Divorced and Deadly Read online

  ‘Yes, doctor, I’ll do that.’ By now I was beginning to panic, ‘Hang on a minute please…don’t go away.’

  I went to do as the doctor instructed. ‘Leave me be!’ By now, Dickie Manse had laid himself out on the floor and was having none of it. ‘Get off! Ouch! Bloody hell! Are you trying to kill me or what?’

  ‘Shut up, you big baby! I’m only doing what the doctor told me to.’

  I went back to the phone, ‘Are you still there…doctor, hello…’

  ‘The bugger’s gone, hasn’t he? They’re all the same…they take their massive wages and run at the first sign of work!’ There was no shutting him up. ‘He’s left me here to die, hasn’t he? What’s this country coming to, that’s what I’d like to know?’

  ‘For pity’s sake will you shut up! No, not you doctor, it’s him. The patient. He’s frightened I think. Oh no, he’s a grown man…at least his body is, but I don’t know about his brain. Yes, you’re right, he is a bit of a softie, yes…I did what you said, and he can bend his knee, and his ankle moves but it’s terribly painful; in fact he almost bit off my ear when I twisted his leg about. Oh no, I don’t think he’s having a fit, but I don’t suppose we’ll ever know, will we? No, it’s not bleeding, but it’s that swollen it looks like a leg of pork. Okay, doctor. Thank you. Yes, I’ll do that.’

  ‘Is he sending an ambulance for me?’ Dickie groaned.

  “Fraid not.’

  ‘Well there you are, it’s exactly what I said…he’s given up on me…leaving me here to die, that’s his little game, isn’t it, eh?’

  Now he was on his soapbox, ‘A fat wage packet, a house on the hill…three weeks in Blackpool and they still can’t tend the sick! But what do they care, tell me that? I’ll just be one more casualty…drop him in the ground, give his crutch to the next man and let that be an end to him. That’s the attitude!’

  I let him rant and rave and scream and holler, until we were downstairs, inside a taxi and on the way to Bedford hospital.

  ‘I’m not staying.’ He was still on the rampage, ‘You can tell them. I am definitely not staying in there for them to have their wicked way with me.’

  ‘What…you mean the nurses?’

  ‘No, I mean the big burly porters. Oh, yes! I’ve heard all about it, don’t you worry.’

  ‘You’re talking rubbish.’ What planet does he live on?

  ‘Rubbish is it? Huh! You listen to me, Ben, if I’m wheeled away never to be seen again, it’ll be your fault!’

  ‘Will you for pity’s sake stop? You won’t be staying anyway. They need the beds for the really ill. You’re going to Casualty like the doctor said.’

  Once there they took him away into a cubicle behind the screens, where he shouted and bawled so much that the toddler next to me started crying that she wanted to go home; and there was no shutting her up. She then wet her pants, and her mother had to take her to the loo. A minute later she came marching out with the girl still in tears, ‘What kind of place is this, with no toilet roll in the loo!’

  She had a go at the duty nurse, who had obviously had a long day because she let loose with a load of nasty verbal. Another woman intervened, then the husband had his say and a doctor was called. Then there was a fight between two men; one with his arm in a sling and the other on crutches. The little girl wet herself again, and all hell was let loose.

  As for me, I kept well out of it.

  In the midst of all the chaos, Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants was patched up and sent away in a wheelchair, with strict instructions to ‘Rest the ankle for a few days…just a bad strain that’s all. Certainly not a matter of life or death!’

  We made for the waiting room. ‘What’s going on here?’ he asked as a flying object missed him by inches.

  ‘Toilet paper,’ I giggled, and started running him across the car park, until a nurse came and retrieved the wheelchair.

  Having left the building, you could have been forgiven for thinking we’d started World War Three with all the shouting and arguing behind us. ‘Get me out of here!’ Dickie Manse looked really frightened.

  ‘It was you who started all the trouble, with your screaming and bawling from the cubicle. We could hear you in the waiting room. Shame on you! That poor little girl thought you were being murdered, and all for the sake of a sprained ankle.’

  Later that night, with Dickie tucked up in bed and snoring like a good un, I took myself off to the kitchen, got a bottle of wine out of the fridge and poured myself a drink. Then another, and another, until the world was rosy and I felt as though I could jump off a doll’s house.

  Instead, I fell across the table, arms stretched out under my head, and there I fell fast asleep.

  Even the knowledge that Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants was snoring so loud the place shook could not wake me from my delicious, dream-like slumber.

  Neither did the note that was slipped under the door.

  I’m sorry, Ben,

  Dickie’s dog is out of control, and his parents can’t cope. We’ve had it round at ours, but it tried to wrap itself round your mother’s leg. She didn’t mind, but it’s not a sight I ever want to see again. First thing in the morning I’ll drop the dirty dog off.

  Dad.

  BEDFORD

  DECEMBER, TUESDAY

  It’s been a nightmare at the flat.

  Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants blocked the toilet, after cleaning up his dirty dog’s doings with kitchen roll, which he then flushed down the johnny. I threatened to throw both him and the dog (Battersby! What a name!) out on the street if he didn’t teach him some manners. The dog’s revenge was to pee all over the TV connection and blow it up.

  And as if that wasn’t enough, I was carrying a tray through to the kitchen when we had a sudden power cut, and I walked straight into the edge of the door. I’m told I was out for a good five minutes; I saw stars all night, and in the morning I slunk off to work sporting a black eye, which had turned technicolor by the time I got there.

  There was chuckling and winking all round. ‘Ooh! That looks painful!’ That was randy Ronnie, our latest recruit. (Who, incidentally, seems to have taken a real shine to our Poppy.) I shall have to put a stop to that, as flirting round the kennels is strictly forbidden.

  The delivery man gave him some advice, ‘Poppy would be a great catch for you, but some girls don’t like to be rushed…that’s a lesson I learned when I was a lad.’ Giving a wonky wink, he threw the sacks of dog meal against the wall and went off to suck on his cigarette.

  Little Danny saw the black eye as a kind of trophy. ‘Well done!’ he chuckled, ‘That’s what I call a shiner!’

  I ignored the lot of them. Until I slipped on a patch of dog muck and slid from one end of the office to the other. ‘Oh, Ben, I’m sorry, it’s my fault!’ Red faced and embarrassed, Poppy came rushing in with a plaited-leather leash in one hand and a bucket and mop in the other. (So far she had not noticed the black eye.)

  ‘What’s going on?’ I demanded. ‘That’s not the first dollop of whatsit that’s been dumped there!’

  ‘It’s Peaches.’ Poppy had a soft spot for that spoiledrotten hairy dishcloth. ‘It’s her favourite spot.’

  ‘I couldn’t give a monkey’s if it’s her favourite spot or not! You know very well…that pampered pooch should not even be in here. Why isn’t she locked up?’

  ‘Well, it’s just that she’s due to be collected today and I was getting her all prettied up when she ran off.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘She rang to say she was on her way.’

  ‘NO, not the owner, dappy! I’m talking about the wretched mutt!’ Okay, I know I should not have called her dappy, but sometimes she drives me to the edge of distraction.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Ben. It’s just that she ran off and did her dirty before I could catch her, and now she’s hiding under the desk and won’t come out!’

  Poor Poppy, she can’t help being a walking disaster.

  I wonder if I
should ask her to share the flat with me, and send Dickie packing. It would save her from her crazy parents at least.

  I don’t know them, but there have been rumours, so Mother said. I’ve always thought there was something not quite right about two people in their forties dressing up as vampires, covered in luminous pink paint and cavorting about the house in the dark.

  ‘I’ll clean it all up,’ Poppy crawled out from under the desk. ‘You sit down. I’ll get a wet cloth and wipe your shoes.’

  I hopped to the nearest chair, where she pushed me down and set about taking off my shoe.

  ‘Am I forgiven?’ She peered up at me with those soulful blue eyes.

  ‘You’ll not be forgiven until you’ve found that damned dog and got it off the premises, and the owner with it.’ I know that sounds heartless, but I am the boss after all.

  ‘All right, if you’re sure you don’t need me here with you?’ Her pretty eyes shone with hope.

  ‘No. I’m fine, thank you all the same. Besides, the troops need you out there.’

  ‘Oh, do you really think so? For a minute there I thought she was about to cry, but then I realised it was the stink coming from my shoes that was making her eyes water.

  ‘Oh look!’ Finally clocking my black eye, she nearly sent me through the roof when she stroked it. ‘What did you do? Oh, Ben…it looks so sore. Would you like me to bathe it for you?’

  ‘No! Just go and find that stupid dog.’

  It was hard to show authority when you’ve got a black eye and your shoe is covered in dog muck.

  With Poppy gone, I managed to get rid of the dog muck and the stink, and afterwards when I looked in the mirror to see this one-eyed Jack staring back at me, I felt like a real prat!

  One thing’s for sure. I’ve got to get a grip on my life. I really must lay down a set of rules or I’m bound to lose control and that would never do. First though, I’ve got another, more horrifying hurdle to cross, and I’m afraid I might never come out alive.

  ‘You’ll have to be brave,’ I told the cock-eyed image in the mirror. ‘Don’t be frightened. Just remain calm and don’t say or do anything that might be taken the wrong way.’

  I was nervous though. I hadn’t seen her in a while and the nearer it got, the more nervous I was becoming. ‘And remember to stay near an exit so you can make a quick escape if things get too rough.’

  Just thinking about her made it hard for me to breathe. ‘After all, you’ve seen enough of your mother’s mad ways to know she could lose it at any minute.’

  BEDFORD

  JANUARY, THURSDAY

  I swear I’ll spend the rest of my natural life trying to get Christmas day out of my mind.

  The minute my mother opened the front door she was on me, ‘Oh, my darling boy…I was so worried you might not turn up. I know I’ve been awful to you, and I know I should forgive you for leaving me and your dad…’ (who was skulking behind her, rolling his eyes and making faces) ‘…but you must realise, you’re all I’ve got…’

  Casting an evil eye at Dad, she then lunged forward, grabbed me by the collar, and yanked me indoors before slamming and bolting the door. ‘There…I’ve got you now!’ The look on her face was something akin to Johnny Depp on a bad day.

  Beginning to panic, I backed away. ‘I can only stay long enough to give you your presents and share a meal with you, and then I have to go.’ Isn’t it strange how lies just pop into your head when you’re shaking with terror? ‘Dickie Manse is coming back and we have to crack on with the decorating. Oh, and I need to get back and check on Poppy…she’s doing the Christmas day shift at the kennels…yes, and then there’s that other thing that I’d almost forgotten…’ I could actually hear myself getting more and more desperate.

  ‘Ssh, that’s enough!’ Pushing me into the kitchen, she tied a pinafore round my waist so tight my chest and backside inflated to double their size. ‘You and your father can deal with the turkey, while I set the table. Off you go!’

  Waddling to the cooker, she turned off the heat, grabbed the pan of brussels and strained them into the colander, ‘I’ll leave the roast potatoes in for a while longer…’ Her smile was meant to be reassuring, but instead it looked pure evil. ‘I don’t like them all soft and fluffy,’ she whispered menacingly, her beady eyes narrowing to slits, ‘I like them hard and brown…so you can hear them crack when you crunch them between your teeth.’ Rolling back her lips, she gnashed her teeth together, making a strange whistling noise through her nostrils.

  As she slithered away, I instinctively slapped my hands over my private parts. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ Dad said, ‘you’re safe enough. She’s all mouth and no trousers.’

  Thank God for that, I thought, and wondered why I had ever let her persuade me that my place was here with family on Christmas day.

  I was really on edge. Every time she passed my chair, it sent shivers of terror down my back, because I never knew what she might do. She deliberately terrorised me, saying, ‘Oh, I’ve forgotten to get the salt and pepper out of the cupboard,’ and rushed past me, running her nail along my neck as she went. Then she forgot the cranberry sauce, and the stuffing, and last of all, she went for the carving knife. ‘It needs to be really sharp, to carve off the legs.’

  It was the way she said it, with a smile in her voice and a dark, murderous look in her eyes.

  By the end of the first course I was a nervous wreck, so when she suddenly jumped up and made for me, I let out a scream and spilled the gravy all over the tablecloth.

  ‘YOU BAD, BAD BOY!’ She screamed, pinning my finger to the table with the prongs of her fork. ‘Just look at my new tablecloth! I bought it as a special surprise for you. And now you’ve gone and ruined it. Twenty-five pounds that cost me! Did you do it on purpose, did you?’

  It was when she started towards me that I ran. ‘I’ve got to go. Poppy can’t manage on her own…bye, Dad…sorry!’

  As I ran down the hallway she was hot on my trail, ‘YOU COME BACK HERE!’

  ‘GO ON, SON, I’LL DEAL WITH THIS!’ That was Father, ‘WHATEVER’S WRONG WITH YOU, WOMAN? LEAVE THE LAD ALONE…IT’S JUST A CHEAP TATTY TABLECLOTH…IT’S NOT THE END OF THE WORLD, FOR PITY’S SAKE!’

  Poor, brave Dad. When she deliberately yanked up her end of the floor runner and sent him flying through the air, it was a sight that would haunt me forever.

  As for me, I’d unbolted the door and was off down the road. I could hear my dad screaming like a banshee, but I was not about to look back, no way José!

  The new year brought a new woman into my life, though as always, Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants put a downer on it, ‘NANCY CRUDDLE!’ His jaw fell, ‘My God, there’s not a man this side of London who hasn’t licked her lipstick!’ He laughed out loud, ‘Ooh, you’ve done it now, Ben! I would not like to be in your shoes if Laura finds out.’

  ‘What the devil’s it got to do with her?’

  ‘Nothing, but you know what she’s like…she’ll kill you. You and Nancy Cruddle both.’ He gave an evil snigger. ‘I have to admire you though. You certainly know how to live dangerously.’

  ‘You’re just jealous, because you still haven’t found a woman who would take you on.’

  ‘Ah, that’s because I’m more choosy than you. I mean…look at your track record. First you let your wife catch you in bed with that girl; then there was that other girl from Blackpool who fell off her donkey and broke your foot. Then you had a fling with a stripper, until her boyfriend knocked the lights out of you. Oh, yes, and then there’s Laura…mad as a hatter and possessed of a killer instinct.’ He chuckled, ‘Mind you…they do say men pick women like their mothers!’

  ‘All right! All right!’ Every word he said was true but I wasn’t about to admit it, ‘So, I’ve not been the best judge of character so far, but that doesn’t mean to say I’ve got bad taste. One thing’s for sure…I mean to give Nancy Cruddle a chance…’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go out with her.’

  ‘W
hy not exactly…come on, why not?’

  ‘Because I’d be afraid of catching something, that’s why not!’

  ‘What? You mean like that something you caught from the girl you met at the bus stop. She picked you up and stripped you clean: wallet, keys, everything but your underpants. The trouble is you’ve lost your touch. You wouldn’t recognise a good woman if you saw one!’

  ‘Take that back!’

  ‘NO!’

  ‘Take that back or I’ll set the dog on you.’

  ‘Set the dog on me!’ I laughed out loud. Battersby was flat out on the sofa, legs open and a look of gormless pleasure on his ugly face. Suddenly he made the loudest, longest trump, filling the room with the foulest stink I have ever encountered.

  Me and Dickie Manse looked at each other and ran for the door.

  ‘I hate that dog!’ he coughed when we were safely outside.

  ‘Give it to Nancy Cruddle…’ I said wickedly, ‘…her dad owns a burger bar.’

  It was good that he chased me out the flat and down the street. We both needed the exercise.

  ‘You know what?’ I yelled as I ran.

  ‘What?’ He still hadn’t forgiven me.

  ‘I reckon we’ll have to repaint that room, what with the stench of that lot sticking to it…’

  Suddenly all I could hear was one pair of running feet, and they were mine.

  I stopped, peered back, and there he was, hiding in a shop doorway, crouched low with his head in his hands. You were too hard on him, Ben, I thought guiltily. After all, he’s having a bad time with women, while they’re after you left, right and centre. Too good looking by far, that’s what you are.

  Wanting to make amends, I went back to him, put my hand on his shaking shoulder and told him sternly, ‘Stop that prissy crying. If I said anything to hurt you, I’m really sorry.’

  He looked up, his eyes wet with tears, and then he started again. But he wasn’t crying, he was laughing wild, loud laughter that echoed down the street. ‘Did you see us two fighting to get out the door?’ he screeched. ‘Phew! I’d have broken it down if I had to!’