It’s a Funny Place to Leave a Hammer.

They took a break after the third rubber. Miles was famished. Natalie required a top up. They went off to raid the kitchen whilst the other two had a cigarette on the back patio. Miles and Clifford were old pals from Cambridge. Natalie was Miles’ girl. The three of them had been meeting every Friday night for years to play bridge and bitch about the village’s other residents. Samantha was a blow in. She’d taken the cottage by the duck pond for the summer -something to do with writing a novel and not being able to concentrate in the city. A load of old tosh, thought Clifford, who’d been longing to move up to the city since the instant he turned sixteen. It was the anonymity which appealed to him. He could not, for the life of him, understand why anyone would choose to move to this godforsaken neck of the woods where everyone knew your business and there wasn’t even a cinema or a proper dance for miles and miles. Clifford had no choice. His mother lived here and as he’d not yet managed to acquire a profitable job or, for that matter, an unprofitable job, he was dependent upon her for both room and board.

Samantha wasn’t party to any of this information. When she’d met Clifford yesterday, on the green, in front of her cottage, he’d done his best to play the affable country gent. He found her rather pretty for a lady novelist and he was dreadfully bored. It had been three whole weeks since he last brought a girl to Friday night bridge. Clifford didn’t want to put Samantha off by letting her know he was still living off his mother’s pocketbook. In the ten minutes they’d stood there, making small talk in full view of the ducks, he managed to elicit that she was writing a book and owned her own flat and did not have a significant other. Samantha, learnt almost nothing about Clifford, save for the fact he looked rather dashing in his country tweeds and was lacking a fourth for Friday night bridge.

Natalie moved round the kitchen like she’d already taken full ownership of the place. The house belonged to Miles. In ten weeks’ time it would also be hers. She was already making changes in her head. It wasn’t just the kitchen she was redesigning. She was also intent upon making over Miles. The smoking would stop the instant she had a ring on his finger and the odd guffawing noise he made in lieu of laughter and the snacking. God almighty, the man never quit snacking! He was developing a double chin. Natalie would soon sort that out.

She glanced at her fiancé on the other side of the kitchen. Miles was up to his shoulders in the fridge again. His trousers now strained to cover his ever-expanding rump. “Good Lord,” he exclaimed, withdrawing sharply, “did you put this in here, Nat? It’s a funny place to leave a hammer.” Natalie stared at Miles and the huge claw hammer he was holding. “No,” she said wearily, “I didn’t leave a hammer in the fridge.” “Clifford’s, I suppose?” he suggested sheepishly. Miles looked at Natalie. Natalie looked at Miles. She loved him, she truly did, but she could see Clifford far enough, even if they were old roomies.

Tonight, it would be Samantha with a hammer in the kitchen. The weapon was already concealed and ready, hiding behind the margarine. Three weeks ago he’d gone for Cecily with a chisel in the cloakroom. Afterwards Miles had had to dry clean all his jackets. There’d been four girls already this year. Four different Friday nights ruined, for you could hardly pick up a game after Clifford had had his fun. There was the mess to sort out. And the body to dispose of. And, of course, the inconvenient fact that you couldn’t play bridge with the remaining three.

“You need to have a word with Clifford,” said Natalie. “He’s ruining Friday night bridge.” Miles said he would, definitely, absolutely have a very firm word with Clifford….tomorrow. He put the hammer back into the fridge and closed the door. “I’ve lost my appetite,” he said. Now, that wasn’t like Miles at all. Perhaps Clifford was beginning to get on his nerves too.

Inspired by a line from Agatha Christie’s 1941 novel, “N or M?”