‘Can I call you an ambulance?’ Bert said, half-heartedly. ‘Your elbow’s bleeding.’
The man looked down at his elbow, the skin patterned with freshly forming blood patches. ‘No, thanks mate, I don’t need the ozzy. I’d better be getting back before it gets dark.’ Taking the bike, he stifled a groan as he limped forwards.
Bert put his hands on the handlebars of the bent-up bike. ‘Let me run you home, I insist.’
‘That’s proper kind of you. The name’s Geoffrey by the way. I’d shake your hand but it’s a bit sore like.’
Bert decided against offering his own name in return. ‘No problem. Come in for a drink, you look like you’re about to faint.’
Bert slid back the side door of the van and Geoffrey climbed inside, looking around in amazement as Bert flicked on the lights and showed him a seat.
Geoffrey squeezed in behind the jutting Formica table, resting his belly under the wood. Bowing his head, he clasped his hand to his jaw as he sat slumped with a sigh.
Bert handed Geoffrey a large brandy, mentally offsetting the costs against what was to come.
‘Nice one, mate. I’m not holding you up, am I?’ Geoffrey said, swirling the brandy in the chipped enamel cup.
‘Not at all, I’ve finished my work for today,’ Bert said, faking his cheeriest smile.
‘Oh, I thought maybe you were retired. Things ’aven’t been the same for me since I was made redundant.’
Bert nodded sympathetically. ‘I’m a tarot card reader. I have clients up and down the country. Would you like me to read your cards?’ Bert did not wait for a response as he plucked the musty deck of cards from his jacket pocket and placed them on the faded yellow Formica table.
Geoffrey frowned, but Bert knew that even if he did not believe in such things, he would not want to hurt his new friend’s feelings while he was being so hospitable; particularly when he was willing to ignore the dent on the front of the van.
‘Sure why not,’ Geoffrey said, ‘me sister’s into all this, she goes to the spiritualist church and everything.’
‘And what about you?’ Bert said, licking his cracked lips as he shuffled the cards.
‘No disrespect, mate, but I don’t believe in all that stuff. Still, each to their own, eh?’
Bert laid down the cards and picked up the brandy bottle, clinking it against Geoffrey’s ceramic cup. ‘Here, have another drink.’
Bert felt the raven draw near as he rifled through Geoffrey’s past. As cine-camera images flashed to the forefront of his mind, he recounted Geoffrey’s early days as a mechanic in Liverpool, before he hurt his back and moved to Haven to be near his sister. He got a job as a factory packer and came close to marrying, but being made redundant caused his fiancée to break off the engagement. Geoffrey had since resigned himself to living alone.
Geoffrey shook his head in amazement. ‘This is a wind-up. You’ve been speaking to my sister, haven’t you?’
Bert raised an eyebrow in his direction. ‘If that were the case I wouldn’t be able to forecast what you’ve been up to of an evening now, would I?’
Geoffrey giggled, the brandy bringing a bloom to his cheeks. ‘Oh yeah? And what would that be?’
Bert replied in a low voice, as he eyed the man with some disdain. ‘I know that you like to spy on the woman next door.’
‘Sexy Mandy? So would you if you’d seen her. Phwoar, she’s dynamite!’
Bert was astounded. The man wasn’t even ashamed of his actions.
‘She’s married,’ Bert said. Even from a distance he had seen the flash of gold on her finger.
‘I know, lucky bastard. I don’t know what he did to deserve her. She’s a right little goer,’ Geoffrey chuckled, apparently none the wiser to his drinking buddy’s disgust.
‘It’s voyeurism,’ Bert said, his words measured. Now was not the time for anger.
But Geoffrey did not hear him. ‘Last night she had on a black PVC bra, a fishnet vest and PVC pants. She goes shopping for all this gear then tries it on for her auld fella when he gets home from work. It’s better than watching Television X!’
‘It sounds like my predictions have been true. Let’s look into your future.’
‘Sure thing, mate, let me know if I score a night with that bird from next door.’
Bert steeled himself as he watched the last moments of Geoffrey’s life unravel before him. Ironically, the sequence that led to his death occurred after another evening of watching Mandy perform for her husband. Bert tightened his lips, reining in his smile.
‘You’re going to break your neck climbing down from that tree house,’ he said. Tipping off the man was the last thing he wanted to do, but giving the warning was all part of the reading and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
But Geoffrey burst out laughing, his large belly vibrating against the table. ‘Thanks, mate, you’ve given me a right giggle there. Next thing you’ll be telling me wanking makes me blind. I feel much better now, but I think it’s time I made a move.’
Bert stared with his mouth open, speechless for the first time. He didn’t believe him. He warned the fool and he didn’t believe him.
[#]
Bert had learned from Geoffrey that he lived alone, and like many people living alone, he was a creature of habit. Every night at five he popped out to the chip shop for his tea. He was home by half five, and in the tree house by a quarter to six, to watch Mandy trying on her wares. Perhaps she knew what was happening, or perhaps she was not expecting someone to be watching her from that height. As the cards had shown, the tree house provided a direct view through the curtainless windows of her bedroom. But there was no excuse for Geoffrey’s behaviour, and Bert would enjoy watching the fulfilling of the prophecy.
It was not difficult to slide into the unlocked back garden through the frail wooden gate. Geoffrey would be too busy waiting for Mandy to come home to notice Bert’s intrusion. Bert positioned himself behind the mossy garden shed, smiling to himself as he cast his eyes over the ladder reaching up to the tree. The wooden steps were as rotten as he had envisaged, and would not hold Geoffrey’s considerable bulk when he waddled down tonight. All he had to do was watch, if only to know his forthcoming reward was secure. Bert froze as he heard a rattling sound from the side of the house. The metallic rattling sound got closer and was followed by Geoffrey’s whistle as he walked towards the tree house carrying a stepladder over his shoulder. Bert dug his nails into the palms of his hands. Damn him! He must have taken in some of the reading after all.
The steps creaked as Geoffrey climbed, muttering to himself as the binoculars swung from around his neck. ‘C’mon girlie, let’s see what you’re wearing tonight … or rather not wearing,’ he giggled.
As time went on, Bert edged closer to the tree house, his mind in turmoil. With a short push of the stepladder Geoffrey would end up dead. Bert’s eyes followed the trajectory. It would come to rest on the glass house, which would make a hell of a crash as Geoffrey’s body made impact. Bert dug his long nails into the back of his neck as he scratched the growing itch. The rampant next-door neighbours were sure to be alerted by the noise. Would he get away on time? He mulled it over. He could force Geoffrey into climbing down the wooden steps by taking away the metal stepladder, but that would put him on his guard, and he was a big man. Bert thought of Geoffrey’s wide knuckles being slammed into his face, his gorilla hands wrapping around his neck, choking the life out of him.
‘Fuck! What’ll I do? What’ll I do?’ he rasped into the cool evening air, searching the skies for his beloved ravens. But the question was taken away as heavy footsteps creaked on the ladder above him.