THE ASTROMATES...Chapter 3...Part 3.

A continuation of my book.

"I can’t wait to see his face when he finds out!" she exclaimed.
"Who?’
"Him of course, my ex."
This conversation was getting beyond me.
"Do you know?" she said, leaning towards me in exaggerated whisper. "Even though he’s going out with that scraggy old cow, I know he still spies on me, watches me."
She leaned back with a satisfied smirk.
"You watch." she continued. "He’ll be on the phone to me. Phone’s every night, making out he wants to talk to our son, Tommy but I know he’s only phoning to check on me, making sure I’m not having a night out on the town."
It pains a man to have to listen to a woman scorned. If only, I thought, he would have let her keep her possessions, she would have spent the rest of her life just sitting amongst them.
"So you’re not really into Astrology either?"
It was a stupid question but it gave her breathing space.
"No, not really. Well, I sometimes read my Stars in the papers and stuff like that although nothing ever seems to work out like it’s supposed to. I mean, if I received a surprise every time the Stars predicted it, I’d be a very surprised woman."
"So there was no prediction of a surprise tonight then?" I asked.
"No."
"Shame." I said.
It was a shame, I thought. I really expected at least a little surprise this evening but, instead, I’m playing some kind of game, a ‘Patsy’, a pawn in a game between Mrs. and ex-Mr.
"So how is your ex going to find out about your date tonight?"
Carol winked mischievously before studying the menu, eyes roving down the desserts.
Uriah hovered, ever so humble.
"I’ll have the Chocolate-Puddle-Pudding." Carol ordered.
"And Monsieur"
Christ! I’d learnt enough French during my schooldays to spot his phoney accent a mile away. I cast my eyes down the menu. Bloody hell! Look at the prices, dearer than the dinners!
"Not for me, thank you. Too full." I said, patting my stomach.
Carol leaned, elbows on the table, eyes roving round the room slowly taking in the other diners. I watched her, thinking about what Alexo had said, about the cow chewing the cud and her movements which were indeed like that of a ruminating cow, lazily taking things in. Suddenly she laughed, her eyes turning back to me as a thought struck her.
"Any money bets, he’ll be on the phone tonight." she chortled.
"Who will?"
The chocolate pudding had arrived and she tasted it, closing her eyes and letting it stay on the tongue in that deliberate way of hers before answering.
"My ex, of course."
"Well he wont be finding you in tonight, will he." I laughed, joining in the conspiracy.
"Oh, I know what he’ll do though."
A pause. The pudding was going down a treat, slowly, surely, deliberately.
"What will he do?" I prompted.
"He’ll phone my mother up. He’ll make out something important has cropped up and he needs to find me."
"Will your mother tell him?"
"Yes, of course. I told her to tell him, if he phoned, that I was out on a date while she baby-sat."
She giggled happily, whether at the joy of the pudding or the plot she had hatched up to make her ex. jealous, I was not sure. What I was sure of though, was my packets of ‘Jollybags’ would be staying in my pocket. As if suddenly aware, by letting me in on her secret, I was now aware of being used, she put her spoon down and reached over to touch my arm.
"I’m awfully sorry, Richard. I didn’t mean it to sound as if I’d used you to get a night out, plus spite my ex. Look." she said earnestly. "I’ll pay for the meal and then you can take me home, how does that sound?"
My ears and other things pricked up. My heart soared like an eagles’. I could almost smell the burning rubber as the condoms heated up in my pocket!
Suddenly… "But what about your little boy? Wont you have to pick him up from your mothers’ house?"
There was that insistent fly in the ointment again. As soon as things seem to be swimming my way along comes that bloody gigantic bluebottle!
"No, no. It will be alright." Carol assured me. "I’ll phone Mum up and ask her to look after Tommy till the morning. She’ll understand."
I watched her finish her pudding, willing her to eat faster. The joy must have been visible on my face, the joy of knowing the giant buzzing thing which had blighted me for the best part of my life had finally been swatted at last!
Carol had finished, her plate spooned clean. She asked me politely if I minded her smoking a cigarette. I nodded assent. There was no chance of me refusing her request. Some women are rather funny if a request is not granted. They take umbrage, as though a refusal is an insult and they become your enemy until the end of time! It was as she was lighting up her cigarette the first sounds of disturbance made us look towards the door. It seemed that a large brutish man was arguing with Uriah Heep, pushing the waiter backwards with the argument growing louder as the demented man made his way towards us.
"Oh, my God! It’s Mike!" gasped Carol.
"Who’s Mike?" I howled.
Before any answer came, I felt myself being hoisted up into the air, still in sitting position. Then suddenly dropped, my body crashing down against the table, sending plate, breadbasket, ashtray, rose in tall vase and myself smashing to the ground, the noise drowning out my fearful screams. I lay alongside the broken table, amongst the rubble, eyes closed as if in unconscious state.
"How did you know where I was?"
Above the uproar of disturbed diners and a wailing Uriah Heep, who was now joined by another waiter, plus Manager, I could hear the couple arguing.
"Because your mother told me where you were and you were out on a date!" yelled Mike, who I now knew was Carols’ ex.
I lay in stupefied silence as the battle raged. It all came out, the divorce, the s**t who Mike had spent the money on, the unpaid bills, the scrimping and scraping! Through the shouting and screams came the distant sound of sirens. Then, a screeching of brakes before the door flew open to admit ‘The Boys In Blue’, determined to bring some kind of relative peace to the scene.
Climbing to my feet, I stood to one side as the divorced couple took their argument out into the street. It was some time before I stopped shaking. The Manager, Uriah and the other waiter calmed the other diners before sorting out the mess, taking away the broken table and replacing it with another. I sat, embarrassed, aware of those who threw dirty looks in my direction, as if I was the culprit for the nights’ disturbance. Outside, the noise had died down. The police car driving off, carrying the screaming couple with them.
So that was that, then. In my sorry state, I sat alone. It had been Mike, ‘The Bull’, and me, ‘The China-Shop’! Summoning up the dregs of my authority, I called out to Uriah Heep.
"I’ll have the bill, please."
"The bill, Sir?"
Was he deaf? Even I had heard myself ask for the bill! Leaving me, I watched him confer with the Manager. The Manager, a purposeful-looking chap, had written out a list and now approached.
"Your bill, Sir." he said, laying it at my elbow.
I looked at it… Then again! It seemed the noughts went on forever, the bill going up and up until it was out of reach. It seems all restaurant management have some kind of sixth sense when a customer does not have the required amount to pay the bill. Suddenly, I was surrounded by Manager, waiters and the kitchen staff.
"I didn’t think it would come to this much." I began, weakly.
The Manager leaned over and started to itemise the bill.
"The grill, Sir." he said, pointing out as he went down the list… "Mushroom Tart etc., the chocolate pudding, the wine and, I regret to say, Sir, the cost of the damage to our property."
"But it wasn’t me, I didn’t damage your property. None of this was my fault!"
"Well, someone has to pay, I’m afraid, Sir. I see no-one else around, do you?".
I felt as miserable as a mouse in a cattery. All eyes were on me as I counted out every penny I had, piling it up on the table to make it seem more than it was.
"Forty-five pounds and sixty pence." said the Manager loudly as he counted it out. "That’s twenty-five pounds short by my reckoning, Sir."
Uriah Heep and the other waiter nudged each other like naughty schoolboys, smirking.
I held out empty hands.
"That’s all I have on me." I said, simply.
All talking had ceased, the diners waiting for the kill. The Manager considered the possibilities, staring up at the ceiling, prolonging my anxiety.
"There are two ways of doing this." he concluded at last. "We can either, call back the police and have you charged (Here, he stopped to grimace at the thought of such a prospect.) "Or..." he continued. "We can come to some time-honoured arrangement whereby you do the honours among the dishes. Well, what is it to be?"
Of all the restaurants in all the world, I had to be in this one at this time. And they talk about wishing the floor would open up. I just wished this one would swallow me whole! There must have been a hundred pair of eyes following my journey as I walked, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, towards the kitchen and mounds of washing up.