Divorced and Deadly Read online

  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 b
ack 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.

  BEDFORD

  OCTOBER, SUNDAY

  I thought I deserved a lie in as I’d had a hard week at work. On Thursday, two cats almost tore each other to shreds when Poppy accidentally shut them in together. That same afternoon, young Simon took the Great Dane for a walk and it ran off with him. Simon ended up in the duck pond; the dog leaped into the baker’s back garden, flattened a hutch and sent the four rabbits into the undergrowth. He chased them down a hole, and it took three men two hours to retrieve them.

  And there’s more! By late afternoon, I’d actually finished extending the puppy run. When Agnes Dovecote arrived with her snappy Dachsund, she somehow managed to fall into the hole, which I’d dug in the wrong place and forgotten to cover. I always believed she was some kind of lady, but I must tell you, I have never heard such shocking language in all my life. After twisting her ankle and laddering her tights (more like flight-path balloons), the old biddy cunningly blackmailed me into letting her ‘darling toots’ have a fortnight’s stay at my expense (I didn’t know who to throttle first…the snappy Dachsund or the old cow!).

  And now, what with all that digging, there’s not one inch of my poor body that doesn’t ache.

  My Granny’s old alarm clock has taken on a life of its own. Mum should have binned it, but in her great wisdom she gave it to me instead! I’m sure it’s a form of torture.

  It’s now seven a.m. on Sunday morning. The damned thing is ringing and ringing and I can’t turn it off. I grabbed it, wrapped it in my shirt and stuffed it under the bedclothes. It was still ringing its head off, but you know what? The vibration was surprisingly pleasant.

  Just when I was getting ready to enjoy it, the damned thing stopped. Utter silence! But oh, what bliss! There I was, stretched out like some big, lazy dog with a belly full of best tripe. The curtains were shut; there was no one about. I could dream and laze, and there was not a soul in the whole wide world to disturb me.

  ‘BEN!’ It was my darling mother. ‘BEN, CAN YOU HEAR ME? GET YOUR LAZY ASS OUT OF THAT BED! IT’S NINE O’ CLOCK. TIME FOR SUNDAY MASS!’

  ‘I’M NOT GOING!’

  ‘WHY NOT?’

  ‘I’M SICK!’

  ‘DON’T GIVE ME THAT! I KNOW YOUR LITTLE GAME. YOU’VE NEVER LIKED GOING TO CHURCH, EVEN WHEN YOU WERE A LITTLE BOY!’

  ‘YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!’ I was not going to let her win this time. ‘I REALLY AM ILL. I’VE BEEN UP HALF THE NIGHT, BRINGING UP MY DINNER.’

  The bedroom door was flung open and there she was, in all her glory: black hat, long black coat and looking for all the world like Darth Vader. ‘So, you’re ill are you?’ Gawd! She’s in my bedroom! Was there no peace in this crazy world?

  ‘Oh, Mam, leave me alone…I need my sleep.’ I groaned.

  ‘Is that so?’ She walked across the room and stood by my bed. It’s Hammer Horror all over again.

  ‘So you need your sleep, do you?’ She said quietly.

  ‘Yes, please.’ Am I pathetic or what?

  ‘So, you’ve been throwing up, have you?’ Even quieter.


  ‘Honestly, Mum, it was awful. Look, it might be best if you go without me. Let me get my rest, eh?’ Groaning, I slid under the covers. ‘I hurt all over, I really do.’

  ‘Do you now?’ Oh, God! I thought, She’s folded her arms. When my mother folds her arms, it’s war.

  ‘Please, Mum. I’ll make up for it next Sunday.’ I’m a past master at grovelling. ‘Next week, I promise to be up and dressed before you even come down for breakfast.’

  ‘So, you’ve had no sleep, you’ve been sick, and you hurt all over?’ She drew back the covers and looked me in the eye (it felt like my last moment on earth). ‘Is that the honest truth, Ben?’

  ‘Well of course it is! Do you think I’m making it all up?’ (One Christmas, I played Joseph at school; the drama teacher swore I had a future in acting.) ‘Ooh, Mum, I feel terrible.’

  I gave a rending groan and made a face like a stripped kipper. Shameful I know, but when confronted by the enemy, what can a man do?

  ‘Now, I’m not calling you a liar, son, but I can’t understand it.’ Mum had a look in her eye I didn’t like.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because your poor father was ill most of the night with shocking wind. I had to get out of the room or faint from the smell. Anyway, I thought he might have woken you, what with all the noise and such. But you were so deep asleep, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.’

  ‘Shh, well…you see…’ (She was on to me.) ‘I must have just got back into bed…’ Give it up, Ben, I told myself. It’s too late; you’ve been well and truly rumbled.

  Her tight little face stretched into a sly, knowing smile that would frighten elephants. ‘You must be feeling better now,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you downstairs in ten minutes.’

  ‘I’M NOT GOING!’ That told her.