Nicola Barker - Darkmans

Silence

‘Apparently they were phenomenal speedway bikes…’ Charlie observed.

‘The Dragonfly? Yes.’ Beede nodded. ‘They were.’

‘I have several lucrative contracts with the Saudis,’ Tom piped up, ‘and let me tell you, those people really know how to entertain.’

‘So what did you actually do ,’ Laura asked, ‘to get this Freedom?’

‘Did you see the look that woman gave you?’ Cheryl suddenly asked Pat, ‘when you took the rolls off her?’

‘What look?’

Pat seemed bemused.

‘What look ? You didn’t notice the look ?’

‘ Was there a look?’ Tom asked.

‘ I’ll say there was.’

‘I have a friend who once managed the women’s clothing department in the Marble Arch branch of Marks & Spencer’s,’ Laura told Beede, ‘which is always full of Arabs. And she told me how one of her girls was crouched down — picking up some stock which’d fallen off its hanger — and as she was bent over this Arab came across and just and sat down on her.’

Silence

‘How do you mean ?’ Charlie asked.

‘He sat down on her back, like she was a chair or…’ Laura frowned, ‘or a pouf .’

‘A pouf?’ Cheryl repeated, blankly.

‘Yes. Like a little chair without arms. A pouf. Or a footstool.’

‘And an Arab man came and sat down on her back ?’ Tom repeated, as Emily re-entered the room holding a soup tureen.

‘Yes.’

Silence

‘Because apparently in Arabia it’s quite commonplace behaviour. But my friend said she went up to him and she told him — very firmly — that we didn’t treat our shop assistants in that way. Not here in England.’

Emily began ladling some soup into Tom’s bowl, the corners of her lips tightened into a supercilious smile.

‘In all my years of visiting the Middle East,’ Tom mused, picking up his spoon, ‘I’ve never witnessed the kind of behaviour you describe.’ Laura shrugged.

‘If I may be so bold…’ Beede said, ‘that story has the slight ring of an urban myth to it.’

‘A what?’ Laura asked, as she jinked over to the side to receive her portion.

‘An urban myth,’ Beede repeated.

‘He means a lie ,’ Charlie translated, somewhat unhelpfully. Laura looked horrified. ‘It’s not a lie at all,’ she insisted, ‘my friend told me…’

Her eyes filled with tears.

Emily served Charlie. Charlie was grinning broadly, apparently utterly delighted by the trouble he’d instigated.

‘That’s not actually what it means at all…’ Beede rapidly backtracked. ‘ Isn’t it, though?’ Cheryl asked.

‘No. Urban myths are stories which possibly have some fundamental basis in truth but which become…’ he paused, carefully, ‘ exaggerated .’

‘Kind of like a game of Chinese Whispers, Laura,’ Pat explained, diplomatically.

‘But a Chinese Whisper starts out one way and ends up completely the other,’ Laura reasoned, ‘and my friend actually worked in Marks & Spencer’s. She was there .’

‘In Marble Arch. Yes. We know ,’ Charlie interrupted.

Laura turned to him. ‘Alice Wilson told me. You know Alice Wilson. She wouldn’t just lie , would she?’

‘Alice Wilson?’ Charlie frowned. ‘Oh Christ . You mean that awful cockney woman who runs the salon?’

Laura nodded.

Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘ Appalling creature.’

Laura stared down into her bowl, her mouth tightening.

‘I mean what were you thinking ,’ Charlie casually fished a prawn out of his soup and popped it into his mouth, ‘idly repeating some stupid story she told you in the salon here , at Pat and Tom’s anniversary dinner?’

Emily was now poised across Beede’s shoulder with her ladle.

‘I’m sorry…’ Beede suddenly covered his bowl with his hand, ‘but are there prawns in this soup?’

‘It’s a spicy Thai seafood broth,’ Emily informed him, in clipped tones.

‘It sounds delicious,’ he smiled, grimly, ‘but I’m afraid I’m extremely allergic to prawns.’

‘Oh dear ,’ Pat said, ‘I wish I’d known that.’

‘It’s fine,’ Beede smiled, ‘I’ll just eat the roll. The roll’s more than enough.’

He picked up his roll.

‘Emily could always fish the prawns out…’

Pat tried to work her way around the problem.

‘Uh… No . I don’t think…’

‘Could you do that, Emily?’

Pause

‘I suppose I could try .’

‘No, honestly , I’m allergic to prawns. If I eat even a tiny piece of prawn…’

‘What happens?’ Cheryl asked.

‘I suffocate and die.’

‘Oh.’

Emily moved back, stiffly, as if Beede’s allergy might prove contagious in some way.

‘Can you eat vegetable soup?’ Pat wondered.

‘I can eat pretty much anything so long as there aren’t any prawns involved.’

‘Well here’s an idea then…’ she smiled, ‘Emily, I have some left-over vegetable soup from lunch in a Tupperware container in the refrigerator. Would you mind heating that up for Beede?’

‘You want me to heat up some old vegetable soup?’ Emily asked, aghast.

‘Yes. You said the main course would be half an hour late, so hopefully you should have…’

Pat inspected her watch.

Emily turned and left the room.

Pat glanced up, with a slight frown, surprised to see Emily gone. ‘Well that’s good then,’ she said.

‘Please,’ Beede gestured expansively to the table, ‘don’t let your starters get cold on my account.’

‘Are you sure ?’ Pat asked.

‘Never more so.’

‘Tom’s already started,’ Cheryl murmured, picking up her spoon.

They all commenced eating, except for Laura.

‘I see no earthly reason why Alice would feel the need to lie …’ she suddenly said.

‘Please forgive my wife,’ Charlie told the table, ‘she’s taking anti-depressants and they’re making her a little…’ he paused, speculatively, reaching for the perfect word ‘… irritating .’

Laura’s hand flew up to cover her mouth.

‘So do you work on a rota system in the laundry?’ Cheryl asked.

‘Yes,’ Beede answered.

‘I was always under the impression that you worked alongside Isidore,’ Tom interjected.

‘ Isidore? ’ Beede looked momentarily anxious. ‘Yes. Yes . I do , occasionally,’ he hastily conceded, ‘on the local guided tours.’

‘Isidore?’ Charlie looked up from his soup. ‘You mean the German who works for Jeff Ronsard over at Ronsard Security?’

Beede nodded.

‘Lovely chap. Know him well. I provide their fleet. Jeff’s an old pal of mine.’

‘Aren’t you hungry , Laura?’ Pat enquired, tentatively.

Laura picked up her spoon and tried to eat a mouthful of soup, but her hand was shaking, almost uncontrollably.

‘Would you like to come to the bathroom ?’ Pat asked, making as if to stand up.

‘No,’ Laura said, ‘I’m fine.’

She paused. ‘And I’m very sorry,’ she added, ‘if my behaviour’s proved irritating to anybody this evening.’

‘Don’t be silly ,’ Tom chided her, fondly.

‘You said it, old boy,’ Charlie seconded him, perhaps a fraction less tenderly.

Laura threw down her spoon. ‘That’s it ,’ she hissed at her husband. ‘You’ve been taking pot shots at me all night and I’ve had just about enough .’