Rebuilding Coventry Read Free

Tesco’s
now, isn’t she?’
    Norman’s
face set hard, his toes curled inside his industrial boots. ‘Must be hard up if
they have to promote her,’ he growled. He spun out drinking the last of
his beer to give him time to think but nothing came to him. Gerald helped him
out.
    ‘Everybody
knows how your wife got promotion,’ he said.
    ‘How
did she?’ asked Norman, who genuinely didn’t know.
    ‘On her
back, of course,’ said Gerald encouragingly, trying to catch Norman’s eye, but
Norman was looking away.
    Greta
ordered two vodkas and orange for herself and Maureen, and a port and lemon for
Coventry. Mr Patel busied himself at the optics and tried to look
inconspicuous. He thought, ‘I would kill a man who insulted my wife, even my
ex-wife, in such a fashion. I would chop him into small pieces and feed him to
the large goldfish who swim in the ornamental pond in the foyer of the
restaurant owned by my brother-in-law.’
    Norman
turned, grim-faced, and said, ‘How do you know?’
    Gerald
laughed cynically and said, ‘Norman, it’s common knowledge. She’s not known as
“The Grand Canyon” for nothing.’
    Norman’s
knowledge of geography was not extensive but he sensed a terrible insult and
hit Gerald Fox on his upper arm.
    Mr
Patel’s finger was already dialling the first of three nines. Coventry rose to
go but Greta pulled her down, saying, ‘Finish your drink. Port doesn’t grow on
trees, you know.’
    Coventry
sat back and thought, ‘Port does grow on trees … initially.’
    Maureen,
who was a wrestling fan, was shouting encouragement to Norman, who was
pummelling Gerald around the shoulders. Gerald was trying to soothe Norman’s
pride (and save wear and tear on his suit) by saying: ‘Only a joke Norman, only
a joke.’ But Norman’s fist caught him a cruel blow, on the side of his neck and
made reasoning difficult. So Gerald was obliged to start fighting back. The men
were well matched in build and weight and were still fighting when two spotty
policemen came into the bar, carrying their peaked hats under their arms like
rugby footballs.
    Greta
sat back in her seat, satisfied and happy. There was no blood, but the strong
possibility of an arrest and a subsequent court case, with herself as star
witness. She would wear her black and white hound’s-tooth checked suit. It
would contrast nicely with the dark panelling of the magistrates’ court.
    The
spottier of the two policemen imposed himself between Gerald and Norman, who
were both pleased that a higher authority had intervened and relieved them of
the responsibility of ending the fight themselves. Coventry again got up to
leave, but the less spotty policeman said: ‘Sit down, madam, until this is
sorted out.’
    Coventry
protested, ‘But I’m not involved with either of them.’
    Norman
shouted, ‘Oh yes you are, you lying cow … you’re Gerald Fox’s mistress,
and have been for the past year.’
    They
haven’t been mentioned earlier, being unimportant until now, but there were
other people sitting in the Astaire’s bar that night and all of them heard
Norman’s allegation clearly. Thirty per cent of them had problems and didn’t
retain the information. However, seventy per cent not only retained it but
relished it and told other people. And so it became widely known on the Grey
Paths Council Estate that Coventry Dakin and Gerald Fox were lovers and had
been brawling in Astaire’s and wasn’t it awful and her with two children and a
respectable husband and him with four lovely little girls and a wife who had a
nervous disposition and couldn’t watch horror films on the television.
    Greta
left the pub a disappointed woman. Mr Patel would not prefer charges, as he
preferred no publicity. The young policemen lectured Norman and Gerald
dispassionately. They used many obscenities to prove that they were men of the
world, then left, after refusing Mr Patel’s offer of free sausage rolls. They
discussed Coventry Dakin in the police