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HELPFUL HARRY’S FIVE

PART ONE

‘WOMAN OF 94, RAPED, MURDERED IN HOME’ screamed the newspaper billboard for the Duxton Express. A slightly chubby man in his early fifties, wearing a grey shirt and shabby jeans paused, as he read the board, next to a newsagent’s doorway-then sighed, and shook his head. His own mother would have been nearly that age, were she still alive. How could people do something like that, to a frail old woman, at the very end of her days? He passed forward, and into the shop.

‘Only me, again,’ said the man, with a smile, as he approached the young Asian man, at the counter.

‘Ah yes,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘You came in last week, didn’t you? You’re the one who’s just moved to Duxton?’

‘That’s me,’ said the man. ‘Harry-Helpful Harry, as I’ve always been known. I like to be helpful, if and when I can, you see. Yep, I’ve inherited me mum’s house, now she’s passed away. Nice easy passing it was, thank the Lord. No illness-just drifted off peacefully in her sleep-an end which some evil person denied to this lady!’ He pointed to the photo of the murdered woman, on front of the Duxton Express. As he did so, he ran his fingers across his perspiring brow, then wiping the sweat of that warm July through his awry grey-brown hair.

‘Ah yes,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘Terrible business! Only three miles away, too. Near enough to scare old people in this town!’

‘Of course,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s just hope they get whoever did it- and soon!’

‘Amen to that,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘There’s a lot of it about, just now. As I said to you last week, my dad had his shed broke into last week. Stole his toolbox, with all his tools.’

‘Ah yes. He lives by the Methodists church, doesn’t he?’ said Harry, remembering.

‘That’s him,’ said the shopkeeper. ‘Of course, that hardly compares with the old woman, but there’s more and more crime about, it seems. I once heard of a case where someone had been burgled, but, a few days later, the stolen items were returned, with a note from the thief, saying he was giving the things back because he was guilty. I wish something like that would happen with Dad. Bet it won’t, though!’

‘Well, let’s hope they catch your father’s thief as well,’ said Harry. ‘Anyway, I’ll have a copy of the Express, again please. I like to keep up with local affairs.’ He took out a coin and handing it over. The shopkeeper gave his change, they took leave, and Harry exited, with his paper. As he exited the newsagents, he saw a tall figure in the corner of his eye. His route lay rightward, in the opposite direction to the approaching man, whom Harry consequently turned from, without a look, not registering how the man pause or stared, as he saw him.

The approaching man was a very tall man, well over six feet in height, and a slender but powerful build. He wore a pair of smart, pale grey trousers, and a crisp white shirt, that seemed to shine brightly in the glaring sunlight. In contrast to the brightness of his garb, the man’s long, lean, furrowed face was a ruddy red-brown, displaying the effects of the warm summer, as did the muscular forearms, bared by his rolled-up sleeves, and with a thick coating of hair as raven-black as his long broad moustache and bushy head hair, on which was just a streak of silver here and there. As the figure stood and watched, the retreating figure of Harry grew smaller in the silvery mirrored lenses of his sunglasses.

The man turned, and looked at the headline on the billboard. Very slowly, he took out a packet of cigarettes, and put a paper-covered cylinder to his mouth. With the same casual deliberation, he pocketed the box, then took out a lighter, and ignited the stick of tobacco. He puffed, slowly, thoughtfully. As he did so, one hand absent-mindedly strayed to the side of his head, the index finger probing beneath the thick hair to the frayed upper edge of his ear. As this happened, the man had a sudden flashblack: a blade piercing his ear; a cry of mingled pain and anger. From by association, his mind flitted to the sound of someone else crying-a female voice, now, high and intense. As quickly as the images began to build, he clamped the lid on them, mentally. He had learnt long ago how to cut off emotions and emotional memories. He had had to, in the life he had lived.

Meanwhile, walking home along the suburb of modest but well-kept houses. Harry whistled cheerfully. While the story of the elderly woman’s violent death had depressed him momentarily, he was an optimist, and did not remain unhappy for long over things he could not help. Presently, he turned onto a street full of houses. Passing down the street, he arrived at a house set close to the path, behind a low fence, behind which was a small grass lawn. To the right of the fence was a wooden gate, behind which a thin woman of about seventy, was using shears to trim a hedge that ran between her front path and next doors, with shears. A large black cat sat on the path nearby, enjoying the warmth of the stone, in the summer sun.

‘Oh, hello there, Harry!’ she said, with a smile of recognition.

‘Hi, Dora,’ said Harry. ‘Just been for me paper.’ He held up the reading matter he had just purchased. At that moment, the curtains of the house opposite, which had been closed, parted a little, and a chubby woman, about Dora’s age, stared out.

‘Ah, the Express,’ said Dora. ‘I get mine delivered. Terrible story on the front this morning.’

‘Yes, I’ve seen,’ said Harry, nodding sympathetically.

The woman opposite frowned. That was that man who had just moved next door to Dora Bates. He looked a bit of a scruff, she thought to herself, disapprovingly.

‘She was a friend of my mum’s, the woman that died,’ said Dora.

‘Oh really!?’ exclaimed Harry.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Jenny Riley. Met her a few times, when I was young. She and Mum were at school, together. Hadn’t seen her in years, though. I feel terrible about what’s happened.’

‘I bet you do,’ said Harry, nodding sympathetically. He glanced to his right, at the approach of a tall man in mirror glasses-and stepped forward to allow the man to pass.

‘Makes me feel unsafe, living on my own,’ continued Dora. ‘I’ve been on my own for three years, since my Ted died, but I’ve never felt unsafe-‘til now. I reckon I should invest in a burglar alarm and a chain for my front door.’ The tall man was passing by Harry, at this moment, and, for a moment, seemed to pause and half-look back. Removing the cigarette from his mouth, he quickly ground it underfoot, before continuing on his way.

‘I think that would be a very good idea,’ said Harry. ‘Always remember, though, I’m just next door. If you need help, of any sort, you just shout out. I’ll be there like a shot. They don’t call me Helpful Harry for nothing!’ Dora laughed.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Your mum always told about that nickname, when it was her living next door. Helpful Harry! She says they called you that since you were a kid!’

‘That’s right,’ said Harry, with a grin. ‘I’ve always loved helpin’ people, however I can. I did it in the scouts, did chores for the neighbours, sorted things out for me friends. Of course, now I’ve retired from full-time work, I’ve even more time to do it. Remember, I’m an ex-handyman and all round DIY expert. Anything you need doin’, just give me a call!’

‘Well, you’re already doing one of them, this afternoon,’ said Dora, cheerfully. ‘It’s so nice of you to agree to house-sit for Tom,’ she indicated the black cat, sitting nearby, ‘ while I go and visit my brother, this weekend. Of course, my daughter will be able to take over tomorrow. But it’s her turn to work Saturdays, so she’s got work until late tonight-her factory are real slave drivers, you know. So it’s very helpful, what you’re going to do.’

‘Well, as you know, that’s what they call me-Helpful Harry!’ he said, with a smile and little wink.

‘Oh dear!’ said Dora. ‘We’re being spied on!’ She nodded towards the house opposite. Harry turned, just in time to see the curtains closing.

‘That’s Barbara Keene,’ said Dora. ‘She’s a right nosy parker, and a malicious gossip, too. Beware of her!’

‘Okay!’ said Harry, with a little laugh. ‘See you a bit later!’ He moved onto the next house-his own. He was about to pass through his own gate, when he gave a quick glance to his left. The very tall man who had just passed could be seen, at the far end of the street, chatting to another elderly woman, wearing glasses, over a violet gate. As he watched, he saw the woman beckon the man through a gate, and then lead the way out of sight, down their front path. Thinking no more of it, Harry headed down his own drive.

‘Isn’t it a hot day!?’ the old woman with spectacles was saying, as the tall man accompanied her into her kitchen.

‘It certainly is,’ said the tall man, in a very deep resonant voice.

‘I’d just boiled the kettle for a coffee, so I thought I might as well make a drink for you as well,’ she said, switching on the recently-heated electric kettle, as she found another mug, and added a teaspoon of coffee, then milk, from a carton. Nearby, another steaming mug stood, already filled.

‘You don’t have sugar, do you?’ said the woman. ‘No, I remember, you don’t-do you.’ As the kettle quickly boiled once more, the woman filled the other cup, and gave it to the man, the diamond ring on her finger sparkling, as she did so. The man followed her into her front room, taking a seat beside her, on the settee, and stretching one arm out casually, along the arm rest

‘No luck with your search, yet?’ asked the lady.

‘Not yet,’ said the man, sipping his coffee.

‘Not too warm, is it?’ asked the bespectacled woman. The man shook his head, as his eyes rested for a moment on the antique Georgian clock, on the mantelpiece. Beside it, sat a birthday card, open to reveal, ‘To great-aunt Philomena’ written above the printed HAPPY BIRTHDAY inscription. Below this, was written, simply, ‘Sally.’ Philomena followed the man’s gaze, and looked at the card.

‘Oh, silly me!’ she exclaimed. ‘Still haven’t tidied that away! Nearly a week since my birthday, too! I’m getting very forgetful, in my old age. I reckon my family will be putting me away in a home, and taking my money, next!’

‘I doubt they’ll do that,’ said the man, quietly. ‘I doubt they’ll have the chance.’

‘I’m sure you’d never permit that, I mean,’ he added, with a thin smile, as Philomena looked at him.

‘Over my dead body!’ said Philomena, with an answering smile. ‘Dear Sally,’ Philomena continued. ‘Doesn’t seem five minutes since she was born. Can’t believe she’s twenty-four, now. She got me this, for my birthday, you know,’ Philomena fingered the pearl necklace around her neck, below which a small gem-encrusted broach could be seen, hung round her neck.

‘Yet another thing for my jewellery box,’ said Philomena, indicating the small wooden box that sat at the edge of the mantelpiece.

‘So, how was your aunt, then?’ she asked.

‘Ah, very well, thank you,’ said the man.

‘She so lucky to have a nephew like you, to look out for her, in her old age. You say no one else in the family bothers with her?’

‘Sadly not,’ said the man, sipping his coffee.

‘Sad indeed,’ said Philomena, thoughtfully.

‘The curse of the Blacks,’ said the man. ‘She says that’s what it is. She and I are the only ones of the family left in the strand surnamed ‘Black,’ now. She says nothing but darkness can come of such a surname.’ Philomena laughed.

‘Oh, I think it has a lot of character, the surname “Black”-better than Smith. You couldn’t have a more ordinary name than that! If my late husband hadn’t been such an exceptional man in other ways, I could never have married someone who sounded so ordinary as John Smith. When did you get back from Aunt Black’s?’

‘Yesterday morning,’ said Mr Black.

‘Of course, while you were gone, the news broke about this terrible murder, in the next town.’ She held up the Duxley Express.

‘There saying they think it may have been someone she knew, since there was no sign of forced entry,’ said Philomena. ‘Makes you wonder just who you can trust, nowadays.’

‘Indeed,’ said Mr Black, staring thoughtfully at the expensive looking new large flat-screen television nearby. So preoccupied did he seem, he did not register the figure of Harry, walking past their window, holding a bulging leather bag.

Trust me to forget I was out of milk, thought Harry, as he turned down a narrow alley, that led off the bottom of the street. He could have got some while getting the paper just now. Never mind, he’d get some, on the way to where he was off now.

Passing down the alley, he emerged, at the other end, into the recreation ground. The shops were just a walk away, past the far end of the grounds. As he walked down the footpath, he paid little heed to the group of three children, standing around the bottom of a large tree. As he drew level, though, he suddenly heard the sound of a cat meowing.

‘Ahh, look, it’s frightened!’ said the tallest of the three children, a girl of about eleven, with long blond hair.

‘What’s going on?’ said Harry, stopping by the children.

‘That cat’s stuck up the tree!’ said another of the trio, a smaller girl with shorter blond hair, aged about nine, pointing above. Looking up, Harry made out, through the leaves, a small tortoiseshell cat, that looked down at him, and mewed, from one of the branches.

‘Yeah,’ said the smallest of them, a blond boy of about seven. ‘I wish someone would get it down.’

Harry looked around. Nearby, along the edge of the footpath, was a public seat. Beside it, was a metal waste bin mounted on a square base.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Harry. As the children watched, he headed over to the waste bin. Inside, a black bin liner was full nearly to the brim, with a couple of wasps hovering menacingly about. Ignoring the buzzing insects, Harry put down the leather bag he was carrying, then seized the edges of the bin liner, and, with a little effort, managed to draw the bag out of the bin. Knotting the top of the bag, so the contents did not spill out, Harry put the bin bag down on the seat, then dragged the empty bin, stone base and all, towards the base of the tree, where he laid it on its side. As the children watched in fascination, he stood on the side of the bin. Below the branches above, were two branches without leafs, about level along the bough, at about forty-five degrees to one another. Standing on the bin, Harry was just able to grab hold of one of the branches.

‘Grab the bottom of my legs-one of you get each leg!’ he called, to the children below. The two girls obeyed, while the small boy stood watching, with interest.

‘Now pull me back, as far as you can go!’ said Harry. ‘Make sure you keep tight hold of my legs!’ The two obeyed, lifting Harry’s feet off the bin, and pulling him as far back as they could, while he clung onto the branch.

‘Is that as far back as you can manage?’ called Harry. The two girls gave cries of assent.

‘Alright, you-the boy-push the bin out of the way!’ called Harry. The small boy stepped forward, and managed to push the bin a little to an angle.

‘Right then, you-the two girls-let go of my feet!’ cried Harry. The two girls did as they were told-and Harry swung forward, still clinging onto the branch, and kicking his feet forward, to create momentum . His toes just missed the branch just opposite, and his body swung back and up. As he came forward again, he kicked out once more. This time his legs rose enough for him to wrap his feet around the branch nearby. Breathing heavily, he hung in that position a moment, and turned his face upward-then reached towards the edge of a thicker branch a little further up, with his right hand. From where he was, he was just able to get his hand around the top of this branch above. Yanking on the branch, he was able to gain leverage to pull his upper body upward, while he let go of the first branch he had held, with his left hand. Pulling himself upwards, he groped with his left hand, towards another branch still further up-and finally managed to get hold of it, before transferring his right hand there, as well.

As the three children below watched, Harry pulled himself steadily upward, and, in another few moments, was sitting on the branch that he had grasped while standing on the bin. He pulled one of his legs up, until his foot was actually resting on the branch, then used it to push his body upward, dragging his other foot behind him. The next moment, he was standing on the branch with both feet. By now, his head was nearly opposite the trapped cat, on a branch nearby. Releasing the branches he was holding, he trusted wholly to his balance, while he reached out towards the cat, which came towards him, meowing again. He gave the cat a quick little stroke, to try and calm it-then suddenly, nearly wobbled and lost his footing, on the branch! Regaining his balance, and composure, he stroked the cat again-then seized it in both hands, and quickly dropped it, head first, down the side of the trunk, and watched, as it landed, feet first, on the ground below, to cheers from the three children.

The freed cat sped quickly away, across the grounds, and, as it did so, Harry struggled back down, until he was again sitting on the branch he had grasped while standing on the bin, near where the branch intersected the bough. Once in this position, he leaned over to one side, and grabbed the thinner edge of the branch.

‘Push the bin beneath the branch again!’ he called. The three children obeyed, and, once he saw the bin was in place, Harry rolled a little-then let himself fall over the side of the branch, still clinging near the end with both hands. His feet waved in the air, for a moment. Then, stretching his toes down, he managed to get them in place, on the side of the bin. Letting go of the branch, he dropped down onto the metal bin, and wobbled precariously for a moment, before jumping off, stumbling forward and almost overbalancing.

‘Whew!’ he said. ‘Job done! Now where’s that cat gone!?’

‘It ran off,’ said the younger girl.

‘Thanks for helping it!’ said the taller girl.

‘No problem, at all!’ said Harry. ‘I’m not called Helpful Harry for nothing!’ The children smiled, and Henry dragged the bin back into place, by the chair, then replaced the bin bag inside it, unknotting the top once more. Then, picking up his leather bag, he continued on his way once more, down the path, soon reaching the metal fence of the recreation ground, through which he passed, via a gate.

Passing down the street, he soon found himself by a terrace of shops. One of them was a DIY, tool and hardware store. That must be the shop where that nice man he had chatted to at church last Sunday worked. However, it was not that shop he wanted now. Harry’s eyes moved to the left, past a small space, beside the hardware shop, where an old Volkswagen van was parked. To the left of this was the small supermarket which Harry now sought. Heading to the shop, Harry went in, got a basket and got the milk he was looking for.

‘Ah, Helpful Harry, isn’t it!?’ said the woman on the counter, recalling Harry from his last visit, when they had chatted. ‘You look happy!’

‘Do I?’ said Harry, unaware that he had been smiling to himself. ‘Well, I suppose that’s just because I’ve done my first of five!’

‘First of five?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘You see, I’ve moved about quite a bit, in my life, and, you know, I never truly feel like I’ve settled down somewhere new, until I’ve managed to do five acts of kindness or assistance for people, where I am. I’ve been in town two weeks, and just managed to do my first helpful act, just now.’ He described the incident involving the cat, and then the conversation turned to Denby town, some way away, in the county, where the woman on the counter had family, and where Harry had lived, previously.

‘Yes,’ Harry was saying, at last. ‘I spent five years in Denby, before Mum died, and I inherited her place. Prior to that I spent five years in Allesby. Before that, I was in Barr Crotchford.’

‘Allesby’s a nice place. Barr Crotchford isn’t somewhere I’ve actually visited.’ said the shop assistant. ‘Of course, it’s notorious, though, for what’s there.’

‘Of course,’ said Harry. ‘Well, anyway, I must be running along. I have a little errand to perform this afternoon.’ Having paid for his goods, he took his leave of the shop assistant, and left the shop. At a bus stop nearby, a bus was standing, as the driver took money from a passenger.

‘Number eleven,’ said Harry, reading the bus’s number. ‘Just the one I need!’ Running over to the bus, Harry mounted the steps.

‘Smith Street, please,’ said Harry, offering some money. Taking his change and ticket, Harry sat down, with the bulging leather bag. The bus set off, and, a moment later, passed by the far end of Harry’s own street. As it did so, Harry took in, for a moment, a bright violet gate, in front of a house. A few moments after the bus had passed, a very tall figure, with mirrored glasses, strode slowly down the path behind the gate, and opened it, before striding casually out and turning towards the road Harry’s bus had just passed down. A minute later, an elderly man came down the path of the of the neighbouring house, opening his gate, then letting himself into the violet gate, before striding up the path, to rang the doorbell of the front door.

The old man stood, humming casually. Philomena was in, he knew, for he had heard her speaking to someone as she entered the house not long ago, and had seen the gentleman concerned leaving the front gate alone, just now. Presently, the tune the old man was humming faded, and he shifted footing a little impatiently, before ringing the bell again, and waiting.

There was no answer-and no sound from the house inside.