The only problem with this plan was that they'd not come in his car - it was Sally's and she had the keys. Damn! If he told her to drive them up over the moors for a serious talk, she'd tell him to get lost, drive home and go to bed, shutting him out with a sulk. And he'd just downed half a bottle of wine anyway, so he couldn't drive them anywhere.
"What's got into you?" she said, trotting up behind him.
"Drive us up over the moors, Sal. Let's go and visit that layby where we used to go."
"At this time of night?"
"We used to be up there at midnight sometimes."
"That was a long time ago, when we were both stupid. No, I'm going home."
"Give me the keys then. I'll drive."
"You're drunk. Get in or walk."
So he had to say he'd walk didn't he? Even though they lived way across town, some three miles. She'd really given him no other option and though she put it down to his mood and his pig headedness, it was really her fault. And she couldn't bloody see it. She was a bit taken aback though, perhaps realising there was something deeper about his melancholia than usual.
"Suit yourself," she said.
Phil pleaded. "We need to talk, Sally."
"Then let's talk at home."
"I think it's home that's the problem."
But she was already settling into the car. She waited for a moment, but Phil was reeling and he couldn't bring himself to go near the car, to submit, to go quietly home with her. Home was for bed, for the smell of her, the feel of her stockings against his legs, the taste of her - but that home was so long ago now he wasn't sure if it was real or imagined. Then he watched as Sally drove away.
Chapter 23
Phil was not drunk, he realised, or he would not have felt the cold as much as he did. He'd left his coat in Sally's car because the evening had seemed warm enough for the short walk across the carpark, but now, dressed only in his suit and a thin shirt, he was beginning to shiver. He also had the funny feeling that someone was following him.
The guy had been there since the restaurant, about twenty yards behind. Phil might not have noticed except he was an unnaturally fast walker and tended to leave most people behind as he strode out, as he was doing even more than usual now in an attempt to warm up. The guy had short legs and was having to take two steps for each of Phil's which lent to him the air of someone scurrying along, in a hurry and anxious not to be left behind. That was what gave it away really - someone in so much of a fluster would at some point have gained on Phil and overtaken. Phil kept slowing a little to see if that's what the person wanted to do - but no - he was definitely following, maintaining a distance. Phil told himself it was ridiculous and he was just being paranoid, except he'd crossed several roads now, and taken a few side-streets on purpose, and the guy was still there.
He paused by the window of the Comet Superstore in order to catch a glimpse of his stalker. It didn't look much like a teen mugger - no baseball cap, no hooded top or lavishly expensive trainers. This man looked rather like a retired headmaster: spectacles, a Trilby hat and a long trench-coat. A trench-coat? Was he a flasher? Did they still call them flashers these days? I mean he couldn't be a detective looking like a - well, a comic book detective, unless he was being ironic. And what had Phil done to warrant attention from the boys in blue?
He set off again, quickening his pace a little more. He felt confused and numb when the man fell in behind him once more. He wanted his brain to tell him what it meant, but his brain refused, like a computer program looping uselessly over the obvious: I'm being followed, I'm being followed. He turned into an alley, then nipped smartish through a little shopping arcade before doubling back, skipping down some steps and into the retail park where he dived into the perpetual crowd that haunted the all-night supermarket. He had his fingers around his 'phone by now, ready to call the police, but he'd never called the police before and he wasn't sure if he could describe this as an emergency. But then what was an emergency? Being stabbed to death by a deranged man in a trench-coat? It was a bit late for 999 then!
He lingered in the wide open doorway, warming himself on the terrific up-draughts of heated air. The crowds were a comfort, as were the uniformed security men. From there he scanned the street from a position of confidence. Let the bastard come now, he was thinking. But he'd obviously given the man the slip. Phil looked around, feeling suddenly foolish and catching a glimpse of himself on the monitors suspended over the doorway. Big brother was watching you, they said, and by the way don't you look a lot balder on camera than you thought you did in the bathroom mirror? The security men, two large black gents were also beginning to eye him suspiciously. Shoppers had a particular look about them, he supposed and after a while, to a bored security man, they'd fail to register - but someone else, someone who was not a shopper would stand out on their unconscious radar. It started to rain, so Phil slipped into shopper mode and thought it would be a good idea to have a look around for an umbrella, before deciding that a coffee would warm him up a bit first, so he made for the cafe and grabbed himself a tray.
"Phil?"
He closed his eyes in disbelief. There was no need to look up.
"Pen?"
She was waiting by the till, looking very attractive in her uniform, he thought, but then he'd always had a thing about girls in uniforms. She was always pleased to see him. Always smiling, always making him feel good.
"I thought you worked at Tesco’s."
"I do, part time - the rest of the time I work here. Did you just call me Pen, by the way?
"I think I did, yes. I'm sorry,… I,… "
"No. I like it. No one's ever called me Pen before."
"They haven't?"
"You'd think they would wouldn't you - I mean in forty,… erm,… something years, you'd think someone would have called me Pen before now."
"They used to call me Baggy at school."
"Really? I was Snotty. That's one pound sixty please. And I'm sorry, but the coffee in here's really bad."
"I know. Any port in a storm though. Snotty?"
"Yes, Snotty Totty."
"Really?"
"Well, you know what kids are like. I didn't think I was snotty. Anyway, why Baggy?"
Phil paused for a moment, unable to believe he was having this conversation. Had he slipped into a parallel universe? "Oh,… they used to mix me up with a lad called Peter Bagshaw. It could have been worse. They called him No-neck, as I recall."
"I prefer Phil. Though you can call me Pen anytime you like. Anyway - why are you looking so smart?"
"Oh,… Sal and I, we’ve been out for a meal at Chez Nous.."
Penny looked over his shoulder and Phil shook his head. Penny looked at him enquiringly "Sally's not with you? How did the meal go?"
"Bit of a disaster really. Sal took the car. I'm walking."
Penny covered her mouth - a mixture of surprise and dismay. She was genuinely upset for him. "You must be in the doghouse!"
Don't be upset for me Pen! Just say the words - don't mean them. I want you to be glad things aren't working between me and Sal!
"Afraid so," he said.
"Whatever did you do?"
"I can't remember exactly - though I suppose it was my fault, I think."
"And then the first thing you do is come in here and find me?"
Phil didn't want her to get the wrong idea. "Honestly, Pen, I didn't know you l worked here."
"It's all right. I know you're not stalking me. "
That was good then; the last thing he wanted was to end up getting on the wrong side of the only sympathetic female he knew.
"It's still happening isn't it?" she said.
"Yes, but I'm getting used it."
"Me too."
"I mean its impossible, and I feel really stupid when I'm writing my diary of a night because no future social historian, or even a nosy parker, is ever going to believe me!"
"You write about our meetings?"
"I write about every
thing, including everyone I meet - well anyone who means anything to me."
"Is that,… wise do you think?"
"Don't worry - like I said before: It's encrypted and the key goes with me to my grave. And anyway - we've nothing to hide."
She smiled mysteriously. "Haven't we? Your coffee's going cold. Why don't you have a seat. I'll come over and join you, while it's quiet."
"Won't you get into trouble, idling with a customer?"
"I'll just say you're my parole officer."
"Penny,… you're insane."
"Pen, remember?"
"Okay, Pen."
Oh yes, Phil might have enjoyed that, settled in for half an hour with this delightful woman, this woman who was not Caroline. I mean who else did he most need to speak to right now - apart from Sally. No APART from Sally! And who had been the first person to pop into his mind as Sally had driven away, leaving him stranded outside Chez Nous? He was about to nod his agreement when he saw the flasher just coming into the restaurant and his happiness vanished. What was really strange though was that Penny saw him too and froze.
Phil looked at her. "You know that guy?"
"He's been idling in here all day - watching me. It sounds like I'm paranoid but he sat over there with a newspaper this afternoon and made his coffee last an hour. And I'm sure I saw him hanging around the orchard one morning."
"You're joking!"
"I wish I could say I was. Do you know him?"
"He's followed me here from Chez Nous."
Penny gave a shudder. "We were having a laugh about it, me and the other girls - wondering which one of us he fancied. Are you sure it's him?"
"Well, he's not exactly inconspicuous is he. Look, I'll keep his attention fixed on me, while you go and fetch the store manager, see if we can't find out who he is."
Phil took his coffee, and feeling not a little like James Bond in his suit, sat as far away from the flasher as he could, but in plain view , facing to the side, so as not to frighten him off. If the store manager wouldn't help, he'd have to call the police, and he made ready with his 'phone. After a little while he glanced over and, behind the flasher's back, caught sight of Penny, and a somewhat youthful looking bloke who was stroking his chin thoughtfully. He whispered something to Penny who's mouth opened wide for a moment. The manager looked concerned and was reaching for his walkie-talkie perhaps to call the security men over, but Penny stopped him, shaking her head, then she came over to Phil in a daze.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Eddie knows him," she whispered. "He's Herbert Blakedon. Middleton's own private gumshoe. No don't look! He'll think we've rumbled him."
And though he did not doubt Penny's word, Phil tipped his head back and laughed. "No way. That guy? But he looks too much like a comic book detective to be a real one."
"Either that or he's just rubbish at it."
"Or possibly a bit strange. Poor guy."
"Poor guy?"
"Well he's obviously just trying to make ends meet."
"Do you try to see the good in everyone?"
"Sorry, I'm just relieved. I thought he was a mad axe-man or something."
"Well, no. It turns out he's just a ridiculous Private Investigator instead who's making ends meet by trying to CATCH YOU AND ME AT IT!"
"Eh? But he'll wait a long time before that happens, Pen."
Penny sighed. Phil was a dear man, and a love, but he could be a bit slow sometimes and she had to catch hold of both his hands before she could focus his attention. "Someone hired him, Phil."
"Well, I suppose so,… ."
"Sally do you think?"
He was catching up now, and as he caught up, his thoughts grew darker. "I don't know." He was horrified to think they might have drifted so far apart that such a thing was even a possibility. "She mentioned something tonight that irritated me,… made me wonder if she half suspected me of being up to something, but it was with Doctor Lin. But she was only teasing - going on and on about the acupuncture business again."
"But it could have been Sally?"
Phil felt the floor opening beneath him. "It might have been. But why has he been watching you if it's Doctor Lin I'm supposed to be having an affair with?"
"Good point."
"Could David have hired him?"
Penny seemed calm but she was pale and Phil could feel her hands trembling a little. "He would if his mother told him to," he said.
"Pen, I think I feel sick."
"Me too," she gave a nervous laugh, wondered about crying, then about becoming hysterical, but as usual chose objectivity - you didn't spend a decade and a half as intermediary between a couple of squabbling kids without learning a thing or two about objectivity. "So, what do we do?"
Phil could feel the anger in his veins now and he struggled against it because he knew it was useless." I could call the police."
"Eddie was going to set security on him - but I said no."
"Why?"
"Well,… because,… "
"Because?"
"Do you really want him to know we've rumbled him? Because that opens Pandora's box and eventually leads to us finding out who hired him? And do you want to know - I mean really?"
Phil understood what she was saying. And no, he didn't want to know. He just wanted the strange little man to go away - the rest he could do himself: shut it out, ignore the possibility that his wife had had him followed, and Penny felt the same. That way they could both go home and pretend everything was still all right. But that was cowardly wasn't it? He and Penny had nothing to hide. It was insulting. Damn it, he wanted to know who suspected them of something dirty.
"I'll go and ask him," he said, suddenly.
Penny grabbed his hands again, urgently this time. "No," she said and then: "My God, don't look but I think he's just taken a camera from his pocket."
"Is he stupid?"
"He's put it on the table, under his newspaper. I think he's taken one - it must have been when I was reaching up to grab you just then. How would that have looked? Could you read something into it, do you think?"
"This is ridiculous. I'm calling the police, Pen. Who does he think he is?"
"NO! I'm going back to my till. You'd better drink up, then go home."
Phil thought ahead, thought about the remaining two mile hike to his house, thought through the fiasco of the keys and decided he'd rather stick pins in his eyes. "I'm not going home tonight."
"But you must! It'll only make things worse between you and Sally. She'll think you're still sulking at her."
"Well I am sulking and things could hardly be any worse."
"Do you often stay out all night?"
"I've never done it before. But I can't face going back. I'd rather sleep round at my brother's - and he lives nearer."
"You have to go home, Phil - whatever happened between you two tonight, you can't leave it. You can't sleep on an argument,… on unsaid words."
"We've been sleeping on unsaid words for years, Pen. Sometimes I think it's only the fact that neither of us speaks our minds any more that we've managed to stay together as long as we have - and are we really having this conversation with a private detective sitting over there? What if he's got a parabolic microphone or something?"
"A pair of what? It doesn't matter, does it? He's just after catching us in bed, and as you said, that's stupid."
"I didn't say it was stupid - just unlikely. Maybe it would be easier all round if we did have an affair. One of us is obviously suspected of it."
"What do you mean? Easier? I thought we both agreed that would be pathetic! We're worth more than that."
"I know, I know. And you're right, but it seems to me, both our problems stem from the fact that we've neither of us turned out to be what our nearest and dearest want us to be. No matter how hard they try to fit us into whatever neat little box they've labelled for us, we keep falling out of the bottom, we keep peeling the labels off and doing our own thing.
" I'm sure David
would like nothing better for you to become a pillar of his church so long as you didn't outshine his mother in piousness. And Sally,… I don't know what Sally wants from me. I was handy to have around when nappies needed changing, but the kids are older now. She'd be quite happy moving in with her father, I think, and taking the kids with her. Sure - I can see how my having an affair would make things easier for her. Maybe that's the little box she's put me into and labelled it: playing away."
"You're talking rubbish Phil!" But Penny had the uncomfortable feeling he was right - about David anyway - she'd always felt the same thing herself - that there was this box labelled dutiful mother and obedient churchgoer. But Sally? Could a woman just discard her husband when she got tired of him, when she ran out of uses for him? "At least I hope you're talking rubbish. Look, can you hang on ten minutes? I'm due to finish, then I'll drive you home, if that's the only way of making sure you actually go home. If Sally knew you felt this way it might shock her into being a bit more sympathetic - so tell her."
"No way! Have you ever told David to his face how much you resent his mother interfering all the time?"
She went quiet suddenly, which was not his intention. "I'm sorry, Pen," he said. "I didn't mean that. I shouldn't be taking this out on you. "
"No, you're right,… I've never told him. I just assume he must know, that he's an ass if he can't see it." She shrank a little more inside of herself and Phil tried to reach her, but could not do so without leaning over and embracing her, without warming her with his body, sealing up the wound that he'd inadvertently inflicted, healed it with his own flesh and his desire to protect her. Protect her, he thought? Well, yes but only because his own woman no longer seemed to need him for anything at all. And was there anything wrong in that? Was it childish or merely human - the desire to feel needed and wanted and cherished? Phil was coming down on the side of childish when he eventually followed Penny out of the supermarket and crossed the carpark to her Corsa.
"You've gone quiet," she said. "It's all right - you've not upset me. Don't ever be afraid to speak your mind with me."
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