2

Though the day had started out overcast, with a little drizzle that darkened and speckled the cobble stones of the street, Humphrey had awoken with more than a little spring in his step. He felt as though he could run at least a good few dozen feet, if he felt like it. He didn't feel like it, of course. A fast walk was good enough for anybody.

The morning trip to the shop, to collect his newspaper and to pass a few minutes talking to Gladys, the shopkeeper, passed without any incident. Tucking the newspaper into his coat, he found himself looking up to the skies, allowing the light rain to fall upon his skin. As though it washed away all his cares and worries. A fresh rain. A clean rain.

After breakfast, the rain had cleared up, the clouds had drifted away and it had fast become the perfect day for a spot of gardening. And, if nothing else, Humphrey did so enjoy gardening. With his cats twirling around his legs, Humphrey carried his gardening tools outside, wiped the spots of rain from the rusting metal table and dropped his newspaper upon it, ready to read after he had tended and cared for his most precious companions. His flowers.

Where Cornelius Haughton had won many a prize for his splendid vegetables, Humphrey had found his niche in flowers. Too early for his flowers to wash his large garden with colour, nonetheless, Humphrey took the time to care for his plants, ready for Spring to arrive and adorn his garden with the brightness and warmth of new life.

Before he knew it, almost two hours had past and he had only cleared away the dead leaves from his prize Begonias, so deep within his task had he found himself. And, when the braying, coughing, screeching sound of Audrey Poole's aged Land Rover crashed upon his peace and quiet, Humphrey almost missed it. Almost. Audrey had a way of forcing her way into everyone's deepest thoughts.

"Humphrey, you old bugger!" With a swagger belying her size, Audrey threw open the gate to Humphrey's garden and strode towards him as though she owned the place. "I hate to say it, old chap, but these flowers of yours aren't going to win anything without a bit of colour."

"It's not quite flowering time, Audrey." She didn't hear him. She had already disappeared into his house without asking permission. "Do make yourself at home."

He liked Audrey. Quite a lot, if truth be told. She had a personality that dwarfed her larger than average size and a laugh that dwarfed even that. Everything about Audrey began loud and only headed up from there. She made friends with the casualness of someone who had little to lose and much to gain. Unlike Humphrey, who only made friends after he had made a mental pros and cons list, studied it, moved around the points and finally come to a positive cost/benefit analysis of that possibility of friendship.

Jumping into things, like Audrey, positively gave him itches and tics that took some time to clear up. As Audrey emerged from his home, mug of tea in one hand, slice of toast in the other, she scraped a metal chair, as rusted as its accompanying table, out to the side, flopped onto it and began to leaf through Humphrey's pristine newspaper. It took every ounce of his willpower not to 'eek' as margarine slicked fingers stained the pages.

"Well, there's nothing in here about it, old boy. I'd say you've got away with it." Sitting back, Audrey brushed errant crumbs from the front page of the newspaper, causing Humphrey to cringe. "Good show, old boy. Good show."

Chomping down on the last corner of the toast, Audrey winked at Humphrey and he didn't know why. He smiled anyway. He often found that people gave him the benefit of the doubt if he gave them a pleasant smile, never expecting him to add to conversations he had no understanding of. Either that, or they realised he remained blissfully unaware of what they spoke about and preferred not having to explain everything, they had said previously, in a fashion a child could understand.

Saying that, he frowned at the implication that he had done something. Something praiseworthy, it seemed. Praiseworthy and, possibly, illegal, if the term 'got away with it' was anything to go by. Despite his decades worth of practice at not inviting people to speak to him more than they needed to, Humphrey needed a little more than what Audrey had given him for him to decide whether he should laugh or feign shock. Possibly anger. It was far too early to make a permanent decision on a suitable reaction.

"'Got away with it'?" He gave a nervous laugh, taking off his gloves and noticing that Audrey's margarine covered fingers had smeared the entire front page of his newspaper. "Got away with what? Exactly?"

"As if you don't know!" With surprising speed, Audrey leaned forward, spreading her green Wellington-booted feet as she poked him playfully in the ribs. Twice. "You sneaky old bugger!"

He laughed at the rib poking, as he felt expected to react, and stepped back, outside of Audrey's reach. He really didn't know what she meant and the word 'sneaky' made him think, once again, that Audrey thought he had done something illegal. He couldn't have her, or anyone, believing that of him.

"Really, I have no idea what you mean. None at all." Before he could stop her, Audrey slammed the mug of tea onto his newspaper in shock, slopping the brown liquid over the edge and soaking the paper through. "I haven't done anything illegal! Not ever! Or immoral!"

"You really don't know, do you?" She leaned back, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans, greying hair falling across her forehead. "Well, if it wasn't you, who was it? Whoever it was, they'll have a pint on me, that's for certain."

"I really have no idea what you're talking about." Lifting the mug from the newspaper, he picked the sodden sheets up between thumb and forefinger of the other hand and allowed tea to drip from the corner. He'd need another copy now. "Is it serious? Has someone been hurt? Will it affect the Spring festival?"

"I think it would be better to show you, rather than tell you." Audrey jumped to her booted feet, grabbing Humphrey's hand and began dragging him towards the gate to his garden. "You're going to love this, old boy. Love it!"

Like a dog pulled behind an uncaring owner, Humphrey found himself dragged onto the cobbled street, past Audrey's battered, mud-splattered Land Rover, and down to his neighbour's cottage. Cornelius Haughton's cottage. Whereupon, Audrey almost threw him forward, pointing to the doorstep of Cornelius' house.

For a good few seconds, he failed completely to see what Audrey expected him to see. The doorstep was the same old doorstep, a fresh bottle of milk and a carton of eggs sat waiting for Cornelius to retrieve. He frowned and looked back towards Audrey who only raised her eyebrows twice in a comical, knowing fashion.

Then he realised it. He saw it. Or, rather, he didn't see it. Them, to be more precise. Where only the day before, three large, rotting vegetables had sat, in a crass, lewd fashion, there was ... nothing. Nothing except three stains from where the vegetables had rotted. They were gone. The two turnips and the cucumber had vanished and, clearly, Audrey had thought him the culprit.

He hadn't noticed. With his early-morning, unusual feeling of euphoria, he had passed by Cornelius' house with nary a glance towards the offending vegetables. He hadn't noticed the lack of a stench. Hadn't noticed the gap upon the doorstep. It had passed him by, which, in hindsight, would have made his morning even better if he had noticed it, after all.

Now, however, he felt glad he hadn't noticed. With the way Audrey had reacted, believing him the one to rid the village of the stain of the rotting vegetables, had he reacted with any semblance of joy he would only have made it even more likely that he had stolen away with the things in the middle of the night.

Knowing Audrey's reaction, it now only gave Humphrey a feeling of abject terror. If Audrey thought he could do such a thing, he didn't doubt that others would, too. Even now, he could feel the eyes of other villagers passing by. Could feel an air of appreciation almost making the air thick with gossip and admiration. For something he hadn't done.

His first thought was to try to find the turnips and cucumber and return them before this entire thing tumbled out of his control, but he knew he would have little chance of that. His only hope lay in the, unlikely, possibility that Cornelius would not notice. Or that it was, in fact, Cornelius himself that had removed the offensive (in more ways than one) objects from his doorstep. Those possibilities were, Humphrey had to admit, vanishingly improbable.

With his head spinning, Humphrey began to stagger away, back to his own garden, Audrey following in his wake. His mind in a whirl, he considered apologising for something he hadn't done. That seemed the best option. It didn't hurt him if he had to apologise, it wasn't as though he had much of a reputation to ruin.

Then he remembered. He remembered that old woman from the day before and the bargain that she said they had struck, even though Humphrey had said no such thing. This was her doing. He didn't know how, didn't know why and didn't know when, but he felt certain that she, that strange, strange old woman had just ruined his life.

"When he finds out, you know he's going to blame you, don't you, old boy?" A heavy, sympathetic hand slapped Humphrey's shoulder. "Tomorrow's committee meeting is going to be interesting. That's for certain."

Humphrey began to feel sick. He didn't relish the idea of facing Cornelius across a table at the best of times. Now, he wished he could simply run away.