501

by Robert Field

  Then, as we sit by the flickering fire, the first lines of his choice sift gently into the bar.

  It’s a song about the realisation of loving, of a ‘moment captured in emotion and stored away for forever and a day’. I know it’s corny but it belongs to a time and place that’s long gone. I wish Danny had put anything on but this because this tune, these words, wrap themselves around me and…

  I’m twenty-two years old and Ken and I have treated ourselves to a meal. We’re sitting in this bistro in town and we’re looking for the cheapest dish on the menu; the mortgage is due next week and we really shouldn’t be here. That’s what Ken says.

  ‘We can’t afford this, Maggie. We should have gone to the pub and got some chips on the way home.’

  In the corner of this restaurant there’s a guitarist plucking out bits of tunes, strumming a few bars of this and that, quietly singing a few lines. He’s dressed like a Spaniard, red open-necked shirt and too-tight black trousers and even a sash around his waist.

  I’m saying it’s a special occasion and it won’t hurt just this once and Ken wants to know what’s so special that it costs a fortune.

  I say, ‘I’m pregnant, Ken.’

  I say it and I’m worried because of our new house, a job I won’t be able to keep, Ken’s erratic subbing on the building sites. It all sounds too much with a baby on top as well.

  Ken just stares at me. He’s open-mouthed and I’m already trying not to cry out loud.

  This wasn’t a good idea coming here but I wanted him to remember the moment. I know it sounds soppy and we can’t afford it but I did want it to be so special.

  Then into our bubble of silence the guitarist/singer starts, ‘For forever and a day’ and Ken’s face breaks into the broadest of smiles.

  ‘Really, Maggie?’ he says disbelievingly. ‘Really?’

  He reaches across the table, takes my hand and squeezes it.

  ‘I’ll always remember this moment,’ he says and then laughs. ‘And that yucky song.’

  And now, all these years later, I’m sitting in the George with Danny. I’m full of rum and Pep and I’m crying again because of that song. And this is not a choked-back sniffle, this is a proper sobbing because my heart is breaking for what’s gone, what’s finished and can never come back. Outside the snow is still sweeping in on an iced wind, but inside Danny is holding me, drying my tears.

  And then I do it. Oh, I can blame the booze, blame this close situation, blame whatever I like, but I’m a sixty-two-year old woman and in this flickering, softly deceiving firelight I bring my face up to kiss Danny.

  And he kisses me back gently, slowly. And I’m desperately pleased and desperately worried at what’s going to happen next.

  What happens is that Danny gets us both another drink, puts a few more oldies on the jukebox and we slow-dance to ballads of the seventies. I stifle guilt, lock the door on Ken in his nursing home, hide Kayleigh’s disapproving face.

  Then Danny says, ‘Let’s go upstairs, Maggie.’

  And this is how it begins, mine and Danny’s Wednesday night’s secret. I know he’s not the catch of the year but on his own he’s different than Danny-behind-the-bar.

  He’s a nice man and that’s all I want; a nice man to hold me on a dark night.

  That’s all I need to help me through this life until forever has come and gone.

  Thursday night practice in April.

  Maggie.

  At six I ring Katy up to check practice is on and she reckons that nothing will keep her from a vodka and Coke tonight. Not the rain and…

  ‘Not even Johnny James.’ She laughs. ‘See you there, Maggie.’

  As I’m leaving I stop at the hall mirror, brush through my hair once more, try to see if there’s any grey growing from my roots. Then I touch up my lipstick, dab a bit of scent to my throat (just in case, Maggie) and give myself a guilty smile and leave my house.

  When I get to the George, the girls are practising at the board and Danny’s behind the bar.

  I order a beer shandy and Danny winks at me and says, ‘I thought it would be a rum and Pep, Maggie. Or is that only for special occasions?’

  I say, ‘Only on Wednesdays, Danny.’ and he gives me the sweetest of smiles. And when he passes my change over he gives my hand the slightest of squeezes.

  Over at our table the girls have had enough of practice and they’re having a team chat about missing Lena.

  Ada Pikey says, ‘It’ll leave us one short for Monday,’ as though Lena’s being inconsiderate.

  Pegs says, ‘She can’t help it, Ada, she’s had a baby.’

  Katy says, ‘I’ve been looking. So if anyone knows anyone handy?’

  Big Nellie puts down her pint pot and says, ‘I might.’

  We wait a moment because she’s a bit slow at coming forward. Then she adds, ‘My sister. She can play a bit.’

  Katy shrugs. ‘Well, bring her along on Monday; we’ll give her a try-out.’

  I’m thinking that we’re only half the team that we started out. Lena won’t be coming back this season for obvious reasons, and Irish, who, according to Ada Pikey, is locked up in the Mad House with all the other nutters, will be lucky to see the inside of a pub ever again. And then there’s Scottie Dog, and she’s just vanished without trace.

  Pegs, as if reading my thoughts, says, ‘Makes you wonder who’s next, Maggie.’

  She does that sometimes, Pegs; catches your thoughts like she can see inside your head. Well, she’d have a shock if she looked into mine after what happened with Danny.

  It’s about half past nine and I’m yawning. I tell the girls that it’s an early night for me. There’s a lull at the bar and I say goodnight to Danny.

  ‘Already, Maggie? The night’s still young.’

  I say, ‘But I’m not, Danny. I need my sleep.’

  He says, ‘You must have been overdoing it, Maggie.’ And it’s the way he says this, with his knowledge of last night, his knowledge of me.

  Then he says quietly, seriously, so that only I can hear, ‘Wednesday, Maggie?’

  ‘Wednesday, Danny.’

  Then he whispers, ‘I’ll stock up on the Viagra,’ and I leave the pub laughing to myself.

  Outside, the roads are wet and the gutters are running with rainwater. It’s damp and cold and windy. It makes me glad I left the heating on. Ken always said it was a waste warming up an empty house but now, although money’s tight, it’s a luxury I’m allowed. And that includes the electric blanket.

  As I’m getting into bed I hear Ken’s concern. ‘Now remember to switch it off, Maggie.’

  I laugh at this because I know I’m going to hear his chiding until the day I die.

  ‘Goodnight, Ken,’ I say and when I shut my eyes I’m into sleep quickly, deeply. And then I’m into dreams, vivid and real. And these dreams are of a middle- aged woman with a girl’s yearnings and a surprise lover.

  I dream of Danny, and next Wednesday suddenly seems a long time away.

  Monday night darts in April.

  The George versus the Gatehouse.

  Katy..

  We’re playing the Gatehouse Groupies at their pub tonight and Johnny James drops me at the George.

  ‘See you ’bout eleven,’ I say.

  He laughs. ‘I’ll count the seconds, Katy.’

  I call him a soft sod and he blows me a kiss as he drives away. I light up a fag and watch him out of sight and I’m thinking that nothing seems to faze him, not the trouble with Laura, not my being married, not me being a wreck half the time. I don’t stand outside smoking for long because it’s bloody cold and wet in the car park.

  Inside, my team are at the bar and Big Nellie grunts at me and says in an introduction, ‘This is Tina. We call her Tiny.’

  She’s shoved a dainty blonde towards me who doesn’t look old enough to be in here – still that wouldn’t worry Danny as long as she can down a few.

  I say, ‘So you’ve played a bit?’ and she says that she’s just f
inished at uni and she was in the team there. She talks really nice, posh almost. Nothing like grunting Nellie.

  ‘Big Sis said you were a player down, so if I can help?’

  I’m wondering how she could be related to Big Nellie; she’s less than half the size and as pretty as a picture. Alongside, and looking down at her with a sister’s fondness, Big Nellie says, ‘She takes after Dad; I’m more like Mum.’

  Now, I don’t want to let my imagination go there, do I?

  Lately we’ve been getting a taxi to the aways but tonight Danny runs us over to the Gatehouse and, soon after eight, we’re straight into our warm-up. Because we’re second in the table we’re a target every week and this team of Groupies have been dying to have a pop at us. They’re several points behind and looking for glory so we could really have done with Irish or Scottie Dog to lighten the load a bit.

  And they’re serious, this lot. On the team game they crowd the oche and yell for each of their players. It pisses me off because it unsettles Tiny on her throw.

  I ask their captain to put a sock in it and she says it’s part of their game and I should like it or lump it, but then Big Nellie loudly interrupts to tell them to, ‘Shut the fuck up while my sister is throwing,’ and the whole pub is suddenly silent.

  Danny mutters to me behind his hand, ‘Christ, she even scares me.’

  Then I have to take a second look at him because he looks so smart: not the usual rumpled Danny. His hair is slicked back, he’s clean-shaven and even his shirt is ironed. And he’s left Paddy looking after the bar, which is risky to say the least. I tell him the Motley Crew will be off their faces on his beer and he gives me a sickly grin. Then he buys us all a drink and sits next to Maggie who perks up at a bit of attention.

  We edge the game, with Tiny scraping through and Big Nellie watching guard over her like a minder. As soon as we’re done I sneak out for a fag and I phone Johnny James.

  I say, ‘We won.’

  He laughs. ‘You always do.’

  Then he tells me he’ll pick me up from the George and I tell him to give me time to have a drink with the girls.

  ‘Not too many,’ he says. ‘I want you conscious.’

  I say, ‘I just want you.’

  Back at the George, Danny ushers Paddy from behind the bar and checks the till. Paddy says, ‘I’ve still got two pints in, Danny.’

  Danny reckons he’s the one who’s been had over and Paddy says that next time he’ll charge him the going rate, not just a few beers.

  Danny reckons that would be cheaper and Paddy reckons that Danny wouldn’t acknowledge a favour even if it jumped up and bit him in the arse. He takes his pint and stomps away to the furthest corner of the bar room.

  Danny says to me, ‘What the fuck’s up with him, Katy?’

  I tell him I haven’t a clue and Danny mutters something about Paddy being an ungrateful bastard.

  I buy the girls a drink and go for a fag. Outside, in the smoking area, there’s a shine of wet on the patio chairs and a drift of rain across the George sign. I light up my cancer stick and text Johnny James:

  Come and get me, lover boy xxxx

  It’s quiet out here and although I can hear the noise of the bar it’s muffled and distant. And I can see the red dot that gives away the CCTV camera, which turned a chance kiss into a catalyst.

  Christ, who’d have thought one little kiss... but it was so much more than that and it makes me think of the Katy I was just a short time ago.

  Katy Jones, plump(ish) mother of a devil daughter and wife to porno-loving Jerry. Unhappy. Unsatisfied. Pissed off with her lot.

  Look at me now: I’m slim and I’ve got a daughter who won’t speak to me and a father who doesn’t know I’m breathing.

  And this is what I dwell on as I blow smoke to the bright, cold moon. I so badly want him to know. I want him to know me.

  Even if it’s just our secret.

  Back inside I’ve time to slot in another voddie, so I join my team for a quickie. I’m sitting next to Pegs (my secret sister) and I ask how things are. I mean with her and Big Dave Trinder but she says her mum’s okay and her dad’s taking things easy for a day or two.

  ‘Got a cough,’ she says. ‘Thinks he’s dying.’

  I laugh at that and then Johnny James sweeps into the bar like he’s Prince Charming and carries me off in his BMW.

  On the way back to his place Johnny James says, ‘You’re quiet, Katy,’ and before I answer he says, ‘Laura again?’ and I say it’s different than that.

  He asks, ‘What?’ and I go quiet and he doesn’t ask again.

  What I can’t tell him, in the comfortable warmth of the Beamer, is that I’m practising the words I’m going to say to Henry Smith.

  If ever chance and courage coincide.

  On Tuesday night I go round Mum’s to pick up a few more of my belongings, what there is of them, because I’m really living at Johnny James’s now. He’s even bought us a new bed, and I’ve also collected several things from… I was going to say ‘my house’ but it’s not my house anymore, it’s Jerry and Laura’s house. It still hits me hard, these little bits of realisation. Anyway Mum and I sit and have a cup of tea and she asks how things are going with Johnny James.

  ‘He’s the best thing that happened to me,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t have got through all this without him.’

  Mum says quietly, ‘None of this would have happened without him.’

  I say, ‘I wasn’t happy before, Mum,’ and that makes me feel guilty for what I’ve got now.

  I’m thinking that Mum’s had a shit life and it’s like it’s over for her. She looks worn-out. There are deep lines on her face and her shoulders are hunched and her hair is grey. Christ, is that how I’ll look in eighteen years’ time? Then I think of how that bastard Jim treated her, how she must have struggled bringing up me and Ellie.

  I see myself at sixteen, knowing it all, gobby as fuck. I see Mum turning away from me after yet another row, shaking her head slowly, tiredly.

  ‘Just do what you like Katy. Do what you like.’

  And I did. So, Mum and I, Laura and I. What’s the difference?

  I put my arms around her then.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

  She says tiredly, ‘So am I, Katy. So am I.’

  I go into the spare room soon after and empty out my drawer in Mum’s cupboard. I fill my hold-all with the underclothes I brought here – God, did I really wear those passion killers and that Granny bra? It’s a bit different than what I’m wearing now, flimsy and soft to touch. And that’s what Johnny James likes.

  Anyway, I pack my bag and then, devious me, because of what’s in my head, takes those photos from Mum’s tin and I bury them beneath my obsolete, grey underwear.

  Thursday night practice.

  Katy.

  When I get to the George, Maggie’s already at the bar – Christ, she seems to live here lately. Pegs reckoned that when she and Big Dave called in for some baccy last night Maggie was settled by the fire like a comfortable farmhouse cat. So I suppose there must be something here for her, and I wonder if one of the Motley Crew is feeding her. I’ll ask Danny later; there’s not much escapes him.

  We pair up for practices: me and Ada Pikey versus Pegs and Tiny with Maggie chalking. Big Nellie calls the scores and Danny keeps reminding us to win on Monday. He’s cleared a place on the shelf behind the bar. ‘For the trophy,’ he says. ‘I can just see it up there. The George team, Six of the Best, winners of the Ladies League.’ Ada Pikey says he shouldn’t count his chickens and Tiny says he shouldn’t count our chickens.

  Danny reckons it’s no sweat and the Battersby Babes will be a pushover. Then I say they beat the Dragons the other week and they were third in the table.

  ‘A fluke,’ he says. ‘Couple of lucky darts.’

  I’m thinking that’s all it takes sometimes, a bit of luck.

  Me and Maggie are getting the drinks in and I order up my vodka and Coke and a rum and Pep for Maggie.
Danny says it seems she’s developed a liking for that drink.

  ‘Keeps the cold out, Danny,’ she says. Warms me up.’

  Danny says, ‘I could do that, Maggie,’ and I tell him he’s a dirty old man and he says he’d make me an offer but he’s become a bit fussier in his advancing years.

  I say I’ve never fancied old age creeping over me anyway and he says that it’s my loss.

  Then alongside us Paddy snorts, ‘Will yer look at the pair of them?’

  Jilted John is sitting in the far corner of the bar-room with a woman who’s considerably older, fatter and drunker than him. They have their arms wrapped around each other – well, his aren’t exactly around her, they aren’t that long – and they’re singing along to the jukebox. Tuneful it’s not.

  Paddy snorts again, ‘Will yer look at the pair of them?’

  I think he’s miffed because he’s losing a drinking partner but Danny asks him if he’s jealous. Then Pikey Pete, who’s just come out the Gents and is still doing his flies up, says, ‘Well, you know about women over forty?’ He waits a second and then out comes, ‘They don’t yell, they don’t tell, and they’re as grateful as hell.’ He’s killing himself at his humour but what I’ll remember is the sly wink that Danny gives to Maggie.

  Christ, surely not them?

  I don’t think I’ll be asking him that question tonight.

  Saturday morning in town.

  Katy.

  I’m in the supermarket this Saturday morning and I hate shopping. I always have, so I go into the café for a cup of strong coffee before facing the aisles and shelves. I’ve just sat down with my drink, and a guilty-looking cream cake, when I see Pegs and her mum, Lydia. Pegs says, ‘Don’t mind if we join you, Katy?’

  As Pegs sits down Lydia says, ‘I’ll get us a cup o’ tea, Peggy.’

  She turns towards the counter and Pegs says, ‘On your own then, Katy?’

  I tell her Johnny James wouldn’t be seen dead pushing a supermarket trolley.

  ‘Nor Dad,’ Pegs says. ‘He always finds something to do at home.’