2. Crossed Wires

Arthur slid open his patio doors and stepped out onto the small stone terrace at the back of the house.

He pulled his dressing gown tight over his pyjamas. There was a chill in the air — hardly surprising, nearly three in the morning!

It should have been a blissfully quiet summer’s night. The sweet scent from his roses drifting across the lawn. The hoot of a distant owl maybe …

But not tonight, oh no.

Instead, the pulsing, insistent thrum of loud music from next door, the raucous shouting of males and females thrashing around in that damn hot tub, disgusting shrieks and cackles, tuneless caterwauling echoing round the gardens.

And those flashing lights! So bright that even his own shed at the bottom of the garden was lit up red and green and white!

No sign of Tiddles the family cat tonight — probably hiding somewhere from all this row!

Damn Brian Foley and Jennifer Foley and all those low-life friends of theirs!

He felt his anger rising again, and then … he couldn’t stop himself: “For God’s sake!” he shouted, in the general direction of the Foley’s deck. “It’s three in the morning! Turn that damn music off!”

He should have expected the response that followed. Loud jeers and cheers, then some ridiculous football-style chant they had clearly practised: “It’s all gone cranky over there! Yes, it’s all gone cranky over there! Oh, it’s all gone cranky, Cranham’s gone cranky, it’s all gone cranky over there!”

Followed by more whooping and laughter.

Arthur huffed and went over to the hollyhocks and the little hole in the fence.

Just so I know exactly what’s going on for tomorrow’s report to the police, he thought. How many people are in that hot tub? Probably even need a permit for that!

He pressed tight against the hole and his right eye scanned Foley’s garden.

What a mess! Bottles, glasses, plastic, popped balloons, strewn all over what passed for a lawn. Rubbish piled up against the Tiki bar, the remnants of the barbecue smoking away, what remained of the pig on its side!

But he couldn’t see what was left of the guests — not from his secret peep hole here.

And now — it had gone strangely quiet.

He pressed his eye even tighter to the hole in the fence, squinting to try to see the back of the Foley house. And that is when he heard a whispered voice, alarmingly close to him on the other side of the fence.

“Now! Now! Do it!”

He realised something was amiss and stepped back — but not quickly enough.

As a torrent of water, ice, rubbish, chunks of fruit and who knew what other despicable liquids rained down upon him — hurled over the fence by unseen hands from the next garden.

He staggered back, spluttering, cursing too — as gleeful shouts rang out.

“That’ll teach you! Mr Peeper! Watching us! Peeping Cranham!”

And as he rushed back to the house to shower away all this foul-smelling dredge that had smothered him, he thought of only one thing:

Revenge.

*

Brian Foley leaned back against the curved side of the MegaBubble Pro, cigar in one hand, Jim Beam neat in the other, gold rings twinkling, the foamy waters washing over the chunky medallion on his chest, his fave chill-out playlist pumping out from his Bose deck system, and thought:

Ah. This is the life.

Nice house in the poshest part of Cherringham. His best mates — good laugh, the lot of them — all turning up for his birthday, making the party rock. Tasty looking wives and girlfriends they got too, he thought, looking at the remaining couples now all sharing the steaming waters. Nope. You can’t beat a hot tub for getting people all nice and cosy.

And of course, cute Chayleen — right now playing footsie with him under the bubbles — always a pleasant distraction, at work, and now here.

The only fly in the ointment: that pain in the backside Cranham. But what a laugh that was tonight — him and the lads seeing off the nosy neighbour with a dirty dunking! He’ll never get rid of the smell of that gunk!

Hmm. There was, of course, one other downside — the fact that Jennifer had gone to bed early in one of her huffs.

Just because she’d caught him having a smoochy dance with Chayleen!

I mean — what’s a bloke to do? Alpha male like me … course the ladies are going to find me attractive. Can’t spend the whole night fighting them off, now, can I?

For some reason, Jennifer hadn’t agreed with his defence of the situation.

Ah well, he thought, she’ll thaw out, she always does … Eventually!

Maybe take her out for a meal at that posh place in the village — the Spotted Pig or whatever it was called — get himself a nice steak.

But just as Brian was savouring the thought of that rare steak, he saw a figure emerge from the darkness of the garden, a running figure all in black, heading straight for the hot tub on the deck, coming straight for them … with … a long garden knife in his hand! More like a machete!

And Brian realised the figure was Arthur Cranham — gone completely crazy!

“What the—”

Brian shoved his glass of whisky to one side, pushed back on the hot tub to try and raise himself up. But the damn thing was so slippery he lost his balance and nearly went under.

And now everybody in the hot tub was trying to see what was going on, and the tub was a maelstrom of legs and arms and people going under, water splashing, as the man approached and Brian feared for everybody’s lives as that glinting blade slashed in the air.

But Cranham — it seemed — wasn’t aiming at Brian or his party guests. Oh no.

Brian watched in horror as Cranham plunged the knife into the soft rubbery side of the hot tub, in one terrible slicing, ripping, sawing slash.

“No!” shouted Brian, but in vain. Now everything happened in slow motion.

The rip in the panel seemed to stretch and tear of its own accord, bursting wide open as the force of two hundred gallons of water was released in one instant.

A tsunami that tore across the deck and into the house through the open glass multifold doors. A massive wave that carried with it a cargo of screaming swim-suited guests, slipping, sliding, tumbling over each other, crashing into the deck.

The hot tub motor whined in complaint and then the lights all went out as the water fused the electrics. Brian watched his world spin and clatter like a washing machine as he too fell hard onto the deck, everyone shouting and screaming around him.

For a few seconds it was quiet — as people scrambled onto all fours, coughing, moaning, some of them bleeding from the smashing of glass and wood, all of them in shock — and Brian looked up to see …

Arthur Cranham, the sole survivor still standing on the deck, watching this catastrophe, panting, eyes wild as if he couldn’t believe the destruction he had just wrought.

“You want crazy?” said Cranham. Then he laughed, the sound high and strangled, maniacal. “I’ll give you crazy.”

“You bastard, Cranham,” said Brian, panting hard but now standing. He reached down and helped Chayleen to her feet. Then he turned back to Cranham.

“I’ll get you for this. You’re dead. Dead — you hear me?”

He watched as Cranham turned and scampered away down the garden and into the darkness.

And only then did he look at the flooded kitchen and realise something.

That water’s gone down to the basement.

To my club room.

*

Arthur woke early, barely six o’clock.

Not surprising, he thought, after last night.

He wondered — did Amanda know what had happened? Had she heard or even seen what he’d done?

Even though they slept in separate rooms he guessed she still used earplugs and her eye mask.

Now, standing in the kitchen, alone with a cup of tea, he felt utterly confused. Sad. Guilty. And maybe even … scared.

But also, he had to admit — a tiny bit proud that he’d stood up for himself against that big bully Foley.

He tipped some treats into Tiddles’ bowl, then opened the kitchen French windows and stepped out onto the terrace. All quiet now from next door — at last!

He could see it had rained in the night and there were puddles on the stone.

He wondered if he’d get a visit from the police. Or would — God forbid — Foley take his own personal retribution?

Because, he had to admit … that hot tub had a lot more water in it than he’d imagined!

What a sight though! All those people toppling like nine pins in a bowling alley!

He stepped onto the lawn for his morning inspection, and as he did, he turned to look back at the house: he could see that Amanda’s and Olli’s curtains were drawn.

So, just maybe, with a bit of luck, they knew nothing. Though the Cherringham rumour mill would soon turn this into the crime of the century, that was for sure!

Down the lawn he strode, his feet leaving footprints on the wet grass. And, as expected, he now saw the mess of rubbish that his assailants had poured over him in the middle of the night, scattered in the flower bed...