just sit here and –’
‘Have to spend a lot of time in the supermarkets, checking the new promotions that are coming up, seeing what the competitions are, getting entry forms, coupons, buying up relevant stock.’
‘Relevant stock?’
‘Come and have a look.’
He led them through into what had presumably been intended as a dining room. But it contained no table and chairs. Instead, it was crammed full like a supermarket warehouse.
Tim Dyer gave them a conducted tour. He pointed to a ceiling-high pile of Cook-in-a-Bag Curry boxes, from each of which a side panel had been neatly cut. ‘Did all right out of that. Won a three-week holiday for two to India.’
‘Did you go on it?’
‘No, sold it through the local paper.’ He indicated a wall of food cans, none of which had any labels. ‘Four different competitions, those were. Canned mange-touts, new instant custard launch, lychees in syrup and chilli con carne. Got a yoghourt-maker, cut-glass decanter set, tennis racket and two hair-dryers. Sold them all.’
‘Why no labels?’
He looked at Charles as if he were dealing with a moron. ‘They’ve got the coupons on. You have to get them off.’
‘Well, how can you tell whether it’s instant custard or chilli con carne?’
‘You can’t. I just open one and hope for the best.’
‘You do eat them?’
‘I’m working through,’ said Tim Dyer, and pointed to a pile of washing-up powder boxes. These had also had coupons removed and powder spilled through the rectangular holes to make little peaks on the carpet. ‘Working through this lot, too. Good, though. Won a BMX bicycle on that. Sold it.’
‘How did you win the Vauxhall Cavalier?’ asked Sydnee, who had been silent for a long time.
Tim Dyer looked at her sharply, realizing that the conversation had come round to something important. ‘Let’s go into the front room.’
When they were sitting, Sydnee persisted, ‘Where did you win the Cavalier?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘I see. Another television show.’
For a moment he looked as if he were about to deny it, but a slow, smug smile crept across his face. ‘Yes. Right.
Something For Nothing
I won that on.’
‘You’ve done a lot of other tellies.’
He nodded slyly. ‘Oh yes. I’ve done most of them.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Sydnee, remembering something. ‘How did you get on
Something For Nothing
? That’s a show for married couples.’
‘Yes.’
‘But you said you’re divorced.’
‘I persuaded the wife to come back just for the show.’
‘And
you
got the car.’
‘Oh, come on. She got the fridge-freezer, the home computer with full range of software, the exercise bicycle plus His and Hers track-suits, the cordless telephone and the crate of vintage champagne.’
‘You still got the best of the deal.’
‘Well, I did the research, didn’t I? And I answered all the questions.’
‘Erm . . .’ Charles asked out of pure curiosity, ‘did appearing on the show together bring you and your wife back together at all?’
‘Good God, no.’ Tim Dyer dismissed that idea and moved on to a subject that interested him more. ‘Now, about this Austin Metro . . .’
‘Yes,’ said Sydnee, mentally girding up her loins for battle.
‘I’ve taken legal advice on this, and my solicitor says it depends on whether the crown was definitely over my head when it stopped. Now I know it was, and that would be visible on the recording of the show that you have. If W.E.T. tries to withhold that tape, my solicitor says he would be able to –’
‘We have also taken legal advice,’ Sydnee quelled him.
‘Our Legal Department has no precedent for this situation, but their view is that the rules of the game constitute a kind of verbal contract. In other words, W.E.T. has agreed to give away certain goods to contestants who fulfil the requirements demanded by the game.’
‘Exactly.’ Tim Dyer grinned hungrily. ‘Which I had done.’
‘However,’ Sydnee continued,
‘Have to spend a lot of time in the supermarkets, checking the new promotions that are coming up, seeing what the competitions are, getting entry forms, coupons, buying up relevant stock.’
‘Relevant stock?’
‘Come and have a look.’
He led them through into what had presumably been intended as a dining room. But it contained no table and chairs. Instead, it was crammed full like a supermarket warehouse.
Tim Dyer gave them a conducted tour. He pointed to a ceiling-high pile of Cook-in-a-Bag Curry boxes, from each of which a side panel had been neatly cut. ‘Did all right out of that. Won a three-week holiday for two to India.’
‘Did you go on it?’
‘No, sold it through the local paper.’ He indicated a wall of food cans, none of which had any labels. ‘Four different competitions, those were. Canned mange-touts, new instant custard launch, lychees in syrup and chilli con carne. Got a yoghourt-maker, cut-glass decanter set, tennis racket and two hair-dryers. Sold them all.’
‘Why no labels?’
He looked at Charles as if he were dealing with a moron. ‘They’ve got the coupons on. You have to get them off.’
‘Well, how can you tell whether it’s instant custard or chilli con carne?’
‘You can’t. I just open one and hope for the best.’
‘You do eat them?’
‘I’m working through,’ said Tim Dyer, and pointed to a pile of washing-up powder boxes. These had also had coupons removed and powder spilled through the rectangular holes to make little peaks on the carpet. ‘Working through this lot, too. Good, though. Won a BMX bicycle on that. Sold it.’
‘How did you win the Vauxhall Cavalier?’ asked Sydnee, who had been silent for a long time.
Tim Dyer looked at her sharply, realizing that the conversation had come round to something important. ‘Let’s go into the front room.’
When they were sitting, Sydnee persisted, ‘Where did you win the Cavalier?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘I see. Another television show.’
For a moment he looked as if he were about to deny it, but a slow, smug smile crept across his face. ‘Yes. Right.
Something For Nothing
I won that on.’
‘You’ve done a lot of other tellies.’
He nodded slyly. ‘Oh yes. I’ve done most of them.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Sydnee, remembering something. ‘How did you get on
Something For Nothing
? That’s a show for married couples.’
‘Yes.’
‘But you said you’re divorced.’
‘I persuaded the wife to come back just for the show.’
‘And
you
got the car.’
‘Oh, come on. She got the fridge-freezer, the home computer with full range of software, the exercise bicycle plus His and Hers track-suits, the cordless telephone and the crate of vintage champagne.’
‘You still got the best of the deal.’
‘Well, I did the research, didn’t I? And I answered all the questions.’
‘Erm . . .’ Charles asked out of pure curiosity, ‘did appearing on the show together bring you and your wife back together at all?’
‘Good God, no.’ Tim Dyer dismissed that idea and moved on to a subject that interested him more. ‘Now, about this Austin Metro . . .’
‘Yes,’ said Sydnee, mentally girding up her loins for battle.
‘I’ve taken legal advice on this, and my solicitor says it depends on whether the crown was definitely over my head when it stopped. Now I know it was, and that would be visible on the recording of the show that you have. If W.E.T. tries to withhold that tape, my solicitor says he would be able to –’
‘We have also taken legal advice,’ Sydnee quelled him.
‘Our Legal Department has no precedent for this situation, but their view is that the rules of the game constitute a kind of verbal contract. In other words, W.E.T. has agreed to give away certain goods to contestants who fulfil the requirements demanded by the game.’
‘Exactly.’ Tim Dyer grinned hungrily. ‘Which I had done.’
‘However,’ Sydnee continued,
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