by David Barry
Claire, barely unable to disguise the irritation she felt, left the room, saying, ‘I wish you’d help your father. His hand’s giving him problems.’
***
Only three hours to go and Jackie’s friends would be turning up for the barbecue, keen to meet her fiancé. What on earth could she tell them? That Nigel had been seen leaving a hotel with another woman, and that it was all over between them? Somehow the social disgrace seemed worse than her fiancé’s deception. Fighting back tears of frustration, she picked up the telephone and dialled Nigel’s number. His voice was soft and subdued when he came on the line.
‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘I want you to come over here at least an hour before the barbecue and tell me to my face what you told me on the phone yesterday, so that I can see if you’re telling me the truth.’
‘I promise you I am,’ he said. ‘I was confused and shocked after the bomb incident, and....’
She interrupted him. ‘Tell me to my face. That way I’ll know if you’re lying.’
‘OK. I’ll come over soon. Then you’ll see I’m telling the truth.’
After she had hung up, Jackie saw Vanessa framed in the living room doorway.
‘I don’t believe I just heard that. You’re actually going to give that creep another chance.’
Something snapped in Jackie. ‘Mind your own damn business,’ she screamed.
Vanessa pulled a face. ‘Oh, sorry I spoke,’ she said, and shot back into the living room.
***
When Graham arrived in the White Hart everyone could tell by the state he was in that he’d been drinking. His eyes were bloodshot, his face had a deep barroom flush that was in danger of turning purple, and there were dewdrops of sweat on his top lip and forehead. And when he handed money over for a glass of wine, his hands were shaking.
‘You’ve sunk a few already, haven’t you, Graham?’ challenged one of the regulars.
‘Last night I did,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t been drinking this morning, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Pull the other one.’
Graham ignored it, tried to tug a pound coin out of his pocket and dropped it on the floor. Stooping to pick it up, he almost fell over. Regular customers watched with fascination, and muttered to each other about the state he was in, and the reasons for him being that way.
‘Yes please, Marion,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a strip for the meat raffle.’
The landlady handed him a strip of five raffle tickets, and he stared bleary-eyed at the numbers, while he raised his glass carefully and downed half the wine in one gulp.
The bell rang for the start of the raffle and the first number drawn was Graham’s. At first he didn’t comprehend that it was his, until one of the regulars standing next to him told him he’d won. He chose the pork joint.
Usually, whenever anyone won one of the five meat prizes, it was followed by friendly banter. But this time the regulars were silent and embarrassed. Then after all the meat had been won and disposed of, Ken, the landlord, shouted:
‘We’re losing money on the raffle, but we’ll still throw in a bottle of wine.’
Someone down the far end of the bar won it. Graham staggered over and offered to exchange the pork joint for the wine. The customer couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t like wine much anyway.
After he’d had another couple of glasses of wine, Graham became incoherent as he tried to discuss politics with someone. He tried to organise his thoughts so that what he said made some sense, but he kept starting a sentence and forgetting where it was leading. It was time to leave. He picked up the bottle of wine, gave a cursory wave to everyone and staggered up the path towards the road. By now he was sweating profusely, and the bottle slid from his hands and smashed on the concrete path. He stared at the rivulets of red wine running down the path, cursed loudly, then weaved drunkenly towards the road. He got as far as one of the benches under the trees. It was as far as he could manage to walk. He slumped onto the bench and fell into a deep sleep.
Fifty - Nine
Dave stared across Grosvenor Recreation Ground, watching Mary’s children clambering over the metal frames, the older boy showing off and telling the younger one what to do. Mary sat next to him on the bench, thoughtful and distant. After a long silence, Dave cleared his throat noisily and spoke.
‘They’ll not be having much of a holiday this year.’
‘Same as last year,’ said Mary.
‘You’ve not talked much about their father. Correction. You’ve never talked about their father. Don’t they miss him?’
‘Ronnie was a 22 carat bastard. Possessive and obsessively jealous. He put me in hospital once.’
‘Wife battering?’ Dave asked.
Mary nodded. ‘Once was enough. I had an exclusion order put on him. I think the authorities knew he could be dangerous. Especially as he’d spent some time in a young offenders institute for GBH.’
‘So what became of him?’
‘He buggered off to the USA, thank God. It was a long time ago. Thomas was only two, and even Simon barely remembers him.’
Mary heard one of them shouting, ‘Look at me, Mum,’ and she waved and smiled. ‘Thank you for coping with their behaviour,’ she said, giving Dave’s arm a squeeze. ‘They seem to like their Uncle Dave.’
Dave turned and reassured her with a gentle smile. ‘Well, I know what it’s like growing up without a father.’
Mary opened her mouth to speak, but Dave cut in: ‘I never knew me Aunty Marilyn was me dad until after his death, did I?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘No wonder I was mixed up.’ He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. ‘But thanks to you, I feel it’s something that happened to someone else, in another life. For the first time in my life I feel one hundred per cent normal.’
She laughed. ‘A slight exaggeration I feel.’
‘Listen, I’ve been thinking....’
‘I thought I could smell burning.’
‘No, seriously: Simon and Thomas would be better off if they each had their own room. So I’ve decided to clear out the spare room..’
She squeezed his hand on her shoulder. ‘Oh, Dave!’
‘It was a monument. A shrine. Very unhealthy. I’d sooner it was a jumble of toys. So, as soon as they go back to school, I’ll clear the room out.’
‘What are you going to do with all the stuff?’
‘Stick it in the loft.’
‘Oh.’ Mary sounded disappointed. ‘You’re not getting rid of it then?’
‘Why should I trash it? That’s my history. can’t change it.’
‘Well, if that’s how you feel, what’s wrong with selling your story to the papers?’
‘No.’
‘It’d make us a lot of money.’
‘Us?’
He removed his arm and looked round at her. Annoyed and hurt by his suspicious stare, she began to raise her voice. ‘Yes, us! We’re a couple now. But you still manage to make me feel like a lodger; a tenant who’s behind with the rent. I hope you won’t chuck us out if we can’t pay our way.’
Dave frowned. ‘I didn’t think....’ he began.
She interrupted him impatiently. ‘I know I haven’t made much effort to bring in money, but I do have two boys to look after. All I’m asking is that you treat me as your partner. Not the lodger you happen to be screwing.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, ‘if I gave you that impression. I love you. It’s just the work situation’s been bugging me. I’ve had a worrying time. What with that summer season going up the swanee.’
She softened, moved closer to him and kissed his cheek.
‘I’m sorry, too. I hope you didn’t mind my saying the way I felt.’
He shook his head. ‘I
’m glad you did. It’s best to get these things out in the open.’
She gave him a cheeky grin. ‘Tomorrow night, why don’t we all sit down as a family and have a Chinese takeaway and bottle of wine?’
‘Where’s the money coming from?’
‘My Family Allowance is due tomorrow.’
***
When Nigel came round, Vanessa found it difficult not to stare at him with loathing, so she disappeared into the garden. Nicky was sitting in the living room watching television, so Jackie took Nigel up to her bedroom for their confrontation. She stood directly in front of him and looked into his eyes.
‘Now tell me the truth, Nigel, what were you doing in that Brighton hotel, having told me you were in Sheffield?’
‘I’m sure I told you about Brighton....’
‘Sheffield, you said.’
‘No, I mean a long time ago, when I first found out I was going on this course. I’m sure I told you it culminated in the Brighton conference. You must remember, surely.’
He knew how scatterbrained she could be, and would think she had forgotten him telling her, or hadn’t listened to what he was saying.
She shook her head and frowned. ‘I really can’t remember. But I did phone up the hotel. There were no conferences that sounded like anything to do with telephones or computers.’
Nigel had also telephoned the hotel and found out what seminars or conferences were taking place that day.
‘That final day at Brighton was about Diversity Awareness.’
Her frown deepened. ‘Diversity Awareness! What’s that got to do with telephones?’
Straining to look sincere, he said, ‘We sell to all races, religions and ethnic groups. We have to be trained in diversity. It’s mandatory, I’m afraid. Then when that bomb was going to go off....’
‘Were you frightened?’
‘Petrified. And Jackie, I have to say this: can you honestly believe I’d openly allow myself to be interviewed on television if I was doing something as underhand as ... how can you even think it?’
She smiled at him, wanting to believe him, pushing her suspicions to the back of her mind.
‘As long as you tell me you promise that’s the truth.’
He returned her smile. ‘I promise.’
Then he caught her glancing towards the dressing table, on which lay her bible. And he wondered if it was going through her mind to make him swear on it.
Just in case she was, he thought he’d get it in first, as if it was his idea.
‘Would you like me to swear on the Bible?’ he asked.
‘No, you’ve given me your word, Nigel. I trust you.’
‘All the same, I’d still like to swear on it, just to make absolutely certain you believe me.’
His double-bluff worked. She shook her head emphatically, glad that their lives could now be restored to normal, and be just a little bit ordinary. Then she kissed him full on the lips, and the Brighton hotel incident was behind them.
Sixty
Early on Monday morning, ignoring the closed sign on the door, Maggie swept into Craig’s fish and chip shop. Her brother was standing at the fish fryer, diligently polishing the chrome.
‘You’re putting elbow grease into that,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t like that when Gary was alive.’
Craig grinned at her. ‘Well, now I’m the owner....’
Maggie bit her lip thoughtfully. ‘Which is what I want to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking about what you said about selling this place and becoming a partner in the wine bar. I’m game if you are.’
Craig frowned. ‘Well, you’ve taken me unawares, like. I don’t know what to say.’
‘I don’t want you to make a snap decision. We won’t be opening until the late autumn. Think about it.’
‘As a matter of fact, Maggs, I can give you my answer right now. I think I’ll stick to the chippie, thanks.’
Maggie looked put-out. ‘Oh!’
‘I think you’re right. I just don’t think I’d fit in.’
Maggie sniffed disdainfully. ‘Some people have no ambition.’
‘Yeah, well, if it’s a question of needing more money, I’d be happy to flog this place for you.’
Maggie coloured. ‘What makes you think I’m short of money, Craig?’
‘Nothing. I just thought....’
Maggie turned and walked towards the door. ‘And I thought you’d be pleased. Oh well, forget it.’
‘Don’t be like that, Maggs.’
‘Like what?’
He began polishing the chrome again. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Maggie slammed the door as she left. Craig watched her crossing the road, thinking how well suited she and Gary had been.
***
When Philip, the new administrative assistant in the claims department, returned from the toilet, both Nicky and Savita could see he was really upset about something, and his eyes were red, as if he’d been crying. And he’d been in the toilet a good fifteen minutes. Prior to that, he’d been summoned to Malcolm’s office, and Savita suspected that this visit had something to do with his sudden depression. As he passed her desk, Savita asked him what was wrong.
He looked like a startled creature caught in the glare of headlights. ‘Nothing,’ he muttered, and hurried across the office to his own desk.
Savita watched him. He was an effeminate young man in his mid-twenties. When he was standing, he drew himself up to his full height, with his chest thrust out, as if he was trying to appear masculine. But it was a parody of masculinity, and this over-compensation made him appear even more effeminate, and it was not helped by the sibilance of his speech. But everyone in the office seemed to like him. He seemed a very genuine person, interested in others, harmless and gentle. Savita made up her mind that she would get to the bottom of what was going on.
***
As they sat drinking coffee outside one of the cafés in the Pantiles, Donald suspected Ted had something to get off his chest. It was the way his friend’s eyes moved around, unable to settle on any one object.
‘Something wrong, Ted?’ Donald asked after a hefty silence.
Ted glanced at his watch. ‘I haven’t got long. I’ve got to get to work.’
‘But you said you wanted to see me. Said you had something to discuss.’
‘I don’t know how to tell you this....’ Ted began, then focused his attention on the bottom of his coffee cup and lapsed into silence.
Donald sighed. ‘Are you trying to tell me it’s all over? Ended as soon as it’s begun?’ He laughed humourlessly. ‘I sound like a character from a Noel Coward play.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying. No.’
Donald frowned, waiting for him to continue. Ted took a deep breath and spoke hurriedly.
‘I’m going to be a father.’
‘Donald’s mouth fell open. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Ted smiled. ‘Now you sound like Victor Meldrew.’
For once Donald seemed at a loss for words. ‘But when ... I mean how...’ He laughed foolishly. ‘Well, of course I know how. What I mean is, I didn’t think you and she who wears the trousers did it any more.’
‘Well. Once in a blue moon. I never thought she’d become pregnant. Not at her age.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Forty seven.’
Donald chuckled. ‘Well, well, well. So you’re going to become a geriatric father. If it’s a boy, you can teach him to play football. It’ll help you through your retirement.’
Almost involuntarily, Ted reached out and put a hand on Donald’s arm. ‘I know how you feel.’
Donald shook his head and smiled grimly. ‘I doubt it.’
‘It’s the last thing I wanted. To become a father.’
‘Well, dear boy, that’s where you and I differ. I’d love to have children. Well, don’t look so - why should that surprise you? I had an extremely happy upbringing in a large family. But my sexuality being what it is....’ Donald gestured helplessly. ‘I hope we can still go to the theatre occasionally.’
There was a pause before Ted’s eyes met Donald’s. ‘Of course we can. Why can’t we just carry on as we are?’
‘Well, there is the small problem of Bamber’s return. But I’m sure we can manage something.’
Ted nodded. ‘I’d better go. Or I’ll be late.’
Ted rose and squeezed Donald’s arm gently before walking away. Donald watched as his friend hurried along the Pantiles. He laughed to himself and muttered:
‘If someone had told me I’d have fallen for someone in a British Rail uniform....’
Sixty - One
Sitting nervously in front of the bank manager, Maggie felt intimidated and patronised. He thumbed through the sheaf of papers on his desk, raising his eyebrows as if surprised that the little girl who sat before him was as capable as her late husband. Maggie, who had deliberately worn her short skirt and black stockings, crossed her legs. The bank manager, distracted by the rustle, glanced furtively at a stretch of her thigh. He cleared his throat.
‘Shame you can’t sell the Maidstone shop.’
‘I only need a bridging loan until it’s sold.’
‘But it only has a seven year lease.’ The manager shook his head with disbelief. ‘Suppose no one wants to buy it? And you have seriously underestimated the shop fitting costs at the wine bar.’
‘Are you seriously saying you’re going to pull the plugs on the wine bar before it’s even opened?’
‘It’s not a question of “pulling the plugs”, as you put it. You need another loan. You’re asking me to risk the bank’s money in a venture.’
Maggie uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her chair. ‘Are you telling me no? After my husband’s banked with you for all these years?’
The bank manager gave her a lascivious smile. ‘There are certain conditions.’ He paused, staring at her breasts. ‘I know of this hotel - lovely quaint little place in darkest Sussex - and my wife’s off to Scotland to stay with her mother next weekend....’