All the Fun of the Fair

by Jamie Sinclair

  ‘Oh great,’ the cat’s expression seemed to say. ‘More fanciful tales of a perfect childhood with the perfect brother and all I get for listening is the view from a third floor window and supermarket brand cat food.’

  Alfie, undeterred by Kenny’s scathing glance, pressed on with his thoughts.

  ‘I was on the beach digging with my bucket and spade, royal blue they were. Of course I might be wrong about the colour, it was a long time ago, but for now I reckon they were blue. I was making sandcastles. Mum and Dad were a bit away, lounging in deckchairs or some such. Frank wasn’t about just then; he was off in an arcade or something.

  ‘Anyway, some kid came over, a bigger kid.’ Alfie paused, looked around and, despite being alone except for Kenny – feline psychotherapist - he felt embarrassed and ashamed talking about the incident, the same way he had felt the day it happened.

  ‘This kid, this bully, tried to take my bucket and spade. I tried to hang on to it but he was stronger than me, bigger, I…’

  Alfie paused again and could not meet the cat’s gaze.

  ‘I was scared, terrified. I was only small, I couldn’t hang on and the boy was kicking out at me, pulling me this way and that but it was my bucket and spade. Mum and Dad couldn’t see me, were too far away and then…and then…’

  Alfie laughed out loud, surprised at how raw the emotions felt even forty years later, how real it still seemed.

  ‘And then Frank came,’ Alfie said quietly. A smile began to spread across his face.

  ‘Frank came running and saw the kid off, cracked him on the back of the head with my spade. “Alright kid,” he said to me. “Looked like you were having a spot of bother there for a minute.” I shook my head and said I was fine and I was.’

  Alfie blinked away a tear and was reminded exactly why he tried not to think about his lost brother, his hero and protector.

  ‘I miss him,’ Alfie said to Kenny. ‘I just miss him so much.’

  After several aborted attempts at movement, Alfie eventually stood up from the rickety chair and stretched. Despite his mournful mood he forced himself out of his flat and downstairs to the communal payphone in the hallway where he picked up the receiver and dialled.

  ‘Loriana? It’s Alfie. Are you free to talk?’ He forced two coins into the spring-loaded slot.

  ‘Ah, ciao.’

  ‘Your husband there is he?’

  ‘Sì.’ She replied.

  ‘I was planning on taking a stroll this evening. I was wondering if perhaps you’d care to join me.’

  ‘Gradirei quello molto.’

  ‘You would? Excellent. Around seven, where we met before?’

  ‘Perfetto. Sono desideroso di vederli.’

  ‘Yes, I’m looking forward to seeing you too.’

  * * * *

  In typically unassuming fashion, it had not entered Alfie’s head that tonight was to be anything other than a meeting of two new friends and as such he made no special effort with his dress. He bathed as he always did after a long day in the park and pulled on his other pair of jeans – the pair he didn’t wear for work. He replaced his shirt with a fresh one only after sniffing it, deliberating, and finally deciding it could do with a wash. After calling ‘goodbye’ to the cat, Alfie picked up his coat and left the flat.

  It was approaching seven when Alfie arrived on the promenade; he was glad he’d brought his coat as the late December evening was numbing and there was an icy breeze coming in off the bay. The tide was out and there wasn’t even enough light to see the pebbly beach below. Alfie smiled at memories of rushing down the slipway and using a brightly coloured net attached by wire to a bamboo cane to catch the minuscule fish like creatures – what he and Frank called darters – that lived in the rock pools.

  ‘Buona sera Alfredo. È stasera abbastanza freddo.’

  Alfie smiled at her use of Italian. It had been a long time since he’d had cause to speak the language and it brought back pleasant memories.

  ‘Good evening. Yes, it is a little chilly tonight.’

  Loriana surveyed her companion, quite a diminutive man; hands plunged deep inside his coat pockets to protect them from the cold, his ears and nose already reddening at the tips from the wind. A wide, honest, smile on his face, a face that, just at that moment, belied none of the pain Alfie carried with him. Loriana saw only kindness and decency in this man; a man who had honoured their simple agreement to walk together, happy just that she was there and that warmed her heart, causing her to return his smile. Loriana linked her arm around Alfie’s and they began to amble along the promenade, appreciating the evening’s crepuscular charm.

  ‘So,’ Alfie began tentatively, conscious of the words he would use. Loriana’s refined appearance and sophisticated manner caused Alfie to adopt a more measured, less natural way of speaking.

  ‘There weren’t any difficulties…with your husband I mean?’

  ‘None whatsoever. As I told you when we first met, he does as he pleases so how I choose to spend my time is no business of his. Now, let’s waste no more words on him.’

  The sky was gunmetal grey and the couple only encountered one other person as they walked – a man and his dog. Judging from the amount of lead-tugging and grumbling, neither party were keen to be outdoors. Alfie was aware, even through the thickness of his coat, of Loriana’s arm against his own, tensing slightly when a stronger gust of wind caught her unawares and threatened to unbalance her.

  ‘Would you care for a drink? It’s a little blustery out here and I’d hate to be responsible for you catching cold.’

  Lorianna considered for a moment and nodded.

  ‘That sounds perfect; do you know somewhere?’

  Alfie shook his head and said he’d never had occasion to visit any of the cafes, tea-rooms and such on the promenade, especially in winter.

  ‘In that case,’ Loriana said. ‘There is a very nice hotel a little further along which has lovely tea-rooms and a bar should we fancy something a little stronger.’

  They continued along the deserted promenade passing old hotels and guest houses now reverted to private dwellings, long closed novelty shops and an old Madame Tussauds now an amusement arcade, until Loriana turned right. She led Alfie across the main road and along a short gravelled drive onto the grounds of the last truly grand hotel on the seafront – the Narracott. Alfie had passed it many times since moving to the town, usually on his way to work at the park, only a few hundred yards from where they stood.

  The Narracott was a splendid building constructed from sandstone at the turn of the twentieth century though the outside, ravaged by gales off the sea, was in need of maintenance. Alfie followed Loriana through the wide, old-fashioned front door into reception, dominated by a large fir tree, decorated in gold and silver baubles and lights, its tips brushing the ceiling. To their right stood a broad registration desk featuring an impressive brass cash register and a small silver bell. To their left was a pair of tall double doors, closed and restricted by a length of crimson rope hung between two brass posts. Central to all this was the enormous open fireplace, the heat from the roaring fire easily warming the entire reception area.

  Loriana and Alfie were greeted warmly by a smiling receptionist who informed them that the tea-rooms were closed for refurbishment until after Christmas, but the bar and dining room both offered a choice of teas and coffees should that be acceptable. Loriana seemed disappointed but Alfie didn’t mind. A young man in a smart purple waistcoat and bow tie escorted them through the dining room – decorated with silk wallpaper, a royal blue deep pile rug over a wooden floor and a large central chandelier casting light onto the white linen covered tables - into the bar.

  ‘Welcome to the Overlook Lounge,’ said the bell-boy. ‘If you require any further help one of our bar staff will be more than happy to oblige.’ Then he smiled, nodded his head and exited through the solid mahogany doors.

  ‘Blimey, this place is summat else!’ Alfie exclaimed in delight, then his face flush
ed red.

  Loriana smiled at the lapse.

  ‘Alfredo, please do not be embarrassed. I want you to be comfortable, to speak freely around me.’

  Alfie chuckled with relief.

  ‘Right you are then. It’s just that I’ve never been anywhere like this; you don’t get any idea from the outside.’

  ‘It’s certainly very comfortable, by far the best hotel in town these days.’

  The bar, lit intimately by several low wattage chandeliers hanging overhead, was vast. In front of Alfie and Loriana stretched a range of high-backed velvet upholstered booths designed to protect the privacy of the occupants. Across the carmine carpeted floor stood in excess of thirty bar stools, each leather bound, surrounding the horse-shoe shaped bar. Alfie directed Loriana to a free booth and, shaking his head in awe, he walked to the bar where he propped his elbows on its leather cushioned edges.

  ‘Good evening sir,’ said the barman, smiling widely. ‘What can I get you?’

  Alfie noticed the barman wore the same purple waistcoat and bowtie uniform as the bell-boy. The Narracott name and logo were stitched on the breast pocket in gold thread.

  ‘Erm, I’ll have a pint of bitter and a large glass of red wine for my friend please.’

  ‘Any bitter in particular sir, or shall I recommend…” The barman gestured to a row of six gleaming taps, beer dripped from one of the spigots. ‘We have a selection of guest ales that are very well thought of.’

  ‘Oh, er, whatever you recommend will be fine thanks, something smooth.’

  ‘Very good sir,’ said the barman before turning to fetch the appropriate glasses.

  While the drinks were poured Alfie turned to admire the rest of the Overlook Lounge. Until quite recently, Alfie supposed, the predominant odour would have been smoke. Now, though, Alfie could smell the ale, the barman’s aftershave and even, Alfie fancied, the vague whiff of leather from the furniture.

  Further to the left of the bar, following the horse shoe curve, were a number of padded leather seats set around highly polished Cherry wood tables. As he turned to face the bar and collect the drinks Alfie also noticed small silver trays placed along the bar top; each contained different nibbles. Alfie took a handful of peanuts and shoved them into his mouth.

  ‘This is wonderful,’ Alfie said to Loriana when he joined her in the booth.

  ‘I’m pleased you like it. On sunny days the view from here is quite breathtaking, you can see clear across the bay.’

  For the next two hours, against a backing track of murmured conversation and a Wurlitzer 1080 playing 78’s, Alfie and Loriana chatted animatedly like the oldest of friends; about their families and the Italian roots they both valued so much, their opinions on the decline of English seaside resorts and their current personal situations. Throughout, Alfie didn’t eschew any of Loriana’s questions and answered truthfully about his life in Morecambe. He made no secret of his living in a cramped bedsit, made light of his transvestite landlord, spoke fondly of his job at Happy Mount Park and of his cat which, Alfie explained, was named after Liverpool footballer Kenny Dalglish, a boyhood hero of his brother, Frank.

  ‘Do you like to dance?’ Loriana asked when Alfie rose to obtain more drinks.

  ‘Well, I never really get the chance, but I’m not against the idea.’

  ‘Would you care to see the ballroom?’

  Alfie nodded and Loriana led him from the bar to reception where an elevator waited. A young man in a now familiar Narracott waistcoat and bow tie pulled back the gate and they stepped into the ornate copper and brass cage. The operator followed them inside, closed the gate and asked which floor they required. Alfie looked at the options; instead of standard numbers each floor was labelled – Swimming pool and Gymnasium, Ballroom, Terrace and so on.

  ‘Ballroom thank you,’ Loriana said.

  The operator pushed the lever and the elevator juddered momentarily then began to rise. They were brought to a sudden stop and, following some adjustment to ensure they were level with the floor, the gate was retracted and they exited directly into the ballroom.

  ‘Wow!’ Alfie exclaimed.

  In the centre of the room stood on an ornamental mantelpiece flanked by two large brass birds. On top of the mantle was a clock contained in a glass dome, its mechanism exposed. The sweeping wooden floor was bordered by a carpet, a rich weave of red and gold on top of which were a number of small tables similar to the ones in the bar. Along the opposite wall were four colossal cathedral windows that overlooked the seafront and the bay beyond. But the thing that took Alfie’s breath away, really flabbergasted him, was the party taking place before him.

  People in tuxedos, evening gowns and fancy dress all but filled the ballroom. There was a woman dressed as a belly dancer, a man dressed as a super hero, someone in a furry dog costume dancing with someone in a cat outfit complete with pointy ears and a long black tail. At a long refreshment table a man filled rows of glasses with champagne while a host of waiters carried silver trays laden with all manner of cocktails. Alfie felt like he’d stepped back in time.

  ‘Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?’ Alfie asked uncertainly, feeling very underdressed in jeans and a plain shirt.

  Loriana smiled. ‘I’m sure nobody will mind if we stay a short while. Would you care to dance?’

  They walked slowly through the throng to the dance floor and fell into step. At the far end of the ballroom a big band played a selection of standards with each member taking a solo. Alfie was miles away, time had ceased to matter and when the band leader announced they would be taking a short break Alfie applauded enthusiastically along with everyone else.

  ‘Champagne, sir, madam?’ A passing waiter asked.

  Loriana nodded and picked two glasses from the tray, handing one to Alfie before they found a table.

  ‘Tell me more about your family.’ Loriana asked, sipping from her glass.

  For the first time Alfie hesitated, taking a thoughtful mouthful of champagne before telling Loriana the stories. Alfie told her about his brother Frank John Gorman, his older brother and hero, their holidays together as children at the seaside, spending hours in funfairs up and down the English coast, building sandcastles on the beach, inseparable.

  For a little while Alfie became caught up in his memories, almost talking to himself, reliving each adventure as it happened. He lifted the glass to his lips, found it empty and suddenly the spell was broken.

  ‘Anyway, hark at me,’ Alfie apologised. ‘Here I am prattling on, probably boring you rigid.’

  ‘Not at all, you’re obviously very fond…’

  ‘Oh yes, I always had the best time with Frank…’

  ‘I’m sorry, I have pried. If you’d rather not...’

  Loriana reached out and clasped Alfie’s hand, squeezing it supportively, not wishing to press the matter further, although her curiosity was aroused.

  ‘Fantastic place this,’ Alfie said, changing the subject. ‘I bet it costs a bit to stay here, more than I could afford anyway.’

  ‘I would not know, I have never stayed. I do have reservations for Christmas lunch; they have the most wonderful menu.’

  ‘Comes round quicker every year, Christmas I mean.’

  ‘Oh yes, I suppose it does. I expect you have plans?’ Loriana asked.

  ‘No, I’m not really one for Christmas to be honest.’

  ‘Really, you surprise me. I thought you would be spending time with your family, your brother, you speak of them so fervently.’

  ‘Well, maybe, no firm plans yet.’ Alfie replied quickly, discomposed.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, savouring the atmosphere, enjoying the laughter, the popping of champagne corks, watching strangers in masks and fantastic costumes, contemplating all they had learned about each other.

  ‘Well,’ Loriana said at last. ‘It is getting late.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Alfie rose at once. ‘Please, allow me to walk you home.’ His tone formal again, less r
elaxed.

  They left the ballroom arm in arm as the band retook the stage and began to play Pennsylvania 6-5000.

  Ten minutes later and Alfie knew they were at the superior end of town. The wider roads were now called such and such Avenue or so and so Mews instead of Street or Road. The properties were mostly detached as opposed to the terraces where Alfie lived and there were fewer cars parked at the kerbside owing to the number of garages.

  They meandered onto a cul-de-sac containing half a dozen particularly extravagant houses, the end house being the most splendid and the one which belonged to Loriana.

  Alfie was genuinely impressed and said so.

  ‘All thanks to my father really,’ Loriana said. ‘I’m afraid I had better not ask you in, my husband is probably out but…’

  Alfie waved away her anxiety.

  ‘Not at all, no need to cause problems. I’ve had a very pleasant evening.’

  ‘Well, I very much hope we can do it again, soon. You’re a refreshing and remarkable man Alfie Gorman, a gentleman.’

  ‘Well, I find you very easy to talk with.’

  ‘You should feel free to telephone as often as you like. We can talk all you wish.’

  ‘Oh no, I didn’t mean, I wouldn’t want to bother you…’

  ‘Nonsense. It is a rare thing for me to find someone with whom I can speak freely, so openly. I should very much like you to call.’

  Alfie blushed under cover of darkness and watched until long after Loriana had entered the house. Later, as he wandered from the cul-de-sac whistling quietly to himself and reflecting on his new friendship, Alfie heard the clicking of heels on concrete as someone approached from behind. He looked back over his shoulder as the figure crossed the road to avoid him. He was able to make out the woman’s face when she passed under the glare of a streetlight.

  ‘Tania?’ Alfie called, mystified.

  Tania looked across at him – she appeared upset – but kept moving and, seconds later, had disappeared around the corner.

  THINGS FALL APART