Confessions of a Plumber’s Mate. Timothy Lea

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      ‘He would if he had to get anywhere near them,’ sniffs Mum.

      ‘You shut your face!’ says Dad.

      ‘Really!’ bristles Imogen. ‘I think you’re the most unpleasant old man I’ve ever met!’

      ‘That’s because I’m a patriot!’ rants Dad. ‘Because I won’t stand to see my country run down by shameless hussies who want to show off their tits and inflame men’s natural appetites! If you’re so proud of them, let’s all see them!’ So saying, he lunges for the front of Imogen’s dress, loses his footing, and collapses on the imitation sheepskin rug.

      ‘That’s it!’ snaps Rosie. ‘I want him out of my house! I don’t care if he is my father. I never want to see him again!’

      Mum stops hitting Dad over the bonce with her shoe. ‘What do you mean if? Of course he’s your father! You mind what you’re saying, my girl!’

      ‘Out!’ screams Rosie. ‘Out!’

      Imogen Fletcher rises to her feet, her hand draped elegantly against her forehead. ‘Please don’t disturb your father,’ she says. ‘I think it’s better if I leave. I’m not feeling very well. Crispin –’

      ‘But you can’t leave yet,’ says Sid. ‘You’ve hardly touched your sweet and sour pork. Anyway, there’s something I want to talk to you both about. It’s been at the back of my mind for a long time.’

      ‘Well, I think if – er, Imogen isn’t feeling herself –’

      ‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ says Dad from the floor. ‘Feeling herself, I mean.’

      ‘Shut up!’ Sid kicks Dad in the stomach and it is obvious that the evening is on the verge of boiling over into unpleasantness. ‘You stay, Crispin,’ begs Sid. ‘If Imogen doesn’t feel up to it, Timmy can drive her home. It won’t take a minute. I’ve got an idea I want to talk to you about.’

      ‘Er – well?’ Crispin looks at Imogen and I can see that he is about as keen to stay as he would be to substitute his cock for a piece of cheese in a rat trap. To my surprise, Imogen seems prepared to look upon the idea with less than total disfavour.

      ‘I’m certain Timothy doesn’t want to take me home,’ she says – is it my imagination or is that a pout at the corner of that delectable mouth?

      ‘It would be a pleasure,’ I say. ‘I mean – I wouldn’t mind at all.’ I tone my response down when I see the way Crispin is looking at me. Wary might be one way of describing it.

      ‘I think, maybe I’d better –’

      ‘That’s settled then,’ says Sid breezily. ‘I hope you feel better soon, Imogen. I’m sorry about my father-in-law. He becomes prone to these bouts of over-tiredness.’

      There is a lot more ‘lovely evening!’ and ‘don’t mention it’ while Rosie fetches Imogen’s coat. Crispin has grudgingly given me his car keys and is staring at the jumbo-sized brandy Sid has just shoved in his mitt. ‘The reverse is up and away from you,’ he says.

      ‘Your wife knows the – yes, of course, she must do,’ I say, glad that I have prevented myself from asking if Imogen knows the way to her own home.

      ‘I’m ready,’ she calls to me from the front door. Her handbag clicks shut like a trap closing on its prey and she delivers a minute flare of the nostrils as she catches my eye. ‘Goodnight, Crispin,’ she says. ‘I’m going to take one of my pills, so I won’t be awake when you get home.’ Crispin says something sympathetic and blows her a kiss. They don’t have a proper Swiss Miss.

      ‘How do you feel?’ I say, once we are in the car and I am trying to find out how the lights work.

      ‘Tense,’ she says. She feels in her bag and brings out a packet of fags. ‘Do you use these?’

      ‘No,’ I say. I am wondering whether to do any more apologizing for the family. In the circumstances, it seems best to leave the subject alone. It could sound a bit like a German apologizing for Hitler. ‘Tell me where you want me to go, will you?’

      ‘Down the end of the street and turn left. It’s very near. I could have walked.’

      ‘Better not to, these days.’ I say in my best Dixon of Dock Green voice. ‘You might bump into a spot of bother.’

      ‘You mean, I might be raped?’ She drags in a lungful of smoke and blows it out so hard that I expect it to splinter the windscreen. ‘I should be so lucky.’

      ‘There’s one or two nutcases about,’ I say.

      ‘Lead me to them!’ Mrs Fletcher grits her teeth and rakes her finger nails down my thigh. I manage to keep the car off the pavement, but only just. ‘Poor Timothy,’ says my volatile passenger. ‘You must think I’m mad.’

      ‘Of course, I don’t,’ I say soothingly. ‘You’re just a bit unsettled, that’s all. The cheese on the ice-cubes and all that.’

      ‘You think it’s giving me nightmares?’ Imogen laughs. ‘Cheese is supposed to give you mightmares, isn’t it?’

      ‘You didn’t eat any, did you?’ I say soothingly.

      Lovely Imogen Fletcher brushes some hair from her eye. ‘It’s often the things you don’t have that give the most trouble, isn’t it?’

      ‘I suppose it is,’ I say. I don’t have to get out my crystal balls to see that there is something troubling the lady. Something apart from Dad and the rest of the aggrochat. ‘Your family wear their hearts on their sleeves, don’t they?’ She gives a short laugh. ‘That father of yours practically wears his parts on his sleeve!’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I –’

      Imogen touches my sleeve. ‘Turn right at the level crossing and it’s the third house on the right. Don’t apologise for your father. At least he comes out with what he thinks. Crispin and I are less honest.’

      I take the car round the corner and pull up outside the third house. It is half a large semi-detached, painted white. I notice that they have new dustbins. ‘Here we are,’ I say.

      Imogen pulls her coat across her Manchesters. ‘Come in and have a drink,’ she says. ‘A coffee, something like that.’ The way she says it, she sounds as if she means it. ‘You weren’t particularly enjoying the party, were you?’

      ‘I was enjoying being with you.’

      Imogen waves a hand like a conjuror producing a handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘If you come in, you’ll continue to be with me.’

      I hesitate for a moment while I think what her old man is going to say. Is he going to cut up rough if I don’t show up in a couple of minutes? Sid and Rosie haven’t exactly been responsible for the party of the year, so far. Am I going to put the kibosh on it even further?

      ‘Nobody will notice if you’re away for a few minutes.’ She is right, of course. When you’re pissed – and everybody at Rosie’s was pretty pissed – people can disappear СКАЧАТЬ