many back streets in T resham, with long rows of redbrick terraced houses in a ribbon of doors and windows from one end to another. T he only distinguishing features were variations in front door colours and closed or open curtains.
The Richardson front door was bright red, and what were called the nets were permanently drawn to protect from prying eyes on the pavement, but without shutting out too much light. Mrs Ruth Richardson was a good housewife, and friendly with her neighbours.
Her husband, Tom, was sitting with a neighbour now, talking about his early days. “We met after I came out of the forces. Professional soldier, I was. But then I met Ruth, and fell for her straightaway. We got together, and I came out of the army. Took up gardening, and that’s my life now, as you know from my greenhouse next door!”
“And you do a wonderful job at Cameroon Hall. Beautiful gardens there.” The neighbour stopped, aware that they were getting dangerously close to talking about the zoo. “What about children?” she asked, and then realised that wasn’t very tactful, either. There had never been any young Richardsons in this house, and as far as she knew, there weren’t any visiting.
“Less said about that, the better,” Tom said. “How about a bit of cake? There’s some in the tin. Ruth had a baking session on Sunday morning. Oh my God,” he added, his face crumpling. “She won’t make no more cakes for a while, will she?”
The neighbour struggled to find another subject to talk about, aside from Tom’s damaged wife, still detained in hospital. Rumours were flying up and down the street, and she was longing to ask Tom more pertinent questions. One such rumour was that he had intended to do his wife in, and conceal the body in his wheelbarrow at the hall. This had been elaborated as it went from house to house, and by the time it reached the red front door, the muddled report was that Tom intended to plant her among the wallflowers, but was interrupted by sounds of voices, and in a panic had tipped her out into the zoo’s monkey cage, meaning to collect her later. But he’d not been able to do this before she was discovered, so he’d disinfected his wheelbarrow and gone home.
Luckily, before she could ask him any more questions, Tom said that he didn’t feel like cake, and he’d have a bit of a rest. So the neighbour went home, saying he was to knock at her door at any time of day or night.
*
T wo streets further along, D ot N immo sat by her front window, keeping watch over the fancy woman’s house. It was late by the time Dot had finished her New Brooms work for the morning. She made herself a sandwich and resumed her seat. She had noticed Pettison’s van when she returned home, and it was still there. She wondered if he was confessing all to the lovely Betsy. As she took her first bite, the front door was flung open, and the little mild husband was ejected with some force. The door was then slammed shut, and Dot saw the poor cuckold pick himself up, dust himself down and attempt a nonchalant air as he walked down the street.
“Poor little devil!” she said to herself, and went back to the kitchen to collect a coffee cooling on the table. By the time she got back to her chair, she saw that Pettison’s van, so conspicuous with its snarling tiger, had gone. So he’d made it, after all.
As she washed up the few dishes, she thought about the zoo boss. She prided herself on being able to get on well with all of the New Brooms clients, and she looked forward to meeting him. Mrs M seemed confident, and it surely would not be too long before the zoo reopened to the public.
Her appointment with her cousin was in half an hour’s time, and she had to tidy up the BMW before delivering it back to him. When she approached the car, she recoiled with a gasp. A yellow-and-green diamond-patterned snake lay curled up on the roof, and at that instant, it raised its head, looked at her with hooded eyes and then
The Richardson front door was bright red, and what were called the nets were permanently drawn to protect from prying eyes on the pavement, but without shutting out too much light. Mrs Ruth Richardson was a good housewife, and friendly with her neighbours.
Her husband, Tom, was sitting with a neighbour now, talking about his early days. “We met after I came out of the forces. Professional soldier, I was. But then I met Ruth, and fell for her straightaway. We got together, and I came out of the army. Took up gardening, and that’s my life now, as you know from my greenhouse next door!”
“And you do a wonderful job at Cameroon Hall. Beautiful gardens there.” The neighbour stopped, aware that they were getting dangerously close to talking about the zoo. “What about children?” she asked, and then realised that wasn’t very tactful, either. There had never been any young Richardsons in this house, and as far as she knew, there weren’t any visiting.
“Less said about that, the better,” Tom said. “How about a bit of cake? There’s some in the tin. Ruth had a baking session on Sunday morning. Oh my God,” he added, his face crumpling. “She won’t make no more cakes for a while, will she?”
The neighbour struggled to find another subject to talk about, aside from Tom’s damaged wife, still detained in hospital. Rumours were flying up and down the street, and she was longing to ask Tom more pertinent questions. One such rumour was that he had intended to do his wife in, and conceal the body in his wheelbarrow at the hall. This had been elaborated as it went from house to house, and by the time it reached the red front door, the muddled report was that Tom intended to plant her among the wallflowers, but was interrupted by sounds of voices, and in a panic had tipped her out into the zoo’s monkey cage, meaning to collect her later. But he’d not been able to do this before she was discovered, so he’d disinfected his wheelbarrow and gone home.
Luckily, before she could ask him any more questions, Tom said that he didn’t feel like cake, and he’d have a bit of a rest. So the neighbour went home, saying he was to knock at her door at any time of day or night.
*
T wo streets further along, D ot N immo sat by her front window, keeping watch over the fancy woman’s house. It was late by the time Dot had finished her New Brooms work for the morning. She made herself a sandwich and resumed her seat. She had noticed Pettison’s van when she returned home, and it was still there. She wondered if he was confessing all to the lovely Betsy. As she took her first bite, the front door was flung open, and the little mild husband was ejected with some force. The door was then slammed shut, and Dot saw the poor cuckold pick himself up, dust himself down and attempt a nonchalant air as he walked down the street.
“Poor little devil!” she said to herself, and went back to the kitchen to collect a coffee cooling on the table. By the time she got back to her chair, she saw that Pettison’s van, so conspicuous with its snarling tiger, had gone. So he’d made it, after all.
As she washed up the few dishes, she thought about the zoo boss. She prided herself on being able to get on well with all of the New Brooms clients, and she looked forward to meeting him. Mrs M seemed confident, and it surely would not be too long before the zoo reopened to the public.
Her appointment with her cousin was in half an hour’s time, and she had to tidy up the BMW before delivering it back to him. When she approached the car, she recoiled with a gasp. A yellow-and-green diamond-patterned snake lay curled up on the roof, and at that instant, it raised its head, looked at her with hooded eyes and then
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