EPISODE ONE-HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE
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 Paul Daniels conjuring set he’d bought
Thomas.
‘I used to have one of these when I was a boy.
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.’
Mar’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.’
IN EPISODE 122
Nicky and Vanessa clear their deceased father’s house.