by David Barry
‘And they discriminated against you for it?’ she said.
‘They didn’t know. They thought I was straight. It was the banter and homophobic remarks that got to me. My partner at the time, Alan, was furious I hadn’t outed myself. We broke up because of it.’
‘So it cost you your job and relationship?’
Pran nodded sombrely. ‘At least now I’ve got the chance to do something positive. Help with your case.’
‘But if you’re going to tell the tribunal about all the inappropriate remarks and behaviour, you might have to admit...’ She stopped herself, and let Pran pick up the cue.
‘That I’m gay. Yes, I’d thought about that.’
‘But if you couldn’t say so at the time...’
Pran shrugged. ‘Why now, you mean? I suppose it’s because I’ve no more pride left. I’ve nothing to lose.’
‘But these things can sometimes snowball, you know. Make headlines.’
Pran stared down into his coffee cup and muttered: ‘That’s the one part that bothers me. If it becomes public, my parents...’
Tina leaned forward, looking concerned. ‘Don’t they know?’
‘I think it would destroy my father, if he knew.’
‘Oh my God! Nothing’s worth that risk.’
Pran looked up, staring across at her, fire in his eyes.
‘Yes, it is. I’ll do it. I’m not going to end up like my sister, denying my true feelings. If my father has a problem with my sexuality - then tough! I’m not going to hide. Not anymore.’
***
When Craig arrived back at the wine bar in the early evening, Maggie couldn’t help but notice how relaxed and happy he looked, even though he seemed remote, lost in his secret thoughts. He didn’t even nag her about the large white wine she was drinking.
‘It’s amazing,’ she said, ‘what difference a few hours break and a nice long soak in the bath can make.’
He grinned, poured himself a red wine, and clinked glasses with her. ‘Cheers! If you can’t beat ‘em.’
Maggie frowned thoughtfully and stared at her brother. Never had she seen such a rapid change in him before. He had gone off after the afternoon session looking moody and irritable, and now he was like another person.
‘Did you meet anyone while you were out?’ she asked lightly.
‘I think I’ve sorted out our staff problems.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Remember Mandy, used to work for me at the chippie?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘I bumped into her on the way home. She’s still there, working for the new owner. You know, that little toe-rag you couldn’t stand.’
‘At least he made us an offer we didn’t refuse.’
‘Yeah, well, Mandy ain’t too happy working for him.’
Maggie slammed her glass onto the bar. Several customers looked round. Maggie leaned close to Craig and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘You haven’t offered her a job, have you?’
Craig was startled by her sudden vehemence. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Oh, Craig!’
‘So what’s wrong with Mandy? It saves us having to advertise.’
‘I just wish you’d consulted me first.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
Maggie pulled a face. ‘Oh, I’m delighted.’
Craig’s jaw tightened. ‘D’you mind telling me what you’ve got against Mandy?’
‘I’ve got nothing against her personally; I hardly know her. I just don’t think she’s right for this type of wine bar, that’s all.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’
‘I just think we ought to keep our options open, Craig. You can’t just go around offering jobs to anyone you happen to bump into in the street. It’s unprofessional.’
‘I haven’t offered it to her. I just said there was a good chance of a job. And she’s coming to see us on Monday morning.’
‘Well that’s something, I suppose. I only hope she doesn’t think it’s a foregone conclusion. I think we ought to see a few more applicants first.’
Craig shook his head with irritation. ‘We haven’t got any.’
‘We were planning to advertise. I still think we ought to.’
Craig’s voice rose a trace. ‘Why waste the money? Mandy’s a good little worker.’
Maggie looked long and hard into her brother’s eyes. ‘Are you and this Mandy ... have you got a thing going for her.’
Craig shrugged and looked down into his glass. ‘Well...’
Maggie sighed loudly. ‘Oh, Craig! That is definitely not a good idea to employ someone who...’ She left the sentence pointedly incomplete.
Craig could feel tears of disappointment pricking the back of his eyes. ‘Well at least give her a chance.’
Maggie suddenly felt guilty, and squeezed his hand. ‘OK. We’ll see her Monday. And who knows? It might work out.
Let’s wait and see.’
***
Mary had just tucked Simon and Thomas in for the night, and was coming out onto the landing, when she heard the letter box opening and something landing on the doormat. She frowned. It was a bit late for one of the free papers to be delivered.
From the top of the stairs she saw the A4 brown envelope lying on the mat, and right away she had a bad feeling about it. She hurried downstairs and picked it up. There was nothing written on the envelope. She went into the kitchen and tore it open. Inside was a photograph of her in the bedroom wearing nothing but bra and panties. Something screamed inside her brain as panic seized her. She dropped the photograph onto the table and rushed upstairs to the bedroom. She looked on top of the wardrobe, tried to find anywhere there might be a hidden camera, as she thought about the angle of the picture, but she found nothing.
In the street outside, several hundred yards away from the house, Ronnie sat in his car. So far so good. Everything was going according to plan. He had broken into the house the night before, removed the camera, then left leaving no traces. He loved these sorts of mind games, knowing how much it would unsettle her.
Tomorrow he would activate the next part of his plan. Then soon she would be his again.
Forty - Two
Mike stood at the cash machine waiting for his money to be dispensed, all the time thinking about another visit to Maggie’s wine bar, to see if he could persuade her to meet him again. He regretted having had to postpone their last assignation and only hoped she wouldn’t change her mind about becoming his lover once again.
He stuffed the dispensed hundred pounds into his wallet, waited for his receipt, then grabbed it and walked along the High Street towards the wine bar. He glanced down at the receipt, and what he saw made him stop in his tracks. The account should have been in credit, at least to the tune of fifteen hundred pounds. Instead, it was overdrawn by over two hundred. Well within their agreed overdraft limit, but still overdrawn when it should have been in credit. What was going on?
He hesitated, dying to pay Maggie another visit, but now he needed to know why he and Claire’s account was overdrawn. Had she taken a great deal of money out of the account, and for what purpose? Reluctantly, he turned away from Maggie’s wine bar, and began walking in the direction of home, intent on finding out what had happened to the money in the account. Their joint account. As he strode purposefully up Mount Pleasant, breathing heavily from the exertion, he cursed the day he had agreed they should have a joint bank account.
***
The photograph of Mary had been printed on ordinary copying paper, obviously printed off from a computer. She stood over the kitchen sink, held the match under the picture, and watched as it caught fire, curling slowly at the edges, until the flame
swept upwards and destroyed her image. She let it f
all into the sink, then ran the tap to wash away the ashes, so that there was nothing left of the remains. It was gone.
When she first saw the photograph, she felt dirty, even though she hadn’t posed for it. It was the creeping feeling of being watched she couldn’t take. It made her flesh creep. Ronnie watching her. But from where? She’d checked the bedroom thoroughly and could find no hidden cameras. And that was when it occurred to her that he’d been in the house again, just like the time he’d left the cassette tape behind. Deliberately letting her know that he could come and go as he liked; and she knew that if she had the locks changed it wouldn’t do any good. Ronnie would find another way to get at her. He was that sort of man. Manipulative. Evil. He liked to play games. Nasty, evil games.
She stared down into the sink, feeling slightly better now that the photograph had vanished. Cleansed by fire. If only she could find out where Ronnie lived. Get a can of petrol while he was asleep. Set fire to his house or flat, then watch while the flames wiped him out of her life for good. Then she would feel truly cleansed.
She looked at the kitchen clock. It was ten-fifteen. She wanted to phone Dave, and tell him what was going on, but she knew that if she stood in the hall using the landline, and began raising her voice, she would probably wake Simon and Thomas. That’s if they were asleep. She certainly didn’t want to worry them. Her handbag was on the kitchen table, so she took out her mobile and dialled Dave’s number.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said when she made the connection. ‘I’m in a noisy pub. I’ll just walk outside.’
She could hear music and laughter in the background, then a whoosh of sound like air escaping, and some cars hooting and traffic noises.
‘That’s better,’ Dave shouted. ‘Marginally. I miss you, Mary.’
‘Dave,’ she said, ‘he’s been in here again.’
‘Who?’
‘Who d’you think? Ronnie of course.’ She told him about the photograph, and how she couldn’t find a camera in the bedroom.
After a brief pause, he said, ‘First thing tomorrow, get along to Tonbridge Police Station. You’ve got the evidence to nail the bastard.’
‘What evidence?’
‘The photo.’
Tears swam into her eyes as she said, ‘I burnt it.’
‘What!’
‘I couldn’t stand the thought of him watching me like that. I had to destroy it.’
‘You idiot! That’s the first thing the police are going to ask for.’
Dave!’ she cried. ‘Please come home.’
A brief pause before he answered. ‘You know that’s out of the question.’
‘I need you, Dave.’
A tired, overly patient voice. ‘You know I can’t. I can’t break my contract. We’ve been through all this.’
She sobbed openly, letting him know how distraught she was. It was intended to make him feel sorry for her, enough perhaps to make him leave Blackpool and rush back to her side. Instead, it had the opposite effect. A remote, coldness crept into his tone.
‘Mary, I have to go. And I don’t know how much help I could be even if I was back in Tunbridge Wells. It’s the police that need to deal with this.’
‘I know,’ she cried, ‘but I need your support. I can’t handle this on my own.’
‘Sweetheart, listen, my battery’s almost run out. Any minute now. That’s why I said I had to go. Get along to the cop shop first thing tomorrow, and I’ll give you a call once my battery’s been recharged. Then we’ll see about...’
He deliberately clicked the cancel on his mobile, then switched it off. He hated doing it, and lying about his battery, but what could he do? His hands were tied. Why couldn’t she realise: a contract is a contract. And besides, domestic issues shouldn’t interfere with work.
He went back into the pub and joined his colleagues.
***
Claire gave Mike a warm smile as he came into the kitchen, went over and kissed him on the lips, then stood back and examined the fierce expression on his face.
‘What’s wrong? I thought it was quiz night at the White Hart tonight. I wasn’t expecting you to stagger back until almost midnight.’
‘I needed some cash, so I went to the hole in the wall and drew some out. When I got my receipt, it said we were two hundred pounds overdrawn.’
Claire frowned and nodded. ‘I was going to tell you, but...’
‘But it slipped your mind? How can seventeen hundred disappear from our account?’
Claire did her best to look contrite as she slid into a chair by the kitchen table, but she seemed infuriatingly calm. Content almost.
‘I think you’d better sit down, Mike, while I explain.’
He sat opposite her, staring hard, trying to catch her eye, but she avoided prolonged eye contact, almost as if she couldn’t stand his piercing, probing look.
‘As you can see, I’ve been making progress over the last couple of weeks. And I’m over the depression.’
‘Are you trying to tell me you’ve been paying some psychiatrist privately for a cure.’
‘Not a shrink - no way. Psychiatric practices are detrimental to an individual’s health.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since I saw the light.’
Mike frowned deeply. ‘Saw the light! What sort of mumbo-jumbo are you into?’
Claire smiled beatifically. ‘You know that American friend of mine. Lucy. Well, she’s helped me out enormously. No more depression. I feel great, Mike. And I’ve recognised my potential and turned all my negatives into positives.’
‘Just what has she done that’s cost us a five figure sum?’
‘Don’t think of it in terms of money. She’s brought me onto the path of enlightenment.’
Mike’s voice rose angrily. ‘Don’t give me that shit? What’s happened?’
There was a pause while she calmly examined a cuticle. Then she said: ‘I’ve joined the Church of Scientology.’
Forty - Three
Maggie stared at Mandy, trying hard not to look her up and down. ‘We have got one or two other people to see,’ she said. ‘So we’ll contact you one way or the other very soon. OK, Mandy?’
It was said dismissively. Mandy looked at Craig for reassurance, but he was embarrassed and was staring out of the wine bar window. Maybe he’d changed his mind about offering her the job and didn’t know how to tell her.
Maggie stood up abruptly, bringing the interview to an end. ‘So if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a busy lunchtime ahead.’
‘Er, yeah, fine,’ Mandy mumbled, colouring slightly as she rose from the table. She felt depressed, and suddenly nauseous, as if she was losing control physically. The disappointment had proved too much for her. Craig had promised. The job was hers, he’d said. But the job interview with his sister had seemed so formal.
Craig walked with her to the door, unlocked it, and let her out into the street. ‘I’ll give you a bell later,’ he said with exaggerated sweetness and winked at her.
The door clicked shut and Mandy found herself walking in a daze towards Mount Pleasant, confused and miserable. Just days ago she and Craig had made frenzied, desperate love together before lying, nakedly entwined, lost in each other’s hopes and promises. How false those promises seemed now.
***
Mary looked at the kitchen clock and panicked. ‘Hurry up, Thomas! You’re going to be late for school.’
He slurped the dregs of milk from the bottom of his cereal bowl. Mary sighed with frustration and raised her voice. ‘How many times have I got to tell you? Do not drink from the bowl like that.’
Thomas, who had heard this many times before, grinned at his mother and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
‘He does it to wind you up,’ said Simon, sounding wearil
y grown up.
The doorbell rang. ‘Blast!’ said Mary. ‘Come on, you two. It’s probably the postman.’
They hurried down the hall, and Mary threw open the door. The postman held a registered packet out. Mary frowned with confusion. The packet looked reasonably bulky, so she didn’t think it could be a bill. And it was addressed to her and not Dave.
She stared at it, making no move to take it from the postman.
‘What is it?’ asked Simon.
‘How should I know?’
‘Registered packet,’ the postman informed her in a tired, even tone. ‘I’ll need a signature.’
Reluctantly, and suspiciously, she accepted the letter and signed for it. She ignored the postman as he made a glib remark about the hot weather, before hurrying towards the house next door.
Mary stared at the letter. ‘I wonder what it is?’
Simon laughed. ‘You only have to open it to find out.’
She tore open the seal, and her heart jumped as she spotted the edge of a bundle of paper nestling in the darkness of the envelope. It looked like a wad of money. She slipped her hand inside and drew it out. It was money alright. A large bundle of twenty pound notes, crisp and new.
‘Wow!’ said Thomas. ‘That looks like a lot of money. Who’s sending us that?’
Simon was scowling suspiciously. He had been through too many hard times and hard knocks to appreciate that something for nothing always comes with a price to pay.
There was a note with the money. Mary frowned as she read it. The note was handwritten in a scrawl she recognised from years ago.
Hi Babe. Thanks for the photo which I will cherish. All I wanted was a little souvenir. And I don’t take liberties. I pay for what I want. So this is yours to enjoy. Be seeing you.
Ronnie.
‘Who’s sending us that money?’ said Simon.
‘Your father.’
‘You’re not going to take it, are you?’
Thomas’s mouth fell open, almost a parody of shock. ‘We can’t give it back. We can’t, Mum. We can’t.’
Simon, who had developed a cynicism that far outstripped his years, said, ‘She will. I know her.’
