The Poisoning in the Pub Read Online Free PDF Page A

tricks – which is the one thing you mustn’t say at a convention of conjurors!’ The lip-curled smile reappeared as he enveloped the landlord in a
bear hug which somehow didn’t seem as spontaneous as it was meant to look.
    Ted appeared ill at ease; his participation in the display of bonhomie was forced. But he grinned stiffly as he replied, ‘Dan, I’m as fit as a flea . . . on a dog that’s just
been covered with flea powder.’
    The fact that Ted had gone so instantly into a comedy routine reminded Jude of his background as a stand-up comedian. And seeing Dan Poke in the flesh gave her a context in which to place him.
One of the first surge of Thatcher-bashing stand-up comedians, he had been on television quite a bit in the 1990s, doing his ‘right-on’ act, guesting on chat shows, then hosting panel
games. Jude couldn’t recall having seen much of Dan Poke in recent years, but, then again, he didn’t appear on the kind of programmes she watched. For all she knew, his career might
still be thriving.
    ‘Blimey, Ted, this place is a silent as an audience during one of your gigs.’
    ‘Ha, bloody ha. Look, sorry, Dan mate, I completely forgot we’d got a date for today.’
    ‘Forgot?’ Dan Poke’s face took on an expression of outraged femininity. ‘After everything we once meant to each other?’
    ‘I been a bit preoccupied the last twenty-four hours.’
    ‘Huh. And I wonder what you’ve been preoccupied with?’ The comedian’s camp routine continued. ‘You haven’t got another feller, have you – you Jezebel? I
bet you have. You men are all the same.’
    But Ted Crisp had had enough of the comedy routine for the time being. He looked embarrassed and said, ‘Come on, let’s go out, Dan. Get a drink and a bite to eat, eh?’
    ‘I thought you’d invited me to have a drink and a bite to eat here.’
    ‘Yeah, maybe, but we’re not open today.’
    ‘Oh?’ asked Dan Poke, suddenly alert.
    The landlord’s eyes beamed instructions to the two women not to contradict him as he said, ‘Maintenance problems.’
    ‘I see.’ The comedian spoke as if it was a subject he might return to later. ‘But I thought we were going to look at the set-up here for Sunday’s gig.’
    ‘Yes, sure. After we’ve had something to eat. Just got to get my wallet.’ Ted hurried out of the door behind the bar.
    Dan Poke eyed up the two women. ‘Well, how very nice,’ he observed. ‘Two very attractive ladies. As I say, I’m Dan Poke. Poke by name, and Poke by . . .’ He
chuckled salaciously and produced two cards from his pocket. ‘Should either of you ladies wish to take our acquaintance further, you have only to call this number . . .’
    His manner was ironical, as though what he was saying could be taken as an expression of postmodernist sexism, a witty commentary on the whole notion of sexism. If that’s what he was
trying to do, it didn’t wash with Jude. So far as she was concerned his behaviour was plain old-fashioned sexism. But both she and Zosia took the cards.
    Ted was back now with his wallet. ‘Come on.’ He hustled his friend to the door, as if he wanted him off the premises as quickly as possible. Just before they went out, he turned to
Zosia. ‘You be here for a bit, you know, in case the phone goes?’
    The girl understood him immediately. ‘Yes, I have to work through the bar orders for next week.’
    ‘Great. See you.’ And the two men were out of the door.
    Jude watched as Zosia tore up the card she had been given and dropped the pieces into a waste bin. Catching her eye, the bar manager explained, ‘Happens a lot in my line of work. Men
thrust their phone numbers at you. Particularly later on in the evening. You know, it’s good for a girl’s self-esteem working behind a bar.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘The later the evening gets, the more pretty you become.’
    Jude grinned, but she tucked her card into a pocket. ‘Did you know him?’ she asked.
    The Polish girl shrugged.