Kitabı oku: «Divorced and Deadly», sayfa 2
My ex-wife was never more attractive than when fighting mad, ‘Don’t think you and that slut have got one over on me, because you haven’t. She’s been bragging all over the place, about how she means to have you. Well, I’m telling you now, she’s welcome to you…and good luck to the pair of you!’
With that she stormed off with me running after her, ‘What the hell business is it of yours anyway?’ I didn’t care that the kennel-girls were staring at us, ‘You were the one who asked for a divorce and never mind that I didn’t want it. So don’t come here with your high-faluting values, telling me what I can and can’t do. I shall do what I damn well like, and with whoever I please! And if you don’t like it, then tough tittie!’
I swear I didn’t see it coming. She swung round, grabbed the hose from young Danny’s hand and turned it on me. There was a great whoosh, a blinding curtain of freezing cold rain, and my whole body was soaked to the skin. She then flung the hose back to Danny who ran about like a lunatic, trying to catch it, as it leaped up and down swilling everybody in sight.
The girls were laughing and screaming, and poor Danny came off worse when with a look of triumph he deliberately trod on the hose, which then forced itself up his trouser leg and gave him the biggest surprise of his life.
Humiliated and dripping, and wishing I was a million miles away, I watched Laura storm off with a sinister warning, ‘I know she was here, Ben Buskin. And I’ll be watching you!’
Like one of the half-dead creatures from Michael Jackson’s Thriller, I hobbled after her, ‘How did you know she was here…are you spying on me?’
‘Yes! Same as you’re spying on me. Do you think I haven’t seen you hiding in the shrubs to see what I’m up to…DAMN PERVERT!’ She screamed.
With the weight of my wet trousers pulling me down I sulked back to the office, where I slammed about like a sulky kid who’s lost the fight.
‘Here…let me help.’ Poppy had seen it all, and as always she was there to pick up the pieces. Before I could stop her, she’d stripped off my trousers (taking far too long if you ask me). Then she wrapped a fluffy dogblanket round my nether regions and was about to rub my chest with a flannel, when I thanked her kindly and sent her away…I mean, I’ve already got more trouble than I can handle.
But all in all, it was a day to remember.
What puzzles me is this…why would my ex-wife get herself in such a state when she’s already divorced me?
Maybe she still loves me.
Well, well. Whoever would have thought it?
Mind you, tomorrow could tell another tale.
BEDFORD OCTOBER, FRIDAY
‘Ben!’ Mum’s voice screamed up the stairs, ‘Ben, it’s time for work.’
‘Go away.’ Covering my head with the sheet I did my best to ignore her.
‘Ben!’ Ignore her.
‘Ben, are you awake?’ Double ignore her.
‘BEN…it’s half past eight, you’ll miss your bus!’ Dammit!
‘ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT! I’M ONTO IT!’ I yelled.
There was a long pause. I knew instinctively she was at the bottom of the stairs, coiled and hissing, ready for the kill.
With a groan I leaned out of bed, fished my shoe out from under the chair and banged it three times on the floor. That usually got me another ten minutes.
God, am I tired. Thank heavens it’s Friday. It’s my Saturday off this week, and I’m brimming with ideas. I plan to trawl the clubs and pubs and find a woman who will take care of me.
I am not going to go to the cinema with Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants. He must think I’m stupid. Why would anyone in their right mind want to go to the cinema with a saddo like that?
My weekend plans were interrupted by hideous yelling. ‘BEN! IF YOU ARE NOT OUT OF THAT BED AND DOWN HERE IN FIVE MINUTES FLAT, I SWEAR I’LL COME UP AND DRAG YOU OUT!’
She won’t. She’s said that before. What’s more, my clock said quarter to eight…she’d played that trick on me before. Let her shout and rave, I knew I was good for at least another five minutes yet.
I heard on the grapevine that Shelley has been putting it about to anyone who’ll listen, that me and her are an item. Brazen-faced liar! I can see I’ll have to pay her a call and put her in her place once and for all. If she thinks she can play me along and sort my life out without my permission, she’s got another thing coming!
‘I KNEW IT!’ The door was flung open and there she was…my mother in full war paint. ‘Your father’s gone to get a haircut, and I’m off shopping with Winnie Arriss…if you don’t mind I would like to get to the shops before they close.’ With a swoop she was on me…Grabbing the bedclothes, she flung them back with no thought whatsoever for my bared manhood, not to mention my red face.
‘OUT!’ God she was a frightening sight; standing there arms folded, face like a bulldog and frothing at the mouth.
Covering my modesty, I gave her one of my fiercest stares, ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’
Casting her gaze down, she snorted, ‘Neither do I.’
‘Look! It’s not even eight o’clock!’ I pointed at my bedside clock, ‘See?’
Grabbing the clock she gave it a shake and threw it at me, just missing my head. ‘You forgot to wind it up again. How many times have I told you, being as it was your Grandma’s…Lord rest her soul…it needs winding up every day…’ As she went out the room, she added snidely, ‘That clock and you belong together. Grown lazy with age, the pair of you.’
It took me ten minutes to finish in the bathroom, though when I came out I looked like a refugee from a war zone. I had patches of blood and sticky paper all over my face and my hair stood up like it had been through a wind tunnel. ‘It’s your fault,’ I sulked as I came into the kitchen where my mother was waiting with another packed lunch.
‘You’ve got no time for breakfast now,’ she said lovingly. (One minute she’s going crazy, and the next she’s sweet as apple pie. I’m sure she’s an alien.)
‘Anyway, I’ve put you an extra apple in, and one of them choccy biscuits you seem to like so much.’ (She doesn’t know those revolting choccy biscuits are the first thing to go in the bin when I got to the bus stop.)
I grabbed my coat and made for the door. I didn’t want to give her the idea that she can shout at me, and then just forget it, like it never happened.
‘Look, Ben, I’m sorry for shouting at you, but you really have got to pull yourself together.’ (She can read my mind!) You’ve lost your wife; you don’t seem to be making much headway at work…I mean, look at the state you came home in the other day.’
‘What state was that?’ I was in no mood to give in.
‘Your suit appeared to have shrunk and your best leather shoes were all wrinkly; not an image you want to present to the customers. And what’s more, you have no home, no ambition, and very few prospects for the future.’ She made that sad face, ‘What’s going to become of you, Ben?’
By the time I got out the door, my self-confidence was shattered, my self-image had taken a real knocking, and my heart was in my boots.
Walking down the street muttering to myself, I realised she was right. I was kidding myself. I was a joke at work, nobody respected what I had to say, and if the boss sold up tomorrow, I’d be out of a job. I was already broke. I had one woman spreading lies and chasing me at every turn, and another who said she doesn’t want me, but has threatened to kill me if another woman even looked in my direction. Then there’s Poppy, who’ll nag me to death, even though she fancies me rotten. But she’s just a kid, and besides I’ve heard her shamelessly rattling them off in the yard…how off-putting is that?’ Some lady she is, I must say!
I wasn’t bothered if I missed the bus, or even got to work at all; I leaned against the wall, wondering if anyone would care if I ended things right here and now.
‘Hey!’ It was Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants.
‘What d’you think you’re doing lolling against the wall like you’ve all the time in the world? The bus is coming in…look!’ Grabbing my arm he ran me all the way down to the bus stop. I must have dropped my precious lunch box because when we scrambled on to the bus, there was no sign of it. Oh, God! No little-boy lunch box! The day was already brightening. Perhaps I won’t end it after all; well, not just yet anyway.
‘Hey!’ Giving me a dig in the ribs, Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants was going on about some girl he met at the cinema. ‘Sat next to me she did,’ any little thing pleased him. ‘I offered her some of my popcorn and she dug in like a little trooper.’
I pretended to listen, but to tell the truth, I was a bit jealous. How does he do it? He’s long and thin, wiry as a whippet with a pineapple-top hairdo, yet there he was, sitting quietly in his seat at the cinema, when the girl next to him dipped into his goodies. No strings or conditions, just casual like.
‘Really?’ I wasn’t all that interested. ‘And did it go anywhere?’
‘What?’ Staring at me with fish eyes he looked evil.
‘I said…did it go anywhere? I mean, did you kiss her? Did you take her home afterwards?’
‘No.’ He looked embarrassed.
‘No…what?’ I wasn’t going to let this go!
‘No, I didn’t kiss her.’ He was looking shifty now.
‘Why not?’ I persisted.
Just then the conductor came for the fare. (It’s high time this lame government did something about public transport. In any civilised country, public transport to work should be free.)
Under protest, we paid the fare and when the conductor moved on, I prodded Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants, ‘Well?’
‘Well…what?’ I could see he was trying to avoid the subject.
‘Why didn’t you kiss her?’ I said.
‘Because I…didn’t, that’s all.’ He wouldn’t look at me.
There was something strange going on here, I thought. ‘Ah, I see!’
‘No! It’s not what you think…she didn’t slap my face or anything like that. In fact we got on really well…until…’ He blushed deep scarlet.
‘Until what?’ I had noticed on other occasions that when he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbed frantically up and down. Right now, it was going up and down so fast, it was like one of them balls in the Lotto draw.
‘Look, Ben, I know I like the girls, and sometimes they like me, and that’s fine. But sometimes it just doesn’t work out. So if I tell you the truth, you won’t laugh, will you…because if you laugh, I’ll feel worse than I feel now and frankly I feel terrible.’
‘Crikey, Dickie…you didn’t try it on did you…right there in the cinema? I mean, she didn’t raise the alarm did she, and get you thrown out?’ Already I was beginning to chuckle. Sometimes he can be a right prat.
‘No, that’s not what happened, and I’m not saying any more, because I knew you’d laugh. You always do!’
There was a moment of silence between us. He didn’t stop biting his lip, while I was thinking how it served him right, because he thinks he’s God’s gift and at the end of the day he’s just a pathetic loser, like me.
‘Ben?’ Dickie said in a small voice.
‘Now what?’ Honestly!
‘You think I’m a loser, don’t you?’ he continued.
‘Course not, why ever would I think that?’ That’s twice today somebody’s read my mind. Ooh!
Dickie seemed to think about it. ‘So, you won’t laugh if I tell you what happened, will you?’
‘I’ve already said, haven’t I?’ It was like talking to a brick wall!
This time the heavy silence lasted until just as we were almost at our destiantion.
He wasn’t comfortable with the idea of telling me, so I didn’t push it. Besides, I had other things on my mind: would Shelley turn up at the kennels? What if Laura showed her face? And as for Poppy…well, what should I do about Poppy? She has this silly crush on me. But like I said…I’m naturally popular; though if it goes on for long enough, it’s likely to get tiresome.
Once we were on solid ground and rushing along, Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants slipped in the news, ‘I did try and go a bit further after we shared my popcorn.’
‘Yes, I gathered that. And she slapped your face, caused a riot and you got thrown out. You took it too far before she was ready…like you always do. Now, that’s the truth isn’t it?’
‘No, she was ready for anything.’ Dickie said. ‘She kissed me full on the mouth, I got excited, slid my hand up her skirt, and for a minute I thought she was wearing woolly knickers, but they weren’t knickers. It was frightening! Her name wasn’t Pam, it was Sam, and it was me who caused the riot thanks to her…him, it was me who got thrown out.’
I managed to keep calm until he hurried off, and I was on my way up the drive to the kennels. Then my mind was alive with the image of Dickie with his hands up another man’s skirt. And God forgive me, I couldn’t help it. I was still laughing as I came into the yard; though laughter turned into a yell of horror when I skidded on some dog mess and ended up in the horse trough.
‘Oh, my! Are you all right?’ Poppy must have had her binoculars out. ‘Oh, Ben, you poor thing…let me help you.’
Here we go again!
Another day, another simple lesson to be learned.
Do not laugh at Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants, because you could end up in the horse trough or worse!
BEDFORD OCTOBER, MONDAY
I feel uneasy.
Laura did not show up at the kennels today. There has been no sign of rampant Shelley, and as always, Poppy is still on the prowl. (I don’t know why she doesn’t just buy herself a dog and walk off all that raw energy.)
As for Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants, he’s a walking disaster! Remember how he accidentally on purpose put his groping hand up that girl’s skirt, and then discovered it wasn’t a girl at all? Well, according to him, he has now found himself a ‘proper girl’, and he’s absolutely besotted. ‘You’ve got to meet her,’ he came running down the street at me. ‘Her name is Leonora, and she’s so good looking, it’s unbelievable. And she really likes me!’ (I told him not to get too excited, because I know how easily excitement can turn to horror. But would he listen? Of course not.)
‘Good. I’m pleased for you.’ As always I did my best to humour him. ‘But don’t go rushing it or you’ll frighten her off.’
He drooled and gabbled all the way down the street. ‘She’s got a friend,’ he said. ‘Her name’s Georgie and she’s looking for someone. We could all go out on a date. So? What d’you think?’
I told him what I thought, in no uncertain terms. ‘You know what a frightening time I’ve been through…and am still going through,’ I reminded him, ‘so, what makes you think I need to mess my life up even more. I hope you’re not up to your old tricks again.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Dickie looked put out.
‘I mean…“she” is not a “he”…is she?’ I queried.
Blushing bright crimson, he took the hump. ‘I knew you’d never let me live that down!’ he declared sulkily. ‘I’ll have to remember not to confide in you any more. Anyway you’re barking up the wrong tree as usual. Her name is really Georgina. They just call her Georgie for short.’
We walked on in silence.
Poppy was waiting for me as I got off the train. ‘Oh, Ben, I’m so excited. I’ve had a birth; six boys and a girl!’
‘Well done,’ I told her. ‘As you haven’t even got a boyfriend, that’s an amazing achievement.’
She giggled in away that made me want to cuddle her. ‘No, silly! It’s Dizzy, the dog…she belongs to that old man who’s gone away for three weeks. He’s due back next Friday.’
‘Timed it well, didn’t he?’ It’s happened before. Some irresponsible owner lets the dog out; the local big boy cocks his leg over and before you know it, things are a stirring. The owner doesn’t want the mess and worry, so he dumps the pregnant bitch at the kennels and conveniently forgets to tell us there’s a happy event due any minute. Poppy protested, ‘we could see she was about to drop the puppies, but we couldn’t turn them away could we?’
‘Come on then.’ Spurring myself into a run, I went into the kennel and there, all curled up round their haggard mummy, was a clutch of the most darling little runts you can imagine. ‘I’m sorry, Poppy, but they’ll have to go!’ At times like this, I had to be hard.
Poppy started wailing and crying. (A girl in floods of tears always turns me to jelly.)
‘All right, STOP THAT!’ That’s the way to treat them.
‘So, can we keep them then?’ She pleaded.
‘Absolutely not!’ I held firm.
‘Please?’
‘Oh, all right then. But only until the owner gets back. This is not a nursery. The old fox must have known she was about to drop a bundle, and he never said a word.’
‘He may not have known.’ Poppy can be so gullible at times.
‘Whether he knew or not, they’re here and we need him to collect them. Oh, and you can add another ten per cent onto the bill.’
‘But they’re not costing us anything!’ Poppy wailed.
‘Who’s the boss here?’ I demanded.
There was a sniff. ‘You are.’
‘Too right. And I will not have these kennels being used as a nursery for randy animals. My answer is final, and that’s that.’
‘Don’t do it, Ben! He’s just an old pensioner, and that’s so cruel.’ I could see the tears welling again.
‘Oh, all right then…make it five per cent.’ What am I like?
Something has got to change. It seems like I’m always painting myself into a corner.
I have this theory that in order to assert my authority at work, I need to have a stable and worry free home life. And to do that, I need to start looking for a rented place. But because I can’t afford to do that on my own, I might need to find a flatmate.
For one heart-stopping minute there, I thought of Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants.
What a nightmare that would be!
BEDFORD OCTOBER, SATURDAY
I think my mother has finally flipped.
All day she couldn’t do enough for me. ‘Would you like another cup of tea, Ben darling?’
‘No, thanks all the same, Mother.’
‘Well, I made us a Madeira cake last night, how about a slice of that?’
‘I’m not hungry, Mother. That stew you made filled me up to the eyes. But thanks all the same.’
‘Right, well, I’m off to the shops now. I’ve seen a lovely blue shirt in Jackson’s window. I’ll buy it for you, shall I?’
‘I don’t need a shirt, Mother.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I bought two new ones last week, don’t you remember? It was you who told me where to find the best bargains.’
‘Did I?’ She’s got this irritating habit of frantically scratching her head until her hair stands on end. She did it then, ‘I think you must be mistaken, dear.’
‘No, I’m not. Why don’t you ask Dad? He’ll tell you.’
‘Dad?’ Isn’t it strange how parents call each other Mum and Dad when they’ve got children? It’s like the kids have stolen their identity.
That settles it! I am never going to have kids!
My name is Ben. Not husband, or father or Dad. It’s Ben, and that’s that!
Dad looked up from his beloved newspaper. ‘Yes, Mother, what is it?’ (Why does he call her his mother…she’s not his mother, she’s his wife. Has he forgotten her name, or what?)
‘Did I send our Ben to Jackson’s shop last week to buy two shirts?’ She demanded.
‘You did, yes.’ Dad sounded resigned.
‘Are you sure?’ Mum wasn’t about to let it go.
‘Positive.’ Came the reply.
‘I see!’ She gave me one of her looks. ‘All right! Well, if your father says it’s so, then I suppose it must be right. But I’ll buy you another shirt anyway. You can never have enough shirts.’ She punched father’s newspaper. ‘Isn’t that right?’
‘For pity’s sake!’ Dad complained. ‘Can’t a man read a paper in peace?’
‘I said…a man can never have enough shirts.’ What is wrong with the woman?
‘If you say so, dear.’ Dad knew when to give in.
‘I do.’ Mother smiled triumphantly.
Dad settled himself in his chair. ‘Then that’s settled. Now, can I please read my paper?’
‘If you must!’
At times like this, sharing a flat with Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants looks very tempting.
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