by David Barry
She looked up at him, modestly trying to avoid staring at his eye-level nakedness.
‘I said, does your tap drip?’
Craig looked down at himself. ‘I ... um ... I’m not sure what you mean.’
Mandy snorted with laughter. ‘The sink, you idiot!’
A broad grin spread across Craig’s face as he realised. ‘Oh! No, I don’t think so. I’ll hang the dress in the wardrobe, if you like.’
‘Wardrobe!’ she scorned. ‘No, don’t bother. Leave it where it is.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. There you go.’
He handed her the unchipped mug, then climbed back into bed on his own side.
‘Craig,’ she said thoughtfully, after blowing on her coffee. ‘Mind if I ask you something?’
Craig nodded agreeably. ‘I know what you’re going to say. If the wine bar’s doing so well, how come I’m still living in this tip?’
‘I’ll ask you that in a minute. This is about Maggie.’
‘What about her?’
‘Does she have a drink problem?’
Craig didn’t answer immediately. He stared into his mug, his eyes distant. When he spoke, his voice was dry and rasping. ‘I think she does. But she won’t admit it.’
‘No,’ said Mandy, ‘she doesn’t strike me as the type to face up to being wrong about anything.’ And, because she thought it sounded harsh, quickly added: ‘I mean, she’s got children, hasn’t she? What about the kids?’
‘I think Maggie’s suffering from a delayed reaction.’
‘From her husband’s death, d’you mean?’
‘Yeah. See, when he died, he was having a bit on the side. I mean literally when he died. She was with him in the car when it happened, giving him a blow-job as he was driving, which was when the accident happened. So naturally Maggie was bloody angry. She’s hated Gary all this time. But now I think she might miss him.’
Mandy pursed her lips. ‘Hmm,’ she said, slowly and thoughtfully.
Craig, detecting slight disapproval in her tone, said, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Did Maggie drink when her husband was alive.’
Craig nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, but nowhere near as much as she does now.’
Mandy slurped her coffee loudly before speaking, which somehow succeeded in irritating Craig.
‘Maybe your sister’s always had a drink problem, only now she’s got an excuse.’
Craig stared at Mandy, the girl who had been so tender and loving a little while ago during their lovemaking, and who now sounded harsh and unsympathetic, and he was suddenly saddened. He had put her on a pedestal, wanting her to be the perfectly loving little girl at his side, agreeable and supportive. Not coldly analytical about his family.
He grabbed his wristwatch from the rickety, varnished bamboo table by the bedside, and glared at it pointedly before swinging his legs out from under the bedding.
‘I’d better shower,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a delivery today, and I’ve got to be early.’
‘Craig?’ Mandy’s voice quivered slightly. ‘I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean to... Come back to bed. Just for a minute.’
Craig noticed the abrupt change, could almost hear the grinding of the gears, and wondered if this was manipulation on Mandy’s part. But when he looked at her, she seemed so genuinely soft and vulnerable - and desirable - that he gave her a sensuous smile before climbing back into bed.
‘OK, my sweetheart,’ he whispered, ‘but we can’t be too long.’
***
Donald stood at the window, holding at arm’s length a finely bound copy of King Lear. His lips moved silently, and every so often he would look out at the rhododendron bushes and sigh with contentment.
Bamber glowered and sulked on the sofa as he watched him. His mother was now in a hospice and her death was imminent, but he knew that if he stayed at her place in Lewes any longer he would go barking mad; but when he’d got back to Donald’s house, he couldn’t help but notice his partner had looked vexed.
‘You’re such a poseur, darling!’ said Bamber, his voice oozing discontentment. ‘Look at you! If that’s not poncey, I don’t know what is.’
Donald ignored it; continued reading in a deliberately relaxed fashion, knowing how much it would annoy Bamber.
‘What are you reading, anyhow?’
‘King Lear. Why?’
Bamber chuckled. This was the one Donald had been reading six months ago when they’d had that row because Bamber felt a need to go cottaging.
Bamber smiled craftily. ‘What’s it about?’
‘Nothing that would interest you.’
‘Oh, but it would. Especially that bit in Act Three when there’s a storm.’
Donald frowned suspiciously and turned the pages quickly. Bamber watched him, elated by the prank.
‘Swine!’ Donald screamed, his face going purple with rage. ‘You filthy disgusting swine!’
Bamber rocked back on the sofa, laughing loudly. ‘Now there really is a storm,’ he spluttered.
Donald stared coldly at him, his anger suddenly evaporating.
‘Doesn’t it turn you on?’ Bamber said. ‘Let’s face it: it’s much more exciting than Shakespeare. Surely even you must find it more exciting, Donald.’
Donald sighed wearily and threw the book onto the coffee table. ‘In truth, no. I don’t. And that sort of prank is far from original. Joe Orton and Ken Halliwell stuck pornographic pictures in library books while you were still in nappies.’
Bamber giggled proudly. ‘I know. That’s where I got the idea from.’
The doorbell rang. Bamber saw a glint come into Donald’s eyes as he walked towards the door.
‘Someone you’re expecting?’ said Bamber, undisguised jealousy creeping into his voice.
Donald turned and grinned at him. ‘Yes, that’ll be Ted. I’m expecting him.’
Bamber glowered. ‘Come round for a Shakespeare night, has he?’
‘As a matter of fact, we decided on a decidedly non-cultural evening for once. I told him you were back here, and managed to persuade him that three needn’t be a crowd. It can be quite good fun.’
Bamber smiled. ‘Well go and let him in, in case he changes his mind.’
Fifty - Two
Dark and painfully violent, shuddering sensations of shock pounded Maggie’s head
like sharp stones. Where was she? The sadistic pulsation continued and a loud noise brought her closer to the surface. She forced open her eyes and the light was painful, then Daryl’s unsympathetic face loomed into focus. His voice ground her brains to mush like a hammer.
‘Mum! Mum! Wake up! We’re going to be late for school.’
She groaned, and her stomach lurched. The violent shaking of her shoulder continued.
‘Daryl!’ she managed. ‘Stop doing that. There’s a good boy.’
Daryl knew his mother was suffering from too much alcohol. He’d witnessed the same sort of thing on several other occasions, though never before on a weekday when she was supposed to drive them to school. And never as bad as this. Could this have something to do with the man who now occupied his father’s bed?
‘Mum!’ he persisted, raising his voice. ‘We have to go to school.’
Maggie felt Mike stir beside her. She moved her heel sharply backwards and it came into contact with his shin. ‘Mike!’ she moaned. ‘Wake up! I feel terrible. I just want to die.’
Mike, determined not to let a little thing like a hangover get the better of him, shook his head to test the pain. It was bad, but nothing he couldn’t overcome. He eased himself into a sitting position, and was about to swing his legs out of bad when he realised he was naked and didn’t want to embarrass Daryl. He blinked hard several times and focused on the boy. His mouth felt pa
rched and he desperately needed a long drink of cold water.
‘Have you had breakfast’ he asked Daryl.
The boy answered him as if he was a cretin. ‘Of course we have. We’re waiting to go to school.’
Maggie moaned. ‘Please, Mike. Can you take them? I feel awful.’
‘Okay,’ said Mike. ‘Daryl, my car keys are in my jacket pocket. The one on the floor. You and Hannah get in the car. I’ll put some clothes on and I’ll be down in just a minute.’
Daryl scowled at Mike, then rummaged around Mike’s black leather bomber jacket which lay in a crumpled heap with the rest of his clothes. The boy could feel anger expanding inside him as he moved Mike’s underpants which lay on top of the jacket pocket. He pulled out Mike’s keys, gave his mother a withering look, then shot out of the door.
Mike hurried out of bed and hastily threw on his clothes. Maggie raised her eyelids an infinitesimal amount and saw the blurred outline of her lover.
‘Sorry, Mike,’ she groaned. ‘I just can’t. See you when you get back.’
Mike coughed and spluttered, then hurriedly left the room without saying anything. As soon as he had gone, Maggie felt a shroud of nausea enveloping her like bad breath. She swallowed saliva quickly, but her mouth was too dry and her stomach heaved agonizingly. She knew she was going to be sick but it was too painful to move.
Suddenly it came in a rush, and she vomited copiously in the bed.
***
Ted looked up at the darkening sky which had been so clear and bright up to a minute ago. He stopped pushing the pram and tucked the blanket tightly around Tracey. She gurgled and rocked her head from side to side.
‘You’ll be all right if it rains,’ Ted told her. ‘You’ll be all tucked up nice and dry.’
She looked at her father quizzically. He tickled her under the chin and grinned at her. She rewarded him with a sudden and unexpected smile.
‘Did you smile at me?’ he said. ‘Donald will be pleased.’
He continued walking along and pushing the pram on the periphery of the cricket pitch. An elderly man stood in the middle and threw a stick for his black Labrador. As Ted neared the corner of the pitch, Donald suddenly appeared, striding towards him, and grinning hugely. He rushed to look into the pram, pressing himself close to Ted.
‘And how’s my little Miranda?’
It was their secret name for her.
‘I hope she’s not going to get confused over her name,’ said Ted.
Donald grinned at the baby. ‘She can have two names, can’t she? Most people have a second name.’ Donald focused his attention on Ted. ‘So how was it for you?’
Ted felt himself growing hot with embarrassment. ‘I don’t think...’
A pause. Ted stared at the black Labrador scampering across the cricket pitch.
‘What?’ Donald prompted.
‘I suppose you mean last night ... with Bamber.’ Ted looked down at the ground, becoming flustered. ‘To be honest, I don’t think it’s right.’
‘Don’t be so hypocritical,’ said Donald, in a clipped tone. ‘You seemed to enter into it with gusto.’ Donald chuckled to himself. ‘Your problem is you just don’t like talking about things. Pretending they never happened.’
Ted sighed deeply and frowned. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Why does life have to be so complicated? Always.’
‘What’s up? This is not about last night, is it? Something’s bothering you. I can tell.’
‘It’s Marjorie.’
‘The wife from hell.’ Donald giggled, then looked contrite when he saw the pained expression on his friend’s face. ‘Sorry. What’s she done now?’
‘Lately she’s been getting loads of letters from estate agents. When I asked her about it, she told me it was none of my business.’
‘Charming!’
‘Only not in so many words. So I steamed open one of the letters.’
Donald laughed. ‘You sneaky rat. Mind you, I think I’d have done the same myself. And?’
‘She’s been getting details of hotels for sale?’
‘Hotels?’
‘Yes. Small hotels. Bed and breakfast type places. I think she’s considering opening a small hotel.’
***
Knowing he was still well over the limit, Mike had resisted the temptation to take any chances, even though the children had urged him to put his foot down because they were fifteen minutes late for school. He managed to drive exceedingly well, and dropped them off without any incidents. He began to relax on the return journey, knowing a cool glass of water, or one of the children’s cold fizzy drinks, awaited him back at Maggie’s.
As he approached the roundabout at the top of Major Yorke’s Road, a Volvo estate car in front of him braked sharply. Although Mike felt he was in control, his reactions were slower than normal. He applied the brakes hurriedly, but wasn’t quick enough and his car slammed into the back of the Volvo. It wasn’t a huge impact, but Mike knew it was enough to have made a mess of the driver’s rear lights, and probably his own. Suddenly, the previous night’s alcohol binge manifested itself in a dangerous way. It gave Mike the effrontery to pass the buck. This was obviously not his fault.
Just the other day, he had been listening to one of Jeremy Vine’s issues on Radio 2, following newspaper reports in the Daily Mirror, concerning an insurance scam when drivers deliberately slam on their brakes so that someone goes into the back of them, and then make a false claim for all kinds of damages to their person and other non-existent passengers.
So when Mike got out of the car to face the other driver, he was convinced it was part of a scam. ‘What the bloody hell d’you brake like that for?’ he yelled belligerently. ‘You trying to put in a false insurance claim, is that it?’
The driver surveyed him calmly, taking in his unshaven appearance and the bloodshot eyes. Unfortunately, Mike was so angry, and convinced he was being conned, he staggered slightly, making matters worse.
The driver smiled humourlessly as he took out his mobile and pressed a redial button. As he waited for it to be answered, he stared coldly at Mike and said, ‘I’m just going home off duty. I’m a policeman. And I know when someone’s been drinking. There’ll be a patrol car along here shortly. I’d stay put if I were you.’
A swarm of bees buzzed around in Mike’s head. The scene was unreal. This morning was a bad dream. And things were about to get worse.
Fifty - Three
Holding up a 1989 Postman Pat Christmas Annual, Jackie said, ‘You don’t want to keep this, do you?’
Nicky looked as if she’d had boiling water thrown in her face. ‘It’s a shame to get rid of it.’
Jackie’s lips tightened. ‘I thought we were supposed to be having a clear out.’
‘We are.’
‘All you’re doing is hanging on to all your old junk.’
Jackie was sitting on Nicky’s bed, surrounded by cardboard boxes and black bin liners filled with rubbish. Vanessa came past the door and thought she’d make her presence felt. She leaned against the wall and said, ‘Let her have it if she wants it. What difference can it make?’
‘Yes,’ added Nicky, glad her sister had decided to support her for a change. ‘Why can’t I keep my things if I want to?’
Jackie tapped the Postman Pat book with frustration. ‘But this is a toddler’s book, for heaven’s sake. You’re not a baby any more.’
Nicky suddenly screeched angrily: ‘Throw it away then! Go on! Throw it away!’
‘Well there’s no need to...’ Jackie began.
‘You don’t care about my memories. And I think Dad bought me that book.’
Jackie froze. The mere mention of his name was anathema to her since discovering the circumstances of his death. She put the book to one side and mumbled quietly: ‘Oh...well...keep
it if you must.’
Nicky, who had been standing with her back to the window, suddenly lunged forward, stepping over a pile of boxes in the middle of the room. ‘I can’t handle this.’
Jackie raised her voice. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to meet a friend for a drink.’
‘You can’t do that. What about all this mess?’
Nicky went past Vanessa, who had rather an amused expression on her face as she watched her mother trying to cope with Nicky’s histrionics, and turned back in the doorway.
‘I’ve got to get out for a few hours.’
‘Just a minute!’ yelled Jackie. ‘It’s not my fault the house went on the market and got a cash buyer wanting a quick sale.’
‘Not my fault either,’ shouted Nicky, and stormed off.
Vanessa stared at her mother and shook her head irritatingly. ‘Great timing. A funeral and a house move the same week.’
Jackie clawed at the air with both her hands, her fingers forming talons of frustration. ‘If only your father hadn’t died when he did.’
‘Yes. It was very inconvenient. Two of the most stressful things in one week. Funeral and house move. You should have gone for a hat trick and got a divorce from Nigel.’
Jackie looked up, taking in Vanessa’s unsympathetic, almost cruel, smile. ‘How can you make jokes about these things?’
‘It’s the only way to keep sane, Mummy. The funeral should be a laugh, knowing what we know.’
‘It’ll be a quiet affair,’ said Jackie. ‘Just a few of his friends from East Peckham. The sort of people I think of as his cronies. Probably ghastly people. And they’ll all know the circumstances of his death. Oh, how could he?’
‘And we’ve yet to go through his house, through all his possessions and belongings, as we’re his next of kin. Who knows what we might find.’
Jackie shuddered. ‘You won’t catch me within five hundred miles of the place.’
Vanessa laughed. ‘Well, seeing as East Peckham’s less than twelve miles from here...’
Jackie bit her lip before speaking. ‘You know very well what I mean.’