Not On Her Watch

Lynda headed down the street, eyeing the group with suspicion and hostility. As she passed by, she glared intently at them. They were just hanging around, loitering, lurking across the street. The group were trouble, she just knew it. She glanced over her shoulder, looking back, across the road, to the abandoned building and the people congregating outside, before unlocking her front door. Tutting to herself, she gave them one last stare and shut the door.

Lynda found her husband upstairs in the bedroom, changing out of his work clothes. She said hello, pecking him on the cheek, before peeking out of the bedroom window.

‘That lot are out there again.’ She said.

‘I’m sure they’re doing no harm.’ Tony said.

‘You always try to see the best in people, don’t you?’ Lynda snapped.

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’ Tony shrugged before pulling his t-shirt over his head.

Later that evening, while Tony watched a film on television, Lynda hovered at the window, peering out through the net curtains.

‘Are you watching this film or not?’ Her husband, Tony asked from his spot on the sofa.

He waved the remote control in the direct of the television set. 

‘Just look at them all.’ Lynda said. ‘Hanging around out there. Definitely up to no good.’

Her gaze went back to the abandoned building over the road, and the people outside. Tony shook his head and tried to concentrate on the film on TV.

The group were huddled around the steps leading upto the doors of the decrepit old building. The grand old building must have been impressive in its heyday but now it looked like it was ready for the bull-dozers, that’s if it didn’t fall down first. All the windows were either smashed or boarded up, and the walls were covered in moss, weeds and graffiti. 

The building either needed fixing up or knocking down. No wonder it attracted the waifs and strays, the rabble that congregated on the wide steps. They had been out there for months, a few of them at first. A couple of people standing around, like they could have been waiting for their taxi or something. But as the weeks went by their numbers increased. Lynda was sure that before long there would be an unruly mob out there. 

‘It must be drugs.’ Linda said from her vantage point at the window.

‘Must it? Really?’ Tony replied, his tone deliberately uninterested.

‘Yes, look at them.’

‘Why is it drugs? Because they’re wearing baseball caps and hoodies?’ 

‘Look! That guy. He’s writing something down on a bit of paper now. It must be the drug order. He’s nodding and scribbling something down.’ Lynda said, her nose almost touching the window pane. 

Tony said nothing, leaning forward in his seat, in an attempt to concentrate fully on the film. 

On the Saturday night, Tony was having a beer and watching the boxing on television. Normally they would watch a film, but as Lynda was preoccupied with the goings-on outside, Tony had given up on the movie and watched the heavyweight fight on the other channel instead. Lynda was on-duty at the window, fixated by the group across the road.

‘Look, she’s just handed him something. She palmed it to him.’ Lynda said.

‘Palmed it? What books have you been reading? This isn’t some crime drama, love.’

‘I am not having this on my doorstep. I’m calling the police.’

Tony went to speak, to say it was ridiculous, but he had been married to Lynda long enough to know when there was no persuading her. 

Lynda dialled 999 on her mobile phone and wandered back to the window. She asked for the police and explained about the undesirables hanging around across the street. The operator told her to bear with her for one moment, before asking Lynda to give them a call back next time they are out there, and they would send a police car over.

While Lynda had hoped the police would have sent a van straight over to take the rabble away, at least they had told her to ring back. She nodded to herself in satisfaction. Just wait until they congregated out there again. They’d be sorry.  

Two nights later, the group were hanging around, congregating as usual. Lynda looked on as notes and items were passed back and forth, deals were clearly being made. Right, she said, that’s it!

She called the police and explained that she had called previously and was told the call back. She detailed what she was witnessing.

Just over an hour later, the police car pulled up and two officers climbed out. The officers glanced at each other, before approaching the group. Lynda rushed out of her front door and over to the police officers.

‘It was me that called you. This lot need locking up.’ Lynda yelled, pointing at the group.

‘I’m Officer Tanya Jarvis and this is my colleague Officer Grahame Turner. We’ll be handling this. Please remain where you are.’ She said to Lynda. 

Lynda went to follow the police officers to tackle the group.

‘Please wait there.’ The first officer said, raising her hand to stop Lynda.

‘They are up to no good, I’m telling you.’ Lynda called out, but remained a few feet away.

The officers approached the group.

‘Good evening, guys. Can everybody stay right where they are, please. And please keep your hands where I can see them.’ Officer Turner said.

The officer spoke in calm but authoritative tones. They were civil and polite, and yet firm at the same time.

‘What are guys you doing here?’ Officer Jarvis asked.

Silence. Nobody spoke, nobody looked in their direction. Jarvis side-stepped and positioned herself in front of one of the people. He wore a black wool Bob hat and glasses. Under her gaze, he shifted uncomfortably and scratched his beard nervously. 

‘Can you explain what you are doing here?’ Jarvis asked him. 

‘We’re broadening our horizons.’ He said with a grin.

‘Drugs! I knew it!’ Lynda called out, inching forward.

Officer Turner joined his colleague, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the man.

‘I’m going to need you to empty out your pockets for me, please.’ Officer Turner said.

The guy nodded and rummaged in his pockets. He handed over pens and scraps of paper, placing the items in the officer’s open hands. He placed a small red memory stick in Turner’s hand. The officer read one of the paper notes out loud. 4000, Thursday, Roman.

‘Can you explain what this means?’ Turner asked, waving the note.

The guy laughed.

‘This isn’t a laughing matter, son. You can either tell me what this means here, or we can do it down at the station.’ The officer insisted. 

‘Roman is obviously the dealer and 4000 is the amount of drugs!’ Lynda called.

‘You want to know what that means?’ The guy asked.

‘Yes.’ Turner said. 

‘We’re writers. We are a writing group.’ He said.

‘Rubbish! Absolute rubbish!’ Lynda called out, shuffling even closer. 

‘If that’s true, then can you explain the note? What does it mean?’ Jarvis asked.

‘4000 words, by Thursday. It’s my homework.’ The guy said.

‘And who’s Roman?’ Jarvis said.

‘If he’s not the dealer then who is he? Explain that!’ Lynda shouted. 

‘It’s short for romance. The theme was romance.’ 

The others in the group nodded in agreement. Jarvis nodded back. This did actually sound plausible.

‘And what’s on the memory stick?’ She asked.

‘My story, my four thousand words.’ 

‘We have a computer in the car. We are going to check.’

‘Go ahead.’

Officer Turner headed back to the car, taking the memory stick with him.

Leaving the car door open, one foot on the tarmac, Turner booted up the computer. Officer Jarvis waited, watching the group for any signs of trouble. After a moment of tapping away on the laptop computer, Turner called out.

‘He is telling the truth. It’s full Word documents. It does look like short stories.’

‘Have a read of it, if you like. Let me know what you think.’ The writer said with a grin.

‘If all this is true, why are you hanging around this run-down old building?’ Jarvis asked.

The guy pointed to the sign above the boarded-up doorway. Public Library.

‘We used to meet in the library a few times a week. We’d get together, exchange story ideas, critique each other’s work. We’d set a topic for the stories for the next session. The librarian, Esther, would make us cups of tea. Eventually the government closed the library down. Spending cuts apparently. Esther was sent to work in a university library in Salford, and we were left out in the cold. We didn’t know where else to meet, then someone suggested we carry on meeting out here.’

He waved a hand at the steps leading to the entrance to the old library. 

‘It seemed like a good idea, very poetic. You have to agree, this spot is rather atmospheric.’ He added.

‘Very gothic.’ Jarvis agreed.

‘Indeed.’ The guy grinned.

‘No drugs?’ Jarvis asked.

‘No drugs.’ The guy said.

‘No drink?’ 

‘Only a flask of tea, or maybe a coffee-shop Macchiato.’

Officer Jarvis nodded, smiling. Turner returned, handing back the guy’s belongings. 

‘Thank you for your time. As you were.’ she said.

‘Have a good evening.’ Turner said.

The officers turned and headed back to the patrol car. 

‘You aren’t going to arrest them? They are a nuisance.’ Lynda said.

‘They aren’t doing any harm, nor breaking any laws.’ Turner said.

‘What am I supposed to do now?’ Lynda said.

‘You could always make them a pot of tea.’ Jarvis said.

As the officers pulled away in their patrol car, and Lynda headed back towards her house, the guy turned to the group. He spoke in a loud voice.

‘Here’s a theme for next time: Nosy neighbours.’

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom