More Careless Talk

by David Barry

  ‘We haven’t decided on a name for her. Oh, I know we talked about it before...’

  Marjorie broke in. ‘I think I’ve settled on calling her after my mum.’

  Ted looked horrified.

  ‘What you looking at me like that for?’

  ‘Your mother’s name was Doris.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s just that ... well, it’s a bit old fashioned.’

  ‘Some of these old names are coming back into fashion now.’

  Ted shook his head violently. ‘Yes but not Doris. She’s not a Doris. What about Portia? Or Olivia?’

  Marjorie looked as if she could smell something unpleasant. ‘Oh no, if we’re going to have something old fashioned, it’s got to be Doris.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Ted, snatching the champagne bottle from her hand, ‘we’ll have to give her something a bit more up to date.’

  Ted started to leave the room. Marjorie, unused to such assertive behaviour in her husband, shrugged and relented. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Something a bit more modern Like Tracey.’

  The tall distinguished man with greying hair and old-fashioned film star looks, handed Craig an American Express card. From behind the counter, as she poured two glasses of house red, Maggie caught the man staring at her brother’s tattoos. A burning sensation of shame and embarrassment surged from deep inside her. Craig turned as he walked away from the table and flashed her a smile. She glared back at him.

  ‘What’s wrong, Maggs?’ he asked, as he reached the bar.

  ‘Nothing.’

  Maggie’s eyes darted over to the customer, who was talking unashamedly loudly to his lady friend in the rich flat vowel sounds of the upper classes, that made Maggie want to cringe.

  ‘You’re a wonderful brother to have.’ Maggie came around the bar and moved close to Craig, rubbing his arm, as if giving his tattoos a seal of approval. ‘I’m proud of you.’

  Craig looked into his sister’s smiling face, thrown by this sudden mood swing. He thought he detected a stale sweetness on her breath.

  ‘Maggs,’ he said, frowning, ‘you been drinking?’

  She stiffened, then broke away from him, and returned behind the bar. ‘No, I haven’t.’ She avoided looking at him. ‘We’ve been too busy. When am I supposed to have had a drink, Craig? Hmm? When?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just thought...’

  She silenced him with a warning look, picked up two bottles of house red and carried them over to two men in a far corner of the wine bar.

  ‘Your food won’t be long,’ she said. One of the men, wearing a suit that fitted him in a way that advertised bespoke tailoring, smiled at her as he broke off his discussion about exporting copper tubing, and she smiled back at him.

  ‘I hope you like our house red.’

  The glass slipped in her hand. She tried to catch it, but would have been better off if she had let if fall. She knocked it flying into the man’s lap.

  Thirty - Six

  Something inside Mike snapped. ‘I can’t stand this any longer,’ he yelled. ‘Will somebody please tell me what I’ve done to deserve this?’

  ‘Shouting won’t do any good,’ Claire said, her voice a dead echo from a paralysed mind.

  Mike clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting to control his temper. Tears sprang into his eyes and his voice became choked. ‘If only you knew what this depression of yours is doing to us. If only you knew how contagious it is.’

  ‘Infectious,’ said Claire automatically. ‘Contagious is when it’s spread by physical contact.’

  ‘Yeah well...’ shouted Mike, floundering. ‘That’s exactly what I do mean. Everything you touch in this house becomes depressed. You pass it on to the house itself. You can feel it in the walls. And we hardly ever see Andrew these days. He locks himself in his room. He’s scared to come out.’

  Zombie-like, Claire stared at the untouched cup of tea on the table before her. She wanted to speak; to tell Mike how sorry she was; how much she loved him. But the numbness in her mind was like a niggling toothache. She wanted to crawl away like a wounded animal and huddle in a corner until the depression went away, but she knew it wouldn’t, even though she was aware that she needed to seek help.

  ‘I’ll go this morning,’ she said, as if replying to something Mike had just said, something different.

  ‘Go?’

  ‘To see the doctor.’

  ‘You should have gone weeks ago.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you?’

  ‘I’m going this morning. All right? I promise.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll ring them up.’

  ‘Tell them it’s urgent. They have to see you.’

  Almost imperceptibly, Claire nodded and continued to stare at the tea cup. Mike sighed deeply and tremulously. ‘I’ll ring them if you like.’

  Claire looked up at him. ‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you. But I get the impression that as soon as I’m out the door, you’ll just sit there staring at that cup.’

  ‘I said I’d go. I don’t need you to hold my bloody hand.’

  He noticed how she had raised her voice slightly in irritation, and felt this was a good sign. Anything was better than having to suffer her unemotional staring into the distance. He glanced at his watch.

  ‘Well I’d better be off. I’ll come straight home after my last appointment, to see how you go on at the doctor’s. Be some time after four I expect.’

  Claire didn’t reply. She continued to stare into the distance, as if she was trying to escape the present. Mike was almost tempted to yell out something like:

  Come on, pull yourself together! He almost smiled to himself as he permitted himself this small fantasy of what not to say to someone in a clinically depressed state. But the truth of it was: it was how he really felt. He felt depression was an indulgence on the part of the sufferer, as if they were deliberately trying to punish those around them.

  His jaw clamped tight with tension, he shuffled quietly out of the house, got into his car, and drove recklessly away from his street. He felt like driving dangerously fast to get the anger out of his system, but as soon as he was onto the main road, the rush hour traffic brought him to a halt. Instead, he took his anger out on every four-by-four vehicle waiting to move out into the traffic.

  ‘I’m not letting you out, you bastard,’ he said, avoiding eye contact with the driver. ‘Gas guzzling wanker!’

  ***

  Picking up his suitcase, Alan opened the front door, then turned awkwardly round to acknowledge Pran.

  ‘So this is it,’ said Pran, a pleading, dog-like expression in his eyes. ‘Now who’s not facing up to things? Now who’s running away?’

  Alan cleared his throat gently before he spoke. ‘We’ve been over and over it, Pran, until I’m sick and tired of the same arguments. Everyone’s got a breaking point.’

  ‘What if I said I’d get a job? Stack shelves at Sainsbury’s. Anything.’

  ‘It wouldn’t work.’

  ‘How d’you know, if you won’t give it a try?’

  ‘It’s been weeks now since you packed in your job. And in all that time, it’s been sheer hell. And I can’t take any more of it.’

  Pran grabbed Alan’s arm. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance.’

  ‘You’re dragging me down. The only way I can pick myself up again, is if we split up.’

  Although the morning was warm and sunny, Pran shivered from a sleepless cold. He’d been dreading this morning, and now the moment of parting had arrived, he felt a great numb confusion, unable to cope with his emotions. He was adrift now, floating listlessly, and there seemed
no point to anything.

  Releasing Alan’s arm, he said, ‘How the hell am I going to afford this flat on my own?’

  Alan shrugged. ‘You’ll have to do what I’m doing. Find somewhere else.’

  ‘You can’t just chuck away the four years we’ve lived together.’

  ‘This is not impulsive, you know. We’ve spent weekends arguing, and I feel exhausted. Drained. Like I’ve not had any sleep. And my work is suffering. If I don’t watch it, any promotion I was expecting will go right out the window.’

  ‘So you’re putting your career first, is that it?’

  Alan stared at Pran with a look of disgust before turning away and starting down the flight of stone steps. ‘I’ll be back to pick up my things. Soon as I can hire a van.’

  ‘Phone first,’ said Pran. ‘So I don’t have to be here.’

  Pran watched as Alan pulled the handle out of his suitcase. Then his ex-partner walked away, wheeling the suitcase behind him, and did not look back.

  ***

  When Mike returned in the early evening, he found Claire sitting at the kitchen table in the exact same spot, still staring at the cold cup of tea. He wanted to hit her, but restrained himself by clenching his fists and breathing deeply.

  ‘So you didn’t get to the doctor’s.’

  Silence. She leant forward and held her head in her hands, quietly sobbing.

  ‘Jesus, Claire! What the hell is this all about?’

  Mike felt no compassion for his wife as the quiet sobbing continued. If anything, it had the opposite effect, and he found himself shouting. ‘I told you to go to the doctor’s. You’re destroying this family. And for what? I’m fucked if I know. But don’t expect me to stay in and suffer your misery. I’m going out. And if I come home pissed - too bad!

  Mike stormed out of the house, slamming the door. As soon as he was in the street, he stopped, wondering where to go. He hadn’t had any lunch, and he was hungry. He felt a deceitful urge to splash out, treat himself to an expensive meal, with plenty to drink. Then he remembered Maggie’s Wine Bar. He would go there, and try to rekindle the relationship with his ex-lover.

  Thirty - Seven

  Simon and Thomas were engrossed in watching The Simpsons when the telephone rang. Mary was expecting Dave to call, but then something about the time of call, and the ring tone seemed to signal a telepathic warning. As soon as she answered the call, her apprehension turned to fear.

  ‘Hi, Babe. I think you missed me last night.’

  ‘Ronnie!’ she almost screamed. ‘I don’t want you to call me again.’

  ‘Am I supposed to have done something wrong?’

  ‘You know bloody well you have. That tape for a start. How did you get in the house?’

  ‘It was a piece of cake, kid. You want to get Mister Funny Man to make the place secure. I mean, anyone could get in. It’s not difficult. Think what might have happened if it’d been anyone but me.’

  Mary shivered and her hand gripped the receiver tightly. ‘Now listen, Ronnie: I don’t need all this. Not after all this time. If you continue to pester me, I shall have to call the police. And I’m changing this phone number.’

  She heard him laugh, a deliberately provocative chuckle, false and devoid of humour. She struggled between the desire to slam down the phone or keep listening.

  Before she could decide, his laugh broke off, like a light being switched off.

  ‘Don’t waste your time changing the number,’ he said. ‘All that hassle, and I’ll get the new one.’

  ‘How can you do that.’

  He laughed again. ‘I’ve got ways. I work for the Americans now. All hush-hush stuff. So I’d watch it if I were you. We know everything you get up to. And last night, as you tossed and turned in your bed, who were you thinking of when you enjoyed yourself. Not Mister Funny Man, was it? Or were you thinking about us? About the great times we had between the sheets. I’ll always be the best lover you ever had, babe. Was it me you were fantasising about last night? You pulled the duvet right back as you pleasured yourself. Jesus! It got me horny. So horny, I thought...’

  She slammed the phone down hard, stood bent over the hall table as if she’d been hit in the stomach, and found it difficult to breathe. How had he known? How had Ronnie known about what she did last night? Or was it just a coincidence? Was he just guessing?***

  Arriving breathlessly at the wine bar, Maggie headed straight for the cold cabinet, uncapped a Perrier and swigged from the bottle. Craig appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Dehydrated, are we?’

  Maggie jumped slightly, spilling water down the front of her Fort Lauderdale T-shirt. Craig gave a deliberate, self-righteous and sneering laugh.

  ‘Sorry if I made you jump.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be in yet.’

  ‘Someone’s got to do the clearing up.’

  Maggie sucked in her breath. ‘Yes, all right! You were the one who insisted I went home early. You know how difficult it is for me, what with picking up the kids from school. And I like to see something of them.’

  ‘I’m not arguing about that.’

  Maggie pouted. ‘Oh. So this is an argument, is it?’

  ‘If you like. I think it’s time we had a serious word.’

  ‘Come on, Craig. Now’s not the time. We open in five minutes. If you’ve got something on your mind, save it for later.’

  ‘It might have escaped your notice, Maggs,’ said Craig, waving a hand towards the tables, ‘that everything’s been done...’

  ‘What do you want? A medal? I told you...’

  Craig interrupted her, raising his voice. ‘This has nothing to do with you taking time off to be with the kids.’

  ‘There’s no need to shout.’

  ‘I’m not shouting.’

  Maggie giggled lamely, trying to turn it into a joke. ‘Sorry? I can’t hear you.’

  Craig stared at her, coldly.

  ‘Oh, come on, little brother,’ Maggie sighed, ‘and give us a break. Lighten up, will you?’

  ‘You know bloody well what this is about, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’

  ‘Maggie! I’m trying to help. You’ve got a problem. You’re knocking back the hard stuff.’

  ‘What’s the point of running a wine bar if I can’t have a couple of drinks to be sociable?

  ‘It’s not just a couple of drinks, and we both know it.’

  Maggie took another swig of Perrier

  ‘I think you’re drinking on the quiet,’ Craig went on. ‘I can smell it on your breath, Maggs. And that incident with the wine yesterday...’

  ‘Don’t give me any grief about that. It was an accident.’

  ‘I know we all have accidents from time to time...’

  Maggie stared at her brother, parodying an adoring expression. ‘Except my wonderful young brother, who never does anything wrong.’

  Craig’s face flushed with sudden anger. ‘Why don’t you admit you’ve got a drink problem, sweetheart? You don’t fool anyone except yourself. Even Dad’s mentioned it to me.’

  Maggie looked suddenly alarmed. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Oh, just that he thinks you might be overdoing it. But I know what he meant. You’ve got to get a grip, Maggs.’

  Maggie sighed, pouting, and let her head fall contritely onto her chest. ‘I’ll try,’ she muttered. ‘But...’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I don’t think I can cope anymore. I wish I’d never got into this wine bar business.’

  Craig stared at her disbelievingly. ‘But we’re doing all right, Maggs. We’re going great guns.’

  ‘Yeah, financially. But I just don’t think I can cope. It’s like there’s something missing from my life. There’s an emptine
ss. A gap. It’s difficult to explain.’

  At that precise moment there was a tap on the glass of the entrance door. Outside stood Mike, grinning and looking though the window at them. He held up his wrist watch and tapped the glass of it pointedly.

  Maggie grinned back at him. ‘Better open up,’ she told Craig.

  Thirty - Eight

  As Mike stood at the wine bar counter, smiling at Maggie, Craig sensed there was something between them. He detected that undercurrent that runs between lovers, the secret mutual appeal they think is latent but is clearly noticeable by others.

  ‘Hi,’ said Mike. ‘How’ve you been?’

  Maggie’s body language became openly inviting, as she returned his smile, and brushed her hands back across her stomach until they rested on her hips.

  ‘It’s been a bit hectic,’ she said. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘I’ll have a bottle of Beck’s.’

  Craig nodded approvingly at Mike, then went into the kitchen, pleased that perhaps Maggie might rekindle an old love, which he knew would be far healthier than her drink problem.

  Maggie handed Mike his beer, and he toasted her with the bottle before taking a small sip.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I can live without you. I know you said you didn’t want to ruin my marriage or come between me and my wife, but ... well, these things happen. I want you, Maggie. I can’t stop thinking about you.’

  Maggie knew then that she had to make a choice. Either ignore her brother’s warning, and carry on destroying herself, or choose to embrace the positive aspect of being desired, and finding a new strength through a burgeoning relationship.

  ‘Mike,’ she said softly, having made her choice, ‘I want you too. I never really wanted for us to split up. If you want to give me a ring tomorrow morning, after I’ve taken the kids to school...’

  Mike’s grin widened. ‘I’ll do that. Maybe I can call round.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Though I might have to be here just before lunchtime. Let’s see how it goes.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ he smiled, raising his bottle of Beck’s.