by Paul Harris
“Want a drink?” she asked, hesitantly, and began rummaging in her handbag for her purse. It was only then I detected that her fingers were trembling. With the fallout from Broomhead’s eruption still settling, I hadn’t noticed how extraordinarily on edge Siobahn was. She kept glancing over either shoulder, first at the door, then to the dartboard, then to the window.
“I’ll get them,” I said, with unusual chivalry; and we waited to be served.
“What’s wrong with the staff in this place?” complained Siobahn, after about ten minutes went by, during which she seemed to grow increasingly uneasy, “Where are they all?”
“God only knows!” I coughed, “They could certainly do with a good barmaid.” I winked at her but she ignored my suggestion. The landlady, Beth, appeared in the doorway that led out to the kitchen and cast me a scornful stare before disappearing once more.
Siobahn sighed. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Everybody seems to be in a strange mood today, don’t you think?”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s something to do with interstellar activity or something.”
“What?” she asked, half-heartedly, as she scratched the last few remaining patches of varnish off the bar with the long red nail of her index finger. I’d never noticed how long her finger nails were before. I thought that perhaps she’d grown them since our last encounter; or perhaps I’d being paying more attention to her other assets and simply hadn’t noticed them. The thought occurred to me that I didn’t really fancy getting too intimate with those long, sharp looking, talons of hers.
“Stars and planets, and all that sort of stuff; they all interact with each other in a kind of cosmic ballet. It controls everything, all our fates.” I nodded at her, emphatically. “Didn’t you know that?”
“Controls everything?”
I ran out of patience and yelled across the bar, ordering a pint and a half. “I take it the half’s for you?” said Siobahn.
I amended my order. “Make that two pints,” then I turned to her again and gave her a firm eye, one not to be trifled with, “Yes, the stars control everything, even us.” I put a playful arm around her waist but instead of tearing herself away in violent horror as I’d expected her to, she seemed to shift closer to me. I smiled down at her. “It is, indeed, written in the stars,” I quipped. She returned my smile and it was the first time that the anxious frown had departed her face since she walked in. Her face, on that Sunday afternoon, was at its zenith of beauty; perfect white teeth, enveloped in glossy rose coloured lips, and framed by her immaculate hair; her kaleidoscopic eyes, like whirlpools, sunken into the depths of space and time. I found myself subconsciously licking my lips, inappropriately. I snatched my arm from around her, but, as I dropped it to my side, she grasped my fingers within hers, as if she needed to feel safe.
“You always come here, don’t you?” she asked. I nodded. “It’s a dump!” she snorted, “It’s worse than the Duke! Why do you drink here?”
I felt quite wounded by her scathing appraisal of my local boozer. “I use this place because the governor of the Duke is a complete tosser!” I retorted. Her face dropped as if I’d said something insulting about her mother or uttered some religious slur.
“Is that Frank up there?” and she marched off toward the pool tables, towing me behind like a dawdling child.
“Oh, you know Frank then?” But, I’d lost her. One glimpse of Frank and she was flouncing about like Isla St Clair.
“Hi, Siobahn,” said Frank, when he saw her, “You brought grumpy with you, then?”
“He’s okay, Frank, he’s just in a funny mood, that’s all,” she replied, patting me affectionately on the stomach.
Frank had spoken to her as if we were already an item, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted it to go that far.
“Hi,” she squeaked at Oscar who was holding a cue above his head as if he were hanging from it.
Oscar nodded in acknowledgement. “You’re already up on the board, Rod. Took the liberty.”
“Might cheer you up,” commented Frank.
Siobahn went off to Joanne and the other girls who were sitting at a couple of tables, and started exchanging little hugs with the ones she knew, and limp handshakes with the ones that she didn’t.
“Doubt it,” I muttered. “I don’t really need cheering up but if you want me to play, I’ll play. I’ll give you another lesson, eh, Frankie?”
“You think?”
Siobahn and I plotted up at a table just off the main drag a little way from the rest of them so that we could talk. She led me there, still drawing me along by my hand.
“Okay,” she sighed, without showing any intent to expand the conversation, “So?”
I interpreted that as my cue and decided to dazzle her with my quick witted and affable charm but, after some painful musing and pondering, I realized that I hadn’t got any, so we just sat in silence for the best part of fifteen minutes. Thankfully, Frank ambled over, spinning his cue, dexterously, between his fingers. “We were up the Duke the other night. Rod tell you?”
“No, he didn’t,” she replied, turning to glare at me. “Why not?” she then asked as though she had stumbled upon some complex conspiracy.
“Oops!” Frank retreated back to the pool table to take two shots on the black.
“Well, it…” I faltered, trying to remember why we had gone to the Duke of Hamilton that night. I hadn’t realized, at the time, that it was going to become such a big issue. “Doesn’t matter does it?” I shrugged, “We fancied a change, that’s all.”
“Not to see me, then?” She turned away from me in, what I perceived to be, disappointment.
“Yeah, of course! Partly that, yeah,” I lied between clenched teeth and a ludicrous smile.
“So?” She paused and I wondered if it was another cue for me to say something significant. I bit my lip and waited. Eventually, it came: “Did he have anything to say for himself?”
“Who we talking about now?”
“Rod!” It was Oscar calling me, just in the nick of time, “You’re up, mate.”
“Okay,” I replied, standing up and grabbing the nearest cue, regardless of how misshapen it was.
“Did he?” Siobahn pursued.
“Who? I’m not sure who you mean!”
“That bastard, Peter!” She spat the words out with true resentment.
“You playing, or what, Rod?” asked Frank, impatiently.
“Yeah, okay, Frank,” and, then to her, “Wait a minute, I’m up.” She sighed and folded her arms to demonstrate her annoyance.
“You break,” said Frank.
I did, and I managed to launch the cue ball vertically from the ‘D’; it spun off the corner of the pack without disturbing it in the least, and rolled along the rim of the table. Frank was howling with laughter and Oscar was tittering in the wings. Even Siobahn managed to break into a mild round of amused snorting. “Nice cueing action!” commented Frank. I slung the stick away, contemptuously, across the floor. There was no tip on it; I hadn’t bothered chalking it, and hadn’t noticed. Frank and Oscar had, though; and I tried to recall whether one of them had actually handed it to me whilst I was talking to Siobahn. I selected another one.
I tried to look at Frank with an expression that clearly conveyed my indignation, but, as his laughter infected me, it developed into a rather eccentric looking pout, which only resulted in him roaring even louder.
“Shall I break again?” I asked him with a reluctant snigger, “Or would you like two shots? Was it a foul? Eh?”
“Go on,” he gasped, “have another go, son.”
I broke, and potted two yellows straight away, and then a third. Frank was still laughing too much to make any headway amongst the red balls. I cleared up at the next visit, gave Frank the finger, and, to Siobahn’s obvious exasperation, had to stay on the table. Frank was the only one there who had it in his locker to beat me and, by the time that his turn came around
again, it was dark outside. I let him beat me, to make it one each on the night. I needed a break, or at least that’s what I told him.
When I finally got back to Siobahn, she was still sitting alone, thrumming her fingertips on the table next to her empty glass. “So?” she demanded.
“You keep saying that. So, what?” I asked, “You want another drink?”
“I’ll get them.” She uncrossed her legs and stood up. “So, what did Peter say?”
“Are you still on about that? I don’t know who Peter is. How do you know Frank?”
“You do know who Peter is; Frank knows who Peter is; he’s the landlord at the Duke. I’ve known Frank for a couple of years; Joanne too; we used to do aerobics together.”
“You’ll be telling me next you’ve got the Jane Fonda videos,” I sneered.
She puffed her cheeks out. “I’ll get the drinks. Same again?”
I nodded, and watched her saunter off down the steps, following the curves of her tight denim jeans. She glanced over her shoulder, caught me ogling her, and winked.
When she came back, her mood had changed. She was smiling again. When she sat down, she sat tight to me, almost pinching my flesh between the seat and her thigh. “So what did he say?” She, playfully, poked me in the stomach. “Anything?”
“Not really.” I took a sip of lager and she raised an eyebrow in demonstrative doubt. “Just that… just that he’d had to let you go; that’s all.” I smiled at her. She was simmering gently inside, but smiled back insincerely. “Nothing else,” I assured her.
“You mean sacked!” she wailed. I clasped a hand over her mouth to quieten her down. Her hot furious breath made the ruptured skin of my palm tingle.
Frank looked around at us; everybody looked at us. “Oi, oi, you two!”
“Ssssh!” I told her, and took my hand away from her face.
“He said he sacked me?” she hissed. “Is that what he’s telling people?” Her voice was steadily rising again. “Is it?”
I reluctantly assented. “But, please, calm down.”
“I am calm!” she screamed.
Frank looked around again, and started laughing and pulling faces. We ignored him; it didn’t merit comment, we just ignored him.
“So,” she said, and she was calmer now, “what did he sack me for? Did he say?” I started to fidget with my glass. I picked the discarded pool cue up off the floor and began to spin it between the palms of my hands. “Well?” she prompted.
“Fraternising with the punters,” I mumbled.
“Huh!” Her eyes were wide open, her mouth was wide open, and her legs and arms were wide open; she looked a picture of pure astonishment.
“Was it my fault?” I muttered, nervously, “I could get you a job here, if that’s any good.”
She ignored my offer. “Well!” She folded her arms firmly across her chest, forcing her cleavage to spill out from her top. “The reason I left; left,” she repeated, “not sacked, was that…” She unfolded her arms and placed her hand on mine. “…was that he kept touching me.”
I snatched my hand away from hers and then, realizing what I’d done, I tenderly took both of her hands in mine. “Touching you?” I gently pressed.
“It just started with him squeezing past me a little too closely. Do you know what I mean? I was uncomfortable but I thought it was just me imagining it. But, then he’d be brushing my tits with his hands as he reached for the optics or for a glass or a pump, then he’d pinch my arse, and then it was all out groping whenever he thought he could get away with it. It just escalated. Apparently, he’s done it to some of the other girls that have worked there.”
“Just the pretty ones, I’m guessing.” I tried to compliment her but, as my mouth opened, I grasped exactly how inappropriate my flippancy was.
She smiled, uneasily, and looked away; at Frank who was looking our way again. I beckoned him over.
“What’s up?”
I told him straight, and she squirmed where she sat. “Governor at the Duke’s been touching Siobahn up.”
“Fucking nonce!” growled Frank, without showing any surprise. “He does it to a lot of the girls there, or so I’ve heard. Should we visit him?” He looked to me for the nod. I looked to Siobahn to see if that was what she wanted or, at least, if she would find it acceptable. It took her a while to cotton on to what we were talking about.
“No!” she cried, emphatically, appearing to be quite shocked by the notion. “Oh no, none of that. No. Promise me.”
“No problem,” I assured her, settling a hand on her bended knee.
“No problem,” confirmed Frank, “but, we’ll see him again, I have no doubt,” and we gave each other a knowing look that suggested we would disregard Siobahn’s remonstrance completely.
Oscar and Bangla came staggering over, arms around each other like long lost shipmates. Fluff and Samantha came trailing behind them, sheepishly. “What’s the score?” enquired Oscar.
“Tell you later,” replied Frank, all mysteriously.
“Want a drink, Rod,” asked Bangla.
“If you like.”
He held out his open hand. “No hard feelings, eh?”
“Nah. No chance.” I shook his hand and smiled at him. He, somewhat nervously, returned my smile, and then went and bought a big round of drinks for the entire company.
“You will make up, won’t you?” Sam slurred in my ear.
“Look,” I stood, commandingly, as if surveying an audience of multitudes that had suddenly manifested itself from within the dark depths of my imagination, “when you’re drunk, things happen; things you can’t control; like, you see things; and you hear things; things that haunt you. They follow you around and won’t let you go; like, someone just looks at you and all you can see, for the rest of the night, is their face; their face leering at you!” I slammed my fist down on one of the tables. Siobahn ran her finger softly along the ridge of my knuckles.
Frank laid a hand on my shoulder. “Easy, Rod,” he whispered with a lump in his throat.
I shrugged him away, shaking with that ever-lurking rage that had developed, over the months, into a monster quite uncontrollable and prone to unleashing itself upon unsuspecting victims most unexpectedly and indiscriminately. “It’s like all you can see all the time, non-stop, is another geezer with your bird. All your mind’s eye will ever show you is that scene; constantly. It haunts everything you do!” I cast, an apparently, manic gaze around the assembled company; my friends. Fluff stepped back and seemed quite distressed, clinging tightly to Oscar. “And God knows,” I bawled at her, “I am haunted!”
Bangla came back with a tray of drinks and broke the tension. I looked at Siobahn who, in turn, smiled, uneasily. I sat down next to her as Bangla handed the glasses around. “To the grave!” I whispered softly in her ear, “Haunted to the grave!” I perceived her apprehension as she shivered slightly and, feeling instantly ridiculous, I snapped out of it.
Once all drinks were distributed, Bangla set the empty tray down on the table at which we were sitting. “Seen you before,” he said, remarkably politely to Siobahn, although still lisping awkwardly where his tongue hadn’t yet healed properly.
“Could have done,” she responded, graciously, “I worked in the Duke of Hamilton until quite recently.” She gripped my hand as if in need of comfort or support.
Bangla shook his head, pensively. “Nah, it’s not there. Where do you live?”
She raised an eyebrow, and made it obvious that Bangla’s line of questioning was making her feel uncomfortable. She didn’t want to answer him; she didn’t need to answer him.
“Travers Road?” he suggested.
She tightened her grasp on my hand. Her nails were digging into my skin. My eyes began to water but I knew that she needed me to be brave and take it on the chin. “How did you know that?” she asked with genuine curiosity.
“You been stalking her?” I chipped in, outwardly tongue in cheek; but, inside the ghosts were beginning to stir
, prodding and poking at my better judgement.
“Nah, of course not. Those days are well behind me,” he joked. I wouldn’t have put it past him, though. “I’ve just seen you out and about. I couldn’t help noticing, that’s all.” He took a sneaky glimpse down the front of her top and looked at me with a wink. “You couldn’t, though, could you?” he laughed.
“Anyone playing?” called Frank from the background as he leant over and deposited some change in the pool table.
“Yes,” replied Bangla, “why not?” and he went off to put a pound in the jukebox. Frank racked the balls up and then stood impatiently chalking his cue as Bangla made his selections.
“That’s a way away, Travers Road,” I said to Siobahn, “A long way to come for a Sunday afternoon drink.”
She nodded, head bowed, sparkling eyes turned up at me, and smiled. “It’s Sunday night now,” she said.
“Evening,” I corrected, “It’s only just gone six.”
She leant towards me and I thought she was going to land a kiss on my cheek but she retreated as Oscar came lumbering over, Fluff still clinging to the sleeve of his shirt and avoiding eye contact with me. “Coming down the road, Rod?” he asked.
“What road?”
He looked at Siobahn and smiled excitedly. “Casino are playing the Dog and Trumpet tonight.”
“I think I’ve had enough,” I sighed, and Siobahn laid a delicate touch of her hand on my elbow.
“Come on,” she whispered, and we went; we went home to Travers Road.
Chapter Nine
Bonfire Night
I stood, naked, wet, and clammy, at Siobahn’s bedroom window and watched the darkness descend. Rooftops faded away into the distance, stretching to the motorway; all mock tudor, double glazing, and plastic window sills. Blue lights flickered in every home; the future has arrived: sitting watching television and sipping Pepsi Cola.