23. Priscilla Sweeting gets a letter
23
PRISCILLA SWEETING GETS A LETTER
Doogie opened up a second can. He was drinking with Colin the Wanker. How fucked up was that? He’d always imagined it would be Frank he’d be sharing a cold one with, but Frank was the one behaving like a prize prick and last night, Netta had asked Doogie to look after the man who’d done his best to ruin her life. Fucked up didn’t even begin to describe it.
He leaned back in the chair. The sun was quite strong now. He didn’t mind working in the heat, but he preferred it cooler than it was today. He’d got used to Scottish weather. You did get heat up there, but hardly ever as oppressive as this. The wanker was starting on his second can. He’d have to keep an eye on him. The guy was skinnier than a whippet. A second can might just be enough to knock him out.
Two things had happened while he’d been waiting for Colin the Wanker to come back. Arthur had messaged to say they’d gone to Clyde’s to collect some more tools, and Doogie had gone back inside the shed. It was only out of interest really, to pick up some tips. His vegetable garden back home wasn’t that different to having an allotment, and Clyde had told him this Samuel guy had been one of the best. So he’d been nosing around the shelves looking at the way things were set up when he saw the plastic wallet hidden behind some seed boxes. It was one of those like a big envelope with a press stud that closed the flap. His dad used them a lot when Doogie was a kid. They kept his papers clean when he was checking on his building sites. He used to give them to him for school. He probably gave them to Doogie’s half-brothers and sisters as well. Doogie never asked. But that was why he’d taken the wallet down. It reminded him of his old man. Now he was wondering whether to tell Colin the Wanker what was inside.
‘The others have gone to pick up more tools.’
Colin the Wanker nodded. ‘That’ll be why I couldn’t see them.’
Doogie slipped the wallet out from behind his back. Might as well tell him. He’d find out soon enough when the others got back. ‘I found this inside.’
Colin the Wanker opened the wallet’s flap. ‘A letter.’
‘Yeah, it’s addressed to someone. Mrs P Sweeting. Read what’s on the back.’
‘To be opened only in the event of my death. Bit dramatic. Do you think she’s Samuel’s wife?’
Doogie shrugged. ‘Could be. Clyde and Ursula might know.’
They didn’t have to wait long to find out. The others were soon back with food, drink and heavy duty cutters for the overgrown hedge. ‘Any idea who she is?’ asked Doogie.
‘It’s Priscilla, Samuel’s wife. I can’t believe this has been here all this time,’ said Clyde.
‘We wouldn’t have known it was there. We pretty much locked the place up and left it straight after he passed,’ said Ursula.
Arthur scratched his head. ‘Strange place to leave such a letter.’
‘Not for Samuel,’ said Clyde.
Ursula sat down on the old wicker chair. Its cobwebs stuck to her hair and clothes, but she didn’t seem to notice. ‘He must have known he was dying.’
‘So what do we do with it?’ Now that he’d asked the obvious question, it seemed to Doogie that the two people who should have an answer weren’t in possession of one. They just looked at each other with faces that were unreadable.
It was left to Arthur to say something: ‘I didn’t know Samuel, but it seems to me that he wouldn’t have written it if he hadn’t wanted his wife to read it. And I think even if as many as ten years had passed, my Geraldine would want to see it.’
‘Your Geraldine is not Priscilla Sweeting,’ said Clyde. ‘But I see what you mean.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ said Arthur. ‘Do you know if Mrs Sweeting still lives at this address?’
Clyde nodded. ‘She does.’
‘Maybe we could call on her then. You and Ursula, as she knows you, and we shouldn’t go mob-handed.’
Clyde gave Ursula another one of those unreadable looks. ‘That’s not a good idea, Arthur. Better if someone else goes.’
‘Oh. Okay. Well you know best, Clyde. Shall I go then?’
‘No. She’ll spot you as one of us from a mile down the road. I think it should be him.’ Clyde pointed to Doogie. ‘I suppose the other one could go as well. As back up. Well, back up might be expecting a bit much. More like a distraction. But definitely Doogie. She’ll open the door to him.’
Fucking hell. What had he got himself into and who was this Priscilla Sweeting? Fucking Godzilla from the sound of it. Whoever or whatever she was, Doogie and Colin the Wanker were on their way to her house. According to Clyde it was only a short walk away. What he’d actually said was it was a short run away, as if he was expecting them to have to make a sharp exit. If Mrs Sweeting was as old as Doogie thought she was, he’d have no problem outrunning her. He wasn’t so sure about Colin the Wanker though. Maybe that’s what Clyde meant by a distraction. Sacrificing the wanker for the greater good. The greater good being Doogie.
‘She’s probably a perfectly harmless old lady,’ said Colin the Wanker as they approached Mrs Sweeting’s house. Annoyingly, he seemed to think they were on proper speaking terms now that they’d cleared out the rotting rat corpse and the putrid milk. Doogie knew it had been a mistake to accept his lager.
‘Yeah? In that case, you can do the talking.’ He rang the bell and pushed Colin the Wanker to the front.
The door was opened by a tidy looking elderly woman, her grey-white hair somehow at odds with her dark, almost wrinkle-free skin. Colin the Wanker did a creepy smile. ‘Mrs Sweeting?’
She gave him a quick once over. ‘I’m not buying anything.’ Then she slammed the door.
So much for a distraction. The wanker sighed and stepped out of the way.
Doogie tried the bell again. The door half-opened. The old lady stood, one hand on the door, the other on her hip. ‘What you want?’
‘Are you the widow of Samuel Sweeting?’ He hadn’t meant to blurt it out but this old girl was fucking scary.
‘Who wants to know?’
‘We’ve been helping to clear out Mr Sweeting’s allotment shed. We found a letter addressed to Mrs Priscilla Sweeting.’
‘What kinda letter?’
‘It was marked to be opened in the event of his death,’ said Colin the Wanker.
‘We didn’t open it,’ said Doogie.
‘You’d better come in.’ She let Doogie into the hall. ‘Not you.’ She slammed the door shut in Colin the Wanker’s face and held out her hand.
‘Are you Mrs Priscilla Sweeting?’
She made a soft hissing sound. ‘Of course I am. Fool.’
Doogie held out the plastic wallet. ‘Sorry it’s taken so long to get to you. They’ve only just started clearing it out.’
‘What’s that dirty thing you giving me? You couldn’t clean it first?’
‘Sorry. I’ll take it out, yeah?’
‘You asking me or telling me?’
‘I’ll take it out.’ He removed it from the plastic wallet and held it out for her.
She looked at it, her arms folded. ‘Clyde Wilson send you?’
‘Yes.’
She took the letter, turned it over and read the back. ‘You can go now.’
Doogie nodded. ‘If there’s anything?—’
‘There’s nothing. Be gone.’
Colin the Wanker was waiting on the pavement for him. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yeah.’ Doogie set off for the allotment with Priscilla Sweeting still on his mind. There was something about that old woman that unnerved him.