EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE
Mike glared at Andrew
and could feel tremors in his body as resentment and anger increased with each
second his son stared into space, saying nothing.
‘I suppose,’ Mike said, ‘you want us to kill a fatted calf.’
Andrew succeeded in annoying his father even more, as his slack-jaw stare,
miserable and uncomprehending, registered nothing but dull confusion. After a
moment’s silence, he managed to question weakly, ‘I’m not with you.’
Mike sighed deeply. ‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is…’ He threw a glance at
his watch. ‘Is that I have to hit the road or I’m going to be late.’
Mike climbed off the kitchen stool and walked towards the door.
‘What shall I do?’ Andrew asked as he followed his father.
‘Go round to your mother’s place. Our old house.’
‘I’ve already been. She’s not in.’
‘Haven’t you got a key?’
Andrew nodded carefully, as if his head hurt. ‘Yeah, but I think she’s changed
the lock.’
Mike stopped in the doorway, an angry flush filling his cheeks. ‘She what?
She’s got no right to do that. Fifty percent of it is still mine.’
‘So what you going to do?’
Mike shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know yet. What can I do? Break in, I
suppose. I’ve got every right to. It’s as much my house as it is hers.’
Andrew followed him down the hall towards the front door.
‘Can I give you a lift anywhere?’
‘I suppose the centre of town. The only thing is, Dad…’
Mike dug into his pocket and brought out his wallet. ‘I’ll lend you twenty quid
until you get settled and get a job. You’d better get something to eat. You
look terrible.’
Andrew pocketed the money. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘And I want it back some time. It’s a loan remember.’
He pulled the front door shut as he threw Andrew a meaningful look.
‘Yeah, of course. So what am I going to do about the house? I need somewhere to
stay.’
As Mike walked around to the driver’s side of his Renault, he pointed at Andrew
across the roof. ‘Make sure you’re at the house at four this afternoon. I’ll
bring some tools with me. If your mother’s not home, we’ll just have to break
in.’
*
Even though Anthony was accepted as a woman, Nicky could feel herself colouring
every time he spoke. She was certain his voice would give him away, but shop
staff seemed more concerned with dealing with the last minute Christmas rush.
She did see several men staring at him on a few occasions, and she realised
they were looking because they found him attractive. She felt indignantly
upset, and fell into a silent sulk, and wished men would look at her in the
same way.
In the precinct outside Fenwicks, she saw a couple of men with a toddler in a
baby buggy, and one of them stopped, staring at Anthony’s face, transfixed by
what he saw. She felt vulnerable and grabbed Anthony’s arm, dragging him along
the shopping mall past Boots the Chemist.
‘Hey! What’s the hurry?’ Anthony demanded.
‘I’ve got to get out in the fresh air. I’ve had enough of Christmas shopping.’
As they hurried on through the shopping mall, Donald stared after them.
‘What are you looking at?’ Ted asked.
Donald frowned thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know. It was that glamorous-looking
woman. I thought I recognised her from my shop.’
‘Yes,’ Ted agreed. ‘She was pretty stunning. She had a lovely figure.’
Donald shook his head as he tried to work something out. ‘I know I’ve seen her
before. But she didn’t look like that.’
‘Well, maybe she’s had a – what do you call it? – a make-over.’
Donald’s frown deepened. ‘No, I don’t think that was it. It was just something
I can’t quite put my finger on.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re starting to go straight.’
‘No chance of that, Ted.’ Donald clicked his fingers. ‘Got it! I think I know
where I’ve seen her – or someone like her before – and it’s definitely in my
shop. A young man, who looks just like her, comes into my shop quite often.
Maybe that was his sister. Unless…’
‘You think he might have had a sex-change?’ Ted offered with a giggle.
Donald thought about this, and then shook his head adamantly. ‘No, she was much
too attractive. They must be siblings.’
*
Penny was one of three of Mike’s female customers, and lived on her own in an
unrepentantly untidy house. Mike saw that it had nothing to do with squalor,
and actually seemed reasonably clean. It’s just that Penny was one of life’s
eccentrics, and collected and hoarded everything from books and ornaments to
vinyl records and chipped crockery which she picked up at boot sales and the
occasional jumble sale.
Mike guessed that she must have been in her late sixties or early seventies,
and looked as if she might have been extremely attractive as a young girl. Her
hair was of average length of tight black curls, which she wanted trimmed
always to the same length on a regular basis. As Mike cut her hair, she
invariably made conversation, some of which made sense, but often her sentences
veered off into non sequitors and she was very much on her own wave-length and
no one else’s.
As Mike started to cut her hair, she said, ‘I don’t think they’re watching the
house anymore.’
‘Oh?’ Mike questioned, preparing himself for a nonsensical conversation. ‘Who’s
that then, Penny?’
‘Otherwise they’d have swooped ages ago. I ought to get another dog.’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘They need lots of exercise. And I get tired of walking the same places every
day. That George Bush has got a lot to answer for.’
‘Haven’t they all,’ Mike said, keeping on safe ground.
‘If I go to the pub, it’s usually during the day. Because, when you live on
your own, you want to be safe. All that bombing and stuff. How can they do it?’
Suddenly, from the next room, there was a thud, as if a chair had been knocked
over.
Mike stopped cutting, the scissors poised over Penny’s head as he listened.
‘What was that?’
‘Oh, just ignore him.’
Mike frowned. ‘Him? I thought you lived on your own, Penny.’
‘The dog. Yes, that was it. The dog.’
‘But I thought you said you haven’t got a dog.’
‘I haven’t until now. I mean recently. Excuse me a minute, Mike.’
She got up from her chair and walked to the dining room door. She eased it open
a fraction, as if she was afraid of revealing any of its contents, and said;
‘Now you be a good dog, Rover. Keep off the furniture. There’s a good boy.’
She slammed the door shut and scurried back to her chair.
‘Rover!’ Mike snorted. ‘I haven’t heard anyone call a dog Rover for years.’
‘What’s wrong with the name?’
‘Nothing,’ Mike said hastily. ‘It’s a good name for a dog.’
As he was about to resume cutting his client’s hair, Mike stopped and listened.
There was that noise again. It didn’t sound anything like a dog. It sounded
more like creaking floorboards beneath human footsteps.
Penny slapped her hands together. ‘Tell me, Mike,’ she said loudly. ‘How’s your
day been?’
IN EPISODE 164
Mike breaks into his own home.