Fanny Flooter's Knitting and Stitching Emporium

TWO WRONGS MAKE A FIGHT

Whilst on an evening tour of the local dustbins, Pickering came across a moose head mounted on a shield of wood. One of its antlers was wonky, and its coat was spotted with bald patches, but he was certain that he could get a good price for it. Delighted by the hunting trophy, he decided to hang it at the foot of his bed until the shop opened. When he got home, the mangy elk under his arm, he found a note pinned to his bedroom door.

Out resurching dog meet supliar in Skegness, bak Munday. H.G.

Pickering unlocked the door, tore down the note, and threw it in the bin.

'Hate him. Hate him. Hate him.'

He dropped the moose head onto his bed.

Pickering's bedroom was a cell-like space at the top of the building, with greying walls and bare floorboards. Opposite the door was a single bed, propped up on bricks. Under it was a toolbox and a bicycle repair kit, and beside it a metal trunk in which he kept his clothes and a large block of industrial soap.

Pickering pulled out the toolbox, found his hammer and a nail, and set about hanging the moose. The dead Elk was a symbol of the money his shop would bring him in the days to come, and it would give him the strength to suffer Humphrey. He stepped back to admire his handy work.

'Brings a touch of class to the place that does.'

Tired and satisfied, he readied himself for bed.

Pickering was a stickler for cleanliness. He'd chosen this room as his bedroom because, despite being small, it had a sink and was close to the bathroom. A rusty cabinet hung above his sink and in it Pickering kept a toothbrush, a scrubbing brush, a large bar of soap, and a pristine yellow mug.

Taking his toothbrush, Pickering ran it under the tap and rubbed it in small circles over the cake of soap, working up a good lather. Staring into the rust-speckled mirror with mouth open wide, exposing his higgledy-piggledy tombstone teeth, he scrubbed each tooth violently and performed a lengthy ritual of rinsing and spitting until he was satisfied that his mouth was clean. Then he wriggled out of his shirt and trousers, and pulled on a nightgown and bed-cap.

Five Nelson Parade had no electricity. The supply had been cut off years ago when Pickering and Humphrey had disagreed about their first bill, which remained unpaid. They managed with daylight and streetlights, but Pickering had a secret supply of candles for reading ay night.

Climbing into bed, Pickering lit a candle and picked up his book, Romance in Romania by Harriet Harooroo. The cover had a pastel illustration of a man and woman embracing on a mountaintop. Opening the book, Pickering was immediately plunged into a dramatic scene with two masked men on horseback chasing a lady in a horse-drawn carriage. The masked men fired their pistols into the air and the lady's bosoms heaved as she gasped with fear.

A clattering noise sounded downstairs.

'Shut-up, Humphrey,' Pickering muttered.

The lady in the carriage was the young daughter of a French nobleman called Marianne. The bandits were after the priceless pearl necklace fastened about her neck. She screamed for someone to save her. Pickering's pulse galloped along with the thundering hooves of her frightened horses. Suddenly, on the horizon, a dark figure appeared, silhouetted against the moon.

A loud thud from downstairs ripped Pickering's gaze away from the page.

'That man really is an oaf!' He rolled his eyes for the benefit of the moose. 'First he pins a note on my door saying he's meeting a meat supplier, when he knows the shop will be selling antiques and...'

Pickering's heart stopped and his breath stuck in his throat. If Humphrey was in Skegness, then who was downstairs making noises?

'Burglars!' Pickering wheezed.