Thirteen

Marjorie had been silent all the way back from the centre of Tunbridge Wells. Ted waited for the explosion he knew was coming but Marjorie kept him waiting, allowing time for her anger to grow. Each silent minute that ticked by pulled Ted’s nerve ends to breaking point as he watched her going through the mail at the kitchen table.

‘Cup of tea?’ he offered in a hoarse whisper. She stared at him without replying, so he plugged the kettle in anyway.

Marjorie suddenly slammed the letters on to the table. ‘Sit down!’

Almost cringing, as if expecting to be slapped across the face, Ted meekly slid into a chair at the table, well out of Marjorie’s reach. She stared at him with repugnance, her mouth swept downwards with loathing, and visibly shuddered before speaking.

‘You disgust me. Filthy disgusting worm!’

Ted opened his mouth to protest but was incapable of speech. He saw Marjorie shiver again.

‘To think I let you...’ she began, shaking her head at the incredulity of such a thought.

Ted cleared his throat hurriedly and found his voice. ‘I know I lied to you, but it’s not what you think.’

Marjorie’s eyes narrowed into pinpricks of venomous hatred, a hooded cobra poised to strike. ‘Go on then,’ she hissed, ‘tell me what I think. Well? Come on.’

‘You think Donald and I are...’ Ted was unable to complete the sentence.

‘Oh-hoh,’ she sneered. ‘Donald, is it? Quite a little gathering that was in the precinct. You and your Donald and his fat friend.’

‘He’s not my Donald. We just happen to share the same interests, that’s all.’

‘Shakespeare. Pull the other one. What d’you take me for? I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.’

‘It’s true. I told you before, we just like going to the theatre together.’

‘If that’s all it was, what was he doing round here that time? You and him, pretending he was interviewing you.’ Marjorie’s eyes widened with shock. ‘You weren’t...’ She looked up at the ceiling. ‘You and him wasn’t ... not in my house...’

‘No!’ Ted protested. ‘Not here ... I mean ... not anywhere. He just came round here to arrange a trip to the theatre.’

Marjorie gave an elaborate shudder, an expression of her revulsion. ‘This is my house. You can pack your bags and go. Now!’

Ted stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘But ... but what about our baby?’

‘It’s my baby, not yours. You’re not coming within a mile of it when it’s born. You’re not fit to be its father. And I want you out of this house.’

‘But w-where will I go?’ Ted stammered.

‘I couldn’t care less.’

***

‘Careful! Hold it still!’ warned Dave as the stepladder moved a fraction.

Mary looked up and smiled. ‘I’ve got it. Don’t be such a baby.’

Dave slid the loft hatch across, then came hurriedly down the ladder. Mary giggled at the visible signs of relief showing on his face. ‘A big baby!’ she added.

‘I never could stand heights.’

‘It’s not exactly Mount Everest.’

Dave looked serious. ‘Like most fears, it’s not rational. Why d’you think I didn’t put them in the loft sooner? I had no one to hold the ladder for me.’

‘And here was I just thinking you were holding on to your memories.’

‘I was always torn between wanting to bury the past or resuscitate it. As you can imagine, the lad was mixed up.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘How many kids d’you know who had a woman for his father?’

Mary took his hand and squeezed. ‘I’m sure your dad really loved you.’

‘Oh, I know he did. I’ve often tried to put myself in his place, wondering what it must have been like. All the time he devoted to me and he couldn’t say ‘owt about our relationship.’

‘I think it’s better this way.’ Mary glanced up at the loft. ‘Healthier.’

‘But it won’t go away. I wish I had the guts to go public. What stops me is fear of ridicule. And for a comedian that should be a bonus.’

‘But you want people to laugh at you, not feel sorry for you.’

‘Comedy isn’t just about telling jokes - which is what I do - it’s about something absurd that people can recognize in themselves. If I had courage to stand up on stage and...’ He stopped, his eyes becoming distant. A moment passed. Mary gave his hand another squeeze. He sighed deeply. ‘Ah well - maybe one day.’

As he folded the ladder up, they heard the rattle of the letter box downstairs.

Mary froze. Dave noticed her anxiety.

‘Don’t worry. It’s probably just a bill. Mind you, they can be pretty frightening sometimes.’

He leaned the ladder against the landing wall by the bathroom and went downstairs. Mary followed. She watched as he picked up a brightly coloured postcard from the front mat. She watched closely as he read it, biting her lip. Then he looked into her eyes, frowning with concern.

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s from him.’

She took the card - a view of Disneyworld in Florida - and read it, her voice hoarse and tremulous. ‘“Hang out the bunting, baby, Ronnie’s on his way home. Should arrive any day now. Love from your ever loving ex”’ Her eyes were moist as she looked at Dave. ‘This is a rational fear. He’s a slime-ball. And dangerous. I’m going to dread that phone ringing.’

Then fate intruded. Bang on cue the telephone rang, making them both jump.