by David Barry
‘Oh.’ He sounded disappointed.
‘When you drop me off, I’ll give you my phone number. We’ll make it another time. I promise.’
***
It was Nigel’s birthday. He arrived at Jackie’s like a small boy, full of eager anticipation. He was taken into the sunny living room where a walnut cake (his favourite) awaited him, with a bottle of chilled white Lambrusco.
His face lit up with surprise and pleasure, although he was secretly expecting it. Jackie handed Nicky a box of matches.
‘Would you light the candles for me?’
Nigel chortled. ‘I’m glad you’ve only put six on the cake.
‘It’s all we had,’ said Vanessa.
She and Nicky had reluctantly agreed to attend their future stepfather’s birthday celebration after much badgering from their mother.
Nicky lit the candles and Nigel blew them out, spraying the cake with a fine shower of spit. After singing a limp Happy Birthday, Jackie and the girls gave Nigel his presents. They all watched as he pulled a BHS bathrobe out of its wrapping. He grinned impishly.
‘Thank you, darling,’ he gushed. ‘Just the thing for our honeymoon.’
Nicky left the room, saying, ‘I’ll get a knife to cut the cake.’
‘None for me,’ said Vanessa. ‘I’m on a diet.’
Jackie handed Nigel a small parcel. ‘This is from the girls. Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid.’
‘Ooh!’ Nigel squealed, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘Socks! Thank you. Perhaps now might be an opportune moment to explain about my unique sock system.’
He raised his right trouser leg.
‘Notice a piece of red cotton sown into the top of the sock? I have different colours for different days. It’s because I only wear dark, plain socks, you see. That way I never get them muddled up. I call it my sock stock rotation. So when we’re married, this little gimmick of mine will help you when you’re sorting out the washing.’
Jackie stared at him, open-mouthed.
‘Excuse me,’ said Vanessa, ‘while I throw up!’
Twenty - Four
After dropping Mary off, Dave arrived home to find three messages on his answering machine. The first was from an anonymous caller. A man’s voice, young and aggressive.
‘Your jokes are pathetic, Whitby. Like you. An’ that car’s an eyesore. Like you an’ all. Think you can litter the street like that? How would you like it if we dropped litter through your letter box? Loads of dogs round here to provide the necessary. So get rid of the banger, Whitby. Now! Before we turn your gaff into a dog bog.’
The caller hung up and the machine bleeped. Waves of depression washed over Dave. His mouth felt dry, and for the first time in years, since giving up alcohol, he felt like a drink.
But the next message was from a theatre producer, offering him a summer season at the Pier Pavilion, Cromer. His depression vanished instantly. He scribbled the details on a notepad and waited for his final message. It was Harvey Boyle.
‘Dave, I’ve just had a call from George, owner of the pub. He tells me you and Mary didn’t exactly do a stormer.’
‘That’s an understatement, Harvey,’ Dave replied to the machine.
‘By all accounts it was a tasty venue. Professional types. Rugby supporters. None of your football riff-raff. So what went wrong?’
‘I told you,’ Dave yelled, ‘I don’t do stags. I needed the money.’
‘I wish you’d told me you only do good clean kiddie-winkie stuff. Soon as you come in, give us a bell, will you?’
The machine gave its final bleep. Dave immediately picked up the phone and dialled Harvey’s number. The agent answered right away, as if he’d been waiting for the call.
‘H. B. Enterprises.’
‘It’s Dave Whitby here.’
‘You got my message?’
‘It’s why I’m ringing.’
‘I tried your mobile but....’
‘I forgot to switch it back on after my act.’
‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Your act. George was not too pleased with the standard of entertainment.’
‘Now look - let’s just get one thing clear - you asked me to do this as a favour, because your usual comic was not available. You know very well I don’t normally do stags.’
Harvey sniffed loudly. ‘Well, not to worry. I’ve managed to patch things up. I’ve offered him a return visit of my German stripper. Really dirty she is. He was quite happy in the end. So no worries. I’m still going to pay you.’
‘Oh, thanks very much!’
‘Well, you must admit, the act was a bit iffy.’
‘They were a load of drunken pigs. You about tomorrow?’
‘Yes. Why?’
Boyle exaggerated the suspicion in his tone, and Dave imagined the agent’s eyes narrowing.
‘Is it okay if I pop down to Hastings tomorrow to pick up some cash?’
‘Cash!’ Boyle sounded horrified. ‘Did I say anything about cash? Sorry, Dave, there’ll be a cheque in the post.’
The second broken promise, Dave thought.
As if the agent guessed what he was thinking, he chuckled and said, ‘You’ll get your money. No problem.’
Dave sighed. ‘It’s just that I start rehearsals in a couple of weeks. For a summer season. I’ll be away for some time.’
‘That was short notice. Someone drop out?’
‘Probably.’
‘And will you be closing the first or the second half of the show?’
Dave became almost inaudible through embarrassment. ‘Um ... I think they said something about opening the second half.’
Harvey laughed cruelly. ‘How the mighty have fallen, eh? Still, it’s work. And don’t worry about the cheque. It won’t be one of your broken promises. Good luck wherever it is you’re going.’
‘Cromer in Norfolk.’
‘Yeah, well, you’ll need it. Be seeing you.’
The line went dead. Dave replaced the receiver and thought about his situation. First of all someone in the street was out to get him, unless he got the car shifted. Secondly, he was stony broke; borrowing on his credit cards was up to the hilt.
The phone rang, making him jump. He snatched at it angrily, expecting another threatening call. It was a female voice.
‘That was quick. Were you waiting for it to ring?’
Dave laughed. ‘Story of my life. I know we exchanged phone numbers, and you promised to call soon, but that was only fifteen minutes ago, Mary.’
‘How did you know it was me?’
‘I recognized your voice. So what did you leave in the car?’
‘Nothing. I just ... I just felt like talking to someone. And you were really kind to me at that awful....’
‘Is something wrong?’
There was a long pause. She sounded on the brink of tears.
‘Mary. What’s wrong?’
‘It never rains but it pours. When I got home there was a letter from the landlord. I’ve had notice to quit. I’ve got a month to find somewhere else.’
‘Can they do that? I thought occupation was nine tenths of the law.’
‘That’s what I thought. But the property’s being sold, and the lease clearly states....’ She started sobbing. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with my problems. It’s just - I’m such an idiot. I’m so disorganised. I just hoped something would turn up.’
Dave took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t regret what he was going to say.
‘Well something has turned up. I’ve been offered a summer season in Norfolk. You can stay at my place until you find somewhere else. It’ll be empty all summer.’
‘Oh, Dave,’ she said, controlling her flood of tears. ‘How can I e
ver show you how grateful I am?’
She didn’t see the smile that lit up his face.
‘I’ll think of something,’ he joked.
Twenty - Five
Ted sensed trouble as soon as he arrived home. He could hear conspiratorial voices coming from the kitchen, which stopped as he shut the front door.
‘We’re in here,’ Marjorie called out.
He dropped his bag next to the hallstand. He could smell fresh coffee and he wondered who merited such treatment.
‘Come and join us.’
Marjorie’s voice bubbled and boiled excitedly. Ted braced himself for whatever she had in store for him and, his expression bland, walked slowly down the hall towards the kitchen.
‘I believe you two have already met,’ Marjorie said with overpowering relish.
Ted stopped in the doorway. His eyes met Bamber’s.
‘Hello, Ted. I said I’d pop in and meet the wife, and here I am.’
Marjorie watched her husband closely, her eyes cold and hard. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she demanded.
‘Tell you? Tell you what?’
‘You know very well what I’m talking about, so don’t try and deny it.’
‘There’s nothing to deny.’
‘Oh isn’t there! And what about this bloke’s friend?’ She pointed at Bamber. ‘How long have you known him?’
Bamber stood up. ‘I ... er ... think I’ll be off now.’
‘Now that you’ve come round to stir up trouble,’ Ted snapped.
Ignoring him, Bamber addressed Marjorie with exaggerated politeness. ‘Thanks ever so much for the coffee. Sorry I knocked the first one over. Must be going through a clumsy time. I’ll leave you to it then.’
Marjorie pushed her chair back from the table.
‘Don’t bother to get up. I can see myself out.’
Bamber grinned at Ted, who avoided his look and stared at the floor.
‘Ouch!’ Bamber complained as he collided with the doorframe. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.’
‘Thank you for calling round,’ said Marjorie. ‘It’s been most interesting.’ She glanced at Ted. ‘Most interesting.’
‘My pleasure,’ came Bamber’s reply from down the hall, followed by the slam of the front door. Then a long, uncomfortable silence. Marjorie stared at her husband with undisguised loathing.
‘Well?’ she demanded eventually.
Ted shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and returned her look with one of defiance. ‘Well what?’
‘How long have you been one of them?’
Ted laughed, which took Marjorie by surprise.
‘I’m not one of “them” as you call it. Donald and I happen to like Shakespeare, that’s all.’
‘Huh! Expect me to believe that.’
She tried to imagine what this man and her husband got up to. Obscene pictures clouded her brain and she chased them away.
‘My family always said you was a dark horse..’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘They’ve always said you was a bit ... funny.’
Ted snorted dismissively. ‘Your family’s as thick as two....’
‘Ted!’
‘Well, you’re not going to pay any attention to what that fat slob said, are you? He could hardly stand up straight. He was drunk.’
‘I couldn’t smell nothing on his breath.’
‘Anything.’
Marjorie looked confused. ‘What?’
‘It’s ... I couldn’t smell anything on his breath. You said “nothing”, which is bad grammar.’
Marjorie was stunned. Ted had never spoken to her like this before. His eyes blazed with defiance and she suspected his new friend and lifestyle had something to do with it.
‘You’re disgusting,’ she sneered, her eyes narrowing. ‘You and this other man. Ugh! Just the thought of it makes me....’ She shuddered theatrically.
This made Ted angrier, but he kept himself in check, his fists tightly clenched in his pockets.
‘Donald is my friend. I like him. But only as a friend.’
She got up from the table and started to clear away the coffee cups.
‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s disgusting.’
Ted brought his hands out of his pockets. She had turned away to put the cups in the sink. He tried to imagine what it would be like to put them around her neck and squeeze. If he did it from behind, it wouldn’t be so bad. But supposing, in the struggle, she managed to turn and face him. No. He knew he’d never be able to do it. Then he remembered how successful the food poisoning had been and a barely visible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
‘Marjorie,’ he began fawningly. ‘You’re right. I don’t think I’d better see Donald again. Not that there’s anything ... you know ... between us. But if it upsets you, well....’
She turned to face him, smiling the smile of the victor, mistakenly thinking she had won this round and Ted was now back in her power.
‘Let’s forget it, shall we? I know, as it’s your day off tomorrow, why don’t we pop down to Hastings and play bingo? Bloody Shakespeare, indeed!’
***
Dinner at the Longridge’s that night was a strain. Chloe had come home for the weekend, and the family sat around the table making small talk in between the awkward silences. As soon as dinner was over, Claire suggested to Mike that he take Andrew out for a drink. Mike didn’t need to be asked twice.
‘Does Andrew know?’ Chloe asked, as soon as they had gone.
Claire nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I had to tell him.’
‘Oh thanks, blabbermouth!’
‘He’d have known something was up. Anyway, Andrew’s a lot more sensitive than you give him credit for.’
‘Oh yeah, and David Cameron’s a socialist.’
‘That’s unfair, Chloe. Andrew can be very sympathetic when he wants to be.
Chloe sighed. ‘So what happens now, Mum?’
‘I suppose we have to look at the options.’
‘Like the one I thought of on the journey home. I could always pretend to Mark that it’s his baby.’
Claire was shocked at how calculating her daughter could be.
‘And suppose he finds out the truth?’
‘It would be a lot worse if he found out I’d had an abortion. He belongs to the New Life Church. He’s a Born Again Christian.’
Twenty - Six
Tense and numb with grief, Maggie, Craig, their mother and father, and the two children squeezed into the first car.
‘I don’t want them to burn Dad,’ Daryl moaned. ‘Why can’t they bury him?’
His grandmother stroked his hair and said softly but firmly, ‘Your mum’s already explained, Daryl. Now be a good boy. It’s what Daddy would have wanted.’
Maggie glanced at the car behind, containing her in-laws and Gary’s younger brother Brad. She thought she saw Brad looking at his watch, and wondered if he regretted his brother’s funeral because of the inconvenience of missing a day when the money markets promised potentially good pickings.
‘Gary always wanted to be like Brad,’ she told Craig, incongruously.
‘Brad’ll burn himself out before long,’ Craig replied, immediately regretting the choice of words.
‘Still,’ Maggie sniffed, ‘I’m glad he didn’t insist on bringing his Porsche.’
‘I wanted to come in Uncle Brad’s’s Porsche,’ said Daryl.
Hannah glared at her brother.
At the crematorium the mourners were ushered into a cramped waiting room, as airless as a hothouse. Time seemed to be suspended. Maggie found the situation as unreal as her sleepless nights. She went through the motions of playing the pa
rt of the grieving widow. She thought of it as a performance. A scene from a film. Especially when they were inside the chapel. The slow march down the aisle. Craig and Brad as two of the pallbearers. And the ancient chaplain, coughing, wheezing, and mopping his brow with a grubby handkerchief, struggling to his feet to begin the service.
‘We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of....’
It was as far as he got. Suddenly his eyes rolled heavenwards, and his hands shot up, as if he was having a gospel experience. Then he fell to the floor.
The horrified mourners stood frozen for a moment. Then two of the undertaker’s men dashed from the back of the chapel. One of them whispered urgently: ‘It must be his heart.’
Brad, man of action, whipped out his mobile and said, ‘Where can I get another vicar? Now!’
‘Call for an ambulance first,’ snapped the undertaker’s man.
Following this hitch in Gary’s last moments before being consumed, his mourners were ushered back to the waiting room, although most of them waited outside. An ambulance arrived and took the first chaplain away. Fifteen lifelong minutes ticked away before another chaplain could be found. By now the funeral was running almost thirty minutes late, so Gary was dispatched with one quick prayer, and it was all over.
As they left the crematorium, they stopped at the gates to let another hearse in. Maggie stared at one of the chief mourners in the car following it and burst into tears.
As soon as they were back at the house Craig took Maggie gently to one side and asked if she was okay.
‘I’ll be alright,’ she responded. ‘It was the other funeral that arrived as we were leaving. It was Sharon’s. I recognised her mother. She used to come in the chip shop at Maidstone.’
Craig frowned. ‘But why the funeral in this neck of the woods? If they live Maidstone way....’
‘Craig, I never told you this: Sharon’s mother phoned me up after they were killed. She said Sharon loved Gary. I put the phone down on her. But not before I told her when Gary’s funeral was going to be. She must have had some sort of warped idea that they should be cremated in the same place and same day. Stupid bitch!’