When Andrew arrived home he acted
as if nothing had happened between him and his father.
‘Hi!’ he said going to the fridge and helping
himself to a tub of yoghurt.
Claire
looked at Mike expectantly. Andrew
pretended not to notice. He took a
teaspoon from the draining board and tucked into the yoghurt, carefully
avoiding eye-contact with his parents.
‘Have
you eaten?’ Mike asked him.
‘Not
really.’
‘What
have you been doing all this time? It’s
gone seven.’
Andrew
shrugged. ‘Oh...things.
I saw this accident at the
roundabout...bottom of Frant Road.
A taxi hit a BMW.
The taxi driver was a nutter...started
beating up the BMW driver. Going berserk
he was. He nearly...’
Claire
interrupted him. ‘Dad told me you were in the pub playing the fruit machine.’
‘So?’
Mike
tried to conceal his temper. ‘So what
Mum is saying is that we know about your problem, Andy.’
‘Problem?
What are you on about?
Problem!’
‘Gambling’s
a sickness, you know. Like drug
addiction. Or...’
‘Alcohol?’
Andrew suggested, looking pointedly at his father before disposing of his
yoghurt tub beneath the sink.
‘I
don’t make any secret of my drinking habits.
If I fancy a few beers now and then...’
‘A
few!’ Andrew scoffed.‘ Don’t make me
laugh.’
‘At
least my drinking’s under control; paid for with the money I earn.’
‘What’s
that supposed to mean?’
‘Do
you want me to spell it out for you?’
‘I
think you’re gonna have to. My
spelling’s pretty lousy.’
‘Don’t
try to be clever, Andy. You know bloody
well what I’m talking about.’
‘Oh,’
Andrew sneered.‘ Hard words, Dad.’
Mike
slammed his hand onto the kitchen table.
‘Now look! I’ve had enough of
your behaviour – moping around, feeling sorry for yourself.
Making all our lives a misery.
And if I catch you stealing to pay for your
habit...’
‘Stealing!’
Andrew shouted indignantly. ‘I don’t
need to steal to...’
‘Nobody’s
accusing you of stealing,’ Claire interjected, but Andrew had already pulled a
building society payments book out of his back pocket.
‘I
told you I’d cracked it,’ he said, opening the book to the relevant page.
‘Take a look at that, then.’
Mike
glanced at the book. ‘You paid in sixty
quid. So what?’
‘That’s
my earnings from the fruit machines.’
‘Earnings!’
‘Winnings
then.’
‘You’ve
had a lucky run, that’s all. All
gamblers do from time to time. Tomorrow
it’ll be gone again. And the rest.’
Andrew
snatched the book and stuffed it back into his pocket.
‘No,
this is it. I know how to play them
now. I can make fifty or sixty a
day. Easily.’
Claire
moved closer to him and spoke gently.
‘Andrew, you can’t live like this.
It won’t lead anywhere. You need
some help, sweetheart.’
She
tried to cuddle him but he brushed her off as if he found her repugnant.
‘Yeah,
well it’s only a problem to you two. I
don’t have a problem with it. I’ve found
a way to earn that beats working in a supermarket.
If it doesn’t work out, no big deal.
But I’ve got to give it a go.’
He
turned to leave.
‘Where’re
you going?’ asked Claire.
‘To
get a burger.’
‘There’s
plenty of food in the house.’
The
door slammed. Mike sighed deeply and
shook his head.
‘Mike,’
said Claire. ‘Come and hold me. I think
I need a cuddle.’
He
got up from the table and went to her.
She held him close and buried her face in his neck.
After a moment she looked up and said:
‘Did
you notice the way he pushed me away when I tried to touch him.
Just as if he’d been burnt.
He couldn’t bear to be touched.’
‘It’s
just some teenage phase he’s going through.’
‘This
is more than a phase. He seems to be
locked in his own world.’
‘Good
job you’ve got me then,’ Mike whispered, pulling her closer and running his
hands down her back. He began kissing
her, parting her lips with his own. She
drew back.
‘Not
now, Mike.’
‘Why
not?’
‘I
would have thought it was obvious.’
‘Well,
would you like to let me know when, so I can make an appointment in my diary.’
‘Oh,
men!’ she complained. ‘Not that there’s
any such thing. It’s just boys growing
up into bigger boys.’
*
Dave had just finished sending a
text on his mobile when his landline rang.
He went out into the hall to answer it, wondering if it was another
neighbour ringing up to complain about the car.
‘Hello?’
he said warily.
‘Is
that Dave Whitby?’
‘Who
wants him?’
‘Hello,
Dave. Don’t suppose you remember
me. You did a little gig for me in
ninety-two. Police do down in Torquay.’
‘You’re
right,’ said Dave. ‘I don’t remember
you. A name would help.’
The
man had a throaty laugh. ‘It’s Harvey
Boyle. I saw your splash in The Sun
today.
Naughty, naughty. Opened a can of
worms, you did. Still, there’s no such
thing as bad publicity.’
‘I
remember you, Harvey. You still an
agent?’
‘Yeah,
and a club owner. You fixed up with a
summer season yet?’
‘Not
really. No.’
Might
be able to put something your way.’
Dave
sighed.‘ I knew there had to be a
catch.’
Boyle
chuckled loudly, a rasping sound as if he was clearing his throat.
‘I know you was never one for stag nights,
but I need someone double quick. And
there’s two hundred of the folding stuff goes straight in your back
pocket. No questions.’
It flashed through Dave’s mind that
if it was something Harvey Boyle was involved in, then it would be a night to
remember, like the sinking of the Titanic.
But right now two hundred quid was worth having.
Reluctantly, he
said, ‘Ah well, I’ll just have to dirty up my act.
When is it?’
IN EPISODE SIXTEEN ON TUESDAY
Maggie lays down
the law to her husband and Ted has a nasty surprise.
