The Pope of Upper Park Street

Chapter 1

The Bequest

Upper Park Avenue, a suburban cul-de-sac and the last street east of Fenton, jutted suspiciously into the farmland which stretched all the way to the nearest city, which wasn’t near at all. The road ran past a few detached houses before it split in two and circled round a wide grassy park, forming a chevron point at the opposite side.

It was at this point that Miles Sawyer stood, surveying the four stacks of logs that had been delivered overnight, his hair dark as the exposed grain and hands as rough the bark. The towers of lumber were draped in tarpaulin. The light morning rain falling on them sent out a faint smell, somewhere between creosote and formaldehyde. He recognised the woods from their grain: cedar, maple and rosewood.

He pulled the letter out of the pocket of his canvas apron, reading it one more time as the rain began to die down. He had no idea who Robert Osborne was, why he had been remembered in his will or why he’d been left such an odd bequest: as the letter from the lawyer confirmed – four stacks of top quality, seasoned lumber.

‘What are we going to do with all this, Mouse?’

The younger man shrugged, even this slight movement caused his thin hair to bounce at his shoulders. Along with Miles he’d just left the workshop – the rain making a light porridge of the dust on their overalls.

‘It’s a gift, no doubt about that. Enough to supply us for a couple of years I’d say.’ The first hint of a smile branched across his face.

‘Can’t be leaving it here.’ Mouse was looking rapidly from side to side, trying to spot the first hint of trouble. His neck grew an inch; his beady eyes pulled his head towards the President of the Upper Park Avenue Residents' Committee, wearing a black suit and stern look and walking over to them at a fast pace. ‘Mr Fraser is coming over.’

Miles looked on at the wood like it was an art installation, giving Don Fraser no greeting, even as he stood beside him.

Mouse began to imitate an inspection of the wood, slowly edging round the stacks, putting distance between Don and himself.

‘Good Morning, Miles.’

It took Don’s direct greeting for Miles to acknowledge him. ‘Good morning.’

‘Mouse.’ Don gave the slightest nod as he said it.

Mouse mumbled something of a nervous Hello.

‘What’s all this then?’

Miles took a second to carefully consider his answer. Initially he wanted to say – a few piles of wood, but even though he didn’t share most of the local residents’ fear of Don Fraser, such an impertinent answer for nothing more than point scoring seemed a little reckless. However, if Don thought he would give way, especially in front of his son, he was wasting his time. ‘Believe it or not, it’s a bequest.’

‘How odd.’

‘Odder still that I’ve no idea who the man was.’ Miles handed Don the letter – kill them with kindness, it usually never failed to work.

‘Robert Osborne. I’ve never heard of him. Perhaps he played one of your fine instruments?’

‘That would be my guess.’

‘But musicians, generally speaking, have an excellent sense of timing.’ There it was, the first hint of aggression in Don’s voice.

Mouse squeaked.

‘So let me guess, you have problem?’

‘Not so much for me – this wood gives the street a kind of rustic charm.’ There was something about the way Don said rustic that made it a pejorative. ‘Surely you know that Jonathon is coming home tonight. The street party has been planned for months and announced very clearly on the notice board. The marquee must be up by this afternoon so the ladies can get all the work done. I’m afraid this is all going to have to be moved.’

‘You know I haven’t the room in my yard. I could take in maybe one pile, two if I choked up the works for tonight, but it would have to be back out here tomorrow. We could do that, right Mouse?’

Mouse nodded and looked pleadingly at Don.

‘Just because your family has been here for a few generations,’ said Don, ‘it doesn’t give you special privileges. The park is common land, and not for private use.’

‘You’re right, of course, and that’s exactly what common land is for. My family have stored excess wood here in the past, long before you ever moved here, and though these days you get to choose who gets to buy a house here, you don’t have a say in who gets to stay once they’re in.’

‘But the Residents’ Committee...’

‘The Residents’ Committee doesn’t have any say over the common land.’

‘You just live to cause trouble, don’t you?’

‘I’ve told you before – I just want to be left alone. Of course I’ll be happy to see Jonathon, and Mouse will be happy to have his friend back. The both of us will even be at the party. But let’s not fool ourselves, all of this nonsense is just another excuse for you to try and get at me.’

‘I offered you a hand of friendship. You do nothing to earn the protection you and Mouse enjoy.’

‘I’ve seen what happens to your friends.’

Don glared at him then turned and walked away; Miles knew he’d never forget or forgive those words.

So that was the scene, as I found out later, so far away from me and yet moving steadily closer, as I packed the last of my belongings and headed for the train. I didn’t know about the party planned for me, but I knew I’d missed the road: the place where I’d grown up, the place that at one time I couldn’t wait to leave, and the place where, when I was only a boy, my father had been murdered.