You Are Dead

59

Tuesday 16 December

Adrienne Macklin enjoyed her job, working in the front office of the Roundstone Caravan Park on the outskirts of Horsham, a prosperous town twenty-five miles north of Brighton, with a modern shopping centre, and surrounded by glorious Sussex countryside. Part of the company’s business was the sale of caravans and they had a wide selection on display, from bargain second-hand tourers up to luxurious, top-of-the-range static caravans. The other part was managing the site’s two hundred mobile homes.

Some of the owners were permanent residents but many were holidaymakers who came several times a year from not only all over the county of Sussex, but from many other parts of the UK. And then there was the gentleman in Unit R-73.

A widow, Adrienne was always on the lookout for a potential new partner and he ticked a lot of her boxes. This man was good-looking, charming and always cheerful, but so far all her attempts at engaging him in conversation had been — very politely — rebuffed. She knew virtually nothing about him at all.

He had owned a very nice mobile home for many years and kept it in immaculate condition. His visits were sporadic, turning up sometimes during the week, sometimes at weekends, occasionally staying for a few days, but mostly only for a few hours. He always came alone, carrying armfuls of newspapers and magazines, and a Waitrose carrier bag with, usually, the neck of a wine bottle peeping out of the top.

One time she’d asked him what he did for a living. ‘Oh,’ he had replied, ‘I’m in IT, you know, that kind of thing. Very boring.’

‘Not to me,’ she had responded, trying to keep the chat going.

‘It is, dear, trust me.’

Another time she’d tried to find out where he lived, but he had replied, cheery as ever, ‘Oh, you know, here and there. I’m planning to retire here. Not long to go!’

So she remained in hope that one day soon he might actually retire here and perhaps she could get to know him better then.

Meanwhile, she attempted a little detective work of her own, snooping around the outside of his mobile home while he was absent. She’d even tried the lock one day, as she kept keys to most of the homes on the park, but without success. There were three separate locks and the door had reinforced steel around it. The windows, with their blinds down, gave her no clue either — it was impossible to see in.

He was clearly a very private man.

Some days she wondered, uncharitably perhaps, if he was a bit of a deviant. Was he some kind of pervert? What did he get up to inside that mobile home with all his papers and magazines?

The only time Adrienne had ever really engaged in any kind of proper conversation with him had been a couple of years back when her daughter, Hayley, had been helping her out as a summer job, to earn some pennies whilst at uni. He’d taken a bit of a shine to Hayley, and had stood in the office for ages, chatting to her about music. It turned out they were both fans of the Kinks, and he told Hayley about a pub in North London which Ray Davies frequented.

It was the first time she had ever been jealous of her daughter. But Hayley soon put her back in her place after he had left for his caravan, clutching his usual armful of papers and magazines.

‘What a weirdo!’ Hayley said.

‘I think he’s rather dishy!’

‘Get real, Mother!’