More Careless Talk

by David Barry

  Bamber inhaled deeply on his cigarette and eyed Donald shrewdly. ‘How did you know she’d thrown him out?’

  ‘He phoned me at the shop. He was in a terrible state. But she’s going to make it up with him. And you know why? Because she believes me about the occasional theatre visits.’

  ‘Huh! More fool her.’

  ‘It happens to be the truth. Ted and I are just good friends. It’s all perfectly innocent. I promise you.’

  ‘Yes,’ muttered Bamber, ‘and Elton John’s not gay.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You can never raise your mind above the level of your navel. Ted and I,’ Donald stressed, ‘are friends. Nothing more.’

  Bamber stared at his partner and gave him a masturbatory gesture. Donald giggled suddenly.

  ‘Well, that sort of thing does help to seal a friendship.’

  Bamber frowned. ‘I hope you’re joking.’

  ‘And another thing,’ said Donald, starting to enjoy himself, because he knew he had the upper hand now. ‘When his baby’s born, I’m going to be the godfather. A very special uncle.’

  Bamber looked pained. ‘Oh, purlease! I think I might puke.’

  Donald laughed loudly. ‘We’re going to be one big happy family.’

  Angrily, Bamber dropped his cigarette into his coffee mug, knowing it would infuriate Donald, and moved towards the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Thought I’d take a walk on the common.’

  Donald ground his teeth. ‘Going cottaging, you mean.’

  Bamber turned at the door, eyes glinting with minor triumph, knowing that the position of power had shifted again. ‘It’s all innocent. Like you and your theatre friend. You do believe me, don’t you?’

  Donald could feel the blood boiling in his face. ‘I forbid you to go on the common.’

  Grinning, Bamber came back and stood cockily in front of Donald. He took out his mobile and offered it to his partner.

  ‘Ring your friend, get him round here, and let’s all three of us have some fun.’

  Donald went to take the mobile, then hesitated. ‘I don’t think he’ll play ball. After all, he was straight until recently.’

  ‘Was?’

  Donald took the mobile and started to dial Ted’s number. ‘OK. But I don’t think he’ll like a heavy smoker any more than I do. Go and clean your teeth. And gargle with mouthwash. There’s a good boy.’

  Twenty - Five

  Knowing Mary and his sons would be away in Blackpool, Ronnie arrived at Dave’s house late one night, having parked the distinctive Chevrolet Corvette streets away.

  He walked confidently into the narrow passageway beside the house, tried the back gate, and found it hadn’t been bolted on the other side. He grinned confidently and thought about how stupid the comedian was, not even taking the precaution of bolting the back gate. As he felt his way along the wall towards the back door, he patted his coat pocket. The bulge was small, but it gave him a feeling of immense power. With these two little beauties, these two state-of-the-art, miniature camcorders, he’d be able to keep his eye on his ex-wife. He could watch her every move. It would freak her out. Oh yes, he had plans for the bitch. By the time he was through with her, she’d come crawling to him, begging to have him back. After all, they were two of a kind.. The perfect couple. They always had been, and always would be.

  ***

  Nigel hastily finished his breakfast, dashed into the bathroom, and doused himself with cologne and after shave. He smiled optimistically at his reflection in the shaving mirror and inwardly congratulated himself. That champagne had been a masterstroke. So why hadn’t she telephoned yet?

  He went back downstairs, and was about to load his breakfast crockery in the dishwasher when the phone rang. Grinning, he dashed into the office and picked it up.

  ‘Oh, Nigel,’ said the loving, full-of-gratitude voice of his beloved. ‘Thank you! That was a wonderful thing to do. The cast were thrilled.’

  He chortled with delight. ‘I hope you haven’t drunk it all. It’s for tonight. After the performance.’

  She giggled, which was music to his ears.

  ‘Of course we haven’t drunk it. Mind you, there were a few of them who said they felt like getting sloshed after the dress rehearsal.’

  ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘Yes, it didn’t go too well. People forgot their lines and the director shouted at us.’

  ‘Huh! He’s lucky to get you. You’re the best thing in it, my sweet.’

  ‘You’re just saying that.’

  ‘I’m not. I mean it. I can’t wait for tonight.’

  ‘And I can’t wait for the week after next.’

  ‘Why? What’s happening then?’ he teased.

  ‘You know very well,’ she giggled, playing along with him. ‘There’s something on television I want to watch.’

  Nigel laughed loudly. ‘Well, what’s to stop you watching it?’

  ‘Because I’ll be all tucked up with my husband. Oh, I do love you, Nigel.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Nigel, caught sight of his reflection in his computer monitor and smoothed down his hair. ‘I mean, of course, I love you. And after your performance tonight, I suggest we have a little celebration drinkie of our own. Just you and me. Back here, maybe.’

  ‘Oh, but we’re all of us going for a Chinese meal after the show. Cast and friends of the cast. It was Arnold’s idea.’

  Nigel felt himself go cold and he gnashed his teeth.

  ‘Hello? Nigel? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m still here,’ he said in a voice that had badly crashed.

  ***

  Claire stared zombie-like at her bowl of muesli. Mike sat opposite her, trying to crunch his toast quietly in the stifling atmosphere.

  ‘You haven’t told me about your visit to Newcastle,’ he said after a long silence.

  ‘Haven’t I?’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Mike sighed, finding it difficult to conceal his irritation. ‘Listen, Claire, if you won’t see a doctor about this...’

  ‘I’m going!’ she snapped, cutting him short.

  ‘When?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Ten-fifteen.’

  Mike glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘You’d better eat your breakfast then.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You must eat.’

  ‘I said I’m not hungry.’

  Mike stared at her, trying to suppress his growing anger. She hadn’t moved from that position, or even looked up at him, for the past fifteen minutes. He felt like shaking her, shouting at her, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. This was not self-indulgence on her part. This was real. Genuine depression.

  ‘Let’s hope the doctor can prescribe some happy pills,’ he said with forced cheerfulness.

  ‘I hope so.’ She looked up at him suddenly. ‘I don’t want to be like this you know.’

  ‘I never said you did.’

  ‘Only I get the impression you think I’m putting it on.’

  Licking the marmalade from his fingers, Mike got up from the table and took his plate over to the sink, trying to find room in the pile of dirty crockery. ‘I’ve got to go and do some work. I’ll do the washing up when I get home.’

  ‘Don’t martyr yourself, Mike.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m trying to help.’

  ‘Don’t you think I want everything to be normal, just as they were?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘And, on top of it all, I’ve still got to write some stupid advertising feature on a new restaurant that’s opening in Tunbridge Wells.’

  ‘Well
, you can do that on automatic pilot. You’ve done it before.’

  ‘But they want me to attend their opening night, as well. Will you come with me? At least it’ll be free food and wine.’

  Mike smiled sympathetically, showing her he cared. ‘What could be better? Whereabouts is this place?’

  ‘Just off the High Street.’

  ‘What is it? Italian? Chinese? Indian?’

  ‘Well, it’s a wine bar, actually.’

  Mike frowned. Somewhere in the back of his mind a warning chord struck. ‘What’s it called, this wine bar?’

  ‘I don’t know. Does it matter?’

  He picked up his haircutting bag and walked to the door. As he was about to leave, Claire said: ‘I think it’s called Maggie’s Wine Bar. Very original, seeing as that’s what the owner’s name is.’

  Mike went hot and cold suddenly. ‘When are we supposed to be visiting this wine bar?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘I’ll see you later then.’

  As soon as he left the house, Mike tried to call Maggie on her mobile. Although it was over between them, he had to let her know in advance that he would be showing up at her new wine bar with his wife, whom she had never met. For all he knew, she might handle it badly, and Claire might notice her behaviour, those tell-tale looks that pass between ex-lovers.

  But Maggie’s mobile was on voice mail and he didn’t want to leave a message. Then he realised she was probably up to her eyes, what with it being the opening night of her wine bar. He glanced at his watch. He was already late for his first appointment. He would just have to hope and pray that Maggie was sensible enough not to allow her body language to reveal their past intimacy.

  Twenty - Six

  Nigel Dropped Jackie off outside the Victoria Hall, Southborough. She waited for him to park the car in one of the narrow streets opposite, frowning in concentration as she tried to remember her opening lines, which had mysteriously been obliterated from her brain.

  ‘Nervous?’ Nigel asked as he approached her, grinning broadly.

  Jackie shook her head. ‘I wish I’d never become involved now.’

  Teasingly, Nigel tittered and said, ‘Why? You’re not nervous, are you?’

  ‘Of course I am,’ she snapped unintentionally.

  Nigel squeezed her hand, kissed her cheek and said, ‘You’ll be all right.’

  Then, looking at his watch added, ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do for the next hour. Why did you have to get here so early?’

  ‘Because...oh, just because. Please try to understand.’

  A note of petulance crept into Nigel’s voice. ‘It’s a long time to hang around.’

  ‘There’s a pub opposite. Go and have a drink and a sandwich.’

  ‘Can’t you come with me?’

  Jackie tutted. ‘No, I daren’t.’

  Nigel’s face screwed up into a puzzled frown. ‘Daren’t?’

  ‘I daren’t have any alcohol. I’ll forget my lines.’

  Nigel shrugged. ‘Have a soft drink then. What’s the problem?’

  Jackie looked up at him, her eyes soft and appealing like a child’s. When she spoke, it was with her helpless little girl’s voice. ‘I have to get backstage early, darling. Please try and understand.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, rather more abruptly than he intended. ‘I’ll see you afterwards.’

  He turned and walked away. Slightly hurt, Jackie called after him, ‘Aren’t you going to wish me luck?’

  He stopped and blew her a kiss. ‘I hope it goes well. What is it they say?

  Break your legs?’

  Jackie giggled. ‘I think it’s just one leg, actually. And don’t be late. It starts at seven-thirty.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Why would I be late?’

  ‘It’s just that I know you.’

  ***

  On his way home Mike rang Directory Enquiries to try to get the number of Maggie’s Wine Bar, but either it wasn’t listed yet or it was in another name. He wanted to warn her about turning up with Claire, but now it looked as if he was going to have to play everything by ear. The wine bar was only a fifteen minute walk from their house, so they agreed to walk there and catch a taxi home. As they were half way to the wine bar, Mike casually mentioned that he might know Maggie.

  ‘You know that bloke Gary, who was killed in a car smash in Ashdown Forest?’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Nearly a year ago. I think it might be his missus who’s running this wine bar.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I think her name was Maggie.’

  ‘It’s not an uncommon name. What makes you think it’s her?’

  ‘I was round there once, cutting his hair, and I remember them talking about opening a wine bar. It seems too much of a coincidence.’

  Claire, who had up until now only been half listening, walking with her eyes fixed straight ahead, suddenly turned and looked at him, her eyes alert and demanding. ‘Have you seen this Maggie since her husband died?’

  Mike stared into the estate agent’s window as they passed, suddenly showing great interest in house prices. Claire repeated her question.

  ‘After her husband died, did you see this Maggie again?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t I tell you what happened? I thought I did. It was embarrassing. I turned up to cut Gary’s hair only a week after the funeral. He had an appointment...’

  ‘Well, you weren’t to know.’

  ‘All the same. It was awkward.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘What d’you mean what happened?’

  ‘When you confronted the grieving widow like that.’

  ‘Well, what could I say? I just apologised and went away.’

  ‘And did you see her again?’

  Mike overdid a puzzled expression, frowning furiously, and laughed lightly.

  ‘Of course not. Why would I see her again?’

  ‘Well, Tunbridge Wells is not that big a town. You could have bumped into her on your travels.

  ‘Yes, well ... I didn’t.’

  Mike’s mouth felt dry. He realised he had made a mistake. He should never have mentioned Maggie in this way. He had alerted his wife, aroused her suspicion, and now it was too late to back-track. He just hoped Maggie said all the right things.

  And he prayed her body language didn’t give Claire any further clues.

  ‘Well, we’ll soon see,’ said Claire, ‘whether this is the same Maggie or not.’

  Mike shivered. The way Claire had spoken indicated that she was going to be watching for every little look exchanged between him and Maggie.

  ***

  Nigel was ten minutes late for the performance. He had walked down to the Cross Keys, and it was further than he thought, and while he was there, he overheard a customer talking about the need for a new telephone switchboard, and had seized the opportunity to do some selling. After an hour long discussion on the pros and cons of various systems, Nigel stared at the pub clock and it suddenly hit him that he was late.

  He offered the potential client a card, then ran all the way back up the hill to Southborough, and caused an upheaval as he pushed his way to his seat in the third row of the Victoria Hall. He made up for his lateness by laughing loudly at every joke. He laughed so loudly at one of Jackie’s lines that a woman sitting nearby stared at him as if he was mad. It hadn’t been that funny. Noticing her stare, Nigel gave her a wide grin. ‘It’s my fiancée,’ he explained proudly.

  ***

  When Alan got back from work, he found Pran lying on the sofa, staring at the Pointless. His eyes were distant, and he was clearly not taking anything in. Alan summoned up all his patience in an effort to be sympathetic and understanding.

 
‘So how d’you feel?’

  Pran rubbed at his forehead. ‘Bloody awful.’

  ‘What did the doctor say?’

  Alan noticed his partner was deliberately avoiding eye contact with him, staring with a fixed expression at the television screen. Well?’ he demanded, the sympathy starting to wither.

  ‘Not much really,’ said Pran, his voice deliberately monotone.

  ‘He must have said something.’

  ‘He said he couldn’t find anything wrong with me. He said the headaches could be caused by depression.’

  Alan tried to check his impatience by breathing out evenly. ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s about it.’

  ‘And did he sign you off?’

  Pran didn’t answer, continued to stare at the TV screen as if he had found an item of interest.

  ‘Pran, I’m talking to you. What are you doing about work? You’ve been off for three days now. That’s why you need a doctor’s certificate.’

  ‘I’ve already written to them at work. I’ve handed in my notice.’

  ‘You what?’

  Alan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He felt the anger rising in his body, about to erupt like a volcano. As he looked at his partner stretched out on the sofa, he wanted nothing more than to smash the little shit’s head in.

  Twenty - Seven

  ‘Are you pissing me about, or what?’ yelled Alan, standing between the sofa and the television set, blocking his partner’s view.

  ‘I’ve walked out. I’m not going back there.’

  ‘I don’t believe this. You’ve just walked out of a bloody good job.’

  Pran rubbed his eyes and mumbled through his hands. ‘I couldn’t stand it. It was doing my head in.’

  Alan stared disbelievingly at his partner, trying to control himself. ‘It was doing your head in! I don’t believe I’m hearing this. You walked out of there on Monday, and you lied to me. Made out you were ill.’

  Pran looked up at Alan, a pleading, sorrowful look in his eyes. ‘I didn’t lie to you. I really did feel ill.’

  Alan laughed humourlessly. ‘Oh! A bantering remark brought on one of your headaches, did it?’