EPISODE SEVENTY
Flexing the fingers of his right hand, Mike winced. ‘It still hurts.’
Without looking up from her untidy mess of work strewn across the kitchen
table, Claire said, ‘The plaster’s only been off a day. What did you expect?’
‘Sympathy?’
Claire shook her head for his benefit.
‘Men are such wimps when it comes to pain.’
‘Don’t start giving me that pain of childbirth lecture.’
‘Well, it’s true. Now shut up and let me
finish my work.’
Mike tested his fingers, miming scissor movements. ‘Another week and I should be able to start
cutting again. My appointment book’s
actually looking quite healthy. I don’t
think I’ve lost many customers. Maybe
one or two.’
Claire ignored him, concentrating on proof reading an advertisement for country
pub food. She tutted as she found
another spelling mistake. Mike
mistakenly took this as disapprobation over his coming out of the broken finger
incident relatively unscathed as far as business was concerned.
‘I know you think I deserve to lose more customers than I have done,’ he
grumbled, struggling to fit the plug into the electric kettle. ‘I don’t know what you want from me. I really don’t.’
Claire’s voice became brittle with suppressed anger. ‘I want you to keep quiet while I finish off
this work.’
‘You’re always bringing work home. We
hardly ever get a chance to talk to each other these days.’
‘And I suppose when you were busy cutting hair, and stopping off for a pint or
six on the way home, I suppose we used to talk a lot then.’
‘Well, I...’
Claire smiled, and gave Mike a look indicating that she had scored a
point. But Mike was bored, and was
determined to have the final word.
‘Look, I now my drinking got a bit out of hand, but I can’t put the clock back,
can I? What’s done is done. I’m doing my best to make it up to you.’
‘Oh, really? By moping around the house,
playing the helpless invalid, expecting me to mop your troubled brow?’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘No, but it happens to be true. I came
back from the office yesterday and you hadn’t even put the breakfast things in
the dishwasher.’
Mike took two mugs out of the cupboard and slammed the door hard. ‘I already told you – I knew you weren’t
listening – I was making enquiries about Andrew’s future.’
‘And that took you all day, did it?’
‘Yes, it did, as it happens.’
Claire suddenly felt like screaming.
Clenching her teeth, she managed to control herself, and said, ‘Mike,
why don’t you pop out for a quick beer?
I know you want one.’
Mike started to protest, so she added in a softer tone, ‘You’ve done very well
so far. You deserve a drink. And you don’t have to go mad.’
Mike frowned , and looked down at his shoes, deliberating. ‘I suppose I could just have a couple of
pints.’
Claire smiled knowingly. ‘Yes. And I can get on with my work.’
‘Okay. Shan’t be long.’
As soon as he was out of the house, Claire sighed, and talked to the framed
photograph of her deceased parents hanging on the wall by door.
‘I know I’m asking for trouble, but I almost prefer the old Mike.’
*
Vanessa lay with her back towards Jason.
He snuggled up close to her and stroked her hair.
‘You awake?’ he whispered, one eye on the bedside clock.
‘Mmm,’ she purred contentedly. ‘No rush
is there?’
‘Much as I’d like to spend Saturday in bed with you, I’m afraid I’ve got some
work to do.’
‘How long will you be?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Couldn’t I stay here and wait for you?’
Jason sighed impatiently. ‘I’ve no idea
how long I’ll be. Could be a couple of
hours; or it could take all day.’
Vanessa gave him a voluptuous smile. ‘I
don’t mind waiting. I could cook us a
meal.’
He kissed her briefly on the cheek, rolled out of bed and grabbed his towelling
bathrobe. ‘Sorry, Vanessa, but you’re
going to have to run along. I’ve got a
living to earn. I’ll call you later.’
Wounded by the abruptness of his manner, this sudden change in her lover,
Vanessa sat up in bed with the duvet wrapped around her protectively. She watched him, his back towards her,
fiddling with a small black gadget on top of a chest of drawers.
‘I hope this cordless razor’s still got some life in the batteries,’ he
muttered by way of explanation. ‘No time
for a wet shave today.’
‘Do you always work Saturdays?’
Jason turned around and grinned cockily. ‘Not always. So I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?
By the way: what’s your surname?’
‘You ought to know. You’re going out
with my sister.’
Jason glanced impatiently at the clock.
‘She never told me. So what is
it?’
‘Ingbarton.’
‘Well, Vanessa Ingbarton, on this gloomy Saturday in September 2005, did you
enjoy our lovemaking.’
‘You know I did,’ Vanessa replied, but slightly mystified by his strange way of
asking.
Jason gave her a smug, self-satisfied smile. ‘Yeah, me too.’
He turned his back on her, and she heard a click. Then she saw him slip the black gadget into
his bathrobe pocket as he walked towards the door.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
He paused in the doorway. ‘What?’
‘In your pocket.’
He patted the side of his bathrobe. ‘My
cordless razor.’
Vanessa started to speak, but he interrupted her. ‘I’m going to shower. I should have been out of here ten minutes
ago. So if you don’t mind...’
As soon as he had left the room, Vanessa climbed slowly out of bed, rescuing
her crumpled clothing from a nearby chair.
She frowned deeply. Something
about Jason bothered her. The cordless
razor had looked suspiciously like one of those miniature tape recorders. A dictating machine. But why would Jason want to record her saying
she had enjoyed their lovemaking? Unless
it was to feed his giant ego.
*
Brash music, discordant sound effects, blasted from the living room television
set. Maggie went to the kitchen door and
yelled:
‘Daryl! Hannah! Turn it down. I can’t hear myself think.’
Sitting at the breakfast bar, drinking from a can of Fosters, Craig laughed. ‘Cartoons are bloody terrible when you’re not
watching them.’
‘I said turn it down!’ Maggie repeated.
As soon as the volume dropped, she went and sat opposite her
brother. ‘They turn it up
deliberately. Attention seeking. I’ll be glad when it’s Monday. It’s been a hell of a week. What were you saying about the chippie,
before we were so rudely interrupted?’
Craig coughed lightly before speaking. ‘I was saying: if I sold the chippie,
put the money into the wine bar, and
became a sort of sleeping partner, I could also run the Maidstone
chippie. Then, if you needed any extra
finance for the wine bar...’
Maggie smiled warmly at her brother.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’
‘What about?’
‘You don’t have to be a “sleeping partner”.
We’ve always got on well, I was just being stupid and snobby about the
tattoos. And let’s face it, most
celebrities have them these days.’ She
offered Craig her hand. ‘So here’s to
our partnership.’
Grinning, Craig shook her hand. ‘Yeah,
here’s to the trendiest bar in the south east.’
‘I’ve got an appointment with the solicitor first thing Monday. Come with me and we can sort it all out
officially.’
‘Tell you what,’ said Craig, trying to sound casual, as if he’d just thought of
what he was going to say. ‘Why don’t we
have a meal out tonight; to celebrate.’
Maggie shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘My treat.’
‘I’m seeing someone. A fella.’
Craig began to panic. He didn’t have an
alibi for tonight, and Tony Rice was planning to burgle the working men’s club.
Noticing his downcast expression, Maggie asked him what was wrong.
‘I just feel at a loose end, that’s all.’
‘Well, I could always do with a child minder for tonight. Save me having to drive the babysitter home
afterwards.’
Craig looked relieved. ‘Can I stay the
night? Then you can stay out as long as
you like. And if your date runs you
home, you won’t have to worry about how much you drink.’
‘That sounds good to me.’
‘Thanks, Maggs. Thanks.’
‘What are you thanking me for? You’re
the one who’s doing me a favour.’
Craig smiled twitchily. ‘O, yeah.’
Maggie noticed his nervousness, but she put it down to the new partnership
commitment and thought no more about it.
IN EPISODE SEVENTY-ONE
Bamber is suspicious of his partner, and the working men’s club burglary
ends in disaster.