EPISODE FIFTY

Andrew lay on his bed, eating his lunch – a bowl of Coco-Pops. His father barged into the room and jumped straight to the point.
‘I hear you’ve been spending your money hiring a private eye.’
Andrew flushed. ‘So what?’
‘When are you going to start growing up?’
Andrew looked up at his father’s towering figure and shrugged irritatingly. ‘It’s my money.’
Mike felt like smacking the cereal bowl out of his hands. He controlled himself and said, ‘It won’t last long, the way you’re carrying on. Then what’re you gonna do?’
‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I haven’t a clue. But you’re always saying it.’
Shaking his head, Mike sat heavily on the flimsy plastic chair by his son’s desk. ‘So how much have you spent so far?’
‘Not much.’
‘Can you be more specific?’
‘Between four and five hundred.’
‘And what has this gumshoe come up with?’
Andrew stopped spooning cereal into his mouth and frowned. ‘You what?’
‘Gumshoe,’ Mike explained sarcastically, ‘is an American word for a private dick.’
‘There’s no need to make it sound so...’Andrew felt ridiculed and lapsed into a sulky silence.
‘Corny is the word you’re looking for,’ continued Mike. ‘As in cloak and dagger. And what exactly has this investigator found out so far?’
Andrew avoided his father’s eyes. ‘The trail went cold. The printers didn’t have a single copy of the book. Someone had been along to collect them. Every single one.’
‘So that’s that then.’
Andrew pursed his lips. ‘I suppose so.’
‘And you paid over four hundred quid just to find a firm of printers?’
Andrew nodded unhappily and picked at a hang-nail.
‘So now what?’ Mike demanded.
‘The investigation agency said the only possibility was to try and trace whoever took the books away.’
Mike laughed humourlessly. ‘I bet they did. It’s a nice little earner for them.’
‘Actually, they recommended that I drop the investigation.  Don’t waste your money, they said.’
Andrew’s head sunk miserably onto his chest. He looked so vulnerable, Mike went over and eased himself onto the bed, facing him.
‘Listen, Andy, I know how important this has been to you...’
‘No, you don’t. You’ve hardly talked about it.’
‘Why don’t we pop out for a beer tonight? You can tell me all about it then.’
Andrew seemed embarrassed. ‘You wouldn’t be interested. And I know what’ll happen in the pub. You’ll start mouthing off about what I’m doing – all the research about the arms industry and that – and you’ll get into an argument.’
‘We needn’t sit near the bar. ’Mike stared at his son, waiting for him to capitulate. ‘Well?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
Mike lost patience. Sighing, he glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you later.’
Andrew didn’t reply. As soon as he heard his father leaving the house, he got up off the bed and took a sheaf of A4 papers out of the bottom drawer of his desk. He took a last look at the untidy hand-written notes. Not being academically inclined, he had found the research demanding. He consigned the notes into the waste-bin, slumped into his chair and switched on the computer.

*


‘Ted!’ Marjorie yelled. ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’
Ted was about to open the front door. ‘I told you. I’m off to work.’
Marjorie, almost speechless with shock, stammered, ‘But you...you...you’re wearing your uniform.’
Ted smiled. ‘That’s because I work on the railway.’
‘Yes, but...I thought we agreed.’
‘I never agreed to anything. It was your idea.’
‘What about the neighbours?’
‘Oh, bollocks to the neighbours!’
Ted marched out of the house, relishing the stunned expression on his wife’s face. He was equally delighted to bump into his next door neighbour, the wife of an advertising executive.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said brightly.
She didn’t answer. She wore the same stunned expression as Marjorie.

*


‘Nearly done,’ Mike said snipping the last few hairs at the nape of Barry Davies’s neck. ‘It’s a bit too hot for work. Humid.’
‘Oh, I love this weather. Can’t get enough of it. It makes me feel really positive.’
‘Any success with the book yet?’ Mike asked with genuine interest.
Barry Davies, in his early sixties, was an ex teacher who had taken early retirement to work as a writer. He had had one novel published, which hadn’t made him very much money, and had written mainly technical booklets and magazine articles. But the huge success always seemed to be teetering, just out of reach.
‘I finished my new novel, which is set in America. And now I’ve got an American literary agent, and she’s sent it to a Hollywood producer – a contact of hers.’
‘Oh, nice one, Barry. Fingers crossed, eh. And how’s your love life?’
‘Fantastic. Two years we’ve been together now.’
Mike took the mantle from around Barry’s shoulders and shook the hairs onto the carpet. ‘No plans to move in together?’
‘We both like our own space. We intend to keep it that way. Pauline’s a keen golfer, and I’m not really interested.  Four times she’s played this week.  So I only get to see her once this week, at the golf club dinner and dance.’
‘That’s more than enough time to spend with a partner,’ said Mike.
Barry laughed dutifully, then became serious.  ‘Oh I’d like to spend a lot more time with Pauline. But she’s always so busy.’
He paid for the haircut and showed Mike to the front door of the flat. Then he went and got the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard, intending to clear the hairs from the carpet. Instead, he was distracted by the open window, and went and looked out into the communal garden. Life felt so good. His relationship made him feel positive about his chances of making a success of his second novel. Little did he realise that his life was about to fall apart.

IN EPISODE FIFTY-ONE

Marjorie starts having symptoms and Barry receives devastating news.


Episode Fifty-One  Homepage