Careless Talk

by David Barry

  ‘Don’t tell me you were really going to use that excuse.’

  ‘Look, Maggie, I swear to you....’

  ‘I’ve had enough, Gary. I’ll get your things together tomorrow and you can pick them up. I’ll leave them outside the back door. But you are not coming back in this house.’

  ‘What about the kids?’

  ‘They’re at my mother’s. So leave them out of it.’

  Recovering slightly, he made one last ditch attempt to rescue the situation.

  ‘Listen Maggie, if I can prove to you where I was last night ... if I can get my mate to ring you...’

  But she had already slammed the window shut.

  ***

  As Claire placed an enormous mountain of a dinner in front of her husband, the phone rang.

  ‘Sod’s law!’ she said. ‘If it’s for you, shall I say you’re out?’

  ‘No, I’ll take it.’

  She went out into the hall and took the call, returning to the breakfast room moments later. ‘It’s for you,’ she said. ‘Someone called Gary Branston.’

  Mike frowned. ‘I only cut his hair yesterday.’ He got up from the table. ‘I wonder what he wants?’

  ‘Try not to be long. You’re dinner’ll get cold.’

  Claire tried to listen to the conversation but the washing machine, which was on its final spin, was making too much of a racket. When Mike returned he continued eating in silence before Claire asked:

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘Wanted to know if I fancy a quick drink.’

  ‘You’re not going, are you?’

  Mike stared at his food and muttered, ‘I thought I might pop out for a couple.’

  ‘I know you and your quick ones. You’ll stagger back at half-eleven tonight, reeking of booze.’

  Ten

  Any sense of responsibility Ted might have felt towards Marjorie he put behind him as he sneaked out of the house. She would be left in the darkening silence, calling out for him to attend to her needs, and he couldn’t have cared less.

  Having arranged to meet Donald at ten-past-five, he arrived breathlessly at the station five minutes late. Donald was nowhere to be seen, and Ted felt nauseous waves of irrational panic. What if Donald had gone without him? But the train wasn’t due until twenty-one minute past. Perhaps something had gone wrong. Maybe Donald had changed his mind. The thoughts of walking back across the common to face Marjorie filled him with dread. Not to mention loathing.

  Suddenly a taxi pulled up and there was Donald, waving and smiling from the back seat. Ted glanced at his watch, feeling anxious about catching the train. As Donald walked towards him, Ted thought he looked older than he remembered. A man in his mid-sixties, at least. But then he was wearing a sober, dark suit, so perhaps that aged him.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. I had to wait ages for a taxi,’ he explained. ‘I’d better get our tickets.’

  ‘I’ve already got mine,’ said Ted. ‘I don’t have to pay.’

  Donald regarded him with amusement. ‘Oh yes, I forgot - you work for the company. Well I still need a ticket.’

  As they joined the small queue at the ticket office, Ted noticed the quality of Donald’s suit and compared it to his own inferior sports jacket, with its bulging pockets. Suddenly he went hot and cold. One of the pockets contained the plastic bag with the virulent chipolatas. He had intended disposing of it on the way to the station but in all the excitement it had slipped his mind. Somehow he would have to get rid of it on the train.

  As they neared the front of the queue, Donald said, ‘I had to leave Bamber to lock up the shop. We have an antique shop in the Pantiles - jewellery and china’s our speciality. And leaving Bamber in charge is dangerous. Talk about a bull in a china shop.’

  Donald laughed uproariously at this. The person in front of him turned round to look.

  ‘Who’s Bamber?’ Ted asked, speaking quietly, hoping that Donald might do the same. But Donald was a naturally loud person and continued in stentorian decibels.

  ‘Bamber is the friend with whom I share my abode. I sometimes allow him to do some work for me; when he’s not going through a clumsy time. Unusual name, isn’t it?’

  Donald stared at Ted, waiting for a response. Ted nodded passively and it was all the encouragement Donald needed to continue.

  ‘His mother was a fan of University Challenge - poor sod! She lives in Brighton. She’s quite well off but she’s a dipsomaniac. There won’t be much left for Bamber by the time she pops her clogs. Spends every waking moment doing The Times crossword. What a waste of an agile brain. Ah! Here we are. One return to London, please.’

  They caught the train with only minutes to spare. As soon as they had settled into seats opposite one another, Donald asked: ‘Whereabouts in Tunbridge Wells do you live, Ted?’

  ‘Er - Molyneux Park Road.’

  Donald looked surprised. Ted leaned forward and explained as quietly as possible, ‘We used to live on Ramslye. Then Marjorie - my wife - inherited our house from her grandmother.’

  ‘How absolutely splendid.’

  Ted looked as if it was far from splendid. As the train moved off he leapt to his feet, excused himself and dashed to the toilet. Making certain the door was locked, he took the chipolatas out of his pocket and stuffed them into the waste bin, covering them with layers of scrunched-up paper towels. When he got back to his seat, Donald commented on how flustered he looked. Ted nodded and smiled thinly.

  ‘What’s your favourite Shakespeare play?’ Donald asked.

  Without thinking, Ted blurted out, ‘Titus Andronicus!’

  Donald frowned. ‘That’s a curious choice. Bit bloodthirsty. Bit morbid. Isn’t it the one where the queen is fed her own sons in a meat pie and collapses over the dinner table?’

  Ted looked confused. Somehow Shakespeare’s rarely performed play of mayhem and murder had slipped out of his subconscious. Now thoughts of poison and police and prison rattled about inside his head. What if Marjorie died? That would make him a murderer.

  He noticed Donald staring at him, frowning. ‘I - I don’t know why I thought of Titus Andronicus,’ he explained. ‘It’s not my favourite. Not by a long chalk. I think I like A Midsummer Night’s Dream best.’

  Donald leaned forward and tapped him on the knee. ‘You must allow me,’ he said conspiratorially, ‘to take you to the Open Air Theatre in London during the summer. It’s a magical evening.’

  ‘Could I see your tickets, please?’

  Ted looked startled. He hadn’t heard the guard approaching.

  ‘Hello, Ted,’ said the guard. ‘Where are you off to then?’

  ‘Mmm. London,’ Ted mumbled.

  ‘We’re going to see Macbeth at the Albery Theatre,’ said Donald, showing the guard his ticket.

  ‘Oh well,’ replied the guard, looking suspiciously from one to the other, ‘each to his own.’

  Donald smiled and looked across at Ted, whose hands were tightly clenched and he was blushing to the roots.

  ***

  Maggie had been on the phone to her mother for an hour. She hadn’t long hung up when it rang again. She thought it might be Gary and braced herself for another argument.

  ‘Yes!’ she snapped.

  ‘Could I speak to Gary?’

  ‘He’s not here.’

  She heard pub noises in the background. She was about to slam the phone down when the man’s voice shouted urgently over the noise:

  ‘It’s Mike Longridge. I cut your husband’s hair yesterday. Sorry about last night. I don’t suppose he’ll be allowed out to play for a while.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘It’s the longest poker session I’ve ever known. Gary did all right for the first couple of hours. But by the end of the game I think he was do
wn about two hundred. Pity I bumped into him last night. I feel it’s down to me he lost his shirt.’

  ‘He’s old enough to make his own decisions,’ she said, her voice frosty.

  ‘Well, anyway, sorry about that. You don’t know what time he’ll be back, do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  She slammed the phone down.

  At his local, Mike rejoined Gary at the bar. ‘I think it might have worked,’ he said.

  Gary slapped him on the back. ‘Cheers, mate! That’s one I owe you.’

  Eleven

  Jackie Ingbarton stared at the pile of greasy crockery in the sink. She knew she had to confront the girls about it but she hated scenes.

  ‘Oh, Vanessa....’ she began, and gestured helplessly at the draining board.

  ‘That wasn’t me,’ her daughter snapped, defensively.

  Jackie sighed long-sufferingly. ‘It never is you. Or Nicky. It’s so depressing to come home to. You could at least make the effort.’

  Vanessa ignored her mother and busied herself at the kitchen table, scrolling through the photographs on the back of her camera. Jackie switched the kettle on and started to clear a space at the sink, ready to tackle the washing-up herself.

  ‘How did it go today?’ she asked.

  ‘I did my first project. It was a photo-journalism assignment.’

  ‘How exciting!’

  Vanessa shrugged indifferently. ‘It was alright.’

  ‘What did you choose to do?’

  ‘I went down to the Animal Rights protests. I got a terrific one of Nicky with her banner. Come and have a look. You might need your glasses.’

  Jackie peeled off her rubber gloves, fumbled in her handbag for her reading glasses, then peered over Vanessa’s shoulder. She tutted disapprovingly.

  ‘I didn’t realise Nicky was so heavily involved. What about her job? If she spends all this time protesting....’

  ‘She’s due some annual leave.’

  ‘All the same, I don’t suppose the insurance company would be happy to see one of their employees protesting in public.’

  ‘Oh, Mummy, you’re so spineless.’

  Hurt, Jackie turned away from the table and returned to the sink. Vanessa, realising she had been spiteful as usual, added:

  ‘Well, you must admit, you don’t exactly stick up for yourself. Look at the way Daddy walked all over you.’

  ‘That’s because he was a....’ Jackie paused.

  ‘He was a what? You can’t even say it, can you?’

  ‘He behaved very badly.’

  ‘Oh, Mummy!’

  Jackie felt she was being pitied, and this made her suddenly very decisive. She went and sat opposite her daughter and said, ‘I was going to wait until Nicky was here. But as we seem to be ships that pass in the night, I may as well tell you my news now, while I’ve got the chance. You know I’ve been seeing Nigel?’

  ‘You never told me where you met him. He just appeared suddenly and took you out to dinner.’

  Jackie avoided eye contact with her daughter and fiddled thoughtfully with the edge of a tea towel she was clutching like a comfort blanket.

  ‘I suppose,’ continued Vanessa in a haughty, sarcastic tone, ‘he’s one of the leading lights in your amateur dramatic society.’

  ‘No, I met him through a newspaper advertisement.’

  Vanessa snorted. ‘I don’t believe this. Not a lonely hearts column?’

  Jackie felt her heart sinking like a stone. In a small voice she said, ‘He’s asked me to marry him.’

  ‘What?’

  From the incredulous expression on her daughter’s face, Jackie seemed to gain some strength. It was like being with her amateur acting society, now she felt the thrill of stepping from the wings to centre stage.

  ‘He’s an extremely nice chap. A real gentleman. And a regular churchgoer.’

  ‘So what’s the catch?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You’ve known him just over a week and already he’s proposed to you. What’s wrong with him?’

  Jackie’s voice became strident. ‘Why do you have to spoil everything? You girls ... you always spoil ... everything I do.’

  ‘Hey now just a minute! You’re not actually thinking of marrying this creep, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not thinking about it. I’ve thought about it. I’m going to say ‘yes’. And he’s not a creep.’

  ***

  The portable radio vibrated tinnily on the shelf next to the sauce bottles as Craig dipped a portion of haddock in the batter, then chucked it sizzling into the fryer. He hummed tunelessly along as Abba sang “Thank You for the Music” and didn’t hear his first customer entering. He started slightly when he looked up..

  ‘Remember me?’

  Craig recognised him immediately. It was the taxi driver; the fellow inmate from the same cell block.

  ‘Yeah, course I do. You gimme a lift the other night.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump. Sounds like you was miles away.’

  ‘Yeah, thousands of miles; lying on a golden beach, underneath a coconut palm, with several dusky maidens plying me with an exotic and intoxicating beverage.’

  The man shook his head seriously. ‘I used to have that dream when I was banged up. It don’t mean a thing. Cos you ain’t ever gonna get further than dreaming it without any gelt.’

  ‘Nope,’ Craig agreed. ‘I won’t get far on what I earn here. About as far as Uckfield, I reckon. That’s if I’m lucky.’

  The man reached across the counter and held out a fleshy hand. ‘You’ve probably forgotten. Tony Rice.’

  Craig shook Rice’s hand, a surprisingly limp handshake for such a big bloke.

  ‘Craig Thomas. You hungry? I can fix you something to eat on the house.’

  Rice declined monosyllabically, walked to the door to check that no customers were about to enter, and said, ‘The cabbying’s a dead loss. I just need something to tide me over ... just one quick job.’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ Craig said, ‘I’ve been starting to think along the same lines.’ He glanced towards the door and began to speak hurriedly. ‘You know the club where you dropped me off? I know it’s on my own doorstep but ... it’s so easy. Upstairs, outside the snooker room is the Gents toilet. And inside the toilet is a trapdoor leading to a loft. If we help each other up into the loft during eyes down in bingo....’

  ‘We can wait there till after closing and help ourselves,’ Rice finished with a grin.

  ‘Exactly. The trouble is, with my form, the finger of suspicion’s going to point my way. I’ll have to get an alibi first.’

  Rice shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I’ll get you an alibi. No worries.’

  ‘As long as it’s not a poker game. No one believes that old chestnut anymore.’

  Twelve

  Surrounded by piles of clean washing, Claire looked up from the ironing board as Mike walked into the kitchen.

  ‘You’re early,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got an hour to kill, so I thought I’d pop back for some tea.’

  ‘Was the pub closed then?’

  Ignoring the barb, Mike opened a copy of the Kent & Sussex Courier he’d picked up earlier on and came and stood next to his wife at the ironing board.

  ‘Feast your eyes on that then,’ he said, shoving the paper in front of Claire. ‘You know my client - that comedian I was telling you about? He said he’d be back in the news again. Well, that’s him. I think he’s upset the whole of High Brooms.’

  Claire glanced at the story. There was a picture of Dave Whitby posing in front of the offending car, and the caption said ‘Comedian’s Car Caper Backfires’.

  ‘I don’t think he’s come out of it as well as he hoped,�
� continued Mike brightly, oblivious to his wife’s darkening mood. ‘Mind you, he’s managed to get some publicity, which can’t be bad in his game, I s’pose. Shame he didn’t manage to hit the national papers.’

  Claire sniffed disapprovingly. ‘How pathetic can you get? I hope they throw the book at him. Stupid wally.’

  ‘It’s not entirely his fault. If his neighbour hadn’t been so territorial over his parking space....’

  ‘You sound as if you approve.’

  Mike hesitated. He could sense Claire wanted an argument. ‘Well,’ he began uncertainly, ‘it’s only a bit of a laugh.’

  ‘Oh, very amusing.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  There was a pause while she moved a pile of ironed clothes onto a chair, then struggled to take down the ironing board.

  ‘Here, let me give you a hand,’ offered Mike.

  ‘I can manage!’ she snapped, and shoved the ironing board into its cubby hole behind the fridge.

  Mike sighed and busied himself with making a pot of tea.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mike,’ said Claire. ‘I’m sorry I shouted. It’s just that everything’s ... Tom phoned to complain about the lack of advertising in the wedding supplement, as if it’s my fault. I know I’m the general dog’s-body there, but I am only a part-timer. Then I had two weeks’ washing and ironing to catch up on. And Chloe phoned.’

  She sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Mike to join her. He sensed there was more bad news on the way. He poured out two mugs of tea and sat opposite her.

  ‘What was Chloe ringing about? Is she okay?’

  ‘Andrew’s been in touch with her recently. Trying to borrow money from her.’

  Mike took a small sip of tea and slammed his mug down.

  ‘What? She’s not leant him any, has she?’

  Claire shook her head. ‘She refused. But she said she found it difficult. He wouldn’t tell her what it was for but he pleaded with her. Offered to pay her back with interest.’

  ‘What the hell is he spending his money on?’ questioned Mike. ‘Drugs? Gambling? Booze?’