Careless Talk

by David Barry

  ‘Guess I’ll have to lump it then,’ he replied hurriedly. ‘The time’ll drag until Thursday. I miss you.’

  ‘Yeah. Me too.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Mike. See you.’

  An abrupt click and she was gone. He stuck his mobile back in his pocket and took a sip of his beer, which was more lively than his mood, which had sunk to a flat feeling of impotence now that his conversation with Maggie had ended. It was an anti-climax and he quickly downed the rest of his pint, before going back inside the Kelsey to buy another.

  ***

  A mighty wall of sound blasted Jackie and Nigel as they stood framed in the living room doorway, a look of stunned disbelief on their faces. Seeing them enter, the musicians exchanged looks, grinned, shrugged, and carried on playing. Vanessa and Nicky, who were sitting on speaker cabinets, drinking cans of beer, saw their mother’s numbed expression as she attempted to absorb what she was seeing: the snake-like mass of wire and electronic equipment cluttering her living room.

  Jackie turned and fled, followed by Nigel. Vanessa and Nicky scrambled across the clutter and caught them up outside the front door.

  ‘How dare you!’ Jackie screamed.

  ‘It’s only a rehearsal,’ Vanessa shouted. ‘They had nowhere else to rehearse.’

  ‘We thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow,’ said Nicky sheepishly, but no one heard her.

  ‘Haven’t you any consideration for the neighbours?’ Nigel yelled.

  Vanessa stared at him. ‘What?’

  He shouted louder. ‘The neighbours!’

  ‘Our immediate neighbours on the left are away. And on the right they said they’d go out for the afternoon.’

  ‘And what about me?’ shrieked Jackie. ‘I can’t stand this noise. And that mess.’ She turned to Nigel. ‘I’m taking you up on your offer. I’ll move in with you right away.’

  Nigel grinned and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. ‘I’ll put your things in my car.’

  ‘But, Mum....’ Nicky whined.

  ‘I’ve had enough!’ Jackie snapped. ‘When Nigel and I get married, we’ll sort something out for you two. But up until then I’m going to live at his place. And we’ll eventually be putting this place on the market and combining both our properties into one big one.’

  Vanessa looked miffed. ‘But what about us?’

  ‘That’s your problem.’

  ‘But you can’t just leave us to our own devices.’

  ‘You’re both old enough to fend for yourselves.’

  Nigel returned from having put Jackie’s suitcase in the boot of his car. He had a smug, self-satisfied tilt to his mouth, which Vanessa wanted to slap.

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ she demanded.

  ‘I don’t think this is the time or place....’ he began.

  ‘Piss off!’ she screamed.

  ‘Charming!’ he said, with an infuriating expression of self-righteousness. ‘Come on, darling. Let’s get to my place and unbend.’

  As they walked to the car, Jackie corrected Nigel. ‘I think you mean unwind, darling.’

  ‘I expect I do,’ Nigel smirked.

  Vanessa and Nicky watched their mother depart with increasing dread. It had all gone horribly wrong. Now they would have to fend for themselves.

  Thirty - Nine

  Alone in his sister’s house, Craig noticed a newly hung photograph of Gary on the wall by the breakfast bar. He scowled at it.

  ‘Oily git!’ he muttered; then grinned and added, ‘But thanks for the chip shop, Gary.’

  The kettle boiled and he made two cups of instant coffee. Minutes later, Maggie arrived.

  ‘Kids go to school without any problems?’ he asked.

  She nodded thoughtfully. ‘They’re better now they’ve settled back into a routine.’ She looked her brother up and down. ‘Craig, I hope you don’t mind me saying this - I hope you won’t take it the wrong way....’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, we are seeing a solicitor. Couldn’t you have worn something a bit smarter?’

  He took his coffee mug and sat on a stool by the breakfast bar, glaring at her. ‘I’ve only got casual gear,’ he said, with a trace of annoyance, but his sister was aware that he was also shielding himself from any criticism or hurt.

  ‘You wore a suit to the funeral.’

  ‘Oh that! I got it from the Hospice Shop. It’s still in a heap on the floor where I left it.’

  ‘Well, you could at least....’ She avoided looking at him. ‘At least roll your shirt sleeves down.’

  ‘Do my tattoos embarrass you?’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘What then?’

  She glanced at her watch and changed the subject. ‘Gary’s estate’s going to take months to sort out. But I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be running your own chip shop right now. It’ll be your responsibility, and you’ll own it eventually.’

  Craig gave her a warm smile. ‘It’ll be the best chippie in the south east. Who’s running the others? I mean, won’t you find it difficult, what with having the kids to look after?’

  Maggie stared into her coffee. ‘I’m selling the others. And, if anything, I’m taking on a bigger commitment. A full time headache, probably.’

  She giggled self-consciously, turned away and poured her remaining coffee into the sink.

  ‘Well come on - don’t keep me in suspense. What are you up to, Maggs?’

  She rinsed her mug under the hot tap, placed it on the draining board, then swung round to face him again, suddenly keen to share her plans with him.

  ‘I haven’t told anyone yet, Craig - you’re the first to know. I’m planning to open a wine bar - here in Tunbridge Wells. I’ve found the premises I want. I’ll have to apply for a licence, of course, but I don’t see any reason why I should get turned down. So what d’you think?’

  ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea.’

  ‘Do you? You’re not just saying that?’

  ‘No, I think it’s a great idea. But I don’t think you ought to go it alone. Hey! I’ve just had an idea.’

  Frowning, as if she could guess what was coming, Maggie crossed the room to collect a pink, cardboard file from a pile of clutter on the pine dresser.

  ‘I mean,’ continued Craig, ‘once you’ve given me the chippie - officially I mean - I could sell it, buy a share in your wine bar and help you run it.’

  ‘No, I don’t think it’d work.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just don’t.’

  Craig stood up, staring closely at his sister. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, feeling he was about to be hurt. ‘You haven’t given me a reason, Maggs. I mean, we get on alright, don’t we?’

  She nodded slightly but avoided looking at him.

  ‘So why not? Give me one good reason.’

  She studied her brightly painted fingernails closely and said, ‘It’s like this, Craig - I want this wine bar to be smart. Special. To attract the right sort of customers.’

  ‘Oh! And I’m not good enough, is that it?’

  She forced herself to look him straight in the eye. ‘We get on great guns - we always have done. But there was a time we disagreed violently. Remember why?’

  He held his arms out angrily. ‘They’re only tattoos, Maggs. They won’t contaminate your customers.’

  ‘I know they won’t. That’s not the point..’

  ‘The point is: you’re still a snobby little cow.’ Craig raised his voice, pointing at Gary’s photograph. ‘It never occurred to me before: what a perfect match you two were.’

  Maggie’s eyes flashed and Craig held his hands palms up towards her.

  ‘OK. I’m sorry. I didn’t m
ean it. I don’t want to upset you. I might lose the chip shop.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that to you, Craig. I wouldn’t go back on my word.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t,’ Craig mumbled miserably. ‘I don’t know why I said it. I was just upset because I can see my life mapped out for me. I know exactly what I’ll be doing in ten years’ time.’

  ‘Most people do.’

  ‘Yeah, great life, ain’t it?’

  Maggie tapped her watch. ‘We’re due at the solicitor’s. We’d better go. Cheer up, sweetheart. A fish and chip shop’s a safer bet. In a few years I might be coming to you, my tail between my legs, to borrow some money.’

  ‘No, I’ve got a feeling you’ll make a go of it. And I promise, whenever I come into your wine bar, I’ll wear a long-sleeved shirt.’

  ***

  Marjorie had just left for her habitual Monday morning jaunt to see Freda at Ramslye when the doorbell rang. Ted thought she must have forgotten something. But when he opened the front door, the shock he had was like a punch in the stomach.

  ‘Donald! What are you doing here?’

  Donald’s voice shook. ‘I’m sorry, Ted, I had to come round. I ... I needed someone to talk to.’

  Ted’s eyes darted towards Mount Ephraim. Marjorie hadn’t yet rounded the corner, he could just about make out her figure near the top of the road. If she happened to look back....

  ‘Quick!’ Ted grabbed Donald and pulled him inside. ‘You must have walked right by Marjorie. She’s only just left.’

  Donald showed his friend the clipboard he was carrying. ‘I didn’t want to make things awkward for you, so I....’

  He didn’t get a chance to finish. Ted slammed the door shut. ‘Let’s go through to the kitchen. I’ll make you a coffee.’

  Donald followed him. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything stronger?’

  ‘Only cream sherry.’

  Donald pulled a face. ‘Coffee’ll be fine.’

  Ted switched the kettle on. When he turned to face Donald, he noticed there were tears in his friend’s eyes.

  ‘How’s Bamber?’

  ‘He’s had the operation, poor kid. It’s not looking good. His mother’s with him. But it’s not Bamber. It’s just a lump of breathing flesh, wired up to all sorts of....’ Donald broke off and slumped into a chair at the head of the kitchen table. His clipboard fell onto the floor.

  ‘If there’s anything I can do,’ Ted began, then stopped, suddenly alert as he thought he heard a key in the front door. The latch clicked, followed by footsteps and the sound of the door closing.

  ‘Oh God!’ whispered Ted. ‘It’s her! It’s Marjorie! She’s come back. She must have forgotten something.’

  Forty

  Donald picked the clipboard up off the floor, whipped a pen out of his pocket and asked Ted how many times a month he purchased savoury snacks such as crisps or peanuts. Ted looked confused. Donald repeated the question as Marjorie entered.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.

  Ted was seized with panic, although his face registered nothing. ‘It’s ... er....’

  Donald came to the rescue. ‘Consumer research. Your husband kindly agreed to do a short interview about savoury snacks. It’s a random survey. Door-to-door.’

  Marjorie rifled through an untidy bundle of free newspapers, unpaid bills and junk mail on the dresser, turning to glower at Donald.

  ‘Waste of time, if you ask me.’

  Donald smiled innocently. ‘I know it seems like an intrusion but - who knows - you might win our star prize.’

  ‘Prize?’

  ‘Yes! Prize!’ Donald said with exaggerated enthusiasm. ‘We’re giving every participant the chance to enter our grand draw. First prize a holiday for two in Florida.’

  Marjorie looked astounded. Donald didn’t dare look at Ted, in case he laughed.

  ‘That’s bloody typical, that is,’ said Marjorie, and found what she was searching for. ‘I go and book us a holiday in Florida, now you come and tell us we could win one.’

  She waved a glossy travel brochure in the air like an exhibit in a murder trial. Donald suddenly seemed less sure of himself.

  ‘You and your husband are going to Florida?’

  Marjorie almost hugged the brochure. ‘Week after next. I’ve always wanted to go.’

  Donald looked at Ted, as if to say “you never told me”. As usual, Ted’s face was deadpan.

  ‘Still, I don’t s’pose we’d have won,’ continued Marjorie. ‘So it’s just as well we booked. And we got a very good deal.’

  As Marjorie went towards the door, Donald looked pointedly at Ted. ‘I’m sure you’ll both have a wonderful time.’

  Marjorie stopped in the doorway. ‘I nearly forgot the brochure to show Freda.’ She stared at Donald. ‘How long’s this going to take?’

  Donald shrugged. ‘Oh, not long.’

  ‘Only you said you’d pop down to the Halifax, Ted.

  Recovering his poise, Donald said brightly, ‘It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. And I’ll still enter you in the free prize draw. If you win, you can return to the land of milk and honey next year and relive some of those precious moments.’

  Marjorie was studying him closely and he thought he might have gone too far. Perhaps she could see through his subterfuge.

  ‘Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about savoury snacks?’ he added hurriedly. ‘It’s always useful to have a partner’s opinion.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m in a rush.’

  She turned and exited. Donald congratulated himself on that last little touch. It had done the trick. Got rid of the old cow.

  ‘Now, I’d like you to tell me which brand of cheese and onion crisps you might have purchased in the last month?’ he said loudly. Then the front door slammed and he burst into laughter.

  Ted looked far from happy.

  ‘I think I handled that brilliantly,’ Donald boasted.

  ‘Did you just happen to have the clipboard?’ Ted asked.

  ‘Bit of forward planning.’

  ‘It was taking a bit of a risk.’

  Donald smiled. ‘But that’s good in a relationship. An element of risk. Forbidden fruits have been denied me for so long.’

  ‘You talk as if....’ Ted stopped, finding it difficult to verbalise his confused thoughts.

  ‘As if we’re a couple?’

  ‘What about Bamber?’

  Donald pursed his lips, a fleeting guilty look passed across his face, and then he shrugged it off. ‘Life must go on, dear boy.’

  ‘But he’s not....’

  ‘Not dead yet? No. That’s why I had to see you. When the inevitable happens, I’m going to need a close friend I can turn to. But now you’re swanning off to Disneyworld with she of the sharp tongue.’

  ‘It was Marjorie’s idea.’

  ‘So you’re going off and leaving me just when I need you most.’

  Ted looked down miserably. ‘I like you, Donald. I enjoy going to the theatre with you, but....’

  ‘But that’s as far as you want it to go. Why do I always have to finish your sentences for you? You always leave them half finished.’

  Ted looked up and grinned. ‘I half start them, you mean.’

  ‘I do believe that was a joke. You really are most attractive when you smile, Ted. Why don’t you pop upstairs and put your uniform on for me? I like a man in uniform.’

  Ted blushed. Donald laughed.

  ‘The day you put your uniform on for me, I’ll know it’s the day our relationship has arrived.’

  ***

  Savita stood in front of Malcolm’s desk. He was clearly annoyed about something but was doing his utmost to restrain himself.

  ‘Since when have y
ou taken it upon yourself to alter my letters?’ he said, patting the A4 sheet in front of him.

  ‘I’m not with you,’ Savita replied.

  ‘You changed “at this moment in time” to “at present”. Why?’

  Savita shrugged. ‘I thought it was less ... well, better to use plain English and all that.’

  Malcolm stared at her for a long time. She could tell he was thinking: What gives this little Asian girl a right to correct the big white chief’s letters? But he didn’t dare say it. Eventually he moved the letter to one side and spoke in a more reasonable tone.

  ‘You and Nicky. I’ve seen you together. You seem to be very close. You were holding hands at the water cooler this morning.’

  ‘Nicky was showing me a new ring she’s just bought.’

  ‘Pull the other one. You’re both dykes, aren’t you?’

  Savita hesitated. This was going to be a test of her acting skills. ‘Well, as a matter of fact....’ she began.

  Malcolm pounced. ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘No you’re wrong,’ Savita said, shaking her head. ‘Nicky and I like the best of both worlds, if you know what I mean.’

  She could see by the licentious glint that came into Malcolm’s eye that his fantasies had gone into overdrive.

  He gave a nervous, testing-the-water chuckle. ‘You’re not up for a threesome, are you?’

  She tilted her head to one side, as if giving it serious consideration. ‘We might be. But there’s a huge “but” attached to it.’

  Malcolm’s eyes widened, like a child feasting them on mountains of ice-cream. ‘Go on,’ he urged.

  ‘Nicky and I’ll think about it. But only if you stop bullying us.’

  Another nervous chuckle. ‘I don’t bully you. Just having a laugh, that’s all. But I promise, if the three of us do have a scene together, things will be very different round here.’

  Savita smiled and nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll go and have a word with Nicky, then I’ll let you know when’s a good time to come round to my flat.’

  Leaving Malcolm palpitating and day dreaming, Savita returned to the main office. She went over to Nicky’s desk and told her:

  ‘Hook, line and sinker.’