Part Six – The Skiptons at No. 44

Today continues the next part in my serial: Stookey Hill. Today, we go into the house next to Mrs Dorado – the Skiptons!

Part Six – The Skiptons at No. 44

John Skipton had gone home before deciding to venture out to work. He had bought his customary sausage roll, but upon realising he had forgotten his van keys, crossed the street to fetch them.

His house was quiet and for that he was thankful. Living with four kids and a wife – who he loved dearly but who also drove him crazy – made for a less than peaceful existence. Couple all that with living in a three bedroom mid-terrace on an insanely busy street…John’s only solace was that the rent was cheap.

“What are you doing home?” his wife Belinda shouted from the kitchen. She appeared at the door, the baby on her hip.

“Forgot my keys,” John said, sitting down to eat his sausage roll.

Belinda sighed and went back into the kitchen. John was her childhood sweetheart, the love of her life, but he was never in a rush about anything. Nothing ever had any sense of urgency, or importance. Of course, he was lucky because at least he owned the business, but still…she often wondered how on earth it was still afloat.

“I have an appointment for Izzy’s vaccinations at two – do you want anything in particular for tea because I’ll likely head straight over to the big Tesco out at the roundabout?”

There was silence. Belinda, sighing once more, went back to the door. John had gone again. But, she noted, his sausage roll wrapper had not. Neither had the flaked bits of pastry on the arm of the chair. More sighs. Belinda put Izzy into the playpen so that she could wipe up the pastry. The car horn made her start.

“Goodness me!” she gasped, laughing at her own fright, but wandering over to the window nonetheless.

A car had come to what seemed like a screeching halt and there, in the middle of the road, was Mrs Dorado. Her face was red, angry. And terrified. Belinda sighed again. She had concerns about Mrs Dorado.

Their house shared a wall. What was Mrs Dorado’s living room was the staircase in the Skipton’s, but there were two bedrooms upstairs that shared a shockingly thin partition too. There had been times when Belinda had been pottering about, putting away laundry, while the baby slept and she had been aware of voices. She knew that Mrs Dorado’s son Mark was there virtually every day, but there were times when there had been another man’s voice too.

At first, Belinda had thought nothing of it. Mrs Dorado could have whoever she wanted as a guest to her house. And it wasn’t as though you could make out words. Just noises, like you were listening from the bottom of a swimming pool.

Except, that one time when the voices were upstairs. Two men, she thought, as she folded Tommy and James’s laundry on the bed. Izzy was fast asleep, her gentle breathing the only sound. Until someone next door shouted. Then there was a shouted reply. Belinda paused. Please don’t wake the baby! That was her first thought.

Because of course it would be – who would have thought that the next thing she would hear would be a crash, a scream and a thud as though something had been flung at the wall between them. Out of some sort of instinct, Belinda clutched the small pair of trousers she was folding to her chest. Then she laughed as the silence became once more. Shaking her head, she smiled and picked up another t-shirt to fold.

Then, thud thud thud and another scream and the two male voices started shouting again. The difference was, this time she could make out words.

“I told you, you’ll get it when you get it!” Voice one.

“That’s not, like I said, good enough!” Voice two – probably Mark, Belinda concluded as she reflected after.

“And what do you want me to do? Magic it out of thin air?” Voice one.

“I don’t care where it comes from, just get me what you owe me!”

Thud, thud, thud. Then silence. Then what sounded like the trickle of plasterboard between the walls. Belinda had, she admitted to John when she retold the story that evening, wondered if they might come clean through the wall at that point!

The voices became muffled again as they quietened down, but there was tension. Belinda could feel it. A door banged and she ran to the window to see who left the house. A man, tall and wearing a suit, charged out with purpose, walking quickly as if to avoid being seen. But Belinda was upstairs and couldn’t see his face, just the top of what seemed to be a balding head.

If Mark was the other voice, he never appeared and number 42 Stookey Hill fell into its usual silence.

Later that afternoon, Belinda had just come through to the lounge with a cup of tea when she saw Mrs Dorado passing by, towards her house. Had she not been in earlier when all that ruckus was taking place next door?

“Mrs Dorado!” Belinda pulled the front door open to catch her before she went inside.

“Hello, dear!” Mrs Dorado paused, her key already in the lock. She wasn’t a fan of the Skiptons. Noisy lot. Belinda was all right, but the others were loud and boisterous.

“Been anywhere nice?” Belinda’s question was deliberately nosy so as to elicit whether or not Mrs Dorado had been witness to whatever had been happening earlier. She was sure there must be marks on the walls on her side.

Mrs Dorado sighed. This woman. Nice but so nosy. So, so nosy. If she hadn’t seen the tree branch with her own eyes through the back fence last winter, she might have thought that Belinda had done it herself to make a peep hole!

“Opticians this morning, then podiatrist to get my toe nails cut!”

Belinda shuddered at the thought of Mrs Dorado’s feet.

“An MOT then?” she said, instead of something ruder.

“An MOT indeed!” Mrs Dorado wondered when this would end.

A silence indicated that it had finally ended and Mrs Dorado smiled one last time and went inside.

So she wasn’t in earlier, Belinda had mused over her cup of tea.

And now, she was looking outside to see poor Mrs Dorado in a near miss with a vehicle! What a shame. She considered going out to her, but always got the impression that Mrs Dorado didn’t like her.

As Belinda watched, Mrs Dorado pulled her shopper behind her, face like thunder. No, now wasn’t the time to speak to her. However, if she got chance, she might quite like a word with that Mark…

And, as if by thinking his name she had summoned him, there he was. In a car that had pulled up right outside, much to the consternation of those cars behind him as their horns fired off and their drivers zoomed round, close enough to make a point without causing an accident.

Belinda watched with interest. Mark always came for his lunch, but it was a bit earlier today. Whoever he was with, she couldn’t see but they seemed deep in conversation. Then, without either of them getting out of the car, it started to pull away. It was then that Belinda realised that the driver was a woman! Belinda smiled – was this a girlfriend? Maybe…she had never seen Mark bring a girl home before. Not that next door was his home. Just his restaurant. Belinda was bemused. She thought he used Mrs Dorado for her kindness.

Sighing again, as was her perpetual life these days, Belinda decided it was time to get on with some chores before she needed to go out with the baby.

She was whistling when, almost thirty minutes later, there was a thud on the wall. From Mrs Dorado’s side. Upstairs. And then there they were again. Voices and shouting. And another thud, thud, thud.