Jack of All Trades Box Set: books 1 to 3

by DH Smith

  Chapter 11

  Alison was at his door with Mia, frowning. It was still light though the sun was low. The street trees had most of their leaves. He wondered what he’d ever seen in her. Objectively she was quite good looking, light make-up and shoulder length chestnut hair, her figure was holding out – but it was her tongue that wiped all that away. He didn’t exactly want to kill her, but might be busy tying his shoelaces when the hitman took aim.

  ‘Parking on this road is a nightmare,’ she said. ‘We had to wait for someone to leave. I don’t know how you stand it.’

  ‘Too many cars,’ he said, indicating the lines on both sides of the road.

  ‘And all the traffic in Homerton. At least the Olympic Park was pretty free. And then your high street…’

  ‘It isn’t mine,’ he said. ‘I don’t own Forest Gate.’ He opened the door wider. There was no point standing out here.

  ‘I’m not coming in,’ said Alison. Good, he thought. Keep it short and leave us in peace. She turned to Mia. ‘Bed by eight thirty,’ she said.

  ‘That’s far too early,’ complained Mia. ‘My friends stay up to ten and ten thirty even…’

  ‘I’m not their mother,’ said Alison, ‘but I am yours. Eight thirty. And don’t forget your homework.’

  ‘I won’t,’ mewled Mia.

  ‘Make sure she does it,’ said Alison to Jack.

  Jack nodded. He nodded to everything, it was quicker that way.

  ‘I’ll get her to school at 8.45,’ he said.

  ‘And make sure she washes properly.’

  Mia scowled. Her intimacies discussed between her parents was one of the indignities of her childhood.

  ‘And no more than half an hour on the internet.’

  Jack nodded. He was weary of the list and just hoped she’d go, wherever she was going. A date maybe. He pitied the poor sod, the puritan mother and senior teacher would come out in the end, no matter what initial self she played out over dinner or wherever. Or was it just him? Objectivity was well out of the window and on its way to Spain. But she did look like she was going out. He couldn’t damn her for that, but did anyway.

  ‘When will you learn about Brighton?’ he said.

  ‘In the next day or two. If I get it, I shall have to work the term out here and start there next term.’

  ‘Big change.’

  She smiled brightly. Yes, she was attractive. All that energy and fire. He remembered it in their early days. Too bad he was a Mirror reader.

  ‘Can we go in, Dad? I’m getting cold.’

  ‘Anything else?’ he said, hoping they could get it over without spitting in each other’s eyes.

  ‘What’s that in your hair?’

  He put his hand in his hair and looked at his fingers. ‘Brick dust.’

  ‘At least it means you’re working, even if your personal habits leave something to be desired.’

  ‘Leave it out, Alison. I’ve only been home fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Your washing habits were one of the reasons…’

  He cut her short. ‘I assume that’s everything, apart from my need for a shower which I will have as soon as I close the door on this lecture.’

  Alison pressed her lips tightly together and turned on her heels. Smart, high heels. It was a date.

  ‘I’ll see you after school tomorrow, Mia,’ and she was clipping down the path.

  Jack closed the door on her retreating form. She exhausted him. A couple of minutes at the door, that was all it took. What was the point of it? They weren’t going to get remarried. Yes, he’d been a bastard, a drunken bastard, he couldn’t wriggle out of that one, so maybe he deserved what he was getting – but what was the point?

  It might be better if she did go to Brighton. Except Mia would go with her.

  Once upstairs in the flat, he said, ‘We’ve a tight schedule. I’m going to have a shower, you are going to do your homework…’

  ‘Oh Dad!’

  ‘Because we are going out with the telescope to look at the moon, we’ll grab a pizza to eat in the van…’

  ‘Oh great! Where’s the moon book?’

  ‘Homework first. Let’s get on the move – or it won’t happen.’

  Mia was rapidly unpacking her schoolbag.

  Chapter 12

  In the end David collected Nancy, while Maggie prepared the tea and coffee. This was all set out on the dining table with the cake, sliced into a slab each, and the biscuits laid out on a large plate, with a stack of small plates beside. She was the hostess, and wanted everything to go well. It was much better to get on with your neighbours. They helped you, you helped them. Just a little effort paid dividends over the years.

  She’d taken one of the table chairs for herself. There had been some protest, but she’d proclaimed that pregnancy wasn’t an illness, she was just a bit heavier. Nancy had been given an armchair, with extra cushion support. On the long sofa were Anne, Frank and Bessie. She had noted that Anne had tried to head off sitting next to Frank but it was unavoidable as plainly he wanted to sit next to her, and Bessie was pliable.

  Nasty man, but if you were going to have a management meeting then you had to invite everyone, love them or loathe them. Besides, all their enmity could be directed at the agents for overcharging. A common enemy, that’s what you needed for togetherness. She did so want the evening to go right. Just like her mother, she couldn’t help it. When you invite people into your house, you are welcoming and hospitable. You want to be liked, for everyone to thank you for a nice time. It was your duty to offer every amenity to the guests in your tent, as primitive as Abraham.

  David had the other armchair, but was helping her dish out the cake, coffee and teas. He gripped her hand over the table supportively. She nodded and winked. So far, so good. The cake was a winner. Expensive, but what the hell.

  ‘This is a lovely room,’ said Anne. Her coffee was on the long, glass-topped table in front of her, coffee cake on a plate with a pastry fork on her knee.

  ‘Thank you,’ said David. ‘We decorated it together.’ He leaned against his wife. ‘Maggie chose the colour scheme.’

  ‘I like the pictures,’ said Bessie.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Maggie, smiling at her. ‘They’re prints I bought at the British Museum and had framed. I do like history.’

  ‘Is that your family, David?’ said Anne, indicating the group of black people in a photo on the sideboard.

  ‘It’s my cousins in Lagos,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen them for a couple of years. We should go over again. The flights are expensive but they put us up, so not a lot else to pay.’

  ‘Except the presents for everyone,’ exclaimed Maggie. ‘That is so exhausting, so expensive…’

  ‘It’s the done thing,’ excused David, ‘if you only go every few years, you have to go laden with gifts. And then you are stuck, because they expect it next time.’

  Maggie sat down and took a sip of coffee. David leaned forward in his armchair and began on the cake. The chow before the pow‑wow.

  ‘Let’s have the baby first,’ she said, nodding at David, ‘before we plan another trip.’

  ‘How many months is it now?’ asked Anne.

  Maggie caressed her protuberance. ‘Six. There’s someone awfully big in here.’

  She saw Frank shuffling awkwardly. But really, it was obvious enough she was pregnant, and she should be able to discuss her own baby in her own home, for heaven’s sake.

  ‘Do you know the sex yet?’ said Anne.

  ‘It’s a boy or girl,’ laughed David. ‘All this boy stuff in my culture is so primitive. It will be what it is – and will be loved, whatever.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ added Maggie.

  They needed to start the business, she thought. Quickly. Frank looked as if he was about to explode. His face was reddening, he was clenching and unclenching his fists.

  ‘Well, all I can say,’ said Anne, ‘you are looking very well.’ And added with a laugh, ‘All three of you.’

&
nbsp; ‘Do you think it’s right…?’ began Frank.

  And she knew this was it. Knew it was all a mistake. Marks and Spencer’s cake or not.

  ‘…bringing a half-caste child into the world?’

  ‘The term is mixed race, Mr Brand,’ Maggie said icily.

  ‘Politically correct nonsense,’ he retorted. ‘It’ll be half and half. Neither one thing or the other. What sort of start in life is that?’

  ‘A baby doesn’t know anything,’ said David.

  ‘But his parents do.’

  ‘Do you think I should have an abortion, Mr Brand?’

  ‘In my humble opinion, yes. I do. Clean yourself out. Rid the world of a problem.’

  David stood up, a vein heaving in his temple.

  ‘I’d like you to leave this flat right now, Mr Brand.’

  ‘I’m here for the meeting. This is a leaseholders’ get-together to discuss the costs of the building work…’

  ‘You have insulted me and my wife. Please leave.’

  ‘I think it best you leave, Mr Brand,’ said Maggie coldly.

  It was too late, all over, nothing could be unsaid. All she believed about the man was true. She’d known it. Simply hoped he could be polite for once.

  The evening was in ruins.

  But Frank had not moved. He held his seat on the sofa. Bessie, beside him, was trembling.

  ‘You’re not having a management meeting without me,’ said Frank. ‘Agreeing things behind my back. Oh no. I knew it was a mistake coming here.’ He looked around to Anne and Nancy for their agreement. ‘One of us should have organised this meeting, not this mongrel couple…’

  David swung a punch at Frank. It missed, but Frank half rose and butted David in the stomach. David doubled over groaning. Maggie grasped Frank by his hair.

  ‘You swine, you utter swine…’ she yelled.

  The coffee table tipped, spilling the china, toppling cake onto the carpet.

  ‘You nigger loving cow!’ screamed Frank, as she yanked his hair, jerking him over the fallen table, his arms flailing, trying to land a blow.

  Frank kicked Maggie in the stomach. She gasped, collapsed, let go of his hair, and sank slowly onto the carpet like a holed ocean liner. David was on Frank, seated on his chest, pressing him to the ground and smashing him in the face. The cab driver’s nose was bleeding, a tooth bent…

  ‘Please, please, David. Stop.’ Anne was pulling at his shoulders from behind. She was pale and distressed.

  Maggie was groaning on the carpet. David stood up, looking down at his victim, his smeared fist ready for more.

  ‘Get out! Now!’

  Frank’s face was a mess, blood dripping from a nostril, blood in an eye, a tooth hanging… He was snorting like a horse. He slowly rose from the carpet, crushed cake sticking to his trousers, keeping out of the way of David’s fists.

  ‘You’ll be sorry for this, you black bastard.’

  He grabbed Bessie by the arm. ‘Let’s get out of this brothel.’

  His daughter was shivering as if she’d been sitting on ice, she looked about her wildly. Her father pulled her by the arm and dragged her out of the room. David slammed the door behind them. And pressed his back against it as if they might try to come back in. Then went to Maggie who was sitting up on the carpet looking round at the devastation.

  ‘What a waste of cake!’

  Chapter 13

  Nancy’s heart was thundering, her breathing in short gasps. It had happened so quickly. So out of control, like a bolting horse. Frank got nastier and nastier. David asked him to leave and when he wouldn’t go hit him, and then tables were flying, china hitting the floor. All she could do was pull up her legs and protect her face.

  So quickly. The fight, what was it – a minute? Like a bomb going off – and here they were sitting in the debris counting corpses.

  Anne was gathering up broken china and putting it in a black plastic bag. She would have helped herself but couldn’t get down to the floor. Maggie, in spite of being six months pregnant, was collecting up any unbroken crockery. David was on his knees with the brush and pan, brushing up the cake and china fragments. She watched uselessly from her armchair, a hand to her pounding chest.

  ‘That certainly went with a swing,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Don’t start, Maggie,’ said David.

  ‘I’m not getting at you, sweetie. You were wonderful,’ she said, ruffling his hair. ‘I’m glad you defended my honour.’

  ‘And my own,’ said David.

  ‘Let’s say family honour.’ She put her load of china on the table. ‘The bastard comes into our flat,’ she went on, ‘eats our cake, especially bought at huge expense from Marks and Spencer’s, drinks our freshly ground coffee… And then suggests I should have an abortion because our child will be mixed race.’ She laughs. ‘Did his mother never teach him manners?’

  Anne on her knees, broken china in both hands, stopped for a second, looking lost in the wreckage like a child, the sole survivor of a car crash.

  ‘I am so sorry, Maggie, David. It was a shameful display. Such an abuse of your hospitality.’

  She struggled to say more, gasping for words, for sense.

  ‘It’s his daughter I feel sorry for,’ said David, sweeping half-eaten bits of expensive cake into his pan. ‘The way he pushed her out. You wonder what he’s doing to her now.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ said Nancy, shaking her head. ‘She helps me a lot. Does my errands, helps me with Tickles… Her father is a monster.’

  She recalled those minutes in the supermarket when he taunted her, stole her trolley and left her helpless on the ground. Her neck burned with embarrassment at her helplessness then and now, the awfulness of old age – everyone clearing up except herself.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t help,’ she began, ‘but…’

  ‘Stay there, Nancy,’ said Maggie. ‘We know your heart’s in the right place.’

  ‘There’s plenty of us to clear up,’ said David. ‘Anyway, I broke the damn stuff…’

  ‘All my beautiful cake,’ said Maggie in a mock moan.

  Before Nancy had met the upstairs couple she wouldn’t have approved of, what did they call it? mixed race children, mustn’t say half-caste, but they had both been so nice to her. Maggie dropping in to see her most days, David coming down this evening to help her up the stairs. Why would their child be a problem, except for people like Frank, and perhaps herself, she thought guiltily. She must take care with what she said. Just a word out of place and everyone is so offended. It’s a different age.

  Good luck to them.

  Anne was on her haunches, her face red, as if she’d been working all night. She always said hello and how are you when they met in the hallway. And only last week had invited her in her flat with Tickles, and the children stroked him. Though Nancy couldn’t say she knew her, not like David and Maggie who were much more open. Who had organised the meeting, which should have been a lovely get together as well as being for business.

  And Bessie was a lovely girl. Shame.

  ‘You wonder why he came at all,’ said Anne.

  ‘Because he wouldn’t be left out,’ said David.

  ‘I could see it building up in him,’ said Maggie. ‘I thought if we don’t get on to business very soon… And then it was too late. He couldn’t hold it in, his hatred of me and David. We have betrayed the white race.’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ said Anne. ‘I mustn’t keep saying that. But I am. What he’s done to you and David. What he’s done to the whole house. One man. All that destructive energy. I feel ashamed. It’s why I keep apologising. I’m white too. He makes me ashamed of all of us.’

  David put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said.

  ‘You can’t be responsible for that pig,’ said Maggie. She dropped onto a dining chair, still holding a couple of cups. ‘It’s my husband I’m worried about. Such a peaceful chap, I thought when I married him. He’s been offered promotion as area manager because
he keeps such a cool head in a crisis.’

  ‘They might well reconsider,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘if they’d seen Godzilla running amok tonight.’

  ‘But really,’ said Maggie, ‘you had no choice. He wouldn’t leave. You made it clear he’d gone beyond the pale with his insults. Any normal person would have known they were no longer welcome. But he sits tight, and, as if he hasn’t said enough, piles on the offence.’

  ‘I was afraid when he kicked you,’ said Anne. ‘For the baby.’

  ‘Oh, that was terrible,’ added Nancy. ‘What sort of man does that?’

  ‘Fortunately there’s a water bag in there,’ said Maggie. ‘But didn’t it hurt. Like being hit by a football.’ She rubbed her tummy as she recalled the blow. ‘They talk about the pre-natal effect. Could the baby hear the insults?’

  ‘No,’ said David. ‘He only understands Yoruba.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Maggie. ‘Excuse me, everyone, I don’t normally swear. I am a teacher and can normally cope when all hell breaks loose. But this evening, I simply hoped a bit of hospitality, neighbourliness and cake would bring us together… The whole house, all four flats, a little bit of friendship and coffee cake.’ She sniffed and her eyes filled with tears. ‘For the first time in six months, I am thinking, just like that monster man – what world am I bringing my child into?’

  David put his arm round her and led her to an armchair. She sat down, he on the arm, and she leaned against him.

  ‘Sorry, Anne, Nancy.’ She smiled weakly. ‘These conflicting emotions, part of pregnancy I suppose, but I so wanted a pleasant little party.’

  ‘Didn’t we all,’ said Anne.

  ‘That’ll do for the clearing up, Anne,’ said David. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea. The British solution in a crisis. There’s still some cake and all the biscuits. Don’t let the bastard ruin our get together.’

  David rose, heading for the kitchen.

  ‘Can we have some music, dear?’ said Maggie. David halted, considering what. ‘Something soothing.’

  ‘How about Beethoven’s Pastoral?’ he said, going to the music deck. ‘The first movement,’ turning to them with a grand gesture. ‘The awakening of pleasant feelings upon arriving in the countryside.’