Tableland (4 page)

Rang up brother Dave and family after 6 o'clock this evening. Having “got through” with some difficulty, we couldn't really think of much to say to each other. Did not mention job – felt sure the Butts were listening in to us.

Still no decision reached. Beginning to feel worried about the whole thing and am on edge every time the telephone rings at the office. Am taking two aspirin with drink of ovaltine to make me sleep. (Eight cigarettes.)

My BIRTHDAY. Trev jumped on to our bed in the morning and presented me with a car polishing kit which he had assembled himself. ‘A shoe box,' he told me, ‘covered in sticky-back plastic.' Inside were different compartments containing polish, chrome cleaner, a rag and a duster. Was highly delighted with this and it will take pride of place in the garage.

He and Julie sang “Happy Birthday to You” as I came down to breakfast and then Julie pushed an enormous parcel at me with a card, showing a picture of Winchester Cathedral, attached. On opening it, I discovered five assorted climbing roses in polythene bags. ‘Thought these would be just the thing for your rose arbour,' Julie said, and I agreed. Gave her a hearty kiss and she could tell I was pleased. Then came her moment of triumph as she opened the larder door and pointed to a large stack of tins under a shelf.

‘Kipper fillets,' she explained. ‘The roses were a special bargain offer with so many tins of kippers. Not free, but much cheaper than they would have been at a nursery.' We all had a good laugh (though I must say I don't really relish the thought of consuming all those tins for breakfast day after day).

Good day at work. Mr Harris remembered it was my birthday as it is the same date as his mother's. We all went out for a drink before lunch to the Cross Keys. Avery joined us and the whole atmosphere was very convivial. Forgot all my problems for a while. Must say, I would feel sorry to leave my present employment especially in view of the jolly time we had this morning.

Also, as Julie says, it is something of a risk. How do we know that Lumberjobs won't go broke with so much expansion. By the time I reached home, I had made up my mind to refuse the offer and told my decision to Julie over our supper.

‘Well, I must say I'm relieved,' she said and we had a very pleasant evening. Julie had gone to some trouble with the food and we dined by candlelight (slightly reminiscent of electricity strikes, but didn't mention this).

As anticipated, at about three o'clock, when I had just returned to the office from my Liverpool area, the ‘phone rang. ‘It's for you, Mr Porter,' said Trina. The last thing I wanted was a long telephone conversation with everyone listening in so I just said, ‘Hello, Stan. Can't discuss things at the moment, I'm in conference – could you ring me at home this evening?' and I gave him our new number. Thank goodness I was able to do this as I was aware of curious glances, especially from Avery.

Just as I was about to tuck into a shepherd's pie, at about seven, Stan rang again and I gave him my decision, with Julie and Trevor having a good listen. He sounded incredulous. ‘Have a little while longer to think about it, old boy. Offers like this don't grow on trees – only happen once in a lifetime,' and other words to that effect, but I stood firm.

‘I do appreciate it, really I do, but my mind is made up,' I said. There was a click down the telephone and George Butt's loud voice came over the line.

‘Look here, I'm expecting a business call at seven o'clock. How much longer are you going to be?'

Stan's language was an education, as they say. There was a three-way conversation going on for a few seconds then I put down the receiver and let them get on with it – quite relieved that the episode was finished.

Had first good night's sleep for many a night and had sunny weather for my North Wales' rounds. Felt a load had been lifted off my mind. While I drove, I planned a do-it-yourself weekend, papering the drawing room and planting my roses. Also had a good idea. Why shouldn't we have our own coffee evening? Given up smoking again.

Julie enthusiastic about coffee party idea. Decided to hold it next Friday, 27th, and hope to have three or four couples. With the rocking chair, should have just enough seats. Background music supplied courtesy of our auto-change record player – must sort through our records some time. Julie will buy some tasty eats from Staynes and make some pastry bits. We agreed that we must ask the Downes'. ‘And what about the Price-Potters?' suggested Julie. ‘I might see Nina at badminton tonight. If I do, I'll mention it to her.'

Having met neither of the P-Ps, I wasn't sure about this. However, Julie seemed keen so I agreed.

‘We must ask the Uppes of course – and no time like the present,' I said and telephoned him then and there. Delighted to say they can come. Julie saw the elusive Nina at Badminton, who said they'd be very pleased to come if Neville hadn't anything else on that evening – she'd let us know.

It only remains for me to ask the Downes', which I will do tomorrow, being Saturday.

In the morning, dug the roses in and saw Steve over the road polishing his car. ‘How about you and Una coming over for coffee on Friday evening?' I shouted. ‘That's very civil of you, squire,' he replied, ‘I'll just have to check that it's OK with my better half,' and he vanished into the house. It was OK with his better half.

In the afternoon went for a run in the car to New Brighton and partook of some sea air and interesting views of the Liverpool skyline. Trev had a friend with him sitting in the back of the car and they enjoyed seeing various ships docked in the port and tried to guess where they came from.

After baked beans on toast, which we had sitting round the telly, had the sudden urge to start the re-papering and there was some commotion as we moved furniture etc. By the time I'd changed into old clothes, rolled up the carpet, spread newspapers everywhere and mixed the paste, I'm sorry to say the urge had gone and felt quite exhausted.

Put the television on again, brought back two chairs and saw the end of a variety show, interrupted by commercials for non-drip paint and, of course, wallpaper, depicting a bright, energetic young chap with flashing teeth proudly showing his glamorous wife his fantastic skill at re-papering the bedroom. I lay low and said nothing.

Luckily, enthusiasm returned in full spate and spent the day slapping on the pale mauve paper. Julie pleased with results and must admit it looks rather good, but still unsure of Yellow Fever being in same room.

Visited building site and tried chatting up the foreman, a stocky fellow with beard and dark glasses, name of O'Hooligan. Gave my usual chat and produced my samples of veneer flush door finishes and patent cladding materials, which I think always look rather impressive, but he gave no sign of interest and proceeded to conduct me on a tour of the houses he was building (neo-Georgian), talking non-stop. In the pocket of his filthy anorak he carried a transistor radio, which he took out from time to time to listen to the horse racing.

‘Put a fiver on Dragnet in the 3.30 at twenty-five to one and a tenner on Sir Gerald in the Gold Cup – Now would you look at this fine brickwork here. The drains were approved first go by the building inspector,' he said, swelling with pride and pointing to a manhole cover. He lifted it up and we peered down, seeing a bit of concrete, a bit of brickwork, a bit of brown shiny pipe and an enormous quantity of tea leaves. O'Hooligan let out a roar, ‘That Mick's been at it again,' and some other very strong language.

As it was cold, we went over to his caravan on the site, where he lives, and he got the luckless Mick to make a can of tea – a very strong brew, into which he poured some whisky out of a flask and smacked his lips.

‘Up the Pope,' he toasted.

‘Cheers,' I said. He then told me his life story, gave his ideas of a solution to the Irish problem and elaborated on why Everton hadn't won the Cup Final last year.

A savage-looking Alsatian suddenly appeared from under the table.

‘Down, Slasher,' shouted O'Hooligan. Slasher lay on his back and waved his legs in the air, waiting to be tickled. ‘He's fourteen and practically toothless, but looks good from a distance. Have some more tea?'

I thought the time right to present my samples again but it was now 3.30. The transistor was turned up to full volume and, I must say, I got caught up in some of his excitement. Unfortunately, Dragnet wasn't even mentioned, which meant more out pouring of choice language and I thought I'd better be on my way.

‘Good luck in the Gold Cup, and cheerio,' I said breezily but he was sunk in gloom and added an extra large quantity of whisky to his next cup of tea. A wasted day but not to worry. Perhaps I'll call again next week. May catch him on a good day. O'Hooligan, man of uncertain temper.

Telephone call from Julie's mother this evening. Wants to fix definite date for visit. Agreed on March 11th as being convenient for all (as convenient as a visit from her could ever be). Trev still very keen to own a dog. Discussed this in a reasonable manner and think I can safely say that I dissuaded him from the idea.

Busy making preparations for Friday evening when Stan ‘phoned again saying I'd be “foolish not to reconsider” and so on about “wasted opportunities” but I was adamant (I think that's the word).

Sorted through gramophone records – still have some old 78s I had when I was a boy.

‘You can play this, if you're careful with it,' said Trev, proffering his highly prized new LP of “The Drain”. Well it might give us a trendy image, I thought, so I gratefully accepted and put it in among Mantovani, Edmundo Ros and an old one of Elvis Presley's “Rock with Me, Baby”, which I bought when Julie and I were going out together. She was rather a good dancer and the sight of the record cover brought back many memories.

Chatted over old times together over a mug of coffee. Bed 11.15.

Arrived home from work to find that Julie had been to hairdresser's and had had practically all her hair cut off. Horrible shock but had to cover feelings and show pleasure at the sight as she seemed to have had second thoughts about it herself and appeared upset. Trev didn't help matters by saying, ‘You look just like a picture of Henry V in my history book.'

Suppose I will get used to it.

Am writing this up on Saturday as were rather late to bed last night. Think I can safely say, for both of us, that our party was quite a success.

Spruced myself up when I came home and moved the furniture around, plus rocking chair. Julie had on her new caftan, which she had just finished making up, and attended to the “eats” side in the kitchen. We had a quick bite of meat pie and tomato then Trev got the record player going and stacked our programme of LPs for the evening. Something classical like Mantovani to start with. Meanwhile, I was in a bit of a dilemma –of whether or not to put the two bottles of peach wine (which I had bought at the local off-licence – a good buy at £1) into the fridge or not. Decided against it owing to the cold air temperature outside. Wondered if I should have mulled it but, not knowing much about these things, abandoned the idea – it was too late now anyway.

Was just trying out the Mantovani and Julie was heating up the vol-au-vents, in an atmosphere of quiet panic, when the phone rang.

A voice said, ‘Les Crow here. Thanks for the invite but no can do, after all. Prior engagement. Tell Julie, kiss kiss, I'll see her Friday. Cheers.'

Just like that – not even a chance for me to get a word in.

I asked Julie for an explanation.

‘Oh, just someone from Badminton… you remember, we met him in Staynes the other day.' I recalled the greasy type with the tan and felt thankful that he wasn't coming to our party but at the same time felt it was very off-hand to ring us up at the last moment like that and would have said so to Julie in no uncertain terms but she burnt her wrist on the oven at this point. While she was yelling, the record got stuck and the doorbell rang loudly.

It was Steve and Una. They remarked how nice the room looked (especially the new wallpaper) and Steve pressed a bundle of pamphlets into my hand.

‘Thought these might interest you,' he said. Glanced down and saw they were leaflets and brochures on caravanning holidays. Will enjoy browsing through them when I have time.

Offered them my peach wine, which was well received, and the doorbell rang again. Ju1ie ushered in Nina and Neville P-P, who in due course also partook of the wine. It appears Neville is a sanitary engineer. ‘Would you like to inspect our plumbing?' I joked but he didn't seem very amused. Seems rather humourless sort of fellow. However, Nina seems chatty enough and appears to belong to every society, organisation and club in Weston. She and Una belong to the Inner Circle – female counterpart of Round Wheel, apparently – and the girls soon started the usual talk on schools, prices, shops, part-time jobs, badminton and so on, while we chaps got on to the topic of holidays.

‘We're thinking of going on one of these Danish farm holidays,' announced Steve and he made it all sound very enticing as he told us about it.

‘Nina's keen to try a barge holiday on one of these inland waterways, if she can get time off from this playgroup she's organising,' said Neville.

At nine o'clock the Uppes hadn't arrived so Ju1ie put the coffee on and organised her bits of pastry while I kept the conversation going and changed the records.

I was just passing the coffee round when the doorbell rang and, to my surprise, there were three people on the doorstep – the Uppes and an enormous suntanned stranger, who put out a hand to me and said cheerily and with a strong Australian accent, ‘I'm Bruce Bridge, second cousin of Sydney. Glad to know you, sweetheart.' I shook hands and said I was pleased to meet him while Sue explained. ‘Bruce is over here on an Anglo/Australian educational exchange scheme at Alan's school and I knew you wouldn't mind me bringing him with us this evening. He was eager to see a typically English social get-together.'

I didn't know what to think. Julie hid her surprise well, I thought, and introduced him to the others and he settled himself into the rocking chair, which creaked violently. He looked thoroughly at home.

Our room seemed to shrink, with his vigour and suntan, and every now and then he would jerk his left shoulder, which gave him a casual “don't care” attitude, but which was really, I guessed later, a nervous tic.

‘Now these pineapple and spam tit-bits are really something,' he said as he put a whole one into his mouth, ‘and what coffee.' I could see Julie was pleased.

‘Bruce teaches P.T., geology, biology and physics,' said Sue.

‘Tell us all about schools in Australia, they must be fascinating,' said Nina.

‘Fair comment,' said Bruce and, three-quarters of an hour later, he was still telling us about Australian education.

I must say, he was the ideal chap to have at a party. There were certainly no lulls in the conversation.

Julie brought in more coffee, the eats had run out by this time, and I put on the prized record of ‘The Drain.' The rhythm really shook the foundations of the house. Bruce's shoulder started to twitch more violently as he heaved himself up out of the rocking chair.

‘This is really swinging, man – what is it?' he asked.

‘“The Drain”,' I said. I noticed Neville turn round with an enquiring look at a familiar word.

‘I didn't ask what the smell was,' responded Bruce, quick as a flash, and guffawed loudly at his own joke.

‘How's about shaking a leg, sweetheart?' and Una was grabbed around the waist and swung around. I could tell she was embarrassed but she managed to keep up quite a good show, though I could sense that Steve wasn't too pleased. Julie said later, ‘I'm glad it wasn't me he picked on – I would have sunk through the floor.'

To cover up, Julie and I danced half-heartedly in a corner of the room, and, taking the hint, Alan Uppe asked Nina for a dance. Who would have thought Trev's record would have had such an effect.

It came to an end, at last, to Una's relief. ‘Good on you, Una, You're a sport.'

I was afraid Bruce was going to ask for an encore but he suddenly caught sight of our beautifully-bound, red-leather volumes of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, which riveted him.

‘I must just look something up, mate,' he said and he buried himself in volume three for five minutes. The topic of conversation returned to holidays and Steve was praising the Pembrokeshire beaches when, ‘Now if it's good beaches you're looking for, you couldn't do better than Sydney. Straight up, Bondi's a beaut,' Bruce interrupted, lifting his head out of the encyclopaedia, and went on to tell us about his surfing experiences, sailing, swimming, and when Sue said, ‘Our eldest is keen to go pony trekking,' he laughed and said, ‘Say no more, if it's riding you want to know about, come to me – why, when I rode out into the bush… ' and this kept us going until midnight, when I again passed round the remains of the peach wine and some biscuits Julie had found in a tin in the larder.

Shortly after this, Bruce stretched himself and announced, ‘Well, I must think about getting some beauty sleep, and that's a fact.' This was a hint for the Uppes to say, ‘Yes, we must be going, our babysitter will wonder what's happened to us.'

The P-Ps thanked us for a lovely evening and hoped we'd visit them at “The Pheasantry”, Widgeon's Covet.

We shook hands with Bruce. ‘Hope you'll come and see us again,' I said. ‘Say no more,' he replied. Was not sure what he meant by this.

The Downes' were the last to go. As he left, Steve put his head close in a confidential way so that I could smell the peach wine on his breath and said something which sounded like ‘Beware dark stranger bearing badminton racquet' and nodded sagely. Did he mean Nina Price-Potter? Una dragged him away before he could elucidate.

Bed at one o'clock after very successful but quite exhausting evening.