More Careless Talk

by David Barry

  Ted cleared his throat hurriedly and found his voice. ‘I know I lied to you, but it’s not what you think.’

  Marjorie’s eyes narrowed into pinpricks of venomous hatred, a hooded cobra poised to strike. ‘Go on then,’ she hissed, ‘tell me what I think. Well? Come on.’

  ‘You think Donald and I are...’ Ted was unable to complete the sentence.

  ‘Oh-hoh,’ she sneered. ‘Donald, is it? Quite a little gathering that was in the precinct. You and your Donald and his fat friend.’

  ‘He’s not my Donald. We just happen to share the same interests, that’s all.’

  ‘Shakespeare. Pull the other one. What d’you take me for? I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.’

  ‘It’s true. I told you before, we just like going to the theatre together.’

  ‘If that’s all it was, what was he doing round here that time? You and him, pretending he was interviewing you.’ Marjorie’s eyes widened with shock. ‘You weren’t...’ She looked up at the ceiling. ‘You and him wasn’t ... not in my house...’

  ‘No!’ Ted protested. ‘Not here ... I mean ... not anywhere. He just came round here to arrange a trip to the theatre.’

  Marjorie gave an elaborate shudder, an expression of her revulsion. ‘This is my house. You can pack your bags and go. Now!’

  Ted stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘But ... but what about our baby?’

  ‘It’s my baby, not yours. You’re not coming within a mile of it when it’s born. You’re not fit to be its father. And I want you out of this house.’

  ‘But w-where will I go?’ Ted stammered.

  ‘I couldn’t care less.’

  ***

  ‘Careful! Hold it still!’ warned Dave as the stepladder moved a fraction.

  Mary looked up and smiled. ‘I’ve got it. Don’t be such a baby.’

  Dave slid the loft hatch across, then came hurriedly down the ladder. Mary giggled at the visible signs of relief showing on his face. ‘A big baby!’ she added.

  ‘I never could stand heights.’

  ‘It’s not exactly Mount Everest.’

  Dave looked serious. ‘Like most fears, it’s not rational. Why d’you think I didn’t put them in the loft sooner? I had no one to hold the ladder for me.’

  ‘And here was I just thinking you were holding on to your memories.’

  ‘I was always torn between wanting to bury the past or resuscitate it. As you can imagine, the lad was mixed up.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘How many kids d’you know who had a woman for his father?’

  Mary took his hand and squeezed. ‘I’m sure your dad really loved you.’

  ‘Oh, I know he did. I’ve often tried to put myself in his place, wondering what it must have been like. All the time he devoted to me and he couldn’t say ‘owt about our relationship.’

  ‘I think it’s better this way.’ Mary glanced up at the loft. ‘Healthier.’

  ‘But it won’t go away. I wish I had the guts to go public. What stops me is fear of ridicule. And for a comedian that should be a bonus.’

  ‘But you want people to laugh at you, not feel sorry for you.’

  ‘Comedy isn’t just about telling jokes - which is what I do - it’s about something absurd that people can recognize in themselves. If I had courage to stand up on stage and...’ He stopped, his eyes becoming distant. A moment passed. Mary gave his hand another squeeze. He sighed deeply. ‘Ah well - maybe one day.’

  As he folded the ladder up, they heard the rattle of the letter box downstairs.

  Mary froze. Dave noticed her anxiety.

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s probably just a bill. Mind you, they can be pretty frightening sometimes.’

  He leaned the ladder against the landing wall by the bathroom and went downstairs. Mary followed. She watched as he picked up a brightly coloured postcard from the front mat. She watched closely as he read it, biting her lip. Then he looked into her eyes, frowning with concern.

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s from him.’

  She took the card - a view of Disneyworld in Florida - and read it, her voice hoarse and tremulous. ‘“Hang out the bunting, baby, Ronnie’s on his way home. Should arrive any day now. Love from your ever loving ex”’ Her eyes were moist as she looked at Dave. ‘This is a rational fear. He’s a slime-ball. And dangerous. I’m going to dread that phone ringing.’

  Then fate intruded. Bang on cue the telephone rang, making them both jump.

  Fourteen

  Dave answered the phone. Mary waited tensely at his side, and then relaxed when she heard him say: ‘She’s not here at the moment, Mrs. Parker. But I’ll pass on the message. I’m sorry about that. I’ll make sure she has a word with her little boy about it. Maybe if we can organise it so that they have the same thing in their lunch box it wouldn’t matter.’

  Mary watched Dave closely, as he frowned and tried to control his irritation. His voice rose a touch, with a deliberately patient tone, conveying to the caller that he was running short on goodwill.

  ‘It was only a joke, Mrs. Parker. A joke. I’m sure we can sort it out. No problem. Bye now!’

  He slammed down the phone. Mary ran a finger down the outside of his arm, relieved that it hadn’t been Ronnie calling. ‘What was all that about?’

  Dave stared at the receiver, picturing the woman at the other end, who he imagined to be a snobby, dominating matriarch in twin-set and pearls. ‘Some people,’

  he shouted. ‘Haven’t they got anything better to do?’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I just don’t believe I had a conversation with the stupid woman.’

  Mary shook her head, and her mouth drew into a knowing smile. ‘Let me guess. Was that Louise Parker’s mother?’

  ‘You know it was. You heard me talking to her.’

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘Apparently her little treasure and Simon have done a swap with their lunch box meals. Simon prefers Louise’s meals, and Louise prefers what you’re feeding him.’

  Mary shrugged and pouted. ‘So big deal. Kids are kids. What can we do about that? If they want to eat each other’s lunches, well...’

  Dave rubbed at his eyes with a finger and thumb, indicating that he was tired, and this was a situation that was disturbing the imminent work on which he needed to focus. ‘Louise has healthier options in her lunch box. Mummy forbids crisps and Kit-Kats and all the other bad things kids chuck into themselves. Like we never did that when we were kids. How many adults do you know who still eat the same junk food when they reach their thirties?’

  Mary giggled. ‘Plenty. Look around you. Loads of fat people; and loads of fast food outlets.’

  ‘So what are we going to do about Mrs. Parker?’

  Mary stood close to Dave and slid her arms around his waist. ‘I’m glad you said “we”. It makes me feel ... well, that we’re really a couple, and that you’re sharing the responsibility of bringing up my boys. I just want you to know I appreciate that.’

  ‘Thanks. But that still doesn’t sort out the problem of Mrs. Parker’s little treasure.’

  A mischievous glint came into Mary’s eye. ‘Why don’t I try to find out from Simon what Louise has in her lunchbox, then give him the same thing? That way we know he’s going to eat his lunch, and poor Louise, who clearly doesn’t like her stuck-up healthy options, will have to starve.’

  Dave laughed. ‘I think you’re missing the point. This has nothing to do with food. This is early girl boy relationship developing. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.’

  Mary’s mouth gaped open. ‘No! It can’t be.’

  ‘So how else d’you explain a kid giving up his crisps and sweets for Mrs. Snobby-git’s rabbit food?’

  Mary spluttered, then jumped as the phone rang again. Wh
en she answered it, Dave saw her shoulders tense, and the look of pain that scratched at her face.

  ‘Ronnie,’ she said, unable to disguise the tremor in her voice. ‘How did you get this number?’

  ***

  Maggie glanced at the kitchen clock. She frowned then looked questioningly at Craig.

  ‘Yeah, I know what you’re going to say,’ he mumbled, staring at the floor and playing for sympathy. ‘Why aren’t I at the chippie?’

  ‘It had occurred to me. There’s no one in charge.’

  Craig shrugged. ‘There’s no other way round it.’

  Maggie’s fist tightened around her coffee mug. ‘Round what?’

  Craig muttered something which she didn’t catch. What was it?’ she shouted. ‘Come on, Craig. Talk to me.’

  ‘I’ve left Mandy in charge. She’s reliable. She can cash up. I might be gone some time.’

  ‘Got an attack of conscience, have you?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘So you’re going to pop along to the local nick and turn yourself in, and to hell with all we’ve worked for.’

  Craig stared at his sister, searching her expression for a clue to the way the conversation was heading.

  ‘You can’t bring the bloke back to life. You tell the police it was your idea, and with your record they’ll do you good and proper.’

  ‘Yeah, I’d already thought of that.’

  Maggie gritted her teeth. ‘Well then?’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you? You were all for me shopping Tony Rice earlier on.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ve had time to think about it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I think you should forget it. Carry on as normal. It’s not as if you’ve done anything wrong. You said so yourself.’

  Craig shuffled uncomfortably and picked at a loose thread on his denim jacket. ‘I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do nothing about Rice.’

  Maggie snapped: ‘Oh, come on, sweetheart, get real. This wine bar can be up and running in less than three months. We’ve already got a buyer interested in your chippie. Think what’ll happen if you involve yourself in a murder enquiry.’

  ‘I can’t help thinking about old Alex though. Harmless old boy like that.’

  ‘Are you feeling sorry for him or for yourself?’

  Craig gave an ironic laugh. ‘Both, I reckon.’

  Maggie walked over to him and kissed his cheek. ‘I know you feel guilty. But it’s not your fault. Forget it. There’s a lot at stake.’

  Craig chuckled. ‘I never realised before just how ambitious my big sister is.’

  She smacked his shoulder playfully. ‘Start comparing me to Gary and I’ll beat you up.’

  ‘Yeah, I believe you.’ Craig frowned as he smelt the sweetness on her breath. ‘Maggs, have you been drinking?’

  ‘What, at half-eleven in the morning? Course not.’

  She laughed lightly. But the way she behaved, Craig noticed, was contrived. The glib way she denied it; the way she avoided looking at him.

  ‘Well, I’d better get down to the chippie,’ he said. ‘I’ll see myself out. Thanks, Maggs.’

  As soon as she heard the font door slam, Maggie opened one of the kitchen cupboards, took out a brandy bottle and poured herself a large measure.

  Fifteen

  Maria lay with her feet up on the sofa, staring at the telephone, willing it to ring. She glanced at her watch and sighed. ‘He said he’d ring lunchtime. Maybe he smells a rat.’

  Vanessa, sitting in the easy chair opposite, said, ‘He’ll ring. But he likes to play games. Make you think he’s going to ring, then...’

  Before she could finish her sentence, the telephone rang. Maria resisted the temptation to pick it up straight away and ran a hand over her bare midriff, toying with the ring in her pierced belly button. She let it ring three times before answering.

  ‘Hi! Maria speaking.’

  ‘Hi, Sweetheart. Jason.’

  Maria smiled triumphantly at Vanessa. ‘You only just caught me, darling,’ she purred into the telephone. ‘I was just about to leave.’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry. Got held up on my last job. So how about it?’

  She laughed, a throaty, sexy laugh. Dirty, even. ‘Depends what you’re referring to.’

  ‘Dinner, of course,’ he said with mock innocence, but matching the sexiness in his voice with hers.

  ‘Of course,’ she teased, I’d love to have a bite with you. I’ll cook us something special.’

  ‘But I’ve invited you out for dinner with me.’

  ‘I’d sooner stay in. More intimate. And - if I say so myself - I’m a brilliant cook. So I’ll see you at half-eight tomorrow. OK? Oh, you don’t know where I live, do you?’

  She gave him her address, then hung up and burst into laughter. ‘You don’t think I was over the top, do you?’

  Vanessa shook her head and smiled. ‘Let’s face it, he’s got such a big ego, you could have been twice as obvious and he wouldn’t have been suspicious.’

  ‘I can’t wait for tomorrow night. ’m going to enjoy this.’

  Vanessa’s eyes glinted. ‘Not half as much as I am.’

  ***

  Ted followed the man up the narrow staircase. The man stopped suddenly as he ran out of breath, and coughed and spluttered. ‘I ought to be in bed,’ he complained. ‘There’s lots of bugs going round.’

  On the top landing, he unlocked one of the two doors and held it open for Ted. ‘This is it.’

  Afraid of catching the man’s germs, Ted squeezed past, holding his breath. The single room was depressingly small. And squalid, containing a single bed with a grubby candlewick bedspread of indeterminate colour, a cracked wash basin, an improvised wardrobe which was a limp curtain on a rail, and a rickety bedside table with an ancient table lamp. Beside the lamp lay an alternative red light bulb.

  ‘Must have belonged to the other tenant,’ the man explained.

  Ted stared at it and frowned. Surely this room could not have been used for ... Ted drove the thought out of his mind. After all, this was Tunbridge Wells. That sort of thing didn’t go on here.

  Seeing Ted hesitate, the man said, ‘I know it’s not exactly the Hilton Hotel, but that’s reflected in the price.’

  Ted felt nauseous. He wanted to get out of here. But this was it. This was all he could afford. Hobson’s Choice.

  ‘I’ll ... ’ll take it,’ he muttered reluctantly.

  The man whipped out a filthy handkerchief and blew his nose copiously, before using the same rag to wipe beads of sweat from his balding head. Ted tried to swallow and almost gagged.

  ‘What’s your work situation?’ the man asked as he closely examined the contents of his handkerchief.

  ‘I work as a guard, on the railway.’

  The man regarded Ted suspiciously. ‘I see.’

  ‘I’ve just left the wife.’

  There was a pause while the man thought about this. ‘Oh well, it happens. Not that it’s any of my business. Right! Let’s get downstairs and I’ll do you up a rent book. I always give my tenants a rent book, just in case they lose their jobs. That way they’ve got something to give the unemployment benefits people.’

  Sixteen

  Rice inhaled deeply on his cigarette as the detectives returned to the interview room. He studied their expressions. He knew those looks; he’d seen them many times before. The half-smile and the glint in the eye that told him they were confident they’d got a result.

  The detective sergeant gave Rice’s solicitor a cursory nod, switched the tape recorder on and announced the continuation of the interview. Then the DI took over, going straight to the point.

  ‘Mr. Coleman has made a statement naming you as his accomplice<
br />
  in the burglary in the working men’s club. In fact...’

  Rice shrugged and interrupted him. ‘I couldn’t give a toss what Coleman

  says. I told you: I left the club before the bingo started and went to Harvey Boyle’s club in Hastings.’

  ‘We’ve spoken to Mr. Boyle and he is unable to corroborate your alibi. He says he hardly knows you and that he wasn’t with you on the night in question.’

  Rice burned with anger, his head feeling as if it might ignite. He stared at the sergeant, who was wearing a provokingly smug grin, and he flipped, using every obscenity in his otherwise limited vocabulary to describe Harvey Boyle. His solicitor stared at the table.

  ‘I don’t think,’ said the DI, ‘that an alibi will do you much good, in any case. There’s enough forensic evidence that proves you were up in that loft.’

  Rice’s eyes clouded over as he struggled to control himself. He still had one card left to play. ‘I’m a professional. That’s what I get for working with amateurs. If Coleman hadn’t panicked, old Alex might still be alive.’

  ‘Are you saying it was Coleman who killed the barman?’

  Rice stared at the tape recorder and spoke clearly. ‘I am. Coleman killed him. The bloke’s an amateur and he panicked.’

  ***

  After ringing the doorbell Donald pressed himself close to the front door, just in case Marjorie decided to look out of the window. If she saw who it was, he decided, it was unlikely that she would answer. He hummed quietly “March to the Scaffold” to keep his sense of humour alive. After an interminable wait, and thinking she must be out, he was about to abandon his foolhardy quest on behalf of his friend when the front door opened cautiously. And before Marjorie could slam it shut, Donald produced a dozen red roses from behind his back and handed them to her. This had never happened to her before and she was temporarily lost in wonder. A man giving her flowers!

  Donald beamed at her. ‘Congratulations! You must be overjoyed. And please give my best wishes to the father-to-be.’

  Recovering slightly, Marjorie sniffed and said, ‘He’s not here. He’s gone.’