Tableland (29 page)

Cough not improved by visit to a small pallet factory on side of a slag heap today, nor was it improved by having to shout down the phone to Julie's mother. Could hardly hear a word she was saying, the line was so bad. The only thing I could make out was ‘Watch Top of the Pops' and I probably misheard this now I come to think of it. Julie was out at a coffee evening and bring and buy in aid of Nina Price-Potter's playgroup and the message didn't mean a thing to her either when I told her.

Was coughing quietly in front of the fire this evening when Steve called round. I'd been going over and over the truss conversation with Jim Smears – had I really said sixty? I was ninety-nine percent sure that I hadn't but there was still that one percent and my mind at the time had been full of unanswered questions about the War Games, the fish pond, Ken, Anita… Am I slipping?… Am I losing my grip on things?

Mentioned the forthcoming flaming plum pudding race, which surprisingly I don't think Steve had heard about, although he tried to cover up and flexed his lame leg a little. ‘I've come to ask a favour,' he said. ‘Una and I have to attend a conference this weekend in Paisley. The kids'll be taken care of but not the fish and I wondered if you could do the honours as you've taken such an interest in them?'

He said it quite casually but I read a wealth of meaning into “as you've taken such an interest in them”. Is this the ultimate test of loyalty before the A.G.M? A double bluff? Or is it possible that he still doesn't realise the extent of my suspicions?

Whatever, I saw it as a last chance for some on the spot investigation and said, ‘The honour would be all mine.' He gave me all the gen on how to keep his fish happy and then, as he was leaving, said, ‘Una asked me to give you this – she swears by it. Filthy taste but extraordinary results.' And he brought out of his pocket a bottle of dark brown liquid.

It was marked Dr Feeney-Green's Tonic but it might have been prussic acid and, as soon as he'd gone, I poured it down the drain.

A very amazing thing happened this evening. Was reading the sports page of the newspaper while Julie was writing some Christmas cards and checking addresses with me from time to time. Trev had the television on, not too loudly, and everything was peaceful.

Suddenly, without warning, Trev seemed to go mad. He leapt up and turned up the volume so loud that it nearly burst our eardrums. The dog started barking, Julie was shrieking for Trev to turn it down and I strode over to the set and switched it off.

‘What the hell do you think you're playing at?' I shouted. He immediately switched it on again and started pointing at the telly. ‘Look – it's Bri.'

We stared hard and to our complete astonishment it was Bri and his group.

Listened, transfixed, to the dreadful noise – the loud flat monotonous tones of the singer, who was stabbing the air with his fingers and giving wild looks in all directions. The drummer could not be seen except for a mass of long fuzzy hair which threatened to get entangled with his waving drum sticks, giving the effect of a chewed-up piece of knitting. At the keyboard, someone with dark glasses kept getting up and down like a jack-in-the-box and the two guitarists – one of whom was Bri – plucked their strings viciously and twirled their guitars with terrible force, rocking them back and forth. It was all over in a minute and the applause was deafening.

‘Yes, indeedy, boys and girls,' the DJ prattled above the shouts and stamps. “Mud in Your Eye” by The Dregs is going to go straight to number one.' More applause. ‘Mark my words.'

We were speechless for a moment or two then Julie said, ‘I must go and ring Mum.' Trev said he must go and ring Craig and I was left pondering these latest developments.

Damp and foggy morning. Had trouble starting the car, battery nearly flat. Was about to give it up as a bad job and ‘phone the garage, when I heard light padding footsteps behind me and out of the fog loomed Steve. ‘Having trouble then? What's the problem? Want a push?'

‘Thanks, I'll just give it one last try,' I said. At the back of my mind, even while trying the starter again, I knew something was wrong somewhere. Then suddenly it hit me – Steve was wearing a tracksuit, had come running up to the car and had even offered to push it! Where was his limp, his stick? The car suddenly started and I reversed out into the road, ‘How's the ankle then?' I shouted.

‘Never better, old boy.' And he jogged off into the gloom.

Steve and Una set off for Paisley today and tonight I set off for the fish pond, which led to a discovery confirming, only too clearly, my darkest… but first things first.

Julie had organised a Christmas shopping expedition today in Liverpool and, armed with our list, we duly set off at a reasonably early hour to find a good place to park. Found one in a multi-storey car park at the very top of the building after a long wait and we walked to the large store where Julie said we could get all the presents. Reminded her of the six photo albums she had already bought but she said, ‘Oh, those will do for birthdays as well.' Couldn't quite get the logic of this but I suppose she knows what she's about. While she went to get her Christmas present to me, which she had already decided on and which was to be a secret, Trev persuaded me to go to the music and records department.

We were all still feeling rather stunned by Bri's sudden TV appearance and Trev said, ‘We must get his record.'

‘Oh, I shouldn't think they'd have it in, not yet anyway,' I replied, not at all fancying the idea of going up to the rather supercilious-looking young girl and saying ‘Have you got “Mud in Your Eye”?'

However, Trev was insistent and went over to the assistant. ‘Have you got The Dregs' latest?' he asked (he told me later that this would make the group sound as if they had been in the charts many times before).

Her face softened. ‘Oh, yes – these are selling like hot cakes,' she said as she reached up and took the record from the rack.

Was handing over the money to Trev when I heard him say in a hoarse whisper, ‘One of them's my uncle.' The girl's eyes opened wide.

‘Never!' she exclaimed. She nudged her friend and I had quite a job getting Trev away.

We were eating plaice and chips in the cafeteria, thinking it was a good idea to take an early lunch, when a voice came over the loudspeaker: ‘Don't forget to visit our toy department this afternoon. As well as the grotto where Father Christmas will be handing out toys to the kiddies, a special demonstration of a brand new plastic construction toy, Bilditt, will be given by our guest celebrity and winner of many beauty competitions, Merseyside's own very lovely and delectable Miss Diane Butt, who has also kindly consented to sign autographs.'

Had to pass through the toy department on the way to sports goods, where Trev wished to inspect an air pistol much admired by himself and Craig.

Quite a crowd had gathered round the Bilditt stand, leaving Father Christmas sitting alone outside his grotto looking cross.

Fathers had brought their sons and their daughters along to see the demonstration and there was Diane, resplendent in a low-cut, clinging blue evening dress and sporting her diamanté crown. She was smiling, signing autographs and attempting to assemble a complicated kit without much success. Some of the fathers were volunteering to help.

Examined the air pistol and satisfied ourselves that it was in no way lethal – though it will be used under strict supervision – and also that it was not too costly. This purchased, we wended our way through the crowds, out of the overheated store and into the cold outside. Started coughing again and was glad to get home. Felt exhausted. No way inclined to go out into the night to supervise Steve's pond but I knew what had to be done and set out with spade and torch. After seeing to the fish, I got down to the grim business of the evening and don't mind admitting that I was feeling scared out of my wits at what I should find.

Dug around the edges of the pond and seemed to strike some large stones. Luckily there were no plants around the sides so I worked down to quite a depth and then, breaking out in a sweat and a fit of coughing, had to stop. Sifting through the soil by the torchlight, I suddenly felt a surge of excitement as I spotted something metallic lying by a bit of black plastic (which in itself was sinister – part of a bag used to put body in?). Cleaned it up with end of scarf and, unless I'm very much mistaken, it is the medallion, minus its chain, as worn by the late Les Crow. Shovelled back the soil and returned home feeling anxious and “fragile”, to borrow a word of Julie's.

My diary, incriminating as it is, must now reside, with this medallion, wrapped in tissue at the back of the airing cupboard under some towels, until I decide what to do for the best.

What a terrible quandary I've landed myself in – as if I haven't enough on my plate at this moment in time. Have had no time to think of the terrible implications of last night's visit but suffice it to say I now look forward to the A.G.M. tomorrow with mixed feelings, especially after Steve called round on his return from Paisley. Had expected some thanks for fish minding but he looked far from gratified.

‘No reflection on you, old son,' he said, ‘but there's something fishy going on and I mean that literally. I've had a nasty shock – only two inches of water in the pond. Can you throw any light on the matter? Remember I'm not blaming you in any way.' He looked straight at me and I hedged a bit, remembering the clunk as my spade had struck something hard and realising it had probably caused the leak. ‘Are the fish alive?'

‘Only just. Kev's quite upset.'

There was no way I was going to let him know the truth. ‘That's bad news,' I replied honestly and mentioned the frost we've been having and how it can crack concrete.

‘Well, you could be right. I suppose it was rather a rushed job.' This last part he said quietly, almost to himself.

My mind was in a turmoil after he'd gone. If my election for membership goes through, it will be the summit of one of my ultimate aspirations but at the same time I now feel as if I'm on the edge of a precipice. Am I about to be sucked into a web of intrigue? If, on the other hand, something goes wrong (and with the sort of luck I've been having lately, this is not inconceivable) and Mike Grope alone is elected… well, I don't even like to think about it. There's nothing I can do about it. The Wheels are in motion, as they say. Julie says I have black rings under my eyes. Is it any wonder? Will bury myself in my new Alister McLean and try to take my mind off things.

I'm over the moon, up in the clouds, riding high – all those things, so to speak! At least I think I am. No, I'm sure I am. Nothing, no doubts or misgivings are going to spoil the memory of this evening and I herewith resolve to forget my former suspicions. Who would have believed me anyway, without any concrete evidence? I can just hear Julie saying, ‘Don't be such a fool… What would people say? We'd be blackballed. No one would speak to us,' etc. etc., and she'd be quite right. My lips and pen are now sealed on the subject forever. And now the BIG NEWS. I am at last a fully- fledged Round Wheeler! Thanks due in no little way, of course, to Steve, without whose help and advice I wouldn't be in this happy position today.

Even seeing it down in writing pleases me and my recent troubles at work almost fade into insignificance beside this stroke of good luck. Not only have I been accepted into this select band of worthy citizens, but, and this means a lot to me, I have immediately been thrust into quite an important role – having been given the honour of looking after the souvenirs. A great responsibility this and one which I intend to take seriously. However, I rush on too fast.

Steve, myself and Alan Uppe travelled together to the Weston Park Hotel, not far distant, where the A.G.M. is always held, and after a very passable dinner of soup, lamb, crème caramel and biscuits and cheese, the secretary, Keith Goodchap, read out the minutes of the last meeting, amid loud calls, queries and hilarity from other Wheelers, which is obviously standard practice.

Then the important business began – the election of new members! My name was called out and to the accompaniment of claps and with rather trembling knees I rose and was pushed, I think – it all seems like a dream now – to where Ken Dugeon, wearing his hubcap, was standing ready to pin the badge on my lapel. First, though, I had to read aloud the rules and aims of the Wheelers. Was worried in case I should suddenly have one of my bouts of coughing, so cleared my throat two or three times before I began and managed to get through it none too badly. Ken pinned on my badge and, amidst another round of clapping, I returned to my seat (in a daze) to be patted on the back by Steve.

After the clapping had died down, Ken said, ‘The next item, about which most of you already know, is the plum pudding race which will take place on the 21st.' There was general laughter and stamping of feet.

‘The team will be as follows:

Bob Gubber (cheers) Ted Albright (cheers and claps) Steve Downe (more cheers and I took this opportunity to slap him on the back). Was glad that Steve would have this honour. Lucky his ankle has made such a miraculous recovery. ‘Mike Grope' (had the uncharitable thought that this was why he'd been elected) ‘and last, but I trust not least, I say in all modesty, yours truly' (loud laughter and stamping of feet).

When the arrangements for the 21st had been finalised and mention made of a forthcoming “Italian Extravaganza”, to be held in February, Ken held up his hand. ‘And now on a more serious note,' a few groans, ‘no, seriously – Colin Evans-Jones, who, as you know, has very conscientiously looked after our souvenirs for the past year, has reported back to me some disturbing news. He can't be with us in person this evening as he is attending his parents' ruby wedding anniversary in Prestatyn, but he came round to see me on Friday.

Apparently someone, and Colin has absolutely no idea who – he stands firm on this – has been tampering with the boxes!' Deadly silence. ‘I am about to show you what I mean. Keith, can you pass that one up here please?' And Keith handed him a large cardboard box, from which Ken drew out a white T-shirt.

Emblazoned over the front should have been “MY DAD'S A WHEELER”, the word “Wheele”, however, had been whitewashed out and in its place was written, in black paint, “TWIT”.

An amazed silence was followed by someone, I couldn't see who, stifling a snort of laughter, which was quickly silenced by an angry mutter. Ken held up his hand again. ‘This is a very crude sort of joke and no doubt the culprit will be found out in due course. In the meantime, however, would any of your good ladies like to have a go, do you think, at washing these out and, if not restoring them to their former glory, at least making them wearable to be sold at half price at our next function?'

A show of hands went up and the offending garments were divided between them. ‘We could perhaps have a competition to see who can wash whitest of all, with one of our trays as a prize'.

Needless to say,' Ken continued, ‘Colin feels unable to continue as guardian in the present circumstances and would like to hand over the responsibility to someone else. Now, any volunteers? Don't all speak at once.' No one did. You could have heard a pin drop until suddenly, out of the blue, I heard Steve propose my name! Came out in a cold sweat. Before I knew what was happening, Alan Uppe had seconded the motion. There were cheers and I found myself being handed two large boxes.

The meeting drew to a close shortly after this and I carried the boxes out carefully to the car. Keith was getting his car keys out and called over, ‘I hear from young Stewart that your brother-in-law's a pop star.' Could see the amused look in his eye by the lights in the car park.

‘Oh, I wouldn't really say -' I began, not feeling too pleased about this, the pop scene and everything that goes with it is not at all the image I wish to project, thank you very much.

Keith, however, went on, ‘Well, let's hope he makes it to the top. Just the sort of person we could do with to open our fêtes etc. Good night.'

Woke Julie up to tell her the glad tidings and she seemed equally enthusiastic. ‘It's good to hear you in a more optimistic frame of mind,' she muttered sleepily. Suppose I haven't been very cheerful company just lately, what with one thing and another.