‘You give out a few yourself.’
‘Now stop that.’
I stopped that. But there it was, lying on the seat between us.
‘That wife of yours, she’s something isn’t she? I had a games mistress like her. Fierce wasn’t in it.’
‘That’s why I write the stories, sweetheart. Better than a holiday in Ibetha they are for a man in my position. For me, staring down at a blank page is like what stretched out on a beach in a skimpy bikini is for you. The reason for living.’
She tugged her the hem of her dress.
‘So you had much printed, in a book like?’
‘Fat chance. I’m not a celebrity. What chance does a nobody like me get?’
‘You’re not a nobody. I saw you this morning, with that chain-saw. Popped out of bed, peeped through the curtains. Quite turned me on, the way you handled yourself.’
‘Is that right? And I suppose you didn’t have anything on, watching me.’
‘What if I hadn’t?’
‘Like my nymph up at the pond. She never has anything on either. I know it shouldn’t, but I can’t help it what it does to me, the way she stands there.’
‘God, you must be desperate!’
‘You remind me of her, you know. You have a way with you, just like she does.’
‘Only I move about a bit.’
‘If you insist.’
She leant over, put her finger to my cheek, gave it a stroke.
‘You know, you’re nicer than you look. Why don’t you give me a call some time. Here, I’ll write the number on your wrist. You can wash it off, or keep it somewhere safe. Up to you. Mmm?
She took a biro out of her handbag, laid my hand across her lap. Her lips moved as she wrote the number. Jesus Christ.
‘There.’ She gave me me hand back. ‘You look a bit desperate right now.’
‘I am a bit desperate now.’
She kissed me on the cheek.
‘But I have a train to catch.’
We got to the station. She got out and walked to the ticket hall, turning in the doorway for a last look. It almost hurt to wave her goodbye, the things we could have done. How I got back I don’t know, the thoughts that were going round in my head. Women like that, just turn my brain to jelly. Back in the bungalow there was a message blinking for me on the answerphone. Mrs Durand-blinking-Deacon. Apparently I was a degenerate forty-five minutes late. Not so late as hubby was going to be. I walked down, unseasonably light-headed. She was sitting in the lounge same as usual, but this time nibbling at a cucumber sandwich, There was a whole plate of them by her side and another full of poncy fairy cakes.
‘I should have brought you a doughnut Mrs Durand-Deacon,’ I said, sitting down, helping myself to a dainty pink one. Mrs Durand-Deacon screwed up her face. She had one of those faces that told you what she was thinking about straight away. She didn’t like doughnuts.
‘Horrible messy things, doughnuts,’ she said. ‘All that squirting. Only children like them.’
‘Really? I love a good doughnut.’
‘Precisely my point. Most men are children, Mr Greenwood, didn’t you know? Anyway I didn’t ask you here to talk about confectionary. I have some news for you. That business we were talking about the other day.’
I looked about. There were loads of others in earshot, but she was talking like we was just two old biddies shooting the breeze.
‘Wouldn’t you rather go somewhere more private before we go any further?’ I asked. ‘A stroll by the sea perhaps? We could count the waves coming in.’
‘Or walk up to the Pimple?’ Her eyes were bright and shiny, all over the place. I could smell sherry on her breath. They do that, oldies, drink sherry like it was tea.
‘If you like.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said. ‘In fact you won’t be necessary either. You see, Gerald and me, we’ve had a reconciliation.’
‘I find that rather hard to believe, Mrs Durand–Deacon.’
Considering he’s stone cold dead.
‘Yes. We talked earlier. Said he’d seen the error of his ways, and why didn’t I take him on the cruise, so that, as he put it, he could oversee the pleasures of the trip. It was quite moving, the way he pleaded with me. Said he knew I was going to be looked after by the crew, considering the special circumstances, but he wanted to ensure that I got everything that was coming to me. So, I won’t be needing your services on the boat after all. Or anywhere else for that matter.’
She popped another sandwich in her mouth. It’s amazing how women can flip the switch from one extreme to another without hardly drawing breath. And the steel of the man. I mean, he might be lying with his head caved in at the bottom of a cliff, but you had to admire it, the cold-blooded nerve of him.
‘Are you sure about this Mrs Durand Deacon? Only I got the impression from how you last talked about him that you were not exactly simpatico vis-à-vis your marital status.’
‘We had a meeting this afternoon. Went for a refreshing walk. Why, if I’d wanted to I could have pushed him off that cliff myself.’
‘You were up at the Pimple?’
‘Two or three hours ago. Breath-taking, the view. Puts everything into perspective.’
Jesus. They must have been up there just before I turned up. She hadn’t finished.
‘I would have stayed longer up there, but he had some calls to make. Finalize everything. He’s insisting on the honeymoon suite you know. Look, you better make yourself scarce. He’ll be back soon. Wipe our conversations from your memory. Pretend they never happened.’
‘I’m not sure that’s possible Mrs Durand Deacon.’ She waved her hand away.
‘You mean the shark? Someone else will buy it. An artist like you, at the top of his tree.’
She was smirking. Stuffing her face and smirking. Well, what else could I do but wipe it off her.
‘Not the shark, no. It’s just that, this reconciliation thing. I think he might be leading you on. I mean reconciliation didn’t seem to be on his mind when I last talked to him.’
‘Talked to him? How do you mean?’ I drew my chair a little closer.
‘He was at my place last night. A paying guest. We have a little bed and breakfast business on the side. It came as a bit of a shock to me too, to find the man you had such particular plans for all tucked up in my luxury guest en-suite. And he wasn’t alone. He had this young tart with him.’
‘He was staying with you? With a young woman?’
‘There’s no need to repeat everything I say, Mrs Durand-Deacon. Yes, very tete-a-tete he was with this flighty piece from Bournemouth. A beehive as big as a dog kennel she had, and a mouth to go with it. He was slagging you off something rotten over the breakfast bar this morning, and the way she was lapping it up, well it would have made a kipper blush.’
She lifted a cherry off one of the cakes, bit it in two. I know what she was thinking of.
‘Go on.’
‘Compared you to one of those spiders, sitting in an empty room, spinning her web, hoping something will eventually drop in it. Made fun of your taste in art too, saying that you were the laughing stock of Frinton with your stuck up airs and graces, saying he wished he’d been on the Lady Di to see you jump over board. Even said how he might come along on this freebie of yours if the company could guarantee it would happen again. I almost marched him up to the Pimple right there and then, the disrespect he was showing. He was talking about taking this bird on the cruise too, least that’s the impression I got. Perhaps he’s going to smuggle her along, without you knowing.’
She took hold of the cherry-less fairy cake, squeezed it into a tight ball.
‘The swine. I was going to meet him again a little later. I’ll show him.’
‘You mean I’ll show him.’
‘Yes.’
She looked for something to wipe her hand clean. I pulled my handkerchief out my pocket. I always have a hanky in my pocket. Only this one wasn’t mine, it was Gerald’s, not i
n the best of condition, but she didn’t seem to notice.
‘Thank you.’
‘That’s quite all right. Now, if he still wants to go on this cruise, you pretend to go along with it.’
‘Yes.’
‘Let him come aboard with this woman of his in tow if he wants.’
‘Yes.’
‘Keep out of sight. He won’t care. He’ll be too busy pushing his eyes back in their sockets. ’
‘Yes.’
‘In fact it might be a good idea if you cry off at the last minute, not turn up at all. Say your vertigo has come back. Let him go alone, and take the consequences. Put you right out of the frame, that would.’
‘Yes. I can see that.’
She tucked the handkerchief into the sleeve of her blouse. I was going to remind her who it belonged to, cause I didn’t know whether she would recognise it, in time, when the siren went off. They do that when they find someone in trouble. Christ that was quick. Of course it might not be Gerald. Could be some pillock stuck half way up Durdle Door. Once a week that happens in season. If it was me, I’d leave them to the fucking seagulls. They like strangers on our cliffs even less than I do.
But right then, I didn’t know what to do. If it was Gerald they’d found, was I going to act all innocent with her, or take the credit? I mean we were in this together her and me, real deep, but maybe, now he’d fallen off a cliff, now that reality might be about to bite at her ankles, maybe she wouldn’t think so. And what could I say then? I mean I could hardly tell her it had nothing to do with me. She wouldn’t believe me. It’s at times like that that things can go awry, and I didn’t want to be her to be going off piste, shooting her mouth off. There was plenty who’d listen.
‘What’s that?’ she said.
‘The rescue claxon,’ I said. ‘They test it this time of day.’
‘How do they know it isn’t a real emergency?’
‘Number of blasts,’ I explained. Sounded possible to me. ‘How many was that? Did you notice?’
She shook her head, thinking about her Gerald and how he had fucked her over yet again. I almost felt sorry for her. She’d only wanted a good life, like the rest of us, and she hadn’t had one. She’d had Gerald. Let her down at every turn. Couldn’t even get rid of her in an honest fashion. Had to get someone else to do it and watch from the side lines. And given the fact that I’d had to choose between to the two of them, I’m glad I chose her. She might be a lippy old cow, but better her than that posh slick of slime who stuck pins into defenceless butterflies.
‘Of course I might have to act sooner.’
‘How do you mean?’ I made with the hands.
‘You know, in case he doesn’t want to go on the cruise after all. Maybe this bird doesn’t like the sea, not that she’d see much of it, the way he was talking.’
She took the cake plate, held it out.
‘You must do whatever you must do, Al,’ she said firmly. ‘I am in your hands. As will he be, if all goes to plan.’
She shook the plate at me, willing me to take another. You had to admire the old girl.
‘Tell you what, Mrs Durand-Deacon. When this is over, I will do you a proper shark, a bloody great big one, and you can stick it in the hall, on the patio, in the front garden, wherever you want.’
She turned her nose up at me, back on track
‘We don’t have patios in Frinton,’ she sniffed. ‘They’re common.’
I should have known that shouldn’t I.
It was early but, surprise surprise I needed a drink. Down at the Spread, Doc was in his usual spot, reading out some his patient’s medical reports to a couple of military policewomen. I’ll say this about the Doc. You might not want to strip off in his consulting room, and very few did these days, but when it came to telling a joke, there was no one to beat his timing. The girls were laughing so hard their mascara had started to run. Doc beckoned me over. In the old days nothing would have held me back. I like a uniform, especially when it’s in a playful mood, but times had changed. I had Emily’s reputation to think of, and besides, what with Gerald and the claxon going off, I was feeling a trifle drained. It was sustenance I needed not sport. Sustenance and some space to do some serious thinking. I took myself to a corner with a couple of lagers and two whisky chasers.
It wasn’t looking good. I was no nearer getting shot of Audrey than I had been when she first appeared. Plus I had a body on my hands, and Rump in love with a woman he had never met. I had Mrs Durand-Deacon’s passport, true and I had her tickets. The problem was everyone on board knew what she looked like. The trick wasn’t keeping Audrey in the cabin, it was getting her there in the first place. Between them and the police we had no chance. Still I couldn’t tell Audrey that. Or Em. I was Al Greenwood for Christ’s sake. I could get away with anything.
Thirty minutes later Doc came over, slapped down another pair. He respected people’s privacy as good as the next man, but suffered from Compulsive Open Wallet Syndrome, once propped up in a bar.
‘Not wishing to intrude Al, but I could help noticing, you look a bit preoccupied, or away-with-the-fairies, as we say in the profession. Could be this Alzheimer’s thing I keep reading about. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, losing your marbles. Everyone’s doing it these days apparently.’ He nudged the lager towards me. ‘You better drink that up before you forget what it’s there for.’
I took a grateful sip. He’d slipped another whisky in the lager bless him.
‘I’ve had a day of it, Doc. Do you know you’re the first man I’ve spoken to all day.’
It wasn’t strictly true, but I wasn’t going to tell him about Gerald was I? He nodded sympathetically.
‘They never told me that, when I signed up to be a doctor, that most of my regular patients would be women. It has its plus sides obviously, but my God, they’re so much more interested in what goes on inside than normal people are. The need to know and all that rubbish. For a doctor, the great thing about male patients is that they usually leave whatever’s wrong with them alone until it’s far too late. By the time they come to see me they’re three quarters dead already. Fantastic saving on time and paperwork.’
‘Well I hope you’re not showing them two any of my paperwork,’ I said, indicating in the direction of the skirted military.
‘Just humouress highlights featuring their male colleagues, that’s all. Letting the side down’s one thing. Using one’s professional skills in furtherance of a well deserved night out is quite another.’
‘And this particular skill being…’
‘Indiscretion old boy.’
A mobile went off. The Funeral March. One of the girls took off her peaked cap and took it off her head.
‘You promised me we wouldn’t hear it, under that lot,’ Doc said, taking it from her. He pressed it to his ear, helping himself to the whisky he bought me. ‘Yes?’ He tapped his foot impatienly as the voice at the other end buzzed up and down. ‘Well, can’t it wait then, if he’s dead? I’m carrying out some very important research at the moment regarding alcohol and memory. What? Very well.’ He snapped it shut. ’A floater, ‘ he said. ‘Karl Stokie spotted him couple of hours back, damn his eyes. He could have waited. He knows this is my night out.’
‘Every night’s your night out, Doc.’
‘Not with an audience like these two.’ He nodded in their direction. ‘I don’t suppose you could hold the fort while I don the old rubber gloves for twenty minutes?’
‘Half an hour,’ I said. ‘’Not a minute more.’
He was back in fifty five. Just as well, cause they were a pair, those two, sharp, and ruthless, like a pack of wolves. Hunt you down, round you up, and jump all over you, claws at the ready, that was how they operated. I was lucky to get out alive.
When I got back to the bungalow, I noticed all the lights were blazing, every one of them, like it was bloody Christmas. Music too. Boom, boom, boom. Anyone walking by would have thought we was having a knees-up. Very discreet. I w
alked in, a mite peeved. Emily, Audrey and Alice Blackstock were sitting cross legged on the floor, a sheet of cardboard in front of them, each waving a pair of scissors like they were football rattles. Emily jabbed the air with hers, beckoning me in.
‘Ah, there you are, Mr Greenwood. You’re just in time for the big snip.’
She started on with this horrible cackle, like a turkey with whooping cough. The others followed. She’d been drinking. They all had. I waited until the laughter died down. Audrey was holding something in the air.
‘Look at this one,’ she screeched. ‘Why did you give it such a squint? Couldn’t it see straight?’
The three of them doubled up again. More hooting. It almost hurt to watch. Then I realised what they were cutting up. Em’s private pictures of me were scattered all over the carpet. Half of them had bloody great holes in. I tried to keep my voice straight. I’d had a few myself.
‘Emily, dearest. Would you mind telling me what the hell’s going on?’
‘We’re making another statement,’ Emily spluttered. ‘Isn’t that right Audrey?’
‘Damn right, Banana Girl.’
‘Bamboo Girl,’ Em corrected.
‘Banana, bamboo. They’re both long and thin.’ And off they went again. It’s irritating isn’t it, when you’re the only one not in on the joke.
‘Have you been drinking?’ I said.
‘Just wine and whisky and a spot of weed,’ Alice Blackstock explained. ‘We’re making a collage. Like we all used to do when I was at art college.’
‘That’s all very well Mrs B, but this is highly…’ I stopped. What the fuck was she doing here?
‘It’s all right Al,’ Audrey said. ‘Alice knows everything.’
‘The moment Audrey arrived I’m afraid,’ Alice said. ‘Saw her coming down from the Pimple in the moonlight. I wasn’t sure it was her until she bumped into the nymph and let loose.’
She sat back on her haunches, adjusted the bandana round her head. She had a jacket with tassels on, the sleeves rolled up, bangles up and down her arms. She looked like Keith Richard with a pint or two of blood in. I grabbed one of the glasses, poured myself a drink.
Ship Ahoy! (A Cliffhanger Novel Book 3) Page 20