Timothy Lea's Complete Confessions. Timothy Lea

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СКАЧАТЬ “You’ve behaving like an overgrown boy scout. I’m no more a sex maniac than you are. A bloody sight less if what I saw last night is anything to go by.”

      Although constructed purely out of spite and imagination, this is a master stroke because Dawn has told me that the bird Sharp was with at the YCs dance was none other than Minto’s daughter and that they are practically engaged. Certainly Sharp’s interchange with Minto before my discovery has revealed a considerable familiarity. From the looks on both their faces I can see that this may well be a thing of the past, and I am not slow to follow up my advantage.

      “I saw you in the car park with that dark-haired bird. Bloody good job the police didn’t. You want to get some blinds on the car if you’re going to carry on like that.”

      “Shut your lying mouth,” howls Sharp, clenching his teeth and bringing back the head of the putter.

      “Why? A bit close to home, is it? You don’t mind pointing the finger at other people, do you? But when it comes to—”

      “Get the police!” snarls Sharp. “Can’t you see he’s trying to play for time? If we hadn’t got here when we did, he’d probably have killed that poor girl.”

      “Just what I thought last night when I saw your friend’s feet wedged against the windscreen,” I go on. But I don’t get any further. Sharp takes a swing at me and the putter slices the air above my head. Before he can try another one I step forward and hook him hard to the pit of the stomach. His head jerks forward and my left swings in and catches him flush on the side of the jaw. They are as pretty a couple of punches as I have ever thrown and when my left whips into his mug I know it is going to need a crane to set him on his feet within five minutes.

      At the sight of his mate biting the dust, Minto looks about as happy as a goldfish dropped into a tank of piranha, but he still tries to come cocky with it.

      “Stay where you are,” he snaps, his voice quavering a bit. “Don’t try anything.”

      “Piss off,” I say, because I am no stranger to the big bluster myself. “Get in my way and I’ll push your face in.”

      I get my arms under Mrs. D. and haul her up until I can give her a fireman’s lift on to my shoulder. Sharp is beginning to stir but he is in no mood to cause anybody any problems and I step over him and out of the bunker like Edmund Hillary. Minto runs along beside me, jumping up like a Yorkshire terrier.

      “I’ve warned you. You won’t get away with it. Put that woman down. I’ll fetch the police.”

      “Why don’t you do that. I’ll lend you a soap box if you have trouble reaching the receiver.”

      He splutters something and I keep walking. In fact, I have no idea what I am going to do apart from getting the hell away from the place. Fate obviously does not want me to become a driving instructor and after today’s little episode my career beside the wheel seems likely to become one of the shortest on record.

      I stalk over to the car and pour Mrs. D. into the back seat whilst Minto makes an M.G.M. production of taking my number from a safe twenty yards.

      “There’s three more on the seventh green,” I shout to him. “I cut them up into little pieces and poked them into the hole with the flag.” I throw in my mad laugh for good measure and he starts scuttling off down the road towards the clubhouse. Good luck to him.

      I climb behind the wheel and jet off towards town, wondering what I am going to do with Mrs. D. I am supposed to take her back to the School but I don’t fancy that although I don’t know where she lives. I wish my mind would sort itself out and start thinking clearly, but it won’t.

      Luckily, Mrs. D.’s mind is more helpful.

      “Ooh, my God!” she groans. “What happened?”

      “We were having a quick grope in a bunker when you caught a golf ball across the side of your nut.”

      “Ouch!” She touches her temple gingerly. “My God, it feels like another head.”

      “It’s not so bad. Just a bruise. You’ll be alright.”

      “You don’t sound very worried. I might have been killed.”

      “That’s just what my friends thought.”

      “What are you on about?”

      So I tell her and she makes a few clucking noises and tut-tuts a couple of times and then she actually laughs.

      “I don’t see what you’re worried about,” she says finally, patting her hair into place.

      “I’m worried about getting fifteen years nick, aren’t I?” I tell her.

      “Well, that all depends on me, doesn’t it?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Well, they’re only going to be able to put you inside if you were assaulting me and I’m the only person who can say whether you were or weren’t.”

      “Yeah, I see what you mean.” I look at her with new interest. “You’ll tell them it was an accident, of course. Better stick to my story. You know, how you fell into—”

      “Turn left up this track,” she interrupts. “You’ll like the view.”

      “Well—er—yes, alright.” I would be a mug to argue with her, wouldn’t I? We go along the track for fifty yards and then we are in the middle of a clump of trees with no way out except the one we came in by.

      “Where do we go from here?” I ask.

      “That’s up to you.” She turns and faces me with her elbow resting on the back of the seat.

      “Are you feeling all right?”

      She looks at me very levelly. “I’ve got a little pain you might try to kiss better.”

      She is a game girl, isn’t she? Either that or a bit gaga after her bash on the bonce. Either way, it’s not in my interest to be less than co-operative, so I slide my arm round her shoulder and start pulling her mouth towards mine. To my surprise, she puts her hand on my lips and shakes her head.

      “I thought you said you wanted me to kiss it better?”

      “I did, but that’s not where it hurts.”

      She stretches back in her seat and at the same time drops her hands and starts gently pulling up her skirt. My eyes go down and I don’t need crystal balls to see what I am expected to do.

      “Good boy,” she says, stroking the hair at the back of my neck. “I feel better just thinking about it… .”

      Twenty minutes later I am driving Mrs. D. home when a police car roars up alongside me and I am crowded into the side of the road before you can say “All coppers are bastards”. Four fuzz pile out of it like it is on fire and one of them wrenches open my door and stands there breathing hard. He is about to grab a handful of me when he sees Mrs. D.

      “Thank God!” he says. “Has this man attacked you?”

      “No,” СКАЧАТЬ