EPISODE THIRTY-SEVEN


Claire slammed a dish of roast potatoes onto the table. Chloe didn’t look up from the magazine section of the Sunday paper she was reading. Andrew continued to toy irritatingly with the pepper mill, a sullen expression on his face..
‘Oh, joy!’ exclaimed Claire. ‘A family Sunday dinner. Just like old times.’
She turned to Mike. ‘Haven’t you finished carving yet?’
‘Give us a chance. It’s as tough as old boots.’
Claire’s voice rose an octave. ‘What!’ Then, noticing the mischievous glint in his eyes, added, ‘Oh, ha-bloody-ha! Why don’t you do the shopping for a change?’
Chloe dropped her magazine onto the floor and helped herself to potatoes. ‘Why are you so stressed out?’ she said, sounding so reasonable it annoyed her mother even more.
‘Because you and Andrew have done nothing but bicker all day. It’s not like you’re children anymore.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ said Chloe, pouting.
‘No, it never is. You go back to Newcastle tomorrow. I was looking forward to at least one last civilized meal together.’
‘I’m sorry. All I said was...’
‘I know what you said. As usual, you were trying to wind Andrew up.’
Chloe looked across at her brother and sniggered. ‘By the look on his face, I think I succeeded.’
‘Oh yeah!’ began Andrew, aggressively.
‘Now don’t start again!’ Claire yelled.
Mike put the platter of roast beef in the centre of the table, saying, ‘Okay. Let’s cool it now. There you go. Tuck in.’
Claire felt she was over-heating.  She flopped into the chair next to Chloe, blowing out her cheeks noisily. Mike sat opposite her. A strained silence descended.
‘Well!’ said Claire, after the scraping of cutlery began to grate. ‘This is fun!’
Chloe dropped her knife and fork with a clatter. ‘All I said to Andrew was that his behaviour is obsessive. You know it’s true. He knows it’s true. He just won’t admit it. One minute he’s hooked on computers, then it’s fruit machines. Now it’s some dead writer he met in the pub.’
‘Someone has to do something about it,’ said Andrew.  ‘The police know nothing about it. Or they say they don’t...’
Chloe laughed. ‘So it’s ace detective Andrew Longridge to the rescue. Anyone notice the striking resemblance to Mel Gibson?’
‘Shut your gob!’ Andrew yelled.
‘That’s it! I’ve had enough!’ shouted Claire.
‘“Shut your gob!”’ Chloe mimicked. ‘He’s regressed.  Surely this can’t be the same bloke who unearthed the Tunbridge Wells conspiracy, a secret that’ll rock the world. Bring down the government.’
‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’ Andrew raged, his eyes blazing.
‘At least I’m not obsessional. You’re a real Trekie, you are. A sad anorak.’
Deeply hurt, Andrew pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. There were tears in his eyes.
‘Are you happy now? Claire yelled at Chloe, who hadn’t expected quite that reaction from her brother and looked shamefaced.
‘Don’t be silly, Andy,’ Mike said. ‘Sit down and finish your meal.’
But Andrew had already grabbed his coat from the hall. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘I hope you’re satisfied,’ Claire said through gritted teeth. ‘Another meal ruined. I thought as you two got older, you might...’
The front door slammed. Claire looked pleadingly at Mike, who sighed loudly, shoved half a roast potato into his mouth and got up from the table.
‘I’ll try to catch him up,’ he said.
‘Have a talk to him, Mike. God knows – his behaviour is obsessional.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Mike replied as he left.
The front door slammed again. Claire looked at the remains of the wasted dinner then stared accusingly at her daughter. Chloe had tears pouring down her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she blubbered. ‘I know it’s all my fault but...I just can’t help it. I feel so...so depressed. I still can’t get over what I’ve done. I feel empty. Like nothing else matters.’
Claire softened, putting an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. ‘I know it hurts now, Chloe. But you will get over it in time. I promise.’
Chloe let her head fall onto her mother’s shoulders. ‘And now I’ve ruined everyone’s Sunday.’
Claire didn’t say anything. Sympathetic though she was, she couldn’t resist letting silence work some guilt into her daughter.


*

As the taxi from Gatwick neared Tunbridge Wells, Jackie gripped Nigel’s hand tightly.
‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered, casting a self-conscious glance at the taxi driver.
‘I’ve got a confession to make. I told the girls a lie. I told them I was coming home tomorrow.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘Because of what Vanessa said about having a wild party.’
‘Now that wasn’t very sensible, was it?’ said Nigel, in his patronising tone. ‘If, as I suspect, it was an idle threat, your daughters will wonder why you lied to them. But if they do have a wild party, you returning earlier than expected isn’t going to change anything. When my son was in his mid-teens, my wife and I were away one weekend. And when we returned on the Sunday evening – rather like we are now – we knew Martin had held a party the night before. We found a dustbin filled with empties. But I had to hand it to Martin, there was no other evidence. He’d done a thorough job of clearing up. It’s the way Martin was brought up.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Jackie in a monotone. ‘You’ve told me.’
Warming to his subject, and forgetting the taxi driver’s fly-on-the-wall presence, Nigel began to pontificate loudly.
‘I like to think I ran a tight ship. If Martin cooked himself something, there’d be no television until he’d washed up after him. Favourite programmes or not.’
Jackie tutted without meaning to. ‘That seems a bit extreme.’
‘Extreme! Good grief! If we all went around leaving things others to clear up for us...’
‘Like Vanessa and Nicky, you mean?’
‘You said it. I didn’t.’
‘No, but that’s what you were thinking.’
Nigel tittered. ‘How do you know what I was thinking?’ Trying to steer the argument into safer waters.
‘Oh, I just know you,’ Jackie replied, nestling close to her fiancé, who lapsed into thoughtful silence because of the possessive way she said it.
The taxi turned into Jackie’s road. As it neared her house, the taxi driver, who had been silent throughout the journey, suddenly became animated.
‘Listen to that! That is some CD player. It’s like a full scale rock concert.’
Alarmed, Jackie struggled to unbuckle her seat belt as the taxi stopped outside her front gate. A pulsating beat came from somewhere beyond the high privet hedge which concealed the house from the road.
‘Oh no,’ she groaned. ‘It’s coming from my house.’
The taxi driver laughed cruelly. ‘Reminds me of the Isle of Wight, 1970.That was some concert.’

IN EPISODE THIRTY EIGHT

Mike’s finds problems developing in his extra-marital relationship.


Episode Thirty-Eight  Homepage