EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOUR
Ronan was running
scared. He wanted no part of a letter
bomb campaign and tried to talk Callum out of even considering it. The pornographic video hoaxes weren’t so bad
– at least no one got hurt. Well, at least, not in a physical sense. So Ronan,
who lived on his own in a small, untidy bedsit at the back of Tonbridge
Station, decided to raise as much cash as possible and head for pastures new.
He sold his entire collection of CDs and DVDs, which in itself was an indication
of how he was panicking, packed in his job loading and unloading furniture at a
retail outlet on the industrial estate and, by getting deeper in debt on his
credit cards, managed to scrape enough money to make a fresh start. But Callum
was his only friend. Ronan had been
brought up in an orphanage, never having discovered who his parents were. He often used to envy Callum, who at least
had one parent. Then, on the odd
occasions he had met his friend’s mother, decided he was better off without
one.
Scared of being totally alone, after having had something like a close
friendship for the past year, albeit one that was one-sided in the way Callum
often sponged off him, he was nevertheless scared now of moving away from the
district and becoming friendless. So he telephoned his friend and asked him to
share a flat with him. Make a clean break. Start over.
At first, Callum had been reluctant. What persuaded him was his friend’s
argument about the inevitability of being caught and the consequences. In all
probability, a custodial sentence.
Callum didn’t take much persuading and agreed to leave with his friend right
away. When Kelly and Danton returned from the pub, ready to confront him about
his misdemeanours, and probably revel in dishing out a spot of corporal
punishment as a spot of near-harmless amusement, the bird had already flown.
*
A deathly silence reigned at the Farrow’s dinner table. Jim Farrow concentrated on his roast beef,
unable to look his son in the eye. His wife, Rita Farrow, pulled a small, laced handkerchief from her cardigan
sleeve and wiped her nose.
Vanessa, who was sitting next to Paul, had lost her appetite and was picking at
her food. The sniffing noises of her boyfriend’s mother caught her attention,
and she gave her a prying, sidelong look.
This was the first time they had met. Vanessa studied her carefully, wondering
if she might turn out to be her future mother-in-law. Her son had robbed them
of their life savings, yet she had greeted them at the front door with old
fashioned courtesy, almost as if everything was normal. She was like an actress
in a play, deliberately playing middle-class gentility, but it was as if the
actress found it an effort to disguise her humble origins. And she looked not
unlike Margaret Thatcher.
Vanessa shifted her attention to Paul’s father, who was still studying his
dinner plate. He was a man of average height, with thinning grey hair, and a
moustache, and looked as if he might have been a military man, although Vanessa
had already been told that before retiring he owned a small chain of toy shops
on the south coast.
Scraping of knives and forks. Vanessa waited – prayed – for someone to speak.
Anything was better than being under this remorseful pressure. She watched as
Mrs. Farrow, unable to finish her meal, carefully lay down her knife and fork
so as not to disturb the silence.
At last, thought Vanessa, now someone would have to say something, if only polite
small talk about pudding. But she was wrong. Obviously Paul’s mother had been
bottling up her anger, and now it was time for the deluge.
‘We need to talk about this damned problem,’ she said. ‘It’s our life’s
savings, Jim. Our life savings. You’ve worked hard all your life. You deserve
the occasional cruise in your old age.’
Wearily, Jim Farrow locked eyes with his wife, beseeching her not to make a
scene. ‘Please, Rita, can’t this at least wait until after we’ve had our
dessert? It is Sunday, after all.’
His wife’s eyes blazed. ‘What’s that got to do with it? I don’t understand. Can
you explain to me what difference the day makes? Sunday, Monday, Tuesday,
Wednesday!’
‘I only thought...’ muttered Jim Farrow inconclusively, for he hadn’t worked
out what to contribute to his wife’s observations concerning the timing of
their discussion.
Rita Farrow gestured toward her son, while she stared angrily at her husband.
‘He’s ruined you, Jim. Ruined you. Pretending his business was doing well. He
must have known it was going badly months ago. He knew, Jim. He knew. Can’t
you get that through your thick skull?’
‘Yes, all right!’ snapped Jim Farrow, like a referee ending a fight.
‘Can I say something?’ Paul said.
Vanessa noted his almost arrogant confidence. He still didn’t seem contrite. He
had made a small effort to look shamefaced, but it seemed a token gesture, and
now he was joining the discussion like the chairman at a board meeting.
‘I think you’ve done enough,’ his mother shouted.
‘Yes, I know I have, Mum. Which is why I want to say something. I know my
business has gone belly-up, but I’m going to do my best to make it up to you
both. I’ve got irons in the fire. There are no problems, only solutions. I’m
going to find a way to pay Dad back. It may take a while, but I’m determined to
do it. That I can promise you.’
His mother seemed at a loss. She nodded towards Vanessa, and said, ‘What about
this poor girl? Face it, Paul, I don’t think you’re much of a catch at the
moment.’
Paul laughed. ‘But, Mumsy, listen: we have some news for you. We’re probably
getting married.’
Mrs. Farrow frowned deeply. ‘But how can you?
Your financial situation’s very rocky.’
‘Put it this way,’ Paul continued, ‘It’s more a case of having to get married. Vanessa’s with child.’
There was a stunned silence while his parents digested this news. After a long
pause, Paul’s father spoke in a trembling voice.
‘Any chance we could have that apple crumble now?’
IN EPISODE 145
Kelly and Danton confront Callum