EPISODE THIRTY
‘My God!’ exclaimed Donald.
‘You look like a lobster.
Have you been out in the sun?’
Ted
had left the house early, pretending he was going to his usual afternoon and
evening shift, and to pass the time he had gone into the Beau Nash for a pint,
then lay down on the common and fell asleep for an hour.
‘I
thought I could feel my face burning up,’ he replied.
As
they walked towards the station, he asked Donald what excuse he had given
Bamber about tonight.
‘You’re
not worried he’ll show up at your house again, are you?’
‘Well...yes...of
course I am.’
‘And
whatever would wifie say? Would she get
the whip out? Chance would be a fine
thing. Eh, Ted?’
Ted
was silent. Brooding.
Thinking about the way Marjorie had suddenly
become amorous just as he was about to leave the house, almost as if she could
sense a need to cement a marriage that was fast sinking into a morass.
‘Your
marriage,’ said Donald. ‘Bit of a farce,
isn’t it? On second thoughts, strike out the “bit of”.’
‘What
about you and Bamber?’
‘Ditto.
So where does that leave us?’
‘Us?’
‘Yes,
and don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.
We like each other, don’t we?
‘Well,
yes...but...’ Ted hesitated. ‘Not in the way you mean.
I mean...’
Donald
stopped walking and turned towards Ted.
He seemed irritated. ‘I suppose
you’re quite happy for things to continue the way they are.
Sneaking off to share in our passion for the
Bard. Can’t you realize, Ted, it makes
Bamber and your wife more jealous than if we were lovers.’
An
embarrassed laugh caught in the back of Ted’s throat.
‘But that’s ridiculous.’
Donald
shrugged. ‘Yes, I know.
But that’s how it is.’
He
walked on again and Ted followed.
‘I
think I know what you mean,’ Ted said.
‘This morning, Marjorie said she’d like to come and see some plays with
me.’
Donald
chuckled knowingly. ‘There you are, you see.’
‘But
I know she’d be bored.’
‘So
what’s the answer?’
‘I
could always murder her. I’ve actually
thought about it. Planned it in my
imagination.’
Donald
laughed. ‘Nothing too gruesome, I hope.’
‘Poison.
I can’t stand the sight of blood.’
‘Ted,
you’re not serious, are you?’
Ted
shook his head emphatically. ‘I feel
guilty even thinking about it. And the time I gave her food poisoning...well, I
might have killed her then.’
Donald
sniggered mischievously. ‘Well, if it’s any consolation, we won’t be rocking
the boat tonight. I told Bamber I was
going to London to see a friend
who’s dying.’ He saw Ted frowning. ‘Bit sick, I know.
But no worse than poisoning your wife.’
Ted
beamed at Donald, and they arrived at the station giggling like schoolboy
conspirators. Donald stopped Ted at the
entrance, suddenly serious.
‘Let’s
not worry about anything, just for tonight.
It’ll be a fun evening. Whatever
happens with our respective partners, we’ll at least have a wonderful night to
remember.’
‘I
think I prefer things like this,’ said Ted.
‘How
d’you mean?’
‘Secretive.
You know, forbidden fruit and all that.’
‘You
dark horse, you.’
‘That’s
what Marjorie’s always telling me.’
‘If
I tell you something, Ted, you must promise you won’t let it ruin our evening.’
‘All
right. I promise.’
‘Well,
you obviously didn’t get that tan working on British Rail.
You’re going to have to think up a bloody
good explanation for that pillar box complexion.’
*
Nigel held his breath as Mike
trimmed round his ears with the cut-throat razor.
As soon as it was done, he relaxed and said,
‘You’re very quiet this evening, Mike.’
Mike’s
reply was brusque. ‘Got a lot on my mind.’
‘Trouble
with your son?’
‘Something
like that.’
‘Still
causing you problems, is he?’
Staying
silent, Mike brushed his client’s hair with rather more force than was
necessary. Feeling Nigel squirm under
the pressure, he realized he was behaving unprofessionally and stopped
brushing.
‘Where
is it you’re off to,’ he asked politely.
‘Corfu.’
‘Very
nice too. Ever been before?’
‘No,
but Jackie has. My fiancée’s a very
cultured lady. Knows a lot about history
and opera and such like.’
Mike
had stopped listening. He began untying
the mantle around Nigel’s neck.
‘If
you need a sympathetic ear,’ hinted the salesman, dying to know what was
troubling his hairdresser.
Mike
ignored it and rummaged in his black bag for his mirror.
‘I
mean it, you know. It helps to unburden
oneself. One shouldn’t keep things
bottled up. I can assure you, I wouldn’t
tell a soul. There’d be no point.
You have my word.’
Mike
held the mirror at all angles, catching Nigel’s eye, who seemed less interested
in his haircut than in Mike’s problems.
‘This
time it’s my daughter,’ said Mike, suddenly relieved to get things off his
chest. ‘She’s got herself pregnant.
And she’s having it aborted at the end of the
week.’
There
was a moment’s stunned silence before Nigel said, ‘But that’s terrible.
Can’t she...I mean won’t she consider an
alternative?’
‘Have
it, you mean?’
‘Well...yes...Anything’s
better than killing an unborn child.’
Mike
shoved the mirror back in his bag, angry with himself for having told Nigel.
‘Couldn’t
you persuade her...’ Nigel began.
‘It’s
not up to me,’ Mike snapped.
‘Sorry.I don’t want to talk
about it anymore. I shouldn’t have told
you I the first place.’
‘I
quite understand. But if there’s
anything I can do...’
‘Yes
there is. Just the eight pounds for the
haircut, please.’
Nigel
handed him a ten pound note, saying, ‘Don’t worry about the change.’
‘Thanks.’
Mike
packed up his gear and left hurriedly.
As soon as he was behind the wheel of his car, he said through a tightly
clenched jaw. ‘You idiot!
What did you have to tell
him for?
You idiot! You bloody idiot!’
He
thumped the steering wheel angrily.
IN EPISODE THIRTY-ONE
Andrew discovers just how rude his
father can be and Jackie starts to interfere.