One Last War, page 16
Night settled on Carl’s household and the December chill crept into the house, overcoming the faint warmth coming from the radiators as they dissipated their heat now that the central heating had been switched off by the timer.
Tilly gave a low moan of satisfaction in her sleep as she nestled into Carl for love and warmth. The couple soon drifted into a deep sleep; the day’s activities finally having caught up with them. Carl gathered the duvet automatically in his slumber and the couple were soon releasing low snoring noises, almost in rhythm.
BANG, BANG, BANG.
Carl leapt up from the bed, the duvet travelled with him, causing Tilly to feel the chill, and become semi-awake. Her medicines caused her to be confused and it took her several seconds to gather her wits.
‘CONTACT, CONTACT!’ shouted out Carl as he sprinted around the bedroom in bewilderment. ‘Where did it come from,’ he screamed as he rummaged around the room for an imaginary rifle.
Tilly, sensing what was happening, shrank back to the safety of the headboard and fumbled for her bedside light. As it burst its illumination into the room, she could see the look of panic spread across her husband’s face as he darted about. ‘Carl, can you see me, can you hear me. What are you doing?’ she gently asked, almost as if speaking to a child, hoping to reach the dark, deep recesses of his mind.
He stared at her in confusion and then looked around him and down at his naked body. He ceased cradling an imaginary weapon and looked at his empty hands in puzzlement. All the while his breathing had been erratic, and his heart was pumping swiftly. He took a deep breath, and then another and exhaled slowly and deliberately. He looked across sheepishly to Tilly and gave a nervous laugh. ‘Sorry love. I could have sworn that I heard three loud bangs.’ He looked to the clock on the wall. It was four in the morning. ‘I’ll just slip my dressing-gown on and have a check around the house and see that the children are okay. Perhaps one of their new toys fell off the bed and bounced on the floor. You go back to sleep.’
Tilly yawned, her own heart had stopped pounding and she gratefully settled back into the comfort of the warm duvet, her befuddled brain was still under the effects of her bedtime medicines and she soon drifted off to sleep, all thoughts of Carl’s strange behaviour forgotten for the moment.
Carl turned on his bedside light and then reached up for his robe and made himself decent for checking on their children. He switched off Tilly’s light and gave her head a few reassuring strokes. As he did so, he tried not to notice that his hands were shaking. Seeing that she was now settled he quickly left the room and switched on the landing light. From its illumination he could make out the sleeping forms of both his children as he quietly opened each of their doors in turn. He resisted the urge to enter and sit on their beds and listen to their gentle sleeping noises and draw peace from their serenity in slumber.
As he walked down the stairs he loitered long enough at the other landing and drew back the curtain to see if anyone was outside. The street was dimly lit in the new energy saving lighting that the Council had recently installed. There was no movement, nor were there shadows creeping about. Their car seemed okay. Satisfied, he made his way quicker down the stairs and swiftly went from room to room, almost on instinct, as if with a military squad doing standard operating room clearance procedures. He checked all possible hiding places and opened curtains and checked windows to see if there were any cracks from a thrown object. He could find nothing on the floors, no objects had dropped of their own accord. Perhaps he had imagined those bangs, or maybe some long forgotten memory had flooded his dreams. He shrugged and made his way to the kettle, a brew would rebalance him and he’d soon go back to bed, just as soon as his heart rate settled.
Annabelle came down the stairs, bleary-eyed, rubbing at her eyes as if to dislodge grit from them. She yawned as she pitter pattered to the kitchen table, the long ears of her rabbit shaped slippers jogged up and down with each footstep. ‘Did I hear you shouting at mummy, daddy?’ she asked as she hopped onto the kitchen chair and looked around the table for her favourite unicorn-shaped cereal.
Carl had both his hands wrapped around another cup, strong coffee this time. He hadn’t bothered going back to sleep and instead had stayed awake trying to read his new book. Dark thoughts had clouded his concentration and instead, he’d sat here waiting for his family to awaken and for his hands to stop shaking. His heart had almost stopped its excited pounding. Whatever those noises were, they had troubled him.
‘That was just me having a bad dream sweetheart. I think I ate too much cheese last night at your grandma’s.’ He smiled at her for reassurance. It sounded like she had not heard the noises either, just his daft shouting out.
The toilet system was flushed, its low wail spread through the walls like a tired banshee, and dissipated, and then Gordon walked in from the bathroom. ‘I never heard a thing. What did I miss?’ He reached over for a warmed croissant, his favourite almond one.
Several pieces flaked off and dropped onto the plate that his father had placed in front of him. Carl had given up trying to teach him table manners and just did his best to mop up the mess that followed his path. Though his mother soon found other bits and pieces to pick up. Sometimes they despaired when they entered his bedroom and soon about turned and walked away. So long as he was happy, that was all that mattered.
‘Nothing, just me in my sleep. You two have a big breakfast, I’m taking you for a walk around the ruined castle, while your mum has a lie in.’
The children rolled their eyes at each other, they knew what one of their dad’s walks entailed, a couple of hours away from the warmth of their bedrooms and their telly and computers. ‘If only Daisy had bigger legs, we could take her with us,’ spluttered Annabelle as half a piece of unicorn body fell from her mouth and into her cereal bowl. It hit the milk and slowly sunk below the surface, letting out a sugary orange trail, like the ripples of a passing water skier.
Carl reached over and tussled the hairs on both of their heads, ‘Dress up warm, we are moving out in ten minutes.’ He drained the last of his coffee, stood up, walked over to the kitchen cupboard, and reached in and took out several trail bars to feed his troops during their manoeuvres.
Lee made encouraging noises to Daisy, wanting her to quickly pass Simon’s gate. He needn’t have worried as her ears pricked up and she strained at the leash, bringing her owner with her as she tried to reach the source of the shouting.
‘Daisy, Daisy!’ shrieked Annabelle as she spotted her best friend as she walked up her path. She ran forward, knelt, and was rewarded with a facial wash from Daisy’s licks which culminated in a rummage and snuffle in and around Annabelle’s ears. The dog had nudged her pal’s hat up and off her head and Carl had caught it in time.
‘Good catch!’ admired Lee. As he drew closer, he looked shocked to see sunken dark patches under Carl’s eyes. ‘Too early in the morning? You look rough.’ He laughed, and asked Gordon, ‘Has daddy been on the sherry last night!’
‘I wish,’ moaned Carl tersely. ‘I got woken up at four in the morning. I thought I heard three loud bangs. I couldn’t get back to sleep.’
Lee looked across to Simon’s house and noticed that his driveway gates were locked and bolted shut, a huge padlock barred their opening by anyone but the keyholder. All the curtains in the house were unusually drawn tightly closed, ‘Ah, four in the morning you say.’
‘Yes, do you know something, or did you and Brodie hear it too? No-one else in the house heard it and I wondered whether it may have been my imagination.’ He subconsciously scratched his head as if demonstrating his confusion.
‘Guy and Finty did describe to me that they heard bangs for the last couple of Boxing Day mornings. Simon leaves home to travel down to Cornwall with Millie to stay with their daughter each New Year. He likes to drive when the roads are quiet, and no-one can get in his way. I’m guessing that was him securing his house perhaps?’
‘What a racket he made if it was. Blimey, I’d be a bit more respectful to folks sleeping if that were me.’
Lee hesitated, thought for a moment, and decided to ask anyway. ‘That’s the first time you’ve heard such bangs from him?’
‘Yes, it’s been peaceful otherwise. I’ve never known such noises, well, not since my army days. It unsettled me for a bit. Though it seemed to come from the top of the house and behind.’
Lee looked up to Simon’s roof, where he’d had two skylights installed during his loft conversion. Not for use as a light source in an additional bedroom, for no-one came to stay with him, but so that he could better see around the neighbourhood, front and back. He made use of this bird’s eye view to watch the coming and going of various neighbours. He could often be seen leaning right out, craning his neck for a better view. Lee didn’t have the heart to tell his friend what Guy and Finty went through. He hoped these noises were a one-off and tried to veer the subject away from the noises. ‘You’ll not need to worry, they won’t come back until the second of January, they always do.’ He hesitated to ask, then ploughed on with, ‘Perhaps they dropped their suitcase, or something. No other noises?’
Carl looked at Lee thoughtfully and left an uncomfortable silence hanging over them, until finally deciding to not reveal that he thought he’d heard Millie cry out, perhaps in pain, through the adjoining bedroom walls. Maybe he needed to discuss this with Tilly first. Though he knew that these were thick walls. He’d gone through several drill bits trying to secure some shelving the other week. ‘No. Normally I sleep like a baby, though sometimes, well, you know.’
Lee nodded, though no, he didn’t know, and Carl didn’t seem to want to explain any further. But he did look troubled, not just from lack of sleep, he just didn’t seem to have any Christmas spirit left about him.
‘Well, we won’t keep you, poor Daisy will be getting cold. I’m taking these two for a brisk Boxing Day walk. It’s a bit of a family tradition, whilst their mum has a lie-in. When they were babies, I’d take them to all sorts of places in their buggies. I just need to get out and about sometimes, you know, when the walls start to close in. It’s lovely that they can walk by me now.’
Lee grinned, the two children didn’t seem to think it was lovely and most probably wanted to stay indoors and munch through the sweets and chocolates that kind Father Christmas had left them.
‘Thanks again for storing my presents in your shed, what a great surprise they were. I was rewarded with a couple of jackdaws feeding this morning. They look like the thugs of the neighbourhood with their dark, sunken, beady eyes.
Lee smiled, though he couldn’t help thinking that Carl’s sleep deprived darkened eyes compared easily to those birds.
Chapter Sixteen
Carl leaned back into the plush leather of his recliner and his legs rose and nestled on the built-in footrest. He sighed with contentment as he looked out of his study window and watched as a flock of sparrows flew in bouncing waves into his garden, like a squadron of Star Wars X-Wing fighters dodging laser-cannon fire from an Imperial Destroyer. They bobbed and weaved against invisible threats, their flashes of white sidebars giving away their position, and then rested on the roof of his large shed. They then took it in turns to fly swiftly to the bird-table for a treasured seed and then return with their treat. Some ate whilst in flight whilst others had the willpower to wait until they were back on their collective den. Others made for the hanging fat-ball holder where suet infused with nuts and seed delights awaited mining by their sharp little beaks. All the while they kept up their delighted chirping and churring sounds.
After several minutes they collectively rose and flew, all the while dipping and twisting, as they made their way into Lee and Brodie’s garden. The starlings had been spotted and this chattering boisterous group had them spooked and on the run. They settled on the couple’s lawn, for they didn’t have any bird feeders, and were soon grubbing around.
The green-blue, almost grey, with black and mottled oily appearing plumage of the starlings manifested itself as a black cloud that didn’t portent gloom, instead it brought excited clattering, like the heightening screams of playful children in the school yard. Their excitement rose as they dive-bombed the bird-table, scattering bird seed as they descended and squabbled amongst themselves for a prized spot. Their ill-mannered behaviour was in sharp contrast to the gentle patience of the previous visitors and extended to pecking each other for supremacy on the feeding station. From his chair, Carl could now see that many still sported their white spots of autumn plumage as they bobbed into the water of the bird-table and ruffled their feathers during their ablutions. Their harsh calls of ‘tcheerr’ belied their enjoyment of getting clean and gaining an easy full belly.
Carl spied a timid Blue Tit, a bird that he’d called a yellow tit for years, until Tilly put him right and reinforced her words and opinion with a gift of an RSPB handbook of British birds so that he could learn more about native visitors to his garden and beyond. Though he would always call them a yellow tit to his wife, now he could differentiate between a coal, crested, blue and great tit. He hoped one day to see a marsh and willow tit on his long walks.
This solitary Blue Tit sat patiently on the top of the barren rambling twig-like buddleia bush at the foot of the garden. Its short trill giving away its position as it sang out its alarm call. It made rapid head movements, like that of someone with a nervous tic, constantly looking around, on the alert for danger, much like Carl would have done on missions in far off places like Afghanistan. It stayed at its post, alert to the opportunity of a free feed, once all the big birds had gone. It hoped to find a neglected sunflower seed to help it through this cold day.
It would have to wait a while longer, because several jackdaws swooped in, landing on the apex roof of the bird-table, wings enfolding like an old Harrier jump jet as their claws appeared to bounce several times before they found their footing and worked out how to get their large frames between the openings of the bird-table to feast on the remaining seed.
A pair of collared doves cooed in disapproval from the nearby branches of a tree in the garden from the adjacent street that backed into Carl’s rear fencing. They ruffled their feathers against the bitter late December morning, puffed out their plump chests and allowed their heads to sink, making their necks appear to fall away. They blinked a few times and then seemed to sit and stare at the bad behaviour of the squabbling starlings.
Not wanting to miss out in creating a soundscape to the neighbourhood a lonely woodpigeon, perched on top of Simon’s chimney, gave a throaty ‘coo, coo’ that echoed between the surrounding buildings. It was soon drowned out by the shrieking of nearby seagulls that had flocked in from the harbour and cliffs by the lighthouse and castle remains in search of excess boiled potatoes that the man down the hill liked to put out for them, despite a previous ASBO from the Council for feeding what others had complained of as pests.
Carl watched as the starlings hungrily devoured his offerings, scattering seeds onto the grass in their haste. The plucky robin that had made his back garden his territory, boldly hopped along and swept up the seed, taking his fill without a care that larger species were above him. A cautious blackbird waited below the supposed safety of the conifers, the evergreens offering him scarce shielding from the feral cats that had the freedom to roam the village and anyone’s garden.
As soon as the jackdaws came into land, their huge wingspans frightened off the starlings who gave one last chitter-chatter in complaint and rose like a church congregation about to sing a hymn, and flew off, towards the nursing home to the left and down the street of Carl’s backyard. He watched with delight at their clever formation, like a swiftly moving black cloud in the dull winter day. He smiled at his gentle hobby, lost in a moment of mindfulness.
He was not aware that Tilly had quietly opened his study door and was now standing in the doorway, glad to see her husband looking so happy. She had been worried about him since his nightmare several nights ago. He had none since, and his dark mood had only lasted a day. He’d subsequently slept like a baby and was more joyful with each passing day. He’d been back on form by New Year’s Night, Hogmanay as they called it here. He’d made a special Black Bun cake and their bleary-eyed children had gone with them to their grandparents to first foot them with slices of it, and then to Felicity and Geoff’s party which lasted well into the morning of New Year’s Day.
Once home, Tilly and the children went straight to bed for a long sleep, whilst Carl snatched a few hours and then was up with the larks, making from scratch, the traditional steak pie, and roast potatoes dinner for all the family. All had said that his pastry was exceptional.
Felicity and Geoff could only have had a few hours of sleep but were on fine form when they came over to indulge in Carl’s cooking along with Shona and Lewis. Carl had invited Dotty, Lee, and Brodie along with guest of honour Daisy. They’d all gotten along splendidly, especially Dotty and Shona, and then the more able of the group had a sing-along and dance to Annabelle’s favourite songs, mostly Disney ones.
A conversation with a tipsy Lee had made Tilly think and she had reflected upon what he had said.
‘It’s great to see Carl looking so much better,’ he slurred. ‘He looked ever so ill after Simon had started up with you both.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ she had casually enquired as she topped up his white wine.
‘The bangs. That’s why Guy and Finty left, didn’t you know?’
