Tableland (28 page)

Decided to spend a quiet day after all the excitement of yesterday.

Brooded over my lost chance of chatting up Geoff Savoury and the thought of Anita and Ken, which I've filed away at the back of my mind for the time being. Brought the room back to its usual order and Julie resurrected her dried flowers – still puzzled about that one. We agreed that the evening had been a success. ‘But I think once a year is quite enough,' Julie said.

The weather was bright and sunny so decided to go for a drive after lunch, park somewhere away from it all and read the papers. Unfortunately, everyone else in the area seemed to have the same idea – Thurston Hill was swarming with people and FULL notices were up at the car park. It was impossible to park at Hollyoak beach – the sands were as crowded as an August bank holiday, dogs and horses all over the place as well.

At the country park along the old railway track, we found cars bumper to bumper. The country park ranger, magnificent in his safari outfit, was having a job controlling the crowds and looked to be in an ugly mood.

Reversed slowly back up to the main road to the accompaniment of car horns – people have no patience these days. Felt dry and hot after all this and wondered if the ever-popular ice cream shop at Woodgate would be open on a Sunday in November. Thought a rum and raisin ice would slip down very well, Julie favoured chocolate and Trev a large ice lolly. We saw the end of the queue before we had even found somewhere to park so abandoned the whole project and returned home. Swivelled the chairs round to face the sun and Julie made a nice cup of tea.

A quiet day at the office. Brimcup told me of problems he and his wife are having with his in-laws.

‘Basically, it's a them and us situation,' he confided.

‘You mean you don't get on?' I asked.

‘This is it. In actual fact, as it were, I personally feel that no way can we resolve this multi-faceted syndrome.'

‘Stalemate, in fact,' I put in.

‘That's right, I mean to say, basically I'm a high-flyer, a bit of a swinger – don't quote me on this but aspiration-wise…'

We talked in this way for ten minutes but at the end I still wasn't sure that I grasped the essentials of the problem.

A terrible blow has fallen – hardly able to put pen to paper to write about it. Ironic to think of my optimistic mood of last week.

The day started well enough with sausages for breakfast and, arrived at work to collect some new samples with no sense of impending doom.

The telephone rang. Trina answered it and handed it to me. ‘It's for you.'

‘George Remnant here,' came the voice down the line.

‘Good morning, sir,' I replied with confidence, knowing that the ordered wood should have appeared on site early this morning. ‘I trust the trusses have arrived.' (Promptly as promised by yours truly.)

A noise like a bull bellowing greeted me, followed by, ‘That's why I'm ringing – they keep on arriving. My foreman's going through the roof. Is this some kind of joke or what? We ordered 160 trusses (ten for each house) but by the look of it we have more like four or five hundred here already and another load has just arrived. Put me through to Prescott Henderson,' he shouted. ‘This is what comes of using a firm like… ‘ I heard him muttering as I handed the ‘phone back to Trina to connect him with P.H's office.

I sat down shaken – too shaken to listen in. Trina said later that it was all rather unpleasant. Fetched myself a cup of coffee from the new dispenser and tried to sort things out in my mind. What could have gone wrong?

I was soon to find out. P.H. called me into his sanctum later. ‘What's all this then?' he asked furiously with a face like thunder. ‘I've been on to the mill and Jim Smears swears black and blue that you ordered trusses for sixty houses for Greenacres Estate.'

(I suppose it's nobody's fault really – sixty sounding very like sixteen – but no doubt I shall take the rap.)

‘I have had a very nasty ten minutes on the ‘phone with Remnant, very nasty indeed. He's sending the extra trusses back at once, disclaiming all liability. I suppose we're lucky he's accepting the rest under the circumstances.'

‘And just as I was thinking a little promotion for you might be on the cards!' This went on for some time, after which I slunk out with my samples.

My heart wasn't in my job today. Couldn't concentrate – my mind kept going over the terrible mix-up. Had I really said sixty to Smears on the ‘phone and not sixteen, by mistake? Would I now be joining the vast number of unemployed?

Started to feel achy in my limbs and came home at 4 pm shivering as well. Julie pronounced the ‘flu so here I am in bed with a hot lemon drink and feeling wretched. Julie treated the blow rather lightly, I thought. ‘Well, can't you store the extra wood until the next person wants it?' she asked, having no real grasp of the situation. Tried to explain that the trusses had been cut to a certain specification but gave up. Eyes aching badly, can't write anymore tonight.

Bed all day. Julie said she'd ‘phoned the office to let them know I wouldn't be in and whoever had answered had said, ‘I'm not surprised.'

Still in bed. Feel at very low ebb. Can't imagine any news that would cheer me up at this moment in time. What do we all strive so hard for – what is it all about? This and other thoughts were filling my head when Julie popped in with another hot lemon drink. ‘I don't know why you're feeling so gloomy. What about me? I was looking forward to the Builders' Dance tomorrow – I suppose I'll have to ring up again and say we can't go. I suppose the Brimcups will take the tickets.'

This made me feel worse than ever – had completely forgotten about the dance – it would have been an evening full of opportunity with important new contacts to be made. All my hopes turned to dust.

Managed to get downstairs this evening despite feeling weak and shaky, but couldn't raise much enthusiasm for This Was Your Wife, which I usually enjoy, or for the pineapple and sausage casserole which Julie had made for supper.

At 7.30 there was a knock at the door, then I heard Brimcup's loud voice thanking Julie for the tickets. ‘No, we won't come in – don't want to miss the champagne reception, ha, ha, ha. Our best to Peter, sorry he's had such a rough time of it and all that…' The door closed and I heard them drive off to the dance.

This afternoon, Julie placed some Christmas cards down on the table which she had bought at Munniesave. ‘Choose which you like best and I'll get another three packets of them,' she said. There were five different cards – Father Christmas going to the moon on a multi-coloured rocket, a stocking full of toys with a tatty-looking mouse (or was it a rat?) peering out, a cross-eyed owl on skis, a reindeer with false eyelashes standing under a sprig of mistletoe and three robins playing blind man's buff!

Didn't care very much for any of them and told Julie so. ‘You know the sort of Christmas cards I like: lots of snow, a village scene, stage coaches, houses lit up, Christmas trees in the windows, families rushing along laden with parcels – real old-fashioned cards. Why didn't you get some of those?'

‘These were special bargain offers – they were a very good buy,' she replied rather haughtily. ‘You aren't usually so choosy. Anyway, I think they're very nice.'

Afraid to say I became a bit snappish with Julie, who answered back to the effect that I was feeling sorry for myself and why didn't I snap out of it and so on.

Felt too weary to prolong the argument and in the end I compromised over the cards by playing “Eeny, meeny, miny, mo”. It came out at the cross-eyed owl on skis.

Was gloomily contemplating which would be the better of two unappealing programmes to watch on the telly when who should appear at the window but Steve. Put Julie's thick knit cardigan round my shoulders and went to let him in.

‘Good evening, squire, what ails you? A touch of the plague, eh? No don't worry, we've all had it,' he said as I explained.

‘You look a trifle downcast, old laddie,' he remarked, settling himself into the opposite chair and propping his walking stick up against the wall.

Was about to say it was just the after-effects of ‘flu when I remembered the old adage “A trouble shared is a trouble halved” and almost before I knew it, I was pouring out the whole sorry story.

Steve rested his leg up on the pouffe when I had finished and was just about to say something when, to my annoyance, Trev burst in, with his transistor going full blast.

‘Turn that thing off!' I shouted above the noise.

He turned the volume down slightly and shouted back, ‘I'm sure the DJ said that this is a record by The Dregs.

‘Rubbish!' I yelled. ‘Now turn it off or go and play it up in your bedroom. I want a bit of peace in here. It's a hard thing when a man can't get a bit of peace and quiet in his own home.'

Trev went out, banging the door behind him.

‘How about a jar of something?' I asked Steve, wishing to get back to my saga and have some sympathetic advice from an old friend.

‘No thanks, old sport – thanks all the same. I really only called to let you know the A.G.M. has now been fixed for Monday the 14th.' So at least that is one bright spot on the horizon, if all goes according to my hopes.

‘And I must dash round to Mike Grope and tell him.' And he hobbled out.

At about 3 pm a pale watery sun appeared so I muffled myself up and went for a short walk. Met Keith Goodchap exercising his afghan hound and stopped to pass the time of day.

‘I'm having a snifter with Ken Dugeon at the Cock and Bull this evening, why not join us?' he asked in a friendly fashion.

‘Why not indeed,' I replied.

‘See you then, about 7.30.' The afghan gave a sharp tug and he and Keith flew off down the road at lightning speed.

‘You shouldn't be going out at all – the wind's turned quite sharp,' Julie warned as I muffled up for the second time. I told her that I felt quite warm as I went out of the door but my words were carried away on an icy wind.

On my way to the pub, I began to wonder if there was any ulterior motive behind Keith's friendly gesture: Trev and Keith's son Stewart, have not got on well at school in the past. Maybe there'd been another fight and the Cock and Bull was to be the setting for a showdown. Trudged along battling against the elements, more depressed with every step. Another fear occurred to me – were Keith and Ken about to give me the third degree about my continuing interest in Les Crow? I don't know if it's my present weak state but am becoming obsessed with the idea that everyone's against me.

I needn't have worried this evening, however, all was conviviality but thought it would not be politic to mention Anita or the glove with the A.G.M. around the corner.

‘What'll it be?' shouted Keith as he spotted me.

‘A Whisky Mac, if that's alright with you,' I shouted back through frozen lips and reached for a fag.

Ken appeared at this moment and slapped us both on the back.

‘Guess what? The Raintree Wheelers have challenged us to a flaming plum pudding relay race at their civic hall in aid of charity.'

‘Have we accepted?' Keith asked, his eyes glinting with excitement.

‘Are we the men to turn down a challenge like that?'

‘Never!' I found myself answering enthusiastically with Keith, and was struck anew by their fierce loyalty

‘Fair enough then,' Ken went on, ‘but the big news is that this seasonal event,' he took a long draught of his beer while we waited with bated breath, ‘which will duly take place on the 21st December, is going to be televised!' He paused until we had fully digested this piece of information. ‘It will be shown on News from the North the following evening. So now all we have to do is find a team of sturdy runners.'

‘How many?' Keith asked.

‘Ah, difficult one, this. Only five it seems, so we'll have to put our thinking caps on, so to speak, over the next few days.'

We all thought for a moment.

‘Bob Gubber's a must. I should think he stands 6ft 3in in his socks and he swims every day,' said Keith and Ken agreed.

‘What about Dud Weekes?'

‘Not very fit. A weight problem there, I should say,' Ken pronounced. ‘I suppose I myself will have to put in a personal appearance – being chairman and all that. Of course, if you don't think I'd…'

We quickly reassured him that naturally he must go, that no team would be complete without him.

It's a great pity that Steve's out of commission. He says that ankle of his is going to be a long job,' Keith said. ‘I think I'll give him a ring later on and see if he has any recommendations to make.'

‘I gather Mike Grope is something of an athlete,' Keith put in. ‘I could mention it to him – sound him out, as it were.'

‘Good idea.' Ken slapped him on the back.

Returned home with a hacking cough, about which Julie was unsympathetic, especially as I smelt, so she said, of ciggy smoke.

Determined to go to work today despite Julie's protests and my persistent cough. Felt I must return to the office and try to get back to normal – or as normal as possible in the circumstances.

P.H. greeted me rather coldly with the news that I had been assigned to the Mid North West Wales region for a couple of months. Might as well have been banished to Siberia.

Was preparing to leave when Brimcup bounced in. ‘You missed a really good do on Friday – no kidding. Fantastic hotel, marble pillars, marvellous wine, decent band – the works. The food wasn't up to much but what a cabaret. That Abdul certainly knows a thing or two – these oriental wallahs are up to all the tricks.'

‘I thought you said he was from Frodsham,' I said but he affected not to hear.

‘And as for contacts – say no more!' I didn't, so he continued, ‘Actually managed a word or two with Coon of Trighton and Coon.' I was impressed by this as they are one of the major firms in the North. ‘And I gave him one of my cards. Had a drink with a very good sort – Geoff Savoury by name. He was with the McPennines and I even got an intro there. So how's that for an evening's work? Good “vibes” as they say.'

‘Did Avril enjoy it?' I asked.

He looked blank for a minute. ‘Av? Oh, yes, I expect she enjoyed it in her own way.'