Old Dogs, New Tricks. Linda Phillips

at least, they took with friends: usually Tom and Beth but sometimes with Val and Ian as well. And it nearly always had to be Spain because Beth claimed she loved it and didn’t want to try anywhere different.

      They would spend most of the first week listening to Val’s long list of complaints about the hotel or scouring souvenir shops for Beth, who tended to get lost in them. The second week would pass in endless discussions on where to go next year – as if it would make any difference – and Ian would invariably make himself ill from too much beer and sun. Marjorie’s nose would turn red and start blistering towards the end of the holiday; Tom would stop speaking to Beth; and they would all come home wondering why they’d bothered to go in the first place.

      When all their children were young it had been even worse, but that was thankfully in the past. They’d had a few good laughs it was true, yet one holiday inevitably became blurred with the previous one and none stood out in the memory.

      Philip longed to go off with Marjorie on their own somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter. But whenever he’d suggested it, Marjorie had looked at him as though he were an alien.

      Philip shifted on the pub’s padded stool. His feet fidgeted beneath the table. The upheaval at Spittal’s had dug up feelings long since buried and almost forgotten. But now he must do something about those feelings before old age crept closer and it was too late. Spittal’s was showing him a way out. He would never get another chance.

      ‘Tom,’ he said when his friend returned, dripping their drinks over the carpet and across the table, ‘I want you to promise me something.’

      ‘Oh?’ Tom fixed him with a wary eye; Phil’s tone had alerted him. ‘And what would that be now?’

      Philip looked away. Explaining wasn’t easy. ‘If you happen to bump into Marjorie, I’d rather you didn’t say anything to her about any of this kerfuffle. About the redundancy package I mean. And don’t tell your Beth about it either; the two of them are bound to get together before long, and then it would all come out.’

      ‘What? You mean …?’ Tom’s jaw began to drop. ‘But I’m taking redundancy, no question, so how … you can’t … Marjorie’s bound to wonder why you’re not leaping at the chance to do the same.’

      Phil had thought about that. ‘Look, you’re two – nearly three – years older than I am. Let’s pretend there was a cut-off point and that you were given the chance of redundancy but I wasn’t; that the powers that be consider there’s still life in this old dog and they expect me to soldier on.’

      ‘But – Marjorie’s not stupid, Philip.’

      ‘She’s a little unworldly though.’

      Tom knew what he meant. As with his own wife, Marjorie had never been out in the cut and thrust of big business. Both women had been content to be mothers and housewives. Marjorie would probably accept Phil’s word as gospel, not dig about asking questions. But that didn’t mean Phil could ride rough-shod over her the way he seemed intent on doing. She ought to be consulted over this important issue, given a chance to air her views, and certainly have some say in the final decision.

      Tom looked this way and that, planted his stubby hands on the table and gasped like a landed fish. ‘Now let me get this straight, Phil,’ he finally managed to say, his neck reddening round his shirt collar. ‘You haven’t any intention of taking redundancy, have you? And you’re sitting there and telling me that you’re going to lie to your wife about it?’

      ‘Yes,’ Phil said quietly, ‘I’m afraid I have to. For the time being at least. Maybe when she’s come round to the idea … oh, I just cannot work for my father!’ His warm brown eyes pleaded for understanding. ‘I’ve never deceived Marjorie before, you know. It’ll be for the very first time. And I’m sure it’ll all work out for the best in the end.’

      A difficult silence fell between them.

      Tom rubbed his moustache with one hand. It made no difference to him whether it was the first, the hundredth, or the last time Phil deceived Marjorie. He might even tell a few porkies himself. But Phil? Phil, whom he had always thought of as a fair, honest sort? The man was tumbling in his estimation.

      ‘Well, then –’ Tom’s voice, when he finally spoke, crackled with ice ‘– perhaps it’s a good thing we’ll soon be separated, then, if you’re really going to do this. I had thought we were going to have some good years ahead of us, life-long buddies that we are. But if you’re set on going, and – and treating your wife like this, well …’

      Phil might have guessed he’d have trouble with Tom. In truth he was having trouble with himself. ‘You don’t understand,’ he said, draining his glass and rising. He would like to have gone into all this more fully, unburden himself to Tom, but he could see he hadn’t handled the matter very well; Tom didn’t look ripe for listening any more.

      ‘No,’ came Tom’s surly response. ‘I bloody don’t understand.’ Then, as Phil started to walk away, he growled, ‘I just hope your Marjorie does, the day she learns what you’ve done.’

       3

      Oliver Knox checked his watch. Why did Jade always have to be late? She’d turned being late into an art form. And there was no excuse this time. He knew her aerobics class had finished punctually.

      Having completed his routine in the gym he’d stopped on his way to the changing room to peer through the glass panel in the studio door. The advanced aerobics session had been drawing to a close and the class – mostly women but there were a few men – had been sitting cross-legged on mats. They had reached the stage where they rolled their heads round on their necks with their eyes closed, which meant they hadn’t much more to do. He knew that soon after that the instructor would creep over to her tape recorder, switch off the snippet of classical music to which her flock was supposed to relax, and clap her hands. Then – rather stupidly, Oliver thought – everyone else would start clapping too, smiling foolishly at each other as though they had just been brought out of hypnosis.

      He had stood admiring Jade for some time, for she was by far the most beautiful girl there, even with her long blonde hair scraped into a knot on top of her head. Her stylish aerobics gear – lime green crop-top with black cycle shorts – flattered her superb figure, and her amazing legs went on for yards before they ended at the ridiculously expensive trainers she’d bought last Saturday. In comparison to the other women she was an Aston Martin among a car park full of Ladas. Even the teacher appeared clumsy beside her.

      Grinning to himself, and rippling his developing chest muscles – the work-outs were certainly doing the trick – Oliver had slipped away for a shower. Then he had gone on to the club bar in the basement, ordered himself a lager, and waited.

      He was on his second pint before Jade turned up. She glided into the chair opposite him smiling her dazzling smile and tossing her freshly-washed hair. But by then Oliver had forgotten his pride in her; he had sunk into a brooding mood.

      ‘You’ll be late for your own effing funeral,’ he told her. He was sitting with his chin propped on one hand, a small cigar poked between the second and third fingers, and was unaware that he appeared to her to have smoke coming through the top of his boot-polish-black head.

      ‘Oh dear,’ she soothed, trying not to smile, ‘have we had a hard day?’ She leaned across the table and pecked his pouting lips.

      Oliver glared at her all the more. He hated not being taken seriously. ‘It was going all right until I heard about Benson, but then–’

      ‘Benson?’ She plucked up the little menu, glanced over it and transferred her attention to the ‘Specials’ listed on the wall. ‘I don’t think I know Benson. I’m going to have the venison this time. What’ll you have? Oh, and some of that lovely wine we had the other day. Which one was it, do you remember?’