Trouble on the Heath: A Comedy of Russian Gangsters, Town Planners and a Dog Called Nigel

Chapter Fifteen

Glenys brought Anton his tea in bed. It had become a habit since he had become a lodger in the house.

Malcolm had argued strongly against untying his son’s assailant, but both Angela and Glenys pointed out that unless Malcolm was prepared to go to the lavatory every time Anton needed to go, they would have to at least untie his hands.

But it had been Freddie who finally persuaded his father. “He’s OK,” said Freddie. “I like him.”

Anton for his part had sworn that he would not try to escape.

“I like it here,” he had explained. “I don’t want to go back to my life of crime. Anyway, it was just meant to be a holiday job.”

The truth is that Anton had been suffering for several years. He had been suffering from the stress of his tasks. He had been suffering from the constant fear of reprisals, and he had been suffering from knowing that he wasn’t really cut out to be a villain. When he was honest with himself he had to admit he was hopeless at it.

Why couldn’t Grigori Koslov see he was hopeless? Anton had seen others who had bungled a single job, and who – as a result – had ended up at the bottom of the river or fallen under an express train ‘by accident’.

Why didn’t that happen to him? Why was he allowed to make mistake after mistake? It wasn’t fair! It put him under such strain. Was Grigori playing cat and mouse with him? Was he saving up some specially nasty end for him?

He had now been staying with Glenys for more than a month, and he hoped against hope that Grigori would forget about him.

He knew all about the demand that Malcolm had sent Grigori, because he had supplied Grigori’s address. But he secretly hoped his boss would refuse to drop his planning application, so that his hosts would not have to hand him over. He wanted to go on like he was, living with Glenys and Malcolm and Angela and Freddie for the rest of his life.

He knew that was not really possible, but it was what he secretly hoped.

This morning Glenys drew the curtains for him.

“Good morning, Glenys,” said Anton.

“Good morning, Anton,” said Glenys. “It’s another beautiful day!”

The sun streamed into the small bedroom, making the rose-covered wallpaper throw a pink glow over everything.

“I’ve brought you a biscuit with your tea,” said Glenys.

“You’re very kind,” smiled Anton. “You’re very kind indeed to me.”

The truth was Anton had never met many people who were kind to him. His mother had been kind to him. The village butcher had been kind to him, and given him kidneys when he thought the other customers weren’t looking. The village priest had been kind to him. But then Anton had realised what the village priest wanted from him in return and had run away.

That was about it, until he met Glenys.

Glenys sat at the end of Anton’s bed, while he dipped his biscuit in his tea. “I thought we could motor over to Melton Mowbray and look at the pies,” she said. “We could even buy one.”

“A pork pie would be nice,” replied Anton.

“Yes, I was thinking that too,” said Glenys. She sat there for a few moments lost in thought, and then she added, “It’s funny how sometimes two people can think exactly the same thoughts at exactly the same time.”

“I was just thinking that too,” said Anton.

“Isn’t that odd?”

“Yes, it is,” said Glenys.

Suddenly Angela appeared at the door of the bedroom. She was as white as the china cup Anton was drinking his tea out of. “Where’s Malcolm?” she said.

“He went for a run,” said Glenys.

“Something terrible’s happened!”