Calling All Neighbours (Calling All... Book 4) Read online

  Calling

  All

  Neighbours

  by

  Tara Ford

  Is it compulsory to love your neighbour?

  © Tara Ford 2016

  All rights reserved

  ASIN: B01GE2PMIW

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Cover design by Jacqueline Arbromeit

  http://www.goodcoverdesign.co.uk/

  Other titles by Tara Ford

  Calling All Services

  Calling All Dentists

  Calling All Customers

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to everyone who has supported me and my writing along the way. Thanks to my family for putting up with me in those ‘Deadline’ moments when I can no longer hold a simple conversation with them and tend to mumble my way out of most things – including cooking the dinner.

  Thank you to Reid, Suzi Hoskins and Pat Ford who put forward names for characters, it has been such fun to include them in my books – in the best possible way of course – I do hope.

  Huge thanks, as always, to Jane Hessey. She does a great job and we have a lot of fun along the way too.

  My biggest thank-you goes to those of you who have taken the time to leave a short review on Amazon, they are so important to me– I appreciate all of them (good or bad) as always.

  Tara Ford

  http://taraford.weebly.com/

  Twitter: @rata2e

  Facebook: Tara Ford - Author

  For my dear friends

  Clair F

  &

  The Downes

  Chapter 1

  Stepping away from the bay window, Tiffany turned her head and tried to shout in a whisper. “Joe.” She turned her head to see where he was. “Joe – quick. Come here.”

  From the kitchen-diner, Joe’s head appeared around the doorway. “What?”

  “Ssh. She’s there again.” Tiffany gesticulated frantically at the window.

  Joe frowned in puzzlement as he wound around the doorway idly and moved closer.

  “The woman – there,” said Tiffany, pointing a finger to the window and pursing her lips as she made an exaggerated shushing sound. “The one I told you about last week.”

  Joe moved closer still. “Where?”

  “Shush – there,” she replied, feeling a little frustrated that he hadn’t guessed what she was talking about. “Remember? I told you about her last week.” Beckoning to him to move closer still, Tiffany pulled him around by his shoulder and pointed a finger past his nose to the small bench in the front garden, underneath the study window. “See?”

  Joe nodded his head nonchalantly. “Go out there and ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing then.”

  “No,” said Tiffany, scowling, as she pulled Joe back by his arm. “No, we can’t be nasty to her.”

  “I’m not saying be nasty to her. Just go and ask her what she’s doing in our garden. Do it politely.”

  Tiffany drew in a deep breath and peered out of the window again. “I will,” she replied, unconvincingly. “In a minute. You go back to your work. I just wanted you to see her, that’s all. I didn’t think you believed me before.”

  Joe huffed a deep sigh and turned to leave. “I did believe you babe. I just don’t know why you won’t go and ask her what she’s doing. Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to her?”

  “No, I’ll do it. I just wanted to show you, that’s all. I’ll go out there, in a minute.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Joe returned to the kitchen-diner and plonked himself down at the small, oval, wooden table. Tiffany could see through the doorway that he was staring, long and hard, at the computer screen in front of him. He then proceeded to tap the keyboard at quite a speed, considering the size of his rugby-playing hands. She watched him for a moment before turning back to the window and peering out again.

  The afternoon sun beamed down on the small front garden, creating little picket fence shadows around the perimeter. A small, tidy lawn lay on each side of the paved pathway leading to the front door. Underneath the living room’s bay window was a border, containing an assortment of leafy plants, bursting with flower buds. These were mirrored on the other side, the exception being the tiny, wooden bench, situated centrally within the flower border, upon which the woman was sitting.

  Easing herself up from the bench, the elderly woman brushed a white curl away from her cheek and took a deep breath. With difficulty, she leant over and picked up her brown satchel, pulling the long strap over her head and positioning the bag in front of her. Slowly, she waddled off down the garden path.

  From the window, Tiffany watched her walk out of the front gate and proceed across the green. Then she disappeared around the corner of the end house on Sycamore Close and was gone.

  Tiffany sighed. “Oh no, she’s gone now,” she called out, sheepishly. “I’ll have to catch her next time she comes.”

  Joe said nothing but nodded his head briefly as he continued typing.

  “What shall we have for tea?” Tiffany asked, entering the kitchen-diner.

  Looking up from the screen, Joe stopped typing and smiled warmly. “Let me finish this and then we’ll sort something out. Five minutes and I’ll be done, I promise.”

  Tiffany smiled. “OK, I’ll have a look at what we’ve got in the freezer. I need to do something quick for tea, as I want to wash my hair tonight and have a good soak in the bath.”

  Again, Joe nodded his head but this time a little more fervently like he was annoyed by the constant interruptions to his work.

  “Oops – sorry. I’ll leave you alone for five minutes,” she added, holding her hands up in the air, submissively.

  Discarding the idea of rummaging through the freezer to find something for their tea, Tiffany went out to the back garden. It was a peculiarly shaped garden but a good size and certainly big enough to accommodate a young family in the future, should that ever happen. The oddly shaped garden (which Joe had described to his parents as an upside-down, right-angled triangle with a bit missing) was mainly laid to lawn with muddy, empty borders all around. The two side fences adjoined neighbour’s gardens on both sides, and the lower fence at the end of the garden, looked out on to a large field, lined with giant sycamore trees. Several well cared-for horses roamed around the field, munching at the grass and flicking their groomed tails to deter the constant barrage of flies hovering around them. In the distance, a sparkling river could be seen weaving a pathway through the countless meadows which seemed to go on forever. Just on the other side of the garden fence was a gravel pathway which appeared to go around the back of the houses and then off through the fields. Tiffany wondered if it would take her to the river if she followed it. Both her and Joe enjoyed walking and there was plenty of beautiful countryside all around them to do it.

  The view from the back of the garden had been a selling point for both of them. Overlooked only by their neighbour on the right, Tiffany and Joe had made the decision to buy 4 Sycamore Close almost immediately. It was their dream, first home together and although they weren’t married yet, or indeed, made any sort of commitment to each other, they hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to purchase the house when it appeared in their local estate agents some four months ago.

  Sycamore Close was set back from the main road which ran into the small town of Bashfield. The
re were nine houses, set out in the shape of a square horseshoe. Numbers one, two and three were on the left side, then Tiffany and Joe’s house was on one end of the back row, alongside numbers five and six. The right side had house numbers seven, eight and nine.

  In the middle of the three-sided square was a small green, surrounded by an access path. Almost every house had a picket fence around its front garden and several of those were painted white. Tiffany and Joe had liked the look of the picket fences and agreed that their first job, when they moved in, was to paint theirs white to blend in with the majority.

  The houses themselves were bigger than they first appeared. Joe and Tiffany assumed that, like theirs, each house consisted of three bedrooms (although the third bedroom was more of a box room, but with some careful planning it could most definitely be made into a small bedroom) and a good sized bathroom upstairs. Downstairs there was a spacious kitchen-diner at the back, a front lounge to the right of the front door and a study and utility room to the left.

  They were ecstatic when their offer was accepted and spent the next four months, during the purchasing period, collecting bits and pieces of old furniture, cookware, curtains, rugs and anything else that family and friends were kind enough to donate or sell to them.

  Strolling down the length of the garden, Tiffany reached the fence at the bottom and leant on it, resting her elbows on the top. The horses were over in the far distance, nearest the field’s gate. Tiffany wondered whether it was tea time for them too and perhaps they did actually eat more than just grass all day. She knew nothing about horses. She hadn’t seen anyone visit the field in the two weeks that she’d lived in the house, but it was obvious that someone was coming to tend to their needs as on two occasions, during wet spells, they had been wearing waterproof coats over their backs.

  Turning round, Tiffany leant back on the fence and rested her arms on the top, absorbing the heat of the late afternoon sun. This was her house. Her garden. Joe was indoors. Her future husband – hopefully, one day. Life couldn’t get any better right now. She was living her dream and even if there was an elderly woman coming into their front garden, goodness knows how often, and making herself comfortable on the small bench, it really didn’t matter. Not at the moment anyway.

  Snapping the lid of his laptop shut, Joe stood up and stretched, making a loud yawning noise as he did so. “I’m done,” he said, squinting his eyes as he stepped out to the brightly lit garden. “And now I’m starving. Shall we?”

  Tiffany grinned, pulled herself away from the fence and sauntered across the patchy grass. “Yes, let’s go. Think we’ve got some battered chicken breasts in the freezer. Shouldn’t take long to do. Fancy those?”

  “Don’t mind a bit of breast any day of the week.” Joe greeted her with a smirk and a cheeky slap of her rear as she passed by him.

  “Oi – get off,” she giggled. “You’re a rampant monster, Joe Frey. Oh, and while I think of it, the fence at the bottom needs sorting out. One of the panels looks like it’s going to disintegrate at the slightest breeze – and very soon. I don’t fancy going out there to hang the washing out one morning and coming face to face with one of those horses from the field.”

  “Another thing to add to the growing list of jobs to do.”

  “Uh-huh,” Tiffany replied with a smirk on her face. “They’ll keep you out of mischief won’t they?”

  “Mischief? Me?” Joe frowned. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Come on, I’m hungry. Do your thing and get those breasts out babe.”

  They’d met two years previously at a rugby presentation evening in their local community centre, which Joe was presenting. He had fallen for Tiffany at first sight but she had to be wooed somewhat, for several weeks, before she agreed to go on a first date with him. Shy, reserved and placid, Tiffany, or Tiff as she preferred to be called, was, in her nature, a stark contrast to the large, loud and gregarious boyfriend she had managed to hook up with. When Joe Frey walked into a room, everyone knew it. Aside from his sturdy, muscular physique, his height and a perfect smile on his chiselled face, Joe’s booming voice and humorous banter attracted both men and women to flock round him admiringly. He was a party animal. A social junky. A man with a motto to live for the moment. Yet, when alone with Tiff, he was the gentlest, kindest and most thoughtful man she could have wished for. He was an affable companion and a sensuous lover.

  Joe’s love of rugby stemmed from his childhood days of playing for his school. Battered and beaten, he had spent most of his senior school days with black eyes and bruises in every conceivable place. Upon leaving school, he had signed up for the college rugby team and continued to play for a further two years while he studied for his ‘A’ levels. But sadly, Joe’s rugby career came to an abrupt end in his final season at the college, when a vicious tackle took him down to the ground. With all of his weight, he had landed on his twisted left leg, snapping the tibia and fibula in half.

  So a career in the world of physical rugby was no longer an option. However, Joe’s ‘A’ level qualifications and a further two-year apprenticeship in the leisure industry allowed him to build a career as a personal trainer and most recently, become the manager of a local leisure complex.

  In his spare time, he coached a team of 14–16 year-old youths in rugby and helped to organise the county’s under 18’s league. As if this wasn’t enough to do in his spare time, he had also volunteered to design and update a new website for the Hampshire Rugby League. The new website had taken up most of his time since he and Tiff had moved into their new home. He could only apologise profusely to her, about the time-consuming task he’d taken on, every time she walked past him and huffed or when she sighed exaggeratedly whilst working around him in the kitchen.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I promised I’d get this done. How was I supposed to know that we would be moving into a new house when I offered to build a new website? It’s crucial that I get this finished before the season starts. Bear with me babe.”

  How could anyone not ‘bear’ with him? Joe was so perfect in every way. He made Tiff laugh. He made her cry. On a number of occasions, he had surprised her with a romantic break or an unexpected gift, or flowers. Countless bouquets of beautiful flowers. He made her feel safe and secure. He cared for her and provided for her. He was the steadfast strength that she didn’t have. Tiff’s failings were Joe’s substance. They worked well together and were made for each other. Except, now that they had bought their very own home together, there were still no signs of that ultimate gift, an engagement ring, let alone the peal of wedding bells.

  Luckily, Tiff was a patient person. She was sure it would come. One day. After all, they’d made the first big step, hadn’t they? Buying a home together had not been a decision made lightly. The hefty mortgage repayments would be tough to manage during the first few years while they re-vamped and furnished the old house. The only thing that Tiff had insisted upon was a new bed, when they moved in. She couldn’t bear the thought of a second-hand bed.

  “You just don’t know who might have slept in a second-hand one. Or what they might have got up to. Ugh, no. We have to get a new one.” She had said to him one day.

  Joe had agreed entirely, although he playfully embellished on the idea of what other people might get up to in their beds. “I totally agree. There are people out there who quite enjoy partaking in the odd session of watersports you know.”

  “Watersports? What do you mean?” Tiff enquired, innocently.

  “You haven’t heard of it?”

  “No, I haven’t.” She stared, puzzled. “In bed?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Joe laughed. “You wouldn’t want to know. We’ll definitely get a new bed babe. Without a doubt.”

  After that conversation, Tiff had curiously decided to Google ‘Watersports in bed’. She hadn’t wanted to pursue the subject further with Joe, fearing her naivety would have added ammunition to his jesting ways. To her horror, the words, ‘Golden shower’, along with numerous se
xually explicit thumbnail images displayed on the Google search results, dawned on her and were enough to repel her away from the page instantly.

  However, after two days of troubled thoughts and images churning around in her mind, Tiff had taken the brave step of confronting Joe with the subject again.

  “Joe…” she whispered, as they lay in bed, one Sunday night. Nudging his broad shoulder gently, she called him again. “Joe. Can I ask you something? Don’t go to sleep yet.”

  Joe turned over, sleepily. “Yeah?”

  In the darkness it was easier to ask the all-important question. “I’ve been thinking…”

  “Hmm,” he mumbled from under the quilt cover.

  “What you were saying the other day… about watersports.”

  Lifting his head from the pillow, Joe peered through the gloom. “What?”

  The urgent tone in his voice startled Tiff and she pulled herself up and rested her elbows on the pillow. It was too late. She’d broached the subject. She had to follow it through. “Watersports. What you said the other day. I know all about it.”

  Propping himself up on a strong, muscular arm, Joe peered through the blackness worriedly. The whites of his eyes could be seen staring widely. He looked fearful in the gloom. “Tiff, I… err…” he stuttered. “No way. I’m sorry but there’s no way I’m doing that.”

  “What?” Tiff shrieked at him. “No, I know. Neither am I. You’ve got it wrong.” Clasping her hand to her chest, she continued. “I didn’t mean that I want to do it.”

  “Thank God for that. What then? Why are you asking about it?”

  “I was only going to ask you if you’d ever done anything like that before.” Tiff cringed embarrassedly, and silently thanked the night time for its obscurity.