7

Humphrey didn't like coffee. It tasted too bitter and tended to make him a little excitable and that always felt a little bit wrong. Excitable wasn't in his nature. Now, tea! Tea was a gift from the gods that he could drink at the bucket-load. He didn't. At his age, he and the toilet had become fast friends if he drank too much tea. Especially at night where things he felt certain he had placed out of the way would ambush him as he made the half-asleep trip down the corridor at three in the morning, attempting to lacerate his feet at every opportunity.

No, coffee wasn't his thing at all. Yet he had gone through an entire jar and had popped the paper cover of another already. He now felt more than a little shaky, a niggling buzz of a headache poking its finger into the front of his skull and, he, as he knew he would, he felt more than a little anxious. But that probably had something to do with why he had started drinking the coffee.

Two newspapers sat upon the table, under the window that looked out across his large garden and the one next door. Cornelius' garden. Of a similar size to Humphrey's, both gardens were well appointed, filled with the kinds of flora that set the two men apart. Flowering plants within the confines of Humphrey's garden, set in rows and patterns, designed to please the eye whether seen from above, looking down, or at ground level.

Cornelius' garden had gone a different route, with regimented lines of various vegetables. Set numbers. Set types, rotated year upon year so as not to starve the soil. Cornelius would have a fit if even one plant sat even slightly outside its assigned position. Humphrey always thought Cornelius would put errant plants in a stockade, if he could.

Two greenhouses sat at the ends of the gardens. Humphrey's, a modest one that he used to nurture his little flowering plants, ready to transfer to the garden and enrich the view. Cornelius' stood far larger, looming over Humphrey's as though trying to intimidate the smaller one into submission. A little how Humphrey felt around Cornelius, if he were at all honest.

There, in the centre of Cornelius' sprawling garden, sat the carrot crop upon which Cornelius had placed all his hopes for the vegetable competition come Harvest Festival time. Already with full, spreading sprigs of green sticking out of the ground and Humphrey had to admit, they did look as though they were on the way to record sizes. He didn't sit here, staring out of the window, to admire those carrots, however.

For the entire previous day, the whole night and, he looked at the bedside clock, five hours of this day, Humphrey had stood guard over his neighbour's beloved vegetables. Hence the coffee. On his tall, breakfast bar stool, Humphrey had kept watch, determined that nothing should happen to those threatened carrots and, if something did happen, be in a position where he could do something to stop it.

A pair of binoculars sat upon his lap, though the two gardens were not that far apart that he should ever need them. On the table, beside the unread newspapers, he had an old video tape camera, with night vision mode, that he would use to capture any would-be carrot attackers. He had also brought up his spare kettle and the jar of coffee. He felt as prepared as he could ever hope to be.

That he had fallen asleep three times while watching his neighbour's garden felt beside the point. He intended catching the old woman, Ursula, should she follow through with the threat of escalation against Cornelius. An escalation that Humphrey neither wanted, nor agreed to. Yet that threat remained, hanging in the air. As unresolved threats were want to do.

And, of course, Cornelius had also taken to guarding his carrots. He had taken the threat, that he thought came from Humphrey, quite seriously. So serious, that he sat, under a tiny marquee tent, bundled up in thick clothing, with gloves, a scarf, hat, and a vicious looking air rifle across his knees, staring up towards Humphrey's window.

And, thus, Humphrey and Cornelius had spent the best part of two days. Belligerent nations, staring across the border at each other, trying to make the other side blink. They had both blinked. Humphrey, with his unacceptable three times falling asleep. Cornelius having to reenter his cottage every so often for a drink, food, to use the loo and, for one trip, change into a scarf that didn't have little woollen fronds dangling from the ends. They had made Cornelius sneeze too much. Cornelius did not have the luxury of electricity where he sat. He didn't have an extension cord long enough.

Humphrey hugged the coffee mug. It felt as though he hadn't moved for days. Entrenched and keeping an eye out for enemy snipers, or civilian non-combatants daring to cross no-man's land. Humphrey didn't hate many things, but he hated this. Hated what had happened between him and his neighbour after such a trivial thing. A thing, that Humphrey would argue to his dying day, he had not done!

What Humphrey couldn't understand, was what the old woman gained from all of this. He had wracked his brain trying to work out the reasons for it. If she had simply admitted that she had taken the turnips and cucumber, no-one would have batted an eyelid. She was a newcomer. An outsider. She had no way of knowing the ways of Little Plimpton. The nuances of living in such a small community.

Cornelius would have bristled and howled, but he would not have taken it as personally as he had, had he known that that little old woman, in an innocent, friendly attempt to keep the village clean and tidy, had taken his beloved vegetables. Beloved, stinking, rotten vegetables. The matter would have passed with little more incident.

Instead, that old woman had pushed buttons. Tweaked dormant rivalries. Nudged people into thinking that Humphrey had done the unthinkable. Understandable, but unthinkable. She had manipulated him. Him and Cornelius for some twisted game of her own devising. Some wicked, evil, nasty game.

"What does the old bugger think he's going to do with an air rifle?" The sudden appearance of Audrey made Humphrey juggle the mug of coffee in his hand. He almost squealed as the contents spilled onto his lap. "Careful, old boy, you'll do yourself an injury."

The coffee was not hot, as he expected. In fact, it wasn't even warm. Standing, picking his sodden trousers away from his legs, he glanced at the clock. It had, inexplicably, rolled ahead an hour. Or, as he had started to suspect, he had fallen asleep on the stool again. How he hadn't fallen out of it, he would never know.

Audrey had found a towel, and he would have to ask her how she knew where to look, and had started rubbing down his crotch and legs with abandon. She didn't seem to think anything wrong with rubbing at his nethers, but Humphrey felt completely aware of the fact. He staggered backwards, patting her hands away, while covering himself, even though he still stood fully dressed.

"Audrey! What are you doing here?" She still moved forward, steadfastly attempting to dry him off. "How did you get in, anyway?"

"Your door was unlocked. Nobody locks their door around here." She continued her inexorable movement forward until Humphrey fell backwards onto his bed. "Steady on, old boy! Time and a place, eh? People will talk."

She gave him a wink, tossed the towel towards him and picked up his binoculars. As Humphrey slivered from the bed, trying to dry himself, the smell of coffee pervading the entire room, Audrey stood before the window, looking like Rommel inspecting the battle grounds in North Africa. She began to laugh, adjusting the focus of the binoculars.

While she kept herself occupied, Humphrey slipped into the hallway, grabbing another pair of trousers on the way, and began to change out of his soaking pair, out of sight of Audrey. He had never changed trousers as fast in his life. With a quick glance downstairs to make sure she had closed the door, he reentered his bedroom, tossing the coffee-soaked trousers into the wash basket.

"You still haven't answered my question." Rubbing his eyes, he reached for the empty coffee mug with his other hand, realising how much he was shaking. This, he thought, is what they call 'the jitters'. "What are you doing here?"

"He's asleep, you know. He's hiding it with the shadows from his cap and scarf. He's snoring." With a snorting giggle, Audrey put the binoculars down and turned to Humphrey. "Well, apparently, old boy, you worried a few people this morning when you went for your newspaper. Acting odd, they said. And this is after the whole 'Pyjama Bottoms' incident, too, so 'odd' is pretty subjective."

"I'm fine. Really. A little tired. And woozy. Are you supposed to be woozy after drinking a lot of coffee?" He didn't know. He had never drunk so much coffee before and the only thing you got from drinking too much tea was a full bladder. "I can't sleep, though. I have to watch the carrots. If  I don't, something terrible will happen to them."

"No, it won't. They'll be right as rain." She pointed out towards Cornelius, who had started listing to the side. "Nothing's going to happen to those carrots. Trust me. Why don't you get some sleep and I'll watch them for you, for a while."

"Alright." Humphrey sat upon his bed. He didn't gave the energy to argue as Audrey raised herself onto his breakfast-bar stool, picking up one of his newspapers. It couldn't hurt to sleep for an hour, so long as Audrey took his place.

He laid back.

He sat up. It felt as though he hadn't slept at all, but a number of hours had clearly passed. He could tell, because he could see stars and blackness through the windows. He always closed his curtains at night. Of Audrey, he could see no sign. That is, until he heard a soft snoring at the other side of his bed.

Twisting to the side, he saw the shadowy form of Audrey, still fully dressed, her trousers tucked into her thick, woollen socks, fast asleep, curled into a ball like a child. She looked almost cute. But, Humphrey didn't have time to wake her up. Before he could reach over and switch on the bedside lamp, he heard a crashing noise outside.

Someone was in Cornelius' garden.