No one ever feb 27th waterstones

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Jon Tregenna once sold a car to Alan Bennett who came into a Volkswagen dealership in St John's Wood, London looking for, ‘...a four door automatic car, small enough for town, big enough for the country, with a boot big enough for a picnic hamper.' Mr Bennett bought a VW Polo 1.6GL automatic in sage green, which matched his raincoat.

Latterly, Jon moved to Laugharne and scripted an eBook entitled BBC Dylan Thomas: The Road To Under Milk Wood (BBC 2014); contributed an essay to Dylan Thomas: A Centenary Celebration (Bloomsbury 2014); co-created Raw Material: Llareggub Revisited with artist Marc Rees (National Theatre Wales/BBC 2014); appeared as Sinbad Sailors in Under Milk Wood (BBC 2014) & 4th Drowned in the big screen version (Ffatti Ffilms 2014), and created the website www.laugharnelines.co.uk.

Away from the Dylan Thomas industry Jon has TV writing credits with the BBC, ITV and S4C.

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No-one Ever Grew Up Wanting To Be A Car Salesman

by Jon Tregenna

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Tregni Ltd Redford House, King St., Laugharne, SA33 4QE Enquiries: jon@tregni.co.uk Copyright 201 Jon Tregenna www.tregni.co.uk First Edition December 2014 ISBN: 978-1-291-71452-4 Jon Tregenna has asserted his right under the Copyright, designs and Patents Act. 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

Tregni Limited Reg No. 5627013 Caution All rights to this book are strictly reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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For wheeler-dealers everywhere.

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Dramatis Personae The Staff William (Billy) Wheeler – The Boss Gina Wheeler – The Daughter Gareth (Balders) Baldwin – The Senior Salesman David (Manny) Manning – The New Boy Angela (Angie) Rowlands – The Admin Manager Family & Others Ryan & Bryan – The Cousins Peter Minchin – Balders' Landlord Val Wheeler – Billy's Wife Claire Manning – Manny's Wife Dylan Manning – Manny & Claire's Son Russell Morris – Claire's Dad Booker – Balders' Dog Aunt Mave – Balders' Aunt James 'Jimmy' Rowlands – Angie's Ex Emma Gimblett – Jimmy's Partner Jeff – The Landlord of the White Horse Vince – The Barfly Ralph aka Columbo – The Policeman Brad & Nico – The Mechanics John (JD) Day – The New Salesman Maxine Hunter – The Tour Manager The Customers Barbara & Phillip Joseph, Ray Fielding, Alan Marker, Tristan Ricketts, Karmann Carl, Damian Hart, Paula & Mum, Sir Arthur Pwll-Thomas, Keith & Diane Hedges, Stan Donaldson, Gemma, The Mayor & Mayoress of Drefawr

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Chapter 1 – '£100'

The End

Those two little words were the 124,689th and 124,690th he had typed and were more satisfying than each of their predecessors. He had borrowed Novel Writing: 20 Steps To Success by Colin Moss from the library van but had failed to get beyond Step 3 – 'Never start your novel with a dream sequence'. He had, however, managed the first 87 pages of Rosemary Leaf's Loyal Hearts of the Vendee but abandoned it after Raoul shrugged and said nothing for the umpteenth time. He was aware of the phrase, 'The first draft of anything is shit', but also aware of the phrase, 'Beginner's luck'. He stared at the screen and saw beyond the two little words. He saw his own reflection: a thirty-five year old man with thinning hair, hopeful eyes and a plasticine blob of a nose; the sort of face on which one might expect to see the faint trace of an animator's thumbprint. Maybe he wouldn't put a photo on the dust jacket. Maybe he'd use a pseudonym. There was nothing wrong with the name Gareth Baldwin per se, but for a number of reasons he considered 'C.H. Ray' to be superior: its brevity could prove useful for book signings; the web address www.chray.com was available; the only other C.H. Ray of any renown was an American expert in bovine mastitis; the name would guarantee a degree of anonymity; but most importantly of all, C.H. Ray could be a woman's name. He had read that 70% of books were read by women and guessed that in the field of romantic fiction that figure would be higher.

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Enthused by his genius he addressed the greasy keyboard and scrolled back to the start of Clarissa: A Love Story, by C.H. Ray. Maybe, just maybe, this was the first 'first' draft of something that wasn't shit.

The flashlights flashed as the celebrated romantic fiction prize-winner stood on the podium.

'I'd like to thank my family and friends – well, my Aunt Mave and my cousins – and the millions of people who bought my book, but most of all I'd like to thank Clarissa.'

'It's a man,' gasped an onlooker.

C.H. Ray lifted the gold statuette skywards. People clapped and cheered. There were drum-rolls, trumpets and fireworks... indoors. They must have been indoor fireworks. The audience called out a name which cheered the heart of C.H. Ray – Clarissa... Clarissa... Clarissa –' BANG What?

Balders woke up, cold and unshaven in the passenger seat of a blue Peugeot 307 estate car, a crumpled man in a crumpled suit. His crumpled dog, Booker, woke up with a hungry 'Woof' in the back. It was a grey autumn morning in a small brown town.

BANG 'Open the door or I'll break the window,' yelled a squat man in black tie and dark supermarket suit as a taller leaner version glowered on. 'I'm not kidding.'

He wasn't. Kidding required a sense of play and imagination and these were serious men.

BANG

8

Despite the inevitable, Balders opened the door. A smashed window would only add to his woes – 'I'm locked out. I left my keys in the pub last night.' The taller man grabbed Balders by the lapels and bent him over the car bonnet at an angle at odds with the usual arc of a human spine. 'How much am I behind?' '£100,' barked the squat man. 'We want it now or we take your computer back.'

'I haven't got it.'

'Then we're breaking in. Bryan – ' The taller man ran at the door but bounced back harmlessly on contact. This wasn't a desirable neighbourhood, the door had strong locks and hinges. The squat one sighed.

'Please don't take my computer.'

'We always deliver.'

Balders spotted a dapper chap in a camel-hair coat slaloming his way through fried chicken debris and dog dirt. 'My landlord – ' ' – He'll have a key. He can let us in – ' ' – No, he can't go inside. I've got rude pictures on the wall. He's one of those evangelicals, plays a tambourine in church. Get in the car, I'll get you the money – GET IN.' The car raced away, wheels screeching. Balders ducked down but his landlord clocked the escape party and pointed a mean finger.

Apart from the hangover, grappling, threats and mean finger-pointing, things were peachy in Balders' world. Of course he'd lied about the rude pictures but the lie had bought him time. He had saved his computer and avoided his landlord. These seemingly tiny victories were worth celebrating in a life of substantial defeats. Now all he had to do was get hold of a hundred pounds. This would be a challenge, but if he was nothing else he was master in the art of not thinking anything through if there was any danger of a negative outcome.

'Hiya Booker,' said Bryan as the dog lay its black matted head on his lap. Bryan rarely spoke but knew the dog well and treated it like family.

9

'How's Aunt Mave?' asked Balders, because Bryan and his short stocky brother Ryan were indeed family.

'Not good. Her glaucoma is playing up something rotten. She gave us mushy peas on toast this morning.' Balders chuckled. 'When we get the £100, then maybe it's funny – ' 2.

Manny posed in front of a gilt mirror positioned above a red-tiled fireplace in the living-room of a neat three-bedroom semi-detached house near woodland on the edge of town. It was part of a small estate built for forestry workers in the 1950s. Satellite dishes and plastic windows abounded, but each still had immaculate front gardens.

Beep.

He was twenty-five, had blonde spiky hair and a boy-band face.

He wore an air-force blue suit and had a pearl-coloured Fender Stratocaster guitar slung around his neck.

Beep.

He strummed an unplugged chord and sang sotto voce – 'I can do nothing right Keeps me awake at night The distance between us Drives me crazy' At his feet a three year old boy gurgled in a red plastic pedal car. A singsong voice filtered down – 'Don't be late love.'

Beep.

'Did you hear me?'

Manny put the guitar back in its case and picked up a set of car keys from the mantelpiece – 'Looking for the car keys,' he said.

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3.

Drefawr, or 'Big Town', is not quite so big these days. It resembles many Welsh post-industrial towns with its boarded-up shops, shuttered Miners Welfare Hall and burgeoning drug problem. It once had the air of a frontier town. Now it had the air of an abandoned fairground. Two hundred years ago this was a verdant valley populated by a few hardy sheep farmers with little more than waterfalls, bleating and birdsong to disturb their solitude. Then King Coal came and with it the clang and slam of industry. The river was harnessed and the town exploded into life. People left their poorly paid farm jobs for a better life in the intoxicating town. The valley and the streams turned black with coal dust but the park, library, chapel and pub were full of life and learning and prayer and debate, and the town's choir and brass band were known throughout the land. Then, a generation or so ago, the mines and the steel works closed; the small engineering firms that supported them closed; the Welfare Hall closed; the chapels closed; most of the shops closed; the trombones muted and the tenors fell silent.

The jobs had gone, but the people stayed.

Some new jobs came from Japan and Korea – car parts, plastics and electronics – but these jobs weren't hewn from the earth's core.

These were screwdriver jobs: light-weight and created by deal-makers, quangos and bankers. They fed off subsidies and kick-backs and, fragile and, untethered, blew away in an economic storm.

The jobs had gone, but the people stayed.

Wheelers Garage sat on a crossroads at the edge of town. It was a family-run second-hand car-dealers with a fake art-deco front to the two-storey showroom building, a tarmac and gravel forecourt and an adjacent office block. There were twenty-six cars on the forecourt and three more in the showroom. The cars were festooned with stickers exclaiming 'Drive Away Today!', 'Finance Available!', and 'Low Mileage!'

Bunting fluttered and flapped, battered by decades of hostile weather.

There were flagpoles but no flags. One feature stood out – on the Admin Office exterior wall was a ten-foot high mural of a tall dark 11

handsome cowboy and the motto, 'Wheelers – We Work Harder To Be Cheaper'.

A young woman sat in a black Mercedes SLK sports car. Gina Wheeler was a brunette ex-carnival queen, yet at twenty-five she was at an age when her life should have had more definition. She had the brains and the looks but she was stuck. Equally unlikely to go anywhere sometime soon was a slate-grey, two-owner, full service history Golf Estate marked up at £11995 parked opposite. Gina's school-friends had either gone to university and moved on or had babies and barely moved at all. When she was fifteen she wanted to be an airline pilot so joined the Air Cadets. When she was sixteen she wanted to be a beautician so gained work experience in a local salon, The Best Little Hair House. When she was seventeen she wanted to be a model so had 10x8s taken by the ageing but enthusiastic members of the Drefawr Photographic Society.

But Gina was a Wheeler and family businesses maintained a certain status in small towns where membership of the Rotary Club was still considered a sign of getting on. Not that she'd ever go to a meeting.

Gina wasn't a joiner.

'No bloody chance.'

She adjusted the mirror and saw the large silhouette of her father, William 'Billy' Wheeler, stride to the showroom in his black Cubanheeled boots. Three crows took off from an adjacent field.

'I can do nothing right Keeps me awake at night The distance between us Drives me crazy' Manny approached Wheelers in his father-in-law's faded red Vauxhall Astra, humming along to a tune by Fur-lined – 'North London's newest rock hopefuls', according to the Camden Times. He slowed to assess the scene; to assess the attractive woman in a short skirt getting out of a Mercedes SLK sports car. He found himself whispering a name – '...Gina Wheeler...'

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4.

Booker was prince of the canine droolers; his lower jaw permanently sodden. This made him unappealing to the people who liked dogs which was a shame because Booker liked people. He particularly liked bounding up, barging into them and, in the case of the unfortunate Mrs Phyllis O'Shea, knocking them over. Her family cajoled the old dear into court action and she won £10,000 compensation. Billy stumped up the cash and Balders took six years to pay it back. As 81 year-old Mrs O'Shea recovered from a broken collar-bone her family went on a Caribbean cruise.

Ryan and Bryan were also salivating. Soon they could report back to the manager of the Buy-Weekly store with the £100 they'd been asked to collect from a certain G. Baldwin. They would then get their 8% commission which would facilitate the purchase of two Bailiffs Breakfasts from Florini's Café. Buy-Weekly were well known for helping people with poor credit-ratings purchase TVs, sofas and computers for attractively low weekly sums. The APR figure of 48.5% was clearly displayed in the shop window. People sometimes died before the debt was repaid. Balders spotted his red-headed colleague, Angie Rowlands, bustle out of a taxi – 'Angie, I need to borrow some money.'

'You owe me money.' '£100. I need it to pay those two men in my car. They're dangerous.' The two men appeared to be waving at her.

'Aren't they your cousins?' Balders gestured inanely to his cousins and ran to seek sanctuary in the Gents.

'Balders, I can smell you,' said a voice from one of the cubicles.

Balders sniffed his arm-pits. He picked up an air freshener and sprayed his shirt. 'Alpine Adventure won't help you now.' '...Boss? Can I borrow £100?' The toilet flushed. 'I'll take that as a 'No' then.'

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Angie sat at her desk eating a bacon and cheese slice. She brushed crumbs off her blouse, opened an envelope and pulled out a cheque for £40,000. Gina entered with the morning mail – 'I thought you were on a diet.'

'I'm celebrating,' said Angie. 'Five months since I walked out on that adulterous bastard and he's finally bought me out. Now I can get out of my rented box and move on.' Angie held up the cheque. 'Keep this to yourself though. Balders is on the scrounge.'

The scrounger wiped wet hands on paper-thin trousers. He clocked two hungry cousins pacing outside. He had no credit cards on which to draw the £100 because of a poor credit history, and a poor credit history because he'd never had a credit card. The bank wouldn't give him an overdraft despite his account already being overdrawn and even BuyWeekly wouldn't give him a payday loan. He couldn't ask his family for money because he was only in contact with three family members and two of them were pacing outside. The third, Aunt Mave, who'd brought him up between the ages of eight and eighteen, was having issues with peas and beans and had no money anyway. He had no friends to speak of and nothing left to pawn. He'd tried Angie. He'd tried Billy. Gina barely acknowledged his existence. He was doomed, unless...

A young man got out of a Vauxhall Astra, a short distance up the road.

He threw a cigarette butt into a drain as he made his way down the hill towards the showroom: could this be... a customer? Thank you God. Balders signalled to the cousins – two minutes – and set off before their displeasure could be registered. He surveyed the young man: smooth – tick; vain – tick; callow – tick, stupid – probably. Deal-able? Definitely.

'Good morning,' he announced, hand outstretched.

'Hi, I'm – ' ' – Don't tell me. Let me guess. You're not from round here. Sales rep, huh? I can tell by the suit. Looking for something reliable. All those motorway miles, eh? Sell, sell, sell.' Balders held his forehead like a medium obtaining a message – 'I'm getting a picture...' he said. He glanced over his shoulder at the Mercedes SLK – Yes! 14

Balders was born to sell cars. He couldn't really do anything else. All you needed was a pen, a dogged determination, an original take on reality, and a lack of qualifications to do anything else. Ok, he was having a bad patch but he'd listened to the self-help tapes, he'd attended the seminars, he'd watched Glengarry Glen Ross fourteen times. He would overcome this customer's negative emotions and accentuate the positive. He would sell this car to this man – Reliable, but a bit sporty? Yeah? A bird-puller? All those motels, eh? Phew. Lonely nights, a friendly face at the bar. Who knows what goes on, eh? Lord knows I don't – What does go on?'

The customer looked sceptical; the sort of look worn by serial seducers who bought sports-cars to impress gullible female sales reps. Manny found himself glancing at the vehicle in question.

'I knew it!'

'Listen – ' ' – This car has got your name on it. What is your name by the way?'

'It is a great car, but - ' ' – I knew you'd love it. You look like a decision maker. Thinking of making a decision today? This morning? Er... Now?' Balders was trying not to come over as needy or desperate but Manny realised it was time to furnish this needy and desperate man with a simple fact – 'Look – ' ' – £100 deposit secures. Think of it – you, in this car, driving. And cash would be best. Do you have cash on you?' They both flinched as a voice boomed over the Tannoy and reverberated around the forecourt – 'MEETING.' Manny took in the black cowboy hat on a wooden hat-stand, the sepia print of The Man With No Name, several scale models of gas-guzzling 1950s American cars and the large Confederate flag that hung on the wall behind Billy Wheeler's desk.

'This is David Manning a.k.a. Manny. He's our new recruit. In a band or something, weren't you boy? Up in London?'

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Gina's smile betrayed her as the informer. Balders didn't smile. He didn't know Billy was even thinking about employing a new salesman, let alone that he'd already employed one. He was hacked off and hungover.

He'd slept in a car, his neck hurt and hungry cousins prowled outside.

'I knew a car salesman up in London once,' said Billy, softening his voice as if imparting a profound truth. 'He told me about the legend of a customer who walks into a car showroom, arms up in the air, wanting to buy a car and ready to surrender to whatever the salesman suggests.'

Billy Wheeler put his arms in the air and shook his hands like a gospel pastor, 'The Legend Of Hands Up Billy'. It's cockney rhyming slang, see? Billy Bunter – punter. So a Hands Up Billy is a salesman's dream.

You've had a few of them, eh Balders? I've seen you, asleep at your desk.'

Whilst it was true there were days when Balders had been exhausted from writing into the small hours, it had been months since Billy had caught Balders snoozing at his desk. On the last occasion, Billy had managed to insert two pencils, rubber side up, into Balders' nostrils as he snored, much to the amusement of a customer. These days, if fatigued, Balder slept in the Gents.

'Neil Diamond I like. Know any of his stuff? 'Love On The Rocks'?' Manny didn't but Gina did – useless white-trash love; lowly cold hard rocks. Billy Wheeler's discordant rendition of 'Beautiful Noise' failed to connect so to divert attention away from the young man's ignorance of the Diamond oeuvre, Billy fired a couple of imaginary six guns into the ceiling with accompanying sound effects. 'Being on stage, it's like selling.

This showroom is your stage. That Golf Estate outside, four months it's been sitting there. I need it sold. It's about performance. Customers come in, what do we do? We put on a show – sell them a car – send them home happy. We've been a salesman short for some time now, well – two really...'

Manny sent a conciliatory look over as if to say, 'Sorry about that misunderstanding earlier.' Balders' grimace translated as, 'I'd rather set fire to my head.'

'And David here came highly recommended by my darling Gina.'

'Welcome to Wheelers,' she said. Her eyes lingered on Manny just long enough to stir Angie's curiosity.

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'Introduce yourselves.'

'Angie. Admin.'

'Makes a lovely cup of tea,' – frosty glare – 'Takes no prisoners. Runs the place.' Angie defrosted. This was true. She didn't and she did. 'Next.'

Balders stared at his scuffed suede shoes. 'This is Balders. He'll show you the ropes. If he can remember where they are.'

Balders had no idea why Billy Wheeler was relentlessly mocking him for the entertainment of this unctuous usurper, this preening popinjay. Why was Billy employing this low-life huckster who had conned Balders into believing he was a genuine customer that very morning? Surely one salesman was more than enough for a struggling showroom in a recession? Two meant competition and challenge. Balders didn't like competition. Or challenge. He liked a clear run at any success going and the easier it came, the better. He'd have to up his game to a whole new level and until now he didn't even have a game. Balders' past was populated by unknown enemies secretly thwarting his most humble of plans, but this was his first real nemesis. He was gratified that finally, after decades of misfortune and failure, the enemy had a face.

'Bit of news,' said Billy. 'Gina's finally passed her driving test. Only her eighth attempt, fair play.' A polite round of applause followed. Gina performed an unnecessary curtsey. 'That's enough. We've got the weekend coming. I need sales.' He looked at the hapless old-stager, 'Appointments today?'

'Three,' said Balders.

'Sell that Golf today – £100 cash bonus.' Billy winked at Balders who acknowledged the lifeline.

Billy surveyed his motley crew: Angie – forty-five years old, flame-haired and hurting, abandoned by her husband for a younger model; Gina, his beauty queen daughter – if only she would settle down and have a baby and leave all pretences of being a businesswoman behind; Balders, useless Balders, and now Manny, the new kid on the block. These were his troops and he needed to motivate them or Wheelers was finished.

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'Why the hell are you still here? SELL, SELL, SELL.' Balders hung back. He was always looking for easy solutions and lacked the selfawareness necessary to stop looking for them – 'About the Golf.'

'What about it?'

'It's as good as gone. Any chance of the bonus now?'

'Don't take the piss, son.' He turned to Angie – 'Kettle fused has it?'

'I'll have the £100 tonight, promise. Mother's life.'

'Still alive, is she?' inquired Ryan as Bryan heaved Balders onto the car bonnet for the second time that morning.

'Haven't heard from her in years.'

Ryan nodded sympathetically and Bryan loosened his grip. Ryan produced a business card – 'Close of business then. We always deliver.' Balders studied the card as the cousins loped away.

STRONGARM DEBT COLLECTION We always deliver Very relyable Contact Ryan and Bryan 07702-088-298 'There's no 'y' in reliable,' said Balders to no-one in particular as a pair of wild ponies cantered down the road followed at pace by a fat red-faced man in a navy overall and a small happy boy.

5.

'Fame of being a rock'n'roll star get too much for you, did it?'

'My wife wanted to move home.'

'Oh, very rock'n'roll. Sorry, Mr Producer of Top Of The Pops but I can't be on TV because my wife wants to move home.'

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'My father-in-law's dying,' said Manny. 'And Top Of The Pops was axed years ago. You like to make assumptions don't you?'

'Put that down and get out of my chair.'

Manny put down the framed photo of Balders' dog and wandered over to a vacant desk at the far end of the showroom. Gina approached with a folder, all radiant smile and swinging hips.

'David, stock-list's here. Chat with Angie later? She'll show you the boring stuff.'

'Of course when Daddy's the boss, all you really need to know is how to hold your hand out,' said Angie en route to Billy's office with his coffee.

'See what I have to deal with?'

'What's his problem?' asked Manny, indicating Balders, sat at his desk scraping the dirt from beneath his finger-nails with a re-fashioned paper clip.

'Money worries,' said Gina. 'Hit a bad patch, now he's trying too hard – Salesman's Curse. So... how are you then?' Manny put an imaginary gun to his head. 'My fault is it? Only trying to help.'

'Claire is very grateful.' Gina perched herself awkwardly on the corner of the desk, her agility hindered by her tight woollen mini-skirt. It rode up, revealing a little more thigh than before – 'What about you?'

'How can you fail your test eight times?'

'Seven times. Dunno – easily distracted. But this time I showed a bit more leg.' Manny smiled up at her. He didn't want to, but the choice was her beauty-queen face or her fake-tanned thigh.

'What are the wages?'

'Commission only. As Dad likes to say, 'Sell or Starve'.'

'Nice.'

'There are perks. 10 sales – get a company car.'

Angie appeared in the doorway of Billy's office so Gina busied herself with paperwork to give the impression that sitting on Manny's desk was for business purposes only. After all, what other purpose could there be?

'Balders,' called Angie. 'A Pete Minchin phoned for you, said he was your landlord?'

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'If he calls again tell him I've gone on a test-drive to Gwaun-CaeGurwen. And I've only just left.'

Manny gazed at the floor-to-ceiling mural of the Arizona desert that dominated one wall of the showroom. It tied in with Billy's cowboy theme. Maybe Wheelers was the Wild West? It was certainly west of London, and a bit wild, and definitely not the place where Manny had anticipated spending the autumn of his twenty-sixth year. Bar job – Swiss Cottage; rehearsal – Westbourne Grove; kebab – Queensway, gig – Camden; Welsh rugby matches in a South Ken bar and a night bus back to his bijou garden flat in Gascony Avenue, NW6. That was how he'd seen his autumn pan out; crisp, cold, beery, musical and not here.

He opened the desk drawer and emptied the contents onto the desk: a crushed Pot Noodle container, a wing mirror, a broken screwdriver, some pork pie crust, a soft indeterminate blob with some fluff attached, a traffic light lollipop, cigarette filters, the security panel from a car stereo, headache tablets, several unmarked keys, a last Rolo, seventeen francs, three used paper hankies and the ace of spades.

'GINA.' Billy Wheeler stood near the mural of his younger self, black coat fluttering in the breeze. Gina cat-walked over as if she knew she was being watched.

'The last salesman who sat in that chair – he fancied his chances with our Gina.'

'I'm a happily married man – ' '– So was he,' said Angie. 'Here's his diary. Log every lead, every phone-call, every customer. If a leaf blows in, log it in here. The boss checks every entry, every day.' Manny flicked through the diary. It was full of neat handwritten entries.

'What happened to this guy?'

'He disappeared. Six months ago.'

'Disappeared?'

'Ask the boss why he keeps a shovel in the boot of his car.'

'He's a keen gardener?'

'He's got a gardener.'

20

Was this woman seriously suggesting that his new boss had killed his predecessor with a spade? Ok, that probably didn't happen... so why the spade?

Manny saw a flock of rooks land on the roof of the Admin Office.

'Dead Man's Chair,' sang Angie.

It was at an Eisteddfod during WW1 that the winning bard was unable to take his seat in the prize chair because he'd died in battle a few weeks before. Angie knew that from university but Manny had no idea what the hell Dead Man's Chair meant. He turned a page. And another. He turned the pages ever more briskly until he came to the last entry on the last page on the last day that the last occupant of whatever a Dead Man's Chair was had worked for Wheelers. In large blood-red felt tip letters was written: I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE Billy Wheeler took Gina by the wrist and led her away from the sporty Merc towards a Ford Fiesta.

'Too powerful, love. This one's for you.'

'The examiner said I was a natural.'

'Too close to parked cars, I heard.'

'You had a word? Aw, Dad – ' ' – You would have failed again, love. Don's a good customer, he'll get a better deal next time.' Billy held out some car keys which Gina ignored.

'I don't want no favours, Dad. No wonder I don't get any respect around here.'

'Who doesn't respect you? Tell me who they are. I'll sort them out.'

'That's what I mean. And I'm tired of trailing Angie and answering phones. I thought I was Trainee Manager.'

This was not the time for Billy to talk about the car trade being no place for a woman. Not the time to talk about wanting a grandson who could inherit the business. Not the time for a pep talk about her giving her phone number to undesirable men. No, he had to treat her with respect 21

because recently she'd been not only been turning up on time but was finally showing some enthusiasm for the job. Indeed, only last week he'd found her reading What Car magazine. However, the main reason he had to treat her with respect was because Val, his wife, insisted he did. Val didn't like saying her husband was a used car salesman. If pressed she said that he was a managing director in the transport industry.

Val and Billy had been lovers way back. Then he had to marry her. But first he had to get divorced. Val didn't need to get divorced because her husband died in a car crash. Billy was the driver. It was an accident. The hay lorry. It was going too fast – 'Dad? Are you listening?'

'When I started in this business I had a chamois leather in one hand, a spanner in the other and a broomstick up my arse.'

'You didn't go to Business School – ' ' – And if the boss walked past I'd lick the cars clean. Don't confuse education with experience.' Gina gave up. Billy was strongwilled, that's how he'd built the business up from nothing. It wasn't easy for him after the town went quiet on him; after he was coerced into resigning from the police force a quarter of a century ago...

Starsky, bloodied from his journey from seat through windscreen to ground. Starsky clambering to his feet, arms outstretched. 'Hey Hutch. Look at me.' Starsky collapsing to the floor. Starsky dead. Hutch's partner and pal. The pal whose wife, Val, Hutch was sleeping with. The revelation and the row. The hay lorry and the swerve into the field. The somersault and the girl in the back. Slip of a thing in a summer dress. Small and broken and dead. The girl they'd arrested for shoplifting.

Nappies and chocolate. Blood in his eyes. Nappies and chocolate and the baby's cry.

'One step at a time, eh, petal? Here.' Gina pressed the remote but the Fiesta's doors remained locked. A reassuringly expensive thunk came from another car. The indicators flashed on the Merc – 'Mind you, if you don't want any favours – ' ' – I love it, Dad – ' Billy Wheeler didn't do hugging but tolerated it for once.

22

6.

Barbara Joseph wore an ankle-length rainbow-coloured tapestry coat and was at an age when she would never reveal her age. Next to her, younger hubbie Philip was a blur of country-set greens. Salesmen make quick decisions on how to engage with new customers. Some enjoy good-natured banter whilst others demand a more deferential approach.

Manny assessed the pair: a miserable, mistrustful man with no time for salesmen's banter and a theatrical woman in a preposterous garment who might appreciate a little flattery.

'Good morning,' he said. 'I must say, I do like your coat.'

'Thank you. And don't worry about Philip, he thinks these places are full of crooks and thieves.'

'They are.' said Balders. 'I'm Gareth Baldwin, Senior Salesman, and this is the new trainee.' Balders checked that Manny had heard the words senior and trainee. 'I'm assuming you are Mr and Mrs Joseph?'

'We are. Call me Barbara and this is my husband, Philip. He doesn't like these places.'

'That's ok, Barbara,' said Balders. 'We don't go for the hard sell here. We'll have a chat, find out your needs and wants, go for a test drive –' ' – then con us out of our life savings,' said Philip.

'Exactly.'

Manny wondered why Balders was insisting on jesting in the presence of an obvious jester-detester – 'I'd like to hang around and learn from you, if that's alright...?'

'We don't mind,' said Barbara. 'Now, we're not one hundred per cent sure what we're looking for – four doors, small enough for town, big enough for the country. And not red.'

Balders didn't have much time for posh people. They unnerved him. They drank sherry. They had money. They ate fish for breakfast.

They went to church. They ran the world but not this world. This was Balders' world and here, Gareth Baldwin, Senior Salesman, held all the cards.

'Or white,' said Philip.

23

There was no scientific reason why one particular car should stick but this Golf Estate was, in car salesman's parlance, 'nailed to the ground', and had been parked there so long they might as well, '...paint it red and call it a feature.' The sticker on the window exclaimed '12 months MOT!', which was true when it came into stock five months ago. Balders bustled up to the car with Barbara, Philip and Manny in tow. Everything was simple: Sell Golf, get £100 bonus, pay cousins, keep computer, save Clarissa.

'One owner, low mileage, seven months MOT, only came in yesterday I believe. There's been a lot of interest. This is the car for you.'

'You would say that – ' said Philip, interrupted by a distant roar – 'What the hell is that filthy disgusting flea-bitten mongrel doing in my car?'

'Test drive?' suggested Balders, ignoring both the roar and the probable cause of the roar.

'Oh, I've driven lots of cars,' said Barbara. 'They're all the same.'

Balders smirked at Manny. This one was in the bag.

7.

Angie had graduated with a 2:2 in Humanities from Aberystwyth University, so what was she doing here? She appreciated that Humanities was what you studied when you didn't know what you wanted to study, but surely it should have led to something better than this? And why had her husband left her for a younger woman? Ok, she knew why her husband had left her for a younger woman – the answer was in the question. But why? Their sex life had been good. Their home life had been good. She'd loved him with every beat of her daft warm rom-com heart. So why? Most days Angie considered herself pretty, lively, and ageing well. She had short auburn hair, the colour of which she'd only recently started enhancing artificially; a tight curvy figure and prided herself on being able to hold a conversation on a variety of subjects. She was a wine buff, an avid reader, a keen gardener and an enthusiastic lover, and the idea that she was going to waste was devastating.

24

'Customer complaint,' said Gina, putting the phone down. 'Balders delivered a car last night – it stinks of wet dog and B.O.' The malodorous car-monger entered the office, took the keys for the Golf and exited. Angie picked up an air freshener and sprayed the room with Alpine Adventure.

'I'll have to tell Dad.' 'Don't. I'll get him cleaned up.'

8.

Barbara acquainted herself with the hazard lights, windscreen washer and bonnet opening mechanism as the salesmen looked on. 'Taking their time,' said Manny.

'Watch and learn.'

'We've made a decision, Gareth,' said Barbara, finally.

'Excellent. I'll go and get a Purchase Agreement Form, take a deposit and book the car in for a Pre-Delivery Inspection – ' ' – We've decided to take your advice. We want a test drive.'

'Good decision – ' yelped Balders, hoping that Manny wouldn't utter any sentence or phrase involving the words or derivations of the words watching and learning.

Balders hurled the keys onto his desk. They cannoned off the photo of his dog, skidded onto the polished tile floor, bounced off a plastic plant pot and slid under a grey steel filing cabinet.

'Bloody people. She loves the car but it's that miserable git of a husband – ' ' – Closing a deal. That must be the hardest part,' said Manny.

'Right now I couldn't close a fridge door.' Balders' answered his phone. 'Gwaun-Cae-Gurwen. Remember? And I'll be gone all day.'

'Your landlord, yeah? What does he want?' Balders clouded over – 'Rent.'

A silver lining appeared as a blonde dungaree-clad hippy chick with colourful hair ties entered the showroom pushing a toddler in a buggy. 'Wow, who's this little chap?'

'Dylan – ' 25

' – Don't tell me,' said Balders. 'Let me guess. Very interested in safety – five doors, child and window locks, airbags, good boot space for family holidays and that. Will your, er, husband, or partner? Or are you, er...?'

'You really don't know how to chat a bird up, do you?' said Manny.

'I'm not,' said Balders, mortified the truth was out.

'Watch and learn.' Manny took the woman in his arms and planted a soft kiss on her plump lips. 'Claire, this is Balders, Senior Salesman.

Balders, this is Claire, my lovely wife.'

'You're right though, safety is very important,' said Claire. Balders dealt with this crushing and embarrassing failure the way he always did: mute, alone and planning some useless revenge.

Angie flapped into the showroom offering an immediate distraction – 'Balders, I need you. Come with me.'

'I can't. I've got to sell the bonus Golf today or I'm dead.'

'They're your cousins. They won't kill you.'

'When I was eight I moved in with them and Aunt Mave. My mother had run off to Spain. Ryan and Bryan covered me with lemon curd and pencil shavings. I haven't touched lemons since. Or pencils.'

'I'll make it worth your while.'

'Let's go.'

'It's quite big isn't it? Is the boss nice?' – nothing – 'So who was that lady, who went with the other guy? Does she work here too? – still nothing – 'Manny?' Claire retrieved a Tupperware box from a carrier bag in the hope of rousing him – 'It can't be hell can it? You wouldn't be here,' he said.

Claire was only too familiar with Manny's capacity for self-pity but had reconciled herself to that fact that whilst it had been her choice to move back from London because her father was dying, Manny had had the option not to come.

'I've got enough going on without feeling bad about you – Hey, I didn't say, I've got some temping work at the hospital.'

'And I'm a used car salesman. Proud of us son?' Dylan gurgled with pride. Claire sighed with frustration. A voice from the past rang out – 26

'Hiya Claire!' Gina Wheeler sashayed over with a cabaret smile.

Claire was glad that at someone was pleased to see her. The old friends hugged briefly – 'And look at this little lump. Wow! Hello...?'

'Dylan – ' ' – Dylan! Of course.' Gina quickly ran out of cooing sentiment. 'I haven't seen you since – ' ' – The wedding.'

'No? That long?'

'What's this? Women's Hour?' said Billy Wheeler. He beamed at Dylan. 'Well, look at this pudding.' The pudding squealed. 'And you, all grown up. How's your dad?' Claire's smile turned sad and Billy left it at that. 'Ok, I'm off to lunch. Mobile's on – ' He noticed the problem Golf on the forecourt and the redundant phone on Manny's desk – 'MAKE SOME BLOODY PHONE CALLS.' 9.

Angie sniffed the air in Balders' car. 'I haven't had the chance to wash him recently,' he said.

'He's a dog. What's your excuse?' Angie marched to the front door of her rented box. 'Have you washed today? Cleaned your teeth?

'No. I was locked out. Think I left the keys in the pub. I'll get them tonight.'

'Couple of quiet nights wouldn't hurt you either. Right, let's get down to business. I want you fresh and sparkling. Are you with me?'

'I think so.'

'Don't look scared. Follow me.' Angie went upstairs, turned on the shower and handed him shampoo, soap and a clean towel.

'Get undressed. No time to spare.'

Balders looked around the immaculate white-tiled bathroom. He saw the shampoo, the towel, the hot inviting torrents of water. He looked back at the door. He undid his tie.

Angie squared up to Booker, turned the tap on and took aim with a hose-pipe. He took the icy uninviting torrents with a glum acceptance.

He didn't like water but knew he smelt bad. He was a dog. Dogs were 27

good at smelling. Angie went upstairs and sat on her bed allowing herself a daydream of chocolate-box cottages and picture-book gardens.

Balders appeared in the doorway wearing a towel and a look of dread: his thinning hair seemed even thinner when wet. Angie raised her eyebrows – how could a simple shower make a man so anxious?

'I should say, I'm out of practice,' said Balders. 'It's obviously not easy for you – in the pub every night. It must get lonely. But, we're adults and this – this is purely a business transaction, so ok. I'll do it...'

Male prostitution... Hmmm – not great. Helping out a friend? That's it – helping out a friend. Then £100, cousins, computer, Clarissa. Nice to help...' '£100, yeah?' said Balders, dropping the towel. Angie's mouth flopped open. She found herself wide-eyeing his meaty nakedness.

'What?'

Angie quickly ran through the various reasons why Balders might be naked in her bedroom. There could only be one.

'You thought...?' she said, laughing too loudly. 'I'm not paying for sex. Well, not you anyway.'

'What?'

'Shirts!' said Angie, indicating the bed. It was true. Laid out on the bed were several expensive-looking shirts cellophane packets and another couple on hangers.

'Shirts?' said Balders, baffled as to why they were they talking about shirts. And more pressingly, why was he standing there, in front of Angie from Admin, stark-bollock, cock-shrinkingly naked? Angie spared his blushes by putting her hand over her eyes, although moving it from her mouth un-stifled a small demented chuckle. Balders grabbed the towel.

'But you said – Make it worth my while. You said – ' ' – To smarten you up. To be smart. These shirts are nice. I took them when I left. Bastard never even wore them. Except those two.'

'I was hoping for cash!'

'You can't keep borrowing money. Now you can go back to work looking smart and sell that Golf. Then you can get the £100 bonus.'

Balders had a flashback to precisely forty-five seconds ago. Had he actually dropped his towel and offered to sell his body to Angie from Admin? Was he a prostitute now? What on earth made him think that 28

kind of behaviour was appropriate? This was certainly a new kind of low.

'By the way. I'm not lonely. I'm happy with my own company.

That's why I'm stopping going to the pub. From today.'

10.

'He was playing his guitar this morning. I hope he doesn't regret giving up the band. He didn't have to come home with me.'

'Don't worry about Manny, you've supported him for years.'

Claire liked Gina. They were best mates through school and when Claire went to London to study nursing they kept in touch. Claire was often entertained by Gina's romantic status which kept changing from single to in a relationship to single, sometimes in the same morning. She was also entertained by Gina's unofficial status as the Drefawr Selfie Queen.

Claire also liked Gina because she had helped to facilitate the return home, but mainly Claire liked Gina because she was down-to-earth, and not at all like some of the pretentious arses Claire knew in her Kilburn neighbourhood, or the West Hampstead neighbourhood as her pretentious-arse neighbours preferred to call it.

'Well, it's not as though his band were ever going to make it.'

'Exactly. Now it's his turn to do something for you.'

'I'll cook him a nice meal tonight. Bottle of plonk and no knickers.

That should cheer him up.' '... that'll be nice. Yes. Yes, I'm sure he'd like that.'

The Tupperware box contained a corned beef sandwich, a packet of supermarket multi-pack crisps, a small carton of blackberry juice, four pink and white wafers and a piece of folded paper: a child's drawing of several car-shaped blobs. Underneath was scrawled, 'To the best Dad in the world, Dylan x.'

Manny imagined Claire helping Dylan with this gift in the small kitchen in the house by the wood that he'd been encouraged to call home and, for the first time, actually seemed liked home. He relaxed – the bands, 29

the clubs, the dreams, the scenes all very far away now. London was wondrous but London was bloody unforgiving with its death-trap rehearsal studios, murderous teens and expensive beer.

He looked at one of the lists that Angie had given him. He had the thankless task of cold-calling former customers to see if they were interested in changing their car and yet, he reckoned, it must get results.

In the absence of apprenticeships, trainee programmes and proper jobs, cold-calling was a major employer of the young. However, this list was of people who had bought from Wheelers before. So it wasn't as if this cold-calling was even that cold. Whilst not firing on all cylinders, Manny was definitely firing on one more than before and on the twelfth call he got an unexpected result – 'Great. See you then. Ask for Manny.'

Gina smiled as she passed. A contented Manny would settle at Wheelers which would be good for both him and her friend Claire. The front door opened and a tangy whiff of aftershave pervaded the showroom.

'Is that you, Balders?' asked Gina as a spruced-up Balders strutted in like a man from Milan.

'Got a spare hundred pounds?'

'Yeah, it's you.'

'What have we agreed?! Hard work and early nights,' snapped Angie, jabbing him with her fist. 'It's one of Jimmy's shirts and I didn't want them.'

'I didn't think Balders and Jimmy would be the same size,' said Gina drawing an unexpected snigger from Angie – 'Talking of size – Wow.' Balders was very uncomfortable with the way Angie was perusing his crotch area and with the tone of the 'Wow.' Gina had no idea what 'Wow,' meant. It couldn't possibly be related to anything that the singularly un-sexy Balders could have in, or around, his gentleman's trouser area.

'Oh Balders, a Pete Minchin rang again?' said Gina. 'Said you should have called him back?'

30

'Here's a customer now. Sell, sell, sell,' said Angie, as she spotted a man approaching the showroom. The door opened and a dapper chap in a camel hair coat entered – 'I'm looking for Baldwin. I'm his landlord.'

'Right, he's – ' Gina turned to Balders' desk but the unreliable tenant had vanished.

'He's on a test-drive,' said Angie hinting to Manny that perhaps he too, despite being the new boy, should verify this. 'Didn't he say something about Gwaun-Cae-Gurwen?'

'I believe he did,' said Manny.

Angie sneaked a peek under Balders' desk and there he quivered, angst etched across his vaudeville face. She sat down to shield him from prying eyes; Balders blanching at the nearness of her knees. As no-one seemed to know exactly when Balders might return, Minchin decided to wait. Manny decided to sell – 'Lovely day, innit? Lovely day to buy a new car – ' ' – I'm not here to buy a car.'

'This is a car showroom, sir. Can't blame me for asking. While you wait, let me show you something – ' ' – I'm not interested.'

'What do you drive at the moment? As a matter of interest?'

Minchin was standing in a car showroom with a car salesman, and as he'd declared his intention to wait he found himself obliged – '... Volvo.'

'Excellent car. Very safe. Headlights that stay on all the time – but have you considered the build quality of German cars? We have a lovely Golf Estate outside. Come have a look. Something to do while you wait.'

Gina was full of admiration – he was an asset to the team. Angie was pleased that Minchin was being lured away but Balders was engulfed in despair. The Golf Estate was the car with the bonus – no bonus equals no computer equals...

Manny opened Balders' drawer. There, beneath the Golf keys, he spotted a well-thumbed paperback book, Rosemary Leaf's Loyal Hearts Of The Vendee. Aware of the fugitive salesman's whereabouts Manny slammed the drawer shut with as much vigour as he could muster. A small bump noise was heard: the sound of skull connecting with wood.

31

Balders peered around the front wing of one of the showroom cars and saw Manny and Minchin checking out the bonus Golf; a bad situation, which quickly deteriorated when Barbara Joseph and her Technicolor nightmare coat arrived back on the forecourt.

'Philip, who's that man in our car?'

'Sorry, have you put down a deposit...?' asked Manny.

'Well no, not yet, but we were thinking about it,' said Philip.

Manny turned to Minchin – 'As I said, it only came in yesterday, and, as you can see, there's been a lot of interest.' He indicated the clearly interested parties as if the point had not yet been made.

'Where's Mr Baldwin?' asked Barbara.

'Gwaun-Cae-Gurwen. Allegedly,' said Minchin as they got into the Golf Estate and drove off. Barbara erupted – 'Go away and think about it, you said. Now look what's happened.

It was in demand Philip. Gareth wasn't lying. He wasn't a crook. Now that man will buy our car.'

'Don't start,' said Philip, but it was too late. Barbara's success on the amateur stage was largely down to her ability to cry on demand. As they drove away her teary performance was truncated by a collision between their car and a pedestrian, which ended up with the victim sprawled over the bonnet of their car like a moose after a moose hunt.

'You've killed him!' shrieked Barbara, but Balders was not dead, only mildly stunned. As he lay there he idly speculated as to how many more times that day he would find himself prone on a car bonnet. He quickly recovered like a cartoon coyote – '£100 deposit secures then the Golf is yours. I can make out the Purchase Agreement Form and deliver the car cleaned, valetted, serviced and delivered to you by tomorrow. But unless you put the money down right now, that man will buy your car. Understand?'

'Our car,' wailed Barbara.

'Car salesmen are all the same – pressurising,' said Phil.

'Course not. Take your time.' Balders rested his hand on the roof of the car hoping they wouldn't take too much time. 'No rush,' he said, impatiently drilling his fingers on the car roof. Time was running out.

Minchin would certainly return. 'You want this car, your car?' They did 32

and they knew he knew they did. 'Ok, I'll phone you when they get back.

As you're special customers I'll bring the car to your house.'

'Can't we wait?' asked Barbara, mopping her tears away with a monogrammed hanky.

'We still want a test drive before we put the deposit down,' said Philip.

'They could be a long time.'

'What? Running up the mileage?' said Philip.

'No. They'll be quite a long time but they won't actually have gone very far. But when they get there, they might stay for a while.'

'Seems fair enough, Phillip.'

Balders ran to his desk, retrieved a Purchase Agreement Form and wrote down the details. At the bottom of the form he wrote, '£100 deposit.'

Then, with a stage-door flourish he added the coup de grace – 'PAID'.

Finally, he autographed the form in a manner becoming a seventy-one year old drama queen.

In Balders' experience, victory celebrations were rarely worth embarking upon as they would inevitably be curtailed prematurely. The old adage proved right once again as the bonus Golf pulled up on the forecourt. He needed to get across to Admin with the fake Purchase Agreement Form to book the sale and take the Golf off the market before Manny beat him to it. But if he did that, Minchin would surely see him.

Manny was about to ask the one question that car salesmen are always afraid to ask for fear of getting a negative response, a point after which there is little chance of a sale proceeding. He took a deep breath – 'Are you going to buy the car?'

'Pushy little sod, aren't you?' said Minchin. 'It's not bad though...'

Manny was close to the close and could smell his first sale, but his attention was taken by a large piece of cardboard travelling across the forecourt towards the Admin Office some thirty paces away. It had two words written in thick black felt-tip pen – IT'S SOLD 33

Manny stared at the words. What could they mean? What was 'sold'?

'Give me a good discount on the Golf and a good price for my car and you've got yourself a deal,' said Minchin with all the relish of a man who loved dealing.

Manny entered Admin to witness Balders dancing a ludicrous jig whilst playing an air trumpet.

'All down to a clean shirt,' said Angie holding out her hand. 'And the £100 deposit?'

'Ah. Left it in my drawer. I'll get it now.'

'You weren't thinking of borrowing it, were you?'

'Don't be daft,' said Balders. How could he borrow it? He hadn't actually received it yet, but it was within touching distance. A quick trip to Barbara's house should suffice.

'What's going on?' asked Manny. 'What's 'sold'?'

'The Golf Estate. The one with the £100 bonus,' said Balders. 'It's on the system, yeah? Golf Estate. Sold by me. Senior Salesman Gareth Baldwin.'

'You haven't?'

'Afraid so, Trainee.' A voice boomed over the Tannoy – 'MUST ALWAYS BE A SALESMAN IN THE SHOW- ROOM.' Balders waved the Golf's paperwork to indicate that he had legitimate business in the Admin Office, unlike some. Manny's cylinder had stopped firing. He'd done the hard work. His first deal was done.

But now it was undone.

'Abandoning customers. NOT GOOD,' said Billy, as Manny entered the showroom.

'This gentleman wanted to buy the Golf Estate, but it's just been sold, by Balders.'

'Great,' said Billy.

'Not great,' said Minchin. 'Where is he then? If he's selling cars?'

'Fetch the keys of the Subaru Legacy, Manny. There's a good boy,' said Billy.

'Subaru?' said Minchin. 'Oh no. I've wasted enough time here already.'

34

'Let's you and me have a chat, yeah?' said Billy. 'I think we're men who can talk business on a 'sophisticated' level...' He put his strong arm around Minchin's weak shoulder and eased him towards the showroom door. 'This Subaru is a lovely vehicle, and you can trust me because I am Billy Wheeler and this isn't one of those cowboy firms you read about.'

The two men exited, leaving behind the mural of the Arizona desert, the poster of The Man With No Name and a black cowboy hat.

Balders looked for Barbara's phone number on one of the numerous notes that littered his desk – 'Barbara, Barbara, Barbara, Barbara...' The door opened, 'Barbara?'

Why was she here? This wasn't the plan. The plan was to take the car to her house. That was definitely the plan.

'We won't need that test drive, Gareth. We'll take it as it is.' Balders checked Minchin's position outside on the forecourt.

'Fantastic. £100 deposit secures.' Balders pushed a Purchase Agreement Form across the desk. 'Sign here, here, here...' – he flipped the form over – 'And here.' Barbara signed as instructed and Philip begrudgingly handed over a hundred pounds. Balders snatched the cash, kissed it, but failed to spot Angie squinting in through the window.

She'd smelt a rat over the missing deposit and there was what looked very much like a big salesman-shaped rat, kissing what looked very much like the missing deposit.

Balders hunted on Angie's desk for the fake form he'd brought in minutes earlier – Yes – a plan of his had worked brilliantly for once. He was indeed a genius.

'Hand it over,' said Angie hidden in an alcove.

'Hand what over?'

'The forged Purchase Agreement.'

'The what?'

'The agreement in your right hand. The one you brought earlier for the Golf that stopped Manny taking a deposit on it. GIVE IT TO ME!' – Balders obeyed – 'And the real one your customer just signed. That's the one in your left hand.'

'I needed the deal. I'd worked for ages on it.'

35

'Deposit secures. You knew that and you didn't have one.'

'I do now.'

'You're meant to be training Manny, not conning him. It's his first day.'

'Exactly. No-one expects him to sell a car.'

Angie's hand remained outstretched. Balders had no choice but to hand over the genuine form and the deposit money.

'Does that mean you can pay your cousins the money you owe them?' Balders nodded humbly and Angie forgave him.

11.

Billy's head moved like a tennis umpire between the trade price book to his left and the calculator to his right. He scribbled some numbers on a cheap yellow pad with an expensive pen. He looked at Minchin. He looked at Manny. He looked at his figures. Gina smiled at Manny as if to intimate – 'Watching these two doing a deal is fun, isn't it?'' At least she hoped that's what he would think she was thinking and not what she was really thinking. Billy slid the pad across his desk towards Minchin and pointed at a figure – 'That's what you pay. That's the cost of change.' Minchin studied the figure closely – 'It's a good deal.'

'I know.' Billy sat back in his chair. He was good at deal-making but he didn't dream of 'deal-making' when he was a child. No-one dreams of cars and figures and deals and competition and, '15% down on last year's figures', especially not Billy Wheeler who, as a child, only ever dreamt of one thing – becoming a policeman.

It was an accident. The hay lorry. It was coming too fast.

12.

Balders struggled with a digital camera as Barbara draped herself over the bonnet of her soon-to-be new car. Car bonnets were very much the, 'in place to be' this particular autumn morning.

36

'It's very easy Gareth – it's only got one button. I'm going to put this photograph on the internet and send it to all our friends. And don't snort, Philip. He's such a snorter. He never supports me. Philip, I want you in this photograph. I insist.'

Philip edged into frame with all the enthusiasm of someone about to undergo a colonoscopy. Balders located the elusive button – 'Say cheese.'

'Cheese,' said Minchin appearing in the viewfinder. Balders looked at the camera as if it was somehow faulty. 'I want my rent. I know you're making money,' said Minchin. 'That's no cheap shirt.'

Shirts – Yes. Balders dashed to his car, summoned Minchin over and opened the boot, 'As part payment? For the rent?'

'I wouldn't be seen dead in the same shirts as you.'

'But I can't pay now. Soon?'

'What will be, will be,' said Minchin. As he went back to his car the wind hissed through the trees and an electricity pylon crackled. Balders wondered what Minchin meant by this cryptic remark before concluding that he probably didn't mean anything bad by it at all.

'Everyone's happy now!' exclaimed Barbara.

'I got a great deal from the boss,' said Minchin. 'And the electric windows don't seem to stick on mine. Not like they do on the one you're buying.'

'He's only jealous,' hissed Barbara but Philip had already started obsessing over the fact that the car they were buying had electric windows that stuck, and that they had been shafted by crooks and thieves after all.

Balders entered the showroom to see Manny skimming through Lonely Hearts Of The Vendee. Manny recited from a page of A4 paper that acted as a book-mark – 'Clarissa's curls tumbled loosely around her naked porcelain shoulders...' Hot stuff, Balders. Whose is this?'

'Customer's,' said Balders snatching the piece of paper, crumpling it and chucking it into a bin.

37

'What's your problem? Just being friendly.' Balders hastily scribbled on a pad – 'Take Minchin's car to the mechanics. It needs checking over. For tomorrow. Here.' It didn't look like a map to Manny. It looked like a something his three-year old might have done in a less than creative moment. Balders stabbed at the various squiggles with a stubby finger – 'That's a church. That's us. That's the mechanics – ' ' – Hang on. You sold a car to that couple. You got the bonus, so what's the problem? It can't be because I sold a car to your landlord because you were hiding from him. It's hardly my fault that you can't pay your rent. Come on mate, play fair.'

'Mate? You may have been here ten minutes but I've been here ten years. Now take Minchin's car and SOD OFF.' Balders fixed his stare on a coffee stain on his desk, planning on staring until the end of time, or until Manny left, whichever came quicker.

'Knob,' said Manny as he left.

Balders fished out the crumpled paper from the bin, smoothed it out and inserted it back in the book. He put the book back in the drawer, undid his top button and opened a packet of Bobby's Cheese Puffs.

13.

'Here we are again Here we are again' Manny drove Minchin's car into a desolate industrial estate, his band's song playing loudly on the stereo. The melancholic rock music provided a suitable soundtrack to the bleak surroundings. Manny idly mused that it would be a good location for a pop video, forgetting momentarily that he was no longer in a band. The road was pot-holed, ash-black and lakes of oily water covered most of the surface. The few remaining buildings were of a corrugated steel and asbestos construction and the only businesses still trading were Denzil & Daughter Demolition Co., and the recently established Valleys FM radio station – 'Live your life, respect the music!' Several businesses including Hopkins Double Glazing, Pritchard 38

Light Engineering, Terry's Cabs, Colonel Creamy's Ices, Drefawr Banner's And Sign's, Valley Print Works and Barry's Baguette's had all closed down leaving nothing but faded signage and bankrupt dreamers, although in the case of Drefawr Banner's And Sign's they probably only had themselves to blame. Manny looked at Balders' map. He looked around the ghostly enterprise park. He knew he was lost.

14.

Balders sauntered to his car with a plastic container full of water – 'Booker, Booker, Daddy wants a chat.'

His good spirits evaporated on realising the car driver's door was open. He raced around the car as if Booker might be indulging in an inept game of hide and seek, but no – 'BOOKER!' The Stepney Hotel was once one of the town's jewels. It was an imposing four-storey Victorian pile built at the height of the coal rush when the town buzzed with parades, concerts, rallies and Eisteddfodau, and a train-line brought the world to its door. Since those halcyon days various chancers had tried to make a quick buck, assisted by the fact that the building was not considered architecturally important enough to be listed. In the 70s someone hacked out the fireplaces and cornices. Worse was to come in the mid 90s when Wayne Breeze, heir to the Sunny Valley Slots fruit machine empire, bought the place for development.

His men smashed through the ground floor walls; bulldozed the ballroom, where for generations the area's luminaries held their wedding receptions; splintered through the oak-clad lounge, where the town's founding fathers cured society's ills; demolished the double height reception area, where Lloyd George once posed for a photograph; dismantled the unique cast iron staircase; crushed the chandeliers and blitzed through bricks, bars, snugs and memories to create a vast blackwalled nightclub. As a nod to history the nightclub was called Steps.

Except for storage the thirty-three guest rooms languished but when a broken window on the third floor went unrepaired legions of pigeons checked in. Thugs, drugs and debt stopped the music and three years 39

ago the hand-carved mahogany doors finally shut. The wrecking ball of a Denzil & Daughter Demolition Co. crane piled relentlessly into the exhausted walls, but none of this concerned Balders as he dashed past.

'BOOKER!' He ran past the Housing Association office, Albert's Taxis, Drefawr Amateur Boxing Club, Merv's Bookmakers and the bus station, calling all the way, getting more sweaty and more upset with every exhausted step, all the way up to his scruffy but solid front door. But no dog waited. As Balders struggled for breath a semi-deflated brightly coloured 60th birthday balloon lolled its way miserably down the street.

15.

Manny paced and smoked and cursed his lot but composed himself when a Merc appeared. He was annoyed with himself for telling Gina about his plight but then again she had answered the phone, and who else could help him? Balders was a knob, Angie was banned from driving and Billy didn't need to know.

'Where would you be without me, eh?' said Gina: womanly, empowering.

'Lost,' said Manny: boyish, emasculated.

'Follow me...'

Manny strolled into the double-bay mechanics workshop to be greeted by two crude oily young men.

'Who are you?'

'I'm Manny. New salesman.'

'Making a move on our Gina are you?'

'No. I'm married' 'Good. I'm Brad.'

'And I'm Monkey Boy.' 'They call him that coz he looks a bit like a monkey.'

But his name really is Brad.'

'Car will be ready first thing tomorrow.'

40

Manny got put his mobile phone and CD on his lap and reached for the awkwardly positioned seat belt. Gina noticed the CD and plucked it away causing Manny to freeze momentarily as her fingers danced too close to his crotch for comfort – 'What's this?'

'My band,' – cough – 'My old band...'

The track began to play and Gina closed her eyes, paying close attention to nuances within the song. She nodded thoughtfully to Manny: this is good. After a minute or so she turned the volume down.

'I thought about you.'

'Oh – ' ' – Not like that! Only that you go for things. You went to London, formed a band, played gigs, allsorts. I'm impressed. Can't have been easy, giving it up.'

'I've got a family to think of. Married now, aren't I?' 'I know. I was there...' Manny braced himself: here we go – 'Gina, that was – ' ' – Afternoon sun, cheap champagne. Don't know what came over me. All the wedding guests – us in the bushes.'

'It wasn't, 'bushes'. That makes it sound... it was just a small tree, really.'

'A wild cherry tree covered in white flowers,' said Gina. 'I kept some blossom. In a locket.'

'It was barely a kiss,' said Manny. 'Not worth remembering, really.'

'A moment of madness. I know. Chill, Manny, some of us like life on the edge. It's forgotten now.'

She kept some blossom? In a locket?

16.

Balders sat on the stained carpet-tiled floor of the Admin Office – 'This is how it is for me. I save my laptop from my cousins, then I lose my dog.'

'What do you want a laptop for anyway?' asked Angie. '...I write stuff.'

'What stuff?'

41

'Nothing.'

He stared at the floor. If anyone could know his secret and not taunt him forever it was lovely Angie. But there was no way he could tell her. Not yet. Probably not ever.

'Stories – ' ' – Woof.' Balders looked up. It sounded distinctly like a dog barking – his dog barking. Angie brightened up on his behalf.

'Woof!' she said.

Between the Admin Office building and a tumbledown barn was a narrow path used as a dumping ground for tyres, rusting chairs and broken signs. Balders clambered over the debris and saw his beloved Booker tethered to a fence.

'Look who's here,' said Manny. 'It's Daddy!'

'Bastard,' said Balders. Manny skipped by with a neat side-step.

Balders bolted and caught up with his nemesis on the forecourt, grabbing him by the jacket.

'What's the matter with you, you maniac?'

'Bloody wind-up merchant.'

The hound's barking had also attracted the attention of Billy Wheeler who came out of the showroom in time to witness an impromptu wrestling bout. Ok, 'wrestling' was maybe too technical a term for what was basically just a couple of goofs clinging onto each other whilst ineffectually trying to land blows, and to say it was, 'handbags at five paces' was an insult to the hard-drinking tattooed ladies who scrapped outside the town's more notorious pubs on a Saturday night. But whatever it was, it certainly was an inappropriate way for two employees of Wheelers Garage to go about their business.

'YOU TWO. MY OFFICE. NOW.' Billy slammed the door and looked imperiously at the dishevelled salesmen standing before him.

'He stole my dog,' said Balders.

'No I didn't, I found it,' said Manny.

'Liar.'

'Psycho.'

42

'So you assaulted him?' said Billy. Balders considered the reply.

The question sounded rhetorical, maybe answering was unnecessary.

'And where was this dog?'

'Behind the Admin block. I'd been out to the mechanics and when I got back I heard it whimpering. I think it had got a bit tangled – ' ' – It's not an 'it', it's a 'he'.'

'Shut up Balders,' said Billy, 'But fundamentally alright, yeah Manny?'

'Yes. He was.'

'Bowl of water?'

'Yes.' 'Not thirsty then?'

'No.' Balders had an inkling where this was heading: nowhere good.

'Not stinking up any company cars?'

'Definitely not.'

'And where is this animal now?'

'I don't know...'

'Balders?' '...In the car.'

'That'll be the company car, yeah? i.e. MY BLOODY COMPANY CAR! I must have told you a hundred times Balders, keep your stinking mutt out of my cars. WE'RE TRYING TO SELL THE BLOODY THINGS.' Billy's phone rang. He listened for a moment before pressing the speaker-phone button. 'Mike Tyson? It's for you.'

'Hello?' said Balders.

'Mr Baldwin? It's Barbara Joseph here. We're very sorry but we'll have to cancel. We'll come and collect the deposit. What it is...' – another voice, male, came on the line – 'We don't have to explain ourselves to him.' The line went dead, as did Balders' dreams.

No Barbara equals no deposit equals no bonus equals no computer equals no Clarissa.

'That was that bloody Golf wasn't it?' Balders nodded. 'He had a customer for it!' said Billy, jabbing his finger towards Manny.

'USELESS.' Balders couldn't argue. 'You two shake hands. Now get out – except you, Manny – you stay.'

43

Manny was disconcerted by the way that Billy was staring at him. Why had he been asked to stay? Balders was at fault. His smelly dog. His company car. His collapsed deal. Billy opened a bottle of Penderyn, poured himself a glass, nosed it, sipped it, swirled it, and took a large swig. He looked at some paperwork but his eyes didn't focus. He eased the papers away. He tapped his fingers on the desk.

Why did Billy keep a spade in the boot of his car? And why did the last salesman disappear? And what the hell was a 'Dead Man's Chair' anyway?

'How's your first day going?'

'I sold a car.'

'You did. That's why you're here.'

'Absolutely. It's time to be – ' ' – A HARD WORKING FAMILY MAN.' 'Yeah – ' ' – Not some SILLY FOOL.' 'Oh, yes. Totally – ' ' – Prancing about on stage in leather trousers.'

'So immature – ' ' – Pulling groupies.' '...well, not since I met Claire.'

'Never stopped a man before.' Billy took a slow swig. 'I was like you once. Lovely young wife. But you're working late. You're not on your own. There's a female colleague. Nice looker. You know she thinks a lot of you. You know she hasn't seen through you yet. And she's offering you something so simple. Men are weak, and women like that don't help. You get me?'

'I think so,' said Manny.

'And try not to get Balders more sweaty than he already is.' The intercom buzzed. Manny tensed up as he heard Gina's voice – 'Derek from the auction is on the line – ' ' – I'll phone him back.' Billy stared into Manny's eyes. 'Good looking, my daughter. Isn't she?'

'Well, I – ' ' – Oh, she is, she is...' said Billy. He swirled the whisky in his glass once more. 'I enjoyed our little chat.'

44

17.

Manny's watch limped towards five o'clock. The job was adequate, the people confrontational, the money rubbish, but at least it was a job and jobs were difficult enough to come by in this godforsaken town before the economic meltdown, let alone now. Manny realised a little gratitude might be in order. He was a married man with a job, a lovely lady and a happy child. He'd looked after Number One for most of his dilettante life; certainly for most of the period since dropping out of Wolverhampton University after two terms of a Music Technology degree and heading to London to try and make it in the music industry.

But now he had responsibilities – time to be, '...a hard-working family man', as Billy had put it. Above all Manny wanted an easy life but Gina, destructive gorgeous Gina, her life had been too easy. She was a woman who craved a little chaos and here she was, languidly approaching his desk on the look-out for some early evening anarchy.

She kept some blossom in a locket?

'We're all going to the pub tonight – Angie, Balders, me.'

Gina had checked with Angie – she was staying in, celebrating her buy-out payment with a nice bottle of Merlot and a good book. Gina had checked with Balders. He was taking Angie's advice and having a quiet night in.

'Love to, but I should go straight home.'

'You must celebrate your first day. Staff tradition. Oh and Balders' customer? The one who cancelled? Posh voice, Barbara – something?

She rang. Coming in by 5.30. The deal's back on. I'll get my coat. We'll go in my car.'

Manny was keen to get home to his family, a nice cooked meal and a trashy American cop show but a quick drink with the natives couldn't do any harm, could it? He crossed to Balders' desk and wrote on a Postit note – 'Good news'.

'You've been sacked?' said Balders, on returning from a power nap in the Gents.

'Your deal. Barbara? Back on.'

45

'Woo-hoo! £100 bonus, in the bag!' Manny smiled at the fool and the fool smiled back. 'Sorry for attacking you...Trainee.'

'It's ok... Senior. Call it my initiation. So...'

'What?'

'Who's this Clarissa woman? With her '...porcelain shoulders' ?'

Back in London Manny had hung out with poets and artists and writers. He wouldn't mock a reluctant wordsmith but the reluctant wordsmith stuck up two fingers in a most agricultural manner. Manny heard the efficient beep of a German car horn. Outside in the cold damp evening air Gina sat in her Mercedes, heater on full blast, the convertible roof slowly retracting.

18.

If the White Horse Inn was a horse it would have been shot. It had been in decline since the demise of the stagecoach after the railway station was built at the other end of town. There was no Sky Sports, no gastronomy, no wine list. There were pictures of classic cars on the wall, donated by Billy, and a broken pool table. There were faded caricatures of customers long dead and fairy lights which remained on all year round. The over-riding colour was maroon except for the black and gold painted woodwork and maroon and cream flock wallpaper adorned the ceiling. It was in 1974, the era of Berni Inns, Mateus Rose, big cigars and red serviettes that The White Horse had its last re-fit. Back then it attracted a bustling post-work crowd as well as amateur theatre players, local dignitaries, ballroom dancers and the small but discreet Drefawr gay scene, but that was then. At one end of the room was a small stage with a couple of 70s disco lights, an old mixing desk and a small PA system. Stan Kenton's Opus In Turquoise played on the jukebox and there were only two other people present when Manny and Gina arrived: Jeff the natty landlord, late-sixties and wearer of jacquard cardigans and bow ties; and Vince, occasional barber, a large round man in his early-sixties with dyed black pudding-basin hair, black suit, open necked white shirt, red braces and the breathing patterns of a man about to expire.

'Bloody hell, it's the 1970s!' said Manny as they walked in. Gina nudged him playfully.

46

'No swearing now. The duchess is in.' said Jeff.

'Bloody hell,' said Vince.

'Vince!' said Jeff.

'Gina, Gina, who's this? Who's this? New boyfriend is it?' said Vince.

'This is Russ's son-in-law, Manny,' she said.

Manny looked like the sort of customer Jeff needed to attract in these difficult times. Things were grim since the twin bombshells of smoking ban and endless recession, and most of Jeff's old regulars stayed home alone these days with cheap supermarket lager, smuggled fags and antique shows; afternoons of smoky alcohol-enhanced camaraderie and fond reminiscence fading from their memories.

'He's come back to look after Russ,' said Jeff. 'He's a good boy.

This one's on the house. Gina?'

'On the house?' said Vince.

Jeff was well-known for his parsimony but he'd read in the local rag that heroin dealers were handing out free samples outside a valley's school to try and get kids hooked, and thought he'd try his own version with beer and dry roasted nuts.

'Sparkling mineral water. I'm driving,' said Gina.

'You passed your test then. At last,' said Jeff. 'What'll you have sir?

Beer?'

'We have 'Whoosh' and 'Canal', said Vince.

'Ok...' said Manny. 'You want to tell me why it's called 'Whoosh?''

'Because – ' – Now, now, Vince, not new customers – ' ' – Coz it goes straight through you,' said Gina.

'Whoosh!' said Vince.

'It doesn't really,' said Jeff.

'And I'm guessing 'Canal' tastes – ' ' – like it's from the canal,' said Gina.

'It's an old joke,' said Jeff. Vince pitched in – 'Hey, Mr Manny. Do you want to buy an electric razor? Only five pounds.'

47

'You'll like this,' said Jeff. Every time a newcomer entered the pub Vince performed the same trick. It had been several weeks since Jeff had seen it last.

'Need to shave see,' said Vince. 'For kissing the girls. Nice and smooth. Go on, electric razor five pounds.'

'Ok.' Vince delved into his pocket and pulled out an electric plug with a plastic razor stuffed into the hole where the cable would normally go.

Jeff pointed at the puerile article with a silent grin. Vince became helpless in mirth, laughter preceding a wracking cough which made large wet tears fall from his eyes and nose.

'He alright?' asked Manny.

'Aye,' spluttered Vince.

'Welcome to the White Horse,' said Jeff handing Manny a pint of Dock. 'That's the local ale.'

Manny took a swig of warm stale bitter ale. Gina watched happily, hungrily, as Manny acquainted himself with the pub, the people, the beer, her world.

19.

Billy came out of his office, big coat buttoned up and ready to hit the trail. Balders stared out of the window, full of naive hope like a one-eyed puppy in a pet shop.

'Buyers are liars,' said Billy. 'They say they'll be back. It's a lie.

That's why we call them, 'Be-backs'. You've got to close them down.

They'll only go and buy somewhere else. Times are hard but people still need cars.' A car pulled up 'That's them. I knew they'd be back, Boss,' said Balders. The headlights went off. The headlights went on. The car reversed and drove away.

'Tick-tock,' said Billy as the clock struck six. 'Time to go home.'

'Any chance of an advance? It's serious, or I wouldn't ask.'

'It's always serious with you, Balders. There's money all around you. In every car there's a big black lump of commission for you to dig out. You need to think about your shovelling technique.'

48

The lights went out. Surely he had shovelled as well as could be expected. He'd closed the deal and taken a deposit only for it to un-close – un-close? Was that even a word? And what part did Barbara and Phil take in this analogy? Were they the coal lorry? Or the hearth? Or Maggie Thatcher? Whatever they were, it was over. The mine owner had gone and with him the chance of a bonus bucket of coal. Clarissa was in real peril. Being cornered caused Balders stress and this was only fuelled by the sight of Barbara's car approaching once more. The coal lorry was back but it was too late now.

'Are you still open? We've more or less decided...'

Balders stepped forward, the headlight's beam lighting up his Halloween leer – 'Are we open? Yes? Or... No? Know what, Barbara? I can't decide.

Yes. Come this way.' Barbara and Phil started to get out of their car.

'WAIT A MINUTE – NO! No, we are NOT open. WE'RE CLOSED. So BUGGER OFF.' The sherry-drinking, cash-rich, church-going, fox-hunting, Viyellashirted, Barbour-jacketed, Aga-cooking, Saga-insured old flakes dived back into the safety of their car and hurriedly locked it from the inside as Balders strode towards them like a hired killer on crack. He fired one last volley of verbal bullets.

'I JUST MADE A BASTARD DECISION. NOT TOO HARD? DIDN'T KILL ME, DID IT?' The traumatised pair zoomed off and the crazed motor-merchant chased them into the darkness. A hundred yards later he pulled up, breathless. He wasn't the fittest of men. The shouting alone was exhausting. He knew he'd blown it. He knew they would never come back to Wheelers. Not now. Not ever. He could have had the bonus tomorrow but he lived and died for today. He turned and traipsed back to the forecourt where he sat in his car, resting his heavy head on the steering wheel where it remained for several minutes until he drifted away – ...to a smart penthouse flat where he wore a white suit and where Booker had a white leather collar and where he sat at his white desk and where his loyal assistant Gina – Gina... really? Where did she come from? Ah well, can't argue with a dream – Gina 49

clad in white chiffon – naughty Balders! – entered to tell him that his book was still number one on the fiction chart six months after publication – BANG 'Open the car door or I'll break the window,' yelled a squat stocky man in a black tie and dark supermarket suit. This was it. The cousins were back. All day long Balders had begged and lied and stripped and strived to avoid this moment but in vain – unless..? Ok, it hadn't worked with Minchin but a captive audience down the pub? Why hadn't his genius brain thought of it before?

'Get in. I'll get you your money. Down the pub. Done deal. Come on – ' Ryan and Bryan weren't interested. They'd missed out on Bailiffs Breakfasts and their hunger was rendering them delirious. Balders needed inspiration. He was a car salesman, born to think on his feet – ok, they were actually off the ground at this precise moment, but still. As the cousins jostled him Balders tried to disarm them with half-remembered memories of childhood, attempting to jolt them into familial warmth – like the time Ryan threw a rock into the air which landed on Balders' head and blood flowed down his forehead and he needed four stitches, or the time Bryan snapped a snooker cue across Balders' shoulder – but to no avail. They were Strongarm Debt Collectors and their mission statement was, 'We always deliver' – We always deliver...? YES! 'I thought you always delivered?' spluttered Balders as Bryan's grip impacted on his larynx. The cousins were thrown: threats and menaces subsided. It was true – they did always deliver – that's why they'd had it printed on their cards. 'Well, if you want to deliver like you always say you do, and I mean really deliver, you'd better come with me.'

20.

Tom Robinson's anthemic paean to truckers, 2-4-6-8 Motorway blasted over the White Horse's low-tech 1970s sound-system as Ryan and Bryan modelled two of Angie's shirts to a small but select group of fashionistas, some of whom were clapping and singing along with gusto; 50

lack of knowledge of the actual lyrics in no way inhibiting their enjoyment. Despite their awkwardness and lack of enthusiasm, Ryan and Bryan were serious men who wanted to enhance their reputation for delivering. Balders MC'd the event.

'We're talking pure quality here, Jeff! We're talking class, we're talking chic, we're talking my favourite cousins, Ryan and Bryan.'

'Laurel and Hardy is it?' called Vince.

'Oi,' said Ryan.

'Strictly Come Dancing,' called Jeff – 'Good game, good game...'

'Gissa twirl boys,' called Gina, inducing some rock'n'roll style shoulder shuffling from the models. Gina and Manny sat snug at a corner table some way from the action. 'Now you know why I never left,' said Gina, trying to communicate above the music.

'Sorry...?'

'That's why I never left,' said Gina, indicating the dancing fools.'

'Ah... that's why you never left!'

'Yes!' 'Why did you stay?'

'To run the family business. My own little empire.' She looked at the cousins once more, 'And I wonder why I'm single.' Manny's mobile phone vibrated on the table. Gina saw Claire's name as Manny answered it – 'In the White Horse, quick drink... Yeah, staff tradition... Won't be long... I don't know, cab or something... Ok, bye.'

Gina concluded that Claire was giving Manny a tough time, probably for thwarting her, 'plonk and no knickers' plan.

'I'll run you home later. Save you the cab fare. You don't want to miss the show.' Gina swigged her water, hinting at Manny to sup a little quicker – 'Fancy another?'

'See how they groove, on the dance floor, givin' the moves. Go for it, lads,' rapped MC Balders.

Manny started to unwind. Ok, Gina was being a bit flirty, but by continuing to involve herself in Balders' shenanigans it felt more like a staff do and less like... less like what? He relaxed sufficiently to join in proceedings but his ill-judged wolf-whistle drew a cold wind through the 51

shabby bar; imaginary tumbleweed rolling across the threadbare carpet.

The music died and the microphone emitted a loud shriek of eardamaging feedback.

'Who you whistling at?' snarled Ryan. Gina leant her shoulder against Manny to reassure him but Manny found himself checking what obstacles lay between his seat and the exit.

'Okay, okay, back to the Catwalk Kings! We'll lynch the stranger with the skinny hands later,' said Balders. The mood lightened and the music returned. Despite the reference to 'lynching' Manny was grateful to Balders for introducing a degree of levity. Gina lightly touched the back of Manny's hand.

'Not skinny hands. Musician's hands,' she said.

'Handshake hands from now on,' said Manny, clapping along with the floor-show to keep his hand away from hers.

'Show me the money. Quality shirts on the cheap, eighty in the shops and thirty in your dreams.'

'Tenner for the lot! Tenner for the lot!' shouted Vince.

'The ball is rolling! We have a bid! C'mon or I'll start singing – 'Are you lonesome tonight?''

Angie wasn't lonesome tonight. Not anymore. She had finished the Merlot and an uninspiring bodice-ripper and had booked one of Albert's boneshaker taxis to transport her.

'I thought you were staying in?' said Balders as she approached the stage.

'I thought you were too,' said Angie. 'I ran out of wine.' She took the microphone and fingered the collar of Ryan's shirt – 'This one was worn in the Angel Hotel during a company function.

Lovely wife – that's me by the way – talked into not coming as it was going to be 'tedious'. Mistress – scheming bitch slut – talked into coming as it was going to be 'terrific'. It's been dry-cleaned but you can still smell her scent if you sniff hard enough.' Ryan had a discreet sniff. Angie handed the microphone back to Balders. 'Don't let me stop you,' she said before making her way to the bar. The chastened MC followed closely behind.

'I really needed the money, Ange – ' Balders didn't expect the short sharp slap on the cheek but accepted it without complaint.

52

'Do what you like. Shows initiative I suppose. Large scotch please, Jeff. And a bottle of wine to go.' Angie noticed Manny and Gina sitting together. 'Showing you the bright lights, is she?'

'We were on our way – I'm giving Manny a lift home,' said Gina standing up to leave, but flopping back down as Claire appeared in the doorway – 'Hiya, babes,' called Manny, 'I was just leaving.'

'No need to now, o-husband of mine.'

'How's your Dad, love?' asked Jeff.

'Babysitting. What you having, Gina?'

'Vodka,' said Gina. 'Large one.' Jeff served the drinks before returning to the shirts quandary. Balders and cousins waited impatiently for his verdict.

'They're a bit... flash?'

'They are designer,' said Angie. 'Any man would be glad to have them.'

Jeff knew he lacked the usual publican's charisma but for once he was the centre of attention and Angie, lovely Angie, was looking on. Despite his timid nature and penchant for conservative clothing; despite the fact that he was twenty-two years older than she was; despite the fact that Angie was way too much of a woman for him ever to begin to deal with; despite all that – no he couldn't possibly... even to think it would be wrong.

'Oh go on then,' said Jeff.

'RESULT. The five for one-fifty, yeah? I'm stinging myself but needs must.'

'Cut the sales talk, Balders. You're crap at it. I'll give you a hundred.' Balders looked at the cousins. They nodded in approval.

'Deal!'

Angie waved Balders' gratitude away. Gina quickly necked more vodkas. Jeff went to the till to fish out a handful of beer-soaked ten pound notes.

'Sorry about the rocks, Balders,' said Ryan. 'I was throwing them towards the drain. I wasn't aiming for your head.'

'It's history, Cuz. All forgotten now.'

53

Jeff was a man of hidden depths but had another trait less well concealed: that of being a mean git.

'Now then – there's your bar tab...' Balders dancing eyes went straight to the small blackboard behind the bar. It bore a simple legend – Balders £44.

'And then there's £50 damages...' Jeff withdrew five further notes from the wad before pointing to an Out Of Order sign hanging over the pool table. Balders had a brief flashback to the, 'Hilarious-At-The-Time Onion Bhaji Pool Ball Incident' a few evenings previously. Jeff handed Balders a lone fiver and a solitary pound. The cousins started furiously glugging their pints. Balders studied his spoils.

'Ah. Nearly forgot.' said Jeff. 'Lottery. Five weeks.'

The last fiver plucked away, Balders examined the shape and texture of the pound coin with more intensity than it deserved before dropping it into the charity box for Kitties In Distress. It landed with a hollow thunk and somewhere a distressed kitty miaow-ed. The furious slurping of angry cousins neared its conclusion. A few yards away on a leatherette covered reproduction settle Gina let her guard drop – 'When I said in the car earlier that I didn't think of you like that...' she whispered to Manny, her vodka breath hot on his cheek, 'I did – I mean, I do...'

Manny didn't want to hear this. His wife was only feet away jiving with an alcoholic barber. He stood up sharply – 'Hey Claire, didn't know you could dance like that!'

'My Dad taught me.' Gina knocked back her fourth large vodka, picked up her handbag and left.

'Come and dance with me,' said Claire.

'You two carry on. It's fantastic. I've got two left feet,' Manny gestured towards the loo but his two left feet took a sharp right turn into the car-park where he did a quick reccie as he lit up a Lambert. Gina stood by her Merc, rummaging in her bag for her key.

'You can't drive, Gina.'

'Can.' 'You've been drinking.'

'Haven't.'

'Go back inside.'

54

The cousins appeared, frogmarching Balders to his car. Balders looked across. Manny waved his nicotine alibi. Gina located the keys, the cold autumn drizzle impacting on her – 'I'm not leaving my lovely car here with that bunch of in-breds.'

Manny watched as some in-breds bundled Balders into his car.

'Family business,' said Balders. Manny made a lunge for Gina's key but she was too quick.

'Give them to me. You're not driving. You've had a few – ' ' – Have I? Been watching me, have you? You're such a tease. All day you've been looking at me. I've seen you.'

'I haven't.'

Gina held the key high above her head. The combination of her model's height and high heels made it difficult for him to reach. His valiant attempts amused them both – 'I'm taller than you,' she lullabyed.

'Stop messing around. You've got four-inch heels on, anyway.

That's fake height.'

'Stop messing around, or what?'

'Or... nothing. How old are you?!'

'I'm twenty-five and a half.'

'Give me the key.' She stopped giggling – 'It's no crime, you know – to admit you're above all this. This place. These people – ' ' – Give me the key, Gina.'

'Fake height. That's funny – you're funny. Really. A good sense of humour. I like that.'

Gina relented and Manny took the key. Suddenly she was very close, hair blowing in the breeze, face damp and honest in the glow of the illuminated pub sign. 'We'd make a lovely couple, you and me,' she said softly, searching his eyes for clues. He had a beery mellowness about him and was aware of how close they were; of how attractive she was.

Gina took her chance, puckered up but met only fresh air. 'Manny?' she mewled as he strode purposefully back to the sanctuary of the pub. It was at that moment that Gina Wheeler, empire builder, Mercedes driver and local beauty-queen realised she was going to throw up.

55

21.

Ryan held a large sledgehammer outside Balders' front door as Bryan and Balders re-staged the 'Car Bonnet' routine which was now verging on the passé. 'Where's the bloody keys, Balders?'

'I... they're in the pub. I forgot to ask Jeff. I can get 'em tomorrow?'

'No. We do this tonight. Now.' 'Please don't smash the door – ' ' – No choice. Bryan?'

Bryan released Balders and lifted the sledge-hammer. Balders' keys had been in his suit's lining all along, having fallen through a hole in his pocket but he couldn't admit that now. He switched to Plan B – 'Then please let me save something to a stick then, yeah? Ryan? I can definitely see you right tomorrow.'

'Strict instructions. £100, or computer. We always – ' ' – deliver. Yes.' Bryan was in mid-swing when Ryan raised his hand to suspend the operation. He pushed gently at the door. It was already open. The three men and a dog stealthily went along the corridor, up the stairs and into Balders' flat where Ryan briefly wondered where the landlord-offending nudie pictures were. In the lacklustre living-room, on a cheap white melamine desk where the laptop usually sat was a dust-free laptopshaped space and a hand-written note – Taken in lieu of rent 'Clarissa!' said Balders.

'Clarissa?' said Bryan, unexpectedly.

'It's not my fault – ' said Balders as the cousins spun to face him.

'Ah there it is! On the floor – see it?' The credulous cousins took the bait so Balders scarpered, pulling a chair over to form a rudimentary barricade. He tumbled down the stairs and out into the night, his barking mad dog running joyfully alongside him.

'GET HIM,' yelled Ryan.

56

22.

Drefawr was shutting down for the night. A forlorn car alarm rang out and owls hooted at the moon. Spiteful youths abandoned their diligent destruction of a bus stop and made their way to broken homes. The remaining few letters on a late night takeaway's broken neon sign fizzled out and sheets of drizzle descended on the town like a shroud. A powerful sports car roared incongruously through the mean streets, the roof retracted despite the drizzle in order to accommodate the squashed form of Gina Wheeler in the inadequate rear seats. As Claire drove they passed a dank lane down which an unfit and fearful car salesman and his faithful mutt hurtled for all they were worth. The chaser had pulled up some time ago, but ignorant of this the pair helter-skeltered down the main street, around the corner and into the dark valley's night.

The Merc pulled up outside Shangri-la, Drefawr's only 1970s mockSpanish villa. Gina Wheeler clambered out of the rear like a brokenwinged bird before stumbling groggily to the front door.

'I've never had sex in a sports car,' said Claire. 'Not yet anyway...'

'I love you so much,' said Manny. He squeezed her thigh as the metal roof rose and closed over their heads. Claire clicked through the radio pre-sets and happened across Valleys F.M. in time to catch the opening bars of Tina Turner's, Let's Stick Together. She released the handbrake and the Merc set off for the reservoir car-park. From the shadow of the hacienda a bedraggled figure watched them go.

23.

Balders leant back against the desert mural and switched on a dilapidated fan heater. It rattled into life. He still owed the cousins money and Minchin still had his laptop, but there was nothing he could do for Clarissa tonight. She had been taken in lieu of rent but Balders reckoned she was out of danger. The laptop was not a new model and the contents would be of no interest to Minchin. Clarissa was simply collateral. All Balders had to do was pay some rent and he'd get her back but that was a job for tomorrow. He adjusted a small lamp, pulled a dirt57

stained anorak over his legs, cuddled his beloved dog and opened Rosemary Leaf's Loyal Hearts Of The Vendee. It was Raoul's last chance.

Balders shuffled around to find a more comfortable reading position. He turned to page 133 – Heat, light, dog, book, safety... good. All good. Now, come on Raoul...

58

Chapter 2 – The Woo-hoo Sale

Balders' flat was above a disused shop that had until twelve years previously been occupied by the Ball & James Lighting Emporium.

Messrs Ball and James had opened the shop in 1958 but the lights went out when a DIY superstore opened on the new retail park and Mr Ball's eldest, Barry, had to pull the plug. Various aspiring shopkeepers had invested savings, redundancy payments and bank loans over the years flogging wares as diverse as DVDs, bric-a-brac, holistic therapies, skateboards, magic 'nailz', wedding accessories, car parts and carpets but none had succeeded. The last hopeful entrepreneur was a former pop van man called Simon Blower who opened Stingray's Surf Shop; chances of success fatally undermined by a fifteen mile drive to the nearest wave.

Balders suspected that even if there were a pair of trespassing cousins in his flat he was unlikely to hear them from the street. He unlocked the door and crept past the piles of supermarket offers, takeaway menus and obsolete telephone directories before heading cautiously up the dingy staircase – the lightbulb having expired several months previously. More febrile listening on the landing convinced him that the coast was clear. He entered and checked out the bedroom. Noone there. Good. He glanced into his living room. No-one there either.

Also good. He relaxed, went into the kitchen, put down a bowl of water for Booker, ate a stale cream cracker and filled the kettle. As he did so, the toilet flushed. He stared at the tap.

How did that happen?

2.

59

The autumn morning sun shone on Wheelers forecourt. There were few hard and fast rules in the, 'Make-it-up-as-you-go-along' world of the used car trade, but one of them was 'Sun Equals Sales'. To celebrate this Billy Wheeler had inflated several balloons bearing the legend 'The Woohoo Sale' and tied them to various windscreen-wipers. One of the balloons burst which caused him to jump. He was too old for this lark.

Balloon-blowing, like sex, squash and exuberance was a young man's game. He stood back and surveyed his forecourt, surveyed his world: the cars, the bunting and the ten foot high mural of his exuberant younger self.

3.

The cousins chomped noisily on slices of unbuttered white toast in tribute to their heroes, The Blues Brothers. Balders entered carrying two plates of fried spam and beans.

'Someone said we looked like the Blues Brothers the other day.

What do you reckon, Balders?'

'Do you want to look like the Blues Brothers?'

'Thing is, none of us are Jake.'

'No?' 'The short, fat one.'

Short, squat one? Doesn't that count?

Ryan pointed at the places set in front of them as if Balders might set the plates down elsewhere.

'Right, house rules. You cook, clean and tidy up.'

'What do you do?'

'Not hurt you. We'll stop here 'til we get the hundred pounds or until you get the computer back from your landlord. You're a better cook than Aunt Mave. To be honest, her fried spam is beyond belief.

Your main job is to find out where your landlord keeps his stuff.'

Last night Balders was all for Clarissa remaining with Minchin until his rent was paid but he'd woken realising that, with his financial position exactly the same as the previous day, i.e. dire, he was unlikely to be paying rent anytime soon. However, if the cousins managed to purloin the computer from Minchin he could inveigle it from them 60

because, as the old saying goes, 'Blood is thicker than water', and they were thicker than he was.

'Minchin, my landlord, is coming in today to pick up his new car.

Maybe we could follow him?'

'Good thinking! Because the thing is, Balders, we always – ' ' – Deliver. Yes, I am aware.'

4.

Angie sat in the passenger seat of Balders' car idly sucking on a pen as she scanned the Property To-Let pages of the Valleys' Gazette. One advert enthralled her so much she scrawled several navy circles around it until the pen bore through to the pages below.

'Found a new place to live?' asked Balders.

'No. It's my old house – where I used to live. My ex is renting it out. He paid me half the equity but I thought he was going to live there...' She inhaled sharply as the implications raced around her head – It was Jimmy's house now. He had bought her out. Ok, so what was the problem with him letting it out? That's it. It's my house. My lovely garden. Despite everything... – 'It might sound mad but I don't like the idea of strangers living in my house.'

'I know what you mean.'

Angie touched Balders' arm as they slowed down outside her former matrimonial home, a three-and-a-half bedroom detached house on what was once marketed as Drefawr's First Modern Executive Estate: Vicarage Gardens. The land was once home to a fine Victorian manse with its eponymous landscaped gardens, tennis court and orchard, built when Methodist church services were the hottest ticket in town. The manse was sold in the 70s when the groovy new vicar – moustache, Ford Capri, 8 track cartridge player – argued successfully that a modern bungalow would be cheaper for the church to maintain. The manse was bought by the council and used as a children's home, then a men's bail hostel, before its final incarnation as a women's refuge. Funding ran out ten years ago and women now sought refuge elsewhere. Latterly, drunks and vandals had ignored the Keep Out signs and successfully bypassed the 61

council's shuttering and locks. The roof was pillaged for lead; the heating system for copper; and despite the local history society's urgent attempts to get the building listed it was burned to the ground one August night by teenage Satanists celebrating their exam results. In its place fourteen bland timber-framed 'executive' homes with thin walls, ill-fitting kitchen units and inadequate garages were erected and of the old property only a stone mullioned gatepost and a weeping willow remained.

From one of the porticoed doorways an attractive young woman bade farewell to a couple of prospective tenants. Angie slouched down in her seat – 'Oh my God! It must be her. That's the one Jimmy left me for.'

'She's very young,' said Balders. Angie punched him on his funny bone – 'Aw!' 'Drive, wimp. DRIVE. Go! Go – ' As the young woman disappeared Angie craned her neck to such a degree that to do so any further might have risked serious injury.

5.

'Balders? Show Manny what we do when we sell a car during the Woohoo Sale.'

'We say 'Woo-hoo', Boss,' said Balders as Angie rubbed her cricked neck and plotted her next move vis-à-vis the goings-on at No. 13 Vicarage Gardens.

'Do it properly.'

Balders climbed onto his chair, stepped over Manny and stood up high on Billy's desk. He put his arms in the air, did a daft little jig and proclaimed as requested.

'WOO-HOO.' Gina knew her sombre mood was primarily caused by alcohol's depressive qualities – last night's vodka still the scourge of her system – but this Woo-hoo nonsense wasn't helping.

'Customers love the Woo-hoo,' said Billy. 'If you're struggling to seal the deal, tell them if they buy the car you have to climb on the desk and shout 'Woo-hoo'. Works every time. Your turn.' Manny clambered onto the desk and Woo-hoo'd energetically.

62

A solemn hymn played. A curtain was slowly closing on another of Gina's dreams. She'd had hopes but last night Manny had spurned her, humiliated her, and driven off mocking with his wife in her new car listening to love-songs and now this: this acting like an attention-seeking prat. Gina had set her sights higher but if the hypothetical, 'man of her dreams' behaved like this, what hope was there? No hope.

'Any questions?' asked Billy.

'Are we reducing the price of the cars? For the sale?' asked Manny.

'Comedian are you, boy?'

Manny's phone-call to the newspaper small ads was hampered by the Woo-hoo Sale balloon tied to the phone's receiver – 'Instruments for sale. It's a guitar. 1997 USA Fender Strat. Cream. £350... Next week's edition, yeah?... Ok, thanks.' He put the phone down. 'The dream is over,' he said.

'Mine too,' said Balders.

'Eh?' 'My landlord's taken my computer.'

'Oh yeah, you write that Mills and Boon stuff, don't you?'

'MAKE SOME BLOODY PHONE CALLS.' 'YES BOSS.' The two salesmen simultaneously pretended to dial, but when Billy's door closed they returned to their woes.

'So, where do you get your ideas, Balders? For stories?'

'I make them up – ' Outside on the forecourt a tall slim man in his early sixties with an elaborate comb-over clawed at the string attached to one of the promotional balloons and peered at the legend printed thereon. He cocked his way around the forecourt like an angular bird, making notes on a pad as he did so. Balders and Manny had both spotted him, his behaviour seemed self-conscious and designed to intrigue.

Gina teetered the long way around the showroom to deliver a Post-it note to Balders – 'This guy rang. Sounds keen. Call him back, yeah?'

63

Manny wondered why Gina had so obviously handed the gift of a sales lead to Balders rather than him. She was his wife's friend after all.

Why hadn't she phoned it through? She was deliberately making a point, but what point? And why? He'd done nothing wrong. In fact he'd been rather noble. He'd stopped her driving off and being breathalysed, or crashing, or worse and what was he supposed to do anyway? Snog his wife's best mate in a pub car-park whilst his wife jived with a dipso barber? No. She was in the wrong, not him.

'Your car keys. From last night.'

Gina snatched them away and veered off in search of carbonated drinks and headache tablets. With his adversary distracted Balders made a dash for the door but Manny was sharp out of the blocks – 'I saw him first.'

'Bollocks you did,' said Balders. They collided briefly near the front wing of a custard-yellow Hyundai Coupe SE Auto parked in the showroom, and a flip of Balders' hip sent Manny skating across the highly polished floor, ending up on his backside by an umbrella stand, chuckling at their foolery. He looked beneath the Hyundai's chassis and out through the big showroom windows where he caught sight of Balders cantering across the forecourt, arm raised in victory.

'I like to be very thorough in my research,' said Comb-Over Man as he opened a notebook and licked the end of a propelling pencil. Balders didn't like customers making notes but had temporarily forgotten that a golden rule of the car trade is that customers must never take away written evidence regarding discounts or pricing, otherwise it could be shown to rival salesmen elsewhere in the county in order to try and negotiate a better deal. Without written evidence the customer could only state that a better deal had been offered, and therefore would not be believed because, according to The Car Salesman's Commandments – Buyers Are Liars 'You don't mind me making notes?'

No problemo. We have nothing to hide here,' said Balders, before remembering the golden rule – damn.

'The sale price is?' '£7995' 64

'That's the price on the windscreen...'

'Yup.' 'How can it be a sale price if it's the same as last week?'

'That's a good question. Are you thinking of buying a car, er...?

'Marker. Alan Marker. And the answer is 'possibly', but only after I've done my research.'

Marker's note-taking reminded Balders of miserable years being tested in school. He couldn't believe this Comb-Over Man's name was Marker, as in Marking, as in Exam. Balders hated exams; hated tests of any kind. When he was seventeen he was sitting his English Literature A-Level paper and was astonished to see the Head Boy, Graham 'Bongo' Daniels* get up and leave after less than fifteen minutes. This inspired Balders and shortly afterwards he too got up and left, but as he walked down the tiled corridor away from the gymnasium he saw the Headmaster consoling Bongo as he escorted him back towards the gym; back through the gym door; back into the exam. Neither registered Balders as they passed. He was left, transparent in a corridor lined with black and white photos going back decades: rugby captains, head boys, athletes, debating society champions, successful Oxbridge candidates and a series of panoramic school photos. Balders found himself in one of the line-ups. There he was, fourteen and soon-to-be forgotten; fourteen and pulling a childish face; fourteen and doomed. *Graham 'Bongo' Daniels went to Oxford where he attained a first class degree in Economics and became a lecturer in Political Science. Gareth 'Balders' Baldwin went to the University Of Life where he attained a third class degree in Underachievement and became a used car salesman.

6.

Billy knew Gina was struggling. He'd been a policeman. The evidence was compelling: the retching in the night, the absence of her new car outside the family home, the disappearance of half of the brand new bottle of mouthwash. Most incriminatingly of all, Jeff from the White Horse had phoned to see how she was, thus breaking one of the 65

Landlord's Commandments – Thou shall not grass up drunken daughters to over-protective fathers.

'Dad, it was a one-off. I don't even like drinking. You know that.'

'Good job Manny's wife was there.'

'Yeah, I guess it was...' Billy's phone rang – 'Hello?... Hiya Max, you old bugger! How was your holiday in France?... Très bon, eh?... No, that's all I know... And Jean?... Lovely.

And trade?...' The bonhomie faded. 'Go on...' Billy stroked the deep groove in his forehead as he absorbed the message. He picked up the local paper and went straight to the property section. On the page opposite the one where Angie's former home was listed was an advert for 'Land To Let'. He showed it to Gina. 'Up on the top road. Near where the old dairy stood. Could be a car lot going there.' He stared at the portrait of The Man With No Name as he dwelt on the implications – Wheelers couldn't take the competition. Not that close. Not now. Not when it's this quiet anyway. 'Max reckons someone's going round local showrooms asking questions.'

'What about warranties?'

'Six months.'

'On all cars?'

'Not over five years old. Or above 30,000 miles.'

'That seems satisfactory.' Alan Marker logged the responses in fine spidery handwriting. 'Do you do a 30 day money back guarantee?'

'No...' said Balders. He wasn't just being marked anymore. He was being inspected.

'Interesting.'

'I'd rather you didn't make notes...'

'Why ever not?'

'No reason.'

A man in his early fifties with blonde hair down to the collar, a pale beige summer suit, pink open-necked shirt, chunky gold bracelet, signet ring, cream summer shoes and an epicurean belly entered the showroom. This man looked like a player. Actually he looked like a football player – an ex-football player anyway – one of those 70s jack66

the-lads, the type who ran a pub or dated a Page 3 girl or gambled away his fortune or did all those things. He looked like the type of man who would buy a car quickly and not waste anyone's time. He might even be one of those mythical 'Hands Up Billys' the Boss had spoken of, not like this bloody annoying Comb-Over Cock, killing time before his shift started at the Spanish Inquisitor's Office – 'Ok. Next question...'

'What's your name, son?'

'Do you do courtesy cars?'

'Manny.'

'What? Oh... Depends...'

'I'm Ray. Ray Fielding.'

Balders looked at the name on the Post-it note Gina had delivered earlier. The name said, 'Ray Fielding'. This was the worst possible turn of events ever. Balders had won the battle of who would get the CombOver Cock, but had lost in every other way imaginable.

'I'm not here to waste your time. I'm here to buy a car.'

Argh!

'So do you?'

Sod off!

'Sometimes we do. As and when.'

'What about free roadside assistance?'

Balders banged his forehead onto the desk. One thing was for sure, Manny would be gloating. Balders knew that he'd gloat under those circumstances. Not gloating was not an option.

'Free roadside assistance?'

'No.' 'Paint protection?'

'Back in a second.'

Balders crossed to Manny's desk, gripping the Post-it note like a winning lottery ticket. 'Excuse me, I think you'll find that this gentleman is my customer. I was about to call you back Mr, er... Fielding. I have your number here.' Ray looked at the note, bemused by the intrusion – 'No one rang.'

67

'You already have a customer,' said Manny.

'I don't.'

'There's one sitting at your desk.'

'He's going.'

'Excuse me?' said the customer in a manner that suggested he wasn't going just yet.

'If you gentlemen want to fight over me...'

'Mr Manning knows the rules – ' ' – What rules? Mr Fielding, please excuse my colleague.'

'Mr Fielding, please excuse my colleague,' said Balders. Manny stared at him – what does that even mean?

'Why don't we have a little test?' said Ray. 'You take it in turns to try and sell me something and I'll decide who I want to deal with.'

Balders sank – another test. He waved the Post-it note once more to no avail. 'Not cars though. Too easy for you guys. Hmm...' Ray surveyed the showroom for a suitable subject. 'Chairs. See that chair? Sell it to me. I'm a salesman too, office furniture.' Ray ran his hand over the fake woodgrain desk-top. 'Fairly certain I sold these to... Wheeler is it? Billy Wheeler?' Manny and Balders nodded keenly. Ray took a moment to decide which contestant would go first. He knew salesmen loved this stuff: the mucking about, the little challenges, the gimmickry – anything to avoid good honest hard work.

'Go on. You first,' he said.

Manny stepped forward but Balders muscled in and grabbed the chair. A peeved voice called once more – 'Excuse me?'

Balders scanned his mental hard drive for inspiration – 'Ok... these chairs are really good for – for, er... sitting on...' It was no good. Chairs.

They were chairs. Of course they were good for sitting on. The chair market was heavily congested. A chair that was no good for sitting on was unlikely to make it out of the Chair Designing Studio – if there was such a place – let alone make it into production. What could he say about chairs? He was a car salesman, not a chair salesman.

'Mr Baldwin? I don't have all day.'

68

Manny stepped forward. Balders smiled knowingly at Ray – We're sales-men of the world. Let's hear what this greenhorn has to say about stupid chairs – 'Mr Fielding, or can I call you Ray? Let me tell you about these chairs. They are stack-able. They are comfortable. They are orthopedically correct. They were designed by no less than NASA for astronauts to sit in whilst they float in space, and what's more they're even better on solid ground. Now, they're selling fast. How many do you want?'

Balders knew what it was like to lose but this defeat was particularly chastening. Who the hell knew there was so much to say about chairs?

'Excuse me?'

Balders slumped back to Drefawr's own Magnus Magnusson but found Angie blocking his path – 'I need a lift. Now. Let's go.'

'I can't. I've got to earn money because I've got debts and no computer and because my stupid cousins are sleeping in my bed. So thanks, but no thanks. And that's final.'

'I'll lend you money. 'Til payday.'

'How much?'

'Fifty.'

'Hundred.'

'Deal.'

'Your landlord's Subaru needs picking up from the mechanics.

We'll use that as our excuse. Say we're helping Manny out.'

Before he could leave Balders had one last task: Mr Marker, nosey parker. He marched to the door and held it open – 'No more questions, Mr Marker. End of press conference. Thank you very much.' Balders suspected that this man was having difficulty coming to terms with this idiosyncratic sales approach. 'Yes you. Time you weren't here. Vamoosh. Farewell. Goodbye. Au revoir. Da bo. Sod off.'

69

7.

'No sale?' asked Billy as the vanquished Marker drove away.

'Biggest timewaster I've ever had. And I've had a few. As you know.'

'We had a tip-off. Someone is opening a car showroom on the top road. They're going round asking questions.'

'That's your man! I told him to get lost, Boss. If he's your competition then no worries. He hasn't got the brains to be a car salesman.' Billy peered out at the departing adversary – 'Did you tell him anything about our business?'

'Good God no. And he didn't write anything down.'

'I know that man,' said Ray. 'Which man?' said Billy. 'The man driving away? Who is he?'

'No. You. You're Billy Wheeler. I'm Ray Fielding, office furniture.'

Ray grasped Billy's hand and shook it so enthusiastically his golden bracelet jangled. 'Five desks, ten chairs and a wall unit, as I recall.'

'Good memory,' said Billy.

'I never forget a customer. How's trade?'

'We need to shift some stock, so if you see a car you like I'll do a good deal for you.' Ray turned to Manny – 'What a nice man – ' 8.

Balders and Angie pulled up in Minchin's Subaru behind a battered yellow Denzil & Daughter Demolition Co. skip near a freshly erected To Let sign outside No. 13 Vicarage Gardens.

'You're not going to pull her hair or anything, are you?' asked Balders. 'Is this really a good plan?'

'I don't know yet, which is why I need you to be my adoring toyboy. In case she twigs and reports back to my ex. Ok. We met – ' ' – at a dinner dance, six months ago. I'm high up in I.T.' 'You can't keep your hands off me.' '.I adore you with a passion.'

'It's still five times a night.'

70

'No wonder I'm knackered.'

'This is serious, Balders.'

Angie rang the door-bell and took Balders' clammy hand. The chimes were shockingly familiar. An abstract figure approached the frosted glass. Angie squeezed Balders' hand. He squeezed back. The figure was at the door – less abstract now. The handle turned. Angie took a quarter-step back. The door opened revealing a slim woman in her late-twenties with strawberry blonde hair. Attractive in an obvious sort of way, thought Angie.

'I rang earlier? I'm Liz Perrin and this is my partner Clive.' Balders smiled a 'Clive' sort of smile.

'Hi, I'm Emma. Come in.'

Angie took in the hallway with its freshly painted magnolia walls – 'You've re-decorated?'

'Yes. How did you know?'

'She's very intuitive, my... my...' Angie shot a warning look – 'I can smell the paint. Is this your house? Or...?'

'It's my partner's old house. He's working today.'

Angie glanced in the living room: more banal cream paint. None of the life and colour she remembered. None of the spirit. But the red leather sofa, that she remembered. Thousands of nights marooned there.

Nights of fine wine, good conversation, absent-minded stroking and impromptu love-making.

'What does your partner do?'

'He's a rep. I used to work in a lingerie shop. That's how we met.'

Angie knew – she knew – but she couldn't show she knew. She opened the door to the downstairs loo – 'Stencils. I never had the patience.'

'I like those makeover programmes.'

Angie knew those programmes. She found them depressing. 'So, why is your partner moving?'

'Well he was married but it was over. And he was never happy here so that's why I want him to move out. To move on,' said Emma.

Angie wanted to correct what she perceived to be a growing number of inaccuracies in this woman's testimony, but she bit her lip, 71

breathed deeply, and moved on up the stairs as if she might happen upon burglars. In the master bedroom there was evidence of packing: suitcases and bags on the floor. Angie's eyes rested on the bed; the matrimonial bed with its designer steel and glass frame – scuff marks on steel... the scuff of metal on metal.

'I hate this bed. I don't even like staying in this house to be honest,' said Emma. 'Too many memories for Jimmy.'

James Rowlands: Angie's ex and love of her life and there he was, in a framed photograph on the bedside table. There, entwined in a loving embrace with Emma the Supplanter – Why, Jimmy? Well... youth, looks... Ok. But why? We had it all – you had my best years, Jimmy. Did you have to go down such an obvious route? The younger woman – so predictable. You had me, Jimmy – me.

'How did you two meet?' asked Emma.

'You tell her darling,' said Angie opening a wardrobe. Inside were some of Jimmy's jumpers just as she'd remembered them: the smell, the colour. She brushed her hand against one of them: the touch – I used to wear this when you were away on business trips to remind me of you. You when you were in far-off hotels screwing your young lover. Ah, your silk ties, I always bought your ties. Does she tie you to the bedposts, Jimmy? Introduced the handcuffs yet, Monsieur James?

'We met at a dinner dance,' said Balders putting his arm around Angie's waist. 'Six months ago. I adore her. Can't keep my hands off her.' He was self-conscious but there was a hundred pounds riding on a bravura performance. 'It's still five times a night.' Emma blanched.

'If you weren't here, we'd be doing it right now.'

'I think Emma's got the message.'

'Well, Jimmy's the same. Mind you, he'd been starved of it for long enough.' Balders heard a grinding sound. It was Angie's teeth. He held her a little closer.

72

'Is there an attic?' Before Emma could answer, Angie took a rod, all but invisible, from a narrow space at the side of the wardrobe and expertly pulled down the attic steps using a definite knack. She explained – 'I had this arrangement in my old house.'

'I don't know what's up there,' said Emma as Angie disappeared up the step ladder.

'Don't be too long, love. Woo-hoo – ' Balders realised this required further explanation. 'Woo-hoo do I like this house. It's all so... cream, isn't it? Like sitting inside a big tub of cream.'

Balders had been in many awkward silences but usually found something appropriate or inappropriate to say, but here in this bedroom with this graceful young woman and all the pretence and the lies and the 'IT job' and the 'five-times-a-night' they had deceitfully introduced into her cream and stencilled world; here he felt nothing but shame. His mobile rang – 'Ryan?... Minchin's coming at two... Where am I?' In a quiet corner of the forecourt Ryan clicked his phone off – 'He's with his 'darling fiancé', looking round an 'ouse. He's a dark horse.' Bryan shivered. He didn't like women. They frightened him. He didn't much like dark horses either.

'Morning Gentlemen, what can I do for you?' said Billy Wheeler, increasingly paranoid proprietor of Wheelers. There was a snoop snooping. Maybe Balders' customer had been the snoop, but what if he wasn't? Billy couldn't be too careful, his livelihood was at stake.

'We're here to see Mr Baldwin,' said Ryan. Billy was big potatoes in the business world. Compared to him, Ryan and Bryan were small fries.

'This is my showroom, so if there's anything I can do – ' ' – Very impressive. We'd like a place like this,' said Ryan. Billy's right eye twitched. 'Oh aye. A car showroom. It's one of our business ambitions for our 'portfolio'. The old Glass' Guide – sheepskin jackets – it's brilliant. It's always been Bryan's dream – 'Bryan's Cars'! Hasn't it, bro'? I can't shut him up about it.' Billy looked at the apparently verbose Bryan who nodded silently. 'Anyway, places to see, people to meet. I think we've seen enough here.'

'Gentlemen, I think we need a little chat.'

73

Ryan and Bryan looked at each other. The big potato wanted to talk to them? This was one of those opportunities they'd heard about.

In a dusty trunk Angie found a framed photo of a happy couple taken at a small bar in Puerto Calero, Lanzarote three short years ago. She remembered the Margaritas, the langoustines, the walk on the beach: moments of simple joy the lonely dream of and lovers idly forget. She couldn't imagine how happy she must have been. Where was that now?

That 'happy' thing? Her hand happened upon a box full of marital mementoes: a portion of wedding cake, cards, deflated wedding balloons and two small figurines.

'Darling? I'm missing you, Woo-hoo – ' Angie put the framed photo in her handbag – 'Right. Kitchen, garden and that's it.' She imagined the flowers and their fragrances but as they exited the small conservatory she pulled up as if winded. Flagstones leant ominously against the fence and mature plants and trees had been dug up – 'What's happening here?'

'We're digging it up and paving it over. Low-maintenance for the tenants.'

'I think we should get back to work,' said Balders.

'You work together? That's nice. Where?'

'Where's the camellia bush... and the silver birch?' '...how did you know about those?'

'How? Because I fucking planted them – ' ' – We run a dancing school – ' ' – I think she knows who we are, darling,' said Angie. 'We're not dancers. We never dance. We work at Wheelers.' Emma stared, her pretty features twisted in gruesome disbelief – 'This is... sick.'

'No. This is sick. What you've done to this garden is sick. There was passion here and soon there'll only be paving stones. Little Miss HOMEWRECKER.' Angie stomped round to the front of the house where she angrily unearthed a bush – 'Before you destroy all signs of life.'

'Jimmy will kill you for this.' Angie slowly drew back her bow – 74

'Tell me, little Emma. If it was all over between me and Jimmy and had been 'for years', why did he come back and shag me twice. Twice. After we'd split up? When he was supposed to be with you?'

Bullseye. '... he didn't. He wouldn't. He'd never – ' ' – He fucking did.'

Balders knew he would never stand this close to someone so beautiful ever again. Emma looked straight through him, his existence meaningless to her. He had to console her somehow; make it better somehow – 'It's a nice house. Those stencils – did you do them by hand, or did you have a template?' After a few moments during which Balders decided it best to leave, she unfroze, emitted a high pitched shriek and cantered towards the car as Balders turned the key – 'Jimmy warned me about you! YOU CAN'T LET GO, CAN YOU?' Angie grabbed Balders and planting a big wet kiss on his thin dry lips. She wound the window down an inch and spat back – 'I think you'll find it's the other way round. That's why he's got a box of memories in the attic. Why did he keep them, Emma?' Emma rocked like a torpedoed ship as did Balders, experiencing his first taste of cherry lipstick since Gerald Hockling – aging roué and friend of Aunt Mave's – cornered him after a Drefawr Players production of South Pacific a decade or so ago.

'DRIVE,' barked Angie. Balders whacked the car into gear, hit the accelerator hard but, with his mind still floundering backstage, he reversed into the skip belonging to Denzil & Daughters Demolition Co., smashing the left hand side rear light cluster.

9.

Russell Morris opened the glove box and retrieved papers, filters and tobacco. It was time for a late-morning libation with the lads in the White Horse. He was a retired forestry worker aged sixty-two, but looked years older due to the machinations of his disease. He wore glasses, had a full head of greying hair and a philosopher's beard – 'I wonder if smoking is allowed in heaven?'

75

'I thought you didn't believe in God,' said Claire.

'I'll find out soon enough.'

'Dad...' Russ got out of the car but turned back to Claire with a twinkle in his rheumy eye – 'By the way, you want to take the legs off your bed.'

'What?'

'You and Manny this morning... Enjoy it while you can, I say.'

Jeff liked a bargain. His most recent acquisition was A Little Book Of Dreams which he bought for two pounds from the local Poundstore.

Vince often dreamed about long hair which, according to the book, signified virility and male sexuality. Jeff found this amusing but for once Vince didn't laugh; virility and sexuality being absent and much-missed friends. Vince reckoned that the real reason he dreamt about hair was because he was a barber and had spent a lifetime cutting it and that the book was, '...a load of old tosh that should go in the bin together with dreamcatchers, fairies and crystals'. His vitriol against harmless new-age superstitions took Russ by surprise but Jeff – owning as he did a large collection of crystals, dream-catchers and a copy of Tracy Moore's Fairy Bible – reeled as if shot. He suspected that Vince somehow knew; that somehow he had drunkenly revealed his private pastimes on one of the rare occasions he overdid it on the gin. Jeff had a good mind to ban the miscreant but alas, Vince was his best customer.

The barbershop opened daily at 8am and closed at 11.25am for the barber to be at his drinking post by 11.30am. He was past retirement age and only opened up for his aging regulars, customers for whom retro prices were of far greater significance than modern technique. Vince and Jeff often bickered but never over anything important and never in public. A cease-fire kicked in as Billy and the cousins entered.

'It's like Piccadilly Circus in here,' said Vince – a popular utterance in South Wales whenever three or more people gathered unexpectedly.

Jeff nodded at Vince out of respect for the mood-lightening quip. All was well again. Billy walked to the bar – 'Two Camparis and a Penderyn on the rocks,' he said.

'Billy Wheeler Fan club meeting, is it?' quipped Russ. It was true.

Billy and the cousins were dressed similarly in dark suits and ties.

76

'Wish I could laugh, but they're opening a car dealer's on the top road.'

'Who are? Ryan and Bryan?' said Jeff, with not a little disbelief.

'You know them?' Jeff nodded. In the seedy underbelly of Drefawr's pub culture the cousins had gained reputations as amateur hard men and menacing gangsters, despite the fact they weren't particularly hard or menacing but Billy didn't know because Billy wasn't a pub man. Much to Jeff's chagrin, Billy was a workaholic, not an alcoholic.

'Want to buy a spring onion, Billy? Eh? Spring onion?'

'Go on, Vince, show him,' prompted Jeff.

'It's good this,' said Russ. Despite having more pressing matters to attend to Billy hung around for the punch-line because Russ was a good man. From under a newspaper Vince produced a large onion jammed onto the end of a two foot long industrial spring – 'Spring onion, mun!' said Vince, before collapsing into a paroxysm of laughter.

The early afternoon sun shafted across the pub floor. Where once it would have illuminated clouds of smoke now it only illuminated clouds of dust. Squinting in the low sun Billy was surprised to learn of the vehicles his rivals planned to sell – Aston Martins, Lamborghinis, Ferraris...?

'Maseratis, Cadillacs – ' added Ryan. ' – Bentleys,' said Bryan. Ryan grinned – Good one.

'Do you really think there's a market here for that kind of car? Gas guzzling, expensive to maintain. Then there's the insurance and tax.

Even back in the eighties there were only three Rollers, two Porsches and a Ferrari in the whole valley.'

'Not here, no.'

'No?' 'Vegas.' '...Vegas?'

'Vegas,' said Ryan. Bryan's euphoria was palpable if silent. Billy concluded that Ryan probably wasn't the man going round asking questions; wasn't the man with plans to open a new showroom on the 77

top road; was a facile time-wasting idiot – and as for the other one... Billy lurched to his feet.

'Same again?' asked Jeff, optimistically.

'Can I borrow that spring onion, Vince?'

'Of course, Billy.'

Vince handed it over, barely able to conceal his disappointment. It was his comedy prop after all. Billy returned to the cousins brandishing Vince's spring onion like an Austro-Hungarian torture instrument – 'If either of you ever waste my time again, I'll STICK THIS UP YOUR ASTON MARTINS. GOT THAT?' Billy strode out, slamming the pub door so hard the cousins' cocktail umbrellas caused a kerfuffle in their Camparis.

10.

Ray Fielding had many well-told tales about the nefarious exploits of salesmen and women at Furniture Trade Exhibitions.

'It's all those beds and wardrobes – it's like spending three days on the set of a French farce,' he explained. As they entered the showroom he studied one of the promotional balloons.

'It's the Boss's idea,' Manny explained. 'Basically, we tell customers that if they buy a car today we have to stand on the desk, do a little dance and shout 'Woo-hoo!''

'Why would you do that?'

'I think it's because – well, instead of making a decision on the car, which is a big decision, they make a decision on whether or not they want to see me 'Woo-hoo' or not, which is a small decision. So it's not, 'Do you want to buy a car?' It's, 'Do you want to see me 'Woo-hoo?' The customer says 'Yes', coz it sounds like a laugh and by doing so they've sort of agreed to buy the car.'

'Brilliant.'

They settled at Manny's desk for a debrief regarding a five-year-old Vauxhall Vectra – 89,075 miles, priced £4250 – but before Manny could open proceedings Ray got out a packet of cheap cigarettes.

78

'Sorry Ray, place of work and all that.' Ray leant back and ran his smoke-stained fingers through his hair – 'If I buy a car, can I smoke in here then?'

'You're buying it?'

'Don't sound so surprised. I'd be a right timewaster if I wasn't, eh?

Nah, it drove well. And I'm intrigued by the idea of you doing that 'Woo-hoo' thing.' Manny couldn't hide how pleased he was – he was closing a closer. 'Where's the boss at the moment?'

'Out.' 'Cat's away. There must be air freshener somewhere?' Manny acquiesced and Ray lit a much-needed cigarette, inhaled deeply and offered a drag to Manny who accepted. Ray blew out a perfect circle of smoke and leant back further in his chair. 'A salesman is like a dating agency, bringing supply and demand together. There's someone for everyone. Even the ugly buggers. Now, that desk I sold your boss – top quality laminate. Have you taken a good look at it?'

'I was standing on it this morning.'

'Eh?' 'Doesn't matter – ' Ray moved a pile of files from Billy's desk, idly scanning some loose paperwork as he did so. He slid his hand across the surface of the desk.

'Top of the range. Czech-made pine finish laminate with steel pins. A desk to make deals on.' He opened the drawer and looked inside. 'Nice smooth action... This desk is where the top secret info is kept, eh?'

'Well, here and the Admin Office.'

'That building out there yeah?' They strolled back into the showroom. Ray leant on the roof of the Hyundai Coupe. 'Enlighten me.

Always interested in sales operations. A car like this one – what kind of commission would you get? 10%? 15?'

'Depends on how much profit was in it,' said Manny.

'Course. Terrible colour, isn't it? Yellow? Like school custard – bit pricey tho', isn't it?'

'It's well equipped – skin and wind – ' ' – Whoa now! Skin and wind?'

'Leather and aircon.'

79

'I like that. The jargon. The lingo. You know your stuff. Tell me another one...'

'1066.'

'Which is?'

'History. Full service history.'

'Brilliant.'

Despite his slight paunch and bald spot Ray was the most alpha of males – motivational, empowering even – yet for some reason Manny conjured up a mental image of a young woman in a lace bonnet sewing a sampler whilst waiting expectantly for the crunch of hoof on gravel. It was true.

Ray's attention made Manny feel grateful, charmed, vulnerable even – Vulnerable? Lose that. Say something else about the car.

'It's got timber and tom as well.'

'Go on!' enthused Ray. ''Timber', is wood trim, and 'Tom', is cruise control. Tom Cruise, see?'

'Ha! Timber and tom. Like it.' Manny blushed. 'So, profit margins?

We were just...?' – We were? – 'Coz in furniture you're looking at between 30-40% profit. I don't mind revealing that. No secrets between friends, eh Manny? I'm interested that's all. Salesman to salesman. What's the profit on the custard car?'

'I could get the file.'

'Smart lad.'

Billy's big black Audi A8 pulled up closely followed by Balders and Angie in Minchin's car. Ray extinguished his cigarette in a plastic plant pot and waved his arms to disperse the smoke. Manny got out the Alpine Adventure.

'Excellent. There's no 'I' in 'team',' said Ray but, entertaining as he was, Manny was apprehensive. Ray was in situ when Billy left, which was some time ago now. Billy would want to know how the sale was progressing. So how was the sale progressing? Ray had made several of the right noises. Maybe it was time for the old Salesman's Question once more.

'So – back to the Vauxhall – ' ' – Let's see that 'Woo-hoo' thing, then.'

80

'You're buying it?'

'Don't sound so surprised. Salesman plus customer plus product equals the perfect triangle. You've brought the three crucial elements together. Well done.'

They shook hands and Manny retrieved the forms from his desk drawer, which didn't open as smoothly as it should. Billy's nose detected a combination of Alpine Adventure and cigarette smoke as he entered but that mattered not a jot because Manny was climbing purposefully onto his desk. Balders and Angie arrived in time to witness the arms in the air, the daft little jig, the loud, 'Woo-hoo!'

'Well done lad,' said Billy, applauding. Angie and Ray joined in but Balders ignored the performance, the crisp £100 loan from Angie snug in his pocket – Ok, get cousins to steal computer from Minchin – pay £100 to cousins – get computer back – exeunt cousins – perfect.

'I like it,' said Ray – 'WOO-HOO!' The crowd dispersed and Manny started to complete the Purchase Agreement. 'Ok, we need a deposit. £200.' Ray grinned. Manny grinned.

But nothing else happened – Ray had agreed to buy. They'd shaken hands. Manny had Woo-hoo'd. Ray had applauded. So far so good. Handing over the deposit, that was definitely the next stage.

Somewhere far away a dusty silver stop-watch played a creaking clockwork tune.

'Right. What I'm going to do,' said Ray. 'Is get my cheque-book, which I never carry with me so I can't impulse buy. I still like to use them because you can keep records easier. That's a good tip. You wait here. I'll be back.'

He still uses cheques. He likes to keep records. He's just popping off to get his cheque-book. Then he'll come back. Ok...

Minchin's Subaru Legacy was as clean and tidy as a three-year-old car could be apart from the shattered light cluster. Manny studied the damage as if by doing so it might somehow morph back into a perfect state. There was only one name in the frame. The chief suspect appeared 81

in the showroom window. Manny beckoned him over and Balders knew this was no time to hide. That could be construed as an admission of guilt, even though he was guilty.

'Did you crash this car?'

'Me? No. I picked it up and drove it straight here. What's appertaining?' Manny pointed at the damage. 'Oh, that's bad. It must have been one of those mechanics. They're a bit wild. One of them drives stock cars. They crash for fun.'

'If Minchin sees this we'll lose the sale. And what will Billy say?

Plus Minchin might go nuts.'

'You're about to find out,' said Balders as Minchin pulled up in his Volvo followed by a large white van driven by a large white van man.

'What do I do, mate?'

'Pray?'

'Come on. You're experienced at this. Help me. What do I do?'

'Our father, who art in heaven – ' ' – Knob,' said Manny, which brought an Anglo-Saxon V-sign from Balders who considered the traditional British V-sign more defiant than the crude American 'finger'.

There was little doubt that Minchin would see the damage, so Manny could either own up, apologise, and offer to get it repaired for nothing, or allow Minchin to discover the damage and pretend he knew nothing about it. Minchin started unloading the contents of his car – maps, coat, briefcase, petrol can, sledgehammer – onto the forecourt.

Balders looked on but was curious to find his name being hissed by a nearby hedge. He went to investigate – 'Why are you in a hedge?'

'Your boss is a psycho,' hissed the hedge. 'I can't even describe what he threatened to do to us.' Another part of the hedge shook in agreement. Balders saw his laptop being handed to the henchman – 'That's my computer – ' ' – Our computer – ' ' – Our computer. That's what I said.'

82

The henchman put the laptop into the back of the van. Also visible were TVs, washing machines, cardboard boxes, microwaves, furniture and a grubby old mattress. Balders needed to keep it simple; no need to overcomplicate matters, especially for those enshrouded by shrubbery.

'We could follow that van. See where it goes. Then steal the computer back when he's not looking.' Ryan and Bryan fought to free themselves. They liked the plan's simplicity. They crept stealthily over to Balders' car hoping that Billy Big Potatoes and his Vegetable of Mass Destruction wouldn't see them. Balders had to ask – he really had to – 'If I had the hundred pounds in cash, right now. Would you try and steal the computer back for me?'

'Wouldn't need to, would we? So no. Why? Have you got it?'

'Don't be daft.'

'Shit. Bollocks,' said Manny, rifling through the sales files.

'What's up with you?' asked Gina, looking up from a magazine article on celebrity cellulite.

'I can't find Minchin's paperwork. He's here, the rear light is damaged, Balders has buggered off and you're ignoring me. Enough reasons?' The phone rang on Angie's desk. Gina clicked to speakerphone as she retrieved the misplaced file – 'Angie, it's Balders. Don't tell that little twat I dented his car.'

'Oh for fuck's sake – ' ' – Follow me.'

Gina strode over to Minchin, heels click-clacking on the tarmac. Manny was perplexed. Whilst the odds were hugely stacked against them Gina seemed, if anything, over-confident. Firstly, if Minchin saw the damage – and there was no way he could he miss it – he could refuse the car and Wheelers would lose the sale. Secondly, as the car had already been taxed and registered in Minchin's name it had now acquired another owner on the log book, which meant its value had automatically decreased. Gina was definitely over-confident.

'Mr Minchin? I'm Gina Wheeler and I'll explain to you how everything works. We'll start with the luggage area. Follow me – ' 83

Manny couldn't believe her opening gambit but as Minchin joined Gina at the rear of the car she quickly opened the tailgate. As the smashed light cluster was an integral part of the tailgate this meant the damaged area was now high above their heads, facing skywards and visible to noone but birds. If this worked and Minchin took delivery and Ray actually bought a car, then metaphorical emasculation was a small price to pay.

'Ok, here we have the split rear seats...'

Gina showed Minchin around the car and its many features: the bonnet release mechanism, how to demobilise the alarm, how to tune in the radio. And all the while the tailgate remained high, proud and handsome. Finally, she proffered the Delivery Acceptance Form for Minchin to sign to say he was happy with the car's condition and gestured for him to sit in the driver's seat to do it. He was about to turn the ignition key when he realised the tailgate was open.

'I'll close that, Sir. Enjoy the vehicle!'

'I will. Mr Manny? You're very quiet today.'

'It's my first handover. I wanted to see how it's done. It's a pleasure watching an expert at work.' Gina reached up, slammed the tailgate shut and Minchin drove away.

'The things I could teach you...'

'Gina – ' ' – Just a figure of speech.'

'I know. Look – ' ' – If this is about last night, I can't really remember.'

'We hadn't seen each other for a while – ' ' – Don't flatter yourself. I was drunk. End of story. And as I only seem to snog you, or try to snog you, when I've had a drink – for example, your wedding, last night – well, no more drinking means no more embarrassing moments. I'm very fond of you and Claire, I am – but as a couple.'

Blossom. Locket.

11.

For a sixty-year period from 1795 a network of canals criss-crossed Britain as heavy industry boomed. Vast stone aqueducts bestrode 84

valleys, and tunnels were blasted through mountains to enable the transportation of coal, slate, iron and steel to the burgeoning new ports.

But when steam locomotive power came along in the 1850s the days of horse and barge were numbered and within thirty years most canals were redundant. Many had been filled in whilst some routes were taken by rail or road. A few picturesque sections of waterway had been reclaimed and developed as tourist attractions, but not in Drefawr. The stagnant coalblack scar of a canal to the east of the town was a dumping ground for shopping trolleys, bread crates and tyres. Small boys optimistically fished for mutant sticklebacks with cheap plastic rods and the melancholy remains of once proud barges rotted at their moorings. The canal bordered allotments where men in flat caps and brown boots tended their vegetables but there was also a new breed of gardener: trainerwearing, tattooed. The recession was biting and people were going back to the land; back to where they'd come from. Near the quay was a series of dilapidated garages, the rusting remains of a Colonel Creamy's ice cream van and an old red-brick and slate-roofed warehouse. The former Farmers' Co-op building now belonged to Peter Minchin, slum landlord and money lender; a man who worked the land in a quite different way.

There was a Minchin in every town: a Minchin in every generation in very town. Always was. Always would be.

Balders and the cousins pulled up between a large pile of gravel and a stack of pallets. They saw Minchin's henchman open the van door and pluck out a DVD player and an Xbox. As he let himself into the warehouse his phone rang – 'Hiya Sexy, it's Love Machine...'

'Keep an eye,' said Ryan. 'If he comes out, beep the horn.'

'Be careful,' said Balders, stakeouts not being his thing. The cousins scampered over and quickly returned with Balders' laptop: Clarissa, safe once more!

'Ok. Let's get out of here.'

'Not yet. See that flat screen TV? We want it. Teach him a lesson.

And before you say anything, it was Bryan's idea.'

Despite Balders' protests, they ran back and Balders was surprised to find himself following them. The cousins climbed into the van but 85

struggled to pick up a 72-inch plasma TV. They had never lifted one before. It was heavier than it looked. Love Machine re-appeared, still on the mobile – 'Five minutes, sweet cheeks. On my way. Can't wait.' He clicked the phone off and found himself confronted by an odd-looking fellow slamming the van doors shut, the best solution he could come up with despite his cousins being inside the van.

'What the...?'

'You left your doors open, mate,' said Balders. 'People could nick things. Got to be careful. Lot of crooks about.' Love Machine opened the van doors but saw nothing untoward. He locked them but stood his ground.

'What it is, I work at Wheelers and your boss – my landlord – just bought a car. So I was doing a follow-up call, or follow-up visit, in his case. To see how if he was happy with his purchase.'

Angry ruts developed on the henchman's forehead as if he'd been spring-raked. This was a man who had only just dropped Minchin off at Wheelers. This was a man who may have thought, quite understandably, that this follow-up was a little premature.

'Ah, yes – and the reason I drove here rather than phoned was because I think he dropped his pen when he was at the showroom yesterday.' Balders handed over a chewed biro – 'Right. That's me done,' he said, and banged on the back door of the van for no reason other than to perhaps mark the end of this particular discourse, and also to somehow reassure the cousins that everything would probably turn out for the best.

As the van disappeared Balders wasn't sure whether it was two stricken faces beckoning him to follow them in the van's dirty rear windows, or whether it was a trick of the light. Balders decided that the best plan was probably to return to work, and when there to avoid dwelling too much on the fate of Ryan and Bryan. Think about Clarissa instead. Lovely sweet Clarissa and her unreachable romantic ideals, plucked from the soiled hands of the mean and the unworthy.

86

12.

The big white van pulled up outside a scruffy maisonette on Hill Radnor Crescent on the Mount Estate and Love Machine's lusty chum clambered in. She snogged the henchman deep and hard with her spongy burger-flavoured tongue, and as he drove off she squeezed his ample crotch with her stubby tattooed fingers.

13.

A box containing a wedding cake landed on Angie's desk with a loud thump – 'What you did today was inexcusable. I don't want you going anywhere near my... Emma ever again.'

Jimmy Rowlands was forty-eight but looked thirty-eight. He was tall and tanned with a fine head of sandy-brown hair and minty teeth. He sported sunglasses when he drove and often when he didn't. He wore a sharp navy suit and his cuffs sported gold-plated cufflinks, a present from his new love. He'd worked as a representative for Garrington's Ladies Underwear for seventeen years and was a hit at trade fairs and sales seminars with his rakish charm. He'd been known to do a little stand-up to entertain other reps – Heard the news? The bottom has fallen out of the 'G' string market.'

Balders wrapped his laptop in the dog's blanket and put it on the backseat of his car. As he did so sensed a malevolent presence – 'Don't tell that twat I dented his car... Thanks for that, Balders. Appreciate it. I just want to do a good job, yeah? A job I don't like. So stop sabotaging it. It's not easy for me.'

In matters of self-pity, half measures carried little weight with Balders who had a reservoir of misery to draw from – 'Sod off, Manny, yeah? You have youth, charm, good looks and a beautiful wife. I've got a dog and two delinquent cousins. You have a love life – mine is on that hard drive and if you weren't here I'd sell more cars. Understand? Made a sale today? I heard you 'Woo-hoo' earlier – coz I haven't. So, sorry, ok?'

87

Manny had accused Balders of damaging Minchin's car and even though Balders had committed the crime, Manny was overcome by an unexpected feeling of guilt.

Jimmy Rowlands strolled into view like a slick Miami detective. He looked for the most conveniently located car. 'If you're not busy, I'd like a test drive. The Renault Clio?' Manny graciously stepped back enabling Balders to greet Jimmy with a big guileless smile – 'A fine choice of car, sir!'

Angie watched him from Admin – his strut, his cool, his obvious appeal.

She sat at her desk staring at the wedding cake. Her mind twisted and toiled as she plotted a variety of vengeful acts ranging from the petty to the criminal. She made a call – 'Emma, could you ask your boyfriend to stop harassing me at work, please? Thank you.'

Much to the ignominy of the respectable citizens of Drefawr the town had recently become infamous. The Sunday People had exposed a local layby as a favoured haunt of fans of the peculiarly British pastime of 'dogging'. Names weren't mentioned, but a West Country couple who'd recently moved to the area and ran the Drain-Clia drain-cleaning franchise quickly became the subject of local gossip. They drove a distinctive orange and purple van with 'Drain-Clia' written on the side – a vehicle remarkably similar to the orange and purple van pictured in the exposé. The Clio pulled up in the notorious lay-by and a portly tracksuited man ducked down behind a fence. Jimmy took off his sunglasses and studied Balders for a few moments – 'A strange balding odd-looking man...'

'Who is?'

'It's you, isn't it? Looking to rent a house?' Balders realised that this man was probably Angie's ex. No point denying it – '... um... could be.'

'Do you know who I am?'

'Er... Angie's ex?'

'I want you to keep your girlfriend away from Emma. Angie's great, but she's also prone to being – ' 88

' – a bit mad.'

'Well, I wouldn't go that far. But don't take her for a ride. She doesn't need another bad time.' Balders raised his eyebrows. 'I know.

Just... look after her. She's been unlucky with men.'

'I'm not her man,' said Balders.

'Partner. Boyfriend. Whatever.'

'I'm not.'

'Lover, then. Other half. Bit on the side. Whatever you want to call it. I don't care.'

'I'm not.'

'What are you then?'

'She paid me a hundred pounds. To pretend to be her boyfriend.'

'Pretend?'

Balders nodded. He had to. No matter how awful the truth was, he couldn't think of a single lie that would have sufficed. At least now the ordeal was over – So why was Angie's ex continuing to stare at him so?

'Five times a night?'

The top layer of the wedding cake was traditionally eaten to celebrate the birth of the first baby but in Angie and Jimmy's case it remained intact. Angie idly wondered how long such a cake could stay fresh. One year? Two? Three? Surely not eleven. They'd stopped using contraception after the first few hours together but Angie never fell pregnant. They carried on living and love-making and the years flew by until conception was inconceivable without expensive treatments. Angie would've liked to have been a mum. She believed humans had two purposes: firstly, to look after the planet; and secondly, to procreate. Yet here she was: her garden – lost; her womb – redundant; her purpose – undefined. She plucked the male figurine from the top of the cake and dropped it through the grille of a drain. She put the female figure in her jacket pocket and strolled to Jimmy's upmarket rep-mobile as Ray Fielding pulled up.

'Do you sell wedding cakes as well?'

'Can I help you?' asked Angie.

'Depends what you do.'

'Admin and revenge,' she replied.

89

She dismantled the cake onto the windscreen, paying particular attention to the tiny holes in the windscreen washer nozzles.

14.

The large white van pulled up in a quiet spot on a Forestry Commission track. The Love Machine had a psychotic wife and Lusty Chum had a husband in Cardiff Jail serving a two year stretch for ABH, so they had to be careful with their trysts. The Love Machine opened the back of the van, shifted a few items to make space and pulled down the grubby mattress. Ryan and Bryan cowering behind some stacked-up boxes had an inkling of what was about to occur, and were distinctly queasy at the prospect. Maybe the couple were just going to have a little sleep? Maybe they were simply a bit tired? Love Machine took off his top revealing a small bosom, several tattoos and a large stomach. Lusty Chum took off her top revealing a small bosom, several tattoos and a large stomach. They chewed hungrily on each other's flesh like a couple of sumo-wrestlers at an all-you-can-eat buffet, before stripping off completely and rigorously getting down to something a long way from sleeping. The cousins grew ever more nauseous as the van reeled and rocked from side to side like a caravan in a gale.

15.

Manny was mightily relieved that Ray had come back to ask for his hand – hand? – relieved that Ray had returned – Jesus! He was also relieved that the earlier Woo-hoo hadn't been a false alarm. At last Manny was about to complete his second sale: eight more and he'd have a company car. Ray indicated some departing customers – 'Timewasters, yeah?

'Tyre-kickers we call them.'

'I hate that. In furniture we call them 'Drawer-tuggers'. Hey, I've got something for you.'

'A cheque?'

'Better than that.' Ray handed Manny a second-hand desk calendar with eight months ripped off. 'I noticed you didn't have one.' Manny considered this wasn't better than a cheque in any way, shape or form.

'Now, what have you got in a small car?'

90

'I thought you wanted the Vectra? I thought you were getting a cheque for the deposit?'

'My friend, be cool, yeah? I'm thinking of buying two cars. Didn't I say?' Manny cooled as instructed. 'First, let's take a look at that drawer. I noticed it's sticking.' Manny's phone rang so Ray set about fiddling with the drawer mechanism, scanning a list of former customers as he did so.

'I want it to run for one week. If it's not sold then I'll pay for another week.' Manny put his phone away.

'Can't stop selling can you?'

'My guitar.'

'You play?'

'I did.'

'Rather be a guitarist than a salesman, eh?'

'No. I gave it all up.'

'This is like an interview situation, isn't it?' Ray leant forward on the desk. 'Why do you want to work for me?' Manny smiled, Ray was a wag. 'Think about it. Good pay. Basic plus commission...' – Basic pay?

That was one thing that Wheelers didn't offer – 'Always got an opening for a keen young salesman...' – Wouldn't hurt to not work with Gina either – 'Thinking it over, eh? That's good. Always think things through.'

Ray pushed the drawer and it slid in smoothly. 'And I'd guarantee that no salesmen would crash your car moments before you handed it over.'

'They wouldn't, would they?'

'No?' 'Coz it's office furniture?'

'Smart lad. I like you,' said Ray. 'Tell you what. Satisfy my curiosity – get me a couple of files for some cars. Say those five out there. I want to know how much he pays for them. I don't like to have a hole in my wall of knowledge – do that, then its double deposit time.'

To emphasise the point Ray slapped his cheque-book down on the desk.

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16.

Jimmy contemplated the wedding cake that was crumbled and scattered all over his windscreen. Angie looked on, arms-folded in defiance.

Balders watched, fascinated as ever by ill-starred affairs of the heart.

'You need help,' said Jimmy.

'You chucked out the marriage. May as well chuck out the cake.'

'Aren't you embarrassed? Coming round playing mind games?

Terrorising my girlfriend? Proud of yourself are you?'

'Not proud, no – glad. She's ruined my house. She's about to ruin my garden, so – ' ' – It's my bloody garden, Angie. I bought you out you – ' ' – What, Jimmy? What am I?' 'Look, Emma wanted to start afresh and so do I. Have some dignity, woman.' In a quest for dignity Angie strutted over to Balders, forcing his arm around her waist.

'Darling, aren't you going to stick up for me?' Balders didn't want to burst her balloon but Jimmy had a shiny sharp pin primed – 'No, he's not. Because that might cost you another hundred quid.

How sad are you? Paying this sap to pretend to be your partner. As if I'd care.'

'You did say not to hurt her,' said Balders.

'Did you really say that?' asked Angie. '... yes. Yes, for his sake,' said Jimmy. 'Yeah? Look at you... Bloody hell, woman!'

Angie was in her late twenties when she met Jimmy in the vibrant city.

Seven years ago they wanted more space. The city was expensive and Drefawr, fifteen miles away, offered good value so they moved. But the pubs were full of kids and Drefawr no longer had a cinema or a theatre or a concert hall and fifteen miles was suddenly a long way to go for a culture fix. They started going out less and staying in more. Angie had her garden, her home, her holidays, her job and her man, but her man was on the road a lot. She stopped partying but he didn't. Two years ago Jimmy pulled a few strings at Head Office and arranged for Emma Gimblett, a sales assistant in a Cardiff lingerie shop, to be invited to a 92

company do at the Northampton Marriott on the grounds that she was the third best sales person in the South West Area. Once there he charmed her with his daft jokes, his attentiveness, and his energetic dancing.

Angie knew there was someone else. She ignored the fact that his mobile phone provider seemed to send Jimmy more than the average number of SIM updates; ignored the fact that he started buying her guilt-tinged flowers; ignored the fact that he spent more time on personal grooming than she did, but several months later, after the 'Angel Hotel Incident', she ignored no more. She snapped and yelled and packed and walked and for once her man didn't try to stop her.

Angie didn't return his calls for a couple of months and by the time she did there was nothing left to say. They divorced, and until today she'd kept her pain a secret.

Angie and Balders spotted Emma getting out of a cab but Jimmy didn't.

He had more cleverness to impart. He'd always been more tenacious than Angie when it came to arguing. She always started it: he never ended it.

'You live in a fantasy world. Always did,' he yelled. Angie timed her response, hoping that Emma was close enough to hear – 'Did I say anything to Emma that wasn't true? You did come round for sex those first few weeks – you can't deny it.' She raised her voice for dramatic effect. 'YOU CAME TO COMPARE NOTES – ' ' – BUT SHE DIDN'T NEED TO KNOW THAT, DID SHE?' Balders and Angie raised their eyebrows whilst seeming, to Jimmy, to be looking directly over his left shoulder.

'Hello again,' said Balders. Jimmy spun around to see whose arrival had been heralded. Down in the sewer below their feet a rat nibbled on a plastic groom.

'He's all yours, Emma. Good luck,' said Angie .

'What's this? A SHOUTING COMPETITION?' shouted Billy Wheeler as Jimmy tried to conjure up some magic words that would explain everything. There were no words, let alone magic ones.

'What are you doing here?'

93

'She said you were harassing her,' said Emma. 'Now I find out that you were sleeping with her when you were with me!'

'Only once – twice. I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you. We're totally over now. Honest.'

'It's not looking over from where I'm standing.'

'Billy, meet my ex-husband and his new girlfriend.'

'This is a car showroom, not Jerry Springer,' said Billy Wheeler.

'Why are you here fighting, Jimmy, if she means nothing to you?'

'That's enough,' said Billy.

'Why did you come here, Jimmy?'

Jimmy had no explanation. Only Balders had a plausible reason as to why Jimmy Rowlands would be present on a car dealers' forecourt.

'He's here to buy a car.' Billy beamed – 'Then shout as much as you like. Excellent news.'

'He's got a car,' said Emma.

'For you,' said Balders pointing at the Renault Clio. ‘We just took it for a test drive. Didn't we, Mr Rowlands?'

'He was going to do no such thing,' snorted Angie.

This seemed to be a great get-out for Jimmy: an answer to all his immediate problems and a chance to save his relationship. But what was it going to cost him? Literally thousands of pounds?

'Wolfie?' said Emma. Wolfie looked at her sad doe-like eyes; eyes needing and pleading for the truth – '... it's true. I came here to buy you a car.'

'Wolfie!'

Wolfie?

17.

The van door opened and Love Machine, wearing nothing but trainers and a grin jumped out, tossed a used condom into the trees and went to find a suitable spot for a pee. He took in the air. He was manly and spent. He'd have a couple of half-pounders at Dinoburger on the way back to top up his calorie count. His paramour wrapped herself in a grubby blanket and smoked a rollie. As she puffed she was unsettled to 94

hear a sound behind her – the sound of... boxes being moved? To her horror a crevasse opened up and two be-suited men emerged.

'Don't mind us.'

Love Machine heard a loud scream and turned to see what, in his opinion, could only be two highly dangerous perverts jumping out of his van and racing off down the woodland track at high speed.

'Oi! COME BACK HERE!' he shouted, urinating as he ran, his spotty dimpled bottom wobbling like a big pink blancmange.

18.

In a car on the forecourt Ray Fielding delved through a handful of files – 'Very interesting. Different margins to furniture and of course you offer the servicing element which must bring in a good part of the turnover.' He dumped the files on Manny's lap. 'Thanks. Right, I need a waz then you can do another of those Woo-hoo things. I like that – Woohoo!' Manny thought it best to accompany the mercurial Ray to the toilet so set off alongside him. 'I know you're keen Manny, but I can probably do this bit on my own.'

'Here's the fixture for the baby seat,' said Balders.

'Steady on, mate. We've only recently moved in together.'

'We don't want to leave it too late,' said Emma. Or you'll be doing the school run in your sixties – ' ' – and all the kids will think you're a grandad,' quipped Balders.

Emma giggled. Jimmy didn't. 'Sorry...'

'Instead of saying 'sorry', doofus, knock something off the price.

This car is a bit over my budget. I notice there's a sale on.'

'What sale?'

Jimmy pointed to the various sale posters, banners and balloons – 'This Woo-hoo thing?'

'Ah! That sale. I'll have to speak to the boss.'

This was the first chance Jimmy had to explain himself to Emma. He was a top salesman. Patter came easy to him. 'I'm sorry about the visits to Angie's, Lamb-kins – but she had this hold on me. She used to ring up drunk, crying, and I was a very silly boy – ' 95

' – Twice.'

'Twice. But I put a stop to it. I love you. Am I forgiven?'

'Lamb-kins doesn't know. Wolfie did a bad thing and Lamb-kins is very sad.' Jimmy nodded slowly before emitting a slow sad howl. Emma responded with a sad lamb face.

Billy poured two large whiskies and handed one to Angie. 'I know all men are bastards,' she said. 'But I never loved all men.'

'I was a bastard. Went off with my secretary.'

'Don't tell me. Younger model. You men do love to trade up.'

'No. She was older.' Balders peered around the office door. 'Closed him yet?'

'He's after a discount, Boss.'

'He's loaded!' scoffed Angie.

'There's your answer. Take hundred and fifty off.'

'Is that all, Boss?'

'And don't give it to him all at once. Drip feed the bastard. Offer him fifty and take it from there.' Angie got up to follow Balders. 'Angie, we need this sale. Leave them in peace.'

'Woo-hoo,' said Angie sweetly and Billy knew she had to go.

'My colleague and I would like to apologise for our childish stunt this morning,' said Angie, approaching the lovebirds.

'Yes. But the good news...' added Balders, 'Is that we can knock £150 off the asking price.'

'Is that the best you can do?' asked Jimmy.

'Oh dear. I'm afraid, little Emma, that Jimmy always was careful with his cash.'

Emma was disarmed by Angie's sisterly gesture. She eased Jimmy's reluctant hand into hers – 'If that's his final offer, Wolfie.'

Wolfie?

'I think you'll find it's very generous,' said Balders. 'And Emma loves it. Don't you Emma?'

'I really love it, Wolfie.' Everyone waited on Jimmy but Angie couldn't keep up the dignified pretence any longer – 96

'Oh come on Jimmy, don't be so bloody tight! Do you know what, Emma? He haggled all the way through our honeymoon in Istanbul.'

'Alright, alright! I'm buying the bloody car. Is everyone happy now?'

'YES' 'Thank you, Wolfie!'

'I'm glad you're happy... Lamb-kins.'

'Well, well, how charming. I can see now where I went wrong,' said Angie. 'Maybe if I'd talked like a toddler you'd have bought me a car.'

'Good job he didn't, seeing as you're banned – ' Balders realised he probably oughtn't to have exposed this information but Jimmy appeared genuinely concerned and momentarily forgot about the travails of wolves and lambs.

'I went off the rails for a bit but I'm better now. Don't worry about me,' said Angie, but bursting into tears and running for the sanctuary of the Admin Office undermined her nobility. Jimmy shot a glance at Emma which he hoped would transmit the dual concepts of understanding and maturity.

'WOLFIE?' 19.

Angie sat at her desk trying to dab away her tears without disturbing her make-up. 'I was reeling, okay? I'd walked out on you without a second thought. After eleven years of marriage, suddenly there was no key in the door – ' 'I'm sorry, Angie. I never meant – ' ' – oh don't. Please.'

'But Emma... She is my life now.'

'That silver birch – six years old, torn out of the ground. There may be no 'us' any more but that garden is me. She can't deny that I ever existed.' Jimmy handed her a tissue. 'I loved that house.'

He had an idea. It involved logistics, anticipation of a certain person's reaction and possibly a flak jacket, but it was also brilliant – 'Rent it from us then. We won't pave the garden. Have it back.'

97

'Lamb-kins would never agree to that – Wolfie.'

'I'll talk to her. You'll look after it. Increase its value. She'll listen.' '...Really?'

'Give me a few days to get my things out. But you must leave us alone, Angie. That's the condition. Promise?'

'I'll be the invisible tenant. Lamb-kins and Wolfie won't even know I exist.'

The door closed. Angie closed her eyes and started to plan for a life back in the house she loved.

'So which are you engaged in at the moment – admin or revenge?'

Who is he and when did he come in?

'I've completed my revenge quota for today, thanks for asking. Are you lost?'

'I'm in sales too – office furniture. We both know that this is the hub of Billy Wheeler's universe. I'm Ray, by the way.'

'Angie.'

'As in 'angel'?'

Ray was a terrible fake smoothie but because he knew it, and because he knew that she knew it, he was the best kind of fake smoothie there was.

'Do your work – don't mind me.'

Angie self-consciously resumed work on the company's accounts but became aware of his eyes on her back.

'Can I just say? Your lower back isn't supported. Our chairs are gender specific – I sold these to Wheeler, by the way – can you feel the strain here?' Ray gently touched her lower back before respectfully stepping away again. Angie nodded: she could feel some strain. 'You take great pride in your work...' She couldn't answer as he was gently massaging her lower back and it was really nice. Ordinarily this would have constituted some sort of sexual harassment but, as he was a furniture salesman and the strain was caused by his furniture, then it probably wasn't totally improper.

'Any good restaurants around here? Might stay over tonight.'

'Hodgson's Wine Bar is good.' Ray handed her his business card – 98

'I've been thinking about overhauling my admin system. How does yours work?'

'I could tell you over dinner.' The screen saver flashed up, a pretty thatched cottage with a white picket fence.

'No, never mix business with pleasure.' said Ray. Angie was a little uncertain as to what this actually meant, but she had the card with his number and there were blush red marks on her lower back where the blood had been brought to the surface. His strong fingers had certainly left an impression.

20.

'WOO-HOO!' shouted Balders jigging, arms raised, high on his desk.

The call reverberated around the showroom, travelled out the door and echoed out to the hills beyond where hawks flew and cousins trudged.

Not having been forewarned about this peculiar custom, Jimmy and Emma were suitably stunned. Billy, applauding loudly, appeared from his office as Balders started writing out the Purchase Agreement, but his attention was taken by a bird-like figure outside. Alan Marker, Quizmaster General, was back.

'That's him, Boss. That's the snoop. From this morning. Sort him out, Boss – ' Jimmy tried to clean the windscreen but the nozzles failed to emit any cleanser due to the high degree of cake permeation. 'It's fine now, Lamb-kins,' he said. 'She's got the message.' Jimmy was relieved. Emma was twenty-seven and a great catch for a man in, although he baulked at the term, the early years of 'middle age'.

'I'm glad, because I never want to see that bitch again. I'll pick up the car tomorrow. From now on, this showroom and that woman are out of bounds. I don't even want to hear mention of the cow's name.'

'There's one thing we need to discuss – ' ' – So long as it's nothing to do with her.'

99

A smug and satisfied Balders waved them off. It was always good to sell a car, even more so to someone who had only come to the showroom to exact revenge. Balders marvelled at how he'd turned it around but suddenly found himself a foot off the ground, thrust up against the showroom wall. The cousins were back. All marvelling leave duly cancelled.

'I'll give you Woo-bloody-hoo!' said Ryan. 'We've got blisters and gnat bites thanks to you. We've walked miles and seen all sorts.' The cousins shuddered at the memory. 'Where's our computer?'

'I can do better than that,' said Balders, producing the £100 that Angie had lent him. 'Now everyone's happy.'

'You're not getting the point, Balders. The inconvenience, the trauma, the wear on our shoes. We're very upset. Aren't we, Bryan?' It would have been difficult for Bryan to look more upset. 'We still want the computer – this...' said Ryan, indicating the £100, 'Barely covers our expenses.

'BALDERS.' The cousins retreated. They knew that voice: the stentorian tones of Billy Big Potatoes.

'We'll find that computer,' Ryan hissed as he edged hedge-wards.

'Don't you bloody worry.'

Balders entered Billy's office deciding to avoid pleasantries. This was a place of business, of wild-west imagery, of showdowns.

'What are you going to do about him, Boss?'

'Tell him what you do.'

'I'm a G.P,' said Alan Marker.

'Why would a doctor want to open a car showroom?'

'He's not opening a car showroom,' said Billy. 'He wanted to buy a car and you THREW HIM OUT. AND NOW HE'S BOUGHT A CAR SOMEWHERE ELSE AND ONLY CAME BACK TO COMPLAIN ABOUT YOU.' Billy turned to Dr. Marker, 'I'm terribly sorry.'

'I've made my point,' said the good doctor. Balders went to follow him out of the door but Billy had other ideas – 'Sit in that chair, Balders, and explain to me how you came to be so stupid.'

100

21.

Manny had searched the loo, the showroom and the forecourt. Despite his car still being present Ray Fielding had vanished. He'd been generous with his time, his fags, his advice and his talk of buying two cars but Manny had Woo-hoo'd and as yet he didn't have one deposit, let alone two. He looked at Ray's business card. He plucked up some courage and made the call – 'Hi Ray, it's Manny. Yeah, I'm in the showroom, wondering, er... where you were. Coz your car is still here. Anyway, hopefully see you soon. Bye.' Manny instantly regretted the message. He'd sounded weak.

Ray would chide. But then he had a flash of inspiration. He slid open the desk drawer, flicked a couple of catches and removed it completely. On the back panel of the drawer was an address label for Gill's Office Furniture Supplies. Manny dialled the number – result – 'Can I speak to Ray Fielding?'

Manny imagined himself as a 50s gumshoe investigating The Case Of The Missing Furniture Salesman. Ray Fielding, with his beer belly, bullshit and stupid desk calendar clearly had some explaining to do. A second case immediately presented itself – The Case Of The Suspect Cousin. Acting as if the sleuth sitting a mere fifteen feet away lacked even the most rudimentary surveillance skills, Bryan entered the showroom, tiptoed up to Balders' desk, picked up a car key and tiptoed out again. Outside Ryan removed the laptop from Balders' car, but in doing so was apprehended

by David Manning P.I. 'That car is company property. It belongs to Billy Wheeler. Taking the keys is a criminal matter. Not only that, Balders needs his laptop. So put it back.'

Ryan mulled this over as best he could. The car was company property. Billy was scary. They had taken the key but did Balders really need the laptop? This was the flaw in an otherwise watertight case.

'Need it for what? To write stupid soppy stories?' Manny realised there was no point in educating these brusque men on the heartwarming delights of romantic fiction – 'He's changed his style.'

101

'What's he write about now then?'

'You.' 'Us? How do you mean?'

How do I mean?

'Well, not as you are now – ' Manny had their attention but Ryan still clutched the laptop to his chest. 'Like you, but in a more heroic form – gangsters. Good gangsters...'

'Go on.'

'In the past sometime. 1950s America?'

'I like sci-fi,' said Ryan.

'Time travelling 1950s gangsters – travelling to the future.'

'Cowboys?' said Bryan, unexpectedly. Manny and Ryan took time out. Ok... sci-fi – yup; gangsters – check; heroes – of course; cowboys – cowboys...? Manny had the answer. It was obvious really – 'Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys.'

'Will they make a film of it?'

'They'd be mad not to.'

The cousins were flabbergasted. This sounded like the best idea ever. It certainly was a unique concept and one that could also accommodate zombies, gladiators, kung-fu, werewolves, vampires, hobbits and flying dragons, what with the title not suggesting one specific genre.

'Fair play to him. Good old cuz. Hey, might win an Oscar.' Ryan put the computer back in Balders' car, locked the doors and handed the key to Manny. Bryan started preparing his Oscar acceptance speech. The first production meeting would be held at the White Horse Inn as soon as their weary legs could get them there.

In an office a long way away from Sunset Boulevard, future screenwriting legend Gareth 'Balders' Baldwin pitched a heart-rending tale of poverty and betrayal to Billy Wheeler. 'So maybe it comes from my mother's side because Auntie Mave is a bit simple. But then they all say that Bryan has hidden depths.'

22.

102

Gina liked Ray. He was an old rogue – obviously – but he took her ideas seriously. He'd slipped into the showroom when Manny was out pitching and found Gina snoozing away the dregs of her hangover in the back seat of a Skoda Octavia. She'd been startled when he got in but it was a car in a car showroom so the usual car/stranger etiquette did not apply.

'It's my plan to have a little coffee area, and in time I want a crèche facility because kids yelling makes the parents feel awkward.'

'I can see that you're the brains behind the business.'

'I am. Men ignore me. They think I'm eye candy. Anyway, can't sit here chatting. There's coffee to be poured – ' ' – You're wasted here. In every sense,' said Ray. Ok – thought Gina – time to go – but before she could depart the rear passenger side door flew open. David Manning P.I. had tracked his suspect down and now, finally, was in control. Ray handed Gina a business card – 'If you wish to talk business with someone who values your opinions, I think I may be free tonight.' Gina squirmed but as Manny was present she chose to accept the card.

Manny knew it was time to stop being un-cool. This was men's stuff and Ray had some man-size explaining to do.

'Tidy desk. Tidy sales figures,' said Ray, which didn't explain anything at all. Manny lifted the empty drawer and held it so Ray could see the Gill's Office Furniture Supplies sticker – 'You were made redundant three weeks ago. What's your game?'

Manny quickly realised he wasn't very good at being Bad Cop. He was passive by nature and aggression made him emotional.

'Are you buying these cars or what?'

'The thing is, Manny, I could buy a car today. I could buy a car yesterday. I could buy a car tomorrow. But I might have something even better for you.'

'Why should I believe a single word you say?'

'Your loss.'

Manny wanted explanations, apologies, deposits. He certainly didn't want Ray driving away. He grabbed a set of car keys and ran out, 103

jumped into Balders car and blocked Ray's exit as he tried to reverse off the tightly packed forecourt.

'What do you mean, 'My loss?'' said Manny, holding the key aloft as Ray strolled towards him. 'You can't offer me a job – you don't even have one yourself. You've got nothing – ' Manny feared that Ray with his belly and his bling was no stranger to violence. Ray calmly reached into his inside pocket and pulled out an estate agent's particulars. He handed it to Manny. It was for some land to let. On the top road. Near the site of the old dairy.

'I've got this,' said Ray. 'Some wasteland?'

'Not for much longer.' Finally the penny dropped for Manny, clever and foolish at the same time.

'You're the guy opening the new showroom – Aw, bloody hell.

You've wasted my whole day – I've lost customers coz of you.'

'Why don't you move the car and give me a call when you're less hysterical.'

'I'm not hysterical,' argued Manny, in a manner unique to those accused of hysteria.

'This place is obviously getting to you. It's certainly getting to me.'

Ray looked at the flagpoles, the bunting, the flaking paintwork, the weather-beaten mural and the weeds corralling the forecourt. 'It's depressing. Now, shift the car, there's a good lad.'

'You move it.' Manny threw the keys under a Ford Mondeo. Ray sighed. This was tedious now. There were other car showrooms to visit.

He crouched down, stomach straining at the plastic buttons of his tight pink shirt, and started searching for the keys. Manny trotted back to the showroom, the genuine key for the blue Peugeot 307 Estate clasped safely in his hand. The key Ray searched for being an old one Manny found in the debris of the Gill's Office Supplies drawer.

Jimmy made Angie feel bad but Ray made her feel good. She would ring him. What did she have to lose? They might go for dinner, they might drink some wine, they might... Ok, he wasn't of Jimmy's calibre but he was definitely a man of the world. He'd know how to please a woman: men of the world often did. Soldiers, sailors, oil men, pilots, spies – calm 104

down girl. It was nice though. Angie put on some lip-gloss, re-read Ray's card and found herself starting to memorise the number. It was just seeping in when Gina entered – 'That office furniture creep asked me out tonight,' she said, ripping Ray's business card in two and dropping the pieces into a bin – 'As if.'

Angie gripped the plastic lip-gloss tube so tightly the contents spilled out onto the V,B,N,M and spacebar keys of her keyboard. She stared intently at her screen saver – the pretty cottage and the picket fence – but it didn't help.

23.

It was hard to explain quite why you were so stupid, especially when there were so many reasons. Balders concluded that the stupidity probably came from his mother who had told him to wait on his Auntie Mave's doorstep when he was eight years old because she was popping to the shop to buy some bread and milk, and whom he never saw again.

He'd wondered why she'd had such a large bag but she'd told him it contained his birthday present, and that he'd have it at his party later.

She was in Vryses in north-west Crete the last he'd heard, selling fruit at the side of the road. Billy had only flippantly asked the question but found himself increasingly sympathetic to Balders and his tale of woe.

Billy's soul was dark but his heart was good. Angie bustled in – 'Just had some creep in my office asking lots of questions – sells office furniture or something.'

'He bought a car earlier. Manny 'Woo-hoo'd'. I saw it,' said Balders.

'I saw it too,' said Billy.

'I saw it too, but I haven't had any paper work,' said Angie. Billy marched to Manny's desk – 'He's not going anywhere, Boss.'

'Wait in my office.' As Billy headed outside Manny handed Balders his car key – 'Your laptop's safe. I had a word with your cousins.'

'Thanks. Maybe now they'll leave me alone.'

105

Billy sat at his desk with Ray's property details in front of him. Two entrepreneurs, both experienced in dealing, both ready to go the distance to secure the prize. Ray was going to open a car dealer's and there was nothing Billy Wheeler could do about it. Billy listened to Ray's vision – no cars over five years old, low margins, big turnover, computerised stock system, customer friendly showroom, interactive website, bright colours, coffee, crèche...

Ray knew he had a good hand and it was time to play the ace.

'And Manny here has shown an interest in coming to work for me.

He's a good young salesman, potentially very good. Got his head screwed on.' Billy stared at Manny, the young protégé wilting in the glare.

'I have to agree with you Ray. He is a good prospect.' Billy paused for several seconds. 'Ok. Here's what I propose. You and me, Ray, we work together.' Ray smirked: a man who'd already scooped the pot.

'No offence, but why would I do that?'

'I've got a good name here. I was a policeman for twelve years and in the car trade for twenty-five. I know everyone and everything about this area.'

'Again, I appreciate your reputation would assist you should you wish to run for Mayor, but – ' – Form a buying cartel. Give the big boys a run for their money.

Then there's joint advertising...' Ray found himself tuning in. 'If we've got cars sticking we'll swap them. Your site and mine. Then there's the set-up costs. I'll lend you ten cars to get you started. You'll get a healthy cut for every one you sell. I also know people in the planning department. Know anyone there?' Ray shook his head. 'Know anyone down at the Car Auctions?' Ray shook his head again. 'The owner is a close personal friend of mine – you've gone quiet, Mr Fielding.'

'I never speak when I'm listening.'

'How much do you want this?'

'It's my dream.'

'Then let's make it come true. We need some money off you, don't we?' Manny nodded. 'For the Vectra? It's £4250, let's call it £3400.

Seeing as it's you.'

'That's the invoice price,' said Ray, warily. 'You'll make nothing.'

Billy offered his hand – 'If we're going to work together...'

106

Ray sensed victory. He'd gained Billy's respect. He'd been offered assistance. He was also getting a bargain. Ok, in reality he was an unemployed furniture salesman with a few grand of redundancy money in the bank, but he was also a dreamer whose dream of owning his own business was fast becoming a reality. Ray got out his cheque-book.

'Payable to Wheelers', said Billy firmly. Ray wrote out the cheque.

'Now, you can do it,' said Billy, and Manny knew what he had to do – 'WOO-HOO!' Balders, Gina and Angie were a tad confused by the Woo-hoo but busied themselves when Billy and Ray emerged.

'Look forward to working with you,' said Ray. 'And you,' he called back to Manny, skulking in Billy's office. Ray turned to Angie, 'I'll call you. Soon.' Then Gina, 'Lovely meeting you.' Balders offered his unseen hand. Ray turned on his heel and swaggered out of Wheelers, like big John Wayne walking out on the plain.

'You've heard his ideas. Who do you want to work for, boy? Me?' Billy tapped his pen slowly and purposefully on the table, 'Or the competition?'

'You, boss.'

Billy tapped the pen twice more before indicating the door. Manny exited to see three sombre faces. 'They're going into business together,' he said.

'If they merge we could get laid off,' said Balders.

'I like the way things are,' said Angie.

'Me too,' said Gina. 'I'll have a word.' She rapped on Billy's door.

'GO HOME,' yelled the voice within. 'EXCEPT YOU, MANNY. PHONE YOUR WIFE. YOU'RE OUT WITH ME TONIGHT.' The staff stood around concerned for their futures. All except Manny. He was concerned for his present.

24.

Gina got into her Merc for the first time since Claire and Manny had driven off in it the previous night. She adjusted the seat, looked in the 107

mirror and put her fake Gucci handbag down in the passenger foot-well.

A shiny piece of plasticised paper caught her eye against the lush black of the Merc's recently valetted carpet. She reached down and picked it up off the floor. It was the ripped corner of a condom wrapper. Her hangover returned.

25.

Balders clicked on the icon Clarissa. There she was, all twenty-six lovely chapters of her, scene after scene of light-weight historical romance; the story of yearning love the like of which he'd never known, and probably never would. Balders had seen people out and about holding hands, walking by the canal or through the park silently together: blissful, cocooned, content. He'd seen it and had no idea how it worked let alone how it started. He scrolled through a few pages before stopping to read a favourite section. He spotted a typo. damn. He thought he'd edited them all out. Now he'd have to go back and check the whole thing again but he didn't mind – any excuse to spend time with the beautiful French Countess, Clarissa de Lamanon d'Albe. Everything he didn't have here was there. There? Parasols and boating, picnics and embroidery, beauty and poems and love. Here? Here there was – eh? – the sound of a key in a door? Big boots? People? The cousins burst into the living room carrying a mega-bucket of deep-fried chicken beaks'n'feet and some nuclear beans – 'Boys? You got what you wanted, eh? I gave you the £100. I'm sorry about the gnats and the blisters but what could I do? Manny said he'd explained everything to you...?'

'Yeah. He did,' grinned Ryan, slapping his slimy palms on Balders shoulders. 'You're a dark horse, cuz.'

'What?'

'Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys. Me and Bryan. We've had some ideas.'

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26.

Billy's big black Audi A8 swept past the 'Land To Let' sign up on the top road by the site of the old dairy and onto Ray's field of dreams, where Ray waited like a lonely gunslinger. It was a chilly autumn evening but whatever the weather Ray was the kind of man who never wore an overcoat. Ray understood he was better off with Billy on board because Billy had experience and contacts, but Ray had won. He'd definitely won. Billy had bent over backwards to offer Ray everything and here they were, if proof were needed, waiting on some of the most powerful contacts Billy could call on. Ray was playing with the big boys and not just playing but winning.

A black Bentley glided up and three men in suits got out. Each had a briefcase and each looked important; big men in a big car who could make big decisions. Ray nodded at Manny. Billy was a nice man.

'Good evening gentlemen,' said Billy Wheeler.

'Evening,' said the gentlemen. Manny studied them as they approached. They did look important, considering. The two groups of three stood a few feet apart like enemy posses waiting for the draw. Billy did the introductions – 'This is Jeffrey Green, from the Council Planning Department.

He's worked there for thirty-five years and knows all there is to know about planning.

'Hello,' said Jeffrey Green, but Jeffrey Green wasn't from the Council Planning Department. Jeffrey Green was from the White Horse where he had been landlord for thirty-five years and barely knew how to plan a piss-up in his own pub.

'This is Vincent Sherlock from Central Car Auctions.'

'Evening,' said Vincent Sherlock, White Horse barfly and part-time barber. Billy came to the third man. He looked stumped – 'Sorry, I don't know you...' Councillor Green stepped in – 'This is Russell Morris MBE from the Welsh Government Health & Safety Executive. We have a Masonic Lodge meeting tonight and I asked him to come along as a favour.'

'Nice to meet you,' said Russell Morris WHR – White Horse Regular as well as Claire's Father, Manny's Father-In-Law, Retired 109

Forestry Worker, Cancer Sufferer and Staunch Anti-Royalist who, in the highly unlikely event he was ever offered an MBE, would turn it down.

'And this, gentlemen,' said Billy, 'Is Ray Fielding, who wants to develop this site and this is David Manning from my sales team.' Ray was impressed – Lodge? MBE? Government? Executive? 'Mr Fielding intends opening for business on this site in two to three months. That's correct, isn't it, Mr Fielding?'

'Everything's in place, Mr Wheeler.' Billy winked at him; everything was in place. He continued – 'There's a lot of work to be done and we're all very aware of the many building and planning regulations that have to be fulfilled, the forms that have to be completed, etcetera – but this is a brown-field site so planning shouldn't be too much of an issue. Also, we want to look at setting up an account for Mr Fielding with you, Mr Sherlock, and I will personally vouch for his character. So, as I said on the phone, the purpose of this meeting is to push things along so Mr Fielding can start trading as soon as he can, and I, as his...' Billy looked to Ray for endorsement, 'How shall I describe it? ...Ally?' Ray was agreeable. Billy nodded in gratitude. 'So that as his ally, my company can also reap the benefits of a close trading relationship.'

Councillor Green appeared agitated. 'Before you go any further...'

Billy allowed him the floor. 'I don't mean to be facetious, but are you planning on selling cars exclusively to children? Or dwarves?' – Dwarves?

– 'There are ancient tin-mine workings in this area, only discovered when the dairy was demolished. It means you can't build any structure on this land higher than...' Jeff Green consulted a sheet of paper he'd produced from his coat pocket, 'Four foot.' Jeff held his hand approximately four feet off the ground to reinforce the point. Billy looked at Ray who was clearly fazed. Russell Morris MBE stepped forward – 'Bit of a waste of time me being here really. Sorry Mr, er... what was your name again?'

'Wheeler.'

'Wheeler, yes.'

'Mr Wheeler!' said Vincent Sherlock. 'Normally I can trust your judgement and I've done a lot of business with you over the years, good 110

business, with the cars and the auction and that, but tonight has – well frankly, it's been a bloody waste of time. A bloody big waste of time!'

The three men turned to stroll back to the Bentley but Russell Morris MBE lingered a moment – 'I probably shouldn't say this, but I do know of another site that's available...'

'Where?' asked Ray. 'It's about thirty-five miles away near Barry, not far from the coast.

Lovely spot. Hang on...' Russell Morris opened his briefcase and pulled out a copy of some property details which he handed to Ray. 'It's a good spot. I did a report there earlier but the buyer couldn't afford it.

However, this is totally confidential. You understand?'

Though disappointed, Ray understood. It was uplifting to meet such honourable men in this day and age. Billy offered Ray a consoling hand on his shoulder as the players filtered off into the fog.

27.

Clarissa looked radiant in her scarlet ball gown. She entered the ballroom to an expectant hush.

'Balders? When do we come in?' asked Ryan. Balders sighed deeply and addressed the grey greasy keyboard. 'Balders...?' Balders started to type, as instructed. His patrons were in charge: he was a mere script monkey – Tap. Tap. Tap...

Clarissa fled into the night... and came across a space ship.

'Great, mun.' Tap. Tap. Tap...

Two gangsters emerged...

'Even better!' Tap. Tap. Tap...

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wearing cowboy hats.

'Awesome!'

Balders put his head down on the table as the cousins whooped and hollered around him. This was it. This was the fresh hell that someone had once spoken of.

28.

Claire pulled pints behind the White Horse bar as the grizzly grifters revelled in their sting; Vince up on his feet, imaginary gavel in hand – '550, 600! Going once, going twice... sold!'

'Who did you play then, Dad? 'Health & Safety,' said Russ in a deliberately decrepit manner.

'Another round Claire,' hollered Billy. 'And bloody 'dwarves'.

Whose idea was that?'

'Mine,' said Jeff. 'Make it more convincing.' Billy laughed as he shook his head.

'You've taken the Bentley back to the undertakers?'

'Aye,' said Russ. 'When we went this afternoon Ted The Death offered us the hearse but we didn't think that would have created the right impression.' Vince rocked with laughter to such a degree he slid sideways off his bar-stool – 'Going, going...' he said as he landed in a slow motion heap on the floor – 'Gone!'

Today had been a whole host of ordeals for Manny and he was knackered – Ray's blarney, Gina's mood swings, Balders' sabotage, Minchin's tailgate, Billy's hustle, not to mention gangster cowboys of a most intergalactic kind.

'You ok, love?' asked Claire.

'Long day,' he said, unable to stifle a yawn.

'Long day? NO. GOOD DAY,' said Billy. 'We got rid of the competition and not only that, we sold two cars. And that one to Ray 112

Cocky-Bollocks – it's got a dodgy alternator. Hopefully it'll hold out until his cheque clears.'

'Did we sell him a warranty?' asked Manny.

'I think we forgot to mention it.' Manny livened up – 'Well you know what to do, don't you?' Manny indicated a large table and Billy understood – 'Oh bloody hell, do I have to?'

The gang watched as Billy Wheeler stood on his chair before gingerly stepping up onto the table. He checked it would support his sizeable weight before putting his hands in the air and performing a daft little jig.

'WOO-HOO!' he shouted, before firing a couple of imaginary pistols at the ceiling – 'WOO-HOO!'

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Chapter 3 – Crash'N'Burn

'Hey there, stranger. I'm from the future so this town is my old town and I don't like you looking at my horse in that way. Choose your weapon – pistols or laser guns.'

Ryan paced the small living room, stepping over his brother's elongated legs as he dictated his Magnum opus. He wore a pale-blue felt cowboy hat designed for hen-nights purchased from Goddard's Fancy Dress shop and brandished a blue plastic laser gun. One day he'd have a proper cowboy hat and a real laser gun, one day...

'Balders? What's wrong? Did you get that last bit?' Balders stared deep into the screen 'I need to wash.'

'What for?'

'Work.'

'On a Sunday?'

Balders scanned the charts and the scene breakdowns, the diagrams and the pizza boxes, the soft drinks bottles and the omnipresent cousins – 'It's a busy day. People are off work.' Ryan watched Balders trudge out. He suspected his chief scribe was demotivated; the strain of having to stare at a screen for several hours – 'Hey Balders, it's going to be a brilliant film! One thing though, me and Bryan, we're still a bit concerned about the, er... romantic stuff.' A small voice went unheard – 'That's the only bit I like.'

2.

'Shangri-La' was a mock-Spanish villa built in 1973 by Jens Reuter, a Belgian with a ponytail and a Morgan sports car who'd worked as a window-display artist for the many fashion boutiques up and down the valley. He'd arrived as an exchange student but fell in love with the hills.

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Britain swung in the sixties but, with its chapel culture, repression and ancient melancholy, Drefawr didn't, although in the seventies some gentle swaying took place. A handful of the area's more brazen wives liberated their bosoms and Jens in cheesecloth and flares threw parties where 'funny cigarettes' proved popular. On one occasion car-keys were plucked from a glass bowl and a couple of naughty neighbours tripped tipsily up the open-plan staircase. After a brief but thrillingly intimate fumble in the chocolate brown bathroom they became self-conscious and returned to their concerned partners happily teasing the openmouthed throng that they'd only gone up to test everyone's reactions and that nothing at all had happened. How could it? They simply weren't those kind of people.

Jens Reuter had the first Bang & Olufsen stereo, the first priapic bronze statuette and the first and last Afghan hound. But a change was a-coming and by the mid-eighties the mine closures had wreaked havoc in the valleys and the few clothes shops that remained could no longer afford his skills. The world was changing. Then his world changed. In December '89 forty-five year old Jens had to flee overnight after impregnating an underage shop-girl.

In a small bar down an Amsterdam side-street a former window dresser with chronic arthritis scratches a living as a glass collector. Twelve months ago, and quite by chance a group of Drefawr stags paid a visit.

Jens recognised their accent, found out where they were from and mentioned to their rowdy amazement that he'd been to Drefawr occasionally on business, '...way back.' He spoke a little Flemish for their amusement; spoke a little Welsh for their amusement. He genially asked about their lives, their families, their fathers, their mothers. He asked about their places of birth – their dates of birth. He showed an unusually paternal interest in one young man, Tom Sykes, but not so much that Tom Sykes would notice. Later that night old Jens surprised the stags by picking up their not inconsiderable bar tab. As they set off to find another dingy strip-joint, Tom Sykes wondered aloud who the, '...sad old cripple with the pony-tail' was.

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3.

Gina Wheeler sat in her vest and knickers on the bottom-but-one stair in the hallway of her father's pride and joy, and still Drefawr's only mock-Spanish villa. As a rookie policeman Billy had visited after a naked man was spotted in a downstairs window by Iris Element, the lollipop lady. Her stumble backwards into the road had caused a Colonel Creamy's ice-cream van to veer into a Belisha beacon. Billy coveted the house from the moment he went to visit Mr Reuter, advising him to wear a dressing-gown when spring-cleaning in future. Fifteen years ago, during a boom-time in the car trade, Billy bought his Shangri-la Gina painted her toe-nails in the sun-dappled hall as she took a call from Claire. She had to go to the hospital to cover an emergency shift, Manny was joining Russ and the men on their Sunday walk, so would Gina baby-sit? Down the line came a rustling of sheets, some giggling, muffled words and shushes as Claire explained her plight, before spluttering that she had to go as she had a horny little man to deal with who liked nurses' uniforms. Gina knew what this was. This was the sound of other people's foreplay. The nail varnish toppled over and thick crimson spilled onto the beech-wood step. She watched it, inert, before realising the matter needed attention. This morning, everything good was elsewhere.

Manny fought manfully but Claire's strong thighs and NHS Manual Handling Training meant she overcame him with ease. There was a My Little Pony on her dressing table and behind the wardrobe, long forgotten, was the journal she kept as an eleven year old during the months following her mother's death. Her school satchel, emblazoned with the names of defunct pop groups and forgotten boys hung on the back of the door. This was the bed where Dad had brought her tomato soup when she had a childhood fever; the bed where she'd lost her virginity to fifth form stud, Gary Williams; the bed where she'd wept after hearing he'd called her 'lardy'; the bed she now happily romped on with husband, David 'Manny' Manning, who she'd met at the inaugural night of a London society for Welsh ex-pats in a bar off Soho Square, 116

captivating him with her party smile, her vodka technique and her I'm Way Too Good For You tee-shirt.

'Life's good, isn't it?' she said. 'Better than London? Not missing the band...?' Manny's wan smile satisfied her curiosity – 'Wasn't going to happen, was it?'

Whilst this was probably true his slumbering sensibilities were not primed for such honesty. The bedroom door opened. A hand appeared holding a bright yellow walking jacket – 'Ready, boy?' called Russ. 'Best I can do, but it'll keep the wind off.' Manny muttered – 'If God had meant us to walk he wouldn't have invented taxis.'

'This isn't for you,' she said retrieving the coat and throwing it over Manny's head. 'Get walking, banana-man.'

A 1974 orange Volkswagen Camper Van pulled up outside Shangri-La. Gina appeared in response to the repeated beeping of its toy-town horn.

Her jaw dropped. She was a 21st century gal with little time for novelty transport.

'Picked it up last night – thought I'd give the boys a giggle,' said Billy, clad in a black cowboy hat and an ankle-length rainproof coat. The side door creaked open to reveal Jeff and Vince, replete with van-related quipping opportunities – 'Surf board, Gina? Yeah? Got your surfboard! Room for a little one! Beach Boys, innit?

'And girls, Bry! Beach Girls!'

Harvey's Haulage was one of the biggest employers in the area but Ron Harvey Jr. was speculating whether to move his twenty-six lorries and forty-three staff eight miles down the valley to save on diesel. Dick Evans, proprietor of Dick's Snack Shack, knew he'd be finished if that happened. His catering van was parked in a lay-by a few hundred yards south of Harvey's premises. His best seller? The Truckers Breakfast Roll.

His main clientele? Harvey's Haulage lorry drivers.

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'And it's hi-ho silver lining And everywhere you go now baby I'll see your sun is shining And I won't make a fuss Though it's obvious' The camper van choir sang Jeff Beck's one wonderful hit as they drove past Dick and his moribund shack and on up the road to Russ' house, Gina's voice noticeable only in its absence from the mix.

4.

Dylan sat in his high chair eating a plate of what looked, to the uneducated eye, like Polyfilla.

'Thanks so much, sweetheart,' said Claire. 'He's had a poo but if he has an accident, here's some clean Huggies.' Gina did her best not to retch. 'Read him a story if you want, but I don't like him watching too much TV.' Gina secretly envied Claire and her nurse's uniform, her warm unfussy house, her man; maybe not the kid though – 'Bless Manny, eh? Walking with the old men!' she joshed.

'I think it's sweet,' said Claire. 'It shows they've accepted him.'

Gina put the TV on and briefly flicked through the channels before curiosity got the better of her. She looked at the packed book shelves in Russ's living room: Welsh history, theology, political biography, rugby, philosophy and a complete series of 1950s Penguin Classics. She realised that she hadn't read a book for years. Maybe she'd start reading books.

Were books cool? Next she found a photo-album containing images of Claire, Russ and his dear departed wife. Then another album, more upto-date photos this time: Manny and his band, Manny and Claire at their wedding, Manny, Claire and Gina at their wedding. She'd never seen that picture before. There they were, the happy threesome and yet a few minutes after that photo she'd found herself alone with Manny; alone under the white cherry-blossom tree.

A child's laughter distracted her. Dylan had picked up the bowl of gloop and put it upside down on his head like a daft hat.

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5.

The camper van capered up a steep track. Mynydd Mawr peered magisterially down at them. The higher they climbed the more bleak and beautiful the vista became. Petrified trees scarred the dry landscape.

Electricity pylons stretched to the horizon like God's washing line. A nondescript pile of stones marked the place where an 18th-century shepherd's croft once stood. Ragged sheep picked remorselessly at thin wisps of grass, sheltering between boulders created by ice slicing the earth's crust over two million years ago. The van pulled up at a widening in the lane near a broken stile that marked the start of a public footpath.

Opposite was a farmer's cottage turned holiday home. As the men got out they heard classical music which Russ identified as the playful piano and carefree cello of Beethoven's Cello Sonata No. 3. From behind the wall of the cottage came a young man's voice – 'BURN, BURN, BURN IN THE FIRES OF HELL.' They heard liquid being poured, a match being struck and the sound of combustion.

Flames danced and the voice came once more, 'Shit. BOLLOCKS.' Billy and the walkers advanced a few yards – '... you ok?' asked Billy.

The flames subsided and a figure peered around the corner of the sturdy mullion that held a cast-iron gate. It wore a voluminous furry parka-coat with an extended snorkel-type hood which rendered any face invisible – 'Who are you?'

The figure spoke in a Keith Richards-type drawl; an accent which had its roots neither in geographical location nor class system.

'Just some friends, out for a walk,' said Billy.

'I don't believe you.' Billy stepped forward – 'I can assure you – ' ' – STAY WHERE YOU ARE!' The figure ducked down behind the wall again.

'Ok, ok...' Billy remembered his police training; how to deal with a frightened suspect – stay calm, stay focussed.

'They've sent you to get me. I know they have. It's too late. I'm not going back. I've burned my tour jacket – my security pass – and my 119

sticks.' A charred drum stick sailed over the wall and landed at Billy's feet. 'Crash'N'Burn? Yeah? Well, I have. So go back and tell them. Go on.'

'Who are 'they'?' said Billy.

'The record company.'

'Ah! We're not from the record company – ' ' – Management company then.'

'As I said, we're just some friends having a walk. Our names are Russ, Manny, Jeff, Vince, and I am Billy Wheeler.' The hood re-appeared above the parapet – 'Why should I believe you?'

'Because – ' Billy knew there was a certain audacity in what he was about to say but said it anyway, knowing that at the very least it would amuse his fellow walkers – 'I'm a car salesman.'

The figure appeared again, slowly moving to a position behind the gate which he pulled tight shut. He was 5'7, medium build, and apart from the all-encompassing coat wore black combat trousers and silver sneakers.

'I need a car. Trains no good – people staring. Cabs no good – people talking. Planes no good – ' The hood lifted slightly and seemed to be focussing beyond Billy, beyond the men, beyond everything except the camper van. Billy took out a business card which he held in the air to prove it was harmless.

Another card fell unnoticed from his pocket, nestling in the mud and the stones.

'Camper van,' he said, pointing at the vehicle.' '...Do you like camper vans?'

'They're the mutt's nuts.'

'That one is for sale,' said Billy.

'I want it.'

Jeff nudged Russ, and Manny and Vince concurred: Billy was a great salesman. Billy waved the card – 'Come to this address later and my colleague here will show it to you. Ok?' The figure held out his hand. Billy walked slowly to the gate.

Arm and fingers out-stretched, he passed the card to the figure who scrutinised it before disappearing once more. Several moments passed 120

where nothing came from behind the wall except the spit and crackle of dying embers. Crisis seemingly averted the walkers returned to their business. They climbed gingerly over the stile and set off towards a skeletal tree silhouetted against a featureless sky: the place they always started from.

The walks were monthly and the ritual had begun a year ago when Russ's illness was first diagnosed. He had missed a few but today he'd made it and his son-in-law was with him, which was good. Traditions needed maintaining, old or new, rain or shine, Russ or no Russ, the walk would go on.

'Hey Billy, you could sell air-con to an Eskimo,' said Jeff.

'Looked like an Eskimo, he did!' said Vince. 'On drugs was he?'

'ABC, gentlemen. Always Be Closing. Nine sales already, Manny.

Close the Eskimo – company car.'

Russ summoned Manny to join him up the front. He passed his boss, his pub landlord and his barber. He was now part of a secret organisation like a Masonic Lodge, only with fewer rituals and more sheep. Russ stopped by the tree and stood like a grand master, reverent and proud.

'Time for this young man's initiation into the Grand Order of Hill Walkers,' he said.

Manny smiled but the men didn't. This was no frivolous matter.

Russ indicated a freshly deposited cow-pat – 'Two fingers into the cowpat, then make marks on your cheeks...' Russ mimed the action of two horizontal stripes. 'Like this.' Manny looked around at the men – oh, come on – but the men solemnly repeated the gesture. It seemed they genuinely wanted him to put two clean fingers into some filthy cow dung and rub it onto his face like some smelly fecal-faced warrior. The men waited solemnly. Awful though it was, Manny suspected these things did happen in secret societies; maybe ceremonies a lot worse than this one. He looked at the men. He looked at the Grandmaster. He looked at the cow-pat. As his fingers penetrated the manure's aura he sensed something was wrong. There was a definite movement at the edge of his peripheral vision. It was Vince, shaking like a jelly, 121

desperately trying to stifle his mirth. Others too were battling to stay still. Quickly all composure was lost and chuckles turned to guffaws.

Russ looked at Manny, winning glee all over his rugged bony face and Manny knew he'd been kippered – Bastards. Daft old roguish Sunday walking bastards.

Russ raised his stick to the sky and the men set off towards the great mountain.

6.

The residents of Vicarage Gardens were all a-flutter at their nets with the goings-on: it was certainly more entertaining than the morning's tabloids. The pavement outside No. 13 was strewn with furniture, boxes and belongings. In a decorative boudoir chair near a faux Victorian lamp-post Angie Rowlands made a call to the absent landlord – 'Jimmy! Answer the bloody phone!' She gave the neighbours a wave as if to say, 'I'm not mad or loud', but Angie had only moved out of the house eleven months ago; the neighbours well-remembered the laughter, the drinking, the rows, the screaming, the breakages and the break-up. They had their own ideas as to exactly how mad and loud Angie could be.

Balders sat alone in the showroom wearing an open-necked cream shirt.

Sundays were informal at Wheelers. It was a huge relief to be away from the familial dictators but Balders was rattled: Manny should have been in by now. His phone rang – 'No can do, Angie. I'm on my own. Manny hasn't shown up. I rang his home and some girl said he's gone on a walk. A walk? When he should be in work. How unprofessional is that?' One minute staring at Manny's empty chair later, Balders picked up his phone – 'Manny, it's me. You're supposed to be in work. The boss is off today. Need to know what to tell him in case he phones so I don't land you in it. Call me back, bye.'

Three minutes, the chair still empty, he reached for his phone once more.

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'Boss, it's Balders. I don't want to get him into trouble or anything, but Manny's not turned up. No worries, everything's under control. It's just, well, it's not professional. I'm here though. Taking care of business.

On my own – Bye.' 7.

The errant salesman perched next to his father-in-law on a large rock that faced down the valley. From this height it was almost as if the area hadn't been pillaged by industry, had its minerals blasted, its rock hewn, its river dammed, its earth poisoned, its greenery greyed. From here you could see heaven, earth and all space in between. The town looked almost charming, nestled in the misty valley like Christmas stocking gifts in a thick duvet.

'You look after my girl,' said Russ. 'She'll need your help.'

Russ was an example of mankind recognisable throughout the ages.

He'd tended forests. He could dismantle and re-build machinery. He could erect fences. He could repair roofs. His hands were hard with calluses. Corralled by a neatly trimmed beard his skin was wind-blasted and fissured. He had his own well-considered opinions on a wide range of subjects but came from the days before posting and tweeting.

'Claire's mum used to hate walking in the country. Can you believe that? She died suddenly, you know. When you know you're going to die, you learn to appreciate the view.'

After the walk the men sat like sardines in the back of the camper van and drank sweet weak tea from Bakelite flasks. Russ spoke of his funeral plans. Much to Manny's bemusement he appeared to be rolling a joint.

'I don't want black tie. I want my ashes spread on the hill, by the tree. After the service I want When the Saints Go Marching In – the jazz version – and I'll leave Jeff some cash for a do at the pub.' He paused and leant forward, exuding profundity. 'But most importantly of all,' – the men silent as graves – 'I do not, under any circumstances...' – still hushed – '...want Vince to sing at my funeral.' They cracked up, especially Vince who took this as the cue for another chorus of Jeff Beck's finest. A 123

smirk spread across Russ's face which Manny found contagious. Russ lit the joint and inhaled deeply. 'Medicinal,' he said. Manny understood.

Russ passed the joint to Vince who took a moment to compose himself – 'Angina,' he said. It was Jeff's turn to conjure up an appropriate ailment Enough time lapsed for Manny to know for certain he was being ribbed.

'Tennis elbow,' said Jeff and he too took a puff. Vince's belly billowed as he manfully tried to ward off the encroaching glee. Jeff offered the joint to Manny – is this a test? Ordinarily, in a Hoxton housewarming, a Stockwell soiree or a Shepherd's Bush shindig he'd have had a little toke, but he declined – in case it was a test.

'Thought you had sore feet?' said Russ. Vince was really struggling now but the others remained deadpan. Billy took possession and stared into Manny's eyes with a hit-man's intensity – 'My back is playing me up something rotten!'

He took a long drag and the daft old buggers fell about laughing, the young initiate falling joyfully with them.

8.

No neck massage, double espresso or chill wind could overcome the weariness that consumed Balders. Out on the forecourt was the first of the Sunday morning tyre-kickers. He had to follow protocol in case he was being mystery-shopped or had another Doctor-Posing-As-Car-Dealer situation on his hands. He closed the Sunday paper Book Review section, poured the last fragments of a pack of Bobby's Bacon Fries into his mouth and licked his fingers.

'Good morning, my name is Gareth Bald-win...?' He faltered on coming face-to-face, if indeed it had a face, with a voluminous hood which encircled a black hole – Could this be... a space alien? Were the cousins right all along? – He'd been so immersed in the world of Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys that all things were now possible.

'Do you know who I am?'

'Should I?' Balders peered into the cowl for a clue but the face was too remote.' Have you bought with us before?'

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'Sweet. You really don't know me?'

'I can't actually see you.'

The figure paused for a moment before unzipping its hood. It had asymmetrical waxed black hair with scarlet flicks. It looked like some scary Amazonian bird. Half a dozen ear-rings hung from one ear and a couple of studs punctured the left nostril. A Chinese dragon tattoo crept up the neck, its fire-breathing nose hidden in the hairline. Balders looked at these myriad adornments with a degree of incredulity. The only time his appearance had ever been artificially altered was when his cousins shaved off one of his eyebrows during a homebrew binge in their early teens. Recognition of the figure was, however, still hampered by dark glasses of such enormity that a mother might fail to recognise her own son.

'Still can't quite...' The figure slowly took off the sunglasses to reveal a sad pale face with hot-wired eyes. 'Nope. Not a clue.'

'I like this place. And I like you. Car-selling man.' '...Whatever.'

'VW camper van. Yeah? It's about freedom, man. Tristan and the open road.'

'We don't sell camper vans...' – Tristan? – 'Look around you. We sell cars.' The shades went back on. The hood back up – 'Have faith, man. I'll have a little mooch. It will materialise. It's all in the mind.' Tristan pulled out a packet of watermelon chewing-gum.

As he did so several crumpled bits of paper fell from his pocket. He didn't notice but Balders did. This left-field nut-job was beginning to exasperate him now.

'You've dropped something.'

The hood remained static so Balders reluctantly dropped to his hands and knees – What the...? – These weren't any old pieces of paper.

They were £50 notes, crumpled up £50 notes. Balders placed them on the desk, sat back down, frizzed his hair into a more asymmetrical shape and started again – 'Any other vehicles I could interest you in?'

'Just the Vee-Double-U. It's orange, man, the colour of Krishna.'

125

Balders was a quitter. He knew when to quit. It was time. He set about opening the hatches, boots and doors of the forecourt cars. This should have been done first thing but Balders wasn't good with routines. Every moment to him was fresh and new and very little knowledge was carried forward from similar moments, no matter how recently they'd occurred.

Tristan appeared, snorkelled back up to the hilt. Balders indicated the many lovely cars they had for sale but Tristan simply pointed at the sky.

Balders was saddened that this cash-rich cosmic fool wanted to buy something but that something didn't exist. He'd probably end up like some 1960s acid casualty, mumbling about the solar system to afternoon drunks in a Cambridge park. Balders heard a vehicle approach and a VW appeared, but not a camper van. A fully restored powder blue Karmann Ghia swooped onto the forecourt. A dark-haired hunk in his mid-thirties wearing a rugby jersey and jeans emerged, together with a slim attractive woman and a small energetic boy who started taking photographs of cars.

'You don't have to sell it. I know how much it means to you,' said the woman.

'You mean a whole lot more,' said the man. They kissed briefly.

The kid spun away, repelled.

Balders gleaned that this kid didn't want to visit his grandmother, didn't want his coat done up, and that he wanted to stay with Carl. Balders was invigorated: he could read people, their needs and wants. Now this guy – recent relationship, he wants to impress, the kid's hers, he's a P.E. teacher, late developer, someone who regards themselves as a bit of a catch.

'Darling, it's the first time that Josh has wanted to spend time with me, if I'm going to move in...?

The kid is hers. I am a genius.

'Well, don't turn your back on him for an instant.'

'I am nearly 10,' pipped the kid, taking photos of them both before sitting on the floor and dealing out two hands of playing cards.

'Lovely car!' said Balders, offering his hand.

'I restored it myself. The name's Carl – ' ' – Do you teach P.E.?

'No. Why?' 126

'Hey Baldy-man! V-double-U!' said the snorkel.

Trundling onto the forecourt, as prophesised, was an orange VW Camper Van. Balders was even more surprised to see Manny driving, Gina in the passenger seat holding a guitar case, and Angie in the back with what looked like all her worldly goods. Balders marched to the driver's door – 'Where the hell have you been?'

'Walking,' said Manny.

'Walking? What do you think the boss will make of that?'

'He was there.'

'Where?'

'On the walk.'

'He didn't ask me.'

'It was more of a friend thing.'

'Oh, you're his friend now?' Manny remembered something. He fished in his jacket and handed Gina a CD – 'You said you wanted a copy.'

'Never mind that, when was all this walking arranged?'

'Love to chat, but he's my man for the camper van.' Balders blocked his path – 'Yeah right. He's my customer. His name's Tristan and I've been looking after him for an hour. On my own. Because some of us weren't out walking with the boss. Some of us were working.'

'Billy set up the deal, ok?'

'Bollocks to that. And you can ask your new best friend – the Boss – and he'll tell you that whoever takes the customer's details and looks after them is the one who gets the deal. Basic rule of car selling.

Something you'll learn, in time.'

'Ok, what about that guy?' Balders looked across at Carl.

'Same rule applies.'

'So they're both yours?'

'Course. If you'd been here on time, but to come swanning in here halfway through a shift expecting deals to land in your lap – that's not how it works in the motor trade. Never has. Never will.'

127

'As long as you're not reconsidering, Jimmy. I've set my heart on moving back!'

Angie slammed the phone down. This was not how Sundays were supposed to be. Gardening, antiques, scrambled egg, crosswords: that's how Sundays were supposed to be – sex and wine too, if available.

Gina's unsubtle tutting bade Angie join her at the window where she caught sight of Balders unceremoniously dumping a 19th century regulator clock onto the tarmac. Angie ran out and grabbed a box containing a feather boa, hats and scarves – 'Give me that. At least take them inside. You can be such a prat at times, Balders.'

'I need it for a test drive, Angie. And it's not professional to keep demanding personal favours.'

'You're an annoying shit.'

'I was on my own for ages.'

'What's that got to do with anything?'

They were interrupted by the sound of classical music emanating from the camper van. Balders opened the side door to see Tristan conducting Beethoven's 5th to an invisible audience with an imaginary baton.

'Need a drink,' he said.

'What would Maestro like?' asked Balders.

'Black coffee, flat spoon of sugar. Dash of semi-skimmed soya milk.' Balders turned to Angie – 'And you know how I like mine.'

'Poured over your stupid balding head?'

The camper van was certainly compact and cosy. You couldn't lose stuff because you had little choice where to put it in the first place. No need to wander arts and craft fairs with arty crafty women because there was no hanging space for pictures, and ornaments would simply slide around when cornering. Balders fancied one for himself – no room for itinerant cousins either.

'What do you do?' asked Balders.

'What do you do?' asked Tristan. '...I'm a car salesman.'

'And are we what we do?'

128

'When we're doing it, I suppose. Test drive?'

'We could go to the ends of the earth,' said Tristan. 'Me and you.

Right now, and never come back.'

'Technically you would need to buy it first.' The side door slid open to reveal Angie holding a tray containing a saucepan of water, two cups, a coffee jar, milk and sugar – 'I think you'll find there's a cooker in the van. Mr Baldwin will demonstrate,' she said, crashing the tray down on the van's floor.

'Primitive!' said Tristan. Balders assessed the small rusty gas hob in the rear of the van. 'I'll go and put the kettle on in the showroom,' he said.

'Ah, Mr Baldwin,' said Manny as Balders clambered out. 'This is Carl.'

'Yeah, we met,' said Balders.

'You weren't interested.' said Carl.

'I was.'

'I said 'Hello', and you walked away.'

'I didn't.' Manny stepped in – 'This gentleman is interested in family cars Mr Baldwin, and he's looking to part-exchange his wonderful VW Karmann Ghia.'

'Excellent,' said Balders, 'I'll get the Part Exchange Appraisal Form.'

'But if you're busy with this gentleman,' said Manny, 'Then maybe I could look after the customer in the van?'

'Nah. He's ok. He's chilling.'

The camper van engine burst noisily into life. It lurched forward a couple of feet, before stalling.

'Hey! Baldy-man! Let's go!'

'If you've got a customer already you can't look after both of us', said Carl.

'BEEP-BEEP! Come on Baldy-man!' The kid took photos of Balders, Manny and Carl but as his lens settled on his next subject, Tristan screamed, threw his hands up in front of his hood and flung himself down on the passenger's seat as if a bomb had gone off.

Balders considered his position. One customer was a fruit loop with pockets of fifties; the other, an impatient lunk who had lied about 129

his job. The kid, tugging at Balders' trouser leg, leaked some useful insider info – 'Carl's going to make someone suffer today. He said he's not letting salesmen take advantage of him.'

This ran against every principle Balders held regarding Sunday working.

Ok, the Lord's handbook said you should rest on the seventh day, but these were secular times and Balders was convinced that if there was a Lord he would insist that, if one had to work on the Sabbath one shouldn't have to work too hard, let alone suffer.

'Carl?' said Balders.

'This is Manny, Senior Trainee, he'll look after you.'

'Ok. First up, I'm not really a trainee,' said Manny as Balders ambled away. 'And secondly, let's take a look at this beauty. Start with the engine.' Manny opened the bonnet but there was no engine. As with its donor car, the VW Beetle, the Karmann Ghia was rear-engined.

Under the bonnet was only a small storage compartment and a spare wheel. Carl was back in control.

9.

Angie sat at her desk reading the Sunday supplement Homes & Gardens whilst eating a Danish pastry. She didn't look up when Jimmy entered.

Yes, she wanted an apology and an explanation, but she also wanted to know whether Jimmy would tell her that everything was hunky dory with Emma, because Angie had sat in a cab outside their new home a few nights back listening to them arguing so knew it wasn't.

'Don't start, Angie. I've got a pounding headache.'

'You love-birds been falling out?'

'Went to friend of Emma's last night for a party.'

'You must be feeling your age today. What did you do, eat jelly and play Pass The Parcel?'

'You owe me for this. She wasn't happy with our arrangement...'

Jimmy paused long enough for Angie to falter.

'There's an unwritten condition. Don't hassle the landlord, yeah?'

130

'Course,' she said as she put her jacket on. 'Come on. Stick some of my stuff in your car. It's big enough. You can drop me on your way home.'

10.

The camper van cavorted along narrowly missing parked cars, bollards and pedestrians. For safety reasons Tristan's hood was pulled back but for privacy reasons his large sunglasses remained. He crunched gears and swung the heavy steering wheel like a drunken ship's captain trying to avoid an iceberg.

'This is great fun Baldy-man!'

'Done a lot of driving?' asked Balders, gripping the grab handle.

'No. Live in London. Belsize Park. Know it?'

'I've never been – WATCH OUT!' A cyclist swerved to avoid the camper van and nearly pitched into the canal – done any driving? They came to the main shopping street. Forty years ago there was Alcwyn's the milliner and Christmas Evans the ironmonger; Rene Gwilym the draper and Tom Lewis the confectioner; Garry The Fish, the fishmonger and A.H. Wherle, the shoe-shop, Dai The Ham the butcher and Morris The Realm, the haberdasher. There was still John Rees' baker's shop, two pawnbrokers, Hodgson's Wine Bar, a Poundstore, Buy-Weekly, a few minor chain stores, Florini's Café and Goddard's Fancy Dress but they were far outnumbered by empty premises. Even the charity shops were closing down. Once upon a time it would have resembled any small town's main thoroughfare. In many ways it still did.

'I love this coz I hate flying, yeah? Planes – what holds them up?'

'It's to do with the air pressure beneath the wings being higher than the... brake... brake... BRAKE!' Tristan hit the brakes just as a navy and cream-suited old lady in matching hat toddled across the road outside Zion Baptist Church, clueless as to how close she'd come to finding out whether there was a God or not. Balders had had enough. He got out of the van and made his way round to the driver's side but before he arrived the van sped off.

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11.

The divorcees stood together in their former matrimonial home for the first time in eleven months. Jimmy picked up a dented pewter pot from a packing case.

'I wondered where this had gone. I thought you hated it. You hurled it at me every time we fought. In fact, if we were in another room, you'd actually go and fetch it.'

'It reminds me of the making up.'

There was tension, most of it sexual. He couldn't deny it. His pulse rate was up – to be in her company. To be in the house of love and war. To smell her perfume. Angie, always attractive, always red-haired, always feisty. Always slim-calved, tight-bloused, available.

Angie knew he had to leave. He really had to leave. 'Put a few picture hooks up for me?' she asked sweetly. 'Won't take a minute – ' 12.

Manny strolled into Billy's office where Gina sat reading a Motoring supplement. He handed over the Part Exchange Appraisal Form containing a report on the mechanics, condition and driving merits of the Karmann Ghia.

'He wants six grand.'

'Got a speedboat on the back has it?' – so clever and catty – 'I'll make some calls. It'll be hard to get a trader on a Sunday but I'll give it a go.

Keep him busy...'

'Ok Sir, I've got someone chasing down the best price for you. Tell me Carl, we're obviously glad you are, why are you selling it?'

'Thing is, it's got no seat belts in the back and now I've got a – ' ' – Wha'? Wha' have you got?' squawked the kid.

'A 'family', so to speak. I want us to be able to go out together in safety. I quite like the Honda Jazz. I saw it in your advert.' The kid casually inspected the unremarkable family car – 'It's got a scratch on it.'

Carl checked. This was true. Manny moved sharply on – 132

'Ok. It's only done 34,000 miles. One careful owner – ' But the kid liked this new game. Not only was he good at it, when he played it people paid attention. There seemed no reason to stop.

'Another scratch here. And here, Carl!'

'Not so careful, eh?' said Carl. This was getting awkward. The kid was a menace.

'And here.'

Argh!

'If it didn't have light scratches it would be a brand new car, wouldn't it? And then it wouldn't be second-hand. So it wouldn't be this price – ' ' – I'm sure we can negotiate a discount, allowing for the damage,' said Carl. 'Ok. I'd like to take it on a test drive.'

'I don't want to go,' said the kid. 'You drive really slow. 'Like an old man', Mum says.'

'She says what?'

'He can stay with me. I'm a Dad myself,' said Manny, realising that should the kid go he would probably spot the rip on the rear of the passenger seat, the wonky sun visor and the missing cigarette lighter.

13.

Angie couldn't have wanted for anything more than to be at No. 13 Vicarage Gardens on a Sunday with her handsome ex – well, maybe one thing more. He'd set up the TV, replaced a curtain pole and was on his last picture hook so the moment couldn't last – but what lasts? She located a CD and selected a track: jazzy, summery, loaded with meaning.

'Remember this?'

'How could I forget?' called Jimmy from the hallway. 'You stormed off for two days.' Angie giggled at the memory. 'It was our honeymoon, Angie. It wasn't funny.'

'Neither is being left for a woman half your age.' Jimmy's mobile rang. 'Is it little Lamb-kins?' asked Angie, mock fear colouring her voice.

He raised a finger to his lips – 'Hi Lam, er... Ems – Yeah, I gave her the keys... No, she was fine...

Yes, I told her.'

133

'What did you tell me?' hissed Angie. Jimmy's eyes flared: please don't speak - not now. I put up pictures. I fixed the TV...

'Don't worry, she won't bother us again... Now? I'm – ' ' – you're at home – ' ' – I'm at the supermarket. Thought I'd pick up those olives you like.' Jimmy put his hand over the receiver and mouthed his goodbyes.

Angie chucked in a last barb – 'Glad you're finally in a healthy honest relationship.' Jimmy looked at her despairingly, imploring her to shut up.

'I may be some time little Lamb-kins because the store's very very busy – ' But little Lamb-kins knew Wolfie wasn't at the store because when Wolfie opened the front door little Lamb-kins was standing there, looking more than a little bit cross.

14.

The two miles from the centre of town was the furthest Balders had jogged since the school cross-country run where he'd got lost and tumbled down an abandoned quarry. His lower back and pits were wet with sweat but at least the camper van was on the forecourt. Balders' last dreadful test-drive experience occurred when a couple of lads insisted on seeing how a Mitsubishi Evo performed on the motorway. Despite Balders' polite requests to turn back they raced as far as Chipping Sodbury before racing home again, only stopping at Aust services where Balders was coerced into paying for petrol and drinks, which Billy reimbursed, and 'gentlemen's magazines', which Billy didn't. Balders hurled opened the side door of the camper van and found Tristan smoking the remains of a joint.

'Alright, Baldy-man? Found this on the floor. Bonus!'

'You drove off without me?'

'Yeah. Where were you going?'

Where was I going? Balders didn't have the breath to answer. This was a Sunday. Sundays were supposed to be easy – 'Easy like Sunday morning' – the clue was in the lyric.

134

'Need a bog, man. Head spinning. Strong gear.' Tristan staggered out of the van and Balders pointed silently in the direction of the showroom toilets. Manny, wandered out to where Balders stood, one arm pointing, eyes tight shut.

'You alright?'

'Drugs were found in the van you brought in. Drugs, Manny.

Illegal substances. If the boss knew – ' ' – he knows.' Balders opened his eyes – 'Wha'?'

'The old boys like a smoke. It's medicinal.'

'Oh for fuck's sake. It's who you know isn't it. Unbe-fuckinglievable.'

Carl pulled up in the Honda Jazz – 'Nice drive. I like it... Where's Josh?'

'Who's Josh?' asked Balders.

'My little boy – ?' ' – Ah. He's at my desk, playing cards,' said Manny. Carl peered in through the showroom window but Manny's desk was unoccupied. The kid was gone.

Tristan unzipped the hood, took off his sunglasses, blinked in the fluorescent washroom light and flicked cold water onto his over-heated face. The vigorous splashing masked the sound of the kid, phone in hand, peeking out from behind a cubicle door. Tristan shut off the tap.

'Say cheese.'

'Wha'? NO! Mini paparazzi! For crawling through small spaces – This is a bog, man! Is nothing sacred?'

'You're weird,' said the kid.

'HELP.' Carl rushed into the toilets and grabbed the kid but was distracted by a quick peek of the parka-wearer's face before it disappeared into the hollows of the hood. Carl pulled the kid to safety as the panicking parkawearer ran smack bang into the side of the toilet cubicle, before aiming the hood successfully in the direction of the exit.

135

Carl was knackered. He liked, possibly even loved the kid's Mum but the kid was difficult and Carl wasn't used to kids. He hadn't mixed with ten year olds since he was ten years old. He had gone from being the gregarious bachelor with a fabulous car at the Drefawr Rugby Club Christmas party, where he'd spotted an attractive subdued single mother, to 'Table for 3', an anonymous 4-door hatchback, parental controls on his laptop and the Disney channel blaring out of his state-of-the-art home-cinema system. It wasn't easy.

15.

From her kitchen Angie listened hungrily to the heated arguing in her living room. It should have had a cathartic effect but it didn't. She'd caused pain. Ok, they'd caused her pain, but someone had to end the pain.

'You're sick for spying on me,' – Jimmy 'Because you were lying,' – Emma.

'I lie because you're paranoid – ' ' – I'm paranoid because you lie.' ' There's nothing between us anymore. When are you going to believe me?'

'When you stop calling her name out in bed...'

Angie was in a plummeting lift, scrabbling at the buttons, screaming down the 'Help' phone, watching her misfiring life flash before her eyes. This was too breathless. Too horrible. Horrible, waiting for the crash.

'It meant nothing, Lamb-kins. Habit. That's all. Eleven years versus fourteen months – ' ' – And now you're here. Lying again. What am I meant to think, Jimmy? I just want you to be honest with me...'

If you learn something new every day, today Angie learned that Jimmy and Emma's relationship had started a month earlier than she'd thought.

And that Jimmy sometimes called out her name in bed. Learning was definitely over-rated. Angie stepped into the room – 'This is silly, people. What are you doing?' She looked at Emma with the confidence of someone with a million dollar answer – 'Look at 136

you. You're gorgeous and thin. You probably drink in moderation and can cook a bit. You like to snuggle on the couch while he watches the news. You ask him questions about politics just to hear his voice. You're perfect for him. He was only just telling me how much he loves you.'

Angie let this punch-line hang in the air as its meaning filtered its way into Emma's pretty head. 'Now... who's hungry?'

Lunch at Vicarage Gardens consisted of a selection of upmarket snacks that Angie had bought to see her through the rigours of the move. They munched politely on gourmet crisps, olives, salami, cheese and grapes whilst Angie poured the wine, but not for herself. 'I won't indulge. Not in daylight. Makes me light-headed. How's the wine, Jimmy?'

'It's my favourite. You know that.'

'Châteauneuf-du-Pape. That's my last bottle, actually – ' Emma couldn't believe she was indulging them in this way but it all seemed very civilised and if Jimmy and Angie could sit down like this, in front of her like this, then maybe Angie would now do the courtesy of leaving them alone. This was good. It was what sophisticated people did.

They had broken bread-sticks. They had drunk wine. This was a Sunday.

Surely that should mean something?

'What wine do you like, Emma?

'Chardonnay.' Angie knew. Before she'd even asked, she bloody knew.

'I was wondering if both of you – ' ' – Sorry Angie, thanks for lunch but we have to go now. Jimmy and I are off to a gig at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff tonight.'

'Crash'N'Burn,' said Jimmy.

'They're a 'modern' rock band,' said Emma guessing, correctly, that Angie would never have heard of them.

'Emma and her friends are big fans,' said Jimmy.

Angie had a hundred things to say about this. Not least that she knew that Jimmy hated rock music let alone 'modern' rock music, or that Jimmy was very much an 80s soul fan, or that Jimmy was making a fool of himself, or that Emma had patronised her. Her dignified silence left the floor clear for Emma to make a speech – 137

'I don't mind us being on speaking terms, Angie, but Jimmy and I need our space and – ' ' – Of course. And I'm grateful to you both – for the house and everything. Thank you, Emma. Really.' Emma walked to the car but Jimmy hung back – 'You're not going to befriend her then 'boil her bunny', are you?'

'I'm trying to be mature, Jimmy. We had lunch.'

'Thanks love, sorry – Angie.'

'Jimmy?'

'What?'

'Does Lambkins have a bunny?'

'Behave – ' ' – Come on!' shouted Emma.

'What will you do now?'

'Unpack, do the garden, toast myself with herbal tea. Enjoy the 'gig'.'

Jimmy showed her a packet of earplugs secreted in the breast pocket of his jacket: so much understanding, so much chemistry. Emma banged the horn and they knew, Jimmy and Angie knew, but it was too late now.

Angie looked in the mirror and saw a hag's face. She had been a beauty – still was a beauty – but her auburn hair and blue eyes were muted compared to their neon heyday, and her pale porcelain skin was crazed.

She necked Emma's untouched glass of Châteauneuf – Chardonnay... durr.

She needed a drink and underwhelming company. There was nothing for it but to call Albert and hire one of his dilapidated taxis. Angie had a good heart and a keen mind, but pain had been sought and pain had been found.

16.

'Thanks for the price, Cliff. I'll give your regards to my Dad... What?! ...ooh, you old devil! If I told my Dad you said that!'

Gina hoped that Manny was noting her overt flirting – but how could he miss it? She clicked the phone off, wrote down a figure and slid the appraisal pad across the desk.

138

'Three grand? He wants at least six...'

'It's only worth what someone will pay for it. And this afternoon, at this precise time, three grand is the best we can do. Time to test your selling skills, Mr. Super Salesman.'

Manny returned to find Carl giving the kid a rollocking for pinching airvalve caps off tyres, except the kid hadn't pinched them. He'd found them lying around the forecourt and, in his view, was simply tidying up.

Manny thanked the tearful kid for his help and rewarded him with a traffic light lollipop. Carl crouched down to the kid's level needing to negotiate a truce. Matters were getting out of hand. Someone was going to get hurt.

'Josh, I'm sorry. I promised your mum I'd look after you and I panicked because I couldn't find you and that's understandable, yeah?

And I didn't know you'd found those caps on the floor – I should have asked. Look, I'll play cards with you in a bit, yeah? But I've really got to sort out a car because that's why we're here. You understand Josh – yeah?' Carl hoped that would calm things down. He didn't want the little bugger phoning Childline.

'S'ok, I'm going to play a game that only one can play. My dad taught it to me. It's called Solitaire.'

'So,' said Manny breezily. 'The Honda Jazz – nice drive?'

'Better than the one he's got,' said the kid. 'It broke down twice.

Should be in a scrap yard, Mum says' 'It ran out of petrol, that's all!'

'Mechanic said the engine was ropey.' Carl walked a few paces away trying to control his temper. 'You act like you're my Dad. But you're not. He's ten times better than you.' Previously, Carl hadn't known what his patience level was when it came to young children. He found out – 'Is that why he walked out on you and your mother? Is that why he BROKE HER HEART? Because HE'S BETTER THAN ME? I'll tell you what – if you were my kid, you'd behave a DAMN SIGHT BETTER THAN THIS.'

139

Carl turned to Manny, 'I fixed the engine. It's fixed. Ok?' But Carl knew that Manny would have to report this new information, and that it was now, 'Advantage Salesman'.

'He's cracked. The car's unreliable. The kid said.'

'If it's dodgy, I'll have to tell the trader.'

'Not dodgy... It's all been sorted apparently, and it was fine when I drove it. I'll leave him sweat for a bit. He's not going anywhere.' Manny held up Carl's car keys. Gina liked this. Manny had invoked one of the oldest Salesmen's Commandments – Customers cannot leave without their keys.

'Can I show you my photos?' Manny and Gina didn't mind the kid's arrival. They were playing for time and it might even help – the old Bonding-With-Children Close, one of many 'closes' from the 1994 best-seller The Door To The Deal by Alex O'Donnell Customers accompanied by children assume that car salesmen will hastily discount the car in order to vacate the showroom of said children at the earliest opportunity. However, a good salesman can use children for his own benefit. One approach is to bond with the children accompanying your customer, saying such things as, 'Daddy's buying a new car. Isn't that exciting?' Or 'I think you look like the decision maker.

Has Daddy asked you what colour you like?' There is not a child alive who doesn't get excited at the idea of a new car. They like locating the cup-holders and hidden storage spaces. They like finding out what equipment a new car offers, e.g. a tape cassette or a state-of-the-art CD player. Children appreciate car salesmen: they are the gateway to the 'new car experience'. Children can open the door to the deal.'

There were a tedious number of photos: the kid's mum, his Dad, cars, Carl, horses, a hamster, his Dad's new woman, real trains, toy trains, train magazines, trainers, Balders – 'He looks like a clown,' observed the kid. 'Ok, this one is of – ' ' – Tristan Ricketts,' said Manny.

'What?'

'Tristan Ricketts!'

140

'Can't be – ' Gina grabbed the phone for a closer look.

'From Crash'N'Burn – ' ' – I know,' she gasped. Oh my God.' 'I took that just now, in the toilets,' said the kid. 'Here's a Saab 9000 – ' Manny and Gina had forgotten all about the kid and his photos of Saabs and Alex O'Donnell and his Bonding-With-Children Close. The kid offered up a picture of a Fiat Panda but they didn't care. They knew what a Fiat Panda looked like. But Tristan Rickets – local boy turned drummer with the world famous rock band, Crash'N'Burn? That was a picture worth seeing. Gina rummaged in her bag and plucked out Manny's CD. 'Isn't that a bit uncool?'

'Chance in a lifetime versus uncool. Hmm...'

'What about Claire?'

'Claire won't know and if London comes a-calling, well she wouldn't mind having a rich successful husband – I know I wouldn't.

And being brutal, Russ might be dead in a month.' That was brutal, but before Manny could chastise, Balders barged in – 'Right, Mr Parka has woken up. He's been trying the bed in the van. He's buying, but we need to push it through today. Can you do the paperwork, Gina?' He handed her the vehicle details – 'Manny'll do the paperwork, won't you Manny?' said Gina passing the details to Manny 'Eh?... Oh, yeah. Course I will. My pleasure...'

In the space of a few words Manny had gone from confusion to enlightenment to over-enthusiasm. Balders snatched the details back.

'What's going on?'

Gina and Manny looked at each other. They had to confess, the story was too huge to contain. 'Your customer is only the drummer with one of the coolest rock bands around.'

'Sings backing vocals too. Brilliant voice,' added Manny. Balders was unmoved. 'Tristan Ricketts from Crash'N'Burn? Haven't you seen heard of them? They've got a new download out – 'Red Rug Istanbul'.'

'What's a download?'

'No matter.'

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'So... if I'm reading you correctly – you want to talk to this customer about music and such-like under the guise of doing the paperwork?'

'Yup,' said Manny. Balders shook his head slowly – 'So unprofessional. We can't just use customers for personal gain.

We have to be discreet, like lawyers and priests and gynaecologists.

Shame on you.'

Tristan lay on the camper van's bed, fully clothed and hooded, playing Chunky Charlie's Chicken Chase on his Cyborg smart-pad. There was a knock at the van door. He unlocked it and opened it a cautious inch – 'Has he gone, Baldy-man?'

'Who?' 'The little guy with the camera. They got no morals. Especially the little ones. It's coz they're angry.' Balders didn't have a clue what any of this meant. He held up the Purchase Agreement Form. 'I hate forms,' said Tristan.

'Just sign it, then its 'job done' and you can head off to wherever it is you want to go.'

Balders was chirpy. He had information. He liked information. All salesmen did. It was their lifeblood. When customers walk in they are enigmas except in one aspect – they all consider car salesmen to be smooth-talking swindlers that stand between them and the car of their dreams. Some decisions can be made on guesswork based on what the customer wears, or their manner – but hard facts? That's the stuff you need. If a man is a pig farmer you tell him about the holiday you once had on a pig farm even if you didn't. Barrier broken they don't see you as a salesman anymore, they see you as a person. A person who is comfortable with pigs, no matter how weird, odious and disgusting you might think they, or the people who farm them, are.

'Must say, wise choice, plenty of room for the old – ' Balders flamboyantly mimed some air guitar. He always acted in the moment and to hell with the fact those actions might cause complications in the coming moments. 'Did you used to practice with a hair-brush in front of the mirror? I did.'

'What you on about?'

142

''Red Rag To A Bull.' Great track.'

'Red Rug Istanbul.'

Tristan searched himself for his asthma inhaler and took a quick blast of short-acting beta-agonist – Psshhht.

'S'okay,' said Balders. 'Secret's safe with me. No-one's going to hassle you.'

'I need some air.'

Balders slid the door open and Tristan jumped down from the camper van only to be rugby-tackled to the floor. 'Fan attack!' he shrieked. 'Help me Baldy-man!'

'I knew it was you,' said Carl, releasing his grip. Tristan scrambled to his feet and ran off down the road pulling his hood up as he went, which decreased his chances of making a clean getaway.

'Do something – you attacked him!' yelled Balders.

'I was only messing – ' ' – Yeah. And now we have a mess – ' ' – Tristan Ricketts!' shouted Carl, but the figure stumbled blindly on. 'Oi! Jez's little brother? Best scrum half I ever saw he was – ' Tristan stopped two feet short of a busy babbling brook and aimed the hood vaguely in the direction of Carl's voice. 'I was in his school year. I knew I knew your face from somewhere, well, what I saw of it. How is he?

Bugger about his injury – could have played for Wales. You played a bit too, didn't you?'

'Is that how you know me? Coz of Jez?' said the hood.

'Yeah. What you up to these days?'

'He's a pig farmer,' said Balders.

'You were a musician when you were in school – drums, wasn't it?

Weren't you in a band? – ' ' – Pigs,' reiterated Balders.

'Sorry to scare you, Tristan-boy. I'll leave you to it. Give Jez a nipple tweak from me. Tell him Karmann Carl sends his regards.' The hood turned towards the car – 'Nice car.'

'Really?'

The hood nodded. '...Wanna buy it?'

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Balders banged his head twice against a flag-free flagpole. One of the most critical of Salesmen's Commandments was in grave danger of being broken – Never allow customers to sell to each other. Balders' misery was compounded by the appearance of cousins, resplendent in blue cowboy hats and carrying plastic laser guns.

'I'm working. Sunday. Remember?'

Balders went to seek advice on the customer debacle, as seeking help was always preferable to solving problems on his own.

Ryan called after him – 'We got the word-flow. All writers get it.

We've got it. Come over the pub when you've finished. We've had some great ideas.'

The kid held up his phone and took a photo of Ryan and Bryan who posed enthusiastically but drew a line at him touching their guns.

'Tristan might well pay six grand for it,' said Manny. 'He's loaded.'

'Then Carl can buy the Honda,' said Gina.

'But I'd lose the camper van sale,' said Balders.

'Boo-hoo,' said Gina.

'People. We want to sell two cars.'

'So you need our help?' said Manny.

'Yeah, but don't hassle him. He's a nervous wreck as it is.'

Manny and Balders heard about the rebuilt engine, the galvanised chassis, the moleskin hood. They heard Carl placating Tristan that it wasn't really made from the skins of moles, but that moleskin was just a name for a particularly heavy cotton fabric.

'Fucking nightmare,' said Balders.

'What shall we do?'

'Create a diversion?' Manny didn't understand, but Balders had spotted the kid loitering nearby – 'What games do you like, kid?'

'Poker, whist, 5 card brag – ' ' – Hide & Seek?'

'My dad thinks it's childish.'

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'Your dad is an idiot.' Balders indicated the staircase to the upstairs office. 'Go and hide up there. I'll tell Carl to count to, er...five hundred and if he doesn't find you, you'll get a nice crisp fiver.'

'Tenner.'

'Seven fifty. Best I can do.' The kid kept a poker-face. 'Ok, tenner,' said Balders. Less than sixty seconds later Carl was zig-zagging around yelling Josh's name at the top of his voice.

'What did you say?' asked Manny.

'All I said was, 'Haven't seen the kid for a while...?''

'Not nice.'

'He's safe enough. Just give a chance to get Buddy Holly back in the van.'

'Can I do the paperwork then?'

'No.' 'Bastard.'

'No. Just professional.'

Tristan was clearly comfortable in the stylish vehicle, the fruits of a linkup in the 1950s between German coach-builder Karmann and Italian design house Ghia. 'How much did that bloke say you could buy this car for? Just as a matter of interest?'

'Six grand, Baldy-man.'

'Really?' Balders held up the Vehicle Appraisal Form. 'If you look here, it says it's worth three grand, and that was the top money we could get. That guy? The 'rugby tackler'? Your brother's 'old mate'? He's a conman. He's just came out of prison for conning old ladies. Up the hospice.'

'No – ' ' – Yup. He's tagged and everything.' Tristan studied the amount on the form. It clearly said £3000.

'Thanks Baldy-man. I trust you.'

A stretch-limo pulled up outside and a vision in black – bobbed haircut, trouser suit, leather gloves, high-heeled shoes, sunglasses – emerged taking a call on a diamond encrusted mobile phone. Balders finished the Purchase Agreement Form and slid it across the desk. 'Ok, sign – here...?' The chair was empty. Tristan had gone.

145

The kid heard heavy breathing and a 'Psshhht' noise.

'Is that you, Carl?'

Psshhht, went the inhaler again. Psshhht.

Tristan lowered the hood, removed his sunglasses and became aware of the small figure in the corner. The effects of the drugs having worn off he realised this was no mini paparazzi at all. This was just a kid.

But the kid didn't like the squirty sound or the funny herby smell or stupid Hide & Seek anymore. He scampered down the metal stairs to the office where the rude sales-man and office-woman were talking about missed opportunities or something.

'Excuse me,' said the kid. 'He's hiding now. The funny man in the coat. Upstairs – No. Count to five hundred first – Oi! – ' Maxine Hunter leant on the limo's roof and made her eighth agitated phone-call in as many minutes. 'There's some freak approaching. I'll ask him.' She put her black leather-gloved hand over the receiver. 'I'm looking for a young man. Name of Tristan Ricketts.'

'He's here,' said Balders, wondering what Catwoman was doing on the forecourt.

'He is?' She gushed into the phone, 'He's here!' She grabbed Balders by the lapel. 'Where?'

'Not sure. I'm looking for him.'

'Why are you looking for him?'

'He's buying a camper van.'

'He can barely drive.'

'Tell me about it.' Balders pulled away from her leather-gloved grasp. He suddenly realised how amazingly attractive and powerful this woman was: so why had he just pulled away from her leather-gloved grasp?

'JOSH!' Carl jogged up the road. He'd done a quick circuit of the showroom and its environs but there was no sign of his prospective step-son.

'He's here as well,' said Balders. 'Upstairs office. He thought you were playing Hide & Seek. Don't know where he got that idea from.'

'Ok,' said Maxine. 'I'll make this easy for you to understand. There are forty thousand people turning up at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff tonight to see Tristan Ricketts play the drums. It's my job to 146

make sure he's there. UNDERSTAND?' Balders under-stood – what a woman! Her partner would have to be a lifeboat-man, or in the SAS, or a deep-sea diver, or a stunt man. A stunt man. That was it. Unless she was gay. She could well be gay. What if she was gay? Were gloves gay?

Gina and Manny tried to mollify the fearful rocker. He didn't want to be found; didn't want to go to the concert; didn't want his old life back. He wanted the past to be over and a new past to start right now. He wanted freedom and the open road and some organic snacks for the journey.

'They're bad people. Get me out of here. I'll give you anything. ' Gina hoped Manny was on her frequency: Get him out of here Manny, play him your CD. That would hardly be taking advantage of his offer to 'give you anything', would it?

Feet ascended the metal steps. The door opened and Carl peered into the gloom. 'Is there a little boy in here?'

'Boss's office.'

'Really? Thank God for that. Hiya, Tristan! You still interested in the car, mate?'

Psshhht.

The kid sat quietly on the floor by the Arizona mural watching a woodlouse. He touched it and it curled into a ball. He flicked it and it rolled away.

'YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WAIT BY THE SALES-MAN'S DESK.' 'The man told me – ' ' – TOLD YOU WHAT?' 'To play Hide & Seek with you – ' ' – DON'T TELL STORIES.' 'Grown-ups lie. I don't. You like to shout, just like my Dad.' Gina approached holding the Karmann Ghia's Part Exchange Appraisal Form.

'Ok... I've got you a new price based on what you told my colleague. I'm glad you're sitting down – two and a half thousand...' Carl gawped but Gina stuck to her guns. 'Having said that, I think we can push them to two-seven-fifty. We've worked hard on this for you – 147

spoken to loads of traders – but that's all it's worth I'm afraid. Part exchange against the Honda and it's an extra £45 a month, or £10.38 per week.'

'I like the Honda,' said the kid as Alex O'Donnell, author of The Door To The Deal, knew he would.

Gina made a copy of Manny's CD, passed him the original, then opened the heavy glass sliding-doors that fronted the showroom. Manny carefully manoeuvred one of the display cars towards the exit and drove out past Maxine and Balders who were still trying to locate the missing muso.

He drove for a mile or so before pulling into Drefawr Municipal Park. It had a rundown bowling pavilion, net-free tennis courts and a sorry selection of vandalised saplings but the park still boasted a fine cast-iron and wooden bandstand where, in the late 40s, Les Sheldon from Port Talbot would come and whistle the popular tunes of the day.

That was an era when crazy golf was the number-one children's outdoor activity, jobs-worth parkies kept kids off the grass and Norman Wisdom – playing a jobs-worth parkie – was the biggest draw in each of the town's three cinemas – The Vintz, The Classic and Haggers. The cinemas and the parkies had gone yet, by and large, people still kept off the grass.

Manny opened the boot of the car where Tristan Ricketts was curled up, foetus-like – 'It's a crib in here. You're a lifesaver.'

'Who was that woman?'

'She's from the management company.'

'What's the problem?' Tristan didn't answer but Manny needed an 'in'. 'You must get hassled a lot, autographs, press – people asking you to listen to their music...'

'A Japanese journalist asked me what kind of fish I'd be. If I was a fish.'

'You're not a fish.'

'We all crawled out from the sea, dude.'

Manny got in the car and loaded the CD. His band's song began to play.

He went back and studied Tristan, hoping for a flicker of interest.

148

'I can do nothing right Keeps me awake at night The distance between us Drives me crazy – ' 17.

'I'VE LOOKED EVERYWHERE. CAN'T FIND HIM,' bellowed Balders as he entered the showroom. 'WHY'S THE MUSIC THIS LOUD? IT'S UNPROFESSIONAL.' Gina sensed she only had Maxine's attention for nanoseconds – 'IT'S A FRIEND'S BAND. WHAT DO YOU THINK? HONEST OPINION?' 'THIS ISN'T A FLIPPING DISCO.' Balders reached inside a car and turned the stereo off.

'It's quite good, I suppose,' said Maxine. 'Look, I'm here to get that waste-of-space back on stage tonight so I don't really have time for all this – ' ' – after he buys the camper van,' said Balders.

'Say I found Tristan and brought him to you,' said Gina. 'Could you get this CD listened to by people in the industry? You did say it was, 'quite good'...'

'You find our lost drummer, then yes. Yes, I suppose I could.'

'Deal?' '... deal.'

'And he buys the camper van,' said Balders, wanting in on this rather sexy deal-making.

'Ok, ok. Either of you find him, I'll play your CD, and he can buy your van. Ok?' Balders and Gina were united for possibly the first time ever. Gina made a quick call – 'Manny? Bring him back. Maxine's into your band – ' A one-legged pigeon hopped across the bandstand as Manny's song moved from anthemic chorus to the subtle electronic arrangement of 149

the second verse. Manny tried to listen anew, even though he'd heard it a thousand times or more.

'Someday I'll need to know How deep your hatred goes Knowing my efforts Count for nothing' 'What you reckon? It's a friend's band.'

'Not bad. Nice snare sound.'

'Really? That's great.' Manny hadn't appreciated the snare sound before but on closer listening he realised it did sound really good.

'Look – I'll come clean. It's actually my band. I played guitar on it. I should have said. I know I'm just another person who wants a piece of you, but will you take it? Play it to people? In the industry? I know it's all word-of-mouth, 'who-you-know' and all that, but my colleague, Gina – that was her on the phone just then – she says Maxine really likes it.'

Tristan took off his glasses and stared up at Manny – 'I'm not the dude for the job. I've got a massive gig tonight – but I ain't doing it.'

'Yeah, you said back in the showroom. But, well, you've got to do it. Haven't you?'

'No. That's why I'm buying the camper van. So I can vanish. I don't want to be a slave – pushed and prodded all the hours. Do this.

Go there. Wear this. Promote that. The music industry sucks, man. I want my soul back. You understand that, yeah? You've got kind eyes.

You're an understanding dude, yeah?'

In the absence of an immediate response he smiled sadly, reached up and pulled the heavy boot-lid shut.

Manny had never experienced such mixed emotions before but here, in this obsolescent park on a chilly autumn afternoon with a world famous musician curled up in the boot of his car, Manny felt like he'd won the lottery only to have the winning ticket snatched from his grasp, ripped into a dozen pieces and tossed to the four winds.

'You going to hand me over, mate?' came a muffled voice from the boot.

150

'...I'll take you to the pub. Balders can bring the van there. I'll tell them you ran away and I couldn't find you.'

Two eleven-year-olds in gangland headscarves on silver scooters scootled past, wondering why some 'retard' was talking to a car. Manny opened the boot and Tristan smiled up at him – 'You'll go to heaven, mate. If there is one.'

Despite everything, Manny knew he'd done a good thing. This would be one hell of a story for his mates back in London; the story of how Manny was instrumental in one of the great rock'n'roll disappearances – McKay and Morris from Siouxsie & The Banshees in '79, Richey from the Manics in '95, Tristan from Crash'N'Burn in 2014. For a lowly car salesman in a small brown town that was pretty damn rock'n'roll. ' – He what?'

I stopped to get petrol, and he ran away.'

'Maxine will take your CD to record producers and A&R men in London if you tell her where Tristan is. Ok?' Manny's wan expression briefly betrayed the fact that the alleged 'running away' probably didn't take place.

'WHERE IS HE?' Maxine wasn't the only one agitated by his obfuscation. Gina was equally keen to keep the deal alive.

'Manny. That car had petrol in it. I filed the receipt this afternoon.

Balders put £10.03's worth in it two days ago and it hasn't been anywhere since. Maxine's got eight years' experience in the music industry and knows everybody so whose side are you on? Yours? Or some guy you don't even know?'

'And I want to sell the camper van,' said Balders, 'Because Wheelers needs the business – ' ' – So tell Maxine where Tristan is,' said Gina.

'Yeah, tell her,' said Balders.

'Yeah, TELL ME,' said Maxine.

Manny's inner coward crept out from behind the sofa of his subconsciousness. 'He's in the pub – ' ' – WHICH PUB?' 'White Horse.'

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'Good enough for me,' said Maxine. 'Bye people. Oh yeah – ' she sneered at Balders, 'He won't be buying any 'camper van'. Ok?' No, not ok. Mustn't lose a sale. Think of something – 'But you'll play the CD?' asked Gina but Maxine dismissed this with a derisory 'Pah!' and strode to the door – THINK – the black glove was millimetres from the door handle when Balders had the Eureka moment he'd been striving for – 'Tristan won't go with you.'

'He'll have no choice,' said Maxine. 'White Horse you said? The limo's got sat nav.' Balders picked up a china coffee mug and threw it against the wall by the front door. The ceramic explosion causing Maxine to hit the deck as if gunfire had gone off – 'LISTEN TO ME, YOU ARROGANT LONDON BINT.' 'What did you call me?'

'You weren't listening – ' ' – YOU RIDICULOUS WELSH TOSSER.' But the Welsh tosser now had her attention. It was time for the 'sell' – 'He's scared of you, Maxine. That's obvious, yeah? That's why he ran away in the first place. So, if you turn up, stands to reason he'll just run away again.' Maxine got up from her crouching position. There was a modicum of truth in this. 'And he'll also know that Manny here betrayed him in a most unprofessional manner,' – Manny withered – 'But what I'm really saying is, I'm the only one he trusts. That's why he agreed to buy the camper van in the first place which means I'm the only one who can bring him back. He can pay for the van and then you can take him to this concert thing, and if you want to take their CD or whatever it is, then that's up to you – ' ' – A deal's a deal,' said Gina, impressed by both Balders' bullishness and his logic. Maxine mulled briefly. She didn't really care how she got Tristan to the concert, just that he got there.

'How long will it take?'

'Twenty minutes tops.'

'I'll make a fresh coffee,' said Gina. Maxine plonked herself down.

Balders set off to save the day.

152

'Manny's band got a track of the week in NME and got played on Radio One five times.' '...really.'

'They once played a gig in Sweden. Live on Swedish Radio.' '... how wonderful.'

'More coffee, Maxine?' '...how far away was this place?'

'The Camden Times did a piece on them – ' ' – Where are they?'

And there they were.

Tristan got out of the van, the snorkel hood back to its most extended position.

'That bloody coat!' said Maxine, rising from her chair. 'I appreciate he wants anonymity, but does he have to look like such a knob-head?'

Gina handed her Manny's CD as Balders burst in through the door – 'Ok ladies. He's a bit mixed up, ok? He wants to take a 'chill pill'.

That's what he said in the pub – a 'chill pill'. Basically, he'd like to have a chat, Maxine – a little talk.'

'He can talk in the limo.' She made for the door but Balders formed a barricade. She had never met such an obstacle before and looked at him with the same level of disdain as if she'd found him defecating in her wardrobe. 'What are you doing?'

'The chat happens before he gets in the limo.'

'Out of my way.'

'Listen here, you stupid English trollop. I said I'd bring him back and I did. He trusts me. Ok? Now, hear him out.' Maxine shook with rage. No-one ever spoke to her like that, let alone stupid balding Welsh car-selling twats. 'And if you want him onstage tonight, and I think you do, I suggest you take my advice and talk to him. On the mobile. That's what he wants. He is the talent after all – ' 153

Maxine looked like she could spit venom but no venom came. She looked outside. There he was. The gig was safe. Her job was done.

People in power would be pleased. All she had to do was make a phonecall.

'Oh yeah, he wants 'space',' said Balders. 'He's a weirdo – we all know that – but again, it's what he wants. You in here. Him out there.

Then he'll definitely go with you. I guarantee it.'

'It's like dealing with a child,' muttered Maxine. Tristan waved at her from across the forecourt. 'Oh go on then.' She pressed Tristan's number on the speed dial.

Balders grabbed the van's paperwork and set off to fuel the camper van, making a mobile-phone gesture to Tristan as he did so.

Tristan took out his phone and it disappeared, along with much of his lower arm into the cavernous hood. Maxine put on her biggest fakesmiley voice – 'Hello darling! So glad you've seen sense... I know you only wanted to buy the van... Yes, it's lovely... Orange is my favourite colour... Has it?...

How many hobs?... Oh super... Ok, what do you want to say, darling...?'

– get on with it – 'Go on sweetie...'

18.

Things were looking up for Jeff. Apart from the omni-present Vince, Angie – lovely Angie – was at the bar getting slowly soused on house red.

She would drink until the pain went away. New pain would undoubtedly arrive but for now she was in the comfort zone between current pain and future pain. Also present were a scrawny couple sporting domestic war-wounds working their way through cans of industrial strength cider, and a small group of bickering mourners from the Mount Estate for whom Jeff had prepared a buffet of pickled onions, beef paste sandwiches, peanuts and pork scratchings. The cousins were also present although Ryan had recently departed having swapped clothes with the stranger – despite having perfectly good clothes of his own. This confused Jeff who was obsessed with finding order in everything. And who was the clothes-swapping stranger sitting with Bryan? The one with unusual red and black hair, the like of which Vince the demon barber had never seen 154

before? The one who had bought everyone three rounds of drinks? The one who'd paid with a crumpled fifty pound note which Jeff had gladly accepted despite giving it a thorough examination. This involved holding it up to the light, making several small tears in it and announcing that he, '...hadn't seen one for years.' Who was this mystery man? Whoever he was, Jeff liked him.

Tristan Ricketts took a sip of Bryan's Campari but the bittersweet pomegranate tones didn't appeal. He was at ease in Ryan's cowboy hat and clothes. The trousers were a couple of sizes too big but that didn't concern him. He wanted freedom and ill-fitting trousers weren't going to stop him getting it, in fact they might even assist. He was on his Cyborg talking to Maxine, spilling out his tale of woe. 'When I was a nine I was bullied a lot. No-one cared about me. My fourteen-year-old cousin played drums, but he died. He got electrocuted playing Cowboys and Indians up by the power line. My uncle gave me his drum-kit, he said I'd never be lonely again. 'Bands always need drummers', he said. I'm never alone now, am I, Maxine? He moved to Benalmadina to run a bar and ended up drinking himself to death. Never got over his son...' – tears mustered in Bryan's reddening eyes – 'Bear with me Maxine, ok? Let me get this off my chest. I need you to understand who I am. Where I'm coming from. Then we'll go. Ok, when I was eleven... ' Maxine looked out at the deranged drummer. There he was, the selfobsessed fool in his parka and ridiculous hood. There he was, using her as a free therapy session, the annoying little cock.

Ryan was ill at ease with the tightness of Tristan's combats, but the coat's marquee-like structure at least meant the gaping waistband was hidden from view. The instruction to, 'Pace around and pretend you're on the phone until I text you the signal,' had been easy enough for his simple mind to grasp, and an offer of a reward for his subterfuge had clinched the deal.

'And then on my fourteenth birthday... ' 155

Maxine was getting weary. On the plus side, the chauffeur – a former warder at a top-security mental hospital – would ensure Tristan got into the limo. Once in Cardiff, security men would ensure that 40,000 paying customers got their money's worth from the pampered percussionist as he sat on his hand-stitched blood-red leather-bound English-oak drumming stool, between his 26-piece custom-built drum kit and a specially imported 60-inch Chinese gong, twelve feet up above the stage on a revolving hydraulic podium surrounded by inflatable spiders, countless pyrotechnics, and the biggest light show the UK had ever seen.

Balders ran in brandishing the Purchase Agreement and Delivery Acceptance Form for the camper van as Tristan recounted events surrounding his sixteenth birthday; the day he was fired from his first proper band by his then best friend, Lee Shears, who later lost a finger in a ferreting accident. It was time to sum up. Speaking to her had been, '...a cathartic experience', and now he felt, 'liberated'.

'By the way, how did you find me?'

'When you phoned to say you were quitting I heard the sound of sheep... No, not in the Millennium Stadium. In the background of your message. So I guessed you'd be at your Dad's cottage. And when I got there I found this,' – a charred drumstick – 'and this,' – Billy's business card – 'on the road outside... No, no need to thank me, darling. Think of the limo as your sanctuary. No-one will disturb you. Tonight on stage you are going to be fantastic. Think of all your fans, screaming your name...'

Only Manny knew what damage this would do to Tristan's vulnerable psyche but Gina didn't care about psyches. Manny was one good contact away from a return to London and Gina mused that Claire would never go back.

'Thanks Maxine,' said Tristan. 'To be honest, it's the screaming fans that helped me make my mind up.' He clicked the phone off, signed both forms with a cryptic squiggle and wrote Balders a cheque payable to Wheelers for £5000 which Balders kissed like a football trophy. Job done and to hell with Manny's band, Gina's deal and Maxine's future. To 156

hell with them all. He'd sold a car. That was all that mattered. It was time to send the text to Ryan. It said one word – RUN Jeff brought a drink over on a tinfoil salver, 'Cherry brandy. Room temperature. Warm glass. One lump of ice. As you like it. Can I enquire, is that a Welsh accent I can detect? We originally thought – when you came in, that you were English.'

'I was born in the next valley.'

'Good boy!' said Jeff.

'Good local boy!' said Vince.

'Come here as often as you like, now we know your, 'usual'. Nice vacant bar-stool over there, by Vince.'

'Spring Onion!' shouted Vince.

'You're a good man, Mr Landlord,' said Tristan.

'Why thank you.'

'But you'll never see me again – ' ' – And he has to leave immediately,' said Balders.

'Oh... Oh, that's a great shame. Ah well, er... that drink is from the lady by the bar.'

'Besht of bloody luck to you!' said Angie. 'If you want anyone – pashenger – travlin compan-ion – or... navigator... Or make the sodding tea! You know where I am. Ham here. Right here. Always here – Ha! Aren't I Jeff?'

'Hopefully, Angie,' said Jeff. Hopefully...

Ryan had not 'run' as commanded. He had hesitated and now was lost for as he'd digested the text, the chauffeur had opened the door of the limo. Inside the vehicle Ryan had caught a glimpse of another world: black leather, tiger-print cushions, champagne glasses, three Terry's Chocolate Oranges, nuts, snacks, fresh fruit, an LCD TV, a DVD player, laptop, several computer games, a CD collection and a fridge: a five-star world of luxury beyond his wildest one-star dreams. He looked back at the text, then at the driver, then at the sumptuous interior. He weighed up a bottle of Campari – his reward for this deception – against all this 157

other stuff. He tried to work out what might happen if he didn't run, but... look at all this other stuff.

Maxine watched from the showroom, hoping that after their tedious dialogue Tristan would just get in the bloody car. Being honest, she wanted to smash his stupid face in although this would have been tricky, lost as it was in the bowels of the hood. However, no coercion was required as she saw 'Tristan' take the champagne from the driver and clamber into the dream-filled limo.

'If he wasn't so talented he'd be living in a wheelie-bin somewhere,' said Maxine as the three ostentatiously sighed with relief.

Manny was vindicated. This was the right thing after all. Tristan must have wanted to go back otherwise he wouldn't have got in the limo. And the audience? Surely they were worth considering? They'd paid good money. If the gig was cancelled they might well get their ticket money back but what about the booking fees and the credit card fees? Plus there could be a riot – people would have already started arriving at the stadium to watch the inferior support bands and purchase over-priced drinks and merchandise. Yes, thought Manny, he had definitely done the right thing and Maxine thought so too.

'You've been a massive help. Without you, well – ' ' – I just did what I anyone would do,' said Manny as they walked triumphantly towards the limo.

'Why don't you come with us? 'The Salesman Who Saved The Day'?

VIP pass, backstage all-areas, meet the rest of the band. Up to you.' – Gina was ecstatic: how often would anyone get a chance like that? – 'Even a dodgy car salesman should know that that's a pretty good deal.' The driver offered the dodgy car salesman a glass of champagne. 'We'll sort out a cab or something.' That was the last possible objection overcome.

Manny made a call and was more than a little grateful to get Claire's answer machine.

'Hi Babes, I'm having a real 'bonding' day today. Your Dad this morning and Balders now. He wants to go out tonight. Might be a late one? Text you later. Cheers, babes.'

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'Why didn't you tell the truth?' asked Gina. Manny responded with an adolescent shrug. She gave him a hug – 'Good luck. And I was right. Push yourself. Don't worry about 'cool', your band is fantastic.' The hug went on a few seconds longer than expected but celebration was in the air and hugging was acceptable.

Gina wanted to kiss him on the cheek but that might have crossed a line.

'Thanks Gina. I'll text you.'

'You better had – ' ' – One thing though, Manny. Let him relax,' said Maxine. 'Artists and their egos, eh?'

David 'Manny' Manning was off to a stadium gig as the VIP guest of Crash'N'Burn's tour manager and his new best mate, the band's drummer, in a limo. This was one of the great days.

'Vee-Double-U! Beep-beep! Hey, Baldy-man, this geezer was telling me about this Alien Western Mafia thing. It's a winner, space-nuts.' Bryan tipped the brim of his cowboy hat in gratitude and Tristan shouted, 'Yee-Hah' as he started up the van. Balders didn't know which of the two was more insane. 'Free your mind, chick.'

'Chick,' squawked Angie. She had enjoyed her afternoon. New pain had kept itself at bay: but it was out there – sniffing the air – waiting for the moment to pounce like a fox outside a chicken coop.

The pain would come. Of that there would be no doubt.

'Next stop Barcelona,' shouted Tristan.

'Good luck,' called the crowd of well-wishers apart from Bryan, who was too emotional. Tristan drove away, crashing through the gears, tearing up the synchromesh. Smoke billowed out of the exhaust as the van cavorted down the road like a drunken bull on roller skates.

'Barcelona?' said Balders. 'He'll be lucky to get to bloody Bargoed.'

19.

The limo pulled onto the M4 and set off towards Cardiff. Maxine worked on merchandise spreadsheets down the front, 'Tristan' searched through the CD collection for the elusive track that would capture the 159

moment and Manny texted his former band members – Steve Gash, formerly Steve Every; Hot Sauce Jones, formerly Steven Jones; and Walter Travolta, formerly Nigel Bolton – up in London. He realised that a photo would corroborate his story perfectly so quietly asked Tristan if he could take a photo of them together. As Tristan was already having difficulty reading the track listings due to the restrictions imposed by the hood and sunglasses, he was more than happy to oblige. He unzipped his hood and removed the glasses. Maxine, head-full of figures and mark-ups, rip-offs and profits didn't get a look at his face. But Manny did.

Ryan couldn't work out why Manny appeared to have decided against the photo opportunity and simply stare out of the window, but he wasn't that bothered. He returned to his song search. He found a pertinent tune, slid it into the CD and pressed Play on the remote control. He beamed as the opening notes rang out, put his shades back on, zipped the hood back up, and sat back in the soft leather seat to enjoy his favourite song of all time – 'Turn around, Every now and then I get a little bit lonely And you're never coming round Turn around Every now and then I get tired of listening To the sound of my tears.'

20.

Gina locked Billy's office door and put the key under the water cooler.

She was surprised to see Claire in the showroom – 'Fancy a drink?' said Claire. 'I've had hell of a day at work. Where are Manny and Balders? We could join them?' Balders appeared from the loo, wiping his wet hands on his suit trousers – 'Hi Claire – '

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21.

Bonnie Tyler's overblown epic blasted out of each and every one of the limo's 14 speakers as Manny stared into the night, hoping for a miracle that could not happen. This was as doomed as doomed could be. Indiana Jones' Temple Of Doom was a Wendy-House Of Wonder compared to this. He heard the sound of torrential tears flooding into the ravine of despair where misguided hopes lay smashed on the rocks of self-delusion. Ryan, meanwhile, started to become involved in the theatrical vagaries of the song; involved to the extent that he began to sing along – 'Turn around bright eyes Every now and then I fall apart.'

Manny knew that Tristan Ricketts wasn't just a drummer. He knew he was also a fine backing singer. Ryan's voice sounded like a cat being dragged down a blackboard. It was a voice so awful that it wouldn't have been considered amusing enough for the sort of TV talent shows where abject tunelessness was regarded as good entertainment. This was more brutal than amusing: the sound of a man who hated music so much he slowly tortured songs to death. Manny tried several subliminal, 'Sshhhh's', but was defeated by the fortissimo of Bonnie and Ryan's duet. Whilst appearing not to notice, a scowl circumnavigated Maxine's face at this idiotic, attention-seeking, wealthy young man's obnoxious idea of fun – 'I don't know what to do I'm always in the dark We're living in a powder keg And GIVING OFF SPARKS – ' Maxine became aware of the rhythm Tristan was tapping out on his leg: a rhythm quite out of synch with the beat of the track. Out-of-tune singing – ok, fun, whatever, get over it. Out-of-time drumming? She stared at the cowled figure for a few moments. Manny, well aware of her change of focus, wondered exactly how life-threatening it was to throw oneself from a limo onto a motorway at eighty miles an hour. For research 161

purposes he subtly tried the door handle but the drummer-lock was engaged. No-one was going anywhere. Maxine slunk like a Siamese cat along the wraparound sofa seat that ran the length of the limo and parked herself opposite the rear seat. Manny, began to mumble along with the song – 'Nothing I can say, a total eclipse of the heart – ' Maxine reached up and started to slowly unzip the parka hood. The singing and the leg-tapping and the mumbling all ceased – a tiny click.

Then another tiny click. Then a short rush of tiny clicks as the slider moved along the row of chunky metal teeth. Each click representing a release from the mesh. The inevitable unveiling fast approaching.

It was pretty obvious that something of monumental proportions was amiss. As if to make doubly sure Maxine slowly removed Ryan's sunglasses as well. She took some time to survey the yokel-ish creature sat before her. Though of similar height, hers was slim and sensitive: this one squat and pugnacious. Hers was artistic and tattooed: this one lowbrow and unmarked. Hers was Tristan Ricketts of Crash'N'Burn, due onstage in a little over two hours: this one... who the fuck was this one?

Maxine's mind spun like a cyclone as she re-wound and re-played events.

When had this pretence started? How had those car sales swindlers hustled her? Why was one of them actually sitting in her limo on the way to a VIP area for a gig that could not now possibly happen? Wasn't that the stupidest thing ever? How would she ever get a job in the music industry again? Had that bald twat of a salesman really called her an, 'arrogant London bint', and a 'stupid English trollop'? Her phone rang.

The caller's name said 'Tristan'.

In a quiet, if notorious, lay-by somewhere between Drefawr and Barcelona but a lot nearer to Drefawr, Tristan applied the coup de grace – 'Sorry Maxine. Tell the boys I couldn't do it. Good luck and all that. Oh, and Maxine? Rot in hell.'

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He clicked his Cyborg off, threw it out of the window, switched on Classic FM and made off down the road leaving a trail of dark-grey smoke and Elgar's Enigma Andante IV trailing in his wake.

22.

A burly middle-aged track-suited man crept out from his position behind a fence and retrieved the discarded Cyborg from a blackberry bush. This went some way to compensate for the non-arrival of the orange and purple Drain-Clia van that had been diverted by road-works. The man looked through the contacts. That was one phone-call Kelly from the Stereophonics probably didn't expect.

23.

M4 service stations in Wales are poor relations in comparison to their shinier counterparts in England. They exist mainly on one side of the motorway and are often some distance from the slip-road. Many a motorway-pacing, petrol-can carrying motorist, heart gladdened by the distant SERVICES sign, ended up so confused by this motorway mirage, so fatigued by the seemingly endless trek into the Welsh countryside that they often felt the desire to lie down in a ditch and die.

The limo pulled up in such a service-station lorry-park. The driver dumped the impostors in an undignified heap on the drizzle-damp verge. Manny chased after the limo as it pulled away – 'I thought it was him, honest. What about my CD?' The car stopped. The window descended a stingy inch – 'Dated. Over-produced. Mediocre. Dull.'

Manny heard what sounded like hard plastic being snapped.

Several pieces of CD appeared through the slit and fell with a clatter onto the wet tarmac. The limo wooshed away. Manny became disorientated by the drizzle, the headlights and the juggernauts rumbling around them. Ryan's attention was taken by one lorry in particular.

'Jocelyn,' he said.

'What?'

Ryan pointed at a lorry. On the front was the name Jocelyn painted in bright yellow letters.

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'Harvey's Haulage. They all got girl's names.' Manny paced and seethed and spouted at speed – 'We're in a hellish lorry park miles from home. I don't have any money because I didn't need any where I was going coz I had a VIP pass for once in my fucking life and a free ride home. And the man who fucked it up for me is getting off on the names of fucking lorries. Well excuse me for my LACK OF ENTHUSIASM.' Manny crumpled down on his haunches. 'What are we going to do?' Ryan pondered for a while before wandering off into the night – 'Is that it? Cheers. I mean SERIOUSLY. KNOBHEAD.' There were two text messages in Manny's inbox. One was Hot Sauce Jones wishing him good luck and wondering where the promised picture was, and the other was a missed call from Claire. He needed to recount what had happened. He needed to find a route home. He needed to make a call – 'Hi Gina, you'll never... What?... There?... When?... Back soon – just tell her – ' He stared into the soulless, exhaust-fumed gloom with its cacophony of door-slams, air-braked shrieks and gruff greetings. Maybe he could hitch a lift. Maybe one of these lorries could take him to Germany or France or anywhere. A lumpen figure waddled out of the gloom.

'Lift?' said Ryan.

Jocelyn thundered off, across the bridge over the motorway and westwards down the M4: destination Drefawr. All was not lost, Ryan more than content with the three crumpled £50 notes he'd found in the parka pocket.

24.

Angie got out of a cab and staggered to her front door. She saw elderly neighbours twitch at their nets and gave a sarcastic wave. The key missed the lock by some distance and gravity took it to the floor.

Gingerly picking it up she found a bottle wrapped in crepe paper on the doorstep. Pain wasn't bottle-shaped; cures were bottle-shaped. Her eyes 164

briefly focussed on the attached card but the words swam like tadpoles.

She unwrapped the bottle and tried focusing again; first on the bottle's label, then on the gift card. Her eyes anchored long enough to recognise the words Châteauneuf-du-Pape. The note read – Welcome home.

Don't drink it all at once!

Jimmy xx p.s. Gig was cancelled... gutted – not!

The pain went away. Then it came back. The bottle was nice all the same: delightfully so. Angie hugged it close to her chest – a nice red bottle of love.

25.

Manny wanted to explain but nothing could hide the fact he'd lied about being with Balders. Or that Claire knew he'd lied about being with Balders. Or that Gina had wanted him to tell the truth.

'It just seemed like the kind of opportunity you dream about – ' Claire was a pragmatic woman but she was under pressure and Manny wasn't her priority. At this moment, with the stressful move back from London and her Dad's illness it was his job simply to Not Fuck Up. That was all she wanted. Maybe he thought he could live his life freely?

Thought he could make his own decisions without regard for the consequences? Thought he could live like some sort of Edwardian playboy? Well he couldn't.

'And you share this dream, this opportunity with Gina and not me?'

Gina thought it wise to retire to the shadows of Billy's office.

'This woman said she'd play my CD. I wasn't thinking straight.'

'So why are you back? Conscience get to you?'

'It's a long story,' said Manny, slumping wearily at his desk. 'I've had hell of a day.'

'So have I. ' Manny indicated his Fender Strat – 'I've been trying to sell it – ' 165

' – your idea.'

'You didn't argue.'

Manny didn't want to bicker. He just wanted to emphasise that his actions had reasons and that they weren't wholly selfish.

'I know you think my band was crap. You said as much this morning, but maybe someone in the industry might not have thought so?

I had the chance to get into the arena today, the area where flukes happen, coz no matter how talented you are, you still need that fluke.

And today it was like, for once, the fates were on my side? There was this mad fire outside a cottage, a weird-looking bloke, and your Dad, we had a really good chat. He talked about your Mum. It was all a bit special, a bit spiritual up on the hill. And then this weird bloke only turns out to be the drummer from Crash'N'Burn and it's like – Fuck!

Mind-blowing! And I end up – little old me – making sure the gig goes ahead. Well, that was the plan anyway... Maybe we'd get management, get a record deal, get some proper money, you know? More than working here anyway, and then I could take care of you and Dylan, coz you're the most important things to me – so yes, sorry, but I could have made some contacts and it could have worked. I could have got a better life for us.'

Claire registered that he'd mentioned her late mother and that he seemed to be suggesting that his family was more important to him than anything else, and that he'd lied and gone off in the limo only because he was selflessly thinking of them...

'Then this woman snaps the CD in my face.'

Claire had listened. She was angry but she'd listened. Now it was time to speak.

'She snapped it coz you're no good, Manny. She snapped it coz your band was CRAP, yeah? She snapped it because you, 'making it', is a brainless idea. Yeah? For years I've put up with this bullshit, and I ask you for one thing, ONE FUCKING THING, to show some sign of commitment – ' ' – And I did! I am. I'm doing it – every day. Selling cars in this shit-hole, and I'm doing it because I love you, but it's not easy.'

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'My Dad's dying, Manny. That's not easy. You still haven't woken up to the fact that you were never going to make it.'

'You don't know that. Not for definite – ' ' – Go back to London, Manny. I'm sick of mothering you. Go on.

You and your CHILDISH LITTLE DREAMS. GO ON. SEE IF I CARE – ' ' – FUCK YOU, CLAIRE. FUCK YOU.' The words are out. They are said. The last words one should ever say. Now she's going – walking out of the showroom. And I'm here. And I won't stop her – can't stop her. Why should I stop her? She went too far. I was pushed. I'm certain I was pushed. Now she's gone. Fuck her – Gina heard the front door slam, followed by a distant thud and a troubled yell. She rushed from the office and saw Manny smashing his beloved Fender guitar again and again into the tarmac – above his head and down into the tarmac, up and down, again and again – body shattering, tremolo buckling, strings whipping, demons expunging – thudding and yelling, up and down into the tarmac in a sad echo of some iconic rock guitar legend, cold angry tears running down his cheeks. His mobile rang but he didn't hear. It clicked to answer machine but he didn't hear. He saw Gina watching him but he didn't hear. Claire left a message – 'Come home babes. I've been so worried about Dad. And today one of the patients died on me, and I got upset. Not very professional I know... And Manny, please don't sell the guitar, maybe something will happen down here, you never know.

Hopefully something that doesn't affect your work, but something you'll enjoy. There's probably loads of talented musicians round here and they'd jump at a chance to work with you, what with you having played in London and everything. I love you... more than anyone else. I just got a bit complicated, I know you've made a sacrifice, and I love the fact that you've made the move down and are working so hard... Come home soon... I miss you. Rambling now – talking shit. Sorry, okay? I love you...'

– but he didn't hear.

167

Manny and Gina faced each other in Billy Wheeler's Office, emotions up to the brim. Emotions overflowing. They were in Billy Wheeler's Office and she was leaning on Billy Wheeler's desk. They were in Billy Wheeler's Office and they could do this or he could walk away. That was the choice.

Clumsy contact – bone to bone, mouth to mouth, teeth to teeth, tongues excavating, hands encouraging – aloof then playful. The push and the pull. The jacket falls. Her tight fitting skirt and lacy underwear. Billy's desk, arched back, no reverse, underwear latched, tugged down and kicked over heels, landing on the rim of a wastepaper bin. Fingers collide: not helping. He retreats: better. Zip descends, fingers forage – In bed with his wife Manny was an undemonstrative yet caring lover, sometimes even a little vigorous. But this was Billy Wheeler's desk, and this wasn't his wife. Gina grabbed the back of his neck for support and put her fake-tanned leg up on a chair. He pawed at the front of her blouse: more of a stroke than a grope. Maybe he should have been a little more attentive to her chest area but her bra seemed reinforced and lacking in softness and, with all due respect, her knickers were already off. All signs indicated she was probably more interested in just getting on with it. She rolled up her tight maroon skirt the necessary few inches and shifted a few desk ornaments. He allowed her to take control and, despite her attempts to co-ordinate something a little more fulfilling than a maladroit tussle, David Manning and Gina Wheeler had sex on Billy Wheeler's desk.

She smoothes her tweed skirt and tidies the desk. She seeks a reaction. He stares at the floor. She passes him tissues. He nods back in gratitude. His phone beeps twice.

He knows it's a message. He clocks the name. She smoothes down her skirt. He smiles feebly. She accedes. She brushes her hair. He clicks to the message. Though moments old the words already haunt. She puts her underwear on. He slips out of the office. He listens to the message. She smoothes down her skirt. She picks up the tissues and puts them in her pocket. She looks around the room and sees nothing has changed. She sits in his chair and pours a large whisky. It tastes pretty strong but it feels pretty good. She arranges the ornaments and makes a quick phone call. She tells 168

'Dear Daddy' they had a good day. They shifted two cars and took a few sales leads.

She hears the showroom door open and the showroom door close. She sips some more whisky and she knows he has gone.

169

Chapter 4 – The Black Field

Billy Wheeler raised the air-rifle and aimed it at the heavens. He looked through the telescopic sight, lined up the Milky Way and pulled the trigger – BANG. The star blazed across the night sky and disappeared forever, even though it had died millions of years ago.

Manny got off the bed and clicked the light on. He swilled his face in a small sink in the corner of the bedroom and put on his jacket. Russ was looking forward to a TV documentary about Nonconformist chapels, Dylan was sound asleep and Claire was up at Gina's having a girls' night in. Manny had money in his pocket and despite having no reason to go out had less reason to stay in. He'd been reading one of Russ' books about Captain Scott's expedition but found it tough going. He buttoned up his jacket, said his goodbyes, and set off into the night.

Despite the occasional lapse Manny had coped better than expected since 'The Desk Incident'. There'd been guilt, paranoia and self-pity but his world continued to turn. There'd been meetings and chats, phone-calls and messages too, but not a single reference to the incident in question. Not even as much as a knowing glance. Gina was either being incredibly mature or also wanted to forget. This was the best possible outcome because if it was forgotten Claire would never find out. This would alleviate the need for furious tears and pronouncements that her, '...guts had been ripped out' and that Manny had, '...ruined her faith in men'. Claire wasn't usually melodramatic but there was a Baptist minister on her father's side and a union leader on her mother's: ornate rhetoric coursed through her veins. Claire and Manny had many things but the understanding and maturity required to recover from infidelity? They didn't have that.

170

He smoked as he walked down a terraced street of stone houses with their colourful front doors and humble continuity. He thought of the generations of decent hard-working men who lived and died in streets like these. So why had he done what he did? Was it that he was an artist who needed chaos to generate the creative process? Or was it that he was an adulterous car-selling father of one; just another lowbrow oaf in an artless town. He recognised that part of him had always wanted to live the dream, but if he was to live the dream it was best to keep the dream away from Claire. She'd made her feelings on the dream quite clear and her message was simple: don't dream. And what of his future? Had he forever foregone the right to say, 'Trust me'? Would Claire be as horrified finding out twenty years hence as she would have if she'd walked in on, 'The Desk Incident'? But then again, might that perhaps not have been better? A row and tears and violence yes, but if there was to be a recovery, no matter how unlikely, the process would have started already. Manny halted and rested against a post-box as a thought side–swiped him: Manny in old age.

Manny with his family.

Manny's death–bed confession.

He needed a beer to calm his racing brain. It was writing fiction, creating scenarios, developing arcs. That was Balders' job. This was all fantasy.

He needed reality. He needed a beer. He walked on, sometimes breaking into a light jog. As he neared the main street a long-ago sound stopped him in his tracks. In a house up a side-street someone was practising piano scales.

Manny had sold four cars today: a record. Balders had drawn a blank after a near miss. It was sheer bad luck the customer had a seizure just as he was about to sign. Balders' attempts to get the signature whilst the customer was being stretchered away had been amusing, but if Manny could deal with his very real woes then surely Balders could deal with a gentle ribbing. An offer of free beer and a kebab would surely close the deal.

171

The terraced slopes levelled out as he neared the town centre. On the right he passed a disused building that, until the early eighties, housed Jet-Lanes, a ten-pin bowling alley built for GI's during World War Two. Many a local boy had bought Brylcreem, learned how to bowl and perfected a US accent, because many a local woman wouldn't look twice at him if he didn't.

'Hi Balders. Pint? On me? If you haven't got any company, that is?'

'Company?'

BANG. Free beer had been offered. Free beer had been rejected. This was unprecedented. Manny hammered again.

'I'm at a loose end. Come on Balders – free beer!' The door opened six inches and no further.

'I saw what you did.'

'When?'

'Giving that paramedic a business card.'

'He liked the little Chevvy. What was I supposed to do? Not give him a card?'

'He was responding to a 999 call.'

'It was just an asthma attack.'

'It was like trying to sell double-glazing to a fireman whilst he's putting out a fire in a children's home – ' ' – It really was not. And that is the stupidest thing you've ever said –' ' – I'd rather be stupid than unprofessional.'

'Oh don't stay in pouting on your own.'

'On my own?'

BANG. Thomas Charles of Bala, Christmas Evans and Wales' Chapel culture it was. As Manny turned to head home the road to salvation was interrupted by the chirrup of his phone.

'Hi Manny, it's Gina. Just ringing to say Claire isn't feeling very well. She needs a lift home...'

'No probs.'

172

'And Manny?

'Yup?' 'I'd love to shag you one more time... sorry Claire, didn't see you there – ' ' – Not funny.'

'Don't take everything so seriously Manny. One life you've got.'

Manny shuddered. He'd had sex with Gina just over seventy-two hours ago. Gina was now with Claire. They'd been drinking. How could he not take that seriously?

Balders wasn't lying. He did have company. Apart from the ubiquitous cousins there were a couple of black-clad goths and a chubby punkrocker. The walls were covered in hand-drawn storyboards turning the flat into one big cartoon strip. A leaning tower of pizza boxes threatened to topple onto them, and a sixteen-slice triple-meat special with a garlic and herb stuffed crust was being devoured by the talent as they grappled with the artistic concept behind gangster cowboys of an intergalactic kind.

'You're missing the point, Garlick. I'm looking at the overall spine.

Have you read this?' said Ryan, brandishing Robert McKee's Story. 'Coz you should... even though it's quite hard to read.'

'You got to look at the imagery, brother,' said Garlick with the slow confident drawl of a man who knew he knew slightly more than Ryan did about pretty much everything.

'I'm directing it, I got to be inspired,' said Rizla, who sported an African-style wooden ring in his earlobe. Rizla had studied film as part of a flunked media course at the local tech and was presenting a dogmatic front in order to mask the fact that he hadn't actually read the script. Garlick looked aggrieved – 'Wha'? I thought I was directing it – ' ' – You can't have two directors,' said Ryan.

Kenyon, a fat punk with acne and a triple-studded hairless eyebrow, slurped at a string of cheese that tethered him to a pizza slice – 'I think my character, 'Zazuki – Alien Doorman', should be more central to the plot.' Ryan was at his wit's end which, due to his fundamental lack of wit, wasn't very far from his wit's start.

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'We haven't finished story-lining yet – McKee!' He waved the book once more as if waving alone would alleviate his woes.

Balders couldn't take any more. Clarissa had been written out of the film and the only remotely female character was an androgynous hologram called Stella. Bryan had an intense fear of women but liked reassuringly expensive beer. He'd successfully argued, at length, against any real live women being allowed on or anywhere near the set. And even then Stella was vaporised on Page 4 – just in case.

Balders went to the kitchen. Booker followed hopefully. The dog would normally eat anything but dog food, but after several evenings of garlic and herb crust his normally unfussy doggy stomach pined for supervalue white-label meaty chunks. Balders confided in Booker. He was the only one who would understand.

'I can't take this anymore.'

Meaty chunks, meaty chunks.

'Top man. Kettle on. Four coffees for the creatives. Three sugars in each.'

Balders needed to shut out the inanity but the kitchen door had come off its hinges during an improvised Wild West/Tae Kwon Do rehearsal, which had also put paid to a wooden chair and a plastic mop handle.

'I don't know about the title either, 'Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys'. What about... off the top of my head – 'Zazuki's Revenge'?'

Every plate in the flat had seen active service and been slotted into the bowl with the dextrous skill of a Buckaroo champion. The pile teetered dangerously above the work surface. Through the few gaps at the lower end of the structure Balders could make out an oily brown solution. He wondered why Booker's teeth-marked Frisbee was in there. He further wondered why it had gravy stains on it. Balders hadn't slept in his own bed since the cousins arrived; the 'Agents' section of his favourite toilet tome – The Writers Handbook 2009 – had been ripped out and used in an unthinkable manner; his private cream-cracker stash had been ransacked; his printer was jammed with blackcurrant conserve and the pizza boy 174

had mysteriously acquired his own key and had taken to sleeping in the hall downstairs, using pizza leaflets for a pillow – Zazuki's Revenge? It was time for the prequel: Balders Pre-venge...

Prevenge...? Was that even a word? He looked it up in the dictionary on his phone. It wasn't there. It wasn't a real word – but it was a good word. It means, '...getting your revenge in first'. And all words have to be invented by someone. Maybe one day, 'Prevenge' will find its way into the Oxford English Dictionary with G. Baldwin as the earliest known source. One day.

Balders found himself checking Google – P-R-E-V... His heart sank. 'Prevenge' was listed in the Urban Dictionary. It meant, '...like revenge, only without waiting for the act to occur'. He hadn't invented it even though he had never heard it before – dammit. Recovering from this neologistical setback he returned to the matter in hand. Moments later the cultural hub of Drefawr plunged into darkness.

'What?'

'Oi!' 'Get off me, you twat.'

'Ow.' 'Woof.'

'Who's holding my hand?'

'Balders!'

The cousins and their entourage traipsed gloomily onto the street.

'Must be a... I dunno, fuse or something,' said Balders. 'I'll phone the landlord.'

'What about candles?' asked Ryan, 'Coz it's nearly ready to send to the Welsh Film Agency. Bryan's very keen for us to go to Cannes next Summer. He's even started learning French.'

'Oui', said Bryan.

'Thing is,' said Balders, 'The lease states that only one person can be in the flat at any one time. If my landlord sees you lot here we'll all be homeless. It's just for one night. Go to Aunt Mave's. I'll call you.' The talent trooped away. Balders looked at the fuse he had hidden in his pocket. Now all he had to do was work out how to put it back.

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2.

Manny pulled up on the drive of Shangri-La. Four thirty-foot fir trees formed a natural barrier between the mossy lawn and the main road.

There was a glittering cloak of dew on the grass and unkempt shrubs shadow-danced in the halogen floodlights that signalled Manny's arrival.

Manny noted that Billy did not appear to be a fan of gardening so why did he keep a shovel in the boot of his car? An unpleasant yapping dog scampered up, took a nip at his ankles and scampered away again.

Manny noticed a statuesque silhouette at the side of the house. It was Billy Wheeler, standing alone, aiming a gun at the galaxy.

'Drunken Wife Rescue Squad at your service,' said Manny.

'Take mine while you're at it.' Billy handed Manny the rifle, 'See that?' Manny took aim through the telescopic sights as Billy gently moved the barrel towards the target. 'Pleiades. Nine stars to the naked eye – hundreds through there – and most of them dead already. Makes you realise how insignificant we are.' Billy took the gun and aimed at a pyramid of tin cans on a wall some distance away. He fired – BANG – taking out the top can of the pile. 'I did some rifle training with the police. The sights are a bit out. Fancy a go?' Manny took aim as the lap dog snarled and harried. 'Unless you fancy a moving target?' Manny fired the gun but missed.

'Aren't you a couple of noisy boys!'

The floodlights burst into life once more. A tall buxom woman in her late fifties tottered from the house carrying a large G&T. She wore a flame-coloured dress more suited to the wife of a 70s oil baron. Her black curly hair was expensively assembled. She had false eye lashes and was adorned with more gold than a paddock full of bookies. 'You must be the wonderful new salesman I've heard so much about,' she said taking Manny's hand.

'Put him down, Val,' said Billy.

'I'm not holding his hand, darling. I'm reading his palm.'

Though temporarily dazzled Manny could sense Gina and Claire heading his way. Gina supporting her friend who was feeling the effects of one too many special G&T's – special in that Val always felt that gin was all the tonic she needed.

176

Gina was in her late adolescence before she realised the origin of her name. She'd read somewhere that Gina meant, 'beautiful star', but Billy wasn't into astronomy back then. Gina was at least grateful that her mother's tipple of choice hadn't been Malibu. Manny and Gina locked eyes. The Desk Incident wasn't forgotten. It wasn't about furniture and one-off events. It was about here. It was about now.

'Tell us what his future holds, Mum,' asked Gina.

'Holding my hair while I puke down the bog,' said Claire who looked as wrecked as Gina looked vibrant. Manny was right back there, right back in Billy's office. He wanted to flee but Val had a tight grip.

'Oh...' she said.

'What?'

'Your life-line's very short.' She let go of his hand. 'Make the most of it, handsome.'

What?

Gina's teasing, Billy's gunfire, Val's doom-laden words and the dog's yapping became a looping soundtrack that repeated ever louder as Manny manoeuvred his collapsing wife into the car – 'One life you've got – yap, yap, yap – life-line's short – BANG – ' 'Why can't you get one like that?' said Val as the car drove away.

'I prefer the Merc,' said Gina.

'Of course you do – ' Billy shot another can off the pile.

'BILLY!' yelled Val as she tottered back into Shangri-La. 'Coming inside Gina?'

'In a bit...' Gina said as she stayed and watched the tail-lights fade.

3.

The town hall clock striking one was accompanied by the sound of a heavy wooden ladder scraping and jolting its way up the brick wall at the rear of Balders' building.

The darkness was due to the council's decision to switch off the street lighting to save money – a godsend to the town's twilight traders: dealers, druggies, thugs and burglars. The ladder firmly in place, a figure climbed up and shattered the thin glass of a rotting Victorian sash-window with a light tap of a hammer. The figure reached inside, opened the window and fell noisily into the room. He struggled to his feet, put 177

his hand in a cheese and chive dip, adjusted his balaclava and switched on a torch.

The one item of any value was quickly established – storyboards for non-existent multi-genre films notwithstanding.

4.

Balders snored pneumatically in the box-room which was 5'6 by 4'10 and suitable only for the storage of boxes. Balders' 5'9 body had a grotesque angularity that Dali would have appreciated. Balders was lucky in one respect, if in one respect alone, in that he could sleep anywhere: library, park benches, station platforms, curry houses, cinema aisles, dentists' chairs, toilets, ornamental flower beds, car showrooms. Balders was once fast asleep with Billy and a customer watching on in awe not three yards away. He even slept on after Billy inserted a pencil into one nostril and a biro into the other. So whilst inconvenient this was not the hardship it would have been for pretty much anyone else, excluding gymnasts and contortionists. The snoring ceased when Ryan burst in – '... BALDERS!' '... wha'?' said Balders. 'Mum?' 'No, it's me. Ryan. We came back for brekkie. Aunt Mave's gone healthy – her kitchen's full of hamster food. We saw the light so we guessed your landlord's been. How can you sleep like that?' Balders considered his vertical left leg.

'Dunno. It went up there by itself. What do you want?'

'There's been a break-in!'

'Wha...? Who...? When? I didn't hear anything...?'

'It's gone!'

'Wha'? What's gone?'

'The computer, Balders. All our work.'

'What? Aw no...'

'Clarissa swooned as she anticipated the raw hunger of his lips, and hot and unrestrained need surged through her until she thought she might faint with ecstasy. This man was her harbour, her safe haven.

And yet she would probably never meet him.'

178

Balders sat back in Gina's chair. He admired his words, his genius – I am a genius.

Must remember to get the window fixed, tho'. Could I ask the landlord to fix it? In all fairness he does own the window – ' ' – What's that doing here?' said Angie, bustling in to start her shift.

'Top secret. I'm writing a sales forecast programme. Can't let that sleaze-ball get the better of me. If this works I could license it out to car salesmen everywhere. Make a fortune...' Balders reflected momentarily – At last I could be rich! Yes! Ah... I haven't really invented a sales forecast programme, have I? To be honest, I wouldn't know how to in a million years. Curses.

'Talking of sleaze-balls,' said Angie, digging out a postcard out from her handbag, 'This is from Emma, sorry – Lambkins.'

Enjoying the wonderful sunshine!

Any probs with the house can wait till we get back!

Regards! E (& J) 'Bloody exclamation marks. They're just to wind me up. Well, it's not working. Bitch.' Angie flopped in her chair and drifted back to Puerto Calero. 'Jimmy hates the sun...'

'Where are they then?'

'Lanzarote. It's volcanic. Jimmy has a time-share there. I love it – ' ' – MEETING! A white board headed 'Sales Chart' had replaced the Confederacy flag on the wall behind Billy's desk. The chart had two columns on the horizontal axis – Daily Sales and Weekly Target – and on the left-hand side were two rows labelled Balders and Manny. Both salesmen had a target for the week of eight cars. Manny was on nine, Balders on three. Billy pointed at Manny then at the 9, before nodding contentedly. Then he jabbed at the 3 – 'Tells its own story.'

Balders had expected a degree of beginner's luck during Manny's honeymoon period, but he hadn't expected the sight of Billy handing Manny a car-key with a leather fob the size of a half-used bar of soap: 179

the key to a seven year old Jaguar X-type in midnight blue with a cream leather interior. The honeymoon was over. Billy and Manny were happily married and planning a future together.

'You deserve it,' said Billy.

'The Jag...?' said Balders. 'As a company car?'

'Work as hard as Manny and you'll get a nice car too. Keep on like you are, you'll be roller-skating to work. And as for you, Gina – you forgot your skirt, love. Home to change.'

Gina was indignant. She was wearing a skirt but it was her shortest. 'If you've got it, flaunt it', had long been a maxim among Wheeler women. Val used to have it. She still flaunted it.

Manny hung back so Balders hung back as well. He wanted to know what all this 'hanging back' was about. It occurred to him that there were now two echelons of male staff and he was in the lower one.

'Shame you couldn't stay for a whisky last night. How's Claire today? Val's gins are infamous, I'm afraid.' Balders was so disorientated by this allusion to some great social gathering that he hadn't been invited to – again – that when Billy waved his hands in front of his face he didn't flinch. Billy steered Balders' catatonic body so it faced the sales chart and pointed at the 3. He then pointed at the door. Balders exited, zombielike, following the well-worn track of disappointment back to his desk.

This confirmed Balders' suspicions: it was definitely about echelons.

The Jaguar was a prestigious vehicle for any twenty-five year old. The only other twenty-five year old driving a car like this in the Drefawr area was Brandon Breeze, heir to the Golden Valley Slots fruit machine empire after his father Wayne died from a heart attack after urinating on an electric fence. The Jag was still technically for sale but come six o'clock Manny could remove the roof display and price tag and purr away. The interior was a place of refinement and good old British craftsmanship.

Indeed Manny barely heard the door open and close as Gina slid onto the passenger seat.

'Anything I can help you with, sir?'

'I think I've earned this.'

180

'It's very you. So... are you looking to drive it just the once, or on a more regular basis?' Manny suspected Gina was probably not referring to the Jag. 'Because this particular chassis is in demand.'

'You're gorgeous Gina, really, but I've got to think of Claire, Dylan, Russ even... And then there's your Dad. I need this job otherwise –' ' – So we keep it discreet. I'm good at keeping secrets. I have to with a psycho for a dad.'

Jaguars were cars for skilled philanderers: all that soft leather, clubhouse trim and electric reclining seats. Powerful men had done disreputable things in Jaguars so what chance did weak men have? And Gina there, oozing in her micro-skirt. Manny knew that if it hadn't been broad daylight; if there hadn't been customers milling around; if the car hadn't been parked on Wheelers forecourt at ten in the morning, there'd almost certainly have been some sort of 'Car Incident'.

'Come on, Manny. Life's too short.'

'According to your Mum mine will be.'

'All the more reason to seize the day. Mum is mad but rarely wrong. Sex and death. It's what it's all about.' Manny moved his hand to the automatic gearshift. Gina's slid on top of his. He felt her heat as she squeezed lightly. A dark shadow cast itself over the car. Her hand whipped away.

'WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?' 'Hi Dad, I was just showing Manny the Tiptronic,' said Gina, instantly at one with the car's deceitful ambience.

'I... I couldn't find reverse,' said Manny, fearful that Billy had seen the foxy hand-play.

'She's a beauty,' said Billy. 'You deserve her.'

Phew.

'I do.'

'He does...' said Gina.

'Now you can chauffeur Russ about in style.'

Balders mimed writing an important note regarding a fictional costumer as Manny and Billy entered, laughing uproariously. Surely nothing was that funny? This was growing-up with the cousins all over again – Ryan 181

and Bryan snug and warm in Balders' tent, Balders freezing and damp in the field outside.

'What's so funny?' asked Balders as Billy went to his office.

'I told him a joke,' said Manny.

'Tell me.'

'What's a shitzu?'

'It's a small dog with a pug – ' ' – a zoo with no animals.'

Balders didn't know what was more irritating. His replying to this 'joke' as if it was a serious question or people laughing at jokes that weren't in any way amusing.

'So you're sucking up to the boss now, yeah? Walking on Sunday, the Jag, going up his house – ' ' – I only went to get Claire. And I wouldn't have if you'd come for a pint. It was all a bit nuts to be honest. Billy's wife was trollied. You met her? Val?' 'She's been in.'

'She read my palm. Said I wouldn't live long. Load of crap – ' A look of dread crossed Balders' face. 'What? Tell me.'

Balders knew a story. One about a salesman who used to sit at Manny's desk; a salesman who took a shine to Gina; a salesman who wrote in his diary in blood red letters that he couldn't, '...take it any more'; a salesman who disappeared literally within days of Val reading his palm.

'Bullshit,' said Manny.

A Subaru pulled up and Minchin and a younger man got out.

'You know where I'll be,' said Balders dropping down and creeping away on all fours. Manny went to greet the customer – Mr Minchin, you can't keep away, can you?'

'Morning, Mr. Manny. Tell me, where's my favourite tenant?'

'Lower Cwmtwrch I believe. Test drive.'

'Is he now? Shame, because my nephew is looking for a car with a big boot.'

'Manny felt sure he heard a small groan from beneath a distant desk.

182

Damian Hart had a bottling scar down his right cheek and looked like a fairground barker, the kind who wouldn't stop spinning your waltzer no matter how much you cried.

'Named after the film,' he explained. 'Got 666 tattooed on my head but don't worry mate, I'm not feeling too satanic today. I won't kill you if you do me the right deal.'

Manny surmised that in the last twenty-four hours he had heard more references to death than you'd hear at a pathologist's funeral. The omens weren't good.

Gina ignored Manny's arrival in Admin. He surprised himself by strolling up to her chair and gently massaging her neck. This was known as The Jag Effect – three minutes inside one and you're James Bond.

Gina's shoulders shimmied with his fingers. The not looking was good: it meant their meeting lacked confrontation. The delicate caressing was also good: it meant she might forget his gauche desk-top technique. Gina was certainly vocal about her enjoyment but her overt moaning became strangely off-putting. Her attempts to encourage him sounded like bad porn and Manny didn't like porn, bad or otherwise. He gave her neck muscles a final tweak before going to a cupboard where he selected the key of a suitably big-booted Ford Scorpio – 3 owners, 105,000 miles, £1995.

'Gina. I've got a message from your Dad,' said Angie as she entered. 'What was it now? Oh yeah – 'Stay out of the showroom. There's men there, and you're dressed like a tart.'' Angie smiled witheringly – 'His words, not mine.'

Minchin perched on Balders desk and made a phone-call. Whilst he waited for an answer he bounced his heel against the desk leg. 'Ah! Balders. Tell me, how's Lower Cwmtwrch this time of year?' '...very nice.'

'I've never been. Describe it to me.' '...er... it's near... Upper Cwmtwrch.'

'I want my rent, Balders. And I want it today.' Minchin and Damian both peered under the desk. 'You can come out now.'

183

The idea of Balders maintaining he was still in Cwmtwrch –Upper or Lower – was too absurd even for him to contemplate.

In the world of film there are several cases of famous brothers – Ethan & Joel Coen, Tony & Ridley Scott and Bob & Harvey Weinstein to name but three. The Valleys' equivalent – Ryan and Bryan Hagan – clomped happily into the showroom. Ryan saw Minchin on his haunches. He crouched down to see what the attraction was.

'Morning Cuz. Great news. Film-script? Back on!'

'Yeah?'

'Why are you under the desk?'

'I dropped my pen.' Balders clambered to his feet and quickly shepherded Ryan to the far corner of the showroom – 'He's my landlord, don't say anything about the flat. He doesn't know you live there.'

'Ok...' said Ryan. He handed Balders £300 in used fivers and spoke loudly and clearly for Minchin's benefit, to prove they weren't talking about him.

'This is for you, from Auntie Mave's Holiday Fund. We've got to take her on a cruise when we get the film made. Anyway, this is for you to buy a new second-hand computer.'

Leather-gloved talons snatched the wad away – 'I'll take that. For rent,' said Minchin.

'No, you can't,' said Ryan.

'I can.'

'We don't live in his flat.'

'You do.'

'We need it to buy a computer.'

'Now some rent's paid, Balders can have his computer back. I'll go down the lock-up later and get it for you.' The instant the showroom door closed Ryan and Bryan whooped, high-fived and broke out into an impromptu waltz.

'What are you doing?' asked Balders.

'He's going to return your computer. We're back in business!'

'But he can't, can he?' '...no?'

184

'Because...'

'Because... he hasn't got it?'

'Because...' '...we stole it?'

'Bingo.'

'We put it... in the flat – ' ' – it was in the flat. But it got stolen last night. Remember?'

'But we can buy a new one with the money from Auntie Mave!'

'What money? HE JUST TOOK IT!' Anyone casting for a pair of disconsolate cousins needed to look no further than the hangdog Hagan brothers of Drefawr, who hugged as if bereaved.

'What do you need a big boot for anyway?'

'Stolen goods mainly. And the odd body. Let's have a test-drive.'

'Mr Manny,' said Minchin. 'Before you go, I have two bones to pick with you. It seems Mr Baldwin was not in Lower Cwmtwrch, and my Subaru's rear light is broken. Now, I didn't see it until I got home but I'm pretty certain it happened before I picked it up. I want it fixed, and as compensation, make sure my nephew gets a good deal.'

'Writing a film then?' said Damian as the cousins clumped unhappily past. 'Sorry, I couldn't help overhearing.'

'We were,' said Ryan. 'But now we don't have anything to write on.'

'What about those tape-recorder things? Dictaphones? You know the type? Like businessmen, or writers like yourselves use for recording ideas. I can get some cheap – ' ' – As it happens, we're businessmen and we're writers.'

5.

The Ford Scorpio motored around the Mount Estate high on one of the sloping hills that overlooked the town. For centuries sheep monopolised the area but with increasing demand for social housing, several fields were requisitioned in the 1930s and two hundred family homes were built. People were happy to leave crumbling Victorian tenements and 185

slums and cheerfully moved to the estate with its kitchen units, central heating and indoor toilets. The estate had a shopping parade, police station, play-park and community hall. Children played out all day and night on the abundant green spaces and this modern way of living encouraged adolescent aspirations. Over the decades, union leaders, musicians, engineers, singers and footballers found success after a Mount upbringing, but not anymore. Now it was a place to score drugs, handle stolen goods or find your burnt-out car. The only aspiration the handful of law-abiding families trying to survive among the needles, teenage pregnancies and vandalism had left was to get out. The playing areas were a scrub-land of junk and jagged steel stumps. The hall was abandoned in the late 80s around the time the police station closed after being broken into once too often. A single shop remained on the parade. Sarandor Singh was determined to make a living for his family.

His commitment to the area could be measured by the money he'd spent on security grilles and video cameras. The racists trying to drive him out had failed to consider the mile long trek to buy papers, filters and white cider if they succeeded. Outsiders rarely visited, except one particular group. They ignored the cattle grids and fences and barriers erected to keep them out and gathered in packs on the streets and gardens and on the wasteland near the parade. This gang were steel-eyed, determined and beyond education. This was their land. One day they would reclaim it.

Damian made a call as he drove up Kerry Hill Drive into the heart of the estate. 'Be with you in five.'

'It's illegal,' said Manny.

'I don't steal. I just sell – ' ' – I meant talking on the mobile whilst driving.'

A couple of young mums with scraped back hair and furry boots sat on a bench. Damian lowered the window.

'Hey sweethearts, remember me? Mallen's pool hall?' The girls giggled as the car drove on. 'Threesomes, innit? Why not? Life's too short.'

'Why do you keep saying that?'

'Coz it is.'

186

They pulled up outside an exhausted house. The front wall had toppled over, a broken pedal car lay abandoned and weeds had reached their optimum height. The only positive thing you could say was that next door was worse. Sheep rumbled by, up for mischief. Manny took in the toy rabbit hanging from a tree; the dead magpie on the pavement; the hearse driving slowly towards him.

6.

Normally it was a grind getting the bulk down – stories, structure, characters, dialogue – but today the prose was flowing. Why hadn't Balders thought of writing in Admin before? Orthopaedic chair, free light and heat and a distinct absence of cousins. Those cousins weren't writers. They were non-writers. Non-writers always think writing is easy.

'You're a writer?' they say, 'I've got a story. I'm going to write it when I get the time.' This is often followed by, 'Hey, maybe you could write it for me,' or, in more specific cases, 'Lose the heroine and set in it space.' They said all those things but only writers know that writing is harder for writers than anyone else. It's not just words and stories; it's puzzles, poetry, punctuation, passion, pronouns, pain – and that's just the 'P's. Balders remembered novelist Stephen King's wise words – 'write with the door open, edit with the door closed' – but these words weren't welcome at this time.

They were distracting especially as the Admin office door wasn't his to control. He wanted to get back to the flowing prose, but thinking of doors had made him think of front doors, and front doors had made him think of Billy's front door – 'Ange?'

'I'm busy,' said Angie, diligently eviscerating Emma's postcard.

'Have you ever been to Billy's house?'

'He's a very private man.'

'Manny went there last night.'

'I wouldn't want to go anyway.'

'Nor me. I wonder what it's like?'

'Me too.'

187

'Val read his palm, said he'd die young. I told him she was never wrong. He's depressed.' Angie chewed the end of a biro – 'We could have some fun with that,' she said. Balders furiously tapped away at the keyboard again. The prose-flow was back. He was so much better at typing than Angie had ever imagined he could be. 'That's quite a programme you're writing.'

'It is.'

'If it makes a fortune, remember me.'

'Remember who?' Angie threw a car-shaped stress-reliever at him.

He ducked. It bounced off a filing cabinet and was smartly caught by the incoming Billy Wheeler – 'You buying a car, Angie?'

'On my wages?'

'If you're not... then what the hell are you doing here, Balders?'

Balders saved the document, closed the laptop lid and legged it.

'What's that doing here?

'Balders' laptop. He's writing a sales programme.'

'He doesn't bloody sell anything.'

After Billy went Angie opened up the laptop to check the sales programme for herself. She found an icon marked. TOP SECRET SALES FORECAST. 7.

'He was there when I laid out four men in the chippie,' said Damian indicating a stick-thin youth in a yellow hoodie. 'I never start anything, but this rude bastard put vinegar on my chips.' A whoozy wasp flew into the car. Manny ignored it but Damian shrieked and waved his arms like a whirligig. 'Wasp! Wasp! Get it away! Get it out!' Damian pronounced 'wasp' as if it rhymed with 'clasp'; an echo of the phonetic Welshlanguage once spoken in the area. After secretly enjoying the rogue's anguish for a few moments longer than he should have, Manny opened the door and the wasp escaped. 'Thanks pal. Swallowed one when I was a kid, see – '

188

8.

The woman had shoulder-length straightened brown hair which was kept off her face by two enamel flower-decorated grips. She wore a cream dress, scarlet cardigan and had the demeanour of a librarian with a secret. As Balders walked over he wondered if her wholesomeness was because she was religious, but hoped she wasn't. He didn't get religion. It offered hope.

'Hi, I'm interested in the Suzuki Wagon R?' A good car. A safe car. An old person's car with its high roofline and ease of access to the rear seats. Any young person interested in such a car would probably belong to one of those evangelical churches with a newly extended porch and a drum kit.

'Excellent. I'm Gareth by the way.'

'I'm Paula.'

Was that a 'Christian' Christian name? Wasn't there a 'St. Paula' of somewhere?

'Your husband, or partner with you?'

'I'm single.'

'Never mind. I'll get the keys.'

Damian's world of drugs, stolen goods and green baize threesomes was too rock'n'roll for Manny. Not the good sort – mansions, charity giving, lifetime achievements, but the bad sort – messy deaths, facial tattoos, choking on vomit. He wanted rid.

'Like it then?'

'Yeah, does the job. You married, mate? Just that I can lay my hands on curling tongs, electric razors – all sorts. A gift for the little lady if you've been a naughty boy.' Manny failed to hide a guilty look.

'Touched a nerve have I? You been oiling someone else's pistons?'

'No. I'm married. About the car – ' ' – You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. What do you need?

Everyone needs something.'

'I need to sell a car. I'll do you a deal. Nineteen hundred.' Damian's guffaw drew the attention of Balders returning with the keys. Damian waved a Dictaphone.

189

'Eight quid. Bloke wanted fifteen but I knocked him down.'

Manny sniggered – good job he wasn't dressed as a wasp.

'Persistence is the key when haggling,' said Balders. 'Oh sorry Manny, didn't see you there. Hey, you seen your stars in the paper today?

'No. Why?' 'Don't.'

'I'll give you thirteen hundred for the Scorpio,' said Damian.

'I can't do it for that.'

'I got gypsy blood. Unlucky to cross a gypsy.'

Billy appeared at the showroom door. Two customers on the forecourt and both alone, so no partners to debate the merits of the vehicles with – all good. He summoned Balders.

'What car's she looking at?'

'The Wagon R. She's one of those Hands Up Billys you talked about, boss. I've just got to reel her in.' Billy indicated an older but not dissimilar vehicle: a Toyota Verso – 'Sell her that one. It's been here longer and we need it shifted. If she wants the Wagon R she'll go for that. Got it?'

'No problemo, Boss.'

'Hey Balders...'

'What.'

'She hasn't stopped looking at you.'

Billy winked and walked away. Balders found dealing with female customers difficult enough without all this looking that was apparently going on. He took a deep breath, returned and confidently presented the Toyota as a magician might present a trick – 'This is the car for you.'

'No it isn't.'

'This car will suit your needs better!'

'How would you know what my needs are?' Balders didn't know what her needs were especially if they were Christian needs. 'Anyway, that car looks like it's been here some time.'

'Why would you say that?'

190

'The tyres are bit flat. There's moss on the wipers. It's been standing in one place too long.' Balders wavered momentarily before enthusiastically opening the door of the Wagon R – 'This is the car for you!'

Billy sat at his desk flicking through the Valleys' Gazette. The front page headline read, 'Council Chiefs Clueless' – a tale about the disappearance of £290,000 of taxpayers' money into an ailing Arts Centre run by a former dinner lady who hated the arts and artists but was second-tonone at sourcing low-budget mashed potato.

'Is that today's?' asked Manny. 'Someone mentioned something about my stars.'

'You'll meet a tall dark handsome man who'll tell you, 'GET BACK TO WORK'' 'Thing is, boss...'

'Spit it out.'

'This customer I'm with. He's a bit, well... dodgy – ' 'I've got perfume, cigs, booze, whatever takes your fancy.'

'A case of 1997 Châteauneuf-de-Pape,' said Angie. 'And a nice young man to drink it with.'

'The wine might be a problem.'

'Cheeky boy.'

'The name's Damian – ' 'Is everyone being looked after?' boomed Billy. Four heads nodded. Billy surveyed the scene. His top salesman's customer was apparently dodgy, but more pressingly the underperforming Balders had a Hands Up Billy and hadn't closed the deal yet. Billy pulled out his mobile and rang the showroom number. Balders chose to ignore the loud ringing, but a quick glance in Billy's direction changed all that.

'Sold the Toyota yet?'

'Not exactly.'

'What does that mean?'

'Not... exactly.'

'Say, 'Excuse me' to the lady, get up and come over here. Now.' 'Yes boss... Excuse me, I've just go to – ' 191

' – I know,' said Paula.

'Take control, Balders. Women don't know anything about cars. They want mirrors, boot space, cubby holes for lipstick. Ok, the Wagon R is £6495,' said Billy. 'Lowest we can do is six. What about her part exchange?'

'It's worth two grand all day but I reckon she'll take £1500, so £500 back in the deal. I won't let you down, boss.'

'I've got to say, Balders,' said Billy, so quiet as to be almost inaudible. 'She still hasn't taken her eyes off you – ' It was rare for real-life women to show any awareness of Balders.

Dealing with a female customer was as close to a date as Balders ever got and would ever get as, even in the unlikely event of an interest being expressed, he was fully aware of the professional code of conduct regarding car salesmen/customer relationships.

'The good news is that we can give you £1500 for your car. The boss must be in a generous mood.' '£2000. Or I'm walking away,' said Paula.

'I think you're being unrealistic there.'

'Is this realistic enough for you?' said Paula, walking away.

'Wait! I'll have another word – ' ' – You're not trying to take advantage of me just because I'm a woman, are you?'

'Good God, no.'

'How about a real fake Rolex watch?'

'I hope you're not wasting my salesman's time,' said Billy 'Why would I do that?' said Damian. 'Life's too short, innit? Ok, how about some classy Welsh whisky then, eh? Half price? I reckon you're a Penderyn man.'

'And how do you 'reckon' that?'

'Gypsy insight.'

'You have a tot occasionally – ' ' – Shut up Balders,' said Manny.

'Yes, I do sometimes have a tot, after I've sold a car. So, which car are you buying?' A micro-skirt wiggled its way towards Billy's office.

192

'Throw her in and I'll sign now.'

'That is my daughter – ' ' – You must be very proud. Mr Wheeler – ' ' – She's out of your league.'

'You reckon?' said Damian as Gina reappeared – 'Alright sweetheart, remember me?' The tiniest look of recognition confirmed Billy and Manny's worst fears. Gina pirouetted and scurried straight back to Billy's office.

'I'd like you to leave,' said Billy. 'I don't want your custom.'

Damian grinned and ambled to the showroom door. Halfway there he slapped his forehead in an act of faux-remembrance – 'Tell me, Mr Wheeler. You still got those purple satin sheets in your bedroom? See, your daughter gave me the tour. Shangri-La wasn't it? Nice name – it means 'paradise', as I recall – yeah. Paradise. She took me there all right – ' ' – GET OUT.' 'Satin sheets. Racy!' Manny pitched in – 'Leave or I'll call the cops – ' ' – Coz this is a crime, isn't it? Ok, I'm going. Ta-ra gents, it's been an experience. Give my regards to the carnival queen.' Billy watched darkly, his right eye twitching as Damian left.

'Boss...?' said Balders.

'Sold that bloody car yet?'

'Nearly. She wants two grand or she's walking.'

'Spilt the difference. 17-50 and no discount on ours. Get that? 6-49-5.' He turned on his heel and marched to his office.

'Gina, go home to change that skirt. RIGHT NOW. If you can be trusted there by yourself, that is.'

'What?'

'Just do it.'

Gina squeezed past her father and found herself facing her third antagonist in as many minutes.

'So when did you shag him? The thief?' Gina took a deep breath and tried to make her skirt an inch longer that it was. 'He told the whole showroom. Everyone. That's what people like him do.'

193

'It was after your wedding,' said Gina. 'I lost the plot – but it was just the once – ' ' – Oh that's ok then. Classy.'

'Who was I cheating on, Manny? No-one. Who were you cheating on?' She thrust a framed photo of Claire under his nose. 'Your wife. And I bet you've slept with her since we did it.'

'For your information I haven't, right? I'm busy now. Work to do.'

She slammed the photo down on the desk – 'Listen to me, David. I do not get messed around. By anyone – ' Angie had been advising on father/daughter matters but Billy hadn't wanted to hear that his daughter was, '...a grown–up woman – free to make mistakes'. In a town where most eligible men flew to far-flung universities on reaching adulthood, the chances of Gina meeting someone decent to continue the family line were slim to nil. Daddy would have to look after her interests until a decent young doctor, home for a local bigwig's funeral perhaps, happened to chance upon a modestly dressed Gina near the buffet. Or some other such miracle. Balders also needed a miracle.

Paula wasn't a Hands Up Billy. Far from it. She was clued-up and not in any way meek. He needed Billy's help again.

'Tell me you've done that deal.'

'Nearly. She wants the two grand, but then it's closing time.'

'Ok. But 6-4-9-5 for ours, right? You're a car salesman not a charity worker.'

'Yes Boss... Oh Boss, I've been thinking. Maybe I could come to your house tonight – couple of cans? One of your 'pep' talks? They are so inspiring – ' ' – He's a wine man, Balders!' said Angie. 'Knows a good bottle of claret. Billy, why don't I come over this evening? See you and Val?' – Billy's face twitched again – 'Or you and Val could come to me. Been a while since I had a dinner party. I've got a fondue set I've never used and there's a spare room if you wanted to stay. Shall we say 8-ish?'

'Ask Balders. He's free.'

Manny hung the Scorpio key back on the board. Gina sat with her back to him: her spine stiff, her shoulders cold.

'Last night some mad woman, your mother, told me I was going to die young. I hardly slept and I've been stressed all day. I'm sorry about 194

what I said about Damian, ok? I'm sure you had your – reasons... not that it's my business – ' ' – I just want to know if we're on or off, Manny. I'm getting all the jealousy and none of the action. Do you want out? Just give the word.'

Say 'Yes'. Go back to an easy life. Gina will forget The Desk Incident – you can sell cars and take care of your family and everything will be fine. Just say 'Yes' – 'No.' 'Tonight. We'll go somewhere, have a meal, talk – see how we feel – sober, alone. Claire is on nights, isn't she?'

He leant across her desk but swerved sharply away as Billy entered – 'Manny. Lunch. Celebrate that new car of yours.'

Balders' school days involved endless hours skulking in uncovered brick squash courts playing a variety of games involving two pence pieces or deflated footballs. He had few school-day memories: the smell of Chemistry lab gas taps; swallowing a marble for a bet; acting as look-out when Darren 'Doz' Morris wrote 'Doz Woz Here' high on the assembly hall wall; giggling at Ronald 'Ron Econ' Lewis' weekly instruction, 'Get your Knobbs out boys' – a reference to Jack Knobbs' Social Economics; and being kicked in the testicles by the evil Mike Merrymen. Education generally, and maths particularly, hadn't featured very highly at all and even though he was using a calculator the sums weren't adding up. The actual amount was correct but Billy wouldn't see it that way. Angie, en route to Admin, was thrilled to see Paula briefly touch Balders' hand but her interest in Balders was purely mathematic – 'You give me two thousand for my car Gareth, and I pay six thousand for yours. That makes a difference of four thousand. I did maths 'A' level.'

'I can't let ours go for six – ' Paula left with such haste that Balders only caught up with her as she got to her car. His plaintiff cries for her to 'Please wait!' caught the attention of the lunch-bound elite – 'The boss is there. I'll sort it. Please wait?'

'You've got one minute.'

195

Billy studied the pad with the workings on it – 'Six for our car and two for hers? There was a potential £1400 profit in this deal, and you've left us with barely anything.'

'She knows her stuff, Boss. She's the most switched-on customer I've had in ages – ' ' – The only customer you've had in ages.'

'I think he fancies her,' said Manny.'

'The way she was looking at him earlier, I think she's keen too.'

'She wasn't.'

'Or the way she's looking at him now,' said Billy. You couldn't argue. From the other side of the forecourt Paula was clearly looking.

'No way. She's too slim and clever for me.'

'Just be a man,' said Billy. 'Go back and tell her we can't do it at those figures.'

'Gareth?' called Paula.

'Oooh, 'Gareth' is it?' said Billy.

'You're in there, good boy!' said Manny ushering Balders back across the forecourt. Billy laughed. Lunch could wait – this was much more fun.

'I want the car,' said Paula. 'You want the deal, don't you?'

'Yes.' 'Then let's stop this nonsense and I'll write you a cheque.'

'I can't – ' ' – If I wasn't so 'clever' would that help? Or maybe if I put a bit of weight on?'

Balders disintegrated. How the hell did she know those things?

Did she have superpowers? Super-hearing? Was super-hearing a superpower?

'My parents are deaf,' explained Paula. She silently mouthed a series of words. Her oral contortions didn't mean anything to Balders.

He took a guess anyway – 'Al – An – Lep – Leopard? Alan Leopard!'

'I. Can. Lip. Read.'

This was a new kind of low for Balders. He'd been fleeced by farmers, gulled by grocers, rooked by roofers but never licked by a lipreader before. Paula gripped his sleeve – 196

'Look at your boss. He is saying that, '...you're as useful as a chocolate teapot.' And the other one is saying, 'She's holding his arm – ' Paula scrunched her eyes to see better, 'Bet he's... shitting himself.' Charming – ' ' – What a great talent! You know what, I'm sure we can do the deal!'

'I'm sure you can. I'll need to bring my mother in to confirm,' said Paula. 'But she'll be fine. I'm her carer.'

'Carer. Lovely... and lip-reading. What a skill!' Balders ran back to his mockers.

'She's. A. Really. Nice. Person. So. I'm. Doing. The. Deal. At. The. Figures. I. Discussed. With. Her.' 'Whoa now,' said Billy. 'Just coz you fancy – ' ' – NO! GOD NO. She's. Nice. But... I. Think. It's. Fair. The. Deal. We've. Struck. We. Shouldn't. Take. Advantage. Just. Coz. She's.

A. Woman. It's. WRONG.' 'Why are you talking in that ridiculous manner?' Balders covered his mouth and pretended to cough so Paula couldn't see what he was saying – 'She can lip read. She can read lips. She read your lips when you said the figures earlier. It's not my fault...'

Billy and Manny shrunk like guilty schoolboys, the full horror of their chauvinist banter quickly dawning on them – 'Congratulations! I'm. Sure. The. Lady. Will. Enjoy. The. Car.' Balders beamed over at Paula and she beamed back.

Words? Over-rated. Non-verbal communication is definitely the answer.

Happy waving and simple smiling. No confusion there.

9.

The one-way system in Drefawr was the answer to a problem that no longer needed solving. Back in the 70s the main street was a busy thoroughfare with coal and steel lorries rattling and belching their way through the heart of the town dirtying shop fronts, annoying shopkeepers and scaring pedestrians. Back then it made sense to divert the relentless convoy, so a one-way system was mooted. Delays with planning meant this wasn't done until the 90s when heavy industry was 197

largely a thing of the past. The few shopkeepers that remained now complained that the bypass had removed any chance of passing trade.

Billy's four-year-old black Audi A8 entered the one way system by the disused Telephone Exchange. The car was a true heavyweight, designed for boxing promoters. At the first set of traffic lights a perky red convertible Alfa Romeo revved up alongside. The passenger wore sunglasses and a pork-pie hat. He had a scar down his right cheek. He recognised the Audi driver – 'Nice kimono you got in your bedroom, Bruce Lee!' The Beemer sped away. Billy growled. Hodgson's Wine Bar would have to wait. He set off in pursuit and the two cars raced at high speed through the narrow streets; Drefawr temporarily twinning itself with Monaco. At the next set of traffic lights the beefy Audi pulled up alongside the nippy Alfa.

'Oh, Mr Wheeler, you know your decanter, the one you used to have? With the silver collar? I nicked it. And your camcorder. That was me as well,' – Both cars revved loudly – 'Got to say, your daughter looked great on camera. Hell of a performer.'

In a flash Billy was up, out and gripping Damian by the lapels before becoming aware of two clean-cut young men in dark suits and name badges looking on. This was not the sort of behaviour expected from a prominent local businessman on a local high street. He dusted down Damian's crumpled lapels and gave an avuncular smile to the onlookers – joshing, that's all it was, joshing and japery. He spun around, got back behind the wheel of the Audi and roared off.

Damian straightened his hat, reset his sunglasses and smiled at the two witnesses. If they were good enough for Jehovah they were good enough for him.

10.

'Have you ever had a girlfriend?' Balders was thrown by the directness of Angie's question. There seemed little room for manoeuvre.

'In form four. Infants.'

'Who's your ideal woman?'

'I don't know. Romantic, fun, caring – real.'

198

'That woman earlier. Is she single?'

'I think so.'

'What does she do?'

'She's a carer.'

'Perfect. I'm her. Ask me out.'

'What?'

'You're looking at my breasts.'

'I'm not. I just get shy and... I can't. She'll say no.'

'You need to experience love especially if you want to be a writer,' – Oops! – 'Er... which is what you said you wanted to be once.

Remember? Do it for your art.'

Doing something for art was a far easier concept to grasp than actually asking a woman out. That would be horrendous, but if his art would benefit, well that was practically a duty.

'And if you want to write, how about a novel set in a used car showroom?'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

11.

The disused upstairs office was full of box files, car magazines, calendars, broken shelving, three-quarters empty tins of paint, a dozen polystyrene ceiling tiles and a big red velvet ribbon to put on car bonnets for when Daddies spoilt their daughters or lovers.

'Your Dad lost it, Gina. His face was all twisted. This is crazy. Too many people to hurt.'

'This is about Damian isn't it? What do you want me to say? That he had a small one? That you were 'better'? Well, I can't remember, ok?

I'd had too much wine...'

'Well fortunately for you, he recorded it. It's on DVD. And if you can't remember, I'll tell you. You took that low-life chav to your parents' bedroom. Damian filmed it all on your Dad's camera, which of course he then nicked and then he made a DVD. Classy stuff – ' ' – So I'm a slut and you're a cheat.'

'Not any more. It's over.'

Manny?' – Claire's voice.

199

'Run to wifey then. Play happy families. You've had your shag. Will you tell her, Manny? Clear your conscience? Damian may have fucked me, but at least he didn't fuck with my head.'

'Manny?'

Gina pushed past him and set off downstairs. 'Maybe it's time all this was out in the open – ' ' – Gina? Where are you going? Gina? No – ' Gina clattered down the metal stairs and trotted over to Claire – 'Looking for your husband?'

Manny was hot on her tail – 'Glad you're here. We need to talk,' he called, clattering down behind her.

'He does,' said Gina. 'He's got a lot on his mind.'

Manny swiftly moved Claire away to a quiet corner of the showroom leaving a vengeful Gina behind. Manny explained about the palm reading, the gypsy's curses, Billy's violence, the constant references to death. He explained about his chat just now upstairs with Gina about Val's fortune-telling skills. He blurted out everything except the fact that he'd had sex with Gina on Billy Wheeler's desk. Claire burst out laughing – 'You're not going to die.'

'I might. I feel faint. My heart is beating too fast.'

'You don't need a medical. You need a hug.' They gripped each other tightly. Gina strolled into view. 'You've got some explaining to do, my girl,' said Claire.

'Have I?' 'Tell him your Mum's full of shit and to stop messing with his head. Still, nice to have a cuddle in the afternoon.'

'Yeah, can't be easy – you on nights.'

'Never stopped us before,' said Claire. 'Manny's extended test drives? Don't tell the boss! Had one yesterday, in fact. One very satisfied customer...'

12.

In house-coat and sodden mules Val patrolled the garden of Shangri-la looking for her prized pooch. The garden was a foggy wilderness. Tin 200

cans littered the area by the bins. There were wind-blown piles of rotting leaves. Moss and lichen turned the patio into an ice rink. The fashionable seventies rockeries and crazy paving had suffered a series of mini-earthquakes. The artificial fish pond wasn't even habitable for artificial fish. Val tut-tutted but knew she'd never do anything about it.

She missed the old guy who used to tidy the garden once a week. He used to bring her kidney beans from his allotment. In return she'd make him strong tea and listen to his stories, but when the car-trade started rolling downhill Billy decided the old guy was a luxury he couldn't afford.

Last night's gin was taking its toll but it was too early for today's gin. 'Twinkle? Twinkle?' she called. 'Twinkle?' Val peered under a large hydrangea bush. Something white and fluffy and still caught her eye.'

13.

'Bless Manny, this 'dying young' thing has really got to him,' said Claire.

'He wants me to book him a medical at the hospital but there's nothing that a surprise birthday party won't cure.'

'I'll come,' said Balders.

'Of course you'll come, but I want you to help me organise it. Will you do that?'

'Sure – ' As Claire left Admin Angie smiled at Balders – 'Romantic. Caring. Real...'

Balders was appalled at the implication but his face couldn't hide that Claire probably was all those things and much more. They watched as Claire and Manny embraced before she went to her car. Balders was curious as to what this strange new sensation was. Could it be... jealousy?

Real life sure was complicated. Manny returned – 'You're looking pale,' said Angie.

'Written a will yet?' said Balders.

'Shut up, yeah?'

Balders made a childish noise but their attention was taken by a police car pulling up outside. A uniformed officer and a tall wiry greyhaired man in a pale grey raincoat got out. He was as colourless as a slate quarry in the rain. He pulled up his collar to try and ward off the light 201

drizzle that was wiping away the last trace of the day's already muted colours. As if to emphasise the drabness, a perky red Alfa Romeo convertible pulled up alongside. Manny ran 'BILLY. BILLY.' 'What?'

'Looks like trouble.'

Billy peeked through the Venetian blind. He tidied his hair and checked his tie. He went out and offered the grey man his hand.

'Well, well. My old friend, Columbo.'

'Hutch,' said Columbo. Billy turned to Manny – 'I used to be a policeman, many moons ago.'

'Ah...' said Manny. 'Starsky and Hutch.'

'How's Joyce and the kids?'

'Fine.'

'Glad to hear it.'

'It's Ralph these days. I left all that TV cop nonsense behind years ago.'

'Fair enough, Ralph. I never knew that – So, what can I do for you? Want to trade the panda car in? One careful owner, yeah? Fifty rubbish drivers!'

'We've got a problem – ' Balders was unbending a paper clip for some nail-cleaning action when Paula and her Mum walked in. Paula's Mum was a stout lady in her latefifties wearing a maroon hat who walked with the aid of sticks.

'This is my mother,' said Paula. Paula's Mum did a little wave.

'Hi,' said Balders.

'She's deaf.'

'Oh yeah...' Balders waved and mouthed a clownish, 'Hellooo,' like a kids' TV entertainer with the sound down, as if Paula's Mum was a bit simple. But she wasn't simple. She was just deaf. This woman literally didn't have all her senses about her and yet she'd already ascertained that this salesman was a first class idiot. She signed to her daughter – 'Is this the crook trying to rip you off?'

'Yes,' signed Paula. Balders smiled benignly – 202

'I'll get the paperwork,' he said, before remembering Paula's Mum's affliction – 'I'LL. GET. THE. PAPER. WORK.' Billy was adamant it wasn't a case of road rage but Columbo explained that five witnesses, two of the Jehovah-ian variety and three of the afternoon bingo variety, were adamant that it was.

'He was provoked,' said Manny.

'So you witnessed the act?' said Columbo.

'He's not involved,' said Billy.

'But – ' ' – Shut it, Manny.'

'This is causing me a lot of stress,' said Damian. 'Could I have a glass of water? I feel a bit faint.' Billy signalled to Manny to fetch one.

'I've got to say, you try and buy a car off someone and they attack you.

It's not right. Was it coz I wanted a good deal? I mean... maybe if I bought a car I'd feel less stressed. If I got a good deal. Then maybe we'd be taking up less of this kindly policeman's time.'

'And save you a day in court,' said Columbo.

Billy was suspicious. This wasn't the Columbo of old. This was the Ralph of new. Manny returned with a glass of water.

'Sell the Scorpio to this gentleman for £1200,' said Billy. 'Do the paperwork at your desk. I need to have a word with my old friend.'

Angie hovered outside as Balders took Paula through the paperwork.

She offered a thumbs-up in support. Balders was trying to contain an unusually positive feeling. He could do this. He could ask her out.

Poor bugger, hasn't got much going for him,' – signed Paula's Mum. Balders had no idea what was going on but smiled gormlessly nevertheless. It was time to make the move and the brilliant thing was that Paula's Mum wouldn't hear him... unless she could lip read as well.

Real life really was very complicated.

'All done. Sign here... here... and here. The car will be ready for you tomorrow. Um... look, I was wondering – ' The signing started again – 'You know he keeps looking at your chest?'

203

'Yeah. But I want the car and I'm prepared to put up with this sexist shit to get it.'

'Basically, what it is – ' said Balders, but Paula hadn't finished – ' – To guys like him women are only good for two things. To scam during the day, and shag on Saturday night.'

'I was wondering, are you free Saturday night?'

Manny and Damian both raised their eyebrows at the shrieks of laughter which emanated from the two women at the far side of the showroom and the thud that followed as Balders' forehead hit his desk. Damian's paperwork had been sorted, collection time arranged, cursory 'goodbyes' exchanged. He was out of his seat and on his way but had one outstanding matter to attend to. He indicated the desk phone – 'Which number is Gina's? Want a quick word. You don't mind, do you?' Manny reluctantly pressed the relevant button – 'Friend of yours,' he said. Damian took the receiver – 'Hiya sweetheart. I'll be in the White Horse tonight if you fancy a drink, for old time's sake. I've got a DVD you might be interested in.

Only I've watched it, but it's, er... hot stuff... Yeah?... Looking forward to it – ' 'Do you remember that golf holiday? Vilamoura, 1985. The best time of my life.' Billy poured two large glasses of Penderyn as he reminisced.

'And you getting that hole-in-one. Remember the clubhouse rule –you had to buy everyone in the bar a drink – bloody hell, your face was a picture! Aye...' He sipped some whisky. 'Tell me Colum-, sorry, Ralph... how can we make this little problem go away?' Billy put a whisky in front of his old drinking buddy – 'Not for me. I don't these days.'

'More for me then. Well, well, Ralphie on the wagon eh? You were a drinker back then – ' ' – I remember Vilamoura. You, me... Starsky – ' Billy froze. In a callow attempt to bond with his old golfing pal he'd forgotten there had been several other policemen on that sunshine break: Kojak – the bald one; Cannon – the fat one; McGarret – the suave one; Dixon – the old one, and Starsky, his partner and best 204

friend: Starsky – the deceased one. It was stupid to have brought it up.

Billy necked his whisky.

'How's Val these days? His widow...' Billy caressed the second whisky – 'Do you think I don't wake up every day and regret what I did? I was a good cop – ' ' – You may have been a good cop, but what kind of man were you?'

'Ready tomorrow. I shouldn't have, um... the old customer/salesman divide. I crossed it – most unprofessional. Sorry. What were you saying, by the way? With the hands?' Balders mimicked sign language in a way that could only be considered to be completely patronising.

'Mum was just telling me a joke,' said Paula.

'Tell me?'

'You wouldn't get it.'

'I've got a good sense of humour.' Paula signed the joke – 'What's a shitzu? – A zoo with no animals.'

Balders was none the wiser. This was too odd, even for him. He thought it best to cut his losses and get the receipt. Women were too difficult to deal with, even the caring ones with nice hair and deaf mums.

'Mr Wheeler was provoked. That guy, Damian, he handles stolen goods!

I could show you the place where he gets his stuff. Up on the Mount Estate. He's the bad guy. Billy Wheeler is a good man – ' ' – A good man you say?'

'Yes.' Columbo opened the police car door and considered his response.

A dozen yards and one sheet of plate glass away, Billy sidled up to Paula – 'You can lip-read,' he said softly. 'What's that guy saying? The one in the grey coat.' Paula concentrated. After a brief pause she answered quietly – 'Your boss... killed his best friend... then married his widow.'

Paula moved away like a young mother leaving the bedroom of a just-sleeping child. Billy fixed his gaze on the young car salesman outside 205

standing stock still, open-mouthed – incongruous amongst the flapping bunting and high-viz carnival signage of a used car display. Billy retreated to the sanctuary of his office where, with blinds closed and lights out, he sat as still as a just-sleeping child.

Manny's day had become grimmer by the hour. Billy was a violent man.

He'd seen that with his own eyes – but Billy, a killer? Why would the old detective say that? The only reason was if it was true. You don't say things like that if they're not true. And it wasn't said as some snide aside.

It was said as a matter-of-fact statement. Billy – the man who kept a spade in the boot of his car; Billy – the tin can marksman; Billy – the former policeman; Billy – the troubled man in black; Billy – the Wild West bad guy forever in mourning: Billy – the killer?

Balders lolloped over, oblivious to Manny's turmoil – 'What happened to that bloke? Was he arrested? I bought a Dictaphone off him. I won't be implicated will I? Manny? Ah. You're still worried about dying young, aren't you? I hope your life insurance is up to date.'

'Fuck off.'

'Whoooooo!'

Manny's desk phone rang. A sales call would focus his whirring imagination but there was to be no relief. On the line was Gina Wheeler strutting the forecourt in tight jeans, black boots, polo neck jumper and a red hacking jacket: the hunter look even sexier than the streetwalker look. She paced as she spoke, firing the odd laser beam stare in his direction – 'Claire working nights so you're not sleeping with her, yeah?

Fucking liar. Dump me, that's up to you but don't fucking lie to me.'

'You have no idea of what's going on. There's more people in the world than you –' ' – You're right. There's my Dad. I wonder what he'd have to say.'

Billy strode past Gina on his way to Admin. A murder of crows took off from the Admin Office roof. Manny saw Gina click off her phone. He saw her make a decision. He knew she craved chaos. He knew she was capable of anything. Gina: the thwarted vengeful daughter of Billy Wheeler. Billy Wheeler: the man who'd murdered his best friend 206

and married the widow. Manny flicked through his diary and found the fateful words – 'I can't take this anymore' – words scrawled in thick red marker pen by the doomed young hand of a young salesmen whose only crime was to take a 'passing interest' in the boss's flirtatious daughter.

Manny had committed a far greater sin. He remembered the final entry in Captain Scott's diary – 'For God's sake look after our people.'

14.

'They met in a secluded field, the sun practically touching the evening horizon. The humid breeze was full of that earthy, musky scent that only those fortunate enough to live outside the busy towns know, and a quiet whispering of leaves in the weeping willow overhead added the defining touch to the most romantic scene.'

Angie had been enjoying Clarissa's world so much that she hadn't heard Billy Wheeler come in. She found herself curiously sedated by the combination of Balders' romantic words on the screen, and Billy Wheeler's soft deep Welsh tones reading the words out to her. This was wrong in so many ways.

'Sales forecast, my arse,' said Billy, picking up the laptop. 'And haven't you got any work to do instead of reading this load of bollocks?'

'I'm at lunch – ' ' – Lunch? In the car trade? I don't think so.' Gina marched in – 'I want a word, young lady.'

'Me too.'

Passing Manny on the forecourt Angie told him not to disturb the warring Wheelers. He lit a cigarette. This was the worst moment of his paranoid day to date – What the hell were they talking about in there? Was Gina actually telling Billy about them? She was angry enough... Was she also mad enough? Was she confessing everything? Damian? The silk sheets? The blossom in a locket? 'The Desk Incident'? Billy could tell Russ. Russ could tell Claire...

207

All of Manny's senses strove to glean evidence of Billy's mood, and out of nowhere, there he was – 'Let's go. We never did have that lunch.' He marched to his car and Manny looked back to see Gina leaning in the doorway. He desperately needed confirmation that she hadn't confessed but all he got was a cold shrug.

'MANNY. Let's go.'

She told Billy. She must have.

Billy opened the boot, a rifle and spade clearly visible. Then a woman's voice – 'Murderer!' It was Val, pulling up in her Audi TT with its personalised number plate, R1 VAL. 'Get in the car,' said Billy. Manny obeyed. The heavy black car door slammed shut. The car was well-insulated but Manny could make out snatches of the argument outside – 'He was 17.'

'You shot him.'

He had a weak heart – he just died.'

'Yes. Of shock.'

Billy and Val reduced their volume after the initial barrage.

Entombed in the car, Manny heard no more.

Balders searched frantically for the 'Clarissa' document through his desktop, documents, backup, folders, recycle bin, but it was nowhere to be seen. 'He wiped it, didn't he?'

'Hey, what did that girl say?' said Angie. 'Did you ask her out?'

'They laughed for two whole minutes.'

'I'm sorry.'

'He wiped it. Didn't he? The boss... Angie? Didn't he?'

'I'm sorry – ' 15.

Billy's car marauded up the A-road that bisected the valley leaving the town in its wake. They had passed Florini's café, Hodgson's Wine Bar, Dick's Snack Shack and the Aubrey Arms; all suitable lunch spots, but the car sped on. It passed a stone monument marking the 1864 Carreg 208

Colliery mining disaster when 56 miners suffocated three-score fathoms below; an abandoned village high on the hill, evacuated in 1963 because of subsidence, and a graveyard for a dozen coaches with day-tripping destinations in their windscreens for kiss-me-quick places like Westonsuper-Mare, Barry Island and Tenby. On and on they sped up the mournful valley. Words seemed to form in Billy's mouth but wither before they reached his lips; concentration's deep tracks rutting across his craggy Welsh brow. The car sped on past tiny waterfalls, haunted small-holdings and ever-watchful sheep. Billy finally found some words.

They came out quietly, but with purpose – 'What did he say?'

'Who?' 'That policeman?'

'Nothing.'

'What did he say? Tell me.'

'Oh, right... I just said about you grabbing Damian, that it wasn't your – ' ' – WHAT DID HE SAY?' Billy slammed hard on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt but he kept revving the accelerator and gripping the wheel as if about to start a drag race. 'I don't need protecting – ' ' – I'm not.'

'He said I was a killer, didn't he?'

'No. Yes,' said Manny. Billy rubbed his face for a moment, sat bolt upright and fixed on a point on the horizon which Manny searched for but couldn't locate.

'Let's go.'

'Where to?'

'Cae Du.' '...Cae Du? What's that?' Billy stared into the fast encroaching dusk.

'The Black Field.' Manny didn't want to ask any questions, let alone the question but he had no choice. It seeped out – 'What's 'The Black Field'?'

The car sped on.

209

Manny was in a vortex and needed to communicate to someone, anyone, what was happening. He surreptitiously got his mobile out of his left trouser pocket and tapped in a message. He pressed 'Send' but as he did so the phone slipped out of his hand and fell into the tight gap between the seat and the car door. He tried to reach down; reaching down until his sinews hurt but he failed to find it.

The car sped on.

In Drefawr Municipal Park a child's swing flew high in the air. A small carefree boy gurgled with pleasure as he rose and fell. His mother heard her phone beep and checked her texts as she continued to push the swing – 'I think I'm going to die. Luv u, xxx' She laughed as she clicked it off – 'Your dad is such a wimp!'

The car bombed along a B-road, having left the main road a mile or so back. Sometimes it appeared as if the car would be too wide for the road ahead. Billy was clearly a skilful driver but should another car be travelling towards them in a similar manner the outcome would only be horrific. Dusk accompanied them now; the evening's fluffy white clouds taking on the hue of wire wool as they merged with the sky. Telegraph posts, fences and trees ghosted up as the car's powerful headlights picked them out in the gloom. The car sped on. Two miles further into the night Billy slowed down as they approached a large bend on a hill.

He parked the car in a widening in the road near a weather-worn fivebar gate. The valley sloped down forever to the left. No lights. No life.

No-one for miles around. Billy put the engine off and the handbrake on but continued to grip the steering wheel. He was either collecting his thoughts or contemplating a terrible act he was about to commit.

'Follow me,' he said.

'Where are we?'

'Cae Du.' Billy climbed a gate and walked a short way into the field. He waited for Manny to follow. It looked much like any other field: unremarkable, featureless and strangely lacking in purpose, but this wasn't any other field to Billy Wheeler. Manny felt the chill breeze through the thin 210

polyester of his suit. A circling buzzard fixing on an unseen prey caught his eye. Then Billy caught his eye as he moved several yards in a shallow arc to his right, surveying the area, putting things in order, arranging the past.

The Black Field sloped down from the road towards a stream and at the bottom were large pools of mud and a copse of trees. A rusting antique feeding contraption suggested animals had once dwelt here but it was totally uninhabited now. There were a pile of stones down to the right.

Maybe it was an old crofter's cottage, but who would ever want to live here? Or maybe it marked some ancient burial mound. It was a perfect place for the dead. Even in the near-dark there was definite greenery, and clear spring water played softly but the field seemed as arid and lifeless as the Death Valley mural on the showroom wall. And why had Billy commissioned such a thing? Was this also the valley of death? If so Manny walked in its shadows, fearing nothing but ill. As time ticktocked across the charcoal heavens Manny's spirits sank: why were they here? Why this field? Had Gina told him? Voices echoed. Voices created by, yet further fuelling, Manny's fear – Balders – 'He disappeared' Val – 'Murderer' Gina – 'Life's too short' Angie – 'You're looking pale' Balders – 'Hope your life insurance is up to date' Columbo – 'He killed his friend' Damian – 'Bad luck to cross a gypsy' Gina – 'I wonder what my Dad would have to say' Val – 'Your life-line's very short' Billy – 'This is the Black Field' 'What do you know about me?'

'I want to say something first.'

'What do you know about me?'

'What do you know about me?' asked Manny.

'I asked you first.'

211

'I know that you killed your friend. That's what the detective said.

That you killed your friend...'

Billy searched within himself – but not his current fifty-five year old self – his twenty-five years ago policeman self.

'Why did you bring me here? You grabbed that guy today – your wife said I was going to die young – What happened to the salesman?

The one before me? I'd never touch your daughter – is that what he did?

And who was that 17 year old? Mr Wheeler? I'm a happily married man.

I love my wife – ' ' – So was I,' said Billy. 'So was I.' Billy returned to his car. Manny following, hoping that somehow it – whatever it was – was over.

'It ended here. This is where it ends,' said Billy as he opened the boot and retrieved a spade and a black bag. He rummaged around further – picking up the gun, putting down the gun – before finding a torch.

Whatever it was, it wasn't over.

'I love Claire, I do. I want to be a good husband. I love Russ, your friend, and I love my son – ' ' – Ssshhh...' Billy slammed the boot-lid shut. 'Come with me.' He set off back to the road that ran alongside The Black Field. As the last sliver of silver wiped from the sky, night-time creatures set out to hunt: bats circled, owls hooted in faraway barns and vixens cried out like teething babies.

16.

Balders carried three pints of beer over to a table. Bryan's head rested next to a Dictaphone.

'This is the record button. See?' said Ryan. 'You press it and it goes red. We've done loads.'

'Is he drunk?'

'No. Mentally exhausted. He's had some great ideas for the script but it zonked him out.'

'We haven't got a script anymore.'

'I know...' said Ryan, with tears in his eyes. 'We'd worked so hard.'

212

'Want to tape me?! Sell the tapes, innit?' called Vince from the bar – ''Hi-Ho Silver Lining...' Opportunity Knocks, mun!'

'They're strictly for business use,' said Ryan. Vince deflated at the loss of opportunity knocking in a long defunct TV show, but re-inflated on seeing Angie entering the pub – 'Hey, Jeff, I'm in luck tonight,' – Angie gave him one of her looks – 'No luck, Jeff! No luck!'

17.

'We'd picked up this shoplifter – I was with my partner, Starsky, from Starsky and... you know, in a panda car. Austin Maestro – remember them? You wouldn't. Terrible car, noisy as hell, but nippy tho' – turbodiesel. She was 19, the shoplifter. Nappies and tights. Slip of a thing in a little summer dress. She had a three-month-old baby in a shawl. I was driving – Starsky, in the passenger seat – girl and baby in the back. It was a nice spring day. Starsky was talking about golf or something... No, he wasn't. He'd found out that I'd slept with his wife. That's what he was talking about – but in a way the shoplifter wouldn't get. Then the baby started crying. I remember looking in the mirror to, I dunno, make a face or something.' Billy moved a few steps up the road. 'We were arguing, me and Starsky. He sort of punched the door, by the handle to wind the window down, with the side of his fist. The baby was crying – then this hay lorry comes down – wrong side of the road – too fast, too fast. I see it all the time. I don't even have to close my eyes. I swerved, about here, and we went through the hedge there, into the field. Into Cae Du. The car rolled. Over and over – ' 18.

Ryan was reading sections of Robert Mckee's Story to Balders who wondered if Ryan would never face facts. He had no laptop. No story.

No talent. Balders had his own problems anyway – Clarissa was gone forever. Yes, he could try and remember the bulk of the story, but the detail, the style, those moments when genius phrases appear out of 213

nowhere and are immediately tethered to the page. They were surely lost. Gina walked in and spotted Damian at the bar – 'DVD. Now.' 'Drink first, for old times' sake.' He took out the DVD and patted it against her forehead. Gina tried to grab it but Damian was too quick for her. 'Now, now, finish your drink. No rush.' His mobile rang. It was a customer wanting cheap smuggled cigarettes. The name on the screen said 'Ralph', but Gina didn't see it. 'Back now,' he said, taking the DVD with him. Angie had taken an interest in the purveyor of fine wine and cheeky promises so sidled up to Gina.

'Who's your friend?'

'He's not. He gets women drunk then takes advantage of them.

Apparently.'

Angie reflected for a moment and drained her glass.

19.

'You didn't have to wear seat belts in those days. Starsky hated them.

And I'm thinking the car might explode, so I get out – it wasn't easy – I did it by instinct I expect...'

They were back in the field. Billy looked towards the direction of the hedge to get his bearings. Manny's eyes tried to adjust to Billy's shape in the darkness. He was at home in the city's dazzling lights but Billy was clearly a nocturnal creature.

'I look around. There's a shawl, about here. I hear a cry, which is good.' Billy glanced over his shoulder, again seeing visions only he could see. 'The mother didn't make it.'

'Sorry to hear that – ' ' – I've got blood in my eye, but I know she's dead. And I hear him, Starsky. Over there.' Billy walked to the spot, each step a trek.

'Starsky gets to his feet, arms out like Jesus, like this. And he says, 'Hey Hutch! How about that?' Then he falls down dead. That's what he did.

That's what I did. I killed two people.'

Billy knelt down on the grass, as shattered as if bad spirits coursed through his bones. There were dead bodies, a crashed car and a baby in 214

a blanket but only Billy could see them. Manny realised he was wrong.

This wasn't a field like any other. '...It was an accident though?'

'I know that. But the reason we were arguing was because I'd slept – committed adultery – with my friend's wife. And you know what? It was just the once. One drunken moment. After the funeral we got together, me and Val. I left the force, and my wife, and we got married.

None of my police mates came to the wedding.'

Billy slowly got to his feet and went back to the car. At least they were out of the field. At least it looked like the whole ordeal might be over. Billy opened the boot and got out the spade and the black bag.

'My back's knackered. You dig,' he said.

Manny had coal-mining in his blood on his mother's side. Her family were grafters, hard rugged men familiar with digging. They'd come from the west, from the farming communities of Llanybri and Narberth, to look for work in the burgeoning industrial towns of Glamorgan. These were men who'd work sixty hours a week and spilt their sweat and blood to eke a living for their families just by digging. But had any of them ever dug their own graves? William the Executioner returned and pondered Manny's work for a few seconds.

'Why are you digging such a big hole? We're only burying a dog.' '...A what?'

'Twinkle. Heart attack. Thought this would be a good resting spot for him. Val's rubbish with pets. I'm forever burying them. That's why I keep a shovel in the car.' Billy chucked the bag into the hole. 'Thanks for listening. Go home to your wife. Have you called her?' A phone rang.

Manny's phone – 'That might be her now. I'll go.' Before Manny could organise himself to climb out of the pit Billy had gone and located the phone beneath the seat of his car. He returned to the graveside and was about to hand it over when it rang again. He looked at the name on the screen – 'It's Gina.' He passed the phone to Manny.

'Hi, er Gina... Where?... Ok, I'll be along in a bit... Half hour or so?'

Manny had to explain.

215

'Er... Gina's out, in the pub – with Balders. He wants me to go over, but his phone's on the blink. So – ' ' – She's precious, my Gina. I'm too hard on her at times but it's for her own good. We had a nice chat earlier. She'll be ok. You and Claire are good people for her to know – family people. I know she's glad you moved back.' He took Manny's hand and pulled him out. 'What did you want to tell me? When we arrived?'

'Nothing.'

'Sounded important. Tell me.'

'No really – ' ' – Tell me.'

'I was wondering if there was any chance of a pay-rise?'

Billy had never as much as had a single positive second in the Black Field before. He was still chuckling when he put the shovel back in the boot and took out his gun. Manny was shattered and susceptible to every gesture made, every word uttered, every weapon displayed.

'The sights need adjusting. I meant to get it fixed today but events took over.' Manny slumped down with his head in his hands, moisture from the mud chilled his knees. 'Bloody hell boy, bit of digging never killed anyone.'

20.

Balders stared into his flat beer and wondered what might have happened if he's made different choices when he was younger. Could he have worked harder and gone to university? Could he then have trained as a teacher? Teaching and writing were good bedfellows. Car-selling and writing wouldn't even check in at the same motel, and if they did they were highly unlikely to share a room, let alone a bed; not even in one of those adult weekends in a northern holiday camp he'd heard about. Would he have made a good teacher? He'd certainly taught Manny a thing or two, but truth be told he didn't really like kids. Maybe he'd have been a university lecturer, if he'd done a degree, and then a Masters, and then a PhD – Dr Baldwin! – and then worked as a lecturer.

But now, without Clarissa, he was just a chunked-off car salesman. And 216

that was all he ever would be. There would be no Countesses to rescue him. No family member to inherit wealth from. No unprecedented publishing advance. His hopes were on the ropes.

'Why?' said Ryan. 'Why would someone do this to us? Intergalactic Gangsters Cowboys are no more.' The pub door opened – 'Couldn't find your computer, Balders. Hope there wasn't anything important on it. Here's a replacement.'

Minchin handed over a shiny if aging laptop from a carrier bag.

Ryan and Bryan couldn't believe it. They went from the depths of dismay to the heights of ecstasy. They embraced, whooped, waltzed and Bryan even spoke – 'Computer!' It quickly dawned on them that Balders must have not seen Minchin and the laptop, such was his lack of glee.

'Hey Cuz. Computer!' said Ryan, pointing at the computer.

'I saw it. But we haven't got the script, have we? It was on the other computer – the one that was stolen. There's no way we can remember everything we've done. No, I'm sorry, but the Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys have ridden off across the plains of space forever.'

'Plains of space,' said Ryan. 'Beautiful. I'm so sad. Again.' A memory stick appeared in Balders' hand, put there by Manny – 'From the boss – your story or something? He didn't delete it – saved it to disk. Teach you a lesson or something.' Balders leapt to his feet and punched the air. This was fantast-oh shit. Ryan snatched the stick, put it into the laptop but was confused by the file which said TOP SECRET SALES FORECAST. He clicked on it. There were two documents in the folder: Clarissa and Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys. Ryan clicked on the latter. There it was in all its moronic glory – 'We are back in business, Balders. It's a miracle.'

'It is.'

'Top secret, mun. Nice touch.'

'Black Field' mean anything to you?' Jeff and Vince glanced at each other, suggesting Manny had happened upon a great mystery.

'Cae Du,' said Jeff.

'Cae Du, 'The Black Field'' said Vince. 'It's where everyone in Drefawr who died of the Black Death was buried.'

217

'Wow.' 'Keep it to yourself. People round here don't like to hear talk about it.' Manny nodded respectfully. Under the circumstances, the loud sniggering coming from Balders and Angie's direction seemed as inappropriate as a jester at the Cenotaph.

'What you laughing at?'

'Nothing,' said Balders.

'Tell him,' said Angie. 'It is quite funny – ' ' – Yeah, tell me.'

'You said about Val and the short life-line...'

'Yeah? And...'

'And I told you about the guy whose palm she read and then he disappeared, yeah?'

'And?' 'He did disappear... but he came back six months later – he'd been brickying down Tenby!' Angie and Balders cracked up. This was easily the funniest thing ever.

Cats mewled by overflowing litter bins like low rent heralds as Manny bundled Balders out of the door into the foggy pub car-park followed by Gina. 'You ruined my bloody day with all your crap.'

'What you listening to me for?'

'You're such a loser. Come on, fight.'

'Don't be daft, mun. We did it before. We're crap at it.'

Manny pushed Balders who tumbled onto his backside, which made Gina laugh. 'Stop it you two!' she said. They stopped, but only because Damian prised them apart – 'Cut it out, ladies. Let it go.' Balders was only too happy to oblige and dashed back inside. Damian dusted down Manny's jacket, 'My favourite salesman. Haven't you got a wife and kid to go home to? I don't have such luxuries but I need a drink. Hey, you like a drink, don't you Gina? We got through some whisky that night!' Damian mimed using a camcorder and moved into her personal space. 'Ever thought of being an actress? Turnover. Action!'

218

Manny burst into action and ran at Damian but his charge was expertly side-stepped, and Manny only scattered cats. Damian turned to Gina – 'Hey love, have a word. A man could get hurt – ' ' – Don't call her 'love'.' said Manny.

'Ah! Now he sees. Our little salesman's jealous – ' Manny ran at him again, but once more Damian's quick feet meant a collision was avoided.

'I'm banned from rougher pubs in harder towns – ' ' – Manny STOP,' shouted Gina.

'Or you might hurt himself,' said Damian. Manny took off his jacket – 'You having a laugh? You're all talk – squealing to the cops, filming a drunk girl... It's sick, and that crap about beating up four blokes? Really? You're frightened of a pathetic 'wasp' – you fucking wuss –' Manny ran once more and threw a brave punch but Damian caught his fist, held it firm for three seconds before shoving it and him away.

I think your analysis is a tad flawed, mate.'

'I'm not your fucking mate.' Gina had seen enough. She ran into the pub – 'Balders, Manny needs your help. He's trying to pick a fight with Damian.'

'Damian?' said Vince. 'Oh, he's no trouble. He was a psycho. But he's reformed. Unless he's provoked.'

'He's being provoked!'

Balders pocketed the memory stick in the melee as the drinkers spilled out like schoolboys into a yard. Damian was rapidly losing patience at Manny's failure to withdraw, but again swerved like a skilful matador as Manny ran at him like a woozy bull.

'Hey you, tell your mate to back off, yeah? It's for his own good.'

'Ok,' said Balders. 'Manny, back off, yeah? It's for your own good –' ' – I just want to walk away, ok?' said Damian, with his hands raised, proving he had no weapons.

'Wimp!'

219

'No, really. I'm just walking away.'

'Go on, sod off, FUCKING WIMP.' Damian clicked his knuckles then loosened his fingers.

'I am trying to walk away...'

'Tell him, Balders,' shouted Gina.

'Tell him what?' snarled Manny.

'According to Vince,' said Balders, 'Damian, the man you keep calling, er... 'wimp', is one of the hardest guys who ever lived in this town.'

'I don't think so.'

'Manny, he'll kill you.'

'Don't start that again.' Manny lined up for another attack. 'You'd better go, little boy, your mother will be wondering where you are.'

'What did you say about my mother?'

Damian's face transformed from street-tough handsomeness to stone-faced ruthlessness. He was a man who lacked mercy; a man who attacked first and didn't care about asking questions after. This 'not attacking' thing was difficult. The clouds burst and a mighty thunderclap was heard in the distance. The gods were watching. Damian yelled an almighty yell, spun and kung-fu kicked the sturdy wooden post that held the illuminated pub sign. It was a clean, expert and clinical blow. The sign swayed and the light shorted sending a shower of sparks cascading down. The coloured bulbs that hung on the tree outside the pub exploded and street-lights spluttered as the fault travelled outwards, seismically from the pub and down the road sending the street-lights domino-ing into darkness.

Damian's days of violence may have been behind him but he had been provoked. He pulled out the DVD and tossed it towards Gina. It sailed through the air like a flying saucer. She acknowledged his largesse.

Damian walked backwards into the darkness and disappeared into the nights.

'He punched the lights out!' said Vince. 'Good old Damian. Psycho he was, mun!'

220

The crowd drifted back into the pub, except Angie, whose cab had arrived – it slowed a little way down the road where her offer of a lift was gratefully accepted by a wandering gypsy – and Balders, who pretended he was going to the loo but ran off with a French countess instead.

Manny trudged towards his Jag; the vibrating heated seats would at least provide some consolation to his aching bones. He heard a woman's voice – 'Any chance of a lift?' Gina Wheeler never knew when to let go.

'See if it brings back happy memories, yeah?' said Manny. Gina's mask slipped. She was a girl under pressure. '...Sorry.'

'Can we go to the showroom? Dad's got a DVD player in his office – ' 21.

A drip hit a bucket at regular intervals but Val was used to it by now.

She nursed a gin, but she'd only had a couple. Her normal reaction to life's complications was several gins but she wanted to remember tonight.

'I've got a present for you, love,' said Billy as he walked into the tired conservatory. This was rare and thwarted her plan of discussing divorce. Billy wasn't a flowers, chocolates and perfume kind-of-guy. He was a small wad of cash and a, 'Go buy yourself a frock' kind-of-guy. From within the folds of a blanket he produced a chocolate brown Labrador puppy. Val cried with joy – 'What shall we call him?

'I was thinking – Rover?'

'Oh Billy – ' 22.

'Wait outside if you want. You don't need to look – if you don't want to.'

Manny stood in the shadows, eyes fixed on the screen. 'I have no idea what's on this,' she said. The film started. They saw Damian wearing a kimono over his street clothes, looking into the camera, filming himself.

221

It was clear to Gina they were in Billy's bedroom: the flowery wallpaper, the Italian furniture, the family portrait she hated so much – taken when she was 14 whilst going through an ugly duckling phase; taken when she had a tooth brace top and bottom. Gina's heart sank and not just because Manny saw the picture too. It sank because she had no idea where this was heading, but knew it was nowhere good. Damian delivered a remarkably accurate impression of Loyd Grossman on Through The Keyhole.

'Let's look at the evidence: a kimono – maybe an interest in the far east; books on astrology; a large collection of car magazines, maybe our host is a friend of Jeremy Clarkson – oh, hello Miss Wheeler... ' Gina appears. Very drunk. Damian holds the camera so they are both visible.

Gina wanted to switch the TV off but made no move to do so.

Manny stood in the shadows, eyes fixed on the screen.

Gina kisses Damian on the cheek. On the neck. Her hands go up around his shoulders and she kisses him full on the lips. Damian doesn't respond too much.

The voyeurs would have had to agree, if they'd been asked, that Gina was definitely making the running.

Gina descends.

Gina put her hands over her eyes – surely not? She expected the worst but Damian kept the camera on himself, grinning straight into the lens, loving every minute of it.

Any second now, thought Gina.

Any second now, thought Manny.

Damian lowers the camera...

This was it, the money shot. This would be Gina performing oral sex on one of the town's criminal elite. This would be the end of any thoughts of respectability, no chance of entrancing single doctors at bigwig's funerals. This was the most amateur of amateur porn. The type that porn addicts love more than any other kind – real inebriated women defiled on camera by amoral narcissists. Damian slowly lowered the camera but there was no-one on their knees. No-one fellating. Gina had gone south but had journeyed on past his waist; past the fly-zone and continued on down; down to the floor where she lay in an untidy heap. Damian switched the camera off – relief – it came back on again. They saw Gina, 222

lying on the bed, the camera playing up and down her fully-clothed body, lingering on her private areas – surely not. Surely even a villain has a code.

They watched as Damian gently draped a quilt over Gina's prone body.

They watched as he reached for a decanter full of whisky on the bedside cabinet. They heard him say, 'As a consolation prize I'm nicking this.' They heard a final impersonation of Grossman – 'David, it's over to you.' They saw the camera click off and they knew that was that.

23.

Clarissa watched Hector Lestrange as he instructed his men in the ways of archery. Although the day was cool, he had removed his coat and his hair was appealingly disheveled.

Balders sat back and re-read his words. He'd found a paragraph that wasn't as dynamic as he'd liked. Each time he re-read the work he enjoyed certain passages more and more but that only made other passages seem weaker. It was a never-ending process, this novel-writing, but it was all he had. Without this novel he was a poor, underachieving, unloved car salesman. With his novel he was king of a thousand worlds; worlds he would explore in a planned quartet of novels. A faraway noise distracted the nascent tetrologist. It was distant, but it was definite – 'Woo-hoo!'

Tetrologist? Was that even a word? He looked the word up in the dictionary on his phone. It wasn't there. It wasn't a real word – but it was a good word. It means, '...a writer of 4 novels.' Maybe one day, 'Tetrologist' would find its way into the Oxford English Dictionary with G. Baldwin as the earliest known source. One day – Hang on a sec, who the hell, 'Woo-hoo'd?' at this time of night?

Gina cut the DVD into several pieces using a scissors from Billy's desk.

Manny stood silently, hands in pockets, staring at the floor.

223

'What if we had been having sex?' He responded with a complicated shrug, 'You'd have watched it, you pervert!'

Manny didn't need to see Gina and Damian having sex because he had already imagined it. He knew she would have if she'd been sober.

But she wasn't so she didn't. And it was clear as day that Damian was a gentleman even though he would have. And Gina was innocent even though she would have too. So they may as well have. But they didn't.

They were guilty and innocent at the same time. Sex or no sex – Gina and Damian. And now Gina and Manny. Once more in Billy's office. He didn't want this. Not here. If they were going to do this, it would have to be somewhere else, but where? The midnight blue Mazda 6 two-litre diesel estate with a large back seat priced at £7995 parked in the middle of the showroom – that's where.

Gina's heels and dress lay on the showroom floor alongside Manny's shoes and trousers. They were taking their time this time. His shirt was undone but still on his back and they both had their underwear on. This was a time for teasing, for, getting to know each other: skin, smells, ticklish spots. They were putting some good snogging time in as well; showing some care this time. They had all night so there was no need to rush.

This was the good bit. Afterwards, there would be regret and shame and concern, but now? Now was fantastic. Gina had a pierced belly button, something Manny hadn't noticed before. He flicked at it with the tip of his tongue.

'I wanted this so much. I could love you Gina, but your Dad's a loon, and my father-in-law's dying, and Claire and Dylan... but oh God, you're lovely – ' ' – Sorry?' said Gina quietly. 'Go back a line?'

He looked up at her. She was stunning, reclined in the corner of the rear seat, legs either side of him. She held his head and gently eased him lower. He knew exactly what she wanted and was about to acquiesce when the showroom door opened.

Balders walked a few steps into the showroom. He stopped, looked around before starting to retreat. Manny and Gina clung on so close to each other their hearts pumped in sync. The door opened and 224

closed and they heard the sound of the key turning in the lock. Gina wanted to continue – she had her heart set on the next bit and the bit after that – but Manny had lost all momentum. He was a boy again, buttoning up his shirt and disentangling himself. Gina brought her long slender right leg down from behind the headrest of the back seat and her left from between the two front seats. Manny was about to open the car door when they heard a key in the lock again.

'Fuck!' said Manny. 'It's your Dad – ' They sank back down as Billy entered the showroom, followed by Balders – 'Don't tell me – writing that romantic shit and using my heating.'

Balders nodded. It was true, but Billy's use of the word 'shit' sounded almost affectionate. 'I got a call from a pal of mine. He drove past and said he saw someone in the showroom – ' ' – Must have been me,' said Balders. There's no-one else here. I'd have heard them.'

'Let me know if you're going to work late, ok? You sold one today, keep it up.'

The door opened, closed and locked once more. Manny and Gina struggled out of the car and crept around in the dark trying to find their clothes.

'He didn't see, did he?'

'Course not. You are such a pussy, Manny.'

'I'm not.'

'You are. Nice kisser though – ' Red lights flashed: the hazard warning lights of one of the showroom cars. This was either some unlikely electrical fault or Manny and Gina weren't alone. They ducked down behind the car door trying to be invisible. They heard a voice – 'I didn't believe in fairy-tales – 'Once upon a time there was a married salesman who shagged the scary boss's daughter and got caught with his pants down...'

I just thought I was being a little 'paranoid' but no, it seems the handsome prince got more than the company car.' Manny raised himself up like a tired ape. 'Hello Manny.'

'Don't tell the boss, Balders. Please.'

225

'So tell me, how long has this sordid business been going on?'

Hidden behind his back the small red recording light of the Dictaphone glowed. A recorded confession – that would be quite a thing. The sort of thing that would hold up in a court of law.

'We only did it the once.'

No more questions, m'lud.

Gina straightened up and slipped her heels back on. Now she was back up around six foot, towering over cars and boys in her turquoise underwear. Balders had never seen such a thing before. She was amazing: Amazonian. She was an amazing Amazonian. She was cleavage and legs and things that only existed in magazines. She was like a lifesize cardboard cut-out of an underwear model, the kind you might see in a major department store. Except she was real and larger than life. It was all he could do to stop himself from dropping the Dictaphone.

'We did it on my father's desk. Just so you know.'

Balders gulped. People having sex was one thing. He'd heard about that. But these two particular people? On the boss's desk? Balders had sat at that desk many times. He'd been scolded at it dozens of times. The desk was important to him. It was like family. And now the desk had been used in such a depraved way: poor desk.

'Don't worry Manny, my Dad will always believe me over that sad loser.' Balders floundered but quickly restored his sense of purpose. ' – 'And they all lived happily ever after.' He lifted the Dictaphone to his lips. 'The End.' Nice and early tomorrow, Junior. Some of my customers need test drives.'

Manny slumped to the floor. It finally hit home to him that he was no good in a crisis.

24.

Ryan and Bryan stared blankly into space. The laptop was set up and working. The Dictaphones were on the table. Balders wondered why they were so lifeless in the face of new technology. Ryan held up a Dictaphone – 'We recorded some brilliant stuff. Bryan was inspired.'

226

Ryan pressed play. Nothing came out of the small speaker except white noise. He fast-forwarded the tape and pressed play again with the same result.

'They don't work.'

'I know,' Balders said.

227

Chapter 5 – 'Happy Birthday'

The dude of Drefawr wore well-polished shoes and natty shades. He wore a sharp suit and cuff-links. He had a sovereign ring and drove a big shiny midnight blue Jaguar with a cream leather interior. He had a dance in his step and a tune on his lips. He strutted to the car. He put the radio on. It was tuned to the local channel, Valleys FM – 'Thanks Len for the weather. This is John DJ brightening up your skies on Valleys FM. whatever the weather sponsored by Blackmore's Propane Gas Supplies. Ok, next up we have a birthday request for Little Stevie Wonder's 'Happy Birthday' for David 'Manny' Manning from his loving wife Claire – ' The dude turned the radio off. He had no time for such frivolities: he was the dude after all. Maybe he would listen to Radio 3. Stirring classical music would be ideal for the upwardly mobile as they cruised to work, but he couldn't find it on the complicated car infotainment system.

Dylan pressed Manny's novelty tie for the seventh time in quick succession. It droned out a tedious birthday melody. Russ entered his kitchen carrying an old carrier bag and a photo in a frame to be greeted by 'Happy Birthday' on the radio, 'Happy Birthday' on the tie – 8th time – a Happy Birthday banner, 4 birthday cards and a balloon with Happy Birthday written on it.

228

'Someone's birthday is it?' He tossed a decades old 'Shoes & Boots

by A.H. Wherle' carrier bag at Manny. 'It's second-hand. Wouldn't waste my fag money on a car salesman.'

Claire knew what was in the bag. Russ disarmed her questioning glance. He knew what he was doing. Inside the bag was a brown paper bag of some age and inside this was an item wrapped in tissue paper.

Manny carefully extracted a velvet Welsh rugby cap dated 1938, with a name hand-written on the label in navy ink: Oliver Morris.

'It was my uncle's,' said Russ. 'He only played for Wales once, but they beat the English, which is all that counts. It was 6-3, at Anfield.'

Claire's look confirmed this was important. Manny held it as if it was a fragile priceless artefact, which it was. Russ went out for his morning ciggie. Claire urged Manny to follow.

Russ passed a photograph to Manny. It was of a handsome young man in a Welsh rugby jersey. He had the slicked-down immaculately parted hair of the late 30s, but was perceptibly beautiful – full lips, film star eyes, high cheekbones.

'Some people reckoned he was better looking than Valentino. He went 'north' in 1935 to play rugby league. That was frowned upon in those days. Playing rugby for money? Some people down here never spoke to him again. When he came home to visit his mother he wore a trilby and spats and children followed him up the street. He would have been the first ever £1000 signing in Rugby League when he transferred from Hunslet to Leeds, but only £500 was ever paid.'

'Why?' 'The second £500 was payable if he'd survived the war.'

'What happened?'

'He died. Rimini. 1944. The Germans were retreating from Italy and he was part of the allied forces unit shepherding them out – but the Germans unexpectedly launched one last missile attack which blew up an ammunition dump. Uncle Oliver was there, and got hit by shrapnel.

His widow was sent a letter after his death – ' Russ pulled a small envelope out of his pocket and unfolded the contents carefully. ''Dear Mrs Morris...' – where's the bit I want. Ah, here it is – 'Though he was severely injured and in a great deal of pain from his injuries 229

he kept up the spirits of the other men in the hospital. I regret to say he died of his mortal wounds four days later.'' Russ felt pride in his blood cells. 'Twentyeight he was.'

'Two years older than me.'

'Look after it for Dylan fach. I may not be around next year to give it to you.'

Manny looked into the dying man's eyes. No point arguing. No point speaking. The profundity of the moment was broken by the beeping of a car horn. Claire came out to see what all this beeping was about. She saw the navy Jaguar. More revs. More beeps.

'How come he's got the Jag now? I thought you had it.' The dude got out of the car, still wearing the shades.

'It's a beautiful day!' he called.

'Prat,' said Manny.

'Manny, why has Balders got the Jaguar?' '...He needed it for a test-drive...'

'Ask Billy about Uncle Oliver,' said Russ. 'He did some research on him. Years back, on a police rugby trip, to Yorkshire, he met a guy who used to play with him. Ask him – ' Balders relaxed in the back of the car. He had his shoes off and was reading the Financial Times, the purchase of which had surprised his local newsagent.

'This is the last time, yeah? You said, my birthday. It would all stop.'

'Shut up and drive. I'm a man of my word.'

'Give me the Dictaphone back then, you blackmailing shit.'

Balders took out the Dictaphone and waved it so Manny could see it in the rear view mirror. 'Shag the boss's daughter. Pay the consequences.

I've got you both admitting it all on tape.'

'I told you. It was once – a mistake – I've hardly spoken to her since. I want to put it behind me.'

'I'm sure you do. The guilt and the shame must be haunting your every waking moment like a never-ending nightmare of hell. Now, keep your eyes on the road. I'm working.'

230

Balders picked up the paper again, flicked through pages of numbers and found an easy-to-read article on pets insurance. The car purred on. A thought came to him. He wondered where his inner voice had gone. It seemed that now he was successful the voice had somehow been silenced. The voice that had accompanied him all these years, commentating on every failure, every cruelty, every insecurity, every humiliation, every disaster. He clearly had no need for it anymore. Had it finally gone? Balders relaxed, looked out of the window and absentmindedly started counting the telegraph poles as they wended their way to Wheelers.

I'm still here buddy. Still here...

2.

'It's official,' said Billy Wheeler looking at a sales chart. It showed that Balders had sold nine cars this week and Manny had sold none. 'The world has gone barmy. Balders: a super salesman? If I didn't know better I'd say that Manny was giving away his deals – ' Billy laughed but Gina didn't. She hated not being in control.

Women like her didn't opt for being big fish in small ponds to then allow hideous bottom-feeding pond-life to exercise control over them.

That went against everything the idiom stood for, no matter how smartly the hideous pond-life was dressed. Her only comfort was that the longer Balders refused to hand over the tape, the more grotesque her vengeance would be. Manny, Balders and Angie piled through the door.

Gina unexpectedly burst into song – 'Happy birthd – ' ' – No singing,' said Billy. 'Not until he sells a car. And has anyone seen Balders? There's a well turned-out young salesman here pretending to be him. Though you can take the sunglasses off in here, whoever you are. What's on the agenda today?'

'Operation Caswell Bay.' 'Ah, Sir Arthur Pwll-Thomas has deigned to collect his car has he?

You got everything he needs? Dog guard? Mats? Tax disc holder? Bunch of flowers for Lady Pwll-Thomas? Full tank?'

231

'All set, the lads are cleaning it. And I've got a call coming in on the Jaguar.'

'Sold?'

'Of course. You know me, boss.'

'I do. Which is why I'm shocked. Manny, prospects?'

'I'll make some calls – ' ' – First you can go up to the mechanics, bring back the Passat Estate for Balders' customer.

'Can't Balders do it?'

'No. It's urgent – ' ' – Coz I wanted to show you this.' Manny held out the rugby cap.

'Ah. His uncle's cap. Piece of Drefawr history, this is. Should be in a museum. If we had a museum. What do you think, whoever you are?'

'I think Manny should go to the mechanics.'

An old red Ford van that once carried mail around the valleys spluttered up to the front door. Jeff extricated himself and untied the string that held the back door closed. The van was followed by Claire in Russ's car.

Jeff unloaded several cases of beer, wine and spirits onto the road whilst Claire's cargo consisted of glasses, a banner and a DJ's deck and lights.

'Put them in the store cupboard, Jeff,' said Billy.

'Will do. Got a good deal on the lagers. They're only a few days out of date.'

'Hello Claire!' gushed Balders as they entered the showroom.

'Will you give me a hand putting this banner up later on?'

'Of course. What does it say?'

'It says, 'Happy Birthday Manny'. What did you think it would say?'

Billy was pleased his party plan was going well – 'This will be a nice morale boost for him. Shake him out of his sales stupor.'

'What sales stupor?'

'He's having a quiet week,' said Balders 'Is that why he's not in the Jag anymore?'

'He is in the Jag,' said Billy.

'But – ' 232

' – What it is, is... er, I needed the Jag for a test-drive and so I took it home last night. It's totally normal procedure. Boss?'

'Quite normal.'

Balders hated lying to Claire but if he hadn't he'd have had to explain about why he'd been in the Jaguar all week, and being unprepared might have accidentally mentioned blackmail, tape recorders, desk-top sex, adultery, betrayal and his own strong feelings for his colleague's wife. In many ways, lying to Claire was a kindness.

'Why do you think he's having a quiet week?' she asked.

'Balders has a theory, don't you?' said Gina, strutting over.

'Do I?' 'What is it?' asked Claire.

'Yeah, what?' asked Billy.

'Oh, er... my theory? Well, it's the old salesman's curse, isn't it? I've had it. Billy have you had it?'

'Never.'

'We've all had it. I'm sure he'll make a sale very soon.'

'Good,' said Billy heading for his office. Gina turned her attention to her love-rival's banner.

'You're going to a lot of trouble for him,' she said.

'He's worth it.'

'I don't like surprise parties myself. I'd be embarrassed.'

'Don't worry,' said Balders. 'No-one will ever throw you one.' He heard a sound – one of a car salesman's favourite sounds – the sound of an engine failing to start. Billy appeared in his doorway – 'Sounds like young Jeff might be in the market for a new van.

There's that Astravan – bit pricey but Jeff's got a few bob stashed away –' ' – Ten for the month, Boss!' said Balders dashing out.

Manny was concerned to see Sir Arthur Pwll-Thomas's Passat Estate high on the hydraulic lift with the bonnet open and one wheel off.

Despite being part of the same chain of supply, mechanic's workshops run in a way diametrically opposed to car showrooms. The sales floor is about dynamism, pace, energy, wit and clinical detail but in this oily chaos cars could languish forever waiting for diagnosis, or some obscure 233

part, or for the mechanic to stop eating chips, or for music quiz questions on the radio to be answered. Timescales evaporate. Deadlines whoosh by. Clothing gets oil-stained without discernible contact and, by some quirk in the move against sexism in the workplace – and holding firm against the plethora of free hard-core pornography online – clippings of seminaked women still adorned the sides of the tool cabinets. A simian creature in a navy overall and black beanie hat whirred up in an electric wheel-chair.

'Salesman alert. Hide your valuables – ' ' – Hilarious. How long is this going to be?' said Manny. He jumped as a heavy spanner hit the ground. A voice came from the other side of the workshop – 'As long as it takes.'

'Brad's a bit slow today. He got a jump the other night. Wore him out.' The voice came again – 'Shut up.'

'Posh totty by all accounts – ' ' – Nico. Shut it.'

Brad came into view. His blue eyes sparkled in the deep bony sockets of his dirty rugged face. He was in his late-twenties and as dishy as he was dim.

'I thought this car was ready for collection. Billy Wheeler – ' ' – This is ready. Do you want to buy this?' said Nico, jumping out of the wheel-chair. 'One careful owner, low mileage... See? I could be a car salesman. 'Can I rip you off madam?'

A 70s disco hit echoed around the workshop as the man-chimp pranced around the wheelchair using it as a rudimentary dance partner.

Manny hated the mechanics. They spoke a language he didn't understand. They seemed uneducated, dirty and feral yet they earned a lot more money than he did.

'Nico, you are as funny as... ' Brad searched for a suitable word.

Finally he came up with one. 'Fuck,' he said. 'Funny as... fuck.'

234

3.

'Jeff bought a van?' said Angie. 'He's so tight he can peel an orange in his pocket.'

'His old van was literally held together with string. What are you doing?'

'Sorting out the key cupboard.' Angie's desk was covered in keys and tags. Types of vehicle were colour coded and their details written in a book. 'Fair play, Balders, you're looking smart.'

'My life has never been better. Well, apart from the cousins still stinking up my house.'

'I thought they were leaving.'

'So did I. Now they're going to use my flat as a production office, for the film.'

'That'll mean they'll have auditions. Actresses – you might find a nice woman?'

'Don't think so. There's only one woman in the film and she dies on page two. Bryan had a bad experience with a woman once. He's also allergic to perfume.'

'Then that's how you get them out.'

'How?' 'Get a woman to move in.'

'Thanks for nothing.'

4.

'The car's sorted. But we got a problem.'

'What now? I need to get back to the showroom.'

'This dog guard. Nico can't remember where he put it. Somewhere safe he says.'

'How big is it?'

'Pretty big.'

'Shouldn't be too hard to find then, should it?'

Gina picked the perfect moment to pull up as Billy Joel's 'Uptown Girl' started blasting from the radio. Brad set off towards her, arms outstretched. Manny wondered what the hell he was playing at. This was 235

yet more inane foolery impacting on the success or otherwise of Operation Caswell Bay. Surely the dog guard was a priority? Nico ran out singing and imitating Joel's dance steps from the song's video with Gina cast as Christine Brinkley. Manny had Brad down as the sensible one but there he was, singing at the top of his voice using a wrench as a microphone. Manny reckoned that whilst Gina could ordinarily look after herself she really needed saving from these two grease-stained goons. As he moved towards them he saw the way Gina laughed with Brad; saw the way she was surprisingly delighting in the brutish attention; saw the way she momentarily kissed Brad on his grimy cheek – 'And when she's walking she's looking so fi-i-ine And when she knows this she makes up her mi-i-ind.'

Manny didn't know what he was looking at, but if he was asked to guess he'd say that it looked like Gina and Brad had already arrived at a stage or two beyond flirting. Gina drove off. The dancing dunces turned their attention on Manny – 'Wo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Uptown Girl – ' ' – Brad, you do know her dad will kill you?'

'Best you don't say anything then.'

'He's very protective of who she sees.'

'Got to be better than this married bloke she was seeing. Right twat by all accounts. He must be mad, letting her go.'

Nico opened the tailgate of the Passat. Inside was a large cardboard box. 'Dog guard,' he said.

5.

'It's a new key system. When a salesman needs a key, he has to sign the book and replace the key with a name tag... You're not listening are you?

Gina?'

'I can't lie to you, Angie. No.' Angie knew that something was up – 'What's up?'

'Nothing.'

236

Something's definitely up – Gina's phone rang. 'Hello you! Can't get enough of your princess?'

Knew it – Balders burst in – 'File for Sir Arthur-is-my-car-ready-PwllThomas please, Gina. Operation Caswell Bay needs to go like clockwork or I'll be court-marshalled – ' ' – Aww handsome, that's so cute – ' Balders reached over and grabbed the phone – ' – She's got work to do. Whoever you are.'

He put the phone down and flashed a Dictaphone in Gina's direction. Angie wondered why this made Gina exhale, smile meekly, get up from her chair and go and get the file as requested.

'That's funny is it? Sending me to the mechanics where I lose half the morning being dicked around by some knob-ends? I can't do deals for you to steal whilst I'm up there. You never think anything through, do you?' Manny banged the keys down on Balders' desk.

'Did you check everything?'

'What kept you?' shouted Billy. 'There's cars here that need selling.'

'They mucked me about boss. Bloody timewasters.'

'Don't run down my workforce. Salt of the earth those boys are.'

'Well, I'm glad you think so because one of them might be your son-in-law soon.'

'WHAT? '...Nothing.'

'Which one? Not the short one with the monkey face?'

'I really can't say – ' The showroom door crashed shut. Manny watched Billy stomp to his car. 'Gina is seeing someone. Claire and I are fine – so give me the tape.

You promised. Today.' Balders decided that the best response was to imitate Manny as if he was a child – 'I promised. Today.' He kissed the Dictaphone for extra annoyance value which coincided with Gina walking in – 'If we both attack him with a chair I reckon he'll hand it over.'

237

Balders' troubled look was eased by the entrance of a delivery man carrying flowers – 'Got to go, I'm allergic to flowers,' he lied and ran off.

'Where's Dad stomping off to?' '...Mechanics,' said Manny.

'What is your problem? Can't let me have anyone else? You're pathetic.'

'It just slipped out. I'm sorry. So since when... No, none of my business.' Gina made a call on her mobile – 'Hi Big Boy, listen, I'm afraid that Manny has 'accidentally' told Dad about us and he's on his way... He is, isn't he. Say you just took me out, yeah? Then I crashed on your sofa. Try not to mention that we, you know... broke your bed. Might not go down too well.' She put the phone down, Manny not unaware he'd just seen a performance.

'He seems a nice guy.'

'Yeah, he is nice. But now, thanks to you, it's probably all over.'

'Which one of you is seeing my daughter?'

'Can't say,' said Nico. 'But it's not me.'

'That's something, I suppose. WHO THEN?' Brad appeared from behind some machinery.

'I admit Sir, I took your daughter out. She's a lovely girl and I don't think she'd complain at my behaviour.' Nico snorted a disagreeable snort. Billy seemed to increase in size – 'Last Friday she was out all night. She didn't come home.'

'She slept on the sofa, sir. I'd had two and a half pints and didn't want to drink and drive, coz of my job, which I love. I covered her with a blanket and then I went to bed. I respect her. I'm a straightforward respectful hard-working man. I've only ever had one serious girlfriend.'

Nico almost toppled into the inspection pit.

'What's so bloody funny, ape-features?'

'Wha'? Oh... No, well, yeah she was a serious girlfriend. Never laughed once.'

'I love my job, but if you want me to stop seeing her, Mr Wheeler –' ' – I DO.' 'Then, with all due respect, I'll have no option but to resign. Sir.' 238

Billy vaguely remembered he had read something once about 'With all due respect' being another way of saying, 'You're a fucking idiot', but this was Drefawr – a town without subtext – so he let it pass.

Operation Caswell Bay was going swimmingly. The VW Passat was parked inside the showroom ready for the handover. Normally this process happened outside but this was a VIP customer. Balders reached into the rear of the car as he ticked off a check-list – 'New car mats: check. Exterior waxed: check. Bunch of flowers for Lady Pwll-Thomas: check.' He saw Angie in the wing mirror so adopted the tone of an army colonel – 'A surprise birthday bonus from Lieutenant Balders for the lady wife. And finally, a dog guard for their charming little bull terrier – one wrong look and your arm will be bitten right orf – Don't let me down, my good man, and there'll be a little something in it for you.' He climbed into the rear of the car and flipped the back seats down.

'It's fantastic to see you so well organised,' said Angie.

'SHIT.' 'What's wrong?' Balders seemed to be wrestling with a rail of some sort.

'Nooo – can't be – it's impossible – ' Balders slammed the top bar of the dog guard into the roof of the car, then rammed the feet of the guard into the floor. Again and again he repeated this action accompanying it with a low depressing drone.

'No, no, no... can't be right. Come on you – ' ' – What's the matter?'

'It doesn't fit.' He willed it to fit. He grabbed the box and starting wrestling with it until he located the label. The horrible truth dawned on him. 'Wrong one. Wrong fucking one. This is the dog guard for a Golf.

But this is a Passat. It won't fit. Too small. Someone ordered the wrong one – ' ' – Someone?'

'Me. Ok? Me.' 'Anyway, Balders, turn out your pockets. There's keys missing.'

'He's going to go berserk.'

'How long have you known about this?'

239

'A month. The dog guard has been in for a week. I didn't check.'

'Turn your pockets out.' Balders sadly climbed out of the boot and did as he was told. He opened a drawer and despatched the contents.

His pockets resembled the lost property office of a small suburban railway station. They contained a screwdriver, miscellaneous chewed pens, an old hankie, sunglasses, a wallet, a Dictaphone and a variety of keys. Angie took three sets – 'The new key system starts today. Don't mess it up.' Balders phone rang – 'Sir Arthur...? Yes, it's all in hand... Twenty minutes? Oh, as soon as that?... Yes, everything's ready... See you in twenty, if not before.'

He put the phone down. There was no way out. He was the master of improvisation but producing a Passat dog guard out of thin air was beyond even him. He looked up and saw a couple approach the building. The man had short spiky artificially enhanced dark hair, sported an immaculate artificially enhanced goatee and was dressed in a long black leather coat. This look, Balders reckoned, was a little indulgent for a Welshman in his late thirties with a receding hairline. The woman was a little younger. Her long brown hair was in a ponytail and everything she wore was tight fitting and designed to show off her impressive figure. Balders made a note not to look at any part of her, especially her cleavage. He saw Manny approaching them. This was beyond awful. There was his nemesis in the vicinity of two magnificent orbs and here he was with a diminutive dog guard, moments from doom.

'My name is Manny. Can I help you?'

'We're looking for a car. I'm Diane Hedges, and this is my husband, Keith – ' ' – Just a run-around for the Missus,' said Keith.

'I rather like that one.' Diane indicated a Suzuki Jimny 4x4 jeep in bright red.

'Too flash,' said Keith.

'But – ' ' – Darling,' hissed Keith. 'Your button.'

'What about it?'

240

'It's undone.' Keith smiled at Manny as if to show that he didn't have any problem whatsoever with his wife's exhibitionist tendencies.

'Can't even do her blouse up and she wants to pick the car – ' Ok. She's in charge. He's possessive. To be honest she's too good for him. He must have money or something. Play this carefully. Don't look at her chest again.

'Let me deal with this, okay? The jeep's too big for your delicate hands anyway.'

'Yes, Keith.' Keith didn't see the wink she sent in Manny's direction, but he wouldn't have liked it if he had.

Balders' mobile rang. It was Sir Arthur Pwll-Thomas again. In their several meetings to date Balders knew that Sir Arthur was a fastidious man who was much-travelled in his role as a former British ambassador, and who would probably have had men flogged for far less than supplying an incorrect dog guard. He belonged in the elite who were born into privilege and went to public schools and Oxbridge. They rarely dealt with normal people except maybe in the local village pub for precisely thirty minutes before lunch on Christmas Day, or when they were buying cars as surprise birthday presents for their wives.

The phone rang again. Balders looked at the dog guard. He looked outside. A genius plan came to him, as they often did. He rang back – 'See you in five minutes, Sir – ' Keith Hedges kicked the tyre of a dowdy Nissan Micra. Diane sat glumly inside.

'This one looks ideal,' said Keith 'Good morning, I'm the Senior Sales Executive, Gareth Baldwin.'

Manny ushered him away a few yards.

'You're not serious – ' said Manny. Balders patted his jacket pocket.

'Last one. I promise. I'll look after these people, and you can take over Operation Caswell Bay. One more deal and all your troubles will be over.'

'Horrible bastard.'

'Adulterous shit.'

241

'Last one. Then you'll get your birthday present. It's a small recording device. Second hand. Booker's life.'

'Keith, this is Gareth Baldwin. He'll take over now.' Keith saw what he perceived to be a tiny look of regret on his wife's face. It was good that the pretty boy was going; good that this odd-looking man was taking his place.

'Where's Balders?' asked Billy.

'Test drive. I'm doing the handover.'

'Good team work. Very influential man – Sir Arthur.' Gina ran up to Billy – 'I know you're protective Dad, but he's a lot better for me than some of the scum round here.' Manny briefly stopped dusting the bonnet of the car.

'We had a chat, me and Brad,' said Billy.

'You can't stop me seeing him!'

'I can do what I want – ' ' – Dad!' 'I'm telling you now – ' ' – I'm twenty-five and I can do – ' She stopped short of saying what she could do because she noticed Brad outside holding a bunch of petrol station flowers and grinning inanely. 'Dad, don't hurt him, please.'

'Brad... is a hardworking principled young man,' said Billy. He signalled vigorously for Brad to come in. 'You could do a lot worse.'

Brad entered the showroom.

'It's a bit early, but fancy a tipple, Brad?'

'Don't mind if I do, Boss.'

'Call me Billy.' They went to Billy's office.

'Seems I didn't blow your chances of romance after all?' said Manny.

'Everything's ok then, isn't it?' Manny reconvened the final dusting of the car as Gina ran to the loo. A silver-haired gent in an old duffle coat and expensive shoes walked in – 'Good morning, I'm Pwll-Thomas. I'm expected. Who are you?'

'Manny, er, David Manning.'

'Nyeh.'

242

'Sorry, but Mr Baldwin couldn't be here.'

'Yes, the strange balding man. Reminded me of a driver I once had – blew his brains out in Finland. Twenty-four hours of darkness in the winter months can get to a man.'

Sir Arthur patrolled the vehicle, arms behind his back, bending occasionally to peer in through the window.

'Ah well, as long as the car's here and all is in order for the Lady wife's birthday surprise today, I'm a happy man.' Sir Arthur opened the door and put his briefcase on the passenger's seat.

'It's my birthday today as well, as it happens,' said Manny.

'Nyeh – ' 6.

Diane Hedges drove the Micra along Drefawr High Street. Keith sat in the passenger seat with his hand on her thigh, missing nothing. Balders sat in the back mulling his relationships with cars. When he was young no-one he knew owned a car. When he got older there were no teenage friends to go out cruising with. This morning, in the Jag, he had enjoyed being chauffeured around but this was a much smaller car. No-one would be chauffeured in a Micra. This was more like a sixteen-year-old being driven home by two peeved adults who'd found him drunk and trouser-less in their garden shed.

'Do you have to wave at every man who lets you out?' said Keith.

'He let me out.'

'Yeah, but – ' ' – What do you think?' asked Balders, concerned that tension would get in the way of the sale.

'We're having a private conversation. Mate.'

Balders slumped back down. This was a dead loss. He started thinking about the cousins and how he might get rid of them and how Angie had been no help at all. The car passed one of the innumerable charity shops. He saw a woman's dress on a dummy in the window and had a revelation – Could it possibly...? Why not? I am a genius! And fair play, so is Angie, not that she needs to know that – 243

As Diane slowed down to let a cyclist out, Balders quickly opened the car door – 'Tell you what, have lunch, enjoy the car, take your time. Pick me up back here in, say, an hour and a half – ' 7.

Sir Arthur watched the slope of Manny's youthful back as he reached into the rear of the vehicle. It was nothing kinky, just the simple diligence of the working man that he admired. The flowers were a nice touch. There was one last task, installing the dog guard. Manny removed it from the cardboard box.

'Super. Let's get it in place and I can be on my way. I'll be on the terrace watching the surfers on Caswell Bay by 2 pm.' But it didn't fit.

Manny moved it around as it that might affect the issue. It didn't.

'Nyeh...?'

Manny jiggled it and wiggled it. He looked for parts that might telescope out to make the guard fit. There were none. He looked at the label on the box and all was revealed. He looked at Sir Arthur who had a clear understanding of what was going on.

'It doesn't fit. No good. Why doesn't it fit?'

'This is the one Mr Baldwin left me with.'

'Doesn't bloody fit! I rang. I checked. I phoned many times. I made it very clear what was required. I was assured it was all ready.'

'I'm sorry, Sir – ' ' – You ruddy well will be if you don't sort this out.'

Balders eased his way between two anaemic shop dummies. One had a piece of her nose missing. The other only had one leg. He took the green summer hat off one, and lifted the yellow dress off the other. He climbed out of the window and held it up to himself to look in the mirror as the elderly shop assistant in the red polo-neck looked on. She indicated that there was a changing room but Balders put the items on the counter and picked up an Alice-band. Usually the small cross-dressing community of Drefawr were a little less brazen when buying ladies clothing. He looked around the shop – perfume, poster, scarf, handbag, pink cardigan – all good.

244

There was a commotion in the showroom. 'Cardiff is ruddy miles away.

NYEH!' 'It's the nearest Passat dog guard we can track down,' said Billy. 'I can send one of the mechanics. Ninety minutes tops.'

'Brad will go. He's at a loose end,' said Gina.

'No need. I'll send the other one.'

'Can't wait here. Too many cars. Like a Bombay highway. Need a drink. Nearest pub?'

'I'll show you,' said Manny, setting off for the door.

'Brad – nice boy,' said Billy. 'Knows his place.'

'Not too... dull?'

'Dull will never break your heart. Remember that.'

8.

'If you'd let me get a word in, Bryan. I think we should at least have a female secretary. An old one then? Like Aunt Mave?' The omnipresent smell of double pepperoni filled Balders nostrils as he entered the room.

Pizza-munching cousins looked up at him, curious as to why he had so many carrier bags.

'Don't mind me,' said Balders. He hummed 'You Are The Sunshine Of My Life' as he unrolled a black & white Athena poster of a naked oiled young man holding a baby, and stuck it to the wall. Next he pulled out a pink cardigan, a yellow dress, a blue Alice-band and a green summer hat. Bryan seemed to be getting some sort of allergic reaction.

He started to cough.

'Ah, must be the perfume off her clothes,' said Balders. 'She doesn't half whack it on.'

He pulled out a small bag of pot pourri and filled up an empty margarine tub with it. Bryan clutched his throat. The humming continued.

'Balders?'

'Hm?' 'What's going on?'

'I met a girl.'

'Where? How?' Bryan hid behind a cushion.

245

'Online. Whirlwind romance. She's actually moving in.' A yelp came from behind the cushion. Balders put a leg-waxing kit, curling tongs and a large bra on the coffee table.

'She can't move in, mun. You know how Bryan feels about women. He's practically allergic.'

'She's got nowhere else to go. She only got out of prison today.'

'What was she in for?'

'GBH, tho' it should only have been ABH. On her ex, but it wasn't her fault. As her defence said – terrible PMT.' Balders pulled out a box of sanitary towels. 'Ah...' The cousins recoiled as a pair of Draculas might had they accidentally walked into a leaking hall full of wooden stakes and garlic mirrors at noon. Bryan got up and left.

'We'll be at Aunt Mave's, okay?' said Ryan, aware of his brother's anguish. 'We'll just go and pack. Will you be okay on your own with her?'

'Her psychiatrist is pretty confident that she's on the mend. And there's a probation team on red alert.'

Ryan packed their few belongings and left as well. Balders didn't have any answers should he have been questioned further but the whole experiment had cost less than thirty quid and it had worked. Plus, the woman in the charity shop had said he could get a full refund if the items weren't suitable after Balders refused to try them on in the shop – tho' why would I have wanted to do that? They were clearly woman's clothes.

Balders danced a little jig. He looked at his watch. He still had an hour to spare. He had another idea. It was worth a try as it wasn't as outlandish as the Pretend A Psychotic Woman Is Moving In scam he'd just perpetrated on his cousins – Yes, Angie had suggested it, but the additional 'fictional nut-job' element.

That was all me – Buoyed by success, he made a call. 'Hi Claire – it's Balders. It so happens I've got an hour to kill so why don't we meet to discuss this video?... Fantastic – '

246

9.

Jeff and Vince were uncertain what to make of the third man. He'd walked in with a purpose but instantly slowed down, retreated slightly, and was now perusing the various pictures on the wall – the American cars, the always hilarious dogs playing snooker, Drefawr Players theatre posters, a signed pic of Stan Stennett, and caricatures of the long-ago drinking dead. He clearly found the flock wallpaper on the ceiling interesting and the carpet tiles, which seemed to have been recycled from the offices of a long-defunct telecoms office bearing, as they did, the logo for Cellnet, also caught his eye. Vince suspected he was a retired detective trying to solve a cold case whilst his enigmatic behaviour reminded Jeff of a tax inspection he once had. Three days later the inspectors left having found nothing wrong with his accounts whatsoever, yet wondering how a man could live on so little. Jeff wouldn't mind if it was another inspection. He was primed for it and rather enjoyed the company. After a while the stranger approached the bar.

'Does this establishment have a wine list?' Jeff pointed cheerfully at a homemade sign – 'Red, white or pink.'

'What's the red?' asked Sir Arthur Pwll-Thomas.

'Very nice,' said Jeff.

'Yes, but what kind of wine is it?' Jeff put on his glasses to check the label. 'Vin de Maison. Er, I believe it's mostly French.'

'It's very good,' said Vince. 'Has there been a murder?'

'I saw a murdered body once. In Yugoslavia. Shot in the neck.

Young man. The police didn't cover him until a camera crew had been.

Took two hours to arrive. I'll have a glass of red.'

'Sorry Sir, we're all out. I delivered all the wine to a party.'

'Out of wine? What kind of pub is this?'

'A great pub,' said Vince.

'Thank you Vince,' said Jeff 'Nyeh. What do you have? What about a pale sherry?'

'What about bitter and pork scratchings? He's got them.'

247

'Bitter and pork scratchings... I remember Nairobi 1973. My wife convalescing. Me, my young driver, oysters and the finest champagne.

Halcyon days.' Jeff reached under the counter and pulled out a plastic bottle – 'I do have this. Slivovitz. It's Romanian, I think.'

'Knock your bloody socks off!' said Vince. Sir Arthur took a sniff – 'Go on then. Any port in a storm.'

'I can recommend a good port,' said Vince, 'Southampton!'

10.

Shortly after placing the order at Hodgson's Wine Bar Keith Hedges had taken umbrage at the way the cute young waiter had touched his wife's leg. Despite his wife's protestations that she, '...hadn't done anything' and that the cute young waiter was simply putting a napkin on her lap, which was what waiters did, Keith snapped that he, '...couldn't take her anywhere' and that she, '...couldn't help herself' before storming out. Diane lingered just long enough to offer an apologetic smile at the cute young waiter before Keith stormed back in. He hissed that he knew exactly what was going on and stormed back out again. He jogged to the car, put the key in the lock and twisted it with so much force it broke off in his hand. Diane arrived just in time to find out this was also her fault.

11.

'What do you think? Do I look podgy?'

'You? Never.' said Balders. Claire was trying on her party dress.

Balders had cleared away the pizza and the various feminine items from the coffee table had been bundled into a black bag. In their place were two bone china teacups.

'Manny is a lucky man,' he found himself thinking and accidentally saying.

'Could you give him some pointers about selling cars? Billy said he's having a bad run. Manny's proud so he doesn't tell me anything but we need the money. Right. Better get changed.'

248

Balders watched her leave. He felt bad. If he hadn't blackmailed her husband then she would be happier. But if her husband hadn't been unfaithful he wouldn't be a blackmailer in the first place. So it was Manny's fault. But Balders still didn't like Claire being sad. It was time for the blackmailing to end. He went to his inside pocket but the Dictaphone wasn't there. He briskly checked his other pockets. It quickly dawned on him that he'd unloaded the contents into his desk drawer in work. He got out his phone – 'Angie? I need your help. I've left a Dictaphone in my desk drawer... You couldn't keep it safe for me, could you? Please, Angie. I just need to know it's there.' He hung up as Claire returned. She picked up her tea.

'Lovely. Bone china.'

'My mother's. Left it behind.'

'I'm sorry. My Mum died too.' Balders finished his tea.

'She isn't dead. At least, I don't think so. She left home when I was twelve. My auntie took me in.'

'You're way too sensitive to be selling cars – ' The phone rang on Manny's desk. It was Angie – 'Could you check Balders' desk? Left his Dictaphone in there or something...?'

'Sure – ' Manny dashed over to Balders' desk and yanked the drawer open.

As he turned back he found the Dictaphone ripped from his grasp by the strong fingers of Billy Wheeler.

'What's this? Is he recording that romantic nonsense he writes? I thought he'd done with all that.'

'I know. It's really daft.'

'Let's have a listen. Could do with a laugh.'

'No, don't! It's not... he's... It's totally illegal. But he uses it to bug customers – listens to their conversations. What he does is, he leaves them on their own for a few moments – they discuss what they want from the deal or what is wrong – then he comes back and listens to the tape in the bog. That's why he sold so many cars. I think he saw it on a TV programme...'

Billy took this in for a moment. Manny didn't care what he did or said next so long as he didn't play the tape. Hearing his daughter 249

bragging about shagging Manny on his desk would have severely hampered Manny's immediate future.

'It's bad,' said Manny. 'Their private thoughts. We should wipe it really.'

'True.' Manny exhaled as Billy rewound the tape to delete it. But then Billy grinned as it clicked back to the start. 'Could be interesting though – ' ' – Boss, boss... I really don't think you should – ' Billy clicked play. Manny prepared for his final moments...

Except there was no sound. Just white noise. Billy fast-forwarded a moment and pressed play again. Still the same white noise. Again a moment forward. Again white noise... ...and at precisely the same moment, a mile away in a flat above a disused shop a porcelain handle snapped on a bone china tea cup. The cup and its contents – a newly poured measure of scalding hot tea – fell onto Balders' lap. He screamed with pain which Claire found amusing until she realised the screaming was real.

'Oh God, you're really hurt. Let me help. I am a nurse – ' ' – No!' yelped Balders, an octave above his usual register. 'No, I'm fine.

Honest – ' 'Cheers, Brad,' said Manny on his phone. 'Sorry about earlier. You're a lovely couple.' Billy looked on. 'Brad's dropping Balders' customers back here. Then he'll change the ignition barrel on the Micra.'

'And Balders?'

'They, er... You'll find out, so – they dropped him off in town. I don't want to get him into trouble boss. But it seems he... abandoned them.' Billy grabbed the phone – 'He may be selling cars, but I won't have him taking the piss.' The phone rang twice before Balders answered. Billy put it on speakerphone.

'Where are you?'

Balders was in agony. His shirt was open and his trousers pulled down. He held a wet towel to his groin and stomach area. He could barely hold the mobile for shaking – 'Taking forever. They're a right couple of weirdoes to be honest.'

250

A car pulled up on the drive. Billy saw a man in a long leather coat and an attractive woman with undeniably nice curves get out. Billy returned to the phonecall – 'Leather coat? Goatee?'

'Like the Matrix. He's not saying much and she's not the brightest. Still they should buy... Now? She needed the bathroom, so we stopped at a services. They wanted to try the car on the motorway. Don't worry, boss, your Super Salesman is closing in!

They're coming back now, got to go – ' Billy felt certain he heard a whimper as the phone went dead. He turned to Manny. 'Unless they've been cloned, he's a liar.'

'And he left me with the dog guard man. Just saying.'

'He did, didn't he.'

Keith Hedges threw down the remains of the broken key on the desk – 'That's not very good, is it?

'I'm Billy Wheeler. I own this establishment. Apologies for any inconvenience.'

'What if it had broken in the middle of nowhere?'

'It didn't tho', did it Keith?' said Diane. 'Can I look at that Jeep, now?'

'Of course,' said Billy. 'Manny here will look after you now.'

'I thought we weren't buying the jeep?' hissed Keith.

'At the end of the day it is my money. It's my car.'

'Yes, but – ' ' – Ok, so let's ask the salesman. Jeep or Micra? For me.'

'Micra – bit boring, mumsy. The Jeep... well, in the summer, driving around – top off – sorry, down. Top down.' He winked at Diane more in embarrassment than anything else but Keith saw nothing but betrayal.

'Ok, mate. Enough of this. We're dealing with the other guy.'

'He's not here,' Billy said. 'Look, you both have a sit down. Manny will get the key. Ok?' 'Thank you.'

'If we must... but I'm not happy – ' ' – Oh Keith.'

251

Balders walked into the living room. He wasn't the dude anymore.

He was stressed and in pain and wore his old suit which, due to the purchase of a new suit, had spent the last few days serving as a makeshift bed for his dog.

'Can I ask you a question?' said Claire.

'Anything.'

'Do you think Manny regrets moving down here?'

'He'd be a fool if he did.'

'You going to be ok? Is your – ' ' – It's fine.'

Claire picked up her coat and walked to the door. 'If he doesn't want to be here, I'd rather know. I know he gave up his music – it's not like I don't like music, but angsty rock bands leave me a bit cold, you know? What music do you like? What's your favourite song?'

'There's one tune going through my head right now.'

'What is it?'

'Great Balls of Fire.'

I love the way she laughs. This is the happiest moment of my life. If only my testicles weren't actually on fire.

12.

'Now sign the book to say you're taking the key,' said Angie. 'And have you heard? Our Gina's in lurve. I'm not getting much information, but he's getting me chips so he's ok in my book.'

'He's perfect. What else do you need to know?' said Gina. Manny smiled. He'd seen Gina flee to the loo when Brad and her Dad went for their bonding session. He knew Brad was a long way from perfect.

'Pie and chips for me, cheese and onion pastie and chips for Angie and a battered sausage for Gina,' said Brad as he put the three food parcels down on Gina's desk.

'Sorry again for dumping you in it with the Boss,' said Manny.

'Hey, no worries. Best thing you could have done. We've got his blessing so I won't punch your face in.'

'I'm sure you two will be very happy.'

252

Manny left the office and the diners set about their lunch. Angie and Gina quickly became aware of a horrific slurping sound: Brad chomping on a pie, pieces of the brown-stained crust falling from his mouth as he ate. He picked up a chip and put his fingers in his mouth as he inserted it. This wasn't a one-off. Each chip went down by the same route.

'Bloody starving, me,' he said, before belching loudly. 'Better out than in. Hey Gina, chuck me a chip and see if I can catch it in my mouth.'

Angie mouthed the words, 'He's perfect' as Gina wrapped her chips up and put them in the bin.

'My office has become the back row of the cinema,' said Angie. 'And Brad eats like a pig.' Billy looked up from his Top Gear magazine.

'Ah, young love,' he said.

'It's unprofessional and, frankly, repulsive.'

'Encourage them Angie, and who knows? She might be married within the year. I get myself a few male heirs to carry on the Wheeler dynasty and you, you can have a pay rise.'

'That doesn't sound too bad...'

'We can work on his manners but a woman's place is at home.

Apart from you, Angie. You're better off here.' The showroom door opened.

'Is your man back yet?' said Sir Arthur. 'No, I bet... Lost my salesman, dog guard's too small, wife is expecting me in half an hour, can't tell her where I am coz it's a ruddy secret and the local pub has no wine...'

'Speaking of company Angie, could you do me a favour?'

'Of course.'

'The dog guard is on its way,' said Billy. 'So in the meantime – ' ' – Would Sir like a nice glass of Merlot?'

Brad was spinning Gina round on her chair when Angie and Sir Arthur came in; Brad lunk-headedly misreading Gina's yells to stop as encouragement to continue. Angie picked a birthday present to Manny – a nice bottle of Merlot – that she had purchased, wrapped and written 253

the card for, including expertly forging his signature on Billy's behalf. In deference to the older generation Brad stopped twirling the chair. Angie took two glasses out of a filing cabinet and sat Sir Arthur down near the window. They clinked and did the necessary toast.

'Where's mine?' asked Gina.

'Sorry, no alcohol for the Youth Club.'

'Youth is wasted on the young,' said Sir Arthur. Taking this as a cue Brad twirled Gina once more.

'Stop it, Brad, you maniac – ' ' – You love it.'

'Brad, you should get back to work. Dad might not like it – ' ' – I'll stop for a snog – ' As his grease-smeared lips moved in for a slurp, Billy burst into the room.

'He's going now, Dad.' 'You two any plans for the weekend?'

'No!' said Brad. '...No,' said Gina.

'We've got a caravan by the coast. We can do a spot of fishing while the women look for shells. And there's a lovely pub close by – real ale and hand-cut chips.'

'Fantastic!' said Brad, sucking salt off his sleeve.

13.

Balders was delighted to see the Dictaphone still in his drawer but less delighted by the dark boss-shaped shadow looming over – 'This morning you were a slick super salesman. Now you're a scruffy fugitive from the law. You never cease to amaze me, Balders.'

'What, boss?'

'Red Nissan Micra?'

'Yeah...?'

'You better sit down.' Balders sat down.

'The police have been in. A Keanu Reeves look-a-like has just robbed the post office in Cross Hands according to eye-witnesses. There was a handgun and a female getaway driver... It was a red Micra – our red Micra.'

254

'...What?'

'Where were you, Balders? Coz the police are looking for a third person. The guy who supplied the car and was seen driving with them earlier. Balding. Foolish-looking.'

Balders wracked his brain for an answer. This was his area: baroque explanations for implausible events. Nothing came, not even an untruth.

'I covered for you, Balders. But say you weren't in on it.'

'I wasn't! I – I... ok, what happened was – THEY ATTACKED ME BOSS. He hit me, a couple of times. Hard in the chest. And they took the keys – I didn't know what to do.'

'The police will want to interview you, photograph the bruises... I was a copper, once. I know the procedure.'

'I know... Will they?'

Balders ran at speed into a telegraph pole. It hurt. He ran once more to try and injure the other side of his chest, which hurt even more. He sat on the ground which caused the burn in his groin to flare up again. He really wasn't the dude anymore. He was the anti-dude. The sub-dude. He sat on the kerb and winced at his various injuries. A Suzuki Jimny pulled up by the showroom. Neo and his wife got out – 'Billy, Billy, Billy... they're back – Matrix!'

'You'll have to keep them occupied.'

'But they'd attack me... again. Wouldn't they?'

'You're right, you're the only witness. I'll get Manny to try and stall them, maybe try and sell a car to them or something – ' Billy grabbed the phone and pretending to dial 999. 'Police? Bonnie and Clyde. They're in our showroom.' He put the phone down. Balders emitted a small pained gasp. 'What's the matter with you?'

'Think I've cracked a rib.'

'How?' 'Must have been when they attacked me.'

This confused Billy. He'd made up the attack. How could Balders be injured by a fictional attack? He admired Balders as one might a 255

classically-trained actor. He was certainly very good at this 'miming pain' malarkey.

Manny sat at his desk with the Hedges. Keith had his arms folded tight, once more stifling Diane's natural vivacity.

'It's a fair price, agreed? So... what..? Worried about after-sales?

You can have my personal mobile number if you need to contact me – ' ' – We need a chat, in private,' hissed Keith in Diane's ear.

'Fine,' said Manny, trying to read anything in Diane's eyes that might help. He went to Billy's office and put his head round the door.

'She wants it. It's her money but he's got issues, so she's not making the decision.'

'You going to close them though, yeah?'

'Of course.'

'Coz I'm itching to sing, 'Happy Birthday'. Oh, the phantom salesman's returned.'

'How is he?' Billy pointed to below his desk.

'Sweaty.'

Sir Arthur turned down the offer of a second glass as he had to drive.

Angie had no such restrictions. When she first lost her licence she swore she'd cut back, but losing your licence means you could afford to drink more. No expensive car costs; no anxiously driving the back-lanes home; no checking your car in the morning for damage after unexpectedly finding it parked outside the house; no worries about losing the licence you don't have. Brad showed Gina a rather naïve picture of a car he'd spent 20 minutes drawing.

'Come and sit on my lap,' he said.

'No, I've got work to...' – Gina noticed Manny approaching – 'Then again...' Manny didn't notice them. He had a plan formulating – 'Angie, phone my mobile, yeah?'

'Have you lost it?'

'No. Just phone it.'

'But you're here?'

'Angie, just fucking phone it and don't hang up. And don't speak.

None of you, not 'til I come back. Just do it.'

256

Manny crossed the forecourt, accepted the call and entered to hear Keith whinging, 'You really can't see my point of view? Or don't want to. Ah Mr Manny – ' ' – I just need to send an email then I'll be back – two minutes.' He put his phone in the drawer and ran out. Unsure if the plan would work but unable to suppress his latent optimism he winked at Diane as he left.

He ran into Admin and put Angie's phone on speaker and put his finger to his lips. People quietly gathered around the speaker-phone as if it was war-time radio. The heard a woman – 'What is your problem today? First you shout at the waiter, now you're being off with this guy.' A man responded – 'He offered you his mobile number. Can't you see what's going on?

Smiling, flirting... Hey, just tell him, 'I'm available!' He looks like he'd shag anything, anyway.'

'Keith!'

Gina and Manny deliberately didn't look at each other but knew they didn't need to.

'Probably not too ethical. Great fun though... Best phone my wife I suppose,' whispered Sir Arthur, slipping out the door.

'So it's not the car, it's the salesman... again.'

'Look at it from my point of view – ' ' – You think I want to sleep with him? Maybe I should. Coz he is very cute.'

'Whey-hey!' said Brad. Manny shot him a look.

'What was that?' The audience was tense. Keith had obviously heard something.

'That noise is your paranoia.'

'Don't take the piss. You're just not being respectful. To me. Or us. If you want to be single – just say.' The audience silently agreed that this bit was really good.

'I want to buy this car.' The audience approved.

'Hi Mr Manning, got a problem with my car – ' The audience was most amused by Keith's impression of his wife.

'Right. Enough. When he comes back, we're going – ' ' – Let's just go.'

'He has the key to our car.'

257

'Am I totally wrong here?'

'Keith. You win.'

The audience sat back. There was a sense of anti-climax. Manny clicked the receiver off.

'Dead in the water, mate,' said Brad. 'Nice try though.'

'I really need this deal.'

Angie had a suggestion – 'What you need to do, Manny, is tell them that you're gay.'

'Thanks for nothing.'

Sir Arthur was trying to explain to his wife where he was and why he was still there without actually explaining either. He saw Manny and Brad having a chat at the door to the Admin Office. He saw Manny stride past and meet a couple as they left the showroom. He saw Brad following closely behind.

'Sorry,' said Diane. 'We've wasted your time. Sorry – ' ' – We don't have to say sorry.'

'Keith!'

'There's nothing I can do to change your mind?' asked Manny as Brad sidled up alongside.

'No. We just want to go.'

'When you've gotta go, you've gotta go,' said Brad. 'See you later gorgeous.' Sir Arthur saw Brad kiss Manny on the side of his head, hug his shoulder, goose his behind and mince away.

'Oh, Brad?' said Manny.

'Yes handsome?

'If you're going to the supermarket get me some sushi, moisturiser and some of that expensive cat food Dolly likes.'

'Ok, stud.' Manny turned back to Keith and Diane. 'Dolly's our cat – Dolly Parton. We're bug fans.' Keith stared into middle distance, mouth agape. Manny stepped a few feet away to give them a moment.

'Keith?' asked Diane, as if speaking to a child. 'Can I buy the car now?'

'He's...'

'What Keith?'

258

'He's... gay. You're going to buy a car from a gay man?'

'Why don't you wait in the car. I love you, ok?' Keith traipsed away, Manny giving him a little wave as he did so.

'You're not gay are you?' she asked.

'Nope.'

'Thought not,' she said. 'Ok 'stud', where do I sign?'

Sir Arthur picked up the Merlot and drained the bottle into his glass – 'All my life, tied to a timetable. Refusing this and that for the sake of a regime. Sod it. I'll get a cab.'

Gina gathered up her things. 'Got to go, Angie. Brad's waiting.' Sir Arthur saw her shallow optimism and temporary happiness. He saw Brad sitting in a car outside, smiling like the libertine rogue he was.

'Alas, love is so oft a lie,' he said quietly. Behind his back Gina made the universal 'loon' sign with her finger. Angie felt the need to speak – 'It's not good for Brad to be in the office. Place of business – ' Gina signalled towards Sir Arthur – 'At least he's buying a car.'

'What's your problem, Angie? Jealous?'

'Rubbish. I have never been so focused since I've been single. I don't give my ex-husband a second thought.' In through the door walked the aforementioned ex-husband, blistered and sunburnt from his trip to Lanzarote. He carried a four foot high Judas tree in a plastic terracotta pot. He didn't just sound angry, he looked angry.

'Why did you plant a Judas Tree outside my house while I was away?' Gina hooted and left. Angie did the introductions – 'Sir Arthur Pwll-Thomas, this is my husband. The talking beetroot.'

'You promised that if I let you rent the house, you'd leave us in peace.'

'Did you have a nice holiday? With all the lovely lager swilling Brits? Did little Emma do the Macarena?'

'I never got round to having children,' said Sir Arthur.

'A common mistake, Sir Pwll. Little Emma is, in fact, his very young girlfriend.' Angie fished out an unopened bottle of red from a cabinet marked, 'Contract Hire.'

'Glass?'

259

Balders was in a serious amount of pain. His groin was still ablaze; his ribs made a grating noise every time he moved plus he had two different kinds of cramp. He was used to the space beneath his own desk, but Billy's desk, whilst larger in surface area strangely had less space beneath.

The door opened. He peeked around the corner of the desk. Friends not foes: good. He certainly didn't want to see the people who had beaten him up, even though they hadn't actually done so. Billy shook Manny's hand – 'The old 'Bugging-The-Customers-Whilst-Pretending-To-Be-GayClose', eh?'

'What's happening?' came a song from under the melamine.

'They're buying the Jimny,' said Manny. 'Full up, and I got a £500 deposit boss.'

'It's with stolen money! The money from the Post Office!'

'We'll have to take it,' said Billy. 'For now.'

'Will we?'

'They must be waiting here until the heat dies down. Who'd expect them to come back? This must be their cover story, buying a car. Nice work, Manny.'

'Where are the cops?'

'Good point – ' said Billy.

'Probably shouldn't say this, but I heard them talking about eliminating witnesses.'

'What?' – BANG – 'Aw! I banged my head – ' Manny and Billy were very close to putting Balders out of his misery when Keith Hedges briskly re-entered the showroom.

'Balders! He's heading this way. He's looking angry. Murderous even...' The door opened – 'Sorry to bother you. The wife wants that stereo upgrade.'

'No worries,' said Manny, in a camp manner which Billy respectfully acknowledged. Keith would have reacted but he'd caught a glimpse of a balding head underneath the desk.

'Isn't that Mr Baldwin?' Billy nodded sheepishly. There was nothing else to say.

260

'Mr Baldwin, that restaurant you recommended was rubbish.' The door closed and Neo was gone.

'What's going on?'

'Company policy,' said Billy. 'Always accompany on test drives, and always look after your customers.' He banged the desk hard. They heard the sound of Balders' head hitting the underside of the desk again, followed by a low moan. Nico walked in carrying a large cardboard box – 'Passat dog guard at your service. And here's a new key for the Micra. We fixed the lock as well.' Billy dropped the key on the floor and pushed it under the desk with his foot – 'Your new company car, Balders. You're out of the Jag.' Jimmy supped gently on the wine. His lips were swollen from the sun but the liquid was refreshing. It was always fun with Angie, even when it wasn't much fun. Sir Arthur was holding court – 'On Jamaican beaches the young Caribbean men treat sunburn with aloe vera plants. Remarkable really – natural juices.'

'So you drink at work now, do you?' asked Jimmy.

'I was being polite – keeping Sir company.'

'Call me Artie. She's a damn fine woman – your ex wife.'

'Boils a mean bunny.'

'I love a rabbit pie.' Sir glugged more wine and went to pick up the wine bottle. Angie and Jimmy both reached to assist him at the same time.

'If Emma can't accept a gift of friendship, then it's hardly my problem.'

'It's the tree Judas Iscariot hung himself on, Angie – because he couldn't live with his betrayal.'

'Yes. I know', she said softly. 'No more plants. Sorry.'

'Look, I've got to run. I am meeting little Emma and her friends for a drink.' Jimmy shook Sir Arthur's hand and, not really knowing why, kissed Angie briefly on the cheek.

'You two should be together,' said Sir Arthur. Angie didn't need to respond. She knew it was true. So did Jimmy.

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14.

'Think you're clever do you? I knew Billy was winding me up.' Balders flashed the Dictaphone. 'Now you owe me another deal.' Manny decided it would be more interesting if he didn't reveal to the beaten, thwarted, scruffy, smelly, sweaty, damaged Balders that he knew the machine had malfunctioned. Billy arrived, his hand covering his mobile's receiver – 'Manny. Get your coat on. Time for your birthday drink. Balders, you're in charge.' Billy carried on with his phone-call. 'Hey Claire, mind if I kidnap your husband for an hour?'

Manny picked up the 'Shoes & Boots by A.H. Wherle' carrier bag, and folded it into his pocket.

In Hodgson's Wine Bar Billy opened a bottle of wine. He poured a full glass for Manny and a tiny one for himself – 'Back on track. Good sale today. I promised you, so...' Brad and Gina appeared from around the corner tunelessly singing, 'Happy Birthday'. Brad sang louder than anyone else. Billy downed his wine and passed the bottle to Manny – 'You young people have a good time.'

'Shall we find some seats?' said Gina. 'Vodka Red Bull, Brad.

Large.' Gina and Manny settled into a booth with everything and nothing to say.

'Blackmail's over by the way. Nothing on the tape.' Gina found she wasn't as relieved as she should have been. Brad returned with a bag of crisps. Gina grabbed them – 'You won't want those. Eating later – ' ' – Ages till then.' He pulled a second packet out of his other pocket. Manny flashed a look at Gina, enough for her to know he was loving her embarrassment. The terrible chomping attracted the attention of a man in the next booth. A familiar face looked over the partition – 'Hi. Hey, Angie's not with you, is she?' asked Jimmy. 'I'm meeting Emma here. I don't want another scene. Mind if I join you?' A few afternoon snifters had clearly gone down the hatch but Manny shifted up nonetheless.

'Angie's cool, you know. Cool? Drinks too much though. Thing is – and she doesn't appreciate this – I'm really, really happy with Emma.

262

And I love her but not in like, a dangerous way. You two, what's your names again?'

'I'm Gina. This is Brad.'

'Listen you two. Don't marry too young. See the world first – ' A shriek of banshees signalled the arrival of Emma and her peroxide orange-skinned friends. Jimmy rose to his feet, steadied himself using the table and lurched off.

'Glad he's gone,' said Brad. 'Coz I like Angie, and if there's one thing I hate, it's a man who ditches his wife for a bit of skirt – ' 15.

'He seems a pleasant young man does Manny and it's lovely what he's done for Russ.

Coming home to help look after him and that – What else shall I say? Claire? Shall I say anything else? No... ok – That's it – ' 'Thanks Jeff, that was lovely.' Claire pointed the camcorder at Vince.

'Me now is it? 'Off we go then!' He picked up his pint – 'He's nice, he's nice, he's a nice boy. Buys a round sometimes. But lucky on the fruit machine mind, no bloody money left in it for me!'

16.

Balders struggled to open and close the door of John Rees the Baker's shop due to his having to lug a large square cake-box containing a heavier than expected cake. Claire was no help, too busy making her documentary, the premiere of which was to be at the party later.

'And now Balders, struggling with a cake, he's heading for the street...'

'I hate being on camera – ' ' – Now all he has to do is remember where he's parked the car – ' ' – Claire, over there!' Claire looked across the road to see Manny, Brad and Gina walking up the street. Claire ducked back into the doorway and continued filming...

'Brad and Gina delivering Manny to the next pick-up point as planned. Good work, team. Now Brad heads into a shop. Now – ' 263

Through the viewfinder Claire saw Gina grab Manny and kiss him full on the lips. The camera filmed it but the voiceover ceased. The camera zoomed in. The kiss continued right up until the moment Brad emerged from the shop with cigarettes and a family bag of Frazzles. Claire swung the camera around at Balders. He looked terrified but tried to hide it.

'Birthday kiss. That's all it is, isn't it? Couldn't be anything else...'

Claire clicked the camera off and watched the trio head off down the road.

'It is his birthday.'

'I know.' she said. Balders relaxed at her smile but failed to recognise the bravery that accompanied it. 'You'd better go and meet him. Take him to the White Horse then back to Wheelers for 6.30.'

'Yes Mrs Spielberg!'

As he walked away Claire clicked 'play' on the camcorder. She hunched down in the old Victorian tiled doorway and reviewed the recent rushes. Two burly workmen in heavy boots stepped over her on their way to buy pies but she didn't notice them.

17.

Vince was thumbing through the 'Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys' script in the White Horse as Ryan and Bryan looked on. They were Jeff's deputies for the evening – he was away running the bar at Manny's party – and were thrilled to be asked, as customer-facing experience would be essential should they ever open their chain of restaurants – Faggots – selling upmarket versions of the local delicacy of minced pig's heart, liver and fatty belly meat minced together with herbs. Initial conversation between the three had been stilted especially as Vince was uncertain about the Faggots concept – he was sure it had some different meaning somewhere else in the world. Bryan then suggested that if he read their film script the three of them would have something fascinating to talk about. Act One of the script made no sense to Vince but at regular intervals a positive sounding, 'Oh!' delighted the cousins. At the far end of the pub, Balders and Manny sat opposite each other. Manny took a slug of lager – 264

'This is jolly. Happy Birthday to me.' He looked at his watch. 'This time last year I was sound-checking in Camden, about to play a gig to 200 people who ended up singing 'Happy Birthday to me'. This year...?'

Balders had no time for self-pity.

'What you playing at, mate?'

'Nothing clearly.'

'I saw that kiss in the street. You and Gina. Claire saw it, Manny. I was with her... I bumped into her...'

'That wasn't my fault.'

'It's ok. I covered for you.'

'What, you want a big thank you?'

'You shagged Gina.'

'Once, ok? Once I shagged her.'

'And it was a BIG FUCKING MISTAKE.' 'Language!' called Bryan from the bar.

'Look, I covered for you really well. I just said it was a birthday kiss.' Manny slumped back in his chair.

'Do I get the tape back then?' he said.

'No.' 'Ok. Right. Fair enough.' Balders didn't expect Manny's resignation. They sat in silence for a while. Manny fumbled in his pocket briefly before asking a question – 'What do you make of Billy then?'

'He's a twat. Billy Wheeler is a bullying, vindictive, useless twat.'

'That was easy.' Manny pulled out a brand new Dictaphone, pressed rewind and then play. The recording was clear as day – 'Billy Wheeler is a bullying, vindictive, useless twat.'

'At least mine works. It's over loser. I'm going home.'

'You can't go.' Balders grabbed Manny's arm. Manny shook him off – 'You're making a habit of this.'

'It still happened didn't it? Just coz the tape didn't work. Claire is too good for you.'

'Tell me something I don't know.'

'She's sweet, generous, she likes poems and being good to people...'

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'I've got competition have I? Fancy your chances? I've had enough of this shit. I'm going home.'

'You can't go home.'

'Why the fuck not? – ' ' – Language! – ' ' – You can't go home coz Claire's organised a surprise party for you in the showroom and I've got to get you there in half an hour – ' Balders shut his eye as he realised he'd probably ruined the surprise element of the surprise party.

'Cowboys. And gangsters. In space. It's great, mun! Great!' Vince held back a tear. Bryan handed him a bar towel. Manny and Balders had half-full pints of flat lager in front of them. After a few moments Manny grinned at Balders. Balders was still battling with guilt over his inability to see Claire's plan through, and was surprised to see that Manny had moved on from his own guilt.

'What?'

Manny reached into his pint with his finger and flicked it at Balders, landing a few drops of beer on Balders' shirt. Balders contemplated this for a moment before doing the same thing. Both duellists smiled wryly. Manny calmly reached into the glass and repeated the same flicking action. Balders considered this latest volley and again did the same. A moment passed before they both picked up their pint glasses as if to throw them over each other.

'Go on then,' said Balders.

Manny did so. Balders sat there, his collar and tie soaked, beer dripping down his face from his lank beer-sodden hair.

'You deserved it,' said Manny. He picked up Balders half-pint and poured it over his own head. 'And I deserved that.'

'You two, behave,' called Ryan. 'Or you're barred.' The two men went to the toilets. Ryan followed in case they needed a peacemaker.

'You're a good mate,' said Balders.

'And you're a complete twat,' said Manny. Ryan couldn't comment on the swearing as he wasn't sure whether bar rules applied in the toilets.

Balders was topless, rinsing his wet shirt under the dryer and Ryan couldn't help but notice the scald marks and the bruising.

'What happened to you?'

266

'I split some boiling hot tea here. I got these bruises from punching myself, and I ran into a telegraph pole for that one.'

18.

Wheelers Showroom had been transformed. Two of the cars had been moved outside to make space. Birthday balloons festooned the showroom. Gina and Angie stood on desks trying to straighten the birthday banner. The DJ, known locally as John The Other DJ – named so as not to be confused with the similarly monickered Valleys FM morning jock – tested the disco lights. 'I Can Be Your Hero Baby' played over the speakers. Jeff and Billy set up the bar on Balders desk. Russ sat on the stairs to the upstairs office rolling a joint. Claire filmed him with her camcorder – 'Then Dylan, you lick the skin like this and gently roll it, but not so tight that you can't get the full benefit of the blow. I'm telling you this coz your father can't roll a joint to save his life.'

'Thanks a lot, Dad! Gina? Your turn.' '...What for?'

'A message for Manny.'

'No, please. I wouldn't know what to say.' Gina was aware of Claire studying her through the viewfinder.

'Ok... Happy Birthday, Manny.'

'Thanks Gina.' Another face appeared on screen, Angie's – 'Hi. Just to say that I know it can't be easy coming into a new work place where everyone's such close friends... so thank God none of us are, eh? Anyway, Happy birthday, Manny – have a good one.'

19.

In Hodgson's Wine Bar Jimmy nursed a bourbon as he sat on his own, surrounded

by Emma's friends' coats. The mini-skirted girls danced the Macarena. Emma blew a kiss at him. He toasted her. A pile of bags toppled onto the floor. He reached down to pick them up. His hand happened upon a carrier bag. Inside was a brown paper bag. He reached inside and pulls out a red velvet Welsh rugby cap.

20.

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A cab pulled up outside the seemingly lifeless showroom.

'Act surprised.' Balders said. 'She's gone to a lot of trouble.'

'No. I'm going to say that you told me.'

'Twat.'

Balders got out and scuttled to the showroom. The car door opened. It was Gina.

'What are you doing here?' She handed him a small gift bag – 'Present.'

'Balders is coming back. I know about the surprise party. You shouldn't be here.'

'Can't I even give you presents now?'

Manny looked in the bag and discovered a small black box containing two gold cuff-links in the shape of steering wheels.

'I can't take these. It's too much. We're over, Gina. For real this time.'

'You don't love her. It's duty. It's killing you.'

'No – this is killing me, this guilt, this dirty sneaking – I hate it. I can be a good man, a good Dad. I can wear stupid singing ties and dry the dishes.' A tear formed in his eye. 'Please let me.'

'I'm real. I'm hurting. I love you – ' ' – Try not to. For me. Let me make something good. Let me love my wife. I'm not cut out to be the bad guy.' Gina took the cuff-links.

She dabbed the corner of her left eye with her sleeve as not to spoil her make-up. Manny spotted Balders returning. 'Gina, get down!'

'Party time,' said Balders.

As they set off for the showroom, Balders put his arm around Manny. The cab drove off leaving Gina hunched down by a the wheel of a Citroen Picasso, dabbing the corners of both eyes.

The red light on Claire's camcorder blinked as people shushed each other in the darkness. They heard footsteps and saw Balders' shadow loom up to the front door. They heard Balders announce something about a 'forgotten' key he had to go back for. As they entered Billy flicked the switches and the lights flooded on.

'SURPRISE.' 268

Manny didn't need to feign surprise. He was genuinely was moved by the lengths Claire had gone to transform the showroom. And there she was, walking towards him, camcorder raised.

'Right!' said Russ, 'Enough of this nonsense. I need a drink. You don't deserve her you know, boy?'

'I know – ' He aimed a hug at Claire but flopped backwards into a wheelchair as it barged into him from behind. Behind him the showroom door opened quietly and Gina slipped in. Barely anyone noticed as all eyes were on Manny, being spun by Nico and Brad.

'Better get used to that, old man!'

'That's why we delayed you this morning,' said Brad, through a mouthful of half-eaten salted peanuts. As the chair spun Manny saw a blurred sea of colleagues and friends, all laughing and cheering except one. As Nico stopped for a breather Manny got out of the chair and wobbled giddily over to Claire. He took her in his arms.

'Thank you. I had no idea. I love you so much.'

'I'd like to believe that.' He kissed her deeply and she responded, though she opened her eyes long enough to see Gina tactically looking away. Brad hugged Gina and took her coat. As he did so a small gift bag fell out. He picked it up.

'They're for you, handsome,' she lied.

Balders closed his eyes and imagined how lovely it would be to be hugging Claire – her arms around him: arms around me...? He opened his eyes to see Sir Arthur hugging him.

'Your cock-up has been the making of me. I love this Godforsaken place!'

'Come on,' said Claire. 'I want to meet Gina's new hunk.' Claire clicked the camcorder on again. She filmed Brad grinning as he displayed some tacky, if expensive, novelty cuff-links. 'It's not your birthday as well, is it?'

'No. Impulse buy from my Uptown Girl.' Brad clumsily kissed Gina's hair. 'Right, buffet,' he said, rhyming the word with 'tuffet'.

'Sorry, I didn't get you anything,' said Gina.

'No worries,' said Manny. 'I should say hello to some people.'

He led Claire away from the danger zone and planted a soft kiss 269

on her cheek. 'This is beautiful. So are you. I promise never to take you for granted again.'

Claire nodded and let him go. Her eyes stayed on her man as he worked the room, shaking hands, swapping banter, accepting greetings.

She heard Vince ask Manny about her great-great-uncle's rugby cap. She turned to Gina – 'Hi hun, can I borrow your phone? My battery's dead and I need to check the baby-sitter.' Gina handed over the phone. Claire balked at its pink bejewelled rubber cover.

Jimmy held the rugby cap up to show Emma and two bored young couples. He was even more drunk by now. 'Seventy years ago. Imagine how proud this bloke must have been, to be presented with this.' One of Emma's friends took the cap. 'Part of our tradition. Our heritage. Our – ' – Hey Jimmy? Can I ask a question?

'Of course,' said Jimmy, happy that at least one person was engaging.

'Did you ever play against him?'

'Where this famous cap then, Manny? I've never seen it. Except in pictures,' said Jeff.

'It's er... it's in the boot of Balders' car. Locked away. Totally safe.'

Manny had the horrible creeping realisation that he had no idea where it was. 'It's a wonderful thing,' said Manny. 'I'll treasure it and pass it on to Dylan.'

'You do that,' said Russ, peering outside. 'Where's Balders' car?'

'I, er... Oh yeah – it's outside the pub.'

'Outside the pub?' said Vince.

'Is it safe there?' said Jeff.

'I don't know... it's your pub!' said Manny, trying to change the subject. Russ inhaled on a bedraggled joint and changed it back.

'He never touched alcohol, my uncle. My dad told me. And he didn't just play rugby, he was a gymnast and somebody said he did some amateur theatricals. We know he did a bit of lay preaching but people rarely questioned their faith in those days. He was a traditional family man.'

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21.

Ryan paced the empty pub wrangling a cowboy hat with his hands.

'I can't allow this to happen. No way. It's not right. He needs to be rescued. She'll kill him. He was all bruises.'

Bryan nodded. No words were needed. Ryan put the cowboy hat on his head and checked his reflection in a 1980s reproduction Guinness mirror.

'Hold the fort,' he said as he ran out. Bryan peered at the few grizzled drinkers as if he was on the look-out for enemy positions just over the horizon.

22.

Sir Arthur Pwll-Thomas helped himself from the Pimm's bowl. The flashing lights reminded him of downtown Shanghai and the thudding bass-driven party music reminded him of the doorways he'd briefly loitered back in the early 1980s whilst serving as a diplomat in Manhattan – the men dressed as women. The women dressed as angels. He returned from his reverie to see a face from the past loom up before him.

'Where've I seen you before? Foreign Office?'

'White Horse. This afternoon.' Jeff poured out four glasses of Romanian Slivovice as the two mechanics joined them.

'Very brave you know,' said Sir Arthur to Brad. 'I should have done it years ago.'

'What?' said Brad.

'A life lived in secrecy. Had to in my day. No 'Gay Pride' then.'

'I'm not queer, mun!' said Brad.

'Nor me!' said Nico, winking at Sir Arthur.

'Nothing queer about it! Have fun whilst you're young, you lovely lovely oily boys.' Sylvester's classic dance-floor anthem 'Mighty Real' blasted out. Bright coloured shards spun off the mirror ball and danced across Sir Arthur's watery pale eyes.

'They're playing our song,' said Nico.

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'After you,' said Brad and they danced off together. Sir Arthur laughed and tapped his foot as the two devil-may-care young men pulled their disco shapes.

Claire couldn't help herself. She knew it was stupid. She knew she had no choice. Hunched in the upstairs office she went through the inbox of Gina's phone – BRAD MUM – but no more. Prior to 11 am this morning all messages had been deleted. Was that suspicious? Or just ruthless housekeeping? She surmised that nobody really knows how much memory their phone has.

But then again... There was nothing in the outbox so she moved on to the archive – DAMIEN JEZ SEXONLEGS 'Russ, have you seen Claire?' Russ didn't need to answer. She came clattering down the stairs, Gina's mobile in one hand, camcorder in the other.

'Where you been, love?' asked Russ and Manny at the same time.

'Had to phone the babysitter.'

'I'll head off soon. Bit tired. Manny's left Uncle Oliver's cap in a car.' Claire nodded but she wasn't listening. 'Balders gave me his keys so I may pick it up on the way home. When you doing this 'video' thing?'

'Now – ' 23.

In Hodgson's Wine Bar a hillock of coats started to quake. Emerging like an evening hamster from a nest of counterfeit brightly coloured leatherette bags Jimmy blinked, took in his surroundings, worked out roughly where he was and where the 272

nearest exit was. He staggered out, gripping tightly onto a, 'Shoes & Boots by A.H. Wherle' carrier bag.

24.

The TV screen burst into life with 'Happy Birthday Manny'. Jeff turned the lights down. Russ extinguished his joint. Sir Arthur looked on intrigued. Balders stared at Claire. Gina found her way to Brad but avoided his kiss. Nico sat Manny down in Billy's swivel chair. Billy reached into a car.

'Ok everyone!' shouted Claire A loud 'BEEEEP!' silenced the throng.

'Thanks Billy. We're all here to 'celebrate' Manny's birthday.'

'Hip, hip?' called Vince. He was grateful for the lone 'Hooray'.

Claire looked nervous, public speaking wasn't her thing. Everyone smiled reassuringly – 'So, I don't want to make a speech. I'll just... er... play the tape.' She pressed 'play' on the video camera. The film started and Claire and Dylan appeared pointing at their fridge, on which magnetic letters spelt out, 'Luv u Dadi x'.

'Hello, Daddy. Hope you have a happy – ' The film paused. ' – Enough of that' said Claire. She spooled the film on quickly. It seemed to the audience like some sort of technical error but it wasn't.

Claire had her finger on the fast-forward button. Confusion reigned as images whizzed past – Vince, Bry, Jeff, Balders, the cake, Russ, Angie, Gina – before the film paused on an image of a mobile phone. Claire slowly forwarded the film at double the normal speed until a close-up of the mobile phone came up. The phone screen said ARCHIVE. Then the phone screen said SEXONLEGS. 'The only opinion that really matters today, is this one.' She pressed Play and then Pause – AM I GREAT IN BED OR WOT? XX

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'It's not from me to Manny. It's not from Manny to me. It's from 'SEXONLEGS' to Gina.' She took Gina's phone out of her pocket. 'So let's find out who it is.' She pressed the button. Manny's mobile started to ring. He wanted the sound to go away but it was never going to. It rang and rang. He didn't answer. What would be the point? He swivelled the chair and clocked a sea of faces all realising the implications. Claire tossed the phone towards Gina who caught it expertly. Manny and Gina both clicked their phones off at the same time.

'My best friend. And my husband.' The gathering was as one: concerned, appalled, silent. Claire had one more thing to say – 'Happy Birthday, Manny.'

Ryan had run all the way from the White Horse to Wheelers, a journey of some two miles. He gasped as he reached the forecourt. Through the glass he saw a woman walk up to Balders as everyone looked on. He saw Balders reach out to her, but as he did so he vaguely heard her shout – 'You're as bad as he is' – before seeing her punch him in the chest. He saw Balders clutch his already damaged chest, stumble backwards, fall over a swivel chair, throw one leg in the air, and catch the side of his head on a tin waste-paper basket as he hit the floor. The door opened and Ryan ducked down behind a car as the woman left, followed by Balders' attractive red-haired colleague and some old man. After they left Balders emerged, gasping and broken. He slumped down by the doorway. Ryan took this as his cue – 'It's ok mate. You're well rid of her. She's one of those 'psychos' mun. We'll move back in to look after you. You're safe now, cuz.'

25.

Angie bustled into her living room carrying an armful of unopened wine from the aborted party. Claire followed, just.

'I'll just get the heating on. Tea, coffee? Alcohol?' They heard a loud snoring noise and Angie went to investigate. It seemed to be coming from behind the couch. 'Someone's forgotten where he lives,' 274

she said. She bent down and shook Jimmy's shoulder but he didn't stir.

She spotted a brown carrier bag advertising some long-lost shoe emporium near his tousled head. She picked it up and opened it. 'How did he...?'

Angie handed the bag to Claire who opened it and pulled out the family jewels. She held the ancient velvet cap close to her chest and closed her eyes.

275

Chapter 6 - Extrashiny Sparkleclean

People filtered away like ships in a fog. Car doors slammed. Billy turned the jailer's key ignoring the protests of malefactor Manny, restless amidst the debris of the showroom.

'It was once. BILLY PLEASE – ' He ran to the door and banged on the glass. 'Gina, tell him. Just the once – ' ' – Take her home, Brad,' said Billy.

'If it's any consolation Mr Wheeler,' Brad said. 'I always thought he was a prick.'

Across town the contents of Balders' boot were strewn around the carpark of the White Horse: petrol cans, a stained anorak, one wellington boot, broken jump leads, magazines, empty cardboard boxes, a short piece of rope, four empty lager cans and one full one, but no priceless rugby cap.

'Manny said it was here, but why would I listen to a word that adulterous shit says anyway,' Russ said. 'My daughter is the most precious person on this earth.' He traipsed back towards the pub.

Balders didn't disagree. He threw everything back into the boot.

Four men, quiet as deacons, sat at the bar as Russ finished a phone-call.

Claire had given him a mobile phone for emergencies despite his misgivings. Now he was glad he'd accepted it. With the caution of a committed technophobe he double-checked he'd switched it off before putting it away.

276

'Angie's is probably the best place for her. The wife would have sorted this one out. I'm not good on woman's stuff.'

'Sometimes I think they don't need us men at all,' said Vince.

'Course they do,' said Jeff. 'For lifting things.'

'Manny won't be bothering you tonight, Russ,' said Billy. Balders realised he hadn't yet contributed to the debate.

'I told them to knock it on the head...' Four pairs of eyes turned on him. 'What…?'

'You knew?' said Billy.

'Knew what?'

'You bloody knew? Go home Balders.'

'But I told them to stop it. Not my fault.'

'OUT.' 2.

Manny lashed out with his foot at a blue birthday balloon. It floated gently away. He looked up at the screen once more – AM I GREAT IN BED OR WOT? XX It's not like they'd even been to bed.

He phoned Claire for the seventh time and left a fifth message – 'If you could ever know how sorry I am. Claire. I just need to explain... not explain, nothing to explain – well, there is, but it's... just please, please, please call me.' But Claire wasn't going to call him. The two women stared at the beeping mobile on the edge of the sofa. Angie was one step ahead – 'I'm so sorry, darling. I was weak. Felt neglected. Never again...' Yeah, right! Don't buy it. I did – too many times.'

'That moment. Just before he shagged her,' said Claire. 'What goes through a man's head? Suddenly me, my son, our home –everything... suddenly we don't exist.' Angie topped her glass up.

'Hold on to that anger, it sees you through. I'm fine now, better off, happy, happy... happy.'

277

Manny slouched in the swivel chair and watched the film through his fingers. Jeff appeared onscreen – 'He seems a pleasant young man does Manny... and it's lovely what he's done for Russ.'

In the White Horse Jeff offered a revised opinion – 'Pathetic.'

Manny fast forwarded the film to Russ – 'Alright, Claire! No more quipping.

I like the boy... coming down here, supporting you... Respect that.'

Russ took a sip of bitter ale – 'He fooled us all.'

Billy on the screen – 'You're a rubbish car salesman, but a good lad!'

Billy necked a Penderyn – 'Dead man walking.'

The film reached the part where Manny kissed Gina in the street; the part where Balders put forward his rubbish 'Birthday kiss' theory. After the film ended he rewound to the start and paused on Claire and Dylan smiling at the camera.

'What the hell have you done?' he muttered to the banners and the drink-sodden streamers.

3.

Brad struggled to catch up with Gina as she strode through the Drefawr night who wore his jacket around her shoulders. After this chivalrous gesture he had hoped for a cosy arm-in-arm home but Gina was miles away – 'Claire went with Angie. She must be there.'

'Leave it to tomorrow, yeah?' She ignored him and walked on.

'Gina, he's not worth it, mun. I am though. I love my cufflinks.'

Twenty click-clacking speed-walking minutes later they arrived at Angie's house.

'Go home. I'll get a cab. This could take some time.'

'I love you,' said Brad '...What?'

'It's his fault. You're vulnerable. Not many good guys in this town.

I've said my bit. Think about it. Ok? We could be great.'

278

He walked off in his shirt-sleeves. Gina immediately forgot he existed and pressed the door-bell before realising the door was open.

Angie opened another bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape using a smart lever bottle opener – 'Best thing I ever bought. Saves valuable seconds.'

'I need to talk,' said Gina.

'If it isn't the company slut. Into house-breaking as well?' said Angie.

'The door was open.'

'Have you got another glass?' asked Claire. Angie went out to the kitchen, returned and poured Gina a large glass of wine. 'You may speak,' said Claire. '...We've been really close since Manny moved back. Flirting, talking about music. I think he has feelings for me. When I saw him at your wedding... ' Claire's face compelled her to proceed. 'He was gorgeous in his suit and you'd told me all about his band and everything.

I built up this picture and he was better than I imagined. I made a right fool of myself. I kissed him, in a friendly way – but a bit too long. He, he was surprised – but he told me I was beautiful. I'm sorry but I've loved him ever since.

'One thing you should know,' said Angie. 'They always come back.'

Gina looked behind the sofa where Jimmy lay, dead to the world. 'Any woman can pull a man. Keeping him – that's the challenge.'

4.

Balders peered through the showroom window, mobile phone pinned to his ear – 'Where are you? Hiding away yeah? Claire punches me. Billy's not talking to me. It's all your fault. You're trapped like the animal you are – ' He heard a window smash, then a yelp of pain. A figure approached. ''Birthday kiss! That's all it is, isn't it? Couldn't be anything else!' – I just saw your performance.'

'I had to say something. She saw the kiss – ' ' – But it was a birthday kiss. You were so bloody embarrassed, so awkward. You made Claire suspicious.'

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'Oh it's my fault? Right! You don't accept any responsibility at all?'

He opened the showroom door. 'Get back in.'

'No.' 'Get back in.'

'Don't be so fucking stupid. I just broke out.' Balders started to try and force Manny through the open door. 'Get off me, twat. Look, I've got a marriage to save. Where's Claire? This is very important. I have a three-year-old son. Where's my wife?'

'I can’t say. Angie's. I wouldn't go there, though.'

Angie opened the front door – 'I've already given.' She tried to close the door but Manny's foot was already across the threshold.

'I need to see her.' He entered the living room and kneeled in front of Claire. He tried to grab her hand. 'You are the most important person in the world. And I'm the biggest idiot. I – ' ' – So, you and Gina... planning a future together?'

'No way. You thought she was your best friend. She set all this up to snare me. The job, everything – I didn't want to know. I just wanted to work hard and look after my family but she wore me down, threw herself at me. I was weak, I admit it, but it was just the once, not that that's – ' ' – No contact before you moved down?'

'I never even saw her before, I know she was at the wedding, but she's not my type – ' ' – What type is she then?'

'She's a tart. I never fancied her, I don't even like the girl.' Stilettos clicked slowly on quarry tiles. Gina stood there, arms folded. Claire snarled at him – 'At least Gina had the decency to tell the truth. Get the fuck out of this house. Now.' 'You're better off without him,' said Gina.

'You can fuck off as well.'

'Shall I fuck off too?' asked Balders.

Claire gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded her head. After the party left a zombified Jimmy rose in a sleep-walking stupor and fucked off up the stairs.

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'Shouldn't he be at home?' said Claire. Angie, all sincerity – 'This is his home.'

'I know you had to say those things,' Gina said. 'I know.'

'You don't know.' Balders chipped in – 'Now you losers can both be together.'

'No. It was over, I finished this in the taxi.'

'It doesn't have to be over,' said Gina. 'We can be together now.'

Brad lurched out of the shadows – 'Need my jacket.'

'You've got him, Gina. How many men do you need? Why did you have to kiss me in the street?'

'Because I love you. I was using Brad to make you jealous.'

'Got my house keys in it...' said Brad. She took off his jacket and tossed it to him without looking.

'I'm going,' said Manny. Gina stayed. Brad offered her his jacket again.

'Come back to mine,' he said. 'Have the couch. Maybe a nightcap?'

'It's over, Brad.' She flagged down a passing cab, ran to it and got in. It drove off without her looking back.

'I'm up for it,' said Balders. 'But just so's you know, I don't put out on a first date.'

Manny hammered on Russ's double-locked door. A light appeared at an upstairs window. 'Russ, please let me in.' The light went out. Manny reflected on his options. He didn't have any. He looked around for something.

Five horrid tomato-smelling and cold compost hours later the greenhouse door opened. Russ lifted up some sheets of newspaper to reveal a freezing wretch. He handed the wretch a coffee.

'No good to her unemployed, are you? Clean yourself up and go to work.'

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5.

The sun rose on Vicarage Gardens. Angie set down some laundry on the edge of her bed including Jimmy's clothes, washed and ironed. She was already showered and made-up and watched him sleep a moment longer.

'Jimmy, Jimmy, you need to go... Jimmy – ' He rolled over and put his hungover arm round her. Claire appeared, wearing one of Angie's mohair jumpers.

'Not what it looks like,' said Angie 'Thanks for last night.'

'Borrow that. It's cold out. Tell you what, keep it. My mohair days are over.'

'Good luck.'

'You too.'

6.

Harvey's Haulage's newest HGV, Nigella, rumbled past Wheelers carrying the shaft of a wind turbine. Inside the showroom Manny was hard at work erasing the night before, packing up the party paraphernalia, cleaning up the mess. The birthday banner collapsed as Billy entered.

'Morning, boss. I'm a fool, I just want to work and look after my family. I came in early to clean up.'

'You seem to have a knack for it. Want to clean everything up, eh?'

'Yes sir.'

'You'd better get a bucket then.'

7.

Jimmy knew the imitation plasterwork ceiling rose. He knew the soft pink wallpaper. He knew the dado rail. He knew the brass bedside lamp with the rose-coloured glass shade. He knew he'd made it home but it took him a few moments to realise it was his previous home. He turned and saw Angie, eyes open, arm around him.

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'What happened? Where are my clothes? Angie? We didn't have sex, did we?' He got out of bed, encouraged by the fact he was still wearing his underpants.

'You let yourself in. Your clothes are washed. You'd been sick on them, and don't flatter yourself.' The doorbell rang. Jimmy glanced through the window – 'It's Emma! Please Angie, cover for me. It's the least you can do.'

'Ok.' Angie skipped downstairs and opened the front door – 'I've already given – ' ' – Is Jimmy here?'

Angie indicated the top landing and stood aside to let Emma pass.

Jimmy was on one leg struggling to get his trousers on when Emma entered. He toppled over onto the floor with a thud.

'Nothing happened! Angie? Tell Emma. Tell her nothing happened...' – silence – 'Tell her I was drunk and came to the wrong house. Tell her!' – still nothing – 'ANGIE.' Angie felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted – 'I wouldn't believe a word that vile witch says anyway.' Emma hammered down the stairs as Jimmy struggled with his shoes, almost falling down after her.

'You left me in the club – ' ' – Because you were pissed, you sad old alky – ' ' – Only coz I was tired and bored of you and your childish friends. You should have looked after me.' Angie theatrically inhaled as if to render herself invisible. 'Tell her, Angie!'

'You sad, sad, sad old witch,' said Emma. 'Can't give him up can you?' '...He actually let himself in.'

'You're pathetic.'

8.

Manny, wearing a navy blue overall, threw a bucket of water over a windscreen and started cleaning it with a soapy yellow sponge. Five cars had already been cleaned; twelve more to go. Balders sauntered over – 283

'You missed a bit.'

'Sod off.' Manny stood back to admire the clean front end of the car. A seagull flew overhead and splattered the bonnet.

'Divine intervention,' said Balders. Manny fumed, turned and stepped into the water bucket which spilled over sending him toppling into the wing of the car. This was inevitably the funniest thing Balders had ever seen. Manny made a call – 'I'm wet, I'm humiliated, and I love you. Please call me.'

Surprisingly the phone rang straight back – 'How many more were there, Manny? In London? All those gigs? If you'll shag my best friend, who else will you shag? I'm thinking back over all the nights out and I feel so hurt and sick and I'm damned if I'm going to let a talentless twat like you make me cry. Never contact me again.'

The phone went dead.

'Everything ok?' asked Gina.

'See what you've done?'

'Leave here with me now. Don't be a victim of guilt. We can have everything.'

'What is wrong with you? You are the single biggest mistake of my life.' He stormed off to fetch more water.

'Gina? Inside, now,' called Billy from the doorway. 'Shouldn't be arguing in front of the customers.' He indicated a man approaching: latetwenties, open-faced, tweed jacket, v-neck and tie, carrying a large briefcase. He walked up to Manny – 'Good morning! I represent a firm that specializes in a great cleaning treatment for cars. 'Extrashiny Sparkleclean.' My name is John Day, but people call me JD because they are my initials.'

JD placed Billy Wheeler's Egyptian silk tie on the desk on top of a cloth.

He sprayed it with an aerosol can until it looked sopping wet, but it quickly dried.

'Welcome to Extrashiny Sparkleclean. This isn't magic, it just looks like magic. I spray on the protective solution. It's totally transparent, doesn't smell and there is no evidence that a treatment has even been carried out. Now, in front of us we have a range of substances that can 284

cause staining on car seats. Chocolate, oil, tomato sauce – if you'll bear with me.' He rubbed each of these items into Billy's tie.

'That's Egyptian silk. If this doesn't work I hope you know a good surgeon.'

'Watch this,' said JD. He got out a clean cloth and wiped down the tie. All stains vanished.

'Not bad.'

'The other part of the treatment is a wax coating for the car.

Guaranteed for up to three years. Again, undetectable, but if bird lime or sap falls on the car it can damage the paintwork. With this product you merely wipe it clean.' Billy glanced at Balders – 'Try it on his head if you want.'

'We sell this product for £28 plus VAT. Many of my customers sell it to the end user for £50, £60. Nice way of keeping a bit of extra profit in the deal. I have to say that some garages sell it for £195, but that's too excessive for me. No need to be too greedy. How many can I put you down for?'

'What do you think?' asked Billy.

'Impressive, I suppose,' said Balders.

'He is.' Billy picked up the tie and held it up to the light. He pondered for a moment. 'I need a salesman – a good one, like you.

Company car once you hit a set target – some house deals to get you going. What's your commission on each sale of this stuff?' He picked up a bottle of the product.

'Four pounds a time.'

'Winter it gets to you I guess – out in the rain – trying to make a sale. Here we have a nice dry showroom, good commission – other benefits.' Manny and Balders wondered sullenly what they might be.

'Are you offering me a job?'

'Yes. Are you accepting it?' Billy didn't mind Manny's pain. JD smiled as he took in the place, the offer, the people. 'Balders can show you around.'

'It seems a nice place,' said JD. 'I'm not materialistic, but the money would be handy for the Elim Community Congregation.'

'Eh?' 285

'It's a church I belong to.' Billy hadn't expected this but had no prejudice when it came to salesmen and their spiritual beliefs; he'd kept Balders on all these years despite his misguided belief that he was a car salesman. '...God is good. We always start with a week's trial. Angie will show you the paperwork side. You...' – Manny expected the worst – 'The showroom windows need a clean.'

9.

Angie, in jogging bottoms and fighting a thuggish hangover, had consumed so much coffee that her choices were limited to frantically re-organising the office or waiting for a heart attack. Gina entered and took in the makeover – 'Morning Angie, you've been busy...' No response. She put on the computer and saw the screensaver. 'Highly amusing – Angie..? Ah, you're not talking to me, are you. Very professional I must say.' JD walked in – 'They said this was where Admin was.' Gina scowled and walked out. 'Mr Wheeler said you'd show me how to do the forms.' Angie's heart was pumping too fast to speak. Perturbed by her mania he tried to find another focal point. His glance happened upon Gina's computer.

The screen bore the legend – HOME-WRECKING SLUT 10.

Bryan fed 10p pieces into the antiquated White Horse pay-phone as Ryan negotiated with a script-reading agency based in Peterborough.

'Eight weeks to read? We need to get this film read and made yesterday. It's a hot idea, someone's bound to make it. No-one's ever done a combination of Cowboys and Gangsters before. Not in space anyway... Agents? Yes... er... Baldwin's. He's very exclusive...' In the background Vince necked the last of his pint.

'Give us a pint, Jeff! I'm dying here, of thirst.'

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Ryan sighed – 'No, I'm not in a pub – this is our office.' He hung up. 'This will take forever. We'll have to make it ourselves but we need funds. There's nothing else for it, Bry, it's back to debt-collecting.' Bryan bit the skin on the back of his hand until he hurt himself. 'I know, bruv, I know...'

11.

Manny peered in to see JD splashing the magic potion onto his tie which seemed to be impressing some customers. Billy smiled on, paternally.

Manny saw handshakes. He saw Billy leading JD towards Balders' desk.

It all looked horribly cosy, wholesome, Christian. Manny didn't get Christians: the patterned jumpers, the unquestioning faith, the brittle lack of cynicism.

Balders checked over the order form – 'Well done,' he lied.

'Beginner's luck. And a little help from above.'

'Above?' said Balders looking at the ceiling – The upstairs office?

What could help him up there?

'Jesus is my personal saviour. You should welcome him into your life.' Billy's happy wink unsettled Balders. As JD returned to his desk Balders looked round to see Manny's eye through a small patch of suds in the otherwise white window.

'You missed a bit.'

Manny skillfully wrote 'Wanker' in reverse in the suds but quickly wiped it out. He was in enough trouble as it was.

12.

'I can't work in that atmosphere, Dad...' moaned Gina. 'Angie is just ignoring me. I did what I did, but there's no decent men round here.'

'Brad's a decent man.'

'He's dull. Manny and I had something special.'

'You may not be over him, but he's over you.' Angie entered Billy's office carrying two cups of coffee and a packet of Lemon Puffs. 'I can't have scenes in work, Gina. One of you has to go.'

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'I'm sure you'll find another salesman. Want me to write up an advert – ' ' – I've already got another salesman.'

'What does that mean? Dad?' Billy stared at Angie, trying hard not to explode. 'Dad? What does that mean?'

'Take a holiday,' said Billy. 'Go to your cousin in Italy. Go anywhere you like, to be honest. When you come back we'll find a business course for you.'

'La dolce vita,' said Angie. Gina slumped further in her chair. 'Puff anyone?'

'Don't know why you've got Manny cleaning cars anyway,' said Gina.

'He's let me down, and he's not been selling too well recently.' He indicated the board that proved his point. It read: Balders – 8 cars, Manny – 0.

'Manny sold all those cars. Balders found out about us and blackmailed him for the deals. Balders hasn't sold a car for a week.

That's why Claire hit him. Coz he knew. And now you know.' Billy tapped the end of his pen three times on the desk. 'So, are you going to sack them as well as me? The blackmailer and the adulterer? Your sales team?' Billy considered his response.

'No. Just you,' he said.

13.

In a quiet council cul-de-sac Ryan and Bryan approached a timber and glass porch loosely connected to the side of a semi-detached house and rang the doorbell. A neat old lady from another era answered.

'Good morning. We're from Strongarm Debt Collection Agency.

Your late husband had a few outstanding debts with a local bookies and we've been employed to collect the, er... debt. It's £25.' They showed her their business card.

'There's no 'y' in 'reliable,' she said.

'We know.'

'I haven't got any money. My husband has been dead for six months.'

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'Oh. Sorry...' They peered round the door. Something had caught their eye. 'Tell you what, we won't take your TV, your cooker, or your cat. We'll just take that. We're not mean men.'

'Is it worth anything?'

'It is to us.'

'I never liked it anyway,' she said.

'Then everyone's happy,' said Ryan. And they were, except for Bryan who struggled off, barely able to carry the large cactus in a heavy ceramic pot.

14.

JD sat at his desk, surreptitiously reading his bible. He slid it away as Billy appeared from the toilets carrying a bucket of hot soapy water which he banged down on Balders' desk.

'I don't like the idea of blackmail. Join your colleague. You're cleaning. Oh yeah, and you're not getting paid on those deals either.'

'Boss!'

'Goodbye everyone,' announced Gina. 'Good luck to all of you.

Good luck to you, you blackmailing bastard. And good luck to you, whoever you are. God help you with these lying cheating hypocrites.

And Manny, the very best of luck to you – I've been sacked.' She stared at him, demanding a reaction.

'Well, if it's the boss's decision...' The door slammed shut. Gina was gone. Balders grabbed Billy's sleeve – 'Boss, you can't believe what Gina says – ' ' – You haven't sold more than 3 cars in a week since you started here. I knew there was something dodgy going on. Get cleaning.' He threw a damp cloth at Balders which hit him square in the face.

In matching overalls Manny and Balders grudgingly washed the showroom windows together.

'You two used to be salesmen then?' said JD. They nodded. 'What happened?'

'He's a blackmailer who stole my deals,' said Manny.

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'And he's an adulterer who shagged the boss's daughter,' said Balders.

'And the boss is a murderous bully who keeps a spade in his boot.'

'And the admin lady is a chronic alcoholic who's banned from driving.'

'Welcome to Wheelers.'

'Crikey,' said JD. 'What's this church you go to then?' asked Balders. 'Tambourines and clapping?'

'It's an Evangelical church. We've welcomed God into our hearts and so we are saved – 'He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned.' Mark, Chapter 16.'

'What about those of us who aren't part of your church?'

'You're going to hell.' He called out as he walked away – 'Oh, and we do have tambourines.'

'I knew it,' said Balders. There was a knock on the glass. Balders wiped some suds away revealing Billy’s face pressed up against the glass.

He pointed at Manny and beckoned him inside. Balders watched as Manny walked in, spoke to Billy, and took his overalls off.

'No – ' said Balders, banging on the glass. 'NO.' Manny was knotting his tie when Balders ran in. 'No, it's not fair. You can't reinstate him and not me – ' ' – He's not reinstated,' said Billy. He's taking the party glasses back to Jeff.'

'Oh... ok. That's fine then.'

'The camcorder needs to go back as well.'

'Anything I can do boss?' asked Balders.

'When you've finished the windows, weed the forecourt.'

15.

The door of a small stone terraced house opened. Ryan emerged carrying a very large toy laser gun. His departure was accompanied by the sound of a child crying. The cousins set off up the street, Bryan still struggling with the large cactus pot. He tripped and several cactus spikes 290

penetrated his forehead, drawing blood. Ryan was too busy lasering litter bins, lamp-posts, cats and starlings to notice.

16.

Claire sorted through her old clothes. She'd felt the natural desire of the broken-hearted to have a clear-out. Russ put his head around the door – 'Get some rest love. In work tonight, aren't you?'

'Think I need a change of image. What do you think?' She held up a very baggy hippy jumper full of holes. 'I could hide anything under this. Even a stomach out here.'

'I thought it was lager and kebabs 'til your mam told me different.'

'Were you ever unfaithful, Dad?' 'No. Your mam was enough – Sorry. Maybe if you hadn't come back to look after this old wreck – ' ' – No, Dad. No excuses.'

'NO LOVE. I KNOW.' 17.

Brad was using a noisy tyre-loosening machine when Gina entered. His diligence meant he had a good reason to pretend that he hadn't seen her.

'You're right, Brad, God you were right! Manny? What a prat! And guess what... you'll never believe this... Brad? CAN YOU HEAR ME?' – He paused a moment – 'I've been sacked. You're a nice guy, Brad.

Really... maybe we could – ' The machine shrieked back into life once again.

18.

For once Jeff was looking forward to counting the takings. It had been his busiest lunchtime take since a dozen Hell's Angels turned up by accident several months back when the leader's satnav sent them to the wrong White Horse. Jeff had found them an amiable bunch even if they had set fire to the carpet. This time his trade was from the godly side – nine elderly bell-ringers who had supped a fair few bitter shandys. They 291

had snacked as well, and he was down to his last pickled egg. Ryan and Bryan were also in situ, making lists on a pad next to a script entitled, 'INTERGALACTIC GANGSTER COWBOYS – SHOOTING SCRIPT.' 'We've got a script, a cactus and a big space gun,' said Ryan. 'All we need are costumes, lights, camera and make-up. If we can shoot a couple of minutes of a promo tape, put on the internet, get film industry people to see it, that'll help get finance, yeah?' Manny entered and put down the glasses and the video camera on the bar.

'Lock up your daughters,' said Jeff.

'Thanks for these,' said Manny ignoring him. 'Shame we didn't get much chance to use them.'

'Video camera is it?' said Vince. 'I never got a chance to see my performance.' Ryan hurtled over – 'We need a camera, can we borrow it? Shoot a promo for our film?' He called back at his brother, 'Bryan, it's a sign!'

'It's not a sign,' said Manny. 'It's a camera. And you can't borrow it.' Jeff nodded. He didn't like lending things, preferring to keep his purchases unused in their original boxes. 'Quite a crowd, Jeff?'

'Bell-ringers. They come every year. They're ringing bells somewhere.'

'If only we had a crowd like this down at the showroom. Might get my job back. Can I have a coke? And one for you and Vince.'

'I won't be bought,' said Jeff.

'I will, pint,' said Vince. Manny looked over at the bell-ringers: bellringers... churches... nice crowd... EUREKA! He bade them make a space for him where he launched into a tale – 'It was the bell of St, Cuthbert and it was being taken from Stonehenge to Ireland but the local bishop didn't want it crossing his land. They got to the boundary but they couldn't go any further so they built a church, and St Cuthbert's bell, which was one of the biggest ever recorded – ' ' – Where was it recorded?' asked a bell-ringer.

'Llandaff Cathedral,' said Manny.

'Where was this church?' asked another.

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'Just a short way from here. There's a, er... car showroom on the site now.' Manny was about to close the deal, but a leering Ryan seemed set to thwart him. 'Can I help you?'

'My name is Ryan, er... Jeff – Jeffreys,' said Ryan 'I'm from the local paper. I'd be very interested in filming your visit to the showroom, where the church was, etcetera, for the local parish records. I understand you have a video camera I could borrow?'

'So this is all true?' asked a sceptical bell-ringer. Ryan looked to Manny – in or out? Manny reluctantly nodded. Ryan ran to the bar and scooped up the camera before Jeff could secure it – 'Every word is true!'

'Excuse me,' said JD peeping around the Admin Office door.

Sorry to bother you but I've done a deal.'

'Well done,' said Angie. As she looked through his paperwork JD spotted the Judas Tree that Jimmy had delivered the day before.

'Nice plant.'

'Judas Tree.'

'Really? Judas... 'And he cast down thirty pieces of silver in the temple, and departed, and went and hanged himself.' Matthew 27, Verse 5.'

'You know just that? Or the whole bible?'

Manny assembled the throng in the showroom. A lone craggy bellringer detached himself and loitered near a showroom car. Manny saw JD approach the isolated campanologist. He didn't mind, there were plenty of fake customers to go round.

'Ok, one moment, and I'll give you the tour. I just want to explain to the boss what's going on. We often have heritage visits here, but he likes to know. It's a Health and Safety thing.'

Billy was changing the sales board as Manny burst in.

'You're not having the eight deals back. I'll give you four. Fair?'

'Yes. Just saying... you'll have to get another salesman in.'

'What you on about?' Manny pushed open the door to reveal a showroom full of what seemed to be enthusiastic customers. 'What are you standing here for, boy? Go sell.'

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'If you insist, boss.' He marched out, making sure the door was closed. 'Right, everyone, the tour can begin. Just give me one moment...'

JD scuttled over, indicating the chap at his desk – 'He's interested in a car, but er... you brought him here, so – ' ' – He must be a hundred years old. Probably just wants to get warm.' Manny trotted outside and sought out Balders, weeding at the far end of the forecourt.

'Missed a bit. When you've finished my desk needs a polish. Got to go, customers to deal up.'

'Bastard.'

Balders watched Manny return to the showroom. He saw him point at the ceiling – Why was Manny pointing at the ceiling. And more to the point, who are these people? And even more to the point, how can I use them to my advantage?

As he plotted, a battered old Toyota Hilux 4x4 pick-up pulled up and two ruddy-cheeked fishermen got out. Balders knew they were fishermen by the rods and fishing gear in the back and the fact that the whole area, despite being a long way from the sea, suddenly smelt of fish.

'What you caught?' he asked.

'Mackerel,' said one.

'That's a fish. I've heard of that.'

'I'm interested in a new small car,' said the other. 'My name is Tom – is there a salesman available?'

'This is of great historic importance to religion in this area – and bellringing everywhere. And all salesmen here well, we're committed Christians.'

'Which church do you attend?' chimed one.

'Religion is not a building,' said Manny.

'We like churches. They have bells in,' said another, pealing away.

Balders grabbed Manny's arm, dragging him away from his audience.

'Those guys outside. They're poachers – salmon. Billy normally buys off them but it's very hush-hush so don't talk to them, ok?'

'Fine.' Balders continued to Billy's office. Manny turned to JD – 294

'Remind me, where does it mention cars... or carts even, in the Bible?'

'Samuel Book 2 – 'They set the ark of God upon a new cart...'' A bellringer got out his bible and started leafing through it. 'Try Chapter 6,' said JD. The crowd looked on expectantly as the bible-owner flicked through the scriptures. He found the verse in question – 'He's right you know. He's a good Christian boy.' The crowd murmured positively.

'Aren't we all,' said Manny. 'And where did they buy this new cart?'

The bell-ringers looked flummoxed. Even JD didn't have the answer.

This was beyond anything learned in their bible-study groups. 'From a new cart salesman. You can't argue with the Bible!'

Whilst bell-ringers weren't renowned for sophisticated levels of humour, they did enjoy a good pun and much mirth reigned upon the forecourt.

'They were trying to sell me some fish, but I think I might be able to sell them a car.'

'How?' asked Billy.

'I used to be a keen fisherman. Of course, I can't do it if I'm not reinstated.' Billy stared at him. Balders lifted up a bucket of weeds and put it on his desk. 'I've done loads of weeding.'

'Ok, just for now, but if you don't sell you're back out there.'

Balders quickly took off his overalls. 'Balders, come back here.'

'Yes, boss?'

'Take the bucket with you.'

19.

Gina had been calling for some time through the letterbox of Claire's house. She needed to be heard, but not by the neighbours. She was failing on both counts – 'Please, let me in. I'm sorry. Claire? Me and Manny, it was a mistake. He loves you. He really does. Open the door – ' Finally the door opened. It wasn't Claire, or Russ, or anyone Gina knew, but a woman in a onesie smoking a rollie.

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'I think you want next door, love. I would have said sooner but it was better than the soaps. Was it really just the once?'

'Sorry, all these houses look the same.' Gina glanced next door and saw Claire standing on the doorstep, smoking a cigarette.

'Can I come in?' asked Gina.

'Say what you've got to say out here.'

'Well, she's your oldest friend and it was a big mistake,' said the onesie-woman. 'And she's really, really sorry, and – ' ' – You'd better come in,' said Claire. 'No, not you – ' 20.

Balders was back in the saddle. One of the fishermen was showing a keen interest in ten-year old Mini One Diesel priced at £3250.

'Just came in today. Lots of interest in it already.' Manny appeared at the vanguard of a procession of pensioners.

'I'll have some salmon,' he said. The fishermen looked confused.

'Lying sod,' he muttered to Balders as he passed. As the last of the bellringers straggled by, one of them turned to Balders 'Fascinating story about the bell.'

'What bell?'

Balders was pleased that Tom had got into the car – but if he doesn't buy it will the car smell of fish? Billy wouldn't like that, no Sir-ee. Fish smell worse than dogs. Anyway, best try and forget the smell of fish.

'I'm getting married next Saturday,' said Tom. I hope she likes fish.

'So I thought I'd take her on honeymoon in something nice.'

'Not something smelling of fish, eh?'

'What?'

'No, no, not you... the pick-up.'

'It's not a bad smell,' said the other fisherman. 'I think it's fine.

You don't have to splash out on a car. We've had some times in this pick-up. You wouldn't believe.'

'I would.'

'I'm selling the pick-up,' Tom said.

'What?'

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'Pete, I'm part-exchanging it to buy this car.'

'So this is the end of an era...? No more fishing?'

'We can get the rods in the car.' Peter slouched over to the pick-up and absent-mindedly stroked the dented tailgate. Balders realised this wasn't going to be easy... but neither is weeding, so ok, game on – 21.

Claire stared at the defunct 1950s hearth whilst Gina bit the nail varnish off her little finger.

'You two have killed something in me.'

'Manny hates me.'

'Well, I'm not sorry you're going. I can't give you the forgiveness you're after.' Gina made for the door. 'Where did you do it? I want to know. Your place? Here? In a car? Where?'

'Claire, no – ' ' – WHERE?' 'In my Dad's office.'

Claire leapt up and smacked Gina across the face as hard as she could – 'Get out. Get out! Better a bed than that! GET OUT!' Gina found herself bundled out of the front door. 'I never want to see you again.'

Several neighbours seemed to have gathered mysteriously at their front doors. 'End of episode – go put the kettles on – my life is not your entertainment.' But it was. Claire grabbed Dylan, rushed to her car and sped off leaving Gina alone with the chorus of crones.

22.

Balders appraised the 4x4 for part exchange. It was more bashed than had first appeared with not a panel undented; the dashboard was largely absent; the wheel arches held more mud than a small estuary and there was a Billy Bass singing fish gaffer-taped to the rusting bull-bars.

'Bit of damage to the tailgate – broken hinge,' said Balders ticking off the form.

297

'That's where you reversed into the tree, remember, Tom? We caught a 12lb barbel that day. Biggest ever caught on that stretch of the river.' Tom nodded, aware that his mate was prone to nostalgic wallowing.

'Cracked wing mirror.'

'Skidded on the ice and clipped a gritter. Near Rhandirmwyn, remember, Tom? Maybe you don't.'

'I remember – ' Balders was aware of the tension. Tension wasn't good when selling a car. Two people buying together had its merits. They could enthuse each other and no-one likes making a big decision alone, but one person wanting a car and the other not inevitably resulted in a nosale. He needed to reel them in.

'When's the stag do, then?' asked Balders.

'Tonight,' said Tom. He spoke loudly for his friend's benefit. 'He's a great bloke, I bet he's organised all sorts of nutty things, eh, mate? I told the missus though, no strippers, and that's an order!'

'I'll get you a price.' Balders crossed the forecourt to where Manny was struggling to maintain his ludicrous pretence – 'Looking back from this spot the church building ran from there to there and in this area – where this rather nice Mazda 3 series, low mileage one owner – £5995 – stands is where the main gate to the churchyard was. Full service history on that one... And where this slightly cheaper car, a snip at £4995, is – ' Billy appeared at the doorway.

He waved at the group. The group waved back. 'That's the boss – he's a lay preacher in the local chapel. He holds a little service here, once a year, to commemorate St Cuthbert and his massive bell. And in that spot stood an oak tree that St Cuthbert used to eat his lunch under – on nice days.' He pointed at a black Ford Fiesta, 'We could do a deal on that one.' Balders appeared at his side.

'Tell me David, as you know so much about these things, what did St Cuthbert used to eat for lunch? You told me once...'

'Did I?' 'Yeah, it was some sort of pie – a 'porkie' pie, wasn't it?' JD approached with the aged straggler. Manny wound up – 'That's the tour, is anyone interested in buying a car?'

298

'I am. For my granddaughter,' said the aged straggler. A bus pulled up and the bell-ringers flocked towards it.

'Nice to meet an honest salesman,' said the aged straggler. JD beamed.

'Thank you Mr Donaldson,' he said.

'Call me Stan.'

'Just you, eh? Anyone else?' asked Manny. 'You've had the tour!'

The bell-ringers shuffled onto the bus calling out thanks and goodbyes.

Only Stan remained. 'Aren't you going with them?'

'Who were they?' asked Stan.

'For fuck's sake,' said Manny. He spun round and walked over to the agitated anglers. 'Been fishing?' He looked inside and saw a surly chops. 'Too big to throw back was he?' Tom chuckled but Pete became even more downcast. 'What you got? Salmon?'

'Mackerel.'

'But he's giving up fishing coz he's getting married,' said Pete.

'Pete...'

'When you getting married?'

'Next Saturday.'

'Look after her. What about you, mate?'

'Haven't got a girlfriend,' said Pete.

'Hey Manny,' said Balders concerned that his poaching cover story was about to be blown. Phone call for you.' Manny set off for the showroom. 'Some bloke called Cuthbert. It's about a bell.'

'Hilarious,' said Manny, not laughing.

'Ok chaps, your van, as is, dents, cracks, mud, fish, stories, etcetera – £900.'

Before they could respond a battered old Astra pulled onto the forecourt. Manny dashed over and tried to kiss Claire on the cheek through the open window but she pulled away and he ended up kissing the seat belt.

'Hiya!' he reached in and ticked his son's belly. 'Hiya, mate. Missed you last night. Did you miss me? Yeah? Miss your Daddy?'

'I'm only here to drop a jumper off for Angie.'

'You ok? I've been worried. I've tried phoning – loads.'

'I'm exhausted, Manny. I don't know why I'm in this situation'.

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'I'm so sorry.'

'Gina's sacked then? Not that it solves anything. I didn't sign up for this. I need a hug, but the only man who can give me one broke my heart.' She threw Angie's jumper at Manny. 'Give this to Angie. Say thanks.'

'I'll call by later...?'

'Don't.'

'I need stuff from the house.'

'Come after 6 – I'll be at work.'

'Where will I go?'

'BACK TO LONDON FOR ALL I FUCKING CARE.' She raced off triggering a shrapnel burst of gravel as the tyres spun.

'CLAIRE.' 'Could you keep your marital problems at home,' shouted Balders.

Manny stuck two fingers up at him.

'It's got to be worth £1500,' said Pete.

'If it had a sturgeon full of caviar in the back, maybe.'

'You can't sell it for that, can you Tom?' 'Why don't you buy it then?' said Balders. 'Private sale's always better.' Pete looked as dejected as a trout on a fishmonger's slab.

'I can't drive,' he said.

23.

Ryan and Bryan departed Goddard's Fancy Dress Shop with a Red Indian outfit, a cowboy outfit and a zombie mask. Ryan had the lights, laser gun and costumes whilst Bryan continued his stoical heaving of the cactus pot which had become so heavy he had to walk in a strange crablike shuffle whilst dangling the large pot between his legs. Once more it nearly slipped his grasp; once more sharp spikes pierced his already pincushioned brow.

24.

It was number-crunching time at Balders' desk. Pete and Tom sat in silence as Balders checked his figures.

300

'It's no good. Any less for our car, or any more for yours, and we'll be making a loss on it.'

'Ok. I'll do it,' said Tom, unexpectedly. 'Where do I sign?' Pete welled up – 'So it's all over then, twenty years of friendship, see you down IKEA mate.'

'We can still be friends, mun. People get married – ' ' – Friends last longer.' Pete indicated a forlorn looking Manny.

'Look at him and his wife, just now.' Balders had to move quickly. He slid the invoice under Tom's nose. Tom picked up the pen – 'Don't do it,' implored Pete. 'You don't need a car. What do you want a car for?' Tom's pen hovered one inch above the dotted line, Balders willing him on.

'My fiancé might have a job lined up. In Cardiff.'

'Cardiff? She's going to commute all the way to Cardiff? Every day...?' – a light came on – 'You're bloody moving there, aren't you? And you weren't going to tell me?'

'Nothing's finalised yet – ' ' – So you are moving. Goodbye. Me and you are no longer friends.' Pete got up and went to the door but Balders wasn't too unhappy about this turn of events. The pen was still poised. JD watched on from his desk as Stan studied the paperwork.

'Peter...' called Tom. 'I don't know you.'

'You do, I'm your old mate.'

'Don't know you...'

'Peter, it's me, mun, Tom.' 'I don't know who you are.' The door slammed shut. JD stood up – 'And Peter remembered the word of Jesus, which said unto him, 'Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice.' '.

'I'm not one for religion,' Stan said. 'Worm food I'll be. I'll go to the brokers, get insurance sorted. Back soon.' The door opened and Pete returned carrying a fishing rod, a tackle box, and a large container. He opened the container and took out a brace of mackerel which he 301

dumped on Balders' desk. Tom sighed deeply and the pen hit the desk with a clatter.

'What about the car?' called Balders as Tom headed out. JD walked over – 'Jesus fed 5000 people with just two fish and five loaves.'

'Where's your customers?' asked Billy Wheeler.

'Mine's just gone to his insurers,' said JD. 'Mine'll be back,' said Balders.

'BE BACKS. What have I told you about bloody BE BACKS.' Billy picked up the wet oily fish and slapped Balders around the head with them before running one down his forehead, around his nose and down his chin. It hurt. It was humiliating. It smelled really bad. Bill stood back to admire his work 'Always wanted to do that,' he said.

25.

Val tottered in carrying a plate of home-made pasties. She didn't like pasties but had the occasional craving for them after valium and gin afternoons.

'I know you never eat, but I made these and they turned out quite nicely. I've watched cookery programmes for years but never actually made anything. Why have you got a red face?' She sat on the edge of the bed and nibbled at a cheese and bacon snack. 'Why are you packing?'

'You don't want to know.' Gina bundled some tops and leggings into the case.

'I bloody do.'

'Dad found out that I got off with one of the salesmen.'

Manicure set, belt, make-up bag, I-pad...

'Which one?'

'Manny... which one do you think? Yeah, go on, judge me. We don't talk about personal stuff, do we?'

Tongs, curlers, another make-up bag...

'Manny's not unattractive.'

'He's married to Russ's daughter, Dad's best friend.' Val stopped nibbling.

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'So?' 'So today, Dad sacked me.'

26.

Billy was writing JD's name and the number '1' on the sales board when Angie entered carrying magazines, tampons, an MP3 player and lipsticks.

'I've cleared out Gina's desk, there's a load of crap here. Do you want to take it?

'Stick it on my desk.' He looked at the board. 'Not bad for a first day. Got another deal on the way too.

'His deal was a bit skinny.' She showed Billy the form. 'Only £100 profit. We're not a charity.

'Not too good but at least he's shifting stock. He's a decent guy, old-fashioned – ' – Evangelical – ' – We need that from salesmen. Committed, honest and believing in the product. He won't lie, blackmail, cheat, turn up hungover, sleep around – ' Angie put her hands in the air – ' – O Lordy, we are all sinners!'

27.

Ryan struggled to pin a large beige blanket to the wall in Balders' living room. He was dressed as a cowboy gangster. Large disco lights illuminated the room.

'That'll look like a desert on camera. One in space anyway.' He adjusted the cactus. Bryan walked in wearing a white bath robe. He had a tight-fitting 'Red Indian' style headband on his head with a feather in it.

His feet were bare. He was unhappy and Ryan knew it.

'Bro, I don't look like an Indian, and I know the cowboy gangster has more words but your diction isn't the best.' Bryan mumbled something. 'Come on, take the robe off, let's rehearse the scene for the promo.' Bryan caught sight of himself in a mirror as he took off his robe. He wasn't comfortable in the loin cloth. Furthermore, his head 303

band was chafing leaving further red marks on his already bloodied forehead. He petulantly closed the robe.

'Bryan? You get to wear the wig.' Ryan held up a long black straggly wig. 'I can't play both parts, can I? This isn't working. We need more space – someone to hold the camera.'

A single nail pointed up from the floorboards between the bedroom and the hall and Bryan's bare foot landed right on top of it.

28.

Three nervous salesmen waited nervously as Billy Wheeler conjured up the relevant splenetic words.

'Balders, you let a customer go after filling out the form but before he actually signed it. Manny, you had a whole crowd of customers, none of whom bought a car, and you... JD, we're not a bloody charity. Sorry if that's swearing. You've got to be a bit more ruthless and not give my money away. Where's that old guy you were selling to?'

'He's gone to get insurance, but he's coming back. I trust him.'

'Never trust a customer. They lie. They cheat. Manny, if his customer comes back show him how we do things.'

'Yes sir.'

'Dismissed.' The men started trooping out. 'One more thing – I've only got room for two salesmen here.'

'Hello?!'

'Mine's back,' said JD. 'He's good. You have to admit it – ' Balders and Manny failed to admit it. They went to the toilet for a conference. Balders turned on the taps and spoke quietly to ensure they couldn't be overheard – 'You've got to go. Just do us all a favour, and resign. You're an adulterous cheating liar. And I was here first.' Manny seemed to accept this. 'So you'll leave...?'

'No. I think you should leave. You can't sell cars, you're scruffy and you're a liar too. I know the difference between salmon and mackerel. And you stink.'

'One of us is out though – ' A thought came. They spoke as one – 304

'Unless...'

Manny swept up a chair and popped it next to JD's as he was finishing up his Extrashiny Sparkleclean demonstration.

'That looks good!' said Stan. 'How much is it?'

'Normally £250,' said Manny before JD could speak, 'But £200 to you.' JD was horrified. 'What's your name?'

'Stan –' ' – Stan, think of your grand-daughter's make-up on the seats etcetera. Girls, eh?' Stan picked up the bottle.

'Go on then. Thanks for telling me about it... Extrashiny... whatever. Hey, her insurance is expensive. She's only 17 see. I got a few bob, mind. So where do I sign?'

'Seventeen, yeah? What music does she like?' Manny turned to JD – 'Music. Bible quote?'

'There's the Song of Solomon.'

'Smart lad. So Stan, can I call you Stan? What does she like? Pop? Rap?' 'JLS. She plays them in my car all the time. Personally I like that Pharrell Williams bloke.'

'Maybe I shouldn't mention it but we've got a very special deal on CD players – with iphone facility and Bluetooth – at the moment. It's normally £300, but we can do it, all in, including labour for £220. And that's including VAT.' JD stared at the desk wondering how on earth to stop all this wickedness. In doing so he failed to see Ryan and a limping Bryan enter the showroom carrying costumes, disco-lights, laser guns and a cactus plant. They walked up to Balders' desk – 'Give us two minutes Balders, that mural there is perfect for our promo. We're all rehearsed and everything. We'll set up the lights, get changed and you can film us – yeah?'

'I can't. I'm working.'

'Give us five mins. Bryan, get changed. Just five – '

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'Ok,' said Manny reading out the invoice – 'We've got the Stereo upgrade, new bass speakers, Extrashiny Sparkleclean, security etching, carpet mats, fog lights, alarm and a free air freshener.

'Don't forget that!' said Stan. 'You're good lads you are.' He signed the form without reading it and handed over a cheque.

'We'll phone you when it's all ready. About a week.'

'Thanks lads. Excellent service.' JD picked up the wastepaper basket. He wanted to be sick. Manny smirked as he hammered some figures into a calculator. 'That was nearly a record. You have made £190 in commission. How do you feel?'

'Morally bankrupt. He was a good man. We ripped him off.'

'Only for money. We'll make a salesman out of you yet.'

JD shivered, put down the bin, opened his drawer, got out his bible, shut his eyes and mouthed a small prayer. Over in the corner Ryan shuffled around with a plug. The lighting rig was set ready to go. Manny reported to Balders – 'We've stitched up the old guy. JD's facing his demons.'

'Good.'

'We're ready,' called out Ryan.

'Go away,' said Balders.

'But Bryan's ready. Come on Cuz, 'Action' innit!' Bryan appeared from behind a car, barefoot in his bathrobe and wig. He stood by the lights and threw down his bathrobe. Ryan switched on the lights – Now these lights were meant for high ceilings far away from human beings. They were meant for illuminating massive dance-floors in huge black-walled discothèques. The cousins had found them at the rear of the old Steps night-club, which meant the rig had been in the open air some time and was not just water-damaged and rusty, but wouldn't have passed a Health & Safety test even when new. Surprisingly they flashed into life, sending out a brilliant and scorching hot beam... And for just a moment Bryan Hagan was silhouetted in bright light and smoke as he stood in his loin cloth. His long wig unkempt around his face. His forehead a battlefield of red bloody marks. His foot bleeding. His arms out-stretched and rigid in pain as the lights scorched his back's dough-grey skin.

306

It was almost inevitable that the momentary flash and accompanying bang would cause the skittish JD to look up.

'Jesus Christ!' he said. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and started praying loudly. 'Lord, your humble servant needs guidance – ' Manny watched in wonder, but immediately realised this was now about nanoseconds – 'Ryan, see to your brother, quickly! He's in pain – ' Ryan dragged Bryan to the toilet as Manny pushed the fused but still smoking lights around the corner by the mural. JD opened his eyes to see Balders and Manny sitting in front of him blocking any view he might have had of the scene behind them. Quaking and bewildered JD peeked over their shoulders to the place where Jesus had appeared.

'Where did he go?' he gasped.

'Where did who go?' asked Manny.

'You didn't see it?'

See what?'

'The Lord.'

'What Lord?'

'The Lord Jesus Christ.'

'Did you see any 'Lord', Balders?'

'Nope. I didn't see anything. No Lord here. I once sold a car to a Mr Lord.'

'I didn't see anything either,' said Manny. They both looked round to where nothing had occurred and shook their heads. 'What was it you saw again?'

'Get some fresh air,' said Balders. 'Go on, get outside. Car showrooms can get to a man – ' 29.

Val and Gina entered the showroom with deadly purpose, as if they were first in the queue for the Harrods sale. Val had only been to the showroom once before. She hated the place even though it paid for her lifestyle, but it was a reminder of everything Billy could have achieved if only he hadn't totally screwed up. She marched into her husband's office – 307

'I do not believe what a hypocrite you are. Have you forgotten something? How you and I had an affair all those years ago? After hours – on your desk? Was I a tramp?' Gina processed this difficult information. Val continued – 'When everyone ostracised us, how did you feel? You were married, I was widowed, recently widowed – it was far worse than anything Gina has done and you and I were much older.

All poor Gina did was fall in love and believe a cheat – ' ' – Whose name is above the door, Valerie?'

'The name above the door is 'Wheeler'. That means our family. Us. Gina is bored like I'm bored, but she deserves better.'

'I said, she can do a business course.'

'She will not be hidden away and anyway, practice is better.'

'What do you mean, you're 'bored'?'

'I gave up my career but I'm damned if she will, so this is what you are going to do – ' 30.

'What have you done to that boy?' demanded Angie of the sniggering salesmen.

'What boy?'

'JD. He's weeping in admin. He wanted me to pray with him and for him, and for you two as well. He's on about Jesus coming to warn him about this place and... hang on a sec, I made notes – ' She got out a piece of paper. 'Here we go – '...lies, distortion, adultery...' and, '...blackmail wasn't a commandment but it should be', and that we're '...all going to hell'. And then it was, 'Our father who art in heaven and all that,' and a bit more about how we're all sinners and he's not, and that we're all going to hell... again.

So, for the second time, what have you done?'

'We did nothing. Honest,' said Manny.

'One strange thing happened after another,' said Balders.

'Balls,' said Angie. Gina strode towards them. 'Left something behind?'

'Yes,' said Gina. 'My new job title - 'Showroom Manager'. Oh, and Angie, could you put the office back the way it was before. We'll shop for uniforms next week? Name badges... call the printers, see what they 308

can do. Maybe go for metal badges, classier. Yours can say, 'Admin Assistant'.'

'We'll see about this – ' said Angie. ' – I wouldn't, said Gina. Mum's in there. She's got Dad by the bollocks.' Manny's desk phone rang. Gina swooped it up – 'Hello, Gina Wheeler, Showroom Manager – Hello?...' She put the phone down.

'Must have been a wrong number. Back to work, boys.'

'Billy, what are you thinking?' blurted Angie as she entered the office. She'd never seen the big man look so small.

'I can't live with crumpled shirts and no roast dinners.' Val winked at Angie – 'I know what else he can't live with as well – ' Balders sat in the pick-up part of the 4x4 with a troubled fisherman drinking oxtail soup from a flask whilst listening to Billy Bassfish sing 'Take Me To The River.' The other Billy – Wheeler – had glared at Balders through the windscreen for seemingly being off-duty before remembering Alex O'Donnell's, 'The Doorway To The Deal' Chapter 14 – 'It's good to act as if your customers are old and cherished friends.'

'One time we – ' ' – Caught a fish this big,' interrupted Balders. 'Forget about him.'

'A stag without the best man. Didn't realise he felt so bad. Still, one stag night you get.'

'I'll give you a night to remember, ok?' said Balders pushing the order form under Tom's nose. 'Once you sign this – ' 31.

The late Autumn evening was drawing in and the Drefawr rush hour snaked past the White Horse. Ordinarily there were no traffic jams leaving town by this route, but there were road-works up on the top road; drains were being laid for new flats being built on the site of the old dairy. JD sat at the bar and gulped down a warm orange juice. He was fidgeting so much he could have undone buttons with his buttocks.

'I don't feel right being in a pub. The church leaders won't like it,' he said.

309

'You've had a bad day,' said Manny. 'Relax. Just your imagination playing tricks.'

'It was real.'

Balders returned from the car-park. He nodded at Manny then downed half a pint of beer, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and turned to JD – 'You ever had visions before?' Vince butted in – ' – I saw Jesus once, well his face anyway. I was sweeping up the hair on the floor in my barber shop and there it was, his face, in the hair.' Manny laughed – 'What? Big beard and long hair? In the hair?'

'Aye. Weird, mun' 'What about you, JD?' asked Balders.

'Never like today. I can't believe you didn't see – ' Despite the warm pub glow something horrifying had caught his attention. There, in the window, clear against the navy sky was the shadow of a devil's horned head.

'What's that?' gasped JD. Three devils with red faces and horns leered in at the window. 'What the hell are they? – ' ' – Who are who?'

'Them!'

'I'm sorry, mate...' said Manny peering at the same window, 'Who are what, again?'

'Three devils – over there – in the window.'

There were no faces to be seen. Manny and Balders looked pitifully at each other before offering JD an ostentatious amount of compassion. Balders even smoothed JD's arm.

'You didn't see them?'

Manny and Balders shook their heads. JD looked at Jeff, then at Vince. He pointed at the window.

'Mr Landlord, you saw them, didn't you?'

'In the window? No.' 'You?' 'What window?' said Vince. ' JD stood up as unsteadily as if he'd spent the afternoon drinking Whoosh – 310

'Tell Mr Wheeler, thanks but I can't work here anymore. I've been exposed to too much evil.'

JD ran out of the pub, undid his top button and clutched a small crucifix on a chain. He searched for devils but none were present. He looked up to the sky and mumbled a prayer as he headed off – 'I'll do your work tonight, Lord. Today you have shown how much you want to save my soul. I thank you for the visions you've sent me.'

As he rounded the corner three red devils appeared slowly from behind a Denzil & Daughters yellow skip and silently high-fived each other.

'This is the guy, suggested the outfits,' said Tom patting Balders on the back too many times. 'Genius!'

'Great,' said Devil No. 2.

'Super,' said Devil No. 3 'People love it,' said Tom. 'We're having such a laugh.'

'What happened to your best man?' asked Balders.

'Bottled it,' said Tom, with a tinge of regret. 'Ah well... Landlord, large whiskies all round and trebles for my friends here. And five pints of snake-bite – ' ' – Lads, no!' said Balders. 'We've got to go to – ' ' – Bible class,' added Manny. A childish chorus of 'Boring!' rang out.

'Don't do anything I wouldn't do,' said Balders.

'We're doing everything! Getting hammered, curry, everything!' said Tom. 'I'm going to steal a traffic cone – ' ' – Gutted we're going to miss all that – ' grinned Balders. ' – And put it on my head!'

Balders and Manny downed their drinks and slipped away. As they exited they heard whooping and hollering. Manny had a query – 'What did you tell those guys?'

'Well now...' said genius mastermind, Gareth Baldwin. 'I told them to look through the window, grin a bit, hide behind the skip, and then come back when the square guy we were with left. You can overcomplicate things at times.'

311

'That is genius. So, it's you and me, then.'

'If we go out for a drink together, it doesn't mean I like you.'

'Course not. Coz I bloody hate you.'

32.

'Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves,' blasted out of the speakers at Hodgson's Wine Bar. It was 80s night on Thursdays and 70s night on Fridays. For Neil 'Nodge' Hodgson music ended in 1987 around the time that gurning baggy-trousered tuneless Mancunians with bad teeth dominated the charts. Nodge, a tall cheerless man with a perfectly round beer belly and yellow teeth, poured salted peanuts for his clientele including Manny and Balders, who were propping each other up by the bar.

'I've really screwed up.'

'Yes.' 'Am I banging on about this?'

'Yes.' 'Remember when we met?'

'You pretended to be a customer.'

'You're still pretending to be a salesman.' They chinked glasses.

Nodge lurked. Happy hour was just over and he got peeved if people left just as the prices went up. Though Nodge never smiled, the arrival of three customers just after happy hour lifted his spirits.

'What shots have you got!' yelled a drunk and enthusiastic man dressed in a devil costume.

'Give us 10 shots!' said another.

'Coming right up.' Nodge quickly poured out a tray of syrupy brown shots. Balders and Manny pretended they were invisible.

'Hey car salesmen, you can't hide from us. We're devil stags and we're partying until we go home. Down in one!' Tom pushed the tray uncomfortably close to their faces. 'Bible class?' he twinkled.

'We meet among the sinners,' said Balders.

'Baldwin. Chapter 4, Verse 12,' said Manny. 'Cheers.' They knocked back the drinks. 'Ah well, time to go – ' 312

' – No,' said Tom. 'Same again, landlord. This is the best night of my life. Thanks lads. You're great. I mean it.'

'AND ONE FOR ME!' called out a large bearded drag queen – 'Sing along boys – 'Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves... '' 'PETE!' shrieked Tom. 'It's me! The best man!'

'The best woman, more like!'

Five long minutes of rounds, inane cheering, farting, belching, back-slapping, terrible quipping and tedious banter later, Balders and Manny realised they had some empathy with JD's commitment to finding a place for himself in the kingdom of heaven. Hell, clearly, was shit.

'Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,' said Balders.'

'No he doesn't. Let's go. Oh God, look at these two.' Pete and Tom were entwined like teenagers in a bus stop.

'Love you, mate. Don't mind you selling the pick-up,' said Pete.

'Love you too, mate, we'll still go fishing,' said Tom. He turned to Manny and Balders, 'It's Pete, mun. He turned up!' This much they knew.

'Salesmen guys,' said Pete. 'Great blokes.'

'Thanks, but we've really got to go now – ' Pete handed Tom a carrier bag.

'What's this?' Tom pulled out an inflatable sheep, streamers, balloons, handcuffs and party poppers. The devils' and the drag queen's eyes swivelled towards the cornered car salesmen.

33.

Manny and Balders lurched down the high street past a shop that had been taken over by an evangelical church and now sold Christian Coffee, St Paul's Pasties and Tabernacle Tea alongside prayer-books, calendars and bibles. '...Claire did support me for ages. When I was in a band – she worked and took care of Dylan. What am I going to do?'

'Eat a kebab.'

'Not hungry.'

313

'It'll stop you talking.'

'Oh aye. Thanks.' Balders crossed the road, jolting Manny over with him.

'Aw – handcuffs!' said Manny.

'Sorry, mate.'

'How are we going to sort this out? How are we going to sleep?'

'Like this,' said Balders holding his arms outstretched. Manny did the same. This was the funniest thing ever but not to three bingo ladies who tut-tutted as they went past. In a brightly lit part of the old town square with its array of modern street furniture, the salesmen saw an evangelist standing on a bench preaching through a megaphone to a small congregation.

'The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God. They are corrupt, they have done abominable works. There is none that doeth good...'

'If I could just talk to her...' said Manny. 'Look at this idiot...'

'It's JD, mun. Let's get out of here – ' But it was too late, they'd been spotted.

'Come and join us,' called JD. 'Don't be afraid, come hear the word of the Lord.'

'Hallelujah, gentlemen,' said Damian.

'What the hell are you doing here?' said Manny. Damian opened his jacket to reveal crucifixes and religious images on strings and chains.

'Religion's getting big these days, boys. What with the economy, environment, terrorism and drugs. People need something to believe in.

What do you believe in?' JD continued – 'The Lord looked down from heaven upon the children of men, to see if there were any that did not understand and seek God...'

'I've been saved,' Damian said. 'My old ways are behind me.'

'You got a key for handcuffs?' asked Balders.

'Now that I haven't got. God, you're pissed.' Manny's eyes were on JD – 'Very interesting. Hey Balders?'

'What? The sermon?'

'No. The megaphone thingy – ' He walked forward a few steps, dragging Balders into the throng. 'Excuse me, JD? Sorry everyone – Sell me the megaphone.'

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'What do you want that for?' asked Balders.

'I can talk to Claire through it.'

'Bad idea.'

'Good idea... JD, I really need it. My marriage depends on it.'

'It's not for sale.'

'I'll give you thirty quid for it.'

'It cost me seventy.'

'It's second hand.'

'It'll cost me seventy to replace it.'

'Fifty, last offer. It's all I've got.'

'No deal.'

'Balders, lend me twenty. Hey, JD – sixty quid.'

'Seventy. Take it or leave it.'

'Ok, deal.' Manny slowly counted out seventy pounds. JD doublechecked it.

'Don't trust me, eh?'

'No.' He handed over the megaphone.

'JD, thank you and good luck in your next life. You couldn't hack it as a salesman but you're a good bloke.' As Manny and Balders bumbled away, JD sidled up to Damian – 'Guess I'll need another megaphone. You got one the same as that?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Same price?'

'Thirty quid for cash, give me half hour.'

JD handed over the notes and looked at the departing salesmen. He turned to his flock – 'In all labour, there is profit.' Proverbs Chapter 14, Verse 23.'

Manny and Balders stumbled to a spot behind a tree on a small bank outside the hospital. The building was a former Miners' Tuberculosis Hospital which had then been upgraded during the 1980s but was now in danger of being closed. The nearest hospital and ambulance station was nineteen miles away so locals, united by a shared vulnerability, had set up The Friends Of Drefawr Hospital and were lobbying hard to save 315

it. They were in the odd position of having had their campaign both boosted and tarnished by a video of the a Health Minister being egged in the hospital car-park, which reached 40,000 hits on YouTube. A single light shone on the third floor.

'That's the staff room,' said Manny. 'What do I say to her?'

'You're a salesman. Sell yourself.'

'I can't sell love. Help me. You do romance, in your stories. Please, Balders. I'll give you twenty quid.'

'Ok...'

Balders crouched down behind the tree. The restrictive handcuffs meant options for positioning were limited and a couple of times they nearly tumbled down the slippery bank. Manny switched on the speaker and hid his left arm behind the tree. He talked through the megaphone, swaying slightly as he did so.

'Claire! ...CLAIRE!' A nurse appeared at the window. 'Can I speak to Claire Manning, please. It's her husband.' The nurse disappeared. A surprisingly few moments later Claire appeared.

'Manny? What are you doing here? Go home.' The megaphone squealed with feedback.

'Sorry!' he shouted. He looked to Balders for his cue. Balders was a picture of concentration.

'What do you want...?' called Claire. Balders' brain cranked into action – 'In years to come when we're old with grandchildren of our own...' Manny repeated, as best he could – 'In years to come when we're old... with grandchildren of our own –' 'We'll look back on this time...'

'We'll look back on this time...'

'Manny, go home – ' ' – No! This is important, Claire.'

'As the only bad time we ever had...' '...We'll look back on this time as the only bad time we ever had – ' 'And we can measure it...'

'And we can measure it – ' 'Against the thousands, tens of thousands...'

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Against the tens of thousands – ' 'Of wonderful, loving, beautiful days... of our long life together...' Manny faltered – 'Of wonderful, loving, beautiful days – of our long life together.'

He waited for a reaction. Claire called out softly – 'I'll call you tomorrow.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Goodnight.' The window closed and the light went off.

Applause rang out. Manny became aware of several other figures looking out of the hospital windows. He did a small bow, lost his footing and he and Balders tumbled down the slippery bank.

34.

Angie and Claire went for a brisk morning jog. Every now and then Angie felt the impulse to get out the leggings and trainers and go for a run. It was a good antidote to men and alcohol, though she felt the impulse less and less these days. Angie had chosen the route as it offered the correct balance of distance and difficulty. After what Claire thought was a gentle jog, Angie upped the pace. Outside a newly-built detached house a man swept the drive as an attractive younger woman cleaned out her Renault Clio.

'Morning Jimmy! Morning Emma!' called Angie as she sped past. A London marathon winner could not have felt more victorious.

35.

The hill-walkers stood under the usual tree. Russ wandered up to join them.

'Everyone here?' asked Jeff, cautiously.

'Everyone who needs to be,' said Russ. He walked several yards up the hill, raised his stick and set off. Billy was cajoled into joining him at the front.

'Claire, ok?'

'She's going to talk with Manny today.'

'Young love, eh?'

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36.

Claire opened the back door. Manny definitely saw a smile. This was good. Last night's efforts had clearly paid off. He leant against the back doorway looking in on the kitchen where they'd played and kissed; the kitchen where he'd caressed her body causing her to giggle as she made cakes; the kitchen where he'd dried the dishes as she washed up and where they listened to Radiohead and drank wine and where Dylan's hand paintings were on the wall and where he felt safe. It was like he'd been away for years. On a chain gang. Handcuffed to Balders.

'Come in,' she said.

Until now he'd managed to keep his left arm outside the premises, but that had to change. Nothing for it...

He moved forward and Balders sheepishly followed. He couldn't deny that being attached to Balders for 12 hours had not been without its humorous moments, but now he felt idiotic.

'Long story,' said Manny.

'Pretend I'm not here.'

'Where's Dylan?'

'With one of the neighbours.' They followed Claire into the kitchen.

'Has Russ got a hacksaw in the shed?'

Balders sensed some light relief was in order – 'How can you sleep with him night after night?' His remark was met with a wry look – something, at least.

'Come in,' she said – good.

On reaching the living room Manny stopped in his tracks. His possessions awaited him: black bags, a box of photos, a suitcase, a backpack...

'Aw, Claire?'

'I want a divorce.' She picked up a box. 'These are just photos of you. Some personal stuff – passport, drawings to you from Dylan – I'd like to have the key back. Dad wants it. He doesn't like keys being everywhere. I've packed the rest of your stuff. If I find any other bits I'll forward them to...?'

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'You can stay with me,' said Balders, immediately wondering whether that helped or not. If Manny had nowhere to go she probably wouldn't ask him to leave – but it was too late now. A child cried upstairs.

'He's here. I want to see him – ' Claire moved to the bottom of the stairs, blocking his path.

'Not now.'

'I know it's a mess, but I want to clean it up. Claire, please.'

'Can you go now, please. I need you to go. I don't want Dylan seeing or hearing this.'

'Claire – ' Balders and Manny struggled through the back door with as many of Manny's possessions as they could carry. After a quick detour into the shed Balders found a small rusty hacksaw. He started sawing away at the handcuff chain. It made a horrible noise. This wasn't a natural thing for him to do. He was nervous, clumsy, useless. He dropped the hacksaw twice as he struggled to get the brown blunt blade to bite. Manny came back from his personal dark place and became only too aware of Balders' inadequate skills.

'For God's sake, cut it.'

'I'm trying.'

Balders focused and sawed faster. The terrible squealing noise grew louder. It was intolerable. Balders: more and more awkward and internally manic. Manny: more and more distressed, but externally still.

Finally the chain broke. Balders stepped backwards and forwards at the same time. He felt a bond. Until recently a very physical one, but an unseen one remained. Balders had seen what Manny had gone through.

Surely he needed a friend? Balders tried advising, chivvying, sympathising, but eventually realised it was best to go. He mimed making a phone-call as he headed away, looking back twice to check on Manny who looked like he might never move again. When Balders was out of sight he found himself running as fast as he could.

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Manny heard a terrible retching sound. He followed the sound to behind a perfunctory garage block. He saw the bent-double figure of a stagnight devil, still masked, leaning against the corrugated steel, vomiting onto the ground. The devil turned and looked up, his eyes piercing deep into Manny's soul.

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Chapter 7 - Cut'n'Shut

A dozen budding thespians smelling largely of B.O., Red Bull and patchouli oil waited for the next, 'Next'. There were a variety of aliens, cowboys and gangsters, and some who combined all three. Each held pages of the script. Some did vocal exercises.

'I was an extra in Gavin & Stacey. Rob Brydon spoke to me,' said an Alpha Draconian sporting a violin case.

'What did he say?' asked a trilby-hatted gangster wearing chaps.

'Shift.'

A particularly scary alien in a long cloak and glossy black and silver mask loomed up the stairs. He stood in the middle of the freak-show and hissed flamboyantly. The freaks applauded. The figure accepted the applause. A door opened and a man emerged, sleepy in pyjamas. The auditionees watched closely. The man crossed the hall and disappeared into the kitchen. One wondered aloud whether there were also zombies in the film. They heard a glass smash on a tiled floor. The zombie reappeared, startled and wide-eyed. The group applauded him and one shouted, 'Bravo.' There was clearly some talent in their midst. The man took in the ensemble; took in the sign on the living room door which read, 'Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys Audition'; took in the living room door opening and a sinister Voord coming out; took in the Voord giving the thumbs up and hugging a Changeling in a fringed waistcoat.

'Next!' came a voice from the room – Ryan's voice...? Calamity Jane went in. 'Name?'

'Calam – ' The door closed shut. Tony Soprano did a particularly vigorous vocal exercise – 'La-la-la...'

'What part are you up for?' asked the Lone Ranger.

'I play a guy who's woken up at the crack of dawn by someone going, 'La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaah...' said Balders.

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2.

The florist van departed. Claire looked at the card attached to a garish bunch of irises – 'Claire, please talk to me, Manny, xxx'.

'I'll say one thing for your Dad – he's persistent.' She held the flowers above a pedal-bin but only released the card. 'Gramps might like these. Let's take them to him in the hospital.' She was running late so didn't answer the phone as she left. The answer machine kicked in: a woman's voice – 'Claire? It's about your Dad. I don't know how to tell you this...'

She sat in the car. It wouldn't start. She beat the driving wheel with her arms and fists, got out and kicked the car door.

'And what did it ever do to you?' Russ stood there, in pajamas and overcoat: dazed, pale, grinning. 'They cancelled my flight. I was hoping for a one-way ticket to paradise.'

'You have to stay in hospital, the doctor said.'

'All I have to do is die. Where is up to me.'

'But when the morphine wears off, Dad – ' ' – You're going to need a new car. That one's going where I'm going.' Dylan sat in his car seat, merrily pulling petals off the irises.

3.

Clad in matching aviator shades Ryan and Bryan sat in two cheap canvas chairs bearing the names 'RYAN' and 'BRYAN'; the words crudely fashioned out of cheap black electrical tape and facing the wall so noone could see them anyway. Booker sat at their feet. On a pad in front of them were a series of names, ticks, numbers and crossings out. Scary Alien entered and sat in front of them.

'Name?'

'Dark Force.' They purred with delight. Bryan took a photo of Dark Force who posed accordingly.

'Have you prepared something for us?'

'I have – I will make your lives hell, vengeance shall be all encompassing.

How was that?' Even Ryan was speechless.

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'...Good,' he said, eventually.

He rose to his feet and hammered his fist on the table. 'Nobody messes with the Dark Force.'

Balders and Manny, dressed and ready for work, gulped coffee in the kitchen. 'This is your fault,' said Balders. 'Telling them that I was writing a film about them – ' ' – To stop them beating you up.'

'One beating then it's over. Few bruises, ok, but I can live nice and quietly. But no, you tell them I'm writing about gangsters – ' ' – Intergalactic gangster cowboys. It says on the door.'

'And now I have to share my home with a fiendish circus.'

Dark Force looked in as he passed and laughed like a screen villain. Never was a point better proved.

4.

Dylan and Russ lay on the bed watching TV, the remaining irises in a vase. Russ, rolling a joint, chuckled at Spongebob Squarepants. He hid it in a drawer when Claire entered with extra blankets and tea.

'I've rung the hospital. If you insist on staying here, I'm to keep you warm. Dr Evans will call round later with medication.'

'Aren't cartoons funny?'

'You're stoned.'

'Mr Krabbs is hilarious. His arms keep coming off. They're not arms – what am I on about Dylan? They're claws! I love me dollar! – ' ' – Dad – ' ' – Nothing is what it seems. Claws, pincers, arms... I dunno. Poor Russ, their eyes say. Poor Russ, but the joke is – I'm not poor – I've got money under the mattress.'

'Yeah, yeah.'

Russ reached down and rummaged between the mattress and the bed frame. He pulled out a large wad of twenties. And another. And several more. And more again.

'Buy yourself a car. And don't go wasting it on my funeral.

Course, Manny's got a company car. If you forgave him.'

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'Never.'

'You can tell you're mine. Stubborn moo.' He thrust the money at her – 'I have lots of dollars!'

5.

A new coffee machine sat on a table percolating away, together with a selection of tabloid papers and car magazines. Each desk had a small bunch of flowers and a salesman's name sign. There was a crèche area near the Arizona mural with toys, plastic kids' seats and colourful posters. Gina moved one of the posters to a more aesthetically pleasing position. Billy picked up a kids' chair – 'Expecting some very small customers are we?' He prodded the complicated looking buttons on the coffee machine. Gina pressed a button and hot coffee flowed. He took in the flowers on the desk.

'Who the hell put you in charge?'

'You did.'

'If there's pot pourri in my office, you're sacked. There's enough of that at home.' He entered his office. Gina waited – 'Noooo!' She giggled to herself and straightened a vase on a desk. Outside, she saw a young woman with short maroon hair; large green gem-stone ear-rings caught the morning sun. The woman seemed to be peering into the showroom but as Gina approached the window the woman vanished.

6.

Balders and Manny were happy to be outside in the fresh air, away from stinky luvvies. Balders tore a poster advertising a film audition off a lamp-post, another off a boarded-up shop, and another inserted under the windscreen of his car. He threw the torn strips on the floor. A large black car pulled up. The window descended. Balders fell to his knees – 'I'll pick it all up. Sorry, I had cramp and dropped the paper by accident – ' ' – Get in,' said a voice. The back door swung open and Balders peered in.

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'Morning Mr Minchin. It's ok, Manny. I'll see you later.' Warily, he slid into the vehicle – 'How many people live in my flat?'

'Three. You know that. Me, and my cousins.'

'The thing is, someone told me that a 'business' was being run from there which, as you know, is expressly forbidden in the lease.'

'No business. Just eating, sleeping, usual stuff. Is that it then?

'Rent's due.'

'Rent? Not until the, er... I know it's soon. When is it?'

'Yesterday. You like living in my flat?'

'It's the only real home I ever had.'

'I've got a car to sell. BMW 5 series. Clean as a whistle.'

'I'll have a word with the boss.'

'The boss... What happens if he's not in? Who's in charge then.

You?' 'His daughter. I don't know if she's bought a car yet though. I know she's opened a crèche.'

'If they don't buy it, you're out on the street. May the dark force be with you.'

7.

Balders squeezed himself into small red plastic chair.

'I used to love school. Infants school anyway. You got fed and teachers remembered your name. I never wanted to go home.' Gina finished writing out a sign which read, 'CRECHE AVAILABLE'.

'Manny, can you hang this for me? Just there.' He pointed to his salesman badge – 'But, gee, Miss Gina – this here sign reads salesman, not dogsbody.'

'As assistant manager – ' ' – If I'd known that to get promoted all I had to do was shag a salesman...' said Angie before catching Balders weak smile. 'Then again, perhaps not.'

'Manny?'

'Sorry, Assistant Boss Ma'am, there's a customer on the forecourt. Got to go.'

'I think I'm stuck,' said Balders.

325

'What's your name?'

'Gemma. I'm really browsing so...'

'I thought people only did that in bookstores.'

'I'm wasting your time.'

Billy appeared at the window. Better to look out rather than in, where Gina was trying to pull a plastic kid's chair off Balders' backside.

'I have time to waste. And if I let you go now, my boss would kill me. He's watching...' Gemma followed his gaze.

'Is that him?'

'Yep, Billy Wheeler. The boss.'

'I feel a bit faint.' Manny opened the door of a car. Gemma held the steering wheel and turned it for something to do.

'I just need a minute...'

'Can I make a quick call, then?' said Manny, already dialling the number. He stood away from the car. 'Claire? I wish you'd answer. If you won't talk to me, at least let me see my son, ok?'

'How old is he?' asked Gemma.

'Four.'

'A child needs its parents.'

'Tell my wife that. He's starting to forget who I am.' Gemma touched his arm.

'Your boy won't forget you. My Mum died when I was a baby.' She opened her bag and got out a smartly designed gift shop carrier bag. She pulled out a photocopy of a photograph which showed a young mum – pretty, pale, thin – nursing a babe-in-arms. 'This is her. The adoption agency gave it to me.' Manny took the photo.

'How did she die?'

'Car crash. Not far from here. In a police car. A policeman died as well. My mother had stolen nappies for me. It was twenty-five years ago...' Manny stared at the picture – 'The boss... He used to be a cop. He was the driver.'

'I... I didn't know.'

'Wait here –' 'Lunch with Mum – Wine Bar 12.30. The table's booked. I said it was your idea. Been ages since you took her out.' The door banged opened – 326

'Can I have a word, boss? In private.'

'I'm busy – ' ' – Not enough for this.' Billy nodded. Gina left. 'The baby in the field, the Black Field.'

'All in the past.'

'Not any more. She's outside.' They hurtled outside to where Balders loitered with a coffee.

'Your customer buggered off,' he said.

'Where did she bugger off to?' growled Billy. He grabbed Balders by the collar. 'Where, you stupid bald idiot?' Balders glumly pointed up the hill. The big man in a big black suit and cowboy boots ran faster than he could ever remember: a respected businessman, running like a kid who wanted to meet his mates for a game of footie, but was forced to finish his dinner first.

'MEETING!' 'Number one: our meetings are supposed to be at the start of the day,' fumed Angie. 'Number two: why are we dressed like bank clerks?

Number three: a crèche needs supervision and I for one am not prepared to do that. Number four: Gina has far less experience than me –' ' – Gina,' said Billy, breathless. 'I'm leaving you in charge. Balders, Manny, I trust you won't take advantage.'

'Me, Boss – never,' said Balders. Billy looked at his daughter. He could see how chuffed she was with the responsibility, but gained little satisfaction from the fact – 'Check all the paper work. Make sure there's cover. Keep the showroom running.'

'Are we still a showroom?' sniped Angie. 'I thought we'd turned into Mothercare.'

'Don't forget lunch with Mum at 12.30.'

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8.

Minchin sat in the rear of his car outside Balders' flat, looking up at the first floor window. Love Machine watched porn on his phone whilst eating a sausage roll. The phone rang. Minchin pressed the speakerphone button – 'It's Balders. Billy's just left with some girl. I thought you might like to know.'

'Much appreciated.'

'Anything to – ' 'That was quick,' said Ryan. 'Mind you, they are quick at Kwikk-Pikks.

Fair play.' He took the wallet from Bryan, spread the photos over the desk and started sorting. The photos were filtered into two piles – 'Rubbish – Tidy – Rubbish – Rubbish... Dark Force!' – three piles! The brothers nodded in agreement. 'Charisma, mystery, talent – where's his details?' Bryan sifted through the file and found them. 'Need to snap him up before someone else does.' Ryan caught his brother's wary eye. 'I know, I know, play it cool.' Ryan dialled a number. 'Hello, can I speak to er...' – he put his hand over the receiver – 'His name? – er... Dark Force? Is there a Dark Force there?' Ryan wrote down the response.

'Albert Staxis? Is that his name?... Oh, 'Albert's Taxis'. No, I don't want a cab, I want Dark Force... Hello?' The phone went dead as the door opened. Minchin walked in. 'Er, Mr Minchin, you can't just let yourself in – ' ' – I'm the landlord and I can do what I want.' Minchin took in the rubbish-strewn room. Adolescent smack-heads in his very worst properties lived better than this. 'What do you lads do then? You working?'

'Work's a bit tight. We're debt-collectors but, well to be honest with you, we're writing a film.' Minchin clocked the picture of Dark Force.

'Who's this?'

'Dark Force. He was great.'

'I could use a couple of lads like you. Want to work for me?'

'Yeah.'

'Good. Phone me later.' He gave them a card before looking at the picture again. 'Dark Force, eh?'

328

'We'll find him,' said Ryan.

'Good luck with that.'

9.

Billy and Gemma sat in Billy's Audi in a lay-by drinking coffee purchased from Dick's Snack Shack. They watched as a variety of lonely truckers and solitary van drivers got their greasy fix.

'The money I send... I wanted to help. All these years I've been wanting to know that you're okay. What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?'

'I make jewellery. Started my own business – candles, gift stuff, you know...'

'Your adoptive parents. Are they ok?'

'Yeah. It wasn't an accident – ' ' – It was. I'm sorry, but it was. The hay lorry was on the wrong side of the road. I had to swerve – ' ' – No. Me finding you wasn't an accident.' She pulled out the photocopy of the newspaper article. Billy remembered the headline all too well: 'Mother, Policeman Killed in tragedy.' His name, William John Wheeler, circled alongside a picture of someone he recognised from the distant past: his younger ambitious self. Gemma produced a photo of a young woman. Billy knew her face too – the somersault and the girl in the back... slip of a thing in a summer dress. The memory made him blink back a tear.

'Show me where she died,' she said.

10.

Balders was trying to alleviate the coffee rush by quaffing cups of Hot Chocolate. Gina appeared, a yellow scarf bearing the company logo around her neck.

'That is for customers' use only,' she said, dropping the drink into a bin. 'As is that,' she said taking a newspaper off Manny. She straightened his tie. Two stringy mums with a pair of feral infants approached the showroom. Gina picked up the phone, 'Angie... Could 329

you come to the showroom?... Now.' The kids ran into the crèche area and started throwing toys against the walls. One of the women asked to test drive a Vauxhall Corsa, two years old, priced at £8995.

'Of course,' said Gina. 'Balders? Could you get the keys? Ah! This is Angie, she runs the crèche facility – ' ' – I do not – ' ' – You heard my father. Ladies, you can leave your children with Angie while you test drive. She loves kids.'

'I hate the little shits...' she said, to no-one in particular.

A sporty red BMW 5 series pulled up on the forecourt with Minchin at the wheel – 'What do you think, Balders? Beauty isn't she?'

'Nice. Clean... as you say. It is legit, isn't it?'

'Don't insult me. I'm a respected businessman, not a dodgy car thief. Property, loans – that's my trade. What it is – I inherited it off my Aunt.'

'Your Aunt drove this?'

'Fifty years ago she competed in the Paris-Dakar rally. There's a blue plaque on her house in Dunvant. I'll take six grand. That is a great price. You'll sell it today if you're not too greedy. Smooth it through for me, ok?'

'Er – ' ' – Or sleep in the streets. I've got a tent you could rent.'

'What's wrong with it, Balders? asked Gina, double-checking the book price. 'It's worth nearly twice what he wants for it.'

'Nothing. I know the guy. He's straight as a die. He was left it in a will – just wants a quick deal.'

'We should bite his hand off. I'll phone Dad.' Two salesmen and their stand-in boss perused the car. Minchin did the talking – 'One owner, low mileage, but if you don't want it...' Balders imagined himself homeless, trying to put up a tent on a windswept hillside with the cousins and Booker looking on. The tent blew away. He got hit by lightning. Then the landslide started...

330

'It's not that. It's my father – but his phone's off.'

'But it's such a good deal, we'll probably sell it before he gets back,' said Balders trying to sound not at all pushy. 'We could easily make a few grand on this...' Gina turned to Manny – 'What do you reckon?'

'It's your call, boss.'

'Ok, enough. I'm outta here,' said Minchin. Plenty of garages in this valley.'

'No, we'll take it. I just need one of my team to check it over first, so come in and have a coffee. Manny, do me an appraisal...'

As the party went inside Manny wrote down the number plate – EG09LSD. 11.

Billy pulled up on the bend of the road a short way from Cae Du – The Black Field. They stared across at the 5-bar gate. Gemma saw the rusty feeding contraption and the trees at the bottom. She saw the emptiness.

She wanted to go. Billy wanted to stay.

'Gemma. I remember her calling you that... 'Who's going to mind my Gemma if you bang me up?' I thought it was a really classy name – ' ' – For the kid of a white trash thief.'

'She was making ends meet.'

'You arrested her all the same.'

'Just as a warning.'

'She got more than that though, didn't she?' Gemma blushed. She hadn't expected to be so confrontational.

'It was an accident – ' 12.

Manny slammed the appraisal form down on Gina's desk.

'You did a full check?'

'There's four tyres, er... roof, it's got doors, two on each side.'

'Don't mess about.'

331

'Ok. It's fine. Little squeak at high speed but it's still a bargain.'

Gina opened the safe – 'Let's do it.' They went into the showroom where Balders was dusting a car, and a doll-throwing kid was using Angie as a target.

'They're lovely when they're that age, aren't they?' said Minchin.

'Ha-bloody-ha.'

'Sign here and here, and here's your money,' said Gina. Minchin signed.

'Thanks for everything. It's what my Aunt would have wanted.'

As the showroom door closed Gina burst into action – 'Right! I want seven grand minimum, and £100 bonus if anyone can sell it before Dad comes back. Balders, move it to the front of the forecourt, I want a sign, 'Today's Special', something like that. Go!' The car seemed to be leering at Balders like a drunk on the pull.

He clocked the number plate – EG09LSD – 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds...' he sang.

A ragdoll flew through the open showroom door and landed under the rear axle. Balders strained to reach it, inadvertently putting a knee down on the ground. He crouched down by the boot to dust down his suit – 'Lucy in the Sky with – ' He stared at the number plate at the back of the car –CU59KGN. If he wasn't mistaken it was a different number to the one at the front.

He checked, hoping he had been mistaken; hoping he'd sung the Beatles classic simply because he was deranged or was thinking of another number plate from somewhere else, but he wasn't. The front plate was definitely EG09LSD. He ran back inside. Manny was on the phone to a customer – 'Mr. Jones, it's David from Wheelers – ' Balders performed a manic mime indicating that Manny should get off the phone and listen to him immediately.

'Yes, the reason why I'm ringing... What?' Balders broke the golden rule of mime acts – 'Don't sell that car, ok? I'll tell you why later.'

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'Oh, that old trick. I don't sell it so you can get a free run. I'm not as young as I was a few weeks ago.'

'Please, wait till I get back. Trust me.'

Balders ran off, jumped into his car and roared away. Manny returned to his call – 'Sorry about that. We've just had this lovely car in.

BMW 5 series in pillar-box red – ' 13.

'You were crying. We weren't going fast. Your mother was wearing a summer dress, sort of paisley material, mostly cream, some turquoise, frayed at the sleeves, bitten nails.'

Billy strode up the road with Gemma following. 'You bite your nails?' Gemma held up her brightly coloured fingernails.

'Well done.'

'They're fake.'

'Oh...' He seemed to lose track but found it again. 'We weren't going fast. The hay lorry was coming down the wrong side of the road. I swerved. The car wouldn't stop rolling, wouldn't stop, over and over – ' He stopped, put his hands on his knees and breathed hard. '...Are you alright?'

'She died. Your mother. Straight away. My partner, my best mate, Starsky, he took a while longer. I walked to him. He got to his feet...'

Billy assumed the crucifixion position. ''Hey Hutch, how about that!' he said. Then he fell down, dead. Right on this spot. I hear this cry and I look, and it's like it keeps coming from somewhere different. Then I find you. This big. Tiny. In the grass. And I pick you up and cradle you and we wait for the ambulance. You stop crying and I look at you and I think – 'Will you ever know what I've done?''

'It wasn't your fault – ' ' – IT WAS. I was arguing in the car. I'd been sleeping with my mate's wife. I'm so sorry – ' ' – I CAN'T DO THIS!' Gemma yelled, and ran out of the Black Field.

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14.

Balders entered Minchin's lock-up. He'd only ever seen it from the outside. A single flickering fluorescent light interrupted the cavernous gloom that contained fridges, cookers, computers, boxes and office furniture. Minchin's desk was covered in food cartons and coffee cups. Love Machine sat eating a cold steak and kidney pie. Balders demanded to see Minchin. Love Machine carried on chewing. Balders sat down and announced that he was going to wait until Minchin came back.

The steel door to the lock-up burst open and Balders flew like a badly aimed dart, landing face down in a dandelion patch that stank of wee.

15.

Gemma trotted down the road as Billy followed in his Audi, beseeching her to get back in. He knew she'd have to relent; it was simply too far from anywhere to walk. Faced with a steep slope she stopped and allowed Billy to pull up alongside her. This was all too much. He swung open the heavy door and she relented. Her mobile rang – Withheld Number. She answered it – 'No, I haven't got the money... I can't get it for you by then. I just need more time... I can't talk now.'

'What's going on...? What do you need money for?' asked Billy.

'I got into some debt. The gift shop didn't take off. I borrowed money from my landlord and now he wants it back, with interest.'

'How much?'

'Five grand. It's not important. I'm glad I came to see you...'

'I haven't been very helpful.'

'You've been honest. I should go now.'

'No. Not yet. Let's have some lunch.'

He checked the time. There was something... What was it? Another lunch meeting, that was it.

'Shit,' he said.

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16.

Minchin spoke to his new recruits on the phone as he arrived at the lock-up – 'It's Hill Farm. The name's Barry Nottage. I'm looking for £300 worth of... Well, well, my favourite tenant. What are you doing here?'

Minchin opened the door to the lock-up and Balders followed him in. ''It's legit', you said. 'Proper businessman', you said. The number plate on the front is different to the number plate on the back – ' ' – That's where it is. I've got another car with the same problem.

Cheers Balders, I'll send a man up to change them. Ta-ra then.'

'We'll accept you made a mistake. Just give us our money back, and I'll get the car. No questions asked.'

Seconds later Balders landed face down on some pointy gravel. He dusted himself down and hammered on the locked door with a piece of wood he'd pulled off an old pallet – 'MINCHIN,' he yelled, but no-one came.

17.

Val nursed a gin in the living room of Shangri-la, all dolled up for a date that never happened. Instead she'd embarked on a liquid lunch and didn't look up from the glass as Billy walked in.

'Lunch. 12.30. Wine bar. With your wife. That's me.'

'Val, I'm so sorry. Something's happened. The baby I orphaned twenty-five years ago. She turned up today. In the showroom.' Val heard a flush in the hall toilet. 'I thought we could eat here? I couldn't send her away. Could I?' The young woman appeared in the doorway. 'Val, this is Gemma.' Val pushed past Billy and went to the kitchen – 'You'd better lay the table.'

Billy opened a bottle of Chablis as Val laid out a plate of cold meats, cheese, bread, pork pies and tomatoes on the table, all freshly liberated from their packaging. Billy poured Val a glass of wine. She raised a toast – 'To the past. Long may we live in it.' Billy and Gemma tentatively raised their glasses.

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'The past...' Val took Gemma's hand and held it gently.

'You're not the only one who lost someone that day. My husband died. He was in the passenger seat. Billy and I had been having this silly little fling – ' ' – Gemma doesn't need to know about all that.'

'No. Of course. Why talk about the truth? Those are nice ear-rings, Gemma. I've seen them somewhere... Llandeilo? A little shop on the main street?'

'That's where you said your shop was,' said Billy, gratified that Val was making an attempt to bond.

'Gina and I bought some candles and pot pourris there last week.

She tried on ear-rings like those.'

'Not my shop. I went bust a few months back.' Val narrowed her eyes and poured more wine.

'Bust? But you send money, don't you Billy?'

'Thing is Val, the least I can do is help Gemma out – ' ' – more money? – ' ' – just to sort herself out.'

'I couldn't, really.'

'How much do you need?'

Val stared at the salt cellar. Gemma stared at her plate. Billy stared at Gemma.

'Five grand.' Val slapped down her napkin – 'Darling, the kitchen. Please. Now.' In their absence Gemma took in the room, the staged photos, the expensive if dated furniture and Billy's kindness. She crossed to the far end of the room and made a call – 'Five grand. In the bag.'

It was difficult for Minchin to hear what Gemma was saying against the backdrop of wood hitting steel. 'Good girl,' said Minchin. 'Tell him to leave the payee blank. Say you don't know whether it will be payable to you, or the bank.' A distant voice echoed down the corridor – 'Minchin. I'll wait here till you come out – ' 336

'You'll get half back for your troubles. Your debt of a grand will be cleared and we'll both be quids in.'

18.

Angie admired Manny's technique in relaxing demonic children. They had lost their battle with ADHD and their eye-lids were drooping. He had the killer closing line all ready – 'First one asleep wins the prize, ok?'

'Where do you learn that?' asked Angie. 'Sorry. Stupid question.'

She picked up a baby doll. 'I can't have kids. Jimmy said he didn't mind.

Maybe it would have kept us together. Too late now.' Manny wasn't paying attention. She followed his line of vision and saw Dylan running outside. 'He's sweet – ' ' – Daddy!'

Dylan screeched so loud that the kids woke and started to screech too. Gina came out of the office.

'I've changed my mind,' said Angie. 'He's a little shit.'

Manny went out and carried his son into the showroom. Claire followed, composed but steely.

'Thanks for bringing him in.'

'Got no choice. I want to buy a car. Dad's car's dead and we need transport. And I've been everywhere else.'

'How is he?' asked Gina.

'At home. Vince's looking after him. Dad's given me some money.'

'We've had a really good one come in today. Low mileage, sexy little number. I can do you a great deal – ' Gina realized her banter was inappropriate. 'Er... perhaps you could show the new BMW to Claire, Manny?'

'Is Balders here? Might be easier – ' Gina and Manny answered 'No' in unison.

'Still doing things together then?'

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19.

Billy and Val stood by the open back door, looking out onto the moleravaged lawn. They spoke in hushed tones.

'She was a babe in arms – ' ' – And I was a grown woman who'd cheated on her husband and never got to say 'sorry' before he died.' Val slugged a glass of wine and reached for the bottle. 'The more you hang on to the past, the more I feel we came from something bad.' Billy did what he never did unless he had run out of salesman's patter. He embraced her. 'Do you regret leaving your wife for me?'

'Never. But I regret not being a policeman anymore.'

'I know.'

'No one ever grew up wanting to be a car salesman.'

'I know.'

'Manny is here because his father-in-law is dying. Balders because he can't do anything else. Angie because her heart's broken and it keeps her out of the pub, and Gina – well, it's an easy ride.'

'Let it go. Let her go. Don't give her the money.'

'I love you, Val.' Billy nursed a Penderyn as Gemma sat opposite eating some tinned peaches and condensed milk. After consuming the last piece of peach she wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

'I'll need to go soon,' she said.

Billy nodded and got out his cheque-book. He became aware of Val standing in the doorway behind him. He put the cheque-book away.

'I won't give you the money.'

'Thank you,' said Val. Gemma reeled – 'I'll have to move! He knows where I live...'

'You can live with us.'

20.

Hammering on a steel door with a variety of implements had taken its toll. Balders was bent double, hands on his head when Minchin 338

appeared. He'd become intrigued as to why the hammering had stopped.

He studied the exhausted salesman.

'Did you want to see me?' Balders nodded. 'Quick then, I'm a busy man.' Balders went inside. Minchin swiped some old newspapers and fast food containers off a chair. 'Tell me what concerns you. ' 'If it's not stolen, why has it got two number plates on it?'

'My Aunt had a private plate. It was valuable. So we had to reregister.'

'It's been repainted too. Why? There's new paint in the arches.'

'I liked the colour.'

'I looked under the carpets...'

Minchin beamed at Love Machine in a way that totally disarmed Balders. He had no idea of how afraid he should be, but wasn't unaware of the chains, dirty ropes, tarpaulins and all manner of industrial tools that could be used for all manner of torture. However, he'd come this far and there was more to say – 'Behind the driver's seat. It's two halves of different cars welded together. There's weld marks all the way round. The chassis numbers are different in the front and the back. It's dangerous, more than anything.

Someone could die.'

'Are you accusing me?' asked Minchin, putting on a pair of sinister tan leather driving gloves. '...No.' 'My Aunt would turn in her grave.'

'Three point turn in her grave,' joshed Love Machine.

'We want our money back.'

'I have a sales document that says your company checked the car.

Do you want to be thrown out again?' Minchin waved the sales form. It was difficult to argue. It was legal. There were signatures.

'You won't get away with this.'

'Oh, I will,' said Minchin. 'And thanks for your help. Couldn't have done it without you.'

'I could lose my job – ' Minchin stopped smiling. He nodded to Love Machine who bundled Balders out of the building and gave him a sharp slap on the head to accompany the final shove. Balders landed nose down in a pool 339

of oily water. The heavy door banged shut. Balders picked himself up, wiped his face with his sleeve, dusted the gravel off his trousers, got out his mobile, and rang Manny – 'You're not showing that car to anyone are you?'

'Fair play to Balders, he doesn't give up,' said Manny as the car trundled around a country lane. 'What do you think?'

'It drives ok. But there's... What's that squeak?' asked Claire.

'That's why it's so reasonable.' Manny turned up the car stereo.

'See, it's gone now.'

'You're a good salesman, aren't you? Know all the cheesy lines.'

'One last sales pitch? I may have been 'used', 'stolen' for a few days by a reckless driver but until then I had 'one careful owner'. I'm yours – you've only got to say the word.'

'There's that annoying squeak again.'

21.

Ryan and Bryan traipsed into Minchin's lock-up with a bucketful of pony nuts and a paddock's worth of manure on their shoes. Minchin wasn't happy – 'You were meant to get £300 worth of stuff so unless there's gold in that bucket.'

'That farmer didn't have anything worth taking. Said we could have his horse if we caught it. I didn't know they could run so fast.'

'You're good boys. You work for me so I'll look after you. What do you think of Balders' flat?'

'Best home we've ever had.'

'Is it now? I've got something to show you. You're going up in the world.' He pulled out the details of a swanky new flat. Their jaws flopped open. 'I can see you and Balders – hey, even that lovely dog of his in here. Proper bachelors' pad.'

The cousins couldn't speak, even the one who normally was the only one who spoke.

'Jacuzzi, car-parking space, lift, wi-fi, under-floor heating, yeah? I look after my boys.'

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22.

'I'll take it,' said Claire as they walked to the showroom.

'I'll write an invoice,' said Manny as he held the door open.

'Thanks for holding the door open.'

Manny was aware of the ridiculousness of the formality. He knew Claire's smells and her needs, her eczema patches and her tickly bits. He knew how she liked her tea; that she sometimes sat up in bed in a panic whilst still sleeping; that she never went anywhere without a bottle of water; that she hated him saying she had a nice voice when he caught her singing unawares; that she was in denial about her chocolate intake.

He knew she liked to overstock the kitchen cupboard with obscure soups and made a strange face when she concentrated. He knew everything. He loved everything. As they walked to his desk they saw Dylan and the other two children face-painting Angie.

'Would you like tea?'

'No thank you.'

'This is daft. It's like we're strangers.'

'You're not who I thought you were.'

23.

Billy blocked the stairs as Val avalanched down carrying two suitcases and a number of shoulder bags.

'SHE'S NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU ANYMORE, BUT YOU LOVE HER MORE THAN ME. MORE THAN GINA.' 'We can all live here. It's a big house.'

Val hit him with a suitcase and it split along the seam. Clothes flew over the banisters and parachuted around the hall. Gemma side-stepped to avoid a yellow cardigan enveloping her. Val sat on a step and wept.

'Every anniversary of the crash, you wallow. Well, I don't want to remember any more.'

'I still dream about it. I owe her.'

'You owe me – ' The front door slammed shut.

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24.

Claire was aware of her unkempt hair and spotty chin. She was aware of her child on her lap; the child that had widened her hips and given her stretch marks; the child that she had been looking after when Manny and Gina were doing it. Gina sat behind the desk, pen poised, looking like an air hostess on a private jet. Claire was sure that she had applied an extra layer of make-up since they'd gone on a test drive. She reached into her bag and threw £6800 in several bundles bound with red elastic bands onto the desk. Claire signed the Purchase Order form. The transaction was complete.

'Excellent. Brilliant choice, Claire – very reliable.'

'Unlike my husband and best mate.'

'Sorry.'

'S'okay. I don't blame you really. He made the vows. Of course, you were there! I keep forgetting. Tell me, were the vows before or after you snogged him? That's why you got him the job, isn't it?'

'I only meant to look, not touch. I'm so sorry. He really wants you back. It was just the once.' Claire sat Dylan down on the desk to gather up her things, but swiftly grabbed him up again.

'Hell, the desk – this is where you did it, isn't it? What was it like?'

'He was drunk, angry. When it was over, he wouldn't look at me. It wasn't special. And I'm really sorry.'

'I'd like the keys to my car. NOW.' 25.

Billy wandered outside. It was at times like this that he missed cigarettes.

A cigarette gives idle wandering in gardens on cold nights a purpose. Val had returned to her dressing room with the suitcases and he needed some air. As he loitered by the dilapidated rockery he sensed movement at the bottom of the garden. Down in the dip on an old rusty swing Gemma slowly rocked back and fo.

'I'm not her,' she said.

'What do you mean?'

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'I'm Chloe. Gemma is my adoptive sister. My parents adopted her.

She's got a gift shop. I've got nothing – well, an empty bank account and a trail of failed jobs, if you can count that. Gemma and I lived together until she met someone. She used to sub me rent. After she left I got into debt, so I borrowed off my landlord – big mistake. Gemma always said you were a generous man.' She stopped swinging. 'Me and my landlord, Mr Minchin, hatched a plan – ' ' – Minchin?'

'I tap you for five grand – and we split it. My debt's cleared and I'm two grand up. My job was to get the five grand and keep you out of the showroom. But I don't know what that was about – ' 26.

Balders screeched up. He looked around – no BMW. He jumped out of his car and ran into the showroom. 'Tell me it's up at the mechanics – ' ' – Where the hell have you been?' asked Gina.

'Where is he then?' said Manny. 'This customer. The one you're so keen to get into the BMW.' ' – I wouldn't put anyone in that car – ' ' – You will lie, cheat, steal, blackmail – ' ' – Where is it, Manny? This is serious.' Gina sensed Balders' urgency – 'What's wrong?'

'It's a potential deathtrap. It's a cut'n'shut – two cars that have been in accidents welded together. The front of one and the back of the other. Ok? Listening now? It could come apart at any moment – ' Gina slumped into Billy's chair – ' – You said it was kosher.'

'Manny bloody checked it in! You hardly looked at it, did you? It had different number plates front and rear for God's sake. Now...

WHERE. THE FUCK. IS IT?' 'We sold it,' said Gina.

'To Claire. She just left.'

343

Manny made a series of phone-calls as Gina and Balders looked on anxiously. 'Not at Dad's, her mates, the pub... Dinoburger?' Balders grinned – 'We haven't got time for a burger.'

'Not funny. They could be there tho' – ' Manny slid across a car bonnet like a 70s TV cop as Balders put his shades on.

'Find her,' said Gina as they screeched away.

Angie had never had her face painted before. She looked like a demented cat. Gina paced, waiting for news. Angie purred – 'So you sold a cut'n'shut, there's no cover, and two women have abandoned their kids and disappeared in one of our cars. Billy will be thrilled.' The desk phone rang. Gina grabbed it – 'Hi, Dad!... No, everything's fine... No, there's no need to come in... Minchin? I haven't seen him.' She hung up. 'What am I going to do?'

'You can look after those kids for starters. I'm off to get this shit off my face.' One of the kids' mums entered the showroom. Gina marched over – 'That was quite a long test-drive.'

'Come on 'en, you two. Taxi's booked.' A cab pulled up in the forecourt. The other mum unloaded several bags of shopping from the Wheelers car into the taxi boot.

'Aren't you going to make an offer?'

'No. Spent all our money down the shops. Oi, Jordan – that's rude, and Jodi, stop doing that.'

One of the kids had written 'BUM' in 4 foot high letters on the wall. The other one had pulled a red plastic car to pieces.

Down at the retail park on the edge of town the 70s TV cops spotted a red BMW. They raced over, ignoring the speed bumps every ten feet and arrived, shaken up, just as Claire was about to drive away. Manny dashed to her car – 'Claire, it's important. Don't panic but – ' Claire locked the car from the inside.

'It's really important!'

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Claire put the radio on full blast.

'THAT CAR IS DANGEROUS.' Claire drove off, just missing him, the car audibly creaking. Manny sprinted back to Balders. They followed the BMW around the car-park maze. Claire joined the drive-thru queue at Dinoburger but another car nipped in ahead of them so Balders drove around the building and pulled up where they could intercept her on her exit.

'You tell her,' said Manny.

'What? She'll kill me.'

'But she won't speak to me.'

'Fair point.'

Balders got out and jogged over as Claire ordered at the drive-thru window. As she took her change Balders put his hand on the window so she couldn't wind it up. She did so anyway.

'I don't want to speak to him. Get it?'

'Fine. Don't speak to him. Just do one thing for me.' The window only stopped rising because Balders' hand was in the way.

'What?'

'Get your food, park over there and wait for me. You don't have to speak to Manny and it's nothing to do with you and him, but it's very important. Ok? And could you wind the window down a fraction? My hand is hurting.'

A queuing car beeped behind impatiently so Claire drove to the next window to collect her food. Balders looked at the attendant.

'T-Rex Dinoburger with cheese, large fries and a fat coke.' He paid and jogged to the delivery window. A sad-faced man in a tie appeared – 'Next time you use the drive-thru, bring a car,' he said.

Balders walked briskly to Claire, wolfing down the burger. Manny saw Balders speak. He saw Claire get out of the car, run around the other side and get Dylan out. He saw Claire grab shopping and coats and the booster seat. The fact that Balders and Claire seemed to be talking during this process was some consolation. Balders was a messenger from the enemy camp and hadn't been shot. That was how truces begin, and truces sometimes led to peace talks, negotiation and reconciliation – all good. As they approached, Manny got out of the car.

'Phew! Thank God we found you.'

345

Claire noticed that Dylan was preoccupied with a luminous green dinosaur handing out Dinoburger balloons. Whilst he was distracted she punched Manny in the ribs. The truce was over.

27.

Angie and Gina sat in the crèche surrounded by graffiti and broken toys, and drank cheap wine from plastic beakers. Gina admitted she was an arrogant cow and Angie could only agree. Seeing Billy Wheeler pull up outside didn't affect them. There wasn't even a half-hearted attempt to hide their drinks as he walked into the showroom.

'What the bloody hell is going on?'

'Gina's in charge,' said Angie.

'Cheers Angie.'

'You're welcome.'

'This place is like a slum.' Gina made a cursory attempt to tidy up by shifting a toy with her foot.

'There's no salesmen here. Where are they?'

'They just took off,' said Angie.

'Has Minchin been here?' '...No. Come to the office, Dad – ' ' – Here they are,' toasted Angie.

Everyone followed Angie's gaze. They saw Balders towing the cut'n'shut car with Manny at the wheel onto the forecourt. Claire charged into the showroom.

'Trying to kill me now, are you? Me and my son?'

'What the hell's going on?' asked Billy Wheeler. 'Not you Gina.

Claire. Tell me what's going on.'

'Gina sold me a death trap – two halves of a car welded together.

And Manny couldn't have helped her more.' Billy's face darkened at the cacophony – 'Balders pushed me to buy it' – Gina 'Manny did the once over' – Balders 'I was nothing to do with it' – Angie 'I didn't know it was dodgy' – Manny 346

'SHUT UP. Thank you. Now, who did we buy the car off. Was it a Peter Minchin, by any chance? – Billy Silence – Everybody.

'I suggest you all tell me what's going on. Balders, we'll start with you.' As Billy led Balders to his office by his left ear, Claire's phone rang.

Billy stalled.

'What do you mean he's gone missing?' She hung up. 'That was Vince.'

'We'll take my car,' said Manny. Billy nodded his approval. 'I've got an idea where he might be.'

'Me too,' said Claire. 'Shit, what about Dylan?'

'I'll look after him,' said Angie.

'His walking stick,' said Manny. 'Phone Vince – see if he's taken his walking stick.'

Manny pulled up outside the farmer's cottage high on the mountain where the walkers usually parked. There were no spaced-out rockers burning possessions today. There were just sheep.

'Dad, Dad!' called Claire as she ran to the stile but there was no sign of him.

'RUSS!' 'DAD!' They started to climb the hill, running around like demented goats, spinning out in concentric circles from the tree where the walk usually began. They called and ran for what seemed like forever and then called some more when just as they'd given up, Manny thought he spotted a thin wisp of smoke. He decided to investigate, just in case. He was glad he did. Russ sat, slumped against the other side of a dry-stone wall.

'So this is what it takes to get you two back together.' Russ was clearly weak, and wheezed as he struggled to speak. 'Couldn't remember the view. Just wanted to make it to the top.' He gasped and doubled up in pain. Manny helped him to his feet and they half-carried his sixty-twoyear-old bag of skin and bones to the car.

'We'll drive,' said Manny. 'Up to the ridge. The view's better from up there.'

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28.

After Balders and Gina had given their sides of the story it was Angie's turn.

'Don't look at me. I was in the sodding crèche all day.'

'We need a plan,' Billy said. They heard a meek knock on the door.

A one-armed doll and a legless teddy-bear appeared around the side of the door. 'What?'

'Can we come in?' – Balders' voice.

'I've dismantled the crèche,' – Gina.

'Never sold a car to a child yet. Come in, you berks. What are we going to do then? Ideas?'

'Balders,' said Angie. 'You're a writer. You have a wild and romantic imagination.'

'Come on then,' said Billy. 'Create something useful for once – ' 29.

Vince and Manny carried Russ up the stairs and settled him in bed.

'Went walkabout, is it?' said Vince. 'Fancied a walk?' Claire followed them. She clicked her phone off – 'The doctor's on his way with the morphine.'

'Leave you to it,' Vince said, ducking out. 'See you soon, Russ.'

'Nah you won't.'

'Don't say that. Bye now.' Russ looked up through watery grey eyes – 'My fault, all of it.'

'What is?' said Manny.

'You moving back, feeling small, sticking your dick in some woman to make you feel bigger. You should have stayed in London. I didn't ask you to come back... GET OUT. Stop gawping at me – ' Claire ushered Manny out onto the landing. He hugged her. 'YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME DIE ON THE HILL.' Manny rushed downstairs after Claire. Everything was too much.

She turned and cried and Manny took her in his arms again. She kissed him hungrily. They tongued each other furiously in a way they never had 348

done before. She pulled out his shirt and clawed at his back. She grabbed at his belt buckle as he held her by her ponytail and undid her bra-strap through her jumper.

'Claire, I love you – ' ' – NO.' She shoved him away. They stood opposite each other, red-faced, panting.

'Too easy. It's all too easy. Go – Go! GET OUT.' She grabbed him and launched him towards the back door; opened the door and pushed him out. He toppled down the step but managed to maintain his balance.

'You can't muck me about like this!' The door slammed shut in his face. He kicked it, cracking a panel, and instantly regretted it. 'Let me in.

I love you. I want to help. Claire?'

He crouched near the door, but all he could hear was sobbing.

30.

Chloe sat in Minchin's lock-up as two stringy mums were given forty quid each for the efforts.

'Nice work, ladies. Now for the main prize.'

'What main prize?' asked one of the mums.

'You two still here?'

'Arsehole,' said the other mum. 'Jordan? Jodi? Come on, we're leaving.' They walked out repeating the insult. The other mother spat gum on the floor.

Chloe pulled out a cheque for £7,000. Minchin filled in the payee's name – 'Mr. Peter Minchin'.

'More guilty than you thought,' she said.

'Wheeler is one of life's losers. He was a flop as a cop and everyone knows that car sales is the last resort for losers. Today I've taken him for a ride... twice.'

'I owe you a grand, so half of the balance is three grand for me.'

'Whose name does it say on the cheque?'

'Yours. Like you said. Then you said half. We had a deal.'

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'Run along, little girl. Consider your debt cancelled. Here's some cash for your trouble.' He tossed a roll containing a few hundred in used twenty pound notes at her – 'Now get out.'

31.

It was like a scene from a Hollywood heist movie, except where they might have futuristic touch screens that materialise in thin air the Wheelers' crew had a child's play-board showing streets and buildings, and a red plastic car held together by Sellotape. The men were in shirtsleeves. Gina nibbled on a felt-tip pen. Angie nursed a sleeping Dylan.

'The lock-up is right on the canal near the basin,' Balders indicated a crudely-drawn road curving from the lock-up, represented by a box of drawing pins, to the canal. 'Near the old loading quay there are piles of pallets and stuff.' Some Lego blocks represented these. The phone rang.

'You can get one? Great. See you at 7.' Billy clicked off the phone.

'Brad the Surfer to the rescue. You were mad to finish with him.' Gina accepted this. Balders went back to the plan – 'Right, we need a driver.'

'Manny,' said Billy. The phone rang again. 'Uh-huh.... Thanks.

We'll be over in half an hour.'

'5 series? Red?' asked Balders.

'3 series. White.'

'No good!'

'We'll paint it.'

'Good!'

'I'll do it,' offered Gina, to everyone's surprise. 'Do you think it'll work?' Balders smiled – 'Not a chance in hell.'

32.

Russ lay peacefully on his bed as the medicine coursed through his grateful veins.

Claire came in and put her hand on his head.

350

'I wish I'd discovered morphine ten years ago,' he said. He held out his hand.

'I don't want to go to sleep...' Claire carefully got onto the bed and put her arm around him. He cwtched into her.

33.

For the umpteenth time that day Balders knocked hard on Minchin's lock-up door. Minchin appeared with Love Machine in tow.

'What the hell do you want now?'

'My colleague sold the car. Made a killing.'

'I was never in doubt. Sorry you embarrassed yourself?'

'Yes. What are you up to?'

'Nothing, why?'

'Let me take you for a drink Peter – can I call you Peter? Got a business proposition for you.'

'You?' 'My car's just down here. My treat.'

'What the hell...' Minchin turned to his henchman, 'Meet you back here, half hour.' Love Machine went off in Minchin's car hoping for a quickie with a tattooed floozy. Balders walked quickly to his car near the canal, discreetly clicking a button on his phone in his pocket. 'What's this proposition then?'

'Cut'n'shuts. We have a contact with a scrap-yard, you act as the trader.'

'Tell me more – ' A car skidded into view. It was a red BMW: the red BMW. It lurched from left to right at great speed. The car was clearly not behaving as it should. It zoomed on, narrowly avoiding a pile of pallets and disappeared around the corner. They heard a loud screeching skidding noise. 'Wasn't that...?' said Balders.

Minchin nodded. Balders trotted after the car and Minchin followed. They heard a huge splash. Balders stepped up the pace and Minchin did too. They arrived at the quayside to see the car in the water with only the roof visible. Balders put his hands to his face in horror – 'Oh my God!' he yelped. A figure appeared, gasping to the surface.

'Are you alright?'

351

'I lost control,' said the figure. 'The steering went completely. I could have died!' The man swam to a ladder attached to the concrete and climbed up before collapsing on the bank.

'Oh god, we're all in the shit now,' said Balders.

'This is nothing to do with me,' said Minchin 'Course not. Oh, hang on... your name's on the receipt. And your address... Shit.' The driver approached – 'You saw that? Hey, haven't I seen you somewhere before?'

'No' said Balders.

'Wheelers Showroom... this morning?'

'Not me.'

'Funny... Right, I'll need a statement from both of you.'

'A statement. What for?' said Minchin.

'I'm a police sergeant. Dyfed Powys CID.' The man flashed a badge. Balders nearly fainted but managed to compose himself.

'You're a policeman?'

'Something seriously wrong with that car. Can I borrow your phone. Mine's soaked. Need to claim for that as well. Brand new too.

Gonna get CID to investigate.'

Minchin grabbed Balders and dragged him away from the immediate scene. He thrust a brown envelope into his hand.

'Six grand says I never sold you that car.' Balders nodded and Minchin ran off. Balders looked at the shivering victim.

'Good work, Brad,' he said.

34.

The showroom was dark except for one small lamp in Billy's office. Billy and Chloe nursed a Penderyn.

'You can get away from Minchin now, with the money I gave you?

Plus you've got his £400.'

'I don't understand why you gave me money. I was trying scam you.'

'You helped me face a demon. You're a bloody good liar, Chloe.

You'll make a fine car salesman one day.'

352

Chloe rose and started to head out. Billy turned to face the poster of the Man With No Name. She paused at his door – 'Gemma's happy. She knows you saved her life. If you hadn't survived neither would she.' She reached into the carrier bag and pulled out a pile of photocopied clippings and photos.

'I don't want those. It's over,' said Billy.

'I don't want you to have them. I want you to have this.' She handed him the carrier bag. He read the name on the front. It said Cariad Gifts, with an address in Llandeilo.

35.

Claire saw Russ half-dozing under a rug on the couch. She asked if he wanted anything other than milk. He didn't, but insisted she went to the retail park rather than the local shop as he wasn't sure they checked the sell-by dates and he didn't want to get food poisoning from dodgy milk, not in his condition. She accepted his instruction.

36.

Minchin sat back in his chair, studying Billy's cheque. He liked the dying worlds of cash and cheques. BACS transfers didn't feel real – banks were about stone pillars and marble halls, not just figures on screens. He heard the door being unlocked and footsteps approach. He heard a champagne bottle opening and held up an empty glass. The glass filled.

'What we celebrating then?' said Billy Wheeler. Minchin nearly fell out of his chair in fright. Whilst he had little respect for Billy, he was much smaller in stature.

'How did you get in?'

'Making a fool of my daughter? Selling her a dangerous car?'

He grabbed Minchin and pushed him over the desk. Cheap sparkling wine flowed over the surface.

'I paid the money back. LEE?' 'That's ok, then. Now, if I see you anywhere near my showroom again – ' ' – You won't. LEE.' 353

'He can't help you now.'

'What?'

Billy let go and Minchin moved as far away from him as he could, down to the furthest dusty corner where several Victorian fireplaces from the former Stepney Hotel were stored.

'What have you done with Lee?' 'There's a little something outside to cheer you up.'

Minchin arrived to see Brad putting a towrope back in the boot of Billy's Audi. The red BMW was parked in front of the lock-up. This made no sense to Minchin. It was dry and intact apart from a dented wing.

'It was in the canal. I saw it sinking. He was driving it. He's a policeman.'

'Nah. He's my mechanic,' said Billy. Brad held up a wet-suit. 'You don't get it, do you?' Billy indicated the side of the lock-up. Minchin saw a piece of car roof with stanchions attached, crudely painted red.

Minchin still didn't get it.

'There was a big splash. Remember?'

'I heard a splash...'

'See, as Manny drove past he nudged a pallet into the water, which explains the dent on the wing. Brad, here, was in the water, with the roof – the fake red roof.'

Minchin looked at the roof, at the wet-suit and the grinning crew.

Billy and Brad got into Billy's car. Billy lobbed a set of keys at Minchin who failed to catch them.

'Oh, yeah... tell him, Brad.'

'We just took the engine out.'

'Can't have a dangerous car on the roads, see.' A small smile touched Minchin's lips.

'Something funny?' asked Billy.

'You could say that.'

'Enlighten us. Please.'

'Oh, nothing. You go.'

'Oh, the scam with Chloe?'

'Cheers for that.'

354

'Minchin. I've already stopped the cheque. You really think I'm that stupid, don't you?'

'I gave the girl five hundred in cash!'

'Four hundred. Not much, but enough to get her far away from you.'

Minchin heard a muffled noise. He opened the boot of the BMW and inside was Lee the Love Machine, bound and gagged. He groaned at Minchin, indicating a desire to be released. Minchin considered his plight, saw the need in Lee's eyes, and slammed the boot shut.

37.

Jeff walked into the White Horse with a catering box of Bobby's Bacon Fries to see Vince waving his beloved spring onion in the air. 'Spring onion, get it? Spring. Onion!'

'We've all seen it Vince. Many times.'

'He hasn't. That little man there.'

'What little man?'

On the bar was a carry-cot containing a sleeping Dylan. Jeff wondered where such a child had come from. He heard a cough and saw a figure in the corner in a fisherman's cap and donkey jacket.

'Hello Russ. Er, you – ' ' – I know you have an anti-drugs policy Jeff, but I am doped to the gills with morphine. Just so you know.'

'What anti-drugs policy? Feel free to smoke. I'll keep an eye on the door.'

'You're spoiling me.'

'Well, yes... er, no.'

'Usual for me and a lemonade for the boy.'

Jeff looked to Vince for some sort of silent assistance. He intimated that Vince should phone Claire. Russ took a toke on his joint and grinned like a boy with a new bike.

'Someone put some music on,' he said. 'It's like a bloody morgue in here.'

355

38.

Ryan and Bryan carried the last of the possessions out onto the street.

Balders had more stuff than they'd reckoned and the pavement was full of black bags and boxes.

'Balders is going to be thrilled,' said Ryan. 'Microwave. Whirlpool bath. And a new home for you, boy.' Booker, tied to a lamp-post, looked sceptical. A van pulled up. Minchin and Love Machine got out.

'All done? Everything out of there?' asked Minchin. The brothers nodded enthusiastically. Minchin drummed his fingers on the side of the van until his henchman returned from inspecting the premises. Love Machine gave the thumbs up and opened the rear door of the van. He took out some boards and a nail gun.

'Will it be ok if we use the new place as a film production office?' asked Ryan. 'No probs if not.'

'Sure. Hey, maybe I'll be in it.' The producers looked a little embarrassed at this proposition. 'Did you find that guy then? Dark Force?'

'He'll turn up.'

The door was secured as if riots were anticipated, and the rat-at-at-at thud of nails firing through plywood echoed around the town. The cousins stood under the street-lamp, delighted they were about to have a lifestyle for the first time. Tonight they would celebrate with Camparis.

Minchin got into the van, put on the Dark Force mask and wound his window down.

'Vengeance will be mine, ha-ha-ha-ha!' he said, as the van drove away.

Ryan pondered on what had just happened and what the consequences might be. His head hurt. A car pulled up. Inside were Manny and Balders, eating kebabs.

'What's going on?' asked Manny. Ryan still hadn't worked out the answer so said nothing. Bryan only added to the silence. Balders and Manny got out of the car and took in the scene – the bags, the boxes, the dog, the boarded up flat.

356

'Minchin?' said Balders, finally. Ryan stared at his shoes: now it made sense.

'The Dark Force.'

39.

'I am a lineman for the county...'

Russ mouthed along with words of one of his favourite songs. They'd already sung Gilbert O'Sullivan's 'Nothing Rhymed'; Peters and Lee's 'Welcome Home'; Andrew Gold's 'Never Let her Slip Away'; and Neil Sedaka's 'Hungry Years' with Vince handling the high harmonies as he usually did. A handful of other drinkers also sang along to the jukebox classic.

'Tell me one of your terrible jokes, Jeff,' said Russ, dribbling beer into his beard without caring. The pub door opened. It was Claire. Vince took control – 'Come on, Russ. Bed now – best place, best place.' He needed Claire's affirmation that this was the best plan but her affirmation didn't come.

'Same again, Dad?' She'd never seen her father look quite so grateful – 'And I need you more than want you...'

Claire put a twenty on the bar. 'Double vodka please, Jeff, and whatever the rest of you are having.' The rest cheered. 'To my Dad!' she said, raising half a lager and lime into the air.

'TO RUSS.' 'For Christ's sake,' said Russ. 'Can't we just have a normal night?'

The cheer that followed clearly pleased him.

'I think I need a small vacation...'

Claire sat down. 'You're a gem, love,' said Russ. 'Sort it out with Manny, will you?'

'I've got a joke,' said Jeff. 'A bloke goes to the Doctor and the Doctor says, 'I'm afraid you've got hypochondria,' and the bloke says, 'Oh no, not that as well!'

357

Vince didn't know whether to laugh or not and Jeff realised that his joke might have been in poor taste, but Russ laughed, so Vince, Jeff and everyone else laughed as well.

'And the Wichita Lineman, is still on the line.'

40.

Gina reached over and pushed open the door of her car. Manny considered his options. He gathered up his possessions from the pile of bin bags and threw them in the boot. Balders had considered his options too – 'Will you come back for me?'

'Sorry, only room for one,' said Gina.

Balders glimpsed Manny's apologetic face as the car sped away.

Now it was just him and his cousins. Three men in a barrel about to topple over Niagara Falls, with two of them to blame. He turned on them. His glare alone made them cower.

'You invade my flat. You fill it full of saddoes wanting to be in your stupid film, and it is stupid – it'll never get made. You take over my life and then make me homeless. I never ever want to see your two ridiculous, stupid, grotesque, stupid faces again. You are DESPICABLE, USELESS, POINTLESS TWATS.' 41.

If anyone documenting the reasons behind the demise of valleys' choirs had entered the White Horse they would have had all the proof they needed. Jeff Beck's classic was being sung with gusto, but little else.

Russ, eyes shut, mouthed along with the lyric, 'I'll see your sun is shining...' whilst Claire warbled, clutching his cold left hand. Russ had a small bookies pen in his right hand and discreetly wrote on a beer mat on the leatherette seat next to him. As he finished his hand accidentally swept it onto the floor. He didn't reach for it. There was no point. No-one paid any attention: the singing was all – 'And it's Hi-Ho... silver lining, and everywhere you go now baby...'

358

As they sang and mimed to the guitar solo Russ smiled, then nodded, then died. Jeff saw, as did Vince. Those further away carried on singing but the group slowly became aware. Claire let go of Russ's hand and slipped away to the toilets. The singing stopped but Jeff instructed them to carry on. Next song to play was the sunny seventies sounds of Perry Como's 'And I Love Her So'. The choir's volume went up a notch.

'And yes, I know, how lonely life can be...'

Claire sat on the cracked toilet seat and phoned Manny. Some things were above falling out, and her dad had specifically told her to sort it out. Who was she to ignore his last wishes? The phone answered. It was a woman's voice – 'Manny's phone...'

Claire heard a toilet flushing and a scraping sound on the phone as if it was being masked. This was the sound of other people's privacy – Manny's and Gina's specifically. She barely recognised Manny's voice – 'Hi love, what's up?... Claire?... Claire, what's up?'

The White Horse choir faded as if someone had turned the volume down. Claire sat in her own personal near-silence. There was a kind of hum somewhere, then the sound of people singing in a tunnel miles away. There were also distant scratchy words; words from another reality – words regarding her whereabouts; words about whether someone should come over; words about how sorry he was that her daddy had died; words about a dangerous car; words seemingly trying to explain how someone was in someone else's house and why someone picked up a phone, or something...

Some other words too, but they were really more like sounds than words and of no importance. Claire moved the phone from her ear and the sounds faded away. She clicked the phone off. Now all she could hear was the drip of the cistern, and even that she soon zoned out.

42.

On a bright morning twenty miles from Drefawr, Billy Wheeler pulled up across the road from a smart gift shop in a handsome Georgian town where pastel-coloured villas and artisan cottages lined the road by a famous old bridge. Up-market shops, unaware of any crisis in retail, sold wooden toys, chocolate, wellies and kitchen 359

utensils in an olde-worlde run of beautifully maintained Dickensian buildings opposite a churchyard. Billy checked the details on the carrier bag. This was the place.

Cariad Gifts hadn't opened yet. His timing was deliberate. A few minutes passed before a small sports-car pulled up. A young man and woman got out. He saw her.

She looked like her mother. At the doorway the woman put the key in the lock and kissed the man who turned away smiling.

The woman looked across the road and saw Billy. Something genuine was acknowledged. Gemma went into her shop and Billy drove away.

360

Chapter 8 - The Annual Rotary Club Ball

The small upstairs office above Billy Wheeler's office stank of unwashed creatures. It was rarely used except for strategic games of Hide & Seek and storing company junk. Recent additions to the chaos were cleaning fluids, a box of mouse traps, a broken mop and several bottles of Extrashiny Sparkleclean. The floor had a hole in one corner and there were black bags strewn everywhere. Wrapped in a hair-covered blanket Balders slept soundly, cuddling Booker and dreaming of sleeping. Booker was dreaming of bunnies. Balders' mobile phone alarm rang. Instinctively he pressed the snooze button.

2.

Russ's body lay in an open coffin in the parlour of his small house by the woods. Russ's father was a miner turned forestry worker. His mother was originally from North Wales and worked in a clothing factory further down the valley making tweed jackets. They were good Christian folk, ate plaice and hand-cut chips every Friday, and bought most of their shopping from the pop, veg or grocery vans that once trundled the slopes of the valleys with their cheery whistling drivers. Then supermarkets came and the vans stopped for a generation until supermarkets realised that people liked deliveries. Now the cheery drivers were back. The old folks were particularly happy, but they did miss the whistling. An ice-cream van still jangled around the cul-de-sacs on hazy summer evenings, but the consensus was that it wasn't as flavoursome as the late lamented Colonel Creamy's ice-cream, nor were the summers quite as sunny as those gone by.

Russ's father had owned a large green wooden shed in the garden which housed an aviary where he bred budgerigars, a hobby he continued long after becoming blind. After his days the budgies went to a Bristol breeder and Russ converted the aviary into a workshop and garage. Russ followed his father into the forestry but took early retirement in his mid-fifties to enjoy his prog rock albums, library and 361

family, but his wife died young and his daughter left home, so in their absence he decided to cement his faith. He read everything he could on the origins of Christianity and became a committed atheist, albeit in private. He'd always enjoyed watching and playing rugby and was a committed socialist and amateur poet. During his 60th year he wrote 365 poems and essays which he kept in box files in the front room and showed to nobody. They could hide in open sight because most Welsh people of a certain age only used the front room, or parlour, for laying out the dead.

Claire held Dylan so he could see his grandfather. 'I can't wake him up,' she said.

'Why?' Manny stood in the doorway in his boxers. Claire struggled to answer – 'Grampy's body is here but his soul has gone.'

'Where?' Claire looked to Manny for help.

'Remember when you had that big balloon and you let it go and it went up in the sky...' Claire smiled and took over – 'And you were upset. And we said, maybe the balloon wanted to be free.' Dylan looked out through the window. The two adults accepted they'd helped each other.

'Grampy in the sky?' asked Dylan.

'Grampy in the sky.'

3.

Billy walked into the showroom with an armful of holiday brochures and a briefcase. As he crossed the showroom the door to the upstairs office opened. Balders appeared on the metal landing in his suit, looking, and smelling, like he'd been living for some time in a prison laundry basket.

'Hi boss, got in early, do some paperwork. Always keen. Holiday, is it?'

'Taking the wife away. First holiday in years.'

'I've never had a holiday. Only time I've been across the Severn Bridge was when – ' ' – That nutter took you on the world's longest test drive.'

362

'Chipping Sodbury.' Billy waved the brochures – 'There's one in here somewhere for you. Single people with pets.

Skegness or somewhere, with Dale Winton. Take that mangy mutt of yours.' Balders mobile phone alarm clock went off. He fumbled to turn it off.

'Time to get up,' said Billy.

4.

Claire, in bra and knickers, sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on a pair of black tights. In her haste she laddered them. She swore loudly several times. Manny opened the door.

'Everything ok?'

'WHAT ARE YOU DOING?' 'I need my suit. It's in the – ' ' – KNOCK NEXT TIME.' 'Claire. I've seen it all before – ' ' – And it wasn't good enough then, was it?'

She went to the wardrobe, got his suit and flung it at him.

'What did Gina wear, Manny – silk stockings? Were you taking them off when my Dad was dying?'

'Nothing happened. I told you. She answered my phone to stir it up and I had nowhere else to go.'

'Why would I believe you? You screwed her before. Why not again?' She slammed the door shut.

'I know I did wrong. That's why I'm taking my punishment like a good little boy, sleeping in the spare room – ' ' – If you don't like it, piss off. I just thought you might want to be here for your son.'

5.

'I got evicted. Five days ago,' Balders explained. Billy spotted a dog dish near the sleeping bag and pushed it with his foot.

'What's this?' '...er, Booker?' The dog appeared from a recess in the roof.

363

'What did I say last time?'

'That I'd be sacked. I'm not sacked am I?' 'Get this stuff out, this morning. Ok?' 'Thanks boss. I will. I'm a bit short of funds see.'

'You know the answer to all your problems.'

'Yes boss.'

'What is the answer?'

'Sell more cars, boss.'

6.

Claire, in a black dress a size too small, stood by an open kitchen unit drawer holding a photo of her parents taken on their honeymoon in 1982; the happy couple were leaning on the bonnet of a primer-grey 1960s Austin van which once belonged to Russ's father.

'You've got her smile,' said Manny. She hugged him but pulled away when his mobile rang.

'Hello?... Who? – ' He glanced at Claire who turned to wash up for something to do. 'Just a sec. Can't hear you too well...' He ducked out into the garden. Claire watched him. She saw him smile; saw him catching her eye; saw him looking away.

'Someone wanting directions to the crem,' he said through the open window. 'Right, I'd better go and pick up that car.'

'Give my love to Gina,' sighed Claire.

7.

Balders carried his remaining possessions into Angie's house. She glanced at the dog blanket, rubber bone and bowl with some trepidation.

Her house was pristine. Dogs were not. On top of the pile was Balders' manuscript – Clarissa – it started to slide off as he clambered up the stairs so she swiftly caught it.

'This is great, Angie. I'll settle Booker in later. He gets nervous in new places.'

'He'll have to stay downstairs. I take it there won't be any 'little accidents'?'

364

'Haven't wet the bed since I was eight.'

'One night. Ok?' Angie handed Balders the manuscript. 'Did you finish it? Your epic?'

'Not quite. How can I write romantic stuff when I've never even had a proper girlfriend.'

'Good point. Spare room, top of the stairs.' Angie pointed the way and followed him up. They were startled to see Jimmy on the landing.

'What is he doing here?' asked Jimmy.

'What are you doing here?'

'You can't just move people in.'

'You can't just let yourself in!'

Balders found himself trapped in the narrow corridor – 'Could I just – ?' Jimmy glared at him before stepping aside – 'I was waiting for the gas man. Safety inspection.'

'Why were you in my bedroom? Have you been through my stuff?

I should call the police. Pervert.' They heard a cough from Balders which he used as a device to suggest that he hadn't heard anything 'I'm not the one with sex toys in my top drawer.'

Cough.

'Out.' 'I was looking for the gas meter key – ' ' – OUT.' Jimmy fled. Angie tapped gently on the spare-room door. 'You never heard that.' A cough proved Balders hadn't. 'They do say that stray dogs always find their way home.'

8.

Jeff was regretting the impromptu buffet of crisps and nuts he'd handed out the night Russ died. For three days he'd been picking up snack fragments off the floor and he realised that this was really a job for a brush. He moved the chairs and swept under the seating that lined the wall. The head of the brush came up against a brown brogued foot containing a swollen red-socked ankle – 'Shift your leg, Vince.'

365

Vince half woke and moved his leg. Jeff carried on sweeping.

Vince grunted and fully woke 'Morning is it? Woah... Hell of a dream – Snakes!' Jeff bent down and picked up a stray beer mat. 'Don't let me sleep in the pub Jeff, mun.

Bad for my back! Bad for my back!'

'I couldn't wake you. I hate it when they peel off layers and write on beer mats. They don't grow on trees you know. Breweries have stopped making them – ' He took a moment to decipher the scrawl on the beer mat.. 'Bloody hell, Vince, take a look at this...'

'What's this?... Oh.' 'Russ. His last requests. Must have been writing it when – ' 9.

'Are you dealing with the Mayor?' asked Billy as Manny strolled in.

'Yeah. It's a done deal. I'm taking the Jag round there tomorrow to see if his wife can get it in the garage, '...without pinging the wing mirrors'.

His words, but I'll fold them in.'

'He's well connected,' said Billy. 'Rotary Club, Golf Club, Masons.

Get in with him and you and Claire'll be rising up the social ladder quicker than a window cleaner on a promise. You're back with her, yeah?'

'Nearly.'

'Good. He's loaded as well.' Balders seemed to be half-listening.

Either that or he was asleep. 'He's got five bathrooms, outbuildings, a massive outdoor heated swimming pool. Can't even swim.' He laughed before realising it wasn't the done thing to laugh on funeral days; not before the funeral anyway. To deflect this faux pas he hammered his fist on Balders desk – 'Whilst you, haven't got a pot to piss in. SELL SOME CARS.' Balders picked up his phone and flicked through the diary to instantly convey he was trying to sell a car.

'I'll go to get the keys for the Audi,' said Manny.

'Drive carefully,' said Billy.

366

As they walked off Balders perked up. He'd heard key perking-up words: words like Mayor, loaded, and swimming pool.

Manny went to Admin where Gina was putting on bright purple nail varnish – 'I need to check the details for the Mayor's car before I go.'

'You still in the spare room?'

'It's your fault for answering the phone.'

'What do you want me to say? Sorry for falling in love with you?'

Her confession was disarming. He offered a secret in return.

'I just got a phone call. From London. From my old band. The guitarist has quit. They're starting rehearsals for a set of paid gigs.'

'When?' '...Tomorrow.'

'This is what you've dreamt about! I could come with you. No kid needs unhappy parents.' Manny looked away. The honesty hurt. 'You've turned them down, haven't you?'

'I love Dylan. And Claire – ' Angie burst in carrying a tree – 'Manny, if you need someone to mind the little one, I'm only too happy to help.'

'That's great. I'll tell Claire.'

'This is for her. It's a tree. Thought she could plant it in honour of Russ or something. I don't like giving cut flowers.'

'That's really nice, Angie.' Gina couldn't help herself – 'You can watch it grow from the spare room.'

'What are you doing in my drawer?'

'Looking for my pen,' said Balders. ‘Why are you carrying a tree?'

'It's a family tradition.'

'Is it?'

'No.' 'Knob.' As Manny exited Balders called out – 'Have a good funeral. Give my love to Claire.'

'Thanks loser, have a shit day – ' Balders retrieved Manny's diary from the drawer. He looked up the Mayor's details and made the call using a ridiculously posh voice. This was wholly inappropriate because the Mayor wasn't posh. He was just 367

rich. He'd made his money buying up cheap ex-Coal Board land when the mines closed in the 80s. He'd had to wait the mandatory twenty-five years before he was allowed to sell it on, but this was brown-field land, the kind that planners, investors and builders love, and a retail park, industrial units and a vast housing estate now occupied the site. These houses were now worth barely 70% of their purchase price, but that didn't bother the Mayor who lived in a handsome stone-built gentleman's residence at the posh end of town. His neighbours today included the Breeze fruit machine barons as well as retired accountants, retired solicitors, builders and local boys who made good on the road and came home to be flash on the hill.

'This is Gareth Baldwin, phoning from Wheelers Garage... I'm afraid my colleague, who you spoke to about the Jaguar, won't be here tomorrow – matrimonial difficulties. To be honest he was unfaithful...

Good. Oh, one other thing, I've actually got a space in my diary right now, if you're free... Why wait?... Great.'

'We may be losing our friend,' said the inrushing Gina.

'Who?' 'Manny, you idiot. Apparently he might go back to London. Back to his band. A bit hush-hush. I was thinking about us...'

'Us? Me and you?' Balders wasn't really sure what she meant. He'd never thought of him and Gina as an 'Us' before.

'Life would certainly be easier for me, and you, well you'd get a free run at every customer. Perhaps we should encourage him. Or in your case, shaft him and make his life intolerable.'

'Already on it,' said Balders.

He needed to take the Jag to the Mayor's but that would mean Booker might be discovered. Billy had made his position fairly clear on that subject. Balders liked it when there was only one option; it cut down on unnecessary thinking time.

'Get in boy!'

The dog jumped into the salubrious interior and settled immediately on the soft leather rear seat.

'Hiya Cuz!' said Ryan as the cousins scampered up. Bryan waved.

'I don't want to see you two – ' ' – I know we got you evicted and all that.'

368

'I know that too. I'm in a hurry.'

'We've got some great news.'

'Good for you, coz my life's shit at the moment. Because of you I lost my flat – ' ' – Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys!' blurted Ryan.

'Oh, Jesus.' Balders ignited the engine.

'A film company is interested.'

'Bollocks they are.'

He drove off wearily shaking his head at the most deluded, knuckle-headed dimwits known to man.

10.

Funerals in Wales were much the same as they had been for generations.

Everyone wore black unless the body was that of an ageing rocker or child. And then most people wore black. Occasionally the bereaved family requested that everyone wore a pink tie or a funny hat, but despite the secularisation of the valleys such eccentricities were frowned upon. Those not leaving instructions tended to get a full-blown clarion call to return to the ancient flock of the local church, if it was still open, and their favourite song as the curtain closed on the coffin. Whimsical or amusing numbers were frowned upon. Six months ago Cyril Goddard – purveyor of fancy-dress items in the town's main street for over 30 years and chairman of the Drefawr Players' Theatre Group – passed away, and as the coffin went behind the curtain the crematorium sound system played, 'Wish Me Luck (As You Wave Me Goodbye)', by Gracie Fields. Some chuckled at the showman's exit, but others murmured that it was already inappropriate that he was being cremated wearing his favourite Elvis costume.

Non-religious funerals were on the increase and, having spotted a gap in the market, a local vicar had gone on a course in Leicester and retrained as a funeral celebrant. Naturally sympathetic to the grieving, all it meant was that he left his dog collar and his bible in the car and tried not to mention God. Russ had left no instructions so it was the classic funeral for him: weeping, whispering, Welsh-cakes and witch-hunts.

369

'Well Auntie Gwyneth, Uncle Illtyd, how are you?' said Claire to the crinkled octogenarians at the door.

'Claire fach, long time no see. You used to play in our garden in Bethesda when you were this high. Your father was a lovely man.'

'Tree coming through!' The group stood to one side to let Manny pass. 'From Angie. She said she'd have Dylan. Shall I take him over now?' The relatives went in search of tea, cake and witches.

'Why were you so long getting the limo?' asked Claire.

'I've got an important deal set up for tomorrow... Honest. I'll be back before the undertakers get here.'

'Hurry then. This lot are doing my head in.'

'Where's Billy?' called Jeff, panting as he dashed up the path.

'He's in there, looking after Auntie Delsie. She half-blind, but likes the younger man. He let her feel his face and now she won't let go.

What's up?'

'We need to talk,' said Jeff.

'Now,' said Vince, even more breathlessly, a few yards behind.

'Can't it wait?'

No. BILLY?' Billy appeared with two thin lines of lipstick on his cheek – 'What's up boys?'

11.

Balders pulled up on a tree-lined street up the posh end of Drefawr. It was a different world. There was no litter. No road markings. No potholes. No graffiti. No dog dirt. No people. Drefawr was a coal, iron and steel Klondike in the late 19th century, and whilst charitable foundations and local amenities were provided for the workers, the Victorian philanthropists also invested in grand villas with gardens, William Morris wallpaper, wood panelling and stained glass windows for themselves. Balders checked the paperwork against a brass plate mounted on a stone wall: Brynhyfryd – beautiful hill. He peered through the trees up at the imposing stone house in the distance. It was definitely the sort of place a Mayor should live. It even had a tower. Balders 370

extracted Booker from the Jag and tied him to a post indicating a public footpath leading to the stumpy remains of Drefawr Castle.

'Won't be long, good boy. Then walkies for you.' He got back in and headed up the driveway.

Writing is great. I want to be a writer more than anything else. The novel needs a few tweaks and a final edit and then it's agent, editor, publisher... or maybe self-publish and scrap it out with the million other writers. I could go direct to the public, miss out the middlemen and middle women. There must be hundreds of people's details on the Wheelers database. Some must be readers. I'm a salesman. I can sell. 'Hello madam, would you like to buy a book?' But could I be C.H.Ray then? Probably need to be me. But in the meantime 'me' needs somewhere to live. And I need money. And I need clothes. And I need connections. I need lots of things. Rotary? Masons? Hell yes.

Hey, maybe I'll send my book to Jeremy Clarkson. There's a connection – cars. 'Hi Jeremy, this is probably the first novel you will ever receive that was written by a car salesman.' I wonder if I'll be any good at golf? I was crap at sports involving equipment. Hockey, gymnastics, tennis, snooker. Running – I was good at that.

Always good to be able to run.

12.

Gina flicked through one of Billy's travel brochures. European city breaks sounded sophisticated but a nice sunshine holiday also appealed.

She fancied Nice but had no-one to go with. Her fractious colleague Angie would be a fun travel buddy certainly, if she stayed sober and didn't mention Jimmy, and they were both single: actually...

'Angie? Ever thought of the French Riviera – ' ' – Jimmy's bored with her. I knew it would happen. Well, he's too late. I'm happy on my own. Remind me to get some wine for tonight...

Sorry, what did you say?'

'Doesn't matter. So if he asked you to have him back, you'd turn him down?'

'Yes. I don't want her sloppy seconds.'

'Maybe Claire feels the same.'

'It's different. They've got a child. Manny just needs to prove he's reliable – ' 371

' – Where's the Mayor's Jag?' said the unreliable one, bursting into Admin. He was met with two shrugs. 'And where's Balders?'

'Said he had to take the dog for a walk,' Angie said. Manny worked it out.

'That piece of SHIT,' he said.

13.

Balders rang at the front door-bell of the Mayor's house. It was even more impressive close up. The porch alone was bigger than many places Balders had lived in. He rang the bell a second time. He wondered if the second ring was too soon after the first. He didn't want the Mayor to think that he was some over-zealous door-to-door salesman and ignore the ringing. He rang a third time. Still no answer. He looked at the front door and thought about the line, '...keep the wolf from the door,' and then if there had ever been a door-to-door salesman selling wolves.

'Hello?' he called.

A large petrol mower burst into life at the rear of the house. Year ago it was not considered impolite to wander around the back of a stranger's house whilst calling and waving, but Balders had read about recent cases of burglars being shot. Years ago it was also fine to try a front door, and if open, step into the hallway delivering a soft, 'Hello?' before stepping back and shutting the door to within a few inches, as if you'd found the door to be open and were merely being protective.

These days if no-one answered you simply rang their mobile number, but Balders didn't have the Mayor's mobile number on him, and it probably wouldn't be heard above the mower anyway. Yet he was expected – Hmm...

14.

A small vicar arrived at the apple-green front door of No. 7, Kew Gardens; the name being a joke by an outgoing Head Of Planning at the local council.

'Morning, reverend,' said Jeff.

'Hello. Sad time...'

372

Jeff checked over his shoulder: no-one watching. He closed the door to the front room and beckoned the vicar into the hall – 'Just want a quick word.'

'Of course.'

Jeff briskly lead him down the empty corridor through the house and out into the garden, closing the back door behind them.

'What were you planning on saying today?'

'Oh, er... that though I didn't know Ross – ' ' – Russ.'

'Sorry...'

The vicar pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and scanned it. As he spoke Jeff managed to keep shepherding the vicar slowly down the garden path.

'Russ, of course. Though I didn't know him well, I've spoken to his family and I know he was a good father and a hard-working man, many years working, before his tragic illness and, er... that God is looking after him now.'

'I thought so.' said Jeff.

He opened the door to a small but sturdy garden shed and lead the vicar inside before doing a quick about turn, exiting and locking the door on the bemused cleric.

15.

Balders made his way around the side of the house. At the end of the vast garden were some outbuildings. A large swimming pool dominated the scene surrounded by several items of mismatched garden furniture.

Balders could see the Mayor mowing the lawn. He was a large-bellied man in his late fifties wearing a jaunty shirt.

'Hello?'

Now it was all about a gentle waving of the arms until he attracted the Mayor's attention, but before he could do that Booker intervened, galloping through the trees with his lead in his teeth. Being a lover of strangers he ran straight up to the Mayor who tottered backwards as the beast leapt at him. The Mayor started to career in reverse, whirling his 373

arms like a primitive steam engine before a huge 'SPLASH' as he fell into the pool. Balders sprang into action.

'Whose dog is that?' He tried to shoo Booker away. 'Get lost!

WHOEVER YOU BELONG TO.' In an effort to bond with his dog and get rid of him at the same time Balders picked up a large stone and flung it as far as he could over the large hedge that surrounded the mayoral acre. 'Fetch,' he hissed. 'GET LOST,' he yelled. There was a sound of a distant crash.

'HELP!' Balders chucked a number of inflatable items into the pool. 'I can't swim!' gasped the Mayor.

Balders spied a long pole with a net on the end used for scooping insects. He was surprised as to how light it was for such a long pole. He thrust it in the direction of the drowning man. The Mayor grabbed the pole and all Balders had to do was pull him to the side, but as the Mayor struggled with the pole, the freezing water and his fear of drowning, he managed to pull Balders into the pool as well.

'HELP!' yelped the Mayor accidentally slapping Balders about the face and neck. Balders managed to put his hands around the Mayor's shoulders despite repeatedly getting assaulted. It was almost exactly like wrestling a panicking walrus.

'STOP WAVING YOUR ARMS ABOUT.' Balders clambered over the Mayor, took a deep breath, dipped under the waves and aimed him at the side of the pool. A couple of mighty shoves and the Mayor was face down on the path, with only his legs in the water.

'Oh my God!' came a shrill female voice. The Mayoress, in straw gardening hat and lilac gloves, flapped towards them as Balders heaved the Mayor out of the pool. They lay there, soaked and frozen. '...This young man... saved my life,' gasped the Mayor.

'Who are you, young man?' asked the Mayoress.

'I'm from Wheelers, about the Jaguar. Gareth Baldwin.'

The Mayor became aware of another presence – a surly young man in a black suit and tie, standing by the pool.

'So who are you?'

'I'm actually the salesman you spoke to.'

374

'Really?' The Mayor looked at Balders who nodded solemnly. 'Oh... the adulterer.' Despite all that had gone before Manny was truly appalled that Balders had deemed it fit to divulge such information to the Mayor of Drefawr. 'We'll deal with Mr Baldwin now, thank you very much.

Goodbye.'

'Look – ' ' – I could call the police. You are trespassing.' Manny stood his ground.

'Fiona, get my rifle.'

'You're not serious?' said Manny.

'And my cartridges.'

Balders offered a look that seemed to say, 'This has got absolutely nothing to do with me.' But it was all completely to do with Balders. Manny was infuriated, so when he got round to the front of the house, he kicked the Jaguar creating a noticeable dent in the driver's side door.

A showered and fully moisturised Balders sat in a white monogrammed dressing gown in a large Victorian sun-room that ran the breadth of the house. He clocked all kinds of exotic plants, a large teak potting table, an elaborately designed slate floor, baskets of seeds, flowery wellies, two sets of secateurs and several pairs of garden gloves. The Mayor, also in his dressing gown, sipped a cup of Earl Grey. The Mayoress, who had changed from gardening coat into housecoat, was fascinated by their guest who was getting to grips with the complex flavours of Earl Grey.

Balders didn't know it was infused with the rind of bergamot oranges: he just thought it had gone off. The Mayoress offered him a biscuit that had a scrumptious crumbliness of flour, butter and sugar; an ostentatious depth of caramel and a flavour of chocolate the like of which he'd never tasted before. His front teeth sank into the chewy part before the soft crunch below. These were the biscuits that posh people ate and whilst he didn't ordinarily like posh people, especially timewasters like that Guinnie woman, he liked their biscuits. Besides which, he couldn't leave as his clothes were in the dryer. He had no choice but to sit back – taking care to keep his bits hidden; accidentally displaying his penis wouldn't be good – and cast aside his prejudices for posh people, their stale Earl Grey tea, their millionaire's shortbread and their 375

fluffy new slippers which were handed to him in a sealed bag. These people had spare slippers. Balders didn't even have slippers.

'Not many decent young men like you around,' said the Mayoress.

'My parents raised me that way.'

'And what do they do?'

'They were missionaries. Went abroad when I was six. There was this accident involving an elephant and – I'd really rather not go into it.'

'Have another biscuit, Gareth. Where do you live?'

'I'm staying with a friend. I'm between homes at present. My cousins fell on hard times. I tried to help them out but they conned me out of all my worldly goods.'

That's terrible. How?' 'I'd rather not go into it. I've got my health and my work and I won't let a minor setback stop me from rebuilding my life.'

The Mayor balanced the cup and saucer on his belly – 'A man after my own heart,' he said.

'If there's anything we could do to help, Gareth...'

'Saving your husband's life is reward enough.'

16.

Vince was sweating profusely. This was usually beer-time and he was missing his fluids. He'd consumed a 3 litre bottle of Tivoli orangeade but didn't want to impose any further.

'What's the delay?' called out Uncle Illtyd.

'Don't be so rude,' sniped Auntie Gwyneth.

'We can't start without the vicar,' said Auntie Delsie.

'Unfortunately the vicar has been detained,' said Jeff. A timid 'Hello?' from the garden shed went unheard. Well behind schedule, Manny walked in.

'Where the hell have you been this time?' demanded Claire.

'I'm really sorry, but Balders has gone way too far – ' ' – Manny? It can't be that important, can it?' She indicated a roomful of mourners.

'Course it's not. Sorry. I'm here for you.'

376

Manny gently touched her face. She didn't recoil. She nodded at Jeff. He hadn't expected to speak first and was rather flattered. He opened a brown paper bag and pulled out Uncle Oliver's rugby cap.

Inside it was a wad of notes. Jeff held it up for the room to see.

'Russ didn't believe in banks. Or God. He kept his money at home and his spiritual thoughts to himself. This money is for drinks in the pub. One of Russ' last requests. Fortunately it's my pub. I was proud to call him my friend. Ok, that's me done. If anyone wants to say a few words, feel free.' Vince stepped forward – 'Alright? Russ see, loved his wife, Ann... sadly died young. Lovely she was. And he loved Claire, course... and Dylan! He liked a chat in a pub. Not a big drinker mind, but a good pub man. He liked to laugh see, oh yes, but he was serious too. Books! Always reading. Aye...' He stepped back then forward again. 'Marijuana isn't it? Liked a smoke, see.

Old Russ liked his pot. Aye. Medicinal! Medicinal!'

Some of the oldies frowned at this but kept silent out of respect.

Uncle Illtyd allowed himself a brief but pleasant flashback to the 70s when, as a Welsh language extremist, he painted out the English on road-signs near Caernarvon whilst off his tits on hash.

'25 years ago,' said Billy Wheeler. 'I had a bad experience. I sat in the house, on sick leave, for a long time. Russ came round one night, pointed his finger at me and said, 'You've been carrying that bag too long. It's time to put it down and walk away.' He was right. We must move on. And I hope you Claire, with Manny's help, and love will, in time, get over your sadness, and remember a truly decent man.' Billy gave Manny his cue.

'When I moved here he told me that I wouldn't last 5 minutes, that I was a 'London ponce', and that he'd eat me for breakfast if he wasn't dying of cancer. He was everything I need to be. I'm really sorry he's gone.'

17.

Balders smoked a large cigar whilst admiring a stuffed badger which the Mayor held before him like a proud father.

'It's... lovely,' said Balders, trying not to wince at the hideous artefact.

377

'I think Gareth has seen enough for now,' said the Mayoress. He had. On the table were a large collection of stuffed animals: ferrets, stoats, a hawk, a heron, weasels and a fox. The fox looked particularly alive, mouth open, sharp teeth protruding.

'Ever been hunting, Baldwin?' '...Yes.' 'Good man.'

'I hate the sport,' came a voice from the other room.

'I only went once. To research my book.' The Mayoress appeared in the doorway.

'You write? That's wonderful. I run a writers' circle. What do you write?'

'Romantic fiction.'

'Girls' stuff?' joshed the Mayor.

'Take no notice, Gareth. Tell me, are you unattached?'

'Too young for you, Fiona!'

'You know I wasn't thinking of me.'

The Mayoress' eye rested on a pencil portrait on the wall. A pale beautiful woman with large sad eyes gazed back. Balders beamed at his new best friends and started to imagine his future. He would have to be some sort of crass buffoon to mess this up. The Mayoress was touched by the way Balders stared at the portrait, but it wasn't the graceful girl that had captivated his attention; it was a reflection in the glass – a moving shape – outside: a dog-shaped shape. Booker had returned to the scene of the crime, had sniffed out and spotted his master inside the Mayor's study and was now staring in wistfully. Balders put the cigar down and leapt to his feet, almost revealing his penis.

'I must... all this tea – where's the little boys' room?'

'It's in the hall – ' ' – No! Don't get up. Please. I'll find it.'

The Mayoress poured more tea as the Mayor puffed away.

'I think providence brought him to us today,' she said. Through the window behind them Balders ran on his tiptoes, his slippers sodden by pool water, dressing gown gaping in the breeze as he kept up a hot pursuit of his dog. Fortunately for all concerned, neither of the householders saw him.

378

'Rare thing these days – an honest salesman,' said the Mayor. The Mayoress gazed at the picture. '... Are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

18.

In a converted aviary Claire sat at the driver's seat of a small 1962 Austin A35 grey van. She held the steering wheel as Billy fiddled with the engine.

'Dad bought this when he was 19. Courted my mother in it. They went on honeymoon in it as well. Cornwall. I was a late baby. Dad once said I was nearly a stain on the couch.'

'It won't see Cornwall again,' said Billy. 'Once more?' Claire turned the key once more – nothing.

'I thought you knew about cars, Billy,' said Vince.

'I know this one's had it.'

'Plan B then,' said Jeff.

'Plan B,' said Billy.

19.

'You've got something in your hair,' said the Mayor as Balders ran in.

The Mayoress reached over and gently removed a small twig.

'Ah yes. Took a stroll around the garden – couldn't resist.'

'In your slippers?'

'Couldn't resist. It's so beautiful. Did you design it yourself?.'

'Did you spot the converted barn?' asked the Mayoress. 'I always thought it would make a wonderful writer's studio... perhaps you could live there? For a nominal rent of course. It's very private.'

'I could?'

'Don't push the man, Fiona.'

'I'm not.' The Mayor leaned forward – 'Look, why not come to the Rotary Club Annual Ball tonight? We can discuss it then.'

'I'd like that very much.'

379

Balders was getting his head around having the Mayor of Drefawr as a friend, mentor and landlord. He would be a strong and powerful influence, of that there could be no doubt, but there was something about the Mayor that made Balders fearful of the day when he would be invited to the city for a 'boys' night out'.

'We've got a spare ticket. Our daughter, Marianne's going. She's recently split up with her boyfriend.'

Friend, mentor, landlord... father-in-law?

'He cheated on her. The rotter. You play the field, Baldwin?'

'No, sir. I'm saving myself for the right girl.'

Balders beamed at the appropriateness of his answer, acknowledging that it was possibly the one honest thing he'd said so far.

The Mayor and Mayoress beamed back. Birds twittered in the garden.

The sun came out.

'Another biscuit...?'

20.

Claire steered as Billy, Vince and Jeff struggled to push the old van up the street to the front of the house. Manny walked towards them with the funeral party following behind. He'd explained that there had been a change of plan, but the undertaker was not happy. Undertakers relied on dispatching the dead with total precision and at great cost, and had no time for maverick improvisation. The old van came to a halt just behind the hearse. The pall-bearers holding the coffin and the neighbours on doorsteps were all engrossed in the latest episode of the Kew Gardens Soap Opera.

'Most irregular.' said the undertaker 'Hey Ted, we can't ignore a man's last requests, can we?' said Billy.

'I'll do you a good deal on your next hearse.'

'Still paying for this one, Billy.'

Billy attached the rope expertly to the two vehicles and signalled to the pall-bearers to put the coffin in the grey van. Claire reached over and opened the door for Manny to get in.

'I got it wrong, didn't I? Vicar, hearse – ' ' – Your dad was high as a kite on morphine at the time.'

380

'I wonder what else is on the list? Jeff and Vince are being very secretive. There's no change at the crem or they'd have said. We're having the hymns – ' The back doors closed.

'He was a traditional bloke.'

'He was.'

'But he was obviously a bit crackers as well.'

Claire took the wheel as the van jolted indicating the start of the journey. As the van pulled away the undertaker's face was visible, looking mournfully out of the van's rear window.

21.

The suit was dryer but not dry. Balders wondered whether a soaking wet suit might have been more comfortable. He was about to get into the Jaguar when he thought he spotted that the door was not as it should be.

It must be a trick of the afternoon sunlight. He touched it. He examined it. He blinked and examined it again. It was definitely not a trick. It was a nightmare. However, he had no choice but to drive it the short distance to the Mayor's garage. Then again, he did have a choice – driving away at speed – but it wasn't really an option, not under the circumstances.

Balders parked up in front of the garage and trotted over to the pair.

Fortunately the damage was on the opposite side of the car to the front porch. He jangled the keys in front of the Mayoress' face.

'All yours.'

He walked her to the car and stood close to the door as she got in so she wouldn't see the damage. The Mayoress tentatively drove the car into the garage. Balders needed to engage the Mayor's focus – 'The gold chains. Do you have to clean them yourself?'

'No. A council employee does it.' The Mayoress successfully managed to park the car. 'Well done,' gushed Balders, as if she had won an important race.

'I'll get used to it,' she gushed as she walked victoriously back.

'Right, I'll go and give it a final polish.'

'See you in an hour,' said the Mayor.

'An hour? No problem – ' 381

A hundred yards down the avenue Balders pulled up, ran up the castle footpath and untied his dog.

'Good dog aren't you? Attacking the Mayor so I could save his life.

Good boy! Drop you at Auntie Angie's on the way back.' He made a call – 'Dan? It's Balders from Wheelers – got a problem, Jag door, small dent and scratch. Emergency... yeah, as usual!'

22.

An old soldier took off his maroon beret and held it to his heart as the hearse appeared at the top of the road. He waited and watched as the hearse passed by slowly, followed by an old grey van and the rest of the procession. He nodded in appreciation. The world was changing but Welsh funerals weren't. They were a link back to a more dignified time: a time of peace, respect, three-piece suits and full churches. The sound of a car revving aggressively interrupted the dignified calm. The old soldier looked up the road to where a Jaguar was eagerly trying to force its way into the queue. Clearly the driver was unaware of the cortege for he kept beeping the horn. When the Jaguar finally inched its way past, the old soldier mouthed to the balding 30-something driver that he was a 'yobbo'. The driver finally seemed to realise what was happening and, to avoid any further embarrassment, sped off the wrong way down a one-way street.

23.

A small section of the Jaguar's wing had been taped off by Dai The Dent and he was halfway through his alchemic process. Balders appreciated Dai's skill. He'd seen this magic trick performed many times but still had absolutely no idea how dents and scratches actually disappeared, especially as the tools involved included a small hammer and a long rod.

'Nice one,' said Gina, 'Manny's furious.'

'As you said, sooner he leaves the better.' Gina handed Balders the paperwork.

'Where the hell have you been?' called Angie, approaching like a hornet. 'That car's for Manny's customer – ' 382

' – I've talked to him. He wants me to deal with it. Hard time for him – funeral, Claire, and all that.' Angie knew when Balders was lying.

There were several indicators, but claiming that another salesman had passed him a deal, and showing empathy for his fellow man were two of them.

'What you up to, Balders?'

'Up to? Charming stable block to live in? I should co-co. Possible romance with a millionaire's daughter? On the cards. The Rotary Club Ball? That'll be, tonight. Then there's Golf club,' – he practiced a swing – 'Masons,' – he did a funny handshake – 'And Rotary.' He thought for a second how best to illustrate this before deciding that only a full pirouette would suffice. 'Only a matter of time.' Angie was confused – 'Is that the outline for your next book?'

'No. It's the outline for my new life. All true. Even I couldn't make that up.'

'Have you got a tux for tonight?'

'No.' 'Jimmy left one in the wardrobe.'

24.

Angie pulled out a suit bag. She set off across the landing but sensed something was amiss. She entered her bedroom and saw Balders' dog lying on her steel and glass bed chewing hungrily on the stem of a large pot plant. Earth was strewn across the white linen bed-sheets.

'Not my Ficus Radicans Variegata!' she yelled. 'Argh! Bad dog! Come here!'

25.

The White Horse congregation softly hummed the wonderfully maudlin tune of 'Arglwydd Dyma Fi'. Some people had their eyes closed and others gently swayed. Claire rang the last orders bell which totally confused Bryan who wasn't ready to hear it for at least six more hours.

'Enough hymns,' she said. 'Now the old people have gone – I think Dad would have wanted us to party.'

'Ah-one, ah-two, ah-one-two-three-four...'

383

A jazz band started playing, 'When The Saints Go Marching In.' Jeff didn't get jazz. He was a folkie. He didn't appreciate the musical merit of eight people playing different songs at the same time. Manny moved near to Claire and put his arm gently around on her shoulders.

'I'll go and get Dylan. He shouldn't miss this,' he said. Claire nodded gamely. It was nice that he was doing that for her: not so nice that it meant going back to the bloody car showroom. Jeff handed her a pint of beer.

She necked a third of it at her first visit.

'Nice that you two are back together. Your Dad would be pleased.'

'It's not as simple as that.'

26.

'The car comes with 12 months' tax. It's normally 6 but you are special customers,' said Balders as he filled out the order form. The Mayor raised his eyes at the flannel. Whilst Balders was an exceptional car salesman, he was still a car salesman. 'No seriously, you are. Speaking of which, we have a special promotion on at the moment.' He held up a leaflet. 'Extrashiny Sparkleclean. Body and seat protection. Only £150.'

'No thanks,' said the Mayor. 'It only costs you forty quid or something.'

'I didn't want to do that, but it's company policy to offer it, and I like to play by the rules.'

'You are an honest young man,' said the Mayoress. 'So why are you selling cars?'

'I don't know.'

A cry came from behind a large pot plant. Balders got up, moved Dylan's car seat into view, and popped a rusk into the toddler's hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

'Dada,' said Dylan.

'Right, here's the handbook, the service history – ' But all eyes were on the infant.

'Is he yours?' asked the Mayoress.

'Who?' 'Him,' she said, pointing at the crumb-covered child. 'He called you Dada...'

384

'If only I was,' said Balders. 'He's one of the staff's kids – ' Oh my God what's Booker doing here?!

Angie had entered with Booker on a lead. This was definitely the worst thing ever. Balders tossed a warranty card and leaflet across the desk. 'I think you should both study this very carefully. Excuse me for just one second – ' ' – Dada.'

Balders hurtled over to Angie, grabbed the dog by the collar and hid it behind a three year old Suzuki Swift priced at £6995.

'Can't have him in here!' he said. 'The Mayor's highly allergic.' The heated whispering had not gone unnoticed. Angie hissed back – 'This mutt covered my Egyptian cotton sheets with earth, messed up my bedroom and ate a fig tree on my bed.' She chucked the dinner suit at him.

'He probably thought it was comfortable. He's not used – ' ' – That's not the bloody point!'

The Mayor was clearly more interested in the row than the warranty card. Balders waved over and showed them the suit bag as if that might explain everything – 'Please Angie, hide him upstairs, I've got my future, house, prospects, love life, everything, right here and that dog could ruin everything...'

Turnspit dogs were used in Georgian times to run in a wheel connected to a spit in order to cook meat joints. On Sundays these unfortunate curs were also used as footrests in churches, hence 'underdog'. The breed is now extinct. A turnspit dog with a serious bout of canine depression could not have looked more disconsolate than the mournful Booker.

'Sorry boy. Didn't mean that...' Then again, where would you go? We'll think of something. 'Sorry Angie I'll pay for your sheets to be cleaned and everything... please? Put Booker in the upstairs office. I'll distract the Mayor...'

Balders was Angie's own personal donkey sanctuary. She had no choice but to keep on giving. She crept around behind the car at the bottom of 385

the stairs whilst Balders sauntered back with the dinner suit and positioned himself between the Mayor and the front door.

'Who's that?' asked the Mayoress.

'She's the friend I mentioned I was staying with. Remember?

Didn't I tell you she was unstable?'

'What was that about a fig tree?' asked the Mayor 'It's so embarrassing. She fell over it while drunk. I've really got to get out of there – ' He whipped the suit out of the bag to avoid destroying his guardian angel's reputation any further. 'Anyway, for tonight – TA-RA!' He ran to the window to show it in the light, though the true reason was to enable Angie to begin her furtive climb with the mischievous mongrel. Each step was an alarm, a land-mine, a disaster waiting to happen. A sweaty Balders waved the suit once more, willing Angie and Booker to fly like Peter Pan and Dynomutt.

'Try it on!' gushed the Mayoress, overjoyed that her brilliant plan remained unsullied by fig trees, unstable friends or unexplained children.

On and on, up seemingly endless stairs Angie ascended with the earthbound hound, and yet there were only twelve steps. An Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at the top of Everest would have seemed less onerous. As each year of a dog's life is equivalent to seven for a human, each second seemed to last seven times longer. After what seemed like a lifetime they reached the peak. The upstairs office door clicked shut to Balders' great relief.

'Ok!' he exclaimed. 'I'll try it on!'

27.

'Some of you are already aware that Russ left a little list of requests on a beer mat that me and Jeff found this morning,' said Vince over the microphone. 'And er... one of them, right, one of them... ah, big hush... was me singing. That's right, ME.' 'FIX,' called Jeff.

'Whatever, right! I'm not famous for singing, but whatever... Russ wants it and he's er... it's his, er... you know.' He raised his pint. 'Thanks Russ!' Vince turned to the band and counted them in twice after a false 386

start. The band played, 'Hi-Ho Silver Lining' in a jazzy fashion and Vince embarked on his own take on singing to a roomful of cheering and clapping mourners – 'You're everywhere and nowhere baby – ' 28.

Balders clattered down the staircase in his dinner suit after putting a container of water down for Booker. As he came down he saw the Mayor examining the car. Balders performed an unnecessary twirl.

'Very smart!' said the Mayoress. Balders performed an unnecessary bow.

'You should join the Rotary Club,' said the Mayor. 'Be good for you professionally.'

'I'd like that more than anything.'

'Just got a little query. Have a look at this – ' Balders moved with great trepidation as the Mayor seemed to be focusing on the very area that had recently been mended.

'There's been a repair here.' '...Where?'

'See? If you look at it in the light. Just here... You can see the rippling, like orange peel. See? It's been repaired, re-sprayed. Fair play, whoever did it did a very good job. But it's definitely been repaired. And recently too, by the smell.'

'We weren't aware of any damage. Or we'd have said.'

'Of course you would,' said the Mayor, beaming from the nose down. Balders looked to the Mayoress for comfort. Her eyes were like sofas.

'Ok! Right. Tonight. What time shall I meet you?'

'We'll send a car for you,' said the Mayor.

'Wow. Thank you. Most kind. Ok, if you just sign the form...'

He walked to his desk, a short silence and one signature from freedom. He picked up the paper as if it was a reprieve from the noose, hoping the prison governor wouldn't spot it was a forgery. But he had – 'Obviously I'd be expecting a discount... if I take this car.'

387

Manny arrived to collect Dylan. The Mayor not only ignored him but sneered at him too; being a father made Manny's adultery far worse.

'Excuse me a sec,' said Balders. Out of sight of his benefactors he grabbed Manny by the shoulder – 'You whacked his car, didn't you?'

'You stole my customer.'

'He wanted to deal today.'

'My father-in-law's funeral is today. And using that to steal my customer is the most pathetic thing ever. You are a sad skint homeless friendless twat.' Balders took a moment to respond as Manny put Dylan in his car – 'I'm not sad. I'm going to the Rotary Club Ball.'

'Wanker.'

'Right. Here's the invoice, we paid £16250 for the car, and we had it marked up at £17999. Ok, that's £1749 mark-up. Less VAT is £1442.

Manny's already told you, you could have £400 off, so that's £1042 profit. We paid for a service and valet, so that's another £330, it needed a new tyre... so that leaves £562. One year's tax and a full tank of petrol leaves £212. A little bit of commission for me and what's left is the profit, which we need to keep the business running – light, heat, coffee for customers, etcetera. I can't discount the car any more, or we'll lose money.'

'Gareth, the car has been repaired. I'm sure you can sort something out. Or we'll have to cancel.'

'Don't do that. I'll have a word with the boss – ' The negotiations moved to Billy's office. Meanwhile, in the upstairs disused office a large fretful black dog paced.

'My salesman has been through the figures,' said Billy. 'We really can't discount it any further.'

'Another £300 and I'll take it off your hands.'

'Is that really necessary?'

'Shut up, Fiona. 'Sorry, this is business.' He patted her arm in a completely patronising manner. 'Won't be easy for you to sell with the repair. Passing a damaged car off as in perfect condition, not good business practice.' Billy picked up his phone – 388

'Angie? Four coffees please.' His smile failed to hide the fact she'd said something unrepeatable. 'Thank you Angie.' Billy picked up the vehicle's file once more.

'I like to know I'm getting a good deal,' said the Mayor, enjoying his superior position. He winked at Balders who smiled sheepishly – Masons, golf club, Rotary Club, outbuilding, romance. Just five minutes of dealing and all will be mine. The boss is bound to succumb. We can always make the loss up on another deal... but hang on. What is that stain developing on that polystyrene ceiling tile? That wasn't there just now. What could be causing that?

'Did this young man tell you he saved my husband's life today?'

'This disgusting mutt knocked me into my swimming pool.

Fortunately this brave young man jumped in to save me. He's a fine fellow.'

'Really?' said Billy. He looked across at Balders and found himself following the unlikely hero's worried gaze up to the ceiling. The Mayor and Mayoress followed suit. The stain was spreading, a yellow shape expanding like ink on a blotting paper. A drop of lemon coloured liquid landed on the sales agreement. The Mayoress sniffed the air – what was that smell? The stain spread further, quickly covering an area some fifteen inches in diameter. It seemed to mesmerize them all until they heard a creak and a yelp from above. This was followed by a loud crash as a large black animal descended, bringing half the ceiling down with it.

Booker landed on the desk, covering the Mayor and Mayoress in dust, debris and what was now clearly identifiable as dog piss. The Mayoress screamed as the dust cloud grew, but then the room went strangely silent as a degree of processing took place. The office door opened and Angie walked in with a tray, allowing the terrified dog to scarper. Before she had a clear picture of what she might be looking at, she spoke – 'Coffee, everyone?'

'That dog again!' said Balders. 'It looked like the same one – ' ' – Balders,' growled Billy.

Balders backed towards the door away from a trio of daunting dusty damp dark faces. 'It's not my dog,' he said. He opened the door, allowing Gina's angry voice to be heard – 389

'Balders, your bloody dog just knocked me over.'

'YOUR DOG?' thundered the Mayor.

'What time tonight?' said Balders.

'YOUR BLOODY DOG?' Balders looked imploringly for even the tiniest sign of forgiveness in the Mayoress' charitable eyes, but there was none.

'Have you lied to us all day?' she said.

The Mayor dusted down his hair but the combination of urine and dust meant he merely created a yucky paste.

'Get out,' said Billy before Balders could fabricate a lie. He had no choice but to flee, and once out of the office he scarpered, and once out of the showroom he hurtled towards the town centre and ran and ran until his heart and legs and lungs hurt.

Balders' hunt for Booker sent him criss-crossing around the town, trudging the tracks of his childhood, which now seemed totally uncharted. Nothing was familiar; all was lost. The town was greyer than ever. A whole new life had been so close but now everything was gone, including his dog; the dog he'd betrayed on several occasions already that day; the dog he'd neglected in the upstairs room; the dog that had fretted and paced and peed itself and fallen through the ceiling. No wonder it had run away. Why would it stay? Balders arrived outside a newsagent's shop which advertised a photocopying service. He got out his wallet and flicked through the variety of receipts, cards and a folded five-pound note until he found a picture of Booker, seemingly grinning for the camera. He entered the shop and fifteen minutes later he exited with a dozen 'Reward' posters showing the dog's happy smiling photo, a plea to the public, and a mobile phone number. Balders cut some sticky tape with his teeth and attached a poster to the nearest lamppost. It wasn't much, but it was something. He walked slowly backwards from the poster. He was turbo-charged earlier. Now he was in reverse.

29.

Vince sung six final choruses of, 'High-Ho Silver Lining', and as an encore had been encouraged to sing the only other song he knew most of the 390

words to – 'Spirit In The Sky.' He and Claire then sang 'Bare Necessities', which he knew a few phrases of, but which he compensated for with a few unusual dance moves. He retired to his bar stool to enjoy his rider – a pint of beer. The band played a mellow instrumental and somebody switched the TV on. Claire and Manny stood by the rapidly hardening sandwiches.

'Every time you went off today, I thought it was to be with Gina.'

'I had stuff to sort at work,' Manny said. 'I didn't speak to her.

Claire, I want to look after you and Dylan. I could hear you crying last night and I just wanted to hold you. Let me be there with you tonight.'

'Pint,' said Balders.

'Got any money?' said Jeff. 'The free tab's run dry.' Balders thrusts his hands in his pockets, pulled out what small change he had left and Jeff counted it out on the bar – 'Enough for a pint and a chaser.

Almost.'

'Hiya, Balders. Thanks for coming,' said Claire.

'I'll get this, Jeff,' said Manny. 'Show there's no hard feelings.'

'No hard feelings?'

'That's what I said.'

'Do you know what you've done to me?'

'No tell me. What have I done – ' ' – You damaged the car. The Mayor spotted it. So we had to go to Billy's office where my dog fell through the roof. So now I've lost my date, my ticket to the Rotary ball, somewhere to live and my dog. I mean, how much worse can my life get?'

'Aren't those your cousins?' asked Jeff.

Everyone looked up at the TV. It was true. The cousins were on a live Welsh-language afternoon chat-show. Jeff put the volume up.

'But before someone took up on the option for 'Intergalactic Gangster Cowboys' you faced some rejection?' asked the presenter in Welsh. The curiously phrased English subtitles that appeared on the screen as quickly as the broadcaster's translator could type, were just about comprehensible.

'Oh yes. Some people just didn't get it,' said Ryan.

'Bryan, where do you get your inspiration from?'

391

'Well – ' said Bryan. Balders switched the TV off before Bryan could expand any further.

'Didn't know they could speak Welsh,' Vince said, to no-one in particular. Manny, aware of how grim Balders was looking, handed Jeff a fiver and picked up Balders' change off the bar.

'Here you go. I'll pay for them. The dog will turn up.' Balders swiped the change from his hand and it scattered noisily across the wooden floor – 'Why don't you just go back to London? Make my life easier. Go join your bloody band, and get out of here. Gina told me they want you back so what are you waiting for?'

'What did you just say?' said Claire.

'Come on, Claire. He's done nothing but hurt you since he came down. We'd all be well rid.'

'Manny? Do the band want you back?' Manny glared at Balders who sullenly downed a brandy chaser.

'They rang this morning but I turned them down.'

'And you talked to Gina about it? I thought you said you hadn't spoken to her today – ' ' – I turned them down because I want to be with you. I knew you wouldn't want to come to London so I chose to be with you – ' ' – Am I meant to be grateful?'

'They offered me a set of gigs but I chose you. Doesn't that prove how much I love you? It wasn't easy.'

'It's what you've dreamt about.'

'Exactly.'

'Give me your phone. I want to know that you turned them down.'

He found the number and handed Claire his mobile.

'Thanks, mate,' he said to Balders. 'You've done something useful for once.'

'Hi Steve, Claire it is... yeah, thanks. I understand that Manny turned down a chance to play with you again... Yeah... Well the thing is, he's changed his mind. He'll be with you first thing tomorrow morning...

Yeah, it is good news. I'm happy for him.' She hung up and handed the phone back to Manny. 'I won't be a compromise,' she said. Claire made for the door as Billy and Gina arrived, oblivious to developments.

392

'Someone told me the tab's run out. Drinks on me,' said Billy to a loud cheer. Jeff blocked Claire's exit.

'You can't go, love. Not before your Dad's last wish. You know?'

Claire saw Vince search for a pound and go to put a song on the jukebox. Everyone waited but Vince was clearly flustered and dropped the coin twice. Jeff made the announcement – 'Your Dad's last wish was that you and Manny dance to his and your Mum's tune – Frank Sinatra's 'All The Way'.'

Eventually the music started. Gina's eyes burned as Manny took Claire in his arms. They danced – not looking at each other – their bodies close. Balders downed his pint, then stole somebody else's and downed that too.

30.

Angie, hair scraped back, without make-up and wearing a maroon velour tracksuit brought an armful of laundry to dry on the radiator in the spare room. She saw Balders' manuscript in his belongings, opened a page and read out loud. 'When he took her in his arms, the waves of passion swept over the pebbles of reason...'

31.

The dance came to an end. Claire and Manny instinctively moved closer, needing and holding each other, their eyes squeezed shut, hoping they could go back to when things were great. It wasn't that long ago. A few weeks in fact. The song ended and people cheered.

'That was for my Dad,' said Claire, pulling away. As Manny followed her outside Billy collared him.

'Is it true? Are you leaving?'

'It's not my decision.' Balders returned from the loo to hear Billy tell Manny – 'I'd be sorry to lose you.'

'We all would,' said Gina.

'I'd be stuck with Balders!'

393

Everyone in the pub laughed, except Balders. Unseen, he left. He found Claire sitting on a bench, crying in the dark. He got out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

'Tonight was going to be the night I let him back into my bed,' she said.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. All you ever did was tell me the truth. He makes me feel so ordinary.'

'I think you're extraordinary.'

'You are too.' Manny skulked the shadows of the pub doorway.

'You're kind and sweet and – ' Balders held her face and kissed her. It was clumsy and amateurish and took both of them by surprise. Claire pulled away – 'No, Balders, I'm sorry, but – ' 'NO. I'm sorry – ' Manny ran over and grabbed Balders by the lapels. They jostled uselessly in the dark. Surprisingly, Balders found himself landing a halfdecent punch on Manny's nose. Manny flipped and was about to land the hardest blow he had ever mustered when Claire intervened – 'Manny, it's not worth it!' she shouted. Manny unclenched his fist but he had other weapons – 'You think Claire would be interested in a sad loser like you?

Who'd want you? NO-ONE WANTS YOU.' The way Balders' expression changed unsettled Manny. He had the non-comprehension of an innocent child after a slap. It was even more disconcerting when he started laughing. Manny needed to justify his damning words – 'Couldn't keep your mouth shut could you?' He pointed at the pub. 'In there. Claire didn't know about the call from the band – ' ' – Are you okay, Balders?' asked Claire.

'Got to... look for my dog now so – Find my dog.'

'You've been drinking – ' Balders got into his car and drove off at speed. Claire turned to Manny and dabbed his bleeding nose with Balders' hankie. The pub door opened and light, chatter and Gina spilled out.

'Here you all are!' she said.

394

'Make the most of him,' said Claire. 'He's off to London tomorrow.' Manny failed to cope with the two sets of woman's eyes upon him. He mumbled something about washing his face and slipped back inside. Gina seized the moment – 'I have to say Claire, it will make my life easier. Maybe we can be friends again. Don't think either of us can compete with the band – ' She turned around but there was no-one there.

32.

Angie's wine was hardly touched, the chocolates nearly gone. She read under her breath – 'His mouth caressing her swan-like throat as he let her lead him up the stairs...' She briskly turned a page – 'It was a bright and sunny morning...' She turned back to check there if there was a page missing but there wasn't. Halfway down the page the novel petered out. It was as if the writer needed a great closing scene and, in the absence of a definite narrative beat, had hoped that a nicely edited pastoral description would suffice. The book ended like a long sigh. Angie lay back on the sofa. She was snug and warm and not a little aroused. She ran her hands across the tops of her thighs and closed her eyes. A car pulled up. She lazily got off the sofa and glanced through the net curtain. It was Jimmy. She looked in the mirror and panicked – What to do? Pretend I'm not in? But where's the fun in that? But he can't see me like this – not that I care what he thinks – but he can't see me like this. That's the doorbell. Bollocks.

She crept into the hallway and dashed up the stairs.

'Won't be a minute – ' 33.

Elton John's 'Someone Saved My Life Tonight' played over the jukebox.

Vince sang along with the 'Sugar bear' falsetto harmony rather successfully, but apart from that the group was despondent. Manny took Claire's hand as Gina looked on.

'I don't want to go.'

'We both know you do.'

395

'What if you come with me?'

'What?'

'The money could be good. Proper this time. Think about it, Claire – you, me and Dylan.'

'Real life isn't singing on some stage – it's night shifts and DIY and walking up hills with wheezy old men. I was going to end it tonight anyway. Let's just be civilised, yeah? Jeff, can I have Dad's beer mat as a memento?'

'Yes, I'll have a look for it later.'

'It's in your pocket.'

He sheepishly handed it over. Vince stopped singing. The game was up. Claire read her father's last requests: 1: no vicar who doesn't know me 2: no hearse – use old van 3: Vince to sing 4: cash in cap for wake 5: She looked at Jeff and Vince. 'There is no number five.'

'You two together,' said Jeff. 'It would have been his last request.'

A stranger walked in and put a note on the bar – 'For you, landlord. Some bloke outside give it to me. Pint please.'

'Nice try, Jeff,' said Claire.

'Sorry...' he said.

34.

Angie threw the remains of her wine into the sink, popped the glass into the dishwasher, wiped crumbs off the table, put on a Simply Red CD, closed the lid of her bin, checked her hair, make-up and neck-line of her best dress in the mirror, became aware of how flushed she looked, realised she had no quick fix, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Jimmy stood at the bottom of the path smoking a cigarette.

'I thought you'd given up.'

'Something to do while I waited.'

396

'I thought you were my cab.'

'Were you on your way somewhere?'

'Russ's wake.'

'I'll go then.'

'No! You're here now. You may as well come in.'

'New dress...?' he said. 'Looks nice – ' but she'd already gone to stir the pasta, adjust her hair, put some ciabatta in the oven and put the music down because it was a smidge too loud.

Jimmy took a moment to consider his next step. He entered as if he'd never been there before, but to facilitate an escape route he left the front door slightly ajar which precipitated a welcome 'Woof' from a black shadow across the road. Pasta was boiling on the stove. A saucepan of tomato sauce by its side. Ciabatta was in the oven. Mick Hucknall was winding down his song about babies.

'Thought you were going out,' said Jimmy.

'I forgot about that. Silly old me.'

'I'm starving. Been living on takeaways.'

'Have you and Emma split up?'

'Yes. But I was living on takeaways long before that.'

'Holding back the years, thinking of the fear I've had so long...'

Angie laid out the meal like a top chef. She opened a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Jimmy sat down in the dining room, dipping olives into oil, humming the tune, licking his lips.

35.

Balders pulled up in a car-park high on a cliff down by the coast. He contemplated the dark waves and the deathly drop. This was the best-known suicide spot in the county. Some people took pills and phoned an ambulance. Others hung themselves with a weak cord or knowing a loved one would walk in. But this wasn't a place for those crying for help. This was a place for the determined. A car pulled up next to him. The two men acknowledged each other. Balders knew his face from somewhere.

But where? Dinoburger, that's where. The guy worked at Dinoburger. Balders wound his window down. The Dinoburger guy did too.

397

'Bad day?'

'Bad life.'

'Tell me about it – ' 36.

'She fell off the bed and twisted her ankle putting up a JLS poster. Thing is, she's bloody twenty-seven years old!'

Jimmy and Angie both laughed too much. She loved his stories.

He always had an angle. Salesmen are good at that stuff: the icebreakers, the cheeky yarn, the upbeat titbit,the schmooze, the 'Put yourself at ease' anecdote.

'I like walks in the country. She likes escalators. I like classical music. She likes Radio 1, I like books and CDs. She likes 'clouds'. I like stuff. What was I thinking?'

'Well, your brain had moved out to make room for your dick.'

'I can't believe she dumped me.'

Angie swigged hard on the wine. In the warmth of the kitchen she felt a chill. She tried to shake it off but it wouldn't go. It was as if her dress was made of ice. She shivered as she spoke – 'I think you should go. I'm not on stand-by.' Jimmy rose and grabbed her, kissing her long and hard.

37.

'My dog could have lived in the barn. They said I'd be undisturbed. I could have hidden him. He means the world to me. I rescued him. Well, he rescued me really. Found me in a skip. What about you?'

'I don't know. But after hearing all that my life doesn't seem so bad now. Cheers, mate. Take care.'

The Dinoburger guy drove off. Balders stared at the cliff edge.

Then out to sea. He pondered distances and times. A lone tanker edged across the blue-black horizon. He picked up the reward poster from the passenger seat.

'Sorry, boy.'

398

He revved the car and shut his eyes He revved some more and was about release the handbrake and set off for oblivion when his phone rang: Withheld number. He answered – 'Hello?... You've found him?!'

The fifteen-mile journey back to Drefawr seemed to take seconds. He raced onto the forecourt. There were two large men in black suits waiting for him. They were like the cousins only bigger, and smelt of spiced rum and back alleys.

'We phoned about your dog – ' ' – I know! Thank you. Where is he?'

'Buried.' The man mimed pulling a trigger. 'Got you a souvenir.'

He opened his palm to reveal several teeth: canine teeth. Despite having a huge imagination this was way beyond Balders' comprehension. He found himself reaching for his keys and running to the showroom. The men laughed and lumbered after him. He tried to shut the door behind him but one of the men got his size twelve steel toe-capped boot in first.

38.

Clarissa lay on the half-landing on the stairs. Jimmy trod on the manuscript as he wrestled Angie upwards even though she was complicit in the process. They could have ascended quicker but battling tongues hindered their progress. He knew what she liked – 'You always knew,' – slurp – 'how to turn me on. I love you,' he said. They tore at each other's clothing as they entered the bedroom in the dark. 'What's that smell?' said Jimmy fumbling for the switch.

'Don't know. Don't stop. Leave the lights off – ' ' – There's something there – ' ' – Don't stop!'

Jimmy wasn't mistaken. There was a noticeably dark shape on the bed. Angie grasped for the light switch. On the just-changed bed sheets, on a sea of fake rose petals, Balders' dog chewed merrily on a red rubber vibrator.

39.

399

Billy picked up a few glasses and collected the remains of a ripped-up beer mat and some crisp packets from one of tables. The pub was emptier now, the party over. Vince sat at the bar reflecting on his performance, humming, 'Hi-Ho Silver Lining' with his eyes shut. Jeff dried some glasses with a coffee-stained tea towel. Manny watched as Claire made a brisk and business-like phone call. Gina lurked in the wings.

'He needs to be in London at 1.30 at the latest... Hang on a sec.

Jeff, got a pen and paper?'

The room was aware. Billy handed over a pen and Jeff pushed over a piece of paper he found on the bar.

7 am or 8 am... 8 am?'

Gina made a mental note of the earlier time.

Claire went to write on the paper but someone had put a pint on it so the top was soggy. She turned it over and saw the words – TO EVERYONE I'VE LET DOWN Balders crouched in the corner of the upstairs office: a small lonely lost boy. He heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. The door handle rattled. It wasn't a strong door. A big boot could kick it in with little difficulty. He heard a voice explain that it was locked – any second now. His phone rang. He didn't answer – any second now. He heard another man say that they could wait all night. His phone went silent. The big boots went downstairs. These were the worst men. The men other hard men fear. If the cousins knew the Big Boots were out they would stay in. These were men who could ruin your life with a casual punch; men who walked around during the day with large dogs and whippet women; men who drove Range Rovers, took steroids and wore padded jackets that made them look even bigger. Men who had children by several mothers and bullied them all. Men who had flat-top haircuts and soft-top cars. Men who wore combat trousers even though they had never seen military action. The only thing men like these were afraid of was their equivalent in the big cities who sometimes headed up the Welsh valleys to hide evidence far from CCTV and proactive police; but they were still scary and now these dog-murdering big-booted men were prowling downstairs just feet below a petrified romantic fiction writer all out of options.

400

40.

The lady of the house, divorcee Angela Rowlands, formerly Saunders, slowly descended the steps, holding the troublesome cur at her dainty arm's length whilst making a telephone call on her portable device. Her proposed suitor, and former husband, James Rowlands Esq., waited patiently in the vestibule.

'No answer,' she informed Mr Rowlands. 'I'd better take the hound to the tavern where I suspect his owner may be present. Can you offer me a lift in your motor vehicle?'

'I would be delighted, but, may I ask, might we be able to return and continue proceedings where we left off?'

Angle looked at his handsome earnest features and manly jib, then at the amateur writer Gareth Baldwin's finely honed manuscript, ‘Clarissa'. She made her decision.

'No,' she told her zealous companion. 'Some things are best left at the top of the stairs.'

41.

Manny read out Balders' letter – 'Cousins, sorry I doubted you. You had the talent, after all. Angie, you're the big sister I never had, sell my laptop, buy some plants. Billy, you gave me so many chances. I loved being a car salesman. It was something to get up for in the morning.

Sorry I wasn't very good at it. Manny, I was jealous. You had everything I wanted.

Claire, You're lovely. Gina, don't be like me, living your life wanting what you can't have. Sorry I let you all down. Balders. P.S. please keep looking for my dog.'

42.

401

Balders pulled the dog blanket towards him and gripped it to his chest.

In the folds was a mangled dog chew. He held the tooth-marked trophy tightly as he craned his neck to look down through the hole in the floor.

One of the thugs started to sing – 'How much is that doggie in the window. The one with the waggely tail – ' The other one joined in – 'How much is that dead dog in the window...'

'I do hope that doggy's for sale...'

'Even though he's fucking dead.'

'Nice one, Nigel.'

'Come on fat boy. We know you're up there. Keeping us waiting is only going to make us more violent.' Balders stood up and stared through the hole. There was no light in his eyes. He didn't care anymore.

'I've got an idea,' said one of the thugs.

'What's that Nigel?'

'Set fire to the place.'

'Legend.'

Balders heard a lighter clicking and thought he smelt petrol fumes.

He did have an option after all. A plan always came to him when he needed one. And this was a great one. It would solve everything. He stepped forward, said a silent goodbye and dived through the hole, crashing onto the desk and taking most of the rest of the ceiling with him. His prone body lay still and twisted. This was too much even for the thugs, who legged it sharpish.

The dust settled on a bombsite: holiday brochures, trade papers, desk furniture, coffee cups and polystyrene roof tiles covered the floor.

The light swung from side to side, flickering on and off. Balders' phone rang. There was no response.

Meanwhile, across town another phone rang. The Mayor told Nigel that he was pleased; he told him that no-one messed with him; he told him that he needed the teeth back. Up on the beautiful hill, on his desk, was a reward notice for Balders' missing dog. Up on the beautiful hill, on his lap, was a stuffed fox with glass eyes staring toothlessly at the Mayor.

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And across town in a shabby pub the chorus reflected on the part they played with growing unease.

'That note's been there for ages. I put my pint on it' – Vince 'I've never been nice to him' – Gina 'I sacked him' – Billy 'I kicked him out' – Angie 'I didn't know how he felt' – Claire 'Yes, you did. The letters I sent you. He wrote them' – Manny 'Woof' – Booker 'I could have given him a bloody pint' – Jeff 'Who was the last one to see him?' – Billy 'Me. I told him no-one wanted him.' Manny shuddered and dialled again. 'Pick up, Balders. Please – ' Under Balders' static hand was one of Billy's holiday brochures – Holidays For Single People And Their Pets. The phone rang again. It rang several times. Finally a finger stirred. Then another. The phone rang once more. Balders' hand rallied and more fingers resurrected themselves. They fumbled for his mobile which he had ascertained from the repetitive ringing was only inches from his left ear. Whilst rummaging he accidentally stuck a finger in his left ear. On finding the phone he clicked it to speakerphone and rolled onto his back.

'Hello?' It was Manny – 'Where are you?'

'In Billy's office.'

'He's in your office, Boss.'

'I can't move my legs. I fell – ' ' – He can't move his legs. He fell.'

Balders stared up at the hole in the ceiling. He wondered if he'd totally lost the use of his legs. Or his other arm, which he couldn't feel.

It could be shattered, or it could just be that it had gone numb because he was lying on it. The ceiling seemed a long way away, like a hole in the galaxy. He heard Billy's voice calling for a cab. He heard Jeff making the call. He heard a dog bark. Then Manny's voice – 'Someone here for you. We're on our way.'

'Booker!'

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Balders slid off the desk, leapt to his feet and danced out of sheer relief. In his glee he stepped onto the edge of a Glass's Guide, turned his ankle, wailed in pain, and collapsed to the floor.

Several minutes later a seven-seater people carrier pulled up outside Wheelers and a small army disembarked. Billy marched in first followed

by Angie carrying two bottles of warm sparkling wine. They discovered Balders sitting in Billy's chair, reading a holiday brochure.

'What the hell have you done?' asked Billy taking in the debris, the non-existent ceiling, the scruffy salesman sitting in his leather chair with his foot up on the desk.

'I was looking for my dog, and I fell.'

'Is that the truth?'

'Yes. I hurt my ankle though – ' ' – Nurse coming through.'

Claire carefully took his shoe off revealing a beige sock with several holes in it. She started massaging his foot. It was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced.

'We need him back on his feet, selling cars,' said Billy.

'I'm not sacked? What about the Mayor?'

'Never liked the man.' Manny moved into Balders' eye-line – 'Claire and I want to lend you some money, interest free.' Billy shot Manny a warning look: there was generous and then there was lending to Balders – 'Pay it back out of your wages,' he said.

'Not necessary,' said Manny. 'There's enough to put down a deposit on a flat.' He handed Balders a wad of twenties. Balders had seen enough car sales cash to know that it was about a grand. He welled up and clutched the small bundle to his chest.

'We keep finding cash everywhere,' said Claire. 'That was in Dad's toilet bag.' She gave his foot a last rub. 'It's only a sprain... You'll live.'

Balders relaxed his fixed grin and looked around the room in case there were more acts of generosity coming his way. He spotted Gina stroking Booker.

'You ok? she asked. Balders nodded. She was ok too. She had a plan. Angie leered over, swigging from a wine bottle.

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'And for God's sake Balders, finish your bloody book.'

Balders accepted this. Billy opened his wallet, pulled out a couple of hundred and tucked it into Balders' breast pocket.

'Get some new socks.'

Balders closed his eyes. He was in heaven. All this generosity was overwhelming. Claire even kissed him on the cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut.

'You ok, mate?' asked Manny, a mile away. Balders nodded. Then another voice from the distance – 'Fresh start tomorrow, Balders. We're going to SELL SOME CARS!' Balders' eyes nearly popped opened at this reality check. Then he had an idea. He usually did. Even if they were sometimes dangerous or inane or both. To complete a mental Risk Assessment of this new plan he squeezed his eyes together.

'El Vino Collapso everyone?' said Angie.

A plastic cork popped.

'Cheers!'

43.

It was a cold early morning in what passed for the Drefawr Bus Station.

Two plastic-covered canopies smelling of urine were all that sheltered the travellers from the brisk morning breeze. Litter swirled around.

People disappeared into themselves. A National Express coach pulled up. Dylan sat, pink-cheeked, in a purple push-chair. Manny stood with a case. Claire simply stood. Manny wore his 'London Rock Star' clothes – leather jacket, scarf, boots.

'Good luck,' said Claire.

'I'll phone you when I get there.'

'Ok.' 'I will.'

'If you want – ' ' – I will.'

Manny kissed Dylan on the cheek and offered Claire a small uncertain peck which ended up on her temple. He got on the coach which quickly pulled away before Claire could see him get to his seat; 405

before he could offer one last look of reassurance. The coach disappeared around the corner. She bent down to ensure that Dylan was nicely tucked in as the wind blew colder. They set off back towards the 3-storey brutalist concrete car-park but something in her subconscious made her stop. Then she heard a voice – 'Claire – ' 44.

Billy walked into the showroom on an early winter morning. Manny was sat at his desk making a sales call.

'It's just come in. Lovely engine, spotless interior, one owner. If I had the money I'd buy it myself.' He winked at the watching Billy. 'See you then.' Before Manny could put the phone down another phone rang. Billy picked the receiver up – 'Hello? – Baldwin? Hang on. Manny, you seen Balders?' Manny shrugged. Angie shrugged. The tumbleweed on the mural of the Arizonian desert seemed to break free and roll across the showroom; the trio momentarily lost in thought. The moment passed and Billy returned to the present.

Maybe he'd paint over the Arizona mural. Maybe give the whole place a lick of paint and belatedly bring Wheelers into the 21st century.

He'd look into that computerised stock system which Ray Fielding had mentioned, and encourage Gina to help develop online marketing ideas.

He'd also surely get more productivity out of Balders now that he had money for a new flat and a healthy sock budget. It was time to renew the bunting, buy some flags, get some new signage, bid farewell to the mural of his younger self in a cowboy hat and leave the whole, 'Wild West' thing behind. There were no virginal schoolteachers to protect from savage attacks; no murderous bandits in the tourist caves around Drefawr; no villainous payroll robbers, except the ones he made up to scare recalcitrant salesmen. There was just him, his business, his staff and his wife, and that was quite enough. Billy acknowledged all his riches, turned, and went to his office. Angie went to make coffee.

Manny picked up his phone – 'Good morning, Wheelers Garage. How may I help you?'

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45.

A motivational CD blasted out from a car stereo: 'A true salesman will always succeed, he is confident, he asks closing questions, he is superior, he is master of all he surveys. It's the greatest feeling, isn't it?'

It is.

It was.

I am me. I am a slave to my next thought. I want a scotch egg. I buy a scotch egg.

Even though I don't really like the meat part. There's a buzzard. Look at me here.

Being me. Nobody gets that I know I'm inefficient; know that I'm not like the housing benefit clerks and their schoolteacher wives in magnolia homes; know that I could be a good dad; know that beer relaxes my brain and that loneliness is a friend; know that I like newspapers and my own warmth on day-off mornings; know that I can love; know that I am a loner; know that it's just this moment. I don't get philosophical. I'm not intellectual enough to get to the bottom of my psyche and I think I'm beyond therapy – 'What if your thirty-five-year-old self met your nine-yearold-self?' He'd probably teach him cards and swear words and make a rudimentary glove puppet out of a sock and a box. We only have the cards we have. We don't have a full deck. Three cards is a lot. Some people don't have any cards at all.

Balders ejected the motivational CD and threw it out of the window. He put the radio on. Michelle Gayle's 80s classic, 'Happy Just To Be With You' bounced out of the speakers. He munched on the egg part of a scotch egg, patted his dog and sang along as the car raced up the M4.

As he passed Newport he indicated to head down a slip road to the M50. A National Express bus passed. Balders thought he saw someone he recognised. For a moment he thought it was Gina. But then not Gina. He'd never seen Gina in rock-chick gear and a cowboy hat.

This person, who was more heavily made up than even Gina usually was, couldn't possibly be her. What would she be doing going to London on a bus? He thought no more of it, wiped the crumbs from his 407

crotch, lifted himself to sweep the crumbs from his seat, and shot off down the side road.

46.

The hill-walkers stood under the usual tree, waiting. Manny and Claire joined them in matching hats and scarves. Manny greeted the group. He walked a few yards away and raised Russ's stick before turning and setting off up the Great Mountain. ~~~

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