by steve higgs
Mrs. Barker had full access to all the firm's credit cards so had been able to make the payment to Martin Wilkins using Brett's card. She had seduced poor Martin Wilkins and used money, sex, and gifts like the car to make him play the Phantom. She had him make up the fake heart meds then quit his job at Palmer Pharmaceuticals to then take a job at the Mill where she had promised him a brighter future. She had at least delivered on all her promises, but I had to wonder what her end play was for him. Would she have killed him off too? He had gone to George Barker's office the night of his death on her instruction. In bed, she had told him that she wanted to be with just him and they could be together if he would help her get rid of her husband. George had a weak heart and a fright might end him. Martin had obeyed her instructions willingly. He had knowingly provided fake heart medication and had known what it was for. When he and I had finished our little chat in the car park I had advised him to turn himself in. He had not done so and had been arrested trying to board a ferry out of Dover.
Kerry was guilty of burning Chris Partridge. Old Sam and Ronald had convinced her to play the Phantom. She was supposed to sabotage Mill equipment and very carefully endanger members of the workforce – played cleverly by Old Sam and Ronald. When the police became interested they would then leave a trail back to Brett Barker so that he would be blamed for the accidents. It had been Kerry that had taken the crane lockouts and placed them in Owen's car. They were supposed to be in Brett's car, but he never left his keys where she could get to them she said. She had been going into the Mill at night and loosening bolts or cutting wires. It was damaging the Mill's output, but they agreed it was a necessary step to get rid of Brett Barker. Chris Partridge had gone to school with Kerry and had teased her about her weight for years. When he followed her into the boiler room that night she remembered how much she disliked him and grabbed his arm with the hot glove. She seemed genuinely regretful though and I felt that he had probably earned his injury. I told her that I would not be sharing her secret. Owen Larkin, Martin Wilkins, and Margaret Barker would be charged with conspiracy to murder George Barker and the attack on Chris Partridge could get swept up into the investigation.
There had never been a Phantom. It had always just been a man in a costume, or it had been nothing at all and superstition had allowed people to blame their mistakes on a mysterious figure. Now that I knew the truth of it I could reveal what I had learned. I could hold a press conference if I chose to and expose the Phantom as a sham, but I had no current intention of doing so. My focus was already moving to the next case, whatever that might be.
Crossing the pub car park, I could see Jagjit, Hilary, Big Ben and Basic all sat around our usual table. The warm light from inside was inviting. I went inside to a warm greeting from my friends. I gave them my usual salutations and left the dogs with them to get my round of drinks in.
The simple task of retrieving a round of cold drinks proved to be fraught with complication though as stood staring at me from behind the bar was Natasha. Her expression was probably best described as frosty, but I fear that term fails to capture adequately the ice spilling from her face. There was no one else waiting at the bar and we had already locked eyes. I had nowhere to go but straight towards her to meet my fate.
Natasha and I had enjoyed a lunch date a couple of weeks back during which Natasha had kissed me, poured out her heart and left the ball firmly in my court. Since then life had gotten away from me, I had lost her number and despite attempts to find a way to make contact, I had not done so. Natasha was lovely to look at, delightful to speak to and was probably excellent girlfriend material. However, because I am stupid I have been fawning over Amanda and neglecting the perfectly obvious choice right in front of me. That I had found time to message Hayley, arrange a date and spend a night rolling around naked with her proved that there had been time for Natasha had I been thinking straight.
‘So, what can I get you, Mr plays-it-cool?’ Natasha asked.
Bugger. I had not intended to play it cool with Natasha. Indeed, I could not remember ever purposefully playing it cool with a lady. What could I say at this point though?
‘Sorry, Natasha.’ I tried. ‘I had every intention of calling you. I lost your number.’ As I said the words I realised just how weak they sounded. ‘I planned to call you.’ Her expression and stance had not changed one bit.
‘Well, you didn’t call me, Tempest. It is what it is.’
At least she was talking. Maybe I wasn’t sunk after all and this was salvageable with a rueful smile and a heartfelt request for a second chance.
‘Just don’t bother trying to call me now.’
Or maybe not.
‘What can I get you?’ she asked again.
‘Two pints of lager, please.’ I replied glumly.
Natasha poured the drinks, took my money and deposited my change in the charity jar on the bar without asking my opinion on the matter or even looking my way. Suddenly the pub felt like a much less enticing place to visit.
I took the drinks back to the table where the chaps were all engaged in conversation.
‘What are we talking about, chaps?' I asked, sitting down.
‘Embarrassing sexual escapades.’ Answered Jagjit. ‘Hilary was just regaling us with a story. Do you want to back up and start again mate?’
Hilary took a swig of his drink and started talking. ‘So, I was seventeen and getting my first ever blow job. The girl's name was Tracy Hunt. Well, I had a bit of a dodgy tummy and I desperately needed to fart, but I figured I could hold it and there was no way I wanted her to stop. I'm sure you can all see where this is going, but there I was lying on the bed with her head bobbing up and down. It went on for ages and my need to fart got worse and worse and then I hit climax and my ability to hold it in left me. I let out a total felt-ripper of a fart that must have gone on for five seconds. By the time all the gas inside me had vented itself to atmosphere, she had already left my bedroom and the door was slamming shut.'
We were all laughing at his expense, which was the point of the story of course. Big Ben seemed to find it funnier than the rest of us though.
‘I never saw her again.' Hilary said. Big Ben snorted his drink. ‘And when I looked between my legs there was a single piece of sweetcorn that I had ejected from my bum.' Big Ben now had tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘It was like life was giving me the finger.'
‘Now that was a great story.’ Acknowledged Jagjit. ‘How about you Big Ben? You seem to get ten times as much action as the rest of us put together. You must have a couple of amusing fails in your history.’
Big Ben wiped his face with a handkerchief. ‘I don’t know about scoring any fails, but I can think of one incident that was a little embarrassing.’
‘The floor is yours.’ Jagjit indicated. We all swivelled our chairs a little to listen.
‘About a year ago I met a drop-dead gorgeous woman who just wanted to shag. I was at a party and had only been there for about ten minutes when she approached me and five minutes later we were in her car on the way to my place. Well, I must tell you she was the worst shag ever. It was like poking a mannequin. Nothing happened. She didn't make a sound or move or talk or anything. I had to check she was still alive at one point. In the end, I gave up and rolled off.'
‘I’m not sure what is embarrassing for you in any of this?’ said Hilary.
‘I'm getting to it. So, without further conversation, she went to sleep, and I was lying there awake and I still had a cock like a steel pole and I was horny now. She was super-hot to look at, so I figured I would just have a crafty wank next to her.'
‘She caught you, didn’t she?’ asked Jagjit.
‘Well, caught would be a relative term. She woke up when I threw the covers off and came on her tits.’
At that point three ladies walked into the pub, the cool air spilling in around our feet. The conversation stopped though and we all took a draught from our glasses as they passed.
They got to the bar and wer
e out of earshot. Big Ben leaned forward conspiratorially so that he could speak to us in a hushed tone. ‘I have always wondered how couples keep sex interesting when they have been together for years. I have always found that I can never see a girl for more than a week because the sex gets better for a few days and then starts to tail off after you have done all the experimenting stuff.' Thankfully he did not feel the need to graphically regale us with exactly what experimenting meant to him.
‘Anyway,' Big Ben continued ‘I have read that there is a simple way to ensure you make the lady scream during sex even when the relationship has been going on for years.'
‘Oh, yes?' said Hilary, now looking interested to hear what Big Ben had to say.
‘Yes, chaps. The trick is that you phone her up and tell her what you are doing.'
All the Women Gone. Friday, 15th October 2306hrs
As I walked home, being led my two little dogs, a thought occurred to me. I still hadn't checked my phone to see the message I had sent to Hayley. What had I sent her that had made her so angry? I read it now and saw my error immediately. I had addressed the text to Jane and not to Hayley. Jane had walked in right when I was writing it and I guess my brain misfired when I was trying to work out how to start the message. From Hayley's perspective, it must have been like saying the wrong name in bed. If read from the perspective that it was genuinely addressed to a girl called Jane, then I had been bonking her as well as Hayley. Is this why words like darling exist? To avoid such pitfalls? In just a few short days I had managed to lose every woman I had been interested in or had shown interest in me.
Hayley had seen me with Jane, put two and two together and come up with the completely wrong answer. I had already learned that she was a passionate woman, so I was telling myself that reaction was in character. Natasha's brief interest had quickly waned when I failed to call her. I had spurned Poison's advances because I felt that I should. Going home to an empty bed that could have her nakedness writhing around in it instead made me consider that it might not have been the best decision though. Sharon Maycroft had suggested she was in my debt and would be paying me with sex but that had been weeks ago, and I had not heard from her since. And Amanda, the jewel in the crown, the brightest berry on the bush, was currently in Paris have the shit romanced out of her by a multi-millionaire playboy. Mr. wriggly was so disappointed he was refusing to talk to me.
The sky was clear tonight which brought a chill to the air. The rain and clouds of the week had been keeping the temperature up. It felt like frost might come and it matched my cold mood.
Epilogue: The baby Shower. Saturday, 16th October 0900hrs
Saturday morning rolled around, and it was baby shower day. It was usual for me to have a decent lie in on a Saturday morning. My life in the Army had been filled with early morning physical training sessions which would often start at 0600hrs and thus had me out of bed a good while before that. This led to the practice of having a few pints on a Friday night and a lie in on a Saturday. Today was no different and I had stayed in bed until almost 0900hrs. The dogs had held their bladders for long enough by then, so I had rolled out of bed and let them into the garden.
While the dogs ran around outside, I went to the bathroom. I inspected my face, convinced I must have a black eye or at least some bruising from the slap Hayley gave me. There was no visible trace though, just a tugging sensation in my face as I moved my jaw.
I could hear the dogs barking to be let back in. They had completed whatever tasks they reserved for the garden and wanted their breakfast. I dealt with them, put the kettle on to make some tea and pulled out the toaster for crumpets. I love crumpets. They are not on the list of anyone's nutritious diet, but they were too good to never eat. I made my cup of tea while the toaster worked its magic and through timing born of the benefit of experience, the crumpets leapt into the air just as I was placing my cup of tea in its place on the breakfast bar. I ate four of them smothered in melting butter and then ate a pink grapefruit so that my breakfast was not just stodgy white carbs.
The baby shower would dominate my day, but my caseload was empty again, at least until Monday when I would begin looking for a new case. For now, I had nothing better to do and was glad for it. I had organised virtually every element of the baby shower and had paid for most of it from my own pocket. Had I not done so, the party would most likely have been arranged at my parent's house or the church hall and my mother would have invited dozens of little old ladies from the church who somehow knew my sister and me, but like off-screen characters in a movie, we had heard their names, but could not actually remember ever seeing them before. Instead of that, the party was at a very pleasant tea room in Rochester High Street. Rachael would have an afternoon with her friends, most of whom were still childless and several of whom were single, which was of some interest to me since I would at least be there to meet them at the start.
I bumbled around the house for a while and took the dogs for a nice walk but at 1120hrs it was time to go. I intended to make sure the venue was to my liking and would stay to greet my sister and her friends and of course my mother and her friends. The venue had a function room and would serve a thoroughly British afternoon tea with platters or freshly made sandwiches and trays of unctuous cakes and warm scones with accompanying jam and clotted cream. The place was called Fleur-de-tea, I had eaten there before which had provided the confidence that my sister would be well looked after, well fed and entirely separate from other customers. I also knew that they were not licensed, so my mother would be cut off from her usual supply of wine and would stay sober and thus more manageable for the event.
In my car on the way there, I ran through the event in my head. There were thirty guests coming, all women. I would settle my sister in as the centre of attention and make sure my mother was given pride of place next to her as the grandmother of the imminent offspring. I was balancing the sensibilities of one with the demands of the other. I introduced myself to the proprietor and exchanged a fifty pounds note for his assurance that the ladies would, in fact, be well looked after. There was a further fifty on offer if I heard a good report from the ladies later. He seemed only too pleased to take the money and do exactly as I had asked.
He asked if he could get me anything and supplied a cup of tea upon my request. I watched him make it to be sure that he used fresh water, not already boiled and thus deionised water. He knew his business though and could make a good cup of tea. He did not charge me for it, which was sensible. I would have hit him with a raised eyebrow if he had.
I relaxed with my beverage in one of the window seats just watching the world go by outside. Before my thoughts could drift, a face appeared right next to mine on the other side of the glass, and then another face right next to it. The faces belonged to Karen Archer and Sophie Sheard, two girls I had gone to school with. Only they were not girls now. I had emailed them this week to organise the party but had not communicated with either of them since we left school almost twenty years ago.
I smile at them. They waved, went to the door and came inside. Unsure of the correct protocol, I elected to get up and offer my hand to shake but Sophie got to me first and wrapped me up in a hug. Then kissed my cheek and made way for Karen to do the same.
We started chatting and generally catching up, but within minutes others joined us and then my sister arrived, bereft of children for once.
Mother would be here soon, so I escorted Rachael and her friends to the private function room and left them there.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Rachael.
‘Outside to receive mother and confiscate her wine.’
‘Will you be back?’ asked Sophie.
‘No. I think this is an event for ladies. My part in the proceedings is largely complete.’
Sophie followed me to the door. ‘See you around, Tempest. I have your contact details now.’ she gave me a smile, which I returned and then I was out of the function room and heading outside. Sophie had been flirting with m
e. It was pleasing.
I did not have to wait long for my mother. She had walked to the venue flanked by a dozen of her pensionable aged friends. I recognised a couple of them.
‘Hi, Tempest.’ Mother said as she approached.
‘Hello, mother.’
‘Why don’t you all go inside?’ I asked of the ladies with mother. ‘I just need a quick chat with my mum.’
They filed in offering greetings as they passed.
Once the last one was inside I turned back to my mother. ‘Hand it over.’ I instructed. ‘You can have it back later?’
‘Hand what over, Tempest.’ Mother replied knowing full well what I meant.
I played along though. ‘The cold bottle of wine you have hidden in your handbag.’
Mother allowed her shoulders to slump. ‘Alright, Tempest. You win.' She said and pulled a nice-looking bottle of crisp Italian Pino Grigio from the depths of her bag. ‘Anything else?' she asked, handing it over grumpily.
‘Yes, Mother. Enjoy your afternoon.’ I said kissing her cheek. ‘And remember that this afternoon is all about Rachael.’
‘Yes, Tempest.' Mother said, her tone changing to one of contentedness. She was happy to be a grandmother.
I watched as mother went inside, then left the delightful tea room behind me and headed back to my car. I stopped though as a thought occurred to me. Mother had handed over the wine far too easily.
I backtracked the few paces I had taken and peered through the window. Across the room, I could see Rachael surrounded by her friends and mother's little old ladies, all of them fussing around her and making her feel special. Exactly as it was supposed to be. Off to one side, my mother was fiddling around in her undergarments and laughing congenially with a lady I knew to be one of her closest friends. As I watched, she pulled a hip flask from its hiding place. It was undoubtedly filled with gin and was why she had given up the wine with so little fight.
