Scratch

by Gillan, Danny

  I was knackered. Last time I’d worked behind a bar I had spent most of the shift behind the bar, funnily enough, and even that had been tiring. All this running about taking orders and carrying plates was exhausting.

  I stood outside the fire exit and lit a cigarette. It was funny, ever since telling my parents I’d stopped, every cigarette tasted so bloody good. I even felt a bit dizzy as I took another draw.

  ‘Got a light?’

  I turned to see Abe’s wiry frame standing in the doorway, an unlit joint hanging from his lips. ‘Yeah, no bother.’ I proffered my clipper.

  ‘Cheers. Christ, I feel like shit. I was fucking caned last night, could not shift my arse out of bed this morning. Not a bad service, there.’ Abe handed back the lighter and blew a huge cloud of blue smoke into the air. ‘Could tell you’ve done it before.’

  I had to assume he was taking the piss. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll get the hang of it again eventually.’

  Abe looked at me quizzically. ‘I mean it; you did pretty well in there. How long since you did the job?’

  ‘Nearly ten years.’

  ‘Fuck.’ He sounded impressed. ‘You must be really old.’

  ‘What age are you?’

  ‘Twenty.’

  ‘I am really old.’

  ‘Good energy man, good energy. Want a puff?’ He offered me the joint.

  ‘Not today, cheers. I’m on till six, better keep a clear head on my first day.’

  ‘Cool.’ A mischievous smile appeared on Abe’s face. ‘You may want to re-think that, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Did you notice I don’t have a kitchen porter yet?’

  I hadn’t thought about it, but now he mentioned it. ‘I suppose,’ I said, wary.

  ‘Guess what you’re washing for the rest of the day.’

  ***

  I stacked the last of the plates on its shelf just after half-four and went back out to the bar. There were half-a-dozen punters dotted at various tables nursing coffees, but the place was otherwise quiet. Mark looked up from the crossword he was working on.

  ‘All done?’ he asked.

  ‘Thankfully. Do you think I’ll get to actually pour a pint at some point?’ I sat on a bar stool and rubbed my neck, which was feeling decidedly stiff.

  Mark laughed. ‘We usually get a few drinkers in after five, it’ll be quiet till then. It’s only Tuesday.’

  ‘Sitting down on the job already, Mr Cooper?’

  I swivelled round to see Sammy approaching, with a girl I didn’t recognise following close behind him. Sammy had always been the only person who could open that door without it creaking.

  ‘Just catching my breath, Sam. Please tell me you’re hiring a KP soon.’

  ‘You didn’t make him do the dishes on his first day did you, Mark?’ Sammy feigned shock.

  Mark shrugged. ‘Only ‘cause you told me to, boss.’

  ‘Oh yes, so I did.’

  ‘Aye, thanks mate,’ I said, distracted as I got my first good look at Sammy’s companion.

  ‘No problem,’ Sammy said. ‘Are you regretting your career change yet?’

  ‘Not quite,’ I said, giving my brain a shake. ‘Ask me again at the end of the week.’

  ‘I shall.’ Sammy turned to the girl beside him. ‘Kate, meet your latest slave.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Jim.’ She extended a hand for me to shake.

  Kate was ridiculously pretty. She had shoulder-length, reddish brown hair that shone even in The Basement’s dull lighting, and her olive-skinned oval face was strikingly beautiful, with large brown eyes and soft, full lips. It was the air of experience she exuded rather than any outward signs of wear that led me to guess she was close to my own age. It could only have been her smallish stature, she was 5’5 or thereabouts, that prevented her from pursuing a modelling career, should she have wished to.

  I did what all men do when an attractive woman they don’t know looks them in the eye, and turned into a 5 year-old with learning difficulties.

  ‘Hello, hi, hiya. Good to, see, you. Meet you, I mean. I’m Jim. Hah!’ My hand was already shaking by the time it shook hers. I hadn’t felt this idiotic since the night I met Paula.

  ‘You’re looking a bit red in the face, there,’ Kate said. ‘Has Mark been working you too hard?’

  ‘Hah, just a bit out of practice. I’ll get on top soon. Of it.’

  ‘Okay,’ Kate said, taking her hand back. ‘We’d better get on, Sammy.’

  Sammy made no attempt to hide his shaking head, or his smile. ‘Indeed, stock-control procedures wait for no man.’ He had the cheek to look right at me as he said this.

  Kate and Sammy disappeared into the office to discuss their managementy stuff.

  ‘She’s a good looking girl, eh?’ Mark said.

  ‘Just a bit.’

  ‘You had the quiver, clearly.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t?’ I asked.

  ‘You’ll get over it when you do a shift with her.’

  According to the rota I was doing a shift with Kate the next day. ‘How come?’

  ‘I’m not one for gossip,’ Mark said. ‘I’ll let you figure it out for yourself.’

  Chapter 13

  ‘Hiya, in you come,’ Kate said the next morning.

  She held the door open as I hurried in out of the hellish rain and followed her towards the bar.

  ‘I’ve got some paperwork to do, are you okay starting to set up by yourself?’ Kate’s hair was as perfect and shiny as it had been the day before, and I wondered if she had a hair-dryer hidden somewhere.

  ‘Eh, yeah, sure,’ I said, taking my soaking-wet jacket off and giving it a shake.

  ‘Cheers honey. Give me a shout if you need anything.’ She gave me a big smile and vanished into the office.

  ‘Okay,’ I said to myself as I looked around. The floor was scattered with a forest’s worth of fliers and other detritus, and all of the chairs teetered precariously on top of the tables. A glance behind the bar revealed that the glass-washer had still to be set-up, fruit was yet to be cut, several-dozen glasses were in need of a polish and fridges and shelves required stocking. Add to that the two or three hundred other little jobs involved in making a licensed premises fit for exposure to the paying public, and I found myself hoping Kate’s paperwork wouldn’t take too long.

  With Kate out of sight I took off my skip-cap and brushed the rain from my hair (okay, head). I checked out the coffee machine hopefully, but the filter pot sat cold and empty on its (not)hotplate. I got to work.

  Abe banged on the door as I was pulling the last of the chairs onto the floor.

  ‘Morning bud, sorry I’m late. Bastard of a day out there.’ He looked at me. ‘You’re still soaking.’

  ‘That’s sweat,’ I said, closing the door behind him.

  ‘I take it her highness is on today, then?’ Abe smiled when I nodded. ‘Nae luck,’ he said. ‘It’s funny how Mark and Sammy never seem to have that much admin to do, eh?’

  Kate resolutely failed to emerge from the office as I rushed around in increasing panic, trying to first remember and then complete all of the tasks before me. A very relaxed Abe emerged from the kitchen now and then to offer encouragement along the lines of, ‘just think, you get to do my dishes later, too’ or ‘I’m going for a smoke. I’d invite you along but I can see you’re busy’.

  Kate finally put in an appearance at eleven.

  ‘Time to open up, are we all set?’ she said, beaming. There was no denying she was damned attractive.

  For various machismo-related reasons I tried to disguise my panting. ‘Yeah, just got a couple of things to sort out behind the bar. Go for it.’ I took a long, deep breath and smiled what I hoped was a cool, calm and nonchalant smile.

  ‘Good lad.’

  Bit patronising, I thought, as Kate opened the storm doors. She looked good from the back, too. Then she looked good from the front again as she came back up to the bar, then from the back once more as she passed m
e and disappeared through the office door.

  Customers began to trickle in just before noon, and I managed to cope on my own for half-an-hour before I was forced to ask Kate for help when two groups of six arrived simultaneously.

  ‘I’ll cover the bar if you want to stay on the floor,’ she said, clearly irritated.

  So she poured some drinks while I took all the orders, carried all the food and drinks to the tables, lifted all the empty glasses and plates, re-set all of the tables and generally ran about like an idiot for two hours.

  Part of me quite enjoyed it. There’s a certain satisfaction to be had when you know you’ve made your customers happy, something I had never come close to experiencing at Combined Utilities. I made twenty quid in tips, too. I was still pissed-off that Kate made me do all the work, right enough.

  ‘Thank God that’s over,’ Kate said as soon the last lunch table had paid up and left. ‘I need to get back to my paperwork. Let me know when you’ve got the place tidied up, Jim, and I’ll cover the bar so you can help Abe with the dishes.’ And she was gone again.

  ‘You’ve got to love managers, eh? Lazy bastards the lot of them,’ Abe said, taking a seat on a bar stool. ‘Do me a cappuccino, mate, cheers.’

  ‘No bother,’ I said, reaching for the milk jug. ‘Mark did his bit yesterday.’

  ‘Aye, but he’s only a charge-hand. That’s not proper management. Stick some vanilla in that, ta.’

  ‘Is she always like that?’ I asked as I topped up Abe’s coffee with vanilla syrup.

  ‘Yep, never lifts a finger unless Sammy’s around. Treats the rest of us like skivvies. Put a bit of chocolate on top there, will you?’

  ‘No problem.’ I dusted the top of the cappuccino with cocoa powder.

  ‘Cheers, Bud,’ Abe said, taking a sip. ‘When you on till today?’

  ‘Six again.’

  ‘That’s good. There’s a shit-load of dishes, a lot more than yesterday.’

  I sighed. ‘Give me twenty minutes.’

  ‘Good man.’ Abe lifted his coffee and returned to his lair.

  ***

  By the time the dishes were finished it was almost six and Kate had long since been relieved by Mark.

  ‘All right, mate?’ he said as I sat at the bar, exhausted.

  ‘I thought this was supposed to get easier after the first day,’ I said.

  Mark smiled. ‘Still think she’s gorgeous?’

  ‘Who’s gorgeous?’ a voice said beside me.

  ‘You are!’ I didn’t mean to say that, but seeing Paula standing there threw me off my game and it blurted out.

  ‘Thanks very much. You look like shit, I’m afraid.’ Paula paused for a moment then grinned as she took the stool next to me. ‘So, who’s gorgeous, really?’

  ‘Kate,’ Mark said.

  ‘Right! I haven’t met her yet but Sammy told me,’ Paula said, switching effortlessly into wide-eyed gossip mode. ‘Model material, apparently.’

  ‘Pfff, she’s a bit too wee for that,’ I said. ‘I mean, she’s not ugly, but model? Nah, I wouldn’t have thought so. She’s all right, but, you know, nothing special. Not really. To my mind, heh.’

  ‘Has he got a wee fancy for her?’ Paula asked Mark, trying not to laugh. It pained me to note the lack of jealousy she displayed.

  ‘I’m not one for gossip,’ Mark said. ‘It’s not my place to say.’ The fact he was nodding profusely contradicted this otherwise admirable sentiment.

  ‘Piss-off the pair of you!’ It was the most intelligent thing I could come up with.

  ‘I think I need to buy you a drink, Jim,’ Paula said when she’d brought her mirth under control. ‘What do you reckon, Mark?’

  ‘Someone should,’ Mark said. ‘And for once I’m glad I’m working.’

  Although I did like him, I was getting a bit annoyed with Mark’s habit of being sharper and smarter and funnier than I was.

  ‘Are you okay, Jim?’ Paula said. ‘You’re sweating an awful lot.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m fine, tough day.’

  ‘Okay, lager?’

  ‘That would be good, yes. Thanks.’

  Paula ordered our drinks and paid a still chortling Mark. ‘D’you want to get a table?’ she asked.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I followed Paula to the corner table and sat opposite her with my back to the wall, just under Gryff the St Bernard.

  Gryff had been a major fixture in The Basement’s original décor. His head was stuffed and mounted on a shield-shaped wooden plaque, with a brass plate beneath his chin detailing the many rescues Gryff had effected in life, with quotes from some of the skiers he’d saved from a freezing, white grave saying such things as, if it wasn’t for Gryff my kids wouldn’t have a dad, and, that big scary bastard led them right to me, I’m sorry I shot him now. According to the engraving, Gryff had died in action in 1937. Apparently Sammy held Gryff in such affection that he’d stolen him when he’d left The Basement first time round, hence the canine cranium’s triumphant return.

  I took a sip of my beer and looked at Paula, who took a sip of her beer and looked at me.

  I smiled. She smiled.

  ‘So,’ we both said at exactly the same time.

  We laughed, in concert.

  I wasn’t sure if my face betrayed what I was thinking, i.e. what the fuck is she doing here? Did she come here for me? but her face clearly said, to me, what the fuck am I doing here? Did I come here for him?

  ‘Sammy’s not on tonight,’ I said. ‘If you were looking for him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Do you not just feckin’ hate awkward silences?’ Paula shook her head. ‘What age are we?’

  ‘Well I feel about twelve, just at the minute,’ I said.

  ‘Me too, Jaysus! At what point do we actually become grown-ups, do you think?’

  ‘That’s one of the many secrets our parents take delight in not telling us,’ I said, adding, ‘the bastards.’

  Paula shook her head. ‘I came to say sorry for the other night. I woke up on Monday and remembered what I’d said. That was so unfair. I was a bit tipsy, if that’s any excuse.’

  ‘I take it you’re referring to the I like you because you’re a failure thing?’

  ‘Yes! How big a bitch am I? Honestly, Jim, my head’s up my arse just now; I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it; you had a drink in you.’ I hadn’t (ever) felt the need to forgive Paula, but I was happy to do so if it made her feel better. ‘How was KT?’

  ‘Christ knows,’ Paula said. ‘If I spoke to her I can’t remember it. No doubt she thinks I’m a twat. Everyone says she’s lovely, so I’m sure she is.’

  Paula Fraser was the only person I had ever known who could both name drop and dismiss a very cool famous person without sounding like a pretentious knob.

  ‘Hell of a singer,’ I said.

  Paula looked up. ‘Do you fancy her?’

  ‘Fuck off,’ I said. ‘Don’t start that again.’

  We both laughed.

  ‘Sheryl?’ Paula said, a mischievous look in her eye.

  ‘It was the music!’

  ‘Yeah, right!’

  In about 1994 or thereabouts, I happened to mention to Paula I’d heard a song I liked on the radio. It was called Run Baby Run by someone I’d never heard of called Sheryl Crow. I had no idea what Ms Crow looked like when I mentioned this to Paula.

  As it turned out, Paula saw a picture of Sheryl before I ever did.

  ‘Oh yeah, that’s why you love her,’ Paula said to me one night. ‘It’s all about the music, nothing to do with her being feckin’ gorgeous!’

  I still had no idea what Sheryl Crow looked like at this point, so was vociferous in my defence of her music’s artistic merit. ‘It’s a brilliant song!’ I was often heard to shout.

  It therefore became a running joke that any time I liked a female singer or actress or whatever then it must be because I fancied her, which was
only ever true about eighty percent of the time, tops.

  ‘Anyway, I’m sorry,’ Paula said, more seriously. ‘You’re not a failure. I actually think you’re brave doing what you’re doing. At least it’s through choice with you.’

  ‘You’ll get back on your feet, don’t worry. When do you start your job?’

  ‘Not till August, I’ve got another few months of moping about feeling useless.’

  ‘When do you think Ingo will come over?’

  ‘I don’t know. His grandad’s pretty ill, and they’re really close, so Ingo won’t leave till he gets better or …’

  ‘Dies,’ I said, nodding.

  ‘Still a master of tact then, Jim?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Paula drained her Becks. ‘To be honest, it’s no bad thing we’ve got some space from each other. Since the school went under we’ve been getting in each other’s faces a bit.’

  I perked up. ‘That’s a pity.’

  ‘It’s just the stress. It’ll be fine when we’re both working again.’ She raised her empty beer bottle. ‘Your round.’

  I ordered our drinks from Mark, who had been joined behind the bar by Natalie, the girl who had been working with him at my leaving night.

  Most things about Natalie were short, brown or both. She had short, dark-brown hair; she wore a short, brown skirt with thick woollen tights underneath, and had on a short-sleeved brown T-shirt; she was fairly short in stature, and her skin was just short of milk chocolate coloured. My initial assumption was that she was Indian but this was based mainly on my own ignorance, so I couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Hi, Jim,’ she said, offering a hand for me to shake as Mark poured the drinks. ‘I’m Nat.’

  ‘Hi, Nat. Let me apologise in advance for the fact I’m going to be getting under your feet and in your way this weekend. Feel free to kick me when I screw stuff up.’

  ‘I don’t normally need an invitation, but I appreciate you offering it. How’s it going so far?’

  ‘So far, so shite,’ I said.

  ‘About the usual, then. Don’t worry; we’ll be gentle with you.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  Natalie smiled. ‘We’re taught to respect our elders, where I come from.’

  ‘Right. Where is that? India? Pakistan?’