1980s and early 1990s, made in Australia, and preceded by a jingle of unparalleled banality. The programme had apparently had a huge following when first shown on the old-type television sets and now, adapted for the modem high-definition sets, was enjoying a revival, becoming indeed something of a cult. The reason was obvious. The stories, set in a remote, sun-warmed suburb, evoked a nostalgic longing for a make-believe world of innocence and hope. But, above all, they were about the young. The insubstantial but glowing images of young faces, young limbs, the sound of young voices, created the illusion that somewhere under an antipodean sky this comforting, youthful world still existed and could be entered at will. In the same spirit and from the same need, people bought videos of childbirth, or nursery rhymes and old television programmes for the young, The Flower-Pot Men, Blue Peter.
He rang the doorbell and waited. After dark he guessed they would answer the ring together. Through the insubstantial wood he could hear the shuffle of feet and then the grating of the bolts. The door opened on the chain and through the inch gap he could see that the couple were older than he had expected. A pair of rheumy eyes, more suspicious than anxious, looked into his.
The man’s voice was unexpectedly sharp. “What do you want?”
Theo guessed that his quiet, educated voice would be reassuring. He said: “I’m from the Local Council. We’re doing a survey into people’s hobbies and interests. I have a form for you to fill in. It won’t take a moment. It has to be done now.”
The man hesitated, then took off the chain. With one swift shove Theo was inside, his back against the door, the revolver in his hand. Before they could speak or scream he said: “It’s all right. You’re in no danger. I’m not going to hurt you. Keep quiet, do what I say, and you’ll be safe.”
The woman had started a violent trembling, clutching at her husband’s arm. She was very frail, small-boned, her fawn cardigan drooping from shoulders which looked too brittle to bear the weight.
Theo looked into her eyes, holding her gaze of bewildered terror, and said, with all the persuasion he could command: “I’m not a criminal. I need help. I need the use of your car, food and drink. You have a car?”
The man nodded.
Theo went on: “What make?”
“A Citizen.” The people’s car, cheap to buy and economical to run. They were all ten years old now, but they had been well built, and were reliable. It could have been worse.
“Is there petrol in the tank?”
The man nodded again.
Theo said: “Roadworthy?”
“Oh yes, I’m particular about the car.”
“Right. Now I want you upstairs.”
The order terrified them. What did they suppose, that he planned to butcher them in their own bedroom?
The man pleaded: “Don’t kill me. I’m all she’s got. She’s ill. Heart. If I go it will be the Quietus for her.”
“No one’s going to harm you. There will be no Quietus.” He repeated violently: “No Quietus!”
They climbed slowly, step by step, the woman still clutching her husband.
Upstairs a quick glance showed that the plan of the house was simple. At the front was the main bedroom and, opposite it, the bathroom, with a separate lavatory next door. To the rear were two smaller bedrooms. With the gun he motioned them into the bigger of the two back bedrooms. There was a single bed and, stripping back the counterpane, he saw that it was made up.
He said to the man: “Tear the sheets into strips.”
The man took them in his gnarled hands and made an ineffectual attempt to rip the cotton. But the top hem was too strong for him.
Theo said impatiently: “We need scissors. Where are they?”
It was the woman who spoke: “In the front room. On my dressing table.”
“Please fetch them.”
She tottered stiffly out and was back in a few seconds with a pair of nail scissors. They were small but adequate. But it would waste precious minutes if he left the task to the old man’s trembling hands.
He said harshly: “Stand back, both of you, side by side, against the wall.”
They obeyed, and he faced them with the bed between them, the gun placed close to his right hand. Then he began tearing up the sheets. The noise seemed unusually loud. He seemed to be ripping apart the air, the very fabric of the house. When he had finished he said to the woman: “Come and lie on the bed.”
She glanced at her husband as if asking for his permission and he gave a quick nod.
“Do what he says, dear.”
She had some difficulty in getting on to the bed and Theo had to lift her. Her body was extraordinarily light and his hand under her thigh swung her upwards so quickly that she was in danger of being propelled over the bed on to the floor. After taking off her shoes, he bound her ankles strongly together, then tied her hands behind her back.
He said: “Are you all right?”
She gave a little nod. The bed was narrow and he wondered if there would be room for the man beside her, but the husband, sensing what was in his mind, said quickly: “Don’t part us. Don’t make me go next door. Don’t shoot me.”
Theo said impatiently: “I’m not going to shoot you. The gun isn’t even loaded.” The lie was safe enough now. The gun had served its purpose.
He said curtly: “Lie down beside her.”
There was room, but only just. He tied the man’s hands behind his back, then bound his ankles and, with a final strip of the cotton, bound their legs together. They lay both on their right sides, fitted closely together. He couldn’t believe that their arms were comfortable, wrenched as they were behind their backs, but had not dared to tie them in front of the body in case the man used his teeth to break free.
He said: “Where are the keys to the garage and the car?”
The man whispered: “In the bureau in the sitting-room. The top drawer, on the right.”
He left them. The keys were easily found. Then he went back to the bedroom. “I’ll need a large suitcase. Have you one?”
It was the woman who answered: “Under the bed.”
He dragged it out. It was large but light, made only of cardboard reinforced at the corners. He wondered whether the remnants of torn sheet were worth taking. While he was hesitating, holding them in his hand, the man said: “Please don’t gag us. We won’t call out, I promise. Please don’t gag us. My wife won’t be able to breathe.”
Theo said: “I’ll have to notify someone that you’re tied up here. I can’t do that for at least twelve hours, but I will do it. Are you expecting anyone?”
The man, not looking at him, said: “Mrs. Collins, our home help, will be here at half past seven tomorrow. She comes early because she has another morning job after us.”
“Has she a key?”
“Yes, she always has a key.”
“No one else is expected? No member of the family, for example?”
