An Extra Shot

by Stephen Anthony Brotherton

  ‘Yes?’ said the barman, looking us up and down.

  ‘We’d like to see the wine list,’ said Freddie.

  I could have kissed him.

  The conversations at the tables started back up.

  ‘Of course,’ said the barman, handing the menu over. ‘Would you like to see the food menu as well?’

  ‘I think I’m going to go for the carvery,’ said Freddie.

  ‘Pork, beef or chicken?’ said the barman.

  Freddie chose the chicken, which I remembered he always used to have in Max’s. I asked what the vegetarian option was, thinking it was going to be nut roast, but was pleasantly surprised when the barman handed over another menu. ‘My wife’s a vegetarian,’ he said. ‘You two staying at Granny Mary’s cottage?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘I thought everyone who comes visiting stays at Granny Mary’s.’

  ‘We’re not,’ I said, still looking at the menu. ‘What’s the red dragon pie like?’

  ‘Really nice. One of the wife’s favourites. She puts extra soy sauce in to spice it up a bit.’

  ‘I’ll have that,’ I said.

  The barman closed his notebook and walked away down a corridor at the back of the bar, which I assumed led to the kitchen.

  ‘Who do you think Granny Mary is?’ I said to Freddie.

  ‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘But she sounds like a character from a Stephen King book.’

  Freddie – August 2015

  It was after midnight by the time I dropped Jo-Jo at the hotel and I was struggling to keep my eyes open after the drive back from Devon. I managed to get the car back to Jack’s house, park it on his drive and post the keys through his letterbox. I then walked home, my head bursting with Jo-Jo and our weekend. I felt like making an announcement in the coffee shop, shouting it out over the coffee grinder, the steamer and the gossipy chatter, telling everyone about our new memories – the lake, the boat, Gordon the Trout, Muscadet, Eddi Reader, the village of the damned pub, my clumsy fall out of bed.

  Jack texted me the next morning to say he’d pick me up at twelve thirty and he was taking me to the Mason’s Arms for lunch. He pulled up outside the house bang on time and beeped the horn. I went through my leaving the house checks, starting in the kitchen, room to room, plugs out, taps off, making sure the curtains were equidistant each side of the windows, locking and unlocking the back door, counting, one, two, three, four, moving the handle up and down after each turn of the key, same routine with the front door, one, two, three, four.

  ‘Your mum has a lot to answer for,’ said Jack as I climbed into the passenger seat.

  ‘You can’t help who you are,’ I said.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said, turning to face me. ‘You’ve had sex. I can tell by the look on your face. I thought you were on the sofa.’

  ‘So did I.’

  I told him everything about the weekend on our way to the pub. One glorious sentence rolled into another, and another, and another. I had to force myself to take a breath. ‘It was wonderful,’ I said. ‘We just fitted.’

  ‘You always did,’ he said. ‘You just needed to get that head of yours sorted.’

  ‘I can’t believe we’ve wasted so many years.’

  ‘I’m happy for you, Freddie. It’s felt like the longest running soap opera of all time, but at least you got it together eventually.’

  ‘Where’s Bob?’ I said. ‘I thought he’d be with you.’

  ‘He’s meeting us there. There was no way he was going to miss this lunch.’

  *

  Bob was sitting in one of the three red leather Sherlock chairs, which were positioned in front of the fireplace next to the bar. It was a prime spot in the winter with the coal fire blazing but hardly ever used during the summer. On the wall there were framed pictures of ex-Wolverhampton Wanderers footballers, some of them signed – Derek Dougan, Phil Parkes, Derek Parkin. The pub was quiet, just a couple of pot-bellied regulars standing in front of the games machine. There was usually four of them playing the Who Wants to Be a Millionaire quiz, whooping at correct answers, chastising each other for stupid ones, drinking pints of real ale and dipping into a jumbo bag of cheesy Quavers ripped open on a table in front of them. Jack could never resist making his hygiene alert – ‘I bet none of them washes their hands when they go to the toilet, which means that bag of Quavers is being seasoned with all of their urine, and worse.’

  ‘You look like you’ve been here a while,’ I said to Bob.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ he said. ‘I wanted to hear about your Don Juan adventures.’

  ‘Freddie as Don Juan,’ said Jack. ‘Now there’s an image.’

  ‘I’ll get some drinks,’ I said.

  ‘Just a coke for me,’ said Jack.

  Bob nodded. ‘I’ll have the same.’

  I turned to the bar, but the barman was already pouring the drinks. ‘And I’m guessing you’ll have a dandelion and burdock,’ he said. ‘You three really are the last of the big spenders.’

  ‘Remind me why we come here again,’ said Jack.

  ‘You like the atmosphere and the politeness of the staff,’ said the barman. ‘Do you want these on a tab?’

  I nodded. ‘We might get some food later.’

  ‘I won’t hold my breath,’ he said, lining the drinks up on the bar.

  *

  ‘So, how was it?’ said Bob. ‘I can tell you’ve had sex.’

  ‘I said that,’ said Jack. ‘It’s so obvious.’

  ‘It was perfect,’ I said.

  ‘Please,’ said Jack. ‘Once is okay, Freddie, but I don’t want to hear it all again.’

  ‘I haven’t heard it,’ said Bob.

  ‘That’s right, Jack. Bob hasn’t heard it.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Jack, holding up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Tell it all again, but the big question is, what next?’

  ‘I’ll call her I suppose,’ I said.

  ‘You mean you haven’t agreed anything?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You’ve had a perfect weekend, Freddie. When are you seeing her again?’

  ‘I don’t think we actually said.’

  ‘I can’t believe you,’ said Jack. ‘You describe a weekend straight out of Ali MacGraw and Ryan O’Neal’s ‘Love Story’ and then you walk away without knowing when you’re going to see her again.’

  ‘It didn’t come up.’

  ‘Not everyone’s as pushy as you,’ said Bob. ‘He’s playing it cool.’

  ‘No he isn’t,’ said Jack. ‘You weren’t, were you? You just forgot.’

  ‘I’ll call her,’ I said. ‘I’ll go outside and call her.’

  Jo-Jo – August 2015

  I walked through the hotel reception and smiled at the man behind the desk. It was the same man who always called me madam and wore an expression like he was about to be held up at gunpoint whenever Amy walked towards him. I’d sent Amy a text on our journey home to let her know when I was getting back and not to wait up. She’d replied saying she wanted to meet up for breakfast in the conservatory. Her text had two big smiley face emojis at the end.

  The next morning, I walked into the conservatory. Amy waved at me from one of the wicker chairs next to the yellow daisy patterned jardinière, which was home for a well-established citrus tree – we’d discovered the tree was lemon by rubbing the leaves and releasing the aroma of its oils. ‘I’ve ordered your tea,’ she said as I sat down. ‘How was the weekend?’

  ‘It was lovely. We had a lovely time.’

  ‘Did you share a bed?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘That means yes.’

  I smiled and looked down at the glass-topped cane table. ‘That waitress always takes her time bringing the tea.’

  Amy squeezed my leg and l
aughed. ‘Good for you, Mum. When are you seeing him again?’

  I felt the smile slip off my face. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘It did go well though?’ she said, putting her coffee cup back in its saucer.

  The waitress walked over carrying a tray. ‘Earl Grey, Madam?’

  I nodded and she placed the teapot, one cup and saucer and a jug of milk on the table. I lifted the lid off the pot and started swishing the bag around with a teaspoon. It always reminded me of Mum and our trips to Cannock.

  ‘Mum,’ said Amy.

  I put the lid back on the pot and poured the tea. ‘It went very well,’ I said. ‘A bit too well if I’m honest.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He was wonderful, the old Freddie, my Freddie. It made me remember how much I loved him, realise how much I still love him.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘In a way, but it came back so easily, so quickly. I need to think about it.’

  ‘There’s no rush, Mum. Enjoy it, take in every second. He’s not putting pressure on you, is he?’

  ‘No. I’m putting pressure on me. I never expected to feel like this again. It’s, well, you get used to being…’

  ‘Alone. You’re going to say alone, aren’t you?’

  ‘It’s not just that. There are things he doesn’t know. Things I need to tell him.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell him anything. I’m sure he’s lived a life as well.’

  ‘I mean things that involve him. From when we were kids.’

  I took a sip of my tea.

  ‘Mum, tell me what happened. I think I can guess.’

  ‘You can’t. Not about this.’

  ‘Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do,’ she said. ‘At the time it’s the right decision, but it doesn’t mean you don’t regret it later. You were eighteen and on your own.’

  I looked at her. The image of her, seven years old, playing with her Sindy doll and Eagle Eyes Action Man, marrying them off in a wedding ceremony, standing them up against her My Little Pony cushions, filled my head. ‘They’re going to love each other forever, Mummy.’

  ‘How on earth did you get so wise?’ I said, reaching out and touching her face.

  ‘It’s ancient history, Mum. Let it go.’

  ‘I need to be honest with him.’

  ‘Is that why you went looking for him?’

  ‘I never expected to still have the same feelings, to still love him, but he still has a right to know.’

  ‘How do you think he’ll react?’

  ‘I don’t know. His relationship with his daughter isn’t good.’ I took another sip of my tea. ‘I thought you might have reacted differently. You could have had a brother or sister.’

  ‘Can you really imagine me sharing you?’ she said.

  Jo-Jo – December 1979

  Freddie walked around the corner into my street, past the oak tree and the wooden bench, which had been the view from my bedroom window all of my life. He raised his hand when he saw me on the doorstep. I pulled the front door closed behind me, ran across the road, grabbed his hand and hurried him back to the tree. We sat down on the bench. ‘I thought I was meeting your mum and dad,’ he said.

  ‘I need to talk to you, tell you about my mum.’

  ‘You don’t think I’ll be good enough for her.’

  ‘What? No. I mean, yes. What makes you say that?’

  ‘I’ve been awake all night thinking about it. They’re going to hate me.’

  ‘I’m not worried about you. It’s Mum. She’s not well.’

  The smile disappeared from his face. He looked like he’d done something wrong, which made me feel sad. ‘I can’t believe I’m having to tell you this,’ I said.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, putting his arm around me.

  I snuggled into his hug, enjoying the comfort. ‘She hears voices,’ I said. ‘They scare her. She’s better with her medication, but most days she can’t get out of bed.’

  ‘Jesus. That sounds like a nightmare.’

  ‘Not really. We’re used to it. It’s embarrassing more than anything. I’d understand if you didn’t want to meet her.’

  He stood up and pulled me to my feet. ‘She can’t be any nuttier than my mum,’ he said.

  *

  I closed the front door behind us. We could hear Genesis’ ‘Follow You, Follow Me’ coming down the stairs from Josh’s bedroom. ‘My brother,’ I said. ‘He’s obsessed with Phil Collins.’

  Dad stood up as we walked into the lounge and held out his hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Freddie,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re going to look after her.’

  ‘Always,’ said Freddie, shaking Dad’s hand.

  ‘This is my mum,’ I said.

  Mum was lying on the sofa, her eyes squeezed shut, muttering to herself. Dad had stacked the coal fire so it was roaring like a blast furnace up the chimney, but Mum was still wrapped from head to toe in a green and white striped woollen blanket. ‘I feel the cold, Joseph. You know I feel the cold.’ Freddie crouched down and stroked Mum’s hand.

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ he said. Mum opened her eyes and smiled – a behind-the-eyes smile.

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ said Dad, walking towards the lounge door. He stopped when he reached me, met my eyes and mouthed, ‘He’ll do.’

  Freddie was still holding Mum’s hand. She was still smiling.

  Jo-Jo – April 1981

  Madness were still beating out their nutty boy sound as Liam and I cut across the path of congaing students and headed towards the Sherlock chair, Liam brushing people out of our way with his bowler hat. ‘Is he really called Prof Jolly?’ I said.

  ‘Suits him, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Why’s he here, at a student party?’

  ‘No idea. He just sits there reading his Guardian. Do you still want to meet him?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m intrigued.’

  We reached the chair and Liam gently flicked the broadsheet. ‘Hi Prof,’ he said. ‘This is Jo-Jo. She wants to know what you’re doing here.’

  The man looked over the top of his paper. ‘I imagine you wanted him to put that more delicately,’ he said, leaning forward to the coffee table at the side of his chair and putting out his filter-free cigarette in a blue Whitefriars bubble glass ashtray.

  I felt the blush rise from my neck and across my face. ‘I was just… well, you do look a bit out of place, and I’m interested in people…’

  ‘She means she’s a nosy bitch,’ said Liam.

  The five-person conga train went past and a girl at the back with bob-cut red hair flicked an air-kick in Liam’s direction. ‘I love this song,’ I said, desperately trying to change the subject. ‘Night Train to Cairo.’

  ‘You know it’s not called that, don’t you?’ said Liam.

  ‘Yes it is.’

  ‘And how exactly does a train make its way down the River Nile?’

  ‘Sounds better though,’ said the professor.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘Right,’ said Liam. ‘Makes absolutely no sense with the lyrics, but it sounds better. I think I’ll leave you two alone. You deserve each other.’

  The conga train went past again and Liam joined the back, putting his hands on the hips of the red-haired girl. She smiled at him and he said something to her which made her laugh. The opening line of ‘One Step Beyond’ reverberated around the room. ‘Sit down,’ said the professor, patting the leather sofa next to the Sherlock chair.

  I flopped into the seat. ‘He’s right,’ I said. ‘I am a nosy bitch. What brings you to a student party?’

  ‘Would you believe, the company?’

  ‘You must have better places to hang out.’

  He folded up his newspaper,
crossed his legs and looked around the room. ‘And which of these young men is lucky enough to have you on his arm?’ he said.

  ‘None of them,’ I said.

  ‘You’re single.’

  ‘I am now.’

  The image of the waiting room landed with a thud inside my head – the receptionist with the bright red lipstick, the accusing whispers of the nurses, the sobbing, the pain, ten, nine eight, seven, six…

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said, reaching forward and touching my hand.

  ‘I will be,’ I said. ‘What about you? Are you married?’

  ‘For ten years. I lost her to breast cancer five years ago. It was too late by the time they found it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘You must miss her.’

  ‘I miss her laugh the most,’ he said. ‘One of the best memories I have is her challenging me to a race on our way home from the pub. She hoisted up her tight black dress, the one with the zip down the front, freed up her stockinged legs, took off her high-heel shoes and sprinted away from me. I can still hear the sound of her belly laugh in the early morning silence of the streets. I never want that memory to leave me.’

  I looked at him. He’d drifted off into another world. I put my hand on his hand, which he’d rested on the arm of the Sherlock chair. ‘What’s your name?’ I said.

  ‘Jason,’ he said.

  Jo-Jo – July 1983

  Karen and I were sitting at the window table in the Three Chimneys pub in Lincoln, looking out at the derelict market stalls, the vendors having packed up and gone home for the day. She’d come up on the train from Walsall and was staying over at the flat for a few days to help me get things sorted for the big move out. We were drinking pints of lager and blackcurrant. ‘I can’t believe how quickly its gone,’ she said. ‘I never thought you’d stick it out.’