Tableland (15 page)

Very hot. I don't know if it is the weather but tempers at the office seemed a little strained this morning. The air was stifling and several flies were making a nuisance of themselves, particularly one which kept landing on the iced bun Mrs Lush was having with her coffee. Brimcup suddenly got up and went to the cupboard where some of the cleaning items are kept and produced a fly spray of an especially pungent odour, with which he proceeded to drench everybody and everything in sight, including the iced bun. This did not seem to please Mrs Lush, whose language became quite interesting.

The spray went immediately to my lungs and I was soon gasping for breath.

‘Open the window!' I yelled to Trina, who was sitting next to it.

‘Oh, no, I don't want to do that – it would put me in an awful draught,' the stupid girl said.

‘Don't be so silly, the temperature is up in the 80s today,' I replied. We had quite an argument about it, which culminated in me striding over to the window and grasping the handle. The wretched thing refused to budge although I applied quite heavy pressure.

I was suffocating by this time and did the only sensible thing, under the circumstances: I rushed out to the car park and took a few deep breaths, which brought a strange look from P.H., who had just driven in.

‘Anything wrong, Porter?' he enquired as we walked in together.

‘No – not a thing P.H.,' I lied – never one to make a fuss.

‘What's that strange smell – is it your new aftershave? No offence, Porter, but isn't it a trifle “fruity” – if not downright unpleasant.' I just caught these words he muttered to himself as he turned into the door of his office.

Had no idea what he was talking about until I suddenly realised that I must have been covered in fly spray. Went to the gents and had a good wash but had a nasty feeling that the smell lingered on in my hair and on my suit, as my appointment after lunch with Groyne's Do-It-Yourself Shop was not a resounding success. People were definitely not keen to come too near me – no small talk over a cup of tea or anything like that. Groyne's secretary knocked over a chair as she hurried to open the window, saying, ‘Stifling this afternoon, isn't it?'

Was glad to get home. Julie was out playing tennis. The dog backed away from me and Trev said as we met on the stairs, ‘You smell worse than a filthy night in the Kasbah,' I don't know where he got this saying from – it certainly wasn't me.

What a social summer this has turned out to be! Steve has asked us to the inauguration of his barbecue a week on Saturday.

‘Here's hoping for a fine evening weather-wise,' he said. ‘By the way, I hear your good lady is on the short list for the Cock and Bull tennis team. It's between her and Una apparently. May the best man win, as they say.'

‘Julie must have been keeping it a secret. I hope it won't be the end of a beautiful friendship,' I laughed.

‘I bumped into Ken on Saturday,' Steve went on. ‘He had rung up his friend Diplock – to say he was a bit fed up by old George Ferris' effort at the gourmet dinner. Apparently Diplock said, “I never recommended him as an authority on wine, I just said he was very interested in drink, which is perfectly true – he's the local soak”. And after he staggered from our midst, he apparently delivered a very spirited (ha ha) talk to the Psychic Society, kept them enthralled for half an hour.

Julie said she had been keeping the tennis team news as a surprise and was rather annoyed that I had got to hear of it. ‘Anyway, Una and I are fighting it out on Friday evening. There's going to be a match against the Crag Ferry tennis club next week. If I get into the team, I may have to be out in the evenings quite a bit.'

‘That's alright. We'll come along and watch you, won't we?' I said, giving Trev a wink.

‘No, you mustn't do that – it would put me right off,' she replied quickly. ‘I'm just off to get in some more practice. Nina said she'd give me some coaching.'

‘Well, don't get so carried away that you forget we're going out to the theatre tomorrow night,' I reminded her.

‘Oh, I hadn't forgotten and, by the way, the Spicers want to take us all in their Citroen.'

I'm glad we had been warned in advance of the Spicer's offer of a lift in their Citroen, otherwise I might have worn my “suede” jacket. I know it is only suedette, but it is quite smart, apart from its tendency to crease badly, and I had a feeling that it was going to be a cramped journey this evening.

The Spicers tooted loudly at 6.15 and we climbed aboard, crushing the Uppes as we did so.

‘Well, we've been looking forward to this,' I said, trying to ignore the fact that my rib cage was being punctured by Alan's elbow.

‘We thought we'd dine “in situ” so to speak, after the play. There's quite a decent little steak bar incorporated in the building.' Alan twisted round to address me and we all had to adjust our sitting positions.

By the time we arrived at the Pleasure-Drome, my legs had pins and needles. Then the four of us in the back stumbled out stiffly and had to limber up a little to get some feeling back into our limbs. I could sense Julie was regretting that she had worn that particular skirt, as from the back it now resembled a piece of rag, although of course I didn't mention the fact.

I don't quite know what I had imagined the play would be like. School for Scandal – it sounded light and perhaps a shade risqué, but I hadn't been prepared for the powdered wigs and eighteenth century dialogue. I soon lost track of this. Also, I may be old- fashioned in this respect, but I couldn't get used to the lack of a curtain. There was just this rather bare stage with no interesting scenery to look at. Still, the seats were very comfy and soon I was well away making new plans for the garden.

During the interlude, Alan led the way to the bar and I treated everyone to a round of drinks, Brenda choosing a Pimms full of fruit salad. This last mentioned took the barman so long to concoct that quite a queue formed behind us and we got several nasty glances as the bell went for us to return to our seats.

The second half of the play passed in a dream – literally – so I was secretly dismayed when Alan said, as we settled into our seats in the steak bar, ‘Well, what did you all think of the play, eh? How about you, Pete?'

I searched my mind desperately for something relevant to say.

‘The acting was magnificent,' I said forcibly.

‘But what did you think of the character of… ?!' Luckily, Julie who had obviously followed every word, came to my rescue at this point and eventually the conversation got round to holidays.

I felt on much safer ground here and gave an outline description of our plans for the caravan in South Wales.

‘What about you, Alan? What crafty schemes are afoot in the Uppe household?' I asked.

‘Oh, we have the good fortune to be joining up with our old friends here,' he replied, smiling and nodding at the Spicers. ‘We're taking a cottage in Cornwall at the end of August. Cordelia is taking part in a gymnastic competition on the 15th August, so we can't get away before then.' Did I see a momentary look of annoyance flash over Ron Spicer's face – if so, it was gone just as quickly.

The service at the steak bar was very slow and it was midnight before we had finished our meal.

As Julie said, ‘It was lucky that Trev was staying the night at Craig's.

The return journey was even more uncomfortable after steak, chips and ice cream, and I suffered badly from indigestion.

‘How about coming in for a nightcap?' I asked everyone half-heartedly, as we drew up outside our house.

‘That's very civil of you,' Alan said quickly.

‘Do you mean whisky or cocoa?' Ju1ie hissed at me as we walked to the front door. ‘Because we've got neither.'

After a frenzied search, Julie produced a small tin of decaffeinated coffee, purchased at a discount of l0p some weeks previously, which she mixed with some instant coffee granules. It seemed to go down very well – in fact, Ron Spicer remarked that it was the best cup of coffee he had ever tasted.

Hurrah – Julie has got into the tennis team. Felt very proud when she came home and told us the good news. (Hope this won't mean no supper on too many evenings.)

A fair has been at Weston, in the largest car park, these last three days and Trev and I decided to walk along and inspect it this afternoon. What a noise! You could hardly hear the old Beatles' records above the din of the machinery and the hundreds of people who seemed to be there. Caught sight of Steve and Tracey whirling round on the Big Wheel eating candy floss. Later, we caught up with them on the way home. It was difficult hurrying along with the three goldfish we had won, but I particularly wanted a little chat with Steve – principally to make sure there were no hard feelings over the tennis team.

‘What ho!' I shouted. They stopped and turned round and we spent a few minutes thinking up some witty names for the fish as we walked along.

Steve was the first to bring up the subject of the tennis. ‘I hear I have to congratulate your better half on making the tennis team,' he said.

‘That's very good of you,' I said, relieved that he had taken it so well.

‘Of course, Una was in it last year and we'd virtually decided that it was too much of a good thing – too demanding, all those evenings out. Another thing, old chap, keep your eye on Les Crow – he's in the team too and, entre nous, I wasn't too keen. There was that little business with Nina at the badminton some months ago.' But he did not expand on this.

Who could feel bored in a town like Weston? There seems to be something going on all the time.

After lunch, we went to support our local cricket team and who should be bowling when we arrived but Ron Spicer. Watching the proceedings from under a large straw hat was Bren, accompanied by Alan and Sue Uppe. Went over to join them and put up my father's old golf umbrella as it was so hot. Trev became embarrassed by this for some reason and insisted on going to sit on the far side of the field. I know the umbrella is not in its “first flush of youth” any more and has one or two holes in it, but it always does a very good job as a sun shade and even Sue Uppe, who I'd noticed giving it rather a strange look, was glad enough to come under it as the afternoon progressed.

Ron only made two runs but got a good clap from our little support group and shortly after that we decided it was time to wend our way home.

‘Do you want a lift back?' I asked Alan.

‘Don't mind if we do,' he said.

Julie, who had made some of her special biscuits with green peppermint icing this morning, said, ‘Stay and have a cup of tea with us in the garden.'

‘Will do,' he replied.

We were drinking our tea and chatting about this and that when Alan suddenly pulled a leaflet from his pocket.

‘If you want a laugh, read that.' It was Rodney Blade's council election address with a photo of him on the front clutching a pipe and looking both wise and shrewd as “The People's Friend”.

His hobbies were listed as politics and beekeeping, with active bird-watching and opera thrown in for good measure.

“Having lived in this beautiful area for all of two years and enjoyed its many amenities, my one desire is to put a little something back into it – namely my services, which, I can promise you all, will be unstinting, loyal and selfless. I will also be able to bring my professional qualities to bear on one of the major issues of this area – the sewage system.”

‘Do you think he'll get in?' I asked.

‘Shouldn't think so. He'll be even more unbearable if he does.'

‘His wife hardly ever comes to any of our functions,' said Sue, which amazed us.

Rang Derek Wineglass in the evening as we felt it was time we returned their hospitality.

‘How about coming over to our part of the world on Saturday?'

‘Hang about,' Derek said, ‘I'll just consult Marlene in case it's the children's sports day or a garden party at Buckingham Palace.' Saturday appeared to suit, so I then gave graphic instructions of how to get here, which I hope he followed as, in the middle of them, a young couple with a screaming baby knocked on the front door and, when I opened it, said they had been informed that I had the key to the empty house next door and could they have it, please.

Was very annoyed about this key business. Why should anyone think we have it?

Told Julie to ring the estate agent acting for the house next door after 9 am and make a serious complaint.

When I arrived home, Julie said that she had rung the agent this afternoon, who had turned quite nasty.

‘They said they had left the key with the people on the corner and that we should have realised this and, not only that, but the young couple had apparently sounded very interested in the house and hadn't been in touch since, so we had probably lost them a sale. In fact, they were quite rude.'

I said to Julie, ‘If this happens again, I shall have a few strong words to say to those agents.'

Had what virtually amounts to a begging letter from my brother-in-law this morning. It ran:

Just when we seemed all set to make the big time, this had to happen. Know you and Peter won't let me down over this. Me and the lads are relying on you. You won't regret it.

Then, right at the end of the letter, he came to the point of the whole thing – his guitar and amplifying equipment had been stolen. He had not insured them and he coolly expected Julie and self to stump up £100, which would be added to money already collected, so that they could fulfil their next engagement. I had to laugh at his nerve, before chucking the letter away.