Magnolia Close, Episode 4. Dark Room

Benson Fairhurst had not witnessed the arrival of his new neighbours. He had had the curtains drawn and was studying photo negatives on a small panel light, like a miniature of the kind of thing doctors used to put x-rays on in days gone by. He was so absorbed in this that he didn’t notice the infant behind him reaching out a sticky hand to pull more strips of negatives from one of a collection of storage boxes on the coffee table, until he heard the front door open and slam. He turned just in time.

"Dylan! Don’t touch those! Keep you little fingers off!"

Just then, his other son, Maxwell, elder by fourteen years, came into the room.

"What are you doing at home at this time of the afternoon?" Benson asked.

"We’ve finished early."

"Early? What are you on about?"

Maxwell went over to the curtains and pulled them wide, letting in a tide of daylight.

"Maxwell," Benson persisted, "since when has school finished early?"

"Since we’ve all got our exams coming up. We have periods time-tabled for private study."

"Private study? Well what are you doing here?"

"I can study at home, can’t I?"

"But aren’t you supposed to study in class or go to the library?"

Maxwell slung a sports bag full of school things on to the sofa. "How would you know? You never took any exams."

"Don’t take that attitude with me – " Benson checked himself, taking a deep breath. "Look, Max… I’m not having a go at you. Just because I left school with no qualifications… I’ve had to work hard ever since."

"You don’t call taking photographs a proper job, do you? You just sit around all day looking at pictures in the dark!"

"Being a photographer is a proper job."

"Then why don’t you get me that new mobile I’ve been on about then? All my mates have got ‘em. If you’re making so much money…"

"Well… business hasn’t been so good lately. But just you wait till the wedding season takes off."

"Haven’t you heard," Max sneered, "marriage is out of fashion these days. You should know – you’ve never married." He gestured at the negative strips. "Like film – out of date. You should go digital."

"I can’t afford a new camera. If you get your qualifications then you can get what you call a proper job and you’ll have all the money you need for things like that. That’s why I want to finish your day at school properly."

"I don’t know what you’re going on about any – it’s only three o’clock. It’s not like I bunked off for the day or anything,"

"Three o’clock?" Benson was surprised for an entirely different reason. "Oh, God - Lucille’s due here at three to see Dylan."

"Lucille Keaton? That social worker bird? What’s she still coming to see Dylan for?"

Benson was dashing around trying to put away all his photograph materials. "Here, Max. Just keep an eye on Dylan while straighten up."

Max did no such thing. As his father gathered up boxes of prints and negatives, he too picked up a strip and held it to the light. "Flipping heck, Dad, who’s this bird in this picture?"

Benson snatched the strip from him. "She’s just a model we had down at the photography club. We hire ‘em in occasionally so we’ve got something to do when work’s slack. Learn new techniques. Keep your hand in."

"Are you sure it was just your hand?"

Benson was interrupted by the door-bell. "That must be Lucille."

"Are you sure? She’s never normally on time." He looked at the box his father had stuffed the negative into. "Perhaps she’s trying to catch you out at something."

Benson picked up the sports bag and stuffed it into Maxwell’s arms. "Do something with this."

"Alright, Dad," he said with faint sarcasm, "I’ll go to my room and get my nose stuck in a book."

Benson didn’t open the door until Maxwell had stomped slowly to the top of the stairs and disappeared.

"Hello, Mr Fairhurst, how are we doing today?"

"Hello, Mrs Keaton. Same as usual, I guess. Yourself?"

"Same as usual," she said, stepping inside, "overworked and underpaid, like all public servants." Cheerful but with a sigh.

It was part of their ritual, to get the ball rolling. Even the formality of Benson’s greeting was put on, as Lucille Keaton was a neighbour from the opposite end of the Close. "Has that husband of yours been catching villains lately?" He used the word with comic relish.

"Stuck behind a desk, most of the time, if you ask me." She gave a laugh. "Now then, how’s this little chap?" She bent over to address Dylan who, at the sight of a relative stranger stuck his thumb in his mouth. "You’ve not much to say for yourself, have you?"

There was a pause. "His mother was hoping to get off work early and perhaps catch you, if you were running a little late."

"How’s Ashleigh’s new job working out?"

"It’s going great, as far as I can tell. She’s already made an impression on senior editor in the art department. I’ve got to tell you again, thanks for getting her that job experience placement at the magazine. It’s really paid off."

"How about yourself?"

Benson sighed. "To be honest, freelance photography work at the moment is a bit on the quiet side. There’s not much call for paparazzi round here. The local rag’s not really interested. I could do with a Phoenix the Cow picture or a good train wreck with exclusive pics."

"Well, you never know. There could be a plane about to crash on Magnolia Close."

"Oh, gosh." Benson covered his eyes with his hands. "I didn’t mean to sound such an ambulance-chaser!"

"Oh, I know you don’t mean it!" Lucille tried to gee him up. "Seriously, are you having any money problems at the moment?"

Benson shook his head. "No, not really. Not like the bad old days when we first had Dylan and neither of us were working. It’s just that things are a bit tight."

"Ah, well. I’m sure things’ll turn around soon. In fact I was thinking of recommending to my team-leader that there is no need me to visit Dylan any more." She turned to the little boy. "But I love seeing him so much."

"Don’t speak too soon – he needs new shoes and I might have to beg or steal to get them."

"Hey, don’t do that, or you’ll have constable Keaton after you."

End of Episode 4

Magnolia Close, Episode 3 The Old Guard

Gladys brought in the tray with the fine china on it, the pot and tea-cups, and the plate of scones, as she did every day at around four o’clock. The only variation in this ritual was that, in winter, the scones were replaced with hot toasted tea-cakes. Either way, they were always thick in butter. It was their one real luxury.

"What have you been staring at all afternoon?" she said.

"Our new neighbours."

"And why is that your business, Walter Ashton? You nosey old tramp. Sit down right now and get on with your tea."

Walter moved away from the window slowly – in their small house there was no need to hurry, no corner of it unseen a thousand times – and lowered himself into his usual armchair.

"Well?" said Gladys.

"Well what?"

"What are they like?"

"I though you said it was none of our business."

"Walter! I said it was none of your business." She poured his tea.

He took a purse-lipped sip.

"So?"

"She’s a coloured lass," he said, revealing a note of surprise in his voice.

"So what? You’ve seen coloured folk before. There’s that family at Number 28 for a start. You’re not becoming a racist in your old age, are you? Though it is about time you did something in your life."

"But he’s not."

"Not what?"

"Coloured."

She sat back in silence, interrupted by an "Oh…"

Walter reached for his scone. "I was thinking."

"There has to be a first time for everything."

"How long have we lived here?"

She stopped to consider. "Did we have a colour tele when we moved in, or did we get it after?"

"I dunno. That’s why I was asking. But it’s just crossed my mind. We’ve seen kids outside grow up from nippers and move away or some have stayed. And they’ve have had nippers and we’ve watched them play outside. Now some of them will be moving away soon."

"That’s what crossed your mind? How long did that take?"

"How come we’ve never moved away?"

"Because we live here, you pillock," She sunk her dentures into her scone.

He was silent for a while. He took another sip of tea. "Something else crossed my mind."

"Good grief – with all that traffic in that head of yours, they’ll have to put up lights."

"Have you ever wondered which of us’ll go first?"

"You." She was definite about this.

"Oh, thanks very much."

"Then I’ll have parties night and day and get back to enjoying my life."

"You heartless old harridan," he said, mildly.

Gladys put her plate down on the tea table, loaded it with another scone, then retreated back into her chair. "I know what you were really wondering."

"What was that?"

"You were wondering, if they had kids, what colour they would turn out to be."

"Was I?"

"It’s funny how you worry about other people’s children and don’t give a thought to your own." She sipped again.

"But they’re in Australia. Assuming," he added acidly, "that they are mine."

"Don’t start that again, you dirty-minded tripe-hound." She managed a smile, but a weary one.

"Well! I write and they don’t reply."

"That," Gladys replied from her throne behind the china, "is because they’ve got better things to do with their lives."

They were silent for a while, save for the faint noises of consuming their afternoon tea. It was Walter who interrupted the near-silence.

"I suppose they’d turn out half and half."

"What the devil are you rambling on about now?"

"The children. Of the mixed couple, I mean. I suppose they would be half way between white and coloured."

"Thank goodness for that. For a moment, I though you meant they’d end chequered like a flag or a draughts board."

Walter was amused, laughing enough for some tea to spill in his saucer. When next he raised the cup to his lips, it dripped down the front of his cardigan. "Just imagine – it would be fun if they did."

"Walter, you’re getting tea down your front. You’d better give me that to sponge when you’ve finished.

Walter stopped laughing and fell back into reflection. "Are you sure," he said at last, "that I’ll go before you?"

"You’ll have to."

"Why?" he said, innocently.

"Because there’s no way you’d ever cope on your own."

****

Nasreen and Robert were just sitting down on two of the more robust cardboard boxes – robust because they were labelled as filled with books – and were enjoying their tea from the teabags and cups Sammy had brought them – enjoying up to a point. They still hadn’t found their teapot and kettle.

"Hotel courtesy catering," said Nasreen, wrinkling her nose. "I’d rather have had a cup, brewed with real tea-leaves in a proper pot."

"Still, it was very kind of Sam to come and help us out."

"Was it really? I just got the impression he was short of a bit of company."

"Do you think so? In any case it was thoughtful of him."

"And to take another, closer look."

"A closer look at what?" For once, Robert’s thoughts hadn’t been keeping up with hers.

"Do you think he’s married?"

"I suppose so. I don’t know. Why?"

"We may have to meet Mrs Sammy. So that she can give us the once-over as well. I thought Magnolia Close was going to be a place with a little more class than that."

"What do you mean?"

"The way the curtains keep twitching. Haven’t you noticed we’re being stared at? Being mixed race and all?"

"Nobody used to stare at us when we were at university together."

"That was different," she said. "You know, I never thought I’d say this, but sometimes we were still back there."

He got up, placing his arm round her shoulder. "Well, we’re here now, in Magnolia Close, and we’re here to stay."

End of Episode 3

Anyone who wants to write for Magnolia Close, please get in touch.

Magnolia Close - Episode 2

Maxwell Fairhurst had been observing the house-moving from the opposite side, number 22. He wished that a fit bit like Brooke Ames, whose head he had seen popping over the fence from number 24, was not leaving Hope Academy in the summer. He still had another year to go. Finally, he tired of watching the parade of boxes going into Robert Farrah’s new home and wandered over to the young black kid sat on the wall of number 28.

"How’s it going, brother?"

"I’m not your brother, Max."

"I thought we was all brothers under the skin, Luther."

"Why aren’t you going in your house?"

"My old man’s gonna be there and he’ll give me grief if I turn up this early."

"How do you know he’s home?"

"Cuz the curtains are drawn. He’s at what he calls work. What about you? Where your folks be at?"

"They’ll both be at work at their pet shop. And stop trying to talk like some black rapper. I don’t know anyone who talks like that."

Max looked down at his shoes. "OK. I’m sorry. I just thought it sounded cool."

"Well, you’re the wrong colour and in the wrong neighbourhood."

"I said I’m sorry." Max was still embarrassed. He wanted to ask how come Luther was also home from school so early in the afternoon, but didn’t like to ask. He tried to think of something else to say. "That Brooke Ames, she’s alright, isn’t she?"

"Her sister Celine’s not bad either."

The two boys laughed and touched fists. "My man," said Max, with a grin.

"Do you want and come and wait inside for a while before your dad sees you?"

"That’d be cool."

Luther heaved himself off the wall and Max followed him. "When are your parents due home?" he asked. "I thought you was locked out?"

"Not till they close the shop for the day, which won’t be for ages."

"So how come you’re home so early?"

"I dunno. They said the teacher wasn’t coming in at the last minute and they couldn’t get cover. They told us to go to the library."

"You got books in the house?"

"‘Course."

"Well then – your home is a library."

****

Douglas was hovering at the end of his drive at number 25. He was relieved when Sammy finally left the Farrahs and returned to his own home next door. He wiped his palms nervously on the front of his pants then stepped forward to meet the new arrivals.

"Hello?" He called out. "Anybody about?"

Getting no answer, he moved further into the lounge, examining the few things that had spilled from boxes or been placed on window sills. He was studying a large hi-fi unit when Nasreen came in the room.

"Oh!" she said.

Douglas jumped and spun round. "Good grief!" He pointed to the doorway. "I did call out but nobody answered. I didn’t realise you were… er…"

"Asian?" She tried to help him.

"Ah. Er, well… that too. No… what I meant was, I thought you had disappeared."

Robert appeared and stood next to Nasreen. "Darling, who’s this?"

"I’m not sure just yet."

"Oh – I’m Douglas." He extended a hand like giving away a dirty rag. "Next door but one," he was pointing again, "that way. You’ve got a new job in the area, I take it?"

"Yes," said Robert, "I’m going to be teaching IT courses at the Hope Academy."

"Oh, excellent. Mint."

"And what do you do?" said Nasreen.

"Well, I’m a bit between jobs at the moment, to be honest. Which was why I was calling. New house and all. If you’ve got any odd-jobs, Douglas is your man. I got good hands, see. I can fix just about anything."

"That’s nice to know."

"You don’t learn skills like this at school, I can tell you. Tell you what, come down The Stormy Petrel tonight and we can talk about it."

"‘The Stormy’ what?"

"‘Petrel’ It’s a bird of some kind. And also the name of the local pub. You can buy me a drink, and you can meet my Maddy. She works behind the bar."

Another figure appeared in the doorway, this one almost blocking out the light.

Douglas looked at the newcomer. "I’ll be off," he said, and unceremoniously vanished.

"Has this house got a number or did we rename it Piccadilly Circus?" said Robert to no-one in particular.

"Please forgive us all crowding round. Nothing much ever happens in Magnolia Close. I’m Buster Keaton."

"What?" Robert exclaimed.

"Liam Keaton," he corrected. "But everybody calls me Buster. You’ll get used to it. I’m a copper down the local nick."

"Is there much crime round here? The estate agents said it was very quiet."

"Telling the truth for once. If two doormats went missing it would constitute a crime wave. But I would just suggest one thing."

"What’s that?"

"Keep you eye open for me-laddo there who just left. You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he’s still living, by all accounts."

"And?"

"He’s a light-finger beggar who wouldn’t know a decent day’s work if it bit him."

"Tell me one thing, constable," said Nasreen,

" – detective constable – "

"Do you keep files on all the residents of Magnolia Close?"

"Only on the interesting ones," he winked. "Anything you want, call in on my wife, Lucille. We’re number 29."

"Doesn’t she work?"

"Care-worker – looks after children at home. So she’s always in, and she can always tell you where you can find a policeman. E’ening all." With that, he was gone.

End of Episode 2

“Reids’ Morning Room” Sonnet Jackie Hutchinson

Light falls through folds of lace.
Elegantly she glides, with tight pin curls,
Demurely across the room, her dress twirls. 
Virginia holds herself with grace,
Freckles fall on her porcelain face.
Across her slender neck are rows of pearls,
She reminisces as to when they were girls.
The breeze ripples at a slower pace.
She sips from her cup of Earl Grey,
Piano notes play subtle tunes.
Waiters float along with their trays,
A warm ambience fills the afternoons-
As the morning slips to midday,
Gracious ladies chatter away.

(Posted on behalf of Jackie Hutchinson)

Magnolia Close - Episode 1

Robert put down the cardboard crate of possessions that had been more or less dumped by the removal men and looked imploringly at Nasreen. "Any chance of a cup of tea?"

"Is that the last box?"

"Yes, I think so."

"What’s in it?"

Robert strained to read the marker pen label scrawled on the box. "It just says ‘kitchen’. You think those removal guys could have written something a bit more specific. It would have been helpful."

"Perhaps they can’t write," said Nasreen. "Educational standards are slipping in this country. I don’t know why my parents ever wanted me to grow up here in the first place."

"So you could meet a wonderful man like me." Robert put his arm around Nasreen’s shoulder. "And I’ll do my best to raise educational standards when term starts at the Academy."

"Be careful – you don’t want to do it all on your first day," she grinned.

"What about that tea?"

"Do one thing first."

"What’s that?

"Find the kettle."

Robert looked round wearily. Besides the cardboard packing case he had just set on the floor, he had seen at least three others, all labelled in the same unhelpful way.

Nasreen disappeared into the kitchen: "I’ll see if I can find some cups as well."

Just at that moment, there was a knock at the door. "So you’re finally in then?"

"Good heavens," said Robert. "A vaguely familiar face! It’s Sammy, isn’t it?"

"That’s right."

"Where do I know you from?"

"Where I work – the Merlin Court Hotel. You were staying there waiting to move in here, weren’t you?

"Of course! I remember."

"And I live at number 26. Which – because of the funny way the houses are numbered round here, makes me your next door neighbour-but-two."

"Funny way – what do you mean?"

"Consecutive – not all odd on one side of the road and even on the other."

It dawned on Robert what he meant. "Which is why this is number 23, an odd number, is on the same side…"

"Three houses down – there, you’ve got it. Doesn’t half confuse visitors though. So – you settling in OK?"

"If living out of cardboard boxes is your idea of being settled. We can’t find anything."

"I had the same trouble when I helped somebody move a couple of years ago. Which is why I’ve brought you these." Sammy dug out of his coat pocket some plastic cups and cutlery, and little one-serving sachets of coffee, tea, sugar and milk. "So long as you can heat up some water, you’re laughing."

Robert was genuinely touched. "Nas – look what this kind gentleman has brought us."

Nasreen came back into the room. "Oh, hello. Good heavens, where did you get all those?"

"From the hotel you’ve just been staying in. I’m the catering manager there, so I thought it was the easiest way I could do you a favour."

"Sammy’s an expert at moving house," said Robert. "Thought this might be a priority till we get unpacked."

"I’ll say," said Nasreen, gathering up the little packets.

"One condition," said Sammy, "if I can join you."

"Of course, just as soon as I find a pan. Thank you ever so much."

"No problem. Welcome to Magnolia Close."

****

"Well? What did you hear?" Celine, being only eleven, had to rely on her big sister, Brooke, for guidance sometimes. Not that she was that close to her sister, but a sister nevertheless, and so sometimes helpful. Sometimes, though, she could be a right snotty little cow. Right now, Celine needed Brooke to be in ‘helpful’ mode.

"Pipe down," said Brooke. "I’m not standing on this bin for the good of my health. I don’t want him to catch me ear-wigging."

Celine bit her lip and tried to contain herself. Her resolve finally failed. "Can you hear anything or not?"

"Button it!… I’ve just heard him saying something about term starting at the Academy."

"What else?"

"I’m not sure. He was going on about something to do with kettles then you opened your gob."

Brooke abruptly climbed down off the wheelie bin. "Shush!"

"What’s up?"

"Sammy was just coming up the drive so I had to lay low. I think it’s him though."

"The pervert?"

"I think so. That’s what Judith Collins said at school anyway."

"Then why is he being allowed to start a new job at Hope Academy?"

"I dunno." Brooke pushed her hair back from her face. "Perhaps they let him off. Anyway, I’m not going to worry about it."

"Really?" said Celine. "Why not?"

"Well, I’m leaving this summer. It’s you who’s just about to start. Poor little Celine. New school, new teacher, new danger."

Celine was getting close to tears. Hope Academy had a good reputation and she had felt lucky to be in the catchment area when she had had her place confirmed last spring. Now she wasn’t so sure. "How can you be so… I mean, I’m your kid sister – don’t you care what might happen to me?"

"You’ll grow into it. After all, I did. I always thought all the male teachers were perverts anyway. Always trying to look down your blouse in class. ‘Just press the escape key here,’ and have a quick grope of your tits while they were at it."

"All the men were perverts?"

"Except for the gay ones. Then it was the lads who had to keep their eyes open. Thank God I’ll get my ‘A’ Levels this summer and be off to Uni."

Their mother, Martha, called out from somewhere inside the house. "Brooke! Celine." What are you up to?"

Celine blinked. "What if you don’t get the grades?"

Brooke’s face darkened with anger. "I will. But even if I don’t, one way or another, this year I’m going to be leaving Magnolia Close."

END OF EPISODE 1