The Price of Butcher's Meat (10 page)

Interesting—eh?

Spent the evening playing snap with the Parker kids. Found it hard not to do a Headbanger & win all the time—so I rang home—just to remind myself what I was missing. Nice chat with mum—then dad came on. In a good mood—got the house the way he likes it again—no visitors—just him—mum—George plus the twins—& me where he likes me—at the end of a phone line—where we are both at our best!

Told him about the escaped
convie
—Mr Deal—aka
Dee Ell
—who claimed to know him.

—big bugger?—he said—looks like his mam got put to stud with a prize bull?—

Got a way with words—our dad—but I had to admit he was on the ball here.

—aye—I remember him—Andy Dalziel (he spelt it out)—hes a copper—dont know what he does to crooks—but he used to kick the shit out of us on the rugby field—

—he remembered you fondly too—I said—called you Stompy—

—remembered that—did he?—said dad—sounding like he was touched—Not a bad sort—Dalziel—long as you dont cross him. Hard man to knock down—bet he dented Parkers car!—It were him that got blown up by them mad buggers earlier this year—you probably read about it—if you had time to look at a paper—between disco dancing & getting drunk—

Interesting view of higher education—our dad!

—thats probably why hes at the convalescent home—I said.

—theyll have their hands full—he said—give him my best if you see him again—

I said I would—but not much chance—I think. Probably got him in a padded cell after his escape trick the other day!

So now to my lonely bed—thinking of you all tangled up with the bronze bonking machine! Just cos Ive given up men forever doesnt mean I cant enjoy them vicariously—so—give him one for me!

 

Lots of love

Charley XX

Morning, Mildred!

They've still got me banged up in bed, so I might as well talk to myself. At least I'll hear some sense!

No. Be fair. Like me old mam used to say, there's some folk you needn't be kind to, but you should always try to be fair with everyone.

I thought I'd wake up with the dawn the morning after the great escape and feel right as rain. Instead it were nigh on midday and I were busting for a piss, but when I slid out of bed, I almost fell over. Felt worse than I'd done in the Central.

Matron appeared like a flash—mebbe she's got me bugged!

“Mr. Dalziel,” she said. “You shouldn't be up!”

“Shouldn't I?” I said. “It's either that or I'll be floating out of here on my mattress.”

She had the sense not to suggest I use one of them bottles, but slung my arm over her shoulders, grabbed me round the waist, and together we staggered into the bathroom.

“There,” she said. “I'll just tidy up your bed, then I'll be back for you.”

“Take your time,” I said. “I'm going to.”

I left flushing the bog till after I'd got washed up so's she'd not have any advance warning and come rushing to help. Two quick steps from the bog to the doorway and I had to stop for a rest.

Matron were standing by my newly made bed, holding my recorder.

“Found this in your bed, Mr. Dalziel,” she said.

“Oh aye. It's a sex aid,” I said.

“Really?” she said, holding it to her ear. “What's it play? Beginner's instructions?”

Cheeky cow! But I had to laugh. And she grinned too, like she knew that my only interest in bed that moment was getting into it and going back to sleep.

I went forward at a stagger, grabbed the recorder off her, and fell across the mattress. She tutted and pulled the duvet over me.

“I see you've got a visit scheduled tomorrow,” she said. “Hope you can get down to your physio session in the morning or we may have to cancel it.”

But she was grinning as she said it.

Bit more to her than I reckoned. Could make summat of her yet! But need to be careful now she's set her sharp little eyes on this thing. Think I'll tuck it between my legs before I go to sleep. If anyone can get it out of there without me noticing, then I'm really knackered! But I'll need to find a better place to hide it permanent if I don't want them having a right giggle in the nurses' room. Old trick, wrap it in a plastic bag and stick it in the lav cistern. First place a cop 'ud look, but cops are one thing I don't need to worry about just now!

So, head down, and hope I can skip them funny dreams I keep on getting and work on a nice little fantasy about Cap instead. Roll on tomorrow. Couple of hours with Cap's all the physiotherapy I need!

Okay, Mildred, I should have listened to you and put my woolly vest on!

Bad night. Didn't get my hoped-for fantasy about Cap but another bunch of them daft dreams about floating around and talking to God!

But my physio went well. Tony tutted a bit when he looked me over. But by the time he'd finished, I were feeling lish enough to reckon I could give Cap the welcome she deserved!

First, though, I had to put up with her giving me the bollocking she thought I deserved! Blabbermouth Festerwhanger must have really laid it on thick about how much damage I could have done to myself going over the wire.

I tried playing it down, doing the big bull thing, saying, “Come here and I'll soon show thee how poorly I am!” Well, she came, and I showed her, and that's when I found out, like mam used to say, that my eyes were hungrier than my belly.

When I finally gave up, she said, “That does it, Andy. From now on in, if they tell you to start the day with an ice bath, you bloody well take it! If I wanted a eunuch, I'd have looked in the Istanbul small ads.”

She's got a real lip on her, Cap.

She'd brought my civvies as promised and it were only by promising to be a good little patient and do what matron tells me that I stopped her from taking them back.

When I asked if she had any news from the Factory, she said nothing, except that Pete had told her everything was going fine and nobody was missing me. He'd asked her about visiting me. I told her no way, not till I were properly up and about. He'd seen me at the Central while I were still good for nowt. Next time he saw me, I wanted to be back to
something like full steam, else he might start feeling sorry for me. I don't doubt the vultures are already circling over the Factory and if Pete comes back from a visit with a long face, they'll be flapping to land!

Cap said I were daft, I needed my friends. I said I knew what I needed better than her, and she rolled her eyes and said that what I clearly needed was another week in bed. And not long after, she took off. Said she wanted to walk over to the nursing home and see her old headmistress who's on her last legs it seems.

Her parting line was, “Maybe that's where I should have put you, Andy.”

I saw her out. As I made my way back to my room, who should I see coming out of it but Franny Roote!

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

“Looking for you, of course, Andy,” he said. “A few of your fellow convies—sorry, convalescents—are interested in Third Thought, and after I finished with them, I asked Pet where I'd find you.”

“Pet?” I said.

“Nurse Sheldon. I'd have thought you'd have been on first-name terms by now, Andy.”

“Well, we're not. And neither are you and me,” I said grimly. “Now bog off!”

I wasn't in the mood for chatting with Roote, not the way things had gone with Cap. Don't know who it was said that pleasures are always paid for, but the bugger got it right. My pleasure had been a couple of pints of ale, one of which I didn't really enjoy, and here I was, still paying for it.

Which reminds me. I owe yon fellow Parker twenty quid. Well, it will have to wait. I know its only teatime, but I need my beauty sleep!

Hi!

No reply yet to mine of yesterday. Too busy? Doing what?—I ask myself.

Well—Im busy too—but its not going to stop me finding time to tell you all about it—which youd better read—therell be a test!

If theres anyone left in Sandytown that I havent met yet—anyone of importance I mean—they must be living in a cave! Late breakfast this morning—Tom & Mary said I should ignore all sounds of early reveille—their kids like kids everywhere want to sleep forever during term time but are up with the lark in the hols. Minnie—I suspect—must have got a death threat warning to keep her away from my door—but it worked—& I didnt come down till half ten!

Just enjoying a coffee with Mary—Tom I guess was out even earlier than the kids!—when the doorbell rang. Mary went to answer it—& came back with this
hunk
—in tight black motorcycle leathers—& you know what they can do for a guys figure.

Not that this one wouldnt have looked good in pinstripes.

6' 2''—handsome as hell—in that old fashioned Hollywood kind of way—before the new 3 day dead look came in—athletic build—wide shoulders—narrow hips—lovely bum—not
bronze
exactly—his face I mean—dont know about his bum—yet!—but a very even & natural looking light tan! OK—he clearly thinks hes Gods gift—but like the man said—when you got it—baby—flaunt it!

This was Teddy Denham—Sir Edward Denham no less—Lady Ds nephew-in-law—& one of her hopeful heirs! Having heard from Lady D that Tom was back—hed come straight round to say hello—& check on the now famous ankle.

Mary introduced us—& he said Lady D had mentioned me—with a bit of a grin to suggest I might be amused by the terms of the mention—& he shook my hand—with enough warmth to make it personal.

My gaze had been so fixed on him that I hardly noticed his companion—which was OK—as she made it pretty clear she didnt really think me worth noticing either!

This was his sister—Esther—beautifully turned out—beautiful too if shed give her face a chance. Thought she looked a bit familiar at first glance—but her first—& only—glance at me when introduced made me change my mind. Reminded me of dads comment about the vicars wife—
like shed bent to sniff a flower & found it were growing in a cowpat!
If anyone had looked at me like that before I think Id have remembered.

She
looked like her idea was to say hello-good-bye!—but
he
said yes hed love a coffee—& sat down beside me—& soon we were chatting away like wed known each other forever. After ten minutes—Tom turned up. He & Teddy greeted each other like old mates—Esther gave him a condescending cold fish nod—which he took like it was a loving hug! Then Teddy asked after Toms ankle & got the full miracle recovery story.

—of course—declared Tom—I benefited from instant & expert first aid from our dear friend Charlotte here (this got me a
well arent you the talented one
grin from Teddy the bart)—but—Tom went on—I feel I must also give credit for the incredible speed of my recovery to Mr Gordon Godley of Willing
dene
(he stressed the long
e
& smiled at me as if to say he was glad of the error that had led to me being here in Sandytown)—the famous healer whom I hope to entice to join our caring community—

As he spoke—he did a little jig to demonstrate his recovery. Esthers face had screwed up like a pigs bum at the mention of
healer
—& when she saw the jig I thought she might vomit in disgust. Fortunately for the high polished floor-boards her mobile rang at that moment. She looked at the caller display—& her face rearranged itself so quick it might have been computer enhanced.

—Aunt Daphne!—she trilled—how
are
you?—

She rose & moved away—not with the usual
sorries
most of us mutter when the mobile catches us in company—but more like shed have preferred the rest of us to move out of the room & leave her sitting!

But the change of expression revived my first impression—now I was really sure Id seen her before—or her twin! Remember—last December—the skiing in Switzerland near Davos—I gave you a
full
account about me & louse Liam—unlike the censored stuff youre giving me! Dad did his nut—till I assured him Id be back for Xmas—& it was costing hardly anything—travel by bus—hostel accommodation—bunk beds in dorms—which made him think—wrongly!—naughties would be out of the question. But it was George asking if he could come too that persuaded dad to cough up the readies. The HB thought George would be a chaperone—I thought hed just be a bit of a drag—but we were both wrong! In the end—like I told you—turned out he was getting as much action as I was!

Anyway—our après-ski consisted of a beer-swilling disco in the Bengel bar—cross between Willingden Village Hall & the Black Hole of Calcutta—where all the impoverished young stuff went—& thats where Id seen the sourpuss look-alike—but not sourpuss—laughing like a drain—as she did high energy dirty dancing with this skinny blond guy—with hair down to his shoulders—& a soup strainer mustache. His name was Emil—second name Geiger-Counter according to George—but that was just his version of something like Kunzli-Geiger. How G knew him—I think they had a pee together—thats how guys bond—its in all the textbooks!—& next day hed met him on the piste & they had a bit of a race—which G lost. G was clearly impressed that a skinny fellow like Emil should be able to beat him at skiing—&—I suspect—tho he didnt spell this out—should have such a big whang! Must ask G when I ring home.
She
didnt have a name—just an initial—Ess—& one of my mates—watching the way they danced—christened them Ess & Em—which I had to explain to George—who thought it was the funniest wordplay since madam Im Adam—remember?—& rewarded my mate accordingly!

But still couldnt believe dirty dancing Ess & sourpuss Esther could be the same—though I recalled Mary had mentioned Lady D took the young
Denhams on a ski holiday last Christmas. Shed stepped into the hallway—but her voice stayed at that upper-class level that assumes that servants—& others of that ilk—like me & the Parkers—are—or better had be—stone deaf. So we heard her quite clearly saying—no—not in the least inconvenient—no—a social call merely—in the circumstances you might call it a sick visit—an irksome duty—but a duty nevertheless—as you of all people will understand—Aunt Daphne. Five minutes—scarcely that—

Tom meanwhile had asked Sir Teddy how work was going—& the bart pulled a face—& said—lets just say I hope Aunt Daph doesnt serve up pork for lunch—again!—

I said—do you have much actual contact with the pigs?—

—indeed—he said ruefully—from first squeak to final freeze pack—I oversee quality control—

This was nepotism—Yorkshire style!—I thought.

Then Mary said—I wish theyd put someone in charge of odor control too—

Teddy smiled sadly—& said—you should try living out at Denham Park Mary—

From the doorway Esther said—Teddy—we have to go—Aunt Daphne has some family matter shed like to discuss with us—

Very peremptory—sweetness soured—light switched off—normal service resumed.

—whats the panic—Ess—said Teddy—glancing at his flashy Rolex—we arent due there for ninety minutes—

There! Hed called her Ess! Short for Esther—which is one of those names that really need shortening! It had to be her—tho the resemblance had faded as she was now back in sourpuss mode. But if—as I recall G saying—Emil was just a poor student—then that would explain why they were meeting in the Bengel bar—where there was no chance of running into Lady D or her chums—who were probably drinking over at Klosters—with Big Ears & his tribe of Noddies.

—so why cant she just talk to us over lunch?—Teddy concluded.

—in front of Clara?—said Esther.

She spoke the name like it was a nasty taste.

—Claras family too—said Ted—winning a Heywood Brownie point.

—not
our
family—& besides the legless wonders going to be there too—

I saw Tom & Mary exchange disapproving glances—but neither spoke.

—is he? Whys that?—asked Teddy frowning.

—he seems to amuse her—& he doesnt eat much—look—Im off—you can follow whenever you find the strength to drag yourself away—

She nodded at the Parkers—didnt even glance at me—& spun on her heel—very tall sharp heel it was—she knows how to dress—must run in the family—the bart looked a real dish in his leathers—& I could imagine him peeling them—James Bond-like—to reveal an…immaculate dj! (Got you going there!)

Disappointingly—despite his protests—Teddie didnt have much trouble dragging himself away—tho he did gabble a rueful apology before heading after the Ice Queen.

As he left—Tom said to me—come on Charley—time to finish our tour—

When Tom decides something—its instant action!—& we were out of the house in time to see Esther climbing behind the wheel of a Range Rover—what else?—pretty ancient—but the landed gentry probably regard new RRs like new Barbours—as evidence of
arrivisme.
Ted—by contrast—was straddling a new looking Buell Lightning—in midnight black—with the words
Sexy Beast
scrawled across the tank in silver. Narcissism? I wondered. Or a gift from an admirer…?

As they processed at speed down the drive—I said—thought Mary said they were a bit strapped for cash—no wonder if they spend it on 7k mobikes!—

—as much as that?—said Tom—well—he really was lucky then—Ted didnt buy it—won it in a charity lottery—cast your bread upon waters—eh Charlotte?—

Lucky old Ted—I thought. No wonder he thinks the world owes him a living!

Walking down the hill—I wondered—dead casual—if there might not seem to be some conflict between Toms eco-enthusiasm & the bloody great carbon footprints the Denhams—young & old—seemed bent on planting all over the roads of Sandytown.

—just so!—cried Tom—as if delighted by some sharp & helpful
aperçu—this is how I see things too. Physician—heal thyself—then pass the cure on! To convert is better than to convict—to persuade than to prescribe. We all have our complementary roles—mine I see as a gatherer—bringing together the full spectrum of ability. It did not take long—dear Charlotte—to see how useful a talent like yours—to observe & analyze—would be to our little community—

It dawned on me then that in Toms eyes I was—like Gordon Godley—an opportunity not to be missed. The bugger was trying to recruit me!

But hes such a poppet I could only feel flattered!

As we once more approached Witch Cottage—recalling the small incident yesterday—I asked how Miss Lee—the acupuncturist—got on with Lady Denham. Tom—whos clearly into universal love—said—fine—fine. But hes also into transparent honesty—& he added—there has been a small contretemps—I believe—regarding the terms of Miss Lees tenancy—but Im confident a mutually satisfactory resolution has been reached—

I said—you mean Lady D owns Witch Cottage?—

—indeed—he said—& much more besides—the Breretons were substantial property owners in the town—& Hog Hollis—Lady Ds first—rarely missed an opportunity to invest in bricks & mortar—

Id have liked to hear more—but realized I was only going to get a sanitized version of any unpleasantness from Tom—& made a note to bring the matter up with that young mistress of unsanitized versions—Minnie!

At the cottage—after a little delay—Miss Lee answered Toms knock. I was introduced—briefly. She did a little Chinese bob thing—like Pitti-Sing in the musical. She was wearing a sort of kimono—but close up her face looked a lot less oriental—more plastic than porcelain—& Id say the almond blossom complexion comes out of a jar. Her voice was pretty neutral—very precise—with the occasional Yorkshire vowel suggesting shed been around the county for some time.

She had a patient—she explained—but would join us shortly. We were standing in a narrow passage with a steep staircase up to the first floor—& 2 doors to the right—& another at the far end—open to reveal a kitchen. Miss Lee slipped through the first door—presumably not wanting us to see
some poor devil stuck with needles like a hedgehog!—& Tom led me through the next door—clearly very much at home.

I found myself wondering—this alternative medicine thing—does he try them
all
?

We were in a crepuscular living room—small 16th cent windows in walls a yard thick—bit of a change from bamboo & rice paper—or is that Japan? Couple of pictures on the wall—prints of Chinese art—& a framed professional certificate—in Chinese characters. No—I havent taught myself Chinese—alongside it in the same frame was what I presumed was an English version—telling the world that Yan Lee had earned her qualifications—with distinction—at the Beijing Institute of Acupuncture & Moxibustion! (You tell me—youre the familys medical expert!)

Tom settled into a dusty armchair—to read a dusty newspaper—& I wandered around—checking out the bookshelves. Us psychologists can tell a lot from bookshelves! Fiction mainly—chic lit—historical romances—couple of classics looking like they were lifted from school. Nonfiction limited to royal reminiscences—& Delia—plus—which I almost missed—a very tatty paperback—
Teach Yourself Acupuncture
. Set book from the Beijing Institute maybe?

Miss Lee reappeared as I was looking at it—so I quickly shoved it back into place—& hoped she hadnt noticed. Tom chitchatted for a moment or two about local matters—then started talking about my thesis—making me sound like an FRS on a WHO funded research project! Miss Lee listened—then said—so you would like to talk to my patients to see if I really do them any good physically? I said—no—I would like to talk to those whose physical improvement is undeniable—with a view to understanding the mental processes involved. I have no interest in passing judgment on the status of acupuncture as medical therapy—