An Accident Not Waiting Read online



  An Accident Not Waiting

  by Rose East

  Published by bogmoatBooks April 2013

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2013 Rose East

  AN ACCIDENT NOT WAITING

  A man in a dumper truck ran into the side of my house this morning, demolishing the entire corner. I wouldn’t mind but it was a new extension, finished just a month ago, and I had only just finished decorating and moving stuff in.

  That is not true, the bit about not minding - I don’t know why I said it, as I minded very much; but the rest, unfortunately, is true.

  When it happened I was in the kitchen eating cornflakes; the sun was streaming through the window, the delicious smell of coffee wafting from the pot, the cat purring on the windowsill, and I contemplating how lucky I was thus far in my life. I had a wonderful boyfriend, my own house which was bijou but nice, good friends, and my work, which I loved.

  Now you are thinking, and you are right in thinking it, that this is never a good thing to do. You know how it is, you sit there smugly thinking how marvellous it is to be you, then BAM! Everything goes to pot and your life becomes a tragedy. This is exactly what happened in my case. I was just raising another spoonful of the crackly cereal, my favourite that I love with ice-cold milk, when there was a terrific bang, and the house shook. I sat frozen with shock for a few moments, then rushed to the lounge – the direction of the bang, to look out of the window.

  What a mess. A huge yellow truck, made even more lethal by being half filled with sand and driven by an idiot, had hit the corner of my wall, knocking a sizeable chunk off. The driver had made things worse by reversing inexpertly, then driving forwards, and knocking more bricks down. I ran out and gestured speechlessly.

  The bloke finally got back on the road and stopped his vehicle.

  ‘Sorry luv,’ he said. ‘But it’s difficult to turn here, houses being so close together.

  ‘Of course they are close,’ I snapped. ‘This is a close, Cowslip Close to be exact, the clue is in the name.’ There was a pause, ‘Well, what are you going to do?’ I asked.

  He scratched his shaved head and shrugged. ‘I’ll need someone to tow it to a garage, see what the damage…’

  'Not your truck, my extension!’ Was he a complete imbecile? ‘Hey,’ I raised my voice. ‘I’m talking to you,’ as he wandered off.

  My name is Cyra O’Grady and I am an artist. When I was at school I used to feel sorry for other girls who wanted to be hairdressers or pop stars or financial consultants like that swotty Anthea Timms-Diggle, whom we all hated. However, I always knew what I would do with my life. I worked hard at Art College, did further study in Paris, and now at the age of twenty-three, already had three exhibitions, and found that my work sold well. I had sunk all my savings into this extension, a beautiful new studio, north-facing, with a skylight. When that it was finished, I will admit that here were a few things I would have done differently, but nothing to warrant knocking it down. Looking at it now, I wanted to cry, but there was no time. I phoned the police.

  ‘A man has demolished part of my house with his truck.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked a very annoyingly nasal female voice.

  ‘No I am not sure, I’m just a complete blathering idiot. Perhaps he was practicing the piano or reciting poetry, and I just mistook this for driving into a corner of my house.

  ‘There is no need to be sarcastic,’ she replied huffily.

  ‘I’ll stop being sarcastic if you stop being stupid,’ I said. 'A crime has been committed and I'm reporting it to you, the police, like you're supposed to do'

  'What crime is that?'

  'I've just told you, a man in a dumper truck ran into the side of my house and damaged it.'

  'When was this?'

  'Now, just now. Shouldn't you be sending someone round?'

  'That depends on the nature of the crime.'

  I was really getting sick of this woman. 'I would like to speak to someone else please, someone who is used to dealing with the public, and understands the concept of criminal damage. Not you, in other words.'

  There was a short silence, then some music, a tinny version of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik by Mozart, started.

  I tried the fire service.

  'Is anybody trapped inside?’ asked an officious male voice.

  ‘No, no one is in danger,' apart from the driver if I ever get hold of him, I thought. 'Just a corner is damaged, but I think, that the impact may have destabilized the structure.'

  ‘Then we cannot do anything. You’d be surprised how many frivolous calls we get these days concerning cats stuck in trees, and people who have locked themselves out of their cars.’

  ‘This is not frivolous,’ I was shouting again, well, you would in my place, wouldn't you. ‘My cat is an extremely intelligent animal and well able to descend as well as ascend trees. What I'm telling you is this, the side of my house is about to collapse.’

  There is no need to shout, I’m not deaf.’

  ‘You might as well be for all the use you’ve been.’

  No joy there then. I tried the Council.

  ‘If it is a road traffic accident, you need the police.’

  ‘It’s not a traffic accident, my house is stationary, the man ran into it. I was not driving it down the motorway.’

  ‘Some people do,’ he replied. 'Rather than buy a different home, they just re-locate the one they have, I’ve seen it on the telly. Huge great trucks travelling at about one mile per hour with an entire house on the back. Amazing. You'd think it would be easier to buy a similar one somewhere else rather than…'

  ‘Did I phone to ask you about your viewing habits?' I know it is rude to interrupt, but really!

  ‘Sorry?’ He said.

  ‘Can you help me or not?’ I was becoming exasperated.

  ‘What with, I’ve lost the thread now.’

  ‘You’ll lose a few teeth if I ever meet you.’ I muttered. I then tried some

  builders.

  ‘You need a vet, missus.’ said the first.

  ‘A vet?’

  ‘Yeah, if he’s run over your horse.’

  I tried a differently-abled builder who, if he had a hearing problem, had the sense to buy a hearing aid, and switch it on before answering the phone.

  ‘I can’t do anything until a structural engineer does a report.’ he said eventually after much tooth-sucking and tutting.

  I did not want vets, info on people's viewing habits, or structural engineer reports, I needed someone to help and advise me pronto, not some time in the far distant future. I kept hoping that I would wake up and find it was all a bad dream. But it wasn't. They never are.

  I suddenly had a brilliant idea. Friends. My friends will want to help. I was always there for them, and you know what they say, a friend in need etc.

  ‘Are you sure it’s that bad?’ asked Simon, my friend who I had helped recently with lifts, after his car was written off. ‘Perhaps the wall just needs re-pointing.’

  ‘Do you normally re-point walls prior to building them?’

  ‘Er…no.’

  ‘There you go then.’ There was a pause. 'Well?' I did not want to directly ask for help, to avoid rejection.

  'Yeah, I'm very well; avoided that nasty flu doing the rounds, but Rosa got it unfortunately, them Mikey. He had to have time off school and Rosa and I had a bit of a barney as to who should look after him.'

  'Did you.' I said, hoping I sounded ominous.

 
'Yeah, in the end, she walked out and I had a hell of a job persuading her to come back. I had to threaten to send Mikey to boarding school in the end. We're still not right. Perhaps we should try marriage counselling?'

  I tried Sue, an old school friend.

  'Darling,' she said in her breathless, gushing voice, 'how great to hear from you. So you've got a new extension, how super, you were always saying how you wanted somewhere more spacious and how the light was not good enough in your spare room. When was it finished? Are you having a studio warming party? Actually I'm really into fancy dress parties, there's an idea for you. I went to a dress as your favourite insect party last week, what a laugh. A wear only black party is always good; black is so flattering, especially when you look like Dimity Flounderwick, remember her?. Gosh is that the time, must dash, love to whatsisname, see you soon. Byeee.'

  I tried Nigel. I don't know why.

  'Oh, how awful,' he said utilising his best sympathetic voice. 'What an utterly ghastly thing to happen, how can you bear it? I wouldn't be able to bear it, not with my nerves.'

  'I just need some help, Nigel, I've had no joy with the Police or Fire Service.'

  'No, of course not, they're useless, and we pay our taxes, but where are they when we most need them. Remember when I phoned the Fire Service that time my kitchen caught fire?'

  'It was just a chip pan, Nigel, and I threw that fire blanket over it.'

  'I know, but you can't be too careful. I told them how terrible it was and that they should check just to make sure it wasn't about to start again, but they told me to go away and stop wasting their time. I'm getting upset just thinking about it. We could have been burned to death for all they cared.'

  'I'll have that bread-maker I lent you back, you've had it quite long enough.'Was all I said before ringing off.

  Two more friends of the fair weather variety later, found me at my wits end. I had tried shouting, insulting, sarcasm and tearing my hair out and my extension was still in danger of falling down. There was my boyfriend of course, but I hesitated before phoning, knowing I was setting myself up for disappointment and disillusionment. In the end I phoned out of sheer desperation. He was not at home so I tried his mobile. Just when I was about to give up, he answered.

  'Cyra, hallo.' He sounded odd, a bit strained.

  'Thomas, it's me, I need your help. My house is damaged, and in danger or falling down; I'm all right but nobody seems capable of helping me.' I stopped suddenly and waited for the excuses.'

  'Oh you poor darling. I wish I could help…'

  'But you're painting your fence or about to take the dog for a walk.'

  'No, I'm…'

  'Too indolent and uninvolved.' I suggested.

  'Oh dear,' he said ruefully 'You are having a bad day.'

  'Well, what's your excuse?'

  I've been rushed to hospital with appendicitis actually. In fact, the anesthetist is, at this very moment, hovering above me with a needle. You can visit later if you don't believe me. Or I could send you a video of the event.'

  Many apologies and grovelling later, I sat down, deflated. What was I going to do? Should I do the rounds of the Police, Council and Fire Service again and hope for more luck second time around? Then I had a brainwave, thanks to Thomas.

  I got out my video camera and set it up on a tripod, pointed it at the extension and pressed record. Gradually bits fell off as the day progressed, just the odd brick at first, then a few roof tiles.

  ‘You want to get that seen to,’ said my neighbour, Bert.'

  ’Do you think so?’ I said. ‘Well I’d never thought of that.’

  Night fell and I changed the batteries and borrowed some spotlights, which I angled towards the extension, then went to bed. The next morning I continued videoing until the side of the house had completely collapsed.

  My problem is now resolved. I eventually found some sensible builders, and a solicitor to get compensation from the truck man. My new extension is even nicer, as I was able to make a few changes, and gracing one of my pristine new walls is a screen upon which can be watched my video installation entitled, ‘Nothing is Permanent but Woe’ which won this year's Turner Prize.

  I have started work on a new project now, one that will involve both moving and static images, and living subjects. I have not made a final decision on the title but it will be along the lines of 'Revenge and the Artist.'