by David Carter
She had never known a man who paid so much attention to his appearance and clothing. He was a modern day dandy, that’s what he was; a dandy, and she found it inspiring. It certainly inspired her to pay more attention to her own clothes and accessories and appearance, and no man had ever done that for her before. She appreciated it too, because she could see the improvement in herself.
He came back and placed the drink in front of her and sat down opposite and waited as she took a pull on the frosted glass.
‘Nice,’ she said.
He’d thought the wine dreadful, hence the leftover, but he used the moment to sip the coffee, then took another breath and began.
‘I’ve asked you round here this morning because there’s something important on my mind, something I want to say. I’ve been thinking about this for some time.’
She clasped her hands together and pulled herself closer across the table. She wanted to say: Yes I know! but managed to restrain herself, though he guessed she would interrupt, and held up his hand as if to tell her to remain silent.
Go on, go on, flashed into her head.
‘The thing is, Lin…’ and he paused as if his courage was deserting him, as if he might be having second thoughts, for she did look quite stunning that morning, sitting there opposite him, with those come on French whore painted lips, and from somewhere, probably that little demon, who seldom left him at times like these, a wicked thought germed in his mind. Perhaps he should take hold of her and yank her upstairs and strip her naked and spend Saturdays as Saturdays are really meant to be spent. What was it Melanie had said? He did whatever he wanted with me, just as you did, Gringo, just as little boys always want to do with their little girlies, something like that. Yeah, that was about right. He didn’t imagine Linda would overly protest.
He could always break the news to her afterwards, though even he thought that might be overstepping the mark a tad. No, it had to be done now. Right now.
‘The thing is, Lin…’
‘Yes, Gringo?’ she said, unable to remain silent, the excitement clear and pure as fresh snow in her pale blue eyes.
‘The thing is Lin; I think it might be time for us to call it a day.’
Linda’s mouth fell open.
She set the drink down.
For one second he thought she might throw it in his face. Gringo swallowed. Her eyes looked dead. She looked crushed. He’d really hurt her. Up till then he had no idea she thought so much about him. He thought she might cry. She didn’t say anything. Her mouth drooped. He felt dreadful. Still she didn’t speak. A tear formed in her right eye. It dribbled down her cheek. She made no attempt to hide it or mop it away. He watched it wend its way slowly down her face, like a picture from outer space of some gigantic river system.
‘I am really sorry, Lin.’
Still she remained silent and did so until he tried to speak again.
‘Why Gringo? Why?’ she bleated, as if any longer sentence would have crushed her.
‘I just don’t think it’s going anywhere.’
‘Where do you want it to go?’
‘That’s part of the issue, Lin; I don’t really want it to go anywhere at all.’
‘What a hurtful thing to say!’
‘Sorry kid,’ and he reached across and took her forearm.
Linda shrugged him away shouting: ‘Don’t call me kid!’
She thought of having to tell her mother, she pondered on how she might dress it up, how to spin it, as modern politicians might say, how to lie, in other words, and she thought of the shame of it all, and the indignity.
‘Don’t, Gringo. Please don’t. I don’t want us to finish.’
It was as near to begging as she was going to get, the nearest to begging she had been in her entire life. This couldn’t be right; the way things were turning out, for she had everything planned out before her. The house, the holidays, the kids, the schools they would attend, the groaning bottom drawer of household essentials she had been accruing for not far short of ten years, the wedding arrangements, the honeymoon, and most importantly of all, the husband, the handsome man sitting opposite her, this guy with a droopy look on his face, and an even droopier moustache that suddenly she didn’t like at all, and he, the complete dork, was saying that he didn’t want to see her anymore. Well, we’ll see about that!
‘So, you don’t want to see me anymore?’ she pouted.
‘I didn’t say that, hun, I just think we should give it a break for a while.’
It was exactly the same thing and they both knew it.
‘Well, if you don’t want to see me anymore that’s fine by me. But that also means you will never see your child. Ever! Never!’
She peered into his face and congratulated herself on firing back a pretty good arrow, and judging by the look in his eyes, it had struck home, bull’s-eye, she imagined.
‘You mean… you’re pregnant?’
Linda bobbed her head.
‘Since when?’
‘Since yesterday.’
‘But why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I came here this morning to tell you!’
‘But how can you be? You said you were on the pill. I specifically checked that you were on the pill so that things like this couldn’t and wouldn’t happen. You swore you were.’
‘They are not a hundred percent effective, so it seems.’
‘And you’re sure it’s mine?’
She wanted to reach over and smack his face, she wanted to tear that bloody stupid moustache from his head, hair by hair, root by root, she wanted to scratch out his black eyes for even suggesting such a hideous and hurtful thing.
‘How dare you! Do you think I’m sleeping with every Tom, Dick and Harry I meet? Oh here comes Staff Nurse Drayton, the Hospital bike, everyone jump on, the Princess Alexandra’s whore, the resident go easy girl, who’ll give you a good time any hour of the day or night, night shifts a speciality, no questions asked, and no strings attached. Is that what you think?’
‘No, of course not!’
‘Well why say such a hurtful thing?’
Gringo allowed some time to pass, for tempers to cool if that were possible, and then he said softly: ‘I just wanted to be sure, that’s all.’
‘You can be sure, Mister Greene, the child is yours… definitely!’
She said that as if to suggest And what are you going to do about it? and if she meant it that way, as a question, then he would answer her, as fully and as honestly as he could.
‘I’ll provide for you and the child in every way I can, but it doesn’t alter things between us. It doesn’t change the way I feel.’
‘It changes everything!’
‘No it doesn’t!’
‘Well, we’ll see about that!’ and she jumped up, gathered her bag together, and grabbed his keys from the table and ran toward the door.
‘What are you doing?’ he said, standing and starting to follow. The telephone rang. For a second he was caught in two minds. He paused and picked up the phone.
‘Hi son,’ croaked his father.
‘Just a minute, dad! Just a minute!’ and he set the phone down and ran to the front door.
Linda was in the car, his car. She’d even had time to adjust the seat and buzz down the window.
‘What are you doing? You can’t take my car!’
‘Just watch me!’
The car reversed and screamed back off the drive, Gringo running pathetically after it, trying to reach into the window, searching for the keys. He grasped the steering wheel, just as Lin was turning the car round to go forwards. He watched her lean down and bite his hand. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
‘Ow! Bitch!’ he yelled, as he retrieved his bleeding paw, leaving a clear moment for her to slip away.
‘Don’t crash the car!’ he wailed. ‘Linda, please don’t crash the car! Don’t do anything stupid!’
She paused a few yards ahead, confident that she could speed away if necessary. ‘I’ve
no intention of crashing the car,’ she yelled. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours! I need time to think!’
‘I’ll report you to the police!’
‘Do what the hell you like!’ and with that, she sped from the close with a wheel squeal, leaving Gringo standing in a mini cloud of dust and muck, as silence slowly returned. Birds tweeted. He stared about him. Two residents resumed washing their cars. Another opposite had stopped hedge clipping, gleaming birthday present shears still in hand.
‘Nice morning!’ he shouted over, the smirk on his face strong enough to shatter glass.
‘Yeah, right!’ Gringo yelled back for the benefit of them all. ‘It’s a bloody great morning!’ and with that he stormed inside and slammed the door.
The Saturday morning chores men shared a look as if to say: We shouldn’t really be surprised. That crazy guy knows a whole string of really weird women.
Inside the house Gringo noticed the phone still off the hook. His father, he had forgotten all about him. The line was dead. Greene senior had given up. Gringo couldn’t bring himself to ring the old man, not yet, not until he’d calmed down, not until later that evening. He set the phone back on the hook and when he’d done that he noticed the fresh blood on the phone.
Jeez! He uttered, staring down at the wound that suddenly hurt like hell, and when he wiped it clean, a clear indentation of her perfect teeth peered back at him, as if conveying some heavy message, as if those marks were yelling: You mean bastard!
Sixty-Two
Linda returned three hours later. He hadn’t called the police; he had never seriously considered doing that. He’d sat there pondering on the child, the burgeoning children. Melanie and her Even Steven three way bet, and now Linda insisting: Of course it’s yours! Like London buses, you wait for ten years, and then three come along all at once. Three! Hmm, he thought about that again, maybe he should be a little more careful. You hear such dreadful stories of harassed absent fathers being taken for all they are worth, committing suicide under the pressure of it all, and God knows what else.
Linda jumped from the car and hurried to the door and rang the bell, keeping her finger firmly on the buzzer. Gringo opened up and said: ‘All right, all right, where have you been?’ as he leant outside and peered at his car. It seemed okay, standing there contentedly enough, back where it belonged. If only it could talk, but of course it could. Please fasten your seatbelt.
Linda didn’t reply, but pushed past him and re-took her seat at the table. The half drunk wine was still where she’d left it. She grabbed the glass and took a sulking gulp.
‘Well?’ he said, sitting at the table.
‘Well what?’
‘Where have you been?’
‘Driving.’
‘Driving where?’
‘Just driving. I needed to clear my head.’
‘And did you?’
‘That’s up to you, isn’t it?’
He wasn’t sure what she meant by that.
‘It’s for the best, Lin.’
‘Not for me, it isn’t.’
‘It will be in the longer term. You’ll see. You’ll meet someone far better than me.’
Where had he heard that before?
‘Just at that moment that wouldn’t be too difficult.’
Gringo pulled a face. He didn’t want to appear hard but the best thing she could do was leave. It was a Saturday and he still had hope, and the time, to fix up a fresh date.
‘If you want to see your child you’re going to have to be extra nice to me.’
‘I’m always nice to you.’
‘Not today you weren’t! You were truly horrible!’
He couldn’t argue with that.
Being dumped is never a pleasant experience.
‘I’ll do whatever you want,’ he said, a desperate effort to placate her, to send her on her way.
‘I want us to stay together.’
‘That’s not going to happen, Lin. It’s something you have to face.’
He glanced across at her suddenly lined face. She appeared close to tears.
‘As I said, Gringo Greene, if you’re not nice to me, a hell of a lot nicer than this, then you can kiss your child goodbye,’ and she stood up and slurped the dregs of the wine, and grabbed her bag and made for the door.
Gringo followed, pleading, ‘Linda, don’t be like that. Look, give me a ring in a day or two and we’ll sort something out.’
She didn’t reply. Why should she? Is this really all she meant to him? She’d given him the most momentous news of his entire life and all he could say was Give me a ring in a day or two and we’ll sort something out in that pathetic whining voice of his, as if they were arranging to go to the cinema or something equally uninspiring. It just wouldn’t do, and by then she was outside and opening up her little Ford.
‘Take care, yeah,’ he shouted, though whether she heard him or not he wasn’t sure.
She reversed from the drive without looking at him once, and fled the close.
As it turned out he didn’t fix up a date for that night, he didn’t even try, contenting himself with a long and rambling telephone call to his father that evening, and in the writing of a brief letter…. to a woman.
Dear Julie,
As you can see I have been thinking about you today so I thought I’d drop you a little line. I wanted to congratulate you on your very grand promotion and to say that Newcastle is not so far away. I could hop on a plane or a train anytime and be with you in a few hours. We could have dinner together somewhere nice and quiet. Would you like that, Ms Cairncross?
I know I would.
You know my email address, you know my postal address, you know my telephone number, you know where I live, all you have to do is contact me and I shall be there.
Us Feb twenty-niners must stick together.
All my love,
Gringo
XXX
He wasn’t sure of an address but simply wrote on the envelope: Ms Julie Cairncross, Head of VAT, Newcastle-on-Tyne, and he would slip it in the post box on the way to work. If it arrived, it arrived, if it didn’t, it didn’t, c’est la vie. Sometimes fate must be trusted to take a hand in these things, and increasingly, Gringo was a believer in fate.
On the Monday morning as Rebecca came to his office bearing gifts, fistfuls of invoices and dockets that had to be processed and initialled by him before close of play that day, he ordered her to shut the office door and sit down. This was new, she thought. Maybe she was in trouble again, maybe she’d been awarded a pay increase or a promotion, and not before time.
He came straight to the point.
‘What are you doing tonight?’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yeah, I thought we could go out for dinner or something, just you and me, somewhere nice.’
She noticed he sounded slightly desperate, and that was different too. It wasn’t like him at all, and was a big turnoff, not that it made any difference.
‘I can’t Gringo.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, Billy the kid and me, over the past couple of weeks, we’ve sort of become an item, you know how it is, and I couldn’t cheat on him, not young Billy, he’d be devastated. Why on earth didn’t you ask me before? You knew I was interested in you back then. You just seemed to ignore me.’
‘Did I?’ he reflected. ‘I was probably involved with someone else at the time. You know how it is.’
‘Yeah, course I do. I know how it is. Is that everything, Gringo?’
‘Yeah, sure, Rebecca, that’s everything.’
She stood up, flashed a nervous smile as if to say, what have I done now, I hope I haven’t upset him, and then she opened the door and left.
The phone rang and he snatched it up.
‘Reach for the sky, man!’
‘How are you doing, Paul?’
‘Not so good, actually.’
‘What’s up, pal?’
‘Wedding’s off.’
‘Oh no
, what’s the matter this time?’
‘Mutual decision, really.’
‘So no Pres-bee-teerian?’
‘No Press-bee-damned-nothing!’ he said, forcing a laugh.
‘Sorry to hear that, Paul. You seemed so well suited.’
‘Yeah, well, never mind, plenty more fish in the sea.’
Yeah, thought Gringo, but not so many seven feet tall shortsighted chicks.
‘Anyway, I’ll have to go, eighty calls to make. I’m ringing round giving everyone the news, trying to get them to cancel buying expensive wedding presents before it’s too late.’
‘Oh yeah, course,’ said Gringo, pondering on that very thought, for he had never once considered buying the now not-so-happy-couple a wedding present. Oh well, one less thing to worry about that he hadn’t thought of worrying about before.
‘We’ll have a beer one night,’ suggested Gringo.
‘Yeah, course we will,’ and with that the big man was gone.
At home that evening Gringo’s phone rang just after eight as the telly programmes were changing. He’d often noticed that pattern. Telly programme ends, phone rings.
‘Hi Gringo.’
His heart skipped a beat.
He sat up and paid attention. Glenda.
‘Hi Glen, how are you doing?’
‘I’m fine. How are you?’
‘I’m cool, you know, ticking over.’
Great, he thought, at what point do I ask her out?
‘I’ve something to tell you, Gringo, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.’
He slumped in his chair. This was something he did not want to hear, he instinctively knew it from the corn on his little toe to the tip of the longest hair on his head.
‘Oh yeah, like what?’
‘Harry’s been offered the VP,’ and then she explained herself, assuming that Gringo would not be familiar with American banking terms, ‘Vice President, in a branch of the bank… in Argentina.’
