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Sophie was devastated when Peter disappeared. It was the suddenness of his going that shook her. She blamed her neighbour Jim. It was he who introduced Peter to the delights of Bacchus. In the washhouse that separated their council flats, Jim created potent homemade wine from the most unlikely of raw materials. Tasting sessions from his seemingly limitless stocks invariably led to nightlong parties.
Life was wonderful for a while until the rows began, many caused by lack of sleep and hangovers. Peter grew less and less inclined to seek work. As Sophie struggled to do her job professionally, their mutual respect dwindled along with their bank balance. Despite their troubles, Peter’s sudden disappearance worried her. She prayed the St. Christopher she’d given him would keep him safe.
"You'll like this one Soph, I picked the elderberries in the park last summer." Jim placed the wine bottle on the table.
"Sorry, I’m not in the mood. Is there any news of Peter? I've asked at all the pubs."
"Trust me Sophie, you won't see him again. "
"I'm coming home for lunch for a while, in case he comes back. It’s odd. He didn’t even take his key when he left."
"You were too good for him, you know," said Jim, moving closer to her.
Sophie had been trying not to say anything but finally had to speak. "What's that smell?" she asked.
"Must be the drains, they never come to fix them."
"It seems to be coming from your shed."
"Can't be, I'm redecorating."
Sophie tensed as she felt his hand grip her shoulder. "Not now Jim, I need time to sort my head out."
"OK, but remember, I'm here when you need me. I'll be watching over you."
When she went home at lunchtime next day, a sleek red Porsche pulled into the last parking space. She hadn't realised how many cars used the area in the daytime. Only a handful of residents had cars, yet all the spaces were full. The Che Guevara Estate was only a five-minute walk from a tube station.
She stepped out of her old Datsun Cherry to confront the stranger. "Excuse me, do you live here?" she asked.
"Who's asking?" His voice was flippant and teasing.
"Never mind. This isn't a public car park, you know."
"You’re very attractive when you're angry." He leaned over her; it was his smile as much as the cliché that made her blood boil. "By the way, isn't it illegal to drive a wreck like that?" he added, as he pulled his shades from a shirt pocket. An envelope fluttered unnoticed to the ground.
The slap that sent him reeling surprised Sophie as much as her tormentor. "Move it or I call the police," she said, fighting off tears of frustration.
He held on to a wing mirror for support, eyes blinking. "Do that and I'll have you charged with assault, you mad bitch." He put on the mirrored glasses leaving Sophie looking at her own reflection. His smug smile returned as he walked towards the subway, rubbing his face. Sophie picked up the letter that had fallen from his pocket. Somehow she felt better, knowing where he lived.
That confrontation was one of many over the following weeks. Visits to the council offices, even letters to her Member of Parliament, only brought vague promises to 'look into it.' Police involvement only amounted to interviewing her over acid attacks on the paintwork of some of the other trespassing vehicles. At least that scare meant easier parking for a few days, but the cars soon dribbled back.
When her car failed its MOT inspection, Sophie asked Jim to find her a replacement. He knocked on her door that same evening. As she opened it, the strange smell hit her again.
"I’ve found a nice little car for you. I'll bring it round tomorrow." He smiled a lot these days. It suited him.
"Hang on Jim, how much..."
"Shush! Seeing you happy again is reward enough."
"Thanks Jim. I don’t know what I’d do without you. " She sniffed the air. "The smell’s getting worse, don’t you think?"
"Oh that. I spilled some acid," he explained.
"Acid?" She couldn’t help wondering if he was responsible for any of the recent vandalism.
"I use it for work."
"Of course." Sophie dismissed her fears.
"Have you still got the Porsche driver’s letter? I think we owe him a visit." Jim’s lips tightened. His eyes lost their twinkle. "I’ve got plans for your old Datsun "
Next morning Jim removed all traces of previous ownership from the Datsun Cherry, before taking off the wheels. Then they waited in Jim’s breakdown truck near a grand house in the suburbs, until the Porsche emerged from the driveway. They checked no one else was at home, then dumped the remains of the Datsun by the front door.
With her new car, Sophie’s anxiety was gone. Gradually, her concern for the missing Peter turned to resentment over his cowardly exit, and she warmed to the attentions of her devoted neighbour. She was back in control of her life - and she had her parking space back. She no longer saw Jim as a threat as she had when Peter shared his wine. What he lacked in looks he made up for in attentiveness. They soon became lovers.
One morning, Sophie noticed the Porsche had come back. It was still there that night. There was no sign of the driver.
Jim had been spending most of his spare time in his wine shed. When Sophie disturbed him he was re-laying the concrete floor. An old bathtub had been installed and the walls were freshly painted. The strange smell had gone.
"The Porsche is back Jim."
"I know, some people never learn. Don’t worry -it’s sorted."
Two weeks later the sports car had been reduced to a shell supported by bricks. Che Guevara bandits took no prisoners after dark.
Sophie's felt content. Jim turned out to be anything but boring. He often surprised her with his unpredictability. One day she found him dancing naked on the grapes in the bathtub. He was wearing mirror sunshades. Only as he kissed her and handed her a glass of dandelion and burdock, did she notice the gold chain around his neck, and a familiar St. Christopher medalion.
Ends
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