the help we can offer when she came last time - about how you don`t seem to be managing quite as well as you used to.`
At least they were being straight with him now. The neighbours certainly had been worrying him for some time, and it was kind of them to say that he had managed to stay quite well in spite of this. Bob relaxed his guard a little. Part of him desperately wanted to believe these people were on his side. The man called Stuart sucked in another bellow-full of air before speaking. Was he asthmatic?
‘Let me explain…’ the woman interjected.
Stuart looked momentarily flustered, as if his authority had been undermined. ‘No, no, Pam, really. I can fill in from here, I’m sure.’ He did not wait for signs of agreement. ‘The thing is there do seem to be lots of things you are finding very difficult to cope with lately, Mr. Sparks.’
Bob was tense again. He had clearly heard the tall man threatening to fill him in. What was he supposed to have done to deserve that? Stuart tried to explain.
‘Listen… Can I call you Bob?’ Bob made no reply. ‘Good. The children in this neighbourhood have become very frightened of you. You’re always shouting at them and the parents accuse you of taking some of their toys and refusing to give them back.’
‘Balls,’ Bob clarified.
‘Yes, quite. Then there are the frequent complaints against your radio being on too loud all day, and during the night sometimes.’
So now insomnia was a crime.
‘It’s been keeping people awake, people who have to work the next day. Now, you have to agree that’s hardly fair?’ The other two nodded their agreement. ‘We understand that the council have written to you several times about this, but if anything the complaints have become more frequent. The less said about your garden, the better, I think. But that is the least of our worries. Mr. Sparks – I mean Bob - we have to tell you that as a team we have serious concerns about your personal wellbeing and safety, and frankly nothing is going to get better without our help.’ More nodded agreements pecked down into his face.
The scouse woman – though the lack of an accent made him doubt that she was - interjected, determined, it seemed, to have her say. A woman would never have had such balls in his day.
‘As I explained last time, there is a place waiting for you in a warden controlled unit near the town centre. It’s close to the shops, the park, the library; you can meet new friends, play games, take up some new hobby even. It’s very well run.’
Nowhere to run, she’d said. Well, you did not stay one step ahead of Rommel’s desert foxes without developing a certain cunning, Bob thought. Perhaps there was something of the old fox about him yet. For the time being Bob decided to play his cards close to his chest, especially if they were thinking of sticking him in some bloody home. What other lies had the neighbours been spreading about him?
‘You must find it hard to get about, Bob.’
Another trick: Dickens had said something while Bob was still mesmerized by Pam’s grinning lips, expecting her to say more. There was a lot of what about? Forced evictions? Crime and unemployment? Even in the darkest hours of the war he’d had his mates to rely on. They really had him up against the wall this time. His only hope was to play along with their game.
‘National Service is the answer there, pal. Get them off the streets.`
All three looked uncomfortably at one another. ‘Did you do National Service, then, Bob?`
He felt sick with apprehension. Was there still a chance to get them on his side?
This was a test, he decided. They wanted to know if he was one of them, on their side. If he was, or they thought he was, might they let him stay? He should answer calmly and rationally. He had served his country, paid his taxes, after all. He had nothing to hide.
‘Best two years of my life. I wished there’d been a war then, to be honest, and I could have stayed on. That’s how much I loved my country.’ Damn, he’d used the past tense to describe his patriotism, but he didn’t think they’d noticed. ‘You can ask anyone.’ But they were probably all dead or dying of neglect in a bloody care home.
The conversation drifted on for some minutes, meandering from one subject to the next. Bob answered as best he could, but his concentration soon deserted him. He found it hard to keep his eyes open. He felt tired, deadly tired. Bob spent an awful lot of his time cat-napping here and there, it was true. The worst thing he could do now was fall asleep. If he did it would be game, set and match to the bloody neighbours… But someone had just spoken his name.
Bob had been lucky: it was not a direct question. Dickens was just rounding off a long, dry speech. ‘…And it’s nothing to be ashamed off, Mr. Sparks - Bob - believe me. Old age is a fact of life, and as the body ages sometimes we need a little bit of extra help. We obviously don’t want to harass you, but can you now at least think about going into sheltered accommodation? If you like, you could go in for a week or so to see if you like it, and in the meantime we could be getting things sorted out here. Your neighbours can keep an eye on this place, but it’s your personal safety that is paramount.’
Their words were deliberately hypnotic, and he had to fight to understand their meaning. But this latest news was a revelation. His plan had worked! How he had pulled it off was the biggest mystery of all, but pulled it off he had! The three strangers did not want him harassed anymore and needed him to leave his home while they got the neighbours sorted out. The bastards. They even acknowledged how his personal safety had been threatened; all those letters through his door, and late night calls at the front door. Doubtless their unruly children would end up in care, which was a shame, but at least the finger of blame was now pointing back in the direction it truly belonged.
A tear welled in the corner of his eye. ‘Yes, I’d like to feel safe again. That would be nice. `
There was a collective sigh of relief. Pam even patted him affectionately on the knee. ‘Well, then, the rest is a formality. A place is available for you, as I explained. All we need is for you to sign a few forms and we can move you in ready for supper this evening. How does that sound? `
So soon? Maybe there was a swat team waiting around the corner to raid those neighbouring dens of iniquity. These people really had thought of everything.
Stuart stood and leaned toward him, smiling warmly. The gesture made him feel good: this man was a friend indeed. ‘We’ll leave you to pack a few things and collect you in about half an hour. Don’t worry too much about what to take. I’m sure the neighbours will help us take care of everything. `
‘The neighbours? Taken care of, yes.’ At last.
Stuart withdrew abruptly, almost as if the old man had made a bad smell. No matter. There would be a warm bath waiting for him at his temporary accommodation. Bob bade his visitors goodbye and within minutes the ordeal was over, leaving Bob Sparks standing alone in his living room.
‘Thank you for everything,’ he had said as they left. How unexpectedly grand everything had turned out. He stared at the sheaf of paperwork clutched in his hand and wondered what it could all mean: insurance cover, perhaps, or maybe the Official Secrets Act?
He turned the radio up again in time to catch the four o’clock news, and sank into his armchair. Everything would be all right: an Englishman’s home was still his castle, it seemed. He suddenly felt zestful, energetic, though he knew that his body was far beyond the stage where it could respond to such up-turnings of mood. The feeling was good, mind. It was because someone respected him still, he decided. He had been listened to and understood. Decency was still a value held dear by those in authority.
‘Someone cares,’ he laughed, and turned on the gas fire. ‘Today was my last day to have nuisance visitors, thank God!’
And unmindful of the Social Services contract he had left perched on top of his glowing electric fire, he closed his eyes and dropped into a happy, contented doze.
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About the Author
Gary Kittle has written a dozen screenplays for short films, a full length stage play performed in London to critical acclaim, as well as countless short stories and flash fiction. He is also a member of the DT Film Productions team, whose work has already enjoyed over 60 million views on YouTube. He lives in Essex with his family.
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