The Penultimate Chance Saloon

by Simon Brett

  * * *

  By the time he got back to his Pimlico flat, Bill Stratton was feeling wretched. The broken tooth ached, and his mood was not improved by a message on the answering machine. He immediately recognised the irritating prissy Welshness of Dewi’s voice.

  ‘Bill, Andrea wanted me to let you know that she’s in hospital.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ... and, by way of contrast,

  a member of a French swimming team was too

  embarrassed to turn up for a regional competition

  because he had been experimenting with Viagra the night before.

  Bill rang through to Dewi’s surgery the following morning.

  The receptionist said Dr Roberts would be with patients until about eleven, but she would pass on the message.

  It was nearly half-past twelve when the call came. While he waited, Bill was uncharacteristically twitchy. He wasn’t really worried about Andrea, though her hospitalisation added another layer of unease to his feelings. Mostly, his discomfort sprang from what had happened the night before. He felt doubly unfortunate. The growing closeness of his relationship with Ginnie had been put into reverse, and God only knew where he stood with Leigh. He thought of ringing her, but he didn’t want to risk missing Dewi’s call back. Also he wasn’t quite sure what he would say if he did get through to her.

  His mood wasn’t improved by the fact that he had a dull, dry hangover. Over-compensating for the diminishing sense of intimacy with Ginnie, he had ordered one bottle too many, and drunk most of it himself. The face that had bleared out of his shaving mirror at him that morning, with its white fuzz of bristles, had been that of an old man.

  On top of that, the broken tooth was really hurting now. He’d have to make an appointment with his dentist, a procedure he never particularly relished. At one stage of the morning, he picked up the phone to do the deed, but replaced it quickly, still worried about missing Dewi.

  When the call finally came, Bill’s ex-wife’s husband made no pretence of wanting to talk to him. ‘I’m only calling because Andrea insisted. She said you ought to know.’

  ‘Well, yes, if she’s in hospital, I’d want to know.’ But was that true? He’d thought so little about Andrea in the eighteen months since the divorce that perhaps the details of her life really were of no interest to him. ‘So what’s she done? Broken something?’ He hoped the tone of his enquiry contained the right mix of lightness and concern.

  ‘No, it’s rather more serious than that.’ Dewi’s voice was full of righteous reproof. No doubt Andrea had talked to him at great length about her ex-husband’s ‘shallowness’. Bill Stratton couldn’t be expected even to take serious things seriously.

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘Andrea has cancer.’

  ‘God.’ He felt winded by the answer, and struggled for his words. ‘What, but I mean ... where?’

  ‘The lungs.’

  ‘Lungs. But Andrea never smoked.’

  ‘Lung cancer is not always smoking-related.’ It was the medical man’s rebuke to the non-specialist.

  ‘But ... I mean ... how bad is it?’

  ‘Bad enough.’ Dewi managed almost to sound smug as he said the words. ‘She’s had a course of chemotherapy which it’s hoped has reduced the tumour. She’s in hospital at the moment for some tests to see whether they’re going to have to operate.’

  ‘Oh, God. But when ...? How long ago was it diagnosed?’

  ‘Four months.’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t anyone tell me before?’

  ‘There was a general view ...’ said Dewi, building up an image of Bill being discussed at Roberts’ family councils, ‘that you wouldn’t be interested.’

  ‘Of course I’d be interested. I was married to Andrea for nearly forty years.’

  ‘Hmm.’ There was a wealth of disapproval in the monosyllable.

  ‘So ... Dewi ...’ He managed to bring himself to use the name ‘... what’s the prognosis?’

  ‘Andrea’s not my patient,’ came the prim response.

  ‘No, but you must have some idea.’

  ‘Her future is very much dependent on the outcome of these tests. Depends how effective the chemo has been. We’ll have to see what her consultant says.’

  ‘But ... how is she?’ As soon as he said it, he knew it was a stupid question.

  ‘Nobody tends to be at their best when they’ve got lung cancer.’

  ‘I know that. Still, how is – ?’

  ‘Well, of course Andrea’s a wonderfully strong woman. She’s being very brave, doing everything not to upset the children.’

  Yes, of course, the Roberts brood would be involved too. ‘But she’s being looked after all right, is she?’

  Dewi took that as a direct insult. ‘I can assure you she is! She’s having the best medical care available. I go and see her every day, and the children have worked out a rota of visiting. Andrea is in very good hands.’

  ‘I’m sure she is, yes. I didn’t mean to give the impression that –’

  ‘Well, you did.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Now I do have a surgery to run, so –’

  ‘Dewi ...’ The name didn’t get any easier to say ‘Would it be possible for me to see Andrea?’

  There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line. ‘I don’t see why that should be necessary.’

  ‘Please ... I would like to see her.’

  ‘She might not want to see you.’

  ‘I agree, she might not. But would you ask her?’

  The idea clearly didn’t appeal. ‘Bill, if I’d had my way, I wouldn’t be speaking to you now. I’m only doing so because Andrea asked me to. That’s what she wanted.’

  ‘In just the same way, she might want to see me.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Please. Will you ask her?’

  ‘I’ll discuss it with the children. See what they think.’

  God, thought Bill as he put the phone down. Another bloody Roberts family council will be summoned to discuss more of my shortcomings.

  He was shocked by the news of Andrea’s illness, but he felt so detached from her life that it hardly seemed real to him. On his shelf was a small medical dictionary which had somehow survived the dispersal of belongings from the Putney house. There was no specific entry for the lung variety, just a general piece on cancer. One sentence from the article stood out. ‘Some cancers can be caused by physical factors; a broken tooth or badly fitting denture can give rise to a chronic mouth ulcer which does not heal and undergoes malignant change.’

  He tried not to think about it. He made an appointment with his dentist and decided to find some undemanding company over lunch in the pub. Then, in an attempt to drive out thoughts of death by thoughts of continuing life, he rang Leigh. Yes, she’d like to meet. She was free that evening.

  Neither of them mentioned being at Cruising the previous night.

  * * *

  There were a million reasons why it could have happened, but he had a feeling that the real one was the news about Andrea. But he couldn’t tell Leigh that. She’d think he was just fishing for sympathy. Up until that point the evening had followed its usual pattern. A pleasant dinner in an obscure restaurant, idle conversation, and back to the house in Clerkenwell.

  It was only when they got into bed that everything went wrong. Bill, like most men, had had occasional bouts of impotence during his marriage. General tiredness or excessive booze had from time to time taken their toll. Remarkably, though, during his sexual encounters in anonymous hotels since the divorce, the problem hadn’t arisen ... and fortunately something else had. But he’d never before encountered what happened that night in Leigh’s bed.

  Or rather what didn’t happen.

  Nothing.

  The beauties of her body, the murmuring dirtiness of her voice, the urging of her hands and ... nothing. Bill ransacked his memory for ever more obscene images to rouse him to some kind of act
ion, but the transmission cable between brain and groin appeared to have been permanently severed. When it became finally clear that her efforts were having no effect, Leigh rolled away from him.

  ‘I don’t quite know ...’ Bill began hesitantly.

  ‘It happens.’ Her tone was even, not exactly unsympathetic, but hardly encouraging.

  ‘I suppose I could try Viagra,’ he suggested, in a way that he hoped sounded humorous.

  ‘I don’t care what you do, so long as it works...’ She touched him lightly. ‘Which this currently doesn’t.’

  ‘No.’

  She turned her pale blue, Irish-looking eyes on him. ‘Is this something to do with last night?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cruising. We were both there with other dates.’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d seen me.’

  ‘Of course I did. You were only the other side of the dance floor.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, is this something to do with that?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, God knows the way you men’s minds work. But the fact that you saw me with someone else last night might ... I don’t know, bring on performance anxiety ... make you jealous ...’

  Bill saw a potential way out that would leave him with some honour intact. ‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I –’

  Leigh raised a hand to silence him. ‘I don’t want to hear any of it. I’m not in this to mend your bruised ego or cure your feelings of inadequacy. That’s what I do all day at work. In my social life I don’t want to hear about people’s complications.’

  ‘But, Leigh ...’ He wasn’t going to throw away the excuse she had offered him. ‘It was quite a shock for me to see you with another man.’

  ‘Why? Have we ever had an agreement that involves fidelity? Have we ever even discussed the subject? I don’t ask you what you do with your life when you’re not with me, and I think you should allow me the same freedom. Sauce for the goose or something of the sort.’ ‘Yes, that’s fine, but just ... well, seeing you with someone else...’ He decided to try the sentimental escape route ‘...I suppose it made me realise how much you do mean to me.’

  ‘Crap. What I mean to you is that I’m someone you have good sex with. It’s like meeting someone with whom you have a good game of squash.’

  ‘No more?’ he asked, knowing he sounded pathetic.

  ‘No. You’ve got a nerve, anyway. I don’t know why you’re getting at me. I have as much right to go out with who I want to as you do.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And I’m afraid I don’t buy that gender difference argument. You can behave like that because you’re a man, whereas I’m a weak feeble sentimental woman –’

  ‘I wasn’t using that argument. I just ... well, I thought we had something going between us.’

  ‘We did. As I said, very enjoyable sex.’

  He wanted to ask, Was that all? but couldn’t bring himself to. There were limits to how feeble and feminine he could sound.

  ‘And, incidentally, Bill, there is a bit of pot and kettle going on here. I would point out that when you saw me at Cruising with my date, you weren’t alone yourself.’

  ‘No, but ... she’s been a friend for ever. And also –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean, that woman I was with ...’

  ‘Virginia Fairbrother,’ she said dismissively. ‘Yes, I did recognise her.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t go to bed with her.’

  ‘I don’t care whether you went to bed with her or not. It’s not my business.’

  ‘I never have been to bed with her.’

  ‘Bill, I don’t want to hear your life history.’

  ‘Well, you’ve heard plenty of my life history. You kept asking me about myself.’

  ‘Yes, but that was just for professional reasons.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘As a psychotherapist, I have to find out what makes people tick. It’s an occupational hazard. But I’ve never wanted to get into a situation where I have to start treating you. Evenings I’m off duty. All I’ve ever wanted from you was good uncomplicated sex.’

  He let out a dry chuckle. ‘That’s what men are supposed to say.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to use the gender argument.’

  ‘No, I’m not ... I just ... I thought I meant something to you, Leigh.’

  ‘You did. You had two things going for you. You were an amusing companion and a good lover. Now we seem to be reduced to one thing, and quite honestly, I can always find myself amusing companionship.’

  ‘And other good lovers?’

  Leigh smiled complacently. ‘Oh yes.’

  He felt the need to move the conversation on. ‘Tonight, I mean ... what happened ... or didn’t happen ... I’m sure it’s just a blip. I mean, I don’t think I’m, like, impotent for life. It will come back ... you know, with a bit of care and concentration and relaxation.’

  ‘Bill, I’m not about to take on the role of a sex therapist. Just accept the facts. We had a nice time, we enjoyed each other’s company, we enjoyed each other’s bodies ... and now that little interlude has come to an end.’

  ‘So don’t you want to meet again?’

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be a lot of point. We were going to finish soon, anyway.’

  ‘Were we?’

  ‘Yes. I’d been getting the feeling recently that we’d run our course. Hadn’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  She shrugged. To her it seemed the whole affair was already in the past.

  ‘So we just part, do we, Leigh? I go through that door, and we don’t see each other again?’

  ‘Sounds about right, yes.’

  ‘We don’t even talk on the phone?’

  ‘What would be the point of that? What do we have to say to each other?’

  ‘But ... do we leave as friends?’

  ‘Does it really matter?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want there to be any ... sort of –’

  ‘Oh, please, Bill, for God’s sake, don’t do the “hard feelings” line.’

  ‘No, I just mean ... Leigh, I wouldn’t like to think –

  ‘I know exactly what you wouldn’t like to think. Like every other bloody man. You wouldn’t like to think that I have any negative feelings towards you. You’d like to think I still like you. You’d like to think I regard our time together as a magical little oasis in the desert of my life, on which I will look back fondly as I get older. Whatever happens, you don’t want me to think badly of you.’

  ‘Well...’ She was embarrassingly close to the truth. ‘What will you think of me, Leigh?’

  ‘Bill, I think it’s very unlikely that I will think about you at all.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ... and, by way of contrast,

  a dentist in Tasmania has written his

  autobiography under the title A Bridge Too Far’.

  The message on the answering machine was prickly and curt. Dewi had discussed Bill’s request with Andrea and the children, and been persuaded – against his better judgment, the tone implied – that a visit would be permissible. It was scheduled for two-thirty to three PM the following Saturday. Dewi gave details of the hospital and ward where Andrea could be found.

  Not the most welcoming of acquiescences. For a moment, Bill Stratton was tempted to let the opportunity pass. Andrea was now so far out of his life, why should he bother visiting her? He clearly wasn’t wanted and, besides, he’d always had a squeamishness about hospitals. Whereas Andrea had seemed positively energised by their atmosphere, he had always tried to avoid visiting them. Even with a couple of closeish friends who’d died, Bill had taken the coward’s way out towards the end, sending a card rather than appearing in person.

  Had he been feeling his usual self, he probably would have given seeing Andrea a miss. But his encounter with Leigh the night before had left him raw, with an instinct for self-flagellation. He wouldn’t enjoy going to the ho
spital to see Andrea. For that very reason, he must make the visit.

  He left a message on Dewi’s answering machine to that effect.

  * * *

  Bill Stratton’s dentist had an hour a day set aside for emergencies. The broken tooth was reckoned to qualify and, after one look, the dentist announced that the offending molar should be removed.

  ‘There’s hardly any of it left, anyway. Mostly just old filling I’ll be pulling out.’ The dentist was Australian, reputed to be very charming to his female patients. He didn’t bother with any of that for the men. ‘Do you want an injection?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Bill had never been that keen on pain.

  The dentist sighed at his cowardice. ‘Very well. But it’ll come out with one tug. There’s not much holding it in place.’

  Bill was adamant. ‘I’d still rather have the injection.’

  ‘Fine.’ The dentist made rather heavy weather of inserting the needle into the gum, and didn’t disguise his impatience during the wait for the anaesthetic to take effect.

  ‘That won’t be the last one,’ he said ominously.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The last tooth to come out. They’re all in bad nick.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ Not only impotent, now my body’s falling apart. ‘What would you recommend?’

  The dentist shrugged. ‘Have them all out. Get dentures.’

  The image wasn’t appealing. Bill knew he should have looked after his teeth better over the years, but his squeamishness about medical establishments extended to dental surgeries as well as hospitals, so he had developed a bad habit of missing his regular check-ups.

  The idea of dentures, though ... of putting his smile in a glass overnight. Or didn’t people do that anymore? There were enough advertisements for denture fixatives around ... day-time television commercials featuring desperately enthusiastic, fit-looking pensioners of the kind who were about to realise the equity in their houses and would soon be equally keen on buying stairlifts and walk-in baths.