Looking for Trouble - страница 15

It was a good decision. I weeded and trimmed, staked and tidied. Dug over a bed for planting, chatted to my perennials, filled an old chimney pot with verbena, pansies and lobelia. I even changed the slug traps, gagging at the stench as I carried each one gingerly to the cellar toilet and flushed the slimy contents away. The rhythm of the work, the scent of the earth, the sun on my back left me feeling pleasantly tired and relaxed.

It was nearly six when I put the tools away and rang Mrs Hobbs.

‘Mrs Hobbs, Sal Kilkenny here.’

‘Yes,’ she spoke quickly, ‘have you found him?’

‘No, I’m sorry. But I do know he came to Manchester and I’ve met someone who put him up for a while. Another…’ I groped for a label; homeless person, runaway, boy, young man, ‘…lad. He hasn’t seen Martin for a couple of weeks but he’s going to ask around and get back to me. So far, that’s all I’ve been able to find out.’

Silence.

‘Mrs Hobbs?’

Snuffling. ‘I’m sorry. I thought, I hoped…’

I spent a couple of minutes blathering on about how hopeful I was, how lucky we were to get any lead at all, reassuring her that Martin had been fine when last seen, etc. I’d be in touch as soon as I heard anything more. All the time I was wondering how I was going to tell her the truth, if it was the truth, that Martin was alive and well and on the game, or shacked up with a sugar daddy, at best. If that ever happened to Maddie…

Now what?

I played pirates with the kids for a while and when Ray gathered them up for bed, I went and sat in the garden. Surveyed my handiwork. Ray joined me there. He handed me a glass. ‘Cocktail?’

‘What’s this in aid of?’

‘Nothing.’

I sipped it. ‘Mmm. What is it?’

‘Daiquiri. Rum, ice, lime, sugar.’

‘Nice. So?’ I turned to him.

‘So?’ He was a lousy dissembler. Eyes shifted like jumping beans and even his moustache couldn’t hide a twitch of embarrassment round the mouth. Ray’s of Italian descent but, unlike your Italian stereotype, he’s not prone to extravagant displays of emotions or outbursts of generosity. Cocktails were more than a friendly gesture.

‘C’mon Ray, I know you. The cocktail has a deeper meaning. Now, as far as I’m aware you’re not about to move out or have a baby or get married, so what is it?’

‘It’s Clive.’

‘Oh, no,’ I groaned theatrically.

‘He’s back tomorrow. We’ve got to sort out what we’re going to say.’

‘Maybe we should just give it a bit longer.’

‘It’s been four months and it’s getting worse. The guy’s a total prat.’

‘We could change the locks,’ I giggled. ‘Oh, I don’t know, he did make an effort after the last meeting.’

‘Yeah, for all of twenty-four hours.’

‘It’s not just the practical things though, is it?’ I turned to Ray.

‘Nope.’ He sipped his drink.

‘I mean, even if he remembered to clear up after himself and keep the music down…’

‘…and stop drinking all the milk, and treat the kids like human beings…’

‘…and pay the rent on time,’

‘He’d still be a prat,’ Ray concluded.

‘What is it though?’ I asked. ‘What defines his pratness?’

‘Pseudy, unreliable, doesn’t like women for starters.’

‘He seemed so nice when he came round about the advert.’

‘And he was the only person we’d seen,’ Ray reminded me, ‘and you were panicking about the rent.’

I squirmed. ‘He gives me the creeps. You know, he can’t talk about anyone without putting them down. It’s horrible.’ I drained my glass. ‘What are we going to say? Sorry Clive, we want you to move out. We think you’re a prat.’

‘We could say we don’t like his attitude,’ said Ray.

‘I’d rather not have to give any reasons. It could just become a horrible slanging match. It’d be so embarrassing, Ray, and hurtful to him. We should simply ask him to leave.’

‘What if he won’t? I can imagine him digging his heels in.’

We carried on the conversation over dinner, bitching and worrying. The upshot was that we agreed to tackle Clive some time over the coming weekend. Give him a month’s notice, be vague about reasons but, if pressed, explain we wanted someone more suited to communal living.

Ray went out that evening. Quiz night at the local. I’d gone along once to see what the attraction was. It was a dead loss for me, as nearly half the questions were about sport, an activity I loathe.