Dead in the Dog

‘Doesn’t he know his wife’s having it away with Peter Bright?’ he murmured.

Watson shrugged. ‘Dunno – but it’s difficult to keep any secrets in an incestuous place like TT. If the padre farts, everyone knows within ten minutes, so even though Jimmy Robertson is as thick as two short planks, he must surely have his suspicions.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t want to know, especially if he’s at it himself.’

Alec nodded over his glass. ‘Quite possible – he’s had plenty of practice, I hear. The delicious Diane is said to have been putting it about for years. Not much else to do around here,’ he added cynically.

Their scandalmongering was interrupted when a beckoning hand waved at them from one of the tables. It was Major Hawkins, the Matron, resplendent in a pink dress that looked like a floral bell-tent. She was sitting with four other girls who Tom assumed were QAs.

‘Come and meet some of the staff, doctor,’ she said kindly. Tom was warmed by her words, as he hadn’t been called ‘doctor’ since he left Tyneside – it was either ‘Captain’ or ‘Howden’. The two men perched on the arms of the girl’s chairs and Alec helped the Matron to introduce them. Tom caught a couple of names, but remembered only one afterwards as Lynette, a slightly chubby brunette with a pretty round face and a Yorkshire accent.

They all launched into the usual polite babble of ‘Where do you come from . . . was it cold at home when you left . . . d’you play tennis . . . what d’you think of it so far,’ until Tom was in a haze of pleasant disorientation, but temporarily cured of his homesickness.

Of course, Alec knew them all – and probably all their business – and after a while, went off to dance with one, so Tom recklessly asked Lynette if she would like to take the floor. He was an indifferent dancer, but in the confines of the tiny space, now filled with shuffling couples, there was little harm that he could do to her feet. He acquitted himself fairly well and thoroughly enjoyed it.

The ice broken, he danced with a couple of the others and even offered himself to Doris Hawkins, who tactfully declined on the grounds that she had a bunion. At that moment, a gong was hammered by one of the club servants to announce that the buffet was served and everyone began streaming towards the dining room next door. Standing back to let the ladies through first, Tom found Alfred Morris behind him.

‘Fast workers, you Geordies!’ he chaffed. ‘A nice little girl, that Lynette.’

‘I suppose I’ll be the target for gossip tomorrow,’ grinned Tom.

‘Tomorrow? It’ll already have started, lad.’ The Admin Officer suddenly stopped and Tom noticed his head jerk round, then swing back.

‘We’ve got company, son.’ As they shuffled towards the dining room, they were overtaken by a lean figure shepherding a spectacular blonde. The men stood aside to let Diane Robertson through, Desmond O’Neill following closely behind, a fixed grin on his saturnine face.

‘Where the hell did he find her?’ muttered Alec Watson.

‘Maybe that’s why his wife went home in a huff!’ hazarded Tom.

The young Scot glared at him pityingly. ‘Come off it, he’s old enough to be her father. Even the fabulous Diane wouldn’t touch old Death’s Head.’

When they got inside the other room, they saw that their Commanding Officer had ushered the blonde over to her husband, who was vigorously attacking the sandwiches, chicken thighs and curry puffs. James did not seem to be particularly excited at the delivery, giving his dearly beloved a grunt as he handed her an empty plate and serviette.

‘Does the colonel come here a lot?’ Tom asked Alf Morris, who he found alongside him as their turn came to pile their plates with food.

‘Plays bridge quite a bit and uses the pool, but he only started coming to the dance night since his wife went home.’

The pathologist looked across at where their lord and master was picking at his food. Though almost all the other men just wore shirt and tie, O’Neill had a rather old-fashioned cream linen jacket over his, contrasting strongly with the wide red, blue and gold stripes of the Medical Corps tie that hung down from his collar. It reminded Tom of his grandad, who used to wear a similar jacket with a straw hat when he went to play bowls in Gateshead Park.

After they had all eaten, the music began again, but to Tom’s disappointment, the depth of which surprised him, Lynette had been commandeered by a lanky officer from the Gurkhas. The bar was less crowded now, as James had vanished and his audience had dispersed.

Tom got himself another beer and signed his chit, wondering what sort of a hole his bar bill would make in his pay at the end of the month, both here and in the Mess. By the sound of it, pretty soon he would have to scrape together enough for a second-hand car – especially if he was to fully enter into the social life, for which a wide back seat seemed to be essential.