Dangerous game

Sunday 3 March 2013

At 06:17, there are lights on in two houses in Victoria Street, and in the upper storey of one house in the street beyond Cypress Crescent.

Shortly after 10:30, via the open window of my bedroom, I hear voices. The voices are those of two little girls in the back garden of the GS family’s house. One of the girls is Miss GS, who is wearing a pink anorak. The other girl is probably slightly younger; she is wearing a dark-grey anorak and denims of a blue rather darker than powder-blue. Miss GS gives the visitor a push on the swing; they go indoors; then they come out again.
For nearly all this morning it is overcast and chilly, with a light breeze. For a few minutes shortly before 11:00, the sun is shining.
At 11:00, Mr Trimot’s newly-acquired Zeta reverses out of the drive, and sets off towards George Street.
Weak sunshine is breaking through the clouds at 12:35. Twenty minutes later, the Junior Golfer’s father is on his back garden, by the wall on the far side, cleaning a little black wheel. When he has cleaned the wheel, he fits it to something that is also black, and could be a golf-trolley.

I don’t return from lunch with the CJs until 18:45. Over lunch I learn a few things:
Del and Della are both 43.
Della hesitated about whether to call her second son Karl or Kevin.
When Charlie was a two-year-old, one day he was playing in the CJs’ back garden. Nash was practising his golf-shots in the JGs’ back garden; he played a chip-shot and the ball soared over the fence and just over Charlie’s head. “If Charlie had been an inch taller, it would have knocked him out,” says Mrs CJ. The Old Man was also there — he gasped and flinched as the ball flew past. (He never told me about this incident.) Mrs CJ continues: “Mr JG went ballistic. ‘How can you be so stupid?’” He ordered Nash to get back indoors.

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