EPISODE FORTY-SIX


‘Can I come in?’ Claire knocked lightly on Andrew’s door and entered. She caught him hurriedly hiding an A4 sheet under a magazine on his desk.
‘I was just...’ he started, a trace of guilt in his tone.
Claire sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to continue. He sat at his desk, half turned away from her, absently doodling on the magazine.
‘Just what?’ she ventured after a brief silence.
He shrugged. ‘Oh...nothing much. Just making a few notes.’
‘What about?’
‘Nothing that would interest you.’
‘How d’you know it wouldn’t?’
‘I just know.’
‘Who’s this Mr. Bannerman who wanted you to phone him?’
‘Oh...I’ve already spoken to him.’
‘So who is he?’
‘Just a bloke who’s doing some work for me.’
‘What sort of work?’
‘He’s an investigator, if you must know.’
‘An investigator! You mean like in private investigator?’
Embarrassed, Andrew turned toward the computer screen and moved the mouse.
‘Andrew, has this got anything to do with that writer Chloe was telling us about?’
‘I wish I hadn’t told her now. I should have kept my mouth shut.’
‘What’s going on? What are you up to?’
Andrew tensed briefly, then turned round to face his mother, suddenly feeling the need to share his feelings with her.
‘I hired this bloke from an ad in the Yellow Pages, to see what he could uncover about the writer.’
‘Oh Andrew! What the hell d’you think you’re up to?’
Andrew turned back to the computer screen. ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand.’
‘How much is this costing?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Because I don’t want to see you throwing your money down the drain. The money Nanny left you.’
‘Exactly. It’s my money. She left it to me.’
‘I’m sure she didn’t intend you to chuck it away on some...some hair-brained nonsense.’ ‘I wish I hadn’t told you now.’
‘Andrew, why do you get so obsessed about everything?’
‘What d’you mean?’ ‘It was the same with the computer. Then the fruit machines. You never do anything in half measures; you become thoroughly wrapped up in them, to the exclusion of everything else. Why can’t you just behave normally?’
‘You saying I’m abnormal?
‘Of course not...it’s just that...why d’you get so involved with something that doesn’t concern you?’
‘It does concern me. It concerns all of us. You know what the book was about, don’t you?’
Claire tried to stop herself from sighing, knowing it would irritate her son, and let her breath out slowly.
‘I know it’s about the arms industry.’
‘Yeah...well...it’s pretty sickening. I’ve been researching it myself – on-line. Never mind this new deal for Africa and all that rubbish about wiping out debts.  D’you realise how many billions of pounds this country is still making selling arms to countries like Malawi and...
Concerned, Claire automatically pressed her hand onto Andrew’s. He snatched it away, as if he’d been scalded.
‘Look, we all know how terrible that sort of thing is...’ she began weakly.
Andrew slammed his hand down on the desk. ‘But we don’t know. We only think we know.’
Claire tried to remain calm, speaking softly, almost in a whisper. ‘And what have you asked this Bannerman bloke to do?’
‘Try to find out who was printing the writer’s book.  They might still have a copy.’
‘So you’re paying this bloke good money to do something you could easily do yourself.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, you don’t work during the week.  Presumably this firm of investigators will just contact all the local printers, which is something you could have done yourself. Dad would have helped you.’
Andrew looked surprised, then frowned and shook his head.
‘You could have tried asking him,’ Claire persevered. ‘Maybe it’s the sort of thing he would have liked to get involved in.’
A moody, sullen expression clouded Andrew’s face. ‘I doubt it.’
Claire suddenly ran out of patience. ‘So now what? What happens if you manage to find this a printer who’s got a copy of the book?  What then?
‘That’s my business.’
‘You haven’t got a clue, have you?’
Claire stormed angrily out of the bedroom and clumped downstairs to the kitchen. As soon as she had gone, Andrew tugged the A4 sheet from beneath the magazine and studied the notes he’d written about arms dealing. He frowned deeply. If only he could spell. And if only he could find the right words to express himself.

*

Thrusting the bag of old tea leaves and tea bags under the uniformed constable’s nose, Dave said, ‘What you gonna do about it then?’
The constable wrote laboriously in his notebook.  ‘Teabags were posted through your front door.’
‘And tea leaves,’ said Dave, indignantly.
Mary sat in the armchair opposite the policeman and felt sorry for him. He could have been quite good looking if it wasn’t for the fact that he was plagued by spots and his ears stuck out like jug handles.
The constable, struck by inspiration, stopped writing and looked up. ‘Which would seem to indicate that the perpetrator of this act uses fresh tea as well as tea bags.’
Mary caught Dave’s eye and put a hand over her mouth. The policeman saw her and blushed.
‘Never mind that,’ said Dave. ‘I told you who it was. My neighbour’s son.’
‘But you didn’t actually see him posting the tea, sir. Only walking away from the house. What other reasons have you got for thinking it might have been him?’
‘I had words with his father.’
‘Oh?’ The policeman regarded Dave suspiciously. ‘What about?’
‘Well, I...’ Dave began floundering.
Mary came to his rescue. ‘It was an argument about car parking. Dave bought an old banger and left it outside his house. It was in the papers.’
‘Oh, so that was you, was it? ’The policeman’s tone was censorious.
‘I was proving a point,’ Dave said defensively. ‘It’s not there anymore. I’ve had the car removed.’
The policeman flipped his notebook shut and stood up. ‘I think the best thing I can do is wander over to the neighbour’s house and have a word.’
‘Is that all? What about the phone calls? The bloke ought to be prosecuted.’
‘It might be difficult to prove, sir. Right – I’d best be on my way.’ He nodded to Mary.
Dave followed him to the front door. ‘I’ll see you out.’
‘Just be grateful, sir, it was nothing worse than tea bags.’
Mary smiled to herself as she pictured Dave’s reaction to this parting remark. The front door slammed and a second later Dave was back in the living room, spluttering with indignation.
‘Did you hear that? Bloomin’ heck! I know they say you’re getting old when coppers start to look young, but he still had teenage acne!’ He noticed Mary smiling at him. ‘What are you grinning at?’
‘I think you’re sweet.’
He came over and puts his arms around her.
‘Just a minute, Dave: apart from the kids coming home from school any minute now, don’t you want to see what happens in the house opposite?’
‘Quick!’ he yelled. ‘We can get a better view from the bedroom.’
They ran upstairs, giggling and snorting like naughty children.

IN EPISODE FORTY-SEVEN

Claire begins to get suspicious about Mike’s activities and Jackie has another spat with Nigel.


Episode Forty-Seven  Homepage