More Careless Talk

by David Barry

  ‘There’s no need to bit my head off.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’re already late for our Bible class.’

  Ignoring her, Nigel concentrated on vain attempts to spread the offending tuft in other directions.

  ‘Darling!’ Jackie sighed impatiently. ‘For goodness sake get your hairdresser back again, if that’s what you want. Only let’s go. We’re very late.’

  Annoyed, Nigel gritted his teeth. ‘That’s why I hated going to church yesterday. This hair was annoying me.’

  Jackie took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. ‘I’m sure God wouldn’t have worried about a little bit of sticky-up hair.’

  Nigel sniffed. ‘Possibly not. But it wasn’t God I was worried about. It was people in the pew behind us.’

  ***

  Donald dropped Ted off at the top of his road, then drove home, ready with the excuse he would give Bamber, about the night spent haggling with a Portobello antique dealer, who wouldn’t shift on the price, resulting in a “no sale”.

  As he parked the car, he noticed every light in the house seemed to be on, and wondered if Bamber had decided to honour his promise to thoroughly clean the house from top to bottom. But as soon as he fitted his front door key into the latch, he felt an icy stab of fear in his chest. He had no real reason to think anything was wrong, but it was a distant sound of water, rather like nights spent in the mountains or near a country stream, that was disturbing and unnerving. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, and his eyes alighted immediately on a sheet of A4 paper left on the hall table. The message was scrawled in blue felt-tip:

  ‘Bastard. Goodbye. Don’t try to find me.’

  Then he noticed how loud the sound of running water was. He hurried down the hall towards the kitchen, and as he walked his feet made squelching sounds as he got nearer. Panic beating in his chest, he threw open the door and saw the sink overflowing, water cascading over the edge, flooding the kitchen floor. He ran over and pulled out the plug and turned the taps off, wondering why the overflow hadn’t reduced much of the damage. That was when he noticed it had been carefully blocked with Blu-tack

  He jumped as something cold and wet trickled onto his neck. He looked up with horror, screaming as he saw water dripping from the ceiling. The en-suite bathroom of their bedroom was directly above the kitchen, and Bamber must have blocked every basin in the house and turned all the taps full on.

  As he ran upstairs, water swashing under his shoes, he wondered how Bamber had found out about their trip to the theatre. But what did it matter now? This was unforgivable. And if ever he got his hands on Bamber, he would slaughter him.

  Eleven

  Sitting in his part time secretary’s swivel chair, Nigel looked up at Mike and smiled. ‘I owe you an apology.’

  ‘What for?’ Mike carefully snipped the front of his client’s hair.

  ‘I had an interim cut at a barber shop. I regret that now. That bit sticking up at the back has driven me berserk.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I haven’t been cutting hair for months.’

  ‘Oh. Why’s that then?’

  Mike waved the hand with the scissors in front of Nigel’s face. ‘Hand’s just come out of plaster. Had all my fingers broken.’

  Nigel frowned, acting concerned. ‘Oh dear! Nasty!’ He sniggered suddenly. ‘Who did you upset?’

  ‘I think the bloke what done it was a professional breaker of bones.’

  Nigel looked closely into Mike’s face for signs of a leg-pull. ‘You’re having me on.’

  Deadpan, Mike said, ‘That’s right. I’m pulling your plonker. I shut it in the car door.’

  Nigel winced with imaginary pain. ‘Ouch! So how have you managed? I mean financially.’

  Mike shrugged. ‘Had to dip into some savings.’

  ‘Well, you’ll need to top them up again. I’ve got just the thing if you’re interested. A nice little sideline. Selling pet food direct to the customer. My son got me on to it. He’s sold tons of it. And if a potential customer falters, guess what he does. He opens a tin of cat or dog food and eats it himself. Trouble is, he’s putting on weight.’ Nigel laughed uproariously. ‘So how about it?’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mike. ‘But no thanks.’

  ***

  ‘Hi, Lisa,’ said Vanessa as she squeezed into the narrow gap between the fixed table and chair in the college snack bar. ‘Anything to report?’

  The girl seated opposite nodded gravely but there was a glint in her eye. ‘Jason’s friend Paul was in the Sussex last night, slightly worse for wear. He told me everything.’

  Vanessa leaned forward. ‘And?’

  Lisa smiled, enjoying the moment. ‘Are you ready for this?’

  Vanessa drummed her fingers on the table. ‘Lisa!’ she warned. ‘Where Jason’s concerned, I don’t have a lot of patience. And I don’t have much time. I’ve got to go in a minute. So come on. Apart from working his way through all the female students at West Kent College, what’s he up to?’

  Lisa sniggered, tilting her head back. ‘It’s not just students. It’s any girl he can get his dirty little paws on.’

  ‘What’s he trying to prove?’

  ‘Ah-hah!’

  Vanessa glanced at her watch irritably. ‘Oh come on, Lisa. I know you’re dying to tell me.’

  Lisa fiddled with her Marlboro packet, trying to resist the temptation to go outside and light a cigarette. ‘I like keeping you in suspense,’ she teased.

  ‘Lisa! I don’t have the time. I’ve got to know before I get back.’

  ‘You’re still gunning for him then?’

  ‘Well, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’d like to see him get his come-uppance, but...’ Lisa tried to stifle a sudden giggle. ‘I could have chosen my words a bit better. Then, seeing Vanessa’s serious expression, added, ‘I don’t know why you’re getting so obsessed with revenge. He’s not the first bloke who wants to screw anything that moves.’

  Vanessa dug her nails into her palms. Lisa could be infuriating. ‘Just tell me what this Paul said.’

  ‘If you ask me, Jason’s one digit short of a phone number. Apparently he wants to get into the Guinness Book of Records as the bloke who can prove he’s had the most number of women in a year.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I told you he had a screw loose.’

  ‘So that’s why he’s recording all his conquests. He needs the proof.’

  Lisa grinned and shook her head. ‘If it wasn’t so sad, it’d be funny.’

  Vanessa’s nostrils flared angrily. ‘We’re the ones who are sad, letting him use us like that.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. But by the time I’m through with Jason, he’ll wish he was celibate.’

  Lisa grinned. ‘Any help you need, you can rely on me. Whatever you decide to do to him.’

  Vanessa looked at her watch, and stood up. ‘I’d better go...’

  ‘Another thing Paul told me,’ said Lisa hurriedly. ‘He said Jason had heard about that club owner, Peter Stringfellow, having had thousands of women, and he wanted to go one better.’

  Lisa laughed and shook her head.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘I don’t think I told you, Vanessa, but Tom and I went up to London a couple of years back, and we went to see this Stomp show. We were walking along the Strand, past the theatre where Chicago is on, and Tom spotted Peter Stringfellow going in to see it, accompanied by this young twenty year old in a short skirt. She was all over him, and he must be old enough to be her grandfather.’

  Vanessa frowned thoughtfully. ‘If he wanted to impress a young girl, why Chicago? It’s wasn’t exactly a current show, even two years ago.’

  Lisa laughed delightedly. ‘Yes, it probabl
y opened before the girl he was with was born.’

  ***

  Donald surveyed the damage in the hall. The carpet was ruined. Fortunately the water hadn’t spread as far as the living room, at least, not to any great extent, so he would only need to replace the hall carpet. The de-humidifiers he had hired, one for upstairs and one for downstairs, he would leave on, probably for the next three weeks, if not longer, until there was no trace of damp.

  He felt tired. Drained. He had spent until the early hours with bucket and mop, attempting to soak up the worst of the flooding. Then, after he’d gone to bed, he spent hours tense and angry, cursing Bamber, and also cursing himself for being so stupid as to underestimate him, treating him like an idiot. Eventually he decided it was his own stupid fault, and he fell into a restless sleep. More like a doze, really. And now he was shattered, kept rubbing his eyes, and felt a strange buzzing in his ears. He decided he would have another strong espresso, then got down to the Pantiles shop and open up. There was nothing more he could do here.

  The hall telephone rang and he picked it up. As soon as he had given the number, he heard nothing. He thought it was the pause before a sales call, was about to hang up, when he heard Bamber moaning.

  ‘Oh, Donald! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ... well, yes I did. It’s just ... I was so angry. Jealous.’

  ‘You don’t like Shakespeare!’ Donald snapped incongruously. ‘I just needed a friend to go to the theatre with, that’s all it was.’

  Bamber gave a dry, ironic laugh. ‘Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Donald. I know there’s more between you two. Am I right?’

  Donald left too long a pause before answering. ‘No, don’t be a silly boy.’

  He realised it sounded weak and Bamber pounced on it.’

  ‘You’re lying. I know you are. I can tell. Maybe at first, there was nothing in it. Just the two of you going out to the theatre. But not now. That’s why I got so angry. Why didn’t you tell me, instead of deceiving me like that? That’s what I couldn’t take. The lies. Treating me like an idiot. I’m sure the three of us could have worked something out.’

  Donald’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You know very well. I’d sooner the three of us were having a bit of fun, instead of all that deception. So how about it?’

  Donald cleared his throat softly. ‘OK. Come back home and we’ll talk about it.’

  Twelve

  Pran returned to his desk carrying a disposable plastic cup of water and took two Paracetamol tablets. Graham noticed and grinned.

  ‘Rough night last night?’

  Pran avoided eye contact with him and stared at his computer monitor. ‘No, it’s just a headache.’

  Graham suspected he was lying and laughed. ‘I had a couple of pints on the way home last night. Then my wife Jane and I did two bottles of wine. And I had the lion’s share. But what’s worrying is: I felt fine this morning. I think my body needs it. I can’t sleep at night unless I’ve had a couple of drinks at least.’

  Jenny came striding into the office, carrying a folder which she handed to Graham. ‘Here’s the budget outline for that community project. How did your conference go?’

  Graham gave her a lopsided smile. ‘Well, it was - interesting. But I should never have worn a pink shirt. Roger went on about it. You know what he’s like. He said to me: “You shouldn’t have worn pink, Graham. All the boys’ll be queuing up to kiss you”.’ Graham flicked a limp wrist in front of Jenny and put on a camp voice. ‘“Why d’you think I’m wearing it?” I said.’

  Jenny gave a little, snorting laugh. ‘Oh, you know that chap ... Michael I think his name is ... used to work for the DTI. Did you know he’s gay?’

  Listening to this conversation, Pran could feel a tension in his shoulders.

  Graham raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘Really? How d’you know he’s gay?’

  A triumphant gleam came into Jenny’s eyes. ‘Colin told me. Apparently this Michael’s quite open about it.’

  ‘He doesn’t look like a shirt-lifter.’

  Pran felt a pressure inside him, like a fear running through his body.

  ‘I know,’ Jenny went on. ‘It’s a shame. He’s quite good looking.’

  ‘Well, at least you don’t have to worry about keeping your back to the wall.’

  Jenny shook her head. ‘I don’t know. On the train home last night, this woman was giving me the eye.’

  ‘You mean she was one of them. How could you tell?’

  Jenny pursed her lips. ‘I don’t know. There was just something about her.’

  Graham sniggered. ‘Maybe it was the Doc Martens she was wearing.’

  They both laughed. Suddenly something broke inside Pran. ‘This is so unprofessional!’ he yelled.

  Stunned by the outburst, they both turned and stared at him. ‘Sorry?’ said Jenny, in a voice that was dangerously devoid of human feeling.

  Committed now, Pran said, ‘You’re supposed to be a manager. And all these homophobic jokes are out of order. Unprofessional.’

  Had Pran criticised her homophobic joke telling, it just might have been acceptable. But calling her unprofessional was something she resented with a hatred bordering on psychosis.

  ‘There’s no need to shout.’ She cast her eyes around the large office. And sure enough, other workers were looking towards them. When they caught her eye, they looked away, pretending to get on with their work. But she could tell they were all listening.

  Pran, realising that perhaps he hadn’t handled this too well, began to back down and lowered his voice. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that ... we ought to watch our language. I mean, a fair percentage of our customers could be gay.’

  Graham threw a glance at Jenny, a despairing look, before replying to Pran. ‘Well, it’s not as if they can hear us, is it?’

  ‘No, but I can. And I find some of the things you say offensive.’

  Suspicion crept into Graham’s voice. ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘Because I...’ Pran faltered. He still couldn’t bring himself to say it. ‘Because I have some gay friends. And I don’t like to hear them slandered. mean what you say in the pub is up to you, but...’

  Jenny interrupted him. ‘Well that’s a small mercy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Graham sneered. ‘We don’t have to answer to the thought police yet.’ Pran glared at him. ‘OK, OK. No more jokes while we’re in the office. In future we’ll mind our Ps and Qs.’

  This was followed by an awkward silence. Jenny shuffled from foot to foot. Eventually, she excused herself. ‘I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes. I’d better push on.’

  Pran kept his focus on the computer monitor. He could feel waves of hatred emanating from them both, and he knew it was the “unprofessional” accusation that had done it.

  Another job bites the dust, he thought.

  ***

  Ted hovered outside Mothercare waiting for Marjorie, clutching a rolled-up copy of Big Issue. As soon as Marjorie emerged from the shop carrying a large carrier bag, she spotted the magazine and demanded, ‘What’s that you’ve got?’

  ‘It’s a copy of Big Issue.’ Ted unrolled it and held it under her gaze. ‘I bought it from the woman on the corner of Body Shop.’

  Marjorie sniffed loudly. ‘What d’you do that for?’

  Ted gestured helplessly. ‘I felt sorry for the woman. And she seemed pleasant enough.’

  ‘You know I don’t approve of these asylum people, getting handouts and begging.’

  ‘She’s not begging,’ Ted sighed. ‘She’s selling something. Selling magazines to be precise.’

  Marjorie stared at her husband, her eyes icy. ‘Oh, and you’re going to read that rubbish, are you?’ She nodded at the picture of the Kaiser Chiefs on the front of the magazine.
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  ‘Well...’ Ted began.

  ‘I thought as much. It’ll end up in the bin. And you say that’s not begging.’

  Ted shrugged. ‘I might have a go at the crossword.’

  But Marjorie had stopped listening. Her eyes widened as her attention was caught by two figures walking towards them.

  ‘Hi there!’ said Bamber, as he approached with Donald. He grinned at Ted, enjoying his discomfort. ‘Long time no see.’

  Marjorie glared at Donald, who looked and felt as awkward as Ted did.

  Excuse us!’ she blurted out after a brief and awkward hiatus. ‘We’re in a hurry.’

  Ted gave Donald a slight, apologetic shrug, and caught up with Marjorie as she tore towards BHS. Once inside the store, she rounded on Ted.

  ‘That man,’ she hissed, ‘was the one you was with in our house, asking questions about crisps and things. Pretending he was doing some sort of research. Right! That’s it, Ted! We are going straight home after this. And you have got some explaining to do.’

  Thirteen

  Marjorie had been silent all the way back from the centre of Tunbridge Wells. Ted waited for the explosion he knew was coming but Marjorie kept him waiting, allowing time for her anger to grow. Each silent minute that ticked by pulled Ted’s nerve ends to breaking point as he watched her going through the mail at the kitchen table.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ he offered in a hoarse whisper. She stared at him without replying, so he plugged the kettle in anyway.

  Marjorie suddenly slammed the letters on to the table. ‘Sit down!’

  Almost cringing, as if expecting to be slapped across the face, Ted meekly slid into a chair at the table, well out of Marjorie’s reach. She stared at him with repugnance, her mouth swept downwards with loathing, and visibly shuddered before speaking.

  ‘You disgust me. Filthy disgusting worm!’

  Ted opened his mouth to protest but was incapable of speech. He saw Marjorie shiver again.

  ‘To think I let you...’ she began, shaking her head at the incredulity of such a thought.