by David Barry
‘You could have tried asking him,’ Claire persevered. ‘Maybe it’s the sort of thing he would have liked to get involved in.’
A moody, sullen expression clouded Andrew’s face. ‘I doubt it.’
Claire suddenly ran out of patience. ‘So now what? What happens if you manage to find this a printer who’s got a copy of the book? What then?
‘That’s my business.’
‘Oh, suit yourself. Chuck all that money away.’
Claire stormed angrily out of the bedroom and clumped downstairs to the kitchen. As soon as she had gone, Andrew tugged the A4 sheet from beneath the magazine and studied the notes he’d written about arms dealing. He frowned deeply. If only he could spell. And if only he could find the right words to express himself.
***
Thrusting the bag of old tea leaves and tea bags under the uniformed constable’s nose, Dave said, ‘What you gonna do about it then?’
The constable wrote laboriously in his notebook. ‘Teabags were posted through your front door.’
‘And tea leaves,’ said Dave, indignantly.
Mary sat in the armchair opposite the policeman and felt sorry for him. He could have been quite good looking if it wasn’t for the fact that he was plagued by spots and his ears stuck out like jug handles.
The constable, struck by inspiration, stopped writing and looked up. ‘Which would seem to indicate that the perpetrator of this act uses fresh tea as well as tea bags.’
Mary caught Dave’s eye and put a hand over her mouth. The policeman saw her and blushed.
‘Never mind that,’ said Dave. ‘I told you who it was. My neighbour’s son.’
‘But you didn’t actually see him posting the tea, sir. Only walking away from the house. What other reasons have you got for thinking it might have been him?’
‘I had words with his father.’
‘Oh?’ The policeman regarded Dave suspiciously. ‘What about?’
‘Well, I....’ Dave began floundering.
Mary came to his rescue. ‘It was an argument about car parking. Dave bought an old banger and left it outside his house. It was in the papers.’
‘Oh, so that was you, was it?’ The policeman’s tone was censorious.
‘I was proving a point,’ Dave said defensively. ‘It’s not there anymore. I’ve had the car removed.’
The policeman flipped his notebook shut and stood up. ‘I think the best thing I can do is wander over to the neighbour’s house and have a word.’
‘Is that all? What about the phone calls? The bloke ought to be prosecuted.’
‘It might be difficult to prove, sir. Right - I’d best be on my way.’ He nodded to Mary.
Dave followed him to the front door. ‘I’ll see you out.’
‘Just be grateful, sir, it was nothing worse than tea bags.’
Mary smiled to herself as she pictured Dave’s reaction to this parting remark. The front door slammed and a second later Dave was back in the living room, spluttering with indignation.
‘Did you hear that? Bloomin’ heck! I know they say you’re getting old when coppers start to look young, but he still had teenage acne!’ He noticed Mary smiling at him. ‘What are you grinning at?’
‘I think you’re sweet.’
He came over and puts his arms around her.
‘Just a minute, Dave: apart from the kids coming home from school any minute now, don’t you want to see what happens in the house opposite?’
‘Quick!’ he yelled. ‘We can get a better view from the bedroom.’
They ran upstairs, giggling and snorting like naughty children.
Forty - Seven
No direction, no meaning to life, nagged and worried Claire as she sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by piles of advertising material that needed collating. She stared into space, feeling empty and depressed.
She heard the front door opening and, not wanting to be caught in an indulgently introspective mood, continued working. Mike entered and made a beeline for the kettle.
‘What’s all this?’ he demanded, as if she had no right to use the kitchen table.
‘Alan’s got these “Pub Grub in Summer” leaflets to get out.’
‘Bloody weather,’ Mike complained. ‘I can’t stand this heat.’
‘You complain when it’s cold, you complain when it’s raining; in fact, all you ever do these days is complain.’
‘I wouldn’t mind if it was sunny, but it’s oppressive heat.’
‘If it wasn’t for the weather, I wonder what we’d find to talk about.’
‘It’s the country’s favourite topic.’
‘I was talking about us.’
‘Yes,’ said Mike, as he stood over the kettle, waiting for it to boil. ‘Ditto.’
Claire stared at him, wondering if he was joking or serious. His humour often verged on the sarcastic, and he was downright rude occasionally. But she had felt the sting of truth in his statement. Their communication seemed to have broken down a long time ago.
‘Mike,’ she began tentatively, ‘why don’t we take a short break? Go away somewhere for four or five days. France, maybe. It wouldn’t cost much.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t. I’ve got too many clients who want their hair cutting right now. Especially on a Saturday.’
‘But everyone’s entitled to a holiday. Put them on hold for a week.’
‘I can’t do that.’
Claire felt some anger welling inside her. ‘It’s like you don’t want to spend time with me.’
Avoiding her eyes, Mike fetched milk from the fridge.
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘What with Chloe and Andrew, we’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. We need some time together - on our own - to recharge the batteries.’
She got up from the table, walked over to him, and touched his hand gently. As if stung, he withdrew it, almost knocking over his mug.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I just can’t stand being touched like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Softly. It’s repulsive.’
Hurt and angry, she glared at him. Their eyes met, and in that brief moment she knew.
‘Who is she, Mike?’
‘Who? What are you talking about?’
But the innocent, puzzled look didn’t fool her. And no matter how hard he would try to deny it - and perhaps go on denying it - she knew.
***
‘Hello! I’m home,’ Jackie called out, dreading what she might find. She heard the blaring theme tune to the Pointless quiz coming from the living room and breathed a sigh of relief. Everything appeared to be normal.
Vanessa, wearing the designer scruffy denims Jackie hated so much, came out of the kitchen, clutching a pot of yoghurt.
‘Oh. Hi, Mum!’
Jackie wondered if her daughter was surprised or disappointed that she had come home.
‘Where’s Nicky?’ she asked.
Vanessa inclined her head towards the living room. ‘Watching Pointless.’ She nodded at her mother’s suitcase near the front door. ‘You’re back then.’
Jackie hesitated. ‘Well ... I felt guilty about leaving you both for so long.’
Vanessa smiled with amusement. ‘Understandable. It wasn’t a party, though. It was a rehearsal.’
Jackie tittered apologetically. ‘It was still pretty loud.’
Brushing past Vanessa, she entered the kitchen. ‘I suppose there’s piles of washing-up to do ... Oh! It’s not as bad as I expected.’
‘You sound disappointed.’
‘Well, I suppose I miss a little bit of mess after being at Nigel’s. He’s such a fusspot. He likes to keep everything “ship-shape”.’
‘I ... I don’t know what he expects. Everything I do is wrong.’ Her face crumpled and she burst into tears. ‘Oh, Vanessa! I’m so unhappy. I just wanted to come home.’
She launched herself at her daughter and sobbed on her shoulder. Toffee flavoured yoghurt spilled out of the pot in Vanessa’s hand onto the carpet tiles.
Hearing her mother crying, Nicky popped her head round the door, though with some reluctance.
‘Oh, Mummy ... er ... sorry you’re upset. I’ll just find out what happens to the final two contestants in the head-to-head, then I’ll be right back.’
Forty - Eight
Heaving and puffing, Ted struggled through the door pulling the heavy suitcase, and he was also carrying Marjorie’s heavy overnight case. Marjorie carried a bag of Duty Frees and an enormous Mickey Mouse soft toy.
‘Mind the paintwork,’ she said, as she hurried to the hallstand mirror to admire her sun-tanned reflection.
Ted slammed the door shut with his foot. ‘We should have got a taxi,’ he grumbled, letting Marjorie’s bag drop.
‘We’re not made of money. It’s not as if we’re far from the station.’
Ted straightened his back and groaned pointedly. ‘It’s all right for you. You didn’t have to struggle up the hill with them.’
‘You’re out of condition, that’s your trouble.’
Marjorie took one last look at herself, then walked down the hall towards the kitchen. ‘I’m exhausted after that journey. Could do with a cup of tea.’
Ted followed her into the kitchen. She put the bag of Duty Free gin, cream sherry and perfume on the table, then propped Mickey Mouse sitting up against them. She flopped into a chair.
‘Put the kettle on, Ted. I’ve had it.’
Instinctively, Ted did as he was asked, but couldn’t resist commenting, ‘Yes, you must be tired. You’ve had to lug that rodent all the way from America.’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’ She touched Mickey’s nose affectionately. ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for Mickey Mouse - ever since I was so high.’
Ted slammed a mug down forcefully. ‘Cost a fortune it did.’
‘Everyone’s entitled to come back from their hols with a souvenir of some sort.’
‘It was embarrassing. Sitting on the plane cuddling it. It’s not as if....’ He broke off, afraid to say what he thought.
‘Not as if we’ve got any children. Is that what you were going to say? And whose fault is that?’
Ted felt the side of the kettle, wishing it would hurry up and boil.
‘You could have had tests, you know,’ Marjorie continued accusingly. ‘But you were too embarrassed.’
‘If I remember rightly, it was you who didn’t want me to have the tests done. You refused to talk about it. I was quite willing to....’
Marjorie snapped, ‘Then why didn’t you? Why d’you always have to do everything I say?’
Confused, Ted looked down at his feet, feeling he was in a no-win situation.
Irritated, Marjorie stormed to the larder in a renewed burst of energy and fetched the biscuit tin.
‘Not that it matters now,’ she said. ‘I’m forty-five and you’ll be fifty-two soon. Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun?’
Ted stared at her. The way she chomped on a chocolate Hobnob made him want to throttle her. As if she could sense what he was thinking, her eyes fixed him in her sights.
‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.
His voice uncomfortably husky, he asked, ‘Do you regret not having had children?’
‘You know I do.’
‘No, I don’t know that. We’ve never talked about it. Not since - not since years ago, anyway.’
‘Does it matter?’ Her hand disappeared into the biscuit tin and she speared another Hobnob.
Ted sighed deeply. ‘No, I don’t suppose it does.’
Marjorie crunched into the biscuit and spoke through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘I think I’ll take my tea upstairs. Have a nice soak in the bath.’
‘There’ll be no hot water yet.’
Marjorie tutted. ‘Run upstairs and put the immersion on, would you?’ She saw the pained expression on his face. ‘Or must I do everything myself?’
***
As he began cutting Nigel’s hair, Mike said, ‘You know, it’s strange, but I thought I’d lost a customer for a minute.’
Nigel could feel himself colouring. After a telling pause, he asked, ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, after that business about your girlfriend phoning my wife up, I thought it would lead to ... I don’t know ... I got the impression your girlfriend wouldn’t like to see me around.’
Nigel cleared his throat nosily. ‘Actually, I’m still master of my own house.’
‘Where is she?’ Mike asked pointedly.
Another pause. ‘She’s gone back to her place for a few days. We had a disagreement.’
‘Not about me, I hope.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Mike.’ Realising it came out sounding rude, Nigel chuckled and added, ‘It’s just that it’s hard to understand women.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Mike, his mind winging its way into Maggie’s bed.
Although there was no one who could overhear them, Nigel’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. ‘If I tell you....’ he began.
‘What?’
‘You know how I met Jackie, through the dating service? Well, this other woman got in touch with me only yesterday. She looks very attractive. And she sounds as though she’s really up for it, if you catch my drift.’
Intrigued, Mike pretended ignorance. ‘I’m not with you. When you say “up for it”....’
Nigel sniggered like a dirty schoolboy. ‘I spoke to her on the phone. Sounds like she just wants a good stuffing.’
Mike choked back a laugh. ‘Really. How come?’
‘Some of the things she was saying. Suggestive, rude things. Yes, I think she’s really up for it. What would you do, if you were me?’
However boring Nigel was, a little bit of intrigue would liven up Mike’s occasional visits to cut his hair. So he said, ‘There’s only one rule in life, where philandering is concerned. Don’t get caught. Just treat it as a final fling before you get married.’
Nigel nodded his head vigorously, so that Mike had to shift the scissors back.
‘Thank you, Mike. I think I might do that. I mean, what harm can come of it?’
‘None at all,’ said Mike, hoping and praying that Jackie would find out.
Forty - Nine
While Marjorie was soaking in the bath, Ted dialled Donald’s number and waited, tense and alert. As soon as Donald answered, he spoke quickly and quietly.
‘It’s me - Ted. I’ll have to be quick. Marjorie’s in the bath.’
Donald chuckled. ‘I had a feeling you were going to ring tonight. How was the holiday? Rekindled any old amorous feelings towards wifie?’
‘I’ll tell you about it later.’
Donald exaggerated the eagerness in his voice. ‘Really!’
‘I mean about the holiday.’
Flatly, Donald replied, ‘Yes, that’s what I thought you meant. So can we meet later?’
‘No, I can’t. Not tonight. I was phoning to see how Bamber is.’
‘I haven’t escaped the assault of Heavy Metal on my eardrums.’
‘What?’
‘Bamber’s fine. It wasn’t malignant. He’s recuperating at his mother’s in Lewes.’
The news was slow to hit Ted. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the right words.
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‘Hello? You still there, Ted?’
Ted panicked. ‘I’ve got to go. Marjorie’s coming. I’ll ring you tomorrow.’
He hung up. It was a lie. Marjorie was still soaking in the bath. Why had he hung up so suddenly? Was it because he was disappointed? Had he been expecting news of Bamber’s death, and was now disappointed because he was going to have to share Donald’s friendship again?
***
As Dave drove down Yew Tree Road his depression lifted a bit. He was flat broke, but at least he now had someone to share his problems. His credit cards were already stretched to breaking point, but what the hell! Soon he would find some solace in Mary’s embraces. He glanced at his watch. It was just gone half-twelve. They would have a few hours in bed together before the kids were due home from school.
As luck would have it, he found a parking space near his house, and noticed his neighbour opposite had taken to putting a cone outside his house when they were out. Trying to stop the High Brooms to London commuters from parking. Dave found this annoying. After all, the man had no right. It was all very well stopping the commuters from parking, but Dave had every right to park his car wherever he chose.
As he opened the front door, he heard the pounding beat of music coming from the kitchen. He didn’t want to make Mary jump, so he called out:
‘Hello! It’s me. I’m home.’
The radio was switched off. Mary looked startled as he entered.
‘Dave! What are you doing home? I thought you’d be performing tonight.’
‘The management have gone bust. It’s all gone belly up.’
Mary opened her mouth wide before speaking, pantomiming alarm. ‘Oh, what! I hope they paid you off.’
‘A big fat nothing. Sod all. The management went into receivership before anyone got a penny. What a washout.’
***
‘It’s for you,’ said Vanessa, handing her mother the phone. ‘Lover boy.’
Jackie tutted and scowled at Vanessa as she took it. She heard Nigel’s braying laugh at the other end of the phone.
‘I heard that,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry....’ Jackie began.