Backstabbers - Chapter 24
Two Angry Tigers
Backstabbers is my first novel, a 1979-based comedy murder-mystery about aspirations for fame and dreams unfulfilled.
FLASHBACK to the morning of the 31st of October, 1979.
Fake-cheery radio presenter Mike Beslee promoted the community play, and most importantly that he would be in attendance and happy to sign autographs for his fans. Sweet’s Poppa Joe played, adding to the unavoidable doom. The looming premiere of Maconwee’s Election smothered Stu. The feeling of the days, hours and minutes ticking down for a dental appointment. It was inevitable and it was going to hurt. Stu was off his Shreddies. He could barely eat a slice of toast.
But this is what you wanted. Wasn’t it? Stu asked himself repeatedly.
‘It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’ said Jemima, referring to something completely different. ‘You did say toast, not Shreddies?’ Distracted, Stu nodded. ‘Oh. Yeah.’
‘Eat up then. It’ll go cold.’
The clang of the letterbox alerted Godfrey, who returned disappointed, flinging a flinch-inducing letter at Stu’s groin. Sprawled on the sofa, Stu sat up, scowling at his Dad’s lack of finesse.
‘Fan mail already?’ quipped Godfrey.
Stu saw the letter was addressed to “Stewert Ostrich”. There was no note inside. Just a key. Attached to it was an address.
Two buses later, Stu was on foot in a desolate industrial area, referring to his Dad’s well-worn A to Z. He trudged along a broken concrete alley, years of junk piled on both sides. Scrap metal. Tyres. Decaying litter trapped against bowing corrugated metal fencing. Railway arches on one side, crumbling warehouses on the other.
Stu passed identical lock-ups, halting at the final arch. Uncertain if he had found the correct location, Stu tried the key in a padlock. It clicked and unlocked.
Inside the lock-up, Stu found a light switch and closed the door. The damp-smelling room was littered with small used paint tins on rickety wooden shelves. Piles of old newspapers. Delicate paintbrushes. Trays of spares were arranged and carefully labelled. All of the mess had been used to create an idealistic model railway, sprawled across eight tables.
The detail astonished Stu. He had always wanted a model railway set, but Father Christmas made various excuses over the years. To Stu’s surprise, the model worked. His face filled with joy. He soon realised the model was a recreation of Falking Hill train station and the surrounding town. The marketplace. The many pubs. The shopping centre. The fields and woodland. The theatre.
On the steps of the model theatre was a lone figure, the sight of which unnerved Stu.