Close Call

Chapter 5

Out in the street the rain had turned to drizzle, Philip raised the collar of his jacket and pulled the zip up to his chin. Where there had once been a vast playing field there was now a state-of-the-art sport centre and accompanying car park. The school was still there but renovated and bigger.

He scanned the old perimeter of The Close; although there was little change within its limits, there was a feeling of decay just below the surface, the kind that leeched your will to strive for something better. You could see it in the residents' faces. The elderly were slower, more crippled somehow, their conversation was woeful and negative. The young had that odour of dejection that could not be fully rubbed away. It hadn't always been this way, he could remember a time when there had been a tiny spark of hope in the air; the estate had been new. That was before the snows had come that fateful winter. That was when things had changed. Philip knew because the same tar brush had stroked his psyche. Despite his escape and his success, he still felt the doubts and the fear that somehow he was not good enough, that he didn't belong.

An insistent hammering on a door drew him from his reverie. The knocker must have near demolished the door with the ferocity of the action. Philip headed towards the ruckus.

"Mrs Baxter! I know you are in there!"

The skinny man who had been the cause of the disruption started up his battery again. Rusting bicycle frames and broken kiddy swings and deflated bouncy toys were strewn across the excuse of a garden.

"You can't avoid paying." he said, pausing long enough to ensure his words weren't lost, "You don't want me talking to Mr Ruthers about this, do you?"—he hammered some more. "There's no telling what kind of accidents could happen and we wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Despite his better judgement, Philip knew he had to intervene; he had seen loan sharks at work in the past and was fully aware that their threats were not idle.

***

Kerry Baxter cowered behind the sofa, as if this would protect her, Gary would be round the back if she didn't submit to his threats. No sooner had she thought it than a shadow passed across the window. She ducked down. Thankfully, Corey was playing next door so he would be safe for now.

"Mrs Baxter? We need to talk about your situation."

The voice was different, not Gary's insinuating threats but gentle, more,

"Sophisticated." Kerry mouthed the word that sprang to mind and peered out from her hiding place. The lace curtain across the patio door allowed her a glimpse of a form, nothing more. Even though it was probably one of Gary's ploys to get her to open up, something compelled her to get up.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I've come to help you." The voice was calm, persuasive.

"If Gary sent you, tell him to go to hell!"

"I know not this Gary of whom you speak."

Kerry paused, she doubted that any of the louts in Gary's employ could've put such a sentence together.

"How do I know I can trust you? Got some ID?"

"Madam, I insist."

Kerry had never in her life been called madam, certainly not in the gracious tone of voice it was said now. She drew back the net from the patio door.

The gentleman there was dressed in a suit, the kind someone might wear for a wedding in fact, and although he looked a little dishevelled, he was very smart indeed.

She turned the key but did not usher him in.

"What can I do for you?"

"I will be succinct. It has come to our attention that you are unable to pay your debts and have accumulated a considerable amount in arrears both on rent and amenities. The board of governors has graciously decided to offer you a way out of your difficulties through good, honest labour. What say you?"