Confessions from a Haunted House. Timothy Lea
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of somersaults and landed up in his breast pocket. I refrained from applauding. ‘Let it be known that this is the last service that I will perform for you lot. Once I have delivered the infant Harper into your clutches I will be leaving this house for ever. The fluff from your sitting-room carpet will never fill my turn-ups again.’ So saying, he stood up smartly pausing only to crack his knee on the underside of the table.
He was still worked up as we sped down the M4 in what I read on the bonnet to be an Armstrong Siddeley. The name was familiar to me. Like Boadicea or the Ancient Bede. ‘Make no mistake,’ he said. ‘I meant what I said back there. This is the parting of the ways.’
‘I’m sorry, Sid,’ I blurted. ‘I’m sorry for everything. Are you really serious?’ I don’t know why I was going on like this because I had often thought I needed my brain examined to keep tagging along with Sid’s disastrous schemes. However, when it came to the crunch, there I was, grovelling with the best of them.
‘I’ve never been more serious in my life,’ said Sid. An edgy hand snaked into the glove compartment and emerged with a fag which he shoved between his lips. Eager to show willing, I snatched out the cigarette lighter and then found that it was one of the knobs on the walnut fascia. I quickly tossed it aside before Sid could say anything and got hold of the right article. With exquisite care I applied it to the end of Sid’s fag and waited for the maestro to do the necessary. There was a squeal of brakes in front of us and Sid stepped on the anchors. When I looked back at the ciggy it was concertinaed against the noble lips with the lighter nearly inside Sid’s cakehole. His mince pies were peering down towards it like they might tilt out of his nut. I waited a few seconds and then realized that Sid had lost interest in this particular cigarette. ‘You might as well throw it away,’ he said slowly and bitterly. I don’t know what came over me then. I knew he meant the cigarette but it was the lighter that I chucked out of the window. I emitted a nervous shriek when I realized what I had done and promptly pressed the remains of the fag into the hole where the lighter lived. Sid looked at me suspiciously but did not notice what had happened.
We whipped round a roundabout and entered the long tunnel that leads to the airport. ‘Terminal Three,’ I said helpfully.
‘I know, I know,’ snapped Sid. ‘I’ve got to park, haven’t I? Keep your feet on the mats. This car represents all I have left in the world. I want to keep it nice.’ A thought occurred to him and his brow started to unroll over his eyes like a shop blind. ‘If that horrible little kid starts smearing bubble gum all over the upholstery he’ll get to Clapham as a jigsaw puzzle.’
I did not say anything because I knew that there was no point in talking to Sid when he was in one of his moods. You just had to wait for him to become himself again – not that that was worth hanging around for if there was anything good on the telly.
We went through the traffic lights, past the filling station and up a ramp. The entrance to the car park was via a slip road on the left. Sid stopped at the white pole and a geezer wearing a Sikh’s turban stuck his head out of the kiosk and started addressing Sid in Hindustani. It took me a moment to understand what was happening and then I realized that he had mistaken Sid’s bandage for a turban. Laugh? I thought I’d never stop. Until I saw Sid looking at me. Then I stopped immediately. Sid is tragically slow to see a joke against himself.
We parked the car in silence and not a word was spoken until we reached the arrivals board. Sid looked up at the flashing lights and groaned. ‘The flight’s in. Typical. The day we arrive there has to be a tail wind across the Atlantic. Normally they’d be stacking over Shannon.’
I did not ask him what he was talking about but looked down the hall towards the ‘Arrivals’ gate. Standing with his back to us was a small figure wearing a stetson and high-heeled cowboy boots. Sid followed my eyes and his lip began to curl. ‘That must be him,’ he said. ‘Blimey, what a twit. The kids down Scraggs Lane aren’t half going to give him a going over. I reckon even Jason could handle him.’
Jason Noggett was my brother-in-law’s first-born and as about as handy with his fists as Dame Edith Summerskill. Sadistic, mean and untrustworthy – but no exponent of the noble art.
Sid loped off and I was about to follow him when I glanced through the glass wall into the baggage claim area. Imagine my surprise – go on, I dare you – when my peepers collided with a large carpet bag that had just been lifted off the conveyor belt. On its side in large italic letters was woven the word ‘Harper’. My eyes panned up from the bag and – wow! – what a favour they did themselves. A bird not unlike Farrah Fawcett Thingamybobs was shaking her blonde curls and gazing hopefully for sight of more baggage. I did no more than establish that she was about nineteen years old and definitely a looker of the first magnitude before turning back to grab Sid. Clearly there had been a misunderstanding or an amazing coincidence. ‘Sid—’ My voice struck him firmly between the ear holes but he did not stop. Before I could get close to him, he had sailed up to the American kid and grabbed it by the arm.
‘OK Hopalong Cassidy. Where’s your bag?’
At that point, both Sid and I got a big surprise. The kid turned round to reveal that it had a goatee beard and a moustache. It was obviously very old for its age. Say, about fifty. Sid’s surprise was in fact rather larger than mine because the bloke did not kick me in the instep. Sid let out an agonized shriek and flung back his fist to let one go. I could tell immediately that this was not a good idea. Immediately I saw the geezer standing behind Sid. He was about seven feet tall and made Frankenstein’s monster look like Petula Clark. His great mitt slammed down on Sid’s wrist and within seconds my brother-in-law’s feet were tap dancing eighteen inches off the ground whilst he got a close-up view of the bloke’s fillings.
‘Sid,’ I said, reaching up and tapping him on the back. ‘That’s not him. There’s been a mistake.’ I never found out if Sid was grateful for the information because the little guy spat out a couple of words and the big one let go of what used to be Sid’s lapels. There was a noise like a bomb dropping and Sid landed in an untidy heap on the floor. Colonel Saunders and his mate strode off. ‘Over here,’ I said, eager to get away from the scene of this embarrassing incident. ‘I think that’s Harper.’ I pointed through the sliding doors where the carpet bag had now been joined by a vanity case. Sid shook his head and took in the sight. ‘You fool,’ he snapped. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? Thank gawd I won’t have to put up with your snivelling incompetence much longer.’ So saying he stepped forward briskly through the sliding doors that had opened to let out a customs official. They promptly closed on his shoulders and for one interesting moment I thought they were going to meet in the middle of his windpipe. But they opened again and I slipped through as about half a dozen blokes in dark blue suits converged on Sid to ask what he thought he was doing. The bird with the carpet bag turned to see what all the commotion was about and I was swiftly at her side.
‘Hi,’ I said in my best transatlantic manner. ‘Is your name Harper?’
‘It sure is,’ she said, turning on a big hundred-watt smile. ‘You’re not Timmy, are you?’
‘Every throbbing corpuscle.’ The sound of heavy breathing alerted me to the presence of my brother-in-law. ‘And this is Sid.’
‘Gee. I never expected your father to come along as well, I feel real honoured.’
I winced on Sid’s behalf as he took a deep breath. ‘Don’t let my mature man-of-the-world suavity confuse you, Harper,’ he said through gritted teeth. My only relationship with Timothy is thankfully one of marriage.’
‘You’re married?’ said Harper brightly. ‘Gee, England is so liberated these days.’
‘He’s married to my sister Rosie,’ I explained quickly.
‘Oh of course. Sidney Noggett. I’ve seen you on the Christmas cards.’ She made Sid sound like a robin. ‘You’re Timmy’s partner, aren’t you?’
‘Was’, said Sid firmly. ‘All that is behind me. Once I deliver you safely to Mrs Lea I will never be darkening their bath towels again. I could go on and explain why,