The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (38 page)

   ‘
She!
Who?’

   ‘Just a girl, she’s in need of a bed for a few nights, that’s all, we’re not an item if that’s what you think, we’re not sleeping together.’ Actually that was a lie, they were sleeping together, but sleeping was all they ever did. ‘Honestly Maria, she’s just a friend.’

   ‘Do you expect me to believe that? Did you really think I’d invite you back to my place to fool around, and afterwards, you trot home with a smile on your face to some secret mistress? I wasn’t born yesterday, Gringo Greene. I know you better than you know yourself. It’s crystal clear why you couldn’t be bothered to see me over the weekend; you were too busy with her, weren’t you?’

   ‘No, well yes, in a manner of speaking, but not as you might think.’

   ‘I’ll tell you what you can do, Gringo Greene, you can take me back to my house and you can bloody well drop me there, and after that, you can do what the hell you like! I really don’t care!’

   ‘Maria.’

   ‘Don’t you Maria me!’

   For a brief moment he thought of backtracking and taking her back to the close, but the idea of her yelping the night away with Glenda trying to sleep across the landing didn’t bear thinking about.

   They arrived back at Telford Buildings in total silence. Neither of them had spoken for a good ten minutes. The black mood continued for a few more seconds, the only sound being the clanking of a late night goods train chuntering across the county.

   ‘Maria…’

   ‘Don’t say another word!’ she snapped, and she got out of the car and slammed the door. He watched her make for the entrance, but she stopped and came back toward him. Second thoughts, perhaps? She beckoned him to buzz down the window and leant toward him and looked stonily into his face. ‘You can have one kiss.’

   Gringo moved closer. She turned his head and kissed him on the cheek. It was the coldest, most remote kiss that anyone had ever planted on him, a dismissive kiss, a hateful kiss even, one so devoid of feeling and affection that he wondered why she’d returned to issue it, and as she broke off she whispered in his ear: ‘You’d better make up your mind, boy.’ (No one had called him
boy
in at least ten years.) ‘It’s either me, or all the others; you can’t have it both ways. It’s your last chance,’ and with that she turned about and walked slowly away toward the flats, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, her high heeled walk exaggerating her tight little backside, or was he imagining it, or was he supposed to be thinking of what he was missing, the thing he wanted above almost anything else.

   He watched her go inside without a backward glance and then he cursed aloud and turned the car round and drove bad temperedly back to the close, accompanied by an overloud rendition of John Grisham’s latest tale.

The house was in total darkness and Glenda’s bedroom door was firmly shut. No light came from round the doorframe, though he felt sure she was still awake. He raised his hand and clenched his fist as if to knock, but changed his mind and ambled away.

   He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth and afterwards crept to bed and waited and hoped for her to come, as he suspected she still might, but he waited in vain. She never stirred. Not a door opened. She didn’t make a sound all night, and in the morning her door was still firmly shut, leaving Gringo to miserably set off for work.

   In the middle of the afternoon he closed his office door and rang 1966. He let it ring three times and rang off. Then rang again, half expecting her not to answer, but she did, though she didn’t speak.

   ‘Glen?’

   ‘What?’

   ‘Still speaking to me?’

   ‘It’s none of my business what you do.’

   ‘What would you like for your tea?’

   ‘I have a hankering for chicken pies.’

   ‘A hankering? You’re not pregnant, are you?’

   ‘God, I hope not.’

   ‘Then chicken pie it is.’

   ‘The whoring didn’t go so well?’

   ‘How did you know?’

   ‘You were home far too early.’

   ‘We had an argument.’

   ‘Thought so. About me?’

   ‘No, well perhaps a bit.’

   ‘Look, if my presence here is cramping your style, I’ll go home tomorrow.’

   ‘No! It isn’t! And you’re
not
going home.’

   ‘If you’re sure.’

   ‘Hundred percent. Look, I’ll be home at seven, there is something I want to talk to you about.’

   ‘That sounds ominous.’

   ‘It’s nothing serious.’

   ‘Just don’t go saying anything you might later regret.’

   ‘I won’t, I’ll see you later.’

   ‘Bye.’

After that he couldn’t think of work matters at all. What did she mean when she said:
don’t go saying anything you might later regret?
What did she think he was going to do, propose to her? Chance would be a fine thing, and anyway, he’d tried that crazy course of action before, and look where it had got him.

   Out of nowhere the demon reappeared on his shoulder and began shrieking inside his head like a banshee.

  
She’s making a monkey out of you!

   She’s making a monkey out of you!

   Yeah, said Gringo aloud, but then she always has.

He handed her the luxury chicken pie and she took it and said: ‘Ooh, nice one,’ and unwrapped it and slammed it in the oven. He could see that she’d been busy, vegetables were already puffing away in the steamer, and on the right side of the worktop she’d baked a cake.

   ‘Chocolate cake!’ he said, closing in on the fabulous beastie. ‘My favourite.’

   ‘Gringo… don’t touch!’ 

   There were two sparkling glasses set up next to the cake and a frosted bottle of wine he didn’t recognise.

   ‘Is it too early to open the bottle?’ she said, and he could see she was keen to get started.

   ‘Feel free, make yourself at home, while I,’ and he smirked in her general direction, ‘am off upstairs to change into
something casual,
so that I don’t remind my dining partner of a bank manager.’

   ‘Shut up, you ape,’ she said, grinning, and as he left the room he heard the popping sound of the wine being opened.

Earlier, when she had been preparing the vegetables, she had opened the kitchen drawer. It was crammed with cutting boards and instruction manuals for all the gadgets he so clearly adored, but peeking out from beneath the boards was what looked like a large birthday card. She pulled it free. It still carried the scent of a mid range perfume that Glen occasionally splashed herself.

   The envelope was addressed to Gringo as you’d expect, and she was sure it was a birthday card. Come to think of it, she didn’t know when his birthday was. He was a man who seemingly never had birthdays; perhaps he was becoming ever conscious of the passing years, after all thirty-four to her was pretty ancient. She went to slip the envelope back in the drawer, she wouldn’t look inside, it was private, but then again, it was only a birthday card, it wasn’t like reading someone else’s letter. What harm could it do? What woman would put it back without a quick peek? Not many, not Glen.

   She opened the envelope and took out the card. It wasn’t a birthday card at all, but a
Thank You
card, and inside it read:

   Gringo,

   Thank you, darling, for a truly wonderful weekend. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed myself. I hope you did too. I think you did!

   I am away this coming weekend, Antiques fair in Norwich, booked long ago that I cannot possibly escape, but I shall be back the following weekend, and I’ll be going down to the cottage on Friday.

   If you would like to accompany me, you would be most welcome. Come to the flat any time on Friday up till six-thirty. I shall be leaving at seven.

   Hope to see you then.

   All my love,

   Sarah,

   XXXXXXXXXXXXX

   And seeing as how I know you adore kisses, here are some more XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

and for luck XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!!   

   Glenda giggled aloud. So, he wasn’t just a talker, nor a bullshitter, he was a do-er as well. She giggled again and wondered who the hell Sarah was. It wasn’t a name she had heard before, not in relation to Gringo anyhow, and she wondered where the cottage was, and pondered on why he was at home in the Close sharing his nights with her, when Sarah was so clearly loved up and waiting for him. The card was recent so why wasn’t he spending more time with his lover?

  
Thank you, darling, for a truly wonderful weekend.

  
So Gringo was someone’s
darling
after all, perhaps she shouldn’t have been so surprised, and all those kisses too, dear God, why would he want to keep trying to kiss her when he had kisses coming out of his ears? She suspected Sarah to be a blonde bimbo loved up tart with an IQ of seventy-two. She imagined he’d always preferred blondes, and more than that, she thought about
them
together, Gringo and Sarah, the two of them in the
cottage,
wherever that was. The silly girl was probably bowled over by an older man’s attention and his big… er, big… er, car. Glen laughed aloud. It was better than any TV soap.

   He was an interesting fella and no mistake, and already she was wondering how she could use this little titbit of information to tease him somewhere along the line. She slipped the card back into the envelope and slid it beneath a teddy bear chopping board and closed the drawer, unable to resist one last giggle.

When he came downstairs he didn’t immediately tell her what was on his mind, though she was dying to know, but wouldn’t ask, leastways not until most of the dinner had vanished.

   ‘So what did you want to tell me?’

   ‘I’ll tell you with the cake.’

   It was ten minutes later when she cut the cake and set a large segment before him. She’d dusted the top with icing sugar and it looked quite professional.

   ‘How did you know chocolate cake was my favourite?’

   ‘I didn’t, but most men love chocolate cake.’

   ‘Really?’

   ‘Ah hah.’

   ‘And who taught you to bake a cake like this?’

   ‘Mother, of course. Mothers have their uses.’

   ‘Yes, they do.’

   He took a large bite and issued the obligatory
mmm
, though whether he was just being polite or really did like it, she couldn’t tell, and anyway she wasn’t in the least bit interested in whether he liked the damned cake or not, her thinking was now totally dominated by what he wanted to tell he, or ask her, and she couldn’t wait a moment longer.

   ‘Come on, Gringo, stop teasing me! Tell me what you wanted to say.’

   ‘I’m going away at the weekend.’

   ‘Oh no! You’re not leaving me on my own again. I am always on my own.’

   Gringo took another bite and tried not to speak with his mouth full.

   ‘I’ve been thinking about that.’

   ‘Where are you going?’

   ‘To see my parents.’

   ‘Where do they live?’

   ‘Shropshire.’

   ‘That’s miles away.’

   ‘Yes it is… and you are coming with me.’

   Her mouth fell open and for a few seconds she fell silent, and then she said: ‘Oh no I’m not.’

   ‘Oh yes you are.’

   ‘This isn’t a pantomime, Gringo. I can’t go with you to visit your parents.’

   ‘Why not?’

   ‘Because they will think that we are an item, that’s why.’

   ‘No they won’t, I’ve told them we’re not.’

   That was a blatant lie. Gringo hadn’t told them anything at all, he hadn’t even arranged the visit, so keen was he to fix it with Glen first.

   ‘And
if
I come, and it is a big
if
, what would the sleeping arrangements be?’

   ‘There’s a king-size bed in the guest room.’

   ‘And we’d be sharing?’

   ‘Course, unless you prefer to sleep on the rug with the cat.’