Tuesday in Bedford

by Pil Lee

Tuesday was rough trade night in Bedford.

Graham locked the door and turned down the lights. He’d just settled in his usual chair by the window when the phone rang.

“It’s Vern,” said a rheumy voice.

“Hullo old chap,” said Graham. "See anything yet?"

“Not out my window,” said Vern. There was a pause. “Still, it’s early yet, isn't it?”

“Yes, early yet,“ agreed Graham.

He cradled the receiver against the roll of cardigan under his ear and took a sip of scotch as he gazed out on the street below.

All was silent for a while, though he could dimly hear Vern humming tunelessly on the other end of the line.

He had just finished his first nip and was thinking of another when on the far left of his window he spied a movement.

“Hoy Vern,” he said, “Up in front of the Mallory’s.”

Vern’s humming stopped abruptly and Graham could hear him rustling as he moved. “Oh yes, I’ve got it,” he said. “Can't make out who it is though.”

“They never turn the street lights on early enough,” said Graham. It was a familiar complaint. Vern grunted his agreement.

They breathed slowly and quietly, as if the figure below on the street might hear them, the rhythm of their breaths falling into unison. Like two chubby wool-wrapped idols they sat in their separate flats, eagle eyes glued on their quarry.

The streetlights suddenly flared and Graham flinched back behind the curtains. He angled his head to see the street but there was no-one in sight.

“I’ve lost him,” he said into the phone.

“I’ve got him,” said Vern. “Here he comes, here he comes, I can see him.”

There was silence at the other end of the line. Graham waited impatiently. “Well?” he said. “Well? Who is he?”

Vern clicked his teeth. “It’s not a he,” he said. “It’s a girl.”

“A girl,” repeated Graham, amazed. “What do you mean, a girl? Is it someone we know? Who is it? Is it a stranger? What are they doing?”

“Calm down,” said Vern. “No, I don't know who she is, and what do you think she’s doing! She's going into the park, of course.”

“Going into the park?” echoed Graham. “Why is a girl allowed into the park? What’s going on? What is she going to do in the park?”

“Well,” said Vern, clicking his teeth again. “It is rough trade night. I guess she’s going along.” He started to hum a little Gilbert & Sullivan, tinnily and slightly off-key.

“Stop that," said Graham. “I need to think. What are we going to do? We’ll have to tell the others. I’ll have to ring Gregor. I’m going to have to hang up now, Vern.”

“Hey, hang on old man,” said Vern. “What difference does it make if it’s a strange girl? She’s still going into the park. It’s Tuesday night, you know. We’ve been waiting all week.”

He could hear Graham gasping bronchially down the line.

“But I don’t wa-want to see a girl,” he started to stutter. “I know we've been w-waiting all week. That's just the point. I want to see, well, you know, I need to-to-to-”

“Okay, okay, relax old boy, you’ll do yourself an injury,” said Vern. “I know I know. But what about a bit of a change eh? What about that? Did you ever feel like a bit of a change? Why not a girl for once, hey? How long since you've seen a girl, you old codger?”

“I don’t want to see a girl, ever,” Graham nearly shouted.

There was a shocked silence on the other end. “Yes, well, um,” said Vern. “No need to get upset, yes, um, hmmm.” He whistled a quick bit of The Mikado overture. “I think there's nothing we can do about it, you know. She’s been in there a while now while we’ve been chatting. It’s probably time to pop down to the meeting. Pity someone’s gone in so early tonight though. I was just settling in by the radiator.”

He waited for a reply.

“Are you still with me, Graham?” he asked. “You are coming down to the meeting aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” was the terse reply.

“Come on,” said Vern. “It’ll be lovely. The others will have finished in the park, it’ll be all nice and easy for the two of us, just lovely. You’ll see. Doesn't matter if it’s a girl.” He waited again. “Come on old salt. It’s another whole week till next Tuesday. You’ll regret it if you miss out.”

Graham harrumphed noisily. Vern could hear him pouring himself another glass of scotch. “I guess it will be alright,” he grunted.

“It’ll be lovely," said Vern. "A change is as good as a holiday.”

“Alright," said Graham. "I’ll see you there.”

“See you there," agreed Vern, hanging up. He got his coat from the hall cupboard and rugged himself up.

Across the street, his brother did the same, grumbling under his breath. He looked back across the room to the window as he left the flat. “I’m glad I’m in charge Wednesday nights,” he muttered, as he quietly closed the door.