Careless Talk

by David Barry

  ‘Whatever it is, the problem’s going to get worse. He’ll be eighteen in three months’ time, and he’ll get the inheritance Mum and dad left him.’

  ‘Oh, hell!’ moaned Mike. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’

  ‘I hadn’t.’

  ‘What the hell will he do with ten grand?’

  ***

  Gary was on his best behaviour, pretending he was suffering guilt and remorse from losing so much on a poker game. All week Maggie had been watching his every move and he knew he didn’t dare put a foot wrong. The atmosphere was strained but at least he was back in his house. Things would soon be back to normal. Unfortunately, he hadn’t anticipated that Sharon would be so stupid as to call him at home. Why couldn’t she text him on his mobile, then none of this would have happened?

  He was out in the garden being a model father and playing with the children when the phone rang. He dashed into the house but Maggie got there first.

  ‘Hello? Hello?’

  Maggie listened for a moment, replaced the receiver, picked it up again and dialled 1-4-7-1. Then she wrote a number down on a notepad and started to redial.

  ‘Who is it?’ Gary asked, starting to fear the worst.

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m finding out who just rang.’

  ‘It was probably a wrong number,’ he offered with little hope.

  ‘Shut up, Gary!’ she barked. ‘I can’t concentrate. Go and make me a cup of coffee.’

  He slunk away into the kitchen, hovering at the door to listen to the conversation. He heard her say something about not being a double-glazing canvasser but someone doing market research about fast food. He missed the next part of the conversation while he put the kettle on. He quickly spooned instant coffee into a cup then moved swiftly back to the door. He panicked as he heard Maggie ending the conversation with:

  ‘Thank you, Sharon. You’ve been a great help.’

  He couldn’t think straight. Sweat broke out under his arms and he braced himself for the confrontation, wishing now he’d never become involved with the stupid little tart.

  ‘That was Sharon,’ said Maggie with satisfaction as she entered the kitchen.

  ‘Sharon?’ He put on a puzzled expression.

  She smiled, enjoying his discomfort. ‘You must know Sharon. She works for us at the Maidstone shop. That little scrubber with the crooked teeth.’

  He tried to make his voice sound light, disinterested. ‘What did she want? Did she say?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Gary. She called here and hung up when I answered, and I traced the call. Now why would she call then hang up?’

  Gary’s throat felt dry. He tried to swallow. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she....’

  ‘Maybe she what?’

  She was staring at him, her eyes like cold steel.

  He shrugged helplessly. ‘Maybe she was going to hand in her notice then changed her mind.’

  ‘Of course, she could have dialled 1-4-1 before the number then I would never have known who called. I wonder why she didn’t?’

  Gary pursed his lips, suggesting it was all beyond his comprehension. Maggie suddenly smiled sweetly.

  ‘The children are waiting for you to finish the game.’

  ‘Oh. Right,’ he said, making a sideways move towards the back door.

  She smiled again, though her eyes were cold. He found her behaviour unsettling. This was far worse than any argument.

  Thirteen

  Ted laid his guard’s uniform out on the bed, folded it neatly, then squeezed it into his sports bag. Marjorie came into the bedroom, wearing rubber gloves and carrying a duster and an aerosol of furniture polish.

  ‘My stomach’s still not right,’ she complained. ‘I don’t think I could face sausages ever again.’

  ‘It can’t have been the chipolatas,’ repeated Ted for the umpteenth time. ‘Or anything you’d eaten. I had exactly the same as you and I was alright. It must have been a virus.’

  Marjorie squirted a jet of lavender polish onto the dressing table. ‘It’s funny,’ she mused, ‘you used to moan about having to change into your uniform at work. All the time. But recently you’ve stopped complaining.’

  She stopped polishing, her head turned slowly like a tank turret and her eyes fixed him in her sights. Ted concentrated on zipping his bag.

  ‘I expect I’m getting used to it,’ he said, his voice light and inconsequential.

  He could feel the twin lasers of her eyes boring into him. He glanced at his watch and cleared his throat delicately. ‘I shall be back later than usual tonight. There’s been a change in the rota.’

  He had arranged to meet Donald for a quick drink after work. Marjorie noticed the crafty little smile that was teasing the corners of his mouth as he picked up his bag and shuffled towards the door. She knew something was up but had no idea what it was.

  ‘Oh, before you go,’ she said. ‘There’s something that’s been bothering me.’

  He stopped in the doorway. All traces of a smile had vanished.

  ‘When I phoned Freda and Alec and said I’d come down with a stomach bug, Freda said you’d phoned up on Friday morning to cancel. I said you couldn’t have done. I wasn’t taken ill until the afternoon.’

  Forcing himself to look her straight in the eye, Ted said, ‘Well, there must be some explanation. I wouldn’t have known you were going to be ill in advance, would I?’ He gave a small nervous chuckle and glanced at his watch again. ‘Bloomin’ heck! Is that the time?’

  ‘Never mind,’ she said, as he made his getaway. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

  ***

  Maggie let herself into the Maidstone chip shop, which had just closed for the afternoon, glad to find Sharon on her own. Sharon’s mouth fell open as Maggie handed her a brown envelope.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s your wages made up to the end of the week. And you can count yourself lucky you’re getting paid.’

  ‘What have I done wrong?’

  ‘Oh come off it, Sharon: Gary’s told me everything.’

  Sharon dropped the envelope unopened into her handbag and started to leave. She stopped in the doorway and told Maggie, ‘It weren’t my fault, Mrs Branston. It was Gary. He come on really strong. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

  Maggie smiled humourlessly. ‘Oh well, Sharon. Thank you, anyway.’

  Sharon frowned. ‘What for?’

  ‘For confirming my suspicions.’

  ***

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Nigel as Mary Fernhill slid into the passenger seat. ‘Only I had a tender to get out this morning and I was running a bit behind.’

  He sniggered naughtily, as if caught out by a daring double entendre.

  Humouring him, Mary returned his smile and said, ‘I haven’t been waiting that long.’

  As he drove off, Nigel glanced at his passenger and frowned. The dress she was wearing was just a trifle loud. Perhaps that teashop in Eastbourne was not such a good idea.

  ‘Something the matter, Nigel?’

  ‘I thought we might have some tea in Eastbourne. Only....’

  ‘Oh, I like Eastbourne.’

  Suddenly Nigel’s mobile rang insistently. He braked sharply and swung the car to the side of the kerb, oblivious to the obstruction he was causing. He assumed an important expression as he answered his mobile. ‘Excuse me. It might be a client.’ But his expression changed to one of slight panic. He had forgotten that he had given Jackie his mobile number.

  ‘No - er - sorry. I can’t talk now. I’m in a meeting.’

  He clicked off the phone and shoved it into the glove compartment.

  ‘I don’t want to mix business with pleasure,’ he sai
d smoothly. ‘Now then, let’s head for that nice teashop in Eastbourne, where we can have that serious talk.’

  Fourteen

  Having sold most of his CD collection in a second hand record shop in Camden Road, Andrew stepped into the nearest pub. He bought himself a pint of lemonade and a packet of prawn cocktail flavoured crisps and sat staring at the fruit machine. It was late afternoon, and some of the regulars were already knocking back pints of Guinness. They were roofers mainly, and at this time of the year they knocked off work reasonably early.

  Andrew watched while one of them - a large, bull-necked bloke with a shaven head - fed the fruit machine. Andrew had already been in the pub the previous night, counting the money being fed into the machine. He thought he had a system now and was certain it would work. He was convinced the machine was due to pay out any minute now. As soon as the bloke had lost ten pounds, he returned to the bar. Andrew shot to his feet and crossed quickly to the fruit machine. He had about twenty pounds in coins and fed the entire amount into the slot. Lights flashed furiously as he hit the first button. He was so engrossed, he didn’t notice the man who loomed up beside him.

  ‘So this is what you spend all your money on.’

  Andrew froze. ‘Dad! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Watching you chuck your money away.’

  Andrew ignored his father and continued playing the machine, frenetically hitting buttons, his eyes wild with concentration. Suddenly the wheels clicked smoothly into jackpot, the machine coughed and spluttered, and seventy-five coins fell into the tray. Feverishly, Andrew hit buttons. Lights flashed and more money spluttered into the tray. Again and again, until the machine won him well over a hundred pounds. The roofer at the bar glared at him. His father glared at him. But Andrew couldn’t care less. He had been proved right. He had known the machine was due for a big win.

  ‘Okay,’ sighed his father. ‘You might have won this time, but ultimately you can’t beat the machines. It’s not possible.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Dad. I’ve cracked it.’ He scooped the coins from the winning tray into his pocket. He was going to show his father he could leave the machine alone now that he’d won.

  ‘Cracked it! Listen, Andrew, when other people start paying for your habit....’

  ‘Like who for instance?’

  ‘Like Chloe. She needs all the money she’s got now that she’s at university. She rang Mum and told her you tried to tap her for some.’

  ‘The bitch! She promised she wouldn’t say anything.’

  ‘Now listen!’ Mike’s voice rose. ‘Don’t involve other people in your habit. Is that understood?’

  ‘Keep your voice down.’

  ‘And keep your thieving mitts out of Mum’s purse.’

  Andrew stuffed the last of the coins into the bulging pockets of his anorak and gave his father a confrontational stare. ‘Are you accusing me of stealing?’

  ‘That’s what it sounds like.’

  ‘Great! Mum’s always losing things. Stupid cow!’

  Mike waved a finger angrily at his son. ‘I’m warning you, Andrew. There’s only so much we can take.’

  ‘Oh, get stuffed!’

  Andrew barged past his father and marched out of the pub.

  ‘Andrew!’ Mike called out, but didn’t attempt to follow him.

  The man who had been playing the fruit machine prior to Andrew had been watching the scene with interest. He raised his eyebrows sympathetically and said to Mike, ‘Kids, eh. Who’d have them?’

  ***

  The tearoom was crowded. Nigel and Mary hovered awkwardly near the door, getting in the way of a plump waitress.

  ‘I had no idea it would be so crowded this time of the year,’ Nigel said.

  Mary felt irritated and said flatly, ‘And it was a long drive just for tea.’

  The drive had been strained with awkward silences. And when Mary asked Nigel how he had been since they last met, he had prattled on about telephone systems he had sold to prestigious clients and boasted about the competitors he had beaten. And they both knew he was just talking to fill the silence.

  ‘Ah!’ exclaimed Nigel brightly. ‘There’s a table about to become free.’

  He hurried over to the table and stood poised over four elderly ladies about to depart. One of the old ladies tried to free her ample bottom from where it had become lodged between the corners of two tables, as the plump waitress tried to clear the table, adding to the congestion. Eventually, after some complicated manoeuvring in spaces ill-suited to the more fulsome figure, the old ladies departed maladroitly and Nigel and Mary sat down.

  Grabbing the menu, Nigel asked Mary if she was hungry. When he saw her hesitate, he waved a hand carelessly and said, ‘Don’t worry. It’s on me. I know I paid for dinner the other night but you’ve got two young mouths to feed. I bet they’re a handful, aren’t they?’

  ‘You must come and meet them soon.’

  Nigel frowned and studied the menu. ‘Buck rarebit, pot of tea and a selection of pastries do you?’

  Mary nodded. ‘Yes, that’s fine, thank you.’

  The waitress finished clearing their table, took their order and went off to fetch a pot of tea. Nigel caught Mary’s eye, smiled tentatively, then looked down at the tablecloth and began fidgeting nervously with the cruet set. Mary wondered if she had upset him in some way. He was certainly behaving most strangely. The silence between them grew longer. Nigel cleared his throat noisily, and it looked as if he was about to speak when the waitress returned with the tea things.

  ‘Shall I be mother?’ Nigel said as he reached for the milk jug.

  The waitress laid the table and went off again, leaving Nigel to pour the tea. He looked more comfortable now that he had something with which to busy himself, and he set about the task meticulously, his actions bordering on effeminacy. Mary watched him carefully. She knew this elaborate performance was a delaying tactic. But from what, she had no idea.

  ‘You do want to meet them, don’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My two little boys - Simon and Thomas.’

  ‘Who’s looking after them today?’

  ‘They’re at school. Then going round a friend’s house for tea. Why?’

  ‘Oh, just wondered. Is that alright for you?’

  Mary took the cup from him. ‘Yes. And you didn’t answer my question. Don’t you like children? Is that what it is?’

  ‘Of course not. I’ve got a son of my own. A real chip off the old block, that one. Very good at selling....’

  Mary found it difficult to contain her irritation. ‘Yes, you’ve already told me all there is to know about him.’

  ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, slightly taken aback by her impatient tone. ‘Have I?’

  There followed another long and uncomfortable pause, during which Nigel slurped his tea noisily. The waitress brought them their meal and Nigel immediately set about his with gusto. A large dollop of egg yolk missed his mouth and attached itself to his cheek. He noticed Mary staring at him.

  ‘Is something wrong? You’re not eating.’

  ‘I’m not hungry. I want to know what’s happening. About us.’

  Sighing, Nigel put down his knife and fork. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, ‘I’ve - er - I’ve been trying to find the right words ... it’s not easy but ... I ... um ... I want to get married.’

  Mary’s eyes widened and became moist. ‘Oh, Nigel ... I didn’t think ... well, I suppose I was hoping....’

  Nigel panicked. ‘No, no! Not to you. To someone else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I really am. But you weren’t the only one to answer my advertisement. I’m afraid I’ve made my decision and you weren’t successful on this occasion.’

  She rose angrily, fi
ghting back the tears. Crockery rattled. Heads turned to look at her.

  ‘Then why did you bring me here?’

  ‘I thought it would be nice to let you down gently.’

  ‘Call yourself a Christian!’ she hissed. ‘You pompous hypocrite.’

  ‘I ... I’m sorry,’ he stammered, ‘if I gave you the impression our relationship was ongoing.’

  You did more than give me that impression. You consummated it - our second night together.’ She shuddered. ‘To think I let you touch me....’

  ‘I’ve suffered the most awful pangs of guilt about that,’ he said, half rising. ‘If you want me to give you a lift home now....’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ she snapped. ‘It’s an awkward journey from here, but I’d sooner catch the train.’

  She stormed out. There was a brief silence in the tea room before tongues began wagging again. Nigel sank back into his chair, relieved that it was over. He was embarrassed but he was also hungry. So he finished his meal then devoured two pastries. He over-tipped the waitress when he settled his bill, and she followed him to the door as he was leaving.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind my mentioning it - I don’t like to think of you going around unawares, like - but you’ve got egg on your face.’

  Fifteen

  When Andrew arrived home he acted as if nothing had happened between him and his father. ‘Hi!’ he said going to the fridge and helping himself to a tub of yoghurt.

  Claire looked at Mike expectantly. Andrew pretended not to notice. He took a teaspoon from the draining board and tucked into the yoghurt, carefully avoiding eye-contact with his parents.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ Mike asked him.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What have you been doing all this time? It’s gone seven.’

  Andrew shrugged. ‘Oh ... things. I saw this accident at the roundabout ... bottom of Frant Road. A taxi hit a BMW. The taxi driver was a nutter ... started beating up the BMW driver. Going berserk he was. He nearly....’

  Claire interrupted him. ‘Dad told me you were in the pub playing the fruit machine.’