Chapter 4: Tuesday 27 December

The day after Boxing Day was another bank holiday, due to Christmas falling at the weekend, so it was another day for Rebecca to continue putting up more curtains and Pete to happily work on the house, putting up curtain rails. He also had the opportunity to get out the old set of wooden ladders and, after gingerly testing each rung to whether they would hold his weight, he was able to get up and look at the damp patch. He cleared out an old birds’ nest blocking the guttering, which he was confident was the source of the problem.

After lunch Pete started to put together the flat packs of bedroom furniture, beds, bedside tables and wardrobes for several of the bedrooms. Rebecca spent her time cleaning en-suite bathrooms for those same bedrooms. Annie came round to help too, while her mother Tracie went into the convenience store for a morning’s work.

Alice and Julian called round for coffee during the morning and Alice invited them all round her place for dinner at 6pm, extending the invitation to Tracie, who they had met the previous day. Alice could see the improvements to the old lounge bar with the curtains up and the door hung in place, although the wall panels were not due to be delivered until the next day. They were also able to admire the wonderful original Victorian cast iron and tiled fireplace that Pete had uncovered in the lounge, behind where the old hotel bar had been.

At about twenty minutes to six, the four set out from Porter House to walk up the coast road to the lighthouse cottage for dinner. As they approached the house, even from a distance it was clear that something strange was going on. The previously empty public car park, which was two thirds of the way along the road, was full to overflowing. Another dozen or so cars spilled over onto the narrow coast road. That usually only happened in daylight during the height of the summer season, not on a dark mid-winter evening.

Outside Alice’s house was a throng of people, all carrying cameras. With the imposing figure of Pete in front, his six foot four frame carrying his daughter high in his arms, the group forced their way through to the accompaniment of a torrent of flashing camera bulbs. Inside, the group were welcomed with open arms by an anxious Alice and the protective presence of Julian, both apologising profusely for the gauntlet of pressmen their guests had to endure.

“They only turned up in the last half-hour or so,” said Alice. “I tried to ring you, but couldn’t get an answer.”

“We left the house early,” grinned Pete, “And walked round to take Annie back to her flat so she could change into her brand new frock. Then we waited round there until both Tracie and Annie had their party frocks and faces just right.”

“So, what’s going on?” started Annie.

They walked through to the living room, still decorated for Christmas with a beautifully dressed and lit floor-to-ceiling fir tree in the corner. Another guest was in the room, a beautiful woman, dressed in a designer yellow trouser suit, pacing up and down talking rapidly and angrily into her mobile phone. She looked up briefly, nodded slightly at the group of guests being ushered into the room and moved over closer to the French windows, which overlooked the darkened gardens, continuing her animated conversation. She walked to and fro in front of the window, this time lazily running her eyes over the newcomers: the cute little girl in her best party frock, the two attractive women and then the giant man accompanying them following up behind. The man looked so familiar...

“Pete!” she exclaimed, “Oh my god!” She put her hand in front of her mouth, her mobile phone conversation momentarily forgotten.

Suddenly, there was a flash from behind her, she automatically turned to face three or four flashing cameras from outside the French windows. She gasped and put her hands up to her face as she turned away. Pete pushed his way past her and out of the French windows.

He grabbed one of the photographers as the others stepped back, still flashing their cameras. Grasping the photographer in one paw, lifting him off the ground, he advanced on the others and they turned tail and ran off. Pete turned his attention to his struggling captive and shook him.

“Stop struggling or I will close your windpipe until you lose consciousness,” he threatened, staring at him eyeball-to-eyeball. The scrawny man ceased struggling.

“You are trespassing on private property and as far as I know everything about your person may not belong to you and possibly stolen from my friends, our hosts. Do you have a receipt for this camera and camera bag on you?”

The man looked at him terrified.

“Well?” Pete insisted more forcefully, “Do you or do you not those receipts?”

“No” he rasped, short of breath.

“What about your clothes, coat, shoes?”

“No, of course not.”

“Right, take off your shoes and trousers.”

“What?”

“Is English your first language?”

“Y-yes?” the photographer replied tentatively.

“Then, take off your shoes and trousers, now!” and more quietly, “You don’t want me removing them for you, do you?”

He kicked off his shoes without answering. He undid his belt, button and zipper, the trousers pooled at his stockinged feet on the cold damp concrete path, in the light from the lounge French doors. Pete, still retaining a grip on the trespasser’s throat, turned aside to Annie and requested,

“Sweetheart, can you trouble Alice for a black rubbish sack and bring it to me, Honey?”

“Sure, Daddy,” replied the girl, brightly.

She returned with a sweet smile on her lips a couple of moments later with a bag, by which time the photographer was down to white vest, blue polka dot trunks and black calf-high socks. Pete thanked her with a sweet smile of his own and, with Annie dutifully holding the bag open for him, Pete picked up with his spare hand all the clothing, camera and baggage and dropped them into the sack. He took the plastic bag from Annie.

“Spin it, Sweetheart.”

Annie spun the bag and Pete hefted it over one shoulder and dragged the unfortunate individual round the house to the side gate and around to the front of the building where the accumulated crowd of pressmen gathered on the pavement. He stood squarely with his imposing frame facing the throng.

“This man is a trespasser and, as he has no receipts for any of the goods carried about his person, I can only check each item with each of the house’s occupiers and invited guests to ensure they have not been stolen from the residents and guests during the said trespass. I have therefore confiscated anything which might not belong to him, leaving him with what clearly can be assumed to be his only.” He paused to allow everyone to see that the photographer stood up shivering in his undergarments. “Once he is able to supply acceptable receipts for the goods carried, which have been stored in this bag,” he held up the black plastic bag, “He can claim them back from my legal representative, Connors & Co, Room 6, The Anchor, Market Square, Sandmouth Bay, during normal office hours. May I give you all due notice that all trespassers will also be invited to surrender anything carried about their person for which you do not hold receipts acceptable to my legal representative. Further, I have a gross of these bags and in addition I might warn you that I believe the curtilage of this property extends all the way to the curb back there.”

Pete glared around the group of photographers and saw that they bumped against one another as the ones in the front tried to back-pedal back over the edge of the pavement. All the time, flash bulbs popped. Pete waited until the pavement was clear as he glared at the assembly. When he was satisfied he released the shivering photographer and pushed him towards his colleagues.

“What about my clothes, car keys and wallet?” asked the photographer.

“Connor & Co open at nine in the morning,” Pete snarled, “Bring your receipts.”

“But...”

Pete stepped forward a pace, “But ... What?” he growled, “Can’t you understand English?”

“I guess,” the man shivered, “But you won’t hear the last of this.”

“Bring it on, Sunshine,” menaced Pete, “Step back on this pavement and I will have to refer the ownership of the pants and socks you’re wearing to intimately close perusal by the occupants.”

The photographer pushed his way through the throng and ran off down the road. After a final growl at the still flashing camera bulbs, Pete turned and went back into the house, through the now open front door. The house guests had gathered in and around the doorway to witness the scene and they parted as Pete approached the door, he entered and the guests followed, closing the door behind them.