The Big Quiet Chap
I didn’t like the new lodger, Cliff, as soon as I saw him. At first glance he looked smiley and smart but the second glance showed me the scruffy cuffs, the missing button, the trousers revealing a good two inchsworth of grubby-white sock. And that smile wasn’t a nice one on closer examination – too slippery and oily for my liking. Then I noticed the eyes – narrowed, shifty, sly. Not that our landlady, Alice seemed to notice though, but then she always sees the best in everyone. So I took it on myself to keep a look out for her.
You see, I’ve lived in Alice’s rooms since her husband Dickie died. She finds she can talk to me, and though I’m a big, quiet sort of chap, I’m a very good listener. She likes to tell me over and over again how they met, how happy they were, and I don’t mind because I know it brings her comfort.
“Bernard,” she’d say. “Me and Dickie weren’t rich money-wise, but we had each other, and you can’t get much richer than that.”
Dickie always promised her she would be all right if anything happened to him. But I know that there was some mix up with an insurance policy and when he died, she wasn’t all right money-wise, which is why she had to open up a couple of her rooms for let.
I loved the house as soon as I saw it. It was old but nice and neat with a bit of healthy dust which inspired that lived in feeling. I pay my rent by doing a few jobs around the house, sort of cleaning, and for that I get warmth, quiet and more to eat than I can handle.
Cliff moved in the room next to mine. I stayed out of his way but I used to watch him at meal-times. All nicey-nicey polite whilst he dribbled his soup, those rat-eyes searching around, looking at all Alice’s souvenirs – her plates, her lovely teapots, her precious bits of the past displayed on her monster wooden dresser. All the things she and Dickie had loved and collected over the years.
There was a hole in the wall of my room, which looked out onto the dining area and I kept a watch whenever he was in there alone. At first he just used to look at the things, appraise them innocently. Then he got used to how much time he had by himself whilst Alice was to-ing and fro-ing from the kitchen. Bless her, she was quite slow on her feet, so he had plenty of time to snoop around in the drawers of the big dresser. Course the crafty sneak would always be sitting back in his seat by the time she came through with his meals. I never saw him actually taking anything – but I knew it was only a matter of time before he would.
He seemed particularly interested in the contents of one of the drawers – the one full of old long silver spoons. He lifted them up and scrutinised them through a magnifying glass he kept secreted in his pocket. I knew he would have taken them as soon as he was able. I had to warn Alice. I had to show her he was a wrong sort.
Of course I had to make sure my timing was spot on. I knew I could really shake him up with the right tactics. For all his big, fleshy bulk he was a coward – I’d seen evidence of that when he ran around the room doing a strange dance away from a wasp whilst he screamed like the runt of a banshee litter. I’m sure when it started to rain later on, it was down to his gyrations. I waited and I watched for him to make his move. That’s my forte. You don’t need to use unnecessary force, when you’re armed with the element of surprise.
As I said, it was only a matter of time. Two mornings later, I had a sneaky look in his bedroom through the hole to find that all his bags were packed. And there he was in the next room stuffing best bacon in his mouth telling Alice how much he liked it here and wanted to stay for at least another month – and could he pay his rent at the end of the week because he’d lost his wallet? It was obviously all cobblers but Alice judged people by her own very kind and honest standards and, of course, she said that was perfectly fine. Made my blood boil, I can tell you.
When she took his plate away, he asked her for more tea and I knew knew he was playing for time. I was right. As soon as the door closed, he was up off his fat harris and over to the drawers, taking out those long spoons and shoving them into an obviously specially adapted pocket.
“Gotcha!” I thought. I got myself in position ready for Alice to come back with the teapot, because I wanted her to see this. At last the door swung open. I made a slow movement towards him, so, so quietly. I was right upto his big smug self-satisfied smile with egg drying on his lip before he saw me. Then he screamed. Then he made a noise not really to be made in front of ladies. Then he spasmed and he and the chair fell backwards and the big long spoons in his pocket clattered out and Cliff the big fat thieving lodger cracked his head on Alice’s dresser of treasures.
He came round just as the ambulance man was tapping his face, far too lightly in my opinion. The policeman was waiting to accompany them in the ambulance. Nice bloke. Watched a lot of Antiques Roadshow and fancied himself as a big of an expert. He told Alice she should get those spoons valued as they looked as if they might be worth something.
Alas he was wrong, they weren’t worth much. But the valuer who came round to visit her nearly fainted at the sight of the teapots. He took them down to London for her and they made a fortune at auction. People even came from abroad to bid on them, so Alice said, as she read to me from the newspaper.
I sat with her at the table whilst she worked out what to do with all the money.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Bernard, I don’t need to let my rooms off any more. From now on, it’s just you and me.”
And that’s the way it is. Alice is snoring contentedly in a cracking new armchair by a belting new fire, box of best Belgian chocolates at her side. Bless. And I’m all full up from a big supper, snug in my web in the corner of the room. Just like old times. Just the two of us. Just the way we like it.
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