Confessions of a Plumber’s Mate. Timothy Lea
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the buses the way they are,’ says Mum, pressing shut the studs on her flower-motifed Packy-Macky – it looks like a shower curtain. ‘They travel in convoys. If you miss one you can wait for hours.’
‘It’s them sambos,’ says Dad. ‘They’re all used to living in tribes so they stick together. You never see a white bus conductor, these days.’
‘We want to get there a bit early, anyway,’ says Mum. ‘Eight o’clock is too late for supper. I’m surprised at Rosie.’
‘You’re right,’ says Dad. ‘I’ll think I’ll pop into the kitchen and make a bacon sandwich to tide me over. Do you fancy one, son?’
‘Oh no you don’t!’ says Mum. ‘I’m not having you ruining your appetite and getting your fingers all greasy. I want you to do Rosie’s meal justice.’
Of course, we end up getting a bus almost immediately and arriving on Rosie’s doorstep just after seven. I know that my sister is not going to be very glad to see us but at least it will give me time to sort out my business with Sid.
It is the man himself who wrenches open the front door. ‘Blimey,’ he says. ‘It’s you. I thought it was the food.’
‘The food?’ says Mum.
‘Rosie’s having one of her Chinese evenings,’ says Sid. ‘It’s brought up from Limehouse.’
‘A lot of it’s brought up in Limehouse, so I hear,’ says Dad. ‘Oh dear, I’ve never been very partial to chink nosh. It comes out the way it goes in if you know what I mean.’
‘Walter, please! Don’t let’s have any of your distasteful remarks at this stage of the evening,’ says Mum. ‘Well, Sidney. Are we going to be allowed to cross the threshold?’
Sid steps to one side hurriedly. ‘Of course, Mum. Come inside. I’ll get you a drink.’
‘I must have a word with you,’ I hiss to Sid.
‘Yes I know,’ says Sid. ‘In a minute.’ He follows Mum and Dad into the house, leaving me to wonder how he could have found out my guilty secret so soon.
‘Tell them to put it on the table,’ shouts my sister’s voice from upstairs. ‘I wouldn’t put it past Mum to roll up in a minute. Anything free has them round faster than –’
‘Ah hem!’ hollers Sid. ‘The family are here, dear. I’m just giving them a drink.’
‘I’ll be right down!’ Rosie’s voice changes so that it flows down the stairs like a torrent of treacle.
‘What would you like, Mum?’ says Sid.
‘A sherry would be nice,’ says Mum. ‘I see you still haven’t got the settee covered.’
I knew Mum would pick on that. I have always thought it was strange, myself. I don’t know how they can stand that bare leather. It looks so unfinished.
‘It’s meant to be like that,’ says Sid, handing Mum a glass.
‘That’s not very generous, Sidney,’ says Dad. ‘You might give your mother-in-law a decent tumblerful. It’s not often we’re invited here.’
‘That’s a special sherry glass,’ I say. ‘You have to have it in that.’
‘That’s right,’ says Mum. ‘Don’t you know nothing, Walter? I can always have another one.’ She hands Sid back her now empty glass. ‘Try to develop a little couth, dear.’
‘I’m thinking of you, that’s what I’m doing,’ grumbles Dad. ‘You’re my wife and I’m standing up for you.’
‘You’ve left it a bit late for that,’ sniffs Mum. I am not quite certain what she means by that remark and less than eager to find out.
‘What are you having, Dad? Scotch?’ says Sid.
‘Just a large one,’ says Dad, looking round the room, eager to see everyone laughing at his joke.
‘Why do you always have to say that, Walter?’ says Mum. ‘Why can’t you think of something original?’
‘Being offered a scotch by this geezer is original enough for one evening,’ says Dad.
‘I’ll have a scotch, too,’ I say.
‘I’ve got some light ale in for you.’ Sid nods towards a crate in the corner.
‘No thanks, I’ll still have the scotch.’ I would rather have the light ale but I don’t like the thought of having such unsociable tastes that they have to be specially catered for. I remember how Dad used to grumble about getting a bottle of peppermint cordial in for Gran when she used to spend Christmas with us. I expect she misses it where she has gone.
Sid catches my eye. ‘It’s a disaster, isn’t it?’ I think he is talking about this evening and nod. ‘At least she got out alive, that’s the main thing.’
‘You could look at it like that,’ I say – reckoning that he is talking about my ordeal in the snow. Frankly, his words puzzle me. Having first-hand experience of Shirl’s insatiable appetites I would say that it was I and the other bloke who were lucky to get out alive. Shirl’s survival potential was never in doubt.
‘I mean, what’s a lorry compared to a human life?’
What is Sid on about? There is nothing wrong with Enid. It occurs to me that he may be talking about something else. That would account for him not having thumped me round the earhole the minute I came through the door. Perhaps he doesn’t know anything about the broken glasses. ‘Sid –’ I begin.
‘I must have nudged it out of gear with my backside,’ he says. ‘I’d put the hand brake on I’ll swear to it. I got my head up for a second and there it was, slipping backwards.’
‘Your head?’ I say.
‘No, you berk. The lorry. Thank goodness she could swim.’ Sid shakes his bonce. ‘Oh, I shudder every time I think about it.’
‘Sid,’ I say. ‘I think you imagine I know more than I do. Are you telling me that you were farting about with some bird in the cab of your lorry and managed to shunt the whole bleeding issue into the drink?’
‘Drink?’ says Dad. ‘Your mother and I wouldn’t say no. What are you two talking about?’
‘Where’s Rosie?’ says Mum. ‘She is expecting us, isn’t she? I want to see the children.’
‘Go up if you like,’ says Sid. ‘She won’t mind. She’s just putting on her cheongsam.’
‘Caught her at the awkward time of the month, have we?’ says Mum. ‘Never mind. ‘I’ll pop up and say goodnight to the children. How is Jerome’s bite?’
‘Very painful,’ says Sid. ‘Make sure he doesn’t get the chance to give you one.’ He pours Dad another scotch and turns back to me. ‘I thought you knew,’ he says. ‘It was in the papers.’
‘I didn’t see any papers where I was,’ I tell him. ‘Sid, this is terrible. Is the lorry all right?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Sid. ‘Since it sunk to the bottom of the Thames I haven’t seen it.’
‘Gordon Bennett!’ I say. ‘How did the bird take it?’
‘In the normal way,’ says Sid. ‘As I recall it her feet were wedged against the dashboard and I was –’
‘I didn’t mean that!’ I say. Honestly, Sid is about as sensitive as a cast-iron sheath. ‘How did she react to such an awful experience?’
Sid closes his eyes and winces. ‘The whole thing was horrible. Screaming, fighting, struggling! I can hardly bear to think about it.’
‘But she came round in the end, did she?’