More Careless Talk

by David Barry

  Maggie frowned at the allusion to alcohol. She opened the cold cabinet, grabbed a bottle of Perrier, flipped off the top, and clinked bottles with Mike. Already she felt better about herself, thinking positively about what lay ahead in her life.

  ***

  After Simon and Thomas were asleep, Mary sat watching a drama about young homosexuals on BBC2. There was a permanent frown on her face and she wasn’t really paying much attention to the programme; but she was distracted from her worrying thoughts when she saw the explicit homosexual love scenes between the leading character in the programme and another attractive young man. She found herself becoming curiously aroused by the scene, and wondered if there was something disturbingly wrong about becoming stimulated by homosexual sex. Then she surrendered to the lubricious enjoyment, knowing that it was because the actors were so good looking. A sex scene between two ugly male actors would have been different.

  As she began to relax back into the sofa, her frown softening, a growling engine sound came from the street outside. It sounded like a car that was brash and aggressive, large and flashy, like the American car that Ronnie had driven. Frowning again, she got up off the sofa, and crossed to the window. Holding her breath she tugged the curtain back a foot. There in the shadows opposite the house was Ronnie’s Chevrolet Corvette. The engine of the car rumbled and died, and an eerie silence accentuated her fear. Suddenly, from the hall, the telephone rang, piercing and alarming, and she shuddered. Perhaps it was Dave. He had promised to ring as soon as his show had finished. She needed him. God! How she needed him. She would beg him to come home, even if only for the night. She dashed out into the hall and grabbed the phone.

  ‘Darling!’ she said with a quick intake of breath, expecting it to be the comforting warmth of her partner’s voice, but her expectation turned to ice as she heard the humourless laugh from the other end.

  ‘You haven’t called me that in years. Now I know I’m in with a chance.’

  ‘Ronnie!’ she said. ‘I told you not to call me. It’s over between us.’

  ‘Then why did you do that just now?’

  In spite of wanting to slam down the phone, her curiosity was aroused, wanting to know what he meant. ‘Why did I do what?’

  ‘Give me the signal just now. Pull back the curtain as arranged. Letting me know you were ready for me.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ Her voice rasped as she tried to stop herself from shouting and screaming, in case she woke the children. ‘I heard your car, that was all. I had to see who it was.’

  ‘Could have been any old car. Don’t give me that, babe. You were waiting for me. So now I’m here. You going to let me in or not?’

  Mary slammed the phone down, ran to the front door and slid the bolt across the top. Then she tore out to the kitchen and tried to do the same with the bolt at the bottom of the door, but the bolt was rusty and hadn’t been used in years. It wouldn’t budge. Panicking, because she knew Ronnie had somehow managed to enter the house when they were away in Blackpool, Mary dashed back into the hall and dialled the emergency services. She asked for the police, saying she was under attack from an intruder. And then she heard Ronnie’s car starting up, and heard it’s heavy roaring sound as it drove past the front door. Dazed, she stood listening to it’s diminishing roar as it distanced itself from the house.

  She stood like a statue, unable to move, numb from the fear of knowing that Ronnie had the upper hand. What could she tell the police when they arrived? And, more to the point, what could they do to stop him?

  Tears trickled down her cheeks as she stood helplessly clutching the hall table for support, waiting, growing colder and colder, and more desperate as the minutes ticked by.

  Thirty - Nine

  As soon as Maggie got home, having dropped the children at school, the telephone rang. It was Mike, talking in hushed tones on his mobile. He hurriedly explained that his wife was suffering from depression, and he was having to accompany her to the doctor’s, and couldn’t get out of it. Then he hurriedly ended the conversation, saying he would try to call in at the wine bar later that night.

  As soon as he had hung up, Maggie felt let down. She had dared to indulge in the luxury of anticipating her ex lover’s arrival, and the possibility of some frantic and hurried lovemaking, the sort of forbidden-fruit quickie that is exciting at the beginning of a relationship. Now she felt truly disappointed, especially as she had promised herself that this time their relationship might become deeper, more lasting and committed.

  Later in the afternoon, having struggled with her demons while she watched her customers knocking back wine, she succumbed to the temptation to pour herself a large Chardonnay. First she had to get rid of Craig, so she told him to have a few hours deserved break. Glad of the excuse to get away from his sister for a while, and under no illusions why she wanted him out of the way, Craig decided to walk back to his flat in High Brooms and have a relaxing soak in the bath. He met his old employee, Mandy, as he set off up Mount Pleasant.

  ‘Hi, Mandy,’ he said, his voice leaping with surprise and pleasure.

  She smiled at him, her eyes warm and twinkling as she registered how genuinely delighted he seemed at this chance meeting.

  ‘Hello, Craig. I’ve missed you these last weeks.’

  ‘Have you?’

  She nodded solemnly. ‘It’s not the same any more. I don’t think I’ll ever have a boss as good as you was.’

  ‘What’s the new owner like?’

  ‘I’m thinking of jacking it in, when I get something better.’

  ‘Why what’s wrong?’

  ‘Mario’s a sneaky, dirty little git. As soon as his missus ain’t around, he comes on really strong.’

  Craig laughed.

  ‘It ain’t funny. I can’t stand him.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Craig, looking suitably contrite. ‘It’s just I can’t imagine it. He’s like Danny De Vito. Tiny little runt. I should think you could eat him alive.’

  ‘I ain’t that fat, Craig.’

  Craig blushed. ‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...’

  ‘So how’s tricks at the wine bar?’ Mandy asked hastily, to save his embarrassment.

  ‘It’s doing pretty well. It was a slow start. But now I think we’ve cracked it.’

  ‘Good. I’m really pleased for you.’

  Looking deep into her eyes, Craig believed he could read her thoughts. He was certain he was getting a clear signal that she wanted him; that she was his for the asking. But then Craig always felt insecure where women were concerned, and never made the first move for fear of rejection.

  He swallowed noisily, then started to speak. ‘I ... um...’

  Mandy smiled warmly, attracted by what she thought of as his disarming shyness. ‘What were you going to say?’

  Craig shrugged nonchalantly and looked away from her. ‘I’ve got the rest of the afternoon off. I was just about to wander back to my gaff and have a nice long soak in the bath.’

  Mandy waited for him to look at her before she spoke. ‘I was just about to do the same thing myself.’ She licked her top lip and smiled at him. ‘Of course, we could always save on the water.’

  An enormous grin spread across Craig’s face. ‘Especially as there’s almost a drought on. Sounds good to me. Wanna come back to my place?’

  Mandy quickly slid her hand into Craig’s. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  ‘I was going to walk back. It’s a good twenty minute walk.’

  ‘That’s OK. It’s a nice day.’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t know about you: I’d sooner get there as quick as we can. Let’s go back to the station and get a cab.’

  She could sense his urgency now as they hurried along towards the taxi rank. She squeezed his hand and smiled knowingly to herself.

  ***

  Ted
gazed lovingly at his little bundle in her cot and gently tugged back the sheet to allow her to breathe more freely. He sighed contentedly and gave her his secret smile, reserved for her and no one else. Then a deep frown clouded his expression as he contemplated the name. Tracey. She was definitely not a Tracey. He had set his heart on Portia or Olivia. Lavinia even.

  ‘What are you up to?’

  Ted straightened up, like puppet having its strings jerked, and turned around to face Marjorie as she shuffled into the nursery.

  ‘Shh!’ Ted put a finger to his lips. ‘She’s still asleep.’

  Marjorie gave him a patronising smile. ‘Of course she’s asleep. She’s been fed. But you can feed her in future.’

  Ted looked shocked. ‘Me!’

  ‘I don’t think I can carry on giving her the breast.’

  ‘But isn’t it...’ Ted began.

  ‘What?’

  ‘More ... well, better for her.’

  Marjorie snorted. ‘Load of old rubbish. It don’t make the slightest bit of difference. My mother was all skin and bone, had no milk to speak of. And she put me on the bottle pretty damn quick. And it didn’t do me no harm.’

  Ted paused while he thought about a witty rejoinder he might make to this but thought better of it. ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ he said, lamely.

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  Marjorie suddenly spotted the large soft Donald Duck at the end of the cot. ‘What’s that?’ she demanded in a harsh whisper.

  ‘It’s a soft toy.’

  ‘I can see what it is. What’s it doing there?’

  ‘I bought it. Babies like cuddly toys.’

  ‘But why Donald Duck?’

  Ted shrugged. ‘No reason.’

  ‘I mean, why not a teddy bear or a lion or a dog. Why d’you pick Donald Duck?’

  ‘I just thought...’ Ted stopped, unable to think of an explanation.

  ‘What?’ demanded Marjorie forcefully.

  Ted tutted with frustration. ‘I saw it I the shop, so I bought it. I don’t know why.’

  Marjorie’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. The doorbell chimed. Relieved, Ted began tip-toeing towards the door.

  ‘No you don’t,’ whispered Marjorie. ‘I’ll get it. You go and make up Tracy’s feed.’

  Ted stopped and frowned. ‘How?’

  ‘Everything you need’s on the kitchen table. Just follow the instructions. You can’t go wrong.’

  Forty

  At first Marjorie was taken aback when she opened the front door and found Donald, wearing a beatific smile and a twinkle in his eye like a roguish monk. But she recovered quickly when she spotted the enormous bunch of red roses he was carrying, which he suddenly thrust towards her, almost as if they were lovers.

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, then noticed the boastfully large Donald Duck he held in his other hand. ‘That’s strange.’

  Donald raised an eyebrow, an expression he had perfected over the years. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Ted bought her a Donald Duck as well.’ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘And your name’s Donald.’

  Donald chuckled. ‘Two minds but a single thought. I’m her Uncle Donald. Her wicked Uncle Donald.’

  ‘So you’re going to be Tracey’s uncle, are you?’

  ‘Tracey!’ Donald looked ill. ‘Is that what you’ve called her? Tracey?’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing, but I just thought something more suitable for the little angel might be more...’

  Marjorie interrupted him. ‘You haven’t seen her yet.’

  ‘No, but I can imagine how beautiful she must be. Your little treasure.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Marjorie as she sniffed the roses, almost hoping they might bring on a bout of hay fever.

  Donald smiled hugely. ‘Your Ted’s besotted by her.’

  ‘Is he? When did he tell you that?’

  Donald shrugged off her questions. ‘Can I come in and see her?’

  `Marjorie stepped aside reluctantly. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Donald, noticing the strong smell of boiled fish and lavender floral air spray as he stepped inside. Marjorie grasped his arm in a claw-like grip as he shut the door.

  ‘What about your friend?’

  ‘Friend?’

  ‘Yeah. The one with the funny name.’

  ‘Oh! Bamber!’

  ‘Yeah. Him.’

  Donald laughed uneasily. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve ever watched University Challenge?’

  ‘I might have done. A few times. If there was nothing else on. What about it?’

  ‘Bamber’s mother named him after the quizmaster. Bamber Gascoine. She was a fan, you see.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Marjorie, releasing her grip on Donald’s arm. ‘And what does he think of all this?’

  Donald frowned deliberately. ‘Bamber, you mean? I’m not with you.’

  ‘What does he think about you and my husband going out together?’

  ‘He’s ... er ... well, put it this way - Bamber prefers the mind-numbing, mindless thud of rock music to the seductive language of the bard.’

  ‘Seductive?’ Marjorie questioned, peering suspiciously at Donald.

  ‘Er, just an expression.’

  Ted appeared at the top of the stairs. He blushed when he saw Donald.

  ‘Hello. Ted,’ enthused Donald. ‘Once again - congratulations!’ He waved Donald Duck in the air. ‘Look what I’ve got for ... er ... Tracey.’

  Ted giggled sheepishly. ‘I got her one as well.’

  ‘Not quite the same,’ said Marjorie, sniffing disdainfully. ‘Donald’s one is much bigger than yours.’

  Donald looked down at the floor. He didn’t dare catch Ted’s eye.

  ***

  Although it was late afternoon, Pran still felt shaky and unsteady on his feet. He didn’t have a definable headache, but somewhere inside his head a swarm of something decidedly painful buzzed around in an endless and disturbingly unreal aggravation. When the doorbell rang, he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position on the sofa, fumbled for the remote, and clicked off Deal Or No Deal.

  When he eased open his flat door, he was puzzled to discover an extremely attractive mixed-race girl. Not that he was attracted to the opposite sex in any way, shape or form. But he could see she was a lovely looking, with a figure that many women would have died for.

  ‘Mr. Kapoor?’ she said.

  He nodded, puzzled and unable to comprehend any discernible reason for her visit. Surely the creditors were not on to him already? He was aware that his unemployment was eating into his savings, but as far as he knew he was still afloat.

  She gave him a wonderfully warm and gleaming white smile from a perfect set of teeth before she spoke. ‘I’ve tracked you down, from your previous employment. I took over your job after you walked out. And I’ve had terrible problems with my manager. t was so bad, I took the organisation to an industrial tribunal. I’m taking them to court to try to get compensation. So I’d like to talk to you about the problems you had with her.’

  Pran’s hangover seemed to vanish instantly. This was the revenge he’d been waiting for, being handed to him on a plate. He grinned at his visitor.

  ‘You’d better come in. I’m happy to talk to anyone who can get even with that bitch.’

  Forty - One

  ‘There you go. Tina, isn’t it?’

  Pran’s attractive visitor nodded as he handed her a mug of coffee. She noticed how shaky his hands were, and wondered if he was nervous; but while he’d been out in the kitchen brewing coffee, she had noticed the two empty wine bottles on the coffee table and decided he probably had a hangover.

  Pran sat in a chair opposite her, and gave her a
shy smile. ‘You said you wanted to talk about my experiences in the organisation.’

  She blew on her coffee and nodded. ‘That’s right. I’ve brought an industrial action against them on grounds of racial discrimination.’

  Pran frowned, and his eyes took on a determined steely look. ‘It’s about time someone did. You know I walked out of the job.’

  ‘Yes, I heard rumours. Then a colleague of yours confirmed it for me.’

  ‘It was stupid of me. Walking out like that. I should have done what you’re doing.’

  ‘Maybe you still can.’

  Pran shook his head. ‘It’s probably too late now, but any help I can give you... I mean, I can’t tell you how much I regret walking out. The times I’ve fantasised about getting my own back on them. Revenge would be so sweet. So any help I can give you...’

  ‘Thanks. So what went on must have been pretty extreme, if you just walked out like that.’

  ‘It had been building up from week one. I hated every day I spent in that office. Then all it took was one more remark and I flipped. Lost it completely.’

  ‘Well, I suppose if you’d been subjected to racist comments for six months...’

  Pran shook his head emphatically and cut in. ‘No, there was only one racist comment. That was when I walked out. That bitch of a manager accused me of having a chip on my shoulder, said it was typical of...’ Pran broke off, gestured both palms upwards, offering it to his visitor to guess the rest.

  ‘Of what?’ said Tina. ‘Ethnic minority people.’

  ‘She didn’t actually say it. She stopped herself in time.’

  Tina banged her coffee mug onto the table. ‘Oh damn! I wonder if a tribunal would interpret the first part of her comment as a racist one she was about to make. I doubt it. She’d just deny that’s what she was going to say.’ She looked at Pran with a puzzled frown. ‘So what was the build up to this incident. What was going on?’

  There was a pause while Pran thought about this. ‘I’m gay,’ he said, watching carefully her reaction. Her expression remained blank.