by Adrian White
“But you’re not normal, are you?” Katie asked her reflection in the bathroom mirror. And she set about cutting herself again and again, until there was so much blood that she couldn’t see the skin of her thighs and then she cried, with the pain but also the shame of being beaten, because she thought she could do this and now she knew she couldn’t, so she rested her head on the bathroom shelf and let her arms drop between her legs and let the blade drop to the floor, and she stayed like that for a long time. And the worst wasn’t over because she still had to clear up the mess, on her legs and on the floor, and because the moment had gone it was harder to face up to why she did this to herself, time after time, and she wished she could stop.
It was almost ten o’clock by the time Katie was clean and calm and she still had to decide whether or not to go. What persuaded her in the end was her guess that Mike would be long gone – they were supposed to be meeting at nine – and also the knowledge that if she didn’t go tonight, she’d have to do it all over again the next time. And there would be a next time; if she really wanted this there were things she had to go through. So she opted for the same plain look she’d worn for the day of registration, and no makeup; she looked pasty and washed out, but that couldn’t be helped.
Mike was still waiting when Katie arrived. The bar was noisy and busy, but Katie saw Mike immediately, talking at the bar, and she walked over. She apologised for being so late.
“That’s no problem,” he said. “We’re sat over there – what would you like to drink?” Mike saw the panic in Katie’s face. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s only Eugene.”
Katie was relieved; the thought of a crowd scared her.
“How did you persuade Eugene to come?” she asked.
“Easy – I told him I was meeting you. He’s smitten.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Katie, but she blushed.
“Is that okay?” asked Mike. “I thought you’d be more comfortable if it wasn’t just the two of us, and Eugene’s harmless; he’s hardly said a word all night.”
Katie waited with Mike at the bar before joining Eugene at the table. When she said hello, Eugene murmured something and looked away, embarrassed. He picked up a pack of cards from the table in front of him.
Mike smiled.
“They’re all scared of you at the bar,” he said to Katie. “I asked them if you’d been in, and they knew who I meant straight away.”
“They’re not scared of me,” said Katie.
“Well, wary then.”
“Because I’m a punk?”
“No, because you’re . . . I don’t know what you are. There’s something about you that makes people – ”
“Uneasy?”
“Wary, I said – edgy.”
“Which means uneasy. What about you – aren’t you wary?”
“No,” said Mike. “I don’t do wary. This is a great pub – how did you find it?”
“Well, don’t go telling everyone about it,” said Katie. “The last thing I want is . . . ” She didn’t finish what she was about to say.
“What?” asked Mike. “What’s the last thing you want – a bunch of students moving in on your favourite pub?”
“I just like it here,” said Katie, “that’s all. I feel comfortable, even if I make them feel uneasy.” The idea that she intimidated the punters in the White Horse seemed silly to Katie. She hadn’t yet learnt the effect she had on other people.
“You don’t think much of students, do you?” asked Mike.
Katie shrugged.
“They’re okay,” she said. “I don’t have that much to do with them, really.”
“You’re studying for a four year law degree,” said Mike. “How can you not have much to do with them?”
“As little as possible, then,” said Katie.
“I’m a student,” said Mike, “and so is Eugene.”
“Well, you’re different.”
Katie didn’t like students; she didn’t like the idea of students. She thought of them as either spoilt rich kids supported by their parents, or freeloaders on a full grant. She resented anyone to whom anything came easy when things had been so hard for her. She saw kids – and they seemed like kids to Katie, though she was only a year or two older – intent on drinking their way through college and she couldn’t understand them. She couldn’t understand why they didn’t appreciate just how lucky they were. She said as much to Mike.
“So you’ll be happy when they do away with grants to students?” he asked. “Because it’s coming, you know, now that Thatcher’s in power. We’ll be given loans, not grants, to support ourselves.”
“We might appreciate it more,” said Katie.
“Yes,” said Mike, “but what about the people who can’t afford to take out a loan – what about them?”
“If they want it bad enough, they’ll find a way.”
“Like you?”
“Yes,” said Katie, “like me. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Only how self-righteous you sound,” said Mike.
“What do you mean?”
“You received a grant, and had your fees paid.”
“But I’d have been a fool not to take it,” said Katie.
“And you think you’d still have gone to college, even if you had to pay the full course fees?”
“If that was what I wanted to do,” said Katie, “then yes.”
“And what about someone without your ability?” asked Mike. “Someone who doesn’t have your self-sufficient, hard-as-nails ability to cope with whatever life might throw at them?”
“Come off it,” said Katie. “We’re not talking about people like that. We’re talking about kids who are given everything, and don’t appreciate it – waste it even.”
“And you hate that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do, and I don’t see anything wrong in hating it.”
“Why not just be happy for them?”
“Happy for them?”
“Yes, what’s it to you?” asked Mike. “So what if some kid’s parents are loaded, and he squanders his allowance? So what if some other kid is given a full grant, and he chooses to drink it away? So what? Good luck to them!”
“It’s wrong,” said Katie.
“It’s only wrong if you worry that other people might have more than you, that someone else might have it easier than you. Why care about them? You have what you want, and you’re doing what you want to do. Why not just be happy and proud of what you’ve achieved, instead of spoiling it with your begrudgery?”
“Oh, spare me,” said Katie. “And what’s begrudgery – is it what it sounds like?”
“You’re the very definition of begrudgery,” said Mike. “What – because you had it tough, you think everyone else should have it tough?”
“More or less,” said Katie, “yes.”
“Why not think – I had it tough, so I hope no one else ever has to? Wouldn’t that be a lot nicer?”
“That’s not the way the world works,” said Katie.
“Oh,” said Mike, “I can see you’re going to fit right in. I bet you just can’t wait to be a part of Thatcher’s bold new Britain, can you? ’Fuck’s sake, Katie, loosen up a little. Everybody should have a full grant, everybody should have shitloads of money, and no one should find life hard. There’s money for all sorts of shit, so why not pay for everyone to go through college – or for everyone who wants to go through college?”
“But there are so many wankers here,” said Katie.
Mike smiled.
“Now, that’s a different matter,” he said, “and I have to confess: I’m a little disappointed on that front myself. I had this idea that college would be full of cool characters, like something out a Jack Kerouac novel, but you’re right – there are too many wankers out there.”
“I take it you include me in that category?” said Eugene.
“No, Eugene,” said Mike, “you’re a geek; there’s a difference. If you were a wanker then I wou
ldn’t have asked you to come along tonight. Now, explain this card counting trick to me. How is it done?”
Eugene had sat quietly all evening, shuffling the pack of playing cards over and over.
“It’s not a trick,” said Eugene. He spoke down at the table, unable to look Katie in the eye.
“How about another drink first?” she asked.
“It’s not a trick,” repeated Eugene. “If it was a trick then it would involve some sleight of hand. A trick would be if I asked you to pick a card, and I managed to see it as you placed it back in the pack – that would be a trick.”
“Okay,” said Mike. “We’re agreed it’s not a trick. Now could you please explain it to me in terms I might understand?”
“Something is not a trick when there is some logic or a skill attached to it,” said Eugene.
“But a sleight of hand is a skill,” said Mike.
“But it’s a cheating skill. It’s deceptive and misleading and therefore dishonest.”
“Jesus, Eugene,” said Mike. “Just show us the fucking thing, can’t you?”
Katie laughed.
“Let me get the drinks in first,” she said.
Katie went over to the bar and noticed for the first time how space was made for her to get served. She paid for the drinks, and Mike appeared behind her to give her a hand.
“I told you,” he said, once they were back at the table. “They’re all scared of you.”
She ignored Mike, and turned to Eugene.
“Now,” she said, “are you going to tell us about this card counting theory of yours, or not?”
“Oh, it’s not my theory,” said Eugene.
“But tell us anyway.”
“It’s essential that you first understand the concept of not cheating.” He looked down at the table and seemed to be waiting for some response before going on. Katie looked at Mike, who raised his eyebrows.
“Eugene,” he said. “We have nothing but the highest regard for you and your theory – or whoever’s theory it might be. You’re a mathematical genius, I know – ”
“There is some maths involved, but it’s at a very low level.”
“Well good,” said Mike, “because maybe then I can follow it.”
“For example,” said Eugene and he placed the deck of cards on the table. “There are fifty two cards in that deck. The chances of picking out a certain card are one in fifty two. If this lady would like to – ”
“Her name’s Katie,” said Mike.
“If she’d like to think of a playing card and then pick a card off the top of the deck?”
Katie did so.
“Is that the card you thought of?” Eugene asked the table.
“No,” said Katie, and smiled at Mike.
“But you can appreciate how the odds have now improved? There’s a better chance that the next card might be yours?”
“Yes,” said Katie.
“Is that it?” asked Mike.
“No, said Eugene. “I was simply illustrating how the odds might change.” He looked up and spoke directly to Katie for the first time. “Could you put the card back and then shuffle the deck?”
Eugene watched Katie shuffle the cards.
“Mike,” he said, “perhaps you’d like to shuffle the cards too; I don’t think you were too impressed with the lady’s – with Katie’s shuffling skills?”
Katie handed the deck to Mike, and Eugene watched.
“Now what?” asked Mike.
“I can’t state for certain where Katie’s card will be, but I think you’ll find it is in the lower third of the deck.”
Mike laughed.
“It’s a good job you’re not doing tricks Eugene,” he said, “because as tricks go, that one stinks – you know what I mean?”
“That wasn’t a trick. I used my skill to follow the card as you shuffled the deck.”
“Well, can’t you be a little more specific?”
“I am improving,” said Eugene, “but for now my best guess is perhaps the top half of the bottom third.”
Katie took the deck off Mike and looked for the original card. It was fourteen off the bottom.
“That’s incredible,” she said.
“And you really followed that card?” asked Mike.
“It’s a skill, not a trick,” said Eugene. He was back to looking down at the table. “It was quite easy to follow the first shuffle, as the card only moved the once. When Mike shuffled, he also cut the deck a few times. I think he was trying to catch me out.”
“How accurate are you?” asked Mike.
“I was confident about the card being in the bottom third, the rest was an educated guess.”
“Educated?”
“Yes, because I think I took into account all the relevant factors.”
“And you were counting the cards?”
“No,” said Eugene, “I was simply observing and remembering. I wanted to show you what could be achieved through trained observation.”
“So what about counting the cards?” asked Mike. “How could watching the shuffle be of any use in a casino?”
“It couldn’t – not unless you were very accomplished. If they saw you concentrating on the cards to that extent, they’d ask you to leave.”
Mike waited for Eugene to continue, but Eugene said nothing.
“So?” asked Mike. “Are you going to tell us about the card counting trick – the card counting thing?”
“It’s possible to observe which cards are laid down in a game of cards,” said Eugene. “It’s easier than tracing the shuffle of a deck. In a casino, the cards that have been laid down once cannot be laid down again until the dealer reaches the end of the deck; this tells us which cards are still there to be dealt.”
“But they use up to six decks in the shoe at a time,” said Mike.
“The same principles apply,” said Eugene. “I’m not saying it’s easy, I’m just saying it can be done.”
“The shoe?” asked Katie.
“The box from which the dealer gives out the cards,” explained Mike. “Once the cards are shuffled, the shoe dispenses a card at a time; it prevents any sleight of hand by the dealer.”
“But what advantage could you hope to gain?” asked Katie. She looked first to Eugene and then to Mike.
“There is a way,” said Mike. “In blackjack – or pontoon, as you might know it – or twenty-one, the advantage is with the player if there’s a run of high cards. The house will always pay out over a certain number, say seventeen, and the dealer will never choose to go higher, for fear of going bust. You’re likely to be dealt a better hand if the cards in the deck are higher, while the dealer is more likely go bust. But Eugene,” he said, “you’d have to be concentrating like fuck to remember all the cards that are laid down, and to think about your own game at the same time.”
“It’s not essential to remember each individual card,” said Eugene. “Experienced card counters all have a system – generally a plus or a minus value for all the low cards that have been dealt.”
“So you keep track of a running score?” asked Mike.
“And your running score counts for more the further into the deck you go,” said Eugene.
“Again?” said Mike.
“Just as Katie’s chances improved after picking up that first card. If lots of low cards have come out the deck, there are lots of high cards still there to be dealt. But because there are fewer cards left in the deck, the odds are even better that you’ll be dealt a high card. And that the dealer will go bust if he takes a third card.”
This was all beyond Katie.
“You’re still talking odds,” she said. “It’s still a game of chance.”
“Yes,” said Eugene, “but you’ve used your intelligence to make an educated guess.”
“And you’d put your money on that?”
“I wouldn’t,” said Eugene. He sneaked a glance at Katie. “But I think Mike would.”
Apart from Katie’s vodka and or
ange once a week in the White Horse, her only other outlet from study was the gym. The facilities were basic, primitive even by the standards of the late seventies, and the whole gym experience was different back then. This was not a hip place for beautiful young bodies to hang out and show off their tans; the gym was the preserve of sportsmen hoping to regain their strength after injury, and just a few serious body builders – the gym was not a glam place to be seen by your friends. Katie had come across weight machines while she was still in care; it was encouraged as a way of calming unsettled minds. She liked the solitude and she liked to push herself hard against the machines. What it did for her head, she didn’t know – she was in such a mess anyway; it could do her no harm. The facilities in the college were free and close to where she lived; she often carried her gear with her so she could call in on the way home from the library. There was a pool there too, but this was obviously out of bounds for Katie.
A few weeks after meeting Mike and Eugene in the White Horse, Katie saw their friend Bruno at the gym. She recognised him immediately, but tried to make out she didn’t know who he was. Bruno came over anyway.
“You’re Mike’s friend, Katie,” he said, and stood by her machine. He wasn’t built like the rest of the guys in the gym. He was tall but not hugely built, more hard and wiry like Katie.
Katie stopped what she was doing. She wasn’t comfortable with Bruno watching her, and she could feel his eyes on her body.