by David Barry
Mario stared into Craig’s eyes for a moment, then looked away. He pursed his lips and shrugged, conceding defeat.
‘Ok. Mandy won’t be back no more. Fair enough.’
‘And what about her wages for this week?’
Mario, seeing himself as the injured party, suddenly thumped the counter, making the salt and vinegar jump. ‘Don’t push it, Mr. Thomas. Don’t push it.’
Craig moved closer to the counter and leaned menacingly towards Mario. ‘I’ll take her wages now. In cash.’
Mario stepped back nimbly, out of head butt reach.
‘What makes you think...’ he began.
Craig interrupted him. ‘And if the sexual harassment charge makes headlines, think of your children. Their friends at school will have a laugh. You know what kids are like. They can be vicious. So what’s it to be, Mario? After all, she’s worked for that money. She’s entitled to it.’
Mario thought it over for a moment, then opened the till and took out seven ten pound notes. He slammed them on the counter and sighed loudly..
‘That’s all there is in cash.’
Craig put on his hardest expression and put out the flat of his hand. ‘There’s another four tens missing.’
Mario fumbled in his back pocket. Craig noticed his hand was shaking. He brought out his wallet and handed over two twenties.
‘That’s it!’ he said with finality.
Craig grinned as he picked up the money. On his way out, he turned at the door and pointed to the sad display of pies and wrinkled sausages.
‘If you want my advice, Mario, change your cooking oil regularly. You’re letting this business down.’
Forty - Seven
Pran was on his second cappuccino in Café Nero when Alan showed up. His ex partner gave him a cursory nod, deliberately keeping his expression blank, which gave him a severe look. Pran watched as Alan joined the queue to buy himself a coffee, and thought about the phone call he’d made two days ago. He’d told Alan he just wanted to be friends, meet up occasionally, maybe go to the pictures now and again. Which wasn’t strictly true. He wanted more than just friendship, but that would have to do for now.
Alan got his coffee and came over to where Pran was sitting. There was a slightly awkward silence between them, until Pran cleared his throat before asking:
‘So how’ve you been?’
‘It’s been hectic lately.’
‘And what about the promotion?’
Alan smiled softly, looking deep into Pran’s eyes. ‘You are looking at middle management now.’
Pran felt a twinge of jealousy, which he managed to disguise with a weak smile. ‘Congratulations! No more hands on nursing.’
Alan stared harshly at him, and his tone became defensive. ‘Pran it isn’t like that. I can’t help being ambitious. Jesus! I hope this meeting isn’t so you can have another go at me.’
Pran shook his head hastily. ‘No, look! I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m glad you got your promotion. I really am.’
Alan stared at him for a while, trying to ascertain whether or not he was being genuine. Eventually he nodded slowly, as if accepting Pran’s word as the truth.
‘So? Any work?’
Pran knew he had to lie about this, and lie about it convincingly. ‘I start next week. At Morrisons. On the checkout. It’ll be pretty boring, but at least it’s a start.’
There was another awkward silence. They both sipped coffee. Pran was the first to break the silence, putting optimism into his tone. ‘I’ve moved now.’
‘Where to?’
‘Next door to the old flat. Same landlord, but it’s smaller and cheaper. Listen, if you fancy coming back...’
Alan shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Pran. I’ve met someone else.’
Pran slammed his coffee mug down, and frowned as he stared into Alan’s eyes. ‘Oh, right. But why...’
Impatiently, Alan interrupted him. ‘Did I agree to meet you? From your phone call, I thought you wanted us to be friends. You said: no strings.’
Pran could feel himself on the edge of tears. His voice became small and remote. ‘Yes, I know, but - ‘
‘But you haven’t moved on, Pran.’
‘Look, I know I behaved stupidly...’
Alan glared at him across the table, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘It’s in the past, Pran. We had great times, but it’s history. Don’t let’s airbrush them with bitterness. Let’s at least think of those times with love and affection.’
‘So who’s this ... No, I don’t want to know. Don’t tell me anything about him. But I hope you’ll both be very happy.’
Alan sighed. ‘Don’t be bitter.’
‘I’m not.’
‘It sounded that way.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I just want you to be happy.’ Pran smiled broadly, attempting to show that he meant it. He wanted to keep his ex partner sitting across from him as long as possible, but he could feel himself running out of conversation. ‘Actually, I’ve been keeping up tradition. You know how we always went to the cinema - at least once a week. I’ve seen quite a few films lately. I saw a good French movie at Trinity. The Beat That My Heart Skipped. Have you seen it?’
‘No, I went with Lance to see Superman Returns. It was good.’
Pran frowned. ‘Lance?’
‘He’s American.’
Avoiding Alan’s eyes, Pran stared into his coffee. His voice was tiny when he spoke. ‘But you always used to say, America, and it’s foreign policy, and its imperialistic...’
Impatiently and a touch angrily, Alan scraped his chair back from the table. ‘Yeah, well that’s got nothing to do with, Lance, has it? He’s a lovely guy. I’ve got to be off.’
Pran looked up. ‘Will I see you again?’
Alan shook his head. ‘Maybe it’s not such a good idea. ‘Bye, Pran.’
Pran watched as Alan turned and walked away without looking back. He sighed and looked around the coffee bar. Two young girls, possibly in their late teens, were throwing him glances and giggling. He felt exposed and annoyed. Then he remembered that’s what he and Alan used to do. Sit and observe other couples in pubs and restaurants, and make up stories about them.
He stared at the girls and they looked away, embarrassed. He checked the time. It was still quite early in the day, and he’d been trying to lay off alcohol at least until the evening. But what the hell! He felt he deserved a session on the booze after what he’d been through with Alan.
He left Café Nero and walked towards Wetherspoon’s, where he intended getting inebriated. Yet again.
***
Mike knew he had to tell Andrew about leaving home and moving in with Maggie, but he was dreading it. He had debated with his conscience over who he should tell first: his wife or son. Not that it made that much difference, he decided. The end result was the same. And now that Claire had found her new religion, her alternative mumbo- jumbo lifestyle, he thought with bitterness, she was hardly ever around. So why shouldn’t he tell his son first?
Andrew was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cornflakes.
‘Breakfast?’ Mike asked, looking pointedly at his watch.
Andrew looked at him as if he was mad. ‘It’s four in the afternoon, Dad.’
‘I know,’ said Mike weakly, pointing at the bowl. ‘But cornflakes.’ He realised he was making small talk just to put off the dreadful moment. He was glad he’d had four pints of Stella. At least it would give him some Dutch courage.
‘I just felt hungry and fancied a bowl of cornflakes. All right?’
Mike nodded. ‘Actually, Andy, I wanted a word.’
‘And I wanted a word with you, Dad.’
Mike was momentarily thrown. ‘Er - with me? What about?’
‘I’m leaving home for a while.’
‘You what?’
‘Me an’ some mates are popping over to Ireland for a while.’
‘Ireland!’
‘Yeah, you know,’ said Andrew, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Big green country in the west.’
Mike let his Gladstone bag drop onto the floor, and sank into a kitchen chair opposite his son.
‘I know where it is, Andy. So what’s this in aid of?’
Andrew shrugged, pursing his lips. ‘We just fancy trying our luck in Dublin.’
‘Doing what?’
‘It’s a really wicked scene over there. It’s the place to be.’
‘Dublin. That’s news to me.’
Mike stared at Andrew and shook his head disapprovingly.
Andrew pushed his bowl away with a clatter. ‘I didn’t think you’d understand.’
A key rattled in the front door, followed by several female voices, excited and breathless, all talking at once. Mike exchanged a look with Andrew, and they both waited for the women to arrive in the kitchen.
‘In you go,’ said Claire as she swung open the door, standing aside to usher in two women. The woman who entered was an attractive redhead. She beamed confidently at Mike, and also cast a glance at Andrew. She was dressed in white trousers and a tight white sleeveless shirt. She waved a circular open palm at Mike and Andrew and spoke in an American accent.
‘Hi, guys. I’m, Lucy.’
Mike could feel anger welling inside him. ‘Oh. You must be this other Ron Hubbard follower.’
Claire pushed forward a young blonde girl, probably in her late twenties, Mike decided. She wore a short skirt and had terrific legs, but her nose was hawk-like and her eyes were too close together. She moved timidly, and stepped daintily, as if she was frightened of walking on something fragile.
Mike deliberately let out a beery belch. ‘And you must be Ron himself.’
Claire glared at him. ‘This is Japonica.’
Mike laughed and put on a posh, twee voice. ‘Japonica! A nice moniker for someone who believes all this new age mumbo-jumbo.’
Claire’s voice was sharp and brittle. ‘Mike! These are my friends. So try and behave with a little....’
Mike stood up, glaring at the two women, who had shrunk back into themselves.
‘Well, I’m off out. So’s Andy. He’s leaving for pastures new. As am I. I’ve had it up to here. I shall just pack a few things tonight, and I’ll be back for the rest of my things tomorrow.’
He swept out of the house, permitting himself a smile at the stunned silence he had created followed him all along the front path to the gate.
Forty - Eight
The line crackled when Mary answered the telephone and her own voice sounded peculiar, as if in an echo chamber.
‘Hi, babe, I hope you bought yourself some sexy lingerie with that dosh.’
Mary shuddered. ‘Ronnie, I...’
‘You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. It’s thanks enough to know you’re grateful. Course, I admit I wouldn’t mind you showing me a little gratitude, if you catch my drift.’
‘Let’s get one thing straight, Ronnie,’ Mary yelled, ‘you and I are no longer husband and wife. You have no rights to intrude into my life.’
‘I’m still the father of your children.’
‘You’re not interested in the children, Ronnie, and we both know it. It’s me you want, isn’t it?’
Ronnie laughed. ‘You said it. And I think I’ve just paid well over the going rate for a night with you, sweetheart.’
‘I thought it was payment for the pictures you took without my permission. And also for all those past maintenance payments you’d have had to pay if you hadn’t skipped the country.’
She heard a sound from the other end of the line, as if Ronnie was struggling with something, or having difficulty breathing.
‘I look at those sexy pictures of you every night, sweetheart. You’ve still got great legs.’
Mary’s voice became hard and brittle. ‘You violated and abused me by taking those pictures. And breaking and entering into this house.’
She heard his breath quickening. Then he said: ‘Know what I’d like to do to you?’
Mary screamed down the telephone, ‘I’m not interested, Ronnie. Can’t you get that through your thick skull?’
Ronnie laughed again. ‘I’ll bet that red-nosed clown don’t know how to service you, girl. It used to be great sex with us. The best. You had to hand it to me, sweetheart, I had staying power. Does the clown have staying power? Does he satisfy my baby like Ronnie used to?’
Mary could hardly speak through the great heaving sobs which almost bent her double. ‘Ronnie ... I’ve had enough.’ She felt herself gag. ‘That’s it. I’m calling the police. Right now. I’m definitely calling the police this time.’
As she slammed down the telephone, the last thing she heard was Ronnie’s laugh. She ran upstairs to the bathroom and was violently sick in the basin.
***
Mandy arrived at the wine bar for her first evening twenty minutes early. Craig rushed forward and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
‘None of that,’ joked Maggie, though there was an underlying seriousness in her tone. ‘This is a respectable joint.’
Mandy gave her a shy smile.
‘It’s fairly quiet at this time...’ began Craig.
‘So it’s a good time to get to know the ropes,’ Maggie added.
Mandy, noticing how Maggie ended Craig’s sentence, smile inwardly, wondering if this was from sibling familiarity or because Maggie liked to boss her brother around. Mandy decided she would have to watch her step and not get involved in any family squabbles.
‘An hour ago we were busy,’ said Craig, ‘but now we usually get a bit of a breather till around eight.’
Maggie glanced at her watch. ‘Which doesn’t give us much time to train Mandy. really think tomorrow morning would have been a better time for her to start.’
Craig gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘My sister’s forgotten you’ve had bar experience before.’
Maggie tutted impatiently. ‘No I haven’t. But this is a wine bar, not a pub. So Mandy needs to know something about wine.’
‘Why?’ Craig smirked. ‘We never did.’
‘Craig,’ warned Maggie, her voice developing a hard edge, ‘she needs to know the basic differences between the types of wine, for instance.’
She banged a bottle of rosé onto the bar. ‘Now you may think this looks like red wine Mandy, but...’
Mandy, her lips drawn tight, interrupted her. ‘I’m not that thick I can’t tell the difference between red wine and rosé.’
Maggie reddened slightly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she began, becoming flustered and fidgeting with the wine bottle. ‘I didn’t mean to...’
‘Yeah,’ said Craig. ‘Don’t be so bloody patronising.’
‘I said I was sorry. Why don’t you introduce Mandy to the kitchen staff? And she can hang up her coat at the same time.’
***
An hour after Mary had telephoned the police to complain about being stalked by Ronnie, a female detective arrived.
‘Who is it?’ asked Simon, popping his head out of the living room door.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ Mary told him, stroking his hair and ushering him back into the living room. ‘Go and watch the rest of the film.’
She took the detective through to the kitchen. ‘I’ve just made a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘Would you like a cup?’
The detective shook her head. ‘No thanks. It’s coming out of my ears.’
She sat at the kitchen table and opened her notebook. ‘Now then. Why did your ex husband give you five hundred pounds?’
Mary was stunned. She took a while to answer, while the detective watched her carefully. A sense of unreality intruded as she listened to the whine and crash of a car chase coming from the front room.
The detective coughed. ‘Your ex husband has been in touch with us. He told us that you and he have an arrangement, and that you accepted the payment for certain favours.’
‘That’s not true. He only sent me the money after he...’ Mary stopped and thought about this. How was the best way to explain about the pictures?
‘Yes?’ prompted the detective.
Mary hesitated. ‘Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Ronnie would contact you? Like it’s all planned.’
The detective shook her head. ‘The reason he gave us was that your current boyfriend is away from home - long term - and you want your ex husband to provide for your family and get back together again.’
Mary laughed bitterly. ‘Ronnie, you bastard,’ she said. ‘You cunning, clever bastard. I’ve got to hand it to you.’
Forty - Nine
The Coal Hole was in the Strand, a short walk from Charing Cross Station. It was four in the afternoon and, apart from Pran and Tina, there were only half a dozen customers in the bar. Tina topped their wine glasses up, as Pran stared thoughtfully into the distance. He shook his head suddenly as a thought struck him.
‘I really had no idea it would be as bad as that. How frustrating was that? I mean, is it deliberate, the way they go so slowly round in circles? Do they hope you’ll get bored and drop the case?’
Tina shrugged and gave a helpless smile. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘I’m glad I told them about that comment Cruella de Ville made about me having a chip on my shoulder.’
Tina laughed. ‘That name just about sums her up. What a bitch!’
‘I think that Asian on the tribunal interpreted it as a racist comment she was about to make. I could tell by his expression.’
‘What expression? None of them gave anything away. They were as inscrutable as rocks.’
Pran stabbed a finger down towards the table, highlighting his point. ‘I could see it in his eyes. It may have been a faint glimmer, but it was there.’