by Bud Craig
“Well, you know...,” I said.
“It’s a fantastic opportunity.”
“No, you’re all right, Tony,” I said.
Which meant: if I had a spare ten grand, would I give it to someone I was in effect meeting for the first time?
“If you’re sure...”
“I’m sure.”
There was a short silence.
“By the way, Tony,” I said, “the quiz is starting later. Do you fancy it?”
“Yeah, go on.”
“Great.”
“When we lived round here there were no quiz nights,” said Tony.
“We had to make our own entertainment.”
Tony sighed loudly.
“The only excitement we got was playing whip and top on the croft.”
For a moment I was a kid again, playing on the bomb site a few yards from our house.
CHAPTER TEN
For the next twenty minutes or so the pub, relatively quiet earlier, began to fill up for the quiz. Tony and I commandeered two tables and pulled them together. Moments later, Josie arrived, looking self-conscious with her walking stick. She sat next to me as I introduced her to Tony.
“Are you one of these social work type people?” he asked.
“No, I’m an accountant.”
Before the conversation could develop, Angela and Karen rushed in from the back. I was surprised to see Angela wearing jeans. But why shouldn’t she? Presumably she didn’t go around in office gear all the time.
“Hi, everyone,” said Angela a little too loudly as she approached.
She had taken advantage of not having to drive by starting on the booze before she’d left home. Dutch courage to face a night out with her staff? Did she really not get out much? Or did she always get tanked up after a stressful day? With her job every day must be stressful. I introduced Tony to her and Karen.
“I didn’t realise you would be here, Josie,” said Angela.
“No?”
Did Angela look a bit put out? Stop imagining things, Gus, I told myself. Just because she didn’t want to admit knowing Marti doesn’t mean everybody thinks Josie’s dodgy. Plus Angela was a bit pissed already, she was bound to sound funny.
“So glad you could join us,” Angela added.
She took her coat off and hung it on the back of the chair. In so doing she revealed a clinging red top. Her jeans were equally tight. She sat down next to Tony, leaning towards him. Karen went over and sat opposite us, putting her handbag on the table.
“You know, Josie,” said Karen, “I’m sure we’ve met before somewhere.”
Josie looked thoughtful for a moment.
“I don’t think so.”
“You must have a double.”
Josie shook her head in disbelief.
“Pity the poor cow who looks like me.”
I thought again about Josie. Karen seemed to know her and she knew Marti. Angela had told Josie to sod off earlier today. Her ‘so glad you could join us’ was to say the least unconvincing. What did it all mean if anything? Maybe nothing. Perhaps Angela just didn’t like Josie much. No reason why she should. By now, she was showing a great interest in my old friend. She asked about his job, where he lived, his marital status. She thrust her boobs in his direction, in case he hadn’t noticed them and was tactile in the way only drunk people can be.
“I see Angela’s chatting your mate up,” said Josie, after tapping me on the arm.
“She seems to be doing all right as well,” I laughed.
The sound of Arthur blowing into a microphone and chanting ‘1, 2, 1, 2’ filled the room.
“’Ey up, we’re under starter’s orders,” I said.
“Your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen,” announced the landlord. “Eyes down for the Park Hotel quiz.”
A muted cheer went up. Arthur instructed us to identify somebody to write down the answers and choose a name for our team.
“The Whip and Top Wonders,” said Tony.
After a few introductory words, Arthur and Phyllis, the barmaid, strolled from table to table with the picture round. Only moderately overweight, Phyllis looked positively svelte next to her boss. Soon our team had a sheet of photographs and enough paper for the answers to the other rounds.
“I think that’s Kevin Sinfield,” I said to Tony, recognising the Leeds rugby league star.
He nodded.
“Number 5’s whatsisface,” he said, “plays for City. Goalie.”
“Joe Hart.”
* * *
Later, as the papers were being collected from the science and nature round, the scores from the first round – general knowledge – were read out. Half a dozen teams were announced before us.
“Whip and Top Wonders, eighteen,” said Arthur through the mic.
That put us in the lead thus far.
“Deadbeat Mansions,” he continued, “nineteen.”
A team of middle aged blokes cheered. The block of flats round the corner where Rachel had found Tattersall’s body, I recalled. It had somehow turned into a sort of hostel for divorced men, loners and drifters over the years. I saw Simon Natchow come in and go over to the Deadbeat Mansions table. Bugger. I tried to watch Josie without appearing to. She had seen him too: the flicker of fear in her eyes gave her away. She got up.
“Just off for a smoke,” she said calmly, taking up her stick.
Tony got up.
“I’ll join you,” he said. “I’ll leave you in charge, Gus.”
Tony caught up with Josie. I thought again about Josie’s ‘guilty secret’ as Marti had called it. What could it be? It must have something to do with Marti being a solicitor, mustn’t it? What else would she want kept quiet? Despite having been put in charge by Tony, I would have to leave soon as the pressure on my bladder was becoming urgent. I got up and went in the same direction as Tony and Josie had just gone.
I came out of the gents and went outside in the garden for a breath of air. I saw Josie and Tony smoking a few yards away, deep in conversation.
“Don’t worry, Josie,” I heard Tony say more loudly than he needed to, “your secret’s safe with me.”
I pondered those words. What did Tony know about Josie? Did this just add to the mystery? I went back inside. The place was packed by now and there was a nice buzz. If I could only forget about the musician who had been killed, Simon Natchow and Josie Finch I might even have a good time. Or maybe not, I thought, as Simon approached our table. I hurried past him and took my seat again. The team were still conscientiously working their way through the pictures. They had already identified Theresa May, Jessica Ennis and a judge from X Factor, a programme I had never watched. As the quiz continued, Phyllis went round taking photographs on her phone. Simon reached the table and spoke.
“Well, isn’t this cosy?”
He looked round the table, then turned to see Tony coming back.
“Oh, look who’s here. If it isn’t Mr Murphy.”
“Mr Natchow, isn’t it,” said Tony pleasantly.
“Don’t you Mr Natchow me, Murphy.”
Tony said nothing and took his seat again.
“I’ll deal with you later,” said Simon.
Tony shrugged and carried on chatting with Angela. Simon looked straight at me.
“Why did you lie to me?”
I ignored him.
“Hey, you, I’m talking to you.”
Reluctantly I looked at him.
“There’s no need to shout.”
“No need to shout? You said Josie didn’t work at Social Services.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Then why is she...?”
I’d had enough.
“I’m gonna explain something to you,” I said, “and when I’ve finished I want you to go back to your table and leave us alone.”
He sniffed, twisting his features into a look of hatred.
“I contacted the police after you’d left the office yesterday,” I lied. “They told me all about y
ou. Asked me to tell them if you bothered me or anybody else again.”
“Look, mate...”
“I’m not your mate. They told Josie what happened and she came to see me to find out more.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s she doing here then?”
I sighed.
“We needed another member for our team.”
“You’re shagging her, aren’t you?”
“That’s enough. Arthur!”
The landlord waddled over.
“This bloke causing trouble?”
“Yeah.”
“Right. Out.”
Simon stood his ground.
“Watch your back, mate, I’m warning you,” he said, still talking to me. “That goes for you too, Murphy. And you can tell Josie to do the same. No-one messes with me and gets away with it.”
Arthur grabbed Natchow by the scruff of the neck. Simon struggled, kicking his legs, but the big landlord held firm. He frogmarched him towards the front door, which he opened with his left hand. The right continued to squeeze Simon’s neck. Without ceremony, Arthur flung him onto the pavement and slammed the door.
“Thanks, Arthur,” I said.
“No worries. I can’t help feeling sorry for him though.”
“What?”
Arthur grinned.
“He landed in a puddle. Now he’s gone and got his nice, new coat dirty.”
The rest of the table burst out laughing. A couple of minutes later, Josie limped back in and returned to the table.
“Simon has been thrown out of the pub, Josie,” I said.
“I’ve just seen him going through the car park,” she said. “I managed to avoid him.”
Josie then rubbed her hands together.
“Come on,” she said, “let’s win this quiz.”
* * *
We settled down for a good night out. On the last round of questions we were in with a chance of first prize. We concentrated hard. The final question was ‘Who recorded Judy in Disguise With Glasses’? Tony and I were the only ones who knew that: John Fred and his Playboy Band. At the end we beat Deadbeat Mansions by two points. After a bit of chat, Tony went to the bar to collect the prize, £50 worth of beer tokens, from Arthur. This seemed to signal home time for the quiz team. Tony came back to the table and handed the tokens to me.
“Here you are, Gus. That’ll come in handy for the next quiz night.”
We stood up ready to go, all a bit the worse for drink apart from Karen. Angela clung onto Tony’s arm.
“Karen,” said Angela, “Tony and I are having a drink in town. We’ve phoned for a cab, haven’t we, darling?”
Darling? My God. This was turning out to be quite a night.
“Sure,” said Tony.
“Oh, and Karen, if you see Frank, tell him I went back to yours for coffee.”
Karen smiled and shrugged.
“OK, whatever,” she said.
Josie explained that her brother was picking her up.
“I’m just off to the loo, then I’ll wait for him in the car park,” she added.
Karen looked at Josie for a few seconds, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“You’ve never been to Norfolk, have you?”
“No,” smiled Josie. “I’ve heard it’s very flat though.”
With that she said her goodbyes and went on her way.
Karen left. So did I, thinking about the part chance played in everybody’s lives. If Tony hadn’t made his call to me, he and Angela wouldn’t now be going off together. It was the same for all couples, I thought. A chance meeting could change lives. I thought of Simon and Josie as I began my walk home. I’d gone a few yards when the rain started, soon becoming a real downpour. Putting my hood up, I heard a high pitched noise behind me. It could have been a scream, a bird or a cat. Or anything really.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“So this Tony character, was he a close friend?” asked Marti.
It was February 29th. My 56th birthday. A Wednesday. About 11 o’clock in the morning. I’d spent the first few minutes after her arrival at my flat opening presents and cards. We were in my kitchen having a cup of tea and I’d started to tell her about Tony Murphy.
“Yeah, he used to knock about with me and Steve.”
“I can’t imagine you and Steve with anybody else. You’re like twins.”
I would never have thought about Steve and me in that way.
“I can’t believe he just turned up as if nothing had happened,” she went on.
“It is a bit weird,” I said. “The more I think about it the stranger it seems.”
“In what way?”
“Not sure really,” I began. “I think I’ve been influenced by Steve, you know, wondering what Tony was up to.”
“And what was he up to?”
I shrugged.
“Probably nothing. Anyway, I’m not gonna be too hard on him, he’s put a bit of work my way.”
“Oh?”
I sipped more tea.
“Yeah, he wants me to find Brenda.”
She looked baffled for a second.
“Find who?”
I explained about Brenda, the pregnancy and Tony doing a bunk.
“A bit late to say he’s sorry, if that’s what he has in mind.”
“True, but...”
“And when you say find her, is this a job for GRK Investigations?”
“Yeah.”
She went quiet for a bit.
“Since when have you been getting work from anyone but me?”
I smiled at her.
“You don’t have exclusive rights to my services, you know.”
Grinning, she leaned towards me, taking my hand and kissing me full on the lips.
“Oh, no?”
She grinned again.
“Maybe,” she murmured, “there are a few exclusive services you might be interested in when we get to the hotel.”
“Can’t wait.”
I finished my tea and recalled something else from the previous evening.
“Do you know what else happened last night,” I said.
“What?”
“Tony got off with Angela Bromwich.”
“Never.”
“Or should I say she got off with him.”
She stared at me.
“Angela? She doesn’t seem the type.”
I shrugged, thinking perhaps anybody could be ‘the type’.
“She turned up in skin tight jeans and t-shirt and made a beeline for him as soon as she arrived.”
“Bloody hell. Some people are full of surprises. Is he very good looking then?”
How the hell should I know, I wanted to say.
“Well, I don’t fancy him.”
“That’s a great help.”
* * *
“Da lat da Da lat da, Da lat da, Da lat da,” Marti and I sang in her Mercedes three quarters of an hour later.
The Best of the Proclaimers – a present from Danny – was blasting out at full volume. We were joining in with 500 miles. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t already got it in my collection. We’d been driving for about ten minutes and were now going through Worsley.
“Nearly there,” she said, breaking off from her singing, as she turned down a side road.
That was quick, I thought. We soon came to a sign saying Keaton Hall Country Hotel and turned right down a winding path. Marti eased the car into a parking bay in front of the hotel just as the track finished. A good omen, surely. I hate it when the car stops just before the end of a favourite song. We got out, gathered our stuff together and crunched across the gravel. Now we huddled in our fleeces against a cold wind. It had rained for a couple of hours overnight, but the sky must have cleared. Now the ground was mostly dry but, as the temperature had dropped, we’d been left with odd icy patches. Treading carefully, I looked up at the imposing facade.
“Too posh for the likes of me,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Gus,” said Marti, deliberately exaggerating
her Scouse accent, “I’ll tell you what knives and forks to use.”
“I thought we might be going further afield,” I said.
We can’t have travelled more than half a dozen miles.
“We can’t go too far. I’ve got to be up early tomorrow to visit a client in Strangeways,” she explained.
“You know, Marti,” I said as we continued along the path, “Sometimes I suspect you of being a workaholic.”
I reckoned I was privileged to be spending just one night away with her.
“I’m no such thing,” she replied. “And I’ll certainly be forgetting about work for tonight at least.”
She’d only got back from Liverpool a couple of hours ago. Her mother was on the mend and being looked after by her neighbour. I’d been instructed not to ask any more.
“It’s your birthday,” she said, “and I aim to make sure you enjoy it.”
She put her arms around my waist.
“After all, it only happens once every four years.”
I smiled as I thought of the cards I’d received with Happy 14th Birthday on the front. We approached the front of the hotel where an automatic door opened to admit us. Marti checked in. We went to the lift where she pressed the button for the second floor. As we began our ascent, Marti kissed me.
“Gus,” she said, “switch your phone off. When we get to our room, we won’t want to be disturbed.”
I took the phone out of my pocket. I hadn’t got round to switching it on. Another good sign maybe.
* * *
Later we lay together in a four poster bed in a room big enough for a 7 a side rugby match. Our clothes were scattered randomly on the floor in front of us. We were sipping a post-coital glass of Bollinger. The bottle waited in an ice bucket on a table to the left. Places like this always made me think of my Salford childhood. There was a time when staying in any hotel had intimidated the life out of me. And now look at me, I said to myself. My sister had once said, ‘We’ve come a long way from West Park Street’. How right she was, metaphorically at least.
Soon after we got to the bedroom, Marti had warmed me up with the seeing to to end all seeings to. Best birthday present ever? Probably. I sipped more bubbly, enjoying the dry, yeasty flavour. If I had the money I reckoned I could become a champagne socialist. Marti coughed as though preparing for an announcement.
“I’ve got something to say,” she said.