by Gerald Wixey
My old man punched me on the bicep as he said, ‘It’s amazing, they twist us around and turn us into lambs, lions into lambs.’ He liked that so much he laughed, dad turned back to Kathy and said it again. ‘Lions into lambs – how’d you do it?’
Kathy frowned and looked back to Tommy, who said, ‘Take no notice of the silly old fucker, he’s been in a funny old mood all evening.’
My old man took his stare away from me and across to Tommy. Dad leant across the counter and looked intently into Tommy’s eyes. I stared on as he sipped his beer, took a deep drag on his cigarette and picked up a handful of peanuts from the bowl. He chewed and took another drink, another drag and chewed away through it all. He threw his head back my way and said, ‘The boy’s hit the money this time – who’d have thought it, we’re going to be grandfathers.’
Here we go, first argument of the evening.
Tommy’s head jerked up and his eyes flashed back across the bar. He drained his glass, pushed it back towards my old man, stared at me and then said. ‘I can’t fucken believe it.’
My old man leaned in close to Tommy’s face. ‘Being a grandfather can’t be too bad.’ He picked up Tommy’s glass and said. ‘Don’t you like the idea of it then, make you feel old does it?’
Tommy said, ‘Does it fuck.’ He nodded the short distance across to me, ‘I can’t believe that wanker managed to put my daughter up the spout.’
Tommy leant back on his stool, safely out of reach from dad and sat there open-mouthed, a naughty schoolboy. Their eyes locked for a few seconds, my old man’s frown lowered to dangerous proportions as he glowered away at Tommy. Then like a light switch being thrown, their mood lifted and they both laughed.
My old man glanced my way and said. ‘Have you heard?’
I frowned and my chest tightened at the sudden change in his voice.
‘Too bloody much time in the bedroom I expect. Ron’s out on bail, be careful when you walk home.’
‘How? Why?’
‘Smart solicitor argued that he was no danger. Soft-hearted magistrate and…’
I glanced over at Kathy as my head reeled, ‘Did you know?’
Kathy nodded and then smiled. ‘Just stay out of his way.’
‘I’m always the last to find out anything around here.’
Kathy ignored that, she raised her eyebrows at me and nodded towards Bernice… It’s that time.
An inward groan from me, followed by an audible sigh – I’d rather meet Ron in murky alleyway. Tommy laughed and my old man clapped me between the shoulder blades with the flat of his hand. Tommy pointed at me and snapped. ‘Don’t keep Bernice waiting, she wants a word with you.’ Then he smiled, ‘No need to look like that… what’s up with you? Take it like a fucken man.’
‘Off you go.’ They chorused together and I followed Kathy over the short distance towards Bernice, Woodbine welded to her bottom lip, she saw me and quickly looked the other away.
I took a deep breath and sat down opposite.
She stared at the curtained window. Her hounding personality drifted my way in waves of antagonistic hostility. I felt years of her resentment wash over me. I hoped that things might thaw between us now, what with me and Kathy, but nothing had changed. Bernice talked as if I wasn’t there, I listened to the one-sided tirade. It was no wonder Kathy left home so early; getting married to the wrong man preferable to living with Bernice and Tommy with their constant and often vicious arguments.
The untipped Woodbine stuck between her thin lips bounced around like a conductor’s baton. Bernice writhed in silent discomfort at the very idea of her daughter and me… That man. She rubbed her turkey-choking talons together. I stared at Bernice’s skin, parched and as brittle as tissue paper. Her eyes vague and somewhat watery, hawk-nosed and angry usually. Lips forever tight together and forming a dark red line of lipstick and rancour. The frown, apparently welded in place.
Kathy glanced over towards the bar; I knew that she longed to be sat alongside Tommy, listening to her father’s reassuring profanities. She looked across at Bernice, it was tough going for both of us. Kathy tried once more. ‘I’m pregnant mum. You should be happy for me.’
Bernice’s relentless antagonism towards me manifested once more. ‘I should be happy, I would be if anyone else was the father, but I’m worried. You know he’s just like his uncle – he’s trouble, too.’
I should have moved, or at least looked the other way. I wanted to tell her to shut her mouth. But I’d promised – anyway, Kathy stuck to her guns. ‘You should be pleased for me. I love him and I’ve never been so happy – he makes me happy.’ Her green eyes, large and fluid and soft, had an intensity that contradicted first impressions; her mother had managed to upset her once again. Kathy stood up, time to shock. She rubbed her stomach and said, ‘He only prays in one church you know, mum.’
I stifled a laugh as Kathy winked at me and then she smiled at Bernice’s blank stare. Then the penny dropped. Bernice sucked her breath in, stared my way and shook her head. ‘He hasn’t even got a proper job. And I’ll never forgive him for what he did to Declan, and poor Kenny… Well.’
Bernice sent a frowning look my way that said I’ll never forgive you.
‘Mum …’ Kathy shut her eyes, what’s the point.
Penance over, I stood and said, ‘I’m going to see Wyn.’
Bernice closed her eyes at the mention of my uncle’s name. Then she fumbled for her cigarettes like an overwrought blind woman in a sand storm. I raised my eyebrows at Kathy; she smiled and nodded and I made my escape.
I wandered through to the smoke room to see Uncle Wyn and Shirley, the only two in there. Wyn beamed my way and Shirley stared down at the floor. Wyn’s right hand rested insouciantly in the expensive sports jacket pocket, his left elbow rested against the mantle shelf. He took his look away from me and stared down at the fire for a minute. Then he glanced back over to Shirley. ‘You know that’s how I was, faithful as long as their bank balances held up.’
I smiled and Shirley brought her gaze towards Wyn and laughed softly, ‘Wicked bugger – we all know that’s not true.’
‘Not in your case.’ He said this quickly and we all knew that to be true.
Shirley’s fingers drummed away on the table in front of her and she nodded silently; the sound of the piano from the public bar drifted through, like morning mist over the canal bank; followed by the heartening burst of shouting from my old man, mingled with a regular curse from Tommy. They looked at each other and smiled, but they were both preoccupied, I thought. Shirley’s immaculately applied make-up covering the beating her ex-husband gave her a couple of days earlier. A slightly swollen eyebrow and a puffy cheek, the only indicators of another of Ron’s nasty little hobbies.
Wyn said. ‘He’ll soon be back inside, you can relax again.’
Shirley’s nose flared and she brought her head slowly up, a frown firmly in place. ‘Yes… Just when I think it’s safe to get things moving and two days later they release him.’
Wyn looked around the smoke room, there were two sofas against the longer of the walls and a couple of comfortable easy chairs, one against each of the shorter walls. Sunday night was usually empty early on. I always thought they met up as some sort of ritualistic service to the memory of their doomed affair, meeting in comfortable peace and reassuring solitude. Just a quiet chat between old friends, ex-lovers, relaxed and secure with the occasional silences. Making each other laugh, usually, but not tonight.
He glanced back at Shirley with her thick blonde hair, blue eyes and those cultured cheekbones. Wyn smiled and no wonder, not a grey hair in sight.
Shirley uncrossed her legs and pressed the knees demurely together. ‘He looked a mess.’
‘Ron?’ Wyn moved away from the fire and stood directly in front of her. ‘He’s been round?’
Shirley lit a cigarette and stared at Wyn for a few seconds. ‘Been around? Course he has.’ Shirley glanced my way, ‘
I felt nothing, not a thing. Told him to get lost.’ She shook her head, ‘He just walked away – up the path. Never even called me a bitch.’
Wyn shut his eyes, how could anyone call you that?
‘Are you going to have another one?’ He nodded towards her empty glass.
Shirley hammered her cigarette into the ashtray, sighed and stood, brushed her skirt down and then smiled up at Wyn. ‘Early night, bags to pack.’ She buttoned her long raincoat and picked her handbag up. Wyn walked the short distance to the door and opened it for her. Shirley turned back, ‘How long will you be?’
I felt my eyebrows arch, what’s going on?
Wyn thought for a minute, tipped his head a touch and frowned, as if remembering a time when that invitation was proffered regularly.
He sighed. ‘Not long, I’m going back into the bar and catch up on the gossip.’
Shirley smiled, ‘Find out what I’ve been up to?’
Wyn laughed, ‘Something like that.’
Shirley rested her elegant fingers on the back of Wyn’s hand. ‘Old friends.’ She stared my way and raised her eyebrows. It was Wyn’s first crisis of confidence for thirty years; sixty years old and he’s having a mid-life crisis. Shirley kissed him on the cheek and closed the door behind her.
‘Old friends.’ Wyn said this as though he was the only person in the room.
I shook my head; I didn’t ask him what was going on. He’d tell me soon enough. I said, ‘I’m going down to the Lamb, got some celebrating to do… You coming?’ I always asked him and he mostly said no, but he appreciated the offer; still one of the boys.
‘Not too much celebrating now.’ He shook my hand and we stared at each other, his soft brown eyes sparkling my way, first time I’d seen that for a couple of months. ‘I’m taking Shirley down to Cornwall for a few days, until Ron’s safely out of the way.’
His chest came out, how about that one, then?
I smiled at him. ‘Lucky man – that could take months though.’
He laughed, ‘Let’s hope so.’ Then Wyn frowned and his lips turned down, he sighed and I watched as his hand came my way and gently gripped my bicep. How many years has he been doing that? I felt warm and shivered at the same time. Wyn’s soothing words drifted my way. ‘Listen… God knows how or why they let him out, but Ron’s out on the prowl, he’s got nothing to lose – you’ll be careful won’t you?’
***
I walked into the Lamb and noticed them straightaway, sat by the inglenook fireplace. Ron was wedged into a corner seat and Kenny sat opposite. Ron’s stoat eyes darted everywhere, but they homed in on me and rested for a few seconds before flashing off somewhere else.
Why are they out together?
Kenny noticed me as well; he picked the two empty glasses up, walked up to the bar and stood next to me. He ordered two pints and stared intently to the front.
I spoke first. ‘Why did they let him out?’
It grieved me to say it, but Kenny had turned into a good-looking man, his father’s son all right; with dark skin, strong chin and nose, tall like his mother, but with a pronounced stoop. The last few months had taken a toll, however; his hair, once black and thick had become lank and too long. He constantly brushed it straight back over his head only for it to tumble forward again whenever he stared down. His eyelids operated much the way a lizard’s flicked and slithered open.
Not that they met mine, his face flushed as he spoke, ‘Let who out? What are you talking about?’
‘Haven’t you seen Shirley?’
‘I’ve just got back, been away all week.’ His mouth formed a tight circle and he slowly shook his head. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Perhaps you should ask that nasty bastard you’re drinking with.’
Whenever I stood close to Kenny, my focus went to the subject of his pedigree, the issue that had gripped me and tormented Kenny for most of his life. My transparent thoughts read by Kenny who stared right through me. I bunched my fists, stood up straight and stared back. Instead of a fight, Kenny looked over my shoulder and asked, ‘How’s Kathy?’
It should have been easy to just say she’s well. But old habits die hard, anyway I had someone on my shoulder, a fiendish imp whispering in my ear. Go on, hurt him some more and I nearly said it; she’s pregnant.
One word and I imagined Kenny’s pupils dilating and the redness draining from his cheeks.
Pregnant!
My turn to read the thoughts of a distressed man stood next to me. I sighed and tried to make eye contact while Kenny stared straight ahead. I cuffed the little demon away. ‘She’s well, thanks.’
‘Tell her I asked after her.’
I found the concern of a husband as to the welfare of his ex-wife more than touching. In fact I allowed myself to feel a touch of guilt at last, a brief bubble of culpability constantly under threat by my blunt spear of hostility. I nodded Kenny’s way and said, ‘I’ll tell her.’
He picked the beer up and started to walk away. Kenny stopped, turned and looked into my eyes, once again the hairs on my wrists stood on end. Not at the imagined onset of an assault, but the colour of his eyes still jolted right through me.
He brought me back sharply. ‘I walked in here for a quiet drink, bumped into him and suddenly I’ve got to nursemaid that evil little fucker.’ He rushed on, giving me no chance to answer. ‘He told me what he did. Tell Kathy I’m sorry, I had no idea. Can you believe it? The bastard. I had a job not to push my glass into his face.’
Kenny stood there, open-mouthed for a few seconds and I half-expected more bile to come my way. I just watched as he blinked a couple of times; he didn’t know about Shirley.
I said. ‘Don’t do anything silly.’ Then I did something so stupid that, on reflection, just beggared belief. ‘Ask him how Shirley is and tell him not to break the terms of his bail.’
‘Bail?’ Kenny frowned and never replied for a few seconds, he started to rub his temples between thumb and index finger. When he spoke, his hand covered his face, like he was wearing a visor worn by card players or someone with a dislike for bright light. ‘I’ve not seen her since I’ve got back, I’ve had a few days away and when I come back.’ He nodded over towards Ron. ‘He tells me he’s the one that almost killed Kathy… said it like he did me a favour. What would you do?’
Kenny never gave me chance to answer, he wheeled away and I stared at his back, my turn to stand and watch with my mouth hanging open. Ron had told him about assaulting me, but not about punching Shirley, or being out on bail. Kenny couldn’t care less about me, but now that he knows that Ron battered Kathy, well if he found out about Shirley as well.
Repercussions ricocheted around inside my head. Kenny’s deranged look of a manic nemesis on the prowl, the one that he’d been wearing all evening, would soon be put to practical use. The unhinged appearance that soon to be realised retribution had cemented on his face – would that soon become a reality?
I shook my head. Looking back, I should have just walked over and punched Ron myself. That would have been an end to everything, but I was too busy telling everyone within earshot my good news. Too busy doing what I was best at, too busy being the big man in a small town.
I never noticed either of them leave.
When I realised, I put my half-empty pint down and hurried outside. The cold air hit me at the same time as I realised that Ron was in danger. Instead of a casual five minute stroll home, I raced after two men I hated; onwards into a sinister and ghostly world. Not my customary spectral wander under dim streetlights. Not another penitential walk home; but a desperate scramble to stop a murderous assault. The quicker I moved, the more my mind rambled. My sense of perspective rebelled, quickly forgetting Kathy and babies. Instead, I thought of Kenny, alone… Would he have blood on his hands by now?
A brisk tail wind pushed me along a footpath that meandered and mirrored the course of Letcombe brook. The moon’s fitful appearance sent vague shadows across in fron
t of me. My usual vision of Kenny lurking in the darkness kept me wide-eyed and alert. I crossed the brook and listened as my footsteps echoed across the wooden footbridge by the old mill.
That’s when I saw the body.
It had fallen in the recovery position, on its left side with the right arm across the face. My chest began to heave like a pair of hard-working blacksmith’s bellows. All the time, my mind crashed around at tangents as I stared down. Despite the badly-lit, narrow lane with its large hedges and larger trees, I recognised it immediately. Not just any random dead man you might stumble across on your way back from a night out either, but Ron Catmore. I tipped my head a touch and frowned; in this light Ron looked at peace, the way any sleeping drunk does, oblivious to the world and happy to remain that way. My pulse slowed and I no longer wheezed like a racehorse in the winner’s enclosure. I felt calm and even bent down and looked into his dead eyes. The funny thing was, I felt no revulsion or indeed any kind of sick compulsion. I thought it would be a situation that I could luxuriate in.
But instead I felt nothing.
I bent down and ran the back of my fingers across the unshaven cheek; ice cold, dead cold. Why didn’t he ever shave? The cheek was sharp and spiky like coarse emery paper, but cold like only a dead man can feel. That’s when I noticed the blood trickling down the hill. That and the camber of the dimly-lit track forcing it to take its slow, snaking route to the brook a couple of yards away.
I squinted at the blood dribbling its way from the mouth, not there – where? I fumbled around the head and behind the right ear, there… Like the source of the Nile. It felt like half of his head was missing. I jumped up and shuddered at the wetness on my hand. I wiped it on Ron’s donkey jacket and then stood, trembling. I took one more deep lungful of air.