EPISODE SEVEN

‘Sorry to drag you all the way to Crowborough just to trim this bit,’ said Nigel Pooley, tugging at a small tuft of hair at the end of his parting. ‘But this will drive me doolally.’
‘I know you like a regular trim,’ grumbled Mike, ‘but I only cut it four days ago.’
‘Yes I know. I expect it’s me being a fusspot,’ continued the salesman. ‘But I’m pitching to an important client this afternoon.’ He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘And I have a meeting with a lady this evening.’
Mike didn’t bother to disguise the lack of interest in his tone. ‘This the one you were telling me about? The one who answered your ad in the lonely hearts column?’
Nigel sniggered like a mischievous child.  ‘This is another one. I’ve had a good response from the advert . Of course, there were one or two that were a bit – how shall I put it? – a bit suspect. But I’ve whittled it down to three ‘possibles’, including the one I’m having dinner with tomorrow night.’
Mike stared closely at the top of his client’s hair and carefully snipped the tiniest bit.
‘That should do it.’
He undid the protective mantle round Nigel’s neck and gently shook it onto the carpet, taking care to do it away from the desk and computer.
‘I know you missed that tuft of hair the other night,’ said Nigel. ‘But I’d be happy to pay you five pounds for your trouble.’
Mike shook his head. ‘I was passing anyway. ’He was annoyed because he’d had his hairdressing skills brought into question.
‘I’d feel better if you took it,’ offered Nigel, tentatively holding out a ten pound note. ‘Only I haven’t anything smaller.’
‘That settles it then,’ replied Mike.‘ Neither have I.’
He noticed the tenner had disappeared back into Nigel’s wallet pretty sharpish.
‘Oh well,’ said the salesman, ‘you must allow me to buy you a drink one of these days.’
Chance would be a fine thing thought Mike. He nodded non-committally and moved towards the door. Nigel placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘Something bothering you, Mike? You don’t seem to be your usual self.’
‘Oh, just the problems everyone has with teenagers.  God knows what my son spends his money on. I wish I knew.’
‘Could it be drugs?’
Mike thought about it. ‘I don’t think so. I hope not.’
‘That’s one of the biggest problems in society today – lack of meaning; lack of direction. Perhaps your son needs some spiritual guidance. I’d be happy to come and have a word with him.’
For once Mike was lost for words. Nigel continued.
‘I could explain to him the way to discover a deeper meaning to life.’
‘Look, I don’t want to be rude,’ Mike almost snapped, ‘but he’d see you coming a mile off.’
‘What d’you mean?’
I mean he’d be suspicious if you tried to sell him something. You’re a salesman: you start peddling God to him and he’ll back off straight away.’
Mike thought he might have gone too far, but Nigel was thick-skinned and saw all heathens as potential prospects.
‘We’re all salesmen,’ he began smoothly. ‘Everyone in the world is selling something. Some of us sell good things, while others sell bad things. Like drugs dealers, for instance...’
Mike edged nearer the door. ‘I really must...’
‘What’s your son’s name?
‘Andrew.’
Nigel suddenly produced a paperback book with the eye-defying speed of a conjuror and thrust it at Mike. ‘Please give Andrew this, with my compliments. He might read it; he might not. But I hope he does. It may save him.’
Mike accepted it and read the title. He wondered what his son’s reaction would be to The Search for Truth. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘One of Andy’s favourite films is Monty Python’s Life of Brian.  He should enjoy this.’
Nigel looked blank. It was wasted on him.
Grinning, Mike added, ‘I expect you’ve led a sheltered life.’

*


Exotic Savoury Dips caught Marjorie’s eye. She picked up the packet, read the ingredients on the back, sniffed noisily, then put it back on the cold shelf. She walked on up the supermarket aisle slowly, while Ted followed closely, pushing the trolley.
‘I’m looking for something special,’ she explained. ‘Something what’ll go down well with a few schooners of cream sherry.’
Ted was churning with agony inside. He glanced at his watch. Only another seven hours before he was due to meet Donald at the station. As he saw the exciting prospect of the trip to London to see the Royal Shakespeare Company slipping away, he was suddenly stirred into action.
‘I don’t think I can face Alec and Freda tonight.’
Marjorie turned slowly to face him, incomprehension spread across her face. ‘What?’
‘I said I don’t think...’
‘I heard what you said,’ she snapped. ‘You’ve been behaving peculiar all week. What’s wrong with asking Alec and Freda over? Just because we live in Molyneux Park now, they’ll think us stand-offish if we don’t.’
It’s just...’ he stammered, ‘I...I...might have to go out tonight.’
  Her eyes widened. ‘Go out? Go out where?’
‘Um...union meeting,’ he said lamely.
She tutted and turned away from him. ‘Don’t be stupid. We’ve never been one for unions.’
He knew it was a stupid excuse. But how could he possibly tell her the truth?  Tell her he was going out with a man he’d met in the pub. A total stranger. He could imagine what her reaction would be. But he was determined that he should go. This time she would not stand in his way.
‘Marjorie,’ he said ‘I’ll just go outside and order our taxi. I’ll get a better signal outside.’
‘Use the supermarket phone. It’s free.’
‘The firm I use is cheaper,’ he lied.
He knew she wouldn’t argue with that. But she still had to have the last word.
‘Tell them quarter past,’ she commanded as he walked towards the exit. Outside in the Sainsbury’s car park, before phoning the taxi firm, he telephoned Alec and Freda and apologised for having to cancel their arrangements that evening. He was now committed to his contingency plan.   There was no turning back. Come hell or high water, Marjorie was not going to stand in his way. Even if she had to suffer the consequences.

 

IN EPISODE EIGHT ON TUESDAY

Maggie is distraught because Gary stayed out all night, and Ted uses cunning to put his wife out of action for the night.


Episode Eight  Homepage