The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene

by David Carter

They took dinner in a small wine bar cum restaurant just off the market square. Glen opted for the steak and would later swear it was the best steak she had ever eaten. When it came to conversation Gringo’s parents were exactly like him. It never once abated, punctuated by jokes and funny stories aplenty, for they seemed to possess an inexhaustible supply of anecdotes, a tale for every occasion, with often more than one person speaking at the same time, frequently accompanied by raucous laughter that would attract the attention of the staff and most of the diners. My God, that lot are a cheerful bunch, they’re having a whale of a time, suggested the slightly envious looks that came their way, but as Glen was to discover all through the weekend, that was the norm, the humour and goodnaturedness of the Greene family, and it never once approached exhaustion.

  They acted as if they were a special bunch, she had never experienced anything quite like it before, and she couldn’t help but contrast it with her own family, where the bitchiness of the sisters; and downright cantankerousness of her father, ensured that it was only a matter of time before any similar gathering descended into rows and bitterness. The fact of the matter was the Greenes were a special bunch, and Glen knew which family she preferred. She did not love Gringo Greene, but boy oh boy, it would be so easy to fall head over heels in love with his small but precious family.

  Gringo paced himself in Ludlow, drinking apple juice, and after dinner he drove the merry gang back toward Shrewsbury and home, where his father rewarded him by opening the most expensive bottle of red wine in the house.

  As it turned out the girls drank more than their fair share, not that Gringo or Ray begrudged them. There was still time for more stories, reminiscences, each of the four taking it in turns to hold court, to spill the beans on crazy events and adventures they had encountered.

  It had been a wonderful day, a beautiful day, that would remain in their memories forever, but already thoughts were turning to parting, for Gringo and Glen would set off for home just after lunch on the Sunday, and heaven knows when they would see each other again, if ever.

  Never mind all that, thought Ray, to hell with tomorrow, make the most of today, for you never know when the curtain will fall, when the play comes to an end, when things change irrevocably, and the laughing has to stop. Make the most of it, of everything, for the final curtain’s shuddering for all of us. It always is.

  That night Glen rewarded Gringo with two kisses on the lips. She figured he deserved a little bonus for insisting on bringing her along. She hadn’t enjoyed a weekend so much in ages, no pressure, no hassle, just scintillating company, buoyed by good food and wine. She’d decided she’d return any time he asked her.

  She yawned gently and settled into his chest and whispered: ‘Gringo, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Course you can.’

  ‘Your dad said you’re in love with me.’

  ‘Did he? He had no business in saying such a thing.’

  ‘Are you, Gringo?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Thought not. You better not be, you’ll only end up getting hurt, and I don’t want that.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Well that’s all right then.’

  She kissed him again, on the cheek this time, and whispered ‘Goodnight GG,’ and wiggled her naked body closer to his, and fell asleep.

  He cupped his hand around her silky thigh, and sighed and kissed her shoulder and closed his eyes. He didn’t want the weekend to end, but more than that, he didn’t want her temporary stay at his house to end, and the following Friday was creeping ever closer. He shivered and tried hard to push that sad thought from his mind. Next Friday he would lose her. He kissed her gently one last time, and closed his eyes.

  Sunday morning brought scrambled eggs, Mrs Greene’s speciality. They sat around in the conservatory overlooking the carefully tended garden, as they ate their breakfast and devoured the Sunday papers.

  The big hand on the clock raced around as if it was on steroids, dragging the small hand with it, and none of them were looking forward to the departure scene.

  ‘Would you like me to make you some sandwiches?’ asked Gayle.

  ‘No ta,’ said Gringo.

  ‘Shouldn’t you ask your guest before you refuse such an offer?’ said Ray, winking at Glen.

  ‘Yes, I might fancy some sandwiches for the trip,’ said Glen, always eager to tease Gringo.

  ‘And you want sandwiches?’ he said, fixing her with his dark eyes.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ she smirked, ‘but it would have been nice to have been consulted.’

  Gringo shrugged his shoulders and grinned like a Mexican bandit. It was time to load up the car. He threw the bags in the boot as Glen and Gayle mwah-mwahed on the doorstep with real affection.

  ‘You will come again soon?’

  ‘Course I will, so long as he asks me.’

  ‘I’m sure he will.’

  Glen turned to Ray who leant over and kissed her on the cheek and as he did so he whispered: ‘You’re a corker, Glenda; you know that, a right corker. I can see what he sees in you.’

  ‘Thanks, Mister Greene.’

  ‘Call me Ray, and come back soon.’

  ‘I hope to,’ she said, and then she turned away and slipped into the car, anxious to leave the scene to the parents and their beloved son.

  He embraced his mother and whispered: ‘Thanks for everything, mum.’

  ‘You’ll have to fight for her, Kevin, if you truly love her.’

  ‘I know that, mum.’

  ‘Bring her back soon, promise me now.’

  ‘I will, for sure.’

  He tried to slip from her grasp, though she was reluctant to set him free. Ray moved in and took his son’s arm and eased his boy away.

  ‘You bring her back here or I’ll never forgive you.’

  Father and son exchanged a hard stare. They didn’t have to say any more. Gringo pursed his lips and nodded. In the next second he slipped into the car beside Glen, started the engine and buzzed down the glass. Gayle ran to the open window and leant down and kissed her son on the cheek, depositing a lipstick trace that would remain there for hours.

  After that everyone yelled: ‘Bye-eee!’ and finally Gringo eased his foot to the accelerator, and the car rolled gently away with: ‘Bye! Bye! Come back soon!’ still reverberating in their ears for as far as mature human voices will carry on a still Shropshire afternoon.

  Forty-Seven

  Back in the office on Monday morning Gringo’s phone rang. He let it ring before picking it up.

  ‘Hi Gringo,’ mumbled the caller.

  It was Paul, and he was not sounding his usual self.

  ‘What’s up, mate?’

  ‘Trouble at mill.’

  ‘Kay?’

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Can I see you after work?’

  ‘Sure, Naughton’s at six?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  He closed his office door and rang home, not forgetting the ring three times routine, to tell Glen he might be late.

  ‘Don’t be too long,’ she said, ‘I’m doing a curry.’

  ‘I won’t be late.’

  Later when he strolled into Naughton’s, Paul was already there, and that was unusual in itself. Paul bought him a pint and Gringo was beginning to fear the worst.

  ‘Is the wedding still on?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Maybe? That doesn’t sound so hot. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Shall we say it’s something of a delicate nature, something and nothing really.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Just between you and me, right?’

  ‘Of course. That goes without saying.’

  ‘She doesn’t like the light on.’

  Gringo sipped his drink and smiled. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘It seems to have blown up into a major issue.’

  ‘And you do, I suppose?’

  ‘
Yeah. Always have.’

  ‘There’s a simple answer to that.’

  ‘Oh yeah, like what?’

  Gringo opened his mouth to answer but noticed the barman standing close by, glass drying, grinning and earwigging on the conversation. Gringo paused and gave the guy his hostile look, and the bloke turned and scowled and wandered off to the far end of the bar. Gringo thought the guy could probably still hear so he leant across to Paul and whispered his wisdom into his ear.

  ‘And you think that might work?’ said Paul.

  ‘Does for me, every time.’

  ‘I might try it.’

  ‘You do that.’

  ‘So how’s the three headed love snake?’ said Paul, still half thinking of Gringo’s solution.

  Gringo laughed aloud.

  ‘We’re in a bit of trouble.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Sarah has been swept off to the Middle East by some hairy-arsed builder. Julie, that’s the VAT inspector, has been transferred to Newcastle-on-Tyne and won’t be back for at least five years; and as for Maria…’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve broken up with the Asian babe?’

  ‘No, not broken up exactly, she thinks I’m messing her around.’

  ‘You are messing her around!’

  ‘No I’m not! Not any more.’ Gringo sipped his drink and thought of Maria for a second. ‘Yeah, well, maybe a bit, but nothing she shouldn’t be able to cope with.’

  ‘Tarts aren’t like that,’ said Paul, eager to display his newfound expertise on the subject, as he emptied his glass and set it down on the bar. ‘They’re not into coping with infidelity.’

  Infidelity, good word. Gringo nodded the barman back into action, and a minute later there were two fresh pints displaying their charms before them.

  ‘Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I have another iron or two in the fire.’

  ‘You have restless feet, my friend.’

  ‘My trouble is I have restless everything.’

  They shared a laugh at that, and then Paul said: ‘True,’ as he swooped on the second pint, and after that they talked of Arsenal Football Club, apparently they were trying to sign some Brazilian called Marilion for fifteen million, surplus information that was sure to have Gringo yawning and glancing at the exits. Soon after that he made his excuses and left and drove home.

  She’d made a fantastic curry, she was a far better cook than he’d imagined, and certainly in a different league to Maria. During the day Glen must have been out hunting supplies again, Gringo had slipped her a twenty the previous evening. He could imagine her skulking about under his pulled down, over-large baseball cap.

  Later that night when they went to bed, something quite different occurred. She never left his room all night, remaining curled up beside him right through to the morning when he woke and made her a coffee and left it on the bedside table.

  ‘You won’t be late tonight?’ she said, yawning and sitting up and sipping the drink.

  ‘I won’t.’

  He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She liked that; a girl could never have too many kisses. She adored the idea of lying in bed naked, being kissed by hunky men, coming to her and paying their respects before they went off into the wild world, just as Harry did in New York, hunters setting out in search of prey, the modern twin targets of money and power.

  She didn’t appreciate being left alone all day, but the act of departure, the tender kiss and flirtatious words that usually accompanied it; that was all to be enjoyed to the max. A girl didn’t always need out-and-out sex to become excited, not always, something that men found difficult to understand, though she might admit, if only to herself, she was now missing Harry a fair bit, and his demanding habits.

  ‘Bye Gringo,’ she said, coyly. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

  ‘That’s just it, Glen. Is there anything you wouldn’t do?’

  ‘Cheeky boy!’

  The remainder of the week flew by, the two of them enjoying the house in secret, somehow keeping their strange cohabitation quiet, sharing his huge bed, though never once as lovers. In what seemed to Gringo no time at all, they were loading up the car for the last time, heading for the airport, uncharacteristically in silence, as they hurtled down the motorway toward Heathrow. She had insisted they set off much earlier than necessary for she knew her father would arrive early too, pacing up and down anxiously waiting for his favourite daughter to reappear. The last thing she wanted was an embarrassing meeting that would take some explaining. Gringo pulled the car to a standstill and turned off the engine.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘when will I see you again?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered, nervously he thought. ‘Give it a few days. I’ll give you a ring.’

  Gringo bobbed his head. He leant over to kiss her on the cheek but even that, in this public place, was strictly forbidden, as she eased away from him.

  ‘No Gringo, not here,’ she said, glancing nervously around as if she had a premonition her father was about to roll up in the car right next to them; and how awkward would that be? She jumped out and began unloading her gear. Gringo made to get out too.

  ‘No!’ she said. ‘You stay in the car. I’ll do it,’ and she bundled the bags onto a luggage trolley, mouthed a Bye and thanks for everything, and in the next moment he watched her rolling the clattering trolley away without a backward glance. She’d vacated his life, as easy as that.

  He sighed and started the car and surged away, driving the whole journey home in silence, far quicker than he should have done, lucky that he wasn’t stopped, thoughts of her and her secret stay at his house, swirling through his mind all the way home.

  Glenda spotted the large BMW cruising toward the Arrivals Terminal long before those inside saw her. He’d brought the sisters along, and quite frankly she could have done without that. Trisha the older of the two, a year younger than Glen, was first to spot her standing there, forlornly Trish thought, her baggage piled up untidily on the trolley.

  ‘There’s Glen, look! Hanging about like a little girl lost!’

  ‘What the hell’s she doing there?’ said her father. ‘The flight’s not due in for another hour?’

  ‘She looks pissed off,’ said Mary, the youngest.

  Pop Martin pulled the car to a standstill and jumped out and ran across to his daughter. The sisters remained in the car and watched their dad’s fifty-something semi-arthritic run, and couldn’t resist a snigger. Glen fell eagerly into his strong arms.

  ‘Hiya, dad.’

  ‘Hi darling. Are you all right? How is my favourite daughter?’ he whispered.

  He always tried hard not to favour Glen, but there were times when it was impossible not to. The other two were always so bitchy, something that Glen rarely stooped to, and they’d been a complete pain in the neck on the drive to Heathrow.

  ‘I’m so glad to be home, dad.’

  ‘We’re glad to have you home, but what are you doing here at this time?’

  ‘There was an earlier flight with seats vacant, and you know me, I always like to be at airports early; they brought us forward and offered us the seats.’

  Her father accepted that without a thought, he wasn’t a frequent traveller and rarely on long haul, and anyway, Glenda would never have lied about such a thing. He had no idea how these things worked, and why should he doubt the honesty of his favoured child? He turned about and yelled to the others: ‘Well? Aren’t you going to get out and come over and greet your older sister?’

  Trisha and Mary tut-tutted and sauntered over, grinning like Cheshire cats, eager if nothing else to hear the gossip from America, and New York, and most particularly of Harry Wildenstein, whose photograph they had all drooled over long before Glen had ever met him.

  Though none of the three sisters would have admitted it, they each desperately wanted to be the first to marry, to be swept down the aisle by some handsome and rugged beau, to possess a home of their own, to have a strong man to look after their eve
ry need, and the sisters were very needy, to have children they could flaunt before the others, and if Glen brought home firm news of a fixed wedding date, they could both be in trouble.

  ‘So,’ said Trish, eager to get to the crux of the issue. ‘How was Harry? Do we hear wedding bells?’

  Glen knew the reasoning behind the question well enough.

  ‘No wedding bells, Trisha, not yet.’

  Mary took Glen’s hand and showed it to the other two.

  ‘Not even a rock on the finger? How sad,’ she slurred.

  ‘If he was such a dead loss I’m surprised you didn’t come home earlier,’ said Trisha. ‘Paul has been moping around with his tongue hanging out like some castrated labradoodle. You could always take comfort there, sis. We don’t want him, do we Mary?’

  ‘Yuck, no thanks!’ said the youngest one, right on cue.

  ‘Why don’t you two try minding your own business for once,’ said Glen, just about keeping the spite from her voice, and the guilt from her body language at the crazy suggestion of possibly coming home early.

  ‘Bet he was real stud in bed,’ said Mary, mischievously.

  Harry was good in bed, it was true, damned good in fact, when he was sober and in a good mood, which was about one day in five, though Glen would not share that intelligence with anyone on earth, except perhaps Gringo Greene, and only then if she’d drunk a full bottle of wine. He remained the one person she was able to discuss her deepest secrets with, though she would make him swear his silence before she uttered a word.

  ‘Shut up!’ yelled father, not wishing to hear such things. ‘Glen doesn’t go round jumping into bed with every man she meets!’

  The sisters shared a knowing look and Trish said under her breath, ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Come along, girls!’ said father. ‘Pick up the bags. For goodness sake let’s get home.’

  The sisters grabbed a small bag each, and dad manhandled the heavy case back to the Beemer.

  ‘God almighty, what’s in here?’ he said, glaring down at the case.

  ‘Perhaps she’s done him in, perhaps she’s brought him back to England to pickle in vinegar and set him up in her bedroom as a reminder of her American sojourn, like some kind of black magic doll,’ said Mary, ever the crazily imaginative one.