More Careless Talk

by David Barry

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘Freda told me.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ted, taking the screaming bundle towards the door. ‘Freda. If that’s not a stupid bloody name, I don’t know what is.’

  ‘What was that?’ snapped Marjorie.

  ‘Nothing. I’ll see you later.’

  ***

  When the doorbell rang again, Pran looked across at Tina and frowned. ‘I’ve no idea who that could be.’ He gave her a weak smile. ‘Maybe it’s one of my father’s Muslim hit-men. He’s probably got a gay-bashing contract out on me.’

  Tina shuddered. ‘Oh, don’t joke about a thing like that. Answer the door.’

  She waited while he went out to the hall, holding her breath as she listened to the door being opened.

  ‘Alan! What are you doing here?’

  Tina registered the way Pran’s voice had leapt energetically.

  ‘I thought I’d look you up. I was just passing in the old neighbourhood.’

  ‘You’d better come in.’

  Alan entered the living room. Tina smiled and nodded at him, especially as he looked so taken aback at finding Pran with a girl.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you had company,’ he began.

  Pran gestured towards her. ‘This is Tina. Alan.’

  As they shook hands, Pran added, ‘Alan’s my old flatmate.’ Then laughed foolishly. ‘Er - partner, actually.’

  Sensing that Pran wanted to be alone with his ex-partner, she stood up. ‘Well, I must be off. Good to meet you, Alan.’

  ‘You don’t have to dash off on my account,’ he said.

  ‘No, I’ve got to get back to London. I said I’d meet my boyfriend.’

  ‘Congratulations on winning the case.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s been a long hard struggle. But thanks to Pran here.’ She looked at her friend and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. ‘Thanks again, Pran.’

  As soon as Pran had seen her out, and returned to the living room, they both stared at each other in silence for a while.

  ‘So how’ve you been?’ Pran asked, after inwardly analysing the silence, and realising they were both comfortable with it.

  ‘Oh - not so bad. I read about the tribunal. I thought you might need some moral support.’

  ‘You’re right, as it happens. My father knows about it. And he confirmed my worst fears. Goodbye family.’

  ‘Sorry, Pran. It was brave of you. To do what you did. It really was.’

  ‘Either that, or foolhardy. So how’s life with...?’

  ‘Vance?’

  ‘Vance!’

  Alan grinned. ‘He was American. And he wanted me to go back and live with him in the States. But I couldn’t. So we decided to split up.’

  Pran frowned thoughtfully. ‘When was this?’

  ‘About two months ago.’

  ‘You mean you’ve been on your own that long? Why didn’t you get in touch?’

  ‘Kept meaning to. Then, when I read about the tribunal, I guessed you’d need someone who once meant as much to you as family.’

  Pran felt a warm shower washing away his depression. He grinned hugely at Alan. ‘You guessed right.’

  ‘So how about coming out with me for dinner tonight?’

  ‘Try and stop me,’ Pran said, his eyes suddenly alive and optimistic. ‘And I promise I’ll watch the intake of wine.’ He giggled. ‘A gay Muslim who drinks alcohol. I must remember to do the lottery this week.’

  Alan laughed. He had been dreading this meeting. But now he was confronting his old partner, and saw how he had missed his sense of humour, he suddenly wept tears of relief.

  Pran threw his arms around his ex partner, saying, ‘It’s OK, Alan. It’s going to be OK. I know it is.’

  Fifty - Six

  Thomas frowned and chewed his bottom lip, a sure sign that he was about to ask for something. ‘Thanks for the presents, Uncle Dave. Can me an’ Simon, um, have a bit of money to get some sweets?’

  Mary pretended to look shocked. ‘Thomas! After all the presents you’ve had.’

  Dave smiled and waved her objection aside. ‘Course you can.’ He fumbled in his pocket and brought out two fifty pence pieces. ‘Here we are, Thomas. There you go, Simon.

  ‘Thanks, Dave,’ said Simon as he accepted the coin and swaggered to the door.

  ‘Race you to the shop,’ Thomas said, pushing in front of his brother.

  ‘Nah. Don’t feel like it.’

  ‘It’s starting to get dark early,’ yelled Mary. ‘Come straight home after. No loitering.’

  The front door slammed. Mary tutted and shook her head. Dave smiled tolerantly. He leaned forward and picked up the vanishing egg trick from the Penn and Teller conjuring set he’d bought Thomas.

  ‘I used to have one of these when I was a boy. Different magician but exactly the same tricks. Things don’t change that much.’

  Mary watched him. She could feel a certain tension, knowing he was dying to ask her something. He stared at the plastic conjuring trick, giving it more interest than it deserved. Then he cleared his throat, sat back in the chair and looked directly at her.

  ‘I’m afraid I put my foot in it at your mother’s on Sunday.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘When I asked about your father.’

  Mary smiled thinly. ‘You’re dying to know, aren’t you?’

  Dave coughed awkwardly. ‘Well, it’s just that you’ve never talked about him.’

  ‘Are you being sympathetic or nosy?’

  ‘Bit of both, I suppose.’

  She took a deep breath then let out a long drawn-out sigh before telling him, picking nervously at her nail cuticles as she did. ‘I was only fourteen when he died. Darren was nearly sixteen and a bit of a tearaway.’

  ‘You never talk about your brother much.’

  Mary shrugged. ‘What’s there to talk about? We were close once but now he’s 12,000 miles away. He hardly ever writes. I think he’s cut himself off . Trying to escape from the past.’

  ‘So what happened? With your father?’

  ‘He committed suicide. Just went out for a walk early one Sunday and never came back. They found him in a corner of the park, a plastic bag over his head.’

  She stopped speaking, waiting for his reaction.

  ‘God!’ he whispered. ‘What a terrible thing to...Why did he do it?’

  Mary shook her head angrily. ‘No one knows. He seemed to be perfectly normal. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason. I’ve thought about it - why, why, why a million times and I still can’t come up with anything close to an answer.’

  ‘Was he depressed?’

  ‘Not really. It was hard to tell. Dad didn’t have a sense of humour. He was a very reserved man. It was always difficult to tell what he was thinking.’

  Mary’s eyes blazed with anger.

  ‘D’you know, he never once got down on the floor and played with us as children. He wasn’t like a normal father. Me and Darren could never remember him having played with us. Not once.

  ‘I feel more angry about it now. After he died I cried so much. I seemed to have cried myself dry. I’ve got no more tears left for him anymore.’

  ‘And what about your mother?’

  ‘She avoids talking about it. I suppose, in a way, she’s doing the same as Darren.’

  After a slight pause, Dave went and sat on the arm of Mary’s chair and slipped a hand across her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I’m so sorry. It must have been terrible.’

  She looked round at him and gave him a forced smile. ‘Got a lot in common, haven’t we? We both had weird fathers.’

  ‘There’s nowt so queer as folk.’ He felt her shiver. ‘What’s wrong?�
��

  ‘I was thinking of Ronnie. His burglary of this house will be a first offence. He might not get a jail sentence. Then what?’

  ‘Well the trial’s set for two weeks’ time. Let’s hope they put him away.’

  ‘And if they don’t?’

  ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. Whatever happens, they’re not going to let him stalk you again.’

  ‘But if they don’t put him away, what can they do to stop him?’

  ‘Well, they can...’ Dave began, desperately trying to think of something reassuring to tell her. But he knew as much as she did that it was useless.

  ‘I know that bastard,’ Mary said bitterly. ‘He’ll already be plotting his next move.’

  ***

  ‘I’m in the lounge,’ Marjorie called out.

  Fearing the worst Ted entered, and Marjorie pointed at the best Draylon chair in the room.

  ‘Sit down!’ she said. Then, to soften the command, added, ‘Now we’ve got a quiet moment, I want to have a word.’

  Ted sank reluctantly into the chair, sneaked a glance at his watch, then pulled himself into a more upright position, perched on the edge of the chair. ‘Will this take long? Only I’ve got to be at work...’

  Marjorie waved it aside with a regal gesture. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter if you’re late for once.’

  Ted looked shocked. He was always conscientious, and could never remember a time when he’d turned up late. He felt he was partly responsible for keeping the trains running to time.

  ‘But the fast Cannon Street train...’ he began to protest.

  ‘Might be late!’ Marjorie finished with a chuckle. ‘This is our future I want to talk about. Let’s have a glass of Bristol Cream.’

  That was when Ted noticed the small schooner on the coffee table and realised his wife had already had a tipple or two.

  ‘I never drink before I go on duty.’

  This wasn’t strictly accurate. He occasionally allowed himself a half of bitter. But just the one, followed by an extra strong mint, in case alcohol was detected on his breath and people thought he’d had more than a half.

  But Marjorie, refusing to take no for an answer, poured out two glasses of sherry and handed one to Ted.

  ‘It’s not as though you’re the driver,’ Marjorie said in a belittling sort of way.

  ‘Even so,’ replied Ted, regarding the miniscule glass as if it contained poison. ‘It’s still a responsible job. And if they smell alcohol on my breath...’

  ‘Buy some chewing gum,’ Marjorie said, closing the subject. ‘Now then, I expect you’ve noticed all the letters I’ve been getting from estate agents.’

  Ted nodded fearfully, dreading the outcome of the conversation.

  ‘Well, I’ve decided,’ continued Marjorie, in between a quick slurp of Bristol Cream, ‘that this house is too big for us. And I shan’t be sorry to get rid of it. Have you seen the way them next door look down their noses at us?’

  ‘They seem all right.’

  Marjorie snorted derisively. ‘Bloody snobs. They always look at you as if they was laughing at you. Be glad to see the back of ‘em, I will.’

  ‘So where are you thinking of moving to?’

  ‘A hotel. In Tunbridge Wells.

  Ted formed his mouth into a silent ‘O’. Marjorie regarded him suspiciously through narrowed eyes.

  ‘You don’t seem very surprised.’

  ‘Well, yes, I am. It’s come as a shock. I mean ... a hotel. Who’s going to run it?’

  ‘We are. You and me.’

  ‘But what about my job? And my pension?’

  Marjorie waved it aside, and downed the rest of her sherry before speaking. Her eyes were glassy.

  ‘Oh, stuff your job, Ted. This is a lot more exciting. This is something I’ve always wanted to do; run a small commercial hotel. Think of all those reps in the bar, telling jokes and stories. There’ll never be a dull moment.’

  Ted downed his drink. His legs wobbled as he rose. He glanced at his watch.

  ‘I’d better...’ he croaked and cleared his throat.

  ‘Ted! Are you all right? You’ve gone very pale suddenly.’

  Fifty - Seven

  Two days after the funeral of her first husband, Jackie refused to make the journey to East Peckham to sort out his house contents. Vanessa and Nicky hadn’t learnt to drive, so Nigel reluctantly agreed to take them over and lend a hand.

  The house was a nondescript, early sixties built semi-detached, in a rather characterless street of similar houses. The girls, expecting to find the house a mess inside, were surprised at how neat and tidy everything was. It was almost too pristine, as if someone had been round to put everything in order before they began the house clearance, although they didn’t think anyone else had a key.

  The house had one through lounge downstairs, a spacious kitchen and dining room, and upstairs there was one bathroom and two reasonable size bedrooms. Nothing in the house reflected the personality of its occupant and it remained as characterless as the building itself. There was not a single framed picture or photograph on the bare walls. It was as if their father had deliberately wanted to remain an enigma, even after death. Except that the circumstances of his accident had a neon presence imprinted on their imaginations as they let their eyes wander from the sofa across the carpet to the wide screen television set.

  Nigel’s curiosity burned with excitement as he tried to tug open two doors of a large teak sideboard and discovered it was locked.

  ‘I wonder if there’s a key to this hideous piece of furniture,’ he said.

  Knowing the sideboard would probably contain items of a more personal nature, such as holiday photographs, possibly official documents like insurance policies and hopefully a last will and testament, they began a search for the key. Nicky found it in the cutlery drawer in the kitchen. Vanessa grabbed it from her and pushed it into the lock.

  ‘Well, let’s hope he put his house in order,’ she said with a small nervous laugh as she pulled the sideboard door open.

  Nicky gasped. ‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed.

  Nigel tried to suppress a smile, knowing how it would upset the girls if they saw how amused he was.

  ‘I’ve never seen so much filth,’ he said. ‘It’s disgusting.’

  The sideboard was filled with stacks of hard-porn videos and DVDs, with titles such as Suburban Gang Bang, Close Cum Shots and Teenage Slags Get Punished. And, as if the pornography wasn’t bad enough, there were sex toys and contraptions of every description. Some were still unpacked in their polythene wrappers. Vanessa took hold of a peculiar looking object and held it at arm’s length.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ she said. She turned it over and read on the underside of the package: ‘Treat yourself with this blow-job simulator.’

  Nicky began crying. ‘Get the bin liners,’ she wept. ‘Let’s get rid of this stuff.’

  ‘Are they still in the car?’ Vanessa asked Nigel. But he was miles away, his head buried in a pornographic magazine.

  ‘Hmm?’ he murmured without looking up.

  ‘Men!’ snapped Vanessa. ‘They’re all the bloody same.’

  ***

  ‘Let me top you up.’ Donald poured red wine into Ted’s glass. ‘I’ll open another bottle. You look as if you need a sedative.

  Ted mumbled his thanks, gazing forlornly into the distance. Donald left the room, returning a few minutes later with another bottle of Rioja.

  ‘Hey! Stop feeling sorry for yourself.’

  ‘Ted looked up. ‘I’m sorry.’ His voice was tremulous. ‘I’ve been depressed lately. I don’t want to give up my job on the railway and run a commercial hotel.’

  Donald came and sat next to him on the sofa. ‘Well, just refuse.’

 
; ‘That’s easy for you to say.’

  Donald patted his friend’s knee. ‘Yes, I know. It’s always easy to dish out advice. But if you want my advice.’

  Donald took a sip of wine, waiting for Ted to respond.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Ted with a trace of bitterness, ‘that you’re wondering why I want to keep my job as a guard.’

  Donald nodded fervently. ‘I must admit running a hotel would seem to offer more of a challenge. I mean, to-ing and fro-ing to Charing Cross every day’s a bit of a dead end job I would have thought.’

  ‘But you don’t understand, Donald. I need to keep the job because of you.’

  ‘Me?’

  Ted took a large gulp of wine before continuing. ‘Yes, I have a certain amount of independence at the moment. Marjorie doesn’t show much interest in my rota, overtime and all that. So I get to see you whenever I like.’

  Donald frowned thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. Once she’s got you in her sights all day long.’

  Out in the kitchen something clicked loudly, making Ted start. ‘What was that?’

  Donald laughed. ‘The dishwasher tablet coming out of its little box as it starts its cycle. You thought it might be Bamber, didn’t you? No need to worry about that any more, now that we’ve broken the ice between us.’ He caught Ted glancing at his watch. ‘How long have we got before you have to dash back to the wife from hell?’

  Ted leaned back on the sofa, feeling relaxed as the wine went to his head. He giggled. ‘Yes, to hell with her.’

  ‘That’s my boy,’ Donald encouraged.

  ‘You know, there was a time, Donald - recently - when I thought things would be better between Marjorie and me. If only...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t want to share you. If only you could get shot of Bamber, and I could get rid of Marjorie, we could both live together and look after Miranda. Life would be perfect.’

  A mischievous glint came into Donald’s eye. ‘Well, we’ll just have to get the poison bottle out, won’t we?’

  ***

  Nigel reversed the car into a space by the household waste area at Tunbridge Wells rubbish tip. Vanessa threw open her door hurriedly, dashed round to the back and opened the boot. She grabbed one of the offending black bin liner bags and was about to lift it to hurl it into the pit of rubbish and waste below, when an officious voice chilled her.