Chapter 15
‘It’s not so nice this morning, Patch,’ Bill observed as he peered out of the bedroom window. After the glorious day yesterday, painting and barbequing, he had been hoping that today would be equally as nice, because he had been contemplating suggesting to Fiona that they had another day out.
However, a fine drizzle put the kibosh on that, so perhaps he could suggest going out for lunch instead. He’d heard of a pub that did decent food (if his neighbour could be believed), which also allowed dogs. It was rather early and Fiona mightn’t be up yet, so he would take Patch for a walk first, then give her a bell when he got back.
At this time on a murky Monday morning, the only people in the park were those hurrying through it on their way to work and he didn’t encounter a single dog walker as he made his way past the kiddies’ play area, and on towards Molly and Jack’s cottage.
Patch stopped to sniff every blade of grass, despite having sniffed those same plants yesterday, and he also watered a fair few of them, announcing to the park’s canine fraternity that ‘Patch woz ’ere’.
Bill didn’t mind the constant stop-start. He wasn’t in any hurry. And neither did he mind the drizzle. A spot of rain would do his garden good, and it would go some way to refilling the water butt. It would also save him from having to water his veggie plot this evening. Anyway, he’d witnessed much worse weather than a drop of rain – much worse indeed.
Patch’s high-pitched yip broke into his thoughts, and he glanced around to see his dog tearing after a squirrel. Chuckling, Bill watched the squirrel scoot up the nearest tree trunk, ascending into the upper branches with remarkable agility, leaving the terrier to stare in every direction other than the right one. The ability of those pesky squirrels to disappear into thin air was a constant source of amazement to the dog, and not once did Patch think to look up, not even when the squirrels chattered abuse at him from the safety of the canopy.
Bill often wondered what the dog would do if one of the little critters were to stand its ground. He had a feeling Patch would turn tail and run away – exactly like he did with those cats who refused to be chased: a gimlet eye, an arched back and hissing that a cobra would be proud of, was always enough to see Patch screech to a halt, then flee with his tail between his legs.
A cursory glance at the cottage, as Bill strolled past, showed an empty driveway, and he guessed that both Molly and Jack had left for work. Jack had a ten-minute drive to the council offices, which had been very inconveniently built three miles out of town and as far from a bus route as it was possible to get. Molly, on the other hand, worked at an estate agent in Sweet Meadow itself, but because she often flitted here, there and everywhere looking at properties, or showing prospective buyers around them, she usually drove into town as well.
Calling Patch to him, Bill strolled around the gentle bend in the path that led to the cafe and the bandstand. It wasn’t possible to see the cafe from Molly’s house, but he knew she could see the bandstand on the other side of the green, as well as the playground, which was in the opposite direction. Both were in a state, and Bill wondered which of them would be next in line for a Molly makeover.
If he was a betting man, which he wasn’t, he might have been tempted to put his money on the playground. But that would entail a serious chunk of fundraising. But then again, that’s what Molly intended to use the cafe’s profits for – park restoration – so how soon the work on either project could begin would depend on how well the cafe was doing. Bill had a feeling it would do very well with Fiona at the helm. Having owned Clover Cafe for years, the cafe in the park should be a doddle for her. Although he hadn’t tasted Pamela’s baking, rumour had it that she wasn’t half the baker Fiona was, and neither did she have Fiona’s warm and friendly personality. If it came to a shootout between the two cafes (the one in the park and the one in town) he knew who would win.
He was aware that Fiona had the occasional crisis of confidence, but she needn’t worry, she was—
‘ Bloody hell! ’
The sight that met Bill’s incredulous gaze stopped him dead in his tracks. Someone had sprayed swirls and loops of garish red paint all over the front of the cafe. The windows and the door were covered in it, and some of the brickwork hadn’t escaped the assault.
He could hardly see the lovely blue of the window frames and the door, for the hideous graffiti.
Bill tried to make sense of the marks, hoping to see a name (whoever was stupid enough to do something like this, might also be stupid enough to graffiti their own name) but as far as he could tell it was nothing but a random mess.
They could have made more of an effort, he thought. This wasn’t street art, this was mindless vandalism. If he got his hands on those responsible, he would give them what for! Imprisonment would be too good for them. Why did they have to do it now, after everyone’s hard work yesterday? Some people were nothing but mindless thugs, with no respect for anybody or anything.
Bill’s indignation abruptly gave way to dismay when he realised he would have to be the one to tell Fiona. And he couldn’t delay it in case she happened to hear about the vandalism from someone else.
With a heavy heart and a ball of anger in his chest, Bill made his way to the far gate.
He wasn’t looking forward to this at all.
***
‘Why? What’s the point of it?’ Molly cried, and Fiona realised that the young woman was holding her temper with difficulty.
But whereas Molly was thoroughly outraged, Fiona was thoroughly upset.
The three of them were standing in front of the cafe and surveying the damage.
Bill said. ‘It’s pointless, and senseless.’ He was annoyed too.
Fiona wished she felt the same, rather than teary. It would be better than being so distressed. She guessed it was probably kids who were responsible, but she couldn’t help feeling that the vandalism was a personal attack, and she felt vulnerable. Silly, she knew…
Wringing her hands together, she wailed, ‘Who would do such a thing?’
‘Mindless idiots.’ Bill’s voice was gruff. ‘They don’t deserve anything nice.’
‘Don’t you dare suggest throwing in the towel, Bill Greaves,’ Molly warned. ‘They don’t, I agree, and if we find out who is responsible I’ll make it my mission to ensure they never have anything nice ever again.’
‘Please be careful,’ Fiona begged. ‘You don’t want to get into trouble.’
Molly put an arm around her, and Fiona leant into her as Molly said, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t take the law into my own hands.’
‘What will you do?’ Fiona fretted.
‘Ignore me, I’m blowing off steam, that’s all.’ Molly shook her head and sighed loudly. ‘I’ll tackle this later. I’d better go to work before I get the sack.’
Fiona couldn’t bear the sight of the graffiti for one minute longer. ‘Can you leave the keys with me? I’d like to make a start, if you don’t mind.’
‘I’ll help,’ Bill offered.
‘Don’t break your backs trying to remove it,’ Molly warned, passing the keys to Fiona. ‘Keep these. You should have a set of your own, anyway.’
Fiona waited until Molly left, then she unlocked the cafe door and stepped inside. Tea first, she decided as she switched the hot water on. She hadn’t had a cup yet, Bill having woken her up with the news. Whilst she’d hurried to get dressed (she had felt rather embarrassed answering the door in her dressing gown) Bill had phoned Molly, who had informed them she was on her way.
It was only now that Fiona was able to catch her breath. And it was only now that her nerves were beginning to settle and the nausea was fading.
‘Will hot water and washing up liquid get it off?’ she asked as they waited for the tea to brew.
Bill said, ‘Probably not. I reckon the paint on the glass will need to be scraped off, but scraping won’t work on the stone.’
‘Oh dear. What will?’
Bill took out his phone. ‘Let me see… I think a pressure washer might be the best bet, but we’ll have to be careful that it doesn’t damage it.’
Fiona pressed her lips together. ‘I don’t own a pressure washer. Do you?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but Duncan might. He strikes me as the sort of man who would have one.’
‘He does, doesn’t he. Oh, but he’ll be at work.’
‘We can get started on the windows. It says here that a razor blade should scrape it off.’
‘What about the scraper that I clean my ceramic hob with?’ Fiona suggested. ‘I’ve used it on my bathroom mirror when I got nail varnish on it, and it got it off.’
‘There’s no harm in giving it a go,’ Bill told her.
Leaving him and Patch to make a start on seeing whether hot soapy water would make any headway, Fiona hurried home to fetch the tool she used on her hob, plus a couple of pairs of rubber gloves and a spray bottle of glass cleaner along with her lint-free cloth. Feeling more positive (not much, but a little) Fiona was still shocked when she saw the outside of the cafe for the second time that morning, and once again she wondered at the mentality of those responsible. What had possessed them to do such a thing? It was sad to think that was how they got their kicks – by defacing the hard work of others.
And the cafe had looked so lovely, too…
***
At least the worst of it was off, Bill thought later, as he gave the window a final wipe over, being careful to avoid the newly reapplied paint on the frame. It had proved to be easier and quicker to give both the window frames and the door a fresh coat, rather than try to remove the red graffiti. All it had taken was a light sanding and a rinse down, followed by a lick of paint on the damaged areas.
The walls were a different matter though, and he feared they might be trickier. Having done more research, and with the input of several members of the public who had stopped to commiserate and give advice, it was decided that using a pressure washer might be too much of a scatter-gun approach. And after learning that the DIY store stocked a suitable liquid which should do the trick, Bill and Fiona were now on their way to purchase some.
Having worked flat out all morning, they also planned on having a bite to eat on the way.
‘I’m not dressed for a visit to the pub,’ Fiona had informed him when he’d suggested it. Bill thought she looked fine, but she was adamant that she didn’t, and as Best Bites didn’t allow dogs, that was also out of the question, so he volunteered to pop into the bakery for a pasty which they would eat in the DIY store’s car park, along with a takeaway coffee.
As they sat there, admiring the trays of plants outside the store (three for two), Fiona licked the grease off her fingers and said, ‘Have you given any thought as to who might be responsible?’
‘I’ve thought about nothing else.’
‘Any ideas?’
Bill put his half-eaten corned beef pasty on the dashboard and took a sip of coffee. He hated to say this… ‘A couple of people come to mind, but I wish they didn’t.’
Fiona didn’t need him to spell it out. ‘Surely you don’t mean Liam and Connor?’
‘They’ve got a track record,’ he pointed out. ‘It was them and their friends who trashed the flower beds near the gate. And don’t forget the pond incident.’
‘I thought they’d learnt their lesson?’
‘So did I.’ Bill had been convinced that the youffs had turned over a new leaf since Jack had saved Connor from drowning, but did leopards truly change their spots?
‘They were such a help yesterday,’ she lamented. ‘I can’t believe it was them.’
Bill didn’t want to, but who else could it be? Liam and his gang had caused havoc in the park previously, and they still had a habit of dropping litter (illicit cigarette stubs, in particular) as well as the occasional can of lager, or a bottle of beer and sometimes the harder stuff. He could well imagine them getting pie-eyed and egging each other on. It was entirely feasible that Liam and Connor had boasted about helping with the painting, and for them to make some ‘embellishments’.
Or – and this scenario was also within the realms of possibility – one of the others might have decided to have a go at decorating it themselves. A third option was sheer jealousy or vindictiveness. Who knew what went on in the minds of teenagers?
Bill snorted to himself: he had no idea what went on in his own mind half the time, so he didn’t stand a hope in hell of working out anyone else’s thoughts or intentions. He knew one thing, though – he would have to have a little chat with the youffs who hung around the park.
Pasties eaten and coffee consumed, Bill, Fiona and Patch (the dog had received his fair share of pasty offerings) entered the store in search of the recommended product. They located it easily, but it took Bill a while to persuade Fiona to leave because she became excited by the array of plants on sale, and the receptacles to put them in.
‘Strictly Come Planting,’ she announced as they returned to the car. ‘I’d forgotten all about it. I don’t suppose there’s time to do it now because the cafe is due to open a week Saturday.’
‘It won’t take long to slap another coat of paint on next weekend, so I don’t see why we can’t have a Strictly Come Planting event in the afternoon.’
Fiona had a faraway look on her face. ‘Imagine how nice the cafe would look with a planter or two outside. It would pretty it up no end.’
‘It would.’
‘They’re not cheap though.’
‘So I noticed.’ The larger pots were wincingly expensive. ‘Could we ask people whether they’ve got any old pots they might like to part with?’
Fiona’s expression brightened, but quickly fell again. ‘It would be very kind if they did, but we could end up with a right mishmash, and they would need to be a decent size otherwise they’ll have to be watered every five minutes.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. Not only that, but they would probably be nicked.’ If people could daub red paint all over the outside of the cafe, Bill doubted that they’d hesitate when it came to stealing nicely planted pots.
‘Raised beds!’ he yelled, making Fiona jump and Patch whine.
Fiona, after she’d recovered from the shock, nodded. ‘That’s a brilliant idea.’
‘We could paint them the same colour as the door.’
She clapped her hands. ‘Perfect!’
Bill continued to think about the raised beds as they began work on removing the graffiti from the sandstone, working out in his head where to place them for the best effect and how much wood was required. He would measure-up later when he took Patch for his evening walk.
So, after a tea of leek and ham pie, new potatoes and peas, he armed himself with a piece of paper, a pencil and a retractable tape measure, and ventured into the park once more.
Thankfully the drizzle of this morning had gone, and when Bill placed a forefinger lightly on the cafe door, he was pleased to discover that the fresh paint was completely dry.
The sun had already set and the light was fading fast. He needed to get his skates on if he wanted to take those measurements, so he wasted no time in retrieving the items from his jacket pocket.
Busily engrossed in drawing a quick outline of a second raised bed, his concentration was interrupted by the sound of voices, and he looked up to see Liam and four other teenagers approaching.
‘Wotcha,’ Liam said. He had his hood up, his jeans slung ridiculously low on his hips, and a swagger to his walk. But it was the smirk that got Bill’s goat.
‘What are you smirking about?’ he demanded.
‘Nuffink. Being friendly, that’s all.’ Liam pulled a face as he glanced at his mates.
One of them made a twirling motion with a finger against their temple. Bill was not amused.
‘What do you know about this?’ He pointed to the cafe behind him.
Another smirk. ‘It’s a cafe, innit?’
’Don’t be cheeky.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I want you to be honest.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course I’m not. I’m bloody furious.’ Bill could feel his anger building.
‘What about?’
‘ The cafe .’
‘You’re not making any sense, bro.’
‘I’m not your bro.’
‘Whatever.’
He decided to come right out with it. ‘Did you have anything to do with the red paint sprayed all over the cafe last night?’
Liam stared at him, a frown creasing his brow. ‘I don’t think red would go with blue.’
‘It didn’t. It was a bloody mess, I can tell you. It took Fiona and me all day to remove it.’
‘Sprayed on? Like street art?’
‘Sprayed on like graffiti.’
‘Who did it?’
‘That’s what I want to know.’ Bill glared at him.
‘Whose tag was on it?’
‘Tag?’
‘You know, the geezer’s name.’
‘There wasn’t a name.’
‘Sometimes they’re not obvious. What did they spray?’
As if you didn’t know, Bill thought. Nevertheless, he got out his phone and showed Liam the photo he’d taken.
Liam studied it, then said, ‘That ain’t no street art.’
‘I know. Do you have any idea who might be responsible?’
Liam began to shake his head, but something in Bill’s expression must have made him realise that Bill was inferring that Liam himself might have done it.
‘No, man.’ Liam held up his hands and backed away. ‘You’re not laying that one on me. I never did it.’
Bill wasn’t convinced. ‘Do you know who did?’ he pushed. ‘You lot are usually in the park in the evenings. You must have seen something.’
‘Get lost, old man. We didn’t see nuffink, did we?’
Liam’s friends scowled. One of them raised his middle finger and another folded his arms across his chest and glowered.
Bill wasn’t intimidated. He had faced down far worse than this in his time. However, there was a shadow in Liam’s eyes that gave him pause. The lad looked… Disappointed? Resigned?
‘You didn’t do it,’ Bill blurted, certain that he was speaking the truth.
Liam shrugged and scuffed a loose stone with a trainer-clad foot.
Bill took a deep breath and drew himself to his full height. ‘My apologies.’
Another shrug.
‘I mean it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’
‘Can you blame me, though?’
Liam stared at the ground. ‘We wouldn’t do anything like that, bro. We like Fiona. She’s nice.’ Bill heard the sub-text – nicer than you . ‘She’s not gonna chuck us out of this cafe, not like that woman in Best Bites.’
There were nods of agreement from Liam’s friends. Someone said, ‘Pamela’s a cow. She looks down her nose at us.’
Liam declared, ‘Fiona’s all right.’
For the first time since he had set eyes on the teenager this evening, Bill smiled. ‘Yes, she is.’
Liam shot him a look. ‘Dunno what she sees in you.’
And with that they were gone, leaving Bill to wonder what on earth Liam had been on about, and if he and his mates hadn’t vandalised the cafe, who had?