Plender

by Ted Lewis

  “And what happened?”

  “Well, I didn’t get the chop but it wasn’t far off. I just got stopped breaks and games the rest of the term.”

  “Well, I think that was a horrible thing to do.”

  “It was a joke,” I said.

  “Not funny,” said Kate. Then to Plender. “Didn’t you try and get your own back?”

  “No,” said Plender. “After all, as Peter says, it was only a joke.”

  I looked at my watch. Plender caught the meaning but he said, “This coffee is really nice, Kate.”

  “Would you like some more?”

  “Wouldn’t say no,” said Plender. “Never been known to refuse.”

  PLENDER

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Knott’s car creep on to the playing field.

  “All right,” I said, “at ease.”

  The men stood at ease and I waited for Knott to get out of the car and walk over. But he didn’t. He just sat in his car and stared across at us.

  “Touching toes right hand left foot twenty times then twenty times the other way,” I said to the men. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I walked across the field to Knott’s car. He didn’t take his eyes off me. I walked round to the driver’s side and leant over and looked in at him. He just stared up at me. I tapped on the window and he wound it down.

  “What’s the matter?” I said. “Too early for you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “If you exercised like we do you wouldn’t feel so bad first thing in a morning.”

  “I want to talk to you,” he said. His voice was dry and flat.

  “Oh, yes?” I said.

  Again he didn’t answer.

  I looked at him. Then I straightened up and strolled round to the passenger side of the car and got in. Knott hadn’t moved.

  “So you want to talk to me,” I said. “Then talk to me.”

  “I read the paper today. About the barman.”

  “What barman?”

  “The one who ran the bar. The one who saw me.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “It says he hanged himself.”

  “Hanged himself?”

  “Yes.”

  I took out a cigarette.

  “So he hanged himself. I don’t quite see what you’re getting at.”

  “He was the only one who saw me. Except you.”

  “Well then I would have thought all in all things seem to have worked out very much for the best.”

  “You were the only one that knew he’d seen me,” he said. “Now he’s dead.”

  I threw back my head and laughed.

  “You killed him, didn’t you?”

  “Now, why,” I said, inhaling cigarette smoke, “should I do a thing like that?”

  “Because if I’m caught, you’d be frightened I’d tell them about you.”

  “And so I’d go and knock somebody over just on the off-chance that they may remember your face and her face out of all the faces that were in Peggy’s Bar between Saturday and now.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  I laughed again.

  “Look,” I said, “I got into this by accident. I certainly wouldn’t do anything to deliberately make things worse for myself.”

  “You killed him. I know it.”

  Wind sped across the playing fields and rocked the car.

  “Well,” I said, “I didn’t. But obviously I’m not going to change your mind.”

  He shook his head.

  “And so you’re going to go to the police.”

  He put his head in his hands and leant forward in his seat.

  “God,” he said. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. All I know is that I just can’t go on. I mean, I’m going out of my mind, I really am. It’s like it must be for a condemned man. Every day it gets worse. Every day I think this is the day when it says in the paper they’ve found her. This is the day the police start walking up the drive.” He lifted his head and looked at me. “I mean, they’re bound to, aren’t they? Sooner or later. They’re bound to find her and trace her to me, whatever you say or do.”

  “You obviously think so,” I said. “So what can I say?”

  “So what else is there for me to do?”

  I shrugged.

  “Go to the police, I suppose,” I said.

  He broke down.

  “That’s just it,” he said. “That’s just it. I can’t. I haven’t the bloody guts.”

  “So there you are,” I said. “Back to square one.”

  He carried on sobbing with his head in his hands. I took a handkerchief from the pocket of my track suit and offered it to him. He took it and sat up and wiped his face.

  “After you’ve taken the pictures,” I said, “you ought to do a few physical jerks with us. Blow the cobwebs away. It’s surprising what a bit of exercise can do.”

  He shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “I’ll just take the pictures and go.”

  “There’s only a couple to do,” I said. “One of us exercising and one of us in a group. It won’t take you long so don’t dash off.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Come on,” I said, opening the door. “Let’s go over.”

  Knott didn’t move. I leant into the car.

  “You really will feel better after a few physical jerks,” I said. “Get stuck in there with the lads and you’ll feel a new man.”

  Knott reached into the back of the car and scrambled his gear together and got out. He was a little unsteady on his legs, as though he’d just got out of the car after a marathon drive. I walked round to his side of the car and picked up his case while he fumbled a camera strap round his neck.

  “Right,” I said. “Let’s go and meet the lads. I call them the Team.”

  KNOTT

  “Well I rather liked him,” said my wife. “In a funny way.”

  I didn’t say anything. I cut off a piece of my steak and put it in my mouth and went through the motions of chewing it as though I actually wanted to eat it.

  “Although,” she said, “ “like” isn’t really the right word. Something else. In view of what you’ve told me about him. In the light of what he is. It’s not “like” exactly.”

  I took a sip of wine and tried to listen to her words one by one, as though they weren’t forming sentences, so that singly they would have no meaning.

  “Is it sympathy?” she said. “Am I sorry for him? I don’t know. What is it exactly?”

  I knew she was looking at me while she was speaking but I was careful to avoid her eyes. At the same time I had to find something to say in reply to her; I had to behave normally, behave the way I always behaved. I knew she was trying to needle me, so I had to behave the way she expected me to behave, to react as I normally would.

  “I’m surprised,” I said.

  “Surprised?”

  “That you like him.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t think he’d be your type.”

  This was what she wanted.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “What I say. I’m surprised how you took to him.”

  “Yes, but I don’t really understand you. Why shouldn’t I take to him?”

  “Well to begin with, what you said before you met him. About the car.”

  I chewed my steak and listened to myself, sounding calm and precise and normal. Why didn’t I break down in front of her, the way I had done in front of Plender? Why was I strong now?

  “That was before I met him. Before I really knew anything about him.” />
  “And what do you know now that changes your opinion?”

  Kate leant back in her chair, settling to her triumph.

  “You don’t like it, do you?” she said.

  “Don’t like what?”

  “You don’t like me feeling sorry for Plender.”

  “Why shouldn’t I like that?”

  “Because you think he’s a little shit, the way you did at school. And you don’t like my thinking differently. It’s a kind of threat to you.”

  “A threat?”

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “You can’t bear it when anybody disagrees with you. Anybody who isn’t with you is agin you. Like a child. You’ve always been like that.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh God. And now the I’ve-been-hurt-but-I-insist-on- being-dignified bit.”

  I put my knife and fork down on my plate.

  “I’m right, though,” said Kate. “You put that poor bastard through the mangle at school and now that I say I like him it reminds you of what a rotten bastard you were, and you don’t like that, and so you get all paranoid about it.”

  “You’re being stupid,” I said.

  “I have to be, don’t I? Otherwise why should I disagree with you?”

  I got up from the dining table.

  “I’m going in the lounge,” I said.

  “Of course,” said Kate.

  The phone rang as I was walking through.

  It was Plender.

  “Hello, mate,” he said. “How’s things?”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “Feeling better than you did this morning?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Good. I was hoping you would be because I’m in a bit of a spot. You’d never credit it but I’ve been let down again.”

  “Let down?”

  “Yes. There’s a client of mine I’d arranged to have met only the laddie who was supposed to meet him has gone and got himself into a spot of bother.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I know it’s a bit of a bind but I wondered if you’d pop along and do the honours. It shouldn’t take more than an hour. You’ll be back home again by eleven. I’d do it myself but I’m already tied up.”

  “Look,” I said, trying to sound sane and reasonable, as if it was just an ordinary favour I was being asked. “It’s very difficult . . .”

  “All you have to do is meet him then drive him to an address I’ll give you and then leave him on the doorstep.”

  I could hear Kate moving about in the dining room.

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Are you sure that’s all?”

  “Of course that’s all.”

  “Listen,” I said, “you’ve got to stop phoning me here. I can’t tell Kate it’s you all the time or she’ll wonder why.”

  “And she’ll wonder why if you don’t tell her it’s me,” he said. “I get the picture. Not to worry. I shan’t do it again, not for this kind of reason, anyway. It’s just unfortunate the way it’s turned out, the fact I’ve been let down twice since I bumped into you. Honestly, if I could get somebody else, I would. Anyway tonight you’ve got a built in excuse for the wife. Why I phoned, I mean. Tell her I was thanking you both for such a delightful evening.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “All right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. So if you can be at Peggy’s Bar at nine thirty . . ..”

  I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

  “Where?” I said.

  “Peggy’s Bar. Why, what’s up?”

  “What are you trying to do?”

  “I don’t quite follow you.”

  “Peggy’s Bar. You know I can’t go there.”

  “Why not?”

  I closed my eyes.

  “God,” I said. “Listen. Just listen. You know how I feel. You must know. How can I walk in there knowing what I know. Remembering Saturday. Knowing about . . ..”

  I couldn’t say the name.

  “You mean thinking I killed Peggy?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “But I didn’t.”

  All right, I thought. I can’t explain my real reasons. You won’t let me. You don’t want to understand. I’ll take it at your level.

  “The police might not think it was suicide,” I said. “They might be watching the place.”

  “Not a chance,” he said. “They’re well satisfied. I can tell you that for nothing.”

  I wanted to cry.

  “But I can’t go back there,” I said. “I can’t.”

  “Just put it at the back of your mind,” he said. “You’ll be as right as rain.”

  I couldn’t find any more words.

  “Peter?” he said. “You all right?”

  “Tell me who I’m to meet,” I said.

  “That’s the spirit,” he said. “And I promise, this is definitely the last time.”

  PLENDER

  At quarter to ten I dialed Knott’s number. After a little while the receiver at the other end was lifted and I heard Kate Knott’s voice give their phone number.

  “Hello,” I said. “Is that Kate?”

  “Yes,” she said, not recognising my voice over the phone.

  “It’s Brian here,” I said. “Brian Plender. Is Peter there?”

  “No,” she said. “He’s gone out for a drink.”

  “Not to worry,” I said, “it’s you I ought to speak to really. I was only phoning to say thanks for last night. It was really great.”

  There was a pause while she remembered what Knott had told her earlier.

  “Oh,” she said. “I see. Well, that’s nice of you, Brian. I’ll tell Peter you called.”

  “Is anything wrong?” I said.

  “No,” she said. “Nothing. I was dozing when you phoned. I’m not properly awake yet.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “I never dreamt you’d be in bed. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “No, I wasn’t in bed. I just fell asleep in the chair. Please don’t worry. Actually I’m glad you woke me up.”

  “That’s all right, then.”

  I waited.

  “Brian?” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “I know this sounds a stupid question, but. . . you didn’t phone earlier, did you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You didn’t phone Peter? Earlier?”

  “No,” I said. “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

  “What makes you think I phoned earlier?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just something Peter said.”

  I pretended to let the penny drop and began to play the faithful friend doing a swift cover-up job.

  “Well, I did try and get him at work this morning, as a matter of fact, but he was out and I had to leave a message. That’s probably what he was talking about.”

  “No,” she said, coldly, choosing not to be let off the hook. “No, it was definitely this evening he meant. About an hour ago.”

  “Well one of you must be mixed up,” I said. “Because I’m sure it would have been this morning he was on about.”

  “Peter answered the phone an hour ago. I asked him who it was and he said it was you, phoning to thank us for last night. He was most specific.”

  It was going better than I’d hoped.

  “Well, I wonder why on earth he should say that?” I said, letting the false innocence in my voice be thin enough to let her hear the suspicion underneath.

  “Do you?” she said.

  I allowed a small pause before I said, “Look, I k
now this is none of my business . . . but somehow I seemed to have dropped Peter in it. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

  “No, I know,” I said, “but Peter’s a mate of mine. I don’t know what this is about, but I now feel terrible. If I hadn’t have phoned, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “It would, I’m afraid,” she said. “Sooner or later.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Bad as that.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Look,” I said. “I know this may sound . . . I don’t know . . . anyway, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Peter. That I phoned, I mean.” I pretended to search for words. “What I mean is, whatever happens, I don’t want him thinking I was the one to drop him in the cart. I know it sounds stupid, but . . ..”

  “No, I won’t tell him,” she said. “It doesn’t actually hinge on this phone call.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  There was a silence. Then I said, “I know I only met you last night, but you being Peter’s wife, and me knowing him from way back . . . what I’m trying to say is, if there’s anything you feel you want to talk over at any time, if you feel you could use some help, advice, anything like that, well, you can always give me a ring. As I say, I know last night was the first time we met, but, you know, it’s up to you. If you feel you can, then just pick up the phone. I’d like to help, if you felt that I could.”

  KNOTT

  I walked into Peggy’s Bar. It was packed. What had happened to Peggy must have been good for business. But I was glad that the bar was crowded. The less like it had been on Saturday the better. Wastes of emptiness would only make my memories worse, and they were bad enough even away from this place.

  I pushed my way through to the bar and bought a drink, a large whisky, and went and stood near the third alcove along, the way I’d been told to. Except that wasn’t quite right, I’d been told to sit down there, in the alcove, but all the alcoves were packed, four to a bench seat. So I stood near the third alcove along and waited for Mr. Reed to appear. Businessman. Middle forties. Thin on top. Cavalry moustache. Carrying a copy of Mayfair magazine. He’d be expecting to meet a girl called Lesley, and Lesley’s friend, Camille, Plender had said. They all expected to meet the girls in the bar, but there was always an intermediary, just to make sure.