Питер Ловси - Do Not Exceed the Stated Dose [Stories]

“It doesn’t belong to us,” said Karen.

Instead of “tootling along” as he’d promised, Albert drove fast for the first two hours. Two or three times Karen said she was nervous about the car, but he didn’t slow down. Near the Welsh border, as dawn came up, she suggested a stop for filming. Albert said there would be opportunities later.

She reminded him of the reason for having some footage of other places as well as the clifftop, and he relented and let her film some sheep sheltering at the side of the road.

Albert looked at his watch. “I want to get on,” he told her. “The light isn’t so good in the middle of the day. It gets too bright.”

“Joe said it doesn’t matter what time of day you film with one of these.”

“Will you shut up about Joe?”

As they neared their destination, Albert made a couple of short stops to consult the map. The area was very remote.

About ten in the morning, the cliff came up on their left. Albert steered the car off the road and towed the caravan across the turf to the position he’d selected. He secured the brake on the caravan, uncoupled the car and drove back to a point near the road. They had a good view for miles around and no one was in sight.

“Smell it, love?” said Albert.

“The sea air?” said Karen.

“Money, stupid. Ten bloody grand.”

“It’s a good thing there’s no wind,” Karen pointed out as they walked towards the caravan. “This should be good for sound.”

“You talk like you work for the BBC.”

Albert walked towards the cliff edge and peered over. “Perfect,” he enthused. “The tide’s in. There’s a thumping great drop, and it’s going to get smashed to little bits and washed away and turn to driftwood.” He came back to where Karen was standing with the camcorder. “Want to run over your lines?”

“It’s all right,” she said nervously. “Let’s get on with it.”

“Make sure it’s working first.”

She switched on and checked the battery level for the umpteenth time. She took some footage of Albert standing with his back to the cliff edge and they played it back through the eyepiece to check. The clarity was wonderful.

Albert seemed to be getting his confidence back. “Isn’t it just like I promised? The gentle grassy slope, the impressive visual panorama, the sheer bloody suspense of the thing? And just look at that caravan!”

“Like ten thousand grand,” she said, admiring the polished chrome and freshly-cleaned surface.

Albert walked her to her position. “Now you do know what to do?”

She nodded.

“And what to say?”

“Mm.”

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

She watched him walk to the caravan. He had some difficulty opening the door, but he managed it at the second attempt, climbed inside, slammed the door and took his place by the window, opening it wide.

“Can you hear me all right?”

“Perfectly, Albert.”

“Are we ready to roll, then?”

“Yes.”

“Remember what I said. Establish the shot with a view of that cliff to your left, showing just how big the drop is, then pan around slowly along the cliff edge and across the grass to me. Right?”

“Right.”

“Start the camcorder now. Action.”

Heart thumping, Karen pressed the red record button, swinging slowly around to encompass the impressive-looking cliff. She didn’t care any more that her hands were shaking. She watched the grass in the lens, then the white gleam of the caravan, then Albert at the window.

True to his “script,” he held up a piece of metal. The caravan lurched on its mooring feet and for a second, Karen feared that it wasn’t going to move.

Albert spoke his words: “Do you know what this is, love?”

The caravan began to roll.

“It’s the brake, Albert! What is it doing in your hand? Get out — the van’s moving!”

“Bloody hell!”

She saw Albert move fast towards the door and waited for the panic to set in for real.

Thirty yards to the edge.

She screamed his name as loudly as possible, mainly to obscure his shouting. She had stopped filming, of course.

The caravan moved sedately on its way.

He was desperately trying to open the jammed caravan door. How many times had Joe stressed to her that she should tell Albert to grease the edges? Not once had she considered passing on the information. She wanted Albert to die.

Twenty yards to go, and it was picking up a little speed.

The worst thing would be finding a phone in this God-forsaken place. The closest must be miles away. Everything else would be simple. A few tears for the police. Then hand over the tape. “It must be all on here, officer. It’s been the most awful accident.”

Karen continued to scream, thinking of her future with Joe Tinker with his double-glazing and his central heating and his modern fully-sprung bed with the continental quilt.

Ten yards.

Five.

A moment before the caravan disappeared from view, the caravan door burst open, Albert flung himself out and hit the turf a yard from the edge. He had survived.

Karen was devastated. She flung down the camcorder and stamped her foot.

Fortunately, Albert was too shaken to notice. He still lay face down, panting.

Eventually she drew herself together and went to him. She could probably have pushed him over, he was so near, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. That would be too direct, a hands-on murder.

Albert said, “That was a bloody near thing.”

“What went wrong?” said Karen as innocently as she was able.

“Couldn’t get the bloody door open. I knew it was difficult. Found that out when I was cleaning the thing. Put some grease on it yesterday, but it wasn’t enough, obviously. Ended up kicking my way out.” He got to his feet. “Look at me. I’m shaking like a leaf.”

Karen said, “Let’s get you to the car.”

“Where’s the camera?”

“Oh, I dropped it over there,” she said. “I’m not sure how much I got. God, I was frightened!”

“Doesn’t matter, love,” said Albert with unusual tenderness. “We can’t use the video anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Evidence. If they ever find anything at the bottom of that cliff and come knocking on our door, the last thing we want is a bloody video of the event.”

She frowned. “They could only find the caravan.”

Albert was shaking his head. “There’s something else. With luck, the sea will take care of it.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Bloody Joe Tinker. When I went in to see him this morning, he said he wanted a half-share of the profits. Five grand! You know me, love. Mean as hell. I lashed out. Hit the bleeder against the kitchen stove and cracked his skull. Killed him outright. What could I do but shove him into his own bloody caravan and bring him down here for disposal?”

“Oh, God, no!” wailed Karen.

“Don’t shed tears over him,” said Albert. “Didn’t you ever notice he fancied you something rotten, the jerk? Like I told you the other night, what I have, I hold.”

A slight, worried woman in a leather jacket walked into Bath police station.

The desk sergeant eyed her through the protective glass. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Can I speak to someone?”

“You’re speaking to me, ma’am.”

“Someone senior.”

The sergeant had been dealing with the public across this desk for twelve years. “I’m the best on offer.”

Unamused, the woman waited. Her hair was dark and short, shaped to her head. She wore no make-up.

The sergeant coaxed her, “Why don’t you give me some idea what it’s about?”