Confessions from a Haunted House. Timothy Lea

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СКАЧАТЬ Say, about fifty. Sid’s surprise was in fact rather larger than mine because the bloke did not kick me in the instep. Sid let out an agonized shriek and flung back his fist to let one go. I could tell immediately that this was not a good idea. Immediately I saw the geezer standing behind Sid. He was about seven feet tall and made Frankenstein’s monster look like Petula Clark. His great mitt slammed down on Sid’s wrist and within seconds my brother-in-law’s feet were tap dancing eighteen inches off the ground whilst he got a close-up view of the bloke’s fillings.

      ‘Sid,’ I said, reaching up and tapping him on the back. ‘That’s not him. There’s been a mistake.’ I never found out if Sid was grateful for the information because the little guy spat out a couple of words and the big one let go of what used to be Sid’s lapels. There was a noise like a bomb dropping and Sid landed in an untidy heap on the floor. Colonel Saunders and his mate strode off. ‘Over here,’ I said, eager to get away from the scene of this embarrassing incident. ‘I think that’s Harper.’ I pointed through the sliding doors where the carpet bag had now been joined by a vanity case. Sid shook his head and took in the sight. ‘You fool,’ he snapped. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? Thank gawd I won’t have to put up with your snivelling incompetence much longer.’ So saying he stepped forward briskly through the sliding doors that had opened to let out a customs official. They promptly closed on his shoulders and for one interesting moment I thought they were going to meet in the middle of his windpipe. But they opened again and I slipped through as about half a dozen blokes in dark blue suits converged on Sid to ask what he thought he was doing. The bird with the carpet bag turned to see what all the commotion was about and I was swiftly at her side.

      ‘Hi,’ I said in my best transatlantic manner. ‘Is your name Harper?’

      ‘It sure is,’ she said, turning on a big hundred-watt smile. ‘You’re not Timmy, are you?’

      ‘Every throbbing corpuscle.’ The sound of heavy breathing alerted me to the presence of my brother-in-law. ‘And this is Sid.’

      ‘Gee. I never expected your father to come along as well, I feel real honoured.’

      I winced on Sid’s behalf as he took a deep breath. ‘Don’t let my mature man-of-the-world suavity confuse you, Harper,’ he said through gritted teeth. My only relationship with Timothy is thankfully one of marriage.’

      ‘You’re married?’ said Harper brightly. ‘Gee, England is so liberated these days.’

      ‘He’s married to my sister Rosie,’ I explained quickly.

      ‘Oh of course. Sidney Noggett. I’ve seen you on the Christmas cards.’ She made Sid sound like a robin. ‘You’re Timmy’s partner, aren’t you?’

      ‘Was’, said Sid firmly. ‘All that is behind me. Once I deliver you safely to Mrs Lea I will never be darkening their bath towels again. I could go on and explain why, but the details are probably too harrowing for a young girl raised in the colonies.’ I could tell from all the old bunny that Sid was quite impressed with our Harper but his desire to get shot of me was too strong to be set aside. It was all rather hurtful really.

      ‘I hope it all works out for the best for the both of you,’ said Harper winsomely. ‘Say Sid, would it be awful inconvenient if we passed through the city of London on the way to the house? I’m supposed to see a solicitor very urgently. That’s really why I’m here.’

      I could see Sid’s mug settling in to an unhelpful expression so I stepped in quickly. ‘Of course not, Harper. No trouble at all. Are these all your bags?’

      I ignored Sid’s nasty frown and followed her pointing arm.

      ‘Just that one on the top. I’m afraid it’s a little difficult to reach.’

      ‘The big one?’ I asked.

      ‘That’s right.’ It was about the size of a cabin trunk yet having the shape of a folded mattress secured by straps. It was balanced on top of a lot of other stuff as if the baggage men had been playing sand castles. Eager to prove that the spirit of English chivalry was not dead I sprang onto the conveyor belt. ‘OK I’ll get it.’

      I suppose, in a way, I was right. I did get it. Right in the mush. Hardly had I started grappling with the pile of bags than some thoughtless sod tried to drag his golf clubs out from underneath me and brought the whole lot down. For a few seconds I performed a grape-treading motion whilst staggering backwards under the weight of Harper’s enormous case. Then I collapsed and was swept down the opening where the conveyor belt re-loops. I caught a glimpse of Sid turning round to look for me and then he was snatched from view by the rubber flaps. It was a horrible experience. I can think of a million better ways of spending Christmas. Hardly had I wriggled clear of the golf clubs than another ton of luggage showered down on me from out of the darkness. Bits and pieces of things were sticking into me from all angles. I felt like a new temp at the office Christmas party. Not only that, but as if I had been taken back to my childhood. It was like being on the magic train at Arding and Hobbs which took you to Father Christmas’s grotto. Round the bend I went and there at the end of the tunnel I could see light. Still struggling, I copped a twelve-inch strip of rubber in the cakehole and emerged to find not Father Christmas but Sid. The expression on his face made previous attempts at depicting loathing seem almost half-hearted. ‘You—!’ he began.

      He did not have time to finish because an elderly gent in a checked suit elbowed him aside and attempted to retrieve his golf clubs. Normally he would have had my blessing but on this occasion most of the clubs were wedged up my trouser leg – head first. I found out the latter bit when Colonel Blimp gave a vicious wrench which achieved a hole in one – a hole in one of my trouser legs.

      ‘Where are my balls!?’ he kept shouting. I felt like asking the same question but was prevented by the fact that I was still screaming in agony. The conveyor belt stopped and Sid hauled me off.

      As usual he was a tower of support. ‘You stupid twit!’ he hissed, blushing scarlet. ‘Why do you always have to make an exhibition of yourself? I can’t stand the humiliation.’

      I stood up and four golf balls rolled out of my trouser legs – two from each side. Colonel Blimp fell on them greedily.

      Sid was so worked up that he actually carried one of the bags until we were through customs. Then it was back to me and a tight-lipped silence ensued as we walked back across the ramp to the car park. They walked, I staggered. It was strange but, looking back, I think that that is when I first had the sensation of foreboding. It was not just that Sid’s face was black as the clouds looming overhead but something more. Something indefinable. The car park was cold and gloomy and a sneaky wind was chasing an old fag packet amongst the concrete pillars. There was nobody to be seen and yet I had the feeling that we were being watched. We came to an intersection and I turned my head to look up one of the aisles of parked cars. Just for a second, a figure was framed in the square of light at the end of the row. Then it disappeared. Maybe I am imagining all this because of what happened later but I don’t think so.

      After three wrong turnings we found the car and I saw Sid looking towards Harper expectantly. He obviously reckoned that she was going to be impressed with his new toy. ‘Is this your automobile, Sid?’ she asked. ‘Gee. I never knew you were in the antique business.’ Sid’s face dropped a couple of miles.

      ‘This is a British automobile, Harper,’ he said sternly, really spelling it out. ‘Not one of your blooming great American mouth organs on wheels. We call them cars, as well.’

      Harper seemed quite unconcerned. ‘I suppose it is kinda cute,’ she said, after reflection. СКАЧАТЬ