Tableland (32 page)

As Boxing Day fell on a Saturday this year, we've all been given an extra holiday today and in the morning took Julie's mother to the station. Left her in good spirits and hoping we'd enjoy Bri's concert on Wednesday – something which I have resolutely put to the back of my mind over the holiday period but which I must now “have out” with Julie.

The day went steadily downhill from this point declining particularly sharply when the telephone rang. It was Ken Dugeon. ‘A few Wheelers and their wives are popping round chez nous, as it were, on Thursday night to let the New Year in Scottish style. How about that?'

‘A touch of the old Hogmanay,' I added.

‘This is it,' Ken enthused. ‘Bagpipes, the lot! Can you and Julie join us? Janice and I thought about 10 pm for kick off.'

‘We'll be there,' I promised and we went on to talk of this and that for a minute until we were rudely interrupted by an unpleasantly familiar voice saying, ‘You've been on the ‘phone quite long enough, my daughter has some important calls to make.'

Ken was quite rightly outraged by this and gave Butt a piece of his mind.

‘Good for you, Ken,' I said. Butt then responded with such vigour and so forcibly that I felt impelled to put the ‘phone down and hoped Ken had done the same.

I wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of letting him think I was listening to that sort of abuse.

That was unpleasant enough, but a little later, while I was fixing my new Wheeler badge on the car, I heard a high-pitched scream coming from the direction of the Butts' garden.

Now, in all honesty, I couldn't say if Trev had overheard anything of the contretemps over the telephone earlier in the day or not. He had been quietly (or fairly quietly anyway) practising with his new air pistol, shooting at targets made out of Coca Cola tins. All quite harmless fun, but unfortunately, as we learnt later, some pellets had found their way into the top half of one of Diane's bikinis, – which had been hanging on the washing line – and out the other side.

Well, fair enough, it's not very pleasant to have your washing shot at and Trev was fully prepared to apologise for what he swears was an accident, but he was given no chance. No way could he get a word in.

In his fury, George Butt resembled an old Testament prophet, shaking his fist and gnashing his dentures. I've never seen a man lose control so and loud enough for everyone to hear, bringing in special reference to people who “throw up” over their shrubs.

‘When you've quite finished,' I started to say in defence but he hadn't, he was just pausing for breath before starting up again. Then, suddenly, a series of things happened. Julie came out to see what all the noise was about and was just about to remonstrate with Butt with words like, ‘Do you mind, there are ladies present' (to which, no doubt, he would have replied, ‘Where?') when their wretched poodle, Lulubelle, who had been kicking up a terrible noise for about five minutes, suddenly spied a cat running across the road, gave chase and was almost run over by a Ford Capri. There was much angry tooting and more abuse hurled around, then Lulubelle, driven mad by all the mounting noise and excitement, finally became demented, yapped even more shrilly and bit George Butt sharply on the ankle.

The post came early and I opened it while Julie was frying some sausages, which was lucky as things turned out. Among a couple of letters was a late Christmas card, religious, written in red ink in a sprawling hand. I opened it up and read:

Cheers

Les, Anita and the kids!

In the bottom left hand corner was a bit more:

Hey Ju

How's my favourite partner?

Long time no see…

When are we going to get together again?

Will be in touch. Ciaou!

I could feel my fist clenching. When I thought of all the wretchedness that man's caused me – almost putting my job in jeopardy, no less – I had no hesitation in tearing the card to shreds and throwing it into the grate.

How does he get away with it? He'll go too far one of these days.

I was busy while driving to work, trying to think of some device to make our house more private, and how to raise the height of our fence. Perhaps more wattle is the answer or maybe I should plant some trees – but they would take years to grow to a suitable height. Some people, I know, swear by Lawson Cypress. I shall have to look into it in depth.

The other problem on my mind at the same time, and which is still not resolved, is how to get out of going to this concert tomorrow night. Julie seems quite set on the idea.

Was so busy turning things over in my mind that I bumped straight into Walter Grappling going into P.H.'s office.

Now, he hardly ever puts in an appearance here. Was muttering my apologies and wondering what had brought the “big boss” over, when P.H. appeared and said to me, ‘What's all the rush? Don't be in such a hurry – I've been telling Mr Grappling here all about your resourceful dealings with Trighton and Coon.'

‘Ah, yes indeed,' Grappling said with a meaningful look. ‘Keep up the good work and it might bring some interesting rewards.'

Looked suitably modest, I hope, and waited for him to go on but Trina appeared at this moment carrying a tray of coffee for three and behind P.H. I could see Mr Woodnut. Quite a confrontation situation.

Settled down to do a bit of paperwork but Trina then returned with the empty tray, slamming it down, and said with some excitement in her voice, ‘I happened to overhear something.'

Not wishing to encourage the girl in her eavesdropping, said nothing but Mrs Lush piped up, ‘Well, go on, don't keep it to your self.'

‘I don't know if I should – maybe I got it all wrong…'

Brimcup entered at this point. ‘Got what all wrong?' he asked absentmindedly, while delving through his soft woods samples.

‘Well, I'm sure I heard them say something about Lumberjobs going bankrupt,' said Trina and she returned to her filing with a satisfied smile on her face.

‘Lumberjobs?' said Mrs Lush. ‘That's the firm Bob Avery left here to join, isn't it?'

‘Yes, Mrs L. That's the one,' Brimcup replied thoughtfully. Remembered that he had been toying with the idea of accepting a job there himself only a short while ago.

‘Bound to happen, of course,' he went on. ‘Bit off more than they could chew. Underpricing everyone else. Basically it was a “no-go” situation.'

Could not resist saying, ‘I don't suppose you ever seriously thought of joining them yourself.'

‘No way,' he said.

Grappling, Woodnut and P.R. in conference again today and Trina so far hasn't been able to supply us with any further information.

Was just unlocking my car prior to a visit to the dock area in Liverpool, when I was nearly deafened by the roar of a motorbike sweeping into our car park. The driver took off his helmet and, much to my surprise, I recognised Bob Avery.

‘I suppose you've heard the news?' he said.

‘Well, I did hear a sort of rumour, but wasn't sure if it was true,' I replied.

‘Oh, it's true enough.' He gave a bitter laugh. ‘And I'm job hunting so watch it – I may be after yours.' And he vanished into the building.

The evening turned out to be a fiasco, as I had known it would be (though in a different way to what I'd envisaged).

Julie had put her foot down about going to see Bri, with much talk of “family loyalty” and reminders of the new television set so that in the end I thought it would be easier in the long run to go along, with ‘a pair of ear plugs, and perhaps leave early.

Julie had bought the Liverpool Post to check on the time and there was even a little piece about the group entitled “Don't Throw The Dregs Down The Drain”, which said that the mayor, who takes a lively interest in the young and their pursuits, would be present at the concert, together with a representative body of youthful achievers from Merseyside including, among others, a poet from Cammell Laird shipyards, a gas fitter's apprentice who creates animals out of gas piping in his spare time and a top model.

Found somewhere which I hoped would be a safe place to leave the car about fifteen minutes walk away from the Empire and arrived there at five to eight to find the place besieged by fans.

“SOLD OUT” notices were everywhere but, despite this, a queue had formed.

‘Lucky we didn't just come on the off chance,' Julie said and went straight to the box office.

It had turned very cold. The boys and girls waiting outside the theatre huddled together for warmth and had rugs and long hairy coats draped round them. Some were eating hot dogs, which smelt very good, especially as we had only had a quick “bite” before rushing out.

‘Our tickets have been left here, I believe,' I said to the chap in the box office and gave him our name.

He gave us a rather suspicious look, shuffled his papers and envelopes, took some more down from a shelf, looked at them and turned back to us.

‘No record of anything here in that name – sure you've got the right theatre?' he asked, seeming to study my suit and Wheeler tie.

‘Of course, I'm sure,' I replied hotly, ‘please check again.' He did so and shook his head.

‘Isn't there someone you could ask?' I persisted.

‘Sorry, mate.' He seemed to have lost interest and turned away.

‘This is ridiculous,' I said to Julie.

‘It certainly is,' she said rapping on the box office window.

‘Look here,' she shouted loudly to the man. ‘We've got to get in right away – the show starts in two minutes – I expect the tickets have been left at the stage door or something.' When this seemed to have no effect, she pronounced, ‘My brother is one of The Dregs.' This did produce some result. He turned quite nasty.

‘Don't try that one on me. I've heard that one before – that's what they all say – just don't give me that.'

‘How dare you!' Julie screamed at him. ‘Fetch the manager.'

A swarthy but quite kindly man suddenly materialised from somewhere and took Julie aside. ‘I should go home, Miss. You see those signs saying “SOLD OUT”? Well that means all the tickets have gone,' he explained patiently. ‘Of course, one or two may be returned even at this late hour, if you want to join the end of the queue…'

The crowd of fans, who had heard all this, were, I sensed, turning hostile and glared angrily at us. One shouted something rude.

‘Come along,' I said hastily to Julie. ‘We'd better go. We're not going to get in now!'

Julie, almost crying with rage and disappointment by this time, realised that we were getting nowhere and stormed off. Ran round the corner to catch up with her and heard behind me, as I ran, the angry tones of someone saying, ‘Some people will try anything on!'

It must have been about one o'clock this morning when the phone rang and woke us up. It was, of course, Bri. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. Suddenly remembered about your tickets… you know how things are. What can I say?'

Mumbled something about it not mattering and was about to bid him good night when he went on, ‘Never mind – I have some great news. Listen to this.' Felt half asleep, freezing cold and longing to get back into bed.

‘What is it?' I growled.

‘Met a fantastic bird, she really is something – incredible… magic. Came to the show tonight and backstage afterwards. She's throwing a New Year's Eve party at her place tomorrow night and I'll be there. This really could be the start of something big – I promise you. But wait until you hear where she lives… Weston! And not only that, but, I joke not, in the self same road as your good self.'

My stomach began to sink a little and when he came out with her name it plummeted to the ground. ‘Diane Butt.'

‘So, I'll be seeing you sooner than you thought,' he rambled on. ‘We have a couple of days off before our tour of North Wales.'

Stumbled back to bed and broke the news to Julie, who was equally appalled.

Some excitement at work. Trina accidentally overheard a certain telephone conversation plus some rather loud talk going on between Grappling and P.H. and drew some interesting conclusions which left me both hopeful and, at the same time, anxious. They were, in effect, a possible takeover of Lumberjobs by I.C.T., expansion to the Midlands and, perhaps, the promotion of one of our salesmen here to be the new manager there!

Do they perhaps have me in mind?

Will Avery somehow work his way into the scene again with his smooth talk? What an action packed year this has been. What ups and downs. Had thought of doing a résumé of our activities over the last twelve months but seem to be running out of space and Julie is shouting to me to get ready for the Dugeons' Hogmanay party – kilts optional.