EPISODE FIFTY-EIGHT
Mike sat at the kitchen table reading the Sunday
Times without taking it in. His mind was filled with images Maggie and him making
love in some remote spot on Ashdown Forest. Andrew stood
by the fridge, drinking beer from the can.
Claire pushed him to one side.
‘Oh, darling!’ she complained. ‘Why
don’t you help instead of getting in the way?’
‘What d’you want me to do?’
‘Lay the table.’
‘OK,’ he said with a sigh, and began taking cutlery out of the drawer.
Claire opened the fridge, took out a carton of whipping cream, then glanced at
the wall clock. ‘It’s nearly half one. They should have been back by now.’
Andrew shook his head and smiled incredulously.
‘Who’d have thought my sister would get a dose of religion. Her boyfriend must be a smooth talker.’
‘That’s not the only reason Chloe’s...’
Claire stopped herself in time.
She didn’t want to mention her daughter’s abortion. Or even think about it.
‘Mike,’ she said hastily, ‘I’m going upstairs to put my face on. Can you put
the vegetables on for me?’
Mike stared at his uninjured hand and flexed his fingers. ‘I think I can just about manage it. But shouldn’t we wait for Chloe and
Mark? Just in case his car’s broken
down. It looks a bit clapped out, if you
ask me.’
‘No one’s asking you.’
They heard a key in the latch. ‘Here
they are now,’ said Andrew.
Chloe, wearing a beatific smile, came into the kitchen, holding her boyfriend’s
hand. He had blonde hair, was slight,
fractionally shorter than Chloe, and had conventional good looks, and reminded
Claire of a young Robert Redford.
‘Hello, Mark. You two look very pleased
with yourselves. Was it a good service?’
Mark beamed at her. ‘It’s happened! Chloe was touched. The spirit came upon her.’
Mike looked as if he wanted to throw up, and Andrew stared open-mouthed at Mark.
Chloe giggled feverishly. ‘It was
amazing. I fell down. It was as if...as if I was drunk with
happiness. And everyone was singing and
chanting.’ She looked at Andrew. ‘You ought to try it sometime.’
Embarrassed, Andrew looked down. ‘Yeah. Cool.’
Chloe giggled again. ‘I’m starving
now. When’s dinner ready?’
Claire, barely unable to disguise the irritation she felt, left the room,
saying, ‘I wish you’d help your father.
His hand’s giving him problems.’
*
Only three hours to go and Jackie’s friends would be turning up for the
barbecue, keen to meet her fiancé. What
on earth could she tell them? That Nigel
had been seen leaving a hotel with another woman, and that it was all over
between them?
Somehow the social disgrace seemed worse than her fiancé’s deception. Fighting back tears of frustration, she
picked up the telephone and dialled Nigel’s number. His voice was soft and subdued when he came
on the line.
‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘I want you to come
over here at least an hour before the barbecue and tell me to my face what you
told me on the phone yesterday, so that I can see if you’re telling me the
truth.’
‘I promise you I am,’ he said. ‘I was
confused and shocked after the bomb incident, and...’
She interrupted him. ‘Tell me to my face.
That way I’ll know if you’re lying.’
‘OK. I’ll come over soon. Then you’ll see I’m telling the truth.’
After she had hung up, Jackie saw Vanessa framed in the living room doorway.
‘I don’t believe I just heard that.
You’re actually going to give that creep another chance.’
Something snapped in Jackie. ‘Mind your
own damn business,’ she screamed.
Vanessa pulled a face. ‘Oh, sorry I spoke,’ she said, and shot back into the
living room.
*
When Barry arrived in the White Hart everyone could tell by the state he was in
that he’d been drinking. His eyes were
bloodshot, his face had a deep barroom flush that was in danger of turning
purple, and there were dewdrops of sweat on his top lip and forehead. And when he handed money over for a glass of
wine, his hands were shaking.
‘You’ve sunk a few already, haven’t you, Barry?’ challenged one of the
regulars.
‘Last night I did,’ he replied. ‘I
haven’t been drinking this morning, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Pull the other one.’
Barry ignored it, tried to tug a pound coin out of his pocket and dropped it on
the floor. Stooping to pick it up, he
almost fell over. Regular
customers watched with fascination, and muttered to each other about the state
he was in, and the reasons for him being that way.
‘Yes please, Marion,’ he said.
‘I’ll have a strip for the meat raffle.’
The landlady handed him a strip of five raffle tickets, and he stared
bleary-eyed at the numbers, while he raised his glass carefully and downed half
the wine in one gulp.
The bell rang for the start of the raffle and the first number drawn was
Barry’s. At first he didn’t comprehend
that it was his, until one of the regulars standing next to him told him he’d
won. He chose the pork joint.
Usually, whenever anyone won one of the five meat prizes, it was followed by
friendly banter. But this time the
regulars were silent and embarrassed.
Then after all the meat had been won and disposed of, Ken, the landlord,
shouted:
‘We’re losing money on the raffle, but we’ll still throw in a bottle of wine.’
Someone down the far end of the bar won it.
Barry staggered over and offered to exchange the pork joint for the
wine. The customer couldn’t believe his
luck. He didn’t like wine much anyway.
After he’d had another couple of glasses of wine, Barry was becoming incoherent
as he tried to discuss politics with someone.
He tried to organise his thoughts so that what he said made some sense,
but he kept starting a sentence and forgetting where it was leading. It was time to leave. He picked up the bottle of wine, gave a
cursory wave to everyone and staggered up the path towards the road. By now he was sweating profusely, and the
bottle slid from his hands and smashed on the concrete path. He stared at the rivulets of red wine running
down the path, cursed loudly, then weaved drunkenly towards the road. He got as far as one of the benches under the
trees. It was as far as he could manage
to walk. He slumped onto the bench and fell into a deep sleep.
IN CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Dave and Mary have a spat, and Nigel double bluffs Jackie