FINAL EPISODE
On the following
Friday evening, Mike arrived back at his flat after an exhausting day of
cutting clients’ hair that seemed to be dotted all over the county. In the car
park outside was a Luton van and he saw a middle-aged man struggling to unload
a television set. Mike noticed the rest of the van was empty and rightly assumed that this was the last item
of someone moving in, so he thought he’d offer to help. Then he saw it was one
of his old clients. Nigel, the boring, religious, pompous salesman.
‘Can I give you a hand?’
Nigel, puffing and wheezing, glanced at Mike from his bent position at the back
of the vehicle, and said, ‘That’s kind of you. I wish you’d got here earlier.
There was tons of the stuff. All brand new. She should have had it delivered
but she couldn’t wait. Immediate gratification, that’s what youngsters want
these days.’
Because it was dark, Nigel hadn’t recognised Mike, who took one end of the
massive HD television set. That was when Nigel recognised him.
‘Mike! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I live here.’
‘But I thought...’
‘My wife and I have split up.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Hang on a second. This thing’s slipping. That’s
better. I’ve got a grip on it now.’ Nigel sounded as if he was about to expire.
‘I can’t talk,’ he puffed. ‘Let’s get this into Vanessa’s flat and you can tell
me all about it.’
‘Who’s Vanessa?’
‘My daughter-in-law. Sorry, can hardly speak.’
Daughter-in-law, thought Mike. Things were looking brighter in this gloomy,
decaying building.
They shuffled along the hallway and into the open door of Flat 3. There was
brand new furniture everywhere, and sitting on a sofa which had that new
upholstery smell, uncontaminated by dust and mites, sat Vanessa. She looked up
at Mike and smiled. There was a certain amount of warmth in the smile which
Mike found rather sexy, but then he had been celibate for quite a few months
now. Little knowing that the degree of warmth in the smile was because she was
glad to see someone vaguely human, unlike Nigel, whom she despised, even though
he had been generous in providing funds for her flat and furniture, Mike
interpreted it as interest in him.
Nigel introduced him, and she asked, ‘Do you live here?’
Mike nodded. ‘Yes, I live at number six upstairs.’
‘So if you need a cup of sugar,’ Nigel giggled, straightening his back and
puffing loudly, relieved that the task had ended. ‘Now come on, Mike, tell me
about your split up with your wife.’
Mike had no intention of talking about this to Nigel and changed the subject.
‘Are you still selling God like a door-to-door salesman?’
Vanessa giggled, which Mike thought was a good sign. He planned to go out later
and get a bottle of wine. And then, who knows...
*
When Nigel drove home through Rusthall High Street, he saw all the flashing
blue lights of the police cars and wondered if it was yet another robbery at
the One-Stop cash machine. But no, this was somewhere in Common View Road.
Out of curiosity he stopped the car and let the window down. He could see police
dragging a man who was writhing and struggling, even though he was handcuffed,
towards one of the cars. A woman who looked like his mother was standing in the
doorway, gesturing like a heroine from a silent film, and crying, ‘Donny! My
Donny!’
Nigel let the window up again and proceeded on through Rusthall. The usual
congestion in Rusthall High Street stopped him from proceeding, and he had to
wait to let a couple of cars through. The second one was a Robin Reliant, and
driving it was a miserable looking man who didn’t bother to wave a customary
thanks to Nigel.
In the passenger seat was a postman who was beaming happily, and squashed into
the back seat was what looked like a south east Asian girl.
She stirred in Nigel a longing for warmer climates.
The weather was cold, dark and miserable, chilling you through to the bones. He
felt he wanted to emigrate to a warmer climate. And why not? He had reached
retirement age. Why shouldn’t they go and soak up the sun. They both enjoyed
swimming and tennis. He felt he had paid his dues. He had served everyone over
the years, especially God, and he would continue to serve Him. But only Him.
From now on it was going to be a hedonistic lifestyle. After all, he deserved
it.
But when he got back to Crowborough, and was handed his glass of Amontillado by
dutiful wife, and told her they were going to sell up to live in Spain, the reaction was frosty.
‘I would hate it,’ she said.
‘No, you wouldn’t. All that sun, swimming and tennis.’
‘Yes, and only seeing each other.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘I won’t go.’
‘What do you mean, you won’t go?’
‘Exactly that. I’m putting my foot down. I’m staying here.’
‘Oh!’ Nigel exclaimed.
‘Yes, she added triumphantly. ‘We are staying put, Nigel.’
He pursed his lips. He wasn’t used to this sort of behaviour. But he accepted
it. In a perverse way, almost welcomed it.
‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Shall we have a takeaway for a change?’
*
When Mike went round to Vanessa’s with the bottle of wine he hadn’t quite
anticipated such a warm welcome. She opened the wine, poured him a glass, but
had orange juice herself. And then she told him she was pregnant.
‘You’re not, are you?’ he said foolishly.
‘Did you think this bulge was a beer belly?’
He laughed and felt himself blushing. ‘I don’t know what I thought.’
He was sitting next to her on the brand new sofa. Her eyes sparkled and there
was something stunningly attractive about pregnant women. It had been like that
with Claire, he remembered. And their lovemaking had been fantastic because it
was gentle yet intense. And now, because Vanessa was pregnant, he found himself
aroused. He shifted position on the sofa and moved a little closer to her.
‘What about the father?’ he said.
‘I never want to see him as long as I live. And I don’t think I will.’
They talked for another hour, and she told him about herself, and he talked
about his recent troubles and the split with his wife. But when he told her he
would be due half the sale of the house, she became very interested.
‘That’s when I can move from this grotty building,’ he said, ‘and put a big
deposit on a flat or small house. Our house must be worth at least £300,000.’
‘Not a good time to sell though, is it?’
Mike shrugged. ‘It’s all relative. If we can’t get the market value for it, we
can buy for less as well.’ He shifted his arm across the back of the sofa and
moved closer. ‘God! You’re stunningly attractive.’
Her eyes sparkled and she smiled. ‘But I’m pregnant.’
Did he dare say it? Yes! Why not?
‘At least you can’t get pregnant again,’ he said. ‘And if I buy a place, we
could always move in together.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Yes, just like that!’ He made a Tommy Cooper gesture.
She giggled, and suddenly they were kissing. Neither of them could quite
believe it was happening, it had happened so quickly. But they both needed each
other. And for now, that was good enough.
The End.
(That was the final episode of Careless Talk. I hope all my readers have
enjoyed reading it over the years. From time to time please visit the website,
as I will be adding the occasional short story. Meanwhile, thank you for
reading Careless Talk)