Richard Mallinson's Fast Fiction: Volume Two

By Richard Mallinson

At only a page each in length, Richard Mallinsons elegantly structured short stories are a pithy fast fiction for a modern multimedia age. A rapid succession of carefully worked observations, the stories read like a dynamic anthology of lifes collisions and interactions, its projected plans and unexpected rotations. There is a great joy in the subverted (the interviewer becomes the interviewee; the private detective becomes the conspirator) as well as an interest in the open-ended. Possibility abounds, for these are always tales of the present; the past is unclear and the future unwritten.

Adhering to the strict one-page format, the writing is marvelously precise: it is highly disciplined, but infinitely rich, conjuring the most unique and sharply observed characters with remarkably few words. If indeed we read fiction . . . in order to meet individuals as the character Tolson declares in Mallinsons Tolsons Creed, then in this anthology we are introduced to a plethora of distinct personalities, rendered all the more compelling by their relentless unpredictability.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481781305

Richard Mallinson

Richard (Dick) Mallinson was born in Denby Dale, West Yorkshire in 1937 and attended Penistone Grammar school. After serving as an officer in the RAF Regiment, he took up his place at Balliol College, Oxford in 1957 where he studied Modern History. A Man of Letters, Dick was naturally drawn to a career in journalism. Working initially for The City Press and The Guardian Dick rose to become Editor of The Huddersfield Examiner, a post he held until his retirement in 1995. Dick never lost his appreciation for the written word and continued to write throughout his retirement. A collection of these writings follows.

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Richard Mallinson’s

Fast Fiction

Volume Two

Richard Mallinson

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© 2013 Richard Mallinson. All rights reserved.

Cover painting © Jacqueline Wearing.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 1/28/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8128-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8129-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8130-5 (e)

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

I have always liked brevity and concision. Words are precious.

I hate to see them wasted.

Table of Contents

500. Tipped

501. One Drink Only

502. In The Shed

503. Market Research

504. Art Scene

505. In Touch Again

506. Birthday Treat

507. Surprises

508. Private Eye

509. Market Forces

510. Mistakes

511. Faces, Names

512. Pub Scene

513. A Price To Pay

514. At The Hostel

515. Excess Of It

516. Professions

517. Imbroglio

518. Getting There

519. Not Cricket

520. The Walk

521. Window

522. Turns

523. Dr Johnson

524. Saying Sorry

525. On The Pavement

526. A Cheap Point

527. Retiring

528. Nara’s Mother

529. The Village Cobbler

530. No Comparison

531. A Sacking Offence

532. Dialogue In A Bar

533. What’s The Story?

534. Duties

535. Haunted

536. Meanwhile

537. Jobs

538. January

539. Insights

540. Wally

541. Disengaging

542. Saving Face

543 The SOS Winner

544. Beyond The Confines

545. Still Standing

546. Colder By The Day

547. High Street

548. Ruth And Joe

549. His And Her Secrets

550. Only Connect

551. Winter Break

552. Mrs Ulipp

553. The Sameness

554. Then And Now

555. Mr Postle

556. Last Week

557. Mixed Up

558.The New Gardener

559. A Bit More Fizz

560. Cheering Up

561. The Joker

562. Betty And Sabrina

563. Stock Control

564. Wilf Brennan

565. Cracking The Code

566. To Be Honest

567. Out Of Place

568. In The Past

569. Jellyfish

570. The Trevely Prize

571. Talking To Vic

572. Little Game

573. Cornered

574. Conquests

575. Splash Of Soda

576. Running Away

577. Crawler

578. Oddly Enough

579. Mother Of Pearl

580. Requirements

581. The Runaround

582. Together

583. Contention

584. The Voice

585. The Late Colvert

586. Just Visiting

587. A Few Details

588. A Message

589. That’s The Spirit

590. Lessons

591. Good Sheppard

592. The New Owner

593. The Novelist

594. These Days

595. Leaving

596. Fenella’s Favours

597. Whatfor

598. Party Image

599. A Prize For Fred

600. Smitten

601. Rick O’Shea

602. A Long Time Ago

603. The Stand-In

604. Mobile

605. A Real Talk

606. Ms Hilly Buck

607. The Troublemaker

608. Incident

609. The Delivery Boy

610. Down There

611. Pocket Money

612. Just A Hunch

613. On The List

614. Just As Well

615. No Hypocrite

616. From WA

617. Divorce On The Downs

618. Right As Rain, 1916

619. Ms Janine Starr

620. Or Else

621. In Custody

622. Artist And Model

623. Showing Up

624. A Thing Or Two

625. Philosophical

626. The Set

627. Exercise

628. Matter Of Interest

629. Being Nice

630. The Applicant

631. The Charlatan

632. And Nothing But

633. On Holiday

634. Slippery Slope

635. Story Prize

636. The Patient

637. The Turncoat

638. Two A Penny

639. Realistic’s The Word

640. No Longer Married

641. Chap At The Party

642. Little Secret

643. Going Back

644. Just The One

645. Fibbing

646. An Adventure

647. Confined

648. Mrs Colley

649. In Spite Of

650. Keeping In Touch

651. Fiona And Him

652. Dobson

653. One Of Our Sexiest

654. Going Native

655. Results

656. The Old Days

657. The Bastard

658. A Present For Lucy

659. Heave-ho

660. Stanley’s Turn

661. The Retiring Kind

662. Toby

663. The Path

664. Lost

665. Second Opinion

666. The Novel

667. After The Speech

668. Visitors

669. Dolores

670. Tom’s Wife Jane

671. Mystery

672. A all For Calley

673. Visit To Oxford

674. Mistake

675. The Flirting Game

676. Guessing

677. The Feel Of The Place

678. Not There Yet

679. An Eye On Gosling

680.Payback Time

681. Flying Visit

682. Bus Stop

683. A Second Chance

684. Mrs Carter And Mr Hill

685. In The Teashop

686. Best Friends

687. Off His Trolley

688. Psychological

689. Pulling Power

690. Looking

691. Friendly

692. Off Air

693. Preserve

694. The Temptress

695. The Professor

696. Oldest Pal

697. Morning Surgery

698. In Love With Lucinda

699. Gossip

700. Walking The Corridors

701. Of All People

702. Getting The Facts

703. A Long Story

704. Sporting Metaphor

705. Sauce

706. Times Change

707. Evening Out

708. Ghost Story

709. Evans Above

710. Cads

711. Jockey’s Fall

712. Bradley

713. Getting Around

714. The Official Official

715. Freda

716. Calling It A Day

717. The Likes Of Us

718. Man On Pavement

719. The Courting Bit

720. The Witness

721. The Chairman

722. People Like Us

723. The Winner

724. Breaking The Ice

725. Alice

726. On The Doorstep

727. Chief Exec

728. Second Time Round

729. Twenty To The Dozen

730. Half A Chance

731. The Actress

732. Grump

733. The Chief

734. Where’s Watson?

735. Perking Up

736. Saving Time

737. Taking The Chair

738. Making Ruby Laugh

739. Arabella

740. Confoundedly

741. Business Partners

742. Old Rumy

743. The Script

744. Same Old Story

745. Laying On Of Hands

746. The Deputy Head

747. In Perspective

748. All That Stuff

749. Oops-a-Daisy

750. Awfully English

751. No Fixed Abode

752. A Bit Of A Problem

753. Sides

754. Marje

755. Teenagers, 1955

756. Inner Vision Thing 2

757. The Holloway Joke

758. Time Of Day

759. Eating Out

760. Only Joking

761. Getting To The Point

762. Jake Kran

763. In The Bar Of The Unicorn

764. Sisters-In-Law

765. Rumours

766. Changed

767. Bowdlerising

768. Dialogue

769. Interrogation

770. Ulterior

771. Statement Of Fact

772. Terms And Conditions

773. The Situation

774. Prissy Woman

775. The Maths Teacher

776. Birthday Tribute

777. Missing Person

778. Masterplan

779. Man Of Principle

780. Going For A Drink

781. Whose Face Is It?

782. In The Shelter

783. Always A Reason

784. Sex Appeal

785. A Local Slant

786. The Bumpkin

787. Under The Bridge

788. Team Selection

789. Truthism

790. The Receptionist

791. Song Of Yours

792. Miss Tina Kline

793. Back At The Club

794. Affording Janina

795. Sense Of Humour

796. A Real Tonic

797. Flaming Patient

798. Remembering Zed Capper

799. Gloria Vickers

800. Sneezer

801. Kay

802. Miss Connifer

803. On This Day

804. Media Studies

805. Instead Of Wally Loon

806. Asking Anthea

807. There

808. Over The Shop

809. Frankly In Town

810. Potter’s Problems

811. Good News

812. Rift At The Top

813. Exclusive

814. Bullen’s Duty

815. The New Housekeeper

816. Haunted

817. Uuop Tew Aa Piont

818. The Memorial

819. Being Dr Havant

820. Invented

821. On The Central Line

822. The Assistant

823. Eckford’s Return

824. Sir Walter

825. In All Innocence

826. Something Else

827. In The City

828. The Adviser

829. Types

830. The New Friend

831. Charming

832. Receiving End

833. Counselling

834. After Golf

835. The Slogan

836. Where’s Jack?

837. Small World

838. Postprandial

839. Questions

840. Watson’s Risk

841. Who Are These People?

842. Magic Touch

843. Who Are These People?

844. Not To Be

845. For A Change

846. The Housekeeper’s Sister

847. Ida Clarat

848. Stan Fraile

849. Asking Nurse Porlock

850. Art Of Fiction

851. The Nitty-Gritty

852. Pardon My French

853. Something

854. The Exception

855. You Weren’t There

856. The Most Of It

857. Real-Life Drama

868. You Weren’t There

859. The Vicar’s Visitor

860. Polly From Petersfield

861. Shockwaves

862. Mrs Stringer

863. Leyland

864. Dad

865. Seeing

866. Making Room At The Top

867. Losing Liliana

868. As Usual

869. Evening Out

870. Unfolding

871. Gradding

872. Through The Wood

873. Taking Precautions

874. Kelvin Again

875. Marcus

876. Differences

877. The Vote

878. And Who Are You?

879. The Angle

880. An Old Saying

881. Pub Talk

882. Stay With It

883. Round Here

884. Something I Want

885. At Breakfast

886. A Favour

887. Davis

888. Old News

889. The Losers

890. Crown Scene

891. Looking

892. Bernice

893. Campaign Trail

894. The Kettle

895. The Meeting

896. Whatsername

897. Off The Record

898. The Salesman

899. A Drinks Party

900. Media Studies

901. First True Love

902. Going To Goole

903. Freya

904. Going Somewhere

905. Alive And Kicking

906. Impression

907. That Sort Of Thing

908. Amy And Bernie

909. Modus Operandi

910. After The Rant

911. The Question

912. Idle Gossip

913. Look Who’s Talking

914. Sounding Out

915. Two-Way Process

916. On The Train

917. Not Cricket

918. Portrait From Memory

919. Instead Of A Seascape

920. Each Other’s Work

921. The Promise

922. Veronica

923. One And Only

924. The Columnists

925. In A Cottage

926. Write Out

927. Catching Up

928. The Limerick Man

929. Big Softy

930. Editorial Sanctum

931. Confession

932. Unscripted

933. His Last Limerick

934. The Ice Cream Man

935. Story About Gloria

936. Life’s A Lottery

937. Respect

938. Expectations

939. In A Doorway

940. Who’s Who?

941. The Result

942. Something Else?

943. Party Piece

944. There

945. Overheard

946. Inside Story

947. Backstabbing

948. H Lewis Allways

949. Favourites

950. Tom Wilp

951. The Poetry Group

952. Forgiven

953. The Candidate

954. Getting On A Bit

955. Brindle In Love

956. Just Living

957. Miss Givvings

958. Decider

959. Liliana’s Return

960. So

961. Extra Dimension

962. Criminal Damage

963. The Point

964. Off The Street

965. Art Attack

966. The Script

967. Moving On

968. Mister Ernest

969. Dinner Party

970. Living

971. There

972. The Early Show

973. The Filched Wife

974. Siblings

975. The Turning Worm

976. Visitors

977. Three Of Us

978. The Babysitter

979. What’s New?

980. In Lodgings – 2

981. The Insider

982. The Promise

983. Chair

984. Conning

985. That Place

986. If I’d Been A Yob

987. Off Duty

988. Old Horace

989. Musically Speaking

990. In The Studio

991. Much Of A Muchness

992. At The Clinic

993. Distinguished Guest

994. Related Matters

995. Connections

996. They Meet Again

997. Party Spirit

998. Saving Algy

999. You And Your Sort

1000. Old Pals

1001. Something To Tell

1002. Winning Big

1003. Mr And Mrs Vicar

1004. Laughing Larry

1005. Altercation

1006. Four Slips And A Gully

1007. Strata

500. Tipped

‘I’ll introduce you to Tim Ford one of these days,’ said young Larry Freeson, at the club. ‘He’s always good value.’

‘Good value?’ I snapped. ‘What the hell does that mean? Sorry, but if anything’s likely to put me off a chap it’s to be told that he is good value.’

‘Ha, ha, there’s a generation gap,’ said Larry. ‘Have a drink.’

‘What d’you mean, a generation gap?’ I asked, testily. ‘Thanks, I will.’

‘Well, you just said he is... Whereas we would say they are.’

‘Yes, and a bloody illiterate lot you are, too,’ I pounced. ‘How the hell can one person be they?... Anyway, tell me about this Tim Ford.’

‘Oh, he’s helping to run our literary pages.’

‘Literary pages!’ I exclaimed. ‘On the Daily Blare!’

‘Actually, we’re trying to improve the paper’s image – taking it slightly upmarket, if you see what I mean.’

‘I notice you say slightly. Anyway, what’s so special about this chap?’

‘Hm, he’s unusual in that he gave up his fellowship at King’s – ’

‘King’s, Cambridge?’ I asked, showing off.

‘Yes, that’s right, and joined the Daily Blare. Our editor had met him at a dinner party and was dazzled by his conversation.’

‘Oh, so that’s how they do it these days! What’s he know about newspapers?’

‘Who, the editor? Not much. But Tim’s proved to be a quick learner. In fact, he’s already being tipped as a – ’

‘Future editor? Well, young man, look around. Most of us old boys here were tipped as future editors. I myself was a future editor of The Times for 35 years.’

501. One Drink Only

Jack Dravitt, of all people, was the first to arrive.

‘Who invited you?’ I asked.

‘Nobody,’ he said. ‘I just assumed – ’

‘Well, you shouldn’t have assumed, after what happened last time.’

‘Last time? Why – ?’

‘You can’t even remember, can you? Well, you got pissed out of your skull, yelling, groping, fighting.’

‘Who is it darling?’ asked Tina, my wife, coming into the hall.

‘It’s Jack Dravitt, dear,’

‘Oh, no!’ she groaned. ‘I thought we’d agreed not to – ’

‘Yes, I know but he just... Oh here’s Teddy and Molly. Hullo, you two, please go straight through, out of the cold. Tina will see to you.’

‘Keep him out,’ Tina mouthed, trying not to look at Jack.

‘You just go and take care of Teddy and Molly, darling,’ I said, ‘and I’ll... Now look here, Jack... Oh, here’s Harry and Daphne. Hullo, you two, please go straight through. Tina will look after you.. . . Now, Jack, I’m getting bloody cold standing here with this door open... Why don’t you just quietly bugger off?... Oh, here’s Martha – no Ron tonight, Martha? Hm, you can tell me later. Just go through to where it’s warm... My god, Jack, you’re going to faint... Come in – no, not there, turn left, don’t let Tina see you, for god’s sake, just stay in there... I’ll bring you one drink only...’

‘I simply can’t believe you were so stupid,’ said Tina in tears later, after Jack had wrecked our party for the second year running.

502. In The Shed

I looked out of the window and saw Fred, my part-time gardener, signalling to me to join him, which I did.

‘In there,’ Fred grunted, pointing to the shed. I went in. There was a man curled up under the work bench.

Fred said, ‘Looks like a tramp, don’t he?’

‘He certainly does,‘ I said, backing out. ‘But he’s actually Tom Dale, who taught at Hillside prep school, when I was running it. Then he disappeared... I’d heard he was living rough but I’d no idea where.’

‘Well, now,’ said Fred, twitching, ‘we can’t have im living rough in your

shed, can we, Mr Royd-Pyle?... Hey there, up yer get and out yer come,’ he called.

‘Hang on a minute, Fred,’ I cautioned. ‘I think he’s too weak to stand.’

‘All right,’ said Fred, ‘let’s the two of us lever him out on to the lawn, then’ – and this, after some tugging and pushing, we managed to do.

‘What a stink!’ grumbled Fred.

We let him sprawl on the grass in the warm morning sun. His face and hair were filthy, his trousers, jacket, socks and shoes falling apart.

‘Can you speak?’ I asked, leaning over him.

Tom stared up at me and said through swollen lips, ‘Christ, of all the garden sheds to choose in the dark it had to be yours, didn’t it, Mr Royd bloody Pyle?’

‘Look,’ I said, calmly, ‘is there anybody we can call? You left your wife,

didn’t you, and lived with Ruella, an exotic dancer... So where is Ruella now?’

He began to cough. ‘You tell me,’ he rasped. ‘You’re the one she fancied.’

I turned to Fred. ‘Quite delirious,’ I said, with a smirk.

503. Market Research

Derwent and I were just sitting there, on a bench, chatting about this and that,when an officious looking fellow in a dark suit came up to us and said, ‘Excuse me, but I’m conducting some research into the use of the town’s parks.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Derwent said, ‘and what d’you expect us to do about it?’

‘Well,’ the man said, ‘your co-operation in answering a few questions would be much appreciated by, er, the powers that be.’

He sat down on the far side of Derwent. Then he leaned forward and turned his head towards me, ignoring Derwent. ‘The first question,’ he said, ‘involves – ’

‘Will it take long?’ I interrupted. ‘The point is, my business partner and I are very busy at the moment, finalising our upcoming marketing campaign.’

‘Oh,’ the man said, ‘I will try to get through the list as quickly as possible –

with your help, of course.’ He leaned back and rustled the pages on his clipboard.

‘Hey, wait a minute,’ said Derwent. ‘Let’s see that.’

‘See what?’ asked the man.

‘The clipboard, of course. Where did you get it from?’

‘Oh, they’re issued by the council to all relevant employees... Now, if you don’t mind – ’ but Derwent still had the clipboard. He turned it over and gazed at the back. ‘Made in China,’ he yelled.

‘Ah, I hadn’t noticed – ’ the man began.

‘Well, how about that!’ I exclaimed, silently giving Derwent full marks for creativity. ‘I mean, we’re a small local firm making clipboards, desperately trying to market them – and then we find that our own council, to which we pay exorbitant taxes, prefers to buy from red China! It’s sickening. Come on, Derwent, before I – ’

504. Art Scene

‘All that empty canvas,’ remarked my pal and fellow painter Ned Lipton, staring morosely at my latest effort.

‘Yes,’ I said, smiling, ‘there’s a lot of it.’

‘But what’s the point of doing a picture,’ he pursued, ‘if you leave most of it blank? I mean, all you’ve got on this one is a face the size of a postage stamp with Royal Male scrawled under it... And is this the finished product?’

‘Yes, that’s it, or at least it will be when I’ve signed and dated it’ – which I promptly did, with a flourish.

‘And you reckon somebody’ll buy it, do you?’ Ned went on. ‘I’m beginning to wonder who it is who’s going bonkers – artists like you or the buyers.’

‘Your trouble, Ned,’ I said, soothingly, ‘is that you’re too set in your ways.’

‘Hm, perhaps I am,’ he grunted. ‘Anyway, how much will you be asking?’

‘Oh, ten thousand pounds at least,’ I said, airily – and I wasn’t surprised when he gave me a look of severe disapproval.

Then I said, ‘Come on, old boy, let’s go for a drink.’

‘I’ll need more than one,’ he growled.

*

‘Well,’ asked Ned a few months later, ‘did you sell it, the Royal Male?‘

‘Ah, the one you didn’t like... The one that made you twitch when I said I’d be charging ten grand for it.... Well, Ned, old pal, I have some news for you.’

Damn it,’ he cried, ‘don’t tell me you got that crazy price.’

‘No,’ I said, watching his face, ‘I didn’t.’ At which he gave me a comradely grin, which turned into a glare of contempt when I said, ‘I got fifteen.’

505. In Touch Again

‘I’ve been daring myself for quite a while to get in touch with you,’ Ida writes in a letter to Sime, which he’s just received. ‘Now, finally, I’ve ‘

SIME: Don’t say plucked up courage.

LETTER: taken the bull by the reins.

SIME: Can’t even get the cliché right.

LETTER: Oops, sorry, that should have been horns, shouldn’t it? You can see how nervous I am. I wonder if I’ll be able to pluck up courage to send this. Anyway, I would like to see you again before I go (PTO)

SIME: Oh, she can’t be dying, surely?

LETTER: to visit my daughter and her family in Idaho. Funny, isn’t it, that I should be going to Idaho? The woman who put the Ida in Idaho... that’s what they’ll all be saying when I get there.

SIME: Hm, perhaps not.

LETTER: Now, what do you think you and I will talk about when we meet and I hope we will? Perhaps about our time at university?

SIME: Well, it was the only time we were together – and you had to go and ruin it by sleeping with that sweaty PhD moron from Bath, didn’t you?

LETTER: Indeed it was a really wonderful time until you accused me of sleeping with somebody else, which I never did, I swear.

SIME: Ah, still fibbing, after all these years.

LETTER: By the way, my marriage is a disaster and I bet yours is, too. Are you still married to that ugly cow who plays the old tart in that soap?

SIME’S WIFE: Nice letter, dear? May I see?

506. Birthday Treat

When the taxi driver said to Adrian that, in his opinion, Fran needed to be handled with care, Adrian snapped, ‘Mind your own business.’

‘Oh, he’s only t-trying to be f-friendly,’ burbled Fran.

‘Friendly my eye,’ Adrian said. ‘Now come on.’ Then he said to the taxi driver, ‘How much? Are you sure? There you are, I’ll give it to you exactly.’

The taxi driver took the money but kept staring at Adrian, who said, ‘No, there’ll be no tips this time.’

‘Tight bastard,’ yelled the taxi driver as Adrian manoeuvred Fran to the entrance of the block of flats where they lived, then in and out of the lift.

When he’d settled her in an armchair, and put a blanket over her knees, he said, ‘Well, that was a right performance, wasn’t it?’

‘Was it? I d-don’t know what you m-mean... I’d like a drink, p-please.’

‘No way,’ he said. ‘You’ve had more than enough this evening. In fact the best thing you can do is to go to bed and sleep it off... Anyway, one thing’s certain, we’ll never be able to go to that place again. It’s a wonder they didn’t call the police.’

‘What, just because I d-did a bit of s-swearing?’

‘And throwing plates around... and insulting other people... and pouring wine over me... and kicking the waiter... and falling over ... My god, you were totally out of control... Come on, let me get you into bed – ’

‘Yes, t-that’s all you ever t-think about isn’t it, getting me into b-bed?’

‘Come on, silly, you know what I mean... Anyway, it’ll be interesting to see in the morning if you remember tonight’s outrages.’

‘Oh, Adrian, you’re such a b-bore. You’ve really spoiled my b-birthday treat.’

507. Surprises

‘There can’t be any more surprises today, surely,’ Tania said.

‘Why, what surprises have you already had?’ I asked.

‘Well, you turning up, for one thing – first time since our divorce. And before you came there was a phone call from Roger... After that I bumped into Verna Policon in the supermarket... Oh, and there was a letter from Molly.’

‘Molly? Your sister? What did she have to say?’

‘Oh, she and Toby are emigrating to New Zealand.’

‘New Zealand! Good god, can you imagine Molly in stuffy old New Zealand?

It’ll stifle her... she won’t last a year.’

‘Well, there’s nothing I can do about it,’ Tania remarked, flatly.

‘You’re right,’ I said... ‘Anyway, why did Roger ring? Short of cash again?’

‘No, it was just to apologise for forgetting my birthday – the second year running, I told him. He’s promised to send me a lovely present for Christmas.’

‘Hm, typical of our son,’ I said, laughing. ‘And we all know who he takes after, don’t we? ... I suppose you had a long chat with Verna Policon, did you?’

‘No, no, not really. I couldn’t think of anything to say to her.’

‘Ha, ha, let’s add that to your list of surprises, shall we?’ I joked.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Tania asked, switching the kettle on.

‘I mean you being lost for words. That’s got to be a first, surely.’

Tania looked serious. ‘Oh, but Verna’s really changed. So thin and pale. She’s had a miscarriage and she’s... Hm, you used to fancy her, didn’t you?’

‘A miscarriage did you say?’ I asked, standing up.

‘Oh don’t go yet,’ Tania said. ‘I’m just making the tea.’

508. Private Eye

The day after the funeral Jack Ryder and I were drinking in the Red Lion. ‘I’m sad,’ he muttered, ‘but not much.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘he was only your stepfather, not your real father, and he wasn’t the kindest of – ’

‘Hm, yes, he was bloody awful to me until I socked him one and left home.’

A dark-haired young woman came in. ‘Ah, this is Ruth,’ Jack said. ‘She took care of my stepfather in the last year of his life... Now, Ruth, meet one of my oldest pals, Bill Selsey, private eye.’

‘Private eye!’ she exclaimed. ‘I knew one once... I wish I hadn’t.’

‘Well, Ruth,’ I said with a smile, ‘you’ve nothing to fear from me.’

‘Oh, and what exactly d’you mean by that?’ she demanded.

‘Hey, steady on, Ruth,’ said Jack. ‘Bill was only making a joke, weren’t you Bill? Nothing personal, I’m sure.’

‘Well, had it been personal,’ I said, ‘I wouldn’t have said it, would I, if you see what I mean.’

‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ laughed Jack, ‘but I’m not sure about Ruth.’

‘Not sure about me?’ Ruth exclaimed. ‘What are you accusing me of?’

‘I’m not accusing you of anything, dear,’ Jack said. ‘Would you like a – ?’

‘Now, Ruth,’ I cut in, ‘how often did you sleep with Jack’s stepfather?’

*

The next time I saw Jack he said, ‘The old devil left everything to Ruth.’

I stared at him. ‘Well,’ I remarked, ‘you look cheerful enough.’

‘Yes, I’m marrying her next month... You’re not invited, of course.’

509. Market Forces

‘I won’t go any higher, mate,’ said the cockney supermarket boss. He had come to my studio to look for a painting to hang in his office.

‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t let it go for under ten thousand,’ I said.

‘But I’m offering you eight. That’s near enough, innit?’

‘Actually,’ I said, ‘it’s not a question of being near, or whatever. It’s a question of principle, which is that none of my paintings should be sold for less than ten thousand... I know if I were to flout that principle I’d be finished as a painter, at least in my own eyes. I’d simply throw in the towel.’

‘Throw in the towel, mate? That’s what they do in boxing.’

‘Well, oddly enough, I could have been a boxer. I used to go to a gym down Bethnal Green run by old Marky Cohen and he always swore that I’d make it.’

‘So why didn’t you, then?’ he asked, obviously interested.

‘Oh, I was offered a place at art school and my parents and teachers said I must go there and forget about being a boxer, because boxing wasn’t suitable for someone like me, with my background.’

‘Why, what was your background, then? Aristocratic, was it, eh?’

‘No, but my dad was a clerk in a bank and that meant a lot to him and my mum, in terms of status,’ I explained. ‘So I became a painter, not a boxer... Mind you, they didn’t appreciate some of my early efforts – nudes and suchlike.’

Not even when you started selling em for ten thousand?’

I laughed. ‘Well, to tell the truth, that did rather make a difference.’

Pause. Then, ‘Look mate,’ he said, ‘I’ve had an idea... If I buy this painting for the full price of ten... is there any chance of getting one free?’

510. Mistakes

We collected our coats and moved towards our host and hostess to say thank you and goodnight. But we were confronted by Vic, who slurred, ‘Whereyoutwogoin?’

‘Home,’ said Suzy, too loudly. ‘And it’s none of your fucking business.’

People continued to eat, drink and chat as if they hadn’t heard.

We started to move forward again but Vic barred our way. ‘Come on, Vic,’ I muttered, ‘don’t make a scene.’

‘Don’t you talk to me like that,’ he growled. ‘You sound so bloody superior and patronising but what have you achieved, compared with me?’

Suzy glared a him. ‘Oh, you are turning into a bore, Vic,’ she said. ‘And what a sight you are. Just look at yourself, in that mirror over there.’

The ploy worked. As he turned to look in the mirror we slid past him and, having thanked our host and hostess, were soon on our way home in a taxi.

‘I still can’t get used to the idea that you were married to that useless drunken swine,’ I said – which was a mistake.

Suzy turned to me. ‘Just don’t say such things about him,’ she said..’There was a time when he was nothing like that and he might have reached the cabinet, if it hadn’t been for that stupid scandal, which wasn’t entirely his fault, you know.’

‘Oh, come off it, darling,’ I sneered – which was another mistake.

‘What d’you mean, come off it? Don’t be so bloody superior and – ’

‘Patronising? Hm, that’s how Vic described me at the party... the very same words... I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve ever really got him out of your system.’

‘Well,’ she said, snuggling up to me, ‘what do you think?’

I still don’t know.

511. Faces, Names

‘Hullo, I’ve met you before, somewhere, haven’t I?’ he said, shaking hands with me.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said.

‘Oh, but I have,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve definitely met you before. I never forget a face. You ask any of my officers and they’ll tell you... Anyway, it’ll all come back to me, I know it will,’ he added, moving away.

‘What was the chief constable saying to you?’ asked Catherine, my agent, coming up to me with a drink.

‘Oh, he claimed to have met me before, somewhere. Says he never forgets a face. It was quite scary, really. He made me feel like a criminal...’

‘Well, aren’t you?’ asked Rupert, Catherine’s husband, joining us. ‘I mean some of those potboilers you’ve written deserve to bring down on you the severest penalties the law can impose.’

‘Hey, that’s not very funny, darling,’ said Catherine, noticing that I hadn’t even pretended to laugh. ‘In fact, it’s quite insulting.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, Catherine,’ I said, ‘I can take it... Now, Rupert, I hear that insider trading is making a comeback among you stockbrokers. Any comment?’

‘Ha, ha, that’s what I call really funny,’ said Catherine, moving away.

‘Excuse me for a moment, won’t you?’ said Rupert, striding after her.

The chief constable came back. ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, staring straight at me. ‘I’ve been asking one or two people about you and of course you’re James Pell, the chap who writes those brilliant police thrillers, aren’t you?... Well, I told you I never forget a face. I must have seen yours on your books... I’ve read them all by the way, every blessed one. It’s a privilege to have met you, Mr er...’

512. Pub Scene

I said to lovely Emily, the barmaid at the Prospect, ‘If I were to tell you the whole truth about my holiday in Watford you wouldn’t believe it.’

‘Go on, Mr Smith,’ she said, ‘spill the beans.’

‘No, I’d better not, Emily... Now, where’s Mrs Calvert?’

‘Oh, she came in every day while you were away.’

‘But not today, it seems – the very day I arrive back. Well, well...’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing personal, Mr Smith,’ Emily said, soothingly.

‘Look,’ I retorted, ‘she’s supposed to be my drinking pal and she’s not around when I want to tell her about my holiday.’

‘But not the whole truth, eh?’ said Emily, with a grin... ‘Anyway, Mr Smith, why not drink by yourself for once? And you can always chat to me, can’t you?’

‘Thank you, Emily,’ I murmured. ‘You’re very thoughtful... By the way, do you know that a certain young man of this town is in love with you.?’

‘Hm, quite a few of them say they are... But how do you know?’

‘Oh, I can tell by the way he looks at you.’

‘Well, how does he look at me? A lot of them look at me and – ’

‘Yearningly,’ I said.

‘Yearningly,’ she repeated. ‘That’s a new one... Tell me who it is, then.’

‘I wonder if I should?... Oh, never mind... it’s Jake Ollin.’

‘Jake Ollin!’ she yelled. ‘But he’s the one with the, er, fetish, isn’t he?’

‘Oh, no, of course not,’ I said, taken by surprise.

Just then Mrs Calvert breezed in. She sat down beside me at the bar. ‘Hang on to your bra, dear,’ she boomed at Emily. ’Jake Ollin’s heading this way.’

513. A Price To Pay

I was having lunch with Harry Brette at the Toledo in Warren Street. ‘Keep an eye on that,’ he said, tapping his briefcase. ‘I’m just going to the gents.’

‘Now,’ said the voice in my earpiece when Harry had left the table, ‘pick up the briefcase and walk slowly with it towards the exit. Tell the head waiter that Mr Brette will settle the bill, as usual.

‘Now, go out into the street, turn right. Walk for about a hundred yards and then you will see my car, parked there. When you reach it, get in the back seat and hand the briefcase to the man who’ll be sitting there.’

I followed the instructions. ‘Right,’ said the man I’d handed the briefcase over to him.

‘You can bugger off now. Just stay away from the office for the rest of the day.’

When I arrived at work the following morning (late, as usual) people either stared at me or made a point of looking the other way.

‘Harry’s been fired,’ whispered Venetia Calder, who was (or had been) his deputy. ‘The rumour is,’ she said, ‘that you’ll be the next for the chop.’

Well, looking back on that, I have to smirk. For it was Venetia who went and I was promoted to take Harry’s place.

Later that week, Venetia rang me at home. ‘It’s really quite disgraceful,’ she said. ‘You’re promoted for what you did and I’m fired for being loyal.‘

‘What d’you mean, for what I did?’ I asked. ‘How much do you know?’

‘Everything... every sordid detail.’

‘Ah, have dinner wth me at the Toledo, tonight,.’ I almost pleaded.

‘On expenses?’

‘No, this is private. I’ll pay’ – and I’ve been paying ever since.

514. At The Hostel

‘Four of you was here last night and this morning there’s only three,’ said attractive, raven-haired Mrs Apps, who was in charge of the hostel ‘Who’s gone missing, eh?’

‘Oh, does it matter?’ asked Robson, sleepily. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s time for you all to be up,’ Mrs Apps said. ‘Come on, get moving, into them showers. Breakfast’s in half an hour. Then out in the fields, working.’

‘Are we allowed a mid-morning break, Mrs Apps?’ asked Follick, anxiously.

‘Yes, a short one. An if you work hard I’ll bring you bread an cheese.’

‘Will it be goat’s cheese, Mrs Apps?’ asked Lammer, blinking..

‘No, of course not, you ninny,’ said Mrs Apps. ‘Now, come on, all of you, up you get, don’t be shy... I’ve seen more men’s willies than you’ve had hot cakes.’

‘Hm, yes, I bet you have, Mrs Apps,’ said Robson, throwing back his blanket, leaping out and doing a nude pose in front of her.

‘Oh, you cheeky divil,’ cried Mrs Apps, looking before leaving.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Apps when they’d finished their breakfast and were standing around outside, ‘any news of the other one?

‘Flack, d’you mean?’ said Robson, lighting a cigarette.

‘Yes, that’s who I mean... Fleck... He schools at Eton, don’t he?’

‘Yes,’ said Robson. ‘A bit too posh for the likes of us.’

‘Well, you go look for im in the orchard, dear,’ purred Mrs Apps.

As Robson aimlessly began his search he guessed that Mrs Apps would follow him into the orchard and soon Lammer and Follick, left behind, could hear ‘Oh, you cheeky divil’ being fervently shrieked – while Flack, who was up a tree, realised that his biology lessons at Eton hadn’t in the least prepared him for this.

515. Excess Of It

‘All the time I have to listen to that dreadful racket you call music... Can’t you give it a break for a day or two? Or, better still, a year or two?’

I was rehearsing what I was going to say to the couple who’d moved into the flat next to mine. They played punk rock all day long and most of the night.

‘Look, I wouldn’t mind if you played some real music, such as Beethoven, Mozart or Chopin. But no, you have to go on and on with that bloody rubb – ’

‘Now look,’ advised Jepson at the club, ‘you don’t have to be belligerent. Why don’t you just go round and politely ask if you may have a word with them? Then calmly, rationally, discuss the matter and see if a compromise is possible.’

I stood up. ‘Hang on,’ I snapped, ‘I’m not in the mood for compromise.’

A week later, when I next saw Jepson, I told him what happened...

They were playing the usual stuff when I rang their bell. The man came to the door. He looked about 40. ‘You’re a neighbour, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘That’s right,’ I said, ‘and I wonder if I might have a word with you and your wife.’ ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘do come in.’ I went in. His wife, who looked about 30, said, ‘Pleased to meet you. Would you like a sherry? I hope you won’t mind if we leave the music on. It’s the music that keeps us young.’

‘You certainly do look young,’ I said.

‘Well, to tell you the truth, I am 82,’ she said. ’And how old are you?’ I asked the husband. ‘Oh, I am 85 if I’m a day,’ he said, adding, ‘I’m sure you will remember Shakespeare’s, If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it... Well, that’s our motto – and the appetite hasn’t sickened yet, has it darling?’

As I told Jepson, I hadn’t the heart to complain. And now I’ve given up the tenancy of my flat and started looking for another. Meanwhile I’m staying at the club.

516. Professions

‘Who was that?’ I asked Cudworth, as I caught up with him on the pavement.

‘Oh, just a friend... er, a former friend.’

‘He looked more like a dosser to me,’ I said.

‘Well, that’s because he’s... Anyway, he used to be a history colleague of mine at the university before he was accused of plagiarism.’

‘And presumably found guilty?’ I said.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ he mumbled. ‘Come on, let’s go for a drink.’

‘But surely,’ I said as we walked, ‘most history writing is largely plagiaristic, by the very nature of the subject. I mean, if you’re writing, say, a history of England, what can you do except use other people’s writings? After all, it’s unlikely that you’ll come up with many, if any, hitherto undiscovered facts. For example, how the hell does one describe the Norman Conquest without taking great chunks from other people’s books and ‘’rewriting’’ them – that is, changing someone else’s style into one’s own? The point is that there’s bugger all that’s new about the Norman Conquest, is there? Surely it’s all been said and written before... Anyway, I assume that your former pal simply hadn’t done enough ‘’rewriting’’ to avoid allegations of plagiarism? Was that it?’

‘Yes, you’re damn right he hadn’t,’ Cudworth said as we entered the Crown. In one chapter of his book on the reign of Queen Anne he’d lifted most of it, word for bloody word, from Trevelyan. I spotted it as I was reading the manuscript, at his request. So at least it never reached a publisher. But, somehow, word got around. The university big-wigs became involved and, hm, it was the end of him as an academic. Well, cheers... Now, let’s talk about your old profession, shall we?’

517. Imbroglio

‘They’ll soon forget the details of the imbroglio – ’ I say to Greg Yardley.

‘Imbroglio?’ he snarls.