Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,134

I’d gathered the impression that Mabel had begun to regret her decision to let my mother run the wedding. She and Frank were always being summoned to the house by my mother, and they motored more and more frequently between Hull and Midham in the Tuggles delivery van to provide consultation on virtually every decision that needed to be made in the ever more elaborate wedding plans. While my mother could spend hours discussing the merits of carnations over roses in the bride’s bouquet or the various options for marquee rentals, Mabel’s patience seemed to be wearing increasingly thin.

“Oh,” my mother said, apparently disappointed by Mabel’s lack of enthusiasm. “If that’s how you feel, I suppose I’ll go ahead and order the material, then. But, before I forget, I wanted to tell you that I met with the photographer—it’s the bloke that does all the fancy weddings hereabouts. He came over and I looked at his portfolio. He does a lovely job. He’ll take ten years off you in his photos, Mabel.”

“Terrific,” Mabel said dully as she shook a cigarette out of its packet.

“And for the entertainment I was thinking of getting this smashing German oompah band. The Bavarian Swingers. Semiprofessional, they are. They played the summer season at the Bridlington Spa last year. And then for the flowers, well, I’m going to order roses and—”

“Hold on a second, Evelyn,” Frank said, pulling his hands from his pockets and taking several steps into the room. “How much is this lot going to cost?”

Along with Mabel, Frank seemed to be regretting handing the wedding plans over to my mother. Not being well acquainted with my mother’s fanaticism for every project she undertook, he hadn’t understood that renting out the Snug Room in the Snail and Whippet would, in fact, have been a far cheaper option.

“Oh, I don’t know,” my mother said vaguely. “I just told them to send the bills to you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank hissed through clenched teeth. Looking askance at my mother and then at Mabel, he let out a defeated sigh. “I hope your Ted has got some beer in tonight,” he said. “I could use a bloody drink.”

“HE’S DEAD GOOD, that Columbo,” my father pronounced as the murderer was hauled off in handcuffs and the episode ended. He was sitting in his armchair, waving a little cube of Cheddar cheese on a toothpick about as he spoke.

“A bloody genius, really,” Frank declared. He sat with Mabel and my mother on the settee, and was sipping from a can of Carling Black Label lager. I’d been lying on my stomach on the newly installed fitted carpet—the final step in my father’s redecoration of the living room—propped up on my elbows. Now that Columbo was over, I’d pulled myself up and shuffled over to the wall, where I sat with my legs out in front me.

“You’re right there, Frank,” Ted said, gesturing toward him with an unlit cigarette. He was slouched in the other armchair, feet planted on the floor, legs spread wide. “All them murderers he catches—well, they think they’ve gone and carried out the perfect crime. But, no matter what, they always end up getting caught.” He struck his lighter with his thumb, put the flame to his cigarette, and took a drag.

Frank leaned toward Ted and pressed his bony face into a thoughtful frown. “So, Ted, tell me this, will you? You think there is such a thing as the perfect crime?”

Mabel groaned. “Do you have to talk to him about this? He’s supposed to be sticking to the straight and narrow.”

“I’m only asking,” Frank protested. “After all, Ted does have more experience in the criminal world than any of us. No offense, Ted.”

“None taken, Frank,” Ted said.

“Anyway, if there is such a thing as the perfect crime,” Mabel said, “it’s not our Ted you should be asking. Clearly, with his record he hasn’t discovered it yet.”

Ted shifted awkwardly in his chair. “Leave off, Mabel, will you?”

“I’ll leave off,” she said, leaning forward to squish the butt of her cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table with considerable force, “when you start showing some evidence that you’ve changed your ways. Like maybe actually getting your backside out of that chair once in a while and trying to find a job.”

“Leave the lad alone, Mabel,” Frank said. “I’m sure he’s doing his best.”

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” my father said, looking over at Ted. “I heard they’re taking on new workers on the night shift at