Crime in the Community

Chapter 1 Petunias

Women were certainly allowed into the lounge bar of the Queen of Scots, in fact some would say the provision of tables and chairs actively encouraged them to come in. But Christopher knew that once ensconced they were expected to know their place, which was in the corner, wearing a woolly hat at all times regardless of the ambient temperature, and drinking a womanly drink such as Dubonnet and lemonade while not drawing attention to themselves in any way. However, there was still instinctive resistance to women with an aura of ownership of self and surroundings, who walked decisively up to the bar and ordered whisky and water, without the tiniest hesitation on the threshold to try and judge whether the atmosphere was hostile or welcoming.

And as for walking smoothly and lithely over to the chairman's table and speaking directly to him before the meeting even reached an appropriate hiatus -

'Is this the monthly meeting of the Pitkirtly Local Improvement Forum? PLIF?' enquired the intruder.

Christopher nodded.

'So, who exactly is part of the forum?' the red-haired newcomer pressed him. 'Is it everybody in the pub, or just the select few?'

'The meetings are open to everybody who lives in Pitkirtly,' said Christopher. 'But there's a steering group - I'm the chair at the moment.'

And had been the chair since the beginning of time, he didn't add. If she hung around for long enough, she would work it out for herself.

'I'm sorry,' he added, 'we're in the middle of an agenda item - you'll have to wait until we've finished and then raise whatever you want to say under AOCB.'

'Fine,' she said, sitting down at the next table with the air of someone who knew exactly what she wanted and was willing to wait indefinitely for it. Her hair stood up attentively in dark red spikes.

'So,' said Christopher, raising his voice. 'The next item - the allotments by the roadworks on the A90. Jock - you were looking into an application under the Sites of Special Scientific Interest scheme.'

'Bad news, I'm afraid, Chris,' said Jock, beaming with satisfaction. 'The scheme's past its closing date for this year.'

'I'm not very pleased about that, Jock. In fact, I'm seriously displeased. I understood we had plenty of time to apply.'

'We would have done, Chris.' Jock nodded politely towards the newcomer in a way that made Christopher, who had always hated being called Chris, want even more than ever to wring his neck. 'We would've done. But with me going to Canada for three weeks, there was an unavoidable delay....'

'Last year it was Thailand,' grumbled Christopher. 'Are you ever in this country for more than two weeks at a time?'

'I can only do what I can do,' said Jock. 'If you don't want me to get involved, fine. I've got plenty of other fish to fry.'

He stomped out of the bar.

'Are you short of a quorum now?' enquired the annoying woman. 'I could stand in.'

'No, we're not short of a quorum!' snapped Christopher. 'He's only off for a smoke.'

There was silence at the two tables, and a babble of inconsequential conversation from the rest of the bar. Actually, Christopher reflected crossly, not relishing the idea of 'his' organisation being scrutinised under the microscope of an outsider's gaze, the content of the meetings was often fairly inconsequential too.

'Is it time for AOCB yet?' asked the interloper.

Christopher resisted the urge to put his head in his hands.

'We can't proceed until Jock comes back.'

'Do you organise events too?'

'Events?'