Careless Talk Read online

  ‘About the only thing in here that is real,’ said Mike to wind Ken up. ‘I bet that so-called Victorian mirror comes from Taiwan.’

  ‘That mirror cost me an arm and a leg.’

  ‘In other words it was cheap. Where’s Marion?’

  ‘She’s on holiday. And if I’d known you were coming in, Mike, I’d have gone with her.’

  Mike laughed, then spotted another customer further down the bar, who scowled as he caught Mike’s eye.

  ‘Hello, Trevor. Didn’t see you lurking there. But then I never notice insurance salesmen.’

  Trevor mumbled what he thought was a witty riposte, which was lost in the succession of comments following Mike’s insult. Mike downed half of his pint as Ken strolled along the bar to where some regulars were watching a Premiere League football match. ‘Come on!’ he said. ‘Don’t let the football slow your drinking.’

  Mike downed half of his pint before he realised his mobile was ringing. He fumbled in his pocket and clicked it on as he headed for the door.

  ‘She’ll know you’re in the boozer,’ called Brian after him. ‘They can smell it down the phone.’

  As it happened, Brian was right. Mike hadn’t managed to make it outside before Claire caught the background noise. ‘Where are you ringing from?’ she demanded.

  ‘Pub in Uckfield,’ he lied. This would give him more drinking time in Rusthall before he went home. ‘I’ve just stopped for a swift half before I do my last client.’

  ‘But it’s gone half-eight.’

  A whine crept into her voice, which irritated him, making him feel less guilty about lying.

  ***

  ‘You know some of my clients don’t get home until late. What’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s Andrew.’

  A cold shiver ran through him.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s upstairs. In his room. Can’t you hear the music blasting out?’

  Relieved his son was safe, Mike relaxed and decided he could return to the bar and have a few more pints. Face the problem later.

  ‘He’s always playing his music too loud, sweetheart. Why is tonight any different?’

  ‘Because tonight he seems really angry. He went out this morning in a really foul mood and came back this evening in the same foul mood. I can’t stand it. And over the past few months I’ve noticed money missing from my purse. I didn’t mention it because I wasn’t sure. But this morning, after he stormed out, I checked my purse. I know I had two ten pound notes, and one of them was gone.’

  ‘But Andy’s always broke,’ he protested. ‘If he’s nicking money...’

  ‘Exactly,’ she replied. ‘Where’s the money going?’

  ***

  ‘You smell of beer,’ said Marjorie, sniffing distinctly. ‘Have you been to the pub?’

  Ted wiped his feet diligently on the doormat.

  ‘I might have called in for one on the way home.’

  There was a triumphant gleam in Marjorie’s eye. ‘Oh, might you,’ she said ominously. ‘I expect you could still manage a cup of tea.’

  She led the way, and Ted followed, to the kitchen. She switched on the kettle and turned to face him, dying to see him wriggling from the pain of discovery. But she was disappointed. He spotted the book, but his face was a mask. He put the sports bag containing his uniform down, eased the book to one side, and sat at the table.

  ‘What’s that book,’ she demanded, ‘which I found hidden in your wash bag?’

  ‘Oh that.’

  ‘Oh that,’ she mimicked. ‘Since when have you taken to reading Shakespeare?’

  ‘I like Shakespeare,’ he explained quietly. ‘I always have done. Ever since I was at school.’

  She snorted contemptuously. ‘Just because you went to the grammar school. A pity you didn’t do something better with your life then.’

  It had always rankled that her husband had gone to a grammar school, whereas she had gone to Sandown Court. She picked up the copy of Richard III, sniffed disparagingly, and dropped it back on the table.

  ‘Why you thought you had to hide it, God only knows.’

  ‘Because I didn’t think you’d understand.’

  ‘What is there to understand? If you want to skulk about hiding your books from me ... but if that’s the best thing you can find to hide then God help you. Shakespeare! It’s pathetic. Thank goodness we’ve got something lively to look forward to on Friday night.’

  His heart sank. Friday was the night he was invited to see Macbeth with that chap Donald he’d met in the pub. And, come hell or high water, nothing was going to stop him from going.

  ‘Why? What’s happening on Friday?’ he asked.

  ‘Alec and Freda are coming over. To see the house. They’ve not been before. Ted! What’s wrong? You’re not working Friday, are you?’

  ‘No. But....’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Why d’you always look so guilty?’ she said, tutting loudly. ‘As if you’d got something to hide.’

  Five

  As soon as Mike arrived home, Claire knew he’d had more than a ‘swift half’.

  ‘Had a good evening?’ she asked pointedly.

  He shrugged and tried to sound normal. ‘Not too bad. I’ve done quite well. Financially.’

  He hoped the reference to his earnings might allay criticism of his drinking. But he could see by the pursed lips and resentful look in her eyes that he was onto a loser.

  ‘Don’t try to kid me that you haven’t spent some time in the pub.’

  ‘One of my last two clients cancelled and I had an hour to kill.’

  ‘That was convenient. So you’ve driven all the way from Uckfield in that state. You’re going to lose your licence one of these days, then bang goes your livelihood.’

  ‘I’ve only had a couple of pints,’ he lied. He’d had five, but he’d only driven back from Rusthall, taking the scenic route down Teagarden Lane. The lie about Uckfield had been to give himself valuable drinking time.

  ‘I don’t want to nag you,’ she said, her tone softening slightly, ‘but it’s just that I worry about you drinking and driving....’

  ‘It slops all over the steering wheel,’ he quipped.

  ‘Seriously.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking suitably contrite. ‘I’ll be very careful. I promise.’

  Relieved that the subject was closed, he watched her sinking into the armchair and pick up the remote control. From force of habit she always watched the ten o’clock news on BBC 1, although she invariably talked throughout it.

  ‘What about Andy?’ he asked. ‘I don’t hear pounding music.’

  It stopped about ten minutes before you came in. I think he must have got bored with it.’

  She switched the TV on, with the sound turned off, and they watched in awkward silence scenes of bloodshed in Syria. The camera zoomed in close on a wounded man on a stretcher, and this seemed to trigger an explosion in Claire.

  ‘I keep asking myself why. Is it my fault Chloe’s a high achiever? What were we supposed to do? Hold her back because Andrew felt threatened. What’s he going to do with the rest of his life? He can’t go on doing night work at Sainsbury’s, stocking shelves. He’s just so ... so negative about everything. That’s what I can’t take. You should have heard him this morning. He sounded as if he really hated me. I had my article to write for the wedding dress supplement but I couldn’t concentrate. It was useless.’

  Her voice petered out and Mike could see she was on the verge of tears. He placed an arm round her shoulders.

  ‘D’you want me to have a word with him?’

  ‘If you think it’ll do any good.’

  ‘I can but try. How certain are yo
u he’s nicking your cash?’

  ‘I’m positive.’

  He started towards the door. ‘In that case, I’ll talk to him.’

  ‘Mike.’

  He stopped, and he could see that she was crying now.

  ‘Try not to lose your temper. It won’t do any good.’

  ***

  Dave Whitby turned to the classified section of the local paper, found the advertisement he was looking for, and dialled the number. While it rang he looked at his watch. It was a bit late to be phoning but what the hell! The bloke selling this heap of junk should consider himself lucky.

  ‘Hallo?’

  It was a gruff voice, more defensive than annoyed.

  ‘I’m ringing about your advert for the MOT-failed Nova. If it’s still available I’d like to come and see it.’

  ‘What? Now? Me an the missus was just about to....’

  Dave interrupted hurriedly, and grinned as he imagined what the rest of the bloke’s statement was about to reveal. ‘No, tomorrow’s soon enough. Tell me, is there much rust on the car.’

  A slight pause. The man cleared his throat before speaking in an overly defensive tone. ‘It says in the advert I’m selling it for spares. You can’t expect much for thirty notes, you know.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Dave stressed delightedly. ‘If it’s got heaps of lovely rust. It’s just what I’m after.’

  Another pause. He hurriedly assured the man it wasn’t a wind-up, took down his address, then hung up. He could imagine the bloke telling his wife about this nutter who wanted to buy his car because of the rust. Well, pretty soon he’d know the reason. If all went according to plan, Dave would be the owner of the most famous clapped out bit of junk in Britain.

  ***

  Andrew was hunched over the computer keyboard, fiercely concentrating on a futuristic war game.

  ‘Can you switch it off? I want to talk to you.’

  He ignored his father and carried on staring at the screen as if his life depended on it. Mike knelt down and switched off the computer at the socket.

  ‘Hey! What d’you do that for?’

  ‘Because I want a word with you.’

  Mike sat on the edge of the bed and fixed his son with a steady look. ‘What’s the problem, Andy? Why don’t you tell me and I’ll see if I can help?’

  Avoiding his father’s stare, he shrugged. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Something’s wrong. You act as if you hate us.’

  Andrew made a show of sighing deeply. ‘I told you: nothing’s wrong.’

  ‘You do two all-nighters at the Sainsbury’s; I know it’s not much of a job but for someone of your age the money’s not bad. And it’s not as if you’re asked to contribute to any household bills. Not that we want you to. It’s just that you always seem to be so broke.’

  Mike’s mouth suddenly felt dry and there was a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed noisily before continuing.

  ‘And Mum’s had money taken from her purse.’

  Andrew looked his father straight in the eye. ‘You’re not blaming me for that, are you?’

  Mike realised his son’s answer was just a little too ready, almost as if he’d been expecting a scene about the money.

  ‘No,’ Mike said. ‘I made a mistake. I’m sorry.’

  He stood up and started to leave the room. He needed time to think. He could tell Andrew was lying, and hoped that by leaving it in the air like this his son might eventually feel troubled enough to come and talk about it. But, as he looked back, he saw that Andrew was kneeling by the socket, switching the computer back on.

  Six

  Having locked the fish and chip shop up for the night, and carrying two parcels of cod and chips, Craig Thomas slid into the back seat of the taxi.

  ‘Working men’s club?’ the driver asked.

  ‘Right,’ said Craig. ‘You’re new, aren’t you?’

  ‘Started last night.’

  Craig had a sinking feeling deep inside him that tonight was going to be one of those nights. The end of another lousy day.

  ‘Did they tell you my method of payment?’ he asked the driver when they were almost at the club.

  The driver replied with more hostility than was necessary.

  ‘Did who tell me what?’

  ‘Your firm. I always pay in kind. A large cod ‘n’ chips for the fare.’

  ‘No, they didn’t tell me.’

  The taxi stopped at the traffic lights. Rain began to drum heavily on the roof of the car and the driver switched the wipers on, which squeaked irritatingly as they waited for the lights to change.

  ‘So how about it?’ said Craig. ‘D’you want the cod ‘n’ chips or not?’

  ‘Nah. Stick your fish ‘n’ chips.’ A sneer in the driver’s voice. ‘I work for cash. An’ if you ain’t got it, I’m round the corner to the cop shop an’ you can sort it out with them.’

  Craig felt like punching him in the back of the head, and would have done if the lights hadn’t changed.

  ‘Don’t remember me, do yuh? The driver said as they pulled away - Craig saw him grinning as he adjusted his driving mirror - ‘We were in the same cell block. I recognised you right away, even without the pony tail.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Craig began. ‘I....’

  ‘Name’s Rice. Tony Rice.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Craig, his tone indicating he had no intention of discussing his recent sentence with this fellow inmate he couldn’t remember from Adam. He fiddled nervously with his earring and was relieved when they pulled up outside the Working Men’s Club. The driver turned round.

  ‘Haven’t you got any dosh then?’

  ‘I’ve got enough to pay the fare, if that’s what you mean.’

  The driver grinned and waved away the offer to pay. ‘Nah, go on. It’s on the house. I wouldn’t like to deprive a man of his pint.’

  ‘Cheers, mate!’

  ‘An’ if you can trade the greasy leftovers for an extra pint, you’re laughing.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with these fish and chips,’ said Craig as he opened the cab door. The driver put a restraining hand on his arm.

  ‘If you hear of anything that’s going, I wouldn’t mind a piece of the action.’

  Craig shook his head firmly. ‘I’m going straight.’

  ‘That’s what they all say. You can’t be earning much at that fuckin’ chippie.’

  ‘I get by,’ Craig replied. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  As he hurried towards the club entrance, the taxi driver let the window down and called out: ‘You know where to find me if you hear of anything. Just give the cab firm a ring.’

  Craig had no intention of contacting him. Ever. It was a past he wanted to remain buried. He was determined to keep out of trouble this time. But when he got inside the club, there was a disappointment awaiting him: the regular bar steward was off sick, and the misery-guts replacing him wasn’t interested in swapping a pint for a portion of fish and chips, and as no one else wanted the food, Craig ended up binning it.

  He stood quietly at the bar, sipping the one pint he could afford, his mood growing darker by the minute as he thought bitterly about life’s cruel blows and the pittance he was being paid to work in his brother-in-law’s chippie. He knew he was being tested. He also knew he would eventually give in to the temptation of improving his financial status the easy way.

  ***

  Gary Branston rubbed a liberal amount of Giorgio Armani into his neck and shoulders. In the bathroom mirror he could see his wife eyeing him suspiciously. He picked up a pair of cosmetic scissors and snipped a hair that had grown too long on his neatly-trimmed beard.

  ‘You’re going to a lot of trouble over your appearance,’ said Maggie. ‘Especially at half-ten at night.
’

  ‘I had my hair cut earlier,’ he explained, somewhat testily. ‘And you know I can’t stand feeling itchy.’

  ‘Where is it you said you were going?’

  ‘To see this bloke at his club, to discuss the possibility of forming a partnership.’

  ‘Doing what, exactly?’

  ‘Oh - this and that.’

  ‘And what time will you be back?’

  He shook his head and avoided her eyes. ‘I’ve no idea. The meeting’ll be as long as it takes. Maybe you’d better not wait up for me.’

  He went into the bedroom, removed his bathrobe and began dressing hurriedly. She followed him.

  ‘You’re hardly ever at the chip shops these days, and now you’re starting to talk about starting another business.’

  ‘I own the chip shops. Other people can work them for me.’

  ‘Yeah. People like my brother.’

  ‘Don’t start that again. He’s lucky to get a job so soon after he came out.’

  ‘Oh yeah - very lucky,’ she said, sarcastically.

  He ignored it and continued dressing.

  ‘Daryl and Hannah are all tucked up,’ she said after a while. ‘Why don’t you go in and see them. They look really sweet.’

  He knew it was a form of moral blackmail, trying to make him feel guilty, so he glanced at his watch. ‘Not now,’ he said.

  She followed him downstairs to the front door. ‘Gary,’ she began, ‘I get worried ... about the way you live ... the money you spend....’

  ‘You didn’t complain about that on St Valentine’s Night. I spent a wad that evening, I can tell you.’

  ‘That was different. It was special.’

  ‘Look, don’t worry about this business venture. It might not even come to anything.’

  She knew then that he was lying. He had no intention of attending a potential business meeting.

  ‘If I find out who she is,’ she hissed, ‘there’ll be hell to pay, Gary. That I can promise you.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he said innocently. ‘I’ve told you it’s a business meeting.’