EPISODE ONE

‘Have you finished?’ snapped Marjorie Blackburn, snatching the spoon from her husband’s hand as it travelled uncertainly towards his mouth. Drops of milk spattered onto the table as she slammed the spoon into the cereal bowl. This made her angrier and she stormed over to the sink and dropped the half-eaten breakfast into the murky water of the washing-up bowl.
‘I have now,’ her husband answered rather daringly.
Marjorie watched the soggy cornflakes rising to the surface of the bowl. ‘Why d’you have to spoil everything?’ she demanded.
‘Me?’ Ted Blackburn’s eyebrows rose with genuine surprise. This was the closest his usually inscrutable face ever came to an expression. According to his wife’s family he was a dark horse, and never let his feelings show.
‘You know how much this house means to me,’ she said, turning to glare at him. ‘It’s me what’s inherited it. Not my brother Sid – nor my twin sister. Because I was the one what looked after Nan all those years. No one else. I was the one what helped her onto the toilet and washed and changed her, year in and year out.’
Ted refrained from saying it was difficult for her sister Pam, seeing as she lived in Australia and had done for the past twenty-five years. Sighing, he rose from the table and reached for the sports bag containing his railway guard’s uniform.
Marjorie squeezed the water out of a filthy dishcloth and furiously wiped the drops of milk from the table. Ted stood at the door and watched her.
‘When we lived on the Ramslye estate,’ he said, ‘you didn’t mind me being seen in my uniform then.’
‘That was Ramslye. This is Molyneux Park Road, and I’m not having you coming and going in that uniform. It lowers the tone of the neighbourhood.’
‘I hate going to work in civvies,’ he moaned. ‘It’s awkward having to change at work.’
It was a token protest. He knew it was useless to argue.
‘Civvies!’ she shouted as he shuffled off down the hall. ‘Anyone’d think you were in the Services – not a guard on the railway.’
He stood by the Victorian hallstand, listening in case she followed him to the front door. He was reassured by the clatter of crockery in the sink, quickly slid his hand behind the hallstand, withdrew a paperback book from its hiding place and transferred it to his sports bag.
‘See you tonight,’ he called as he zipped up his anorak.
It was cold outside, but at least it was dry and sunny, and he welcomed the brisk walk across the common to the station. And more than anything he looked forward to the few precious moments he could spend alone with his secret.


*

Mike Longridge brushed the hairs away from his client’s neck and offered up the mirror.
‘How’s that?’ he asked.
His client, the once-famous Dave Whitby, comedian and impressionist, nodded gloomily. Life was not so very funny for the comic these days.
‘Thanks for dropping in at short notice,’ he said, standing up and brushing the hairs off his lap onto the kitchen floor.
‘You got some work on?’ Mike asked.
‘Not so’s you’d notice. Masonic night in Folkestone. By the time I’ve paid the petrol...’
He shook his head gloomily and dug into his pocket for change. Mike packed his combs, scissors, mirror and hairdryer into his Gladstone bag and checked his watch.
‘I’ve got to shoot over to Molyneux Park Road. I’ve got a client there who lives next door to a woman whose husband works on the railway. She won’t let him leave the house or come home in his uniform in case the neighbours notice. What she doesn’t realise is, her next door neighbour’s had his ticket clipped by her husband on the train to Charing Cross.’
Dave Whitby managed a small chuckle. ‘There’s nowt so queer as folk,’ he said, slipping easily into his native Yorkshire dialect. He handed Mike a crumpled five pound note and three pound coins. ‘Sorry I can’t make it any more.’
Mike pocketed the money without looking at it. ‘No, that’s fine. I hope it goes well in Folkestone.’
‘Huh!’ exclaimed the comedian bitterly. ‘I’ll see you to the door.’
‘If only you could get back on the telly again,’ Mike said.
Dave Whitby’s face suddenly broke into a broad grin. ‘You never know. I’ve got a great publicity stunt coming up. The tabloids’ll be swarming all over High Brooms, and I’ll be back in the public eye with a vengeance.’
Mike waited for him to elaborate but the comedian shook his head emphatically.
‘Sorry: if I tell you, Mike, it’ll be all round Tunbridge Wells. But I will tell you one thing: the bloke who lives opposite me’ll be livid. And you know what they say. Revenge is sweet.’


IN EPISODE TWO ON TUESDAY

Mike’s son Andrew is making life difficult for his parents. Dave Whitby has a confrontation with his neighbour. And Marjorie finds one of Ted’s hiding places.
 

Episode Two  Homepage