EPISODE NINETY-TWO
‘Are you pissing me
about, or what?’ yelled Alan, standing between the sofa and the television set,
blocking his partner’s view.
‘I’ve walked out. I’m not going back
there.’
‘I don’t believe this. You’ve just
walked out of a bloody good job.’
Pran rubbed his eyes and mumbled through his hands. ‘I couldn’t stand it. It was doing my head in.’
Alan stared disbelievingly at his partner, trying to control himself. ‘It was doing your head in! I don’t believe I’m hearing this. You walked out of there on Monday, and you
lied to me. Made out you were ill.’
Pran looked up at Alan, a pleading, sorrowful look in his eyes. ‘I didn’t lie to you. I really did feel ill.’
Alan laughed humourlessly. ‘Oh! A
bantering remark brought on one of your headaches, did it?’
‘It wasn’t that. It was my manager. Racist cow!
We were doing my quarterly appraisals and she said I had bad
communication skills, then said it was fairly typical of an ethnic minority
person.’
Alan frowned and shook his head. ‘She
said that? If you’d stayed put and made a
complaint...’
Pran looked away guiltily and dropped his voice. ‘Well, she didn’t actually get as far as
saying it. She stopped herself in
time. Hypocritical bitch. But I knew what she was going to say.’
Alan sighed deeply, picked up the remote control and switched off the
television. ‘So now what are you going
to do?’
‘I’ll sort something out.’
‘Oh yes, having walked out of a job, they’re going to welcome you with open
arms wherever you choose to work. And
what about our trip this summer? Three
weeks on the west coast of America. I suppose
that’s out the window now.’
Pran’s lip quivered and he dropped his head onto his chest. ‘Well I can’t afford it. You’ll have to go on your own.’
Pran seemed to be revelling in his misery, which provoked Alan’s anger. ‘Thanks a bundle. I was looking forward to this holiday. It’s why I’ve been putting in extra hours at
the hospital. And now...’
Knowing it would inflame the situation, Pran stared confrontationally at his
partner as he interrupted him. ‘You selfish bastard!’
‘What did you say?’
‘You heard. That’s all you care about.
“My holiday”. You’re pathetic.’
Alan moved towards Pran, his fists clenched.
His partner flinched and said, ‘Go on then: hit me, if it makes you feel
better.’
Alan stopped, controlling himself.
‘What? And give you more
ammunition to play the self-pitying martyr.
No way, mate.’
He went to the door. Pran suddenly felt
insecure, wanting to undo what he had just said. Wanting to apologise, tell Alan how much he
loved him, and how sorry he was for any hurt he had caused him. But all he could think of saying was a
feeble: ‘Where’re you going?’
There was a sneering expression on Alan’s face as he stared back at him from the
doorway. ‘It’s my turn to go to the pub
and come home pissed. With a slight
difference. I can afford it. Because I still have a job.’
He turned and left. As the flat door
slammed shut, Pran put his head in his hands and sobbed.
*
After the performance, the cast assembled in the bar of the Victoria Hall. Josh, the stage manager, bushy-bearded in
tatty denims, with an enormous bunch of keys dangling from his hip, cleared his
throat loudly and made an announcement.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, and those of you who aren’t sure.’ – polite titters –
‘If I could just have your attention for one minute. As you all know, Jackie is getting spliced
next week, and her betrothed has very kindly provided us with a case of
champagne,’ – mutters of approval – ‘which I put in the fridge prior to the
performance; so without any further ado,
and with her fiancé’s permission,’ – ‘indulgent smile from Nigel – ‘I
will get uncorking. And can I ask you
all to wash up your own glasses afterwards?’
After everyone had toasted the happy couple, the director, who seemed to have
forgotten Nigel’s severe criticism of the rehearsal, asked him what he
thought. Jackie looked up at her fiancé,
nervously chewing her lip.
‘Best thing I’ve ever seen in a theatre,’ Nigel enthused loudly. ‘I thought it was wonderful. Terrific!’
There was a slight hiatus, as everyone now thought he might be sending them up. Arnold, who hadn’t forgotten or forgiven
Nigel’s comments took advantage of the silence to get his own back.
‘I thought you said this was champagne, Josh,’ he said the stage manager,
picking up a bottle and closely scrutinising the label. ‘This is sparkling white wine, my old son.’
IN EPISODE NINETY-THREE
Mike and Claire confront his old lover at her wine bar.