by D. E. Harker
‘Una popped in for a coffee this morning and thought the television would look better on the other side of the fireplace so that meant we had to move the desk and then the settee looked all wrong!’
The room was in a shambles. I must say, I wish I’d been consulted about this and said as much to Julie but she only gave a short laugh.
Also, why didn’t Una stay and finish the job she’d started?
The whole evening was spent putting the room to rights. Trev and his friend Craig adding to the general chaos by having a game of cards in the middle of the floor. I’m still not at all sure that the room looks right, it looked better as it was before, but Julie seemed pleased with the final results.
Did a little gardening this afternoon. Some grass seed that I planted seems to be coming up well, except for a patch destroyed by the dog.
Julie babysat for Sue and Alan Uppe this evening. ‘I’ll take my knitting – it’ll be something to do with no television,’ she said. When she returned at 11.30, she remarked that she hadn’t had a minute to do any knitting as Justine, Jason and Cordelia had all been doing their homework and she had spent most of the time looking up words in their Encyclopaedia Britannicas and dictionaries.
‘Where did the Uppes go?’ I enquired.
‘They went out for a meal with the Price-Potters. It’s their wedding anniversary and they have found this fantastic new eating place called B & O on the Liverpool Road. It’s run by two chaps called Bertrand and Oliver and the food is apparently out of this world.’
‘Hmm, I expect the price is too,’ I said.
‘I thought we might take the Elkes there for a meal, if they can stay that long,’ Julie said.
‘What do you mean – if they can stay that long? I thought they were coming for the night.’
To say pandemonium broke loose is putting it mildly…
‘Staying the night!’ Julie shrieked. ‘Their letter never said anything about staying the night. Where is that letter?’ We spent half an hour looking for the letter – found eventually in Julie’s knitting bag. We read and re-read it, putting meanings into words probably never intended, and we went to bed at 12.30 in a somewhat worried frame of mind.
April 19th – Sunday
The Butts have just had a large load of manure delivered next door and the smell floated up to us through the open window as we lay chatting in bed this morning. I only hope it has been dispersed by tomorrow as it does nothing for the atmosphere of the neighbourhood.
We have decided to make up two single beds in our guest room and prepare everything as if the Elkes were coming to stay the night. This way we will feel more relaxed about the whole event.
‘We can take them out for a meal at that B & 0 place. Sue Uppe can babysit for us. I expect she’d be glad to have the night off from all that French and Latin etc.,’ I said, glad to have organised it all in my mind.
Something seemed to be bothering Julie at teatime and she suddenly announced, ‘I don’t think I like the settee where it is now – I think it looked better by the window.’ I congratulated myself on my restraint and bit back the remark that sprang to my lips.
It ended with us spending the better part of the evening trundling furniture round again. I was eventually rewarded by Julie remarking, ‘Yes, I told you it would look better like that.’ The room is now exactly as it was this time last week.
April 20th – Monday
Was quite glad to get back to the comparative peace and quiet of the office today. At least there is less actual physical work involved.
Still no news of P.H.’s plans after Avery’s departure. Although Brimcup says he was in the accounts office one day when “certain conversations” took place, whatever that may or may not mean.
I don’t know if it was meant as a joke or not but when I complained to Avery about the amount of ink he’d left on the roller towel, he said, with a meaningful look, ‘Keep your hair on.’ It touched me on a very sore spot and, to my annoyance, my hand automatically flew to the back of my head to smooth down my hair. Avery went out of the gents with the usual smirk on his face.
In the afternoon, I had an appointment at a nearby car factory and was able to get home in good time, only to find Julie in a “state”.
‘Sue can’t babysit tonight – they have to go to a function,’ she said.
‘We’ll have to ask Una then, and if she can’t come we’ll take Trev with us.’ No sooner had I finished saying this than there was a loud honking of a car horn outside.
‘It’s the Elkes!’ shouted Trev and ran out to greet them.
When we had all got our breath back, Joe said, ‘We had an awful job finding you in this neck of the woods. How do you like living in this part of the world?’ He made Weston sound like the Antarctic or somewhere equally remote.
‘We like it very much, don’t we, Julie?’ I replied, slightly on the defensive. ‘What will you have to drink, a sherry?’ I said this loudly as I saw that Julie was about to reach for the beetroot and parsnip.
‘Well, just a quickie,’ said Pam. ‘While we tell you all the Southmere news.’
So they were not staying the night after all. Julie and I exchanged a quick look.
We were just hearing about a case of suspected witchcraft in the road next to the Elkes, when there was a loud knock at the door. I went to see who it was and to my amazement there was a policeman standing there. I could sense Joe and Pam hanging on every word as he said, ‘Could I just have a word with you, sir?’ He came straight into the living room, ‘The fortnight is up.’
I must have looked blank. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.
‘The dog, sir, the dog.’ I still had no idea what he was talking about. He went out to the police car and, to my horror, was back in an instant with something that was all too familiar. ‘Nobody came to claim him,’ the policeman explained. ‘So he’s all yours.’ Trev hurled himself on the dog, who yelped with excitement.
I intercepted a look between the Elkes, who rose, while Joe said, ‘Well, I can see you’re busy and we must be wending our way.’
‘But you’ve only just come,’ I protested.
‘Well you know how it is,’ and he hissed at me as we went through the door, ‘Pam’s allergic to dogs.’ I had forgotten.
We passed by the manure heap, smelling as strongly as ever, and, to the accompaniment of dog howls, the Elkes promised to come and see us again some time.
April 21st – Tuesday
Butt was on the ‘phone at 6.30 am complaining of the noise coming from the garage, but I was quick to retort, ‘And what about that stinking manure, eh?’ and slammed down the phone.
I remarked to Julie over my boiled egg, ‘Do you know, the more Butt complains about that dog, the more I warm to it.’
‘We’re going to keep it, aren’t we, Dad?’ Trev asked, but I’m not promising anything.
Left Julie and Trev discussing dog food, names, etc.
Who is going to pay for the dog’s upkeep, that is the question I ask myself.
When I returned home, was relieved to find that no serious damage had been done to the house or garden during the day. As Trev is still on holiday, he was able to take the dog for a long walk with Craig. They must have tired it out as it lay down in front of the fire this evening and looked rather doleful. It even licked my hand – it won’t get round me that easily though. Oh, no.
Steve called by. When he saw the dog, he said, ‘You should keep gerbils, old chap – far less trouble.’
‘Oh, we’re not keeping this dog, no, no, this is just a very temporary arrangement,’ I replied.
‘Be that as it may, how about a game of tennis on Thursday evening at the back of the Cock and Bull?’
‘Are you serious?’ I asked.
‘Never more so. One racquet will be supplied, courtesy of Kevin. You needn’t wear whites. Keith and Ken will join us at the appointed hour – half past six.’
‘I’m a bit rusty,’ I protested.
�
��No excuses – see you then, cheers,’ and he was gone.
To be truthful, I have hardly ever held a tennis racquet in my life. Julie was rather keen at one time when we were engaged – she said it was good for the figure, so I had one or two half-hearted attempts at the game. However, it was good of Steve to ask me and I must say I was rather honoured to be asked to make up a four with three Round Wheelers – we can all have a “noggin” afterwards and I can find out yet more about entering that “select band” (another step further towards my ambition).
April 22nd – Wednesday
It rained heavily during the night and I thought of my car out there in the wet, probably starting to rust already. The dog will have to go – my car is not going to spend another night outside and that’s that. Hope it rains tomorrow then the tennis will be cancelled.
Avery leaves on Friday – the bright spot of the week. P.H. called me into the cupboard that he calls his office this morning and informed me that there would be no replacement for Avery at the moment due to “trade being somewhat thin” but that he hoped Brimcup and I would “pull our weight” and share Avery’s calls between us. No mention of salary increase in the foreseeable future. So much for the “certain conversations” overheard by Brimcup.
April 23rd – Thursday
Felt rather self-conscious strolling along to the Cock and Bull this evening in my pale blue terylene slacks and red T-shirt left over from last year’s holiday, and, sure enough, the others were wearing whites. They were very pally, however.
I was getting hungry by this time as we usually have supper at about half past six.
I hadn’t expected the whole c1ientele of the Cock and Bull to be watching. They were either looking through the French windows, at the back of the pub, or standing around outside in groups with their drinks, discussing the play and every now and again clapping a good shot, when they could find somewhere to park their glasses.
Over in the corner, standing by himself, I spotted a vaguely familiar figure, running a comb through his hair.
‘There’s Les Crow watching the talent,’ said Keith, and by the way he said it, I don’t think he was referring to the tennis. There were two young women just finishing their game as we approached the court.
‘Oh, it’s Val and Vera getting in some practice for the Inner Circle knockout tourney,’ Ken Dugeon remarked and he, Keith Goodchap, and Steve discussed the forthcoming tournament and their respective wives’ chances of winning it.
I must admit, I was feeling more and more hollow in the stomach, whether it was due to hunger or nerves, I don’t know, but at that moment the usually fickle finger of fate changed direction and smiled on me. In other words, it started to rain.
The spectators dispersed and Val and Vera fled into the bar.
‘It’s only a shower,’ Steve said and the others agreed.
‘Yes, it’ll be over in a minute,’ added Keith. I said nothing.
We braved the elements for a few minutes, twirling our racquets, but it soon became too wet for even these redoubtable three.
‘We’ll just pop in for a quick one, shall we?’ said Ken.
‘Good idea,’ I replied.
Inside it was crowded and noisy. Steve went to get some drinks and we squashed into a corner with Val and Vera. Waves of relief swept over me and, as I drank my beer, my chat became quite witty – the others seemed to enjoy my company and the girls were laughing loudly at my jokes.
‘I hear you’re coming to our Gourmet Evening,’ shouted Ken.
‘Looking forward to it,’ I shouted back.
‘You coming, Les?’ Keith hailed Les Crow as we spotted him weaving his way towards us, his gold medallion glinting in the light of the fruit machine.
‘Sorry, can’t make it.’
This reminded me of the casual way he’d rung up the night of our party.
‘How’s your good lady wife?’ he asked Keith. ‘Long time no see!’ He then planted a loud kiss on Vera’s lips and fondled her shoulder in a very familiar way, although she didn’t seem to mind, said ‘Bye, bye my darling – see you Saturday’ to her and was gone in a whiff of aftershave.
Val and Vera followed after him like a couple of tracker dogs on the trail of a scent.
‘How does he get away with it?’ Ken asked and Steve shook his head.
‘Hardly ever turns up at any of our functions either,’ Keith said. He looks quite different when he frowns. ‘He’ll go too far one of these days.’ Was somehow glad to note their disapproval.
Keith lowered his voice. ‘D’you remember the affair of Sue Uppe’s lost thingamybobs when they went on holiday with the Crows?’ The others nodded. ‘To be perfectly honest, Alan’s never forgiven him – and who can blame him?’
‘He’ll be for the chop if he doesn’t watch out,’ Steve said into his beer and Ken and Keith sounded fully in agreement.
Serious stuff. There was a moment’s silence.
‘However, to get back to more pleasant topics, i.e. the gourmet do. Location still top secret?’ he asked Ken.
‘Very much so,’ he replied with a wink.
Felt like one of the gang after I had bought a round of drinks, then Keith peered out at the weather.
‘It’s clearing up. I think the rain has stopped. How about that game now?’
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ I said, looking at my watch. ‘It’s half past seven and Julie said supper would be ready at seven forty-five sharp. She’s making coq au vin tonight. What a pity. I was looking forward to a good game. Could just do with the exercise too but, still, there we are.’
‘What a shame, old chap – another time, eh?’ They seemed genuinely sorry that I was going.
I hurried home and, as I helped Julie dish out the shepherd’s pie, I regaled her with the chat at the Cock and Bull with special reference to the Inner Circle tennis tournament. ‘With a bit of luck, you’ll be playing in that next year,’ I told her.
April 24th – Friday
The great day at last, and I don’t think any of us were really sorry to bid farewell to Avery – with the possible exception of Trina, with whom he had always had a merry quip.
No mention of us all going out for a goodbye drink or anything like that, and as we shook hands and he said, ‘Well, you must come over to Lumberjobs and I’ll show you round the place properly, one of these days – give me a ring sometime.’ I could swear he was wearing add-height heels – he never looked down on me before.
I tried to get a glimpse of his shoes but his trousers were so long that nothing was visible.
‘Cheerio, and good luck,’ I forced myself to say and left as he was describing his new private office to Brimcup, who was lapping it all up, much to my disgust.
Felt like celebrating and I rang up this new eatery, B & 0, when I got home. Julie and I will go and try it out tomorrow and Sue can babysit for us.
April 25th – Saturday
The dog slept in the kitchen last night – I put my foot down about the garage at last and was pleased to think of the car being dry. Gave it a polish and cleaned the inside out this morning – still a few cat hairs clinging to the carpet. Trev has decided to call the dog Kippers (personally I think we’ve had enough of those lately): Kipps for short. Julie found an old cushion for him and put it by the back door. At least he’ll be a good guard dog, there have been several break-ins in the neighbourhood recently.
Two things slightly marred our otherwise pleasant evening. The first being a telephone call. Just as Julie was opening the door for Sue, the telephone rang. Kipps had been out in the road this afternoon and I had caught him snarling at Lulu Belle next door. I had just managed to grab him by his makeshift collar as he moved in for the attack and I could hear sounds of Vi Butt getting agitated. Feeling sure that this was now another phone call of complaint from my neighbour, I decided to deal with it decisively. I picked up the receiver and shouted, ‘And manure to you, sir!’
There was silence from the other end, instead of the abuse I had expe
cted. My heart sank – who was it at the other end of the line?
A thin voice sounding a long way away said, ‘Is that you, Pete?’ and I didn’t know whether to deny it or not. Curiosity got the better of me.
‘Yes – who is that?’
‘It’s me – Bri!’
I do not usually feel well-disposed towards my brother-in-law, who is, on the whole, a tiresome nuisance and could do with getting a haircut and a good steady job, but after the unfortunate greeting I had given him already, I felt it necessary to make amends somewhat and was therefore more polite and civil than I would usually have been, which rather annoyed me.
‘I may come over and see you next month.’
‘Oh, yes,’ I replied warily.
‘I’m with The Dregs at the moment and we’re doing a one night stand at Liverpool on the 23rd. I’ve changed my name to Bryllan by the way.’
‘So I’ve heard.’
‘See you then – chow.’ And that was that.
‘Well, maybe he’s grown up a bit since we last saw him and at least he’s doing some work,’ said Julie, loyally trying to defend him.
Thank goodness it wasn’t Ken Dudgeon on the phone. That would have been a disaster – shutting the door on any hopes of being a Wheeler.
Our meal chez Bertrand and Oliver was very enjoyable. The decor was Victorian, with dark brown walls and brass lamps, and Bertrand and Oliver were there in person, wearing matching plum-coloured velvet suits, dealing with the wine orders and generally making sure everyone was happy.
‘Really, you know,’ I remarked to Julie, ‘You could imagine you were back in the last century with a pea-soup fog outside, the horses and carriages rattling by and Sherlock Holmes on his way to solve another mystery.’
‘Don’t let that sherry soup go to your head,’ Julie said – no soul.
I heard a voice to one side of me saying to his companion, ‘You’d have to file your teeth to eat that steak,’ and, looking round, had the second unpleasant moment of the evening when I recognised the petrol pump attendant from Leftburke’s.