Tim Connor Hits Trouble

by Frank Lankaster

  He had an added reason to avoid asking Erica back to his place. Darren Naylor had begun to make sleazy comments about her. One remark triggered a suspicion that somehow Naylor had spied on their sexual activities, sneering that they were ‘a pair of pervs.’ Tim’s riposte that Naylor ‘was a pathetic peeping Tom’ was a good hit, but added to his neighbour’s festering store of loathing. It was quite possible that Naylor had managed to look into the house: the curtains on the windows facing Naylor’s side were a poor fit and Tim didn’t always draw them fully shut. Curtains were a low priority when he and Erica moved into top gear. So far his neighbour’s offensive remarks about Erica had been directed to Tim but he guessed Naylor would target Erica if he got an opportunity. He would like to figure out a way to sort out Naylor. But today, tonight, he didn’t want the hassle. And if possible he wanted to keep Erica out of it. Besides he was a born counter-puncher. He would wait for Naylor to make a mistake before knocking seven shades of shoeshine out of him. That was the fantasy version. He knew that in reality there was no predicting how this nasty situation might swing.

  He picked up the phone and rang Erica’s number.

  ‘Hi, Erica, it’s Tim…’

  ‘Hi, Tim…You ok? I was planning to call you later. I’m kind of missing you.’

  ‘Me, too, missing you I mean. I seem to be in a funny mood.’

  Oh, why’s that? Is something wrong?’

  ‘No, not really… maybe work has caught up with me. To be honest I need a few hours’ break. Can I bounce you out of your comfort zone? How about meeting up tonight? I’ll treat you to an Indian. And then, I’d love to see your place.’

  ‘My place?’

  ‘Yeah, if that’s ok? You keep appearing and disappearing like the lady in the lake or a being from outer space. It’s great but it would be nice to see that you actually do live somewhere.’

  There was a brief silence. Tim was unsure which way this was going to go.

  ‘Ok, why not? But please don’t compare me to a being from outer space.’

  This was better than he expected. Erica had agreed with no more than a light-hearted rebuke.

  ‘Great. Where? Would you like to eat first?’

  ‘First? First before what?’ Erica suddenly sounded less playful.

  ‘I mean before we go to your place.’

  ‘Just bring in a take-a-way for us and a couple of bottles of Cobra or something similar.’

  ‘Ok. Is eight a good time to come over?’

  ‘Fine, a bit earlier if you want. Say between half seven and eight. See you then. Take care.’

  ‘Great. See you later.’

  On his way to Erica’s Tim stopped off to buy the food and drink. He thought of getting her some flowers but decided that this might strike an over sentimental note into their so far mainly carnal relationship. And in the past he had usually preferred to buy his girl-friends chocolates rather than flowers. It seemed better to buy something to share – especially if you could eat it as well.

  Erica’s apartment was in a modern block that was more up-market than he had anticipated. He passed through a colonnaded entrance zone before coming to some marble steps. He scaled these with his usual gusto before colliding with a uniformed security man of massive bulk and stature. Their long legs tangled together as they struggled to remain vertical.

  ‘Ouch,’ security gasped, ‘you f… you f…’

  ‘Sorry, apologies, your steps are uneven, sorry.’

  Grimacing with discomfort, the security man managed to regain composure. He eyed Tim with aggressive scepticism, insisting on accompanying him to reception to check his status. Tim announced himself to a smartly turned-out yet bored looking receptionist and waited as she phoned through to Erica.

  ‘That’s fine Sir, Ms. Botham is expecting you. The lift is over there. Ms. Botham’s apartment is on the top floor. It’s a couple of doors down on the left as you leave the lift.’

  ‘Many thanks.’

  Tim turned to find the security man was still there. Slightly the taller and by far the heavier of the two men, security looked ominously confrontational.

  ‘Stop being taller than me,’ Tim opted for a touch of disruptive surrealism.

  ‘What? Are you crazy?’

  ‘Probably.’ Tim stepped smartly round the uniformed monolith and hurried to the lift. He pressed the bell and the lift doors immediately slid open. He gave security a relaxed wave as the doors closed. The wave went unreturned.

  Exiting the lift Tim found himself in a thickly carpeted corridor lit on each side by tastefully understated lighting. He was pleasantly aware of the soft tread underfoot as he made his way to Erica’s apartment. Outside he put down the bag of food and beer and attempted to smooth his hair and clothes. In these surroundings, linen trousers, a clean white shirt and a well-worn jacket might undershoot the dress code on the informal side. Not that Erica made a habit of criticising his style – it was the place itself that suggested greater sartorial effort.

  He pressed the doorbell. There was no immediate response. He leaned forward to ring again but held back on hearing movement and voices. The door opened and he was welcomed by a serious looking Erica. She was more dressed-down than he had seen her, wearing only jeans, a t-shirt and trainers. To his hungry eyes she looked better than ever.

  ‘Tim, good to see you,’ her welcoming kiss felt unexpectedly restrained. ‘I hope you made it without too much difficulty.’

  ‘No worries. Security gave me the once over but otherwise, no problem.’

  ‘Security? If the big guy was on; he tends to be over-protective of female residents. Basically he’s ok. Give me the bag of goodies and I’ll put the beer in the fridge. I’ll warm up the take-away later.’

  Tim handed the bag over, expecting to be led into the flat. Erica seemed to hesitate.

  ‘So you’re not going to invite me in then?’ he joked.

  ‘I should have mentioned on the phone that… Look, come in.’

  She abruptly stopped talking. It was apparent why. Immediately facing him as they entered a large reception room was Rachel Steir.

  Rachel got up swiftly and strode towards him. To his surprise she held out her hand. The handshake was stiff and uncomfortable and perversely increased the sense of distance between them. The warm hand of friendship it was not. Tim wondered whether Rachel had taken pre-emptive action to avoid the kissing of alternate cheeks, now a fashionable greeting amongst all varieties of genders except heterosexual men. He was relieved to escape that ritual but disconcerted when for no obvious reason Rachel and Erica exchanged double kisses of the fatter kind. Was he being deliberately provoked? The women’s display of affection struck a possessive chord and he planted a couple of kisses on Erica’s cheeks, gauchely grabbing her backside as he did so. She quickly removed his hands but smiled broadly seeming to enjoy the outbreak of competitive attention. Rachel frowned but said nothing. It occurred to him that perhaps he had reacted with uncouth paranoia to a genuine effort at civility from Rachel. It was a relief when Erica moved matters on.

  ‘Tim, do you mind if we eat later? Rachel has been looking for an opportunity to talk to you, informally at this stage. It’s rather a sensitive matter and she doesn’t want to raise it at work, at least not yet. So I thought she could come here and explain what she has in mind. It’s not really about you, well not directly. It involves us all really.’

  Agitated, Rachel interrupted. ‘Erica thanks. I think I should take over now. After all, the whole thing is my idea. I should take responsibility for it.’

  Tim tensed. His coolness to Rachel following his interview had diminished but he had no wish to share her confidences and even less to engage in clandestine intimacy. Besides he felt cheated. A lengthy conversation with Rachel was definitely not what he had in mind for the evening. A bad day was still on the slide. But he had little choice but to hear Rachel out. And he didn’t want to risk upsetting Erica who inexplicably seemed to think the meeting was a good idea.

&n
bsp; ‘Why don’t you two sit down and talk. I’ll brew up some coffee. I know how you both take it.’ She clearly wanted to deliver Tim to benefit from Rachel’s undivided attention.

  As Rachel talked Tim’s reluctance to listen evaporated. Her intense, authoritative tone grabbed his attention. It was clear she was on a mission. The gist was that as Head of Department she believed she had ‘to tackle the problem of Henry Jones.’ The ridiculous incident at the departmental meeting was merely symptomatic. More importantly she had received a steady flow of complaints about him from students. These included accusations that he was frequently drunk and incoherent when lecturing, failed to give proper feedback for assessed work, and had made rude remarks about other members of staff, particularly, as it happened, herself. One student had claimed that he had referred to her as ‘an over-blown dyke.’ His behaviour might affect the reputation of the department and quite probably student recruitment. If so, everybody’s job would be at stake, not just Henry’s. He had clearly lost all inhibition and had no consideration for colleagues. It was urgent either that he be persuaded to retire or, if necessary, be dismissed. Before raising the matter with the Dean she wanted to be sure she had the full backing of the department. She looked hard at Tim.

  ‘Can I be sure of your support? I have everybody else’s.’

  Tim eyed Rachel coolly for a long moment.

  ‘No.’

  There was a moment’s silence of the awkward variety.

  ‘Do you mind telling me why not? Even in your short period here you must be aware that what I’ve told you is entirely consistent with Henry Jones’ behaviour.’

  ‘No means you can’t be sure of my support at this moment. I need to think about this. Actually what you describe is not completely consistent with the man I know or, I should say, the man I’m getting to know. I’d describe him as kind, eccentric and brilliant, as well as drunken, unreliable and occasionally rude.’

  ‘Timothy, whatever positive qualities he may have or perhaps once had, the defects you’ve just referred to demonstrate that he cannot possibly be allowed to continue in his job. To be honest we assumed he would ask for early retirement after he was demoted, I mean rotated or moved sideways.’

  ‘Who are the ‘we’ who thought he would retire? By the way I think you do mean demoted.’

  ‘I’ve already told you that everyone I’ve spoken to thinks that he should go. Surely you can see why people have had to give up on him?’

  ‘What about Aisha Khan?’

  ‘Well, yes, Aisha quite sensibly says she doesn’t feel able to get involved and on reflection I agree with her. She recognises Henry is in a dreadful state but hasn’t seen enough of him to make a judgement about what ought to be done about him. No doubt she feels able to leave it to senior colleagues.’

  ‘I’m no more senior than her.’

  ‘Your previous experience in education is recognised. Really I just need to know that you are in general agreement with us.’

  Tim felt patronised as well as pressured. A familiar feeling of bolshiness was stirring. He decided to find out more about Rachel’s intentions before making up his own mind.

  ‘I assume Howard Swankie is part of “us”?

  ‘He believes Henry should go as soon as is practical. He’s concerned that Henry is undermining the good work of the rest of us in building up the faculty. In fact Howard approached me about the matter although I had already decided I had to take it up with him. Howard’s very keen that the initiative to get rid of, er… persuade Henry to leave should come from us. It would look bad for the faculty if this were to appear as a continuation of his feud with Henry. You can see his problem.’

  ‘But however he wants things to appear Howard did start this off.’

  ‘Don’t be so literal.’

  ‘Factual, you mean.’

  ‘Timothy… Tim,’ Rachel struggled to affect a softer tone. ‘Tim, you surely recognise that what we’re trying to do is the right thing. Surely?’ She forced her face into a parody of a smile.

  Tim felt cornered. All the good arguments seemed to be on her side. Better stall. ‘Look, I get on with Henry. He’s not as far gone as you think. Why don’t I talk to him? See if I can persuade him to tone down slightly, sufficiently to get him through the next year or so?’

  Rachel’s face twitched swiftly from forced smile to horrified grimace. ‘Please don’t. We; all senior staff have talked to Henry at one time or another. You will only drag things out. There’s no need for you to get involved. If you can’t support us then please don’t say or do anything.’

  Rachel was beginning to sound panicky. Tim felt encouraged. Her hard logic had caught him cold. Now he was beginning to think of arguments to support his gut feeling.

  ‘What about loyalty? Solidarity between colleagues? We give more and more time and energy to our jobs and less and less to the people we work with. Henry has given half a lifetime to his job. We ought to try to help him, not conspire to finish him off.’

  Not wanting to sound too pious he toughened his tone. ‘I don’t intend to see Henry shafted without at least letting him know what’s going on. We’ve become so obsessed with bloody targets and the rest of the paraphernalia that we’ve become desensitised to the consequences of our own behaviour. We think and talk within tramlines, we’re getting too frightened to speak our minds.’

  Rachel’s voice was tight as she struggled to contain her annoyance.

  ‘Tim, you’re beginning to sound like Henry himself, full of impractical nonsense. Listen, Henry’s situation has nothing to do with the high ideals you’re referring to. The fact is he is unprofessional and dysfunctional. I regret raising this matter with you. I’d appreciate it if you would treat this conversation as confidential. Let those who know Henry well deal with it. It can’t possibly do Henry or, for that matter, you any good if you interfere.’

  Tim was about to challenge this remark when Erica who had been sitting quietly, a tray of coffee across her knees, cut in.

  ‘Hey you two, there’s no need to fall out over this. Let me pour some coffee. I’d have offered it you before but I didn’t want to interrupt.’

  ‘Thank you but I think I won’t. I have things to do as I’m sure you two do as well,’ said Rachel, giving Erica a reproachful look.

  Erica looked crestfallen, almost contrite. ‘I hope you’re not upset, Rachel? After all it was you that wanted to meet with Tim.’ This was a different Erica than Tim was used to: almost a mirror opposite.

  Rachel ignored the question. ‘As I said, I have things to do. I don’t want to get in the way. I’ll call you tomorrow, early if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure you need to go.’

  Rachel had already picked up her bag and coat. Tim contemplated remaining in his seat as a protest, but thought that she might miss the point. The expectation that a man would spring to his feet when a woman leaves the room is one of the many social rituals feminism has changed. In the end it was the residual politeness of his northern upbringing that prompted him to stand up. ‘You can be too complicated,’ he thought, as, rising to his feet, he tripped over Erica’s Afghan rug, almost bowling into Rachel’s arms. Rachel accelerated out of the apartment.

  Outside the door Rachel turned to face Tim and Erica. Tim braced himself for more verbals. She settled for a thunderous frown before marching off down the corridor.

  Back inside Tim and Erica looked at each other. Simultaneously they took deep breaths and burst into laughter.

  ‘Jesus. Why was that so funny?’ Tim grinned.

  ‘It wasn’t really but it’s a hell of a relief to get it over with.’

  ‘Yeah, but why did you?’

  Erica moved in closer pressing a finger to Tim’s mouth before he could finish his sentence. Relaxed now, she nuzzled up against his chest. The mood had slipped into intimacy.

  ‘I can never decide what you smell of. Almost neutral but there’s a suggestion of porridge.’

  ‘Porridge?’
Tim was not flattered.

  ‘Or rice-pudding maybe.’

  He was even less flattered.

  ‘I doubt it. I did eat a lot of both as a kid but I don’t think the aroma could still be hanging on.’

  ‘I suppose not. It’s a nice smell anyway. Very you. Some men smell sweaty or worse.’

  ‘I can imagine. Spare me the details. What about women?’

  ‘They’re always fragrant. Like Rachel.’

  ‘Quite.’

  He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her speculatively on the forehead. Feelings were stirring that he had not yet allowed himself to recognise. And if he did want more than lust and desire from their relationship he was not sure Erica did. He felt an unfamiliar pang of insecurity. It might help if he knew more about her relationship with Rachel, an issue they had previously steered clear of. Now he went straight to the point.

  ‘So what is it between you and Rachel?

  Her reply was equally candid.

  ‘She’s my partner, well, a partner. My other partner that is, in case you think I’ve got a stable-full. I’d assumed you’d guessed. Didn’t you?’

  ‘More or less, but I wasn’t completely sure.’ He was determined to keep his cool. Erica sounded less defensive than he’d anticipated. He decided to press on.

  ‘So you’re bi-sexual?’

  ‘Yes, sort of, if you want to put a label on it. But my relationship with Rachel isn’t mainly about sex.’

  ‘So my relationship with you is mainly about sex then?’

  ‘Tim,’ she reached for his hand reassuringly, ‘you mustn’t get paranoid. I don’t know what my relationship with you is about. I know we started with a strong sexual urge and that doesn’t seem to have worn off. Anyway let’s focus on Rachel first, seeing you ask.’