Fic: Burning Issues (Part 7)
Title: Burning Issues (Part 7)
Author: Lesley Mitchell (kjaneway)
Rating: 12-ish, currently.
Disclaimer: Clearly, I don't own these characters, or there would have been a damned sight more than 12 episodes and a good deal less Sullivan snogging.
Notes: Back in the mists of time... or, at least, at the beginning of the year, I started writing an epic (for me) piece of Ash/Scribbs. Then I got a shoddy job that took large chunks of my time and pretty much all of my creativity.
I finally got rid of that job and though my new one is much harder work, recently, my muse has consented to consider talking to me, again.
So, I can finally present part 7 of this, er... thing.
I can't promise regular updates, which I know is annoying, but I'm definitely aiming for part 8 to be ready in much less than the 7 months, this one has taken.
Recap:
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/21615.html#cutid1
Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/21929.html#cutid1
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/22135.html#cutid1
Part 4: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/23657.html#cutid1
Part 5: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/27634.html#cutid1
Part 6: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/32065.html#cutid1
"So, Ms..."
"Please, dear, call me Evey. Everybody does."
"Evey," Scribbs started again.
The three women were seated around the coffee table. Ash and Scribbs had both been provided with bucket sized mugs of tea by their interviewee on which they were gratefully warming their hands.
"You've come to ask me about the Withingtons. You'll want to know if I know anything about them, and whether I saw anything on the night. it happened."
Sometimes, Ash mused, the vast number of dreadful detective shows on TV did actually make their lives just a little bit easier.
"Anything at all that you can tell us would be helpful, Ms... Evey."
"Well, dear. There's so much, where shall I begin? Ah, yes. Have you found Hugo's car, yet?"
ooooo
It seemed that Evey Carter was a fount of knowledge regarding Windmill Close. Age and infirmity had won out against her considerable will to make her a homebody, and she took comfort, and more than a little vicarious pleasure, from watching the daily comings and goings of her neighbours.
"It's much better than all that rubbish on television, you know," she'd confided.
Unlike some of their more modern neighbours, Evey had explained, Judith and Hugo Withington had still been living the suburban dream. He went to work every day, in a spotless shirt and tie, driving away around 8am, while Judith waved from the porch. He would be home, every night, before 6pm, without fail. While he was away, Judith's days were filled by tending the garden, looking after the house, shopping, and occasional lunches with friends.
She believed, apparently from observing the patterns of lighting in the house, that, on normal days, dinner was served at 7pm sharp. After the table was tidied, the couple would spend an hour or so with some light entertainment in the front room, before Judith retired to her room, and her light would always be out before 11pm Hugo, however, could sometimes be seen sitting up into the
night watching television.
Occasionally, the couple held small dinner parties, including one or more of the other couples from the close. On these evenings, dinner was held up until 7.30pm, to allow for drinks and mingling before hand. At weekends, Hugo usually spent at least some time playing golf, and some time in the workshop he had installed in the garage. When he was at home, his car, the couple's only vehicle, usually remained parked on the driveway.
The only chink in the perfect façade had been the stand up argument, that Evey had witnessed one weekend, around a month previously. Hugo had stormed out of the house with his golf clubs, followed by a near hysterical Judith, her usually perfect hair in disarray. She had screamed at him, that if he had really loved her, he would have let Them take them both, years ago, before it
had got too late. Unusually, he had dropped his precious clubs in the middle of the driveway, and answered her in equally emotional tones, that she had wasted her life on stupid stories from mentally disturbed people until she'd shrivelled up inside. Then he had snatched up his golf bag and left, not returning, equally unusually, until after Judith had retired for the night.
Evey had not seen them at all the following day, but by the Monday, normality had returned and the perfect little housewife kissed her husband at the door and waved him off to work, as if nothing had happened.
ooooo
"So, sir, there's nothing to suggest that Judith Withington is leaving the house at all, at night," reported Ash. "They appear to have something close to the perfect marriage, despite the separate sleeping arrangements. The only lead at the moment appears to be Hugo Withington's missing vehicle."
"I'll get uniform to look into it. Do we know where Mr. Withington played golf?"
"No, boss. And we could do with taking a look around in the garage, too."
"Right. Well, I'm told that Mrs. Withington is being allowed home, tomorrow, so you should be able to find out from her about the golf club and the garage."
"Yes, boss."
ooooo
"Stop pouting."
Ash stopped trying to remove long ginger cat hairs from her charcoal grey suit and looked up at Scribbs.
"I do not pout."
"Yes, you do. You're doing it right now."
"This is a look of intense concentration."
"You don't want to have to talk to Judith Withington, again."
There was a pause.
"Well... the woman is clearly insane. I wouldn't put it past her to have torched her husband in some twisted attempt to prove the existence of extra-terrestrial life."
"I think she's pretty harmless."
Ash snorted softly, "You would."
"And what's that supposed to mean? Do you think I'm crazy, too? Just because I'm not so closed to the possibility that there's more to the universe that we can see on this little planet of ours. Should I be locked up in Sunshine Ward, too?"
Her voice had risen with every sentence, until the last one had been delivered at a near shriek. In the stony silence that fell over the room following this pronouncement, Scribbs had turned on her heal and departed, leaving a white faced, open mouthed Ash struggling to work out what had just happened.
Author: Lesley Mitchell (kjaneway)
Rating: 12-ish, currently.
Disclaimer: Clearly, I don't own these characters, or there would have been a damned sight more than 12 episodes and a good deal less Sullivan snogging.
Notes: Back in the mists of time... or, at least, at the beginning of the year, I started writing an epic (for me) piece of Ash/Scribbs. Then I got a shoddy job that took large chunks of my time and pretty much all of my creativity.
I finally got rid of that job and though my new one is much harder work, recently, my muse has consented to consider talking to me, again.
So, I can finally present part 7 of this, er... thing.
I can't promise regular updates, which I know is annoying, but I'm definitely aiming for part 8 to be ready in much less than the 7 months, this one has taken.
Recap:
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/21615.html#cutid1
Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/21929.html#cutid1
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/22135.html#cutid1
Part 4: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/23657.html#cutid1
Part 5: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/27634.html#cutid1
Part 6: http://community.livejournal.com/ashscribbs/32065.html#cutid1
"So, Ms..."
"Please, dear, call me Evey. Everybody does."
"Evey," Scribbs started again.
The three women were seated around the coffee table. Ash and Scribbs had both been provided with bucket sized mugs of tea by their interviewee on which they were gratefully warming their hands.
"You've come to ask me about the Withingtons. You'll want to know if I know anything about them, and whether I saw anything on the night. it happened."
Sometimes, Ash mused, the vast number of dreadful detective shows on TV did actually make their lives just a little bit easier.
"Anything at all that you can tell us would be helpful, Ms... Evey."
"Well, dear. There's so much, where shall I begin? Ah, yes. Have you found Hugo's car, yet?"
ooooo
It seemed that Evey Carter was a fount of knowledge regarding Windmill Close. Age and infirmity had won out against her considerable will to make her a homebody, and she took comfort, and more than a little vicarious pleasure, from watching the daily comings and goings of her neighbours.
"It's much better than all that rubbish on television, you know," she'd confided.
Unlike some of their more modern neighbours, Evey had explained, Judith and Hugo Withington had still been living the suburban dream. He went to work every day, in a spotless shirt and tie, driving away around 8am, while Judith waved from the porch. He would be home, every night, before 6pm, without fail. While he was away, Judith's days were filled by tending the garden, looking after the house, shopping, and occasional lunches with friends.
She believed, apparently from observing the patterns of lighting in the house, that, on normal days, dinner was served at 7pm sharp. After the table was tidied, the couple would spend an hour or so with some light entertainment in the front room, before Judith retired to her room, and her light would always be out before 11pm Hugo, however, could sometimes be seen sitting up into the
night watching television.
Occasionally, the couple held small dinner parties, including one or more of the other couples from the close. On these evenings, dinner was held up until 7.30pm, to allow for drinks and mingling before hand. At weekends, Hugo usually spent at least some time playing golf, and some time in the workshop he had installed in the garage. When he was at home, his car, the couple's only vehicle, usually remained parked on the driveway.
The only chink in the perfect façade had been the stand up argument, that Evey had witnessed one weekend, around a month previously. Hugo had stormed out of the house with his golf clubs, followed by a near hysterical Judith, her usually perfect hair in disarray. She had screamed at him, that if he had really loved her, he would have let Them take them both, years ago, before it
had got too late. Unusually, he had dropped his precious clubs in the middle of the driveway, and answered her in equally emotional tones, that she had wasted her life on stupid stories from mentally disturbed people until she'd shrivelled up inside. Then he had snatched up his golf bag and left, not returning, equally unusually, until after Judith had retired for the night.
Evey had not seen them at all the following day, but by the Monday, normality had returned and the perfect little housewife kissed her husband at the door and waved him off to work, as if nothing had happened.
ooooo
"So, sir, there's nothing to suggest that Judith Withington is leaving the house at all, at night," reported Ash. "They appear to have something close to the perfect marriage, despite the separate sleeping arrangements. The only lead at the moment appears to be Hugo Withington's missing vehicle."
"I'll get uniform to look into it. Do we know where Mr. Withington played golf?"
"No, boss. And we could do with taking a look around in the garage, too."
"Right. Well, I'm told that Mrs. Withington is being allowed home, tomorrow, so you should be able to find out from her about the golf club and the garage."
"Yes, boss."
ooooo
"Stop pouting."
Ash stopped trying to remove long ginger cat hairs from her charcoal grey suit and looked up at Scribbs.
"I do not pout."
"Yes, you do. You're doing it right now."
"This is a look of intense concentration."
"You don't want to have to talk to Judith Withington, again."
There was a pause.
"Well... the woman is clearly insane. I wouldn't put it past her to have torched her husband in some twisted attempt to prove the existence of extra-terrestrial life."
"I think she's pretty harmless."
Ash snorted softly, "You would."
"And what's that supposed to mean? Do you think I'm crazy, too? Just because I'm not so closed to the possibility that there's more to the universe that we can see on this little planet of ours. Should I be locked up in Sunshine Ward, too?"
Her voice had risen with every sentence, until the last one had been delivered at a near shriek. In the stony silence that fell over the room following this pronouncement, Scribbs had turned on her heal and departed, leaving a white faced, open mouthed Ash struggling to work out what had just happened.