Viva Las Vegas

I knock on the door and wait. It is a thin wooden door that was once green but is now weather marked and dull. Large chunks of the paint have peeled off. The door belongs to a mid-terrace house sitting in a row of identical houses that have stood hear in Eversley since the turn of the last century.

I’m here to interview Elvis Lord. I mean me, interview Elvis Lord. I had absolutely no idea who Elvis Lord was until the editor of the Eversley Gazette rang me last night and asked me to do this interview. He had thought of me because as I came from Eversley and was the same age as Elvis so I must have gone to school with him. I can’t say I remember an Elvis at school.

The door was opened by a small aged woman. She was about seventy, couldn’t have been much more than four feet ten inches tall and was wearing a floral house coat. The kind that looks like a dressing gown but is worn to stop clothes getting dirty while you are cleaning the house.

‘Are you here to see Paul?’ she asked.

I looked at her blankly. ‘I’m Sharon Somersby from the Gazette. I’m here to interview Elvis.’

‘I’ll never get used to that silly name. Come in.’

She walked back inside and she opened the first door that we came to. The front room. Wow I was honoured. In these sort of houses the front room was only ever used for funerals and royal visits.

‘Take a seat,’ she nodded into the room. ‘Do you want tea?’

 ‘Yes please.’

‘Paul, I mean Elvis will be down in a minute.’

She headed towards the back of the house to where the kitchen must have been. The front parlour was exactly as I remembered my Gran’s house looking thirty years before. There was a dining table set up in the middle of the room with six chairs around it. Squeezed around the sides of the table were a sofa and two matching armchairs and under the window was an old oak sideboard. The whole room looked like it was filled with the best furniture but unfortunately there wasn’t enough room for any of it to be used. I sidled between the dining table and the sofa and managed to sit down with my legs sticking out to the side. I hoped Elvis would opt for the first armchair. If he didn’t I wasn’t sure how he was going to get passed me and if he did whether I would be able to see him to carry out the interview.

  The door opened and in walk the lady who had previously opened the door. She was carrying a tray with a tea pot, two cups, a milk jug and a sugar bowl. She placed them on the edge of the dining table.

‘I’ll leave those there for you,’ she said.

‘Thanks Mrs Lord.’

‘Oh no dear, I’m Mrs Burrows.’

‘I’m sorry I assumed you were Elvis’ mum.’

‘Uh hu!’ the noise from the door made us both stop and look up.

The small door in the small house was filled by Elvis. This was the Vegas Elvis. He just fitted in the door frame and from where I was sitting it looked like the top of his quiff might be touching the door frame. His black hair had a few touches of grey at the temples. I couldn’t see his eyes for the large gold rimmed sunglasses he wore. As my eyes moved down I could only stare at the white jump suit and I was fairly sure when he moved it would reveal he was wearing a cape. Finally my eyes were drawn to the white platform boots he was wearing. It seemed Elvis Lord wasn’t quiet as tall as the King and was wearing platform boots to give the impression that he was a bigger man than he was. However width wide he was right on the mark. This was the burger eating Elvis at his fullest. The American size portions had been used to full advantage to replicate The King’s final physique.

‘You run along now Mum,’ Elvis said in a deep American drawl.

‘Paul I wish you’d stop using that silly voice,’ she said as she tried to leave the room. With Elvis in the doorway there was nowhere she could go.

Elvis flatten himself against the side wall and Mrs Burrows squeezed passed, closing the door behind her.

‘Welcome Miss…’ Elvis said extending his hand for me to shake.

‘Somersby, Sharon Somerby.’ I replied awkwardly shaking the left hand he had offered me. It was only later I thought that the offer of the left hand might have been because he expected me to kiss the ring.

‘I was expecting someone else.’

‘Unfortunately the other reporter has a stomach bug so they asked me to step in at the last minute.’

‘Okay, shall I be mother?’ he nodded towards the tea tray.

‘Please.’

I left my tea cup on the tray and got out my notepad, pen and Dictaphone. ‘You don’t mind if we record this do you?’

‘Well I’m not sure. I thought this was just a small piece for the local rag.’

‘It is but it just helps me to get everything straight. I don’t want to write down you didn’t do something when you did. The recording just helps me get everything straight.

‘Okay. You carry on.’

We started off talking about how Elvis had left school at sixteen and had a variety of nothing jobs. He’d been just plain old Paul then. He had been bored and when his dad had died he had gone off the rails.

‘Oh my god now I remember,’ I cried. ‘Of course you’re Paul Burrows.’

He looked at me obviously shocked by the outburst.

‘I was Sharon Bates when we were at school. You used to torment me all the time. Pulling my pigtails and taking the mick out of my braces.’

‘I’m sorry I don’t remember.’

‘No they say the bully often doesn’t but the person bullied never forgets,’ I said with a scathing tone. ‘You don’t know how glad I was when you didn’t come back to school after the summer holidays.’

He hung his head looking genuinely sorry that he’d hurt someone.

‘Anyway we’re not here to talk about bullying are we? Get on with your story.’ I lower my head and poised my pen over my pad to indicate I wanted him to continue.

It appeared his mother had been at her whit’s end and hadn’t known what to do. Luckily there was a cousin in America, his great aunt had been a GI bride, and this cousin needed help on his farm.

Paul had gone to help out on the farm and after a couple of years had started to get his head on straight. The hard work and long hours hadn’t left much time for fooling around and the cousin was only too happy to use his cattle whip if Paul did get out of hand. Then Paul met Gilda. She had been passing through the small town and Paul had fallen hook, line and sinker for her charms. She had been running from a boyfriend who later turned out to be her pimp and Paul had hidden her away on the farm telling the boyfriend she had headed north.

Together they had then set off south and eventually ended up in Vegas. Gilda found work as a showgirl and Paul sat around doing nothing. He became friendly with a few locals and they often headed off to a local bar where after the requisite number of beers Paul would get up on stage and do his Elvis impersonation. One afternoon a man had gone up to him and asked him where he worked.

‘What do you mean, where do I work?’ Paul was confused as a large number of beers had already been consumed even though it was only 3pm.

‘Your Elvis show. Which of the hotels do you work for?’ The man had said.

‘Oh no I don’t do this for a living,’ Paul laughed.

‘Well you’re good. In fact you’re very good.’

‘I think you’ve been drinking too much,’ Paul said.

‘If you change your mind give me a call,’ the man handed Paul a card and left.

Paul squinted at the card, shook his head and popped it into his back pocket.

The following afternoon Gilda had been emptying Paul’s pockets ready to do the washing when she had come across the card. Paul was sat watching the TV when she threw the card at him. It hit him in the face, the sharp corner narrowly missing his eye.

‘What the hell,’ Paul jumped up. ‘You could have had my eye out.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about the job offer?’ Gilda glared at him, still holding his trousers.

‘What job offer?’

‘I’ve just seen the card. You’ve been offered a job by Danny Robbins. He runs the best Elvis shows in town.’

‘I haven’t been offered a job. Some guy came up to me last night and said he thought my Elvis was good and to give him a call. He didn’t offer me a job.’

‘If Danny Robbins says your Elvis is good then he’s as good as offered you a job. Now get off your arse and give him a call.’

Paul looked at her and suddenly realised that since they had made it to Vegas he had been living off her money. He was no better than the pimp he had helped her escape from. If he wanted to keep her he needed to buck his ideas up. He picked the card up from where it had fallen and made the call.

The following day Paul had a meeting with Danny Robbins. Paul arrived at a night club on the edge of the strip. The door was open and Paul walked in. He could here singing coming from down below and headed down a huge set of stairs. The music got louder as Paul approached a set of fire resistant double door. As he struggled to pull one of the heavy doors open he was nearly knocked over as an Elvis pushed the door from the other side and stormed out.

‘Don’t bother mate. They wouldn’t know an Elvis act if the real thing was in front of them,’ the Elvis called back over his shoulder as he stormed up the stairs.

Paul walked into a room that was the size of an aircraft hangar. There were tables facing towards a stage at one end and a large bar the length of the opposite wall. Between the bar and the tables was a large dance floor. Paul walked over towards the tables and noticed that there were about fifteen Elvis’ all sat watching a sixteenth on the stage perform.

A small woman with a clip board rushed over to him. ‘Are you here for the audition?’

‘I guess so. Danny told me to come over.’

‘Fine, take a seat and while you’re waiting fill out this form.’ She handed him the clip board and a pen. ‘And what’s your name?’

‘Paul.’

‘Thank god you didn’t say Elvis. I’ll give you a call when we’re ready.’

Paul sat down and started filling out his form. Once he had finished he started chatting to a young Elvis and a Chinese Elvis. Apparently there was a lot of demand for Chinese Elvis’ but most of the big hotels already had one. Each of the Elvis’ got up to sing and then were told to either leave of stay. By the time it was Paul’s turn there were four who had sung and stayed and three more to sing.

Paul got up on the stage and took the mike. He had only ever done this after a few beers before and on this occasion he was stone cold sober. The music started and he missed the cue. He wasn’t used to not seeing the words changing colour on the screen to help him get started.

‘Sorry. Can I start again?’ Paul spoke to the bright lights, he couldn’t see anyone.

‘One more chance, but then that’s it. There’s lots to get through today,’ said a voice from somewhere behind the lights

The music started again and this time Paul hit his cue. The first couple of lines were a little shaky but he soon got into it and was ready for an encore by the time the music stopped.

‘Thanks,’ said the voice ‘take a seat over there.’

Paul couldn’t believe it. He had made it.

After the final three singers had sung there were a total six Elvis’ who’d made it through. They all signed contracts with Danny’s agency and were then told to go home and that they would be called whenever there was a slot for them. As Paul understood it the hotels and casinos all had an Elvis tribute but Danny had a list of performers who could be used if one of the regulars fell ill or decided to retire. Most Elvis’ didn’t retire, a few had even died on the stage.

The following evening Gilda return home with a large bag. She hung it on the back of the kitchen door and the placed a bottle of hair dye on the kitchen table.

‘What’s going on?’ Paul asked.

‘I’ve spoken to some people and they’ve said that getting on Danny’s books is just half of the battle. Apparently there are so many Elvis acts out there unless you stand out there is no way you’re going to get any work.’

‘And?’

‘We are going to make sure you stand out,’ she smiled and nodded towards the bathroom.

They both spent the evening turning Paul into Elvis. Gilda dyed his blonde hair black and then Paul tried on the outfit she had brought him in the large bag. It was a white jump suit and cape but as Paul was quite thin it also contained a fat suit. Gilda told him that they would start working on bulking him up but for the time being he could wear the fat suit. It had been lent to her by one of the guys who sorted out the wardrobe for the showgirls.

The following week Paul spent his afternoons in the bar, practising his karaoke and evenings eating fried chicken. Paul thought he had died and gone to heaven although at that rate it probably wouldn’t take him long to get there.

‘All we need now is a name,’ Gilda said as they marvelled over Paul’s transformation on evening.

‘What do you mean? I’m Paul Burrows.’

‘No. All Elvis impersonators are Elvis something or something Elvis. There’s Chinese Elvis, Young Elvis etc. There’s even a Welsh Elvis called Elvis Jones.’

‘Can’t I be Elvis Burrows?’

‘No. You need something that tells people who you are. Something English.’

‘How about Earl Elvis?’

‘Doesn’t flow right,’

‘Prince Elvis?’

‘Come on Elvis was the King.’

‘Lord Elvis?’

‘Maybe,’ she thought for a few minutes. ‘How about Elvis Lord?’

‘Sounds good. Let’s go with it,’ Paul smiled and pulled her in close for a hug.

Two weeks after Danny Robbins had first hired him Paul headed back to Danny’s office. Paul walked in wearing his full Elvis gear. A disinterested secretary looked up from filing her nails at a small desk with a laptop and a phone sitting on it.

‘Danny’s on the phone, Take a seat,’ she said nodding towards a sofa pushed against the wall opposite her desk.

Paul had only been sat down a few minutes when Danny burst out of his office.

‘Bloody Elvis Jones has been poached. Some Saudi Prince has offered him a million to go and play at his private residence each week. He’s gone already and he’s got a gig tonight. Get me the files quick,’ he shouted at the secretary.

As he turned to go back into his office he saw Paul. He stopped and walked back towards the sofa.

‘Stand up,’ he said to Paul.

‘Turn around.

‘Can you sing?’

‘I can. I’m already on your books.’ Paul rushed to say before even more orders could be barked at him.

‘I don’t think you are sonny. I know all my Elvis’’

‘Yes I am. Paul Burrows you hired me two weeks ago. Although I’m now called Elvis Lord’

‘I don’t think so. Paul Burrows sounded great but looked nothing like Elvis. He was a skinny blonde kid.’

‘My girlfriend convinced me I needed to look more like Elvis if I was going to get work.’

‘Well you girlfriend is a very clever lady. Elvis Lord step into my office.’

By the time Paul left Danny’s office he had a two week try-out gig and if that worked out Elvis Jones’ spot at the Palace would be his.

Needless to say it did and the rest is history.

 

Sitting in the small front parlour in Eversley I finished my cup of tea and stared at Elvis. ‘Sounds like a great story but what went wrong?’

‘What makes you think anything went wrong?’

‘Well you’re back aren’t you?’

‘Not for good. It’s Mum you see. She’s dying and I didn’t want her to die alone. We’ve invited her to come and stay with us loads of time but she won’t leave this house. And now she hasn’t got long left I couldn’t leave her to die alone.’

I couldn’t believe that the man in front of me was the Paul Burrows I had known at school. It just goes to show the boy and the man can be very removed from one another given the right or wrong circumstances.

I got up shook his hand and wished him well. I hoped his mum would live to see the story and realise he really had made something of himself.

Documents in the Rain

Charlie was rushing home when he first saw it. If it had been a beautiful sunny day he would have been looking around him, taking in the beauty of the university grounds. Charlie loved the walk through the grounds. From the lecture theatre to his digs took him through the arboretum, around the tennis courts and finally across the end of the lake.  Charlie was always amazed by the different types of flora and fauna he experienced on his walk home. So different from Birmingham city centre where he had been brought up. The concrete jungle with the odd tree and small patch of grass put in by overspent councils to try and give it some semblance of nature and break up the grey monotony.
But on this day he had had his head bent down, trying to fight against the driving rain. At first he saw a spot of red out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to stop, he was getting soaked and needed to keep moving fast but the flash of colour caught his eye and his curiosity. He dog legged across the pavement and stopped. Looking down he had to look twice but there in the gutter was a copy of the I Ching. He picked it up and carried on home.
When he got home he threw the book into the sink and started undressing. A while later after a hot shower and a change of clothes he came back and looked at it. It was wet through and in danger of disintegrating but he picked it up carefully and opened the front page. This book belongs to Billie Yang.
Charlie couldn't believe his luck. Billie Yang  was the most beautiful girl he had every seen. She was in his english literature group and he had been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to her for weeks. Now here was the ideal opportunity.
Charlie carefully laid the book out on the hearth mat and turned the gas fire on to low. He wanted to dry the book out so that he had something special to give to her.
The next day Charlie was sat behind Billie. Every time he tried to get her attention one of her friends or the teacher would say something. All day he tried and tried but always something distracted her. In the end Charlie knew he was never going to get her alone and he would never have the courage to talk to her with her friends there. What was he going to do? As he was walking towards the science lab for his last lesson of the day he walked passed the notice board. Of course that was it.
By the time Billie walked passed the same notice board an hour later there was a new notice in the middle of the board for all to see.

If anyone has lost a copy of the I Ching contact Charlie Somersby.

'Thank goodness,' Charlie heard one of Billie's friends say, in the large crowd gathered around the notice board. 'He lives over by the new mini mart you can pick it up on your way home.'

Charlie didn't wait to hear the reply but turned and ran out of the building. Chess club would have to be missed if he was going to get home and look smart enough when Billie got there.
Charlie showered and changed, and changed and changed. He didn't want to look too geeky but he didn't want her to think he wasn't intelligent. Finally he settled on his best checked shirt and his new blue jeans, just in time, he was still lacing his converse trainers when the door bell rang.
He raced down stairs but too late Mrs Jones who lived in the ground floor flat had got there first.
'Oh hi, does Charlie live here?' asked an extremely gruff voice. Charlie couldn't see who was at the door from where he stood but it obviously wasn't Billie.
'Yes,' said Mrs Jones. 'Oh look here he is now.'
Charlie slowly walked down the stairs to see Brian Matthews the school bully and resident idiot standing there.
'Hi Brian,' smiled Charlie, it wasn't wise to upset Brian. 'What can I do for you?'
'Billie said you had my book.'
'I've got a book but it's not yours. It's Billie's'
'No it's mine.'
'I don't know what your game is Brian,' said Charlie sounding a lot braver that he felt, 'but it's Billie's. It's got her name in it.'
'She gave it to me.'
'Course she did. Why would you want a copy of the I Ching?'
'Because I'm interested. So go get me my book.'
'No.'
Brian grabbed hold of the front of Charlie's shirt and pulled him close. Charlie could still smell the remnants of the shepherd's pie the canteen have served for lunch on Brian's breath.
'It's Billie's book and I am not going to let you have it.'
Brian raised his fist just as Mrs Jones reappeared from her flat. He looked at her, shrugged and pushed Charlie away. Charlie landed in an untidy pile on the floor and Brian turned and headed off up the street.
Before Mrs Jones had chance to ask Charlie what was going on he picked himself up and rushed back up to his room.
Charlie sat in his room flicking through the book. It had Billie's name in the front and there were notes in the margin all in her beautifully delicate handwriting. The book had to be hers but why was Brian trying to get hold of it? Just then the doorbell rang again. On the third ring Charlie realised Mrs Jones must have gone out and he went down stairs to answer it.
Charlie opened the door to find Brian standing there again.
'Look Brian I don't know what you want but I am not giving you the book.'
Brian stepped aside and behind him was Billie.
'Hi Charlie.'
'Hi Billie,' Charlie blushed.
'I wanted to thank you for standing up to Brian about the book. It couldn't have been easy.'
'Not a problem.'
'But the thing is it really is Brian's book. I gave it to him.'
'Oh. Oh well I best get it for him then.'
Charlie slowly walked up the stairs and fetched the book. He returned and without looking up he handed the book to Brian.
'Thanks.' Brian took the book and started to walk off.
'Look Charlie,' Billie said. Charlie looked up and was happy to see she was smiling. 'I wondered, as you've been so gallant about the book and everything.'
'Yes,' Charlie replied.
'Do you fancy going for a drink sometime? Maybe tomorrow?'
Charlie could only nodded and grin as Billie turned and ran off after Brian.

Help wanted

Jessie walked into the kitchen and her brain knew something was wrong before her eyes saw it. She’d been out late the night before and was still suffering from dehydration and a killer hangover. She opened the fridge and took out the orange juice, placing it on the kitchen table behind her. The orange juice carton wobbled and started to fall. Jessie grabbed the neck of the plastic container just in time. She looked down to see what she had put it on that stopped it from standing up straight. There on the edge of the table was a small white pill. Then she saw another and another. There must have been twenty of them scattered all over the table and at the far end the medicine bottle lay on its side, open and empty.

Within seconds her head cleared and she sprang into action. She took in the scene, scanning the kitchen in one quick movement. At the end of the table the chair was on its side and her mother was lying on the floor not moving. Jessie rushed over to her and felt for a pulse. She tried her mother’s hand. Nothing. She felt around her mother’s neck and thought she could feel a faint flutter as blood continued to pump through her veins.

Jessie rushed back up stairs and grabbed her mobile, dialling 999 as she charged back into the kitchen and sat at her mother’s side. The ambulance was there with ten minutes and all the time they had been waiting the dispatcher had carried on talking to Jessie, making sure she was alright and telling her what to do.

When the paramedics arrived they checked Jessie’s mother and claimed she was stable but obviously needed to get to a hospital. They transferred her to the ambulance and left Jessie to lock up and make her own way there.

Jessie’s mother was admitted and later that day she regained consciousness. Jessie was sitting by her hospital bed, where she had been all morning, as she opened her eyes.

‘Oh Mum, you’re okay,’ Jessie said as she saw her mother blinking in the harsh fluorescent lights. ‘It’s me Jessie. You’re in the hospital.’

‘Mouth, dry. Can I have some water?’ Jessie’s mother asked.

 ‘Of course.’ Jessie poured a glass of water and held it while her mother sipped gently. Her mother nodded when she had had enough to drink and Jessie carefully placed the glass back on the unit at the side of the bed.

‘What happened? What were you thinking?’ Jessie scolded her mother.

‘I don’t know. I guess I just forgot how many pills I had taken and took too many.’

‘Mum you have the chart I made for you. You’re supposed to tick them off and then you can’t forget.’

‘I know but it’s not so easy when I’m on my own.’

‘You have to get used to this. I am moving out next week and you need to be able to manage by yourself.’

‘But we are good together. You helping me. It works okay doesn’t it?’

‘It works for you but I want a life you know. Dave has been patient with me so far but he won’t wait forever. I will only be across town and I will still come and visit.’

‘Excuse me,’ a young white coated man stood at the end of the bed. ‘Miss Carter?’

Jessie nodded.

‘I’m Dr Jones. Can I have a quick word?’

‘Of course.’ Jessie got up and followed the doctor out of the ward.

Once they were in the corridor the doctor turned to Jessie. ‘Miss Carter I have some good news. We ran a tox screen on your mother and she didn’t have any excessive drugs in her system.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jessie stared at him. ‘She took an overdose.’

‘No she didn’t. She had very little food in her system and if anything I think she had not taken enough of her pills. She probably just passed out from lack of food.’

‘Oh God. I am so sorry that we have wasted your time,’ Jessie blushed feeling annoyed at her mother for creating this furore.

‘Not at all. I am just glad it is nothing more serious. She can go home this afternoon.’ The doctor shook Jessie’s hand and headed off down the corridor.

Jessie headed back into the ward to give her mother the good news.

 

                                                                                ################

‘Right that’s me packed Mum. Dave should be here soon and then we can load up the car.’

‘Jessie please don’t go. You know I can’t cope without you. Of course you can. You have your chart for your pills and you cope fine when I am here.’

‘Yes but I need you in case something goes wrong.’

‘No you don’t. You will be fine.’

‘But what about last week?’

‘You had nothing to eat and forgot to take you pills. You just need to be careful.’

‘But I need you. Can’t you see what happened last week could happen again.’

‘Not if you’re careful.’

‘Well maybe I won’t be careful. What’s the point if you’re not here? I’m just a lonely old woman. What’s the point?’

‘Don’t talk like that Mum. You’ll be fine and I’ll pop in to check on you.’

‘Make sure you do or I might have to stop eating again.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well you only care about me when I collapse.’

‘You know that’s not true. I love you. You’re my mum but I have a life of my own and I am moving in with Dave.’

‘Well on your head be it.’

‘Mum don’t be like that.’

Just then a car horn could be heard outside and Jessie glanced out of the window.

‘That’s Dave. I’m off. Now take care of yourself and I’ll pop in later in the week.

 

                                                                ##########################

Jessie put the phone down and frowned.

‘What’s wrong love?’ Dave asked.

‘It’s Mum, she’s not picking up her phone.’

‘She’s probably just sulking.’

‘I know we had words but I do worry about her. She had all that trouble when Dad died. I don’t want her to feel she’s all on her own.’

‘I’m sure she’s fine but if it’ll make you happier I’ll get the car and we can pop round.’

‘Thanks Dave.’

 

Twenty minutes later they pulled up outside Jessie’s mum’s house. Jessie rang the bell and waited. Nothing. She put her ear to the glass to see if she could hear her mother coming to the door from the back room. Still nothing.

Jessie fished around in her handbag to find the door key. Finally finding it she let herself in. She walked into the living room as Dave headed towards the kitchen.

Jessie spent a few minutes looking around the living room and came out into the hallway just as Dave stood in the kitchen door.

‘I’m so sorry love.’ Dave said as he blocked the door.

‘What, What is it?’ Jessie said as she tried to push passed him.

He blocked her and put out his arms to give her a hug. The only thing she could see over his shoulder was the kitchen table. In the middle lay a bottle of pills open and on its side. Only this time there were no pills left to scatter over the kitchen table.

The cobbles of remembrance

I had been enjoying the hot Sunday afternoon, lazing in the sun. They were having a birthday party next door and Cheneice was over there and Jim was away on business for another week. It wasn’t often I get to sit and do nothing but today was a perfect day to do just that.

So far I had worked half way down a very weak jug of PIMS and I was had almost finished the Jackie Collins that had been sat on my bedside table for the last few months.

I had heard a few screams from over the fence but that was kids being kids. Besides Marjory was watching them all and she was far more capable than I ever would be. I think she had a couple of the other mums helping her and as long as that lush, Emma Marchbanks, wasn’t there they would all be sober.

‘Mummy, mummy.’ I heard a voice that changed in pitch as it called out. Knowing it was my Cheniece but praying it wasn’t, I closed my eyes.

‘Mummy, look at me.’ I slowly opened my eyes to see my daughter’s head appear over the top of the fence and then vanish behind it again. Seconds later she appeared again.

‘Cheniece, what are you doing?’ I called as I slowly rose from my sun lounger.

‘Daniel has a trampoline. He got it for his birthday.’ She called back, still appear above the fence every few seconds.

‘And where is everyone else?’ I asked, now standing on tiptoe to see over the fence and realising my daughter was alone.

‘They are playing pass the parcel but I lost in the first round, so I came out to play.’

‘Cheniece, those things can be dangerous. You need to have someone to watch you.’

‘Well you can watch me now, can’t you?’

At that point Marjory appeared and saw me staring over the fence. ‘Way to keep an eye on the kids Marjory. Should you not have a net around this thing?’

‘We ordered one,’ Marjory rushed down the garden steps to stand close to the trampoline and my still jumping daughter, ‘but it didn’t turn up in time and I couldn’t not let them use in today. Could I?’

‘Well keep an eye on her will you.’

‘Of course.’ Marjory turn to Cheniece. ‘Time to come in now, we are about to start the birthday tea.’

‘Fantastic,’ shouted Cheniece as she seemed to jump higher in the air one last time and land on the ground, not the trampoline.

I looked at Marjory and before either of us could move Cheniece had run off back inside the house.

The relaxation of my afternoon spoilt, I went into the house and decided to tidy round ready for Cheniece’s return.

Before I knew it the clock in the lounge chimed six o’ clock and I grabbed my keys and headed next door. I was four steps out of the front door before I realised that I had forgotten to put any shoes on. All afternoon lounging around the garden, followed by a few hours mooching around the house I had not bothered to put anything on my feet. I looked down, looked at the house and then looked at next door. It was a smooth concrete path right up until Marjory’s driveway which was made up of old fashioned cobbled stones. ‘Sod it,’ I thought, and continued towards next door and collecting my daughter.

A couple of sharp stones made me reconsider my rash decision but I was nearer Marjory’s than home by then so there was no point turning back.

I walked onto Marjory’s driveway and felt the cobbles under my feet. I walked four steps before I stopped dead in my tracks. I could hear the noise of an engine turning over and suddenly I was twelve again.

It was a day the same as any other and I had been out all day playing with my friends on our bikes, swimming in the canal. All things health and safety don’t let kids do these days. I had got home at six and was surprised Mum hadn’t been standing out on the front looking for me. My trainers were hanging round my neck tied together with their laces and I dumped my bike at the street end of the drive and started walking towards the house. As I walked up the drive I could hear an engine running but couldn’t see any cars in the street. I couldn’t work out where it was coming from.

I got to the front door and pushed the same as always. But the door didn’t move. I jangled the handle but nothing. I pushed the bell and still nothing. Where could Mum be? She was always here and she would never have gone out without me.

I walked passed the front of the garage towards the back gate and as I did the noise of the car engine got louder. I looked out into the street and there was still no sign of the car I could hear. I got to the back gate and pushed the latch down. The gate opened easily and I headed into the back garden. As I walked down the back passage I looked at the back door to the garage and realised the noise was coming from in there. I pushed the door and it swung open.

The smell was something I hadn’t ever smelt before and the garage was engulfed in a dark cloud. The engine noise was louder than anything I had ever heard. Why was the car engine running? What was the hose pipe doing? I slowly walked to the car and tried to open the door. Through the smoke and the haze, I could make out someone was sitting in the driver’s seat. I started coughing as I pulled at the car door. It was locked. I pulled and pulled and pulled. I don’t know what I expected to happen. I was coughing harder now and breathing seemed to be something I had to think about.

I suddenly realised I needed help and I tried to run towards the door. It was like running through treacle. The door to the garage was open and I could see the sun streaming through, but it didn’t seem to be getting and closer. My breath was getting heavier and I was coughing too much to take deep breaths.

As I collapsed on the floor, the light from the door clouded. As if a cloud had tracked across the sun at that precise moment. There were voices but no noise I could make sense of.

 

‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Cheniece was clinging to my neck and I was lying on the floor.

‘Are you okay?’ Marjory ran from the front door and bent down to be level with me. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing I must have just had too much sun I guess,’ I said smiling at Marjory and kissing my daughter on the top of her head as I slowly picked myself up.

 

That night as I was tucking Cheneice into bed she lifted her little hand and stroked my cheek. ‘I love you mummy.’

‘I love you too my sweetheart.’ I smiled and lifting her hand kissed it carefully.

‘Daniel’s party was great and he had two grandma’s there. Why have I only got one Grandma?’

I looked at my daughter carefully. She was so insightful sometimes. ‘Shall we have a story before you go to sleep?’

‘Yes please. George and Dragon?’

‘Of course.’

Coming home

Jim Brooke walked along the canal tow path pulling his coat tight as the wind whistled around him. It was what his mother had called a lazy wind. 'It goes through you rather than taking the long way round.' He smiled as he thought about her chuckling at her own joke.

It was the first time he'd returned in twenty years. The canal seemed cleaner than when he had played along it but it felt darker almost foreboding.

A young policeman stood at the far end of the tunnel and as Jim entered he had to stop himself calling 'Echo, echo, echo.' but was still smiling as he got to the young constable.

'Where is it constable?' Jim flashed his ID card.

'Down there sir.' he pointed towards a smaller tunnel that led off into the brickwork. Jim couldn't believe how well hidden it was, just like before.

'They think it's been dug recently sir.'

'That you Jim?' a voice called from inside.

'Barry?' Jim called back realising his old friend Barry Roman was already down the tunnel.

'I've nearly finished. Come down and watch your step, it's slippery down here.'

He lowered his head and started down the secondary tunnel. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the brightness of the artificial light that the medical examiner had set up in order to view the scene. It was twilight but this tunnel and the large space at the end was never going to see any natural light.

'Hi there Jim. I heard you were back. Enjoying it?' Barry was signing a form, as a body bag was being carefully wheeled out to the waiting van.

'A murder on my first day back wasn't exactly what I was hoping for,' Jim smiled. He had known Barry since school but they hadn't seen each other since Jim had moved away to Manchester with the job and Barry had stayed in Nottingham to study medicine.

'Where you staying?'

'Mum's place. I never sold it after she died. Never had the heart I guess. Come in handy now though.'

'Spose you want the details then.'

'Yes please.'

'Well as far as I can tell she was between twenty and thirty years old and judging by her clothes she was a walker. I'll know more once I get her back to base but I would say looking at her clothes it's unlikely that she's been sexually assaulted.'

'Thanks Barry. How soon for the rest?' Jim asked.

'You'll be the first to know, but there's a back up after that crash on the M1 yesterday.'

'Com' on Baz. You know this is more important. This could be him.'

'After all these years?'

'A walker, a canal tunnel and the day we find her is twenty years to the day since we found Janet Briggs. I don't like coincidences.'

'Alright, she'll be top of my list but I can say the same for the rest of the boys.'

'Anything you can do.'

 

As Barry walked away Jim stared around the man made cave. He was back twenty years and just a naive PC. The call had come in saying the body of a young girl had been dumped under the canal. He was sent out to have a look. The call had been too vague and the caller sounded too childlike for it to be taken seriously.

When he got there it had been getting dark and there was nothing to see except a pile of old newspapers.  The radio wouldn't work in the tunnel so he walked back out into the open. The wind started to build up and a small eddy of newspapers blustered around the tunnel entrance. Something glinted. He walked back to the tunnel and could see the opening that the newspapers had previously covered. It was only about two feet high and there were some steps down which meant a grown man could fit through. There had been a light flickering in the smaller tunnel and he had entered assuming it was just some kids messing around. The body had been laid out in the middle of the man made cave. She was fully dressed in a bright pink Berghaus jacket, black walking trousers and a woolly Scandinavian hat with little plaits over each ear. She had a strange smile on her face and had it not been for the bluish tinge of her lips he would have sworn she was just sleeping. It had taken them over an hour to send someone to find out what had happened to him and he had been still sitting there, holding her, in the dark.

Now twenty years later it had happened again. Why so long? And why on Jim's first day back?

 

                                    ***********************************************

 

The murderer slowly unfolded his handkerchief. Carefully, like opening a delicate piece of tissue paper wrapped around a beautiful treasure. Nestled softly in the centre was a silver necklace with a tiny diamond droplet on it. His held it up and it danced in the light from his laptop. The rest of the room was dark and his door was locked tight against the rest of the house. He slowly placed it down on the table and opened the top draw of his desk. Inside was an old battered red cash box. Lifting the box onto his desk he switched on the angle-poise lamp to see all his treasures. He took the small key from inside the little pocket in his wallet and carefully unlocked the box. Inside the box had six separate compartments and each one had a small piece of paper which you could right something on. It was supposed to be a way of putting money away and usually said things like, gas, electric, ‘phone next to each compartment. This box didn't. The labels read Janet, Mum and the other four were still blank. He lowered the necklace onto a piece of cotton wool and closed the box. The papers would tell him her name soon enough and then he could fill in his latest label.

 

                                    **************************************************

 

The next morning Jim briefed the rest of his team. He sent a couple of PC's down to the canal towpath to look for witnesses. The rest of the team were working on missing persons files. Until the autopsy was completed there weren't too many other leads to follow up.

Once Jim had allocated all the tasks he headed down to the morgue.

'Morning Barry, how goes it?'

'Ah Jim, thought I'd see you bright and early.'

'Just needed to get the team sorted first.'

'Well, I've already sent off the ten card to see if she's in the system. Not much chance of finger prints but you never know.'

'DNA? tox-screen?'

'All sent off and one thing you won't have expected.'

'What's that?'

Jim walked over to one of the side benches and Barry showed him a Petri dish with a large ball of mush inside it.

'What is it?' Jim asked

'Well apart from the murder weapon I think it's a ball of newspaper?'

'The murder weapon?'

'Yes. She was suffocated and I think this may have been the cause. I am sending it off to the lab. They might be able to get something out of it that will give us some clues.'

'Well done Baz. Let's hope the lab can be as quick getting back to us.'

 

Jim headed back to his desk to discover a note from the two lads he sent out to try and get eye witness statements. One of the kids though his mate might have seen something so they were off to interview him. Jim smiled to himself. Those TV programmes always said that the first forty-eight hours were the most crucial. It looked like he'd have this solved before then.

He picked up his 'phone and dialled the lab.

'Dr Sinden.'

'Sarah. That you?'

'Ah Jim Brooke I heard you were back in town.'

'Back on the job this morning, but I went down to look at the body when they found it last night.'

'Welcome back.'

'Nothing like being thrown in at the deep end. Have you got anything for me?'

'Come on Jim you know we don't work that quickly.'

'And I know you've got something even if you haven't got everything.'

'I can see Manchester hasn't made you any less demanding,' she chuckled. 'We know she's not in the system, finger prints and DNA have come back blank. She wasn't drunk but there was something in her system. I am running some tests now but my guess is chloroform or rohypnol. The newspaper is going to take a little longer but as soon as we have anything I'll let you know.'

'Thanks Sarah.' Jim paused just before he put the 'phone down. 'Fancy a drink sometime?'

'Umm, yeh why not?'

 

                                                *********************************************

 

Tracey Giles was the name he wrote on the tin. It had taken them nearly a week before the papers had released her name. Surely it couldn't have taken the coppers that long to find out who she was. They only found her because the campsite she had been staying at wanted paying and she had left all her camping gear there. They had 'phoned her home, where she had lived with her parents and her parents had contacted the police.

No mention of the necklace or the newspaper yet. The longer it took the more clues they gave to the press. Getting the public to do their job for them again.

 

                                                ***********************************************

The following morning the doors to the lift were just closing as Barry stuck his hand in the way. They re-opened and he dived in to find Sarah Sinden standing there.

'Chasing after me again hey Barry,' Sarah said.

'I err, I err didn't realise you were in here.'

'It's alright Barry I was just joking,' Sarah had known Barry had a thing for her but he was always too shy to say anything. He wasn't her type but her type was definitely getting thin on the ground, if Jim hadn't come back she would have asked Barry out herself.

'Just on my way to the briefing room. It looks like Tracey Giles was killed in the same way as Janet Briggs. Chloroform in her system.' he said.

'I know what you mean. I have looked over the Janet Briggs case and there are a lot of similarities. Jim's DNA was all over Janet but that was hardly surprising the way they were found.'

'Yeh.Took him a long time to get over it. That's why they send him to Manchester.'

'Well it didn’t do him any harm did it? Comes back as a Detective Inspector running a murder enquiry. Anyway the weird thing is there was some of Jim's DNA on Tracey,' she said.

'That is weird. The body had been moved before he turned up. Let's see what the rest of the briefing tells us.'

They entered the briefing room. It was already full. Jim was standing at the front finishing off the details of everything they knew about the girl and her friends, ex boyfriends and other contacts that would need interviewing by the assembled police officers.

'Ah Sarah, just in time. Can we have you report please?' Jim stepped away from the lectern.

'Well the major finding I have this morning,' Sarah started, not known for her use of pleasantries, 'is we've managed to get something from the ball of paper found in her throat. It was the front page of a newspaper from 1993.'

'What was the main story?' came a call from the back.

'It wasn't that easy but we've gone back to The Nottingham Evening Post for a back issue. It was the issue from when Jim was transferred to Manchester.'

The room went silent.

'Well I think that just confirms that there is a link between the two cases,' Jim said. 'Now you all have your assignments let’s get on with it.'

The room quickly emptied and just Jim and Sarah were left.

'Not going as well as I'd have hoped,' Jim said.

'Don't worry we'll work it out.'

'We never solved Janet's murder.'

'This is different. DNA has moved on.'

'I just feel like a failure. This is my first case back. I don't suppose you fancy that drink tonight?'

'Why not? Where?'

'Pop round and I'll cook.'

Sarah headed off back towards the lift and her lab to find Barry standing there holding the lift door.

'Didn't take him long,' he said. The rest of the lift journey continued in silence.

 

That evening Sarah arrived at Jim's dressed in her smartest outfit and carrying a bottle of wine. Jim opened the door wearing what must have been his mum's old apron. Sarah couldn't help giggling. He scowled and led her into the dining room. Leaving her there he went to check on something and came back a little while later minus his apron and carrying two glasses of wine.

'So why come back?' Sarah got straight to the point.

'The job mainly. It was here or wait for the next Detective Inspector's role somewhere else. It could have been years and it could have been somewhere worse.'

'Doesn't it feel weird?'

'Not really. You're here and Barry. It's almost like I never went away. The worst thing is Mum not being here.'

'She died not long after you went away didn't she.'

'Yes, I was so ill I didn't even come back for the funeral. She took an overdose. Barry organised the funeral. He always said she was like a mum to him. He lived in a foster home round the corner.'

'I never knew that. He always talks about his mum. He must've meant your mum.'

'I guess so. Excuse me I just need to check on the diner.'

 

Jim appeared at the dining room door carry the first course. There followed a meal that Sarah had only experienced in restaurants before.

Afterwards they settled down on the sofa with a glass of brandy. Just then the door bell rang.

'Who can that be?' Jim got up and closed the door behind him.

Seconds later the door swung open and a very drunk Barry Roman piled into the lounge.

'Don't worry Sarah I'm here,' Barry slurred as he staggered across the room.

Sarah tried to get up but found she couldn't. Her eyes were so heavy it was an effort to even half open them. She looked over at Jim but he was ignoring her, far more concerned with Barry.

'I can't let you do it again Jim,' Barry final stopped tottering around the room and pointed at Jim. 'Janet was my girl, why did you do it?'

'She wasn't your girl idiot. She was mine.'

Sarah slow inched her hand down to the pocket of her trousers where her mobile phone was.

'You knew I liked her but you had to prove you could have her. Didn't you?'

'Come on Barry you know she didn't want you. Just like Sarah here.' Jim nodded towards Sarah, paralysed on the sofa. 'She was only thinking of asking you out because there was no one better, then I came along. You're a joke.'

Sarah couldn't reach the phone, if only she’d taken more care. The DNA had told her all along but she hadn't wanted to believe it.

'I even covered up when you killed mum. I know she was dead the day before you left. It took them so long to find her it was easy to assume she died a few days later.' Barry said

'Don't call her Mum. She was my Mum not yours.' Jim raised his hand and slapped Barry hard across the face. He stumbled and bumped into Sarah. Jim grabbed Barry and lifted him to his feet dumping him in the arm chair opposite Sarah. The movement had been just enough for Sarah's phone to be knocked into her hand. She pressed the speed dial key linked to the 'officer in distress code'.

'What had Tracey done to you?' Barry said barely able to stand.

'I know she was here visiting you. I know everything you do.' Jim smiled. 'Eventually we will find the link and all these cases will be traced back to you. I even left DNA on her body so they I can prove you planted it there to try point the finger at me. I had hoped not to have to do this so soon but it looks like you'll be taking and overdose this evening.'

Jim grabbed the brandy bottle and started forcing it down Barry's throat.

The door burst open and five burley officers piled into the lounge filing most of the available space.

'Out the way,' in walked the Chief inspector quickly followed by a team of paramedics.

 

It took two days before Barry could have any visitors and his first one was Sarah. She told him all about the worries she'd had about the DNA and how she'd decide to do a little investigating on her own. When she had dialled for help the operator could hear everything that was happening in the room. Barry couldn't believe how stupid he had been but he always thought it had been a coincidence until Tracey had died. He had followed Sarah to Jim's to make sure she was okay. He had needed a little Dutch courage in the pub across the road before he had been able to pluck up the nerve to face Jim.

As visiting time came to an end a very serious looking nurse insisted Sarah left.

'I'll see you tomorrow Barry,' Sarah said as she was being pushed out the door. 'Maybe we can talk about where you want to take me on our first date.'

As the nurse came to settle Barry down she could believe how big the grin on his face was.