by Laura Marney
Getting it here was going to be a problem. Ray’s had to give up his works van. He couldn’t afford to keep up the lease so, once he unloaded his tools into the church, back it went. He was sorry to see it go, it was a smart van and he always liked the company name on it in the professional livery, but what the hell. Young Bob has volunteered his dad’s van to bring the snooker table.
‘You didn’t tell me it was a fish van,’ says Alice through gritted teeth when it arrives, ‘the table’ll be stinking.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Ray says, but there’s an overpowering whiff of fish when Bob’s dad opens the back door.
The blankets thrown around the table to protect the woodwork have come off one corner and Alice is making a fuss. She is barking instructions at the volunteer driver and the crowd of youngsters who have rallied round to help bring it in. Alice doesn’t seem to like the young people who come around the church but she knows Ray’s policy.
A dozen young lads are lifting and pulling and heaving at the table to bring it out of the van. When they get it out Bob, Gerry and Aldo each grab a corner of the table. As if lifting this elephantine weight were a great honour, they fight off the others for the corner spots and keep the last corner for Ray. The others bunch together along the sides, shoving in to make a space for themselves. After a count of three they lift together but their forward progress is ragged and dangerously wobbly. The lads are rushing at it, trying to get it inside before they humiliate themselves. From experience, Ray knows what’s required. They need a beat, a slow beat.
‘Wait!’ he calls.
He’s surprised by how quickly they obey.
‘Right, let’s get it up on our shoulders, okay? One, two, three!’
They get it up on their shoulders.
‘Okay, wait. Everybody happy?’
Everybody’s happy.
‘Now, let’s move together, slow and steady as she goes, okay? Starting on the right leg, one, two, three!
‘I went down to St James’s infirmary
To see my baby there,’
Their entrance into the church is slow and metrical.
‘She was stretched out on a long white table,
So pale
So cold
So fair.’
With processional solemnity, they bring it through the church doors. Once they have safely put it down Aldo asks Ray,
‘What was that song you were singing?’
Ray is shocked by this. He’s unaware that he had been singing. He thought it was only in his head. He has to get away from this question and goes to stand outside again. Bob’s dad is shutting up the van while Alice waves a ten pound note at him.
‘Don’t be silly; put your money away, hen!’
‘No, come on now, it must have cost you something in petrol,’ she argues.
‘Listen, I’m only pleased to lend a hand. Good on you for starting it up,’ Bob’s dad says as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
Alice turns to Ray, a quizzical expression making deep grooves in her face.
‘Starting what up?’ she asks him.
Ray shrugs, as bemused as she is.
‘Give me a shout if you need any more equipment moved. Anytime. Best of luck with your wee youth club. Good on you.’
Bob’s dad gives Alice and Ray an American-style salute as he drives off. They stand and watch him pull away. Neither of them returns the salute.
When they go back into the church the young people have wasted no time. They are unpacking cues and setting the balls on the table.
‘Oh no you don’t!’ says Alice, moving quickly to the table and sweeping the balls together.
‘Ho! Wait a wee minute!’ says Aldo. ‘We humphed the fucker in here, we’re getting the first game!’
‘The first game!’ says Alice. ‘Who says you’re getting a game at all?’
Pandemonium breaks out at this but Alice stands with her hand on her hip. Ray decides he’s going to take a back seat on this one.
‘This table is the property of Autumn House and I’m responsible for it. I’m not having you lot wreck it.’
The youngsters surge towards her with aggressive displays of chest-jutting and noisy remonstration but Alice stays put.
‘Fuck’s sake!’ says Bob. ‘My dad brought it here. We’re not going to wreck it!’
Encouraged by Bob’s swearing at the old woman and perhaps Ray’s non-intervention, the rest of them take up the ‘fuck’s sake’ theme.
‘Well, what guarantee have I got?’ says Alice, looking to Ray to back her up.
Ray says nothing. If they’re all going to come in here then they’ll have to find a way of getting along. She’s a feisty old bird, but she’s a troublemaker as well as a chancer. Maybe the come one come all idea isn’t going to work out after all. If it can’t be resolved he has the ultimate sanction of having the snooker table removed, it’s not worth all this hassle.
‘I’m keeping the stuff. If you want to use the balls and cues you pay a deposit. End of bliddy story.’
Alice turns away and then back again as another thought appears to strike her.
‘Ten pounds.’
The shouting begins again accompanied by disbelieving laughter at the effrontery of the old dear.
‘Ten pound? We don’t have ten pound between us. Where are we gonna get a tenner?’ says Gerry, without rancour.
‘Well here’s a wee idea for you,’ says Alice with mock patience before yelling, ‘Away and work!’
‘D’you see any jobs around here?’ says Bob once the furore dies down. ‘You’re okay, you’ve got your pension every week and your own house…’
‘Aye,’ agrees Aldo. ‘And your wee gumsy pensioners club with fucking snooker tables you’re too fucking decrepit and gumsy to play.’ Aldo now impersonates a decrepit gumsy pensioner feebly trying to play snooker. Everyone laughs, Ray laughs and doesn’t try to hide it. Why should he? Fair play. Aldo’s a moron but he’s funny sometimes and anyway, she has it coming. She has shown them nothing but contempt, why should they be deferential? She’s a cheeky bastard as far as Ray can see.
‘Listen, you!’ Alice shouts. ‘I don’t know where you’re getting gumsy from, I’ve got my own teeth.’
To prove this she taps a long painted fingernail on her front teeth.
‘And pensioner or no, I’ll hammer any one of you at snooker. Any one of you that can raise the deposit that is.’
The kids are buzzing with the challenge she’s thrown down. They go into a strategy huddle, sharing fundraising ideas to get the money together.
‘What about this Burberry shirt, would you take that?’ says Bob, the most pragmatic of the group. ‘I paid seventy-five quid for it.’
‘Seventy-five quid! Did the shop have big windows? Because they must have seen you coming.’
‘It’s worth a hundred, it was in the sale!’
‘Listen son, what it’s worth and what you paid for it are two different things. That shirt’s no use to me, it’s not my colour. Ten pounds deposit or nobody plays.’
After a few minutes of grumbling and pocket shaking the ten pounds deposit is assembled. Alice chooses Aldo as her opponent. Not surprisingly she has no support while the rest of the assembly are firmly behind Aldo. Ray returns to playing his guitar. He should be getting on with the next sideboard but he’s interested to see who wins, stopping to watch when either of them takes a shot.
Alice it seems is all talk. Her snooker skills are minimal. Aldo is no expert either; both of them miss shots and even occasionally pot the white ball. For this reason the game takes a long time but eventually, to the jubilant delight of his cheering audience, Aldo wins. Alice takes her defeat on the chin, stoically returning the ten pounds deposit. Aldo, magnanimous in triumph, holds out his hand. With dignity and a smile playing around her lips Alice returns his firm handshake. Fair play.
After that she secures and returns the ten pounds for every game until they’ve all had a turn on the table. Later, when everyone
else has gone home, she approaches Ray.
‘I was thinking, with the rehearsals going on here for the community show and all these young ones hanging about, we could start a café.’
‘We?’
‘I don’t mean you, I mean me. Me and some of the girls. We’ve got time on our hands. And you know, they’re right. In some ways pensioners have got a better deal. I was thinking about what Bob’s dad said, about a youth club. We’ve got everything we need in the kitchen here: the urn and cups and that. Maybe we could have a youth club.’
‘I think we already have.’
‘Well, about a café, what d’you think?’
‘I think that would be very public spirited of you, Alice.’
Although he doesn’t say so, Ray is surprised and pleased. Outwardly Alice is a hard-boiled old roaster but she’s obviously got a kind heart in there.
‘Public spirited, my arse. I only want this lot to come in so I can give them a good spanking at the snooker.’
‘Are you sure about that? I don’t want to hurt your feelings but you looked pretty rubbish to me.’
‘Oh, don’t let the old granny act fool you. I’m hiding my light under a bushel. Nobody calls me gumsy and gets away with it,’ she says with grim determination. ‘I’m only reeling them in, Ray, only reeling them in.
Chapter 34
There is good news; wonderful news. In a cold and officious memo Mike informs Maria that Brian’s application for independent living is currently being assessed. This means that if successful he’ll get his own flat. He’ll need help around the clock of course, but the important thing is that he’ll be free to do what he wants when he wants. It is just after lunch and Blue Group are assembled in the common room watching the afternoon news. The common room is busy at this time of day. Yellow Group and Green Group are also here. The two others groups sit quietly, engrossed in the programme, but Maria’s lot banter and bicker between themselves. Several members of the other groups have already shot disapproving glances and a few irate ‘shhhs’ towards Blue Group’s corner. Things are not helped with the exciting arrival of Blue Group’s best pal, Dezzie.
Initially Maria had not been keen to encourage Brian’s application. She was scared that it might break his heart not to get it; he stands a much better chance when he’s a bit older. Brian’s still only nineteen, a very young nineteen. But Dezzie has no such qualms; he’s bursting to tell him.
Dezzie, who only recently arrived at the centre, has written a much stronger application than Maria could ever have come up with. He worked hard on the submission, doing endless internet research and putting his heart and soul into writing it. And now it seems he may have been right to be more optimistic.
Still and all, she wonders if it’s wise to build Brian’s hopes when he could yet be disappointed. But she knows that it’s almost a foregone conclusion that, with his infectious optimism and sensual whispers in her ear, Dezzie will eventually win her over.
On hearing the news, Brian throws up, as anticipated. But they are prepared: Maria has already popped the plastic lunch bib around his neck. Once the vomit has been removed Blue Group form an orderly queue to congratulate him with hugs, kisses and hair touslings.
‘That’s it mate: party back at yours every night! Plenty of birds, plenty of booze, we can’t go wrong,’ says Dezzie with a secret wink to Maria.
‘I’ll. Charge. An. Entrance. Fee.’
‘Discount rates for your mates though, eh?’
‘I’ll come and stay with you for my holidays,’ says Martin, as excited as Brian and Dezzie.
‘Brian, you realise that it’s only being assessed at this stage,’ warns Maria. ‘Not everyone who applies actually gets a flat. There aren’t enough to go around.’
‘Yeah, but with the professor here off to uni next year, he’s in with a good chance. All those university birds Brian, eh?’
‘Get. Away. From. Philious. And. Bilious. Never. See. Those. Goons. Again.’
Everyone knows who Philious and Bilious are: Brian’s dad and his brother. They’re well used to the acrimony with which Brian speaks of his father and the inventively insulting names he has for him: Philibuster, Philbert, Phil the Fool.
‘Come on now Brian, let’s not get bitter and twisted,’ says Maria gently.
‘Next. Year. University. My. Own. Place. No. Phil. No Bill.’
To the consternation of the members of Green Group and Yellow Group, Brian drives his wheelchair as fast as he can around the perimeter of the common room. Blue Group watch and giggle as he careens into the back of occupied chairs before reversing, like a dodgem car, and then carries on around the room at speed. At the request of their Key Workers, the other service users do their best to ignore this attention-seeking behaviour.
Brian’s still smiling like a maniac as he makes Grand Prix circuits around the room all the while ignoring Maria’s requests, and then demands, that he stop it right now. He apparently feels that he’s still not quite as annoying as he could be and ramps it up a bit. The Dynavox has a remote control facility that allows him to take over the television. As he passes the telly he flips the channel to a noisy Cowboys and Indians shoot-out movie, and all hell breaks loose.
Chapter 35
It’s funny how these things work out. Never in a million years did Alice think she’d end up playing snooker.
She’d never wanted to leave the city, Glasgow was all she knew. Her mother lived above them in the same close, her sisters and aunties in the close next door. She didn’t want to take Paul away from his cousins.
They came to Hexton, the outlying village that grew into a satellite town, when George got promoted. With the opening of the factory George took up a management position, the lowest rung, but a start. He came up from the factory floor through his own hard work and determination. He never tired of telling her that: his own work and determination. Even when he could no longer properly form words, he still tried to tell her.
His rise was all the more impressive seeing as his last name, Boyd, was so Irish sounding. But that was in the past, a generation ago at least. George worked hard and he drove his workers into the ground, increasing productivity on his shift by 36%. In Hexton’s burgeoning Masonic lodge there were opportunities for an ambitious man and his promotion through management kept pace with his ascendancy in the masons. At George’s funeral there was a big turnout of men she’d never met before.
Their new house had patio doors that gave on to the back garden. It was management housing, very continental and dead modern. They agreed that this should be Paul’s room, it was quieter at the back, away from the noise of the road and once Paul got a bit older he’d be able to go straight out and play in the garden. A garden to play in was a luxury neither Alice nor George had ever had and she wanted Paul to get the full benefit of it.
George was a good man to her, a good provider; he worked hard and he wasn’t a drinker. That’s what people thought, what she wanted them to think. He liked a game of snooker. Him and his pal Tommy Sanderson played snooker in the factory social club. What with the snooker and his commitments at the lodge, he spent more time with Tommy Sanderson than he did with the family. ‘That wean doesn’t know his own daddy. He never sees you,’ Alice often complained.
Meningitis took Paul when he was four and a half. Dead in six hours. The longest six hours of her life. The doctor said it was a particularly virulent strain, that’s why he went so quick.
George was in the social club playing snooker. Half a mile away and he never saw the boy before he died. He blamed her: she should have known the fever was serious; she should’ve got the doctor right away. She knew that herself.
After they buried Paul, George stopped going to the club. He stayed in nearly every night. They tried for another baby but it never happened. Conversations became brief, made up of her saying ‘what?’ And him saying ‘never mind’.
Before he took ill with the first stroke, George was earning good money. That’s how he could afford the b
ig slate snooker table. Hundreds of pounds it cost. It wasn’t a table for a house, not an ordinary house anyway. If they hadn’t had the patio doors he’d never have got it in the house. He had them deliver it when she was away at her sister’s, eight men it took to bring it in. Once it was in it wouldn’t fit anywhere else. He must have known that when he bought it.
They sat it right in the middle of the room, where Paul’s wee white coffin had stood on its trestles. She pleaded with him but he wouldn’t listen. He said they had to move on. He tried to throw Paul’s toys out, they were getting in the way of his snooker table, but she wouldn’t let him. She fought him. She bit into his arm and refused to let go. The bite turned septic and took a long time to heal. He was scared of her after that and never tried to move the stuff again. For years him and Tommy Sanderson were in there most nights playing snooker with the wean’s toys all round the room and his wallpaper: the wee choo choo trains chuffing across the walls.
George was young for a stroke, only forty-one. It was only a wee one and the doctor said there was every chance of a full recovery. Then he had another one. After that he never went back to the factory, he couldn’t. He was frozen all down the one side. He walked with a stick. He couldn’t speak, he’d mumble something and she’d say ‘what?’ And he’d shake his head, never mind. Unless she turned his plate for him he only ate half his dinner. He cried a lot. There was no more snooker but Tommy Sanderson still came round and sat with him for hours until she told him not to. She asked Tommy if he could get rid of the snooker table but he didn’t know anyone who’d want it. And so it stayed there, a monument to their empty lives.
In sickness and in health, that’s what she’d signed up for. She was never going to leave him, but they had their moments. Sometimes he was pathetically grateful and other times he’d try to lash out at her with his stick. Correspondingly, she sometimes felt a tenderness for his helplessness, a melancholy when she remembered the man he’d been. Some nights, just to cheer him up, to get him interested in something, anything, she’d bring him through to Paul’s room and sit him down where he could watch her. She’d play the table taking both her turn and his, and he’d watch, criticising and getting angry at her hopelessness, and slowly teaching her how to play.