Valley of the Trolley Dollies

“Don’t mind me, love; I’ll just grab me bucket ‘n’ mop and start in the bathroom. Didn’t think you’d be here – what with that nuclear blackmail an’ all. Been all over the telly, it has. Shocking.

“Oh? Is it? They didn’t say… I expect it’ll be in tonight’s papers.

“Oooh, now, before I forget, that man was here. Friend of yours. Bit doomy, had a midget with him. Has a foreign name… No, the man, not the midget. Don’t know what he’s called. Kept giggling, and spent ages just staring out the window going on about the plane… No, dear, the midget… Is he a carpenter? Is there much call for midget carpenters? I suppose they can do detailed carving, an’ all. What with the little hands…

“Hmm? Oh don’t rush me, Mr B. It’ll come. Orangina? Thumbeli… No! Scaramanga! That’s what it was. Scaramanga. Him and his midget .… Nothing, really. Wanted to know if you were here, said he’d get you eventually. Nice man. Lovely scent he was wearing. Lavender, I think it was. Not sure about the midget, though.

“Oh, now that’s a nice dressing gown. Silk is it? Bet that cost. Singapore? Business trip, was it? Well, you get such bargains, don’t you? And the duty free, too, of course. Must save you a few bob – all them fags. And the vodka –

“Nothing. I just – well, Mr B. I do empty the bins of a Friday. And there’s usually a couple o’ clinkers.

“Oh, darlin’ of course you are. The picture of health, and no mistake. And a man needs a little Martini or four at the end of a busy day.

“Mind you, the job must be going well. ‘Nother new car, isn’t it? My fella’s mad for cars. Mad for them. Now, what car would that be? Aston Martin? Lovely. Lovely colour. Gunmetal grey. Bullet-proof glass? Really? Rocket launcher? Go ‘way! Really? Well, you’d get a space in Tesco’s of a Saturday afternoon, I suppose.

“Oh, listen, before, I forget, the week before last, your other friend called. Him from number eight. Mr Blofield. Feld. Sorry.

“Oooh, sorry dear, I thought you were pally. Well, you’re always mentioning him, and him popping in here like he does, with that cat.

“Nothing…. Oh! Nothing! … Not at all, no. It’s none of my business, anyways, what sort of relationship you and Mr. Blofield – Feld - have.

“I’m not suggesting anything. But – Oh, Mr. B. I mean, I may have grey hairs, but there’s not much green in me eyes. There’s you, all alone in this big flat with your silk dressing gowns, the Cartier cigarettes, the three litres of Stoleenocheya a week – only two? Really? Well, the fairies must be draining the third, so – well, you know how it is.

….

….

“Yes. Well. Like I say, I’ll get started on the bathroom. Them stains came out OK. Not the red ones in the hallway. Can’t shift them at all. The other ones. On the duvet…”

This entry was posted on Friday, November 17th, 2006 at 9:19 am and is filed under Fiction etc.. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.