Posted in Stories

Nosey Neighbours


Maureen shut the front door as quietly as possible hoping she’d make it to the car before that nosey neighbour of hers collared her. It was not to be.

“Maureen my dear,” said Mrs. Collins, peering over the hedge that separated the two drives. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages. I was only saying to my Reginald over breakfast this morning how I’d not seen you or that lovely husband of yours for a while. Everything OK?”

“Fine thanks, Mrs. Collins. I’d love to stay and chat but I must rush – late for the dentist.”

“The dentist you say. Which one do you go to my dear? Reginald and I used to go to the one in the village until we had that little fallout. Reginald said it was something of nothing but I couldn’t go back there again. That’s when we moved to the one on the Corston Road, near the Co-op. Lovely man he is. So charming and such delicate hands. Is that the one you go to my dear?”

“No Mrs. Collins. I still go to James in the village. Anyway, must dash, don’t want to be late.”

“Wouldn’t want you to be late my dear. He can get a little irate when his patients don’t turn up on time. That’s what started the little problem I had with him. I mean, I was only forty minutes late. Well, you know what the parking’s like and then I bumped into Mrs. Forsyth who needed to tell me about her sister’s latest problems. I tried to explain this to that receptionist of his but she insisted on charging me for a missed appointment. Can you believe that? I told her, in no uncertain terms, that I would not be paying. Then he had the audacity to come out of his room and ask me to leave. Said I was being rude and aggressive to his staff. Can you believe that?”

“Sorry Mrs. Collins, I really must go.”

“Of course my dear, don’t let me stop you. Before you go dear, did you know you’ve spilled something on that lovely white blouse of yours? Look like it might be red nail varnish. If it is, then I’ve got a book indoors with ideas on how to get rid of unwanted stains. Reginald spilled some red wine on our cream carpet at Christmas. Between you and me dear I think he was a little tipsy. Anyway, I managed to get the stain out quite easily. Would you like me to pop in and get that book for you now?”

“Not now Mrs. Collins, maybe later. As I said I must rush. I don’t want to be late for my hair appointment.”

“Hair appointment my dear, I thought it was the dentist? My goodness dear, you really did have an accident with that nail polish, it’s all down your arms as well. Whatever were you doing?”

“Actually Mrs. Collins, it’s not the dentist or the hairdresser. If I’m honest with you I’m in a hurry because I’ve just killed my husband and I’m desperate to get away before anybody finds his body. I’ve found out that he’s having an affair with that young secretary of his. Then this morning, over breakfast, he calmly tells me he’s leaving to go and set up house with her. He then proceeds to announce that she’s having a baby. A baby, Mrs. Collins. He’s forty bloody five and he’s going to live with a woman half his age and they’re going to have a bloody baby! At that point, Mrs. Collins I got a little angry. I’m surprised you and Reginald didn’t hear me. Do you know what he did then Mrs. Collins? He laughed and told me to calm down. The stupid bastard. That’s when I lost it. I didn’t mean to stab him. Well, not the first time. I’d been cutting up some pineapple. He likes a few slices of pineapple for his breakfast. I’d forgotten I had the knife in my hand. Before I knew what I was doing I’d stabbed him and then I did it again and again. So this isn’t nail polish on my blouse Mrs. Collins, it’s blood, my husband’s blood. And believe me, Mrs. Collins, this is nothing to the mess it’s made of my kitchen. So, if you don’t mind, I am in a bit of a hurry so I’ll be off.”

“Of course my dear, don’t let me keep you. And by the way, I think that book I mentioned has got a section on how to get blood out of clothes. I’ll pop it round later.”




Now that I'm retired I have more time to devote to writing my blog and creating short stories.

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