Six

Tony Rice finished his pint and checked his watch. Eight forty-five. Eyes down for bingo. And a bumper jackpot this week, so nearly everyone in the club would be playing. Upstairs, in the Gents toilet opposite the snooker room, his accomplice, ‘Geordie’ Pete, waited in the locked cubicle, having left the crowded bar five minutes earlier.

As soon as the bingo was under way, Rice left the bar and went upstairs. He glanced into the snooker room, making certain it was empty, then slipped quickly into the Gents, and tapped on the cubicle door.

‘Out you come, Pete,’ Rice said quietly. ‘It’s time to work.’

The bolt slid open and ‘Geordie’ Pete joined Rice under the loft hatch. Wasting no time, he climbed onto the ex-convict’s shoulders and pushed open the hatch. The temperature had plummeted over the last few days and a cold blast of air hit him from inside the roof. He wished he’d worn a sweater on top of his polo shirt. But Coleman was young and fit, strong and wiry, having spent most of the ten years since he’d left school hod-carrying and digging, so what was a little cold air but a slight inconvenience. But now his strength, of which he was inordinately proud, was put to the test as he struggled to pull Rice up after him. And any minute someone might walk into the toilet.

Rice, with Coleman’s co-ordinated strength, managed to leap and catch the edge of the opening. Coleman caught him under the arms, heaved and pulled, and Rice wriggled into the darkness of the loft as his breathless young accomplice slid back the hatch, plunging them into darkness, just seconds before someone walked into the toilet.

***

Bamber nearly shot through the ceiling when Donald tapped him on the shoulder. He glared at his partner before turning the volume down on the CD player.

‘You nearly gave me a heart attack,’ he complained. ‘Creeping up on me like that.’

Donald gave his friend a lop-sided grin. ‘Can I help it if you play this rubbish at mega decibels? It’s a wonder you’re not permanently deaf.’

‘Pardon?’

Donald chuckled dutifully, then spotted empty crisp packets on the coffee table. ‘What is the point of trying to keep this place tidy? Look at it! It’s like a pig sty.’

‘Oh come on. It’s not that bad.’

‘We can all tell where you’ve been sitting. Look at all the crumbs on the carpet. You might have hoovered before I came home.’

‘I’m not your wife, you know.’

Bamber slumped into an easy chair and stared back at Donald with childlike defiance.

‘Just a couch potato I feed and clothe.’

‘I do my fair share.’

Donald raised his eyebrows mockingly.

‘You forget. I’m convalescing.’

‘You’ve been convalescing for as long as I’ve known you.’

‘Had a hard day at the shop, have you?’

‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ Donald glanced at his watch. ‘The sun is not yet over the yard-arm, but I could murder a gin and tonic.’

‘You drink too much.’

‘Hark at the pot calling the kettle beige.’

‘In that case,’ said Bamber, ‘you can pour me one while you’re at it.’

‘I’ll get the glasses and some ice and lemon ’ Donald started for the kitchen, then stopped as if remembering something of minor importance, and said, ‘Oh, by the way, I forgot to ask you this morning: can you look after the shop for me on Monday?’

Bamber’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Why?’

‘A Portobello Road dealer’s clearing out of the business. I can buy her entire stock for a song.’

‘Oh yes. And will this mean a visit to the theatre?’

Donald acted confusion. ‘Theatre?’

‘Yes, you know: those building where they put on Shakespeare plays.’

Smiling tolerantly, Donald said, ‘I am not seeing Ted, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m going up during the day. I haven’t seen Ted in yonks. His wife’s having a baby.’

A triumphant gleam blazed in Bamber’s eyes. ‘If you haven’t seen him, how did you know about the baby?’

‘I happened to bump into him in Sainsbury’s a few weeks ago.’

‘She’s a bit old to be having a baby, isn’t she?’

Donald laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall once it’s born.’ Seeing the look of distaste on Bamber’s face, he added, ‘On second thoughts, I’ll get the ice and lemon.’

As he past his coat hanging in the hallway, Donald took a small envelope from inside the pocket. If Bamber was suspicious, he wouldn’t put it past the boy to go through his pockets. He’d have to find somewhere else to hide the theatre tickets this time. And he knew just the place. Under the sink, among the household cleaning items. Bamber could be relied on never to sully his hands by doing any household chores.

***

Rice shivered as he clicked on a pencil torch and peered at his watch.

‘What time is it?’ whispered Coleman.

‘Time to get on with it.’

Coleman swore under his breath. ‘I’ve never been so cold.’

Rice snorted. ‘You can help yourself to a large brandy, my son.’

‘I hope they ain’t locked the door to the bog,’ said Coleman. ‘I noticed there was a lock on it.’

Rice patted his pocket. ‘I’ll soon have that open. Right, let’s get on with it.’

‘Can you hear anything?’

Rice listened. ‘No. Let’s go.’ He shifted the loft hatch while Coleman held the torch. They both dropped stealthily onto the tiled floor of the Gents. Rice tried the door. ‘It’s not locked,’ he whispered. ‘Old Alex gets forgetful when he’s had a skin-full.’

‘Silly old bar steward!’ Coleman laughed. ‘Right! Let’s go.’

Once they reached the downstairs bar, Coleman asked: ‘You sure about the alarm?’

Rice gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Everyone knows Alex come out the RAF in 1959, the year Buddy Holly died. He goes on about it often enough. The alarm’s coded to assist Alex in his alcoholic amnesia.’

‘You what?’ said Coleman.

‘Means he don’t know what day it is.’

There was a sudden loud groan from a corner of the bar. Coleman gave a start.

‘Jesus! What’s that?’

The bar steward, who had been asleep on one of the padded benches, suddenly sat up, screaming, ‘Who is it? What’s going on?’

Rice grabbed the nearest weapon, a full and unopened bottle of Grouse, which was Alex’s favourite tipple, and which he had left out to have a crafty drink should he wake in the night and suffer from alcoholic insomnia. When the litre of whisky came into contact with his skull, the bottle survived the impact. Unfortunately, his skull proved to be less resistant.