Tableland (17 page)

Had stuffed the strawberries into the fridge last night and I felt them staring out at me reproachfully when I fetched the milk for breakfast.

‘I suppose we'll have to do something about this little lot today,' I said.

‘I've just had a terrible thought,' Julie replied, ‘I'm not going to have nearly enough jam jars.'

Never one to give up, I had the idea of sending Trev out with a wheelbarrow round to various neighbours to try his luck.

Back he came with a very odd assortment of jars and pots, which we cleaned up as best we could.

Fortunately, Julie had stocked up with plenty of sugar and lemons, and, immediately after lunch, we set to work enthusiastically.

Three hours later, we were still “testing for a set”.

Will draw a veil over jam making proceedings. Suffice it to say that on top of every shelf in the kitchen sit countless jars of strawberry sludge, as christened by Trev.

‘They'll come in very useful for puddings and sorbets,' Julie said with determined optimism.

As she has never, to my knowledge, made a sorbet in her life, I await this treat with mixed feelings.

Owing to the fact that every pan in the house was used in our enterprise, breakfast was just a bowl of cornflakes this morning and I jumped into the car and drove to the office without my usual Monday morning feeling today.

Brimcup says he always picks blackcurrants or gooseberries and never strawberries.

Una called round in the evening and we tried to press her to a jar of “sludge”, which she wisely refused, but not for obvious reasons.

‘Oh, no,' she said, ‘I can't possibly touch anything containing white sugar – very bad. I go to this wonderful new health food shop – everything organically grown. We've joined this new club, Friends of the Sod. Advised Julie to tear leaflet Una gave her up and forget about it. Nevertheless, found myself turning over one or two phrases in my mind during the course of the day.

“You are what you eat.”

“White bread sends dogs mad.”

“Roughage induces regularity.”

Found I didn't enjoy the syrup tart and custard in the canteen at lunchtime with my usual relish.

A very enjoyable day in many ways. Took the day off work, as I had promised myself, to see the Open golf tournament at Birkdale, only about an hour from here.

Had asked Julie some days ago if she would like to come too, but she had replied, ‘No thanks, I don't fancy spending a whole day tramping over sandhills to watch a few fellows chasing a little ball about.' So I had not pursued the matter further.

The sun shone brightly and, as I made a couple of tongue and pickle sandwiches, Julie said, ‘I rather wish I was coming with you.'

‘Why don't you then?' I asked.

‘I've arranged to go to a Tupperware party now with Brenda Spicer.' And she went out of the kitchen and banged the door. Feel I will never understand women.

Arrived at Birkdale in good time and found a car park only about half an hour's walk from the course. Glad I'd remembered to bring my umbrella as it was getting pretty hot by now. Positioned myself on top of the stand by the fourth hole and settled down to watch a good morning's golf.

What a privilege to see these stars in action, making it all look so easy.

‘He thinks with his wrists, you know,' I overheard someone say. How true, I thought.

Decided to stretch my legs at lunchtime and see if I could find Steve's nice little “set-up” that he'd talked about. The prospect of a free drink and some convivial chat spurred me on and I trudged over the sand for what seemed miles looking at all the smart hospitality tents and mobile bars but never seeing the name TRUGOODS. Had almost given up hope when, coming out of the gents by the car park, I spied a rather tired looking van with the words “We try harder at Trugoods” emblazoned thereon. Closer inspection revealed the back to be open and sitting, looking busy among a pile of bottles, was a familiar figure.

‘Hello, hello, hello,' Steve shouted, catching sight of me. ‘Come for some liquid refreshment, eh?'

‘That's about it,' I agreed.

‘What's it to be then?'

Felt quite bewildered by the choice offered, which seemed to gratify Steve. ‘Ah, yes – we do things in style at Trugoods.'

‘By the way, I don't think you've met Robin Crundle – Crundle's Ketchup, you know!' And he waved an arm at the interior of the van. Could dimly make out a figure sitting in the passenger seat with a gaunt profile and a large glass of something.

‘Very pleased to meet you,' I shouted and Robin Crundle, without turning round, said something like, ‘likewise, likewise.'

Settled on a gin and tonic and I chatted a bit to Steve about the golf. Steve hadn't been able to watch much so far. ‘All this entertaining keeps a chap busy.'

‘Do you want a tongue sandwich?' I asked him. ‘I'm afraid it's white bread.'

‘Don't mind if I do,' Steve said.

‘What about…' I nodded towards Robin Crundle.

‘Oh no, I don't think so.' and Steve shook his head.

After another gin and tonic or two, I said my thanks and wended my way towards the stand by the eighteenth hole and was just in time to see an American I recognised from the television screen, with his familiar Spanish caddy, Paco, play his approach shot, and I became so engrossed that I didn't at first realise that I was on the point of getting sun stroke. I had left my umbrella behind at Steve's “drinkery”.

Not wishing to disturb the row at an exciting moment, I made do with my handkerchief over my head for a few minutes, but soon felt as if I was going to faint.

It took me a long time to find my way back to the right place. Had left the umbrella lying against the side of the van. Was just about to pick it up when I heard a strange noise coming from the inside. Popping my head round the back, I could just distinguish a slumped figure. It was Robin Crundle – Crundle's Ketchup and he was snoring loudly, with an empty gin bottle beside him.

I asked Julie over breakfast when she was playing in her next tennis match – hoping to myself that the whole thing had petered out, and was rather annoyed when she replied, ‘Tonight. We're playing at home against the Hooton Happy Wanderers. I'm partnering Leso.'

‘Leso?' I asked.

‘Les Crow.'

‘Well, that fits in rather well – I've got a lot of paperwork to catch up on tonight,' I said.

This evening, was just setting out a few accounts on the kitchen table when Steve came round. Thanked him again for his hospitality yesterday and enquired whether Robin Crundle had enjoyed the day's golf.

‘Oh, he enjoys his golf does Robin,' Steve replied vaguely. His eye alighted upon a chocolate cake – one of Julie's better efforts – sitting on top of the fridge.

‘That looks good,' he said.

‘No go, white flour in it, old chap. Sorry,' I joked.

‘I'm starving for a real good bit of stodge,' he said gloomily.

Taking pity on him (though I didn't think Julie would appreciate her gateau described as a “bit of stodge”), I lifted the cake down and cut a large slice for each of us.

‘Where's Julie, then?' Steve asked with his mouth full.

‘Playing for the Cock and Bull tonight,' I replied rather proudly in an off-hand manner.

‘Not partnering Les Crow, I hope – nudge, nudge, wink, wink and all that,' he said, and when I nodded he said quickly, ‘Just teasing, you know me.' It sounded jokey but he wasn't smiling.

Found it difficult to concentrate on the accounts. Trev came in and wanted help with his knots for a Cub badge. Helped himself to a large piece of cake.

Julie returned looking cross.

‘How did it go, then?' I asked.

‘We lost. Les Crow's wife turned up to watch with their three young children and it completely put him off. The youngest one kept shouting, “Daddy, Daddy” just as he was about to serve. Can you imagine?'

Her temper was not improved when she discovered the remains of the chocolate cake. It had been made for a raffle prize for a coffee morning in aid of the playgroup run by Nina Price-Potter.

At the office this morning, Brimcup said, ‘Have you noticed the way P.H. is dressing these days? Trendy clothes and new hairstyle too. Personally, I find it rather undignified in a man of his age, and what does it all mean?'

Probably nothing.

Noticed large flattering photograph of our next-door neighbour, Diane, in the local rag. It seems she has won second prize in a national bathing beauty contest. Well, well, well. Much coming and going during the day at the Butts' – bouquets of flowers and even our regional roving television reporters arrived in their van – they must be desperate for news.

If the house next door isn't sold soon, we could find ourselves living side by side with squatters. This is a real worry. It would bring down the value of our house considerably.

Trev broke up for the summer holidays today – six and a half weeks' holiday. Could just do with that myself. Still, mustn't grumble – we have our two weeks in South Wales to look forward to next month.

Julie has been collecting tins and packets of food each week in readiness.

‘Hope they'll all fit into the car,' I joked.

‘I'll put them all in a cardboard box and they'll be quite compact. Come and have a look,' she said.

‘You're going to have to find a large box for this little lot.' There were packets of cereal, dog food, biscuits; tins of fruit, vegetables, soup, meat. Picking a tin up at random, I read out the ingredients: ‘Pork, beef, cereal binder, stock, salts, emulsifying salts, spices, sodium acerbate, sodium nitrate, garlic, flavouring, monosodium glutamate, preservatives, colour!' As I read, Una's slogan came to mind – “You are what you eat”.

An extraordinary coincidence occurred today. Was visiting the Liverpool office of Humphrey & Parker – architects – to see if I could interest them in our very competitive roof trusses, when the telephone rang. Was a bit annoyed at this as I had been progressing nicely, Mr Parker seeming quite interested in all I had to say. In fact, I felt sure he was just on the point of saying something like, ‘Those are the very trusses we would use on our new local authority housing estate at Quayside.' Anyway, the ‘phone rang and, being in the room, I couldn't help overhearing his end of the conversation and it went something like this:

‘Hello, Vic, how are things with you?'

‘A merger, eh? Well it was on the cards, wasn't it. Should do everyone a spot of good, business-wise.'

‘Well, that sounds a very interesting proposition. I don't speak Swedish of course, ha ha.'

‘Yes, the 20th will suit very well. Cheers, Vic.'

He jotted down a note in his diary. Meanwhile, my brain was working overtime. Could it have been Vic Rednap he had been talking to? And, if so, it must mean the toilet roll and disinfectant factory are about to do a merger. In which case, they will be expanding their premises – builders will be Proones, probable architects Humphrey & Parker and wood supplied courtesy of yours truly, with any luck.

I had to be sure of my facts.

‘Excuse me – I couldn't help overhearing but was that old Vic Rednap on the other end of the ‘phone?' I asked.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact it was. Do you know him?'

‘Oh yes, very well. Very well, indeed.' Wondered if I had perhaps emphasised this a little too strongly as Mr Parker raised an eyebrow. However, I had the information I needed.

Into action this morning. Rang the manager at Proones and made an arrangement to take him out to lunch next week. At supper time, was just in the throes of pouring the ketchup over my fish, when Trev, who was glued to the television set, suddenly shouted out.

‘Come and look at this. Quickly!'

We rushed to see what all the fuss was about and there before our eyes, peering through layers of false eyelashes, was Diane Butt.

‘My main ambition,' she was saying to the interviewer, ‘is to win the Miss World competition now and travel abroard. I'd like to have my own boutique one day too but above all,' a dazzling smile was switched on, ‘I want to make people happy.' End of interview.

‘It warms your heart, doesn't it,' I remarked.

‘She could make me a lot happier by turning down her transistor radio in the garden for a start,' Julie said tartly.

Found I had achieved fame of a sort at work today. Discovering that I lived next door to the runner-up of a bathing beauty contest, several of the chaps from the mill who had seen last night's programme asked me to arrange an introduction. Was even offered various bribes in a light-hearted way, but declined all this by saying, ‘Afraid she has a steady boyfriend already, an amateur heavyweight boxer.' This is not true, but felt I did not want to get involved with the Butts under any circumstances.

Steve called when we had just finished supper and told us that the Wheelers are off for a river trip next Thursday. ‘Folk singer included and hot pot supper to round it off. Two of our number have fallen by the wayside, as it were. How would you and Julie like to “step into the breach”?'

This was an opportunity not to be missed and we accepted on the spot.

Trev off to Cub Scout camp today for a week in the Lake District. Saw him off at the coach station and gave him the benefit of my advice on camping, tent technique and so on, but am not sure that he was really listening.

‘Be sure and take some good photos of the Lakes and don't lose my camera – we'll be needing it for our holiday,' I shouted as he boarded the coach.

The house seemed strangely quiet this evening so decided to take Julie for a “quickie” to the Cock and Bull. She did her hair a new way and seemed pleased with the result. I didn't say anything.

The quickie turned out to be a misnomer, owing to the barmaid's preoccupation with customers in the adjoining bar, and was forced to go round and place my order. About five minutes later, she returned to our side, which was by now filling up.

‘One Cinzano and lemonade. One bitter and packet of mushroom flavoured crisps.'

‘Thank you very much,' I said, hoping she noticed the cool edge to my voice.

We settled ourselves in a corner and Julie studied the tennis fixtures, pinned to the fake oak beam.

‘We're having another match on the 27th,' she announced. ‘Away.'

I studied the customers round the bar. A short, fat man with a red face was obviously one of the barmaid's favourites. ‘Do you want a cherry in your babycham?' she asked.

Looking up again a few moments later, was interested to note that they were holding hands and he was gazing at her with a rapt expression.

‘This is really fascinating,' she was saying.

Could see that Julie had pricked up her ears by now.

Julie and I exchanged glances and then something suddenly clicked. ‘She's reading his palm, I think,' I whispered.

The fat man was preening himself. ‘Well, I was thinking of going into politics at one time,' he confessed.

‘Yes, it's all here – you could have great power over people. I can see the mystic cross here.' She jabbed at his palm with a fingernail.

People were swarming round them now and shoving their hands at the barmaid, demanding her to reveal all.

‘I shouldn't be at all surprised,' she told a frail octogenarian, ‘if you suddenly took a trip to the other side of the world and decided to settle there'.

‘You've been ill, haven't you?' a woman in a plastic mac was asked, and, when she nodded her head, was told that she had obviously brought it on herself due to her line of self-will crossing the health line.

‘That's true enough,' said the woman's husband, and he got a scowl from his wife.

‘All right, it's your turn now,' she said. Husband held out his hand confidently. ‘Ah, yes – what have we here?' Everyone listened expectantly. ‘I see three women in your life.'

‘Me mum, me wife and me daughter as far as I'm concerned,' the husband muttered quickly, keeping his wits, though obviously embarrassed. ‘Come on, Betty.' He snatched his hand away and quickly finished his drink. ‘We must be off.'

‘We must be off too,' I said, ‘it's late.' Momentarily forgot Julie and I were on our own tonight but had caught sight of Les Crow weaving his way through a crowd towards us. Steered Julie towards the door but not before he'd shouted to her, ‘Like the hair. How's about a quickie?'

‘No can do,' I shouted back. ‘Babysitter.'

‘What are you talking about?' Julie said, when I'd shoved her through the door.

‘I completely forgot,' I told her quite truthfully. It gave us a heady feeling being just the two of us and we did a sort of silly dance along Springcroft Meadow hand in hand. Noticed that one of our street lamps was out of order and, feeling public spirited, decided to fix it then and there. Fetched small ladder, which Julie held. Investigated base of lamp holder with my insulated screw driver. There was a sudden blinding flash. On opening my eyes saw that all the wretched street lights had gone out. Found Julie sitting in a privet hedge.