Nowhere to Run
– Margaret Stanley, surely you remember me? Its me, William Your only nephew.
– William?!
A few seconds passed while Aunt Margaret breathed heavily.
– Good Lord, I honestly thought youd either died or ended up in prison. You never call, you never write
*****
Why now, of all times? I wondered, staring blankly at my laptop while some infernal hammer drill relentlessly pounded away behind the wall. In fact, I wasnt so much listening to it as enduring it; nothing I tried helped block out the racket.
First, I pressed my hands to my ears, then I tried headphones, even burying my head under a pillow nothing worked.
Every deafening blow was accompanied by a high-pitched screech and metallic grinding, so overwhelming I felt like I was actually on a building site, not holed up in my flat.
How much longer can this go on? I muttered, tempted to dash into the hallway, boot in the door, and rid my neighbour of his wretched drill once and for all.
But, of course, that was only possible in my wildest daydreams or, perhaps more fittingly, within the pages of my next novel.
In real life, the neighbour in question, Victor, would probably wallop me with the drill himself. Ex-paratrooper, built like a wardrobe, with a stare that would freeze your blood
I had no choice but to grit my teeth and get on with it.
That would have been bearable had it not been for one particular circumstance.
A few weeks earlier, the manager of a prominent publishing househaving apparently read my last book about a mysterious crime in a sleepy little towngot in touch. He offered me a collaboration. Quite lucrative, too. Promised me a healthy sum in pounds sterling.
Im in! I replied eagerly.
Excellent, he said. Just one catch: youll need to deliver the book within three months.
No problem!
I do have this awful habit: agree first, think later. Once I hung up, I realised I had no idea what I was actually going to write.
It needed to be a gripping whodunnit. It shouldve been easy for an experienced hand, but the cogs in my head jammed. For a truly captivating crime story, you need the right premise, a step-by-step plot, fascinating charactersand, most cruciallythe crime itself.
Crimes, Im afraid, arent summoned out of thin air. You have to rack your brains and sift through endless scenarios.
Last time, it took six months to get it right. But then, I hadnt been up against a deadline. Now, with only three months, every second counted.
Precisely when Victor decided to start renovations. In the endless din of that drill, all I could think of was murderpossibly my own.
Naturally, I quizzed him (during one of his frequent smoke breaks on the balcony) as to how long the work would go on.
Three months, most likely. Why, am I disturbing you?
No, no, just curious, I stammered, quickly slinking back into my room and bolting the door.
That made it clear enough: if I stayed here, Id never write a word. I had to get out. But where?
I ruled out hotels at oncefar too expensive, especially in London.
Renting somewhere else made more sense, but even that required more cash than I had to spare. And honestlywhat guarantee would I have that the neighbours there wouldnt start their own demolition project? Maybe theyd just had twins and planned to celebrate indefinitely. Or perhaps thered be a small girl taking piano lessons around the clock.
No, rentings too risky, I told myself. You could end up moving every week and be worse off than before.
My thoughts were interrupted by a monstrous crash from next doorfelt like the ceiling was coming down. Startled, I jumped up, forgetting I was sitting on the bed, not at the desk, smashing my head on the bookshelf above.
As I rubbed my bump, it suddenly hit me: Aunt Margaret. I hadnt seen her in years, not since Mums funeral seven years ago. Our relationship wasnt good or badjust nothing, really. Oddly, her phone number popped right into my headcouldnt recall my own, but hers? After the knock to my skull, it seemed worth a call.
Hello? Margarets voice was instantly familiar, and I was absurdly relieved to find she was still alive.
Hello, Aunt Margaret. Its William.
William William is that the plumber? Im certain Ive paid you for fixing the kitchen tap. Or did you forget something?
Aunt Margaret, its meWilliam, your nephew. Your only one, in fact.
William?!
She took a while to catch her breath.
My goodness, I thought youd snuffed it or been carted off by the police. Not a word from you in years
No, Im alive and well. Just busy with workthats why I havent called. Thats all I fumbled awkwardly.
Busy every waking moment for seven years? Not a spare minute? You sure you arent some kind of modern slave?
No, its just Im a writer, you see. Ive been working on detective novels, mostlythey seem popular.
A writer?! Why did you bother studying physics then? Your mother and I spent a fortune on you! Was it all for nothing?
I just realised it wasnt for me. Anyway, the thing iswell, I was calling to ask a favour
Oh, I see how it is. Youve not phoned just to see how your old aunt is; you need something.
Yes I mean, noI do want to know how you are, but actually, I do have a request
Money?
No. Your cottage.
What?! You want my cottage? Good heavens, William. Have you lost your mind?
How did you know? I asked, still massaging my sore scalp. No, youve misunderstood. I just want to stay at your cottage for a bitjust a few months.
Actually, I was planning to sell it. Or, rather, an estate agent is handling it right now.
Could you hold off? Only for three months? I asked, mustering as much hope as I could.
Possibly
Really?!
But first, why? If you plan on sneaking girls in while your wifes away, the answer is absolutely not.
Girls?! Me? Not a chanceand I dont have a wife anyway
I explained everything. Even let her listen to the endless noise from next door.
See? Im not making it up. Please, Aunt Margaret, Im desperate!
In the end, Aunt Margaret relented and let me stay for three months, but only if I sorted the garden outa condition for any potential buyers not to be put off by the head-high weeds.
No problem! I agreed enthusiastically. Just send me the estate agents number.
Of course, once I hung up, it dawned on me that I had no idea when Id find the time for gardening. I decided to hope that, with silence, Id write faster than expected, freeing up hours for weeding and hauling rubbish.
*****
Everything seemed perfectly planned. End of summer, city folk gone home, and the weather holding outno modern conveniences in the cottage, but Id survive.
As I made my way through the nettles, suitcase in tow, someone suddenly called out:
Hold there! Whos that?
I froze.
I said, who goes there? Why dont you answer? The invisible voice was increasingly insistent.
William. My aunts allowed me to stay here.
Which aunt? No-ones lived here for years. Are you a burglar?
Im Margaret Stanleys nephew. Shes given me permission to stay three months.
Well then, come over to the fence.
Which way? I asked hesitantly, looking around for reference.
Left. Come on.
Obligingly, I wandered left and soon spotted an old chap with a large dogthe kind that makes you wonder if youll become that days dinner. Granted, perhaps not, but as Ive always been wary of dogs, my imagination provided the worst.
The old gent turned out to be rather chattyintroduced himself as Kenneth.
Once convinced I was truly Margarets nephew, Kenny launched into his life story, probably because isolation had left him hungry for company.
I live here, William. Gave my flat to my daughter when she married and moved here myself. Then Molly pitched upnever left, have you, girl? He ruffled the dogs ears.
Right I muttered.
And I keep an eye on these gardens when people are gone. Most folk leave fridges, microwaves, telliesso I act as watchman. The pays pocket change, but it keeps me busy. So, youre only staying three months?
Yesjust enough to write a book. Its the peace and quiet Im after, you see.
Youve picked the right spot. Only you, me, and Molly here. Thats it.
*****
After saying goodbye to Kenneth, I started moving incarried the bags of food, my laptop, the microwave over from the car. Thankfully, there was a fridge but I had no need of a telly. I was here to write, not watch daytime quizzes.
Surveying the state of the plot, I sighed, then decided to get it into shapeI was here three months, after all, and it was embarrassing compared to Kennys pristine patch.
So, for the next four days, I became a one-man gardening machine. By the fifth day, there wasnt a single weed left standing. Every bundle went onto the compost heap, just in case someone fancied gardening later on.
Throughout, Molly watched silentlyominously so, with eyes that tracked my every move.
Thankfully, the wire fence separating the plots meant I neednt worry about an over-eager dog. That barrier did more for my nerves than any valerian in a chemist.
Now, for the book, I grinned, flipping open my laptop.
For the first time in months, the place was blissfully silentno cars, no cockerels at dawn, no drills or sanders. Paradise. A little too quiet, maybe.
Id barely managed a sentence before, suddenly, Molly started barking her head off.
What on earths got into her? I wondered. Shed been quiet as the grave all through the weeding.
What was curious: the moment I left the house, shed stop and wag her tail. Set foot back inside? The barking started again, ferociously.
Oh, come on
I asked Kenny, but he shrugged.
Not a clue, lad. Maybe she just likes you.
Some way of showing it
Youll get used to her. Hard not to love a dog, in the end. Ive known dozens insist theyd never warm to a mutt, but soon enough, theyre besotted.
Well, not everyone is, I muttered. Someone must have thrown her out if she ended up with you.
Theyre not people, William. Not if they ditch a dog
*****
One evening, as I lounged in the loo, I heard the whine of an engine outside. Night had fallen. A van was prowling aboutclearly not a car, judging by the sound. Odd.
I called the police station; the officer promised to come and check it out.
Peeking through the window, I watched as two figures slipped into Kenneths cottage.
No questionthey were robbers, loading electronics into their van. I was the only possible witness.
Best act now, I figured, before they nicked everything and scarpered.
Trying not to panic, I crept outside, told Molly and a stray grey cat Id befriended to wait there, and headed for Kenneths plot.
Theyd left a treasure trove of half-inched fridges, tellies, microwaves in the vans back.
Nearing the house, the two men emergedone bearing a gleaming new telly.
Look at the haul! crooned one.
Well flog this lot, and the old chaps medalsll fetch a mint from collectors.
Then they noticed me.
Who are you supposed to be?
Police! I declared, repeating lines from every British cop show Id ever watched. Youre nicked. Hands upslowly. Resistance is futile!
One went pale, but the other squinted: Thats no copper. Thats that writer blokeremember the old chap said someone showed up to stay for a bit?
Oh, right, his mate grinned.
I cant fightand I was pretty certain these two wouldnt let a nosy neighbour go.
But just as they closed in, out of nowhere, Molly and Cheekymy feline friendbarrelled into them. Cheeky leapt onto the taller thiefs head while Molly tackled the other, growling menacingly right into his face.
Youre not going anywhere! I laughed, enjoying the scene.
While Molly pinned her target down, I managed to tie the others hands with a length of chain.
Before long, the community officer turned up, delighted to swap out the makeshift restraints for proper cuffs.
Nice work, William, he said, clapping me on the shoulder. Braver than most, facing two crooks on your own!
Oh, I wasnt on my own, I said, pointing at Molly and Cheeky. Had a bit of help from my friends.
Well, theyve earned a treat or two. Who were these blokes anyway? They looked oddly familiar
Theyre paramedics! Ive been tracking them for six monthsthe nerve, using their uniforms to case the place. But you caught them in one evening!
With them gone, I dashed back to the house, a head full of inspiration. At lastI had the perfect crime novel plot.
*****
Two-and-a-half months later, I handed the manuscript to my publisher. He devoured it in a single sitting.
William, this is brillianta sure bestseller! Youll have your advance and a cut of the sales as promised.
Not long after, I sold my London flat, bought Aunt Margarets cottage outright, and picked up Kenneths patch too, once it came up for sale. There was just enoughplenty, really, along with royaltiesto build a proper little house, inside loo and central heating and all.
And so, here I amliving in the countryside with Molly and Cheeky. Why not? Quiet as you like, and my best mates by my side.
By day, I work at the laptop. Evenings, we patrol the grounds together, on the lookout for trouble. And I thank fateyes, and even Victor with his blessed drill. Because if not for Victors DIY craze, Id never have found this place, this quiet, and these friends.
Funny how life unfolds, isnt it?
And so, another day ends, and for now, theres nowhere in the world Id rather run.
