At Dead of Night

by Tony Whelpton

  Unbeknown to Roy, as soon as the policemen had finished interviewing him, they then drove straight to Marilyn’s house, where they rang the bell. They had more luck than Roy had done, for Marilyn actually answered the door, whereupon they informed her that Roy’s father had been in touch with them and suggested that his son had been driving recklessly, and they spent the next sixty minutes interrogating her before going on their way. In truth they learnt nothing significantly new from Marilyn, who spent most of her time trying to ensure that her replies to their questions did not incriminate her, for she was well aware that Roy’s erratic driving had been caused more by her own hysterical behaviour than by his negligence – in that she had suddenly opened the passenger door and threatened to jump out while they were doing at least 30 miles an hour through the centre of Cheltenham! It was no more than an accidental by-product of this that led to her not giving the police any evidence detrimental to Roy.

  Although Marilyn had actually had rather less wine at the restaurant than Roy had given the policemen to believe, once the officers had taken leave of her she did indeed open a bottle of white wine and, within a matter of seconds was already on her second glass, as she went over in her mind the events of the evening, in particular her conversation with Roy.

  At length, at some time between one and two o’clock in the morning, she started to worry that Roy might think that she herself had got in touch with the police. The more she thought about this, the more she became convinced that she must let him know that she had not been responsible for the police involvement. But on what number should she contact him? She had not phoned him in the two months since he had moved out; even when she wanted to suggest that they might meet that evening to talk things over, she had written him a letter because she did not know his telephone number, and for the previous two years she had not needed to call him because they had been living under the same roof. Eventually the thought occurred to her that his number would probably be in one of her old diaries, which she kept in a drawer in her desk, so she went to look and, sure enough, she found the one which referred to the year before he had moved in with her, and there she found his name and two telephone numbers, one for his mobile and one for a landline. A moment’s thought made her ignore the mobile number, for she recalled his having told her he had changed his mobile phone a couple of months previously, so she found herself, shortly after two o’clock in the morning, dialling the number of his landline.

  She heard the number ringing out, but for what seemed to be an age there was no answer, so she poured another glass of wine. Still the tone continued sounding. She had another drink. Then, at last, she heard a man’s voice at the other end of the line, a voice which lacked clarity, which seemed full of sleep – which should not have been surprising to her given the time, but she was beyond rational thought by that stage.

  ‘Hello,’ she heard.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ a man’s voice answered.

  ‘Are you listening?’ she continued, but for what seemed like an eternity there was no answer.

  ‘Are you listening?’ she asked again.

  ‘Yes, I’m listening,’ said the voice.

  ‘This is very important,’ she said very slowly and deliberately. ‘I did not call the police. It was your family who called the police.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about? What do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about…’

  She ignored his protestations and hung up, satisfied that she had done all that was necessary to salve her conscience; if Roy did not understand what she was saying, she thought, that was his problem, not hers.

  She finished off the bottle of wine and took herself to bed, where she slept for at least ten hours, for it was lunchtime before she was able to force her eyes to open sufficiently wide to be able to see the clock.

  At about the time when Marilyn was climbing drowsily out of bed, Ben was telephoning his son Roy, for he still had not spoken to him about what he and Sylvia had observed from the taxi the previous evening.

  ‘Hello, Dad,’ said Roy as soon as he picked up the phone.

  ‘Hi Roy,’ said Ben, ‘how on earth did you know it was me?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got caller identity on my new phone.’

  ‘You’ve got what?’

  ‘Caller identity.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a facility on my new mobile which displays the number of the person that’s calling you when it starts to ring.’

  ‘So it shows you who’s calling before you answer?’

  ‘Yes. It’s quite useful really, because it enables you to decide whether you want to answer the phone or not. If the phone rings and I don’t recognise the number that comes up, I tend not to answer.’

  ‘That sounds useful. We have so many calls these days from people who want to sell us double glazing, or insurance, or God knows what else! And it might have enabled me to avoid a phone call I had about two o’clock this morning! But I suppose I would still have been woken up when the phone rang!’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know! I suppose it was someone who dialled the wrong number. But whoever it was, she was talking a lot of nonsense!’

  ‘You didn’t recognise her voice?’

  ‘No. That is, it did seem vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She asked me if I was listening, because it was very important. Then she said, “I did not call the police. It was your family that called the police.”‘

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told her I had no idea what she was talking about, but she had already rung off by the time I said that.’

  ‘So you never found out who she was?’

  ‘No, I didn’t, but it was so obviously a wrong number that I just put it out of my mind and went back to sleep. Talking about phone calls, I tried to call you last night, but you didn’t answer.’

  ‘No, I was out last night.’

  ‘Anywhere nice?’

  ‘Not bad. We went to an Indian restaurant in Rodney Road.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘Oh, I went out with Marilyn.’

  ‘Marilyn? I didn’t think you were still seeing her….’

  ‘I wasn’t, but she wanted to talk, so we went out for a meal.’

  ‘And are you back together?’

  ‘No, we aren’t, there’s no chance of that.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a pity, I liked Marilyn.’

  ‘I used to.’

  ‘Oh, I see. That sounds pretty final.’

  ‘Yes, I think it is.’ Roy thought of telling his dad what they had been discussing, but decided it was not something he wanted to discuss at the moment, and in any case not over the phone.

  ‘That’s funny,’ said Ben. ‘It’s just occurred to me whose voice that woman on the telephone reminded me of – it sounded a bit like Marilyn. But of course it couldn’t have been.’

  ‘No, of course it wouldn’t have been,’ replied Roy, who was less convinced than he sounded. ‘Anyway, Dad, I’ve got to go out. I’ll give you a call a bit later on, or else tomorrow, okay?’

  ‘Okay, Roy,’ said Ben, as he put down the phone.

  Roy sat down and thought about the conversation which he had just been having with his father, for there was something at the back of his mind which was making him feel uneasy. He took out his phone again and dialled Marilyn’s number.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Hello, Marilyn, it’s Roy.’

  ‘Hi, Roy,’ she said. ‘Are you still mad with me?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you were furious with me last night, so I was just wondering if you still felt the same today.’

  ‘I’m not still angry, no, but I still don’t understand you. As I said last night, I would still be willing to marry you.’

  Marilyn completely ignored his answer and pressed on.

>   ‘Have you spoken to your family this morning?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve just been speaking to my dad. Why?’

  ‘Did he talk about the police?’

  ‘What about the police?’

  ‘You know, last night… I told you when I rang you last night…’

  ‘But you didn’t ring me last night. We went out to a restaurant, don’t you remember?’

  ‘Of course I remember, but no, it was after that. It was in the middle of the night that I called you.’

  ‘You didn’t call me in the middle of the night! The last time I spoke to you was when I dropped you home after we’d been to the restaurant. You ran into the house and bolted the door! I rang the doorbell goodness knows how many times, but you still wouldn’t open it! If you’d really had something to say to me, it might have been better to open the door! What time did you ring?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly, but I suppose it was about two o’clock or something like that. It was well after the police came to see me, I know that.’

  ‘The police came to see you? What about?’

  ‘About your driving.’

  ‘What about my driving?’

  ‘When you drove me home from the restaurant you were driving erratically, they said, and you demolished a traffic bollard. They told me that they’d been talking to you about it.’

  ‘Yes, they stopped me on the way home from your place. Then they asked me where I’d been and who with, and made me tell them where you lived.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. I wanted to keep you out of it, but they insisted.’

  ‘I was afraid that you thought that it was I who had reported you to the police. That’s why I called you late last night.’

  ‘Yes, you said that before! But you didn’t call me last night!’

  ‘I did!’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘I’ve already told you! I don’t know exactly what time it was, but I suppose it must have been about two o’clock.’

  ‘I was asleep at that time! I obviously didn’t hear the telephone.’

  ‘So why did you answer it?’

  ‘Answer it?’ Roy questioned incredulously.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘So what did I say?’

  ‘Not very much at all. You sounded as if you were still asleep.’

  ‘I’m not surprised! I was! I can assure you that I didn’t speak to you or anybody else once I got home. I had a coffee and then went go bed.’

  ‘Well, somebody answered my call, so who could it have been?’

  At last Roy spotted a glimmer of light at the end of the dark tunnel. ‘Well, tell me this – what number did you actually call? A few months ago, when I changed my mobile, I offered to tell you my new number, and you said you didn’t want it, so it couldn’t have been on my mobile!’

  ‘No, it wasn’t on your mobile, because I didn’t know your mobile number! It was on your landline.’

  ‘But I don’t have a landline. When I moved into my new place I decided it wasn’t worth bothering with a landline, because I’m out a lot, and even when I’m at home, I always have my mobile with me. I suppose you looked in the phone book and saw somebody with the same surname, did you?’

  ‘No, I found your number in one of my old diaries.’

  ‘Oh, I understand now. For you to have my landline number in your diary, it must have been a diary dating back to before we started living together! That must mean that you called my parents’ house! I suppose you didn’t say to the person who answered, by any chance, that you didn’t call the police, it was their family that called the police, did you?’

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I said! So, if you didn’t get my call, how do you know what I said?’

  ‘Because my dad told me.’

  ‘Your dad?’

  ‘Yes, my dad! You were searching for a number in an old diary, and you found what used to be my number when I was still living with my parents! No wonder my dad was mystified!’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. I thought I was talking to you…’

  ‘But you weren’t.’

  ‘I know. I’d had a lot to drink last night.’

  ‘You didn’t have a lot at the restaurant!’

  ‘I know I didn’t, but after I got home I did. I needed to steady my nerves after you’d driven me home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You ought to know! I’ve never been so scared in a car before!’

  ‘It was your fault!’

  ‘How could it have been my fault? You were the one who was driving! You even knocked down a traffic bollard!’

  ‘Only because you said you were going to jump out of the car!’

  ‘I was only kidding!’

  ‘Only kidding! So why did you start to open the car door?’

  Marilyn refused to admit that she had opened the door while Roy was driving, so Roy changed the subject.

  ‘But I want to talk about our baby,’ he said. ‘You were obviously embarrassed about discussing it in the restaurant last night, even though you were the one that brought it up. You had told me there was something we needed to talk about, and suggested spending the evening together, and when I asked you what your news was, you told me you were pregnant, and we never got to the point where we had the ‘civilised conversation’ that you said you wanted!’

  ‘Well, I’m not.’

  Roy could not believe his ears. ‘You’re not what?’

  ‘No, I’m not pregnant.’

  ‘So why did you say you were?’

  ‘To see what your reaction would be.’

  ‘And what was my reaction?’

  ‘You said you wanted to marry me.’

  ‘So why was that the wrong reaction?’

  ‘I’m not the marrying kind. And I didn’t think you were either.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You never suggested marriage even while we were living together, not even once!’

  ‘Neither did you, by the way!’

  ‘I told you I’m not the marrying kind. Do you have a problem with that?’

  ‘Not in itself. But I wouldn’t care to be married to a wife that’s a liar.’

  ‘I’m not a liar! How dare you?’

  ‘Well, last night you told me you were pregnant. This morning you’re telling me you’re not. So you were either lying last night or you’re lying this morning. Which is it? No, on second thoughts, don’t tell me, I don’t care any more! You don’t want me, and now I’ve seen what you’re really like, I don’t want you either! Goodbye!’

  With that he switched off his phone, and immediately went out to make his peace with his parents and explain to them the mystery of the phone call they had received at dead of night.

  As soon as he had typed the words, ‘the mystery of the phone call they had received at dead of night’, David printed off the story and handed it to his wife.

  ‘I’ll read that straight after lunch,’ said Margaret.

  After lunch Margaret took David’s typescript into the conservatory and read his story; as soon as she had finished she went to David’s study and told him she’d read it.

  ‘What did you think of it?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘I think it’s very good,’ she said, ‘but I’m not sure I understand the girl’s motivation…’

  ‘You mean Marilyn? I don’t think she understands it herself. She’s quite a mixed up girl!’

  ‘You can say that again! But it doesn’t quite ring true to me. She informs Roy that she’s pregnant, and when he tells her he’s willing to marry her, she says she’s not the marrying kind. I wouldn’t react like that!’

  ‘But you’re of a different generation, and you are the marrying kind, thank God! And you wouldn’t have dreamt of telling me you were pregnant if you weren’t, would you?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t dream of it! I can’t understand it. She’s a nasty piece of work, that girl!’

  ‘Yes, I think she’s a
nasty piece of work too. You’re not suggesting that I shouldn’t have any characters in my stories who aren’t purer than the driven snow, are you?’

  ‘Certainly not! I wouldn’t think of saying anything of the sort! But if she had gone to live with Roy and stayed with him for two years, why on earth would she suddenly have kicked him out?’

  ‘Because she’s basically self-centred.’

  ‘But it’s not even in her own interests, is it? I suppose there might be some women who are as self-centred as that, but I can’t think of any that I know!’

  ‘I’m not sure I know any either, but what does that matter? Look at it this way: an author has to invent characters of a type he’s never come across in real life. Quite a few of my stories have involved murderers, haven’t they? And as far as I know, nobody of my acquaintance is a murderer. I hope you’re not saying that if I don’t know any murderers I shouldn’t have any in my stories?’

  ‘No, of course not!’

  ‘Thank God for that! I’d hate to be limited to inventing characters who resemble people I know! As it is, the idea for that story came to me after I’d been talking to George Smithers at the tennis club a couple of weeks ago. He told me that his daughter-in-law had just kicked out her husband after more than ten years of marriage, because she wanted to live her own life and she didn’t need him any more.’

  ‘Do they have children?’

  ‘Yes, I think they do.’

  ‘That’s appalling!’

  ‘I think so too, but it’s the sort of thing that can happen sometimes these days. They call it empowerment. They believe that women don’t need men.’

  ‘That’s not empowerment! Empowerment is to do with preventing women being subservient.’

  ‘I know that, you know that, but not everybody does! There are obviously some women who are fundamentally selfish, and who use the notion of empowerment in order to indulge their own selfishness. Not everybody is as good-natured as you are!’

  ‘Flatterer! Okay, I agree, you can have nasty women in your books, as long as you don’t have any in your life! But there’s something else that’s bothering me a bit about that story too…’