Hot Property

As Marion trawled the factory, rounding up her precious dockets, Juno waited in the queue at the bus-stop. She’d just spotted her bus approaching when a van pulled up on the opposite pavement, directly in front of Beech Brothers. On its side was an image of rolling hills, lush fields and impressively leafy trees, and the words Happy Valley – straight from the cow. Juno watched as a man emerged from the building and dragged a trolley onto the pavement. His weaselly face looked agitated.

“Where the bleedin’ hell were you, George?”

The driver jumped from the cab and sauntered round to join the man with the trolley.

“Keep your hair on, Ted. The van broke down – I had to borrow one of theirs.”

“Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you give me a bell? I’ve been expecting you all morning.”

George rolled his eyes and unlocked the rear doors.

“I’m here now.”

“Get a move on, then.”

Juno watched them unload several pallets, stack them on the trolley and wheel them quickly down a ramp and through a little door below ground level. They were followed by a rail of clothing and several cardboard boxes printed with pictures of electrical goods – toasters, kettles, TV sets and a couple of fancy food-mixers. When the last box had been unloaded, George jumped back in the van and sped off. Juno swiftly crossed the road, intercepting the trolley on the pavement.

“Excuse me… you’re not Ted, are you?”

The weasel-faced man looked her up and down.

“Who’s asking?”

Juno smiled at him.

“Can we talk? It won’t take long.”

Ted nodded towards the little door.

“Come inside.”

She walked down the ramp and through the door into a dingy cavern, lit by a single naked bulb that barely gave out a flicker of light. It felt cold, and it grew gloomier still as Ted pushed the trolley through the door and bolted it behind him.

“Take a seat.”

He pointed to a spindly chair half-hidden in the shadows.

“What was your name again?”

“Juno.”

Ted grinned as she sat down on the chair, which wobbled on the uneven floor.

“Did Danny send you?”

“Danny? Who’s he?”

Ted looked a little disappointed.

“No matter. What can I do you for, Juno?”

“I’ve just been in the Two Anchors with Carol. She said you could tell me about the fight?”

Ted’s eyes lit up at the prospect of repeating the story of Friday night, though Juno was actually asking about the state of MM on Friday morning, when he’d turned up at Beech Brothers bruised and battered.

“The fight? It was a real humdinger!”

Ted moved a little closer to Juno and placed his hand on the back of her chair.

“Roy was halfway out of his uniform…”

“His what?”

“His nurse’s uniform. Didn’t Carol tell you? Roy works as a strippagram on the side. We clubbed together and hired him as a birthday present for Frank.”

Ted grinned.

“Anyway… he took his uniform off, put his hand on Frank’s forehead and said ‘You feel a little hot, Mr Barnet. I think you might have a temperature’. Then he bent over, took his stockings off and undid the buttons on Frank’s shirt. And I swear, you still couldn’t tell.”

Ted paused to gaze into empty space in wonder and bewilderment. In truth, he had been strangely moved and more than a little disturbed by the sight of Roy in black stockings and suspenders, and those feelings came back to haunt him now. After shaking his head to purge himself, he went on.

“Then it all kicked off in the Gents. Suave Dave and Victor were taking a pee when Dave looked down at Victor and said ‘Marion won’t think much of that. Not after she’s had a mouthful of this.’ So Victor took a swing at him, and Dave nutted him. Wallop! Right on the hooter. They tumbled out of the Gents together, the lads from the factory got involved – it was mayhem! Best Friday night for years. Shame Roy never finished his striptease, though…”

While Ted was distracted once again, Juno took her chance to speak.

“When was this?”

“Friday night – Frank’s birthday bash.”

“But what’s that got to do with MM?”

“MM? He wasn’t even there. You asked me to tell you about the fight.”

“I meant the fight MM got into. Carol said when you saw him Friday morning, he looked like he’d been beaten up.”

“Oh, that. He was in a state, all right. I patched him up as best I could, gave him a clean shirt and sent him home.”

“D’you know how it happened?”

“No idea. He doesn’t seem the type for fighting, but then you never know, do you?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen him since?”

Ted pulled a face and shook his head.

“Pity he missed Roy’s act, though. It’s not every day you see legs like those…”

As Ted looked her up and down again, Juno shifted uncomfortably on her chair. Suddenly she was acutely aware of the bolt on the door, the gloom of the basement, the fact that no-one knew she was there… She felt his hand slide onto her shoulder.

“You sure Danny didn’t send you? No need to be shy about it.”

“Positive.”

Unwilling to meet his eye, she stared at the pallets stacked by the wall.

“New stock,” said Ted. “Fresh in today. I’ve got butter, yogurt, some lovely cheese… or how about a nice new dress? All decent brands, no cheap knock-offs. I’ll do a good deal for a looker like you.”

He grinned and nodded into the shadows.

“I’ve got a changing-room round the back. We can negotiate, if you like.”

Juno glanced towards the door to the street, wondering how long it would take to unbolt.

“Thanks, Ted, but I need to go.”

As she got up from the spindly chair, she felt the pressure of Ted’s hand on her shoulder. His fingers began to squeeze, until a strident voice cut through the darkness.

“Where’s my bleedin’ dockets, Ted? You eaten them or something?”

Marion stumbled forwards into the gloom.

“Christ, Ted, shine a light. Oh… it’s you.”

She peered suspiciously at Juno.

“What are you doing here?”

“She dropped in to…”

Ted realised as he spoke that he had no idea what she’d dropped in for. His face darkened as Juno edged away.

“I really do have to go,” she said. “But thanks, Ted – you’ve been very helpful.”

Ted escorted her to the door, his arm curled lightly around her waist. As he drew back the bolt and opened it, she saw the letters tattooed on his fingers – L o v and e on his left hand, and o n e and y on the right. Only when he swung the door back did she see the capital M on his thumb.

“Come and see me again,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll be able to sort you out.”

She hurried up the ramp to the pavement. Despite the car and lorry fumes, the air she was breathing felt clean and fresh.

By the time Marion had collected Ted’s dockets and trudged back up the stairs to the office, Carol had returned from the pub and drunk half a cup of extra-strong coffee. She glanced at Marion as she entered, then turned her eyes back to the vacant desk with the stapler and paperclips neatly arranged, the stack of files aligned with the corner, the coaster marked with red initials where he placed his coffee cup.

“You okay?” asked Marion.

Carol looked at her anxiously.

“She told me what happened. What he did.”

Before she could continue, Christine slipped through the open office door. She looked a little embarrassed, as though she would rather nobody noticed her. Carol re-arranged her pens until she had composed herself.

“How was the dentist?” she said.

Christine mumbled, barely parting her lips.

“Sorry?”

This time she didn’t answer. With a sheepish look she opened her mouth just enough to show a flash of silver.

“They gave me braces,” she said, slurring slightly.

“How long for?” asked Marion.

“Two years.”

“Does it hurt?”

“It feels a bit strange.”

“Don’t worry, you hardly notice them,” said Carol.

Marion pulled a sceptical face, while Carol picked up the plastic tray and rummaged in her desk for some change.

“I’ll get the coffee in,” she said, even though she’d only just had one. “You coming with me, Marion?”

As Carol and Marion left the office, Christine took a mirror from her bag and examined her mouth from every angle. She put the mirror back in her bag and gazed at MM’s desk instead. It was hard to tell from the look of it if he was at work today or not, but his bag wasn’t hanging on the chair and a couple of stray paperclips were hiding behind the hole-puncher. She sighed, and took a big, fat file from the pile that swayed on the edge of her desk.

At the end of the corridor Carol leaned against the coffee-machine, dangling the plastic tray from one hand while nervously jingling change with the other. She’d just repeated to Marion what she’d learnt from Juno in the pub.

“Bloody hell!” said Marion. “Did he really…? You sure she’s not pulling your leg?”

“Why would she? She said a policeman told her. If it’s not true, why make it up?”

Marion shook her head, bemused.

“It makes me wince just to think of it, and I don’t even have one.”

“D’you think we should have done something?”

“Don’t see what. It’s nothing to do with us.”

Carol glanced down at the fire-bucket, avoiding Marion’s gimlet eyes.

“Is it?”

“Let’s get the coffee in.”

On their way back up the corridor with three coffees balanced on the tray, they discussed the Christine situation.

“I don’t think we should tell her,” said Carol. “Not in so many words, at least. She’s going to be upset as it is, it’ll only make it worse for her.”

“We’ve got to say something,” said Marion.

They reached the office without a conclusion, and sat in unaccustomed silence. It was Christine who raised the subject first.

“Is he in today?” she asked, nodding at the vacant desk.

“Don’t think so,” said Carol. “He must be sick. He wasn’t in on Friday, remember?”

Marion, whose mothering instinct was less developed than Carol’s, decided she had to nip this in the bud. She didn’t intend to spend the week inventing explanations to account for MM’s empty chair.

“He won’t be in for a while,” she said.

Christine looked up from her file.

“Why not?”

“He’s had an accident. We only heard about it this morning. Maybe he won’t be back at all.”

As Christine’s mouth fell open with shock, displaying her braces to the world, Ted trundled into the office and unloaded his trolley on Marion’s desk – four reams of A4, four boxes of staples and a couple of typewriter ribbons.

“Your stationery order,” he said.

“What, today? It wasn’t due till Wednesday.”

“I re-arranged my schedule,” said Ted. “Express delivery – all part of the service.”

Both Carol and Marion hoped he would see that this was not a good time for a chat. But if he did, he didn’t care. As usual, Ted had his own agenda.

“What was all that about, then?” he said.

Marion glanced up at him.

“That what?”

“That girl who popped in downstairs. She said she was a friend of Carol’s.”

“Juno?” said Marion. “We only just met her.”

“So why’s she poking about, asking questions?”

“She works for the local newspaper. She was asking about MM.”

“What for?”

“There was… an incident.”

Marion glanced at Carol, then at Christine, who was listening intently.

“On Friday night, at the house where he lives. The landlady had to call the police.”

“The filth? Jesus Christ, you might have told me.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not after you.”

Despite this reassurance, Ted was gripped by a sudden urge to leave. He shoved his trolley past Christine’s desk, knocking her pile of files askew.

“You can’t trust no-one nowadays,” he muttered as he left the office.

Christine, who had recovered a little, was putting the pile to rights again when she noticed a file with a doodled heart protruding from the rest of the stack. Dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, she fled her desk and dashed to the Ladies.

In the Production Manager’s office next door, Frank heard Ted’s trolley trundle past at a faster pace than usual. Swivelling in his big leather chair he looked at the letter in front of him, signed by Richard Harden, CEO of English Electricals plc. He sighed. Three more of the company’s orders had failed to match their delivery notes, and Richard Harden was not amused. This couldn’t go on much longer – Ted was getting far too big for his boots.

Frank didn’t object in principle to Ted’s illicit activities. His underground emporium, supplying a range of consumer goods at knock-down prices to Beech Brothers staff, was as good as a company benefit scheme, and at no cost to the company. His most recent innovation – a weekly round of dairy products, supplied to order every Tuesday – had proved especially popular. But since he’d introduced this new line, Ted had been taking liberties.

By a happy coincidence, a small English Electricals cardboard box held exactly four yoghurts. The medium and larger sizes were handy for bumper family packs, and were also useful for items Ted had acquired without their packaging, such as clocks or novelty telephones. Having seen an opportunity to improve his customer service with no impact on his bottom line, Ted took full advantage of it. Frank was left with the job of explaining why yet another order was short, and he was running out of excuses. He’d threatened to report Ted to the Chairman of Beech Brothers, Captain Jack Beech (a former naval officer, though he’d not seen a boat for twenty years) but his threats had fallen on stony ground.

“What’s Captain Jack gonna do?” Ted had sneered. “Keel-haul me? Make me walk the plank?”

Since his humiliation the previous Friday – although, in fairness, it would have been worse had Roy got to the end of his act – Frank wasn’t short of motivation to bring Ted down a peg or two. Though he would have preferred to do it himself, he knew when he was out of his depth. Reluctantly, he picked up the phone.

“Jack? Frank here. Can I have a word?”

Juno got home from work that evening hoping to find Glynis, but it was Ben who sat in the kitchen in his allegedly Tibetan hat, scruffy jeans and big black workman’s boots. Not that he was a workman himself – while other people went to work, Ben would disappear for days and return with bags of mushrooms gathered from distant, soggy hillsides, or a slab of stinky goat’s cheese, or a set of bongos borrowed from a Drumming With The Spirit workshop. Nobody knew how he managed it, but Ben didn’t seem to need to work in order to pay his way in the house.

Even when he was home it was sometimes hard to know that Ben was there, apart from the tinkling of bells you might hear if you happened to pass outside his door. Occasionally he played strange music, sometimes accompanied on the bongos, but many of his evenings were spent in silent meditation, or concocting the foul-smelling brew he made by boiling his collection of mushrooms until they were reduced to pulp, then straining them into a teapot. He seemed to live in another world, often neither knowing nor caring what time or day or month it was.

“Hey,” he said as Juno walked in, as though he were surprised to see her. “How are you?”

“Very well, thanks,” she said.

She’d once made the mistake of asking Ben the same question in return.

“How am I?” he’d said, gazing over her shoulder.

After a pause and a quizzical look, he’d launched into a monologue on the paradox of being and the illusory nature of consciousness which seemed to meander on for ever – though maybe that was part of his point. This time Juno kept her mouth shut.

“You coming to the gig tonight?”

“What gig is this, Ben?”

“Didn’t I tell you? They’ve given me a spot at the Fish.”

“I must have forgotten. Sorry.”

Monday night at the Fish was open mic night, when anyone could turn up and play.

“What time are you on?”

As Ben assumed a faraway look, she immediately regretted the question.

“What time is anyone on?” he said.

Luckily for Juno, Ben was not in a philosophical mood. It took no more than five minutes to learn there was no particular running order, not that it would have mattered to Ben, and that he would sing a couple of songs whenever he felt the vibe, as he put it.

“Okay,” said Juno, “I’ll tell Glynis. Maybe we’ll drop in for a pint.”

Ben grinned.

“Thanks, Juno. I’ll see you there.”

She watched him wander out of the kitchen, the tassels on his Tibetan hat dangling.

Glynis got home soon afterwards, and was keen to quiz Juno about her day as they shared a Co-op shepherd’s pie.

“Well?” she said. “How did it go? Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“The profiling!”

Juno laughed.

“Guess so.”

“So spill the beans. What happened?”

“I got there at lunchtime, like you said, and decided to hang around at the bus-stop…”

Glynis listened attentively as Juno gave a detailed account of her meeting with Carol and Marion, and what they’d told her about MM.

“They don’t seem to know much about him,” she said.

“Carol told me he asked her out. She didn’t want to turn him down flat, so on Friday evening she and Marion tried to set him up with Christine. But he never turned up.”

Glynis furrowed her brow.

“Because he’d already been beaten up. Did you find out anything more about that?”

Juno took a sip of her tea and described her close encounter with Ted.

“God,” said Glynis, “what a creep.”

“He’s up to something,” said Juno, “and there’s more to it than the stuff in his storeroom. Remember the tape they found in the VCR? And he kept asking if Danny sent me.”

They polished off the shepherd’s pie, and two hours later arrived at the Fish and ordered a couple of pints of best. The pub had a small stage beside the bar, but having been to open mic nights before, they chose a table in the far corner. The first act was an alarming young man dressed all in black and very angry. He was followed by a wistful young woman with long, curly hair and a floaty skirt whose guitar didn’t seem to be quite in tune, and an older man with slicked-back hair and a cowboy hat singing country and western. As Juno returned with another round Glynis nodded towards the stage, where Ben was fiddling with the microphone.

“Here we go.”

Ben picked up his guitar.

“I want to share with everyone a moment in my spiritual journey. It happened at a music retreat, outside a village on Koh Samui…”

The audience listened patiently as Ben described the various steps that led to his awakening, until finally he got to the point.

“That’s when I learnt to trust the now. How not to do music, but to be it.”

Wearing his full beatific smile, he paused to let the idea sink in.

“So tonight I’m not going to sing a song. I’m just going to be, and sing.”

Without any further warning he closed his eyes and emitted a high-pitched wail, accompanied by random chords. Even Juno and Glynis were taken aback.

“Sounds like a Tibetan goatherd,” said Glynis.

“More like a Tibetan goat.”

The wailing continued unbroken for what seemed to be a very long time, before a woman left her seat and skirted the stage in front of Ben. As she passed him, her review of his act was picked up by the microphone and heard throughout the bar.

“This is shit!”

Ben stopped his performance in mid-wail. Looking both perplexed and concerned, he watched her leave the pub and leaned forward.

“That woman has some issues,” he said.