Crazy Paving Read Free

clipped to the front of the handlebars. Bicycle clips restrained his trouser legs.
It had stopped snowing but the air was still damp. Harton wobbled as he pedalled slowly through the deep brown slush, his knees sticking out at thirty-degrees angles. He glanced over his shoulder
and waved at them as their car swished past. They both waved back.
    ‘David is taking this fitness campaign seriously then,’ commented Gillian.
    Richard felt relieved. ‘Juanita has put him on a diet,’ he said. ‘Avocados and brown rice. It’s a new thing.’
    They came to the village high street.
    ‘Did he get planning permission for the heli-pad?’ Gillian asked.
    ‘I think there’s a problem. He may not be able to put it on the roof after all. They’re thinking about the paddock.’
    ‘Oh
no
. Really?’
    ‘That’s what he said.’ Richard felt pleased with himself. If Gillian became annoyed about their neighbours’ plans for a helicopter pad in the paddock then she would
forget about last night’s little problem. Gillian was a woman who could only be annoyed about one thing at a time.
    Gillian sighed heavily. Richard took a risk. ‘What about dinner?’
    Her response disappointed him. She barked. The dog on her shoulder jumped.
    ‘Dinner?’ she added, dismissively. They drove in silence for the rest of the journey.
    As they pulled into the station car park, Richard checked his watch. He had seven minutes to spare; time to try and make things right before he got his train. He hated going to work with things
all wrong. It ruined his entire day.
    She switched off the engine and he turned to her. Then he reached out and took her hand. She was wearing string-backed driving gloves. His were black leather. ‘Gillian,’ he said,
looking down at her hand, ‘I am sorry about last night. I am sure we can get it fixed . . .’
    ‘We? You mean
I
, Richard. You are sure
I
can get it fixed.’
    ‘I could ring Benson’s from work.’
    ‘No,’ Gillian replied quickly. ‘Leave it to me. Last time we had Benson & Sons in their apprentice ruined the carpet.’
    ‘I did get him sacked.’
    ‘That’s hardly the point, is it?’
    He began to rub one of her fingers between two of his. ‘No, Gillian.’
    She sighed. ‘I will call out the plumbers and the engineers. I will sort everything out – and there will be dinner.’
    He knew he was forgiven. He leant towards her.
    She waited until his face was close to hers and then put her free gloved hand over his mouth. ‘But you have to promise me,’ she said evenly, ‘that you will never try and fix
the boiler again.’ She took her hand away.
    ‘Promise,’ he said.
    He leant forward again and their lips brushed briefly. The retriever on Gillian’s right shoulder watched them, unmoved.
    Richard drew back slightly, paused, then risked placing a hand on her knee. She looked at him.
    ‘I’ve been very bad . . .’ he suggested hopefully.
    She kept her gaze level. Then she said softly, ‘Yes, Richard, you have. And tonight you will be punished.’
    His carriage was half full. All of its occupants were men and most were reading bits of paper. The only problem with first class travel was that it obliged you to pretend to
work. Richard always carried a calculator in his pocket. Once seated, he would withdraw it and press its buttons at random. Occasionally, when he knew himself to be observed by the man sitting
opposite, he would pause and frown at it, shaking his head slightly.
    Today, he tapped in the numbers 01134 and turned the calculator upside-down. It said hEllO.
    At Victoria, he remained seated for a few minutes to allow the scrambling mob on the platform to clear. Then he strolled towards the concourse. Half-way there he stopped, put down his briefcase
and lit a cigarette. He blew smoke into the air in a manner which a casual observer would have considered confident, derisive. There are days, thought Richard, when it occurs to you that in
comparison with many people you