QUILPS AND TWO POLICEMEN

Two shocks for Quilps

Quilps was fed up.

That was the only way to describe how he was feeling the day that Maria, his ever-faithless wife, told him they would never meet again.

“If you’re interested I might have found myself a new fella,” she said as an opening when she arrived home at around three in the morning after a truly enjoyable session with one of her fellas. “He’s rolling in money, makes love like you never did and what’s more thinks all politicians are crooks!”

“I’ve never met a crooked politician yet, and I’ve met dozens in Parliament!” he protested. “Take the leader of the opposition, though, he might be a bit of a crook if you believe everything you read about him in the papers.”

“I never read any of those,” she yawned, “now get to sleep. I need at least forty winks and if you’re interested I’m pregnant again!”

It was then that she introduced the notion of her definitely having what she called a new fella. Not might have one but most certainly did have one.

“So why aren’t you in his bed?” asked Indigo Quilps, “I mean, if he’s your fellow then you really ought to be keeping him company twenty-four seven!”

“I could‘t do that!” she exclaimed, “what with him being a barrister and in court most of the time, defending crooksl! It was him who told me about politicians being hugely crooked. He said he’s represented a few of them. There’s one at the moment on his way to a nice long sentence if justice gets done, but he’s doubtful if that’ll happen.”

“What’ll ever happen?” he asked.

She yawned. “Justice,” she said, “now shut up and ask me all about it tomorrow if you’re that curious.”

And before he could open his mouth, she snored. And because it was the middle of the night a wave of sleep swept over him as well and he didn’t even have time to think of what he wanted tp say.

Next day, for once in a very rare time, they breakfasted together. She was usually in bed until whatever time she woke up and dressed, and he was invariably up and out before her. That is, if she had given him the courtesy of coming home at all the night before.

Her presence at the breakfast table sparked his curiosity.

“How come you weren’t earning your ill-gotten w***e’s income but actually came home last night?” he asked.

“I don’t do that any more, silly,” she snapped.

“Then you ight have told me,” he grunted, sipping hot tea.

“I’m leaving you,” she said, “you don’t mind do you?”

He did and he didn’t. But he felt he ought to protest, so “we were best friends at Brumpton Sunshine Home and we’ve been good together ever since,” he said.

“No we weren’t even friends back then!” she told him, and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember.

“You were all over that kid, what was his name, Dennis summat or other, and we all reckoned you and him were going to be stuck together for life, but you left before him and somehow bumped into me and, I don’t know what, but it happened but I got pregnant, end of story.”

“Dennis and me weren’t like that,” he protested.

“It was what some of the other kids thought.”

“Well we weren’t and I don’t want to hear it again.”

“Rumours start somewhere, Indigo.”

“He was a decent kid, was Dennis and I heard last week that he’s on the council. So he’s making something of himself, like I have.”

“You reckon you have? You know what they say about you, don’t you, that you’re a traitor.”

“I’m no such thing!”

“To your class. You’re a traitor to your class. Look at you, toadying up to the upper classes, toffs with more money than they know how to spend, and you’re nowt but an orphanage kid.”

Quilps jammed his blue top hat firmly onto his head as he prepared to go out, he didn’t know where to, just out, anywhere, away from this Maria who seemed to want a row with him. He didn’t do rows, though, largely because he normally lost and ended up feeling foolish.

“And your hats! Serge says it’s s sign of feeling inadequate if a man feels the need to wear hats like you do! Making yourself taller than you really are.”

“Who on earth is Swerge?”

“Serge, not Swerge. Serge Wilson, QC. He might be a bit older than you but he knows what to do with his you-know-what when I’m in a dreamy mood, which is more than I could ever say about you. And to prove it he made me pregnant! We call the foetus Bump and you can just about make him out already. Look!” And she gently swept one hand over a stomach that may or may not be slightly swollen.

“What’s the QC bit?” he said, trying not sound ignorant.

“Queen’s council. And he says he loves me, for all my faults. And he doesn’t mind if I’ve been a w***e as long as I stop at once, so I have and the only bloke I sleep with any more is Serge. And you, of course, but we’re still married, and yet all we do is sleep and that’s all, anyway.”

“And you really want to be with him? After all we’ve been through together? And Olive?”

“Another thing. Serge says he wants to get Olive back so that we’re a proper family. It wasn’t a legal thing. They didn’t adopt her. I was too young really, and you didn’t help much, but now with Serge we can be happy together.”

“Then I’ll … I must go, I’ve a meeting…” he said, lying through his teeth because the last thing he had was a meeting with anyone, but he needed time to think things through.

He was almost through the front door and on their rather impressive driveway when there was a peremptory rattle on its boar’s head knocker

“Now what?” he barked, opening the door with mofe than his usual amount of violence.

Two policemen stood there, the sort to whom frowns come only too naturally.

“Mr Quilps?” asked the senior officer.

“You know I am!” he retorted.

“You’re to come with us, sir,” said the same officer.

“I’ll do nothing of the sort!” he snapped, “do you really know who I am?”

“We do, sir, and we assume you know a Miss Melissa Townbridge?”

“Never heard of her!” he retorted.

“Well, she seems to have heard of you, sir, and she’s reported that you molested her in a provocative and unpleasant way. So there are questions for you to answer, and they’re to be asked at Brumpton Police Station. So let’s have no silly behaviour, sir, or I might have to arrest you, and that wouldn’t look good now, would it sir...”

Melissa Townbridge? Who in the name of goodness is she? Some lying b***h, no doubt, but whatever tale she’s made up and told the police, they seem to have been listening. I’ll have her sorted good and proper, see if I don’t. The b***h!

© Peter Rogerson 05.08.22

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