Tableland (3 page)

Strange visit from our next door neighbour, Butt, this evening. ‘Hear you're going to be on a party line with us, mate,' he said. ‘Try to keep off the phone between seven and nine in the evening, will you? There's a good old pal. I have important business calls coming through at those times – OK?' I was too annoyed to reply – what business calls could he possibly have at all in his capacity as a window cleaner. Showed him the door in what I hoped was a dignified manner.

Still feeling annoyed about the news that we are to share our party line with the Butts and feel sure they'll be listening in to all our private and important conversations.

Kipper fillets again for breakfast. Stan Swindlehurst rang up to postpone lunch until next Wednesday due to a cold. Snow turning to slush. Arrived home to be greeted by Julie announcing triumphantly, ‘Look what I've got' before producing a badminton racket. Now that she is going to try to slim by exercise, she felt justified in eating an enormous supper.

PTA meeting at Trevor's school. Una Downe kindly babysat for us. Can't honestly say that we contributed much to the success of the evening. The hall was crowded and we only knew one or two people by sight. Julie kept saying, ‘There's Nina Price-Potter – I'm sure that's Nina P-P over there' and nudging me.

Haven't the slightest idea who Nina P-P is and the name somehow annoyed me. When she said it for the sixth time I said, ‘Well go and say hello.' Saw her go over to a woman with black hair and glasses. She returned a few seconds later looking sheepish. It was not Nina Price-Potter. Apparently all the children from this school will be going on to the new comprehensive and Trev will be starting in September.

After the talk and a cup of coffee, we returned home. Una said mysteriously, ‘You know, this painting is very symbolic.' Julie seemed pleased by the remark.

Stan Swindlehurst rang up to fix another date for lunch at the Tosca next Wednesday.

Julie went to first badminton game and returned home very tired. Said she'd had a job keeping up with her partner, who was very athletic. Discovered Nina Price-Potter also member of badminton club but she was not there this evening.

Julie moaned about stiffness and aching muscles all day. Was selecting a can of spray starch in Staynes this morning when, turning round to consult with Ju1ie, I saw her eye caught by someone rummaging in the yoghurts. He must have felt our eyes on him as he turned around. To my amazement, he gave Julie a wink and a thumbs up sign. I don't think I'm being unfair but to my mind he resembled a gorilla – too much black greasy hair, droopy black moustache, a sun tan – in February – and one of those medallions round his neck. Looked at Julie, expecting to see her give her famous “deep freeze” look, which can be a real turn off, but to my further astonishment she turned pink and gave him a little smile. ‘Just someone from badminton,' she said.

Made up my mind to work at the rose arbour and spent pleasant afternoon in garage cutting timber to different lengths. Suggested to Julie that she might lose some of her stiffness by helping me but she was not amused. Returned Steve's drill and thought of offering to get some off-cuts for him, but he and Una were out at a function. It's something to do with the Round Wheel, their friend who was baby sitting said. ‘What is this Round Wheel?' I asked myself.

Kipper fillets again for breakfast. ‘I'm getting a bit sick of these,' I remarked and Trev agreed. Julie seemed rather upset so didn't say any more on the subject.

Trev spent today with a friend from school and came back saying, ‘Can I have a dog or some sort of pet – I'll look after it myself.' His friend, Craig, has two dogs, a rabbit, three hamsters, a tortoise and a Peruvian gerbil, whatever that is. All I can say is that their garden must be in a pretty unhygienic state. ‘We might see about getting a goldfish,' I said, feeling big-hearted, but Trev gave a scornful laugh and went out of the room banging the door.

Another letter from the G.P.O. saying that our telephone would be installed on Friday and that our number would be 5625. Sent this information to Julie's mother, Dave, Uncle Charlie, Auntie Bee, my Watford cousins and a few close friends still living in Southmere.

Hoped to get in early this evening as Monday is a good night for television, but was held up at work.

Julie still hasn't taken the hint and we had kipper fillets yet again this morning. They are definitely beginning to make me feel sick and I went to work with a very peculiar taste in my mouth, which lasted all day. Had to have a dose of salts before I could face my supper. Hope I feel better tomorrow for my lunch at the Tosca.

What a day this has been. Stan Swindlehurst came promptly to the office at half-past twelve. He arrived with a flourish and much honking of horn. Everyone rushed out to see what the noise was about and gathered round to admire Stan's new Triumph Stag. I must say, it was a most impressive sight with its sleek lines, gleaming chrome and painted a very tasteful shade of brown. The hood was down and I felt rather proud, I must say, as I sat there while Stan started her up.

‘What do you think of my new number then?' shouted Stan, as we belted along. ‘Just the job,' I shouted back and then asked some knowledgeable questions about the running costs, fuel consumption and so on, but unfortunately most of Stan's answers were carried away in the howling wind.

To be honest, I arrived at the Tosca numb with cold and had to go straight away to the gents', which was being redecorated, to run my hands under the hot water tap to get a little feeling back into them. My eyes were streaming and my hair standing on end, but I soon made myself presentable again and went to find Stan in the cocktail bar. ‘They do a good dinner dance here on a Saturday evening. Dress formal and chicken in the basket,' said Stan. ‘What's your poison, old boy?' he asked with a wink. ‘A beer, please.' ‘Why not try this little concoction I'm having? It's a speciality of the house – Bacardi Sunset.' ‘Sounds good,' I said. ‘Alright, I'll give it a whirl.'

Very good it was too. Very warming and a delicate shade of pink. Must remember it when we have a party. Stan studied the menu and I looked at my surroundings, while picking at the crisps on the counter. It was the last word in sophistication.

I think the general theme was Spanish or Italian maybe, but I could also see oriental and West Indian influences in the bead curtains and bamboo-covered bar. The walls were covered in crimson flock wallpaper, except for the panels of panoramic photographs of Scottish mountains, and over the ceiling was white trellis work through which dripped hanging green leaves – whether these were genuine plants or plastic it was hard to say. The tables were grouped round a small parquet dance floor in the middle and, on a small stage in the corner, I could see a white electric organ and some drums covered by a dust sheet. Hanging between the leaves in the middle of the ceiling was a large ball covered in pieces of mirror.

I suppose in the evening, dinner dances and other similar functions would be held there. At the side of the bar and behind small wrought iron gates was a fountain and pool made of pink marble – a beautiful work of art, but completely dry. Stan explained later that a week or so ago there had been a terrible flood – the goldfish and plastic water lilies had ended up all over the carpet, causing chaos among the staff, and the head waiter had threatened to leave if the water was turned on again.

Stan was obviously very much at home at the Tosca, deep in conversation with the barmaid, a fat blonde called Sharon, and exchanging jokes with her. He returned to the menu again.

‘Well, what will it be?' he asked me. ‘What do you recommend, Stan?' I've always thought this a safe answer. ‘Well, to start with I usually have the pâté maison – they do a very good pâté here, with plenty of garlic – and then the speciality of the house is their fried scampi provençal with French fries and the vegetable de la jour. How does that sound?' ‘Sounds great to me.'

‘Right.' He beckoned to the foreign-looking waiter, who took our order and showed us over to a table by the window, where we had an interesting view of the car park, through draped nylon curtains, and were able to watch all the comings and goings.

There was a strange savoury smell floating in the air, which might have been chips, and, with Edmundo Ros and his Latin American band playing softly in the background, the whole atmosphere felt very exotic.

‘They know me here. Good for the old VIP treatment,' Stan confided but I could tell he was annoyed when he found a small piece of glass in his pâté.

We talked of this and that and commented on the decor of the Tosca, the cars in the car park and so on, when suddenly, halfway through the scampi, Stan came to the point.

‘Look here, old chap,' he said, leaning across the table, so that I could see blackheads in his chin. I wondered what was coming. ‘We're about to expand Lumberjobs fairly soon. It'll mean new openings, with good prospects for bright young men. In fact, I'll not beat about the bush, for men like you. First rate salaries,' (he mentioned a sum which staggered me) ‘prospects of travel abroad, possibly your own room and secretary – now how does that sound?'

I have tried to remember his chat word for word.

‘Just think it over for a few days. I know you don't want to rush into anything – but good offers like this don't happen every day, do they, eh?' To say I was amazed would be putting it mildly. I was dumbfounded.

‘Well thank you very much, Stan. It's a great honour and all that…'

‘I'm sure you have the right qualities for a position in Lumberjobs,' he continued. ‘With your knowledge of the timber trade…' He whistled through his teeth. ‘Now we're in Europe, I may safely say the world's your oyster.'

I hardly noticed our dishes being whisked away and immediately the laden sweet trolley was wheeled beside us.

Stan appeared to have forgotten our electrifying conversation as he studied the cream cakes, pink and bright green mousses, trifles, two fruit flans covered in jelly, éclairs and a lemon meringue pie. He settled on what he called chocolate gâteau with some lime mousse and I had an éclair, which I had to force down after all the excitement.

I tried to ask a few sensible-sounding questions about the enlargement of the factory, the production and managerial side etc., but my mind was seething with the idea. I needed time to think things out. Stan made some more flattering remarks about my capabilities and then called the waiter over for the bill, which he signed with a flourish. ‘You could make eating here a regular habit if you join us.'

‘That's food for thought' I joked spontaneously and we both laughed.

It was a quarter to three when he dropped me back at the office. ‘I'll ring you one day next week,' he said, with a knowing look, and speeded noisily away out of sight.

I could hardly concentrate on work for the rest of the day and am writing this at five to twelve as Julie and I have been talking round and round in circles about it all evening.

Could not sleep last night, turning the idea over in my mind again and again. Over the kipper fillets, Julie changed her mind about the offer six times and even Trevor aired his opinion in a mercenary way which I didn't like. Smoked five cigarettes after I'd sworn to give them up six months ago… These were Julie's.

‘I don't know if all this foreign travel would be a good thing,' said Julie.

‘Oh I don't know,' I replied. ‘Should be rather interesting Germany, Belgium, Holland.' But I could see the idea didn't appeal to her.

When I came home, I could see that Julie had gone off the whole idea – calling it a risk and, ‘I don't like the sound of this private secretary.' Unreasonably, the more she says against it, the more I feel inclined to favour it.

Our telephone was installed and our only bit of bad luck today was that Bri rang up. Our first incoming phone call and it had to be him. He is apparently in Wolverhampton. Afraid I was rather short with him. Said he was coming over to Liverpool. Suppose he wanted “putting up” but know him only too well. Besides, I have other important matters on my mind without worrying about Bri just now.

Julie seems to be enjoying her badminton.

No Valentine's Card, only a bill in the post. Not much sleep again last night and no decision reached yet. Put the posts in for the arbour and took some washing and blankets down to the launderette which also has a self-service dry cleaning department. While Julie organised the blankets, I put our bundle of washing into a vacant machine and was glad to sit down for a few minutes. A pair of my striped blue Y-fronts, which we had bought in the sales, seemed to get stuck against the window of the machine and, while all the rest of the washing tumbled around, these wretched pants stayed in full view for the whole programme. Couldn't swear to it but am sure all the women sitting round were sniggering. Tried to think of higher things but felt cross and embarrassed and was relieved when the machine came to a stop, especially as Sue Uppe was just coming in. Hope she didn't think me rude as I just said hello and didn't stop to talk.

Saw Steve cleaning his car in the afternoon and suggested getting some wood for him in case he wanted to build a trellis in his garden, but he said, ‘Thanks all the same, but I've got other plans.' Wonder what he has in mind.

Heard about their evening with the Round Wheelers last Saturday. It was a Scottish country dance night (which explained the sporran remark of the other evening I suppose) complete with plastic boar's head and haggis – which Steve described as an “interesting gastronomic experience”. They had dancing to tapes with all the traditional reels and a good time was had by all. I gather Alan Uppe is also a member of the Round Wheel and they all sound a cheery bunch of chaps.

I told Steve about lunch at the Tosca and said that I could thoroughly recommend it, but he said, ‘Oh yes, Una and I went to a formal dinner dance there last month.'