Free Mouse by D. M. Mitchell Page B

Well you’d better think of something because it takes two to make a bloody bargain!’
    ‘You told me you were on the pill!’ he said.
    ‘I must have forgotten to take them!’ she fired straight back.
    ‘You dozy mare! Are you serious? You forgot to take them?’
    ‘That’s not the point,’ said Monica. ‘I’m up the duff and that’s all there is to it.’
    Vince heard Caldwell moan. ‘You can’t be pregnant…’ he said dejectedly.
    ‘What did you expect? I ain’t no fucking Virgin Mary. You were there, remember?’
    ‘But you weren’t supposed to get fucking pregnant!’ he said. ‘I’m a married man, in heaven’s name! You’ll have to get rid of it.’
    ‘Not a chance. I’m many things, Martin, but I’m not a murderer. You put the thing there so you can do something about it.’
    ‘Like what, Monica? What is it you expect me to do?’
    ‘Leave your wife.’
    There was a moment’s silence filled with all sorts of menace, then Vince heard Caldwell give a cough, like he was choking on a chicken bone or something.
    ‘You can’t be serious!’ he said breathlessly.
    ‘Don’t come over all John McEnroe. The ball was definitely in,’ she replied. ‘I’m not walking the streets of Langbridge as a single mother, not for you or anyone, so you can do what’s right by me.’
    ‘And divorce my wife? No way, Monica. I love my wife.’
    She snorted in a way that Vince was very familiar with. ‘Like you thought about that before you had your bloody way with me, and not just the once either. You weren’t loving her then, were you?’ There was the sound of a cupboard being slammed shut, a drawer being opened, something clattering on a desk.
    ‘Monica, be reasonable…’
    Vince flinched when he heard something heavy crash against the wall. ‘Reasonable?’ she screamed. ‘Are you forgetting I’ve also been helping you in other ways; helping you and your friends by giving you details about Laura fucking Leach?’
    ‘Jesus, Monica – that’s my bloody Oscar you’ve just gone and dented! That was a present from my wife. And they’re not my friends…’
    ‘Who cares what stuff you’re involved in with them, friends or not. What will your wife say when she finds out about you and me? When she finds out about the other dodgy stuff you’re involved in?’
    ‘You wouldn’t…’
    ‘Oh no?’
    There was the sound of the office door being yanked open.
    ‘Monica, please…’
    Then the door slammed with such force Vince felt the ceiling shudder. He thought it best he creep quietly away. He’d already heard far more than he felt comfortable with. The stuff about Laura, though – what was that all about?
    Later that afternoon, as Vince was preparing for the afternoon screenings, Caldwell knocked on the projection booth’s door and entered. He looked unusually haggard. His tie was undone at the neck, like someone had grabbed it and tried to mug him; the top button of his shirt was unfastened. Vince had never seen him like this. A sweet smell of some spirit or other wafted in with him. His bleary eyes looked like he’d been at the bottle some time.
    ‘Hi, Vince,’ he said, a little unsteady on his feet.
    ‘Good afternoon, Mr Caldwell.’
    ‘What are you up to?’
    Vince frowned, then shrugged. ‘Doing what I do, Mr Caldwell. I’m working.’
    Martin Caldwell went over to sit on the old wooden stool by the workbench. He toyed with the handle of the film winder. He looked at the projector. ‘You know, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to lace up one of those things,’ he revealed. ‘I don’t know much about film either. The only things I know about are balance sheets and budgets.’ He shifted his attention to playing with a roll of sticky-tape. ‘You’re lucky, you are, Vince.’
    ‘I am, Mr Caldwell?’ He didn’t feel lucky. He felt like luck and Vince Moody existed in different hemispheres of the planet.
    ‘Your life’s so uncomplicated. You’re not married. You’ve