Tableland

by D. E. Harker

  ‘Only too well, only too well,’ he replied.

  ‘Incidentally,’ I continued, ‘did I tell you about our break-in?’

  I gave a rough outline of the incident and Dave said, ‘What about the album?’ That was his first thought. I don’t know why, but I always have the impression that he resented the fact that I was left Dad’s stamp album. He doesn’t mind about the golf clubs but I have a definite feeling about the album. Why should he mind? After all, didn’t he get the decanter labels, and the tie pin with the real pearl?

  I reassured Dave that the album was intact and it was soon after that that Diane Butt came on the ‘phone and announced that she was expecting a call from her boyfriend and “could we make it snappy”.

  May 23rd – Saturday

  Went to watch Everton at home to Manchester United this afternoon with Trev. We were relieved to get to our seats but unfortunately found ourselves in the middle of the opposing supporters.

  ‘Don’t shout too loudly for Everton,’ I told Trev.

  ‘Just play it cool you mean?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, and I think we’d better put our supporters badges in our pockets for the moment,’ I whispered.

  All went well and in the interval the score was 0 – 0.

  ‘I’m hot – I’m going to get myself a choc-ice,’ said Trev. ‘Do you want one, Dad?’

  ‘No thanks,’ I replied as he pushed his way along the row. But, somehow, the more I thought of a choc-ice, the better the idea sounded and I suddenly felt as if I couldn’t get through the rest of the game without one.

  If I catch Trev’s eye, I thought, I’ll signal to him to get another one and I willed him to look back at me, which, in fact, he did, as he squeezed past a burly man on the end of the row. I duly stuck up two fingers and waved them at Trev.

  Whereupon an amazing thing happened. The burly gent (who had also caught my eye) stood up – he was large too – and pushed his way towards me. His breath smelling heavily of beer and in a broad Scottish accent, he shouted for everyone to hear, ‘Were you addressing that gesture to me personally, sonny? Do you want to make something of it?’

  Quick as a flash, I thought of a witty retort and shouted back, ‘No, but I’ll hold your jacket for you, if you do.’

  This was very unlike me, and for a moment I was afraid I’d gone too far, but, to my relief, everyone around laughed, which broke the tension and he shrank back to his seat quietly and was no more bother.

  Trev and I enjoyed our choc-ices and tried not to cheer too loudly when Everton scored the winning goal.

  Hurrah! Bri has not been in touch with us, as I had prophesied and he is unlikely to do so now, it being 11 o’clock at the time of writing.

  May 24th – Sunday

  Of course, I spoke too soon. In the early hours of the morning, when the whole of Springcroft Meadow, even the Butts, must have been fast asleep, we were woken up by the most dreadful noise: honking of car horn, car doors being slammed, loud voices and then, unbelievably, our own door chimes being rung in a way they had never been rung before.

  ‘Whatever is it?’ Julie shrieked, sitting up in bed with fright.

  ‘I’ll go down and find out,’ I said grimly, not even stopping to put on my dressing gown.

  I flung open our front door and there, standing on the threshold with three or four others, was Bri.

  ‘We had a job finding you,’ he said, grinning cheerfully, ‘Anyway, here we are now. Come on in, lads.’

  Julie, hearing her brother’s voice, came down in her housecoat.

  ‘Whatever are you doing here at this hour?’ she asked but Brian waving a hand at his friends, just said, ‘Meet the rest of The Dregs. We’re parched and famished too – where’s the booze?’

  The telephone rang at that minute and I went to answer it. It was, of course, the Butts demanding to know the cause of all the uproar.

  Meanwhile, Julie was dispensing hospitality in the kitchen.

  ‘We’ve got lemonade, cocoa, tea, coffee, two tins of pale ale – oh, and some beetroot wine.’

  ‘Let’s try some of your beetroot wine then,’ said someone. ‘Let’s live dangerously.’ And they all laughed.

  In the glaring strip lights of the kitchen, I got a better look at them and they were not a pretty sight, although I expect they would have disagreed with me.

  Couldn’t swear to it, but am sure that one – Spade they called him – had dyed his hair. Surely that golden colour couldn’t be natural. He had plucked his eyebrows too – I’m sure of it – and was that stuff on his eyelids mascara or am I slandering him?

  ‘How about some baked beans on toast?’ said Julie.

  ‘Fine,’ said Bri. ‘I’ll have a fried egg on mine.’

  ‘So how did you get on in Liverpool?’ I asked with what I hoped was a cool edge to my tone.

  ‘It was the greatest. The chicks were really wild about us,’ said Spade, lounging on our draining board.

  ‘Yeah – Top of the Pop’s before the year’s out.’

  You’ll be lucky, I thought to myself.

  I don’t know if it was the bright lighting in our kitchen but one of The Dregs kept his sunglasses on while helping Julie to dish up. It struck me as strange to see him tucking into baked beans in our kitchen – his black fuzzy hair standing on end against our tiled wallpaper, with one earring glinting.

  Trev, either hearing the noise or smelling the food, came down and regarded the scene with amazement.

  ‘We’ve got a great new number – trying it out in Birmingham next week. Larry wants us to cut a disc when we get to London. Do you want to hear it? We’ve got our instruments in the car.’

  Trev of course said yes but I put my foot down. There had been quite enough disturbance in Springcroft Meadow for one night, thank you very much.

  ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  They wolfed their food and washed it down with the remains of the wine, the pale ale and all the lemonade, then Julie said, ‘Are you staying the night?’ I gave her a look.

  ‘Next time, doll, I promise,’ Bri said. ‘We’re due in Wolverhampton tomorrow morning. Ta for the nosh.’ And with that and more honking of car horn, they were gone, leaving behind a pile of dirty dishes, the kitchen full of cigarette smoke and two blue sequins in the sink.

  A very frugal Sunday breakfast this morning due to complete lack of beans and eggs. Would have overslept had it not been for my foresight in setting the alarm clock for 8 o’clock. Julie muttered angrily as she turned over in bed and tried to go back to sleep.

  Was just assembling my golfing gear when the ‘phone rang. It was Steve. ‘Sorry, old squire, but the game’s off.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Something’s come up.’

  ‘No matter,’ I replied as cheerily as I could.

  ‘How about next Sunday, are you on?’

  ‘Will do.’

  It was no good going back to bed again as I was too awake by now so I spent an hour on the car and wondered what it was that had “come up” that had put a stop to the golf. Was a bit worried that all the noise during the night, due to Bri’s visit, might have angered him. Anyway, he had suggested a game next week, so he can’t have felt too badly about it. Still, the whole episode has left me feeling rather uneasy.

  Took Trev for a swim to the Pleasure-drome after lunch. It was our first visit there and we were impressed by the lavish decor of the place. Not only is there a heated swimming pool, but a restaurant, an ice-rink, badminton and squash courts and a theatre – all under one roof and with an underground car park thrown in.

  Alan Uppe, who had told me all about the Pleasure-drome, had said surprisingly, ‘The whole place loses more than l0p for every visitor.’

  ‘Well,’ I had quipped, ‘if Trev and I don’t go on Sunday, perhaps they’ll pay us 20p, or a bargain offer of 15p.’

  May 25th – Monday

  Used up half today’s space in this diary writing down the events of yesterday so it is lucky
that nothing of great interest happened today. Sunny weather. We had a parcel in the post this morning from Julie’s mum, holidaying in Scotland. It was a kilted piper in a bottle. It arrived intact and looks well on the TV set.

  May 26th – Tuesday

  Julie had been asked to help at a Good as New sale in Weston town hall this morning. It was run by the Inner Circle to raise money for the local hospital.

  ‘You should have seen all the stuff there,’ she said. ‘I was on a stall with Janice Dudgeon – she’s asked me for a game of tennis at the Cock and Bull.’

  ‘It looks as if you’ve brought half the stall home,’ I replied. When I returned from work she was sitting surrounded by a pile of what looked like old rubbish – a moth-eaten rug, a teapot, an umbrella, a pile of paperback books, a deckchair which needs re-canvassing, a filthy electric kettle and old items of clothing.

  ‘All of these for only £3,’ she announced proudly, ‘and just look at these.’ From behind her back she produced a pair of studded golf shoes, in very good condition. ‘I think they may be one size too large but they were so reasonable I couldn’t resist.’

  I quickly tried them on and they were indeed a size too large. However, as Julie rightly says, I can pad the toes with newspaper.

  May 27th – Wednesday

  Was practising walking up and down the sitting room carpet in the golf shoes with my toes wrapped in newspaper this evening when there was a loud knock at the door. Nearly slipped going to open it and just saved myself by grabbing the door handle. The door opened violently to reveal Alan Uppe, who looked startled by my sudden appearance.

  ‘Sorry to have to knock but there seems to be something the matter with your chimes,’ he said. I tried them for myself and, sure enough, he was right. Bri must have done this with his abuse of them the other night.

  ‘Come along in – just wearing in my new golf shoes.’

  ‘They look a bit like the ones I gave to Sue to take to the jumble sale. She bought them there last year but they were too small for me,’ said A1an.

  ‘Afraid I can’t offer you a beer. My brother-in-law arrived unexpectedly the other evening and we finished it,’ I tried to pass off Bri’s visit as a respectable, everyday occurrence.

  ‘Say no more,’ said Alan.

  It was obvious that he’d heard all about the episode – it must be all over the estate.

  ‘I really came to see what you thought of the Pleasure-drome,’ he went on.

  ‘We were most impressed,’ I said – glad to change the subject. ‘We had a drink after our swim and watched the ice skating.’

  ‘They put on very high-class plays in the theatre – first-class productions. It’s a wonderful thing to have such a cultural centre so near and it’s a pity not to take advantage of it,’ Alan continued. ‘As a matter of fact, Sue and I were wondering if you and Julie would care to join us on 18th of June to see School for Scandal. The Spicers are keen to come too. I can pick up the tickets when I go to badminton.’

  ‘That should be a lot of fun, Alan,’ I said, although privately I was not so sure. Still, the play sounded light enough.

  ‘Julie is over at Una’s at the moment practising yoga so I can only speak for myself. I’ll give you a ring when she comes in to confirm it, shall I?’

  ‘Right you are. Mind you don’t fall over in those golf shoes,’ he said on the way to the front door. And talking of golf – if you’re playing with Steve, watch out, he looked to be in cracking form last Sunday morning.’

  May 28th – Thursday

  Pondered this last remark of Alan’s during the evening. So Steve had played golf after all. Feel rather annoyed about this. He had let me down at the last minute too. Still, I expect there is a very good explanation.

  Julie did not arrive back until 10.30 and didn’t seem any too keen on the idea of going to a cultural, high-quality play. However, she eventually agreed with me that the title didn’t sound too bad and, as we didn’t want to let the Uppes down, we decided to go.

  It was 11 o’clock when I rang Alan as promised and I think he must have been in bed as he didn’t sound as pleased as I had thought he would.

  May 29th – Friday

  Must have wrenched my back when stumbling on Wednesday evening as it’s been stiff all day. Had calls in the Shropshire area, visiting various builders, without any overwhelming success, and arrived home at 7 o’clock with my back aching.

  ‘Where are those lumbago pills of mine?’ I asked Julie as soon as we had had supper.

  ‘On the top shelf in the kitchen cupboard where all the tablets and medicines are. I wish we had a proper medicine cabinet in the bathroom,’ she replied. I echo that wish fervently. The shelf was littered with old bottles, sticking plasters and endless pills and tubes of cream, and after groping around I found a small paper bag containing my little white lumbago pills. I filled a glass with water and swallowed two down as Trev came into the kitchen.

  ‘What are you doing with Kipper’s worming pills?’ he asked.

  May 30th – Saturday

  Worming pills or not (and I don’t suppose I shall ever know the truth as there were three or four small paper bags containing similar ones), they seemed to do the trick and my back felt much easier today, which is just as well with my golf match tomorrow.

  Did a little very gentle gardening in the morning – our vegetables are not doing too badly at all, it’s a pity we haven’t more space here. I would like a little greenhouse one day.

  Spent a pleasant afternoon at Wellkept and saw some familiar faces as we walked round the rows of fruit trees and hardy annuals.

  Going round a pile of peat sacks, who should we come face to face with but Keith Goodchap, sucking on his pipe and carrying a pampas grass. It was too late to avoid him and I waited for a possible burst of anger but what he said was, ‘I hear Stewart gave your Trev a bit of a trouncing the other day, eh?’ and winked.

  May 31st – Sunday

  Up bright and early. Steve called for me at 8.45 am sharp and, apart from my toes pinching a little, felt in good form. Was not sure whether to mention my knowledge of his golf game last Sunday or not and, in the end, decided to make a brief reference to it – after all, he owed me an explanation. When we had driven along for a few minutes, I said casually, ‘I hear you managed a game last Sunday after all.’

  He gave me a sharp look and said, ‘Mitigating circumstances, old lad. All in the line of business, as they say.’

  I said nothing and he felt bound to continue, ‘In other words, I was obliged to have eighteen holes with Robin Crundle of Crundle’s Ketchup. He was up for the weekend and as I manage his account personally – well, you see what I mean,’ he finished.

  ‘Say no more,’ I replied, which seemed an appropriate answer, and the subject was dropped.

  We were at the fifth hole and I was playing rather well, despite occasional cramp in my toes, when Steve suddenly suggested there was something wrong with my drive.

  ‘It is probably my grip; I don’t think I’ve quite mastered it yet.’

  ‘No, it’s not the grip. I would say it’s your rhythm; it’s so important to get the rhythm right. Every time I swing, I say to myself, ‘John McAdam.’ It works wonders. Try it and see.

  ‘John,’ I said to myself as I swung my club back, ‘McAdam’ as I made contact with the ball and a large piece of turf went flying. The ball only went a few yards.

  My game started to go downhill at that point. Even my putting couldn’t save the day and when we reached the eighteenth hole Steve was three up.

  My feet were really in trouble by this time. I could hardly hobble around and was glad to finish the game.

  ‘Well, here’s your 75p,’ I said. ‘Your John McAdam didn’t do much for my drive.’

  ‘Did I say John McAdam? I meant to say John McEnery. I use John McAdam for putting shots. There’s Ken Dugeon over there. Let’s go and have a jar with him.’

  We assembled in the bar and I stood a round of drinks, but not
before I had taken the newspaper padding out of my shoes. What relief.

  ‘Una and I are popping down to London on Wednesday for a couple of days. Business trip for me – but we hope to take in a show or two. We’ll have to look in the papers and see what’s on,’ Steve said over his beer.

  ‘Nice for some people,’ said Ken. I suddenly recollected my last telephone conversation with Dave. ‘There’s a very good play on at the moment recommended by my brother – called Yellow Pages. He said it was a “must”. ‘I don’t know whether you’d get in though.’

  ‘Oh – I have my contacts,’ Steve said with a smile. ‘Good heavens, is that the time – we must be off.’

  Catching sight of Gary Humwistle, I quickly agreed with him.

  Over lunch, Julie remarked that the “motorbike” family had been round at the house next door this morning yet again.

  June 1st – Monday

  Am regretting my decision to make an appointment with the dentist as my tooth has given me no bother for the last week. Inclined to cancel it but Julie managed to dissuade me, saying, ‘Better safe than sorry.’ Suggested making an appointment for her when I go tomorrow as she seems so keen. Noticed that her enthusiasm seemed to decline with this idea.

  June 2nd – Tuesday

  The day passed with me in a state of nerves and I had forgotten which tooth it was that had been aching. Brimcup certainly did not help matters by saying, ‘My aunt went to the dentist and he took out the wrong tooth by mistake so she had to go back and have the other one out as well.’ And P.H. gave a sickening description of a root filling he had had done last month. ‘I’m only just getting over it now,’ he added.

  By the time I climbed the stairs to the first floor waiting room, I was in a bad way. The brass plate on the door read: