by David Barry
Craig was at a loss. ‘Can I get you something to eat?’ he asked, after an awkward silence.
Maggie shook her head. ‘I couldn’t.’
Gary looked round at the other mourners. ‘Gary’s dad doesn’t seem to have lost his appetite. Look at him tucking in like there was no tomorrow.’
Maggie looked disgusted. ‘Let’s go into the garden. Will you get me a glass of wine, Craig?’
‘Sure.’
On the patio, Brad was wheeling and dealing on his mobile. He caught the look in Maggie’s eye and said, ‘Sorry, Jason: gonna have to go. Call you later, mate.’
Maggie stared at him with loathing. ‘Your own brother’s funeral.’
‘Life must go on.’
‘Not just yet!’
She snatched his mobile, and before he could stop her, she threw it into the children’s paddling pool.
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ he yelled. ‘Just as a strong Dow Jones had kicked the market into action.’
***
Days after Chloe had returned to university, Claire was sitting at the kitchen table, gazing into space. A smell of burnt toast hung in the air. Mike was about to leave for his first appointment.
‘God! What a mess she’s made of her life,’ he said. ‘If it was you - if it was your decision - what would you do?’
Claire shrugged. ‘I’d feel exactly as she feels at her age. I wouldn’t want to get rid of my baby, but I’d feel it was too soon to have one. It would get in the way of what I wanted to do.’
‘I suppose you mean her career. I really don’t think Chloe’s that ambitious.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Mike, of course she is.’
‘I think she tries to live up to your expectations of her.’
‘Are you going to start blaming me for what’s happened?’
‘Did I say anything about blaming you?’
‘You didn’t have to.’
Mike filled a glass with water from the tap and gulped it noisily.
‘I know you think I pushed her too hard. I just thought there was at least one member of this family who was going places.’
Andrew suddenly appeared in the doorway. The expression on his face made her regret her words.
‘Andrew,’ she began awkwardly. ‘What I said about Chloe....’
Andrew shrugged, acting deliberately laid-back. ‘You don’t have to explain, Mum. You’ve always thought more of Chloe than me. It’s no big deal.’
She could tell he was hurt.
‘I love you just as much as I love Chloe,’ she said.
‘No problem then.’
He opened the back door.
‘You off out?’ Mike asked.
‘Yeah. I’m going to see a writer friend of mine.’
As soon as he had gone, Claire looked at Mike guiltily and muttered, ‘Oh, damn!’
Twenty - Seven
As Andrew neared the writer’s flat in Queen’s Road he saw an ambulance, light flashing but no siren, pulling away from the kerb, followed closely by a police car.
At first he thought nothing of it, but the closer he got to the house number, the more anxious he became. When he found the address he was looking for, he realised the ambulance had been parked at the same spot.
The writer’s flat was in a large house, and was accessible via concrete steps at the side. Andrew rang the bell and waited. here was no reply. He rang again. After a moment he heard heavy footsteps clumping down the hall towards the door. The door was flung open by a tall, bulbous-nosed man with a mop of curly ginger hair.
‘I think we’re ready to....’ he began, then stopped when he saw Andrew. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m ... um ... looking for Alan Hartswood.’
The man stared, his face expressionless.
‘I’m sure this is the right address’ Andrew said. He fumbled in the back pocket of his denims for the writer’s business card.
Calmly, the man lit a cigarette. ‘You a relative?’
‘No, I only met him the other day, but....’
‘Well, I’m sorry, you’re too late.’
‘Too late?’
‘Yes. He’s dead. That was him in the ambulance.’
‘Dead! But I spoke to him last night - on the phone.’
‘It was very sudden.’
The man started to close the door. Andrew stopped it with his hand.
‘Hang on. What happened to him? Was it an accident or what?’
The man shrugged. ‘We don’t know yet. He was found dead. That’s all we know at the moment.’
‘Who’s we?’
The man inhaled deeply on his cigarette and let out a thin stream of smoke. ‘Sorry about your friend, but....’ This was followed by a careless shrug.
‘Last night, when I spoke to him,’ Andrew persisted, ‘he said he’d got a copy of his latest book for me. That’s why I’ve come round.’
‘I wouldn’t know anything about that.’
‘If there’s a copy in his flat, can I have it?’
‘You know as well as I do, nothing can be touched.’
‘Isn’t that when someone’s been murdered?’
The man regarded the tip of his cigarette closely, then said, ‘Forget it. Just be a good boy and clear off.’
‘You got any identification?’
‘You’re trying my patience, son.’
Andrew started to back off, saying, ‘Yeah, well, it’s a funny way to behave when a bloke’s been carted off to the morgue.’
‘Morgue!’ The man laughed. ‘You’ve been watching too many movies, kid. Now push off.’
The door slammed. Andrew stared at it for a moment, feeling confused more than angry. He had spoken to the writer little more than twelve hours ago, and now....
Determined he was going to do something to unravel what was fast becoming a mystery, as he saw it, but having no idea what to do next, he ambled slowly towards St. John’s Road. He thought he’d buy himself a beer, perhaps in the same Camden Road pub where he had met the writer. Perhaps drink a toast to his passing.
He caught himself grinning at his foolishness. Maybe that bloke had been right about seeing too many movies. He had only met the writer once, and already he saw himself as some Mel Gibson character in a film, toasting a dead buddy.
***
Jackie was looking at holiday brochures when Vanessa came downstairs.
‘Someone’s had a nice lie in,’ she said, with abundant cheerfulness.
Vanessa gritted her teeth. She started to fill the kettle. Her mother hummed tunelessly and turned the brochure pages noisily.
‘Do you have to?’
Her mother looked up with wide-eyed innocence. ‘I’m sorry, darling?’
‘That humming noise. It’s irritating.’
‘Someone’s got out of the wrong side of the bed.’
‘You don’t know you’re doing it half the time. It drives me and Nicky mad. We got any proper coffee?’
‘Only decaffeinated. It’s much better for you.’
Vanessa slammed the coffee jar onto the work surface. Jackie began humming again.
‘For God’s sake!’ shouted Vanessa. ‘You’re doing it again.’
‘There’s no need to shout. My goodness me, you walk in here when it’s nearly lunchtime and ... I thought you were supposed to be finishing your project.’
‘It’s too sunny today. I couldn’t be arsed.’
Jackie tutted. ‘The devil makes work for idle hands.’
‘You don’t look exactly busy yourself.’
‘I like that!’ Jackie said indignantly. ‘I’ve only this minute sat down. It may have escaped your notice - that pile of ironing....’
‘Oh,
not that again.’
‘Somebody has to do it.
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah!’
‘What on earth’s got into you today?’
Angrily, Vanessa spooned coffee into a mug. Her movements sharp and jerky, she felt she was about to explode in the atmosphere which was of her own making.
‘Have you had a row with that boy you were going out with? What’s his name? Terry?’
‘Tony. And, no, we haven’t had a row. We were never really serious about each other anyway.’
Jackie shook her head disapprovingly. ‘I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘Young people these days.’
‘And you oldies behave as if you’re in your second childhood. Look at you and Nigel, can’t wait to get off to some little love nest on the Mediterranean.’
‘Oh, so that’s what this is all about. You’re jealous.’
Vanessa laughed sarcastically. ‘Jealous! Of you and Nigel? Don’t make me laugh.’
‘You can’t bear to think of me going off on holiday and enjoying myself for a change.’
A cruel thought struck Vanessa. ‘No, it’ll be a change to have the house to ourselves,’ she said with a glint in her eye. ‘Nicky and I can have a really wild party. I can invite half the students at West Kent College. It’ll be great.’
Twenty - Eight
There were two messages on Dave’s answering machine. The first was from Mary, asking when it would be convenient to come and look at the house. The other message was like a hand gripping his throat.
‘Hello, Dave,’ purred the voice, menacing in its familiarity. ‘See you got rid of that eyesore. Bit naughty getting an AA tow. You’ve ‘ad a good laugh at our expense. So now it’s our turn. You’re gonna have to pay for what you done.’
The caller hung up. Dave felt like crying. If only he’d known how sour this prank would turn. He wondered if he ought to call the police. But what was the point? The man was probably ringing from a public call box. Dave could have sworn he heard traffic noises in the background.
But there was Mary to consider. She would be moving in soon with her children. Should he warn her? On the other hand, he didn’t want to frighten her unnecessarily. He would be going away soon. Perhaps the caller might see that his car was gone and stop calling.
He decided not to mention it.
He picked up the phone and dialled Mary’s number.
***
Ted bundled his rail uniform into the sports bag, pleased that Marjorie had insisted on him changing at work. Now he could dump his bag in the shed and go off to the theatre with Donald.
‘What are you smiling at?’ said Marjorie, straightening a corner of the duvet.
Ted frowned. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘You were grinning to yourself. Care to share the joke?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing, Marj. I was miles away.’
‘You don’t want to tell me, do you?’
‘Maybe my subconscious was having a bit of a laugh.’
‘You what?’
‘Nothing.’
He gave his hair a cursory brushing, not wanting to be seen to be taking to much care over his appearance.
‘You really are a dark horse, Ted.’
He noticed she said it with a trace of affection in her voice. As he turned towards her, preparing to leave, she took his hand and sat on the edge of the bed.
‘If you want, Ted, I don’t mind if we go and see some of them plays you like. I know it means a lot to you.’
He looked down at her in amazement. She took this to be an expression of pleasant surprise and said, ‘Since we’ve been sleeping in separate rooms, I’ve been starting to feel ... well ... different about you. Like when we was first going out together.’
‘I ... I’ll be late for work.’ His voice was a nervous croak. This was so unexpected, he was thrown off balance.
She tugged his hand gently, indicating that he should sit next to her. Reluctantly he allowed himself to sink down beside her. She lay back on the bed.
‘It’s so hot,’ she whispered. ‘I feel so.’..’
‘Marjorie. I’m late.’
‘All the better.’ She smiled seductively. ‘Remember how it was when we was first going out together? It was always last minute, before you left for work. Come on, Ted - let’s do the London to Brighton in five minutes again.’
***
Mary sipped her wine. Dave toasted her with his cup of tea.
‘Cheers!’
‘I wouldn’t have brought the wine if I’d known.’ She sounded put out. ‘Have you always been teetotal?’
Dave shook his head. ‘I used to do two bottles of vodka a day. That was in the Eighties. When I was earning.’
She looked around at his cramped, rather squalid, living room. It seemed impersonal, like furnished, rented accommodation.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s not much of a place.’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’ She realised it sounded rude, and added, ‘It’s ... it’s OK, actually.’
He grinned at her. ‘Don’t tell fibs.’
She returned his smile. ‘Well, I must admit, it could do with a female touch.’
‘It could do with a lick of paint. Somehow I’ve never had the inclination. Nor the money.’
‘I hope you won’t think me rude if I ask what the kitchen’s like. Only I’ve been used to ... well, the flat where I am now has been thoroughly modernised.’
‘You’ll find this a bit different then.’
He stared into his tea cup, slightly annoyed by her attitude. He was doing her an enormous favour and she didn’t sound at all grateful. He began to wonder if he was doing the right thing, offering his home rent free to someone he’d only just met.
‘Oh well,’ she sighed, ‘not to worry. I can probably tart it up a bit for you. That’s if you’d like me to.’
‘I’m not bothered. I mean, you can if you want.’
‘Have you ever been married?’
A distant, hundred-yard look closed the expression in his eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mary. ‘Tell me to mind my own business.’
‘Mind your own business,’ he joked.
‘Seriously. Have you ever been married?’
‘I’ll tell you about it sometime.’ He stood up. ‘Would you like to see the kitchen?’
But her curiosity was aroused. ‘Don’t you want to talk about it?’
‘Not right now.’
She smiled reassuringly. ‘OK. Why don’t you show me the rest of the house? What are the bedrooms like?’
He started to speak and stopped, wondering if there was any hidden meaning in her question.
‘What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?’
Thinking quickly, he said, ‘I’ve, er, go to be away all summer, and this house’ll not be much fun for your kids when they break up. You could always spend it in Cromer with me.’
She moved close to him and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘That’s really sweet of you, Dave. I’ll give it some thought.’
He went to fold his arms about her waist but she pushed him away. ‘Come on now. Don’t rush things.’
‘I’ve known loads of chorus girls like you. Like to tease and lead a bloke on.’
He had said it jokingly, but she caught the underlying seriousness of his tone.
Twenty - Nine
As soon as she got back from lunch, Nicky thought she had better clear her backlog of correspondence. The desk phone rang, seeming more shrill than usual, and telepathically something seemed to indicate that this was a bell of warning. She was right. As soon as she picked it up, just four words spat down the line:
‘Nicky! My office! Now!’
The boss from hell. The sticky Malcolm
. Late-thirties, but already a head of grey hair, jowls and a scowl to match. Reluctantly, she left the open-plan, walked along the corridor, the blazing sun streaming uncomfortably through the glass, and pushed open his door.
Without looking up, Malcolm said, ‘A word, Nicky. Sit down.’
Demurely, she eased herself into the chair of doom, trying to guess what she could have done to upset him. She was a bit behind on her correspondence, but there had been meetings to attend, and then IIP report to type up. She hadn’t exactly been idle.
‘What about your e-mails?’ Malcolm demanded. ‘You stopped reading them?’
Nicky’s throat felt dry. She coughed lightly before answering. ‘I checked all my e-mails mid-morning.’
He stared at her, his eyes full of hate. Why did he hate her so much? she wondered. So much negativity. Perhaps it had something to do with last December, when he had come on a bit strong during the firm’s Christmas party, and she had made it clear that she wasn’t going to come across with the goodies, and certainly not with a married man almost twenty years her senior; but she thought he had got over that rejection. He had been drunk at the time, and she didn’t think he would remember much about the incident the day after. And for a long time he behaved as if nothing had happened, for which she was glad. But just recently, he had become unbearable.
‘I sent you an e-mail at eleven-forty-five,’ he said crisply. ‘I wanted you in here before your lunch break, and now it’s two-fifteen.’
‘Sorry,’ she muttered weakly. ‘What ... um ... what was it you wanted?’
He jerked a thumb at the wall behind him. ‘See my clock. What time does it say?’
‘Um ... one-fifteen.’
‘More than a month ago, someone should have moved it forward an hour. And as you’re a lowly admin assistant, that someone should have been you. Now take it off the wall, go back to your office, re-set the clock to the correct time, then bring it back here. At the exact time. Not a minute fast or slow. Understood?’
She nodded dumbly, her mouth slightly open. She couldn’t believe she was hearing this. She went behind the desk, lifted the clock from its hook and was halfway across Malcolm’s office, when he added:
‘You know our M.D. saw you in the precinct with those Animal Rights protesters. Perhaps what you don’t know is our M.D will be out on the glorious bank holiday Monday hunt. It would be a fine thing if one of his admin assistants turns out to be a hunt saboteur.’