Careless Talk

by David Barry

  He’d learnt that much from his brother-in-law: if they’ve got no evidence, and you deny it, they can’t prove a thing.

  Seven

  ‘Sorry to drag you all the way to Crowborough just to trim this bit,’ said Nigel Pooley, tugging at a small tuft of hair at the end of his parting. ‘But this will drive me doolally.’

  ‘I know you like a regular trim,’ grumbled Mike, ‘but I only cut it four days ago.’

  ‘Yes I know. I expect it’s me being a fusspot,’ continued the salesman. ‘But I’m pitching to an important client this afternoon.’ He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘And I have a meeting with a lady this evening.’

  Mike didn’t bother to disguise the lack of interest in his tone. ‘This the one you were telling me about? The one who answered your ad in the lonely hearts column?’

  Nigel sniggered like a mischievous child. ‘This is another one. I’ve had a good response from the advert. Of course, there were one or two that were a bit - how shall I put it? - a bit suspect. But I’ve whittled it down to three possibles, including the one I’m having dinner with tomorrow night.’

  Mike stared closely at the top of his client’s hair and carefully snipped the tiniest bit.

  ‘That should do it.’

  He undid the protective mantle round Nigel’s neck and gently shook it onto the carpet, taking care to do it away from the desk and computer.

  ‘I know you missed that tuft of hair the other night,’ said Nigel. ‘But I’d be happy to pay you five pounds for your trouble.’

  Mike shook his head. ‘I was passing anyway.’ He was annoyed because he’d had his hairdressing skills brought into question.

  ‘I’d feel better if you took it,’ offered Nigel, tentatively holding out a ten pound note. ‘Only I haven’t anything smaller.’

  ‘That settles it then,’ replied Mike. ‘Neither have I.’

  He noticed the tenner had disappeared back into Nigel’s wallet pretty sharpish.

  ‘Oh well,’ said the salesman, ‘you must allow me to buy you a drink one of these days.’

  Chance would be a fine thing thought Mike. He nodded non-committally and moved towards the door. Nigel placed a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Something bothering you, Mike? You don’t seem to be your usual self.’

  ‘Oh, just the problems everyone has with teenagers. God knows what my son spends his money on. I wish I knew.’

  ‘Could it be drugs?’

  Mike thought about it. ‘I don’t think so. I hope not.’

  ‘That’s one of the biggest scourges in society today - lack of meaning; lack of direction. Perhaps your son needs some spiritual guidance. I’d be happy to come and have a word with him.’

  For once Mike was lost for words. Nigel continued.

  ‘I could explain to him the way to discover a deeper meaning to life.’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to be rude,’ Mike almost snapped, ‘but he’d see you coming a mile off.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I mean he’d be suspicious if you tried to sell him something. You’re a salesman: you start peddling God to him and he’ll back off straight away.’

  Mike thought he might have gone too far, but Nigel was thick-skinned and saw all heathens as potential prospects.

  ‘We’re all salesmen,’ he began smoothly. ‘Everyone in the world is selling something. Some of us sell good things, while others sell bad things. Like drugs dealers, for instance....’

  Mike edged nearer the door. ‘I really must....’

  ‘What’s your son’s name?

  ‘Andrew.’

  Nigel suddenly produced a paperback book with the eye-defying speed of a conjuror and thrust it at Mike. ‘Please give Andrew this, with my compliments. He might read it; he might not. But I hope he does. It may save him.’

  Mike accepted it and read the title. He wondered what his son’s reaction would be to The Search for Truth.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘One of Andy’s favourite films is Monty Python’s Life of Brian. He should enjoy this.’

  Nigel looked blank. It was wasted on him.

  Grinning, Mike added, ‘I expect you’ve led a sheltered life.’

  ***

  Exotic Savoury Dips caught Marjorie’s eye. She picked up the packet, read the ingredients on the back, sniffed noisily, then put it back on the cold shelf. She walked on up the supermarket aisle slowly, with Ted following closely, pushing the trolley.

  ‘I’m looking for something special,’ she explained. ‘Something what’ll go down well with a few schooners of cream sherry.’

  Ted was churning with agony inside. He glanced at his watch. Only another seven hours before he was due to meet Donald at the station. As he saw the exciting prospect of the trip to London to see the Royal Shakespeare Company slipping away, he was suddenly stirred into action.

  ‘I don’t think I can face Alec and Freda tonight.’

  Marjorie turned slowly to face him, incomprehension spread across her face. ‘What?’

  ‘I said I don’t think....’

  ‘I heard what you said,’ she snapped. ‘You’ve been behaving peculiar all week. What’s wrong with asking Alec and Freda over? Just because we live in Molyneux Park now, they’ll think us stand-offish if we don’t.’

  ‘It’s just...’ he stammered, ‘I ... I ... might have to go out tonight.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Go out? Go out where?’

  ‘Um...union meeting,’ he said lamely.

  She tutted and turned away from him. ‘Don’t be stupid. We’ve never been one for unions.’

  He knew it was a stupid excuse. But how could he possibly tell her the truth? Tell her he was going out with a man he’d met in the pub. A total stranger. He could imagine what her reaction would be. But he was determined that he should go. This time she would not stand in his way.

  ‘Marjorie,’ he said. ‘I’ll just go outside and order our taxi. I’ll get a better signal outside.’

  ‘Use the supermarket phone. It’s free.’

  ‘The firm I use is cheaper,’ he lied.

  He knew she wouldn’t argue with that. But she still had to have the last word.

  ‘Tell them quarter past,’ she commanded as he walked towards the exit. Outside in the Sainsbury’s car park, before phoning the taxi firm, he telephoned Alec and Freda and apologised for having to cancel their arrangements that evening. He was now committed to his contingency plan. There was no turning back. Come hell or high water, Marjorie was not going to stand in his way. Even if she had to suffer the consequences.

  Eight

  While Marjorie unpacked the shopping, Ted took a packet of pork chipolatas out of the fridge and placed them next to the cooker. Marjorie eyed them suspiciously.

  ‘What’s that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Pork chipolatas,’ he retorted boldly, feeling braver now that he had committed himself to scuppering his wife’s plans for tonight.

  ‘I can see that!’ she snapped. ‘When did you take them out of the freezer?’

  Last night, when you said we’d go to Sainsbury’s first thing this morning. I thought you might like a cooked breakfast afterwards.’

  ‘Oh did you? And who’s going to cook it? I’ve got a pile of ironing to get through.’

  ‘I don’t mind cooking it,’ Ted offered innocently, avoiding her gaze and unwrapping the sausages. He held his breath, hardly daring to cast a glance in her direction. He could feel her eyes boring into him. Was she suspicious? What if she said she wasn’t hungry. And what if the chipolatas were to smell disgusting? There was so much of his plan that he had left to chance.

  ‘As long as you don’t get under my feet while I unpack the shopping,’ said Marjorie.

  ‘You’d like
some breakfast then?’

  She snorted disdainfully. ‘I just said I did, didn’t I?’

  Ted tried to control the crafty smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. As Marjorie turned away to unpack a plastic shopping bag, he secretly sniffed the sausages. They had a slightly sweet aroma and he wondered if this was normal. It would be just his luck if they turned out to be perfectly innocuous after all the trouble he’d taken. Surely they couldn’t. He had taken them out of the freezer on Tuesday, sneaked them into his sports bag, taken them with him on the train all day, then put them back in the freezer in the evening. Wednesday night he’d left them to defrost overnight at the bottom of the airing cupboard, followed by another spell in the freezer until last night. No. They couldn’t possibly be safe to eat.

  ‘Mmm, that smells good,’ said Marjorie once he’d got the bacon and sausages cooking under the grill. ‘I feel quite peckish now.’

  ‘How many eggs d’you want?’

  ‘Just the one. I’ll have four of them chipolatas, though. They smell really nice.’

  While Marjorie took a fresh bottle of bleach and disinfectant upstairs, Ted laid the table carefully and dished out the breakfast. The hard part was yet to come. The part where he had to get rid of his own sausages.

  ‘It’s on the table!’ he called, then impulsively snatched a chipolata off his own plate, broke another one in half, and hastily transferred the one and a half sausages into the plastic bag he kept in his jacket pocket for this purpose. Now he only had two and a half chipolatas to somehow sneak into his pocket while Marjorie was at the table with him. And this he planned to do while she got up to get the milk which he had deliberately forgotten to put on the table.

  ***

  Craig had just finished frying the first batch of fish and chips when his sister dashed breathlessly into the shop. She threw his wage packet onto the counter.

  ‘Sorry, love, I know we normally pay you on Thursday, but I’ve been up to my eyes.’

  He started to tear open the envelope. ‘What’s wrong with Gary then? Is it too much like hard work to visit one of his chip shops from time to time?’

  ‘I can’t stop, Craig. I’ve left the car on a double-yellow.’

  ‘Maggie!’

  She stopped in the doorway. He could see her eyes were red and puffy, as if she’d been crying.

  ‘You’re the one who does all the running around, looking after your husband’s business empire.’

  She smiled weakly at his sarcasm. ‘Well,’ she shrugged, ‘you know how it is.’

  ‘Yeah, too right I do.’

  He flicked quickly through the notes in his wage packet, a pitifully lean amount for the hours he’d worked. He felt angry suddenly.

  ‘He’s walking all over you, Maggie. And you just let him.’

  ‘Not anymore, love. I’ve had enough. This time he’s gone too far.’

  ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘He never come home last night. Went out about half-ten - a business meeting he said.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘What do you think, Craig?’ she snapped; then added in a more apologetic tone: ‘But there was nothing I could do to prove otherwise.’

  ‘So where is he now?’

  ‘How should I know? I told you: he never come home.’

  Craig slammed the metal lid shut on the fish fryer. But this wasn’t enough to assuage his temper, so he kicked over the rubbish bin, which fortunately was empty.

  He always lashed out at inanimate objects when he was angry.

  ‘The bastard!’ he yelled. ‘I’ll be round your place tonight and I shall have ‘im.’

  ‘No you won’t, Craig. Because if he comes home between now and tonight, I’m gonna....’

  Craig didn’t find out what his sister had in mind, because at that moment the first customer of the day entered.

  ‘I’ll see you then, Craig,’ said Maggie as she hurried away.

  The customer, an elderly woman in a headscarf and massive overcoat, watched her leaving, then regarded Craig suspiciously. She knew she had interrupted a scene and would have loved to know more of what had gone on.

  ‘Oh dear!’ she said, nodding at the waste bin lying on its side. ‘Had an accident, love?’

  ***

  Ted glanced at his watch. It was four o’clock. Only another hour to go until he had to meet Donald. And still there was no indication that the chipolatas had worked. He stared across the kitchen table at Marjorie, who was reading Woman’s Realm and noisily slurping tea. Suddenly she winced painfully and a low animal moan came from the depths of her stomach.

  ‘Marjorie!’ exclaimed Ted with exaggerated concern. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Marjorie ran from the room and just about made it to the downstairs cloakroom before throwing up in the small hand basin.

  As Ted listened to the revolting sound of her retching, a grin spread across his face. Eureka! he thought. It worked.

  Nine

  Having spent the last two days waiting for a reaction from his neighbour across the street, Dave Whitby was bitterly disappointed. He had left the clapped out Nova right outside the bloke’s house on Wednesday afternoon; it was now Friday evening and still the proverbial hadn’t hit the fan. Then, as he was about to leave for his Masonic do in Folkestone, the doorbell rang.

  ‘Bingo!’ he cried and, picking up his dinner jacket, he walked to the front door, singing loudly: ‘It must be him, please make it him or I shall die.’

  He flung open the door. The neighbour stood framed in the doorway, blocking out the fading light.

  ‘Is that your heap of junk?’

  Dave took his time replying, enjoying the situation.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You know damn well what I’m talking about. That eyesore you’ve parked outside our house is yours presumably? Or does it belong to some other ignoramus?’

  ‘If you are referring to Betty,’ Dave began, ‘you are talking about the vehicle I have fallen for. It was love at first sight, you see. She may not be the best looking car in the world, but Betty’s got character - which is more than I can say for a lot of people not a million miles from here. Betty’s poor old tired body may be blemished....’

  ‘That vehicle,’ interrupted the neighbour, jerking a thumb in the direction of the Nova, ‘is committing an offence. And I’d like you to move it.’

  Dave stared defiantly at the man. ‘Oh, yes? What offence am I committing. Pray do tell.’

  ‘Well, it’s hardly roadworthy, is it? Consequently it means it’s parked illegally.’

  Dave shook his head. ‘You’re out of luck, sunshine. That car is taxed for another couple of months - which I intend renewing - and I’ve insured it. Admittedly she failed her MOT - poor old cow! - but I only bought her because I knew how attractive she’d look outside your gaff.’

  There was a wounded, incredulous expression surfacing on the man’s face. ‘You mean you’ve gone to all this trouble and expense of buying an old banger just to upset us?’

  Dave was lost for words suddenly. ‘Well...’

  ‘God! You’re pathetic.’

  The neighbour turned and began to walk away. Dave felt he was losing control of the situation. ‘You’re the one who’s pathetic, getting territorial about parking. This is to teach you a lesson.’

  The neighbour looked back and spoke calmly and confidently. ‘Didn’t you wonder why I didn’t storm round here straight away when I discovered it was your car? It’s because I wanted to speak to a solicitor friend of mine first. And I’m afraid you’re the one who’s out of luck. A car deliberately abandoned like that will be considered an obstruction. So you’ll have to move it or pay a fine. Too bad. You’ve chucked your money down the drain.’

  The man gave Dave a smile befor
e walking away.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Dave called after him. ‘Wait till the press gets hold of this, we’ll see who looks pathetic then.’

  But as the comedian stood watching his neighbour returning to his own house, he suddenly felt very unsure of himself.

  ***

  When Gary tried to unlock the front door his key wouldn’t fit. At first he couldn’t work out what the problem was, then he noticed how shiny and new the lock was. The penny dropped.

  Cursing quietly, he strode across the front lawn, hoping Maggie hadn’t done the back door as well.

  ‘You needn’t bother trying the back door. That lock’s been changed as well.’

  He hadn’t heard the bedroom window opening. He craned his neck back, shielding his eyes from the last rays of sunlight, and stared up into Maggie’s resentful face.

  ‘What’s going on, Maggs?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t want to ring you. It was too late to disturb you.’

  ‘Oh!’ she yelled sarcastically. ‘You’re so thoughtful, Gary.’

  He looked towards the street, hoping there were no neighbours passing on their way home from work.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she shouted. ‘Am I ruining your image?’

  He had always been proud of his manipulation skills and his ability to smooth-talk his way out of any tricky situations; but this time he realised he had gone too far.

  ‘Please, Maggs,’ he pleaded, ‘let’s talk about this.’

  ‘No way. You are not coming back into this house. You can go back to whoever you were with last night.’

  ‘It’s not like you think it is.’

  ‘Don’t treat me like an idiot.’

  She was about to close the window.

  ‘Maggie! At least give me a chance to explain.’

  ‘I’ve heard it all before. What’s the story this time? How you had one too many drinks and fell asleep on a mate’s sofa?’

  He gazed up at her, his mind a blank. She had word for word guessed what his excuse would be. And his silence proved she was right.