by Gould, R J
“That’s not the point. We don’t even know him. Who is he?”
“Someone at school.”
“Don’t you think it’s important we meet him,” Jane persisted. “That we at least have the address of where you’re staying?”
“I can’t see what meeting him has got to do with it. He hasn’t got to be approved by you.”
“You’re wrong. Meeting is important and if I was still here I wouldn’t allow you to go out with him until we’d met.”
“Well you’re not here. And your obsession with meeting is absurd. I have met Jim, is that supposed to make it easier to know you’re fucking him?”
David sat back with resignation as a furious Jane let fly.
“There’s a lot for you to think about, Rachel. For a start, some respect. Questioning my behaviour coming from you is a bit rich, I’ve heard all about David getting summoned to school to be told what you’ve done wrong. After what happened last night if I was your father I wouldn’t trust you to go out.”
“Thankfully you’re not my father because it’s nice to have one parent who cares about me.”
“Just you remember everything I’ve done for you, whatever you’ve asked for you’ve had. That’s true isn’t it, David…No, Rachel, don’t answer back because I haven’t finished…where do you think you’re going?...I haven’t finished, come back here this instant…Rachel!”
Jane and David were left alone.
“I was hoping to resolve things a bit more amicably,” David said.
Jane got up and walked towards the cupboard above the worktop to the left of the sink. “I need a coffee, would you like one?”
“Yes, why not.”
She opened the unit. It was full of tins of food and jars of spices. “The mugs have gone,” she declared.
“They haven’t gone, they’ve been moved.”
“Why?”
“I felt like a change. They’re in that cupboard,” he said pointing, “but the milk’s still in the fridge.”
He hadn’t removed the holiday snap attached to the door; everyone in it was still smiling. He sat in silence as Jane manufactured two perfect cappuccinos. She put the milk back in the fridge, pausing to examine the photograph. “That was a fun holiday wasn’t it. Do you think we’ll get over the unpleasantness, perhaps do some things as a family?”
He didn’t reply.
“Thanks for asking me over tonight even though it was a bit of a disaster. I just wish I hadn’t lost my temper.”
David realised he wasn’t bitter about what had happend anymore. They sat chatting for a while, in agreement that their lawyers had earned enough money and it was time to sign the financial agreement.
As soon as Jane had left Rachel came downstairs to apologise to David for walking out. His daughter was changing. In the past, engulfed in a whirlwind of emotion, she would explode with rage and tears then show huge remorse when it had subsided. Now, though the apology seemed genuine enough, she was calm, detached and hardened. She dismissed his attempt to question her further beyond an acknowledgement that the over-drinking and rudeness to the police would not be repeated.
David called Bridget and relayed the evening’s events. He was keen to see her ahead of the trip to Ireland, but it wasn’t going to be possible – she had too much to organise.
~
The last days at work before a break that would stretch Bridgetless from Christmas Eve to beyond the New Year were quietly festive. Colleagues put up streamers and displayed their Christmas cards on their desks and window sills. David’s office remained bare, but at Jabulani’s insistence he did join in with mince pie eating and the trip to the pub for lunch on the last day. The new Mary was at the heart of the festivities. Laughing away, drinking rather a lot and declaring to cheers that there was no need to return to work for the rest of the day.
On Christmas morning Sam got his model racing car and Rachel got a compact camera. David was given a shirt and tie. They then set off to visit his mother, regarded as an undesirable but necessary duty by all three of them. She gave the children £20 each and in return received three handkerchiefs with embroidered flowers on the corners, a bottle of sweet sherry, a box of chocolates and six luxury mince pies. David went without a gift from his mother.
“He’s too old to get presents,” his mother claimed when Rachel questioned her.
“What about you then? You’ve got presents and you’re even older.”
“That’s different,” was the explanation offered. “Sit in the lounge and I’ll make tea.”
They stayed overnight and on Boxing Day morning Charlotte and her family popped in on their way to her husband Donald’s parents. By the end of her visit David was convinced that the saying ‘blood is thicker than water’ was false. His sister had little interest let alone sympathy regarding his separation from Jane. Rachel and Sam fared little better with their two cousins despite being almost identical ages. Donald sat in sullen silence.
After two cups of tea Charlotte announced that they had to get going to reach Donald’s parents in time for lunch.
“Great to see you all,” she lied.
“Yes, we must catch up again soon,” David lied in response.
Lunch consisted of dried out turkey, boiled to near death brussels sprouts and rock hard roast potatoes. Sam later identified the only decent thing to be the jar of cranberry sauce. He was usually compliant, but on this visit he displayed a trait previously unseen by David – sarcasm. ’I can’t wait for Her Majesty’s speech.’ ‘The Sound of Music, my all-time favourite.’ ‘Morecombe and Wise, has there ever been anything funnier?’ This sarcasm passed over his grandmother’s head. Instead she took great delight in their shared interests.
Despite the drudgery of the visit they stayed on for a second night, trapped by the guilt induced by David’s mother. It was dull for all three of them, but without Bridget there was little urgency for David to return home. Rachel nagged to leave, but David was adamant they remain, happy for her to miss opportunities the festive season might provide for getting into trouble.
On the day after Boxing Day they watched lousy repeat television programmes, played countless games of cribbage, and once again ate traditional Christmas Fayre of left-over turkey (as dry as the day before, but now brown as opposed to white meat); fat-saturated sausages (a depressing new addition); boiled to near death brussels sprouts (again); and rock hard roast potatoes (again).
Rachel volunteered to clear up after a lunch. When she failed to return to the lounge for over an hour, David checked to see if there was a problem. She was sitting at the formica kitchen table, her chin resting on her elbows.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m watching the second hand go round,” she said, pointing to the clock on the wall above the birthday calendar. “It’s the most exciting thing on offer.”
“Can I join you?” At least he’d made Rachel smile.
When David’s mother was in the kitchen preparing afternoon tea, he suggested to his children that they should stay on for a further day.
“If you do, I’m getting the train back,” Rachel declared.
“And I’ll reveal my true thoughts about Morecombe and Wise,” Sam added.
His mother came into the lounge and set the tray down on the top of a nest of tables. “As soon as we’ve had this I’ll start to get dinner ready.”
“Sorry grandma, we’ve got to get back tonight. If I don’t start my coursework I’ll be kicked out of school.”
David relented – he’d had more than enough. “Yes, tea then I’m afraid we’re off. It’s been a great couple of days though.”
“I’m sure you’ve all got more important things to do than stay with me.”
“Yes, we have,” said Rachel, mimicking Jane’s method of tackling the guilt trip.
The Reunion – R J Gould
Chapter 25
“Dad, everyone knows it’s a drug den.” “Well, everybody except me, Rachel. I went to hear the music.”
&nb
sp; “Do you realise you’re a marked man now with a police record. Soon you’ll get the sack and no one else will employ you.”
“Very funny. Actually the police were extremely apologetic about keeping us there for so long, but they wouldn’t let anyone out before a search. The owners were arrested for dealing.”
“Dealing. You’re even using the right term. I bet you know all the slang names for the drugs, too. I’m not sure I’d have let you off if I was the police.”
“Ha-ha.”
“Seriously though, next time you score skunk I’d love some Black Russian or China White.”
Rachel and David were sitting in the lounge drinking tea; Sam was in bed. David had called her from the pub a little before midnight to explain the situation. He told her not to wait up, but not surprisingly curiosity got the better of her and anyway there was a run of Buffy The Vampire Slayer episodes to keep her occupied.
“Enough Rachel, go to bed now will you,” David implored. “I’m exhausted.”
~
Jabulani’s gig had been at the Duchess of Devonshire, a pub he’d walked by many times. It was a double fronted mock Tudor building, shabby and run down. On the night of the concert its hanging baskets contained dead flowers ravaged by frost. A sign promoted the night’s specials – sausage with mash and cottage pie. Next to that stood a display board informing potential customers that all Sky Sports Premier League matches were shown and that while football was on there was a three for the price of two pints offer. A hand-written note was pinned to the door. Tonight Kanjarny from Zimbarbwe. Entrance £3.
As he stopped to read it, he was tapped on the shoulder. “Hello there.”
“Mary! I didn’t know you were coming.”
They stood by the notice. David pointed out that the proper name of the band was Kanjani. “It means ‘hi there’ Jabulani says.”
“They’re not too hot on the spelling of the country either,” Mary added.
They laughed as they entered.
Inside the pub there was no evidence of a band. The two giant TVs were showing a darts match which none of the few customers was watching. Four boys of questionable drinking age were playing pool while vying for the attention of the two girls sitting on a bare wooden bench next to the table. David heard an eczema-faced, greasy-haired youth exclaim ‘me ball’s tight against the hole again’, followed by an explosion of laughter from the girls pretending it was a joke of stupendous magnitude.
The only other customers were a middle aged man and woman sitting at a table with half empty pints of Guinness in front of them, she gesticulating wildly, he oozing disinterest. As David and Mary were passing, the woman leapt up. “You ain’t listening, are you?”
“That’s ‘cos I’ve heard it all before.”
“If you supported me I wouldn’t keep goin’ on about it, would I?”
“I do bloody support you!”
“I’m goin’ home!”
“Suit yerself, I’m finishin’ this.”
She stormed out and the man tipped the remains of the one glass into the other.
“We can’t be at the right place,” Mary said as they approached the bar.
“What can I get you?” asked the landlady, buxom and middle aged, dark roots exposed at the base of her bleach-blond hair.
“We’re here to see Kanjani – the band,” David answered, self-conscious of his posh voice.
The barmaid nodded towards a door at the far end of the room. “There.”
“Do you think they’re filming Eastenders here tonight?” Mary joked.
They were joined by four others from the local authority. Charlie, Mitch, Dee and Freddie worked on David’s floor – they were the ones who made up the nicknames for Mary. And seeing him with her now, despite being coincidental, would no doubt provide scope for malicious office gossip.
The six of them entered a very different world to the room they had come from. Here there was subdued lighting and the dark walls were covered with retro rock concert posters. There was a small lit stage in the corner. They dropped their entrance money into an open tin and walked in – it was already crowded.
Jabulani approached with another man by his side. “You’ve made it, wonderful. This is my brother, Farai.” There were handshakes all round. “Take your coats off, the cloakroom’s over there. We’re playing soon.”
“Come on, let’s get away from this lot,” Mary whispered, looking across at the four who had arrived with them. “They drive me up the wall with their immaturity.”
David recognised a few other local authority employees. Judging by choice of clothes and hairstyles, the rest of the audience could best be described as ageing hippy.
On reaching the cloakroom, rather a grand name for a small table with a rail of hangers behind it, Mary took off her North Face Polar Protection coat. He struggled to avoid a gasp as guiltily he embraced the pastime of selecting a name based on her attire. Tonight she was Rock Chick and if he had to be truthful, Divine Rock Chick.
From the floor up, Mary was wearing open-toed high heeled sandals with each toe painted a different vibrant colour; a pair of tight fitting jeans with rips across the knees; an equally tight fitting black tee shirt with a jazz musician playing a trumpet, his head pointing upwards; and a multi-coloured large bead necklace. He had to have a second take. From top down she was wearing a multi-coloured large bead necklace; a tight fitting black tee shirt with a jazz musician playing a trumpet, head pointing upwards; an equally tight fitting pair of jeans with rips across the knees; and open-toed high heeled sandals with each toe painted a different vibrant colour!
Of course all this happened in a split second, but when he looked back up to Mary’s face he sensed that she was well aware of his inspection. “I think you deserve a drink on me,” she said, utilising her newly acquired slow, sensuous voice.
Taking hold of his arm she led him to the bar and ordered a bottle of wine. As she was filling their glasses the band came on stage. There were seven of them, three women and four men, dressed in matching kaftan tops and baggy white trousers. The shirts were white with a purple animal with horns as a motif.
The music started, acoustic guitar and two instruments Jabulani had told David about – the mbira and the hosho. It was highly rhythmic with hand clapping, harmony vocals and dancing. The appreciative audience swayed along. Farai did lots of talking between numbers, explaining the origin of the instruments and the inspiration for their songs. Briefly he referred to the political situation in Zimbabwe, too.
“Tatenda, thank you.” he called out after one song. “Now we’ll put our instruments down and sing Steam Train. These trains were running in my country long after they had stopped here, so we as children were brought up with the shushing and the clattering. We would race along the side of the track waving to the passengers.”
As the hissing harmonies began the audience started to dance. Mary, having downed her second glass of wine, took hold of David’s hand and dragged him towards the dance floor with a determination reminiscent of Bridget at the school reunion. They remained on the dance floor for another song, this one slow and melodic. Mary put her hands on David’s shoulders and he responded by laying his hands on her waist. She applied pressure to pull them closer. He was enjoying the physical contact and offered no more than a minute degree of unnoticed resistance in deference to loyalty towards Bridget.
“God, I need another drink,” she said, leading him back to their table. She knocked back her third glass. “We’re getting low, shall I grab another bottle?”
“Well I’ve had enough, in fact I feel quite light-headed.”
“It’s the dope.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s so much cannabis around you don’t have to smoke it to get stoned, just breathe.” She moved closer to him. “You’re quite an innocent, aren’t you, David.” She moved still closer and their lips met. For an instant, actually for quite a bit more than an instant, he enjoyed the soft warmth of the kiss b
efore drawing back.
“No Mary, we can’t.”
“Why not, David? I know you’ve separated from your wife, I thought maybe we…”
“Oh it’s complicated, Mary. You see…”
Their conversation was terminated by a group of six policemen and women bursting through the door and ordering the band to stop playing. The policeman in charge, the very same man who had visited David after his mugging and then again when he brought Rachel home drunk, announced that everybody was to be searched for drugs.
It was an efficient operation with the audience divided into five lines to be interviewed by a designated policeman. The sixth officer, the policewoman he also knew from the two previous incidents, acknowledged him with a nod. She had been allocated the task of assembling those passed on by the interview officers. David assumed they were the ones to be arrested for the possession and perhaps sale of drugs. Amidst moans and groans, the audience were told no one could leave until all had been seen. However, once their name had been recorded and they had been searched they would be allowed to use their phones. This is when David contacted Rachel.
Finally at 1.30 am departures were permitted except for the dozen or so who were led into two police vans. Mary followed David out. He’d hoped to exit alone to avoid any conversation about their pre-raid dance and kiss. She took hold of his hand. “Sorry if I’ve been pushy or misunderstood your situation. Hey, it was a fun night though, wasn’t it?”
“No need to apologise, Mary. It certainly was an interesting evening. I enjoyed it.”
“We’ve done rather a lot of apologising recently, haven’t we?” she continued as she took hold of his other hand. “My taxi’s here, I’d better head on. I hope you have a good New Year – I’ll see you back at work.” She drew him towards her and once again planted her lips on his. David was drawn in by the arousing contact. This time the duration of the kiss was considerably longer; he wrapped his arms substantially more firmly around her waist until their bodies were clamped together; and he provided more than a hint of a noteworthy response as their tongues met.
He watched Mary as she got in the taxi. Turning, he saw that Charlie, Mitch, Dee and Freddie were also watching.