Hilary Bonner - Friends to Die For

‘Give it time,’ said Tiny. ‘Your plants will be returned, I’m sure of it.’

‘You are, aren’t you?’ replied Bob. ‘So sure you’re making me begin to wonder why.’ There was a sharp edge to his voice.

‘Hey, come on, mate, don’t start suspecting me.’

‘Of course not,’ said Bob.

He ended the call, a tad abruptly, and set about preparing to go to work. His first appointment that day was at 9 a.m. If it hadn’t been for Tiny’s call he may well have missed it. There were other people’s urban gardens to tend, and Bob was not a man who liked to let people down.

Mid-afternoon, Michelle called him on his mobile, having been alerted by Tiny, and suggested, just as she had previously to George, that Bob should formally report what had happened to the police. Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she, thought Bob.

‘I’ll help, if you like,’ she told him. ‘Not my beat — I’ve got far more important things to do nowadays, standing around on street corners waving my arms at blank-eyed bloody motorists — but I could put in a word to the right people.’

‘It’s only a few potted plants,’ said Bob.

‘You know you don’t mean that.’

‘Anyway, not yet,’ said Bob. ‘Tiny’s convinced this is another prank, like the Mr Tickle one played on George, and that my stuff will come back. I want to give it a bit longer. Another night, OK?’

The truth was that Bob had already thought about calling the police but he couldn’t imagine that they would be much help, or indeed that they would be at all interested, whether or not Michelle put in a word. The loss of his plants and that treasured pot in the heart of a city where proper crime, assaults, drug dealing, muggings and even murder were daily occurrences, was never likely to cause anyone much concern except him. And if the plants were returned then the incident would be regarded as another prank rather than a mindless act of vandalism.

Tiny had made a good show of being concerned, but who knew what lay behind that.

Tiny called again that evening.

‘Just try to crash, man, turn that good ear to the pillow, blot out the world, and hope for the best,’ he said. ‘I reckon you’re going to get lucky.’

Bob realized Tiny meant well. Or did he?

I knew I was clever. Ever since I was little. Only people never did seem to notice how clever I was. Which is why I’ve always been able to manipulate the world to suit me.

The missing plants and the Mr Tickle incident were just pranks — what else could they have been? But they were the kind of pranks that made everyone involved feel a bit uneasy. And that was my intention.

I wanted them all to be on edge, confused, growing increasingly suspicious of each other. That was my camouflage, the curtain of uncertainty behind which I could do what had to be done unseen and unrecognized. Their reactions were very important to me, and to my plan.

I wanted them laughing one minute and crying the next. They were my cover, my smokescreen. I didn’t particularly want them to suffer, all except one of them, but if it was necessary — and I feared it would be necessary — then so be it.

I believed in rough justice. I wanted rough justice. And I was quite clear, absolutely clear in my mind, of my own integrity. Everything I had done so far and would do in the future was driven by the wrongdoing of others. And it had all been set in motion by one particular wrong by one particular other.

If there was going to be evil, if there was going to be cruelty and anguish, danger and destruction, then it wouldn’t be down to me. I am the victim in all this, that’s the truth of it. I have suffered far worse agony in my life than I could ever imagine inflicting on another human being. But I was going to try.

I had already begun, sitting on that bench by the river on the night it all started, to formulate a plan. Over the following weeks I fine-tuned it until I was sure it would deliver the desired result.

These ‘pranks’, these more or less harmless pranks, were only the beginning.

And so, on my knees I prayed to Almighty God to share with me the omnipotence of his wrath, the strength to cause torment beyond endurance, and the might to wreak the havoc I sought to inflict.

I am as one with God. As before so shall it be again.

Mine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever.

By the following morning, like magic, and exactly as Tiny had predicted, only twenty-four hours late, it seemed that all Bob’s plants had been returned, replaced on his terrace almost exactly as they’d been before, along with a second plastic-encased note.

Thanks for the loan. Taken a few pelargonium cuttings. Hope you don’t mind, AT.

Bob called Tiny with the good news.

‘There, what did I tell you?’ said the big man.

‘OK. You were right. I still don’t like it though.’

‘Oh, come on, Bob. Where’s that cockney sense of humour of yours? It was just a joke.’

‘Ummm. And we don’t know who’s responsible, do we? Or what they may do next.’

‘Look. It’s not been anything serious...’

Bob interrupted, repeating his barbed comment of the previous day: ‘You were very sure I’d get my stuff back, weren’t you, Tiny?’

‘I certainly was. True to form, I reckoned.’

This time if Tiny picked up on any hidden implication in Bob’s remark then he chose to ignore it.

Bob paused before deciding to persist.

‘Look, I’m going to ask you outright, no more pussyfooting around,’ he said. ‘Was it you, Tiny? Did you do it? Did you take my plants?’

‘No I bloody didn’t,’ Tiny shot back at him. ‘Hey, don’t go round accusing me, mate. I was your good Samaritan, remember?’

‘Ummm. Look, it has to be someone I know, doesn’t it? Someone who knows me and my place well enough to be able to do this.’

‘Could be anyone.’

‘I don’t have many mates, Tiny. George and I are both Sunday Clubbers. Looks like whoever played these tricks on us is one of the group. And somebody agile enough to climb on and off my terrace.’

‘It’s not very high off the walkway. Probably rules out Marlena though.’

‘She could have paid someone to do it.’

‘For God’s sake, Bob.’

‘OK. What about George then? He’s fit. He’s always at the flipping gym. And he’s forever taking the piss out of me about my garden.’

‘George has also been a victim of a prank. You just said that.’

‘He could have played it on himself.’

‘What? George? Put himself in that situation with only a Mr Tickle suit to wear? Don’t be daft!’

‘Maybe you’re right. What about Greg then? He lives in Bishops, just a few doors from me. Knows his way about the place better than anyone. He came round the other night too. It could have been him.’

‘Oh stop it, Bob. You’ll drive yourself mad, and what’s the point? No harm’s been done. Whoever did this will probably own up sooner or later anyway. Proud of themselves, more than likely. Like we all said at Sunday Club, remember?’

‘I suppose so,’ muttered Bob.

‘Good. You are coming to Johnny’s this Sunday, aren’t you?’ persisted Tiny.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Come on, Bob, this needs to be talked through. You need to admit to everyone how upset you were when you thought you’d lost Danny’s pot, and that you don’t think it’s funny.’

‘Well, I don’t.’

‘You laughed at George.’

‘Yes, and I wish I hadn’t, to tell the truth. The whole lot of us should have thought things through more.’

‘OK then, I reckon we have to put a stop to all this. We don’t want any more pranks, because we don’t want not to be trusting each other, do we, mate?’