More Careless Talk

by David Barry

  Marjorie glared at the TV set. ‘The worst week ever,’ she said. ‘Not a single number. Not one.’

  She cast a glance in Ted’s direction, then her eyes became glued to his face. He had a strange look in his eyes and a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Ted! What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Five of his beloved Shakespeare plays had turned up trumps, and the sixth was a bonus ball. He was a winner at last. But he was not about to tell Marjorie. This little nest egg was his insurance policy. His lifeline.

  Sixty

  Dave walked Mary away from the court, his arms about her. She was numb with shock. Ronnie had been given an 18 month prison sentence, which meant he would probably be out in a year.

  As they past a pub, Mary stopped suddenly. ‘I think I could do with a large drink,’ she said.

  Dave nodded gravely. This one looks seedy enough. Probably be the usual late afternoon winos. Sure you wouldn’t prefer to look for somewhere more salubrious?’

  Mary shook her head emphatically. ‘I don’t care where we go. Let’s just have a drink.’

  Dave was right. The pub had an air of neglect about it, and a stale smell of beer, sweat and smoke. And the few customers drinking had obviously been there most of the day and their voices were over loud.

  Dave bought Mary a large brandy and Coke, himself a pint of bitter, and they found a corner well away from the noisiest customers. Mary took a large swallow of her drink, then shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe what she had been through.

  ‘He’ll be out in a year, Dave. What the hell am I going to do?’

  Dave shrugged. ‘It was a light sentence. But then, it was a first offence. And it didn’t go down too well when they discovered you’d deliberately set him up like that.’

  She slammed her glass onto the table. ‘What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘I know, I know. I’m just saying that they seemed a bit - how shall I put it? - a bit angry that you seemed to be taking the law into your own hands.’

  ‘But the police were useless, you know that.’

  Dave bit his lip before speaking. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to have to say this. It didn’t help, you lying like that about him threatening to kill us all. His lawyer really jumped on that.’

  ‘But the point is,’ Mary said, her voice rising in anger, ‘he’s quite capable of doing that. He scares me. He really does. I saw the evil smile he gave me in court, and he knew it was freaking me out. As soon as he gets out of jail it’ll be ten times worse because now he’ll want revenge. What the hell are we going to do?’

  There was a long pause while Dave thought about this. He pursed his lips and his brow furrowed into a thoughtful frown.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he announced, waiting for her to prompt him into continuing.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘I get most of my work up north. It’s where I’m from. Why don’t we disappear to somewhere in Yorkshire, the outskirts of Leeds, say. For what I can sell the house in Tunbridge Wells, we can probably get much better up there.’

  ‘You don’t think Ronnie’ll find us?’

  ‘Why should he? I mean, let’s face it, because you were still living in the same town when he came back from America, you were probably quite easy to find. But if we move away completely, how’s he going to find us? We could be anywhere in the British Isles. He’d have no way of knowing.’

  Suddenly there was a spark in Mary as the gloom lifted In spite of her doubt, there was now the excitement of a fresh start, a new horizon for which to aim. She knew she had to investigate her feelings slowly, work out all the pros and cons.

  ‘What about my mother?’ was her first concern. ‘And it’ll be an upheaval for Simon and Thomas.’

  ‘It’s not as if we’re going to the ends of the earth. She can come and visit, and vice versa. And as for an upheaval for the lads, you know what kids are like: some of them love a great big change in their lives. To them it’ll be an adventure.’

  Mary placed a hand on his leg and squeezed, snuggling close to him on the bench seat. ‘Oh, Dave,’ she said, ‘you’d really do that, sell the house and everything? Move away - just for me.’

  He grinned at her. ‘No. Not for you. For us.’

  ***

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ the young woman with red hair asked Ted as he slid into the seat by the desk opposite her. A pristine desk, smooth and paper free, hygienic and dust free, but characterless.

  ‘I wish to open an account.’

  She smiled at him reassuringly. ‘Do you have an account anywhere else?’ she asked.

  Ted hesitated. ‘Well, yes, I have a joint account with my wife. But now I’d like to open one of my own.’

  The young woman stared at him, keeping her expression deliberately impassive, waiting for him to continue. Ted shifted in his seat and it made a creaking noise.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me having my own account is there?’

  The young woman shook her head slowly and frowned. ‘Of course not. But...’

  Ted leaned forward and fixed her with a desperate look. ‘But?’ he questioned.

  ‘Nothing wrong at all,’ she said hurriedly.

  Ted felt it was time to be impressive. ‘I’d like to open an account and deposit this cheque.’

  He took the folded cheque out of his pocket and pushed it across the desk towards her. It was his moment of triumph. He’d had the cheque sent to Donald’s address and they had celebrated with champagne when it arrived. Even now, two days later, he was still on a high.

  He watched carefully as the young woman’s eyes widened slightly as she saw the amount, although she was doing her best not to show anything in her expression. She eased her chair away from the desk and stood up.

  ‘I’ll just go and see if the manager’s free. I won’t keep you a minute if you don’t mind waiting.’

  Ted smiled confidently. It was amazing how such a sum of money could boost your confidence.

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, relaxing back into his chair. His smile widened as he began to fantasise about the life that lay in store for him. His own secret, and a very healthy, bank account. That was one in the eye for Marjorie. Except she would never know about it.

  Sixty - One

  Considering the units of alcohol he normally consumed, for several days now Mike had managed to keep his consumption to a tolerable level, so that physically he felt the glow of something intangible, giving him sensations of inhabiting someone else’s body. What had made him cut down drastically was the disastrous visit to cut a client’s hair. He had been so drunk he had made a terrible hash of it, and the client had refused to pay, leading to a violent argument. Then, on the bus back from Crowborough, he saw a man get on that he recognised from a pub in which he used to drink years ago. Mike knew something of the man’s history. A successful antique furniture restorer, with plenty of wealthy clients, a large house on the edge of Southborough Common, and married with a young family. Then he lost everything through alcoholism. As Mike watched the man shakily hand the driver his fare, he observed the skeletal frame, the skinny legs and the bloodshot eyes, and this, coupled with his experience in ruining his client’s hair, had been a slight turning point for Mike. He knew he was still very dependent on alcohol, couldn’t get through the day completely teetotal, but at least he’d reduced his intake, so that now he felt able to cope with the visit to meet Claire; a visit he anticipated with a sense of righteous malice. And, a few days ago, something had happened indicating his luck was about to change for the better. Killing time to cut a client’s hair in Warwick Park, instead of going to a pub as he usually did when he had time to spare, he browsed in Hall’s famous second-hand bookshop, and was rewarded by finding a book cal
led Bare-Faced Messiah, an exposé of L Ron Hubbard and Scientology. Now he could go home and confront Claire, armed with some interesting facts about her ridiculous beliefs.

  ***

  Jackie had insisted they all four should sit down to a family dinner together, and she had gone to the trouble of making a lasagne with fresh ingredients, served with an Italian style salad. They sat at the dining table waiting for Nigel to join them.

  ‘This lasagne will get cold,’ said Vanessa, staring challengingly at her mother.

  Jackie sighed and said, ‘Oh well, why don’t you start? I’ll wait for Nigel.’

  Vanessa shrugged, pursed her lips, and grabbed her knife and fork, her attitude suggesting that her mother was being wimpish. Nigel bounded into the room.

  ‘Sorry about that. I just had to finish off in the office.’

  Vanessa and Nicky looked up at him, caught each other’s eye, and spluttered with laughter. His face flushed with annoyance and embarrassment.

  ‘Yes, I know, I know! It’s a bloody awful haircut, and I’ve been too busy to get it rectified, but there’s no need to make me feel worse than I do.’

  Jackie concentrated on dousing her salad, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Nigel, as she spoke. ‘Well, I’m sorry to have to say this, but I did warn you about using that hairdresser again. I never liked him.’

  Nigel ignored it, sank into his chair. His hand brushed the sprouts of hair sticking up from the back of his head and he sighed impatiently before licking his fingers, then tried to smooth down the offending hair. The family ate in disgruntled silence, and the sound of eating and scrape of cutlery highlighted the awkwardness of their attempts at a harmonious dinner.

  After what seemed an overbearingly long silence, Jackie cleared her throat gently. ‘Anyone got any news?’ she asked with false brightness.

  It was the cue Vanessa had been waiting for. ‘Yes, I have.’ She waited for them all to look in her direction, enjoying her moment. ‘We’ve found a flat in Tunbridge Wells. I’ll be moving there the week after next.’

  Jackie frowned and put down her cutlery with a clatter. ‘This is all very sudden. Who’s we? And how can you afford it?’

  ‘I’m moving to a new flat with Tom. He’s my boyfriend.’

  ‘And how long have you known this Tom?’

  ‘Nearly three weeks.’

  Jackie’s eyes widened with alarm. ‘What! Just three weeks, and you’re going to be living together.’

  Vanessa smiled confidently, deliberately goading her mother. ‘Well, at least we didn’t meet through a dating agency, like you and lover boy here.’

  Nigel scowled at her. ‘But at least we dated for quite a long time before...’

  He stopped as the thought and the sentence left him high and dry.

  Vanessa pounced. ‘Before you had it off, you mean.’

  Nigel pointed at her with his knife. ‘Steady on!’ he warned. ‘Let’s not get personal. I respect your mother. Which is more than I can say for you two.’

  Jackie silenced him with a wave of her hand, her attention focused on Vanessa. ‘So you’re in a relationship with this boy...’

  Vanessa grinned as she interrupted her mother. ‘Hardly a boy. He’s thirty six.’

  Jackie pushed her plate to one side and leaned forward. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re sharing a flat with an older man. And if that’s not bad enough - I mean, you’re still a student - how on earth will you find your share of the rent?’

  ‘Oh, Tom’s not worried about that. He’s loaded.’

  Jackie’s mouth opened almost in a parody of alarm. Then she became aware of a snuffling sound. She and Nigel directed their focus to Nicky, whose hands were clasped tightly on her lap while tears trickled down her cheeks.

  ‘Nicky! What is it? What’s wrong?’ said her mother.

  Nicky turned to her sister, appealing through her tears. ‘How could you leave me alone like this? Alone in Crowborough with these two. Now what am I going to do?’

  Vanessa shook her head impatiently. ‘You’re such a baby. You’ve got a job. Why not go out and get your own flat?’

  Nigel, who couldn’t wait to get rid of the daughters, was unable to suppress his joy. He scooped up great portions of lasagne, as if the food was a great source of comfort and brought him a sense of well being.

  ‘Mmm,’ he said through a mouthful. ‘This is a lovely dinner, darling. The best you’ve cooked for ages. I’m really enjoying this.’

  Jackie stared at him with a mixture of confusion and loathing, unable to decide whether she loved or hated him at that moment.

  ***

  Mike still had his key and let himself in the front door. He heard voices coming from the living room. Female voices, giggling and speaking enthusiastically. They hadn’t heard him come in, and were surprised when he pushed open the living room door.

  Claire gestured in her other two friends’ direction. ‘Mike. I think you’ve met Lucy and Japonica.’

  Mike smiled charmingly. ‘Of course, how lovely to see you ladies again.’ He managed to say it without a trace of sarcasm. He cast a look towards the redheaded American. ‘Lucy, you’re from America, I believe.’

  She flashed a set of perfect teeth at him. ‘The big apple.’

  He nodded and smiled. ‘Of course. Chicago.’

  A small frown of confusion tugged at the American’s brow. ‘No, I think you’ll find it’s New York City.’

  Mike grinned at her. ‘Sorry, I get confused. My engrams get in the way. But then I haven’t had to pay a small fortune for an auditing.’

  Claire reddened angrily. ‘If you’ve come here just to ridicule our beliefs...’

  Japonica, the young woman who looked to Mike like a bird of prey, focused him in her sights, as if she might swoop.

  He widened his arms in a gesture of reasonableness. ‘How can I possibly ridicule someone who may eventually make it up the ladder to attain the status of Operating Thetan Three - the level in which you learn the secrets of the universe?

  You’ll be surprised to hear, my darling wife, that these people believe that 75 million years ago a galactic warlord controlled some over populated planets - Xenu he was called, straight out of the comic books. And Xenu got these trillions of people and brought them to earth, where they were vaporised and became radioactive souls.’

  He stared challengingly at the American woman. ‘Well, am I right so far?’

  The American shrank into her chair, as if Mike was the devil himself. Her eyes were fearful, and she looked towards Claire as if she had just suffered a beating. ‘I’m afraid,’ she said, ‘that your husband is a Suppressive Person. I think we all ought to leave. Now!’

  They all three rose in tandem, picked up their bags and ring binders and prepared to leave. Mike’s anger rose in his chest and throat. He felt helpless now. Unsatisfied. He was looking forward to destroying them with the ridiculous things he had discovered about their movement, but if they were just going to ignore him and walk away, there was nothing he could do about it.

  As Claire walked out of the door, Mike spoke quickly, wanting her to hear everything he had to say. ‘I don’t suppose they’ve told you yet the science fiction story they want you to believe in. Don’t let them get you, Claire. It’s silly. Childish. You might just as well believe in Batman and Robin, or Ming the Magnificent.’

  He followed them to the front door. Without even glancing back at him, Claire left with the other two women, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Dazed and confused, Mike stared helplessly at the closed door. Then, like a dog coming out of the sea, he shook himself, went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Merlot from the wine rack. He sighed deeply as he searched for the corkscrew.

  ‘Just one glass,’ he muttered. ‘Just one. I promis
e.’

  Sixty - Two

  After a busy lunchtime at the wine bar, Craig helped himself to a bottle of Beck’s. As Mandy past him, on the way to the kitchen with a tray of dirty plates and glasses, he asked her if she wanted a drink. She shook her head and frowned.

  ‘I’ll just have a soft drink. An orange J2O.’

  Craig nodded thoughtfully. Had he detected a tone of disapproval in her voice, trying to make him feel guilty about having a beer? There was something self-righteous about the way she’d given ‘soft drink’ an undeserved emphasis.

  When she returned to the bar, he poured out her drink and said, ‘We’ve had a hectic lunchtime, so I think I deserve this beer.’

  Mandy shrugged. ‘I never said you didn’t.’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Craig sighed. ‘It’s just ... it’s just the way you looked at me when I poured myself a beer. It doesn’t run in the family, you know. Just because my sister’s got a problem...’

  Mandy broke in: ‘Problem! That’s a bloody understatement, Craig. That’s another day she hasn’t managed to come in - to her own bloody wine bar - and we know why, don’t we? It’s cos she’s too drunk or hungover.’

  ‘And it’s getting worse,’ said Craig. ‘She really ought to do something about it. I was hoping her having a boyfriend would help, but...’

  Mandy snorted disapprovingly. ‘They’re bad for each other. A couple of piss artists, leading each other on.’

  I know, Mandy, but the last couple of nights Mike has come in to help out, and he’s been comparatively sober.’

  Mandy laughed humourlessly. ‘That was big of him. Doing us a favour like that. You mean he doesn’t get paid for working here.’