Tales from Parker Road (Death Barbecues and a Toast Rack) Read online

  Get Off The Grass

  ‘Look,’ said Roger. ‘The Johnsons are doing it again.’

  ‘What, Roger? What are the Johnsons doing again?’ sighed Susan, not taking her eyes from page 78 of Fifty Shades of Grey.

  ‘They’re having a barbecue on their front lawn.’

  ‘It’s their front lawn. They can do what they want.’

  ‘You don’t have barbecues on your front lawn. Everybody knows that,’ hissed Roger, his white-knuckled fist clutching the beige curtain.

  ‘Nobody knows that, Roger. You only think it.’

  Roger pointed towards the Johnsons. ‘But I can see them!’

  ‘Only because you’re looking,’ said Susan. ‘Now get away from that window before they think you’re a pervert.’

  ‘Why would they think I’m a pervert?’

  Susan put her book down, joined him at the window and looked out at a happy family soaking up the afternoon sun while a light breeze ruffled Hammersmith’s fourth-biggest camellia bush.

  ‘Because you’re hiding behind a curtain spying on your neighbour’s long-legged, big-breasted wife, their equally big-breasted sixteen-year-old daughter and twin thirteen-year-old daughters who are having a water fight. Even I think you’re a pervert.’

  Roger snapped the curtains shut.

  ‘The daughter’s breasts aren’t that big,’ he mumbled.

  Susan folded her arms and glared at Roger.

  ‘Doesn’t it worry you that they’re out there in full view of the whole neighbourhood?’

  ‘Doing what?’ pleaded Susan. ‘They’re cooking sausages. They’re not Satanists sacrificing burgers and lamb chops to the dark lord.’

  ‘It’s not right. That’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘Well stop saying it,’ said Susan as she slumped into the sofa, picking up her book again.

  ‘But it’s the front lawn. You have a back lawn for doing stuff. The front lawn is for show. You keep the grass trimmed and your herbaceous borders tidy but you don’t actually use it.’

  ‘Only in Rogerland,’ said Susan. ‘This is the real world.’

  Roger stood motionless for several seconds staring at the closed curtains, imagining the steaks being turned outside.

  ‘I’m going to say something,’ said Roger as he started towards the hall.

  Susan jumped up, blocking him. She raised her arms and backed into the doorway.

  ‘You are not going to say or do anything, Roger, because you are not leaving this room.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing,’ interrupted Susan. ‘We’ve lived in this house for three years without incident and I’m happy here. I do not want a repeat of the Oakfield Road incident.’

  ‘That wasn’t my fault. That guy mowed his lawn before 10am every Sunday for six years. He deserved what was coming to him,’ spat Roger.

  Susan raised a finger. ‘Sit down.’

  They sat opposite one another. Susan read silently as Roger’s fingers drummed on the recliner’s paisley arm and his foot tapped on the polished wooden floor.

  ‘Let’s go and sit in the back garden,’ said a smiling Susan. ‘That would be relaxing.’

  Roger sat under the shade of a sun umbrella in his favourite deckchair with a beer can in one hand and Sudoku Puzzle Book No. 47 in the other.

  Susan sat next to him at a patio table with her book in hand and a floppy pink straw hat on her head.

  Roger’s chihuahua, Sugar Puff II, appeared from underneath one of the deck chairs and curled itself around Susan’s foot.

  ‘See, this is nice,’ said Susan as she bent down to rub Sugar Puff’s head.

  There was a brief put-put-put noise, then a motor mower revved into life next door, shattering the afternoon silence.

  Susan tensed, waiting.

  A serene Roger glanced at his watch and then at Susan.

  ‘2.26pm,’ said Roger. ‘A perfectly acceptable time for Jeff to mow his lawn on a Sunday.’

  Susan relaxed.

  Roger filled out two 6s, three 8s and a 7 in his book and then started tapping his temple with a pencil.

  ‘What would happen if we wanted to sell up and they were barbecuing on their front lawn when people viewed the house?’

  ‘Roger. We are not selling this house. And anyone who sees them cooking on their own property would think “What a nice family. I want to live near them,”’ said Susan. ‘Now drop it.’

  ‘But they’re potentially reducing the value of our house.’

  ‘The only thing devaluing the price of property in Parker Road is the nutter who lives at our address.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I’m not kidding, Roger. I thought we were through this.’

  Roger looked sheepish.

  ‘You’ve been so good. There’s been no lawnmower trouble, you’re coming to terms with people putting mustard on steak, and Linda next door had her Christmas lights up a month before Christmas without a word from you. Let’s not go backwards, shall we?’

  ‘What about that business with the umbrella on the bus?’ asked Roger, taking a swig of beer and pointing at the umbrella he was sitting under.

  ‘That was a setback, certainly,’ said Susan, ‘but we worked through it. I’m sure we can work through this, too.’

  She leant over and rubbed the back of Roger’s right hand, the scar from an umbrella tip barely visible.

  ‘You’re right. I’m a new man and I’m not going to let one barbecue defeat me.’

  ‘Good,’ said Susan. ‘Now get me a G&T and we’ll enjoy the rest of the afternoon in the sun.’

  Roger leapt out of his favourite deckchair and headed towards the gin in a defiant mood.

  When he was standing by the booze cabinet he looked to see if he was completely alone then parted the curtains just enough to survey the road outside.

  ‘Christ almighty, Susan,’ yelled Roger.

  ‘What?’ Susan ran through the house to join Roger at the window then whipped the curtains open to see what was wrong.

  ‘The Keppels are barbecuing on their front lawn. One starts and now they’re all bloody at it. It’s an outrage. A bloody outrage.’

  ‘Oh, Roger…’