“‘He’s my grandfather,’ Betty said, ‘so you leave him alone.’ The copper wagged a finger at her: ‘Naughty, naughty! But if I was you,’ he said to me, ‘I’d make myself scarce. We don’t want anymore trouble than we’ve got.’”
He waited for the tinkling of pinball machines to calm down: “It sounded good advice, and I was in such a hurry to get out of the house I didn’t know what I’d left behind. As I hurried up the drive, with all the lights of the estate blazing away, one of the policemen called after me: ‘Hey, come back sonny! We shall want you to help us with our enquiries.’ I supposed he only shouted for a lark, so I turned a corner and headed for open ground where it was darker. I was in the Commandos during the War, and knew my stuff.” He pulled a faded photo from his wallet and held it close for a proper look. “That’s me, just there, in the middle. Handsome, wasn’t I?”
The beret was at a cocky angle, half a row of medal ribbons on his battledress, the background of bare hills looking a bit like Greece or Italy. His features were a mixture of brutality and youthful innocence, but the self-satisfied face was his right enough. “Cut a few throats, didn’t I?” he said. “But that’s how it was. Him or me. I’d do it again as well.”
“So you were up shit’s creek without a paddle?” I reminded him.
“For a while I was, couldn’t tell north from south, but when I got to the edge of a wood I saw my old pal Polaris shining its little heart out, and got my bearings. What was I to do? I floundered around in that bit of wood for an hour or two, though I did consider spending a couple of days there, snaring a rabbit and roasting it over a slow fire, just like the old times. But common sense got the better of me, and I put my thinking cap on. Betty’s husband was wanted by the law, that much was clear, and I wondered what for. From what I’d seen of him it could be anything from murder to marketing hard drugs. They wouldn’t have kicked the doors in like that if he’d only stolen a few Mars bars, would they?”
“You never know.” I was nailed down by his story. Had Blaskin been here he would have slavvered at hearing of such misfortunes. “What,” I said, admiring his ability to eat and talk so well at the same time — though I did get a few bits on my jacket, “happened next?”
“You may well ask.”
“I just have.”
“Don’t rush me. I’m not at my best when I’m rushed. The face was, I decided that my little romance with Betty was over, with a sad heart, I might tell you. I had a very soft and tender spot for that little baggage, but I couldn’t take anymore risks with such a family. I suppose all families are wicked in England today, but some are more wicked than others. On the other hand the thought of being shot of Betty cheered me up, because I was free to take up with another young lass. Starting over again is an enticing prospect. But to make a long story a bit shorter, I went by a circuitous route to where I’d left my car at the station, thinking that a good plan would be to cruise down to London and take a look at Soho. In any case, if I got home too early the wife might get suspicious.”
“What’s your wife’s name?”
His face went as blank as the North Sea beyond Skegness. “How should I know?”
“If you don’t, who does?”
“Well, she does, I expect. Oh yes, I’ve just remembered.” But he forgot to tell me. My stomach ached from the effort of not laughing at the old chokka’s yarn. “Where does she think you are?”
“At my brother’s, in Halifax. Mind you, it’s not all roses when I want to go away. Weeks beforehand I tell her I’ll go and see my brother on a certain date, and she agrees to it as if she can’t wait to see the back of me. Then a couple of days before my departure she says she doesn’t want me to go. She might even have a good reason why I shouldn’t, but most often she just wants to put me through the hoops, knowing I don’t like to change what I’ve been planning to do for so long. Makes it a bit awkward for me, doesn’t it? All I have to do though is agree with her immediately and say: ‘Oh, that’s all right. I don’t mind. I won’t go. I can see my brother any time.’ This evidence of my good nature discombobulates her, doesn’t it? In the next few hours she forgets why she said she didn’t want me to go, and ends up pleading with me to follow my plan. So I go, don’t I?”
“Sounds like the ideal relationship,” I said, “but, all the same, don’t you imagine that while you’re on your travels she might be having a good time as well? What if she’d only said she didn’t want you to go because her boyfriend had told her he needed to change the time for his visit to her?”
A grin took over his face. “It did cross my mind. Everything always does. But if she is seeing somebody, then good luck to her.” His smile dropped into oblivion, leaving an aspect of utter misery: “Do you think she might be having an affair, then?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. Especially since she doesn’t seem to spend any trouble checking up on you.”
The waitress came back to our table: “I don’t know what you find so interesting, listening to that filthy old swine. A few weeks ago he put his hand right up my skirt and squeezed my thingy.”
He gave as innocent a smile as was possible with such imperfect dentures. “Yes, I was spot on. Very warm. Right first time. But I thought you’d enjoy it, a woman of the world like you.”
She seemed about to weep. “If the manager comes in now he’ll throw him out again.” She bent low, and bawled into his ear: “When are you going?”
“Can’t hear you, darling. My hearing aid jumped out last night when I was in bed with my girlfriend.”
She lit a cigarette, and turned to me. “Nobody would be seen in bed with a bag of old bones like that. All his tales are lies. I can’t think where he gets them from.” She stood back, and blew a smokescreen over him. “Just look at what a state he’s in. He’s been driving up and down the A1 for the last five years telling dirty stories to anybody who’ll listen. He hasn’t been in bed with no mother and daughter like he told me last time. He just goes around insulting women, and gets knocked about by husbands and boyfriends. That’s why he looks like somebody who’s been pulled through a hedge backwards. He ought to be put down. Nobody’ll do it, I know, but it’d serve the dirty old bastard right if they did.” She waved the smoke away, to see him more clearly, a hand so close to his nose he twitched backwards, though the grin was still there. “And don’t call me darling,” she said. “I’m Miss Smith to you,” which tone and language answered the question as to whether she was English or not. She was.
He stood. “I know when I’m not wanted.”
“A good job you do.” She turned to me. “He always says that, though.”
I wanted to kill him, yet held back, because her version didn’t at all fit my assumptions, or I didn’t want it to, recalling the snowstorm of french letters he’d spent a fortune on.
“You can pay me, and clear out,” she said, “or I’ll bring this tray down on your head.”
He went through his pockets, took out a wallet, and I saw that it was empty of money. Panic eddied in all directions from his lips. “I’ve been robbed blind,” he cried. “I’ll kill the bitch when I see her again.”
“Maybe the children did it,” I said. “They must be very lightfingered in that sort of family.” I spared the waitress the anguish of putting up with the old lecher washing pots in the kitchen for a week. “I’ll pay his bill.”
He stood, and took my hands with a sincerity I could well have done without: “I owe you.”
Any such payback would mean listening to another of his stories. “Forget it.”
A tear dropped onto his withered cheek. “Don’t say that. You never know, in this uncertain life, when you might need to recoup my pittance.” He wiped a fleck of coffee from his glasses. “Luckily I have enough petrol to get home. Here’s my card, if you should ever need me.”