by David Barry
Jackie felt like screaming, he was so childish. She managed to contain herself and stepped outside the front door, pulling it almost closed behind her, so that Vanessa and Nicky wouldn’t hear.
‘Why are you behaving like this?’ she whispered.
‘Like what?’
‘You know jolly well what I mean.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes, you do. You’ve been sulking all evening. And it was our first family get-together. The girls were dying to get to know you.’
‘I bet they were.’
‘Yes, they were, actually. And you start behaving all moody and horrible, sighing all through dinner.’
‘If you must know, I can’t stand the way they treat you. Like a servant. I couldn’t believe it. Nicky came downstairs after washing her hair and just dumped her towel on the living room floor, leaving it for you to pick up. Which you duly did. And neither of them lifted a finger to clear away the dinner things.’
Jackie began to raise her voice. ‘I don’t see why you’re getting so upset about it.’
‘Oh don’t you! Well, has it occurred to you that after we’re married we’ll all be living under the same roof?’
‘If this is how you feel about it, perhaps we’d better call it off.’
‘Oh there’s no need to....’ Nigel began, but he didn’t get any further because she had gone inside and slammed the door. He stood for a moment staring foolishly at the closed door.
‘If that’s how you feel,’ he grumbled, ‘it would serve you right if I did call it off.’
He drove home rather fast and recklessly, and was immediately ashamed of himself for having done so. He went into his office, turned on the lights and sat at his desk. He took out his Bible and opened it to the beginning of Isaiah, making occasional notes on a jotter pad. But after a while he became distracted about random thoughts of Mary. He felt guilty about the way he’d treated her. Perhaps he could make it up to her in some way. That’s if she would speak to him following the embarrassing scene in the Eastbourne teashop earlier that day.
Sighing, he snapped the Bible shut, picked up the phone and dialled her number. He glanced at his watch, saw that it was past eleven and decided to hang up. But the phone was answered after only two rings.
Nigel spoke in a hushed tone. ‘Is that you, Mary?’
‘This is her mother.’
‘Oh. Er, sorry to ring so late. Could I possibly speak with Mary?’
‘She’s not here. She had to go out for the evening. Who’s calling?’
‘It’s, er, it’s a f-friend of hers,’ Nigel stammered. ‘I’ll give her a call tomorrow.’
He hung up quickly, then sat staring into space, wondering if Mary was out with another man. Someone else she had met through the dating service. Although he had no right to be jealous, if she was already out with another ‘prospect’, he felt miffed, as if she had already wiped him clean out of her life.
He grabbed the phone again and dialled Jackie’s number. She answered his call in a subdued tone, as if she had been expecting him to ring.
‘I couldn’t let the sun set on our quarrel,’ he said. ‘Sorry if I was like a bear with a sore head. Only today’s been fraught with problems.’
She put on a girlish voice. ‘I’m sorry, my poppet. Bunnykins should have realised you’d been overdoing it.’
‘Let’s forget it, shall we?’ He sniggered. ‘We’ll celebrate at the weekend.’
‘Celebrate?’
‘Yes, our very first quarrel.’
***
In a Hastings side street Craig eventually came across the seedy drinking club belonging to Harvey Boyle - theatrical agent, ex-wrestler, sports promoter, charity fund-raiser and fingers-in-pies man. He found Rice waiting for him at the bar.
‘Pint of Export?’ Rice offered.
‘Cheers.’
‘You found it alright then?’
Craig looked around at the fading establishment and dropped his voice. ‘Bit of a dump. How we getting home? In your cab?’
Rice shook his head. ‘I picked a funny way to resign from the firm this morning. I hit this silly bastard in a BMW. First I hit the car. Then I hit him.’
‘Oh great!’ Craig complained. ‘There’s no more London trains till the morning. How we supposed to get back?’
‘No problemo. I borrowed some wheels for the night.’
Craig looked doubtful. Laughing, Rice patted him reassuringly on the arm, then led him towards a corner table and chairs. He sat close to Craig, and spoke out the side of his mouth, as if he was still back inside. ‘No worries, mate. These wheels won’t be missed till the morning, by which time we’ll be back in Tunbridge Wells.’
‘And what if we’re stopped and they ask for your documents?’
Rice’s grin widened. ‘My driving licence is in the name of Colin Stonegate.’
‘Who?’
‘You may well ask. But I reckon Colin popped his clogs a while back. Don’t worry, my son, it’s all taken care of. And we’ll be giving your alibi a lift home.’
Rice gave Craig a lascivious grin. ‘Harvey’s fixed you up with a tasty alibi. And I mean tasty. You might be alright if you play your cards right.’
‘You mean he’s fixed me up with some bird who’s going to say she was with me....’
That was as far as Craig got. Rice nudged him and nodded at the door marked ‘Private’.
‘Hang about. Here’s the man himself. With your alibi.’
Craig looked up as Harvey Boyle, a fair-haired, thickset, middle-aged man came over, accompanied by an attractive, nervous-looking, woman.
‘Don’t get up,’ Boyle told them.
Neither of them had been going to.
‘You must be Craig,’ Boyle continued. ‘This is your young lady you’ll be spending Saturday night with. If you know what I mean.’
He grinned and winked at Craig.
‘You’ll have to get to know one another. Craig, let me introduce you to Mary Fernhill.
Nineteen
Nearing the house, Ted saw the living room light was on. And Marjorie had decreed that the front room was to be used for special occasions only. In other words, when they had visitors, so perhaps Bamber was with her this very minute, telling malicious lies.
His hand shook as he turned the key in the lock. ‘I’m back!’ he called out, trying to sound normal. There was no reply. He dropped his bag next to the hallstand and listened for a moment. It was very quiet. He pictured them both, she and Bamber, eyes glued to the door, waiting for him to enter. Waiting to make him squirm.
Fearing the worst, he eased the door open. But he was surprised to discover the room was empty, bathed in the over-bright glare from Marjorie’s teak and gilt chandelier. He noticed there were three sherry schooners and an empty sherry bottle on the coffee table.
Puzzled, Ted switched the light off and went stealthily upstairs, hoping Marjorie might be asleep by now. He spent ages in the bathroom, scrupulously cleaning his teeth, and closely examining his face in the mirror, as if searching for his ambivalent feelings in his relationship with Donald.
Unable to delay a minute longer, he tiptoed to the bedroom door, took a deep breath and entered. Marjorie was sitting up in bed, reading one of her Mills and Boon books. She peered over her reading glasses at him.
‘You’re later than I expected. I suppose you’ve been to the pub.’
‘Mmm,’ he muttered. ‘Has, um, has anyone ... have you had any visitors tonight?’
‘Alec and Freda turned up. Didn’t even phone to say they were coming. Just turned up.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘What d’you mean, anyone else?’
‘I just wondered if there’d been any other visitors, that’s all.’
She snapped the book shut crossly. ‘Of course not. Were you expecting someone.’
He breathed a sigh of relief.
‘No, no. I just wondered if....’
He sat on the edge of the bed and started to take off his shoes. Marjorie folded her arms, and her voice cut into the night like an oracle of doom.
‘We’ve got to get to the bottom of that phone call you made to Alec and Freda. They still swear blind you called them in the morning, as if you knew I was going to be ill. So why did you phone and cancel when you did?’
Ted avoided her stare. He caught sight of the title of the book she was reading. The Prophet of Love. Prophet! It brought him the inspiration he so desperately needed.
‘I’ve a confession to make, Marj. I kept it to myself because I didn’t think you’d believe me. I knew you were going to be ill that day. I had a premonition. A glimpse into the future. It’s hard to explain. I think I might be clairvoyant. That’s why I rang Alec and Freda. To save them a wasted journey.’
Marjorie was frowning hard, trying to take in what he was telling her.
‘But why didn’t you tell me?’
Ted smiled, suddenly very sure of himself. ‘Be honest. You’d never have believed me. Not in a million years. But I think it’s possible I might have secret powers.’
She looked him up and down and shuddered. ‘I’ve always known you were a weirdo, Ted, but this sort of thing gives me the heebie-jeebies. I don’t like it.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, but....’
‘I think you’d better sleep in the spare room for a while. In case you get any more of these....’
‘Premonitions,’ Ted prompted.
‘Yes. I’d never feel safe in my own bed. Not with you next to me. It’d give me the creeps.’
Ted took his pyjamas from under the pillow. ‘Well, as long as you’re sure.’
‘Oh, I’m sure alright,’ she said, and picked up her book again.
He went to the door. ‘I’ll, er, see you in the morning then, Marj. Night.’
‘Night,’ she muttered without looking up.
As soon as he was outside the door, he did something uncharacteristic. He punched the air triumphantly with a clenched fist.
***
Maggie sat and watched an episode of Desperate Housewives and drank three quarters of a bottle of Chardonnay. She glanced at her watch. Gary should have been home long ago. The chip shop would have closed well over an hour ago and it didn’t take that long to drive back from Maidstone.
She switched the television off and topped up her glass. She tried ringing the chip shop but, as she suspected, there was no reply. She began to smell a rat. She slammed the phone down and knocked back her drink, spilling some down her sweatshirt. She swore loudly. She was on her way to the breakfast room to get a piece of kitchen roll when the doorbell rang. Through the mottled glass of the front door she could just about make out the dark, distorted shape of a uniform.
Suddenly her world began to seem unreal.
She opened the door to a young WPC.
‘Mrs. Branston? Can I come in and have a word with you?’
‘It’s Gary, isn’t it? What’s happened to him?’
‘I’m really sorry, Mrs. Branston. Your husband was involved in a road accident.’
‘Oh God! When? I mean, where? Where was this?’
‘On the Ashdown Forest. I’m sorry to have to tell you, Mrs. Branston, but - when they got to him - I’m sorry - there was nothing anyone could do.’
Maggie fought back the tears. She laughed suddenly.
‘No, you’re wrong. It can’t have been Gary. He was in Maidstone tonight. Why would he have gone to....’
The realisation stopped her.
‘Was there anyone else in the car with him?’
The WPC nodded gravely. ‘We haven’t identified her yet. We wondered if you could....’
‘Go to hell!’
Maggie slammed the door and collapsed in tears.
Twenty
It was well past time as Mike peered through the window of the White Hart. The police car was still parked by the green near the crossroads. Mike cursed quietly and asked Marion to order him a taxi. This would mean another argument with Claire. He had promised to run her to the station first thing in the morning. While the landlady ordered him a taxi, he chatted to Howard, one of the pub regulars,
‘I don’t see your mate in here anymore,’ he said. ‘You two were inseparable.’
‘He moved to Cranbrook,’ Howard told him. ‘He had to buy a bungalow for his wife’s knees.’
***
The following morning Mike sat opposite his son at the breakfast, sipping strong black coffee. ‘D’you have to crunch those Frosties so loudly?’ he complained.
Andrew, who was studying notes on a scrap of paper, replied, ‘Does Mum know you’ve got a hangover?’
‘Yes, I know,’ Claire said in a resigned tone as she came into the kitchen. ‘Which is why I’ve got to get a cab to the station.’
They had already exhausted the argument over his drinking. Claire checked her handbag contents to see if she’d got everything she needed. ‘Shall I give Chloe your love?’ she asked Andrew.
‘If you like.’
‘Not if I like.’
He looked up at her. ‘Yeah, alright, give her my love. What are you going all the way up there for, anyway?’
‘I told you - I knew you weren’t listening - Chloe wrote to me. She sounds desperately unhappy.’
‘It’s probably just boyfriend trouble, as usual.’
‘I hope that’s all it is.’
‘Why can’t she tell you on the phone? Newcastle’s a long way to go in one day.’
Claire snapped her handbag shut. ‘What do you care, Andrew?
Mike tapped his watch. ‘If that taxi, doesn’t come soon, you’re going to miss it. They’re so unreliable.’
Claire’s mouth tightened. ‘Like someone else I could mention not a million miles from here.’
‘We’ve been through all that,’ Mike snapped.
Claire was about to respond, but Mike was spared by the front doorbell as her taxi arrived. She dashed out to the hall. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be back until quite late,’ she called.
The front door slammed. Silence. Apart from Andrew’s intermittent crunching noise.
After a brief interval, Mike asked, ‘What’s that you’re reading?’
‘Oh - just some notes I made.’
‘In other words, mind your own business.’
Andrew gave his father a defiant stare. ‘If you must know,’ he said, ‘this is list of pubs ... pubs where the fruit machines are due a big win. And those that have just paid out.’
‘You can’t make a career out of feeding coins into a slot. What sort of life is that?’
‘Well, it’s a hell of a sight more interesting than cutting hair. Snip, snip, snip, all day long. Boring.’
Mike sighed deeply. ‘As it happens you’re right. What’s it all about, I wish I knew? What is the point of it all?’
Andrew wasn’t in the mood to cope with his father’s navel gazing, as so often happened following a night on the booze. He got up from the table and left his cereal bowl on the surface above the dishwasher.
Mike’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘I’ve just realised, this is the crack of dawn as far as you’re concerned. What are you doing up at this time of the morning?’
Andrew laughed. ‘I’ve only just got in. That’s why I’m off to bed.’
***
‘I’m sorry, Maggs,’ Craig mumbled as she opened the front door. Although she wasn’t crying, he could see her eyes were puffed and smeared. As he entered, he could smell alcohol on her breath.
She led him into the living room, then stood there helplessly shaking her head. ‘It’s so unreal, Craig. I think I’ll wake up in a minute from a bad dream.’
Craig cleared his throat before speaking. ‘Where’s Mum and Dad?’
‘In the kitchen with the children.’
‘Do they know yet?’
She nodded and her eyes filled with tears. ‘But I’m not sure if they’ve really taken it in.’
‘Maggs, I’m sorry.’
He held her close and she sobbed quietly on his shoulder. He stroked her hair soothingly, and after a while she composed herself, picked up a glass of brandy from the coffee table and finished it.
‘I keep asking myself, why am I crying over that bastard? Because of the kids, I suppose. They’ll never know what a 22 carat shit he was. Their innocent minds will stay innocent, and they’ll wonder why I’m such a hard, unfeeling bitch.’
‘You’re not unfeeling, Maggs. It’s understandable - in the circumstances.’
‘You don’t know the half of it, Craig. I expect it’s the biggest laugh they’ve ever had at Pembury Hospital.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘They weren’t wearing seat belts. They would have got in the way of what she was doing to him.’
Craig tried to look shocked, but his impression was one of prurient interest. ‘Not while they were driving?’
He tried to imagine it. He also tried to wipe the slight smile that was tugging the corners of his mouth.
But Maggie wouldn’t have noticed. She laughed bitterly and said, ‘At least he went out the way he would have wanted.’
Their mother put her head round the door and spoke softly. ‘Hello, Craig.’
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘I’ve just made a pot of tea. Would you like some?’
He nodded. ‘How are the kids?’
‘Coping.’
She shuffled quietly back to the kitchen. Craig looked at his sister for a while before speaking.
‘Do Mum and dad know about Gary and....’