Careless Talk

by David Barry

  ‘Actually, I’m in London on the bank holiday,’ she said weakly.

  ‘But you don’t deny parading yourself in the precinct with those nutters. Our illustrious M.D. mentioned seeing you handing out leaflets, in your sensible shoes - your Doc Martens - and he wondered if you’re a lesbian. Are you, Nicky?’

  She felt tears welling up and fought against them. ‘No,’ she managed. ‘I’ve never....’ She struggled to say something. Anything.

  Impatiently, Malcolm snapped, ‘There is so much legislation to protect staff these days. But I think you will want to leave this company soon, Nicky. And it goes without saying, I shall deny ever having had this conversation with you. Now go and correct that clock.’

  ***

  Mike dashed in through the front door, having forgotten to pack his hairdressing mirror. He saw Claire putting the phone down and could tell by her serious expression there was something wrong.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Chloe.’

  ‘What’s the latest news?’

  ‘Why don’t we discuss it later, Mike. I know you’ve got a load of appointments for tonight.’

  ‘If it’s something serious, I’d like to know about it now.’

  Claire sighed deeply before she spoke. ‘Chloe’s decided to have an abortion. She’s booked herself into a clinic at the end of the week.’

  Even though he was half expecting it, it was still a shock. He stared expressionlessly at Claire.

  ‘Well, you might say something.’

  ‘I’m trying to think. Is this her decision?’

  She stared back at her husband, her eyes piercingly defensive. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and the answer’s no. It’s her decision. And hers alone.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mike muttered. ‘It’s just that....’

  She saw him glance at his watch. ‘I know: you’ve got to go. We’ll talk about it when you get home.’

  ‘It’s a bit tricky tonight. I’m taking Andrew to the pub.’

  ‘Charming!’ Chloe’s voice rose a notch. ‘Chloe’s having an abortion. So off you go to the pub. Can’t you take Andrew another night?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the same. Like me, you’ve obviously forgotten what tomorrow’s date is.’

  Claire looked as if she’d been hit in the stomach. ‘Oh, Mike! What with all this trouble with Chloe, I’ve forgotten his birthday.’

  Thirty

  ‘My God!’ Donald exclaimed. ‘You look like a lobster. Have you been out in the sun?’

  Ted had left the house early, pretending he was going to his usual afternoon and evening shift, and to pass the time he had gone into the Beau Nash for a pint, then lay down on the common and fell asleep for an hour.

  ‘I thought I could feel my face burning up,’ he replied.

  As they walked towards the station, he asked Donald what excuse he had given Bamber about tonight.

  ‘You’re not worried he’ll show up at your house again, are you?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course I am.’

  ‘And whatever would wifie say? Would she get the whip out? Chance would be a fine thing. Eh, Ted?’

  Ted was silent. Brooding. Thinking about the way Marjorie had suddenly become amorous just as he was about to leave the house, almost as if she could sense a need to cement a marriage that was fast sinking into a morass.

  ‘Your marriage,’ said Donald. ‘Bit of a farce, isn’t it? On second thoughts, strike out the “bit of”.’

  ‘What about you and Bamber?’

  ‘Ditto. So where does that leave us?’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Yes, and don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. We like each other, don’t we?

  ‘Well, yes ... but....’ Ted hesitated. ‘Not in the way you mean. I mean....’

  Donald stopped walking and turned towards Ted. Irritated. ‘I suppose you’re quite happy for things to continue the way they are. Sneaking off to share in our passion for the Bard. Can’t you realise, Ted, it makes Bamber and your wife more jealous than if we were lovers.’

  An embarrassed laugh caught in the back of Ted’s throat. ‘But that’s ridiculous.’

  Donald shrugged. ‘Yes, I know. But that’s how it is.’

  He walked on again and Ted followed.

  ‘I think I know what you mean,’ Ted said. ‘This morning, Marjorie said she’d like to come and see some plays with me.’

  Donald chuckled knowingly.‘There you are, you see.’

  ‘But I know she’d be bored.’

  ‘So what’s the answer?’

  ‘I could always murder her. I’ve actually thought about it. Planned it in my imagination.’

  Donald laughed. ‘Nothing too gruesome, I hope.’

  ‘Poison. I can’t stand the sight of blood.’

  ‘Ted, you’re not serious, are you?’

  Ted shook his head emphatically. ‘I feel guilty even thinking about it. And the time I gave her food poisoning ... well, I could have killed her then.’

  Donald sniggered mischievously. ‘Well, if it’s any consolation, we won’t be rocking the boat tonight. I told Bamber I was going to London to see a friend who’s dying.’ He saw Ted frowning. ‘Bit sick, I know. But no worse than poisoning your wife.’

  Ted beamed at Donald, and they arrived at the station giggling like schoolboy conspirators. Donald stopped Ted at the entrance, suddenly serious.

  ‘Let’s not worry about anything, just for tonight. It’ll be a fun evening. Whatever happens with our respective partners, we’ll at least have a wonderful night to remember.’

  ‘I think I prefer things like this,’ Ted said.

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Secretive. You know, forbidden fruit and all that.’

  ‘You dark horse, you.’

  ‘That’s what Marjorie’s always telling me.’

  ‘If I tell you something, Ted, you must promise you won’t let it ruin our evening.’

  ‘All right. I promise.’

  ‘Well, you obviously didn’t get that tan working on British Rail. You’re going to have to think up a bloody good explanation for that pillar box complexion.’

  ***

  Nigel held his breath as Mike trimmed round his ears with the cut-throat razor. As soon as it was done, he relaxed and said, ‘You’re very quiet this evening, Mike.’

  Mike’s reply was brusque. ‘Got a lot on my mind.’

  ‘Trouble with your son?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Still causing you problems, is he?’

  Staying silent, Mike brushed his client’s hair with rather more force than was necessary. Feeling Nigel squirm under the pressure, he realized he was behaving unprofessionally and stopped brushing.

  ‘Where is it you’re off to?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Crete.’

  ‘Very nice too. Ever been before?’

  ‘No, but Jackie has. My fiancée’s a very cultured lady. Knows a lot about history and opera and such like.’

  Mike had stopped listening. He began untying the mantle around Nigel’s neck.

  ‘If you need a sympathetic ear,’ hinted the salesman, dying to know what was troubling his hairdresser.

  Mike ignored it and rummaged in his black bag for his mirror.

  ‘I mean it, you know. It helps to unburden oneself. One shouldn’t keep things bottled up. I can assure you, I wouldn’t tell a soul. There’d be no point. You have my word.’

  Mike held the mirror at all angles, catching Nigel’s eye, who seemed less interested in his haircut than in Mike’s problems.

  ‘This time it’s my daughter,’ said Mike, suddenly relieved to get things off his chest. ‘She’s got herself pregnant. And she�
��s having it aborted at the end of the week.’

  There was a moment’s stunned silence before Nigel said, ‘But that’s terrible. Can’t she ... I mean, won’t she consider an alternative?’

  ‘Have it, you mean?’

  ‘Well, yes, anything’s better than killing an unborn child.’

  Mike shoved the mirror back in his bag, angry with himself for having told Nigel.

  ‘Couldn’t you persuade her....’ Nigel began.

  ‘It’s not up to me,’ Mike snapped. ‘Sorry. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I shouldn’t have told you in the first place.’

  ‘I quite understand. But if there’s anything I can do....’

  ‘Yes there is. Just the nine pounds for the haircut, please.’

  Nigel handed him a ten pound note, saying, ‘Don’t worry about the change.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Mike packed up his gear and left hurriedly. As soon as he was behind the wheel of his car, he said through a tightly clenched jaw. ‘You idiot! What did you have to tell him for? You idiot! You fuckin’ great idiot!’

  He thumped the steering wheel angrily.

  Thirty - One

  Mike stood at the bar with Andrew. ‘Have whatever you like,’ he offered. ‘A few hours won’t make any difference.’

  ‘Cheers, Dad! I’ll have a snakebite.’ His father frowned. ‘It’s cider and lager.’

  ‘I know what it is, Andy. Since when have you been on the serious drinker’s potion?’

  ‘Since this afternoon. I met some old school mates down at the Sussex.’

  ‘Snakebite’ll do your head in.’

  ‘You just said I could have what I like.’

  ‘Within reason.’ Seeing his son’s sullen expression, he added, ‘Oh go on then: snakebite it is.’

  He ordered the drinks. Next to him, a man on a bar stool was talking loudly.

  ‘...I mean, why do these young girls wear such scanty clothing if they don’t like us to look?’

  ‘They feel pressured,’ said Mike, an unholy glint coming into his eye. ‘They’ve got to wear scanty clothes because all the other girls are wearing them.’

  The man pounced on it. ‘Exactly. No individuality. Follow-the-herd instinct. That’s what it’s all about.’

  Mike had hooked his quarry. Time to reel him in. Staring at the man’s tie, he said, ‘It’s a bit like blokes wearing a tie. They wear them cos they feel they’ve got to. But a tie’s nothing more than an adornment. It serves no useful purpose.’ He let his eyes drop pointedly at the man’s bulging stomach. ‘Unless it’s to cover a beer gut.’

  The man laughed nervously. ‘You can talk. You’re not exactly sylph-like.’

  ‘No, but then I don’t feel a pathetic need to wear a tie like the rest of the herd.’

  The man looked at his near-empty glass, pretending he was ready for another drink, and rummaged in his pockets for some change.

  ‘Dad, mind if we sit down?’ asked Andrew.

  They got their drinks and went and sat in a far corner of the bar.

  Andrew stared at his father, frowning. ‘Why d’you always pick on people?’

  ‘I don’t. Well, only on the prats who deserve it.’

  ‘You’ll get your head kicked in one of these days.’

  Mike shrugged. ‘I like living dangerously.’

  ‘I thought you might be taking it out on that bloke because of what’s happened to Chloe.’

  Mike chuckled. ‘My pub behaviour’s always been the same. Nothing more I like than a good wind up; a bit of banter. By the way, has Mum told you the latest developments with Chloe?’

  Andrew nodded, toying with his glass, staring at the murky concoction.

  ‘It’s because of what’s happened,’ continued Mike, ‘that your mum and me ... well, it’s about tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?’

  ‘It’s been a difficult time for us.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s just one of those things. No big deal.’

  ‘We’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Dad. It really doesn’t. I’m going to inherit the ten grand Nan and Grandpa left me. Why should you and Mum forgetting my birthday bother me?’

  ***

  Thinking it was Chloe ringing, Claire hurried into the hall and grabbed the phone. There was a slight pause before the person spoke.

  ‘Hello. My name’s Jackie Ingbarton. Your husband cuts my fiancé’s hair.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry to ring so late. t’s a bit difficult to explain. It’s just that....’

  ‘Did Mike ask you to ring?’

  ‘Mike?’

  ‘My husband.’

  ‘No, it was my idea. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

  ‘Claire.’

  There was a long pause, followed by a quick intake of breath before Jackie spoke again.

  ‘The thing is, Claire, your husband confided in Nigel - that’s my fiancé - that your daughter’s about to terminate her pregnancy.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

  ‘Well, as a Missionary for the Pre-Born, I would like to have a word with your daughter about saving the life of her child, instead of....’

  Claire snapped, ‘It’s got fuck all to do with you. Mind your own damn business!’

  She slammed the phone down and burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, Mike,’ she sobbed. ‘How could you? How could you?’

  Thirty - Two

  The train was already at Platform 1, waiting. Claire stopped by the entrance and looked searchingly at Mike.

  ‘I hope Chloe will be OK,’ he said. Then, realising how feeble it sounded, he added, ‘Tell her I’ll be thinking of her.’

  Claire’s lips tightened, showing the first sign of wrinkles along the top edge.

  ‘Physically there shouldn’t be any problems. Emotionally I’m not so certain. That may take longer to heal. She’ll suffer from feelings of guilt.’

  ‘I’m sorry about the other night - that religious nut phoning up.’

  Claire glanced impatiently towards the platform. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Look, I’ve said I was sorry....’

  ‘I know you have. What d’you want me to say, Mike?’

  ‘It’s just that you still seem so angry about it.’

  ‘How d’you expect me to feel?’

  ‘None of this is my fault, you know.’

  ‘I’ve got to go, or I’ll miss the train. I’ll give Chloe your love.’

  She turned abruptly away, flashed her ticket at the collector, and hurried onto the platform. Mike felt hurt, the way she had gone off without the usual parting kiss, however perfunctory that might have been.

  ‘Sod you then,’ he muttered, starting to choke back tears of self pity.

  A strapping tourist, rushing for the train, barged into Mike with his rucksack.

  ‘Why don’t you look where you’re bloody going!’

  ***

  It wasn’t yet lunchtime when Ted met Donald in the Duke of York. He noticed his friend’s face looked drawn, haggard.

  ‘I’ll get the drinks,’ he offered. ‘You look as if you could do with a large one.’

  In spite of his downcast appearance, Donald couldn’t resist saying, ‘Depends what you’re referring to, dear boy.’

  But it was said on automatic pilot. Donald had lost his usual sparkle. Ted laughed dutifully, and bought a large gin and tonic for Donald and a pint of bitter for himself. They sat near the window, and Ted glanced surreptitiously at his watch.

  ‘Eleven forty-five,’ he said. ‘Bit early for drinking.’

  Donald nodded, then stared miserably into his
glass.

  ‘Is something wrong, Donald?’

  As if he hadn’t heard Ted, Donald continued staring into his glass. After an uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat, and looked up and smiled at Ted, shaking off whatever was troubling him.

  ‘What excuse did you give wifie for our little assignation today?’

  ‘It was just luck. Marjorie had one of her migraine attacks. She’ll be in bed for at least three or four hours.’

  ‘And how did you explain the sun burn the other night?’

  Ted looked pleased with himself. ‘Simple. I said the sun’s rays were shining through the guard’s van window...’

  ‘And she believed it?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she? In fact she went on and on about the railway. She said they ought to have window blinds to protect the staff. If we have a hot summer, she said, she’d seriously think about making me a set of curtains to take.’

  Donald laughed. ‘How very camp. The only British Rail guard with swags and tails in his little cab.’

  Donald’s laughter ended abruptly. He seemed to feel guilty for enjoying himself. He took a large swig of gin and tonic.

  Ted watched him carefully. ‘That went down without touching the sides.’

  ‘I could do with a whole bottle. To deaden the pain.’

  ‘D’you want to talk about it, Donald?’

  ‘As you’ve probably guessed: it’s Bamber.’

  ‘Well, yes, I thought as much.’

  Donald shook his head with frustration. ‘Bamber and I have such little in common. Zilch in fact. He’s into all that ghastly Heavy Metal cacophony. Ghastly stuff. But in spite of all that, I do love him. I can’t think why, but I do.’

  ‘Well ... I ... I suppose,’ Ted waffled, unable to think of anything to say.

  ‘Our trip to the theatre the other night, Ted. I did enjoy it. And I swore I wouldn’t feel guilty. In fact, I didn’t at the time. But now....’

  ‘Has ... has something happened between you and Bamber?’

  ‘I think Bamber’s....’ Donald pressed hard on his eyelids with a thumb and index finger. ‘I’m not sure if he’s going to get any better, you see.’