Timothy Lea - Timothy Lea's Complete Confessions

Oh, what fun we have in that drab room with the leaden sky outside. I catch a glimpse of sky sometimes. At the end of an hour I feel like a glove puppet that has been turned inside out so many times that its stitching has started to work loose.

We must have dozed off, because the next thing I recall is the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. I glance at my watch and it is still far too early for Fatso to be back. Nevertheless, I am worried. The very fact that I am conscious of the noise makes me feel that my guardian angel (?) is trying to tell me something. Mrs F. reacts to me sitting up and it is just as well that she does. Suddenly, from right outside the door, we hear a gruff male voice.

‘Two-four-six did you say? Here we are.’ There is a knock on the door that coincides with the door knob turning.

I have to hand it to Mrs F. She is on her feet before you can say ‘drop ’em’ and gets to the door just as it starts opening.

‘Oh, I’m sorry madam. I’ve got your husband here. He had a bit of an accident playing rugby.’ The bloke has obviously caught a glimpse of Mrs F. in the altogether. He may hold back but hubby isn’t going to. Oh, my gawd!! I glance round the room desperately but there is only a chest of drawers with a cupboard built on top of it. Even the bed clears the ground by only a measly two inches. What a lousy way to build a hotel. Before I can chuck myself out of the window, Fatso blunders into the room and steps on me. He curses and continues on his way to the bed.

Strange behaviour, you might think, but you cannot see him. He is holding a large wad of cotton wool over one of his eyes and the other is closed in sympathy. He is crumpled, battered and bruised and the groaning noises he is making sound very genuine.

‘Dirty bastard put his fingers in my eye: Ur-r-rgh!’ He feels for the bed and collapses onto it face downwards.

I don’t wait to ask if I can make him a cup of Nescafe but grab my clothes and head for the door. Outside, a St John’s Ambulance man is standing dutifully with his hat in his hand. His face adopts what is best described as a surprised expression as I skip past him.

‘I’m the team mascot,’ I say comfortingly before I hare down the corridor.

The rest of the Old Rottingfestrians limp in from six o’clock until four the next morning. They have lost 48–3 and their spirits are lower than ‘God Bless America’ on the Chinese Hit Parade. Drunk and despondent they are even worse than sloshed and sociable and I watch warily as they indulge in what are known as ‘pre-dinner drinkees’. At least there is no sign of Fatso, and his lady wife favours me with a warm smile as she comes down to supper.

‘I think he’s going to live,’ she says, giving the inside of my thigh a discreet squeeze that can only be seen by Miss Primstone and half the people in the dining room. ‘He told me they got hammered. I said “Darling, I know just how you feel”.’

‘Ye-e-es,’ I say, looking around nervously. ‘Let me find you a table.’

‘Are you going to serve me?’ They must be able to see me blushing from the other end of the room. Not without difficulty, I get her seated with my little friend who was looking at the market. Her husband has still not come back to the hotel and by the end of the meal the two birds are shooting me the kind of glances that make me wonder what they have been saying to each other.

I decide not to ask them and am popping back to my room when Miss Ruperts waylays me. She is swaying slightly and I take the opportunity offered by helping her back to her office to remove the three beer bottle tops that have become lodged in her crocheted shawl.

‘I do want to talk to young Mr Sidney,’ she says huffily. ‘He has been very naughty lately. I am convinced he is trying to avoid me.’ She is dead right there. Sid is at last coming round to my way of thinking and after the Pendulum Society and the Old Rottingfestrians is a lot less keen on the convention idea. ‘I have a very interesting proposition to discuss with him,’ she goes on. ‘I am convinced it could be of great benefit to us all.’

‘I’m certain it could be,’ I say, humouring her. ‘When I see Mr Noggett I’ll tell him to come and see you.’

‘Please do. You see I have an uncle, by one of those quirks of fate not greatly older than myself, and he–’

‘Yes, yes,’ I say, ‘well, I must be going.’ I am backing out just as Doctor Carboy bowls in.

‘Dear lady,’ he trills, ‘What can I say?’ He looks round the dark, shabby room like it is an Ideal Home feature. ‘Your own incomparable beauty is matched by the elegance of your surroundings. Forgive me for not coming sooner but I was engaged in a tedious search for my baggage. Alas, without success. But what care I? You are the prettiest little baggage in the world.’ I think he must be round the twist but Miss Ruperts giggles coyly and obviously laps it up. No accounting for tastes.

‘Go and make sure that the champagne is cool,’ he says to me. ‘I’ll make sure that the blood is hot.’ He is actually taking her hand in his as I leave. I always thought he was a bit batty, now I am certain of it.

‘I reckon your Miss Ruperts is on the point of betraying you with another,’ I say, when I bump into Sidney. ‘That Doctor Carboy bloke is giving her the full treatment.’

‘If only we had a few more like him, all our troubles would be over,’ sighs Sidney. ‘I hope she doesn’t upset him. You know, I think you were right about her. I can’t afford the booze she puts away, let alone anything else. Trouble is I suppose Mrs Caitley would chuck in her notice if I gave her the boot.’

‘Mrs Caitley would probably punch your head in, Sid. Come on, why fight it any longer? This place is going down the drain. If there’s anything left when these bleeding rugger buggers have pulled out, why don’t you let Rigby have it?’`

Sid sighs and does the whole head-shaking bit, like Jack Hawkins about to send Richard Todd out on a suicide mission without his cocker spaniel. ‘Oh, blimey,’ he says, ‘after all I’ve put into the place.’ I can’t think of anything, but maybe he is talking about a different place. ‘All right,’ he goes on, ‘but the bastard will have to come to me first. I’m not crawling back to him.’

Sidney does not have to wait long for the coming. The next morning, while I am helping June and Audrey clean up the results of a fire extinguisher battle–no prizes for guessing who between–Rigby’s rodent frame bristles behind us.

‘You want to try using carpet shampoo,’ he says. ‘It’s less messy. Where’s Noggett? Hiding from his creditors, as usual?’

‘I suggest you wait in the lounge,’ I say grandly. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here.’

‘No thanks. Something might drop off the walls.’

‘I thought that’s how you got in here,’ says June, loyally.

‘Watch it, girlie, you’ll find yourself out of a job when I take over,’ snarls Rigby.

‘I wouldn’t stay here five minutes if you took over. Only long enough to open the windows.’

You don’t have to be good at reading expressions to know that Rigby does not like that, but before he can say anything Sidney appears.

‘You’re looking for me, are you?’ he says, seeing Rigby.

‘Amongst many others, I expect,’ sneers Rigby. ‘I came round to tell you that I’m fed up with hanging about. Unless you see sense by tomorrow dinner-time I’m moving my boys in to start developing the sites on either side of you. They’ll be at it twenty-four hours a day, working by floodlights. I’m behind schedule and my backers want results. If you don’t take my offer you won’t be able to accept a booking from anyone who isn’t deaf.’