Chapter 27
27th July
He delved around the inside of the biscuit tin.
"Reg? Where's the custard creams? There's only a couple of Jammie Dodgers in here and I'm not that keen because the sticky bit in the middle gets stuck on my teeth. It's hard to smile with jam on your teeth."
He looked up from his newspaper. "Do you do a lot of smiling?"
"Not after a Jammie Dodger."
Reg went back to the paper. "I've got to nip out later on and do some shopping, which reminds me, you need to pay your tea money. Two and six. Try not to cry."
Gally rummaged in his pocket producing two bob and a sixpenny piece. "Blimey, this seems to happen every week."
"It's meant to. Do you know what I have to get? Bread for the toast and butter. I need to buy jam and marmalade, sugar, tea bags, loose tea because Ralph prefers it, biscuits and milk. Don't forget the newspapers. The Old Man refuses to pay for them from the expenses and I've noticed you reading them most days. Anything left over goes into the fund for the Christmas bash."
"We have a 'Christmas bash'? Is it compulsory? I'm not being funny but I just can't see myself having a fun night in here wearing party hats and drinking Watney's Red Barrel with you lot. No offence intended."
"None taken, son. Now, hand over the money."
Gallagher sat down at the table. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
Reg dropped the coins in the jar marked 'tea kitty'. "Well, hurry up. I'm halfway through an interesting article here."
"You seem to be a member of loads of these societies and clubs. Is that just to fill your time up, now your wife's passed on?"
Reg gave him an understanding smile. "No, Gally. I was going to many of these when Maria was alive. She had her interests, the Women's Institute for instance, and I had mine. Don't get me wrong, we had a great time together. But, my involvement in a lot of these things was also part of this job."
He saw the slight look of confusion on Gallagher's face and continued,
"I'd have thought you might have worked that out by now, especially when I mentioned Bert Hansen at the astronomy club. It's about informal information sharing, son. Sometimes, the people in charge of us have personal likes and dislikes. One Director doesn't like another. Maybe it's at the next level down, one department head harbours animosity for another or even the whole organisation. It happened during the war. The Director of MI6 was no great fan of the Special Operations Executive. You'll have heard of them, no doubt?"
Gally nodded.
Reg continued, "A few of us could see that sort of thing wasn't going to be helpful so were looking for a way round it without it being apparent. My counterpart in Box is a former intelligence officer here and he suggested the stamp society he was a member of so we could meet up in a less obvious and more convivial manner to exchange anything we thought necessary." He leant back in his chair. "The plus is we also get to learn interesting stuff about stamps, railways and the stars. Sometimes there's nothing to pass on so then we just drink beer instead." He gave him a broad smile. "It's quite perfect really, however, I do go to the local historical society to fill in time now and then and there's a couple of lads I met that do some 'mudlarking' down the Thames when the tide's out, historical artefacts and the like that have been thrown away: Roman pottery, medieval jug handles, that sort of thing. You should come along one time, it's great fun and there's some really good pubs nearby. You'll need some wellies and scruffs though." He paused. "What brought your question on?"
Gally felt embarrassed and started to redden. "Oh, I just thought maybe I should offer to take you out one day. I was thinking perhaps the seaside; stop off for fish and chips. Stupid idea really."
Reg gave him a fatherly look. "That's a kind thought, son. How old do you think I am? Can I bring my bath chair? Maybe you could wheel me up and down the seafront with a blanket on my knees."
They both chuckled then Reg said. "No, seriously that's a very nice gesture and I'd love to do it but only if you promise to come mudlarking with me one day."
Gally's face returned to its natural colour, all feelings of foolishness now gone. "Sounds fair enough. I promise."
Reg went back to his paper. Gallagher drummed his fingers on the table. "To change the subject, have you started those enquiries, the garages and that?"
Paper down, a frustrated Reg replied, "Yes. I did it straight after the Old Man's speech." He glanced up at the wall clock. "I'll probably get the result shortly. Be patient."
He put the tea kitty in front of Gally. "Right, go make yourself useful, young man. The list and money are in the jar. Use the little supermarket further along from Harrington's, they've got everything we need. Off you pop now, I need to finish this." He lifted the newspaper back up, from behind which, as Gallagher sat for several seconds doing nothing, he said, "Why are you still here?"
Shopping bags in hand, he began to walk back to the office and passed the telephone kiosk, which made him think. He stopped, went back and placed the bags on the ground whilst he found the change in his pocket. After a struggle with the door, he crammed himself and his cargo inside to rummage through the phone directory. Money was shovelled in, a number dialled and answered. He pushed button A.
"Hello? Is that the Ministry of Agriculture? I'm trying to get a message to Clare Johnson. She works for you as a secretary somewhere.”