The Death of an Actor (The Bentley Hill Players Book 3) Page 2

  Sophie shivered.

  "Are you saying there are people around here that would murder someone just for a few pounds?"

  "I'm saying he nicked five grand from me. And he probably nicked a lot more from a lot of other people. It's not just a few quid, love."

  "What if one of these murderous thugs comes to see our show?" asked Chris. "They might think we know more than we do!"

  "I wouldn't worry mate," said the owner. "They'll take one look at you and they'll realize you don't know anything at all."

  "Oh, well that's OK then. You got any chips ready?"

  ***

  Having said their goodbyes to Harry, Chris walked Sophie back to her parents house. The moon was out, casting strange shadows in between those made by the street lights.

  "Do you really not like parrots?" asked Sophie.

  "No. They're deceitful. They look like birds, but sound like people. Which are they? Birds or people? No-one knows."

  "I think we do know..."

  "No, that's what they want you to think. My theory is that they are little people in fancy dress."

  "Like an elf in a feather boa?"

  "Exactly. Now you're getting it. And you know you shouldn't trust elves."

  "Why not?" asked Sophie, trying hard not to laugh.

  "Think about it. Who does Santa get to check up on people when he's busy. THE ELVES. The elves are always watching, taking notes, remembering, knowing everything you do."

  "That's creepy!"

  "Yes, it is! And then they dress up as parrots with their dead black eyes, and everyone is like, ooh, pretty Polly, want a cracker. It's devious. And I don't trust them."

  "You're an idiot."

  "You'll see. One day, you'll meet a parrot, and it'll know stuff, and it might say, oh Sophie, why did you choose that underwear today and you'll be like what you doing looking at me pants and the parrot will go it's me job and you can't stop me, look in to me dead black eyes and see the truth and you'll look in his eyes and then you'll die because parrots are evil."

  "Did you have a bad experience with a parrot when you were a child or something?"

  "No. No. No. Well. No. Definitely not. Maybe. Once. But it wasn't my fault, so apart from that, nothing happened."

  "Tell me!" she said, giggling.

  "My cousin had a parrot called Snappy. It used to fly free in his house. I tried to feed it a peanut, but tripped over and the peanut went flying. Somehow, the nut landed on my lower back as I was face down on the floor, and Snappy flew down and snatched it away. But Snappy wasn't very good at snatching things."

  "So?"

  "He...."

  "Yes?"

  "He kind of..."

  "Yes?"

  "He kind of bit my bum and made it bleed and I've never liked parrots since. And if you tell anyone...."

  "What, will you bite my bum?"

  "Er...I don't know. Just don't do it, OK?"

  "Maybe I will, maybe I won't. This bum biting thing sounds like fun!" she said, sticking out her tongue at Chris and running off down the street.

  "I'll get you, you parrot-loving fiend!" he yelled, chasing after her.

  ***

  Harry unlocked his front door and stepped in to his dark hallway. He closed the door behind himself, and fumbled around for the light switch. He flicked it, but the light didn't come on.

  He sighed, thinking he'd have to find a spare bulb and the step-ladder, unless it was the fuse that had gone. That could be fun to fix in the dark.

  And then he heard it.

  "...ca-caw...ca-caw..."

  "How is that thing still on?

  "...red one to treehugger..."

  "Huh?"

  "...yeah mate, got your stuff..."

  "Hello?"

  "...pony, in a bag, usual..."

  He fumbled his way to the kitchen, and tried the light switch. It came on instantly. The disassembled parrot was still on the kitchen table, wires here, there and everywhere. In the middle of the table was the speaker that sat inside the parrot's chest. The voices were coming from this speaker, even though it was only connected to two wires and nothing else.

  Harry snapped his finger.

  "Of course. Radio interference is being transmitted down those wires. It's like a mini aerial. It's causing the speaker to vibrate. Thank goodness for that, because I couldn't be doing with another ghost."

  He grabbed the kettle and filled it with fresh water, and set it to boil.

  The speaker crackled back in to life.

  "...the news. Holmes was well liked, or sumfin...."

  "Holmes?"

  "...murdered. How long before they start sniffing...."

  The voices were replace by static. Harry gave the speaker a couple of whacks.

  "...in Bentley Hill. They'll never figure it out. Anyroad, you nearly here yet?"

  The speaker went dead. Harry whacked it several times more, but the voices didn't come back. The kettle boiled and clicked itself off, which made Harry jump.

  He got up and finished making his cup of tea. He was about to switch the kitchen light off and go through to the living room in the dark, but instead turned to the cutlery drawer and pulled out the largest knife he could find. He edged his way down the hall to the living room, and switched the light on in there. He went back to the kitchen, knife still in hand, collected his tea, nudged the light switch off with his elbow, and carefully went back to his living room.

  He put the knife and his cup on the table, and quietly tuned the radio to a classical station. He moved his armchair round so he could see both the window and the door, and sat down to drink his cup of tea with the knife in his lap.

  He wasn't going to take any chances.

  Chapter 3

  The sun shone down brightly, and Emily sang a little song to herself as she walked down the path to the flats. She reached the big red door of number 4A, and knocked loudly. And waited.

  She knocked again. A creaky old voice came from inside.

  "Who is it? I am but a poor old woman with nothing to give to charity you thieving gits...I mean, I have no money, so cannot buy anything at the door..."

  "Mrs Lovelace? Is that you? It's Emily! I've come to see you!"

  "Emily?" said the voice, suddenly sounding far less creaky and about thirty years younger. "Well why didn't you say so?"

  There was a click and a thunk, and the door swung open. There stood Lillian, her hair freshly dyed dark brown, her pink-framed glasses perched on her nose, and a smile on her wrinkled face.

  "Come in then, you're letting the cold in just standing there!"

  "But it's not cold, Mrs Lovelace!"

  "Details! Come in, pet."

  Emily stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  "Cup of tea, dear?"

  "Ooh, please."

  Pleasantries were exchanged and tea was made, and they both settled down in what Lillian called her "sun room". In reality, it was a spare bedroom with a big window. But it was warm, comfortable, and had a great view of Blackworth Fields.

  "So we really missed you the other night. Anne said you were a bit under the weather, so you weren't coming. I hope you feel better now."

  "No, that Anne's as deaf as a door post. I said to her, I can't get a lift and it's raining so I'm not walking in that weather, and she didn't even offer me a lift. 'Opeless."

  They both laughed.

  "Well, you missed a treat or two. Harry's finally managed to build an electric parrot, but it keeps breaking..."

  "Oh, I saw it last week. I'm sick of parrots at the moment anyway. Something melted, didn't it?"

  "Yes, but his latest version did more than that. His head exploded!"

  "Oh, poor Harry! Did he end up in the hospital?"

  "No, it wasn't that bad. Just singed his eyebrows."

  "You'd think if your head exploded it would do more than that."

  "No, Mrs Lovelace, it was the parrot's head that exploded..."

  "Oh, that makes more sense. I wonder
ed how he was walking round with no head and just a pair of eyebrows."

  "Lovely tea, Mrs Lovelace..."

  "Yes dear, it is."

  They sat in silence for a while, listening to the sounds coming from Blackworth Fields through the open window.

  "This is very relaxing, sitting here," said Emily.

  "Mostly yes. Until that idiot up the road starts."

  "Why? What does he do? Has he got a motorbike or a chainsaw or something?"

  "No, far worse. Listen. I can hear it now."

  Emily listened intently, and picked up the sounds of a tractor in the distance, and birds twittering in the trees. A car drove by on the main road. Something went "ca-caw" very faintly up the road.

  "There!" said Lillian triumphantly. "Did you hear it?"

  "The car?"

  "No, the ca-caw."

  "The ca-car?"

  "Do you have a speech impediment, dear? The ca-caw. It's a macaw."

  "A ma-caw? Not a ca-caw?"

  "No, it goes ca-caw ca-caw but it's a macaw. A parrot. A flamin' noisy parrot."

  As if to prove a point, the parrot shouted, "CA-CAW! CRACKER! WANT A CRACKER! TONY KONY CRACKER!"

  "Every single day, and every single night. The thing won't shut up! That's what I was saying when you were on about that headless parrot. I'm sick of the screeching squawking things!"

  "So why don't you go and have a word with whoever owns the parrot?"

  "I don't even know them. They moved in a few months ago, and I've never seen them. It would be rude to tell them to shut up without first introducing myself."

  "Well...go and introduce yourself! I'll come with you as moral support."

  "You know, that's not a bad idea. Come on, sup up. We'll have another when we get back!"

  ***

  BAP BAP BAP!

  Lillian hammered on the battered old front door of the flat up the road from her own. This was the third time she had knocked. Inside, she could hear the parrot squawking, and the thud of the bass from some nondescript loud rock music the occupier was playing.

  The handle dropped and the door opened slightly, stopped by a security chain.

  "Who is it?" whispered a thin, reedy voice.

  "It's Lillian," she whispered back. "But you don't know me."

  "Are you hear for some stuff?"

  "Yes, lots of things."

  "You brought cash?"

  "....no....why?"

  "Well how you gonna pay for it if you ain't got no cash?"

  "I don't want to buy anything, I just want to give your parrot a smack!"

  "You can't do that! He wouldn't like that!"

  The door closed, and there was a rattling sound. The door opened again, fully, unchained. In the doorway stood a very tall, very thin man. He had dirty brown hair hanging down below his shoulders, and wore a faded purple t-shirt. His brown corduroy trousers were flared and not quite long enough, and his bare feet were covered in a layer of grime. On his face he wore a pair of small round spectacles, that would have made him look a bit like John Lennon if John Lennon had been 7 feet tall and homeless. He was surrounded by a haze of fine grey smoke, and a smell wafted out of the door that made Emily retch.

  "Who are you, old woman?" he asked.

  "How very dare you! I'm not that old!"

  "Really? How old are you?"

  "That's very rude, to ask a lady her age. How old are you?"

  "28 missus, and very busy. Did you want something or not?"

  "Yes. My name is Lillian Lovelace, I live down the road, and your bloody parrot is too noisy!"

  "Excuse me? You're telling me my parrot is too noisy?"

  "I believe that is indeed what I just did, yes."

  "You should try living with it. It gives me a headache just to look at it."

  "So why do you keep it?"

  "Dunno. I got it from a...recently deceased...friend. Yeah, a dead mate. And his last wish was that I look after his bird. By which I mean the parrot, not his wife."

  "That's very strange."

  "No, not really. She could look after herself."

  "No, I meant his final wish. If I were dying, my last wish would be not to die, not to be concerned about a loud mouthed parrot."

  "Mmm, see what you mean. Where are my manners? Anthony Zimbabwe Cohen, but my friends call me Ant. Would you like to come in?"

  "Er...no....thank you. I feel I may have to wipe my feet on the way out if I do."

  "Yeah...I do need to tidy up a bit."

  "Look, the reason I came here with my good friend Emily..."

  "Hellooo!"

  "...is to tell you that if you don't manage to shut that parrot up, there will be trouble."

  Lillian stood glaring up at the giant man's face, her own face level with where his belly button would be. She puffed out her chest, drew her shoulders back, and shook her fist at the man.

  "Mrs Woodlouse, there's no need for violence!"

  "That's your opinion, sonny. If you don't sort it out, I'm calling the council. And the police."

  Ant's face changed instantly. Where he previously looked slightly vacant, there was now a grim determination, and a hint of anger.

  "Don't do it, Mrs Woodlouse. There would be consequences."

  "Stop calling me that! It's Lovelace!"

  "Sorry, Mrs Coldplace. But don't call the fuzz!"

  "Why not? What you got in there?"

  The vacant look returned, and Ant stepped outside, pulling the door behind him.

  "Nothing. Nothing you need to worry about. You got many friends?"

  "A few, yes. If anything happened to me, I would be missed. So don't even think it."

  "No, no, I was just wondering, mmm, if you'd like a new friend for a while?"

  "I'm open to new friendships, yes. Are you lonely?"

  "No, I was thinking more of the parrot. Maybe you could look after him for a couple of weeks? He says too much, far too much, and maybe you could train him to be more quiet? Or at least to forget some of the things he knows how to say, and perhaps train him to say a few quieter things?"

  "You can't lumber me with a parrot. I can't afford to feed it, for a start!"

  "I'll give you the food, no problem. It's just he's started repeating what I say on the phone...and it can be...embarrassing. Especially if the wrong people heard."

  "The wrong people? Like the police?"

  "No, no, of course not. Like, like, like Amelia here. Such a pretty little thing, her delicate ears shouldn't hear this stuff."

  "My name is Emily," said Emily. "And my ears aren't delicate."

  "You are cute though," Ant said, with a brown-toothed smile. And a wink.

  "Er..thank you? Are you really qualified to judge that kind of thing?"

  "I like to think so. Now, what do you say, Mrs Coldsnap? Will you look after this parrot for a bit?"

  "Hang on a moment!" said Emily. "Mrs Lovelace, can I have a quick word?"

  Lillian nodded, and followed Emily a few feet down the path.

  "I think I have an amazing idea. Tell him you'll look after the parrot, and we'll teach it the lines for the show. And I guarantee you, the head won't explode on this one!"

  "Cracking idea Amelia!"

  "Emily..."

  "No, Lillian. Come on!"

  Lillian marched back to the giant Anthony Zimbabwe Cohen.

  "I graciously accept your offer. You may bring forth your parrot, and I shall teach him all that I know."

  "Will that take long?" asked Ant.

  "Just fetch it, you cheeky beggar."

  Ant went back in the flat and closed the door behind him. Several loud bangs followed, accompanied by the fluttering of wings, a clang, and several swear words which may have been spoken by man, bird, or both. Eventually, the door re-opened and Ant stood there with a golden cage in one hand, and a bag of parrot food in the other. Inside the cage sat a beautiful parrot, preening itself on a wooden perch. Its feathers were red, green, yellow and white, and for once it was being quiet.
/>
  "Is it a he or a she?" asked Lillian.

  "It's a he - his name is Stanley, but he responds to Oi-you as well. He'll need a cup of this food once a day. You aren't going to call the police, are you?"

  "Of course not, Pants. Why would I?"

  "My name is Ant."

  "I know."

  "Oh. Right."

  "Amelia, grab the food. I'll take the bird. And when I'm done with him, I expect you'll want him back?"

  "Of course. But if you could...change what he says, that would be a great help, Mrs Duckface."

  Lillian took the cage by the handle on top of it, and set off home with Emily behind her.

  "Thanks Mrs Myspace! Thanks Amelia!" shouted Ant.

  "EMILY!" shouted Emily from down the road.

  "AMELIA DUCKFACE! AMELIA DUCKFACE! CA-CAW! SHOVE IT, TONY! BYE BYE BIRDY! CA-CAW!"

  ***

  The parrot's cage was placed in the middle of the dining table, and the kettle was filled once again. Tea was poured, and when Emily and Lillian sat down again, they realised something odd had happened. Stanley hadn't spoken a word since entering Lillian's home.

  "Stan-leeeeee!" sang Lillian. "Stan-leeeee want a cracker?"

  "Fraaaapppp!" said Stanley. It sounded a little like someone blowing a raspberry.

  "Stanley! Behave!"

  "Who are ya? Who are ya?" said Stanley.

  "I, little bird, am Lillian Lovelace. You may have heard of me."

  "Who are ya? Lilybum Bumface. Who are ya?"

  Emily laughed. "Oh, that is funny. He can't do that very well, can he, Mrs Bumface?"

  Lillian glared.

  "Sorry. Mrs Lovelace."

  "SORRY MRS BUMFACE! CA-CAW!"

  "Oh! He's getting louder!" said Lillian.

  "GET A LOUD BUMFACE! WHO ARE YOU? WHO'S A PRETTY BUMFACE? LILYBUM BUMFACE! TONY KONY! FRAAAPPP!"

  "I'm not sure this was a good idea..." said Emily.

  "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

  "I SAID, I DON'T THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA!"

  "CA-CAW! BUMFACE GOOD IDEA! I CAN HEAR YOUR BUM! FRAAAPPP! BANG! BANG! HAHAHA! BANG! BUM! BUM! BUM!"

  The parrot suddenly stopped shouting.

  "Thank goodness for that," said Lillian. "He was starting to sound like Owen."