sweat beads bubbling away on my forehead.

The reception desk-if you could call it that- was small, and I was immediately greeted by a young girl with freckles dotted around her nose and a rather cumbersome eyebrow piercing that looked like a home job. She barely looked eighteen, and a pang of guilt rumbled through my gut.

'Hello there...I...er...was wondering if...er...Nanjing might be available?' I stumbled.

The girl pointed to the itemised wall menu behind her in much the same way the waitress at the Bar 'N' Grill took to punters wanting to know what specials were on for lunch. 'Number seven is probably wot you're after, love,' she said blandly.

And indeed it was. There in bolded glory was: "Lip Service - 20 pounds. Kiss, kiss."

Before I had time to second guess my attendance, or deliberate over an alternative with a more favourable economic value, I nodded and extracted the required payment from my wallet.

'Follow me, love,' said the girl, snatching the proffered money and ushering me into another room. She smiled, sensing my nervousness. 'Sit down on the bed if you like, love. Nanjing won't be long. Probably jus' out the back having a fag, like.'

The room was well kept with a large double bed and a couple of beside tables, presumably full of paraphernalia one would expect to find in an establishment like this. I barely had time to seat myself down on the edge of the bed when the door re-opened. Evidently twenty pounds allowed for the absence of unnecessary wait time. I quickly stood up and put my hands behind my back as if I were about to meet royalty.

What confronted me was a woman who could be best described as being ravaged by the sands of time. Dale was not wrong when he said that she was a hideous creature; her hair was unkempt, her skin craggy and wrinkly, and she was quite gaunt in appearance. But it was her lips that caught my attention; those gigantic, voluptuous lips seemed to be a focal point of the room. It was as if they had been injected with some enlarging agent, and they were quite disproportionate to the rest of her facial features. All at once I wondered how she managed to speak, and what kind of stares she received when walking down the street. If she even dared to appear in public of course.

Nanjing seemed to acknowledge my apprehension. 'Sit,' she said with a sense of authority, and I complied. Without any further ado, she reached up and flicked her dressing gown away over each shoulder. The whole thing fell to the floor and I was left wondering whether to overt my eyes or stare at the naked body that was my paid viewing pleasure. Her flesh didn't instil the kind of stimulated blood blow I had hoped for, and if twenty pounds was for viewing privileges only, it would be severely overpriced.

'You like?' she muttered in clipped English.

'Mmm.' I tried to put a real emphasis in my response. Oh, but those lips....

'Now...you stand up. And do same.' She pointed to my clothes in a way a witch would cast a spell.

I slowly stood up and with shaking hands unbuttoned my shirt. My breathing was sharp and laboured. I waited for a moment as if awaiting approval.

'Now...you do rest,' she said, motioning to my trousers and shoes.

Awkwardly, I took the rest of my clothes off until we were both standing naked. All the time, I was transfixed on Nanjing's lip, those swollen mounds of flesh that seemed to take up most of her face. Mixed feelings crossed my mind, and beads of sweat were running like a waterfall over my brow. But Nanjing was evidently an expert at her trade, and she slowly closed her eyes and tilted her head a little. The effect was quite dramatic; my breathing relaxed and I didn't feel as intimidated.

'Now...you do same,' she said.

I closed my eyes and edged my head backwards. I didn't realise Nanjing had re-positioned her body until I sensed her wholesome lips upon my flesh. Only then did I gasp with sheer delight.

My exit from the green house was akin to a man running from a burning building to save his life. Not once did I look back, and only when I was back inside my car did I reflect on what had just transpired. Guilt overtook my emotions first; my mind was awash with flushing away twenty-three years of marriage for the sake of a twenty-quid orgasm (and please note, dear reader, I have no intention of subjecting you to a blow-by-blow account of what pleasurable acts she inflicted upon me). But what an orgasm it was! I had never experienced anything like what Nanjing had bestowed on my manhood. Not even that time back when Louise had decided to roleplay with some lipstick after a few drinks (a few bottles actually, come to think of it) back on our tenth wedding anniversary where a devious side of her sexuality had unleashed itself in the bedroom could come close to the mind-blowing orgasm I had just reached. And the best part- unlike at home where my body naturally switched off after expelling itself, my nerve endings were positively tingling with delight, even as I sat in the driver's seat deliberating over Nanjing's luscious lips.

I looked down and could clearly see just how excited I still was. I had a sudden urge to go at it again, and that was a feeling I hadn't had in many a year. In fact, I couldn't really recall when Louise and I last had sex twice in the same day; quite possibly it was pre-Sally. But here I was, feeling as fresh as a daisy as it were, my pipes well and truly unblocked and ready for more action.

I drove home with a sense of urgency although I knew Louise wouldn't be back from work for several hours, and the girls seemed to traipse in after six most times, so I had plenty of time to shower and cleanse myself of the musty sex smell that resonated from my body. I undressed quickly, bundling my shirt and trousers into the bottom of the laundry basket and flicked my socks to one side. I caught sight of myself in the mirror in just my underwear, and what a fine specimen of a man I already looked! With a playful grin, I whipped off my briefs and stood naked for the second time in little over an hour.

My penis was only partially erect, but it was of a size I had never seen before. In fact, it looked quite disproportionate to the rest of my body, as if it had been surgically enhanced for comical effect. I couldn't help but stare. A bicycle pump could not have done a better job.

Monstrous!

Gigantic!

Stupendous!

The superlatives seemed to cascade through my mind without hesitation.

But the elation of seeing my manhood in this manner was quickly overcome by the sense of wondering just how on earth I was ever going to unleash this giant upon Louise without her asking questions.

The realisation of what I had just done hit me.

Oh, you absolute fool! I thought. I had been so caught up in the wonder of Dale explaining how his manhood had quite literally extended itself in all directions for all and sundry to see (well, at least those of female disposition), I had forgotten that Dale was a single man; he had no wife or partner to answer too. And hadn't he also said his friend was a divorcee too? No woman was going to compare the size of Dale's manhood pre and post Nanjing. But I on the other hand had Louise, and a sudden increase in penis size was going to set alarm bells off in all manner of things. First, she would want to know how on earth this manhood had grown to such a size; then she would want to know why it wasn't going down anytime soon; then she would probably ply me with an interrogation like no other when I presented such flimsy excuses to the first two questions- and let's be honest, they would be flimsy excuses.

It all looked a bit of a mess really.

It also now made sense why this Nanjing and her magical potion was not some internationally renowned celebrity and home order product; no self-respecting married man would dare reveal the truth at the risk of ending up divorced.

Oh you stupid, stupid man!

Panic started to set in, and I continued to stare at my reflection, as if the power of my eyes alone would deflate my penis back to a time before I'd entered that bloody big green house.

Think man, think!

First things first. I remembered Dale had mentioned the effect was only temporary...what was it again? Three, four days? Dale made twice weekly visits to Nanjing, so that was a good sign. There obviously wasn't any permanent growth effect from whatever it was that whore had done (at least, I hoped there were no permanent outcome). In fact, temporary arrangements would be more beneficial to her as she would be guaranteed a continual supply of income from repeat business. No wonder she was so bloody cheap. I also wondered just how many lip balms she went through and made a mental note to avoid the local chemists for the next few weeks.

I decided that it was probably best I avoid all intimate contact with Louise for at least the next couple of days and nights. That at least was quite doable. I'd only just had intercourse with her the night before (albeit that rather lacklustre session I'd alluded to earlier), and when I did a quick calculation of averages over the past month...ignoring the weekend before last when Louise had quite a voracious appetite and had wanted sex on both the Friday night and Sunday morning...it worked out to about once every six and a half days. So, if the law of averages went in my favour, I would be OK on that front. I then considered our last ten love-making sessions; four had been initiated by Louise (including that balmy weekend double), I had started proceedings on three occasions and the remaining three were a bit of a blur so they would have to be called as a nil-all draw. I reasoned that I would be able to restrain myself for the next two days without her noticing that anything was amiss, but if Louise started feeling a little amorous herself, then I'd have to feign tiredness.

At face value, it seemed a practical solution. Merely a matter of laying low until the heat had cleared as it were. But I felt I needed some reassurance that I hadn't inherited some permanent damage to my pride and joy, and to get that I would need to see a doctor. The stress alone of not knowing would have given me a heart attack I'm sure; I've always been a bit of worry wort over the simplest of issues, but this was right up there with the likely German invasion of 1940 as far as I was concerned. And it couldn't be the family doctor of course; oh no, that would be too close to home. An appointment with a GP on the other side of town. Or Manchester even, despite the fact it was a good two hours away on train.

I stood there for several more minutes, staring at my naked body. Even as the disgust of what I had done coursed through my mind, it made no difference to the size of my penis. It remained in its partially aroused state, twitching every now and then as if to taunt my actions.

'You're came home early, love. I rang your office about four but they said you had already left after lunch.'

'Mmm. Upset tummy. I think it was that bacon roll I had for breakfast.'

'Oh, diddums. That'll teach you to scoff your food.'

We were in the kitchen. Louise had barely dropped her bag down before pre-heating the oven and I was seated at the table making notes on some paperwork that was making no sense whatsoever. I could feel my cheeks burning when she mentioned about having called the office and I dared not look up.

'Does that mean you won't be having any dinner? The girls will be home soon I suppose. I was going to make a nice chicken satay, that's all.'

'Probably best I don't attempt a satay, no matter how appetising it might be.'

Louise kissed my forehead and started to tackle the first cuts on the chicken. 'You do look bit peachy. Not the fruit variety I should add. You feel quite clammy too.'

'Mmm.' I shuffled the papers. 'I might have an early night. I'll wait until the girls are home though of course.'

'You do that, love. I won't disturb you. I've got some marketing reviews to complete anyway. And we won another contract today, this one's for that big engineering firm down by the ring road. Likely going to keep me busy for the next few nights to be honest as they've imposed a few impractical deadlines. But it will be worth it in the long run. Might be a few late ones both here and at the office though.'

I tapped my pen on the table. 'Oh, that is a shame,' I said, trying to sound disappointed. 'I mean, it's good about you lot getting another new contract. Means you are still employable.' I gave a little inward smile. This two day window I'd given myself looked quite doable after all. 'Still, needs must eh?'

I waited until after lunch before feigning illness again; this time I would at least have a doctor's certificate to present if challenged. I also took the liberty to call Louise to let her know that I might be leaving work early again; that way it negated the need for her to call the office in the afternoon as we'd already spoken, and if she did per chance call anyway to see if I was still there, the story about my leaving early was already known. Rather a complex how'd you do I know, but I needed to stay several steps ahead of the game if I were going to pull this one off. It took a few phone calls to find a surgery that was far enough away and could also slot me in the same day, but I found one eventually, and Dr Singh seemed an auspicious enough name who probably wasn't going to ask too many questions.

As I sat in the waiting room, I was overcome with doubt a few times, and wondered if I could perhaps ride this out after all without the need for a medical opinion. But my underwear was making for an uncomfortable arrangement, and I was quite sure my penis had further increased in size.

'Mr Robert Connelly,' called out a voice.

I had no choice but to follow though now. I rose from my chair and greeted Dr Singh with a warm handshake. He was an elderly man, not at all like what I had expected, with long wavy hair and round spectacles. His accent gave away no trace of his heritage.

'Please sit down, Robert,' said Dr Singh as we entered his office and closed the door. 'We've not met before. What is it I can help you with today?'

My fingertips danced together and my eyes widened. 'Er...well...it's a little embarrassing really.'

'That's OK. Go on.'

'It's my wife, you see. Well, I mean, it's our anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks...and I, er...wanted to surprise her.'

'I see.'

'Yes, well, I...er...found this lotion- I suppose you might call it that- at one of those Chinese stalls down at the markets.' I hesitated. 'Oh, I can't even remember what it was called now. You see I threw it away after I...er...smeared it on my...er...' I darted my eyes down to my trousers. 'It was some kind of enhancer,' I said, matter-of-factly. 'A silly thing to do, I know, but I just thought-'

'Nanjing?' Dr Singh asked quite bluntly.

I froze. 'Er...sorry?'

'Was her name Nanjing, Robert?'

There was an uncomfortable silence, and I could feel my cheeks turning red. The previous night's blush had nothing on this fire that was scorching my face.

'I'll take that to be a yes,' continued the doctor. He turned to his desk and picked up a pen, calmly making some notes. 'You are not the first...and definitely won't be the last,' he said without looking up. 'I'm yet to find out exactly what it is she uses. Suffice to say, it's some sort of inflammatory ointment, probably found in the northern most reaches of China. Or so I'm told. How she gets it here is anyone's guess. But luckily for you, and every other man that walks in that door, it doesn't appear to leave any lasting side effects, other than the obvious swelling you are currently experiencing. Most likely a natural herb extract, or at least that's what we can hope it is. Chemical products are a nasty kettle of fish, and Pandora's box really gets opened if we eventually find out that's actually what it is.' He waved his pen in the direction of my groin for effect, and he seemed to be enjoying his little spiel. It was evidently well rehearsed. I was positively glowing bright red by now. 'Not feeling nauseous, are we?'

'Nnn,' I mumbled. Or something of similar ilk.

'Good. No other symptoms you wish to disclose? Itching? Burning? A sensation that your penis is about to drop off perhaps?'

I shook my head.

'If you do start to feel sick or the swelling hasn't subsided within a week...come to think of it, if you start to display any other symptoms other than worry, please book another appointment with me as soon as possible.' He peered over the top of his spectacles. 'I've also had it on good authority that the supposed...long-term benefits that this nasty stuff promotes is nothing more that rumour and hearsay. Physical wellbeing, acting like some man twenty years your junior and an overall sensation of being desired by every member of the opposite sex has more to do with what's up here'- he tapped his temple slowly- 'than anything to do with what can be lathered on down there.' It was clear that irrespective of Dr Singh's medical capability, he was also a rather good wordsmith, and him and Louise would have gotten on famously had they ever had the misfortune to meet.

'Now then, whilst you are here,' he continued, 'perhaps we should also talk about the risks associated with sexually transmitted diseases from unprotected sex...'

Louise was late home as expected. I had already made dinner and cleaned up, and the girls had retired to their respective bedrooms. To alleviate Dr Singh's sex education lesson, I had treated myself to the new Def Leppard CD but I didn't find it a patch on their previous works.

'I was lucky I left when I did,' she said. 'Another five more minutes and I would have had to wait umpteen hours until the next bus.'

I was sitting on the couch with a magazine carefully positioned on my lap. I still felt the tingling and throbbing sensation in my groin though I couldn't really tell whether it had worsened or dulled since the doctor's visit.

'Busy day then?' I offered.

Louise kissed my forehead. 'Madness, love. Tomorrow will be worse. Definitely won't make it out in time for the last bus. You'll have to pick me up. Maybe we can grab a Chinese on the way home.' She gave me a wink. 'And a nice bottle of red, too, if you catch my drift.'

This was the last thing I wanted. And she hadn't winked at me for weeks. 'Can't one of the other's give you a lift? Or Dale? Saves me having to get out of a nice warm house.' It probably wasn't the best excuse I could have mustered, but I wasn't really prepared for her upfront request.

'If you don't want to do your loyal husband duties, I might have too.' She reached down and squeezed my thigh playfully. 'I'll just have to bring home a bottle for us instead.'

'I take it everyone is having to do their bit then for this new contract.' I said, tactfully changing the conversation.

'Something like that. It's quite important to all of us. Even Dale stopped back tonight later than normal, and he's really been quite the party animal as of late. Cancelled one of his hot dates he's always going on just to get on top of things, so he said.'

That must have really put a crimp in his social calendar, I thought. And possibly the worst choice of words Louise could have used.

'I'll quickly have dinner then I might just pop straight into bed if that's all right,' Louise said. 'I'm going to get the office early. Glad to see you are feeling better by the way.'

I smiled. 'Perfectly, dear. Go get yourself rested up if you have another big day ahead then. I understand.'

Two days down, one to go...

There was still no change to my penis size the next morning, but I did note it was less sensitive to the touch. Thankfully Louise had already left for work by the time I got up, and she called mid-morning to remind me that she would be home late again, which suited me just fine, thank you very much. Chinese and wine were also the last things on her mind when we spoke, and she said she could get a lift back but to make sure I had made something half-decent for dinner. Our chat was quite cordial, and she made no surreptitious remarks about wanting some alone time with me when she got home. That was also a bonus.

I used the time after work well; I gave the house a good clean, made dinner, and even helped the girls complete some homework which was a first as it was usually Louise they turned to for academic advice. All these chores kept my mind at bay, and I was confident the worst of it was now over and things would soon start to return to normal. By the time Louise came home, I was already tucked up in bed facing the window; on the off-chance Louise was looking for some late-night intimacy, my body language was anything but compliant to any sexual advances she might make.

A car horn tooted and a few minutes later Louise was upstairs.

'You still awake, love?' she asked.

'Mmm.'

'Thanks for cleaning the house and making dinner again. I'm too tired to even eat though. I'm sorry. It looks as if you've gone to a lot of trouble too.'

'That's OK.' I kept myself in the foetal position. I wasn't all that tired despite undertaking a full night of chores, but I certainly didn't want to give Louise that impression. 'You got dropped off OK then?' I said with a forced yawn.

'Yes. Dale was kind enough to drop me off. He's off out now apparently. I don't know where he gets the energy from at his age.' She slipped into bed and gave me a kiss on the cheek. A wandering hand patted my stomach and it briefly loitered over the top of my flannelette pyjamas. 'Thanks for being so understanding these past couple of days. I really appreciate it. The worst of it is nearly over.' No truer words were ever spoken.

'All good. I'm getting used to making dinner now anyway. At this rate you'll be having edible food all the time.' I paused. 'Maybe I'll make us one tomorrow night as well. A special treat to help celebrate all this hard work you've been putting in. And just the two of us. I'll give the girls some money so they can catch a movie together or something.'

'That would be lovely,' she said. Her fingertips ran up and down my side a few times and I half expected her to roll me onto my back. Christ knows I wanted her too; my manhood was bursting at the seams. But I sensed her breathing becoming more relaxed and soon she was asleep. It was another half an hour before I dared tuck her hand back under her chest.

There was a spring in my step when I awoke. Louise had again left early but I hadn't heard her slip out. I immediately pulled back my pyjama bottoms and noticed my penis looked how I had always remembered it. I threw back the covers and dashed to the bathroom. The sense of worry and guilt I had been carrying for days all but evaporated when I checked myself in the bathroom mirror.

Back to normal!

Average!

Mediocre even!

Words I never thought I would want to hear used to describe my manhood danced about in my mind. I couldn't have been happier. There was not even a blemish or mark to be seen. It was as this Nanjing nightmare hadn't even occurred. Relief swept over me, and I started to shake a little. All the worry and stress...vanished in an instant.

I slotted into the working day routine comfortably. I didn't have the urge to go to the toilet every half hour or so like I had been recently doing, and the constant knot in my stomach that churned and churned had also dissipated. Now of course came the real work; making it up to Louise and burying the memory of what had transpired so far down in the recesses of my grey matter not even a surgeon armed with a pitchfork and shovel would be able to find it.

Just before lunch I picked up the phone and dialled Louise's work number.

'Didn't hear you leave this morning,' I said. 'Hope I got a kiss on the cheek.'

'It was early,' Louise admitted. 'You were still dead to the world.'

'Making headway on that contract I hope.'

'Getting there, love. I'll be late home again tonight though.' A pause. 'So...I'll probably be famished by the time I walk in the door.'

'If that's a cue for my culinary skills to pull off the greatest meal since the Christmas I cooked for your mother, then you have yourself a Michelin star chef.'

'Deal. I'll get Dale to drop me off home again. I'll see if I get away a little bit earlier as well given I watched the sun come up this morning. No promises, though.'

'That would be nice. See you tonight, love.'

The moment I put the phone down, there was a playful twinge between my legs, and a little smile escaped my lips. This time Nanjing couldn't be held responsible for that movement.

The remainder of the day seemed to positively crawl along. It was like I was back in school again waiting for the bell to chime so I could hot foot out and get ready for that all-important date at the movie theatre. As soon as it ticked past four-thirty, I left work without so much as a polite goodbye to the staff. Both girls were home already, and it took a good chunk of my wallet to convince them to head out for the evening with a proviso they return no earlier than eleven and no later than midnight. I was confident my love-making desires would extend to a second round even with a sizeable helping of chocolate mousse for dessert.

With the girls organised and out of the way, I had a quick wash, dabbed on some aftershave that Louise had brought for me on my birthday, and set about perfecting dinner. First, I sautéed some chicken, onion, carrot and garlic and then made a lovely sauce complete with corn-starch, chicken broth and lemon juice (not to forget a pinch or two of salt). Finally, I stirred in the rice and peas and returned the skillet to boil before removing and letting it stand. I was rather impressed with what I had created; it was quite an improvement on my usual slops. What's more, it was a tried and tested recipe that Louise loved to make. Wine hadn't been forgotten about either; I'd already called in to the local on the way home and grabbed a nice red that was somewhat pricey but came with a high recommendation.

Cleaning up was a breeze and I gave my new Def Leppard CD another spin as I went about the chores. Admittedly it did seem a bit better on the second listen but I fancied HMV had got one over me regardless. I got about three quarters of the way through before deciding enough was enough. I didn't want Louise to come home with it still playing either; it wasn't exactly what one might call 'mood' music, and she wasn't a fan of the Sheffield lads at the best of times.

I popped the CD back into the rack and another caught my eye. It was Chris de Burgh's Spark to a Flame\- Louise had seemingly played this one to death over the course of the past three years and whilst it certainly wasn't my cup of tea, there was no denying the fact it was loaded with songs to enhance the mood. And as if on cue, the unmistakeable shape of Dale's Volvo rolled into view through the bay window.

'Settled, then,' I said to myself and dropped the CD into the player.

I looked around; everything looked neat and tidy. Dinner was served complimented by two larger than normal glasses of wine. As the CD started on the first song, I flicked the dimmer switch to the lights and seated myself at the table. With a bit of luck, I thought, I might not have to worry about scooping up two bowl's worth of chocolate mousse after all.

'Not too late, I hope,' Louise called out, hanging up her coat. 'Oh my, it does smell good whatever it is you've made.' I heard the front door close and the clickety-clack of her heels as she walked down the hallway.

'Right on time,' I said. 'Come sit down. Everything's ready. Dinner and wine just waiting to be consumed by a beautiful wife. My beautiful wife.' I felt quite pleased with my little compliment.

'Can't wait,' she said as she sat down. 'I'm famished.' She adjusted her shirt collar nervously and she seemed a little flustered.

Only then did I realise what I was looking at. It was the same Louise I had known and loved only her appearance had changed somewhat. Her hair was a little ruffled and her cheeks rosier than normal. Her eyes, normally so full of sparkle, were glazed over, and she looked everywhere except at me. But it was those lips of hers that stole my attention; they were positively glowing in a very un-natural and engorged manner. And the longer I stared, the more I realised they were getting bigger.

Flesh and Blood

"Brotherly love"

Dear Aunt Constance,

I trust you are well and have sufficiently recovered from that quite nasty bout of flu you had the misfortune to endure at the start of spring. No doubt you are back on your feet and tendering to your garden's needs; you mentioned in your last letter how you were hoping to tackle those overgrown brambles down by your shed, and I am sure you have tasked it well.

I shan't keep this letter long as I must get back to the ward soon. I will promise to write again in a few days though and tell you about what we have been up too in detail. I will just say however that Margaret and I were lucky enough to have some time off together the other week and we had a nice drive up to Bordeaux to see the sights. Whilst there, I did per chance manage to find some time to write a new story about one of my patients and his brother I encountered one morning in emergency. One the chaps was looking rather worse for wear following a nasty incident, and he ended up having to remain hospitalised for a good week or so on just a diet of fluids. They piqued my curiosity as one was a doctor and the other an author and I felt like quite the hybrid of the pair, so telling their story was a natural course of action. Admittedly, I've spiced up the narrative with a good dose of imagination, and as always, names have been changed to protect the innocent. I'll be sending it off to my usual rag for publication shortly but I thought you would like to have a read of it first as I know you love a good bit of sauce.

Anyway, best I get back to ward duties; let me know if you enjoy my latest offering.

All my love,

James

Part One - Flesh

Edward and Harry Oakfield were brothers who resided together but lived very different lives. Edward was the elder of the two by a matter of just eighteen months and his charming good looks complete with wavy blonde hair, angled jaw and inviting eyes were a distraction to the fairer sex who found themselves completely smitten by him whenever they were in his company. Harry on the other way, was shy and submissive around women and whilst he too was handsome and easy on the eye, he just didn't ooze the confidence and bravado that his brother splashed around.

Harry was a Rheumatologist with his own practice in the London borough of Bexley, and had toiled hard to establish himself as a fine physician. His practice had particularly boomed over the past couple of years, and he worked long hours to keep up with the seemingly endless number of patients that sought advice and respite from their ailments. Such an esteemed position in the community made Harry quite the eligible bachelor, but no woman had yet found the desire to accept a request for a second date; despite his good looks they found him dry, boring, and lacking in charm and appeal (though no-one had ever quite said as such to his face). Instead, a courteous 'thank-you, we must do this again sometime though I'm not entirely sure when' was often their parting gift. Too polite to plead a case for a further progression of courtship, Harry would nod considerately and wish the lady in question all the best in her future endeavours.

Conversely, Edward had never seen the need to slave away at university for years on end to secure his position in society; when he reached sixteen he purchased the most expensive type-writer his allowance would permit, and clattered away day and night. His first six attempts at a novel were rejected time and time again by various publishing houses, but his seventh- 'Mrs Wallace and the General'- was snapped up before the ink had time to dry on the final page. It remained on the bestseller's list for almost a year, and Edward established himself as a formidable author whose output had averaged nearly a book a year over the past twenty. And whilst his literary prowess had never quite reached that of a Hemmingway or Orwell, there was no doubting that his ability to subtlety combine high society drama with a hint of scandal and smut made for a good read that the masses consumed in the thousands.

Edward's own life often mirrored that of his literature. His charm and looks were untameable and though he was nearing forty, he had no plans yet to settle down into marriage or a long-term courtship. In fact, his relationships rarely extended longer than one night. He believed he was at the very peak of his sexual performance and planned to continue to bed as many women as he could over the next few years. Edward was even asked to act out scenes that formed part of his written works, and he reciprocated in kind; life was very good indeed for the elder Oakfield.

The pair never saw eye-to-eye on many things; there had been an intense rivalry since a young age that always had Harry come out second-best, and Edward always saw an opportunity to make a dig at his younger brother. Yet despite these differences, Edward and Harry would travel to the south of France together every second week in July; it was a place their parents had established as a family holiday long before the war when the riviera flourished with a care-free attitude, and the pair felt obligated to continue the tradition. Besides, it offered Harry some fresh air away from stuffy London, and for Edward, the chance to escape the typewriter and think up new ideas was always complimented with an abundance of women who craved his bedroom company once he'd charmed them with his endless chat and a few drinks to boot.

'Seems a lot more lively than last year,' Harry commented as they navigated past the other tourists along the Promenade des Anglais. The pair had arrived the evening prior and this was their first morning in Nice. 'Rather looks like the effects of the war are finally starting to wear off.'

Edward gave a little grin. He had already cast over a couple of ladies with a cursory nod and smile but was yet to see anyone worth the lingering eye contact. All in good time though; they had another five days in Nice alone before the pair meandered their way across to Cannes and Marseille.

'Indeed. Or perhaps my publisher has leaked word of my travels, and the motherland have decided to forgo Butlins for a chance to meet the great Edward Oakfield.'

'Dear brother, you really do hold yourself in a much higher regard than allowances permit. And must you always insist on bringing a conversation back to your supposed charm and those wretched books you publish?'

'I sense a snippet of jealously there, Harry. After all these years, I rather thought you would be used to it.'

They paused to let a couple of children pass with ice-creams, their mother offering a hurried, 'excusez-moi' as she attempted to catch up with them.

'I rest my case,' said Edward. 'See how even the children will stop at nothing to rub shoulders with His Majesty's most prolific author.'

Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes. 'And which quite possibly explains why our esteemed King is in such bad health at this juncture in time.'

Edward ignored the comment; he was adept at banter with his brother and knew when to pause. Harry would be waiting for a return serve- and by not responding it would leave his younger sibling frustrated.

They walked for several more minutes without talking, Harry taking in the sights of the bustling cafeterias while Edward's eyes focused on the femmes that adorned them.

'I know what you are looking at,' said Harry. 'Meaningless encounters will leave you empty in the heart in the long run, as I've told you so many times before. Not that you ever listen.'

'Meaningful encounters haven't exactly set your world on fire you know,' Edward retorted. 'Perhaps you should try meaningless ones instead for a change. I am unmarried by choice. You on the other hand would love nothing more than to cuddle up to the same woman night after night...only you are yet to meet anyone who is willing to risk one night, let alone a lifetime of them. Just remember that. Now...I suggest we pop in here for a little while and enjoy a mid-morning refreshment of sorts. The sun is making me rather quite thirsty.' He looked over to a young woman sitting alone at one of the outdoor tables. She didn't seem to be waiting for anyone and looked quite engrossed in whatever cosmopolitan journal it was she was reading, a half cup of tea beside her. The table next to her was free and Edward had already started to make his way over before Harry had time to protest.

They sat down and the woman looked up. Edward tipped his brow as was his custom and gave her a bashful smile. She was mid-twenties he reasoned, and her brunette curly hair seemed to compliment her olive complexion. He noticed the lack of a ring on her fingers as a good sign, although that had never really stopped him before. If anything, a wedding or engagement ring only made a potential conquest more desirable. She returned the smile faintly and glanced over to Harry. Immediately her eyes lit up and she let out a little gasp.

'Oh my,' she said. 'It's doctor Oakfield, isn't it?'

Harry turned his head and frowned, recognising the woman from somewhere, but struggling to place where exactly.

'Amanda Davison,' said the woman, extending her hand to the younger brother. 'We briefly met last year. You were treating my aunt Jane for several weeks. We only met on her last visit, regrettably.'

The closing remark was not lost on Edward who ran his eyes back and forth between the two. There was certainly a glimmer of admiration in the young woman's face for Harry, and she yet hadn't bothered to give him a second look.

'Oh...oh, yes...I do...mildly recall,' Harry stammered.

'Would you mind if I joined you?' Amanda asked. 'Unless you are here waiting for someone. Your wives, perhaps, in which case I should prob-'

'Thankfully there is both ample room and ample seating,' Edward said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. 'Please, come join us. Edward Oakfield,' he added quickly as an introduction. 'And you have obviously already met my brother, although he's rather useless with remembering names as you can see.'

'Well I'm sure he has good reason to be forgetful from time to time what with all that important work he does. My aunt was very appreciative of all you had done- as am I. You left rather a lasting impression on us both.'

'That's quite all right,' Harry replied. 'It's my job after all.'

Amanda bit her lip softly and Edward noted a flicker of her eyes. This was a turn-up for the books, he considered. Usually it would have been Harry as the third wheel in this situation, but Edward was well and truly the spare this morning. And a rather flat one at that, if introductions were any guide.

'You are here with your family?' Edward questioned, eager to become involved.

'Just my parents,' she said. 'My sister and her husband are in Paris on business, but we expect to meet up with them next week. For now...well, I'm having to toe the line with my parents as it were which is rather quite a bore as I've never been here before and I don't know anyone.'

'That's a shame,' Harry said. 'We come here every summer. We know all the good places, don't we Edward? We could practically walk the length and breadth of Nice blindfolded and show you all the best sightseeing spots and restaurants.'

'Oh, doctor Oakfield- you would be a life saver to my sanity if I were be permitted to be in your company for at least the next day! I would be very grateful indeed.'

Edward drummed his fingertips on the table and feigned a smile. 'Rather a turn-up, Harry, wouldn't you say? Lucky we haven't made any plans these first couple of days, eh?' He turned to Amanda and beamed. 'And which fine hotel might you be staying at?'

'The Hotel Negresco,' she said quickly, and turned her attention back to Harry who had started to sweat lightly on his forehead. 'So, doctor Oakfield- have you been practising long at all? Oh- perhaps I shouldn't talk shop...after all, you are on holiday.'

'No, no, it's quite all right,' he replied. 'I'm rather quite flattered actually that you recognise me and want to- er, talk shop. Rheumatology doesn't really make for pleasant dinner conversation at the best of times.' There was undoubtably a flush of the cheeks as Harry said this, and their eyes locked momentarily. Edward darted his gaze between the pair and his own cheeks reddened, though this was from a jealous flush. She was surely the most attractive woman to have been caught by Harry's looks, but Edward reasoned this to be more due to his vocation than any charm he might exude. It was all rather an uncomfortable position for Edward, and one that he had never been in before.

'I'd rather quite imagine you are the best specialist in London,' Amanda said.

'Perhaps we should order,' said Edward. 'My brother does get quite dry if he hasn't had his pot of tea by now.' He raised his hand and a waiter almost immediately appeared. 'A drink perhaps, Amanda?'

'No thank you. I'm perfectly fine with my tea.'

'An Earl Grey please,' said Harry.

'That's my drink of choice too,' Amanda said. 'A fulsome flavour quite unrivalled in my opinion.'

'I always start the day off with a brew,' Harry added, and their eyes locked for a second time.

'Monsieur?' the waiter turned his attention to Edward.

'A scotch please,' he replied. 'Make it a double.' He gritted his teeth and watched the pair as they idly chatted, almost oblivious to his presence. Harry seemed to become more confident with each passing moment; the sweat beads had dried up, and even his body language was relaxed. He started to gesture with his hands as he explained the origins of earl grey, much to Amanda's delight. She giggled as he mentioned how Lord Earl Grey's wife had loved the tea so much that she entertained with it exclusively day and night. To Edward, it was the same drivel that women found boring and tedious, yet Amanda's reaction was quite the opposite. For the first time, he realised he had quite a fight on his hands.

To say the morning dragged for Edward was an understatement. It was near on noon before Amanda made apologies to leave and meet her parents for lunch. Edward half wondered if she was going to invite Harry along anyways, and it probably wouldn't have been a bad outcome had she offered. There was only so much petty small talk he could take.

'She's smashing, don't you think?' Harry said. They were walking towards the beachfront and there was an undeniable spring in his step. The same couldn't be said for Edward who lingered two steps behind at every opportunity.

'Is she? I hadn't realised,' he replied blandly.

'Oh, come now, you know she is. And what's more- you're bloody jealous that she's shown more interest in me than you. Go on, admit it.'

'The thought never crossed my mind.'

'Poppycock. You only went into that café because you spotted Amanda and thought her to be an easy conquest. Well, the jokes on you, dear brother and I hope you now know what it's like to have to sit quietly sipping your drink whilst watching something blossom.'

'Steady on, Harry. I don't think she's quite the type to waltz down the aisle. She comes across as quite the independent type.'

'Perhaps. Perhaps not. But she's certainly not the type of girl who would jump into bed with any man either...and I know you thought that's just the type of girl she was.' He smirked. 'So, keep your grubby mittens off her. Not that you are likely to get close enough anyway as I don't think she would give you a second look even if you were the last man alive.' He paused. 'And we have a date tomorrow morning in case you were wondering.'

'I heard,' Edward said. 'You practically asked her twice on the off chance she didn't hear you the first time.' He raised his finger. 'Besides, its not a date. It's just you and her bumbling your way through shopfronts and market stalls with you doing most of the bumbling.'

'Another tinge of jealously I sense there, dear brother. You're just upset as it's the first time you've been shunted to the side in favour of me. Evidently women can see past the slick exterior you exude to get them into bed.' Harry grinned. 'It looks as if you will have to frequent the Baie des Anges all by yourself tomorrow while I, Edward, will be accompanying a fine lady from outside the Hotel Negresco to embark upon a pleasant stroll around this fine city.'

'No jealousy, I assure you. I am merely pointing out that without me present you will be all alone, and I think you are far incapable of displaying social skills that will likely earn you a second date.'

'I think I did perfectly fine with you present,' Harry countered. 'I've never seen you so quiet over a scotch before in the presence of a beautiful woman.'

This remark riled Edward, for he knew it to be true. He clenched his fist and stiffened his back as they strode towards the beachfront. A little seed of an idea began to form in his mind as they walked, and by the time he felt the salty air brush his cheeks he was sure he would be able to return their relationship to the status quo he'd always known.

The pair spent the remainder of the day reading The Times on La Plage Publique de Beau Rivage; Edward fancied himself a quick dip before they retired to their hotel to freshen up and prepare for dinner. Knowing that Harry would take at least an hour to shower and dress as was his custom, Edward took the opportunity to pop down to the local pharmacy where he reasoned the best five francs purchase of all his trips to Nice was made. He returned to the hotel smugly and waited for his brother in the restaurant. Harry was a stickler for time and at 4.50pm precisely Edward ordered two martinis which were promptly delivered to his table. He glanced around to make sure he was not being watched, then removed from his jacket pocket the contents of his recent pharmaceutical purchase before depositing a sizeable dose into his brother's drink. For added measure, he swirled the martini and let it settle.

Harry strolled into the restaurant at a minute past the hour.

'I expect the same in return tomorrow night,' Edward said, gesturing to the drink.

Harry sat down. 'And what makes you think I'll be dining with you again tomorrow night? The day with Amanda might go so splendidly that your company will not be required.'

'And she may also see just how much of a bore you really are and feign illness to avoid prolonging the day with you any longer.' He thought this to be a rather funny retort, and grinned.

Harry sipped his martini. 'I don't think I've ever said this before, Edward, but I do rather think I have finally got a one-upmanship over you at long last. Whatever you may say, there is undoubtably a streak of jealously running though you, and you can't help but feel that I'm perhaps taking away from you something that was never rightfully yours in the first place.'

'Rather a strong comment to make given you've only just met the girl,' Edward said. 'I wouldn't get too far ahead of yourself if I were you.' He raised his own martini. 'Bottom's up,' he said, taking a swig.

One of the best things about Edward being the older sibling is that he often got to know Harry's weaknesses long before Harry realised them himself. One such weakness was Harry's aversion to laxatives. As a child, the pair had raided the bathroom vanity and chanced upon a strange liquid in a metal container. Being children, they had decided to mix the liquid into cups of milk and pretended to play adults at a cocktail party like they had seen their parents do so often. And whilst both boys had fallen ill, it was Harry who faired worst; he spent the next day and a half coiled up in bed in-between bouts of toilet runs. A nasty business, really.

Of course, this fact was not lost on Edward and his quick visit to the pharmacy was having its desired effect. The pair had barely gotten through entrée before Harry excused himself and made a hasty exit. He returned briefly to apologise to Edward that he was feeling under the weather – most likely the ice-cream he'd had on the beach that afternoon didn't quite agree with him, he reasoned- and that he felt it best to retire to his room for the remainder of the evening. Edward agreed it was the best course of action given Harry needed to be up early for his meeting with Amanda, and reminded his brother to drink plenty of water before going to bed.

Edward entered the hotel lobby at ten minutes past seven the following morning and Harry was no-where to be seen. He allowed himself a little smile and promptly returned up the staircase. He knocked gently on his brother's door.

'Everything all right, Harry?' he called out. His question was met by a muffled groan. 'I say, what's wrong?'

'I'm...sick...' came a forced reply.

'Sick? What's wrong with you, man? Is it something you've eaten?' He pushed his head to the door. 'Or drunk?' he said softly.

'I...don't know. Just not...feeling well.' Another groan.

'You don't sound too good, Harry.' He let out a snigger as more whimpering emanated from inside the room. 'What would you like me to do?'

'Just...leave me...alone.'

'What about your date with Amanda?'

Harry let out another groan, once so piercing Edward was sure the entire floor would have heard it.

'Tell her...sorry.'

'What was that? I didn't quite catch it. Tell her to go out without you?'

'Call...her hotel...'

'Meet her outside her hotel, did you say?' Edward supressed a laugh. 'It might be easier if I call her hotel, Harry. But if that's what you want...'

'I...said...call her...hotel.'

'Yes, yes, I heard you. I'll go now and tell her in person then.' He pushed his blonde hair over to the side and wondered if a scarf was necessary. It did look a bit nippy outside. 'Best you get some rest by the sounds of it. Do you want me to bring you back anything?'

'Just...apologise to...Amanda,' Harry mustered in-between more groans. 'Tell her...have to re-schedule.'

'What did you say? To leave you alone and check back on you before dinner? Probably for the best- sounds like I need to let you get some sleep.' Edward did a mental calculation of the time; Amanda would be a bit of a tough egg to crack and he would need most of the morning if he was going to have any chance of getting her into bed before lunch. There was also the chance Harry would still be incapacitated. 'Actually, lets make it about eight o'clock just to be on the safe side,' he called out. 'I'll check back on you then. Rest up.'

Edward stepped away from the door and he could faintly hear Harry protesting, though he wasn't entirely sure what it was about. Probably another twinge in his lower bowels, he thought to himself.

Edward spotted Amanda from afar as she walked down the steps of the Hotel Negresco in her rather conservative summer dress. She looked both ways and leaned against the white exterior wall. Edward waited another five or so minutes and when she appeared to get a little anxious, he stated to quicken his pace and made his way across the street.

'Oh.. thank goodness you are still...here,' he called out, feigning hurriedness. 'Sorry...just let me catch my breath for...a moment.'

'Edward?' she said, perplexed. 'Is everything all right? Where is...where is Harry?' Her eyes darted around.

'Oh, Amanda...well...he's, well he's rather under the weather.'

'Under the weather? You mean he is ill?'

'In a manner of speaking, yes.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Something he ate?'

Edward lolled his head from side to side. 'More like...something he drank. Look, I don't want you to fret and think that he seems to make a habit of this kind of thing. He doesn't- this is only the second time...since we got here, that he has needed to sleep it off.'

She did not look impressed at all. 'But you've only been here two days! Are you ok? You seem a little out of breath still.'

'Its nothing, really. Just that I had to come from La Nein over on the reu de solle.'

'But I thought you were both staying at the Rouge?'

Edward blinked slowly; getting this next part right was essential. 'Oh we are, but Harry thought you were staying at La Nein. Now I explicitly recall you saying that you were here with your parents at the Hotel Negresco, but he insisted that I go find you at the La Nein to tell you that he would not be able to make your outing today.'

There was both clear disappointment and anger brewing in her eyes. 'Well that is a...shame,' she said. 'I thought he only drank tea?'

Edward opened his mouth slowly. 'Well...I suppose he didn't want to be too obvious with his...choice of tipple...'

She sighed. 'I'm rather glad I found out early about this drinking habit of his then.'

'Half his life he has been battling the demon,' Edward said straight-faced. 'And alas, no end in sight.'

She clutched her purse and held out her hand. 'Thank you for being honest about your brother. I know it would not have been easy to disclose such information. And thank you for...well, coming to find me to tell me about his indisposition. I'm sure you had much better things to do this fine day.'

'Nothing that couldn't wait.' He cleared his throat. 'Look, I do have a couple of things to do later this morning, and I'm sure your day feels a bit of a write-off. But perhaps for the next hour or two we could indulge in a walk and a nice cup of tea somewhere to at least make it feel that today isn't a complete waste for you.'

She smiled wanly and opened her mouth to protest.

'I did come all the way from the La Nein after all, and I'm sure I could find it in me to walk another fifty yards for a nice cup of tea and chat with a most delightful young lady.' The words seemed to linger in the air, and Amanda looked away shyly.

'That would be lovely,' she said. 'Just the one drink though.'

'Of course.'

It was a little past six o'clock when Edward tip-toed out of Amanda's room and closed the door behind him. They had been at it for the better part of the afternoon and not long after she had fallen into a deep slumber, he dressed and left without the need for any awkward conversation. He thought she seemed a bit of the clingy sort, and was thankful she didn't know which hotel he was staying at.

He adjusted his belt and set off down the corridor with a click of the fingers.

'Feeling better then?' Edward asked.

They were in the hotel foyer; Edward had returned and was surprised to see his brother up and about, though he didn't really look like he was in the mood for conversation.

'I've had better days,' Harry replied with a winch.

'Still not much colour in your cheeks. You should really be in bed to sleep it off.'

'That's where I've been all bloody day.' Harry rustled the newspaper he was reading. 'Where have you been anyway?'

'Oh, just out and about,' Edward said with a yawn.

'For twelve hours?' He looked away. 'You just can't bear to see me happy for once, can you?'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Harry folded the newspaper and put it down on his lap. 'You know exactly what I'm talking about. I suppose you had a grand old time with Amanda, eh?'

Edward pinched his lips together. 'What do you mean?'

'After you went and told her I was incapacitated for the day, I bet you took her out and...did all sorts of things with her.'

Edward straightened his collar. 'No, I rang her hotel like you told me too and advised her that you were ill like you told me too. Come now, Harry- I was only have a bit of a laugh with you this morning from outside your room. And what with you being a misery guts all day, I wasn't going to hang around this place. Got myself some fresh air and made rather a day of it.'

Harry's eyes perked up. 'And what did she say? Was she keen to reschedule?'

Edward started to walk past his brother and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. 'Sorry old boy- apparently she's heading back to London first thing in the morning. One of her fathers work contracts has gone tits up so it's all hands-on deck. Better luck next time, eh?'

Part Two - Blood

The next couple of days saw the brothers doing their own thing; Harry was still disgruntled about Amanda, and he still had a bit of a hump with Edward, though he wasn't really sure why. He had no direct evidence that Edward had enlightened himself with her, though he was acting a little too jovial to not have gotten his leg over someone. He'd also not bothered to pursue anyone else over the past couple of nights, and that only happened when he'd had his fill.

They were walking down the Rue du Congres admiring the fine collection of shops. It was the middle of the day, and foot traffic was at its peak. The shops seemed to be doing a brisk trade, and the brothers had already picked up a new hat each.

'There's a bookshop around here if memory serves me right,' Edward said.

Harry pointed to the left. 'It's a little further down. We'll pass it in a moment. Double-checking that they have sufficient copies of your ghastly work? Most likely they will; it's probably the same stock they've been unable to offload from this time last year.'

Edward grinned. 'I was asking because I wouldn't mind a good read for later tonight, one that will help block out your bland company.' They walked on and the bookshop came into view. But it was what was outside that caught the attention of Edward. He stopped and stared; perusing the second-hand baskets was a woman that almost took his breath away. She had long flowing blonde hair and a summer dress that was clipped just above the knees. Her arms were taut, and her shoulders seemed to reveal a little more than what was the norm this particular season, but that didn't bother Edward one bit.

'Oh, you really are pathetic,' Harry said, noticing his brother's look. 'I thought you wanted to peruse books, not women.'

'I must meet her,' he let out. 'She is a beauty.' He continued to walk towards the bookshop, his eyes fixated on the woman the entire time. As he got closer, she seemed to become more beautiful; her radiant lips and a tanned complexion only added to his desire.

Brimming full of confidence, Edward strode up to one of the baskets and ran his fingertips over the spines of the books. Finally, he settled on one and tapped it.

'Aha! It's still here!' He pulled out the book and held it up, turning as he did to the woman. 'Meant to grab this one the other day. Heard it's rather a good read.'

The woman peered over the top of her sunglasses and Edward was able to glimpse her blue eyes. Instantly he was smitten.

'Ending is rather a bore,' she said. 'Or so I'm told. Too complex. Not that I'm a book critic.'

'Just as well you're not then,' he said. 'My own literature would likely be sacrificially burned at the stake if you were.'

Harry rolled his eyes. He must have heard this spiel a dozen times.

'Oh, you are a writer then, are you?' she asked.

'Edward Oakfield,' he said, extending his hand as an introduction.

'Mary Davenport,' she said, and accepted his hand.

'And this is my brother Harry,' Edward said almost as an afterthought. 'He's a doctor of sorts.'

'Charmed,' said Harry. He tapped his chin. Davenport...Davenport...he had heard that surname somewhere recently.

'Do you write many books, Mr Oakfield?'

'Not as many as my publisher would like. I generally average...oh, a bestseller every ten months or so.'

Mary smiled. 'Well, truth be told, it is my husband who you would need to impress in the circles of literature. He's an avid reader. I barely get through a book a month.'

Harry chuckled under his breath and supressed a smile.

'That is a shame. Well your husband probably hasn't heard of me then,' Edward continued. 'My novels are more for...a female audience.'

'Oh, don't be so sure of that. He reads all kinds of things. Spends every waking hour when he's not training with a book or four under his arm.'

'I see.' Edward was trying to picture the kind of husband she was married too; probably some old professor who was attempting to wind back the clock of time by rowing or cycling every hour of the day in an effort to impress his much younger wife. He'd seen it before plenty of times, but they were never a match for his boisterous charm.

Harry's eyes widened with reaslisation. 'Your husband's name isn't David by any chance is it?'

'Yes. Yes, it is.'

'I thought it might be. I have keenly followed his...work.' Harry seemed to choose his words carefully and gave Edward a playful wink.

Edward looked a little confused. 'Apologies. It seems I am not familiar with your husband's namesake Mrs Davenport. My brother is a doctor and evidently us novelists do not reside in the same field of work.'

She smiled. 'My husband is not a doctor, Mr Oakfield.'

Harry patted his brother on the shoulder. 'Why Edward, David Davenport just so happens to be one of England's finest-'

But Mary cut him off. 'Oh look, you can both meet him for yourself. Here he is now.'

They turned. Striding out of the bookshop was a giant of a man. He was almost seven feet tall with broad shoulder and bulging biceps. His shoulders were angled but there was no mistaking the muscles that ran up to his neck. His face was square set and his cheeks taut. Under one arm he carried half a dozen books and it looked as if he would have no trouble tearing them to shreds in one attempt were they not to his liking. His shirt was tight around his torso and his pectorals seemed to push the fabric out to its maximum.

Edward's jaw dropped.

'Men just can't seem to leave you alone, can they?' said David as he kissed his wife on the cheek. He was an imposing figure and both brothers looked at one another.

'Darling, this is Edward and Harry Oakfield.' The men shook hands, Edward suppressing a winch as the man's powerful grip took hold.

'Pleasure to meet you,' said Harry. 'I've long followed your progress since your win over that Mike Collant chappie.'

David raised his free hand and posed his fist. 'Twenty-seven seconds was all it took with this,' he said. 'And my coach said I couldn't knock him out in under a minute.'

'Mr Edward Oakfield is a novelist,' said Mary.

'Really?' said David. 'I'm a bit of a reading buff.'

'You don't say. And please- it's Edward. No need for formalities here.'

'Ok then, Edward.' He turned his head and his shoulder muscles seemed to expand with the movement. 'Am I likely to find anything of yours in this place? Unfortunately, they only seem to have a few aisles with anything in English.'

Edward felt his cheeks redden. 'Oh...I don't think so.'

'Edward supposedly only writes for us women in mind,' Mary said.

Harry smirked. He seemed to be enjoying every moment of this. 'Oh, come now, Edward,' he said. 'I'm sure England's finest boxer has heard of your romantic historical drama that set you on the path to greatness.' He said it with a little more sarcasm than he would have liked.

'I don't think so,' Edward protested.

'Please tell,' Mary said.

David widened his eyes and the four stood in silence.

'Mrs...Mrs Wallace and the General,' Edward said finally.

The boxer thought about this for a moment and squinted his eyes. There didn't seem to be any recognition initially, but then the corners of his lips turned. 'Ah...set during the Boer war if memory serves me right? What was the protagonists name again? Constance, wasn't it?'

Harry looked dumbfounded. There could not have been a bigger contrast in character.

'See?' Mary said. 'I told you my husband is an avid reader. Between his strict training regime and those books, I barely get a look in.'

His hand crept up to Mary's neck and he gave her a playful squeeze. 'But when you do get a look in, you don't complain at all.'

'I'm flattered that you recall my work,' said Edward. 'And rather chuffed too. How about that, Harry, eh? Not often we can meet a lovely couple in one of the most beautiful places in Europe and have them remember the story that set me on the path to success.'

'Well, one half of this couple at any rate,' Mary said.

David looked over to Harry. 'Think you need to give your brother a little more credit than he deserves. So what is it that that you do? A doctor you say?'

'A Rheumatologist,' Harry said.

David winced. 'Sounds painful. To be honest, I don't put much credence in folk like you. No offence. I just have an aversion to doctors in general.'

Harry smiled meekly. 'None, taken.'

'Boxing and books,' he continued. 'That's all I'm interested in. And my lovely wife, of course.' He squeezed her neck again. Edward's eyes lit up; he noticed how she seemed to like the touch upon her neck and shoulders and made a mental note to do just that to her himself.

'My mother has chronic back pain,' said Mary.

'The poor man's on holiday, dear,' said David. 'Besides, your mother is not here.' He raised his eyebrows at Edward. 'And thank goodness for that.'

'Happy to give you a referral if you like,' Harry said. He touched his jacket pocket. 'I don't have any cards on me at the moment though, I'm sorry.'

Edward had been looking for an opportunity to ensure he got to see the Davenport's again, and the door had just opened. And all thanks to his bumbling younger brother. 'Well perhaps we might all catch up again whilst we are here,' he said. 'I'll make sure my brother has a plentiful supply of cards for you both. We are staying at Le Beau Rivage. What about yourselves?'

'Oh, but what a coincidence!' Mary said. 'We checked into the Beau Rivage only this morning.'

Edward slowly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was better than he could have ever imagined.

'Pretty good digs, actually,' David said. 'At least it has a decent gymnasium to use.'

'You still train even when on holiday?' Harry asked.

David flexed his biceps. 'Can't afford not to. Have to constantly keep the body in tip-top shape.' He tapped his forehead. 'It's a mental game too. The moment you switch off up here, it's all over. Forty-two wins and a draw doesn't happen by lying on the beach with a martini. I have a regimented training plan even here in the south of France. And every win gets us a higher room number.'

The brothers looked at each other, confused.

'It's some stupid superstition,' said Mary, rolling her eyes. 'Whenever we go away, we just have to stay in a room number that matches my dear husband's win count.'

'Next year we could be in the penthouse suite,' said David.

'Amazing,' Edward said.

'But it's the books that keep the love of my life sane,' Mary said. 'He gets himself all hot and bothered after his weights and sparring sessions, then he calms himself down with a good read.'

'And you do this every day?' Harry asked.

David nodded. 'Wake up at five-thirty on the dot, read for an hour, then a hearty breakfast before hitting the gym for a quick but intense half hour. Then I freshen up with a cold shower, get a solid hour or two reading in then...well, I suppose my delightful wife gets to spend some quality time with me.'

'And here we are enjoying quality time,' Mary said sarcastically. 'Perusing yet more book shops for him.' She prodded him on his arm as if for effect.

Edward drummed his fingers on his thigh. He had been looking for an angle, and this subtle human trait offered a fair chance. By all accounts, Edward reasoned her to be a bit of trophy wife; the gorgeous woman having to follow her sporty and well-known husband around the world, and yet his only interest seemed to be boxing and reading. It was quite possible she often got bored, no matter how glamourous their lifestyle might seem to be from the outside world. And rather a good storyline for my next book, he thought.

'Does your schedule allow for dinner with newly acquainted friends?' Edward chanced, directing the question to David. He didn't want to come across as too forward.

'As long as the company doesn't expect to me to drink,' he replied,

'David is always keen to stay in perfect shape,' Mary added with another roll of her eyes. 'God forbid he should be allowed one drink and risk his entire year's training schedule.'

'I'm sure the three of us can make up for the lost quota,' Edward said.

Harry stared at his brother intently. He had known him long enough to know what he was playing at. 'Yes. It's always lovely to meet new people,' he added.

'We'd love too, wouldn't we darling?' said Mary.

David shrugged his shoulders. 'Just don't complain when I eat the entire chicken and devour everyone's garden leftover garden salad.'

Edward wasted no time. 'Shall we say tonight then? Say five o'clock?'

David shook his head. 'I'll be in the gym at five, then I'll likely be reading one of these,' he said, tapping the collection of books. 'But if seven's not too late to eat for you upmarket lot, then I can't see why not.'

'Perfect,' Edward said.

David turned to Harry. 'Just don't you go chirping on all night about all that doctor mumbo-jumbo rubbish.'

Harry nodded, unsure if David was being serious or sarcastic. The look in his eyes told him it was the former.

'This will be fun,' Mary said. 'It's not often we get to go out with other people.'

'We will be sure to make it a night to remember, won't we, Harry?' Edward said, and patted his brother on the back.

'You are a sly old dog, dear brother,' Harry said after the quartet had bid farewell to one another.

Edward was eyeing Mary as she walked down the rue, her hips swaying from side to side almost hypnotically. 'Now, now,' he said.

'You do realise Edward, that David would pulverise you the moment you even thought about touching his wife. And I, for one, would want front row seats to such a spectacle.'

'She is...just divine,' he said. 'Don't you think?'

'And completely out of reach. For your own sanity and health, I suggest you forget you ever set eyes on her. Go write another book to take your mind off her if you have too or have a cold bath. I refuse to go home with you lying in the plane's storage hold in a wooden box.'

'Bit dramatic, aren't you? Maybe you should be the writer. I rather quite like that little visual.'

'I'm being serious. Look at the size of that man. He wouldn't think twice about breaking your face. And every bone in your body as well. Your desire for the female form has gotten you into trouble before, but I think you really need to think twice before going after Mrs Davenport. I've seen her husband in action. He is not a man to be messed with.'

'I thought you just said you wanted a front row viewing to my demise.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'I just think that you will be biting off more than you can chew, that's all. I don't think this is a good idea at all.'

But Edward wasn't listening. His mind was already turning over with a plan to seduce this lovely creature, and her husband's regimented daily routine would only help.

Edward wore his favourite white shirt and trousers and had spent an extraordinarily amount of time getting ready. He had combed his hair over more times than he could recall, and still he wasn't quite happy with the result. But it would have to do; it was just after seven o'clock and he knew Harry would already be seated downstairs, and hoped the Davenports were there as well. There was something about arriving just a tad late that offered a sense of power.

Sure enough, the three of them were already seated, and Edward walked into the hotel restaurant at a leisurely pace. It was Mary's reaction he was seeking the most, and she did not disappoint. As soon as she saw him, her eyes widened a little and her whole face seemed to radiate. And best of all, the one solitary seat was positioned directly between Mary and Harry on the rounded table.

'Terribly sorry for being late,' he offered as he took his place.

'Not at all,' said David. 'We only just got here ourselves.' The four undertook idle chit-chat and the waiter arrived to take their orders for drinks. As expected, David declined anything alcoholic.

'I see you've been at the gym again,' said Edward, noticing his bulging chest. 'Remind me never to step into the boxing ring with you once you've warmed up.'

'I'm sure that would only happen if you put out a book I didn't enjoy,' he replied, and laughed.

Edward smiled awkwardly. 'I'll try and keep the best-sellers coming then.'

'Please don't give him any more reason to spend time with books,' said Mary. 'I see him infrequently as is it now. I'm seriously considering wearing a hardcover front instead of a dress just to get the attention.'

Edward chuckled to himself. The more Mary spoke, the more confident he felt that her little digs at her husband were indicative of problems at the home front. And that suited him just fine.

Drinks and entrée were served and the four talked about their backgrounds and upbringing. Mary, it turned out, used to be a teacher while David had served in the army during the war. Edward noticed that she had consumed almost twice as many wines as Harry and himself. He took the subtle opportunity to brush his knee against hers and was delighted when she returned the same flirtatious move a few moments later.

'You must have quite an active imagination,' she said as she took another sip of her wine.

Harry leaned forward. 'My brother's mind has been wandering since he was three years old. It is safe to say his imagination is beyond reproach.'

'All those stories you make up,' she said.

David smiled. 'And saucy ones at that, if your first novel is anything to go by. Tell me- are all your stories of a similar ilk?'

'I would be lying if I said my stories were cowboys and Indians.'

'You must be rather popular with us ladies,' said Mary. 'I'm almost rather disappointed now that my husband has one over me in that regards. And quite surprised that his reading library extends to...salacious storylines.'

'His reputation is almost legendary,' said Harry. 'He has left a trail of broken hearts from the Shetland Islands to New Zealand.'

'I sense a bit of angst between you both,' said David. 'Perhaps you ought to see each other out over ten rounds just to blow off some of those cobwebs that's obviously been brewing over the years.'

Edward waved his hand. 'Oh, it's nothing, just a bit of brotherly love. We've always been like this. More so when I started writing. Just a bit of jealously I daresay.'

'Jealous?' Harry said. 'What? Of you? Oh, come now!'

'I might have to get those gloves out earlier than I thought,' David said.

'If I had brothers who were a doctor and novelist, I'd be jealous of them both,' said Mary.

Edward tapped the table with his finger. 'Perhaps you might. But you would always favour one over the other, just as a parent would favour one child over the other- though they may never admit it.' He paused for effect. 'And generally, the parent always favours the eldest.'

Harry folded his arms.' There you go again. You can't help yourself, can you?'

Edward leaned forward. 'Very well, lets settle this once and for all. Mary, David- doctor or novelist? Off the top of your head and with your first preference, please.'

'Novelist,' said David quickly. 'You already know how I feel about the medical profession.'

Mary rolled her eyes. 'Erm...Novelist, if I'm being honest.' She looked at Harry and mouthed an apology.

'Two out of two!' Edward cried. 'The decision is final.' He clapped his hands, then brought both down under the table. His left caught the top of Mary's knee and he squeezed it gently. She flinched slightly, and her cheeks reddened. He was about to release his grip when she slipped her own hand under the table and held his against her knee.

Their play was not noticeable to David, but Harry knew his brother better than anyone, and had seen this same trick umpteen times before. It was the point of no return now; Edward had committed his intentions and was going to follow through no matter what.

'A doctor may not have any books to show for his daily grind, but knowing he has helped saved a life is reward enough,' Harry said. He looked over to Edward and widened his eyes. 'And sometimes he helps mends a broken face from time to time, too.'

'I've dished out plenty of those in my time,' said David.

'A few handsome ones too I bet,' Edward said assuredly. He moved his hand up along Mary's thigh a little and she let out a gasp.

Harry shook his head from side to side gently and tapped his brother under the table with the toe of his shoe. But Edward was brimming with confidence now; the woman next to him was like putty in his hands and he had no doubt he would claim her as another notch on his belt.

Mary gave Edward a wink and he returned with a suggestive eye movement of his own. David seemed oblivious to the flirtatious gestures, instead focusing on the hearty meal before him.

'You mentioned that your mother suffers from acute backache?' Harry asked, hoping to break the chemistry between the pair.

'Yes, that's right. I would love any opportunity you might have to help. She's tried all kinds of things, but nothing has helped.'

'Waste of time if you ask me,' David said.

Harry ignored the remark. 'I...I would love too. I don't have any business cards on me again though. Sorry, I left them upstairs in my room.'

'That's quite all right.' Mary returned her gaze to the elder brother. 'I'm sure we will all be seeing each other again before we return home.'

'You were a bloody embarrassment last night,' Harry said. He was seated in the hotel foyer half way through a copy of The Times. 'And you're really playing with fire now. I saw everything that was going on between you and her.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Edward said, seating himself opposite.

'Oh yes you do. I saw all that hanky-panky going on underneath the table. And in full view of Mary's husband too. You were damn lucky he didn't get up and clobber you one there and then.'

Edward gave a mischievous grin. 'I still don't know what you're talking about.'

Harry growled. 'This will not end well, I'm telling you now. That man is a beast. I swear he got bigger in the few hours between meeting him and dinner.'

'I think you are just jealous again, old boy.' He checked his watch.

'Expecting someone?'

'The Davenport's said they would be pop down to say hello. Well, David will be going off to do his workout of course. Mary, I thought, might join us for a spot of breakfast.'

'You've gone stark raving mad. You might as well cover yourself in olive oil before feeding yourself to the lions to help with their digestion.'

'I think you've got a bit of an active imagination there. I will admit that it's rather a good line though; I do hope you'll let me use in a future release. Oh wait a minute...I think I did actually have that one in my third book, so you've actually stole the line from me.'

Harry shook his newspaper in frustration.

'Oh, have you got any of your business cards on you by the by? Only I'm sure Mary will ask again and it's only polite. Besides, I do think it would be a good referral for you for when you get back, whatever your grievances. You might get quite a few sessions out of the old girl. I'm sure that will help go towards next year's holiday fund.'

Harry reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of business cards. 'Here. Have them all,' he said, tossing them onto the table. 'There's plenty there.'

Edward picked up one of the cards and tapped it on the back of his hand. 'No need to be a stick in the mud about it.'

'Just don't come crying to me when your face is punched in to a pulp.'

There seemed to be sense of satisfaction seeing Harry all riled up, and he couldn't help but turn the knife just that little bit more. 'You know what your problem is, Harry? You're still upset and annoyed that I seem to have all the luck with the ladies. You just can't bear the fact that out of the two of us, I am the superior. And you know what else? I think you're still rather put out about that Amanda girl. You've been harbouring ill feeling since your little stomach episode.'

'No I'm not.'

'Oh yes you are. Don't worry- I saved you from a fate worse than death anyway. She wasn't all that good in bed.'

Harry peered over the top of the newspaper and calmly folded it before placing it on the table. 'What's that supposed to mean?' he asked.

Edward knotted his fingers together into an arch and grinned. 'Oh, come now old boy. Put two and two together and see the funny side of it all.'

Harry tilted his head slightly and the realisation of it all dawned on him. 'It was...you!'

'As I said, she wasn't all that good. Bit of a starfish if you must know. She just sort of...lay there, I suppose.'

'You utter bastard!' Harry exclaimed. 'Why on earth would you do that?'

'To maintain the status quo, Harry. I can't very well have you going off and galivanting around with some girl that I clearly saw first. I had first dibs on her, and you know it.'

Harry leaned forward. 'You are so...childish! You used to do this kind of thing when you were ten years old. Clearly nothing has changed. And to back stab me like that! For what? Just so you could...get your end away and squirrel away another memory up here.' He tapped his head with his fist. 'And to think I've been trying to protect you from having you beaten to within an inch of your life. Oh, you can just go to hell now.'

'I don't know why you have to be such a stick in the mud about it all,' Edward said. 'Its clear that you were never going to have a chance with that girl, and I did say as such.' He leaned back, smug and content. 'I am never wrong, dear brother.'

Harry growled and went to say something else, but was cut short.

'Morning gents.' It was David, dressed in a very truncated pair of shorts and a shirt that looked like it was two sizes too small.

'Morning,' said Edward. 'Off to do a spot of exercise?'

David squeezed his right bicep. 'I think it deflated overnight. Must have been all that salad I ate. Off to get a good set of dumbbell reps in before stimulating the old brain cells.'

'You wouldn't mind doing mine by any chance, would you?' Edward asked cheekily with a wry grin.

David laughed and patted him on the shoulder. 'You're a funny man, Edward. So, what are you both up too this morning?'

'Off for a walk then a spot of lunch,' said Edward.

'I think I might retire back to my room,' said Harry, and promptly picked the newspaper back up before flicking to the latest cricket update on the back page.

'Don't mind him, he's a bit under the weather again,' said Edward.

David frowned. 'Well, best I go get a good half hour or so in of a sweaty workout otherwise the lady of the house will growl at me again for being absent.' His eyes looked up at the ceiling. 'Enjoy your morning, Edward.' He looked over to Harry who was sulking behind the newspaper. 'Harry,' he said quietly, and walked off.

Edward waited until David had disappeared around the corner. He picked up another one of Harry's business cards and popped it into his breast pocket. 'Oh dear, we seem to have forgotten to give our friend Mr Davenport the specialist referral for his mother-in-law.'

Harry peered over the top of the newspaper. 'What are you up to now?'

Edward furrowed his brow several times quickly in succession and smirked. 'Shan't be long,' he said, and left his chair.

'Where are you going?' Harry asked.

But Edward was already off down the hallway towards the stairs.

Edward straightened his collar as he approached room forty-two. He looked around and lightly tapped on the door. Almost immediately it opened and Mary stood before him in a black dressing gown that was open at the front and didn't leave much to the imagination. He ran his eyes up and down her body several times and let out a gasp.

'Lucky you remembered how many fights he had won,' she said.

'I thought it might have been forty-four actually, but then I recalled that old biddy with the walking frame from the room next to yours. God, she was slow in bed,' he quipped.

'Are you just window shopping?' she asked as Edward's eyes continued to dance, 'or are you going to buy something?'

He didn't have to be told twice. His thrust his lips upon hers and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her dressing gown fell to the floor without any protest. Stepping into the room, he back-heeled the door shut and walked her to the bed, their lips still locked intently. With a quick but gentle movement, Mary was on her back on the bed, Edward ravishing her neck with his lips.

'Did you have to wear so many layers of clothes?' she asked, her fingertips running up his shoulders.

Edward stood up and flicked off his jacket, admiring Mary's naked and beautiful body. 'God, you look amazing,' he said. He slung the jacket over the back of a chair. 'Almost forget,' he said and reached into the pocket for Harry's business card. He placed it carefully on the side dresser. 'Make sure you attend all the appointments with your mother. I'll be sure to visit my brother's practice on the days you accompany her.'

Mary teasingly ran her fingers over her stomach. 'It might be my mother's back that needs attention, but right now its my front that needs consideration, Edward.'

'Oh, you are a saucy minx,' he replied as he expelled open his shirt buttons.

Harry had rifled through much of the newspaper but he wasn't really absorbing any of it. He'd been sitting there brewing with anger for nearly a quarter of an hour. England had capitulated in their latest endeavour at Lords, and that was often enough to entice a few grunts and groans, but Harry had barely stirred when he read it. His mind was pre-occupied with milling over the events of the previous few days.

He put the newspaper back down and made a bridge with his hands. He stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed and wide open whilst his lips were pinched shut.

'How dare he,' he said quietly to himself. 'How dare he...'

Suddenly an idea came to him. He'd been taken to be a fool since arriving, and this wasn't the first time Edward had made him to look like a complete and utter twat. The man needed to be taught a lesson, and he an inkling of how to do just that which would shore up the balance sheet from the past ten years let alone the previous couple of days.

He stood up and walked over to the concierge desk. Almost immediately he was greeted by a young man.

'Bonjour. Good morning, sir,' said the concierge. 'How may I be of help?'

'Good morning. Look, I have a rather- er- discreet matter to discuss.'

The concierge leaned forward and lowered his voice. 'Yes, sir.'

Harry bit his lower lip. 'My name's John Smith,' he said. I'm in room one oh four.' He paused, waiting for a challenge to his lie. Satisfied that the concierge had no interest in confirming his identity, he continued. 'It's rather a delicate matter, and I'm not too sure how you would approach it.'

'Perhaps you start by just telling me what the issue is, and I'll see what needs to be addressed and how.'

'Very well.' Harry cleared his throat. 'Well, I was just sitting over there a short while ago minding my own business when a couple of chaps came down and sat near me. Normally I'm not one to pry on other people's business, but there were both quite loud, and...well, the subject matter could not be unheard I assure you.'

'I see. Go on.'

'It appears they are brothers...and...well, one of them seems to have rather a fondness for a certain Mrs Davenport.' Harry fiddled with his shirt button. 'Now, when I say fondness, I think the feeling is a bit of one-way traffic if you catch my drift.'

The concierge narrowed his eyes, not really understanding.

'As in Mrs Davenport not reciprocating those feelings,' Harry clarified.

'Please, Mr Smith- this seems like a personal matter which the hotel cannot-'

Harry cut him off. 'But you don't understand. As soon as one of them saw Mr Davenport come down and go to the gym, he told his brother that he's off- and I quote- "to try my luck with that leggy tart"- and he appears to have done just that. Off and up the stairs he went as quick as a flash.' Harry looked from side to side. 'He could be doing all kinds of things to her now, and your hotel's reputation will be at stake if her husband found out that you knew about it and did nothing. Bit of a drunkard this brother came across as being too. He's probably been up all night sloshing about some cheap vodka...and you know what kind of effect that can have on a man, don't you? Lord knows how aggressive he might get.'

The concierge considered this for a moment. 'Just one moment, sir.' He dashed off into an adjoining office. From Harry's vantage point, he could see he was having an animated discussion with someone from behind the desk. Moments later there was a flurry of activity as the concierge and another man of more senior authority came out and headed straight for the gym.

'Bingo,' Harry muttered under his breath. He waited by the desk and within a minute they reappeared with a furious David Davenport in tow. His face was a contorted mess of rage and anger and his fists were clenched. By the time the trio had reached the stairs, David had surpassed them, and he was pounding the stairs three at a time.

Harry took a deep breath and walked back to his chair. There was a sense of satisfaction about him as he sat down and calmly reconvened the newspaper.

'Should have done something like this years ago,' he said to himself under his breath. 'I won't be living in the shadow of that brute of a brother any longer.' He felt a certain smugness as he re-read the cricket scores, and even England's failure to have the majority of their batsmen in double digits now didn't seem all that bad.

He was about to turn the page when the elevator doors opened and Edward stepped out with a beaming smile on his face. 'Thought you were going off to skulk in your room for the rest of the day,' he said as he meandered over to his brother.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. 'Er...'

Edward straightened his jacket. 'Anyway, I think I might go and get some fresh air. Rather stuffy in that room the Davenports have.'

'What...are you...but I thought you-'

'What are you blabbering on about now?'

'But you were...' Harry looked up to the ceiling.

Edward laughed. 'Goodness me, I don't need half the morning to satisfy an attention starved wife you know.' He brushed past Harry and patted him on the shoulder. 'I'll see you later, old boy. Hopefully you'll be out of this sulky-puss mood by then.'

Harry sat there for a moment, his mouth half-open in dismay staring blankly ahead. It was only when he caught sight of a furious David Davenport at the base of the stairs did he flinch. The man was on a warpath, his face red with rage. And he was making a direct line for Harry, one fist clenched tight and rocking back and forth in a threatening motion while the other was raised above his head with a crumpled business card wedged between his thumb and forefinger.

A Christmas Carol Heist

"Ho ho ho"

Thomas 'Cat' Williams was considered by his peers to be the very best burglar Watford had produced since Lanky Larry back in the fifties. Except for that one time in the summer of '82 when he'd been caught red handed with a set of diamond earrings resulting in a six month stay at her majesty's pleasure, there had been not a blip in his lengthy and illustrious career. Cat had a knack of being able to perform a break and enter in the dead of night- often with the home occupant's asleep upstairs- before sourcing items of high value without leaving any evidence that they had become victims of crime for days or weeks on end. If at all.

When asked by his colleagues how he was so successful at evading the law, Cat said there were three things to consider; firstly, stolen items should be small and valuable. Being small meant they might not be missed for a period of time- and many people assumed their item was just misplaced or lost as opposed to it being stolen. Vacating a property with a stolen ring on one's finger was also easier than having to sling a VHS recorder over the shoulder. Secondly, he reasoned that one should never be too greedy. Taking all the jewellery from someone's house meant it was much harder to offload- a clear red flag- and his regular sources of cash exchanges would have no qualms in giving him up once the police started to poke around. And thirdly, Cat never, under any circumstance, stole anything what might be deemed to be of sentimental value. Old man Peasy always went on about how he'd managed to nick some grandmother's eighteenth-century necklace, but Cat knew he'd have to toss those kinds of things away as they were just too difficult to convert to cold hard reddies. You might as well steal the Mona Lisa and try and flog it off down the markets, he often told Peasy. Not that he ever listened.

Of course, you also had to be nimble to be a good burglar, and Cat had just the right genetic pool for his chosen vocation. Tall and skinny with double-jointed fingers, he could easily claim those out-of-reach window ledges, and he had an uncanny ability to coil his body into small openings. He was also very light-footed, which often made for a soft landing when those quick exits were called for, especially after some random family dog decided to wake up and earn its keep.

Cat took his job very seriously, and like all work, burglaries had their challenges. Cold winter nights were a test to his slender frame, and the summer months meant he often couldn't start work until after 10pm. And when he wasn't working he was always researching his next job; taking mental notes of homes that offered a potential investment were done even when he was out at the shops or going for a walk through the park. There were also his competitors to consider too; people like old man Peasy were a magnet for trouble and Cat considered his methods amateurish, so he tried to avoid contact with him whenever possible except for a quiet drink down at the local. He also tended to stay away from new estates as it was a given they would be burgled, and the police always seemed to double their patrols there for the first few months anyway. Cat was more than happy to stay out of the limelight. It was his lack of notoriety that made him so successful. He also made a good quid out of his work. It might not be an honest quid, but it was a quid nonetheless.

Cat rarely took a holiday, but there was one night of the year when he added a little bit of fun and spice to his work and that was on Christmas eve. Every December 24, Cat dressed as Santa Claus, complete with fake beard and a bit of extra padding stuffed down his bright red baggy trousers (in the form of a square pillow with a concealed pouch for his Phillips screwdriver, Stanley knife, torch and double A batteries) before setting off through the streets of Watford in search of Christmas delights. It was the only time he ever carried a sack, and if there was ever a night to get away with it, Christmas eve was the one. Nobody would think twice to stop a jolly looking man in a puffy red suit, and he had the perfect alibi if ever he was challenged by the coppers; old man Peasy's grandkids lived locally, and he was but a humble friend out to make some children happy with his sackful of gifts.

He applied the same rules on Christmas eve as he would any other night of the year, only there was never a need to worry about sentimental offerings as it was always going to be new stuff. With that in mind, Christmas eve was a bit of a lucky dip for Cat. His own Christmas morning was spent peeling off the wrapping paper and cooing in delight at whatever random stranger had gifted him. There was the time he'd got a lovely Seiko watch meant for uncle Lewis (and he bet cousin Wallace always wondered where that one had ended up!) and just last Christmas Cat was in awe when he opened a gift meant for Dad to reveal a 'This is Spinal Tap' sweatshirt. He'd been eyeing the very same one in Fosters just the week before.

Of course, there had been the usual disappointments too; one year over on Swansea Street Cat had taken a keen eye to a small nicely wrapped box he was sure contained a necklace. It made a nice jingly-jangly noise when he shook it from side to side, and Cat was confident he could offload it in the new year for a pretty penny. Unfortunately, it turned out that Jim's undying love for Samantha extended to a new car, and Cat only hoped Jim had bothered to include an AA membership because she was going to find it bloody hard to start the thing in the morning without the keys.

Cat's sack this Christmas eve was practically overflowing with goodies. He'd been at it for almost three hours now and reasoned he could get one more house in before calling it a night and pouring himself that all important scotch he'd been wanting since 32 Elm Terrace (courtesy of Jack who was the best grand poppy in the whole wide world if the attached card was anything to go by).

He crossed the road and went past the brambles that hid the signage to Astley Lane. Cat noticed the corner street light had exhausted its lifecycle and the adjacent end house had a small two-foot wall around the garden. Cat walked over and glanced around. The house was nondescript in character and the garden appeared to be in a need of a little more tender loving care than it should have been getting, but there was nothing run-down about the place; he'd certainly seen far worse. It was then Cat caught sight of a partially open bay window and the outline of a Christmas tree could be seen at the back of the living room. As if on cue, a Felix cat sprang up onto the window ledge and slunk into the house.

'Home sweet home eh, Tiddles?' Cat whispered to himself. He stepped over the wall and walked up to the window. 'Won't be needing me tools for this one,' he said as he reached inside, lifted the locking catch and extended the window open. It never surprised Cat how poor some people were at their home security measures. To think there were always those public information films being shown on the TV about keeping all your doors and windows locked too. Cat always made sure his own place was like Fort Knox; you never knew who was out and about.

Without any ado, he was inside the house in a blink of an eye. He was going to leave the sack outside, but the small wall and the fact it was a corner house made it visible to any passer's by, so he eased it up and over the window ledge behind him. Paying an extra two pounds for the sack with the reinforced lining definitely had its merits.

Cat looked around. There wasn't much in the way of furniture- a couple of sofas that had seen better days were positioned around an old TV, and a small dining table with three chairs next to a dresser were the only things of note. But whoever lived here had obviously been having a bit of a knees-up; the table was covered in empty beer bottles and the smell of Castlemaine permeated through the room. There were more empty bottles scattered about the place and it reminded Cat of his own grandfather's house where nutrition came in an amber and bitter form all year round.

He turned his attention to the Christmas tree which seemed well past its use by date; there were gaps between some of the artificial branches and it looked like a couple of the limbs had also been positioned at the wrong height. A solitary strip of tinsel was draped diagonally from opposing ends and apart from the angel which hung awkwardly from the apex, the tree was devoid of any decorations or lighting. Underneath the tree were just a few presents sprinkled with fine dust. Cat peeked at the labels and they all seemed to be to Anna from Santa. One of the presents wasn't even wrapped; it was a stuffed teddy bear with a pink bow around its neck. This house didn't really offer the best spoils of the night, but then beggars can't be choosers, Cat mused.

Just as he wondered if the bear might be the pick of the bunch, Cat caught sight of a small ring box with a gift tag hanging off the side. Ah, now this is more like it! And if its not a ring, it's bound to be a set of earrings instead!

He picked up the box and casually tossed it into his sack without giving it a second thought. Cat felt a bit peckish and checked the table in the vain hope he might secure a biscuit or two, but the owner of this house had obviously put their stock into Santa preferencing beer bottle dregs.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Cat exited the same way he had entered, remembering to adjust the window back to its original position, though he doubted his feline number would be venturing back outside again tonight. He sauntered off down the road humming Jingle Bells, and considered the night to be a complete success. And if he was lucky, he'd make it back in time to catch the end of BBC1's telecast of Val Doonican's Christmas Party. Coupled with a nip or three of scotch of course.

He stopped under the next available streetlight and turned to look back over his shoulder. Something didn't quite sit right with him about the Astley Lane house, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He put the sack down and pondered a moment.

He took out the small ring box and flicked open the small gift card with his fingers. It read:

"My dearest Bella,

I miss you with all my heart

Until we meet again

Ti amo"

'Well that's just bloody great,' he said. Cat prised open the box, unable to contain his curiosity. Inside was an old wedding ring with a small diamond set inside the mounting. Scuff marks were evident around the edges and one of the clasps was bent. 'Bloody sentimental lot, those Italians,' he added and frustratingly snapped the box shut.

Who gives out second-hand gifts for Christmas nowadays? he thought.

He was in half a mind to toss the ring there and then. It was of no real economic value anyway- he could probably only get fifty quid for it from Freddie the cash and carry merchant- and it was obviously a family keepsake of sorts. Highly traceable if ever its owner contacted the police.

Cat looked back to his quarry. Well, it is Christmas.

With a heavy sigh, Cat dropped the box back into his sack and started to make his way over to the corner house again. He repeated the same actions as before only this time he was able to hoist himself and his sack inside in one clean motion.

And to think he was missing Val Doonican for this good deed. Cat wondered if he was starting to go soft in his old age.

'Hello,' came a voice.

Cat froze. In front of him, standing right next to the knackered Christmas tree was a young girl clutching an old frayed teddy. She wore a nightgown and was barefoot. 'Are you Santa?' she asked.

'Er...' Cat hesitated. 'Ho, ho, ho,' he stammered unconvincingly. His heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest and his mouth went dry.

'It's ok. I don't think you're the real Santa anyway. Your beards all crooked, and your tummy's not real.'

Cat instinctively reached for his false beard and adjusted it. 'Er...'

The little girl took a step forward. 'And I know that it's impossible for Santa to get to all the girls and boys in the world in one night,' she said. 'That's why he always has help.' She smiled playfully. 'It's ok- your secret is safe with me. I might only be eight, but I'm not silly you know. I just hope he pays you well. Santa, I mean. You must have a lot of houses to go too tonight and you'll be very busy. I bet you won't get home until sunrise.'

Cat wanted to leg it there and then before she woke up all and sundry. Of all the houses in all the streets of Watford, he had to go and pick the one whose child was an insomniac and chatterbox all wrapped up together.

He raised his finger to his lips. 'Shhh...there, there little girl,' he said softly. 'Shhh.'

The girl looked over to the strewn bottles and up to the ceiling. 'Don't worry, we won't wake my dad up. He's out for the count every night.'

'Ah,' said Cat, understanding. 'And..your mum?' he whispered.

The girl bowed her head solemnly and pointed to the front door. 'She went out one morning and never came back,' she said.

'Oh. Oh I see,' Cat replied. He glanced at his sack and a pang of guilt ran through him. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

'It's ok.'

'And...no brothers or sisters?'

'You should know that.'

Cat thought for a moment. 'Er...'

The girl shook her head from side to side slowly.

'No....' Cat said with little conviction.

'It's ok – I understand that with all those houses you go too it must get quite confusing.'

'Oh it does,' said Cat. He looked over to the table. 'Your dad drinks a lot then?' It perhaps wasn't the most appropriate thing to say but then he wasn't really thinking. This wasn't his usual night time confrontation by a creature of the four-legged variety.

'He used to drink a lot beforehand,' said the girl. 'It just got a lot worse when my mum...well....'

'Oh. There was an uncomfortable silence and Cat shuffled his feet.

'My name's Anna, by the way,' she said. 'What's yours?'

He hesitated. 'I'm Cat.'

She giggled. That's a funny name.'

'Well...it's a nickname. My real name is Tom, but my friends call me Cat.'

Anna giggled again. 'Why do your friends call you Cat?' she asked.

'Because I'm a cat- ' he checked himself. '...A cat lover. I...love cats. All kinds of cats. Big cats, small cats....They're my favourite animal.' He could feel his cheeks redden.

'You're a Tomcat,' Anna said, and laughed at her own joke. 'My dad has a nickname for me too.'

And I bet it has something to do with you being a chatterbox or know-it-all.

'So what's your favourite kind then?' she asked.

'Eh?'

'Cat. What's your favourite kind?'

'Er...' Cat twirled his finger around in the Santa beard. Truth be told, he didn't know the first thing about cats. Couldn't stand them, actually. And he was allergic to them; if he got too close to one his skin would erupt in hives that would last for days on end. 'Black and white ones,' he said finally, remembering the cat that had jumped through the window. 'Just like yours.' He hoped it was her cat at any rate and not some stray that had decided to fester inside for the night.

'Charlie is just a delight, don't you think?' Anna said.

'I'm sure he is,' Cat replied, suddenly feeling very itchy indeed.

'Well I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Cat.'

'It's just Cat.'

She thought about this for a moment. 'I think Mr Cat sounds better.' She took another step forward. 'So, do you know Santa personally, Mr Cat? Or do you just spend your whole time in his workshop making all the toys?'

'Well...'

'It's ok if you don't. I'd imagine he is a very busy man all the year round. He must have lots of elves working for him too. And people like you as well because you are obviously not an elf.'

'You don't say,' Cat said through gritted teeth.

'Looks like you've still got a lot of presents to deliver, Mr Cat. Your bag is very full.'

That seemed a good enough cue. 'You know what, little girl? That's exactly right. It's a very busy night, and I've got to get to all the little girls and boys before they wake-'

'So what did you get me?'

'Sorry?'

'What did you get me, Mr Cat?'

Cat opened his mouth, unsure of how to respond. 'Er...' He then remembered the presents under the tree and nodded his head towards them. 'See? Done.'

Anna looked at the presents then back at Cat. 'My dad put them there already, Mr Cat.' She put her hands on her hips and her teddy seemed to protest. 'Everyone knows that parents always put a few presents under the tree and say they're from Santa, because he's such a busy man what with all the extra children in the world nowadays. Its not like the old days when the population was a lot less.'

'How old did you say you were again?' he asked, more as a statement than a question.

She walked over to the sack and reached down.

'Best you don't,' Cat said. 'Not all those presents in there are for you.'

'So there are presents for me in here!' she said eagerly.

Cat sighed and thanked the three wise men that her dad was a drunkard. 'I...I suppose so, yes.'

'Oh, goody! Can I watch you then? Oh, this is so exciting.'

'Watch me do what?

'Put my presents under the tree silly.'

'Really?'

'Yes, Mr Cat,' she beamed. 'Really.'

'Um...'

'Thank you, Mr Cat,' she said before he had time to protest. 'That would be wonderful.'

He wondered how he was going to make this work. He thought for a moment and reached into the sack. About half way down he knew there was a box of Roses; the distinct size of the packaging and the attached label that read, 'To Fred, Happy Xmas You Fat Pig' was a sure sign that its contents were sweet and chocolatey in nature. He pulled out the box slowly, surreptitiously peeling away the label as he did so.

'There you go,' Cat said, holding it up.

'Is that it?' Anna asked.

'Maybe you've been naughty this year.' Anna drooped her eyes. 'Sorry. I don't make the rules. I just follow what the big boss tells me to do. Hey, it's more than what some boys and girls get, just remember that.'

'Ok, Mr Cat.'

'I'll just pop it over here with the others,' he said, positioning the box of chocolates towards the back of the other presents. Need to look after my waist anyway, he thought.

Anna perked up a little. 'Thankyou. I wonder what it is.'

'That's quite all right. Now then, best I-'

'And what about my mum?' she asked.

'Your mum?'

'She might come back. She will want a present too.'

Jesus. 'I really don't think your mum needs a present. She-' Cat caught himself again. 'She probably just prefers flowers to be honest. Or a memento.'

'What's that, Mr Cat?'

'It's a...its...' He opened the sack back up and took out the box containing the wedding ring. Cat held it in front of her and flicked open the lid.

This could kill two birds with one stone, he thought.

Anna's eyes lit up. 'Oh wow! That's my mum's ring, Mr Cat! My nonna gave it to her. It's supposed to be mine someday too.'

You don't say.

'See, that's a memento. I'll put it over here with the other presents.' Cat felt a lot better about himself already. Quite smug in fact; rather a clever way to bring a difficult problem to a resolution.

Stealing from the dead, he thought. You should be so ashamed of yourself, Thomas Williams.

Anna screwed up her nose, as if to ponder. 'Actually, Mr Cat- you might be right. I don't think my mum will come back. She probably won't need that present. And my dad's left the tree up for about three years now anyway. He can't be bothered to take it down. It pains him too much, I think.'

'I'll just leave it here anyway,' he said. 'Your mum might not have any use for it but I'm sure she would want you to have it. Your granny too.'

'My nonna,' Anna corrected.

Cat smiled, satisfied with his good deed. 'Well, goodnight-'

'And what about my dad, Mr Cat?'

'Your dad?'

'Yes. What present will he get?'

This was getting ridiculous. 'Er...I...I don't really know.' Cat quickly dug into the sack again and went straight for the Glenfiddich. This was all about preservation of the species now. Better to catch the tail end of Val Doonican without a nightcap than to wake up in Hertfordshire Constabulary with a bail application tucked under his pillow.

'Well, well,' said Cat. 'Real top of the pops too. Your dad must have been a real good boy this year to deserve this. Here- I'll let you put it under the tree for him.' He held it out and waited for her to take it.

Anna shook her head. 'He only drinks beer.'

'Eh?'

'He only drinks beer, Mr Cat. He doesn't like spirits. He says it gets him trolleyed.'

'It...gets him...trolleyed?' Cat looked over at the table and estimated there were a good sixteen empties. He silently cursed himself that he hadn't taken that six pack of lager over at Winston Avenue. 'Well I'm sorry, I don't have any beer in here. Maybe your dad would like to drink this instead though? It's really quite nice.'

'I think he drinks enough beer,' Anna said. 'He's already very sad. I think that present would make him worse. And you probably know that too, Mr Cat.'

No arguing with the girl there, he thought.

'Maybe you might have what he's always wanted in there,' she said, pointing to the bulging sack. 'If you look hard enough, I'm sure you'll find it.'

'Er...and what exactly does your dad want? This sack's not exactly Harrods you know.'

Anna grinned. 'He told me once that all he ever wanted was a cup that said, "World's Best Dad" on it.'

'Did he now?' Christ almighty. You'll have better odds of pulling a crisp five-pound note out of my backside after a decent curry. 'I...I don't think I have one of those sorry. Santa only made a handful this year. All of them for the Americans. They're really into that kind of thing at the moment.'

She pulled a face and rolled her bottom lip over. 'Pretty please, Mr Cat.'

Cat groaned slightly and pulled his beard down under his chin. 'Ok...let's see what we have in here,' he said with an air of defeat. 'But as soon as I find something...acceptable for your dad, that's it. Ok?'

Anna half nodded.

'Right. And...here we go.' Cat pulled out a squarish box slightly bigger than his hand.

Anna gasped. 'That looks about the right size, doesn't it?'

'Looks like your dad's a lucky man after all.'

'So that's his new cup?'

'Must be.'

'But you're not sure, Mr Cat?'

'It is,' he stuttered. 'Most definitely it is. I'm positively sure of it.' He passed it over to Anna but she refused to take it.

'If its not the right present, he's going to be even sadder.'

'Is he now?' The cheek of it! Emotional blackmail at that age!

'Best we open it to make sure it's the right one, Mr Cat.'

'Eh?'

'Open it up. We need to open it to make sure.'

Cat rolled his eyes. 'Ok...but if we open it and it is the cup he wants, we can't wrap it back up again. That defeats the whole purpose of unwrapping presents on Christmas day.'

'Yes we can, Mr Cat. There's a load of old Christmas wrap in one of the drawers next to the table. Sellotape and scissors too.'

'You don't say.'

'Please, Mr Cat.'

Cat held the box in front of him for what seemed an eternity. Finally, he relented, and quickly ripped off the wrapping paper.

'What is it?' Anna asked.

'It's a Sony,' Cat said. And not any Sony at that; the mystery gift was an all-new Walkman WM-75. Splash resistant too. 'Your dad is just going to love that. All your friend's dads will be dead jealous. And you know what- I bet you will be too. You'll want to borrow it from him all the time so you can play your Madonna cassettes on it over and over. Your dad won't be able to get a look in!'

Anna frowned. 'I don't think he'd like it. And I don't have any Madonna cassettes.'

'No? Well what cassettes do you have or what music do you listen to then?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know. Adam and the Ants, I suppose. They're pretty good.'

Bit old hat, Cat thought. 'Well...maybe you can play your Adam and the Ants cassettes on it instead. Does your dad listen to them as well?'

Anna nodded. 'All the time.'

'See, well there you go. I think this will be the perfect-'

'He just wants a Worlds Best Dad cup. And I did promise him one ages ago too. I just know it will make him happy when he wakes up tomorrow and sees one under the tree. It will make him better for sure.'

'Promised him one did you, eh?' Cat made a mental note to acquire vouchers next Christmas eve; they would undoubtably come in handy for those eight-year-old girls who needed to honour a promise with a little something specific in the post-festive sales. 'I'll...have another look then,' he said.

He took out another gift which was a bigger than the Walkman but felt lighter. Instinctively Cat knew it was a couple of things bundled together. There seemed to be some cardboard backing and plastic packaging as it made a noise when he handled it. He remembered grabbing this one from the house on Oak Mews and it was the only one without a gift tag or label. Bit of a risk, but then Christmas is often about getting those little surprises.

'This definitely isn't a cup for your dad, I'm sorry.'

'How do you know, Mr Cat? You haven't opened it yet.'

'I just know. It's too light.'

'But it might be.' There was a look of anticipation in her eyes.

Cat peeled away the Sellotape without protesting any further. She was bound to come up with some reason for him to open the gift if he didn't.

'What are they?' Anna asked.

Cat fixed his eyes on the pair of action figures. They had been inverted against each other to make them easier to wrap. 'Oh my,' he said quietly.

'What's wrong, Mr Cat?'

Cat bit his lower lip and he seemed unsteady on his feet for a moment. 'They're Action Force figures,' he said finally.

'What's that?'

'They're just...just plastic figures.' He held them out in each hand and looked closely at them. The first one was a futuristic red soldier titled "Red Shadow" and he had an air of evil about him. The second was one of the good guys- "S.A.S. Commando." Though the packaging was quite large, the actual figures themselves would have fitted into the palms of his hand.

'Are you all right, Mr Cat?'

Cat's eyes glazed over, and his lower lip quivered a little. 'I'm...I'm ok.'

'You don't look ok, Mr Cat. You look like you're about to cry actually.' She came closer and stood still and quiet.

'It's...it's just that these remind me of my son,' said Cat finally.

'I don't understand, Mr Cat. You mean they look like him?'

'No, no. Not like that. I mean they remind me of how he used to play with them. They used to be his favourite toys.'

'Oh, I see.'

Cat smiled weakly. 'I don't know why I'm even telling you this.'

'If it makes you sad like my dad, you don't have too.'

Oh, the sweet innocence of children, Cat thought. 'No, it's ok. In many ways, they're happy memories,' he said. 'You see...a few years ago my son, Timmy- he's probably not much older than you are now I suppose- came back from the shops with his mum with one of these figures. And well- the following week, he came back from the shops with another one. And before long, he had a whole collection of these Action Force figures. And...' Cat looked up to the ceiling, reminiscing. 'And he started to get all the other bits and bobs of merchandise that went with them for his birthday and Christmas...tanks and helicopters and all that kind of thing. Christ, he was getting the stuff left, right and centre. One nan brought him the boat for his birthday...then not to be outdone, his other nan brought him the headquarters base for Easter or something like that. Anyway, within a year he had the whole bloody set. Played with them every day...before school, after school...played with them when he was supposed to be tucked up in bed asleep.' Cat shook his head and forced a laugh. 'And he got a right old bollocking when I caught him doing that, too.'

'They sound like happy memories, Mr Cat,' said Anna. 'So why does it make you feel so sad?'

'Because...because I haven't seen him in a long time.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Couple of years now, at a guess.'

'Why's that, Mr Cat?'

'Because I...because I had to go away for work for a little while,' he said. 'And...that made Timmy's mummy very sad. She wasn't happy that I had to go away. She thought I'd let the family down.'

'That sounds a bit silly, Mr Cat. Why would anyone mind if you had to go away for work? I thought making toys at Santa's workshop would be a good thing.'

He really didn't know how he could explain this without telling the truth. 'It's just the kind of work I do when I'm not making toys. My...other job. Sometimes it might seem a bit wrong to people, that's all.'

'Oh. But can you see Timmy again if you want too?'

'I don't know,' he said. 'Maybe.'

She thought about this for a moment. 'Well do you want to see Timmy?'

'Yes. Of course I do.'

'Then why don't you?'

Cat stared at Anna's innocent eyes. Such a simple question yet so many complex answers. 'I...I just think Timmy's mum wants something better for him.'

'But you're still his dad, Mr Cat. I wouldn't want to leave my dad, no matter what he did. Maybe you should just change jobs and make Timmy and his mum happy. Or work with Santa all year round.'

Oh, if only it were that easy!

'Do you know where Timmy and his mum live, Mr Cat?' she asked.

He thought for a moment. 'Yes...yes I think I do. A few months ago I saw them waiting for a bus down by the Foxton Estate flats. They probably live somewhere there.'

'There you go,' she said. 'You should go and find them. I sure Timmy's mummy wants you to see him after all this time. And I know Timmy would want to see you. If you were my dad, Mr Cat, I'd want to see you.'

'That's very kind of you to say,' Cat replied. He closed his eyes. Could he really give this job up for something legitimate and a little more nine to fiveish? He doubted it. But then, he never thought he'd return to a house to right a wrong either.

Cat carefully put the action figures back into his sack. 'I really don't think I'm going to have a cup for your dad in here,' he said sincerely. 'I'm really sorry.'

Anna seemed disappointed, but she wasn't ready to give up yet. 'One more look, Mr Cat. Please....'

Cat didn't think she would throw in the towel until every present in his sack had been opened. He didn't seem to have much in the way of Christmas spirit that he could offer.

Silently, he reached back inside his back of goodies. He went further down this time towards the bottom. His hand touched a rectangular shaped gift that was too big to contain a cup, but he pulled it out anyway.

'I bet your dad would just love a pair of new shoes,' said Cat. 'I know I would like a pair for Christmas.' Which is exactly why this box had found its way into Cat's possession. The moment he saw it over at Rangehill Crest with the label that read: "To dad. We know how you love Reebok's as much as your kids", he just knew he had to have it. Yes, it was a bit chancy what with the shoe size and all, but despite his height, Cat was an average size eight, so he could always squeeze into something a little smaller, and they wouldn't look too clumsy on him if they happened to be a bit bigger. And who didn't love a nice pair of Reeboks? They were all the rage.

'They might be slippers instead though,' said Anna.

'They might, but I'm pretty sure I remember this one being a pair of shoes.' Cat closed his eyes tight and poked his brow with his thumb, as if to think intently. 'Yes...I'm pretty sure Santa said this was a pair of shoes. Reeboks, at that! Everyone wants a pair of Reeboks for Christmas,' he added.

'I don't think my dad would want-'

But Cat was already tearing off the paper. And sure enough, the wrapping revealed a Union Jack covered box with "Reebok" emblazoned on the side. Cat turned the box around. 'Club C's too,' he said. 'Very nice!' He looked at the sizing; eight and a half. What a score! 'Definitely not slippers,' he said.

Anna didn't move. She did not seem impressed at all. She screwed up her nose and shook her head.

'Hey now, don't be like that,' Cat said. 'These are such a good pair of shoes. Your dad would just love them. Here, I'll show you.' He prised off the lid.

Inside the box was another box; this one was slightly smaller and had no markings. 'Eh?' said Cat. He tucked the shoe box lid under his arm and picked up the smaller box. This better not be one of those Babushka doll tricks.

Cat stood the smaller box upright.

'Open it, Mr Cat.'

He lifted the lid and peered inside.

'What is it?' Anna asked.

Cat put his hand into the box and pulled out the gift. He carefully turned it around to face Anna who squealed with delight.

Hanging from Cat's fingers was a white cup with the words, "World's Best Dad" embossed around the front.

'Oh, Mr Cat, it's just perfect!'

Cat was speechless. It was like he had just won the last golden ticket to Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, only he couldn't tell anyone about it, and they wouldn't believe him even if he did.

'It's...for your dad,' he said finally.

'Oh thankyou, thankyou, Mr Cat! A thousand thankyous!'

Carefully, Cat repositioned the cup back into the box.

'We must wrap it for him!' Anna exclaimed.

Cat didn't have to be told twice. He dashed over to the table and pushed some of the empty bottles together as quietly as he could to make space.

'The paper, scissors and Sellotape are in that drawer,' Anna said, pointing. 'Best you grab a gift card and pen too.'

Cat pulled open the drawer and took out what was required. 'Er...he's your dad,' said Cat. 'Maybe you should wrap it up. It is from you after all. Plus...well, I'm not really good at this kind of thing.'

'My dad always told me that I shouldn't touch sharp things, Mr Cat. Especially at night when I might cut myself and bleed without realising.'

He really needed her help with this, but now was not the time to be having an argument. Hurriedly, Cat unfolded the wrapping paper, put the box down and proceeded to gift it as best he could. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wrapped a present; it was probably for Timmy's third birthday, and he made a real fist of that attempt.

'There,' Cat said after the last piece of Sellotape had been applied. It was a bit of a poor effort really; the diagonal folds were all crooked and the underside of the gift wrap was showing through in various places. At least it looked like a child had wrapped it.

'Can you write in the little card for me too?' Anna asked. 'I'm not a very neat writer.'

'You don't say.' He only just realised how warm he felt; beads of sweat had formed on his brow and his stomach padding was saturated.

'What do you want me to write?'

Anna shrugged. 'You decide, Mr Cat.'

The card was tiny, and he didn't really have the motivation to be writing war and peace. Without saying anything, he simply scrawled: "To dad, x". Short and sweet, he reasoned. Cat stuck the card into place and tossed the stationery and remaining wrap back into the drawer.

'I'll put it right at the front for you,' said Cat, 'so your dad will see it when he wakes up.' It was a good foot out from under the tree and blind Freddy would have struggled to miss it. Her dad would probably even trip over it in his hungover stupor.

Relief swept over him.

'I'll have to give you a gift now,' said Anna.

'There really is no need. I have to be off...all these presents to deliver and all.'

'Please, Mr Cat. I want too.'

Oh, for the love of-

'Just make it quick.'

She walked back over to the Christmas tree. 'I didn't know you were coming, Mr Cat, otherwise I would have got you something special. I suppose I'll just have to give you one of these presents.'

'Lovely. Then I really must be on my way.' At least there wasn't much to choose from.

Anna moved her head around and pointed to the small ring box. 'I want you to have that one, Mr Cat.'

Anything but the ring. 'I...I really couldn't.'

'Please, Mr Cat. I want you too. 'You said before that my mum wouldn't need it.'

'But it's very special and precious to your family. And it will be yours someday. I just couldn't take it.'

Anna crossed her arms. 'I want you to have it, Mr Cat.'

He hesitated and reached for the teddy with the pink bow. 'Maybe I should just have this-'

'No! I want you to have the ring, Mr Cat.'

Cat gritted his teeth. 'Why don't we settle on a compromise?' he asked.

'What's that, Mr Cat?'

'Its...its where we meet sort of in the middle. Why don't I...borrow the ring now, then next Christmas eve, bring it back and swap it over for something else?' He was really thinking on his toes now.

Anna's eyes lit up. 'You mean you'd come back to see me again?' she beamed.

'Absolutely. Tonight's been just...so much fun. What do you say?'

She thought about this for a moment. 'Only if you meet me in the middle as well, Mr Cat.'

He nodded, fearful of just what her demands might be.

'Promise me you'll find your son and be the very best daddy to him just like my daddy is to me?'

'Promise,' said Cat. And he meant it too.

'And then you can tell me all about it next Christmas eve.'

'I just can't wait to come back here again,' Cat said sarcastically.

'Ok, Mr Cat. We have a deal.'

Cat blew out a mouthful of air. 'Ok...Ok...' He reached down and opened the ring box back up. 'I'll just take the ring though,' he said, and slipped it onto his finger. 'See? Its nice and safe there. I won't lose it that way.' And it's easier for when I take the bloody thing off and leave it on the window sill on the way out, he thought. Not for all the Glenfiddich and Val Doonican re-runs in the world was he coming back to this house again.

He tightened the cord around the sack and told hold of the neck. Almost there now, almost there...

'I suppose you should really give my mum something else,' Anna said quietly. 'She hasn't got a present from you now.' Cat's fist tightened. Sweet Jesus have mercy...

'...But I suppose you have a lot of other boys and girls to get too before the sun comes up so I better not keep you any longer.'

Cat smiled, relieved. 'I really am sorry for your loss. Your mum must have been a lovely lady.'

'My loss?'

'It's an adult term. It means when someone has died...it's an acknowledgement of losing that person.'

'Did my mum die, Mr Cat?'

'Well...didn't you tell me she had?' he asked, puzzled. He glanced over to the front door. 'You said she went out that door and never came back.'

Anna clutched her teddy. 'I didn't mean that she had died, Mr Cat. She left with her suitcase.'

Cat rolled his eyes. This had been a Christmas eve to forget. He turned and started to walk towards the window.

'Merry Christmas, Mr Cat,' she said.

'Goodnight,' he replied. 'Merry Christmas, Anne.'

'It's Anna,' she corrected. 'Short for Annabelle.'

'Sorry. Merry Christmas, Anna-' Cat stopped suddenly just as he reached the window. All at once, everything made sense, and the hairs on his neck stood up on end. He touched the ring with his thumb and turned around.

But she was already gone.

The Sweet Passing of Time

"The One"

'Is that all you're going to have? A cup of tea?'

'I'm fine, dad.'oethe

'Yes, but it's just a cup of tea. Aren't you hungry?'

'I'm fine, dad. Honest, I am. A cup of tea is all I want right now.'

'But that's not going to fill you up, is it? What was the point of coming here if all you're going to have is a cup of tea? Seems a bit pointless really.'

'Maybe later, dad.'

The old man mumbled under his breath and glanced down at his own half empty cup. 'Well, I'm starting to get a bit peckish at any rate. Wouldn't mind ordering something from the specials.' He looked up to the window where they were sitting. He thought he could hear the waves rolling onto the shore one after the other and squinted through the panes of glass. 'But I'm only going to order something if you eat as well. I've noticed you've been getting a bit skinny as of late, and I bet you've been skipping meals again, haven't you? Too much fun with that new man of yours, I bet.'

'He's not that new, dad. We've been together six months. And no, I haven't been skipping meals either.'

'Six months! Has it been that long? In my day, you'd have been married off in three. Your mother and I- well, we were engaged after a week of courting. You don't see that kind of thing happen nowadays.'

'No dad, you don't.'

'Six months,' he said again and shook his head. 'Tch, tch. Can't believe it. It was only the other day you were telling me you'd met this new man, I swear.'

She smiled. 'I didn't want to make a fuss of it. I felt like I was still getting over the divorce with Graham, and you had enough on your plate, what with mum...' her voice trailed.

'It's all right,' he said, and leaned over to pat her on the back of the hand. 'We've all had a lot on as of late, haven't we? So when do I get to meet this mystery man of yours...Simon, isn't it?'

'Yes, that's right.' She shrugged. 'Oh, I don't know. Maybe in a few weeks. He works in the army you see so it's hard to find the time when we can both come visit you. But you will get to meet him. I promise.'

He took a small sip from his cup. 'I do remember you saying he works in the army- you've banged on about it enough times. I'm not senile you know.'

'No dad, I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to come out that way.'

'I might be old, but I've still got a full set up here.' For emphasis, he tapped the side of his head with his forefinger and furrowed his brow. 'I've seen what they say on the tellie about us old folk living in the past with just their fading memories to get by on, but it's not like that at all. Change the milkman for just one day and let me have a chat with him for half an hour- this time next year I'll still remember his name, how naughty his kids have been and whatever else we happened to talk about.'

'I know, dad.'

'So do you like him? This new man you're seeing? You've been with him long enough.'

She thought for a moment. 'We're still taking it slow, dad. It's hard to get back into the dating game with someone new after you've been married for twenty-odd years you know. But yes, I do like him.'

'Well as long as you're happy, that's the main thing.' He looked back outside; he thought he could see a group of young children frolicking about where the cove met one of the piers. It seemed blustery outside and the waves left a trail of froth every time they cascaded onto the shore. 'We used to come here all the time, your mum and me,' he said. 'See where those kiddies are? We used to throw pebbles into the sea right there. And that was back before we were even courting. Eleven or twelve I think we were.'

'I know, dad.'

'Even then I knew your mum was the one for me. I mean, of course I didn't know what true love was back then- nobody does when you're eleven or twelve- but there was definitely something between us. And we had the war to thank for that. None of you lot would be here if it wasn't for old Jerry, you know.

'Back in the day, this place was nothing but sand dunes, except for the old pier that was built back when your grandparents were kids.' He raised his arms slowly and waved his hands back and forth to illustrate. 'Mind you, got to hand it to whoever it was who decided to build a restaurant here though. Don't think I've ever been here when it hasn't been full of people.' His voice trailed. 'Great location...great location. So many memories.'

'I might bring Jack and Gemma next time I come, dad,' said the woman.

'What? To have a meal here?'

'If you like. All three of us.'

'Eh? What do you want to do that for? They'll only sit at the table and mess around with those bloody phone things all the young ones have nowadays.' He nodded his head back to the window. 'They won't appreciate the view and walking along the cove, that I can tell you right now. Don't think they've been down there since they were kids actually, have they?'

'It's just a generation thing, dad. They just like doing their own...stuff.'

'Pah! Rubbish. No excuse for ignorance.' He shook his head. 'I bet they don't even know that your mother and I used to walk over those pebbles down there.' He leaned back in his chair and raised his arms again. 'And we used to come here for a nice meal back when you were a tot. Of course, the décor's changed over the years, and they've probably had a dozen owners since then, but you can't get away from the fact that this is probably the best view in the whole of Jersey. You can't argue with that, can you?'

'No dad, you can't.'

'Menu hasn't changed too much either. Pity the price keeps going up.' He tapped the saucer and smiled to himself. 'Tea's a bit rotten nowadays though. Probably all those chemicals they chuck in the stuff.'

'That's just the way of the world nowadays. Not much you can do about it.'

'I mean, how much was your cuppa? Three pounds wasn't it? Pah! Complete rip-off if you ask me. No wonder you don't want to eat anything.'

'I'm just not hungry. I'm perfectly fine with my tea.' She paused. 'With or without the chemicals,' she added, and smiled.

'Well what was the point of coming here for lunch then?' he said, ignoring her comment.

She pointed outside. 'To see that lovely view for one, dad. And to spend time with you.'

He thought about this for a moment and nodded his head slowly. 'No arguing with you there. Funny to think it hasn't changed much either in all that time. Pier's had a bit of work done over the years of course to bring it up to what they say are required occupational health and safety standards. But it survived old Jerry and that big blow-in we had a few years back...sixty-four, I think it was when that happened. So I'm sure it will be there long after you and I are both gone.'

'I'm sure it will.'

He stared intently and his mind seemed to wander. 'I still remember the day Jerry came,' he said. 'For weeks beforehand there had been this sense of...inevitable dread. Your grandmother and grandfather thought about evacuating, but I'm glad they didn't. I probably would never have courted your mother if they'd left and taken me back to the mainland.

'The Germans bombed along the coast a few days before they arrived,' he continued, pointing outside. 'I remember seeing flashes of orange and red flame from mum and dad's house and the noise was deafening. My father told us to hide under the kitchen table- not that it would have done us much good had a stray bomb hit the house.' He pointed over his shoulder. 'We found out afterwards that most of the damage happened at the harbour, but there were also a few houses hit along with a convoy of lorries. They say a few dozen died that night.' His voice faltered a little. 'I only knew of Mrs Greene, the doctor's wife. She was felled by debris thrown up when a bomb caught their garden wall. Poor dear never stood a chance- killed in the blink of an eye, so I heard.

'The next day there was a lot of activity around the place. No-one really knew why the Germans decided to bomb us. We didn't have any military left on the island- the last lot of troops had left weeks before. All that were left were civilians and a load of children who were on holiday helping with the potato crop. Jerry could have walked onto the island with wooden clubs and still conquered the place, you know. I suppose they didn't really know themselves; probably thought there was a battalion or two squirrelled away along the shore ready to defend the island to the last.'

The woman nodded in understanding.

'When I did go outside, I came here to have a look, actually. I half-expected the beach to be blown to smithereens. Of course, back then everyone went out to have a nosy around. Nowadays everything would be cordoned off, and kids wouldn't be let outside unless they checked in with mum and dad on their phones every five minutes. It's a different world we live in now, eh?'

'Somethings are for the better though, dad.'

He thought about this for a moment and turned his attention to an elderly couple sitting by the far door. 'Bet they have fond memories of this place too,' he said.

She craned her head towards where he was looking. 'They might,' she said.

'Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes...I came here to have a look around. Disappointed I was, if I'm honest. We'd heard about everything that had gone on over on the French mainland, and like everyone else, I didn't want the Germans here, but I did want to see what their bombs were capable of. Hoped to get a souvenir or two I suppose from whatever fragments I might find. And then to see all this landscape untouched...well, it was an anticlimax really.' He laughed. 'I suppose I should be thankful they didn't drop a bomb or two here; there might have been an unexploded one right under my feet and I'd never have known until the last moment. You wouldn't be here if that were the case.

'I was down there by the steps when I saw your mum. She was paddling her feet in the water and throwing pebbles out into the ocean like she always used to do. I remember walking over to her, but we didn't say anything. There was something about what happened the night before that...made it all real, I suppose. Up until then, everyone was living in hope that the Germans wouldn't invade, or that they'd be some fleet of ships sent to protect us. We didn't really think it could happen. And for what end? A couple of tiny islands of no consequence. There was no military here to fight, no rich spoils to conquer. Just normal people going about their daily life.'

He paused and took a deep breath. 'It was all a waste really. And it changed us all...up here.' He tapped his head. 'Before that night, we'd come here and play and have fun. But when I stood there next to your mother, we were both scared of what the future would hold. It was as if our childhood had ended in that moment.

'She didn't say anything for maybe two or three minutes, I suppose. She just kept staring out into the sea and occasionally picking up another pebble and tossing it. "Things will be different from now on", she said finally. "Our homes will be taken away from us, and we'll probably be sent away. And I'll probably never be able to stand here again and do this."

'I could tell she was full of mixed emotions,' he continued. 'For a twelve-year-old, she was very mature. She understood things that only an adult might comprehend. So I told her that it would be all right, that we'd still be able to come down and play and throw pebbles every day even if the Germans did invade.' He nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes...I saw your mother in a different light that day. I knew then that she was a very special person.

'I don't know exactly know why I did it, but I reached out and tapped the back of her hand lightly. She didn't move, but I remember seeing her eyes dart down in front of me. So I held my hand there for a moment, hoping that it would perhaps give her some hope. We must have looked a sight, a couple of kids standing almost knee deep in the water, nearly holding hands but not quite.

'She looked back out at the ocean. "Things will never be the same again", she said again. I didn't say anything; I just let her have her moment to reflect, and I understood what she was trying to say. We'd heard all the stories from France, and how they'd capitulated. And England was probably next.' He turned to his daughter and shrugged. 'It's easy in hindsight to say that it was never going to happen, but at the time it was the unknown. And for us here on Jersey, invasion was a mere formality. We just didn't know what it meant for us, whether we would be allowed to continue to live out our lives here or be sent to mainland Europe somewhere and be...' his voice trailed. 'Well, thrust into the great unknown.'

'You were both very brave and courageous.'

He shrugged. 'I don't know about that. But I do know that in that moment down there at the water's edge, I saw your mum in a very different light. She seemed so very grown up. And...and I just knew she was the one.' His lower lip started to quiver, and his eyes glazed over. 'So many memories.'

'I know you miss her a lot, dad. Just...Just hold onto the good thoughts, OK?'

He nodded. 'You can't ever forget something like that. I know it sounds stupid now, but at the time, I didn't even know if I would see her again after that day. The Germans were sure to come back and bomb the place again, and we were fearful they would send us back to the stone age and kill everyone.

'She then asked me if we were all right- my mum, dad and brother, that is. That's the kind of person your mother was; always asking about others and never really bothering about herself. I told her that we were all fine and that none of the bombs had come close to where we lived. "That's good," she said, "Because you can bet a bloody pound of butter they'll be back here again tonight. And they'll probably bomb this beach into the middle of next week too for good measure."

'I told her that she shouldn't think like that. I said that Jerry probably dropped a few bombs here because they were testing them out before trying their luck with London. But of course- and you know what your mother was like- she didn't see it that way at all. She knew it would only be a matter of time before they arrived and took over. And she said something to that effect.' He chuckled. 'There were a few swear words chucked in for good measure too.

'She asked me if I was scared, and I just tried to act all big and tough. I told her that I wasn't going to worry about Hitler's planes and bombs, and that Jerry probably couldn't get their aim right anyway. She had a bit of a laugh at that, did your mum.'

'You were always making her smile with your words,' said the woman.

'But it all changed for us afterwards, didn't it? It wasn't even three days later before we surrendered, and the whole place was crawling with infantry and anti-aircraft defences after that. Anyone would think the crown jewels were being kept here.

'And of course, we all know what happened to your grandfather.' He shook his head. 'Imprisoned for such a trivial matter too, no less. But that's what it was like under occupation, you know. Even failing to surrender your wireless got you locked up, or worse. It's a wonder we didn't have to carry around paperwork just to be allowed to breathe.' He looked down at her cup. 'Are you sure you're not hungry?'

'I'm fine, dad, really. Just being here listening to you is enough. I don't need to eat.'

'Well I'm getting peckish. We've been here ages and all I've done is gabber on. You must be getting sick of listening to me.'

'Dad, it's fine. I like listening to you.'

He patted his stomach. I might just have something light then. I really should be watching how much I eat anyway at my age.' He chuckled again. 'Your mother would be making me eat salad for breakfast, lunch and dinner if she saw the state of me now.'

'You're not that bad, dad.'

'No? And what about compared to that chap over there?' He nodded his head in the direction of an old man who was slowly eating a sandwich. 'Skin and bones, that one. He obviously didn't order a lamb roast with all the extras. I think I've let myself go a little since your mum passed away,' he said.

'She'd still love you no matter how you looked,' said the daughter. 'Of that I'm sure.'

'You're very kind.' He went to say something else, but he sensed a figure approach him from behind.

'Everything all right, is it, Mr Sinclair?' said a man's voice.

'Oh yes. Fine thank you,' he replied. 'I am getting a little hungry though and wouldn't mind ordering something. Just for me, however. My daughter says she hasn't really got an appetite and is quite happy with her tea. Unless she's changed her mind?' He glanced over to her and widened his eyes.

'I'm fine, dad.'

'Very well. Then I'd like to look at your specials first if that's all right.'

'Now, now, Mr Sinclair. No specials today.'

'Oh, that is a shame,' he replied.

The man leaned over and placed a small round plastic container onto the table. 'Have your pills first, Mr Sinclair. Then I'll go get you something to eat. A pickle sandwich all right?'

'No, it isn't! I want to see the specials.'

'Dad, do as the nurse says please,' said the woman. 'It's important.'

'But I want to see the specials,' he protested.

The nurse looked at the woman and gave her a reassuring smile. 'I'll come back in a few minutes,' he said softly.

The woman nodded and reached over to her father. He seemed a little distraught and confused and she rubbed his back for comfort. 'Come on dad, have your medicine.'

'But I want to see the specials,' he repeated. 'Your mother and I always looked at the specials first. It's what we always did when we came here.'

'I know, dad.'

He glanced outside through the window that overlooked the garden. It was full of rose bushes and an elderly lady was caring for one of the pink damasks. Surrounding the garden was a tall red wall with a hint of city life beyond.

He took a deep breath and his eyes glazed over before turning his head towards the same nurse who was now tendering to one of the other patients.

'Waiter, he called out. 'I say, oh waiter. I'd like to look at your specials now please.'

The Other Woman

"A bit on the side"

'They're at it again, you know.'

'Who are, love?'

'Them lot over there- Bob and Ethel. Who did you think I meant? Can't you hear them going at it?'

The old man shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his glasses before absorbing himself back into his paperback thriller.

'They've been going at it for ages. And they're getting louder every night, you know. It's just getting worse as the summer drags on.'

'If you say so, love.'

Margaret Allenby leaned closer to the window. In the house opposite lived Bob and Ethel Mullins in their tidy semi-detached that was not too dissimilar to their own although Margaret always felt she kept a much cleaner ship. With a little help from her rather complicit husband, when he was prompted accordingly, of course.

'She's just about screaming at him now, you know.'

John barely stirred as his wife edged even closer to the double-glazing. 'Mmm,' he muttered.

'I can just make out her arms too,' Margaret said. 'She's waving them about like there's no tomorrow.'

'That's nice.'

She could see Ethel's animated arm movements through the white curtains. Ethel was only sixty-four but she was practically bed-ridden; Parkinson's disease had riddled her body of everything but localised movement, and her health had deteriorated to the point where she could not even transverse the stairs, thanks in part to her rather portly frame. Margaret couldn't exactly recall when she had last seen her ailing neighbour other than it being at some point during the great '76 heatwave the summer prior. She was a semi-regular visitor to her neighbour up to that time, popping over two or three times a week for a chat and a cup of tea; they'd never really been good friends, but there was a mutual respect between the pair that always blossomed over a pot of PG Tips.

'He must have been up to no good again,' Margaret said. 'She's caught him out, you mark my words.'

'What are you babbling on about now, love?' John sighed and book-marked the page before closing it. Whenever she worked herself up into one of these moods, it was best to just shut up shop and listen. Forty-odd years of marriage had at least taught him that.

'Can't you hear her?' she said, turning her head and widening her eyes as far as they would allow. 'She's having a right old dig at him this time.'

'Not really, no.'

'It's getting worse, you know. Every day they're rowing. And it's all down to Bob and his no-good fraternising ways. This isn't the first time I've heard her accusing him of having a bit on the side, and mud sticks for a reason you know.'

'I think you're over-exaggerating, love. I really don't think Bob is like that. I mean, just look at him.'

'Am I? Well she wouldn't be saying these things if she didn't have her reasons. And what about the other week when I said I saw some fancy woman clunking about in heels next to their dining table?'

John sighed again. 'If I remember correctly, you said you thought you saw some woman in a pair of heels. Now you're convinced you've seen one, but only because they've been having a little tiff again.' He adjusted the pillows and pushed himself back the headrest. 'I still think you were imagining it, Margaret. A trick of the light, that's all. I've been telling you for years to get a pair of glasses like these.' He tapped his rims for good measure.

'Don't you be so cheeky, John Allenby! You know perfectly well there's nothing wrong with my eyesight. Or my hearing for that matter- not that half the bloody neighbourhood can't hear what them two are going on about day and night anyway.' She turned back to the window and pushed apart the curtains again just enough to have another peek. She doubted she could be seen anyway- from her position in bed there was no chance of Ethel being able to look back across the two gardens- but she never liked to take a chance.

'It was definitely a pair of women's legs I saw,' Margaret said quietly but firmly. 'Of that I am certain. Tarty heels to boot.'

'Mmm,' John replied with little conviction.

'You don't believe me, do you?'

'I just think you made a mistake, that's all. For one, Bob isn't exactly oil painting of the year material and if his skin is as cracked and saggy as mine, he's going to have a hard-enough time getting a date with lardy Laura from bingo let alone some voluptuous blonde in heels. And for another, why on earth would he be bringing anyone home with Ethel upstairs anyway? Talk about going into the lion's den. That's the last place you would want to be caught out.'

Margaret pinched her lips and tutted. 'I never said she was blonde. I only saw the back of her legs, but I clearly recall she was wearing heels. And who's to say his fancy woman isn't married as well? If her husband's home all day, Bob's hardly going to be going around to her place. With Ethel stuck upstairs, I think their place is quite perfect for those kinds of...wanton rendezvous'.' She nodded slowly. 'Yes, he's been at it all right. And not sixty feet away from where I stand.'

John carefully placed the book on the bedside table and brought the duvet up to his chest. 'Margaret, I really think you are over-exaggerating. There is no fancy woman. And besides, even if there is- it's none of our business.'

'Well I disagree. It's very much our business, especially if I can't get to sleep what with that racket going on all night. Do you know what time they woke me up the other night?'

John indeed did know, for although he was a heavy sleeper, Margaret made an explicit point to nudge him awake to provide said time check.

'No, I don't recall,' he said.

'Three-thirty!' She shook her head disapprovingly. 'Three-thirty! I didn't get back to sleep again until five! My entire body clock was put out thanks to that little episode.'

'Makes two of us,' John said quietly.

Margaret continued as if she hadn't heard. 'So you see, John, it is very much our business. And this isn't the first time it's happened either, as you well know. And you mark my words, it won't be the last either. I'm not prepared to put up with this for the rest of summer.' She paused. 'We're going to have to say something.'

John pulled the duvet up closer. 'Oh, Margaret love, let's not get involved. Whatever it is they're going through, they need to just sort it out themselves. It really is none of our business. And even if Bob does have a bit on the side, I can't say I can blame him what with what's-her-name stuck up that room all day. Good luck to him, I say, even if he is seeing lardy Laura. She's at least a few stone lighter than Ethel.' He smirked. 'And with her, he wouldn't have to tie a plank to his backside to stop himself from falling in.'

Margaret growled. 'Oh, it's all a big joke to you, isn't it?

'I'm just saying, love, that's all. There's not much we can do about it.'

'We can say something to them.'

John lolled his head. 'By we, you are meaning me, aren't you? I don't know Bob all that well, love. Just because he's been our neighbour for the past...well, however many years it is, that doesn't mean I'm good friends with him. I certainly wouldn't be comfortable talking to him about whatever it is that's going on between them either. Anyway, I thought you were quite pally with Ethel. You used to be over there all the time. You'd even do your hair up in curlers before going over, if memory serves me right.'

'That's before she got really sick...and nasty.' Margaret was darting her head from side to side through the curtain, trying to gauge what was going on across the garden. She couldn't see Bob but she knew he was downstairs somewhere, probably plonked out in front of the tellie by all accounts. The shouting had died down a little, but there were still sporadic cries and accusations. 'Oh, maybe I am going to have to go over and have a talk with her. It can't go on like this.'

John bridged his fingers together. 'You just want to go over and have a nosy. I'm telling you now, Margaret- none of this is any of our business. Just let them be.'

'It's all right for you- a steam locomotive doesn't wake you up. I'm a light sleeper at the best of times.' She took a deep breath. 'If things don't improve soon, we'll have to move to a new house.'

'Oh, come now. That's a bit extreme, love.'

'I'm serious. I value my sleep, John Allenby. Oh, my- they've started up again! Just listen to it.' She tapped the windowsill. 'I wonder if they still sleep in the same room together. You know, I've never really given that a thought. I bet he's camped out downstairs on the settee. Probably has quite the set-up for when his fancy woman comes over.'

'Now you are really being silly, love. Why don't you just forget what's going on over there and come to bed. It's starting to get dark outside anyway.'

'What, and lay there listening to that lot all night? I can see at least one window open as well.' She tutted again. 'Nothing to block it out. Nothing!'

'It is summer, love. Speaking of which, any chance you open our window just a little? It's stuffy in here.'

'And have her voice in my ear all night? No thank you! It's bad enough as it is. Besides, if you're so hot, pull that blessed duvet away from you. Honestly, you act like a child sometimes. Middle of summer and rugged up like you're going on a ski trip.' She returned her attention to the house opposite. 'I think I've made up my mind- I'm going to have to see her later this week and say something.'

'What, and tell her to tone it down when she's reading Bob the riot act? I don't think that's your place, love. Just let them sort it out. Please.' He paused. 'And don't go nosing about in their affairs either. You wouldn't like it if Ethel came around here and started poking about in your freshly pressed underwear.'

'Oh, don't be so silly John. You know Ethel can't get down those stairs let alone walk to our front door.'

John rolled his eyes. 'I didn't mean literally, love. It was a figure of speech, that's all.'

Margaret pulled away from the window and sat down on the bed. 'I'm all on edge again now. They'll be at it for hours tonight, you mark my words. Oh, this is really quite upsetting.'

Margaret and John typically spent Thursday morning at the local Co-op, and this particular Thursday was no different. With a shopping list in tow, they perused the aisles whilst the trolley began to fill. They were making reasonably good time and Margaret fancied they'd be almost at the checkout by now if John hadn't dilly-dallied over his choice of mushy peas. They had just navigated into the personal effects aisle when Margaret let out a little gasp.

'Oh, my lord!' she said. 'Will you just look at that!' She instinctively brought her hand to her neck.

John looked up. Ahead he could just make out the gangly figure of Bob as he meandered towards them carrying a small basket. But it was the rather leggy blonde that caught John's eye. She was a few inches taller than Bob, helped along by her platform heels and a tight pencil skirt. Her top didn't leave much to the imagination either; it was some sort of long sleeve V neck with the emphasis very much on the V. His eyes danced between what was inside the top and those quite fancible legs that seemed to go on forever.

'Avert your gaze,' Margaret said between gritted teeth. She forced a smile as the pair approached. 'Oh, look John- it's Bob!' She made eye contact with her neighbour as her peripheral vision weighed up the woman beside him.

'Oh, 'ello,' Bob replied. 'Maggie, John- how are yer both?'

'Fine, just fine,' Margaret said. If there was one thing she hated, it was being called Maggie. She'd pulled Bob up about it enough times before, but she was prepared to let this one time slip; she didn't want to get off on a bad foot with this mystery woman of his.

'Bob,' John said with a inquisitive nod. His eyes returned to the blonde. Her hair was cut short and there was a smidgen too much makeup on her face for this time of day, but she seemed a pleasant enough woman. She smiled at John but didn't say anything.

'Jus' out doin' a bit of shopping, like,' Bob said. 'Couple of things to pick for 'er ladyship.' He paused. 'Oh, sorry. This is my...my sister Abby. Short for Abigail. You can call her Abs.'

The woman giggled at the moniker.

'Sister?' said Margaret. 'I didn't know you had a sister.' She feigned a smile, her focus drawn to the woman's rather hollow cheeks.

'Abs, this is Maggie an' John,' Bob continued, ignoring the remark. 'These two are me next door neighbours. Well, not really next door...more like across the way.' He put his basket down on the ground and raised his knuckles together. 'Our back gardens touch like this, see,' he said, as if the demonstration would explain everything.

'Pleased to meet yer,' said the woman. Her voice was brash and loud. She went to extend her hand, but Margaret tightened her grip on her handbag and brought it close to her chest.

'Likewise,' Margaret said with a curt nod, and tried her question again in a different manner. 'Goodness me, I didn't know you had a sister. They don't look very much alike, do they John? Bob looks so much shorter and has one of those homely...bellies, while you are so...skinny.' She seemed to be having trouble with choosing the right words.

'Well, Abby's only me 'alf sister, actually,' Bob said quickly. 'Different mums, like.'

'Really?' Margaret said. 'Well that is fascinating. And your father had you both, what- just a couple of years apart?'

'Nah. Abby's twelve years younger than me. Little sister, like.'

'Gosh! Oh, you look so much older...so mature.' Margaret widened her eyes a little, as if surprised.

'Ah, thanks, 'at's really nice of you to say,' the woman replied.

Margaret smiled. 'And where are you from, Abigail? We've not seen you over at Ethel and Bob's before.'

'Essex.'

'You don't say. How about that, John, she's an Essex girl.'

'Lovely,' John agreed.

Margaret had a quick glance into Bob's basket. 'And you're obviously staying with your brother? Oh, we must pop around sometime and-'

'She's not stayin' at ours,' Bob interjected.

'Really?'

'Yeah.' He looked awkwardly over to Abigail who seemed to blush a little. 'Truth is...er, well 'er and Ethel don't get on too well, like. An' Ab's 'as had a bit of bad personal news ter deal wit' so she's goin' to be up this way for a few weeks...but with me other sister.'

Margaret coughed a little. 'Your other sister? Oh, Bob, you really are a man of so many surprises. We didn't know you had such a big family.'

Bob shrugged. 'Well, Alice is me 'alf sister as well, like.'

Margaret tapped John on his arm with the back of her hand. 'Did you hear that, love? Bob has two half-sisters. Surprises will never cease!' She leaned forward a little and turned her attention back to Abigail who now seemed to be standing uncomfortably. Probably her calves were in protest at those platform heels, Margaret thought. 'And what kind of personal news has afforded you a visit to stay with your other sister then?' she asked. 'Oh, I hope that question didn't come across as being too forward, dear.'

'Nah, it's OK,' Abigail replied with a slight shrug. 'Me and me man 'ad a row, 'at's all. Well, I say a row- more like he got caught 'aving it off with another woman.' Her expression was nonchalant and carefree.

'Silly boy to give someone like you up,' John added to which Margaret cast her husband a scolding glance.

'Nah, it's all right. S'ppose I should 'ave seen it comin' ages ago. Jus' didn't do anythin' 'bout it at the time.'

'A shame you can't stay with Ethel and Bob,' Margaret said. 'They're such lovely people.'

'Me big brothers not bad,' she replied, giving Bob a gentle nudge with her shoulder. 'It's jus' Ethel I can't stand. Me and 'er could never see eye to eye. And truth be told, she don't like me much either. Reckon she was always jealous of me.'

'And why might that be?' Margaret asked with all seriousness.

Another shrug of the shoulders. 'Dunno, really. Prob'ly me looks.'

'Ab's used ter be a model, yer know,' Bob said proudly. 'We were all dead chuffed when she got her first gig.'

'I bet you were,' Margaret said slyly.

'Advertising pantyhose, weren't you, Ab's?'

'That's nice,' said John, and his eyes instinctively ran down her legs to her delicate feet.

'Ab's has always 'ad the best legs in the family,' Bob said. 'Bit jealous of 'em meself,' he added with a laugh.

'I'm sure you could model other attributes too,' Margaret said with a smile.

'Nah, jus' me legs,' Abigail replied.

Bob cleared his throat. 'Well, er- look, it was lovely seeing you both again, but we 'ad best be off.'

'Of course,' Margaret said. 'You need to get your half-sister back to your other half-sister. I quite understand.'

'Yeah. Er- maybe pop in sometime, eh? Know it's a bit 'ard what with Ethel bein'...er, well, a bit incapacitated like, but am sure we can sort somethin' out. Maybe jus' give us a bit of notice like though, eh?'

'Of course.'

Bob was getting flustered. 'Give us a hoy over the fence or somethin' before you come over. Jus' so I can clean the place up, like.'

Margaret ran her eyes up and down Abigail from head to toe and back again. 'Everything needs to be neat and tidy, yes. I do understand.'

'It were lovely meetin' you both,' Abigail said.

'It was lovely meeting you,' Margaret corrected. She nodded her head slightly at Bob with questioning eyes. 'Send my regards to Ethel.'

'Yeah, course,' Bob said.

'Well that was rather nice seeing Bob again,' John said after the pair had walked away. 'And to think all this time he had a couple of half-sisters! Bit of a dark horse, that one.'

Margaret rolled her eyes. 'Oh, don't be such a fool, John Allenby! Anyone can see that tramp isn't his sister. I mean, just look at her- she wouldn't look out of place on some street corner. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that's where he found her.'

'Now, now, dear. That's not a nice thing to say. I thought she was quite friendly. Not shy at all.'

'She certainly wasn't shy about showing off her bits. You didn't seem to mind either. I saw you gawping at her like she was the last woman alive. It's a wonder your eyeballs didn't catch fire.' She sighed heavily and adjusted her curls. 'But I can tell you right now- that woman was not his sister. She looked nothing like him for a start. And I bet it's the same woman I saw dancing around in his kitchen the other week.'

'I thought you said it was the dining room.'

'Don't be so insolent. You know what I mean.' They both turned their heads slightly and watched Abigail and Bob walk down the end of the aisle. Margaret wondered if indeed it was the same pair of legs she'd seen; there was certainly something familiar about them as they criss-crossed past the soaps and shampoos. John didn't care too much if they were the same legs; he just hoped he would have a chance to see them again.

'And you should have seen what he had in that basket.'

'Eh?'

'The shopping basket he was carrying. I said you should have seen what he had in there.'

'I heard what you said,' John replied. 'I just didn't know what you meant by it.'

'Pantyhose. He had a packet of pantyhose right next to his frozen vegetables.'

'So?'

'Well they definitely weren't for Ethel, I can tell you that right now. The pack he had in the basket had tall marked on the front. Ethel would need an extra tall at least. And another thing- Ethel would have no need to be wearing pantyhose. I mean- she would barely be able to sit on the edge of the bed and put them on for a start!'

John frowned. 'What are you on about, dear?'

'The pantyhose, John! He had a pair of pantyhose that just couldn't have been for Ethel! But I can tell you right now who they were for- that little tramp he was with!'

'Oh, come on, love. That's a bit of a stretch. Maybe he just got the wrong ones.'

Margaret shook her head. 'They were also satin gloss. I've never known Ethel to buy satin gloss in all the years I've known her even when she was well enough- and slim enough- to be wearing pantyhose.' She squinted. 'And why on earth would she even be wearing hose in the middle of summer anyway? Answer me that, then.'

John went to say something but was cut off.

'I'll tell you why,' she continued. 'Because that pantyhose was not for Ethel. It was for that tramp and whatever sordid activities they plan to do together, that's why.' She tapped the trolley. 'Pantyhose model, indeed! Rather fortunate that that little explanation came up in the conversation, wasn't it?'

John took a deep breath. 'I think you're stretching a bow there, dear. And even if everything is what you say it is, it's really-'

'Don't tell me it's none of our business! I told you before- I'm losing sleep night after night because of everything going on with that lot. If Ethel wasn't so vocal, I'd probably be prepared to overlook it, but it's really starting to affect my health.'

'They could just be for his half-sister,' John chanced, trying to deflect the conversation. 'The pantyhose, I mean.'

'Oh, they are most definitely for that woman!' Margaret scowled. 'Only you can be sure that the woman we have just met is not his half-sister! And you know what else? They're probably going to work that packet of frozen vegetables into their little disgusting act as well. I wouldn't put it past either of them.'

The shouting intensified by the following week. Margaret had put off visiting Ethel over the weekend as things had initially simmered down a little, but by Monday afternoon the pair were having a full-blown argument again that seemed to last for hours. Only when the News at Ten finished did Margaret consider it safe to retire upstairs to bed. It was still quite warm, and she chanced opening the window a little to let whatever breeze was swirling about through into the room. Just as she reached for the latch, she caught sight of a figure coming out of the side door of the Mullins' house. Startled, Margaret stepped back before composing herself and moving the curtain ajar just enough to peer through. She let out a sigh of relief; it was just Bob. But what on earth was he doing going out into the garden at this hour of the night?

She watched him as he made his way to the garden shed. He was inside for no more than a minute before he made his way back up the garden path. He seemed to be carrying what looked like a small bag; whatever it was, he retrieved it quickly from the shed and he must have known where it might be found. Margaret didn't notice a torchlight luminate his way.

She looked up to Ethel's bedroom. The light was off, and she had obviously turned in for the night.

'What on earth are you up to now then...?' she whispered to herself. Behind her, John snorted and rolled over. Margaret drummed her fingers on the windowsill and stared out into the garden below as Bob returned to the house and drew the curtains.

Margaret found herself sitting by the bedroom window over the next few nights. Every time Ethel and Bob fired up with a row, she would position herself right under the windowsill and watch or listen to proceedings across the garden as they unfolded. There would be the usual toing and froing between the pair before Ethel would commence a rant worthy of an Oscar performance, usually involving a select choice of words interspersed with verbs describing sexual exploits that Bob was alleged to have committed (seemingly not with his beloved wife). Then things would go quiet for a while before further accusations and insinuations would be aired. Finally, Bob would usually leave the house by the side door, walk down to the shed and return to the house carrying what appeared to be a hessian bag. The curtains would then be drawn and an hour or two later- assuming Ethel had not fired up again during this time- Bob would return to the shed with the bag and go back to the house empty-handed. This routine piqued Margaret's interest and was yet another curious affair in the muddy world of whatever it was that was going on over at the Mullins' household.

One night the pair were still at it past midnight, and Margaret had all but given up trying to get to sleep by the time the noise had subsided. She wondered how the other neighbours were fairing given their close proximity; she knew old man Baxter who lived on the right of the Mullins' place was a deaf as a doorknob, but she didn't know much about those on the left. At least they didn't have back-to-back gardens that seemed to act as a funnel for the accusations Ethel hurled out.

On Friday night she watched yet another scene unfold, one which had been going for a good two hours now. They'd started earlier than normal, and she only hoped Ethel was nearing the end of her fuel supplies for the day. Margaret sat and listened for another ten minutes, and she was about to get up and go to bed when the all-too familiar side door opened before Bob meandered down the garden path to the shed. Moments later he returned to the house and the curtains were again drawn. This time however the side curtain nearest the living room was not pushed the full way across and Margaret had an unobstructed view down the length of one side of the house.

She leaned forward to get a better view. Thankfully it was still quite light, and her eyes were not the rust buckets most women her age were stuck with- or so she told her husband.

She watched intently for another fifteen or so minutes without any further activity, but her patience was soon rewarded. An all too familiar set of high-heeled legs complete with gloss satin pantyhose came into view as they strode across the dining room and into the kitchen. Margaret widened her eyes as the body secured a glass from the top set of cupboards.

'Oh my,' she gasped.

They were sitting at the dining table enjoying tea when they heard Ethel start up again. Bob had responded with a few vocal chants of his own and Margaret held her fork in mid-air, waiting for the noise to subside. It didn't, and she returned the fork to the side of her plate, complete with a half-eaten carrot.

'I've lost my appetite now,' she said.

'Don't be silly, love,' John replied as he shovelled the remainder of his potato into his mouth.

'I have, John, I have. It's bad enough I'm losing sleep every night listening to them go at hammer and nails, but it's affecting me in other ways now. I told you last week I'm not going to put up with it any longer. Or was it the week before?'

'I think you've told me every week, love.' John swallowed the remainder of the potato and reached for a glass of water. 'It doesn't help when you sit at the window night after night listening to them. You're not exactly helping your own situation. Besides, I thought you were going to go and see Ethel and have a chat with her.'

'I don't think that's such a good idea now.'

'Well that's a change of tone. Just the other night you practically insisted you were going to see her if I remember correctly. If their arguments are affecting you that much, it might not be such a bad idea if you went to see her for a visit.' He took another sip of water. 'Might do you both the world of good to see each other again. What's made you change your mind anyway?'

'I just don't think it's a good idea, that's all.' She thought for a moment. 'I might show up when Bob and his fancy woman are at it on the settee. That would be most awkward.'

'You've mellowed. The last time you mentioned his sister, you were calling her a tramp.'

Margaret narrowed her eyes but didn't respond to his comment. 'We're going to have to do something about it though. We can't go on living next to them with her shouting and carrying on.'

'Just give them time, love, to sort it out. Everyone goes through a bad patch in their marriage.'

'Give them time? They've had thirty-eight years to sort out their marriage, John Allenby!' She tapped her hands on the table. 'I just can't go on living like this. You might be able to lie there night after night and tune out, but it's really getting to me now.' She looked down at her half-eaten food. As if on cue, Ethel's voice wailed across the garden; something to do with Bob not paying any attention to her seemed to be the topic of this particular outburst.

'I don't know how he puts up with her,' Margaret said.

'He obviously still loves her.' He peered over the top of his glasses. 'And if he really had a fancy woman, he would have left by now,' he chanced.

'Oh, he's got one all right,' Margaret replied. 'I saw her again last night before you came to bed.'

'Eh?'

'I said I saw her again. He had her over, in full view.'

'Really? How can you be so sure?'

'Because he left the curtains open.' She drummed her fingers on the table lightly. 'I saw everything, you know.'

John straightened. 'And...and was it the same woman we saw at the Co-op last week? His half-sister?' He asked the question a little more excitedly than he otherwise should have.

Margaret stared blankly ahead, as if lost in thought. 'Oh yes,' she said quite blandly. 'It was most definitely her, of that I am sure.'

Inspector Milburn shook his head in frustration. Gloucestershire were all out in their first innings for just eighty-one runs and the scoresheet implied five ducks. Losing was one thing; capitulation was another, and Milburn wondered if it was even worth the team showing up for the remainder of the game.

He folded the newspaper and tossed it across his desk.

'Boss?'

Milburn turned. It was young Sergeant Perkins, poking his head around the door.

'Come to tell me you're getting a call up to open the batting in the second innings?' Milburn asked.

Perkins frowned, not understanding.

'Forget it,' Milburn said with the wave of his hand. 'What can I do for you?'

'You're needed down at Donnington Close, boss. Old lady's been found dead.'

Milburn let out a deep breath and flapped his lips with his fingers. 'No chance she died of natural causes?'

Perkins shook his head. 'Sorry sir. Suspicious, like.'

He'd heard that one before; just the other month there was that ninety-year old over at the new estate who'd died in 'suspicious circumstances' only to have the autopsy reveal a chicken bone wedged in the poor sod's throat. The fact he died at the kitchen table also seemed to have been overlooked by the attending constable and a full day's investigation complete with senior staff-present company included- had been wasted.

'Suspicious how?'

Perkins made a hanging rope impression. 'Strangled by all accounts, boss.'

Milburn sighed. 'Who found her?'

'Husband, boss. He's a bit upset.'

Milburn glanced over at the back page of the local emblazoned with the words, "Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack! Quack!"

'I know how he feels.' Milburn took a deep breath, stood up and stretched his lanky frame. 'OK, just give me a moment, will you?'

Milburn had seen enough dead bodies in his time to be resolute and emotionally detached. The police force was in his blood; his uncle had made it all the way to becoming Greater London's Chief Superintendent during the first world war and his younger brother was a sergeant down in Southampton. And whilst sleepy Stroud didn't quite have the criminal history of London, the town saw enough wrong-doings to keep Milburn employed, complete with its two-murder a year average.

He was pushing forty but in reasonable enough nick; he was tall and slender with blonde wavy hair and piercing blue eyes and a captivating smile that seemed to settle the nerves of victims of crime.

'Thoughts, boss?'

Milburn nodded his head thoughtfully. Behind him Perkins was at the ready with notebook and pencil in hand.

'Well Constable Anderson at least got the COD right at any rate. Blind Freddy could tell you she's been strangled. Ethel Muggins, isn't it?'

'Mullins, sir,' Perkins corrected. 'Ethel Mullins.'

'Right, right.' He took a step closer to the bed. 'Big girl, isn't she?' She was sprawled out with her head face up in-between the pillows, her eyes wide open with fear. There was no mistaking the ligature marks that ran around her neck, the tell-tale blue and purple lines standing tall and proud. 'Husband found her and rang it in, did you say?'

Perkins nodded. 'Apparently. He told Anderson that he'd been out for a walk and when he returned, he found her like this. Well, let me re-phrase that- he told Anderson he found her a few hours after he'd come back from his walk.'

Milburn cocked his head slightly. 'Eh? He didn't realise she was dead straight away?'

'Said he didn't come up here that often. She's bed-ridden, apparently.'

'Well if she wasn't bed-ridden before, she is now.' Milburn stroked his chin. 'Seems a bit of an unusual set-up, him and the wife that is. Could be a motive for murder, what with her confined to this room all day long. Any idea what incapacitated her?'

Perkins remained expressionless. 'Er, strangulation, sir.' He pointed to Ethels neck. 'You can see where she's been-'

'Her disability, Perkins! I meant her disability! What, pray tell, kept her couped up in here? Did she have a particular bad case of dengue fever or suffered from arthritis for example?'

'Oh, right. Er, well...'

'A simple no will suffice, Perkins.' He shook his head and leaned forward to inspect Ethel's injuries. 'If she was a bit of strain on her other half, who's to say he didn't just snap and let her have it? She wouldn't be the first wife to fall victim to foul play from a disgruntled husband, and she won't be the last either.' He sighed. 'Don't suppose we've been lucky to find whatever did this, have we?' He waved his finger around her neck area.

'Not to my knowledge, sir.'

Milburn looked around; the room was cluttered but it was relatively clean and tidy. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. There was a walking frame next to the bed which she presumably used for the toilet and bathroom facilities, and that seemed to be undisturbed. He walked over to the window and peered through the curtains. Opposite was a similar looking house and the upstairs main bedroom seemed to be facing the right way. Both gardens were quite small, and Milburn noticed that a sizeable load of fresh washing was swinging around on the clothesline of the other house. He made a mental note to probe the occupants a little further than would otherwise be expected given the proximity of the two properties. He reasoned there to be a better than average probability that someone there may have seen or heard something. He pushed the curtains back into place and returned his attention to the dead woman.

'What are you thinking, sir?' Perkins asked.

'Well, from the state of the room, it doesn't look like anything's been taken although we'll have to do a full inventory check on any jewellery still lying about the place. But I think we can safely rule out an opportunistic thief who took it upon himself to up the ante and add granny killing to his list of crimes. Quite possibly we are looking at a crime of passion.' Milburn ran his eyes up and down Ethel's large- almost obese- body. 'Although if passion had a pulse, we might also be investigating a missing person's case too.' He straightened his back. 'They're going to have to roll this one down the stairs to get her into the ambulance, you know.'

There was a slight pause. 'Really, sir?'

'No, Perkins, not really! I was being sarcastic.' He looked over to the door. 'Mind you, I don't fancy she'll be getting out of here without some home rectification being required afterwards. Anyway...I've seen enough here for now. Let's go and have a chat with Mr Muggins, eh?'

Bob was sitting at the dining table, his chin resting on clenched fists. His face was stoic and his cheeks a little pale.

Milburn walked into the room with Perkins a couple of steps behind. 'Mr Muggins, my name is Detective Inspector Milburn and this is Detective Sergeant Perkins. Firstly, can I just say how sorry we both are for your loss.'

Bob nodded slowly. 'Thank you,' he said, not bothering to correct Milburn's incorrect pronunciation of his name.

'Er, Mr Muggins, there are a few questions we would just like to ask. Just routine, mind.' Milburn ran his eyes over the hunched figure at the table. The man certainly had the physical strength to strangle someone. Whether or not he had the emotional strength would be determined in due course, he reasoned.

Another nod.

Perkins held his notebook open and Milburn quickly read the notes. 'It says here you went out for a walk about...tenish. Is that a regular thing you do?'

Bob shrugged. 'Sometimes, I suppose. Not every day.'

'Can you be more specific? Today is Monday, for example. Is going for a walk something you are likely to do on Mondays?'

'Dunno. Suppose. Every few days, p'raps.'

'I see. And what time did you get back home?'

'Eleven, eleven-thirty.'

Milburn cleared his throat. 'Where did you go? And can anyone...substantiate your whereabouts?'

Bob looked up. 'Just...the park. Went for a walk, like.'

'And that is that something you also often do?'

'Gotta get out every now and then, ain't I? Park's always a nice enough place to go.'

'And can anyone vouch for you? Were you seen by anyone?' Milburn craned his head forward a little. 'It's just routine we ask this so we can...er, determine the timing of this horrible crime.'

Bob glanced sideways. 'Dunno. Maybe. Couple of mums about with their little ones, I guess. Didn't see anyone I know if that's what you mean.' He shot an accusing glance to the two officers. 'I know what you lot are thinkin'...you're thinkin' I did it, ain't yer?'

'As I said, Mr Muggins- it's just routine that we ask, that's all.' He cast a quick look to Perkins and raised his eyebrows. Milburn cleared his throat and continued the questioning. 'Didn't see anyone loitering about outside, did you? When you left to go for your walk, I mean? Could someone have been watching you?'

Bob shook his head.

'The front door, Mr Muggins...it was left unlocked when you left?'

'Yes.'

'And that's usual for you to do that, is it?'

'Ain't got nothin' worth stealing, have we? I mean, jus' look around yer. You don't expect that kind of thin' 'round 'ere anyway. Nice place this, is Donnington Close. Not exactly Brixton, is it? Everyone leaves their door unlocked, 'specially in summer.'

Not that nice, Milburn thought. Old girl's gone and got herself strangled.

'You told the reporting constable that you didn't go upstairs straight away when you came home.' This from Perkins. 'Why was that, Mr Mullins?' Perkins checked his notepad. 'Says here that you...went upstairs around a quarter to two. That's a bit of a gap between when you got home after your walk. Didn't think to check on the missus before then?'

'I jus' thought she was asleep. She often has a nap durin' the day.'

'So what did you do in the time she was asleep?' asked Milburn. 'Or rather when you thought she was asleep because she obviously wasn't having one of her usual naps.'

'Er...I, er...had lunch. Then...then...'

'Yes, Go on.' Milburn watched intently. Bob shuffled in the chair nervously.

'Watched a bit of tellie.'

'What did you watch?'

Bob looked up at the ceiling. 'Er...Pebble Mill at One.'

Milburn smiled. 'Long lunch, was it?'

'Eh?'

'You said you came home at...' he turned to Perkins.

'Eleven, eleven-thirty,' Perkins said.

'Eleven, eleven-thirty,' Milburn repeated. 'Bit of a long lunch between then and having a gander at the lovely Jan Leeming.' He frowned and turned back to Perkins. 'BBC1 haven't started calling it Pebble Mill at Twelve now, have they Perkins?'

'No, sir. Pebble Mill at One it is, last time I checked.'

Sensing the line of questioning, Bob interjected. 'Er, well look- I might 'ave jus' ducked out into the garden after I 'ad lunch.'

Milburn beamed. Now this was going somewhere. 'The front garden?'

'Er- nah. The back.' Bob thumbed towards the back of the house. 'Jus' some tinkering with the roses. Then I were back in front of the tellie. I like me Pebble Mill. Never miss it.'

'Especially when Jan Leeming's on, I take it,' said Milburn.

'Yeah. Bit of a daily routine for me I s'pose.'

'And then you went upstairs because...?' Milburn waved his hands about in an effort to elicit a suitable response.

'Ter check on 'er.' Bob looked up at the ceiling. 'I called out a few times when I were watching tellie but didn't 'ear anythin', so I jus' assumed she was out for the count. Got a bit worried when I didn't 'ear from 'er after a while though, 'cause it ain't like 'er to be asleep for so long, so I went an'...' He paused to compose himself. 'Well...you, know...'

'And was everything all right between you and Mrs Muggins?' Milburn queried. 'In your relationship, I mean?'

Bob shot another inauspicious look at the detectives. 'We 'ad our rows,' he said. 'But who doesn't, eh? We're not perfect.'

'I see. Er, forgive me for asking this, but I sense you don't sleep with your wife? As in not in the same room together?'

Bob shook his head. 'It's...'er disability. An' ter be honest, ain't much room in that bed for both of us.'

'So you sleep in one of the other rooms upstairs?'

'Yeah. The one on the other side of the landin', like. Or sometimes down 'ere when she's...'aving one of 'er turns.' He nodded to the lounge. 'On the settee.'

'Her turns?'

Bob shrugged. 'She can get a bit...nasty sometimes, like.'

Milburn furrowed his brow. 'You mean physically?'

'Nah. She jus' shouts. Or at least...she used too.'

'And...your children? You have a good relationship with-'

'We never 'ad kids,' Bob said quickly. 'Tried a few times, but it jus' didn't pan out. Then we both got a bit older, like, an' so it were jus' the two of us.'

Milburn saw in his mind's eye the overweight Ethel sprawled out on the bed and wondered if Bob's declaration of child-bearing attempts were a literal representation.

'And you cannot think of anyone who might...have a grudge against you or your wife?' Milburn narrowed his eyes, looking for any tell-tale signs of guilt.

Another shake of the head from Bob. 'We're jus'...normal people. Ain't got nothin' of value, and we ain't got no enemies.'

Milburn sighed. If this was some kind of targeted attack- which given the circumstances seemed quite likely- the question remained as to whether he was somehow involved. With no alibi to speak of, it was entirely plausible that in a fit of rage, Bob killed his wife and then left the house in the hope he would be seen, thus eliminating him as a person of interest. If only we had that bloody murder weapon, Milburn thought.

'Is there anyone you can stay with tonight, Mr Muggins? It would be inadvisable for you to remain here and besides, we will need to take ownership of your home for at least the remainder of the day.' Putting you under caution and giving you a cell for the night might be on the cards too if we crack this egg before tea, Milburn mused to himself.

'Er, not really. Well there' me 'alf sister Alice who lives across town.'

Milburn nodded to Perkins. 'See that Constable Andrews drives Mr Muggins to his sister's house.' And make sure he keeps an eye on the bugger, he didn't say.

'Aye, boss,' said Perkins.

Milburn rocked back and forth on his feet. 'That's all for now, Mr Muggins. I daresay we will be having a chat again soon enough though.'

Milburn was sitting alone at the dining table chewing over the events of the afternoon. Forensics were still upstairs traipsing about the place though he doubted they'd find the rope or whatever it was had been used to strangle the poor woman. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, if the perpetrator hadn't left the murder weapon on the victim or in the immediate vicinity, then it wouldn't be found within a mile of the crime. And Milburn had no doubt that between the supposed time he'd arrived back from his walk at the park, Bob could quite easily have gone to Timbuktu and disposed of the weapon. Of course, if forensics pulled a rabbit out of the hat and determined Ethel had died well before morning- it was still conceivable that she could have been dead since the evening prior- then that would be the smoking gun Milburn needed to get an arrest and conviction.

Perkins- loyal as ever- entered the room and joined his superior at the table.

'Crafty bugger, isn't he?' Milburn said.

'See him get all nervy when you caught him out about his lunch times?'

'Mmm. Something doesn't add up, Perkins, and I'm not talking about my household expenses. This one's too personal.'

'Don't think he'll do a runner, do you?'

Milburn shook his head. 'I think he thinks he has one over us at the moment. He doesn't come across as being that educated, but you know what that type are like. Always thinking they can outsmart the likes of us. Anyway, while that lot are foraging about upstairs, best we make ourselves useful. Nothing from the neighbours I take it?'

'No, boss, sorry. There's some old bloke next door on this side-' Perkins pointed to his left, 'but apparently he didn't see or hear anything. 'No-one's home on the other side so chances are they've been out all day.'

'I see. And what about the houses opposite?'

'PC's Lewis and Bradley are doing the rounds as we speak.'

'And the house directly behind us?'

'No-one's got that far yet, boss. I thought we might look at that one tomorrow when we start the door-to-doors on the other side.'

'Well, it's at least worth tackling that one house now. The upstairs bedroom directly faces where Mrs Muggins was killed, and someone was hanging out their washing today. There's a chance the occupants might have seen something.' Milburn checked his watch. 'Come on, let's do that one now. There's not much more we can do here, and I don't fancy being around when those lot upstairs want a hand getting her out of the bedroom.'

Margaret had already taken a peek through the bay window to see who was at the door, and she promptly loosened the latch.

'Good afternoon,' Milburn announced. 'I am Detective Inspector Milburn, and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Perkins.' Both men held up their wallets with the relevant identification displayed.

'Goodness me,' Margaret said. 'You're here to ask us about poor Ethel, aren't you?'

The detectives looked at one another. 'May we come in?' Milburn asked.

Margaret ushered the pair into the lounge room. John came in from the kitchen and introductions were again undertaken.

'We heard from Mr Averley,' Margaret said. 'He heard from Mrs Brown who lives just down the road from Ethel and Bob. I just can't believe it!' I was just about to bring in my load of washing when I heard the news...doing such menial tasks now seems quite irrelevant in the scheme of things.'

Milburn nodded his head slowly. Evidently news travelled fast in this part of town, courtesy of the abundance of the resident retirees.

'It's just horrible,' Margaret continued. 'And to think her head was beaten to a pulp in that way too!'

'Margaret,' John said. 'Now, now, don't go upsetting yourself again by thinking about it.'

Milburn frowned and continued to nod. Best let the old girl get it all off her chest first, he thought. And what's all this sorry business about her head?

'It all sounds so vicious!' Margaret went on. 'Mrs Brown said Mr Averley told her that poor Ethel's brains were splattered all over the wallpaper! I just can't believe it! Was it as really horrible as she's said, officer?'

Milburn glanced sideways at Perkins. The gossip express had certainly picked up speed in the past couple of hours, seemingly laced with innuendo and rumour. 'I can't disclose specifics of an ongoing investigation, Mrs...er, Mrs Appleby.'

'Allenby,' Margaret corrected.

'Right. Allenby. Er, I know this is rather a terrible shock to you and your husband. Did you know Mrs Muggins well?'

'Oh, Ethel and I were the best of friends, inspector! We used to have tea together all the time.' She turned around. 'Didn't we, John?'

'Well, you hadn't seen her for a while,' he said. 'Last summer I think you-'

'Speaking of tea,' Margaret interrupted. 'Perhaps you should put the kettle on for these lovely officers.'

'Not for us, thank you, Mrs Appleby,' Milburn said.

Margaret smiled at her husband. 'I'd love a strong brew, love, to help me settle my nerves. And you could do with one, yourself, I'm sure. It's been a bit of a shock to us all, hasn't it?'

John gritted his teeth and smiled meekly. 'Tea for two then,' he said and retreated to the kitchen.

Margaret gestured to the settees. 'Please, take a seat, officers.'

Milburn and Perkins settled into the embossed floral settees. Milburn nodded approvingly at how comfortable it felt and made a mental note to update his own hardened furniture with something of a similar ilk.

'I just want to reassure you and your husband, Mrs Appelby,' Milburn said, 'that we are doing everything possible to bring this...terrible crime to a satisfactory resolution. I understand how distressing this might be. I also want to assure you that you are both perfectly safe; we will have plenty of officers in this area over the coming days. We are also working on the...assumption that this crime was a targeted attack and there is a minimal threat to the broader community.' Milburn smiled; the end sentence would do quite nicely to reassure Stroud that the police were doing everything possible at the mandatory press conference the following morning. He might even be able to sneak it in early should he chance upon one of the TV crews that was sure to be loitering around Donnington Close a little later on in the evening.

Margaret relaxed her pose. 'Oh, that is good to hear. I...I suppose I did think that perhaps poor Ethel met her demise at the hands of...well, someone she knows. Or perhaps someone she is aware of.'

This caught Milburn's attention. 'Oh?'

Margaret shook her head. 'It's probably nothing really.'

Milburn tried another tact. 'You knew your neighbours well?'

'Oh, quite well. I used to see Ethel often enough. Less so since she...became incapacitated.'

'And her husband Bob?'

Margaret paused. Perkins was listening intently with his notebook and pencil at the ready and had shifted to the edge of the settee.

'So, so. We haven't seen much of him lately. But we've certainly heard him- well both of them really.'

'Sorry, you've lost me, Mrs Appleby.'

Margaret pinched her lips. 'Well, I don't want to get anyone into any kind of trouble, but there's been an awful lot of shouting going on between them of late. Arguing and...well, all kinds of insinuations, really. More so from Ethel I suppose; she always had a pair of lungs on her, that one. But...it does also take two to tango.'

Milburn listened carefully. The words seemed to roll off Margaret's lips and he knew his decision to visit this house was the right one.

'You mentioned you used to have tea quite frequently with Mrs Muggins,' said Milburn. 'Can you remember the last time this might have been? And was she upset at all about anything in particular?'

'Well to be perfectly honest, it's been a while since I've seen dear Ethel. She hasn't been able to get out of that bedroom of hers, and I don't like to go over what with...him there. I suppose it's been a while now...maybe even as long ago as last year. But we were very close friends.'

Milburn gritted his teeth in disappointment.

'We did run into Bob only the other day though,' Margaret said. 'A week ago Thursday I think it was. John and I were at the Co-op and we bumped into him.'

'Oh? And how was he?'

'Bob? Oh, he seemed happy enough. He was with some woman...his half-sister, or so he told us.' Margaret smiled impassively.

'Er, what do you mean by that?'

'Well- and again, I'm not one to pry- she didn't look very much like a relative. She said she was visiting from Essex and that she was staying with another sister of his.' She tilted her head slightly, lost in thought.

'Alice?' Perkins said, flicking back through his notepad.

'Yes, yes, that's the one.'

'And can you remember the name of this other lady Mr Muggins was accompanying?' Milburn asked.

'Oh yes, her name was Abigail, though Bob kept abbreviating her name for some reason. I thought it was a bit unusual really, if I'm being honest. They...they didn't seem to act like brother and sister. Well, technically they were half-brother and sister, but you know what I mean.'

If Milburn did know, he didn't imply as such. 'Go on.'

'Well...they seemed a bit...cosy, if that makes sense.'

It was Perkin's turn to glance sideways at his superior, and he made the necessary notation on his notepad.

'And...you can describe this lady?' Milburn asked.

She leaned forward. 'Oh yes, though I probably wouldn't call her a lady...she had a bit of street sense to her. It was those platform heels she was wearing, I suppose. And the fact her legs didn't leave much to the imagination.'

'Her age?'

'Early thirties I suppose, which even for a half-sister seemed a bit odd. And her face was gaunt and pale. She looked like something the cat just dragged in.' She stiffened. 'Not that I'm implying she was a tart or anything like that, of course.'

Perkins was frantically scribbling away, making a point to underline the word 'tart' several times.

'Oh, you don't suppose that woman had anything to do with poor Ethel's death, do you?' Margaret asked, leaning forward again.

'We're just trying to establish information to assist with our enquiries, Mrs Appleby.' Milburn pointed upstairs. 'I couldn't help but notice your bedroom window faces directly opposite the Muggins' master bedroom.'

Margaret gasped. 'Oh my, but of course! That's where poor Ethel would have been bludgeoned to death!'

Milburn ignored the comment. 'Your bedroom window,' he re-iterated.

'Oh...oh yes.'

'You didn't perhaps see anything unusual this morning from your bedroom?'

'About what time?'

Milburn opened his hands apart. 'Perhaps you can just tell us if you looked out and noticed anything...out of place. It might have been anytime, really.'

'Let me see. Well...I opened the curtains about eightish not long after getting up...I don't recall seeing anything though. I did hear Ethel and Bob with raised voices again, but as I mentioned before, that hasn't been anything out of the ordinary lately.'

'Any chance you might have heard what they were...discussing?' Milburn chose his words carefully; he didn't want to lead Margaret too far up the garden path.

'No, I'm sorry. All I could hear was voices. I couldn't tell you what they were arguing about- if they were arguing, of course.'

'And what do they normally argue about?'

Margaret shrugged. 'All kinds of things really. Sometimes I just hear voices but don't really know what the topic is.'

'That's all right. Er- and then what?'

'Well...I made John his breakfast then pottered around in the kitchen doing some baking. My sister called about nine, ninety-thirty and I had a natter with her for a bit.'

'I see. And Mr Appleby?'

'Well, he was just sitting where your rather young assistant is. He likes to read, you see. Doesn't get out much. He had a bit of nap I suppose, and I was still pottering about in the kitchen before we had lunch and sat down to watch Pebble Mill at One.' Margaret smiled and nodded. 'We always watch Pebble Mill together. Do you watch it at all, Inspector?'

'No time, sorry.'

'Oh, that's a shame. It's a lovely show. John is a big fan of Jan Leeming, but I think she's rather-'

'If I can just bring you back to the task at hand, Mrs Appleby,' Milburn interjected. 'So you had no other reason to go back upstairs and perhaps glance out the back? For any reason? It's just that there might have been something you saw which might not have seemed all that important at the time, but...might be crucial to our investigation right now.'

Margaret had a blank look on her face. 'No, Inspector. Oh, I'm so sorry. I suppose I'm not much help at all, am I?'

Milburn shuffled his feet. He knew it was a bit of a long shot, but at least she had confirmed the old girl was still singing like a canary at eight o'clock this morning. The old man hadn't knocked her off the perch the night before. And he now had this interesting mystery woman as a lead to follow-up. That was something.

'I notice you had put some washing out as well. You perhaps didn't hear or see anything when you were outside? Perhaps you looked up to your neighbour's bedroom window?' He bit his lower lip in the hope his question might stir a recollection.

'I'm sorry, no. I was just out hanging out my smalls like I normally do. They're still out there now, actually.'

Milburn forced a smile.'You've been most helpful indeed, Mrs Appleby.'

'Allenby,' Margaret said.

'Yes, sorry.'

'That's quite all right.' She tapped her knees. 'Well, I suppose I had better let you gentlemen get back to the business of policing. I'm sure you have plenty to do, not least of all dismantling that shed at the back of their house. That will take you all night, I'm quite sure. But don't worry about us, Inspector, we'll be sure to have the curtains closed the entire time so you can go about your work.'

Milburn frowned. 'Sorry? Shed?'

'Yes. Well that's where Bob kept his hammer, wasn't it?'

Milburn rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he despised more than a criminal who was insistent on his or her innocence, it was the over-active imagination of a local nosy body. 'We promise to be quiet,' he said, trying to keep her satisfied.

'Oh, thank you. Although you probably won't need the entire night, I'm sure. Once you find that hessian bag he keeps hidden away in the shed, I'm sure you will be able to put two and two together in no time.'

Milburn and Perkins looked at one another. 'Hessian bag?' Perkins said.

'Yes. Oh, he's been going back and forth to the house and shed with it for...days, I suppose. No doubt he's been waiting for an opportunistic moment to...do the deed, shall we say.' She smiled. 'Look, it's quite all right. You've been most careful at dancing around the subject, but there's really no need. We all know that Bob has...well, done something quite despicable. And quite likely that woman he knows is in on the act as well.' She leaned forward. 'I saw her over there just the other night. Well, I can't really be sure it was her- only saw the back of her legs. But it couldn't have been anyone else.'

Milburn cleared his throat. 'You've seen him with this...er- bag- a few times?'

'Oh yes. The last time was...oh, let me see...a few nights ago, I think it was. It was quite late, and I did think it rather odd. Came right down to the shed and went straight back to the house with it tucked under his arm, he did.' Margaret shook her head. 'Quite odd, as I say. But considering everything that's happened today, it now makes perfect sense.'

Milburn's eyes flared just a little. 'Best we let you enjoy your cup of tea with your husband,' he said. 'Thank you again for your help.'

Milburn and Perkins were standing outside the little wooden shed. Normally the task would have been directed to one of the junior constables, but Milburn was quietly confident he would find what he was looking for.

Perkins opened the door for his superior. The shed was small, and Milburn had to duck to enter inside. There was the usual gardening tool bench to the left and several shelves to his right. There was only enough room for one person at a time, and Milburn wasn't going to be depraved of his triumph.

'See anything, boss?' Perkins tried to crane his head over Milburn's shoulders.

Milburn ran his eyes over the shelves. At the very bottom was a cardboard box that looked like it was awkwardly slotted into place. 'Just give me a bit of room, will you Perkins.'

Milburn dropped to his knees and carefully pulled out the box before peeling back the flaps. Inside was a hessian bag, the very one that the old woman on the other side of the fence had described. 'Well I've got the bag,' he said. 'Now let's have a looksy at what it has to offer.' Milburn unravelled the neck and peered inside.

'What is it, boss?'

Milburn smiled. 'Something that will make those cricket scores a little easier to digest tonight, Perkins.'

It was just after two o'clock. They'd been watching Pebble Mill at One and John had retired to the bedroom to read a few more chapters of his latest paperback, though Margaret knew it was just an excuse to have a post-lunch nap, as was his vice. She had finally brought in the washing from the previous day and had just put the basket onto the lounge room table when there was a knock at the door. Margaret took a peek though the bay window and saw it was that nice Inspector Milburn again. He was alone this time and was holding a small bunch of flowers. Intrigued, Margaret left the washing basket on the table and opened the door.

'Inspector,' she said. 'Oh, how lovely to see you again. And so soon.'

Milburn thrust the flowers to Margaret's chest. 'For you, Mrs Appleby,' he said.

'Oh, why thank you,' she said, taken aback. 'Goodness me! Whatever are these for?'

'May I come in?'

'Yes, yes, of course. Don't mind the mess. I'm just bringing in the washing that I couldn't finish off from yesterday because of...well, you know- that rather nasty business. John's somewhere about- probably upstairs in bed reading like he always does. Please, do come in.' She ushered Milburn into the lounge and offered him the same settee. 'I'll just go and put these in some water so they don't die. Oh, this is a surprise! I don't know what to say.' She disappeared into the kitchen and Milburn sat down. He rocked the laundry basket back and forth whilst Margaret went about putting the roses into a vase. She soon re-appeared and seated herself opposite.

'I just wanted to give you a token of our appreciation,' said Milburn. 'From everyone at the Gloucestershire Constabulary. We are all grateful for your assistance, Mrs Appleby.'

'Oh, my!' Margaret's cheeks started turning red.

'Now this isn't yet public knowledge, but there will be an announcement shortly.' He tapped his knee proudly. 'I can confirm that a person of interest was last night taken into custody and charged with the murder of your neighbour Mrs Ethel Muggins.'

Margaret gasped. 'And all this...from something I had said yesterday?'

Milburn nodded. 'Now please understand that I can't divulge too much information at this stage, but suffice to say that we were able to...secure an item of interest that allowed us to make an arrest.'

'Oh, golly gosh! So, they did do it then? Bob and this Abigail woman? Bashed poor Ethel over the head with a hammer? Oh my! Just wait until Mr Averley and Mrs Brown hear about it!'

Milburn raised his hands. Ruddy woman will have the rumour mill working overtime at this rate, he thought. 'Now, now, Mrs Appleby. Best you don't jump to any conclusions. That isn't exactly what transpired.'

'No? Well, Inspector...I'm a little shocked and confused. I thought poor Ethel was beaten to a pulp by Bob and that awful woman I met at the Co-op the other week.'

The Inspector shook his head. Perhaps it was best she knew the truth, or at least as much as he might be permitted to provide. 'No, it turns out that the woman you met was indeed the half-sister of Mr Muggins. She was staying at her other sister's place of resistance. Turns out she had become estranged from her husband and had moved to be closer to her family.'

'Really?' Margaret crossed her hands and placed them on her lap. 'Oh, I was quite sure that the woman I saw was not his sister. Quite sure, indeed. Oh dear...and to think I might have said some quite nasty things about her too.'

'But you were right to have some concerns about the hessian bag, Mrs Appleby.' Milburn leaned forward. 'It turns out that it contained the murder weapon that...well, extinguished the last breath from your lovely neighbour.'

'I just knew that bag contained a hammer!' Margaret cried. 'So are you saying that it was just Bob who took to poor Ethel in that manner? Goodness me! He must have made an awful mess of her!'

Milburn shook his head again. 'We didn't find a hammer in that bag, Mrs Appleby.' He bit his lip, wondering how much he should really disclose. Well, he'd come this far...and she had helped immensely in securing an arrest...

'Then what?' Margaret asked.

'I'm afraid your neighbour was strangled.'

'No!'

'Yes.'

'What? With some rope? Oh, I can't believe it!'

Milburn drummed his fingers over the rim of the laundry basket. 'Actually, no. It wasn't rope, Mrs Appleby. You see, inside that hessian bag you'd seen were...well, woman's clothes and shoes.'

'Sorry?' She paused. 'I...I don't quite understand.'

Milburn frowned. 'Well we don't really understand it either, Mrs Appleby. But it turns out your neighbour...well, he had a fondness for dressing up as a woman.'

'No!'

'Yes, he did. And inside that very same bag, tucked right at the bottom next to a pair of high heel shoes and a red nightie, we found a pair of satin gloss pantyhose. It was there, clear as day, mixed in with all the other undergarments he'd hidden.'

Margaret gasped again.

'Undoubtably they were the very pair used to...strangle Mrs Muggins.'

'And...and Bob admitted to all of this?'

'Not entirely, no. We confronted him with the evidence of course, and he did admit to...having a fetish to wearing women's clothes. He said he'd been doing it for years, on and off. Apparently, he'd been doing it more often as of late. It's quite possible that the arguments you'd been hearing were over this...well, whatever it is you would call it. Perhaps Mrs Muggins knew what he was doing and confronted him over it, and it built up to a point where he just finally...snapped.'

'Unbelievable.'

'He didn't admit to killing her of course, but we have more than enough circumstantial evidence to secure a conviction. I daresay Mr Muggins will be going away for a very long time once he gets his day in court.'

'I'm in shock!' Margaret said. 'Complete shock!'

'Once you mentioned about the hessian bag, we knew exactly what we were looking for.' Milburn smiled. Best three pounds I've ever spent too on a bunch of roses, Milburn thought. They'll be adding a 'chief' to my door nameplate in no time.

'Well I'm very pleased for you,' said Margaret. 'And pleased you got your man, even though I was quite sure there was also a woman involved.'

She waited until the Inspector had hopped into his car and driven off before returning to the task of her laundry. John came down the stairs and pointed to the roses standing proudly on the hallway table.

'What was all that about then, love?' he asked. 'I heard you chatting to someone.'

'Told you about getting your ears checked. It was just that nice Inspector man.'

'Oh, right. So, what did he want? More questions?'

'He just popped in to let us know they had arrested Bob. I really can't believe it myself, but it appears he was responsible for poor Ethel's murder.' She shook her head in disbelief. 'Well I suppose the only bit of good news is that things are going to be a bit quieter here from now on. Oh, yes indeed. Much quieter.'

Margaret reached into the laundry basket and lifted out a pair of black pantyhose. They hadn't been worn for months but she had washed them anyway.

###

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Twisted Tales will return with Mr Gunners

Inspector Macabre series:

The Case of the Buried Girl

The Case of the Bludgeoned Headmaster

The Case of the Impaled Wife (coming soon)

Twisted Tales series:

Twisted Tales Episode I – Services Rendered

Twisted Tales Episode II – The Gift

Twisted Tales Episode III – The Punter

Twisted Tales Episode IV – Beware The Baker Boys

Twisted Tales Episode V – Honey Trap Enterprises

Twisted Tales Episode VI – Lip Service

Twisted Tales Episode VII – Flesh and Blood

Twisted Tales Episode VIII – A Christmas Heist

Twisted Tales Episode IX – The Sweet Passing of Time

Twisted Tales Episode X – The Other Woman

Twisted Tales Episode XI – Mr Gunners (coming soon)

