Mr Lonely. Eric Morecambe
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he thought. I hate being called Sidney. My mother used to call me Sidney.
He went into the room the voice came from. It was just as nice as the other room and the bed was covered with one of those enormous pillows. ‘Put the champers there, darling.’ She pointed to a dressing-table. ‘It’s bigger than that stinking dressing-room, eh?’
‘I’ll say. Should I open it now?’
‘Why not?’
‘The best way to open champagne so it won’t blow is to hold the cork and turn the bottle.’
‘Oh.’
‘I read that in my diary.’ He undid the foil and the wire, then screwed the bottle round, while holding the cork. Serina sat on the edge of the bed. Sid wondered if she was still wearing his glasses. The cork left the bottle followed by a shower of two full glasses of wasted champagne. Serina laughed. It sounded like the scream of cattle on barbed wire.
Sid shouted, ‘Oh, sod it.’
‘I hope that gave you some ideas, Sidney.’
He held the bottle to her glass and filled it. The bubbles subsided. He handed her one glass. She was about to lie back. ‘Don’t lie down, darling,’ Sid almost shouted.
‘Oh, something different in mind, Sidney?’
He poured one for himself. ‘Yes.’
‘How do you do it with your clothes on?’ Serina giggled. Her giggle was softer than her laugh, very similar to a dentist’s high-powered water drill.
‘Slowly,’ he grinned.
‘Not too slowly, I hope.’ From the other room the tape was going strong. ‘Turn off the tape in the other room, cherub,’ she instructed.
‘Yes, okay.’
Sid left the bedroom and went back to the other room. He turned the tape off, and looked at the still-percolating coffee. He touched the glass. It was still very hot. If I hadn’t turned that off, we might be in orbit by now, he thought.
He went back to the bedroom. Serina was now naked and pouring another glass of champagne. Her back was turned towards Sid and his reading glasses were still safe. She drank her champers down and passed him a full glass. He took it and drank it quickly. She was starting to get heady.
‘Sid, you’re lovely.’
‘Yes, I know,’ he said.
‘Come to bed.’ He undid his tie. ‘Allow me.’ She took off his shirt and slowly undressed him, drinking and laughing. Sid thought, This is going to be one hell of a night. A night to remember. I’ll ask her for my glasses tomorrow.
Sid drove home with drunken care—the kind of driving a police patrol would notice instantly. Twenty-three miles an hour in a thirty mile an hour zone, twenty-nine miles an hour in the forty mile an hour zone; and ninety miles an hour in the seventy mile an hour zone. He had had a few so the best thing to do was to drive with all due care. It was two-fifteen a.m. The Rover cruised in a straight line, albeit in the centre of the road. The roads were empty and, anyway, he was only a few minutes away from his house. Past the Tally-Ho Corner and turn right at the Torrington Arms, into Friern Barnet and home. 22 Peacock Lane. Every time he drove down Peacock Lane, he felt satisfaction, a feeling of achievement. It gave him pride. Tonight, as he drove back towards Peacock Lane, having missed the turning, he felt all three—pride, and the satisfaction of his achievement. He thought, if he had a family motto, it would be: Pri, Satis, Achi.
Soon now, he told himself. Slow down. 22, 22, where are you—22? Oh, there you are. The white Rover slowly turned into the gravel path, through the ever-open gates, and went towards the closed garage doors. Carrie’s car’ll be in the garage, he thought, so I’ll have to back up and open the garage doors. Cobblers. I’ll leave it out. It’s a nice night and she’ll be able to take Elspeth to school in it tomorrow. I’ll leave the keys in the usual place, under the tin of Cadbury’s Lucky Numbers Assortment in the kitchen.
Sid said all this to himself in the car while fighting to get out of the seatbelt without unlocking it. A thought came to him. Stop. Unlock the seatbelt, son. That’s a good idea. I know. Do it now. He did and the belt slid back and once again he was a free man.
He quietly closed the car door and locked it from the outside. He quietly opened the car door again and turned off the lights. He then banged the car door shut. He did not actually roll towards the front door and he did not exactly stagger, it was both, more of a rollagger. He looked up and above his front door saw the space for the immortal words—Pri, Satis, Achi. For a full two minutes he tried to open the front door with his car keys. After several deep breaths and a search of pockets, he found the door key and let himself in. The porch light was on, as always. He tiptoed into the dark kitchen, made his way across to the pantry and put the light on there, left the front door keys under the Cadbury’s Lucky Numbers tin, turned out the pantry light, crossed the dark kitchen towards the porch light and switched the kitchen light on, thinking he was turning the porch light off as he closed the kitchen door.
Carrie, his wife, was at the top of the landing, slowly making her way downstairs. She was wearing a dressing-gown over her nightie. Sid looked up and at one glance knew there was something wrong. She looked so ill. She had obviously been crying. Her eyes were puffed and red. Sid became sober within a few seconds. He walked up the stairs towards her. Tears were welling up in her eyes. He gently put his arms around her shoulders and slowly guided her down the stairs. A hundred things went through his mind: His mother had died. Her father. They’d been robbed. She’d been raped. She’s found out about Serina. How? Serina had phoned her. Why? What for? Spite. Balls. Use your head.
He took her into the best room and switched the lights on, sat her down on the sofa and held her hand. He knew he must not rush her, let her cry. ‘It’s all right, love,’ he soothed. ‘You cry.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Would you like a drink? A cup of tea, darling?’ She shook her head. ‘Would you like to tell me what has happened?’ He smiled to give her confidence, he hoped. Carrie seemed to have a little more control of herself now.
‘Didn’t you get my message, Sid?’ she asked. ‘It’s Elspeth.’
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