Decade

by Roberto Rabaiotti

  ‘I’ve got to say that’s quite a change from the last time I saw you.’ Before Karen could carry on, she was interrupted by three youths stumbling into the Wimpy. The two boys were obviously vying for the attention of their pretty companion like alpha males fighting over the prettiest lioness in the pack and their voices were loud. Rhys grinned for he could see she was playing one off against the other. They had been drinking and one of the boys had a string of Welsh Dragon bunting hanging from his neck while the other wore a plastic Union Jack hat. The Wimpy was filling up. After a day’s partying, everyone was feeling famished.

  ‘The whole town’s drunk from what I can gather,’ Rhys commented and, on cue, a group of boys staggered past the Wimpy throwing streamers and blowing plastic horns.

  ‘The whole country more like. It’s quite a day. Some of the pubs are charging 1952 prices for beer, you know, tuppence a pint or something ridiculous like that, so it’s no wonder everyone’s pissed,’ Karen replied with a nod.

  Rhys laughed. ‘Yeah, I had a couple of pints with the boys myself last night in Ponty but I’m so used to not drinking now, it went straight to my head.’

  ‘Yeah! You given up or something?’

  ‘No. I’ve not given up but I’ve really cut back. I only drink beer now; I don’t touch the hard stuff anymore. I feel so much better for it and with my responsibilities now, I’ve got to keep a clear head.’

  ‘Wow! I never thought I’d hear you say that.’

  The pretty waitress returned, two plates in hand, and placed them in front of Rhys and Karen. A moment later, she returned with the two milkshakes. As they tucked in, Rhys looked around the Wimpy. He disliked the orange and white corporate imagery but acknowledged it looked fresh and modern and made a mental note to ensure the Supreme kept up its appearance as well. He took a slurp of his milkshake. It was delicious, tastier than the one he offered if he was honest. He promised himself to explore a different syrup or quality of milk when back in London.

  ‘Did you ever move out of that bedsit of yours, you know, the one you hated so much?’ Karen asked, changing the subject and wiping her mouth.

  ‘God yeah,’ Rhys answered with an air of relief. Looking at Karen, he half-smiled, for, without her knowing, she had wiped away most of the black lipstick or whatever it was she had on her lips. ‘When I bought the Supreme, it came with the flat above, where the previous owners lived.’

  ‘So you own that as well?’ Karen shrieked, her goth eyes open wide and mouth agape.

  ‘Yeah, I do. It’s lovely. It’s got three bedrooms and masses of space and for the first time I can remember, everything actually works. I was lucky in that it was freshly decorated just before I moved in. What’s more, all the kitchen and bathroom units are brand new and I’ve just finished buying some furniture and furnishings from Habitat. I’m really chuffed with the place; it’s everything I’ve always wanted, just fantastic. I still can’t believe it’s mine.’

  ‘God, Rhys, you really have done well.’

  ‘Thanks.’ After a short pause, Rhys resumed on a matter close to his heart. ‘How’s the burger, Karen? And the chips?’

  ‘Not bad. The burger’s a bit overdone but the chips are nice.’

  ‘The chips are pretty good, I’ll give them that, but my frankfurter’s a bit tasteless. I think I’ll stick to good old-fashioned British bangers.’ Karen didn’t reply and chewed on a chip but she could see how Rhys’s mind was working overtime and how committed he was to his business. It was impressive. Rhys quickly changed the subject, not wanting to sound boring or appear rude by always talking about himself. ‘Anyway, enough about me. How are things with you? Ian was asking last night.’

  Karen knew Rhys was fishing on his friend’s behalf for they had gone out together occasionally. Deep down, Karen was in two minds about Ian and, if truth be told, he didn’t help himself. ‘Oh, I’m fine, you know, fighting off all my admirers,’ she lied with a laugh. ‘Ian’s very nice but he always gets so drunk when we go out that I can’t understand what he’s on about by the end of the evening. Because he likes to drink and I don’t drive and we live twelve miles apart, we don’t get to see each other very much. Not sure what he’d think of me now if he saw me like this?’

  ‘Oh, Ian’s into punk as well so I don’t think you’d have any trouble there. I know he’s keen and so he should be. You’re a very good-looking girl.’

  Karen sliced off another piece of burger and placed it into her mouth. She appeared nonchalant but her cheeks flushed on hearing the compliment. It was the first time anyone had ever told her that and she didn’t know how to react but she certainly understood what Vicki meant when she talked about Rhys making her feel like a million dollars.

  Rhys took her silence as a sign that she did not want to discuss Ian any further so he let the matter drop. He had said what Ian had asked him to say so it was up to them now. He dug his fork into a few chips and put them into his mouth. Yes, they were tasty, he had to admit, but he preferred the chunky ones he offered to the thin ones on his plate and decided not to make any change to his versions.

  Another decision Rhys had taken before meeting Karen was not to bang on about Vicki all the time. He would ask after her out of politeness, of course, but he knew where he stood and, so immersed was he in his business that, bit by bit, her memory had stopped consuming his mind. Even the desperate night-time hours passed by comfortably enough now. He had even taken up Christos’s suggestion to see what he could get from some of the girls working at Arding & Hobbs and, on more than one occasion, pleasingly, he had got exactly what he had hoped for. Vicki consumed his life to a far lesser extent. He only thought about her every hour of the day now rather than every five minutes.

  As Rhys finished his meal by wiping his plate with a piece of bread, he caught sight of Karen adjusting the safety pin in her lip. He grinned. ‘It can’t be easy eating with that thing there?’

  ‘It’s awful, if I’m honest,’ Karen replied with a pained expression. ‘All I can taste is blood.’

  Rhys screwed up his face. ‘The things we do for fashion.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Karen agreed with feeling. ‘At least platforms are on their way out at last.’ Rhys smiled and looked up at the clock on the wall. His train would be leaving in half an hour. He was about to ask Karen how Vicki was when she got onto the subject herself in an indirect manner. ‘England seem to be struggling to qualify for the World Cup next year, don’t they?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Rhys replied with a nod. ‘That would be two World Cups running they would miss out on. That’s unbelievable for a side like them.’

  ‘And Tommy Slater’s been dropped from the team as well.’

  The mention of the name induced a dull ache in Rhys’s stomach though, outwardly, Karen witnessed no obvious physical reaction from him. ‘Yeah, I saw that. Well, he is getting on a bit and that new kid from Liverpool who’s taken his place is pretty shit hot.’

  ‘He’s not very happy. In fact, he’s gone mental about it.’

  Rhys had not read this in the newspapers or heard it on the news so he knew Karen must have got it from Vicki. ‘Well, it’s to be expected, I suppose.’ Karen was about to interrupt but Rhys carried on. ‘What’s interesting is all this speculation he might be transferred to Leeds United this summer. I can’t imagine Vicki living up there.’ There it was, the first time her name had been mentioned all afternoon and, in recognition, they both sank their eyes and averted each other’s gazes, slightly uneasily.

  ‘No, nor me,’ Karen answered with little doubt.

  ‘She’d have to give up her job if she did and Vicki would hate that. By the way, is she President Mitchell yet? It wouldn’t surprise me if she was,’ Rhys added with a chuckle.

  Karen sank her eyes once more but this time her expression changed to one of utter gloom. She didn’t reply immediately and only shook her head, pursing her lips. Rhys was puzzled by this reaction but waited for Karen to say something first before opening his mou
th. He was all ears and took a slurp of his milkshake, his eyes never leaving Karen for a second as he peered over the rim of the tall glass.

  ‘Actually, she left her job a couple of years back, right after she got married.’ Karen left the sentence floating in the air, not expanding on it or explaining the reasons why.

  ‘Oh,’ was all Rhys could say, leaving the milkshake alone. He looked baffled.

  ‘Yeah, Tommy wanted her to leave straight away.’

  ‘Why’s th …’

  But before Rhys could even finish, Karen cut in with an angry rasp. ‘Because he’s a shyster, that’s why?’ Rhys was taken aback at Karen’s vehemence and wondered whether she was reflecting Vicki’s views or just her own. He didn’t have long to wonder, however, for Karen was soon off on a tirade. ‘Yeah, he’s just a selfish, chauvinist shyster. He doesn’t care about Vicki, only himself. All he wants is for her to stay at home and play the dutiful housewife. She loved that job and now all she does is twiddle her thumbs. He’s so insecure, you’d never believe it. He won’t let Vicki do anything. She’s just a possession to him, someone who looks nice on his arm, a trophy. The last couple of years have been hell for her. It’s a real shame.’

  When Karen finally stopped, Rhys remained quiet. This was a turn-up for the books. Whenever he saw pictures of Vicki in newspapers and magazines, she always had a smile on her face, arm in arm with her famous husband. Perhaps the camera does lie after all. He was at a loss what to say and just stared at Karen who looked to be on the point of exploding. She lowered her head and took a final loud slurp of her milkshake which helped calm her down a little. Rhys was still dumbfounded, but, looking back up at the wall clock, knew he would have to make a move in a minute if he was to catch his train.

  He called the waitress over and asked for the bill. As they waited for her to bring it to their table, they remained silent. Karen could see that Rhys’s mind was in a whirl, his eyes distracted as he tried to evaluate what any of this might mean for him. Puffing out his cheeks, he concluded it meant nothing. If Vicki had issues with Tommy, that was for her to sort out. After all, wasn’t he just her nightmare boyfriend from the past in her eyes? He didn’t get too upset at this recollection these days for he had become accustomed to knowing where he stood with Vicki and had moved on … of sorts.

  The waitress returned and Rhys insisted on paying despite Karen’s protest. He left a generous tip of seventy-five pence which lit up the waitress’s eyes in delight. Getting to his feet, Rhys put on his jacket, picked up his holdall and, observing that the floor of the Supreme was always cleaner than that of this Wimpy, he escorted Karen outside and walked her the short distance to her bus stop. The weather was so mild they both left their jackets unzipped. As they arrived, two young girl revellers skipped past them arm in arm, one waving a Union Jack, the other a Welsh flag.

  ‘Well, Karen, it’s been great seeing you again and next time I’m down I’ll give you a buzz, definitely. It’s none of my business, I know, but when I speak to Ian next I’m going to tell him he needs to shape up and cut back on his drinking should you want to see each other again. I did say I’d report back but I’m leaving it at that.’

  ‘We’ll see. Yeah, you must give me a buzz when you’re down next. It’s always nice to meet up and if I’m ever in London I’ll give you a call, too.’

  ‘Yeah, do that, promise me.’ And with that, Rhys gave Karen a hug.

  A typical bloke, Karen thought with a smile, as she extricated herself from his arms. He’s about as subtle as a brick, she reflected further, as she recalled how he would report back to Ian as if he were a soldier on a scouting mission. Karen was concerned, however, whether, for her part, she had been too subtle with him because, only a few days earlier, she’d had a long conversation with Vicki who was eager to know where the land lay with Rhys, with a view, no doubt, of making contact should things sound promising. But Karen feared she had not explored enough, indeed, at all, what Rhys now felt for Vicki and, with him about to leave, she had nothing much to report back to Vicki herself. She was terrible at playing these games and felt very ill-at-ease. But Rhys’s next comment made her believe, helpfully, that perhaps she had touched a nerve in him after all.

  ‘I was just wondering, Karen, what you were saying about Vicki. She can’t be very happy, can she?’

  ‘You’re right there. She’s really miserable, actually.’ Karen was going to leave it at that but instead developed the statement, looking Rhys in the eye to make it obvious that he should take her seriously. ‘In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if she left him. But, you know, we girls hate to be alone, don’t we?’

  Rhys was stunned by this comment. He became disorientated, not knowing what to do or what to say. He picked up his holdall but then put it back down again. A few seconds later, he repeated the action. Eventually, clasping Karen lightly by the arm, he proffered a weak and nervous, ‘She wouldn’t do that, would she?’ His throat was so dry, the words sounded as if they had been scraped from his larynx.

  Without hesitation and in a confident tone, Karen replied, ‘You watch this space.’

  The journey back to his flat in London took four hours. To Rhys, it flew by in five minutes.

  CHAPTER 16

  ‘Oh, what a surprise!’ A sarcastic-sounding and furious-looking Tommy Slater stared sternly at his wife, hands on hips, and shook his head in dismay. He emitted an almighty sigh before stomping off in the direction of the bedroom to retrieve a tie. He was running late and this predictable piece of news only added to his flustered state.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tommy, but what can I do? There’s no point asking me every day, it’s not gonna change anything,’ Vicki bellowed as she cradled a mug of coffee in her hands while sitting at the dining room table.

  Unlike Tommy, who was immaculately attired in a lightweight, pale grey, linen and wool mix single-breasted suit, Vicki was still wearing her nightdress under a tightly-belted cream-coloured dressing gown. Tommy returned in a rush, fixing his tie, before rummaging in a drawer for his wallet. A taxi was waiting for him outside, ready to whisk him away to Wimbledon to watch the Ladies Final between Virginia Wade and Betty Stöve in the presence of the Queen, the two of them having received special invitations from none other than the chairman of the All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club himself. Tommy had accepted on his own behalf but declined on that of his wife. Vicki was not keen on tennis and, anyway, they had stopped doing things together a long time ago, so much so that there were even the first stirrings in the press at the poor state of their marriage. However, as often the case, the stories were inaccurate. Their marriage was not in a poor state; it was in a terrible state.

  Tucking the wallet into an inside jacket pocket, Tommy looked at himself in the hallway mirror, ran a finger along the inside of his shirt collar, fastened one jacket button and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him without even a goodbye.

  ‘Bye, Tommy,’ Vicki spat under her breath venomously. She was fed up of the daily inquisition as if a miracle had taken place overnight. Tommy’s question was even more regular than her periods and it was this that was the reason for his fury for Vicki had failed to fall pregnant and the frustration he and his parents felt at the lack of a child and new grandchild was reaching boiling point. What’s wrong with her? Tommy’s family would ask him, never for once believing that the problem might be with their Golden Boy. There was never a suggestion he might want to get himself checked out at a doctor’s. East End boys didn’t do things like that. Tommy had been encouraging Vicki to go to the doctor’s herself but she had flatly refused and urged him to be patient. But his patience was wearing thin. After all, hadn’t he married Vicki to have a child and, preferably, a son? Wasn’t that her duty? he often said to himself and to his parents as if he was the King of England.

  Vicki was glad Tommy had gone. She’d have some peace and quiet to think hard about what she should do. This would not be for the first time, and she was ninety-nine per cent there. She was goin
g to ask him for a divorce. She would have done it earlier, much earlier, but Vicki took her marriage vows seriously and didn’t want to turn her back on them at the first sign of trouble. She had hoped Tommy might change and revert back to how he had been at the beginning of their relationship. But her hopes had proven futile.

  As Vicki went over the arguments in her head, knowing that all she was really searching for was courage, she stood up and went back into the kitchen to make herself another coffee. Deeply pensive, she leaned against the fridge, the kettle hissing and rumbling in the background. She gave a slight nod to acknowledge that she had genuinely tried her best to make the marriage work.

  Vicki had been devastated to give up her job but Tommy had persuaded her that were she to fall pregnant, she would have to leave it eventually, and perhaps in only a few months time. He had reminded her that as they planned to have four children, one right after the other, it was conceivable she might not return to work for years, if at all. There was some merit in Tommy’s argument, she had concluded reluctantly at the time, knowing that with four children she would probably stay at home full-time, though she would have liked to have continued working right through her first pregnancy until it became impossible. But here she was, two years down the road, with no children in sight, and two possible years in a job she had loved wasted.

  Yes, two wasted years of boredom, hanging around the apartment doing nothing. Sure, there had been some enjoyable dinners and functions, and Tommy never failed to shower her with expensive baubles, however grotesque. But she was afraid to breathe in his presence or talk to any other man without receiving ugly and jealous looks which put him in a wretched mood for days on end. She had given up long ago choosing an outfit for herself to wear so often did he tell her to take it off. It had come to the point where she would ask him first; at least she saved time that way. And heaven forbid should she argue back. Tommy could get so angry, his eyes almost demonic, that on more than one occasion Vicki thought he would do her some physical harm. It had not come to that yet and Vicki was always careful to back down before his mouth started foaming with rage like a rabid dog. But she hated herself for doing so, for feeling so weak, pathetic even, but she had to admit he did put the fear of God into her sometimes. Tommy Slater had to have it all his own way.