Magnolia Close Episode 14. Exposed.

Celine Ames was letting her mother Martha get her ready for the newcomers’ visiting day at Hope Academy. “Looks like we’re going to be at the same school after all, if you’re doing re-sits!” said Celine to her sister.
“Not if I can help it.”
 “Have you still not got an offer of a place?” said Martha.
“No I haven’t. The last college said they would call me back if they turned up anything.”
“I thought that Track website run by UCAS was going to help get you a place?”
“They said they’d run out of courses like mine.”
“You should have got on it earlier, instead of messing around,” said Celine.
“Oh shut up, you!”
“What does she mean?” said Martha.
“Brooke’s got a boyfriend, Brooke’s got a boyfriend.”
“You will have a boyfriend if you get in that pervert’s class, you little freak!”
“Brooke! Don’t you talk to your sister like that!”

****

“What are you staring at?” Walter asked his wife Gladys. When she didn’t speak, he looked out of the window in the direction she was staring.
“There’s that Sammy Carter, coming home early from work again.” She said at last.
“What’s that got to do with you, you nosy old bag?”
“He’s always coming home early these days. I wonder if he’s not well. He doesn’t look too well. And there’s Martha, taking Brooke off to school.”
Walter looked again. “That’s not Brooke, that’s her younger sister, Celine.”
“Oh, of course. If she’s going to a new school, you’d think Dennis, the father, would be going to check it out.”
“And take a day off work? That’s a mother’s job. He’s more old-fashioned about that kind of thing than we are old.” Walter chuckled to himself. Gladys didn’t seem to hear him.
“There’s that Sammy Carter, coming home early from work again,” she said.

****

“Here’s that written description you wanted,” said Robert Farrah, handing over a slip of paper.

“Thanks,” said Buster. “But if this doesn’t work, I’ll have to make it official. Or drop it.”
“Whatever you think best,” said Robert. “Now I’ve got to and meet some of next year’s new pupils.”
He left Buster at the entrance to Hope Academy and went down to the corridor to the junior assembly hall where children about to join the school and their parents were gathering.
“Hello and welcome to you all from Hope Academy. I can see a lot of faces I’m going to get to know in the coming year,” he said, looking round, “and one or two that are familiar to me already.” He spotted Martha Ames with her daughter and smiled.
Celine screamed and ran out of the room before Martha could stop her.

****

“Mr Fairhurst?” Buster said, “Can I come in and have a word with you?”

“What about? And what’s he doing with you?” Benson indicated Douglas, who was standing, looking somewhat reluctant to be there, at Buster’s side.
“Let us in and I’ll explain.”

Buster was sitting in the lounge of Benson Fairhurst’s house with a digital SLR camera in his lap and a slip of paper, with two unhappy looking men facing him.
“So – to me, this looks like the camera that went missing from number 23, Magnolia Close earlier this summer. Would you care to explain how you came to have it, Mr Fairhurst? You are aware that it is a criminal offence to receive stolen goods?”
“I – I bought it off him – Douglas Gormley. But it was in good faith. He told me he’d bought it from a business that was closing down.”
“That’s we he told me,” said Buster. “It didn’t strike you as odd that it didn’t come in a box? Mr Gormley,” he turned to Douglas, “where did you get this camera? Didn’t you steal it from Robert Farrah, as he was moving in? You were there that afternoon. I saw you myself.”
“No, honestly…” Douglas shook his head. “I found it.”

****

“What was that all about?” said Martha to Celine when she finally caught up with her at home.
Celine, in floods of tears, was hardly able to speak, when Brooke came into the room. Suddenly, Celine pointed at her sister and through sobs yelled, “It’s all your fault, you big sod!”
“Celine!”
“Don’t you talk to me like that, you little creep,” said Brooke.
Celine turned to her mother. “She told me. She told me that new bloke at number 23 is a pervert and he’s going to be teaching at Hope.”
“Is this true?” said Martha.
“And the only reason,” Celine butted in again, “that she’s going to have to go back and do re-sits is because she didn’t get in touch with the University after she got her crap exam results. She didn’t get in on to Clearing because was fooling around with a boy!”
“Shut it, you little dirt-bag!”
“Boy?” What boy?” said Martha.
“Max. Maxie Fairhurst.”

****

“You found it!” said Buster. “I cannot believe any crook is still using that daft excuse.”
“But it’s true, Mr Keaton, I swear. It was in a litter-bin. I even saw the bloke who threw it away.”
At that moment, Maxwell Fairhurst came into the room.
“What’s up, Dad?”
“That damn camera you wanted me to buy – it was stolen!”
“It wasn’t!” Douglas insisted. “I actually saw this bloke throw the camera into a bin. I thought, ‘waste not, want not’ so I took it.”
“What bloke?” said Buster. “Don’t give me that.”
“He could be telling the truth,” said Max. “Wait there a moment.”
“I’m going to jail over a damn camera,” said Benson to no-one in particular.
Max returned with his laptop computer. “Here,” he said to Buster and Douglas. “Look at these pictures. Mr Gormley, is that the bloke you saw throw the camera away?”
Douglas craned forward to look at the laptop’s screen. “Yeah, that’s him. He lives round here, doesn’t he?”
“That’s Sammy Carter!” said Buster. “But what the bloody hell is he doing in those pictures?”

END OF EPISODE 14

Magnolia Close Episode 13. Results.

Brooke Ames found herself unable to get out of the car. Her mother, Martha, had driven her to Hope Academy on the most fateful day Brooke had ever known in her life. The day when she found out whether all the effort she had struggled to make over the last two years were going to pay off. Or prove to be just an over-ambitious waste of time. The day that would change all of her life, forever.

Results day.

Her mother got out of the car, walked round and opened the door on Brooke’s side.

"I can’t get out, Mum. What if I’ve not got my grades?"

"Well the results aren’t going to change just because you stay sitting there."

"But I so want to go to university."

"The other week you were saying you wanted to stay at home."

"That’s not true!" Brooke snapped. "Why would I have worked so hard if I wanted to stay at home?"

Martha realised that she was not being particularly sympathetic. She had hated school and back in her day she was just glad to leave and didn’t care about qualifications. She had been quite content to be a home-maker. But now, she too was thinking of going to night-school to see if she could get a part-time job, something in an office perhaps. "Come on," she said softly, "whatever you’ve got, you’ve got to find out some time."

Just then Brooke noticed across the car park a familiar figure going into the school building. "What’s he doing here?"

"Who?" Martha looked at where Brooke was staring. "Isn’t that that new chap who’s just moved in to number 23? He’s going to be a new teacher here, isn’t he?"

Brooke suddenly snapped upright and quickly got out of the car. "Whatever I’ve got, I’m not coming back here to do re-sits."

****

Inside, the corridor was cool and oppressively familiar, and bustling with activity. The results were being handed out in envelopes by some of the staff at a desk set up in the foyer. Disturbingly, there were cries of jubilation mixed in with faces blank with disappointment and, either way, everyone seemed to be hugging everybody else like they had just survived an air-crash.

Brooke got to the desk and gave her name and was handed an envelope.

"What did you need again?" said Martha.

"Two A’s and a B. Someone said I might just get away with two B’s."

"Well – go on – open it!"

Brooke took a breath. Here she would see in black and white officially what her worth was, in the eyes of the academic system. She looked down at the slip of paper. She could not believe what she saw.

****

"What you doing this afternoon?" Benson asked his son, Maxwell, who was sat at his new laptop computer and reading Facebook.

"Dunno. Nothing much. Why?"

"I thought you might like to come along with me and see put the new camera through its paces."

"You mean you want me to help you figure out how to use it."

"I’m open to advice. It wouldn’t hurt you to show some gratitude for me getting you that – " he indicated the laptop.

"I still don’t know how you afforded both a computer for me and a new camera for yourself."

"Well… they were a bargain. And they were both second-hand. I’m sorry if it’s not the latest model. Not that you seem to be doing that much school-work on it anyway."

Maxwell bridled at this remark. "I was wondering when that was going to come up. And another thing, where did you get that camera from?

"What’s it to you?"

"This is just a cheapy machine but that camera’s top of the range. You always were going on about how you had no money."

Benson sighed, disappointed. "Like I said, they were both a bargain. It wouldn’t hurt you to show a little gratitude, all the same."

Benson snapped the lid of the laptop shut. "Oh for God’s sake…" he said, and walked out.

Kids, Benson thought. What were you supposed to do to please them?

****

Brooke got back into her mother’s car, unable to speak.

"What was it again?" said Martha.

After a pause, Brooke said, "Two Bs and a C."

"That’s nearly good enough, isn’t it?"

"‘Nearly good enough’ isn’t good enough!"

"Don’t you raise your voice to me! What did that nice lady say you should do?"

hone my first choice and see what they say, which will almost certainly be ‘no,’ then phone up Clearing and see if I can scrape in anywhere else."

"That will be something," said Martha. "Not all hope is lost, eh?"

"You don’t understand," said Brooke. "It’s not the same as getting your first choice. I might not even be able to do the course I want."

"But you will still be at university."

Brooke looked at her mother with a mixture of anger and frustration. Why couldn’t she understand? Then she saw Robert Farrah again, this time coming out of the school building. It was all too much. Brooke leapt out of the car and hurried off.

****

It was some time later that Brooke happened to meet Maxwell as he was wandering, seeming equally lost in thought, down the end of the close.

"Hey, Brooke. How’d the results go?"

How many more times she was going to be asked this horrible question. "Max! I’ve failed."

"Don’t be daft. Of course you’ve not failed. You must have got something."

She handed the fateful slip of paper to Max.

"What was your firm offer?"

"Two A’s and a B," she found herself saying yet again.

"There’s still a chance then. And there’s always Clearing."

"Not you and all," she said bitterly. This time, she began to cry.

Max gently put his arms around her. "We’ll sort something out."

"I don’t think so," she sniffed.

"Come on. I’ll take you back to mine. Dad’s out, so we’ll have the place to ourselves."

End of Episode 13

Magnolia Close Episode 12. Looking For Clues.

"Where are the pamphlets for tomorrow’s conference guests?"

"What pamphlets?" said Sammy.

"The conference of wholesale confectioners – they sent us a pack of leaflets that were to be put out in each delegate’s room." This was Donald McClintock, Sammy’s deputy at Merlin Court.

"Oh. Er, Sorry. I knew there was something…"

"Look," said Donald quietly, standing close. "I’ll sort it out. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?"

"Sleep what off?"

"And take that bottle with you. There’s no point in putting back a half-empty. I’ll put it down as a breakage."

****

"My Dad’s not in," said Maxwell Fairhurst.

"It’s not Benson I’ve come to see," said Buster Keaton. "It’s you I’ve come to see."

"What about?"

"The other night – when you were with Brooke Ames."

"Yeah. So?"

"What were you up to?"

"What’s it got to do with you?"

"What were you doing?"

"Homework."

"Don’t give me that," said Buster. "See this face. You don’t lie to it, right? You’re both on school holiday for the summer."

"Well… we were just spending some time together. You know? It’s not against the law, is it?"

"No, it isn’t, but that doesn’t make it alright. And did Brooke buy some alcohol?"

"She got some cans of beer in."

"Now she’s old enough to drink. But you’re not."

"Not in public. But I can in private, with an adult."

Buster knew he had a point. He didn’t trust him. But that was probably only because he was a teenager. "Just you make sure you don’t get her to buy it for you from the off-licence. I would take what we adults call ‘a dim view.’ Do you get my meaning?"

"Don’t worry, Mr Keaton. I didn’t touch anything. Either Brooke or anything alcoholic."

Buster suddenly noticed something, past Maxwell’s shoulder, hanging from the coat-rack by its strap. "Has your father got a new camera at last?"

"Goodbye, Mr Keaton." Maxwell closed the door.

Buster had had doors closed in his face before. It never reassured him. It only made him want to come back and ask more questions. And, usually, he did.

As for Maxwell, he leaned with his back to the door and let out a long, deep sigh. He knew what had been on that camera, before he deleted it all for his father. But he’d kept copies on his laptop too. Just in case he needed them. He had a feeling he might.

****

"How was work down at The Petrel?" Douglas asked Maddy.

"Oh, the usual. Mostly quiet. That new couple were in again, but I think they’ll soon get bored. And Sammy had to be helped out the door again."

"Why don’t you ask old man Spencer for a night off?"

"Because we need the money."

"Well, it just happens I’ve got a bit of money to spare at the moment."

"You have?! Have you been in my purse?"

Douglas looked hurt. "No! This is my money. Made it, fair and square. I was wondering whether you fancied an evening out. We could go up town."

"Not on the horses. Don’t tell me you got lucky."

"I got lucky. But not on the horses. How about it?"

****

Brooke Ames opened the door of number 25, Magnolia Close to Shannon Cahill, a friend of hers from Hope Academy.

"You nervous about results tomorrow?"

"A bit," said Brooke. "You?"

"A bit," said Shannon. "But I’ll tell you what’s worrying me most."

"What?"

"Having to stay another term to do re-sits at Hope Academy."

"Yeah, it would be a real drag."

"Not just that, – I’ve got a friend, Clare, who goes to Eastfields. She says she knows that new teacher they are just about to get. A bloke called Farrah."

"Robert Farrah?"

"Oh, you’ve heard of him then?"

"Yeah. You could say that. What about it?"

"Turns out he was a teacher at Eastfields. But he had to leave ‘cos it turns out he’s a bit of a pervert. Specially with schoolgirls."

"What?!"

"No lie. He was a new teacher there just a year ago but he got up to something and they had to give him the heave-ho."

"What did he get up to?"

"You’d have to meet Clare and ask her for the gory details. We’d better just hope were leaving this summer and we get the grades we need. Where you hoping to go?"

"Aston in Birmingham. I want to do media studies."

"Well… here’s hoping. Hey, isn’t your kid sister Celine supposed to be starting at Hope in the autumn?"

****

Robert Farrah knocked on the door of number 29 and was greeted by Lucille Keaton.

"Mrs Keaton?"

"That’s right."

"I was wondering – is your husband at home? I could do with having a word with him."

"Business or pleasure?"

"I’m afraid it’s probably more business than pleasure. Though it is nice to meet you."

"That’s alright," Lucille said coolly. "Please come him. Buster’s through there."

Buster was watching some cop drama on the TV.

"Sorry, I’m interrupting your relaxing."

"That’s alright. Real police work is nothing like most tele shows it. What can I do for you?"

"I don’t want to make it official. But, you know that day we moved in and you came to introduce yourself? You said we should keep an eye on whatisname? – Douglas?"

"What about him?"

"Well, we had a camera when Nas and started unpacking – a digital SLR – but afterwards – after he’d been – we couldn’t find it. We haven’t seen it since."

"Really, if you think someone’s taken it, you should report it."

"I know, but if you could have a discrete word…"

"Hm. If I had a pound for all of them, I wouldn’t need to work as a detective." Buster paused. "Alright. I’ll see what I can do. "

After Robert Farrah had gone, Lucille came up to her husband and put his hand on her shoulder. "That’s him. That’s the one we were talking about at social services. He’s a bad ’un, by all accounts."

End of Episode 12

'The Deadline', for Grazia and the Orange Prize competition

The Deadline

She stood looking up at the house. At the blank grey walls, the shuttered windows with empty boxes on the concrete sills, the stern front door. The house said nothing about what it was or what took place inside, it was unassuming and nondescript and uninviting. She’d come here several times before, but never got the courage to go in. Now, there was no choice. The deadline was today, no last chance of a reprieve or change of heart. If she was going to do it, it had to be now. She shivered, chill from the sudden drop in temperature now the light was fading, or from excitement or from fear, she didn’t know. Also, the sense of possibility that, by pressing this suburban doorbell, her life could – would – alter for good. But still she lingered on the unwashed step, picking at a thread of wool come loose from her glove, caught between the girl she was and the woman she might be. A deadline she never thought she would face…

(Introduction by Kate Mosse)

She walked up stone steps into a long corridor. A bare light bulb flickered and spluttered. Sporadically it popped bright; a burst of white light showed up damp stains on the walls, like the slick shell of a snail, speckled black and brown. The place reminded her of a fairground haunted house. Mushrooms had sprouted from the edges of cornices; delicate grey heads curled out of the wood, bursting from a tangle of slim white stalks. The wallpaper was shredded in places, and strips fell away like origami swan wings. Black and white photographs, chewed and mouldering, hung crookedly here and there. She felt eyes and claws, beaks and noses, straggling out of the frames.

They reminded her of walking along the streets of the city. The reason why the deadline pressed upon her. There was something smarmy that followed her in the crowd, as people jostled for pavement space. It was an insidious filth that crept into the lining and wound around the stitches of her clothes; hot dust that settled on her skin and crystals of dirt that rubbed under her fingernails. Faces became evil and whorish, they snapped at her with tigerish grins. The desire to be lifted up was too much. Tomorrow she would be twenty-four, and her life would be an empty smoke dream: all those listless nights numbed with wine and puffed up with chips sodden in vinegar. She lay catatonic in the darkness, tangled in stale sheets, the distance that yawned between her and the person next to her growing wider. Every day when she came home she rubbed herself raw with little bars of yellow soap, but it was never enough. After a few moments she felt people crawl and clamour at her again, and her skin itched right down to the bone. She wanted her body to be carved away to a neat sample size, her eyebrows to flick into perfect arches, and an eternal red bow to paint over her lips. She had made a call, and fixed an appointment.

The glare of the bulb in the corridor had faded as she reached the doorknob at the far end; the light contracted to two glowing red filaments. As she blindly entered the room beyond, her head filled with an infernal whizzing and whirring: she felt the bones of her skull jarred by the sound of some inscrutable machine. Furniture glowered in the corners; in the gloom she could just make out tables that held some kind of industrial apparatus. As she approached them she saw greasy coils of wire, and test tubes that dripped with a treacly sludge.

‘Hello?’ she called out, wondering where he was.

‘Are you ready?’ a voice replied.

She was led by him to a battered old sofa, where he sat her down and slipped the heels from her feet. He talked her through the different stages once again, all the while unbuttoning and unzipping her clothes. He held her hands as she stepped out of her underskirt, speaking softly:

‘The fifth stage of the process will be signalled by a sound, like the chiming of bells…’

‘And after that?’ she murmured.

‘There will be no more fear, hesitation, or messiness. You will never be ugly or clumsy again!’

‘I’m so glad.’

When she was ready to start he held out a preparation for her to drink. It tasted like a milkshake that had been left out in the sun, thick and powdery, with a slimy translucent film on top. The noise of the room became muffled, as if she had been pushed underwater, and she found it difficult to focus on the objects around her. He guided her up a curving staircase to a small room with a dentist’s chair in the centre. He talked quietly about how things were going to go smoothly and how there would be nothing to worry about anymore. As metal cuffs clinked around her wrists and ankles, she became aware of a sound like the running of a finger round the rim of a water glass. It grew and grew; a pressure inside her head that splintered her thoughts. A sticky drop of blood ran down from her nose to her lip. There was a voice calling in the distance, and then a sensation of cold water slithering down her throat, as if there was a hand reaching deep inside her. Electric lights whizzed and spat in her eyes. Thoughts spun and danced away, until she no longer cared to know them.

After what felt like a long time she awoke to a dark room. She was flawless, he told her. He had scythed away silky layers of fat beneath skin, and cauterized the dimples from her thighs. Bone and leather were fissured into the exoskeleton of a thoroughly modern woman; her stocking seams, tracing down her legs like exposed nerves, would be forever straight. The zip of a pillar-box red skirt crackled, little metal teeth nipped her flesh.

‘Carving out your identity, and your place in the world, is so much easier when your inner self is bound up in ropes and gagged with scarves,’ he laughed as he led her out. He smiled, glanced over the new mask, and checked the stitches one last time. He handed her the manual, which he assured was only for emergencies. The door shut, and she was left alone in the corridor.

As she walked back to the street entrance, she noticed that the glass of the framed pictures on the walls had been smashed. Splinters crunched beneath new patent heels, and she saw herself reflected in the long claw like shards. A girl looked back at her from a glossy world, with a grinning red mouth that split her face in two. The thick mascara made her eyelids droop like a sleepy doll. She bared her teeth at the reflection. This was what perfection felt like.

Magnolia Close Episode 11. Call of Duty

Liam "Buster" Keaton’s night out didn’t go quite as he had planned. He had dropped in at The Petrel intending just to put the day behind him and relax with a couple of pints, maybe have a chat with some of his neighbours. He was definitely not "on duty," as it were. The only thing was, he was the community officer for Magnolia Close and surrounding parts of the estate, a job he took very seriously and with some pride – he liked to think that he was in some way looking after his neighbours and was grateful for the opportunity to do so – but it did mean in effect that he was never really off-duty, in his mind. It was always in the back of his head that he had a certain responsibility to the people and place where he lived.

He was also aware that, while people always welcomed a policeman when something was the matter and that he might be able to help – a lost bike or a child late home – and that most of his neighbours were kindly disposed towards him, there were always some folk for whom the police represented some kind of threat. At very least they felt uncomfortable. He was used to this. The way some characters would not catch eyes with him, and would look away if he glanced in their direction. And they would never even think of engaging with him in conversation. It wasn’t everybody who was like this, but he was used to the ones who were.

"They sound happy," he remarked to Maddy, behind the bar and putting away glasses from the washer.

"Who?" For a moment, Maddy didn’t follow his drift – she herself was so used to customers gradually getting louder and more boisterous as the night went on, she tended to filter it out of her mind. This was not least because, given the choice, she would have been with them and having some fun herself, rather than stuck serving drinks and working. She, too, felt herself trapped by her duty at times. "Oh, Tricia, you mean? And her new house-mate."

"Seems like they are going to get along well." Buster took a long draw on his beer.

"Hmm." Maddy was non-committal. She knew that not all friendships lasted outside the halo of an evening’s drinks. "She seems to be getting her feet under the table, as they say."

Buster caught the note of caution in her voice, but chose not to remark on it. "Wasn’t that your Douglas just dashing off as I came in?"

"Yes. He said he had some – " she broke off. "He just wanted a quick one, one for the road."

Douglas was one of the characters with whom Buster would never get a chat out of. He was also aware, however, that Douglas’s erstwhile drinking partner was avoiding his gaze. He continued to study Benson Fairhurst even while carrying on talking to Maddy. Benson was not one of the types that habitually avoided eye-contact. But he was doing so tonight. "So who’s looking after your Bethanytonight?"

"Oh, don’t worry," said Maddy, as much as anything to reassure herself. "That nice Brooke Ames volunteered to baby-sit."

Buster digested this snippet of information also, and remained silent. Something was amiss here. He was reasonably sure he had seen Brooke hurrying across the car park just as he was pulling in. After some reflection, he said, "Maddy, would you mind keeping this under the counter till I get back?" He handed her the glass of beer. that, up till now, he had been enjoying, with a slight sigh of resignation. Never off duty, he thought to himself. "I just have to run a little errand."

"No problem," said Maddy. "Will you be wanting a top-up when you get back?"

"Better make it lemonade," he said. "I wouldn’t want to have to arrest myself for being over the limit."

Even as he was about to leave the bar, he was aware of the newcomers, Robert Farrah and fiancée, approaching him in that way people did when they wanted to ask a police-type question, rather than just say hello. It was something in the body language and, again, he was used to it and could spot it a mile off.

"Mr Keaton!", Robert Farrah began, cheerfully enough. "I was hoping we might run into you. There’s something that Nas and I wanted to ask you about."

There it was. Buster could always tell.

"I’m awfully sorry, Mr Farrah. I’ve just got to pop out for a moment." Buster always wanted to be helpful to everyone, but sometimes it was just not possible. Sometimes, one thing took priority over others. He nevertheless could sense the slight shrug of disappointment in Robert Farrah’s shoulders. He was a body-language expert. Whatever it was, he would have to get back to it later. He made a mental note – clearly something was up that was disturbing Mr Farrah’s peace of mind. But it would just have to wait.

Buster hurried out of the door before he was stopped by anybody else needing favours.

"Well! That was a bit disappointing," Robert said. "He was more helpful this afternoon."

Maddy said, "Don’t worry – he’s coming back. I’ve got his drink here."

"He did look he had something on his mind," Nasreen added. "I hope it wasn’t something too important. I suppose, being a policeman is one of those jobs that isn’t nine-to-five. How would you like it if pupils kept coming up to you when you went out for an evening."

"Don’t worry about him," said Maddy. "Takes himself very seriously sometimes. I think he just wants to feel important, like he’s the town sheriff. Anyway, welcome to Magnolia Close. Can I get you anything?"

Buster knocked on the door of number 25, Magnolia Close. He found himself waiting for some little time, and was already drawing his own conclusions about the reason for this, when The door opened and there stood Brooke Ames. For her part, she looked surprised.

"Mr Keaton. What’s up? Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no… no I don’t think so." Buster attempted to sound very relaxed about everything. He often found this helped those he dealt with relax also and sometimes drop their guard a little. "I just heard that you were doing a spot of baby-sitting and thought I’d swing by, make sure you were alright."

"Why shouldn’t I be?" Brooke answered, but without rancour. "Are you checking up on me?"

"Yes, I am in fact" he laughed. "Bad habit of mine, sticking my nose in other people’s business. Seriously though, a young lady in on her own – it’s part of my job, just to keep an eye out."

"But I’m not on my own. Mr Gormley’s here."

"Is he really?" said Buster, genuinely surprised. "I thought you were baby-sitting for him."

Behind her, Douglas Gormley appeared behind her from the living room. "Oh. Hello," said Douglas. Still wasn’t prepared to get into conversation.

"I was for a while, because Mr Gormley had to go out. But he’s back now, so I’ll be getting off."

"I’ll walk with you," Buster said. This was not just his being solicitous. There were a few questions he wanted to ask her.

"There’s no need." At the moment, Behind Douglas Gormley, Maxwell Fairhurst stepped out into the hall-way.

"I’ll see her home, Mr Keaton." Buster stepped aside as the two youngsters set off.

"Were you wanting anything else?" Douglas asked, when Buster appeared reluctant to leave.

"No," Buster sighed. "Oh, Just one thing – have you been to the local off-licence tonight?

"No. Why?"

"On the floor there. Isn’t that one of their carrier bags?"

"Must be an old one," said Douglas, closing the door.

End Of Episode 11

Magnolia Close Episode 10. Unwanted Exposure

Brooke closed the inner door and was trapped in the vestibule for a moment. Should she just get out, maybe try the off-licences in the village instead? But it was a long walk and all she wanted was a couple of bottles. She opened the door a crack and sneaked another look. Benson was taking the camera from Douglas, who appeared to be whispering instructions to Benson. Almost reluctantly, she saw Benson slide the camera inside his own pocket. Why did that camera look so familiar?

Just at that moment, the outer door of the pub opened and in stepped Robert Farrah and his fiancée. And at that instant, she realised where and when she had seen that camera before.

Brooke turned and ran past the two newcomers and fled out into the night.

****

"I wonder what the matter was with her?" said Nasreen, watching the retreating sight of Brooke Ames.

Robert was already trying to get Maddy’s attention in order to be served. "Goodness knows," he said without even bothering to look. "I’ve spent enough time teaching young girls to not worry what makes them tick."

"That’s not very professional of you," said Nasreen, mock-serious. As Robert was getting their drinks she looked round at the other customers of The Stormy Petrel. It was a fairly quiet night, at least so far. But it was not an interest in how well business was doing – she had some time ago developed a consciousness of how white people sometimes reacted to her in various surroundings, especially pubs. On this occasion, however, she could see no reaction, just a few people sat around chatting and having drinks. In particular, she noticed Douglas, whom she remembered meeting earlier that day, and another man, in animated conversation, paying her no heed whatsoever – somewhat to her relief. She even noticed pass the other man an expensive-looking camera that the latter swiftly slipped into an inner pocket. Why, the camera reminded her of fiancé’s own camera, the one he said he couldn’t find… Just ordinary people going about ordinary things.

At that moment, two other women, one somewhat younger than the other but both less than middle-age, entered The Stormy Petrel. At least, though Nasreen to herself, there seemed to be no left-over of the old-fashioned notion that nice women didn’t go into bars alone. She thought she might get to like living in Magnolia Close.

"What do you want to drink?" Jade asked Tricia.

"No, no – my treat."

"Well, I was going to have a white wine. But if you’re paying, do you think I could have a vodka and tonic?"

Tricia hesitated. "Why not? It’s not every day you start a new job. Maddy?"

"Yes, Trish. And this is? – "

"Jade," she announced herself.

"What will it be?"

"Two vodka and tonics."

"Large ones," Jade added.

****

"You took your time," said Maxwell.

"I couldn’t go to The Petrel. I had to go all the way to the ‘Offy.’"

"Why?"

"Douglas and Maddy for a start. We’re supposed to be baby-sitting for them."

"Yeah, well. Douglas broke that deal. There weren’t any beers in the fridge all along. And I bet he knew it. Couldn’t you have got the landlord, old man Spencer, to serve you while Maddy wasn’t looking?"

"And there was your Dad, too. Talking with Douglas."

"What for?"

"How would I know what for…" Brooke bit her lip. "Was your Dad planning on buying anything off Douglas?"

"Such as what? He hasn’t even got the money for a pint half the time."

"I dunno. It looked like Douglas was giving him a camera."

"And where would somebody like Douglas get a camera from?" said Maxwell. He was also wondering what his father might do with a new camera.

****

Meanwhile down at The Stormy Petrel, Maddy was getting agitated. "Mr Spencer?" she said to the landlord – she always called him by his formal name whenever she wanted a favour – "Can you spare me for just a minute?"

Alan Spencer looked at his watch. "Make sure it is only a minute. We’re having quite a busy night for a midweek."

Maddy slipped from behind the bar and hurried over to Douglas. "Don’t you think you ought to be getting back to Bethany at this time of night?"

Douglas was about a third drunk. "There’s no need to rush back just yet. Brooke Ames and that you lad Max are looking after her."

"And who’s looking after them?"

Douglas ignored her point. "Besides, I’ve got a bit of cash to spare. I was thinking of making a night of it."

"How about making a night of it when we can both enjoy it?" She hissed.

"But everybody’s having fun," he protested. "Look at those two." He nodded in the direction of Tricia and Jade, who seemed to have their heads together sharing a huge joke. Although, to be fair, Jade was doing more of the laughing. At that moment, Liam ‘Buster’ Keaton also entered The Petrel. Douglas’ expression changed in a flash. "On second thoughts, maybe I ought to get back home. See what those young’uns are up to." Barely draining his glass, he was gone, leaving by the car-park exit.

Maddy was quick to get back behind the bar. "Yes, Mr Keaton, what can I get for you?"

Buster might have paid more attention to the sudden departure of Douglas, when Jade again burst out with girlish laughter.

"Whatever they’re having," he said with a grin. "On second thoughts, better make it a pint of bitter."

****

Some time later, Tricia and Jade staggered back into number 21, Magnolia Close. Jade seemed rather the worse for wear and Tricia had to help her upstairs.

"Oh I feel so… silly…" Jade sighed as she sank down on to her bed. "Can you help me take my shoes off?"

"Moxie," said Tricia.

"What?"

"Moxie. My cat. I must feed him before I go to bed. And don’t forget, we’ve both got to get up for work tomorrow." She lifted Jade’s feet on to the bed.

"Tomorrow’s a million miles away," Jade sighed, her eyes closing. As Tricia tried to draw the duvet over Jade, Jade put her arms around Tricia’s shoulders. "A million miles away." She pulled Tricia gently to her and kissed her on the lips. Tricia pulled back, disentangling herself.

"Moxie. Must go and feed Moxie," she said.

End Of Episode 10

Magnolia Close Episode 9. Snappy Business

Jade Sweet stood in front of the bathroom mirror, studying her reflection. She pulled a face, turned her head slightly one way and then the other, then pouted her lips in a kiss. She was always very conscious of appearance – her own and other peoples – and she felt she needed a ‘look.’ Some special kind of way to set herself off that would get her noticed. By whom she wanted to be noticed, she wasn’t quite sure. She was sure that it was something she needed to work on. She put her hands to her face and pushed back her cheeks till her cheekbones stood out, and made another kiss expression.

"Well? Do you like yourself?"

Jade nearly jumped out of her skin. "Good God, Tricia – I didn’t hear you come in!"

"Apparently," Tricia smiled. "I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you."

Tricia was retreating down the stairs as Jade followed. "I didn’t know what time to expect you in. I thought we would be coming home from the surgery together and then you said you had to stay late and I thought you might be ages."

"There were just a few things I needed to do."

"Should I have stayed on too?" Jade was anxious.

"No, of course not." Tricia tried to laugh off Jade’s apparent discomfort. "After all, it was your first day."

"Did I make a good impression?" Jade was still ill at ease.

Tricia reached the bottom of the stairs then turned. "I think you did OK for your first day as a receptionist."

"I want the doctors to feel I’m doing a good job."

"I don’t think, to be perfectly honest, that they noticed you." Tricia gave a conspiratorial wink.

"Really?" Jade was disappointed.

"No," said Tricia, "that’s a good thing. Trust me. Have you eaten?"

"Just a sandwich. That packet of ham."

"Fine. Help yourself. I think I’ll have the same."

Jade followed Tricia into the kitchen as she set about preparing her own food.

"I’m sorry, I’m just a bit nervous, with me just starting and being new here and moving in with you, and…"

"For goodness sake, Jade, you did fine. Why don’t you try to relax a little."

Jade turned away. "I’m being foolish now, aren’t I?"

Tricia put her arm across Jade’s shoulder. "Everybody’s nervous on their first day. It’s perfectly reasonable." Tricia studied Jade’s face for a moment. "I tell you what – let me have some tea, give me time to get washed and changed, then how about I take you out for a drink to celebrate your new job?"

"Really?" said Jade. She suddenly broke into a smile. "That’d be great. And I’ll treat you."

"We’ll treat each other," Tricia smiled back.

Jade was aware of Tricia’s arm still round her shoulder. She was aware of how nice it felt.

****

It was still quiet in The Petrel. Benson saw a few faces he vaguely recognised but none belonged to anyone he’d ever said more than "hi" to before. He studied his pint, wondering whether he should try to strike up a conversation. Where was the harm in that? He got on well with most people. On the other hand, he had things on his mind that didn’t fit sharing with relative strangers.

His thoughts eddied about how well Maxwell was doing at school, or not, as the case may be, and his comments about buying better equipment if he was going to get more photography business, but how money was tight. Ashleigh was doing her best. Perhaps he should have invited her along too for the evening, though, truth to tell, she was not that keen on going to pubs and she had treated his evenings out as "his time." He wondered what Douglas Gormley wanted to see him for and half-wished he’d return. Not that he was a close friend or anything, but someone to chat with at least.

Benson was just about to drain his pint and was thinking of heading back home to Ashleigh, when Douglas abruptly appeared from the side exit to the pub car park.

"I’ve been looking for you," Douglas announced with a mixture of cheerfulness and satisfaction that their acquaintance hardly merited.

"So I gather."

"Well, if you’re having another pint, mine’s a lager."

Benson did not appreciate having to shell out for two more drinks, when in another minute he would have been on his way home. But on the other hand, Douglas was company of sorts. "Why am I paying for your drinks?" he asked.

"Because I’ve got something for you. Something of a favour. Hey, Maddy," he called out to his partner working behind the bar.

"What are you doing here? Who’s looking after Bethany?"

"I got Brooke Ames to go and keep an eye on her."

"How? Anyway, I thought you were skint?"

He gave a sideways nod in Benson as if to say, not in front of strangers, and said, "Man here needs a drink."

Benson got the drinks. "What sort of favour?"

"How’s the old photography business going?"

"What? Well, I can’t say I’m rushed off my feet."

"Still using the old box Brownie? Still making money for Mr Kodak?"

"What are you on about?" This reminded Benson too much of the discussion he’d had earlier with his son, Maxwell.

"Well," Douglas continued, drawing on the pint Benson had paid for, "isn’t film a bit – what’s that posh word? – passé? – these days."

"Film’s been around a long time," Benson countered.

"Exactly! Time for something new! How would you like a new digital camera?"

"Where would I get one of those? Or should I be asking, where would you get one of those?"

Just at that moment, Brooke was trying to enter The Stormy Petrel as unobtrusively as possible with the money Maxwell had given her for drinks for what was not turning out to be the scintillating night she had had been hoping for. She was hoping that the Landlord would be serving, not Maddy, and that Douglas would not be at the bar, which was why she was using such caution. She was about to be disappointed. There was Douglas, right in her way, talking with Benson. She gasped, took a step back half-closing the inner door. She opened it a crack and watched the two of them in conversation. Benson was standing stoically, while Douglas seemed excited about something. Then she saw.

Douglas pulled an expensive-looking digital camera from his pocket, in such a way that it was concealed from anyone else in the pub by his jacket, while showing it to Benson. Benson, for his part, suddenly perked up, as if Douglas’s shiny new possession was of great interest. There was something about that camera…

End of Episode 9