Tableland (21 page)

Woke up with terrible head at 11.30 this morning and won't repeat Julie's sarcastic comments on last night's jollifications. Suffice it to say she was not impressed by what she heard from me. My jeans are now residing in the dustbin and I spent the greater part of the afternoon trying to eradicate a smell like blocked drains, which even now clings to the inside of my car despite vigorous use of Julie's Symphony hair spray.

Am writing this sitting at the bedroom window. It is twenty past ten at night and, through a chink in the curtains, I can see some activity going on at Vymura opposite.

Julie, draining her mug of hot chocolate, is reminding me that a) it was 1.30am when I arrived home last night, b) that I was singing “Lili Marlene” and c) that I then proceeded to snore all night, and could I please now draw the curtain and put out the light because, in case I've forgotten, she's taking Trev and Eric to her mother's tomorrow and I start my course.

Ignore all this and continue my vigil. Racking my brains trying to remember if I was invited round to Steve's this evening as I've just spotted Keith Goodchap and Nev turning in at the gate carrying spades, but the conversation of last night is just a hazy memory. Curse the council for not fixing that street lamp – think it was Alan Uppe who arrived earlier.

Asked Julie if Una had mentioned anything to her but she said that Una had taken the children to spend the weekend with her brother in Uttoxeter.

Think I might get a better view if I turn off the light. There's a very strange noise coming from outside, getting nearer and nearer. Julie has sprung out of bed to join me at the window and suggests switching off the light.

The sound we'd heard was a mixture of heavy rumbling and squeaking wheels. We craned our necks to see and opened the window a bit. Could just about make out, by the light over a neighbour's garage, something large and unwieldy covered by black tarpaulin being trundled along, followed by some dark figures. Grotesque shadows were thrown up by the sycamore tree opposite which was blowing in the wind and whining round the window frame – definitely a touch of the Alfred Hitchcocks.

It came to a stop at Steve's, someone shouted hoarsely, ‘One, two, three – heave!' And whatever it was was lifted off, it being an “all hands on deck” situation, and carried amid muffled oaths round to the back and out of sight. A few minutes later, there came more noises, a grinding and churning which continue even now as I write. Is it some sort of secret Wheeler ritual from which I've been excluded? I expressed my thoughts on the subject to Julie, who just said, ‘I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation.'

Had no time to ponder last night's doings due to other things on my mind. After dropping Julie and Trev off at Macclesfield and hearing all about the gas leak in the house next door from Julie's mother, I drove straight here, i.e. Beauchamp Manor, Adult Education College which is not far distant. The suburb it now stands in must once have been a small village and the building is, so it says in the brochure, early Victorian. Well I'll take their word for it. It certainly looks very impressive, with huge windows and steps leading up to the front door. Inside it is like a five star hotel, with fitted carpets, chandeliers and I'll swear the central heating is on already.

In the main hall a harassed-looking man with an untidy beard assembled a group of people who were clutching easels, boxes of paints and camp stools. I went up to him and told him who I was. I explained which course I had come for. He frowned and said, ‘Oh, but your group aren't expected until six this evening. I suppose you can get a sandwich in the bar and then I'm afraid you'll have to amuse yourself for the afternoon.' He ushered his flock along, muttering into his beard. I had the feeling he didn't like stray people cluttering up the place so I left my case by the stairs and went along to the bar. I found it at the end of a long corridor. It must have been part of the dining room at one time, with a very lofty ceiling covered in plaster mouldings picked out in pale blue. The small modern chairs were comfortable and the windows looked out on to pleasant gardens. After I'd finished two cheese sandwiches and an Eccles cake, I decided to explore the grounds.

Discovered that the “long salon” Wedgewood Room had French windows opening on to a terrace dotted about with tables and sun umbrellas. Stone steps led down to a lawn with a large lily pond in which a fountain played. Roses were blooming in carefully tended beds and the grounds stretched as far as the eye could see, bounded by trees, shrubs and stone walls. This was the life!

I found a wooden seat under a cedar tree, sat down, put my head back and closed my eyes. I must have dropped off to sleep and awoke with the worrying thought that we'd forgotten to cancel the milk at home. Decided to give Julie a ring and see if she'd remembered. I jumped up and was startled to hear a sharp voice coming from a nearby rhododendron. ‘Would you be so kind as to keep that drooping position a little while longer?' An elderly lady in a straw hat was bent over a drawing board. By her side was a small tray on legs holding an assortment of paints and brushes. ‘It's so kind of you. I'm calling it “Gardener's Boy Takes Well-earned Rest”. ‘It's coming along nicely.'

‘Glad to be of assistance, I'm sure,' I said, but the wooden seat didn't feel so comfortable by now. I “sat it out” for an hour and then said I had some urgent business to attend to. Felt entitled to take a look at her work of art. ‘Yes, do come and have a peek,' she said proudly. Think I managed to conceal my extreme annoyance.

Still had plenty of time to kill, so after a cup of tea, decided to see if Derek Wineglass was home. ‘Come on over,' he suggested. ‘We're only about twenty-five minutes from Beauchamp. You can't go wrong if you follow the signs for the airport. See you later.'

Struck the right road at about 6.15 and had warm welcome from Derek. Marlene had gone to a rehearsal of Kiss Me, Kate, in which she has a small part, and both the boys were out.

After discussing the state of the timber trade over a glass of blackberry and prune wine and giving him a hand with some bottling, I realised that it was time I was wending my way back.

‘Mustn't be late for school,' Derek joked and described a short cut back to Beauchamp.

In spite of the short cut, did not arrive back until 7.45. The rest of my group had already been shown their rooms and were, by this time, relaxing and chatting amicably together over drinks in the garden.

Almost seems like being on holiday – comfortable rooms, good food, every amenity – but we eventually got down to some work this morning. James R Priestly, our tutor for the course, does not live at the manor, but has been imported from Axminster, where he runs a small establishment given over completely to the teaching of selling techniques for salesmen from all over the world, who leave after two or three weeks.

We took notes from the lecture and on the blackboard was written Faith, Hope and Confidence, all of which were underlined. Some of us were asked what products we represented and sample interviews were held. A short film was shown with a “before” and “after” specimen. A meek, balding, badly-dressed salesman creeps into the office of a large store and states his case in a hesitant stutter. After only three weeks training, he reappears and makes immediate impression with full impact – a changed man with new suit of clothes, shoulders back, a ringing confident voice and a toupée.

An essay entitled “Progressive Marketing – where does the future lie?” was discussed and set out for us and we were told to read various pamphlets, which were handed round, in preparation for tomorrow's work.

Had a game of clock golf with Timms, who's in sisal, after finishing my essay, and we were joined by an elderly chap doing a course entitled “Richelieu – the torment and ornament of his age” and his wife, who was doing “Dried Flower and Twig Arrangements”. A slide show on High Renaissance architecture in the evening wound up a stimulating day.

What a diverse range of people one meets. The whole atmosphere is, I believe, similar to that of a university. Felt I should have gone to university. Think I would have suited an academic life.

A day spent learning American sales techniques with the accent on a firm but relaxed attitude. ‘First impressions are everything,' Priestly stressed, ‘so smile, smile, smile – come on, I want to see you all smile.' We all smiled rather sheepishly. Looking round, I don't think our smiles would have impressed anyone – Timms displayed a discoloured tooth, Peterson's smile was definitely more of a smirk and one or two of us looked downright malevolent.

Two lectures, with notetaking, in the morning were followed by a written exam after lunch lasting an hour and a half, the results of which will be fixed to the noticeboard tomorrow morning.

A cello practice was going on in the next room at the same time and in a room across the hall the drama group were rehearsing Julius Caesar.

Felt rather like the last day of term as we said goodbye to Priestly, who was very encouraging about our progress. ‘Don't forget to show your teeth' were his parting words – suppose he meant “smile”.

Noel Winstanley – the bearded under-deputy warden – announced that an exhibition of the arts and crafts produced during the week would be held in the Wedgewood Room this evening. He shook his head as if it was all too much for him and went to find his baggy-trousered wife, Sally, who appears to prop him up and who gives classes in Indian clubs and morris dancing.

Went along to see the exhibition with Joe Peterson. A large table was covered in dried flowers, twigs and clumps of polished pebbles and round the walls were displayed a number of paintings.

‘Just look at that,' said Peterson, ‘did you ever see such a daft expression on anyone's face?' I turned to look and came face to face with “Gardener's Boy Takes Well-earned Rest”.

Came seventh in the exam – that's not bad out of twelve. Left the college at l0 am and went to collect Julie and Trev. Her mother insisted on us staying to lunch and I took the opportunity to ask the whereabouts of Bri. ‘He's in London somewhere but he and the group are going on a tour of Germany soon.'

Hope this means he's “in the money” and that we'll see a return of our loan.

Good to be home again.

Took Trev to the barber's and found Steve there with Kevin.

‘I was coming round to see you as a matter of fact,' said Steve. ‘Item one: the movie film of our holiday is back and Una and I thought you might all like to come round and see it tomorrow evening at about 8 o'clock. Item two: it's the Wheel's annual dinner dance on the 30th at the Station Hotel – would you and Julie like to buy a couple of tickets and join our table? A good evening is promised. The Baroque Room lends itself splendidly to a formal function.'

‘Yes, thanks, to both items,' I replied eagerly.

Was all agog to find out what had been going on at Steve's last Sunday night but felt it was neither the right time or place to mention it.

Trev feeling nervous at the prospect of starting at the new school tomorrow. Tried to cheer him up by recounting the first days at my old grammar school but it seemed to make him worse. Suggested he came round to see the Downes' film with us but he didn't seem very enthusiastic.

The film was very brief so Steve played it again to make sure we hadn't missed anything.

‘We're thinking of going on a winter sports holiday next year, actually,' said Una as we drank coffee. ‘I rather fancy all that apres-ski nightlife.'

‘Talking of nightlife, what are you wearing for the dinner dance?' Julie asked.

‘Oh, strictly formal,' Una replied.

‘How's the tennis?' I asked her, feeling more at ease with this subject now that Julie had decided to drop out of the team for the rest of the season but unfortunately I'd hit on the wrong topic.

‘Don't mention tennis to me,' she said. ‘Les Crow never turned up for the match on Wednesday. He never even bothered to get in touch afterwards either.'

Julie seemed sympathetic and asked if she'd tried ringing him.

‘I certainly have – Anita just didn't want to know and there was no reply from his office either. And to think I was even toying with the idea of a part-time job at that travel agency of his. Well, he can get lost.' Una's voice rose to a shrill pitch. Steve said nothing and I, having no wish to be drawn into a discussion on Les Crow, scratched around in my mind for another line to take.

‘I've been meaning to ask,' I said quickly, ‘although I know it's probably none of my business, about something I couldn't help seeing, while I was drawing the bedroom curtains last Sunday night. A spot of the old “cloak and dagger” – a few lads behaving somewhat furtively in the shadows.' I thought I'd make a joke of the whole thing and exaggerate a bit. ‘Plus some very odd noises – all very suspect.' I waited for the cheery quip and simple explanation but Steve frowned and didn't answer for a minute, and I wondered if I'd put my foot in it a second time – this topic had sunk like a lead weight too.

He said, ‘What exactly did you see?'

‘Nothing much to be exact,' I replied.

He then seemed to come to a decision. ‘Well, I'll put you in the picture but I'll have to swear you to secrecy – it's all a bit “hush-hush”.' I caught Julie's eye and I think we both wondered what was coming.

‘Chick Birdy gave me this offer of a cement mixer we could use off site, out of hours, as it were. Chick's an engineer on the council – I play squash with his cousin. So Ken rounded up a few brawny Wheelers and together we moved in to complete our new fish pond.'

‘A new fish pond – lucky you,' Julie said.

‘D'you think so?' Una asked, ‘I was never consulted and they ruined my gloxinias.'

‘Mum's the word,' I said, drawing a finger over my throat. ‘Your secret's safe with me.'

Don't wish him to regret imparting his secret but can't help wishing he'd had the confidence to include me with his other loyal supporters.

‘Come and see what you think.' Steve led the way round to the back and we looked at the 8ft by 4ft pond, as yet fishless and waterless, and were suitably impressed, although Una still looked sulky.

Thought we'd better leave after this before I said anything more of a controversial nature.