Careless Talk

by David Barry

  Maggie couldn’t believe she was hearing this. But then, any bank manager who had wined and dined with Gary....

  ‘Naturally,’ continued the manager, ‘I should deny this conversation took place. But you have rather painted yourself into a corner. So how about it?’

  ***

  Savita and Nicky managed to persuade Philip to come to lunch with them. Although they didn’t usually have pub lunches, they thought the occasion warranted a few glasses of wine, and they decided on Wetherspoon’s at The Opera House.

  While they waited for their meal, Savita asked Philip bluntly if he was having trouble with Malcolm. The young man looked frightened, and gazed around the bar, as if there could be spies lurking, waiting to report back to his boss.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Savita assured him, ‘we’ve all been bullied by Malcolm. But he’s stopped picking on me and Nicky now.’

  Philip looked at each of them and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, I know that’s hard to believe,’ Savita continued, ‘but the reason he’s stopped picking on us is a bit complicated.’

  ‘Very complicated,’ Nicky added, feeling she had to make a contribution.

  ‘So what’s Malcolm been doing to you?’ Savita asked.

  Philip lowered his voice. ‘I’m - I’m gay, you see. And he must have picked up on it. I can’t think how he knew or found out.’

  Savita threw Nicky a surreptitious look which he noticed. He went bright red.

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Well, I....’ began Savita, feeling awkward. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it.’

  Philip shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is, he’s making my life unbearable. He sends me emails asking me to go into his office for the stupidest things. This morning I went in, and he told me the clock on his wall was two minutes slow and got me to put it right. And while I was doing it, he was coming out with all the most awful euphemisms for my sexual orientation. He’s the worst homophobe I’ve ever met.’

  ‘You don’t think....’ Nicky began.

  ‘What?’ prompted Savita.

  ‘Well, it’s just a thought: you don’t think he’s like Kevin Spacey’s neighbour in that film American Beauty, do you?’

  ‘I see where you’re coming from,’ said Philip, ‘but I think it’s a bit glib to say that just because he’s a homophobe, he must have those tendencies himself.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ snapped Savita with rather more vehemence than she intended. ‘What matters is that we must stop him bullying you, Philip.’

  ‘Yes but,’ He frowned. ‘How are you going to do that?’

  Savita looked at Nicky. ‘Shall I tell him?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  Savita explained to Philip about the photographs they had of Malcolm in a compromising situation. After she had finished, he said:

  ‘That’s all very well, but if you threaten to expose him again, and he stops bullying me, he’ll probably find someone else to pick on.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Savita. ‘Which is why I am going to send his wife a copy of the picture, and the MD will get it by email. By this time tomorrow Malcolm will be looking for another job, and his wife will be starting divorce proceedings.’

  Nicky and Philip stared at Savita, both cowed by the enormity of her intentions.

  ‘What?’ said Savita. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Nicky pursed her lips. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘if we should go that far.’

  ‘So what’s the point in threatening him, if he knows we have no intention of carrying out the threat?’

  ‘But it could seriously backfire,’ said Philip.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know. But if you take away his job and ruin his marriage, you’ll leave him in ruins.’

  ‘Tough,’ snapped Savita. ‘He should have thought of that before he started picking on people again.’

  ‘Yes but if you leave a person with nothing left to lose, who knows what they’re capable of doing.’

  Savita clenched her lips tightly before speaking. ‘I don’t care. All I know is, I’m sick of the evil bastard, and I want him out of our firm for good. Goodbye, Malcolm. I’d like to say it’s been nice knowing you, but it hasn’t.’

  That was when their food arrived.

  Sixty - Two

  Craig slammed his beer glass onto the grubby, pub table. ‘He said what?’

  Maggie gave her brother an ironic smile. ‘He made it obvious the bank will pull the rug from under me unless I went to bed with him.’

  ‘The filthy little git. He needs sorting out.’

  ‘What are you gonna do? Go round there with the boys?’

  ‘As it happens, I do know someone who could....’

  ‘Leave it out, Craig. That’s not the answer.’

  ‘No, well....’ Craig shrugged like a hard man and picked up his pint glass. ‘So what did you say to this little merchant banker?’

  ‘I told him I’d think about it.’

  Beer dribbled from the corner of Craig’s mouth as he stopped in mid-sip. ‘You what!’ Then he noticed the teasing look on his sister’s face. ‘I thought you were serious for a minute.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’

  ‘So now what?’ said Craig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Maggie pursed her lips. ‘I don’t know. Change my bank for a start. Trouble is....’

  Craig interrupted her. ‘The trouble is you’re strapped for cash, and you need to sell my chippie.’

  ‘It’s not mine to sell, sweetheart. It belongs to you now.’

  Craig shook his head. ‘It was never really mine. It belonged to Gary. Own up. And I know what he’d have thought of me having it. So I guess I’ll have to learn about running a wine bar now.’

  Maggie smiled and toasted him with her wine glass.

  ***

  As Malcolm passed through the open-plan office, he sensed an atmosphere. Nicky and Philip had their heads buried in paperwork, trying not to catch his eye, but Savita was staring at him with a vicious smile, watching him like a predator waiting to pounce. He hurried into his office and closed the door. His breathing was shallow and he felt a nauseous quake in his stomach. He could tell something was seriously wrong. The threatening atmosphere was solid and palpable, like a hand gripping his throat.

  He sat at his desk and shifted his computer mouse. His maze screen saver vanished and he was about to open up his emails when his mobile rang. The display told him it was Jeremy Clarison, the managing director, ringing. Apprehensively, he clicked the OK button, and answered with a bogusly cheerful voice.

  ‘Jeremy! What can I do for you?’

  The MD got straight to the point. ‘I don’t want to come into the office today, Malcolm. But we need to talk business for a few minutes, then I’ve got a train to catch to Charing Cross. I’ll wait for you in the street outside, just round the corner from reception, outside that pizza place. We’ll go for a coffee. It won’t take long.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Malcolm began. ‘Can you give me some sort of clue what it’s about? Forewarned and forearmed and all that.’

  Silence from the Jeremy’s end of the phone. The MD had already hung up and Malcolm realised he was talking to himself. Frowning, he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and left the office, wondering if there was any reason to be alarmed. Jeremy had sounded perfectly normal, so maybe there was nothing to worry about. He convinced himself that it was his own imagination that was running amok.

  But as he crossed the open-plan office again, his legs weakened, and he felt his energy being sapped by the hatred of his staff. Braving it out, he stared straight ahead, avoiding a glance in Savita’s direction, although he could feel her eyes piercing the transparent thinness of his demea
nour.

  As soon as he was outside the building, Malcolm dashed around the corner, expecting to find Jeremy waiting for him, but the MD was nowhere to be seen. Malcolm waited as instructed outside the pizza takeaway, wondering where the MD had got to. Perhaps he’d gone into the newsagent’s opposite to get a paper to read on the train.

  He watched customers entering the newsagent’s, and saw them leaving again. There was no sign of Jeremy. Frowning deeply, and becoming more worried by the minute, Malcolm placed a call on his mobile to the MD’s mobile, but all he got was his voice mail. He left a brief message, saying he was outside the pizza takeaway as instructed. Then he waited, glancing nervously at his watch every few minutes. After waiting for fifteen minutes, he decided that perhaps the MD had to rush to catch his train, so he returned to the office. At reception, Frank, the security man, stood in his way.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid you can’t go in there.’

  ‘What! Why not?’

  ‘Instructions from Mr Clarison. I’m very sorry, sir, but Mr Clarison says that you are no longer an employee of the company, as of today.’

  Malcolm felt like crying. It was the worst case scenario, and it was actually happening to him. The thing he had always feared. The anxiety dream that had haunted him at nights. The dreaded desk clearance. Being booted out unceremoniously.

  In a small thin voice, almost pleading with the security man, he said, ‘Frank, I’ve left some things in my office. If I could just....’

  He moved forward slightly, and the security man raised the flat of his hand, but resisted touching him.

  ‘That’s far enough, sir. Any personal effects, we’ll put in a bin bag and you can collect them later. But for now, I’d vacate the building if I were you.’

  He stared uncomprehendingly at the security man, searching for a glimmer of sympathy in his face; but the security man wore a deliberate mask of inscrutability.

  Feeling as if he was a zombie, walking without purpose, Malcolm turned and left the building.

  He drove home in a daze. What on earth could he tell Sheila, his wife? That he had lost his job, and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Their daughter was soon to be married, a wedding with all the bells and whistles, and now he wouldn’t be able to contribute anything towards the cost.

  He felt tears of shame pricking his eyes. Perhaps Sheila would be sympathetic and understanding. Somehow he doubted it. In recent years they had been having problems, always sniping at one another. Always angry and pent up.

  ‘Sheila!’ he called out as he walked through the front door. ‘Where are you?’

  She was waiting in the kitchen. He could see she had been crying. And there on the kitchen table, the photograph stared at him accusingly. She came towards him. He had never seen an expression of such hatred before. The slap caught him by surprise, stinging and biting, bringing tears of pain into his eyes.

  ‘You disgusting animal,’ she hissed. ‘I want you out of this house, and out of my life. You disgust me, you filthy stinking animal.’

  And like a wounded animal, he lowered his head and whimpered. ‘Please, Sheila,’ he pleaded.

  ‘I want you out of here,’ she snapped. ‘And I never want to see you again.’

  Sixty - Three

  While Mike helped Chloe’s boyfriend to load up the car for their holiday at a Christian festival campsite in the midlands, Claire had a last minute word with her daughter in the kitchen.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to speak to you since you’ve come home,’ she said hurriedly, glancing towards the door in case Mark came in. ‘I wanted to ask you a few things.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Well, you seem to be serious about Mark....’

  ‘I told you: in a few years’ time we’ll be getting married.’

  ‘Yes but....’ Claire frowned as if she was struggling to work something out. ‘He’s very religious.’

  ‘I know. So am I.’

  ‘And does he know? About the abortion?’

  Chloe chewed her lip nervously and nodded slightly.

  ‘And how does he feel about it?’

  ‘At first he was devastated. But Mark’s very strong; it would take a great deal to shake his belief.’

  ‘I’m glad you told him.’

  ‘You didn’t think I’d....’ Chloe was shocked her mother thought she might contemplate marrying Mark deceitfully. Did her mother think so little of her?

  ‘Of course not,’ Claire said hastily. ‘I’m just glad he’s so understanding.’

  ‘It took a long time. A lot of soul searching and a lot of prayer. You see, Mark believes God knows everyone; even before they’re born.’

  Claire felt embarrassed and irritated, wanting to say what she really thought of that concept. ‘So now what?’ she said, unable to conceal her annoyance.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘What about your career? I mean, you had your heart set on something in the media. Television journalism.’

  Chloe shrugged, pursing her lips. ‘It doesn’t seem quite so important now. I suppose I really want to spread the word. There’s always Christian cable television.’

  ‘Oh, Chloe! I’m sure once you’re over this religious phase,...’

  ‘It’s not a phase, Mum.’

  ‘I know, but people - once something bad happens to them - they often turn to religion. The affluent and healthy really don’t need it.’

  Chloe looked annoyed, and was about to answer her mother when Mike entered, and told them the car was all packed up. Andrew was summonsed from his bedroom, and they all went out to watch the young couple depart. As they waved them off, Mike noticed Claire wiping away a tear.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just a bit disappointed with the way it’s worked out, I suppose.’

  Mike turned to Andrew and asked him, ‘What was Chloe talking to you about in your bedroom? Not trying to convert you, was she?’

  ‘No, she was giving me advice. She’s right. I might study; take a few exams. See if I can get into college and do computer studies.’

  Mike beamed. ‘That’s great, Andy!’

  ‘Wonderful, sweetheart,’ added Claire, and stroked his hair, noticing that for the first time he didn’t seem to resent it. Perhaps, she thought, he’s coming out of his Kevin phase.

  ***

  At just gone nine-thirty that night, having spent some time with her boyfriend at his flat, Savita left to catch the bus back to her place in Rusthall. She dashed along to the station when she saw her bus go by. She cursed, knowing that at this time of night there wouldn’t be another one for about half an hour. At first she thought she might get a taxi, but it was a warm night and thought the exercise would do her good. It was only about a mile and a half from the station, and she knew she could be home by around ten fifteen, which was when the next bus was due.

  As she began walking up Major York’s Road, with the dark common to her right, she suddenly began to feel nervous. She knew it was irrational, having walked along the road many times before, often later than this. Occasional cars drove by, and the road was well lit, but she couldn’t help feeling anxious. It was instinctive. A feeling that she was being followed or watched.

  A car cruised slowly by, and she saw the shadow of the driver’s face staring out at her. She slowed down, wondering if she should turn round and run back towards the Pantiles, go into the nearest pub and call for a taxi. But the car continued slowly up Major York’s Road. Perhaps the driver had just been curious, wondering what a young woman was doing walking alone by the common late in the evening.

  She decided to ignore her fears and put on a spurt. Then she saw the car turn right into Fir Tree Road, which was a dead end. It led towards the cricket ground and car park, an odd place
for someone to be going at this time of night.

  As she got closer to Fir Tree Road, the car reappeared, turned into Major York’s Road, coming in her direction. The driver parked in one of the vacant parking spaces and the headlights faded. Then the driver got out of the car and crossed the road and began walking along the path towards her. She froze. He was probably less than twenty yards away. She hesitated, turning to see if there were any cars coming along the road. There was nothing. The road was deserted. And when she turned back she saw that the figure heading perilously close to her was Malcolm.

  ‘You bitch!’ he shouted. ‘I’m going to destroy you, like you destroyed me ... fucking little bitch.’

  She turned and ran. But it was too late, and Malcolm’s full force hit her in the back and she crashed to the ground, hitting her head on the hard surface. She tried to open her mouth to scream for help, but the fall and Malcolm’s weight had winded her.

  She felt him grab her hair and one of her wrists and pull her towards the bushes on the common.

  ‘No!’ she pleaded. ‘Please, Malcolm. No!’

  She struggled and tried at least cling to the path, where perhaps a passing car might see her. But Malcolm overpowered her and soon she was in the pitch black of the trees. She felt him tearing and tugging at her trousers. She opened her mouth to scream and his fist smacked her hard across the mouth, then his other hand tightened around her throat.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she cried. ‘Malcolm, I’m sorry.’

  But she knew it was useless. It was too late for that.

  Sixty - Four

  On Friday evening, as soon as she got home from work, Nicky ran upstairs to shower and change. For once, she was glad to be alone in the house. Her mother was over at Nigel’s place, and Vanessa had gone away to stay with friends in Canterbury. So Nicky felt relieved about not having to explain to anyone about her date, the first she’d had in ages.

  She had met Jason at a party more than three weeks ago, and he had asked for her phone number. But when almost three weeks had gone by, she had wrongly assumed that he wasn’t interested and was unlikely to hear from him again. Then last night, out of the blue, he had called, apologising for not having been in touch due to pressure of work, and asked her out to dinner. She found it difficult to control her excitement, and throughout her day at work she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Her life had been so dull recently. Other than all that business with Malcolm, and that was the sort of excitement she could well do without.