Having sold most of his CD
collection in a second hand record shop in Camden Road,
Andrew stepped into the nearest pub. He
bought himself a pint of lemonade and a packet of prawn cocktail flavoured
crisps and sat watching the fruit machine.
It was late afternoon, and some of the regulars were already knocking
back pints of Guinness. They were
roofers mainly, and at this time of the year they knocked off work reasonably
early.
Andrew
watched while one of them – a large, bull-necked bloke with a shaven head – fed
the fruit machine. Andrew had already
been in the pub the previous night, counting the money being fed into the
machine. He thought he had a system now
and was certain it would work. He was
convinced the machine was due to pay out any minute now.
As soon as the bloke had lost ten pounds, he
returned to the bar. Andrew shot to his
feet and crossed quickly to the fruit machine.
He had about twenty pounds in coins and fed the entire amount into the
slot. Lights flashed furiously as he hit
the first button. He was so engrossed,
he didn’t notice the man who loomed up beside him.
‘So
this is what you spend all your money on.’
Andrew
froze. ‘Dad!
What are you doing here?’
‘Watching
you chuck your money away.’
Andrew
ignored his father and continued playing the machine, frenetically hitting
buttons, his eyes wild with concentration.
Suddenly the wheels clicked smoothly into jackpot, the machine coughed
and spluttered, and twenty-five coins fell into the tray. Feverishly, Andrew
hit buttons. Lights flashed and more
money spluttered into the tray. Again
and again, until the machine won him a hundred pounds.
The roofer at the bar glared at him.
His father glared at him.
But Andrew couldn’t care less.
He had been proved right.
He had known the machine was due for a big
win.
‘Okay,’
sighed his father. ‘You might have won
this time, but ultimately you can’t beat the machines.
It’s not possible.’
‘That’s
where you’re wrong, Dad. I’ve cracked
it.’ He scooped the coins from the winning tray into his pocket.
He was going to show his father he could
leave the machine alone now that he’d won.
‘Cracked
it! Listen, Andrew, when other people
start paying for your habit...’
‘Like
who for instance?’
‘Like
Chloe. She needs all the money she’s got
now that she’s at university. She rang
Mum and told her you tried to tap her for some.’
‘The
bitch! She promised she wouldn’t say
anything.’
‘Now
listen! ’Mike’s voice rose.
‘Don’t involve other people in your
habit. Is that understood?’
‘Keep
your voice down.’
‘And
keep your thieving mitts out of Mum’s purse.’
Andrew
stuffed the last of the coins into the bulging pockets of his anorak and gave
his father a confrontational stare. ‘Are
you accusing me of stealing?’
‘That’s
what it sounds like.’
‘Great!
Mum’s always losing things.
Stupid cow!’
Mike
waved a finger angrily at his son. ‘I’m
warning you, Andrew. There’s only so
much we can take.’
‘Oh,
get stuffed!’
Andrew
barged past his father and marched out of the pub.
‘Andrew!’
Mike called out, but didn’t attempt to follow him.
The
man who had been playing the fruit machine prior to Andrew had been watching
the scene with interest. He raised his
eyebrows sympathetically and said to Mike, ‘Kids, eh.
Who’d have them?’
*
The tearoom was crowded.
Nigel and Mary hovered awkwardly near the
door, getting in the way of a plump waitress.
‘I
had no idea it would be so crowded this time of the year,’ said Nigel.
Mary
felt irritated and said flatly, ‘And it
was a long drive just for tea.’
The
drive had been strained with awkward silences.
And when Mary asked Nigel how he had been since they last met, he had
prattled on about telephone systems he had sold to prestigious clients and
boasted about the competitors he had beaten.
And they both knew he was just talking to fill the silence.
‘Ah!’
exclaimed Nigel brightly. ‘There’s a
table about to become free.’
He
hurried over to the table and stood poised over four elderly ladies about to
depart. One of the old ladies tried to
free her ample bottom from where it had become lodged between the corners of
two tables, and the plump waitress tried to clear the table and only added to
the congestion. Eventually, after some
complicated manoeuvring in spaces ill-suited to the more fulsome figure, the
old ladies departed maladroitly and Nigel and Mary sat down.
Grabbing
the menu, Nigel asked Mary if she was hungry.
When he saw her hesitate, he waved a hand carelessly and said, ‘Don’t
worry. It’s on me.
I know I paid for dinner the other night but
you’ve got two young mouths to feed. I
bet they’re a handful, aren’t they?’
‘You
must come and meet them soon.’
Nigel
frowned and studied the menu. ‘Buck
rarebit, pot of tea and a selection of pastries do you?’
Mary
nodded. ‘Yes, that’s fine, thank you.’
The
waitress finished clearing their table, took their order and went off to fetch
a pot of tea. Nigel caught Mary’s eye, smiled
tentatively, then looked down at the tablecloth and began fidgeting nervously
with the cruet set. Mary wondered if she
had upset him in some way. He was
certainly behaving most strangely. The
silence between them grew longer. Nigel
cleared his throat noisily, and it looked as if he was about to speak when the
waitress returned with the tea things.
‘Shall
I be mother?’ said Nigel simperingly as he reached for the milk jug.
The
waitress laid the table and went off again, leaving Nigel to pour the tea.
He looked more comfortable now that he had
something with which to busy himself, and he set about the task meticulously,
his actions bordering on effeminacy.
Mary watched him carefully. She
knew this elaborate performance was a delaying tactic.
But from what, she had no idea.
‘You
do want to meet them, don’t you?’ she said.
‘Who?’
‘My
two little boys – Simon and Thomas.’
‘Who’s
looking after them today?’
‘They’re
at school. Then going round a friend’s
house for tea. Why?’
‘Oh,
just wondered. Is that alright for you?’
Mary
took the cup from him. ‘Yes.
And you didn’t answer my question.
Don’t you like children?
Is that what it is?’
‘Of
course not .I’ve got a son of my
own. A real chip off the old block, that
one. Very good at selling...’
Mary
found it difficult to contain her irritation.
‘Yes, you’ve already told me all there is to know about him.’
‘Oh!’
he exclaimed, slightly taken aback by her impatient tone. ‘Have I?’
There
followed another long and uncomfortable pause, during which Nigel slurped his
tea noisily. The waitress brought them
their meal and Nigel immediately set about his with gusto.
A large dollop of egg yolk missed his mouth
and attached itself to his cheek. He
noticed Mary staring at him.
‘Is
something wrong? You’re not eating.’
‘I’m
not hungry. I want to know what’s
happening. About us.’
Sighing,
Nigel put down his knife and fork.‘ I’m
sorry,’ he began, ‘I’ve – er – I’ve been trying to find the right words...it’s
not easy but...I...um...I want to get married.’
Mary’s
eyes widened and became moist. ‘Oh,
Nigel...I didn’t think...well, I suppose I was hoping...’
Nigel
panicked. ‘No, no!
Not to you.
To someone else.’
‘What?’
‘I’m
sorry. I really am.
But you weren’t the only one to answer my
advertisement. I’m afraid I’ve made my
decision and you weren’t successful on this occasion.’
She
rose angrily, fighting back the tears.
Crockery rattled. Heads turned to
look at her.
‘Then
why did you bring me here?’
‘I
thought it would be nice to let you down gently.’
‘Call
yourself a Christian!’ she hissed. ‘You
pompous hypocrite.’
‘I...I’m
sorry,’ he stammered, ‘if I gave you the impression our relationship was
ongoing.’
You
did more than give me that impression.
You consummated it – our second night together.’
She shuddered.
‘To think I let you touch me...’
‘I’ve
suffered the most awful pangs of guilt about that,’ he said, half rising.
‘If
you want me to give you a lift home now...’
‘Don’t
bother,’ she snapped. ‘It’s an awkward
journey from here, but I’d sooner catch the train.’
She
stormed out. There was a brief silence
in the tea room before tongues began wagging again.
Nigel sank back into his chair, relieved that
it was over. He was embarrassed but he
was also hungry. So he finished his meal
then devoured two pastries. He
over-tipped the waitress when he settled his bill, and she followed him to the
door as he was leaving.
‘Excuse
me, sir,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t
mind my mentioning it – I don’t like to think of you going around unawares,
like – but you’ve got egg on your face.’
IN EPISODE FIFTEEN ON THURSDAY
Family life seems to be falling apart
for Mike.And Dave Whitby compromises
his standards for money.
