Tableland (30 page)

Set off to work in reasonably good spirits this morning wearing my new badge, which no one, however, remarked upon – except Mrs Lush, who asked if I'd joined a cycling club.

Arrived home to find we'd been sent Christmas cards from the Wineglasses, who hope to see us in the New Year, and the Elkes, giving us all the news and gossip from Southmere.

Decided to go through the souvenirs after supper and make an inventory so brought the boxes into the sitting room and counted the items while Julie wrote them down.

Told the story of the T-shirts, which seemed to amuse Trev. He said he wished he'd thought of such a great idea. Hope I'm not going to have any trouble in that direction.

‘I think I'll buy a car badge and sticker,' I remarked. ‘I wouldn't mind a tie either and the mugs are good value.' Oh well, I can get those at a later date.

Julie thought the table mats and tea towels attractive. Asked Trev if he fancied any of the merchandise. ‘Well, I wouldn't mind one of your new design T-shirts,' he said. I shut him up quickly.

Made the rounds of site agents, local authority architects, a factory or two and some key foremen with a load of Christmas cheer – i.e. calenders depicting timber of the world, diaries similar to the one in which I now write and bottles of Spanish sherry to be distributed at my own discretion.

Called in to see O'Hoo1igan on the Trighton and Coon site. ‘Now you don't happen to have any whisky instead, do you?' he asked as I proffered the sherry. ‘'Fraid not,' I replied. ‘Would you prefer one of these calenders?' But he decided to make do with the sherry.

‘How're things going? I was thinking you might be finished on this site by now?'

‘Well, you know how it is – strikes all the time and not only that… Listen, you know our main site down by the river – bungalows, houses and flats in the Mediterranean style? Pantile roofs etc.?'

‘Yes, I know the one.' A very impressive site this – had been hoping at one time for a bit of good to blow our way but nothing had transpired.

‘Well,' he poured me out one of his scalding mugs of tea laced liberally with whisky from a bottle marked Turpentine, ‘as I was saying. They were getting on nicely there when the suppliers in Manchester went up in smoke – literally.'

‘You mean the factory caught fire?'

‘And being wood – well you can imagine.' He rubbed his hands with relish.

Picking up his mug, he drank deeply and noisily, smacking his lips, his dark glasses steaming up. ‘Anyway, mate,' he went on, ‘if you see old man Coon about anywhere, my advice to you is keep out of his way – he's in a very ugly mood. Those houses were scheduled to be finished by the 5th of January and they're already running late.' He turned up his transistor to hear a football match and gave it his full attention.

Turned to pat Slasher, who was toasting his rheumatic legs in front of the small calor gas fire. While I stroked him, the glimmerings of an idea were taking root at the back of my mind. Admittedly, an idea so incredible that it astounded me and yet, if it comes off, it might save my bacon. The whole thing is unlikely, though. Still, worth a try.

‘You mentioned wood,' I shouted again over the noise of the football commentary. ‘What exactly was it that the suppliers were about to supply?' But he had lost interest, had forgotten I was there even. Finished my drink and went out into the cold, my mind seething with ideas. It's a long shot, but will get busy on the 'phone first thing tomorrow morning.

Spent a large part of the morning on the telephone but had very little satisfaction. Left messages but no one rang back. Coon was in London and couldn't be reached. Felt very frustrated. Will try again tomorrow.

Repeat performance of Bri on Top of the Pops, enjoyed by Trev and some of his friends who came in to watch.

Later in the evening, had visit from a Wheeler, by name of Doug Beeswing, wishing to purchase souvenirs. Suppose this is always a busy time of year – last minute Christmas gifts and such like.

‘Four packs of playing cards, please,' he requested, presenting me with £2. ‘We're into bridge.'

Had put the two boxes of souvenirs at the back of the garage as a temporary measure just until we had cleared under the stairs. He followed me out, chatting about this and that. Put the garage light on and led the way to the boxes. There was no need to undo them, there was a large ragged hole in each one, exposing ashtrays, car badges and everything else.

‘You seem to have a rat situation here,' Doug said somewhat grimly.

Felt humiliated about the rat episode last night, there is no other word for it. I can only hope that word doesn't get around. It will be thought of as a breach of trust, no less.

Carried the boxes back into the house and tried to pass the whole thing off lightly, offering Doug a drink after I had given him his cards. But was, in fact, feeling very uneasy at the thought of what I might find under the ballpoint pens.

After Doug had gone, quickly went through the souvenirs. Only a colourful jigsaw puzzle depicting a group of Wheelers indulging in a raft race in fancy dress had been eaten. Refunded the money for this myself and put everything into our two suitcases, which I put in the spare bedroom this evening.

Chose a Christmas tree from Wellkept Garden Centre – not very large but a good shape – and Trev and I put in some stout work on the decorations. For once the lights worked first go. Trev was so elated by this that he switched them on and off an unnecessary amount of times and fused them. Put up some holly, a sprig of mistletoe on the hall light and a large paper lantern, which we've had for some years and which looks rather the worse for wear now.

Wrapped up a few presents, including a pair of socks for Bri, which I thought a little unnecessary, and all the while my mind was on the telephone message I had left for Coon on Friday. Will he ring me back on Monday or will I hear no more of it?

Was deep in thought pondering the question and wrapping up a bottle of perfume and a photograph album for Julie's mother when I heard something being shoved through the letter box. Julie went to see what it was and came back with an invitation card. ‘It's from Una and Steve,' she announced. ‘”Come and partake of some seasonable cheer on Boxing Day, seven till nine.” Well that will be nice.'

Had something of a surprise this evening and that's putting it mildly.

We had been to a family carol service in Weston, which Julie had heard about through Nina Price-Potter and, incidentally, where we'd seen quite a few familiar faces, and were just settling down to a quiz game on the telly when there was a screeching of car brakes outside, followed by a loud banging at our front door. Julie went pale, even the dog cowered, and I leapt up determined to give whoever it was a piece of my mind. Reaching for an umbrella lying in the hall – you can't be too careful these days – I opened the door a fraction. It was pushed open, violently, knocking the umbrella out of my hand.

A tall figure stood there in the dark, carrying something large, and pushed his way inside. It was Bri.

‘Can't stop – doing a one night stand in Preston. Just called to wish you all the best and to return this.' He handed Julie an envelope, ‘With interest.' And he handed me the enormous box he had staggered in with. It was a colour television! Felt quite at a loss for words. ‘You'll be able to watch me in glorious technicolour now,' he said.

‘At least stay and have a beer, won't you?' I asked and went to get some of my homemade brew while Trev, ever quick in these matters, persuaded Bri to sign his name a dozen times on a large piece of paper, for later business transactions with his friends.

‘Cheers,' I said. Brian flicked back his long, limp hair, exposing a gold earring, and took a long draught.

‘Undrinkable,' he pronounced. He stood up and stretched himself. ‘Must blow. Think we're doing a night in Liverpool next week, so, see you.' And he was gone.

Stayed in the office all morning in the hope that Coon might ring back. Had to go out for a couple of hours after lunch and was annoyed to find on my return that he had rung. Trina had given him my home number as he had said he might contact me this evening.

Arrived home just in time to see Steve in a white tracksuit jumping with agility into his car. ‘Coming to cheer us on?' he shouted, and I remembered it was the night of the flaming plum pudding relay race.

‘Sorry, got to wait in for an important telephone call, good luck and all that.' Was sorry to miss the race, however, look forward to seeing it on our new telly tomorrow evening.

The ‘phone hadn't rung by 9 pm so I went to check that the line was free. Picking up the receiver quietly, accidentally overheard Diane Butt having a row with a boyfriend. Gone were the honeyed tones she uses for her public appearances, the language used was far from pretty. Put the receiver down and a few minutes later heard a car drive away from next door which sounded like the natty little sports number Diane has recently treated herself to.

Waited for another fifteen minutes and picked up the ‘phone again. This time old man Butt was on telling someone about his recent ear syringe, in graphic detail.

Decided to give him ten minutes then tried again. Was annoyed to find he was still talking. Gave a short cough but he either didn't hear or took no notice. The thought of Coon trying to contact me all this time and the vital outcome of his decision, drove me to say, ‘Hope you're not going to be on the ‘phone all night – I'm waiting for an important business call' in what was in no way an impolite manner. There was a moment's silence then a mouthful of verbal abuse was thrown at me. I have no need to listen to this, I thought to myself and slammed the ‘phone down in a meaningful way.

Made contact with Coon at last. He is coming round at 11.30 tomorrow morning to talk things over, see the mill and discuss matters generally. In a state of suppressed excitement. Even when sitting in front of the telly waiting for News from the North, which was to show highlights from the plum pudding race, was unable to switch off completely from thoughts of what tomorrow may bring. Feel my whole future career in timber may be hanging in the balance.

Settled ourselves down with a mug of coffee and switched on our new set ready for the programme.

All I can say is that far too much time was given to a Christmas flower festival at St Botolphs, Frankwall. Had I turned my head away for a second, I would have missed mention of our effort completely. There was a large close up of Ken Dugeon giving a thumbs up sign while the commentator gave a brief explanation, a blurred figure running with a pudding, a quick look at the audience and that was that – no mention even of the result.

‘I spotted Nina Price-Potter among the spectators,' Julie said, although I thought it highly unlikely.

‘A total disaster TV wise,' I pronounced but Julie seemed content to have seen Ken and Nina.

‘What with them and Bri, I feel we're surrounded by lots of celebrities,' she said.

Julie and I went out for a little celebratory supper this evening to the Tosca. What a wonderful day this has been but I'll begin at the beginning. Mr Coon, an impressive-looking man in his late fifties I should judge, turned up himself personally at 10.30 sharp and, without mentioning it to anyone in the office at the time, I took him round to the mill, giving him the old chat meanwhile, and pointed out the trusses (omitting to mention they were redundant), ‘A cancelled order,' I explained.

‘This could be a lucky piece of timing, standard size, eh?' he remarked and I held my breath.

The long and short of it is that a) he wants our trusses – these were amongst the things which had gone up in smoke in Manchester, along with window frames, door frames, staircases etc., and b) he may give us another large order for the above mentioned if we can complete it in time to finish Riverside Estate. This could be just the start of some very large orders indeed and a real step in the right direction for me.

Decided to invite him out for an expense account lunch in view of these expectations, which invitation he duly accepted and we found ourselves sitting opposite each other at the Tosca. Paused to reflect for a moment on how things have changed since I dined here with Stan Swindlehurst at the beginning of the year. Must admit, there had been one or two moments, especially recently, when I have wondered if I'd made the right decision in refusing his offer of a position at Lumberjobs but can honestly say I have no regrets now.

The lunch went well – listened as he talked of his large family and holiday house in Anglesey.

As if to put a finishing touch on the proceedings, who should I see washing his hands in the Gents and deep in conversation with someone but Geoff Savoury. Tapped him on the shoulder. After a moment, he realised who I was.

‘Ah, how are you old chap? Oh, let me introduce Robert McPennine.' What a marvellous stroke of luck. Had to remind Geoff of my name as we shook hands and after a minute or two they resumed their conversation and I went to find Mr Coon, but the main thing is that I have had an introduction, which hopefully I will be able to follow up.

Elated and bursting with my news as I returned to the office, and after saying goodbye to Mr Coon, went to find P.H., who unfortunately was out. Couldn't resist dropping a hint to Brimcup, who gave a cross smile and muttered, ‘A high flyer, eh?'

The firm's annual Christmas orgy tomorrow evening.

P.H. delighted by turn of events. ‘Grappling shall get to hear of this,' he promised and later at the party he generously made much of my efforts to Mr Woodnut, who put in an appearance.

Hadn't yet mentioned my introduction to Sir Robert so brought it out now quite casually.

Could tell they were quite impressed by this knowledge from the way Woodnut thrust his glass of beer close to my face and said, ‘Cheers.' P.H. looked happy for once and kept smiling at nothing in particular, laughing loudly at a joke of Brimcup's which was not only rather weak but, I thought anyway, a bit near the knuckle, so to speak.

Found Jim Smears particularly annoying as he now seems to be under the impression that our good fortune in getting the contract with Trighton and Coon is due entirely to him. ‘If I hadn't ordered 600 roof trusses to be cut,' he was shouting, ‘where would we be today? Tell me that!' He fixed his small audience with a glittering eye, swaying slightly and knocking over a plate of sausage rolls. ‘But what thanks do I get?' he challenged them. ‘No bloody thanks at all.' He threw dark looks in my direction and continued in this vein for a while. Pretended to ignore this outburst but it did cast a small blot on an otherwise convivial occasion. Entered into a spirited discussion with Mrs Lush on the pros and cons of eating Christmas dinner in the middle of the day or in the evening and offered to fetch her another drink.

‘Have to go easy on the liquid refreshment myself, alas,' I explained. ‘Picking my mother-in-law up at Lime Street in half an hour.' Finished my beer, wished the joys of the season to anyone who was listening and made my way to the car park.

‘You've been drinking, I can smell beer on your breath' were my mother-in-law's first words as we settled into the car. Tried to explain about the office party, the festive spirit and so on but she remained disapproving until I said something like, ‘I bet you used to have a good old knees up at the NAAFI canteen in your WAAF days – don't tell me you didn't.' We had come to a stop in the Mersey Tunnel. A faraway look came into her eye and she was off reminiscing. That and talk of Bri's triumph occupied her thoughts and chat until we reached home, where Julie was just pouring what looked like half a bottle of sherry into her special Christmas trifle.

The talk after supper and while we watched telly was largely of Bri – his success, would it spoil his sensitive, highly strung nature and was he up to it physically (his lungs had never been strong)? Not only that, but would he invest the huge sums of money now about to be his prudently? Were there sharks waiting to relieve him of it? These and many more problems were worrying Julie's mother and I reassured her as best I could. Didn't like to say anything at all detrimental about Bri's character while looking at the television set he has just given us and couldn't disappoint her hopes by saying that The Dregs' sudden rise to fame was, more than likely, a flash in the pan.

I might have guessed that things were going a little too smoothly, it's always the old swings and roundabouts situation.

Was thoroughly fed up by the whole subject of Bri and went upstairs for a bit of peace and quiet with the excuse that I needed to wrap some presents. A minute later, Julie came into the bedroom. ‘You oughtn't to be sitting up here in the cold, all by yourself, on Christmas Eve,' she said. She then went on in a somewhat playful tone, ‘By the way, I've found it and it's lovely. You don't mind, do you?' I expressed surprise, having no idea what she was talking about. ‘My Christmas present… in the airing cupboard… it's lovely.'

Just when I thought I'd put the whole terrible business behind me, there it was staring me in the face again, as it were. The medallion and Les Crow… rising up to haunt me. I had a sick feeling in the stomach, which was not helped by Julie banging downstairs again in a sulk, when I tried to explain that it was not for her.