EPISODE ONE-HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN
Mandy lay on her
side, a hand cupped under her chin, surveying Craig’s bedroom now that daylight
furnished it with stark reality. She
stared at the salmon pink wallpaper with yellow roses, wondering if the pink
had once been brighter. She frowned
thoughtfully as her eyes followed the line of peeling paper down to the
hideous, dark oak chest of drawers with its top drawer permanently jammed open . And she scowled at the miserable alcove that
served as Craig’s wardrobe, a curtain rail stretched across and a plastic
shower curtain with an underwater theme.
Craig grinned as he came into the room, stark naked, carrying two mugs of
coffee. Reading her mind, he said, ‘I know it’s not much but at least it’s
home.’
Mandy smiled weakly and caught sight of her dress, carefully draped across the
wash basin, the only place she could find to put it last night.
‘Does your tap drip?’ she said.
Craig frowned uncomprehendingly.
‘Sorry?’
She looked up at him, modestly trying to avoid staring at his eye-level
nakedness.
‘I said, does your tap drip?’
Craig looked down at himself.
‘I...er...I’m not sure what you mean.’
Mandy snorted with laughter. ‘The sink,
you idiot!’
A broad grin spread across Craig’s face as he realised. ‘Oh!
No, I don’t think so. I’ll hang
the dress in the wardrobe, if you like.’
‘Wardrobe!’ she scorned. ‘No, don’t
bother. Leave it where it is.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. There you go.’
He handed her the unchipped mug, then climbed back into bed on his own side.
‘Craig,’ she said thoughtfully, after blowing on her coffee. ‘Mind if I ask you something?’
Craig nodded agreeably. ‘I know what
you’re going to say. If the wine bar’s
doing so well, how come I’m still living in this tip?’
‘I’ll ask you that in a minute. This is
about Maggie.’
‘What about her?’
‘Does she have a drink problem?’
Craig didn’t answer immediately. He
stared into his mug, his eyes distant.
When he spoke, his voice was dry and rasping. ‘I think she does. But she won’t admit it.’
‘No,’ said Mandy, ‘she doesn’t strike me as the type to face up to being wrong
about anything.’ And, because she
thought it sounded harsh, quickly added: ‘I mean, she’s got children, hasn’t
she? What about the kids?’
‘I think Maggie’s suffering from a delayed reaction.’
‘From her husband’s death, d’you mean?’
‘Yeah. See, when he died, he was having
a bit on the side. I mean literally when
he died. She was with him in the car
when it happened. So naturally Maggie
was bloody angry. She’s hated
Gary all this time.
But now I think she might miss him.’
Mandy pursed her lips. ‘Hmm,’ she said,
slowly and thoughtfully.
Craig, detecting slight disapproval in her tone, said, ‘What’s that supposed to
mean?’
‘Did Maggie drink when her husband was alive.’
Craig nodded slowly. ‘Yeah. But nowhere near as much as she does now.’
Mandy slurped her coffee loudly before speaking, which somehow succeeded in
irritating Craig.
‘Maybe your sister’s always had a drink problem, only now she’s got an excuse.’
Craig stared at Mandy, the girl who had been so tender and loving a little
while ago during their lovemaking, and who now sounded harsh and unsympathetic,
and he was suddenly saddened. He had put
her on a pedestal, wanting her to be the perfectly loving little girl at his
side, agreeable and supportive. Not
coldly analytical about his family.
He grabbed his wristwatch from the rickety, varnished bamboo table by the
bedside, and glared at it pointedly before swinging his legs out from under the
bedding.
‘I’d better shower,’ he said. ‘We’ve got
a delivery today, and I’ve got to be early.’
‘Craig?’ Mandy’s voice quivered slightly.
‘I’m sorry...I didn’t mean. Come
back to bed. Just for a minute.’
Craig noticed the abrupt change, could almost hear the grinding of the gears,
and wondered if this was manipulation on Mandy’s part. But when he looked at her, she seemed so
genuinely soft and vulnerable – and desirable – that he gave her a sensuous
smile before climbing back into bed.
‘Ok, my sweetheart,’ he whispered. ‘But
we can’t be too long.’
*
Donald stood at the window, holding at arm’s length a finely bound copy of King Lear. His lips moved silently, and every so often
he would look out at the rhododendron bushes and sigh with contentment.
Bamber glowered and sulked on the sofa as he watched him. His mother was now in a hospice and her death
was imminent, but he knew that if he stayed at her place in Lewes any longer he
would go barking mad. But when he’d got
back to Donald’s house, he couldn’t help but notice his partner had looked
vexed.
‘You’re such a poseur, darling!’ said Bamber, his voice oozing
discontentment. ‘Look at you! If that’s not poncey, I don’t know what is.’
Donald ignored it; continued reading in a deliberately relaxed fashion, knowing
how much it would annoy Bamber.
‘What are you reading, anyhow?’
‘King Lear. Why?’
Bamber chuckled. This was the one Donald
had been reading six months ago when they’d had that row because Bamber felt a
need to go cottaging.
Bamber smiled craftily. ‘What’s it
about?’
‘Nothing that would interest you.’
‘Oh, but it would. Especially that bit
in Act Three when there’s a storm.’
Donald frowned suspiciously and turned the pages quickly. Bamber watched him, elated by the prank.
‘Swine!’ Donald screamed, his face going purple with rage. ‘You filthy disgusting swine!’
Bamber rocked back on the sofa, laughing loudly. ‘Now there really is a storm,’
he spluttered.
Donald stared coldly at him, his anger suddenly evaporating.
‘Doesn’t it turn you on?’ Bamber said.
‘Let’s face it: it’s much more exciting than Shakespeare. Surely even you must find it more exciting,
Donald.’
Donald sighed wearily and threw the book onto the coffee table. ‘In truth, no. I don’t.
And that sort of prank is far from original. Joe Orton and Ken Halliwell stuck
pornographic pictures in library books while you were still in nappies.’
Bamber giggled proudly. ‘I know. That’s where I got the idea from.’
The doorbell rang. Bamber saw a glint
come into Donald’s eyes as he walked towards the door.
‘Someone you’re expecting?’ said Bamber, undisguised jealousy creeping into his
voice.
Donald turned and grinned at him. ‘Yes,
that’ll be Ted. I’m expecting him.’
Bamber glowered. ‘Come round for a
Shakespeare night, has he?’
‘As a matter of fact, we decided on a decidedly
non cultural evening for once. I
told him you were back here, and managed to persuade him that three needn’t be
a crowd. It can be quite good fun.’
Bamber smiled. ‘Well go and let him in,
in case he changes his mind.’
IN EPISODE 117
Mike and Maggie hit the bottle.