EPISODE FIFTY-FIVE
Her lips drawn tight, Maggie slammed the cordless phone down onto the
breakfast bar table.
‘Who was that?’ asked Craig. ‘Sounded a bit heavy.’
Maggie shrugged. ‘Oh, just a friend.’
Seeing her brother smiling, she added, ‘Yeah, well, I suppose Mike was
more than just a friend.’
Craig nodded slowly. ‘How long have you
known him?’
‘A long time. It’s Gary’s
hairdresser. And no I wasn’t having an
affair with him while Gary was
alive.’
Craig gave his sister an innocent smile.
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘But you were thinking it. Would you
like another beer?’
Craig shook his head. ‘I ought to get
back.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Maggie, ‘that’s enough skiving off for one night.’
‘Well, I am the boss now. I can do what
I like.’
Maggie threw her brother a warning look.
‘For crying out loud, Craig!
Don’t do a Gary on us –
otherwise you’ll be out of business.’
Craig laughed. ‘It was a joke. Awright?’
*
Tony Rice sat at the bar and stared at Mike.
‘If you want my advice, smack the bitch.
Keep her in line.’
Mike swivelled slowly on his bar stool and glared at Rice. ‘Sorry?’
Rice grinned. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation on the
mobile. She was giving you a hard time.’
‘Oh yeah? What’s that to you, pal?’
‘Just making conversation.’
Mike swallowed the last of his draught Stella and called the barman over. ‘Yes please, Mark – when you’re ready.’
He turned towards Rice and said, ‘So you call that making conversation, do
you? I call it poking your nose in where
it’s not wanted.’
Rice’s grip tightened around his glass.
His eyes were deadly as he stared at Mike. ‘What’s your problem then?’
‘You tell me. You seem to know all about
it.’
Rice smiled coldly. ‘It ain’t my fault your skirt’s given you the
heave-hoh. If you don’t wanna make
conversation, sit somewhere else.
Usually, when people sit at the bar, it’s ‘cos they wanna socialize.’
Mike smirked. ‘You want to be sociable,
do you? Come here for a conversation,
have you? So what shall we talk about? Politics? Religion? Literature?
That’s a good one. Let’s talk
about literature. Or do you still move
your lips when you read?’
The barman brought Mike’s fresh pint.
Oblivious of the dangerous look on Rice’s face, Mike indicated a pile of
loose change on the bar.
‘There you go, Mark – help yourself.’
As the barman took the coins, Mike downed almost half of his fifth pint. He wiped the drops off his upper lip and
turned to face Rice again.
‘So what do you do for a living then?’
Rice hesitated long enough for Mike to pounce. ‘Let me guess. You look like a manual worker who’s never
done an honest day’s graft in his life.
I’d say you were a recidivist.
And if you don’t know what it means, you can always look it up.’
Rice’s lip curled slightly.
‘Congratulations. You guessed
right. So what do you do?’
Mike raised two fingers in front of Rice’s face. Before the ex-convict had time to react, Mike
made a snipping motion and explained, ‘I’m a hairdresser.’
Rice gave Mike another cold smile which set off sobering alarm bells in his
fuddled brain.
‘Sorry,’ he began, slurring his words.
‘I didn’t mean to be rude. Woman
trouble. You know what it’s like.’
Rice shrugged confidently. ‘OK. No
problem.’
‘I’ve had too much to drink.’
‘Forget it.’
But there was something in Rice’s manner which disturbed Mike. He glanced at his watch and downed the rest
of his beer.
*
Craig turned at the kitchen door and said,
‘This bloke you’ve been seeing – was he on the rebound?’
Maggie pursed her lips thoughtfully.
‘Maybe. But I don’t think it was
on the rebound of Gary’s
death. I think our marriage broke down
years ago. I just didn’t want to admit
it.’
‘So now you’ve given this hairdresser bloke the elbow.’
‘I didn’t want to.’
‘Is he married then?’
Maggie nodded. ‘Yeah. And as far as I’m concerned, I don’t want to
be responsible for breaking up his marriage.’
‘So what was the problem?’
‘He was getting serious. He’s already
had two yellow cards. But tonight he
was...well, you heard most of the phone call.
He was behaving like a lovesick schoolboy.’
Craig laughed. ‘Most married men want an uncomplicated affair. This guy must be no ordinary idiot.’
Maggie’s eyes became distant, moist. ‘I like Mike. He’s fun to be with. I’m going to miss him.’
They heard a scuffling, snuffling noise from the hall. Daryl appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep
and tears from his eyes.
‘Mum!’ he cried. ‘I had a dream about
Dad. Will he come back for the
holidays?’
Craig stepped aside for his nephew, who rushed into his mother’s arms and
sobbed.
*
Mike had parked the car in a side street, well away from the pub. As he fumbled with his keys in the lock, he
heard a rush of sound from behind and started to turn. He had been aware of someone following him
along the street but had thought nothing of it.
The fist that smashed into the side of his face was like a battering ram. His body jarred with pain as he crashed to
the ground. A foot came down heavily on
the side of his neck and he was choking, fighting for breath. He was dimly aware of a recently familiar
voice saying, ‘I usually get paid for
this. But for you I’ll make an
exception.’ His right hand was wrenched
upwards and then came bone-splitting pain as each finger was systematically
broken. The pain was unbearable. He passed out.
IN EPISODE FIFTY-SIX
Mike’s broken fingers arouses suspicion more than sympathy in his wife.