"Hello Charlie - it’s Dean here....No, I’ve got a bit of a hangover actually. What about you? You sank a few pints last night didn’t you…….Yes, I’d love to. No hang on! Why don’t you and Lucinda come round here instead?…..No, no Sally won’t mind, she’d love to see you……Good! About eight o’clock then. Sally will make a lovely curry……See you later……Bye"
Dean smiled as he put the phone down. It had been another excellent Friday night at ‘The Pig and Whistle." The only negative feeling about it was the thought that he had nothing planned for today and now Charlie and Lucinda were coming round for dinner. Dean liked to keep busy, he liked to meet people and he loved making sure that everybody had a fantastic time. He would really enjoy tonight and he knew that Sally would be delighted to cook for his friends. She loved giving people a good time almost as much as he did.
Dean and Sally had been living together in Dean’s flat for almost six months now. They had first gone out together three days after Sally started working at the advertising agency where Dean was the Assistant Strategy Manager. Dean had fallen in love with Sally the moment he saw her beautifully trim figure, sensuous lips, bobbed blonde hair and large doleful eyes. He had spent a fortune on roses. He knew she was expecting him to want to make love to her after the first date but he didn’t bring the subject up. He continued with the roses every day and on their fifth date he bought her some expensive perfume. He knew this was a little hackneyed but he had a good feeling about Sally and in the end she was the one who suggested that they confirm their feelings of love with the physical act. Two weeks later she had moved in and they had been living inside a warm glow of love, respect and joy ever since. They were in the relationship of their dreams and he knew that she worshipped him.
"Dean! You’re a swine"
"Pardon"
"Charlie and Lucinda? We saw them last night."
"Yes, Sally. So?"
"Do we have to see them every day of the week?"
"No, but I thought you liked them."
"I do, but we’re going out. I’ve been looking forward to it"
"Going out? Going where?"
"Dean! You know where! To the cinema."
"No, we’re not going to the cinema. They’re coming round for dinner."
"What about the film?"
"What film?"
Dean had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had a vague recollection of agreeing to go and see some crappy film with Sally, but he knew she would rather have an entertaining evening in their lovely flat with great company, good wine and excellent conversation.
"’Voyage to Neptune’. Remember! Janet, Susie and Dot asked us to go with them. You agreed!"
"Did I?"
"Dean. YOU AGREED!"
Sally was sounding threatening now. Dean did not know what to do or how to take it. This was the first time he had ever heard Sally swear, let alone disagree with him. He had met Janet, Susie and that tall girl, what was her name? Daisy? Deidre? Yes Deidre, that was it. He had met them a couple of times. They were old schoolfriends of Sally’s, but they were rather dull company. They whispered to each other a lot, like naughty children, even though they were in their mid twenties. They laughed a lot, but never at his jokes. He conceded to himself that Sally had mentioned going to the cinema with them, but he knew that she wouldn’t really enjoy herself.
"You know you don’t really want to go to see that load of crap. ‘Voyage of the Nuptials!’"
"Dean. Let’s get this straight. I asked you last week if you would like to come to the cinema with my friends. You said that you would love to. Five hours before we are due to meet them, you tell me that we’re not going and that you want me to cook dinner for your friends instead. Is that right?"
"You’re twisting things"
"IS THAT RIGHT?"
"You know that you’d have a much better time with Charlie and Lucinda than with Joan, Sharon and Deidre."
"Who?"
"Your friends. What are their names?"
"You’re a swine, Dean"
Sally stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The vase of red roses on the table next to the hi-fi wobbled and Dean just caught them before they spilt out all over the African rug in front of the fireplace. He would light a fire later and it would be really cosy when Charlie and Lucinda came round.
Dean knew that Sally would calm down later. He had never seen her like this. Their relationship had always been perfect; she was the girl of his dreams and there was no reason for this simple misunderstanding to spoil things. He knew that he was right. Sally’s friends would not mind it if they said that they weren’t going. Sally knew that really. She was just being bloody minded.
Dean brushed his long dark hair and tightened his pony tail. He put on his coat and called out to Sally that he was popping out to get a few things for the evening. Sally was in the bath - she would probably still be there when he came back. Dean hurried down to the local shops and bought all the ingredients for the curry, three bottles of wine and some white roses.
"I’m back!"
No answer.
"Sally! I’m back!"
Still no answer.
Dean knocked on the door of the bathroom. There was no response. He carefully opened the door and looked inside. Sally was not there. He searched the flat - the beautifully equipped kitchen, the cluttered sitting room, the bedroom that was overflowing with Sally’s personal belongings. There was nothing, not even a note to say where she was. Dean was genuinely surprised. He was sure that Sally could not possibly be really upset. He put his purchases away and opened one of the bottles of wine. He lit a fire, flicked the television on and began to watch the snooker. As the afternoon wore on the room fell into darkness, the pace of the snooker became slower and slower and the wine tasted excellent. Sally came back and they made love on a boat in the Mediterranean. The boat kept knocking against the harbour wall.
"Dean! Are you there"
"Ugh!"
"Dean, it’s me, Charlie!"
A dream. No boat. No Mediterranean. No Sally. Opening his eyes, Dean realised that there was also no fire, no tidy room and no dinner. Oh God!
"Wait a minute, Charlie."
Dean tipped himself off the sofa and accidentally kicked the remainder of his glass of wine onto the rug. He swore, bent to pick up the glass and knocked over the table with the roses. When he finally opened the door of his flat, Charlie and Lucinda burst in. Charlie flicked on the lights.
"What the hell’s been going on here. Where’s Sally? Have you two had a row?"
"No. Yes. I’m not sure."
Dean sat down and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t bear this. HE COULDN’T BEAR THIS!
"So, how long have you known Lucinda."
"We were in the same class at school together."
"Really, she looks much older"
Michelle smiled, shook her head and took another mouth full of pasta. The waiter came up and asked if he could get them anything else.
"No thanks." Dean replied.
Michelle looked at Dean and turned to the waiter.
"Could I have another bowl of olives, please."
"Of course, Madam."
Dean looked anxiously at Michelle.
"You should have said."
"I just did."
Dean fell silent. This wasn’t really working out. Lucinda had said that Michelle was just the right type of girl for him, but he wasn’t sure. She wasn’t particularly good looking although she had a nice figure. She would look much better if she wore makeup. She was tall, about two inches taller than Dean and had dark cropped hair. She seemed pleasant but didn’t laugh very much, not even at his joke about the elephant and the rugby player. He hadn’t really wanted to go for an Italian, he preferred curry, but as this was a first date, he was willing to let her choose. He had sent the roses round at six o’clock, but she hadn’t mentioned them yet.
"What happened to Sally?"
"Who?"
"Lucinda told me that you just split up with a girl called Sally."
"About a month ago, yes, but I don’t really want to talk about it"
"O.K. Sorry. I thought you might help to talk about it"
"I don’t need any help thanks."
"O.K. Sorry. When I finished with Mike, this was over a year ago now, I found it helpful to talk about it. Mind you he was a real swine. Do you know, he……"
Michelle prattled on and on about some ghastly bloke called Mike. She didn’t stop. Dean sighed inwardly. This was not working out at all. Why did she think that he was interested. Sally would never have gone on like this. The only time he ever heard Sally go on like this was when he chucked her out. It had been one of the worst evenings of his life. He had quickly got rid of Charlie and Lucinda, thought about his life and decided what he didn’t need, right then, was some silly cow having tantrums about getting her own way when he knew she didn’t really want to go to the film. He didn’t need a girlfriend who was going to let him down like this. If this was what the future held, arguments over stupid things, letting down his friends, feeling unappreciated, well, he would rather be by himself. He had packed up Sally’s stuff into six cardboard boxes and ten plastic bags and put them in the sitting room. He spent the night in watching the television, and when Sally had returned and breezed in with a smile on her face and started telling him about the film as if nothing had happened he had told her that he wanted her to leave. The rest of that evening was too bad to remember. Tears, shouting, pleading, phone calls to her mother, taxis and finally, at two in the morning, peace, quiet and solitude.
"....trust and respect. It’s not much to ask for is it?"
"Pardon. Oh yes, yes. Very important."
"What do YOU look for in a relationship, Dean?"
Bloody hell! This is a bit over the top on a first date.
"I’m not sure."
"Go on." Michelle waited.
"Good looks. Having a great time together."
"What else?"
"Don’t know. That’s it really."
"Friendship?"
"Maybe. Mind you, I’ve got a lot of friends."
"Anything else?"
Dean felt himself going red. The thing was he didn’t particularly want to have sex with Michelle, but it’s what he was thinking of.
"Anything else?"
"Just the bill please," Michelle smiled at the waiter. "Thanks, Dean, it’s been a lovely evening."
"Would you like to...."
"I only live round the corner. I can make my own way home."
"Oh!" Dean looked disappointed. He wanted to have been the one who decided that the evening was about to end. Michelle misinterpreted his look and smiled to herself. Dean gave his credit card to the waiter. Michelle got her purse out.
"It’s O.K. Michelle."
"Don’t be silly." Michelle put two notes on the table.
"No really," Dean was getting cross now.
"I’m paying my share," Michelle was also getting cross.
They glared at each other, neither willing to back down. Dean signed the chit. The notes were still on the table.
"Good night Dean." Michelle walked out of the restaurant.
Dean looked at the notes, put his coat on, walked towards the door and saw that Michelle had disappeared out of sight and out of his life forever. He turned round to retrieve the money but bumped into a smiling waiter.
"Thank you very much sir. Very generous."
"She’s seventeen Dean."
"I know."
"Seventeen."
"You’re repeating yourself."
"And you’re twenty seven."
"Charlie, what’s you’re point?"
"I can’t believe you’re asking me."
"Kim is seventeen. I’m twenty seven. She’s very mature. You’re always telling me I’m very immature. That puts us about equal."
Charlie didn’t reply, simply raised his eyebrows and took a long swig at his beer. He had been looking forward to seeing Dean in The Pig and Whistle. Since Kim had moved in with Dean two months ago, he had barely seen him. It wasn’t really in Charlie’s nature to pass judgement on his friends, but Lucinda had exploded when she’d heard and Charlie felt obliged to bring the subject up.
"I know what you’re thinking," Dean continued. "But we get on very well. She’s got a great sense of humour and a lovely personality."
"And the body of a beauty queen."
"Ah! You’ve noticed have you?"
"I could hardly fail to notice when we saw you at the supermarket yesterday. I could hardly fail to notice, could I, seeing as most of it was not covered in clothing."
"That’s the fashion, these days."
"And you don’t object?"
"Why, do you? Do you object Charlie? Because if you object you can bloody well keep your judgemental prying nose out of what is certainly none of your business. Do you want another pint?"
"Yes please mate."
Charlie was pleased to see that Dean was smiling, but he knew that the subject had come to an end and unless he wanted to spend a Friday night on his own he had better not say any more.
"Yes please mate," he repeated.
"Good. This will have to be the last one because Kim and I are going to "Grooves" with her friends. Come along if you want."
As Dean went to get the drinks, Charlie sighed and pursed his lips. The thought of spending the next five hours in the company of Kim’s friends, all of whom were probably as attractive as she was, very tempting, but he knew that he couldn’t go.
Charlie and Lucinda had been married for three years. They were perfectly matched and devoted to each other. They shared the same interests in opera and water ski-ing. Their jobs had much in common: Charlie was a social worker and Lucinda was a teacher. They both liked meeting other people and often found themselves forming the same opinion of their friends: Graham let himself be pushed around too much; Helen needed to be more assertive; Dean needed to recognise that he would never be happy until he formed a relationship with someone who was prepared to stand up to him. Charlie and Lucinda knew that they had been lucky to find each other. Neither was superhuman and their interest in other people meant that occasionally one of them would find themselves meeting someone else and recognising the feint possibility of mutual attraction. They had talked this through and had vowed to never put themselves in a position where they may get tempted to do something they would regret later. This meant that a night out with Dean would only ever be that. It would be no good for Charlie to go and tell himself that he must not do anything silly. He had to plan things so that he never even got tempted to do anything silly. That meant no night out in "Grooves" with Kim and the nubiles.
Dean stared at the back of his hands. They appeared O.K. actually. His knuckles were a little pointed and he really needed to take better care of his nails, but they were the same hands he had always known. He turned his hands over and brought them up to his face, his fingers touching his forehead. He slowly buried his face in his palms and let out a huge, deep, weary sigh.
"Oh God!"
"What is it?"
"What! Who's there?"
"Darling?"
"Oh, Kim, it's you."
"Yes, of course it's me. Are you all right?"
"Yes, fine."
Kim carried on putting the shopping away. She loved going to the supermarket on a Saturday morning and Dean hated it. He much preferred a lie in with The Guardian, chuckling over the football diary and reading about the lifestyle of the rich and famous in the magazine.
"They didn't have any of our normal toilet cleaner but there was a special offer on some new brand I've never heard of so I thought we'd try that. It seems to have the same cleaning power although I'm not sure that it's as environmentally friendly as our normal stuff. There were loads of people there. You'll never guess who I bumped into. Jonty! You know, that boy who we saw at "Grooves" last night. You know?"
Silence.
"Dean?"
"Yes?"
"Jonty."
"Who?"
"Are you listening to me?"
"Of course, darling, it's just that…."
"What?"
"Oh nothing."
"Dean - it was Jonty - you haven't been listening to me have you. You're so rude at times. You've hardly said a word to me since I got back from doing your shopping. Your shopping, mind you, I've bought you all sorts of lovely things and you don't care. You just don't care about anything I do."
She left three unopened bags on the floor and flounced towards the bathroom.
"My Dad died."
"What?"
"I told you, Kim, my dad died."
Kim screamed. They were both perfectly still, Kim standing by the kitchen table and Dean sitting on an armchair. They looked at each other. Suddenly Dean wasn't in control. Tears began to form in his eyes and he looked helplessly at Kim. More than ever now, he wanted some understanding. What he really wanted was someone to take him in their arms and pat him on the back and tell him that everything would be all right.
Kim screamed again. This time it sounded a bit forced. She suddenly darted towards the phone.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to phone Alison and tell her. God this is awful….. Hello?…. Alison?….. Yes it's me…... You'll never guess what…. Dean's dad just died…..I know……I know…….Yes……"
Dean stared at her in disbelief. He couldn't believe what was happening. His Mum had phoned him an hour before with the news. His Dad had been very ill for the last six months so it wasn't a complete shock, but he was devastated nonetheless. His Dad. He was still in shock and he couldn't really think of anything….except that Kim was treating it like a soap opera. Another dramatic episode in the exciting life of Kim Julieson-Smith. Episode 45 - her boyfriend's Dad dies. Episode 46 - the funeral. Episode 47…well there wasn't going to be an episode 47, or a 46 and episode 45 was just about to end.
The soldiers came quickly but not unexpectedly. They could hear the shooting from a mile away and over the last ten minutes the noise had become louder and louder. They held each other tight and cowered underneath the table. The village was surrounded and there was no escape. They were the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time. They could have left two weeks ago with the others but they were too frail for a long journey over the mountains. With any luck the soldiers would go straight past their house….or even if they found them there would be no need to kill them - they were just a couple of old people who couldn't harm anyone if they tried. He thought of the time fifty years earlier when she had made them a picnic and he had found the most perfect place in the world - a rolling green field - a house with a chimney - a babbling brook - the trees in full bloom with pink blossom lighting up the wood and then a clearing in the wood where they had eaten and talked and decided on their future. It had not been a bad life he supposed - good times and bad times - ups and downs - ins and outs - down and around - he chuckled to himself; even in the moments preceding his death he could still laugh at a mountain of clichés, or was it an avalanche of clichés? An avalanche seemed better. She looked at him, not understanding, but knowing him completely. They held each other more tightly. The door crashed open and twenty shots rang out. Eighteen shots more than was necessary as it happened.
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