Nigel nodded,
‘And make sure they get our names and the Registry office correct and the date with our home address for the reception.’
‘Will do, love,’ Steve made another a note. ‘Oh, Christ, nearly forgot,’ smacking his forehead, ‘and the time and date,’ mumbling away as he scribbled on the pad, ‘Saturday 14th August 2010 at 2pm.’
*
The weekend before the wedding, Steve and Nigel were busy in their back garden digging out the barbeque pit. They’d calculated that a recess, four-feet by four-feet by two-feet deep would be ample, judging by the ones they’d seen on holiday. The plan was to locate it at the side of the marquee so they could attach an extra awning if the weather turned bad.
One of Steve’s city friends was a party and events director. He was letting Steve have the marquee free as a wedding present. Nigel was taking the Wednesday off to allow the crew access and make sure they erected it in the allocated part of the garden. So far, the long-term forecast looked good for next Saturday.
Wearing wellington-boots, they huffed and puffed spadesful of earth into a wheelbarrow and took it in turns to dump it at the rear of the garden by the fence. The previous owners had used this part as a vegetable patch, so after the wedding they planned to spread the earth over this area. As for the pit, that was going to become an ornamental floodlit fishpond for Koi carp.
Everything was going well until Ted, with his five foot-seven inch overweight figure, strained on tiptoe and leant his fat red face topped with black greasy hair, over the fence. His slight pug nose with burst blue veins seemed to crimson up with rage when he saw some of the mud actually touching his fence.
He shouted at them,
‘Excuse me, sisters.’
Steve and Nigel turned to face him.
‘Can you move that mud away from my fence? It may be your side, but it’s still my fence and cost me a lot of money to erect it.’
‘It’ll only be there for a few days, then we plan to move it,’ Steve explained in an apologetic tone.
‘Listen, Dorothy, I want you to move it now, do you read me? Otherwise, I’ll phone the council and get them down.’
‘I’m not called Dorothy, and I told you, I’ll move it when I’m ready.’
Ted turned to Nigel, ‘Tell your boyfriend, if it’s not moved by the morning I’m going to the council and seeing my solicitor. Perhaps you can fuck some sense into your sister’s brains?’ He finished with a sneer.
Nigel barked back, 'You disgusting pig! Just clear off and leave us alone,
Ted turned to go then added with a mean expression, ‘I’ve warned you two pansies, damage my fence and I’ll sue you.’ He cast a glance at the hole they were digging. ‘And anyway, what the fuck are you doing to that lawn? Building your selves a cosy spot to go naked and share a hot tub? Oh, I know, don’t tell me. You’re planting faggots - of course.’
‘We’d like to plant you in it, head first, you homophobic fuck,’ Steve scowled back.
Ted sneered again, ‘No chance, Dorothy, I can’t stand the smell of faggots. Know what I mean? Remember, just get it off my fence.’ With that, he was gone.
Steve and Nigel heard the kitchen door slam then raised voices coming from the open window. He was having a go at his wife.
‘Jesus Christ! He’s something else.’ Steve shook his head.
‘Can you imagine being married to that, the poor cow?’ Nigel looked thoughtfully over the fence. ‘I think I’d slash my wrists.’
‘What I can’t understand is,’ Steve said looking puzzled, ‘why he has a disabled sticker in the car? He goes back and forth in front of the neighbours with a walking stick. But in the back garden, out of view, it’s a different story. We’ve both seen him mowing the grass, pruning and cutting his bushes and managing quite well.’
‘I’ve even seen him practising his swing with a cricket bat,’ Nigel added, ‘and once wearing cricket whites one early Sunday morning getting in his car.’
‘I reckon that bastard’s pulling a scam, love - fiddling the benefits,’ Steve said. ‘He’s probably as fit as you and me.’
‘It’s a pity we can’t video him, report the fat little shit,’ Nigel said gleefully.
‘I know what you mean, love, but I reckon we should leave it. We’ve got enough on our plate as it is without getting ourselves involved with him. And anyway,’ Steve said with his foot resting on the spade, ‘he’d probably suss it was us and we’d get a brick through our window one night for stitching him up.’
‘Still, its ammo for the future,’ Nigel added, digging into the mud with extra force, wishing it were Ted’s face, ‘if he keeps giving us a hard time.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Steve matched Nigel with a fierce thrust of his own spade, ‘it’s ammo we can use if we have to.’
*
Ted knew something was going on next-door (the faggot house as he called it) but he wasn’t quite sure. Then halfway through the week he saw a lorry pull up advertising Caribbean Parties Are Us on the side.
Ted peeked through the curtains as two men started unloading tables and chairs. Then, when he raced upstairs and looked out of the rear bedroom window, he saw them erecting a huge marquee in the garden.
After the lunchtime post arrived, Ted finally knew what was happening.
Mavis was upstairs when Ted picked up the card that had been incorrectly posted through his door. He saw the names Steve and Nigel with next door’s address. Carefully opening the envelope so as not to tear it, he saw the RSVP card to their wedding invitation. He smiled to himself and then carefully sealed it up again and left it with the other post. He guessed Mavis would do her good deed and re-direct it through their letterbox. Ted was in his whites on his way out to cricket practice. A long overcoat covered his kit as he hobbled to the car with his stick.
Mavis relaxed at the sound of the front door closing. She was always glad when Ted went away. It was a bit of peace and quiet for her, while it lasted. The first thing she did was to have a little snifter. Mavis kept bottles of vodka hidden all over the house. It was her way of dealing with him. If she could numb herself up for most of the day, life wasn’t so bad. Of course, she could’ve walked out. But then again, where would she go? They still had a mortgage and, thank God, Ted’s disabled benefit payments and social security were taking care of that.
Mavis kept her drinking problem under-wraps. She could hold her drink; she’d had years of practice. Enough so as not to slur or stumble around. In addition, her mother never knew. On her three afternoon visits to her each week, she always made sure to suck a few Mint Imperials before she got there.
Now at fifty-two years old, with long, greying hair and rounded features, Mavis was just three years younger than her husband, but similar in height and weight like him. She knew the booze didn’t help her figure. Still, she accepted she was an alcoholic, a secret drinker in a patchwork dressing gown.
Ted, on the other hand, didn’t drink. He originally had a strict Catholic upbringing. Brought up by nuns in an orphanage, then fostered out to a family at nine years old, he had learnt that alcohol was the blood of the devil. More than once, he’d tasted the liberally wielded belt of his drunken foster father for hardly any reason at all.
Unbeknown to Mavis, Ted knew she drank. But he pretended the problem didn’t exist. He had one failed marriage he was deeply ashamed of and never spoke about, so more than once he’d reasoned to himself, if drinking helped her stay with him and save their relationship, then who was he to interfere. However, Ted had long despised her for it. She wasn’t the perfect wife he’d married.
Mavis came down the stairs and headed for the meter cupboard. She opened the small door then stooped while her fingers feverishly searched at the back until they felt the neck of the vodka bottle. With a groan, she straightened up and walked to the kitchen for a glass. She poured herself a large two fingers-worth and gulped it down. Then with another top up, she headed back int
o the hall.
With the bottle stashed away, she browsed the post on the floor. Rummaging through her dressing gown pocket, she popped a Mint Imperial into her mouth with one hand while the other sifted through some circulars. Then she spotted the buff coloured envelope.
Seeing the address, she realised the mistake and was about to put it to one side when, she saw the envelope flap slowly curl open. It had been tampered with and was still wet from being re-stuck down. Mavis pulled out the RSVP card and read the details. She smiled and popped another Mint Imperial into her mouth, then her face slowly darkened. She realised Ted must have opened it.
After some toast, strong coffee and a shower, Mavis went next door with the re-sealed envelope. It was a typical sunny August lunchtime as she discretely pushed the flap of Steve and Nigel’s letterbox. Then to her horror, the door opened just at that moment.
Mavis and Steve jumped when they saw each other. Having the day off work, he was just leaving to do some shopping and final wedding arrangements. Nigel was working extra cover at the travel agents because one of the girls was off sick.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said smiling weakly all embarrassed. ‘I was just putting through a card that had been delivered to us by mistake.’
‘OK, thanks,’ Steve murmured as he stooped to pick up the envelope. Then he noticed the flap had come unstuck and was still wet with the faint smell of mint sweets.
‘Err, hope you don’t mind me asking, Mrs…’
‘Brookfield, Mavis Brookfield, but just call me Mavis.’
‘I’m Steve - it’s just, how do you know it was a card?’
Mavis stuttered and went red. She blurted out her husband had opened it by mistake then she burst into tears. Steve felt awful, he came forwards and put his arm around her shoulders, wondering in that instant what the neighbours would be thinking if they were looking.
‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t really implying you were being nosey,’ Steve said apologetically - knowing full well, he was. ‘Look, come inside and sit down and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’ With his arm still around Mavis while she sobbed uncontrollably, he walked her through to his kitchen.
Steve sat her down and offered some tissues.
Mavis sniffled and looked at him. ‘I’m so sorry; I don’t know what you must think of me.’
Steve offered her a mug of tea and pushed the sugar bowl towards her.
Mavis thanked him and took a sip. She perked up a bit and said, looking around, ‘I must say you’ve got a lovely kitchen. Must have cost you a fortune.’
‘Myself and my partner Nigel, planned it. He’s my other half. I’m glad you like it.’
Mavis looked down into her tea, she swallowed hard as if wanting to get something off her chest, then, said awkwardly, ‘
I’ll come clean; my husband Ted opened your card, probably on purpose. He must have seen the wedding RSVP then tried to re-seal it. Now, he knows the reason for all the activity and the marquee, I’m sure he’ll try and spoil your day one way or another.’ She took another sip of tea then added, ‘No doubt he’ll take great delight in lighting a smelly bonfire or playing some loud music, just to be nasty.’
‘He does have a bit of a problem, to put it mildly,’ Steve smiled. ‘Is it just we, or gays in general?’
‘You name it, he hates it,’ Mavis scoffed. ‘Homosexuals; Lesbians; Asians; Blacks; Jews; Muslims; half castes; the lot. Nobody much goes unscathed with our Ted. He’s even joined the BNF.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen the sticker in your window. But why all the hostility?’
‘It’s been a festering cancer with him,’ Mavis replied. ‘Seven years ago, after downgrading his job at the Railway, he was made redundant. He blames the immigrant rail workers for that. It was the only job he ever had since leaving school. Told me he was lucky to get that having failed the fitness and entrance exams for the army and the police. The reason being, according to him, that Jews and communists ran the enrolment boards. Ted always had an excuse.’ Mavis took a sip of tea then continued. ‘At the time, the railways were recruiting and willing to take on lads without any qualifications. So Ted joined at eighteen and stayed there for thirty years.’ She took another sip then looked up with a painful expression. ‘Am I boring you with all this?’
Steve smiled. ‘No - no, if it helps you to talk, get it off your chest. Please go on.’
‘Ted never let a day go by without telling me how he saw the railway unions dissolved by party politics, including his job specification and the salary that went with it. Then, he blamed the steady influx of black and Asian labour, until he felt that as a white man, he was in a minority. This, he would often quote at his British National Front meetings to anyone who would listen. The final knife in the back, another line he would use, was when he was passed over for promotion. They chose instead an Asian man because the railways were promoting equal opportunities for all and they had to be seen as doing their share.’
Steve breathed in sharply.
‘My God, I can see he really does have a problem.’
‘Believe me, it’s more than a problem,’ said Mavis ‘Ted’s radical swing to redneck politics fuelled all the right reasons why he could never move up, and of course the final humiliation of being made redundant, while, using his favourite quote, the jungle bunnies and pakis still had a job.’
Steve laughed.
‘I'm sorry, Mavis, I couldn’t help it but you describe this awful character in such a comical and pathetic way, I admire you for it.’
Mavis cringed.
‘Having breakfast with him is even a nightmare. His political leanings have made him very opinionated over the years. Even reading a newspaper makes him curse across the table, pointing to some issue involving a Muslim cleric or a black person in an advert.’
‘So his last job was on the railways then?’ Steve enquired.
‘He helped in my brother’s butchers shop in Tooting for a spell, but it didn’t work out. So, he decided to fake an accident. Told the benefits people he fell off a ladder and hurt his back, to get disability payments. He’s been faking it ever since.’
‘We guessed he was up to something with that disabled sticker. So, what’s his beef with gays though?’ Steve asked.
‘The reason Ted is so homophobic is because of his last wife.’ Mavis took another sip of her tea. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger to put in here?’ she said sheepishly.
‘Of course,’ Steve said. He opened the cupboard and took out a bottle of cheap supermarket brandy. He leant over and topped up Mavis’s tea.
‘Many thanks, I could do with a nip after all this.’ She took a couple of sips. ‘It’s so nice to talk to somebody for a change, get it off one’s chest, as you might say.’ She continued, ‘He was married to her for fifteen years. There were no children. Then she upped and left him; ran off with her woman lover. He couldn’t stomach her being a lesbian, being thrown-over for a dyke, as he would put it. He never told me, but I found some of their love letters while doing a bit of spring-cleaning some years ago.’
‘It all seems to make sense, now,’ said Steve .‘But what about you? You got any other family?’
Mavis sheepishly pushed her mug towards the brandy bottle for Steve to get the hint.
‘Oh I’m sorry, let me top you up,’ he said.
She took a good swig then continued,
‘I’ve got my mum and my brother. Mum’s in a local care home. Ted doesn’t want her living with us, so I visit a few times a week. He never does, he says the smell of the place makes him sick. Like boiled cabbage, he calls it.’ Mavis took another sip. ‘It’s probably the brandy talking, but I hate him so much. If only he’d drop dead, have a heart attack or something. Then I could have Mum come and live with me, just the two of us.’ She looked at Steve all embarrassed. ‘There, I’ve said it. You must think I’m awful?’
‘No, on the contrary, I admire how you can live with the bastard. Can’t you leav
e him and go to your brother?’
Mavis shook her head. ‘My brother and his family live in Colliers Wood. There's five of them in a small house, so they don’t have the room to take me or Mum. He’s a butcher along Tooting Broadway. I take the bus every month to his shop. And he’s very generous, never lets me leave without stuffing a couple of free joints into my shopping bag.’
Mavis finished off her brandy then looked at her watch. ‘There’s me prattling on to you, a complete stranger, about all my troubles. What must you think? I’d better be getting back, he’ll be in soon, no doubt ranting and raving about something.’ She got up unsteadily. ‘It’s just…you’d better keep an eye out for him at your wedding. He’s bound to try and sour your day.’
‘I’ll certainly keep it in mind,’ Steve said, ‘and look, if ever you want to pop in for a chat or if he gets too much for you, just call round.’ Steve put his arm out so she could hold on as he walked her along the hall to the front door.
Mavis noticed the strong Caribbean influence passing through the door-beads with all the voodoo masks and woodcarvings.
‘You like collecting things I see?’
‘It’s one of our weaknesses. We do the Caribbean every holiday. Nigel and I can’t walk through a market without buying something. We’re even having a Caribbean style wedding reception. Reggae music with everybody in typical costume, even the food with a barbeque pit.’
‘Sounds fantastic,’ Mavis said. ‘My brother does all that. With his shop in Tooting, he’s always being asked to prepare whole lamb and pork for community festivals; you know, Caribbean and African weddings or birthdays. Does all the marinating himself.’
‘Really.’ Steve pondered for a moment, then said, ‘Mavis, I know it’s a bit on the late side but, do you think your brother could do something for our reception this Saturday?’
‘Well, I can’t see why not. Seeing you’ve been so nice to me, and, considering the aggravation you’ve been getting from that pig husband of mine. I’ve got his shop number.’ Mavis took out her mobile and flipped the screen. ‘Do you know what you want?’
From A Poison Pen: A collection of macabre short stories Page 6