by David Barry
‘So?’
Mike tried to conceal his temper. ‘So what Mum is saying is that we know about your problem, Andy.’
‘Problem? What are you on about? Problem!’
‘Gambling’s a sickness, you know. Like drug addiction. Or....’
‘Alcohol?’ Andrew suggested, looking pointedly at his father before disposing of his yoghurt tub beneath the sink.
‘I don’t make any secret of my drinking habits. If I fancy a few beers now and then....’
‘A few!’ Andrew scoffed. ‘Don’t make me laugh.’
‘At least my drinking’s under control; paid for with the money I earn.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Do you want me to spell it out for you?’
‘I think you’re gonna have to. My spelling’s pretty lousy.’
‘Don’t try to be clever, Andy. You know bloody well what I’m talking about.’
‘Oh,’ Andrew sneered. ‘Hard words, Dad.’
Mike slammed his hand onto the kitchen table. ‘Now look! I’ve had enough of your behaviour - moping around, feeling sorry for yourself. Making all our lives a misery. And if I catch you stealing to pay for your habit....’
‘Stealing!’ Andrew shouted indignantly. ‘I don’t need to steal to....’
‘Nobody’s accusing you of stealing,’ Claire interjected, but Andrew had already pulled a building society payments book out of his back pocket.
‘I told you I’d cracked it,’ he said, opening the book to the relevant page. ‘Take a look at that, then.’
Mike glanced at the book. ‘You paid in sixty quid. So what?’
‘That’s my earnings from the fruit machines.’
‘Earnings!’
‘Winnings then.’
‘You’ve had a lucky run, that’s all. All gamblers do from time to time. Tomorrow it’ll be gone again. And the rest.’
Andrew snatched the book and stuffed it back into his pocket.
‘No, this is it. I know how to play them now. I can make fifty or sixty a day. Easily.’
Claire moved closer to him and spoke gently. ‘Andrew, you can’t live like this. It won’t lead anywhere. You need some help, sweetheart.’
She tried to cuddle him but he brushed her off as if he found her repugnant.
‘Yeah, well it’s only a problem to you two. I don’t have a problem with it. I’ve found a way to earn that beats working in a supermarket. If it doesn’t work out, no big deal. But I’ve got to give it a go.’
He turned to leave.
‘Where’re you going?’ asked Claire.
‘To get a burger.’
‘There’s plenty of food in the house.’
The door slammed. Mike sighed deeply and shook his head.
‘Mike,’ said Claire. ‘Come and hold me. I think I need a cuddle.’
He got up from the table and went to her. She held him close and buried her face in his neck. After a moment she looked up and said:
‘Did you notice the way he pushed me away when I tried to touch him. Just as if he’d been burnt. He couldn’t bear to be touched.’
‘It’s just some teenage phase he’s going through.’
‘This is more than a phase. He seems to be locked in his own world.’
‘Good job you’ve got me then,’ Mike whispered, pulling her closer and running his hands down her back. He began kissing her, parting her lips with his own. She drew back.
‘Not now, Mike.’
‘Why not?’
‘I would have thought it was obvious.’
‘Well, would you like to let me know when, so I can make an appointment in my diary.’
‘Oh, men!’ she complained. ‘Not that there’s any such thing. It’s just boys growing up into bigger boys.’
***
Dave had just finished sending a text on his mobile when his landline rang. He went out into the hall to answer it, wondering if it was another neighbour ringing up to complain about the car.
‘Hello?’ he said warily.
‘Is that Dave Whitby?’
‘Who wants him?’
‘Hello, Dave. Don’t suppose you remember me. You did a little gig for me in ninety-two. Police do down in Torquay.’
‘You’re right,’ said Dave. ‘I don’t remember you. A name would help.’
The man had a throaty laugh. ‘It’s Harvey Boyle. I saw your splash in the local rag today. Naughty, naughty. Opened a can of worms, you did. Still, there’s no such thing as bad publicity.’
‘I remember you, Harvey. You still an agent?’
‘Yeah, and a club owner. You fixed up with a summer season yet?’
‘Not really. No.’
‘Might be able to put something your way.’
Dave sighed. ‘I knew there had to be a catch.’
Boyle chuckled loudly, a rasping sound as if he was clearing his throat. ‘I know you was never one for stag nights, but I need someone double quick. And there’s two hundred of the folding stuff goes straight in your back pocket. No questions.’
It flashed through Dave’s mind that if it was something Harvey Boyle was involved in, then it would be a night to remember, like the sinking of the Titanic. But right now two hundred quid was worth having.
Reluctantly, he said, ‘Ah well, I’ll just have to dirty up my act. When is it?’
Sixteen
‘Ugh! What’s this?’ complained Daryl.
Maggie gritted her teeth. ‘Shepherd’s pie. You’ve had it before and you liked it.’
‘I’m not eating it.’
‘If you don’t eat it, there’ll be no ice-cream, no sweets and no mountain bike for your birthday. And I mean it this time. So you’d better bloody well eat it.’
He had never seen his mother scream with such uncontrolled vehemence before and he hurriedly began eating, while glowering at his goody-goody little sister who was dutifully tucking into her meal.
Gary, carrying a billiard cue, came rushing into the kitchen. ‘What’s all that shouting and swearing?’
‘I hate shepherd’s pie,’ whined Daryl. ‘And Mum’s swearing at me because I don’t like it.’
‘I like shepherd’s pie, Daddy,’ said Hannah cutely, and her brother stared at her with loathing.
‘You eat it, there’s a good boy,’ Gary said, patting his son on the shoulder. He looked accusingly at Maggie. ‘Shouting and swearing’s not going to help.’
‘Don’t interfere, Gary. And where are you going with that?’
‘I’m gonna play snooker. Why?’
‘No you’re not.’
‘Now what’s the problem? It’s the semi-finals tonight. It’s been on the cards for some time. You know it has.’
‘That’s tough, Gary. You should have thought of that before - ’
‘Before what?’
She turned away from him, opened one of the cupboards and reached for a bottle of Cinzano. He watched as she poured herself a liberal measure.
‘You can’t play snooker tonight because we’re short staffed at Maidstone.’
‘Oh blimey! Millie’s not ill again, is she?’
Maggie fetched ice from the fridge and threw Gary a sidelong look of triumph. ‘Who said anything about Millie?’
‘Oh. It’s not ... er....’ He couldn’t bring himself to say her name.
‘Sharon,’ Maggie finished for him. ‘Yes, I’m afraid Sharon’s no longer with us. I fired her this afternoon.’
‘What the hell did you do that for?’
‘Do you want me to spell it out for you, Gary? In front of the children. Do you really want me to say why I got rid of her?’
‘You can’t sack people without good reason.’
‘Oh, I’ve got a good reason alright.’
‘But what am I gonna do about the snooker?’
Maggie dropped her ice cubes into her drink and stared incredulously at her husband. How thick-skinned could he be?
Daryl, who had been listening carefully to this exchange, found the slight pause he had been waiting for.
‘Dad’s been shagging Sharon,’ he told his sister.
There was a deathly silence in the room. He hadn’t truly understood the significance of his statement, but he could feel the ripples of discomfort it had caused, and it gave him a wonderful feeling of power.
***
Craig finished wrapping two portions of pie and chips then snatched up the phone. It was Tony Rice.
‘It’s not a good time to ring,’ Craig told him. ‘I’m on my own and I’ve got a shop full of customers.’
‘Bugger ‘em,’ said Rice. ‘We on for this little caper on Friday night? Because I’ve fixed you up with a watertight alibi.’
‘There’s no such thing.’
‘You interested or not?’
‘Yeah. Why not? Let’s go for it.’
‘Can you meet me tonight in Hastings? We’re meeting a guy called Harvey Boyle. I’ll explain later. Here’s the address’
Craig glanced along the queue of customers as he hastily scribbled the address on a chip wrapper. Those at the back of the queue looked more irritated than those at the front.
‘I’ll see you later then. I should be there about half-eleven. Who’s this Harvey Boyle?’
‘Owns a club in Hastings,’ explained Rice. ‘He’s the owner of the club. And he’s got your alibi lined up. Quite tasty she is, an’ all.’’
***
Donald was already into his second large gin and tonic by the time Ted arrived at the pub.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Ted said, sheepishly. ‘Points failure at Hither Green. Can I get you a drink?’
Donald smiled congenially. ‘You mean there really is such a thing as points failure? I always thought it was an excuse for staff shortages. I’ll have a single gin to add to this one, please.’
Ted placed his sports bag on the floor near Donald and went to get the drinks. When he returned with a gin, and a pint of bitter for himself, he noticed his new friend had an amused expression on his face.
‘Tell me, Ted, what do you cart about in this bag of yours? You had it with you the first time we met.’
‘It’s my uniform.’
Donald grinned knowingly. ‘I see. And it’s not really Molyneux Park Road, is it?’
Ted felt the start of a blush. Donald patted him reassuringly on the knee.
‘Take no notice; I’m only teasing. But for some time I’ve had this kinky fantasy about a man in uniform.’
Ted didn’t know where to look. His blush deepened as he stared into his beer.
‘Tell me,’ continued Donald, ‘why did you get married?’
‘Oh, I suppose we ... er....’ Ted began falteringly. ‘We must have loved each other.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I can’t stand her. I hate her.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
Ted shrugged. ‘I wish I knew. She’s waiting to talk to me tonight ... about the chipolatas again.’
‘Chipolatas?’
Ted felt the need to unburden himself. Slowly he began to explain about his plan to poison Marjorie. But he realised Donald wasn’t listening. Looming over their table was an overweight young man in denims and a white T-shirt under a black leather, studded jacket. He was in his early thirties and sported a Freddie Mercury moustache which didn’t suit his large round face.
‘Who’s she?’ he hissed, glaring at Ted.
‘Bamber,’ Donald said, cheerfully, ‘I’d like you to meet Ted.’
Seventeen
Feeling threatened by the young man’s towering and hostile presence, Ted gave him a weak smile and said, ‘I’m, er, pleased to meet you.’
‘Wish I could say the same for you,’ Bamber replied.
Donald laughed softly. ‘You must excuse my friend. He thinks everyone is...’ He stopped and fixed Bamber with a stern, fatherly look. Now please don’t take it out on everyone because you’ve had a bad day. Ted is interested in Shakespeare, that’s all. End of story.’
‘And what does she do when she’s not watching Shakespeare?’
‘You’d better ask him, hadn’t you,’ said Donald, emphasising the pronoun. ‘Now what would you like to drink?’
‘I’ll have a pint of lager.’
While Donald went to the bar, Bamber sat opposite Ted, who felt uncomfortable and gripped his glass tightly.
‘Whereabouts d’you live?’ Bamber asked him.
‘Molyneux Park Road.’
‘What number?’
Without thinking, Ted told him, then immediately regretted it. Bamber repeated the number several times, committing it to memory for some reason.
‘You in the antiques game?’
Ted flushed. ‘No, I work for South Eastern Trains.’
Bamber’s eyes lit up. ‘Really? I’ve always wanted to be a train driver. Ever since I was so high.’
‘I’m not a driver. I’m a guard.’
‘Oh,’ Bamber said with a sneer in his voice. ‘Didn’t quite make driver, eh? So what’s a British Rail guard doing living in Molyneux Park Road?’
‘My wife inherited the house.’
‘Your wife!’ Bamber stressed with mock surprise. Ted had the distinct impression the young man was toying with him, waiting for an opportunity to humiliate him. He was relieved when Donald returned.
‘Why you have to drink pints at this time of night,’ Donald complained as he placed the beer in front of Bamber. He sat next to Ted and said conspiratorially: ‘If he has too many beers, he snores. Either that or he’ll be up half the night.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ Bamber said.
Embarrassed by this glimpse into their personal life, Ted cast his eyes down.
‘Oh pleeeease!’ Donald said with pretend shock. ‘Save us from these inane Carry On style double entendres.’
Bamber leaned across the table. ‘Well how’s this for a single entendre? Up yours!’
Deliberately ignoring him, Donald spoke to Ted. ‘Our interests have always differed. I like opera and he likes noise.’
‘Heavy metal,’ Bamber explained.
Donald brushed it aside and continued. ‘I adore Shakespeare and Bamber lives exclusively on a diet of violent films featuring muscle men, morons and robots.’
‘You’re a cultural snob,’ Bamber said flatly.
‘He just can’t understand how two people can enjoy a non-physical relationship.’
‘Don’t give me that old cobblers. Non-physical, platonic and oh-so-intellectual, darling! I think your new friend is gay. He just doesn’t know it himself yet.’
Ted blushed again, opened his mouth to protest but was unable to speak. Bamber stood up, downed what was left of his pint, then leant over them threateningly.
‘I think it’s time Ted was outed.’
Donald laughed. ‘You can only ‘out’ someone who’s a celebrity, dear boy. Ted’s sexual preferences would not make the back page of the Nether Wallop Gazette. It’s just not news.’
‘It might be to his wife.’
This was Bamber’s exit line. Without looking at either of them he walked out into the street, leaving Ted frozen with terror.
‘Take no notice,’ said Donald. ‘He’s only bluffing.’
‘But it’s not true,’ mumbled Ted.
‘I know it’s not. You know it’s not. But Bamber....’
Ted felt angry suddenly. ‘How can you sound
so bloody cheerful? As if it’s all a game.’
‘Don’t get upset.’
‘I don’t think we’d better meet each other again. Not if it’s going to be....’
Donald took a small envelope out of his pocket. ‘And what am I going to do with these? I’d bought us tickets to see The Barber of Seville at the Coliseum. I thought you might like it.’
Ted sighed and sipped his beer. ‘Look, I appreciate the ... er....’
‘It was more than a gesture, Ted. I bought them because I like you. I couldn’t take Bamber. He’d only fidget throughout. Whereas you ... you share the same interests as me.’
Ted looked lost. Confused. ‘But what am I going to do about ...’
‘Your wife? You were telling me how much you hate her. Sooner or later you’re going to have to decide what you want to do.’
‘I know,’ Ted agreed mournfully. ‘But just for tonight I wish I could disappear and not have to go back and face her. Especially now. Bamber might be with her at any moment, telling her about us.’
***
Millie carried in a bowl of batter from the back room and chuckled. ‘It’s good to see the boss in working clothes. A treat. A rare treat.’
‘If I had a pound for every time you’ve said that tonight,’ Gary said, scooping a batch of fresh chips from the fryer.
Millie laughed irritatingly. ‘Well, you must admit, Gary, we rarely see you this side of the counter.’
‘Is it usually this quiet?’
‘Not usually, no. But Man-U’s playing an important match tonight.’
‘You might as well shoot off home then,’ offered Gary.
She looked suspicious, so he gave her his most disarming smile.
‘I’ll still pay you the full rate, have no fears. I just thought you might fancy an early night.’
She didn’t wait to be asked twice. As soon as she had gone, Gary shut the shop and called Sharon on his mobile.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘It’s me. All alone in the Maidstone chippie. Fancy a drive out in my passion wagon to a secluded spot?’
Eighteen
Instead of kissing him on the lips, Jackie offered her cheek to Nigel. The gesture irritated him and he tried to suppress the anger that was welling up inside him. With tightly puckered lips he pecked the coldly offered cheek and said, ‘Sorry, but I think I may have to cancel our arrangements for the weekend.’