by Danny King
How did we break it to Ken and Beverley that their little girl was undergoing treatment for a life-threatening illness without the pair of them running all the way over here to set up base camp in our spare bedroom?
It was a delicate one. And a situation both Sally and I were desperate to avoid.
I mean, she was ill and stressed enough without having to cope with her parents as well. I don’t mean that in a horrible way but the fact of the matter was it was true. Parents bring stress.
See, left to Ken and Beverley, Sally would immediately have her adult status revoked and be demoted to fragile little princess again, to be bossed, bullied and mothered beyond sanity and told to drink her cancer medicine and eat her greens “like a good little girl and no arguments young missy, you do as you’re told”.
It was the nightmare scenario. But what could we do? Sally couldn’t very well go on telling her parents she was fine indefinitely because sooner or later they were likely to want to come over and see us (or rather her). In fact, a Nicholas invasion was long overdue and Sally was now bald as a tin hat and as pale as parchment. That dreaded phone call had to be made and once it was, how would we ever get rid of them again?
“Righto, well thanks for coming over but Sally’s a bit tired now so perhaps it’s best if you both said cheerio.”
“Say Cheerio? Oh no no no, we’re staying. We’re not going anywhere while our little girl needs us,” they would reply.
“Mum, I’m not a little…”
“Quiet now Sally, you just relax and let Mummy take care of you.”
“Mum please…”
“Sally, do as your mother tells you, she knows best, you know?”
“No, just listen…”
“Sally, that’s quite enough. And as for you Andrew, you can go. We’ll take it from here.”
“Hey?”
“She was fine while she was with us, but a few years of being married to you and you’ve gone and given her cancer. So you can just bloody well go and… er, Andrew?”
“Yes Ken?”
“Where did you get that shotgun from?”
“Superb shooting darling. What now?”
“We could get some more shells and give Norman a quick ring if you liked.”
BANG BANG!
“Hmm?”
BANG BANG!
“Andrew, are you going to get that?”
“What?”
“There’s somebody at the door.”
BANG BANG!
“Oh, oh yeah, sorry, miles away. Just going love.”
I hung the last pair of Sally’s pants on the radiator and put the washing basket away under the stairs before heading up the hall to see who was laying siege to our front door.
BANG BANG BANG!
“Yes all right, hold your horses, I’m just coming,” I called out, although this just encouraged the banging even more and when I opened the door I found an ashen-faced Ken and a frantic Beverley staring at me in white-eyed horror holding their suitcases.
“My God, where is she?” Beverley screamed.
I barely had time to get my thumb pointing in the direction of the stairs before she was steamrollering passed me and sprinting for the bedroom.
“We came as soon as we could,” Ken told me.
“You’re not kidding are you?” I replied, checking my watch and doing a few mental calculations.
“We couldn’t stay away,” he informed me.
“Did you even try?”
“Upstairs is she?”
“Yes, I’ve been locking her in the attic because she looks so horrendous.”
“That’s not nice Andrew. I hope you don’t let Sally hear you saying things like that.”
“No, I promise, around Sally I just wring my hands with despair and wail about how terrible it all is and save the jokes for the boys down the pub.”
“Are you even taking this seriously? Our little girl’s got cancer and she needs…”
That was it. And in record quick time too. Something snapped inside me and I went all the way with it.
“What Ken, what? What does she need? Go on, do tell me what because this is obviously something I haven’t given any thought to. So go on, come round to my house and stand in my hallway and tell me what my wife needs. Go on, I dare you because I’d love to hear it.”
Ken stared at me with uncertainty in his eyes. Being a boardroom big wig I doubted anyone had spoken to him like this for a good few years. I certainly hadn’t so he was momentarily lost for words. But he soon found them again and sure enough told me I’d better watch my step.
“Now, you listen here… Andrew, I couldn’t give a monkey’s about you or anything you have to say. All I care about is that little girl up there and if you…”
Forget snapped, I exploded.
“Right, I’ve had enough of this already,” I said, grabbing Ken by the scruff of the neck and pointing him in the direction of the road. “Out you go.”
“What are you doing? What are you doing?” he countered, trying to prise my hand away from his collar only to trip over his own legs. I managed to sustain his tumble until we were through my garden gate and next to his car, then I dumped him over the bonnet.
“What the hell…”
“In the car or in the house, it’s your decision? In the car, you’re the fellow in charge, but in the house, I’m the fellow in charge and what I say goes. And that applies to both you and Beverley.”
“You can’t…”
“Yes I can and yes I am. Now I don’t give a monkey’s about you either. In fact, you are quite possibly the biggest wanker I’ve ever met in my entire life. But I do love your daughter and right now yours and Beverley’s bullshit is the last thing she needs. And I won’t tolerate either of you annoying or upsetting her, do you hear me Ken? So here it is, you’re either here to help or you’re gone. Both of you.”
“Of course we’re here to bloody help…”
“Then repeat after me; ‘I know nothing’.”
“What are you talking about?”
I wagged my finger in his face and shook my head. “No Ken; ‘I know nothing’.”
“I’m not putting up with this nonsense.”
“Ken, I’m going to give you five chances to get it, then you and Beverley are gone; now say it; ‘I know nothing’.” Ken told me not speak to him that way then tried to barge past me again but I stepped in his way to block his path.
“‘I know nothing’,” I demanded, refusing to budge.
“Get out of the way,” he shouted.
“I know nothing!”
“I’ll knock you into next week you little bastard, then you’ll know nothing at all!” Ken shouted, blood corpuscles popping all over his face as he tried to shove me aside. But I had a strength I couldn’t believe coursing through my veins and I managed to hold him back from the gate. “Get out of my way!”
“I… know… nothing.”
“Get…”
You know what, there’s just no talking to some people. All Ken wanted and all Ken could see was getting past me and inflicting himself on Sally, but I couldn’t, wouldn’t and wasn’t about to let that happen, especially in his indignant self-righteous extremes and in the ensuing scuffle I ended up ‘accidentally’ punching him in the gob.
That’s right – me. Unbelievable. I punched my father-in-law in the gob.
I lived the dream.
Ken went down onto one knee and I debated for about half a second whether or not to finish the job with the watering can nearby, but I reasoned that probably wouldn’t help Sally, so I saved it for another day and gave him a shove to put him on his back.
Ken tried to get back up but I stopped his progress with a foot. “Get off of me. Get off of me!” he coughed angrily, lashing out and trying to drag me down on top of him, but I managed to cling onto the car to keep myself from joining him on the pavement. What the neighbours must have thought, I have no idea.
“You’re just not listening are you Ken? You’r
e just not listening at all. Ken? HELLO! This isn’t about you and this isn’t about me, this is only about Sally.”
At this, he stopped struggling and let go of my shins.
“I don’t want to do this, I really don’t, but I can’t let you go in there with your attitude because you will kill her in three weeks. You really will and you just don’t seem to understand this, do you, because you won’t fucking listen!”
This finally got his attention and Ken blinked a couple of times, swallowed hard, then told me, “okay. Okay, I’m listening”.
“I know nothing?” I asked him, double-checking that his surrender really was complete and unconditional.
“I… I know nothing,” Ken reluctantly repeated.
I stepped back and offered him my hand, half-expecting him to slap it away and come back at me with all guns blazing but Ken didn’t try anything.
He really had finally got it.
“Everything I say and everything I do is purely in the interests of Sally,” I told him, hauling him to his feet. “I have poured over books, I have read up on this. I have searched the internet and talked to doctors and people in her support group and her counsellors and experts, so please open your ears and shut your gob. If I pour her a weird cup of tea that smells horrible instead of a nice cup of Earl Grey, that’s because it’s good for her. If I make her a dinner that looks like something you wouldn’t want to step in, that’s because that’s good for her. And if I make light of her condition in front of her in order to put a smile on her face, then that’s because that’s good for her too.”
“Yes,” Ken blanched. “Yes I see that now.”
“Not yet you don’t Ken, because you’re not staying. And neither is Beverley. Both of you are most welcome to stop the night and drop in and see Sally again in another week’s time but they will be flying visits and full of cheer. It’s taken me too long to build her spirits up to sit back and watch you blunder over them in your size nines.”
Ken started to say something but I cut him short with a point of order. “But…”
“I’m not having you upsetting or stressing her out. She can’t handle it, she’s too weak and I’m not going to take it, so you’re going to have a quiet word with Beverley, then you’re both going to put on a couple of smiles, hold your tongues and we’re going to have a lovely evening together, because if you don’t you can both go home right now. Do you understand?”
He rubbed his face and sucked his teeth then looked at me and frowned.
“Yes, I… I understand,” he said, almost making me feel bad by coughing, “I’m sorry Andrew. I’m just upset and I sometimes don’t think, you know?”
I wanted to say, “Get away,” but instead decided to draw a line under this nonsense and be the bigger man for once.
“Ken, what say we forget this ever happened and go up and check on Sally? I think that would really cheer her up.”
Ken nodded appreciatively.
“Whatever you say, Andrew” he agreed, waiting for me to lead the way back into the house.
“No hard feelings?” I asked.
“Not a bit of it,” Ken insisted manfully, then brightened up enormously and added; “And I have to say, that was one hell of a punch you threw. One hell of a punch indeed. Have you been going to the gym or something?”
And Ken was right, he did have to say that. After all, Ken wasn’t the sort of man who could admit to being floored by any old average caravan magazine editor.
Sally’s Diary: May 13th
We finally told mum and dad and predictably they came straight over. They must’ve been in such a hurry that dad somehow stood on his own jacket because he had dusty foot prints all over his lapel, which is most unlike dad. Predictably mum cried her eyes out the moment she saw me and I thought that was going to be that for the whole weekend, but then Andrew must’ve said something when I went to the loo because the tears dried up and the conversation barely went near my illness again. This is just as well because I really didn’t want to have to go into the whole hysterectomy thing and have mum bawling her eyes out over my failure to have kids earlier. Actually, that’s not fair, I’m sure she wouldn’t have done that, but I’m glad we didn’t have to go there anyway.
We had a nice tea and played Monopoly until bedtime which I won, but only because mum, dad and Andrew all conspired to let me; mum owning half the board but refusing to put up any hotels because she “preferred the view without them” and dad hilariously reading my Community Chest cards and informing me I’d won an astonishing eight beauty contests in a row (each time with tears in his eyes). They’re going tomorrow and that makes me a little sad because we had such a lovely time. Isn’t it strange how sometimes it takes the worst to bring out the best in people? They tell me they’d like to come back again next week, if that’s okay with me (extraordinary) and I’m genuinely looking forward to it.
Chapter 21. To El and Back
I finally started back at work after God-knows how many weeks off and Norman looked almost sad to see me return. He spent the morning talking me through all the editorial initiatives he’d spearheaded, most of which looked like a staggering amount of extra work, then he announced he was off to do the same to Tom’s mag, which was some consolation at least.
Godfrey welcomed me back like a long lost father and Elenor was unnervingly civil, brushing the last few months under carpet as if they’d never happened. Once again I’d forgotten all about Elenor in the wake of what was happening with Sally but it all came flooding back the moment I saw her again and I suddenly remembered what a tricky customer she could be at times. Still I was beyond caring to be honest, so for the sake of peace and quiet I accepted her civility with good grace and tried to forget all about our party incident all over again.
Rather oddly, I found a big card on my desk that had been signed by almost everyone in the company. It was addressed to both Sally and I and it said, “Our thoughts are with you”, which was a tad questionable when you considered that the thought of actually posting it hadn’t occurred to any of them. I spent a pleasant half an hour going through all the signatures and comparing them to the internal telephone directory to see who’d signed it and who hadn’t and found the role call was all too predictable; Rosemary, the Xtremers, that bloke in the post room who’d been insisting for longer than I could remember that I owed him ten pounds ever since Leeds had been relegated, despite the fact that I haven’t got the faintest idea what he’s going on about, and Norman, though that last omission was only because Norman had already sent us (as in actually posted) his own individual card, along with an enormous bouquet of flowers and a box of green tea.
Of those that had signed it, only three signatures included kisses: Pauline (Norman’s secretary, who was old enough to be my mum); Adam (our gay designer, who was young enough to be my gay lover); and Elenor (my editorial assistant, who was once again making eyes at me from across the partition).
“I like your hair like that,” she said, referring to the skinhead I’d had done to show my support for Sally following the chemo. I’d originally intended to get it all shaved off but Sally had objected, stating that it was bad enough being bald herself without us having to walk around looking like a pair of Hari Krishnas, so I’d opted for a grade one instead.
“Thanks,” I replied, trailing my hand across my stubbly scalp.
“It suits you,” Elenor complemented.
“Yeah, if I didn’t know better I would’ve said you’d been off somewhere on some secret mission fighting behind enemy lines with the SAS,” Godfrey said, making me laugh (and swell manfully) at the idea.
“Quiet Godfrey or you’ll blow my cover,” I played along, but Elenor wanted to play an altogether different type of game and told me again how attractive my new haircut made me look. I decided to nip her flirting in the bud and invented an enormous mountain of work that needed doing before she left for the evening, which did the trick, before getting on with the chore of sorting out my own intimidating pile o
f work.
Norman had done a bang-up job keeping the magazine on course, but there were still a number of things that had fallen behind schedule.
The worst of these was the caravan park review.
This was something I had to do every month and something which carried the same sort of fear factor that cross country had done when I was at school. I hated it, it was miserable and there was no way out of it.
Okay right, this was the deal. Once a month I had to get into my car, drive to some caravan park, talk to the sub-human criminal scumbag who managed it, take a few photos and write up a review of the place to fill a double-page spread. Naturally, because we were Caravan Enthusiast and not MacIntyre Investigates our reviews always had to be complementary, otherwise we would’ve been biting that hand that fed us, so the whole exercise was doubly distasteful. In the seven years we’d been featuring these park reviews (which were Norman’s idea, in case you were wondering) I must’ve done more than six dozen. Obviously, I’d started with the closest parks to the office but these had all been covered so that every month I had to travel further and further a field.
I set Godfrey a challenge to find us a caravan park this side of The Wash but the closest he could manage was a place just outside Boston, in Lincolnshire.
“Are you sure that’s the nearest one? What about that place down in Kent you told me about a couple of months ago?”
“No, he didn’t want us to come, probably another one full of illegals. He even threatened me on the phone and said he’d kill us if we went anywhere near his place. Stick that in your fact box.”
“Fine, Boston it is then. Don’t forget to reserve the digital camera this time,” I told him.
“What, you want me to come as well?” he asked in astonishment. I stared back at Godfrey and couldn’t believe we were going to have to go through this one again.
The park review was a two-man job. Besides driving up there, map reading and finding it in the first place, there was a lot to do once we were there; interview the manager, interview the guests, compile fact box stats, general overview and snap off fifty or sixty photographs to ensure we had enough usable images to satisfy our ultra-precious designer.