by Paul Taylor
The Cecil Hotel was located on the corner of Barker Street and Centre Street, ideally situated as one of only two pubs you had to pass coming through town. If ever there was a stereotypical country pub, this was it, discounting the Oxford, which was as country as you could get, but no one ever went there. The Cecil was the biggest scene in town if you were heading out for a night on the piss, because almost everyone in town went there. Especially Beef Week when it got so packed you couldn't even get near the place, there'd be people crowding the veranda, hanging out of windows, they were everywhere.
Ben was unsurprised to see that the Cecil Hotel was still exactly the same. Of course, pubs were, for the most part, static and unchanging places, attracting a specific clientele who liked familiarity, they enjoyed being in the same surroundings and seeing the same friendly faces. The only thing likely to change in a pub was the carpet. And even that was a change much grumbled at and grudgingly accepted. "It's not as nice as the old carpet," they'd mutter. "Too bloody bright, it'll make everyone vomit," they'd moan.
Pubs were the last bastion of stagnancy in the diverse and ever-changing world of humanity and their patrons would not climb out of their rut without a fight.
Ben had not frequented the Cecil when he was living here. The few friends he had occasionally gone out with had tended to avoid it and so, by extension, had he. Of course, the only reason they avoided it was that one of the them had started a fight there one night and been banned from the premises.
Coming here now, after so many years, Ben felt a quiet dread seep into his bones and he wondered for a moment, and not for the first time, if he was making a stupid mistake.
Before he could decide though his feet had carried him up the steps and his hand was pushing the door open.
The clashing beat of a live band, underpinned by the clinking of glasses and bottles and voices raised to be heard came tumbling out the door to greet him and Ben relaxed. The universal sound of pubs everywhere and that familiar smell of cigarette smoke and years of spilt beer soaked into carpet reminded Ben of pubs he went to in Sydney and made him feel at home.
As he stood at the bar looking for Kath, Ben checked out the other people there. Unlike the pubs he usually went to in the city the people here had not come straight from work. Dressed not in the collared work-shirts and uniforms of their trade, these people had gone home, showered and cleaned up before going out for the night and were now wearing jeans and clean flannels or football jerseys. Some even wore trousers.
In Sydney, going out on Friday night was, for most, a desperate affair. They had no time to go home and get changed, simply heading straight from their work in the city to the nearest pub. The fun was still there but it had more of a raw edge to it. Not so much a case of people all gathering together and unwinding after a hard week but more a desperate search for fun. A night out in the city was a teeth-gritted, starey-eyed, sweaty-faced quest for release from the stress of the work week.
More often than not the fun ended in tears and petty arguments. Ben could remember all too often being out with people and having to intervene as a mate got into a fight with a bouncer. Or a couple of girls would have a cat-fight, or retreat to a table in the corner, crying and moaning into each other's drinks.
The barmaid brought back the VB Ben had ordered and sat it on the bar runner with a wet squish. Ben thought he recognised the girl and was trying to remember her name but it wouldn't come. She didn't seem to recognise him anyhow.
There was still no sign of Kath although Ben had been confident she would be keeping an eye out for him. He looked around but couldn't see any sign of her. There was a room off the end of the bar filled with pokies where men and women sat like zombies feeding off them. Unmoving and silent they sat mesmerised by the flashing lights and whirring music. She definitely wasn't there.
Over in the corner where the reeking cigarette smoke hung in yellow clouds, lit by the dinghy light that filled the pub, the pool tables alone stood out, enclosed in spots of bright light. Here guys dressed in jeans and flannels sauntered back and forth like lions protecting their pride. Girls sat at small, round tables along the wall nursing bottles of beer and glasses of spirits and watching their brave men do battle.
One of the men stepped forward to take a shot and there was Kath, sitting on the far side of the tables, closest to the rear exit. She was stirring ice around in an empty glass and kept looking towards the back door. Ben started towards her but had only taken a couple of steps when she looked up, and smiled.
She got up and walked towards him, saying something as she came but he couldn't hear her over the oceanic roar of the pub. He shook his head and cupped a hand around one ear.
"I said, I was worried you weren't coming," she said as she got closer.
He went to hug her but she pulled away, glancing back in the direction of the pool table, and Ben thought he understood.
"I nearly didn't," he said his voice raised to be heard.
"I'm glad you changed your mind," she said, smiling shyly at him. "Come on. I'll take you over to see the others."
"Ah, well, hold on. What are you drinking first?" said Ben, stalling for time.
"No, it's okay," she said. "You don't have to buy me a drink.
"I haven't seen you for 6 years, it's the least I can do. Now, what are you drinking?"
"Kahlua and milk," she said.
"Kahlua and milk it is," said Ben and ordered it. "So," he glanced over at the pool tables and saw Neil. He swallowed something with edges. "Fill me in on all the gossip first. What's been going on? Who married who? Who got fat, who got bald, who got ugly?"
Ben could see Neil as he bent low over the table to take a shot, his long arms, thick and ropy with muscle, dwarfing the pool cue. As he lined up the ball he glared up at Ben and Kath as if to say he knew they were plotting against him. This distracted him from the shot and he fluffed it, causing the spectators to break into laughter. Standing back up he continued to glare at them, his eyes burning holes into Ben.
"Gossip," said Kath thoughtfully. "I don't think I know any gossip. Nothing good anyway. Most of the people we went to school with moved away and I hardly heard from any of them again. And everyone that's still here," she shrugged, "Well, they're still here." She laughed a little. "What more can you say, really?"
Although a little disappointed at not uncovering any juicy gossip Ben still chuckled. A little of it was at what she said but most of it was the way she'd said it.
"I guess we better go over and see the others, then," said Ben as Kath's drink arrived, doing his best to sound enthused. "Who else is here?"
"Well, Neil, of course," said Kath. "Peter, Glenn, Rob, Karen and Allison. Come on, it'll be fun."
Great, thought Ben It's like a Who's Who of High School Bullies.
As they weaved through the crowded pub towards the pool table where Kath's group played Ben began to pick out the familiar faces. With each face rose a memory, unbidden, unwanted, and Ben considered backing out, making some excuse and ducking out the door. Or even not telling Kath at all, let her walk on while he disappeared out a side door. They were passing one now. If he did that though Kath'd still tell them he'd been there and they'd all sit around reminiscing about what nerd he'd been at school and laughing about him. No, he had to face the music. He could face them. They were nobodies, he was as good as them, maybe even better. Whatever small power they'd lorded over him in High School was long gone. This was the real world now, full of adults, they couldn't touch him here.
Or so he hoped.
"Neil," called Kath, and Ben twitched at the sweetness in her voice. That she should have ended up with him, of all people.
"What?" said Neil. "I'm in the middle of a fucking shot here." He took the shot anyway, slamming the white ball across the table where it ricocheted off a big-circled thirteen, the last 'singlet' on the table, sunk that and careered back into the black and neatly pocketed that as well.
"All right, now what?" said Neil, tossing the c
ue on the table and ignoring the surprised murmurs coming from all around.
Still the same arse-hole, thought Ben.
Kath pulled Ben, who'd started edging away, closer. "I wanted you to see Ben," she said. "He's been living in Sydney."
"Wow, no shit?" said Neil, seizing Ben's hand in a grip like a meat press. "The big-smoke, hey? So you must be a real city slicker now, hey, Reilly? Ooh, yeah. I can feel it in your hand."
Neil still held Ben's hand and was deliberately grinding the bones, trying to make him cry out but Ben wouldn't give, squeezing back just as hard.
"How ya been, Neil?" said Ben, grinning a hard little grin at him. "Highlight of your life still blowing the heads off kangaroos?"
"When I'm not too busy with Kath," said Neil in a lower voice, leering at him. "You know what I mean. Oh, sorry, you wouldn't know, would you, since you and her never... you know."
Ben clamped down on Neil's hand with a vicious force and Neil was the one to almost cry out. Instead he yanked his hand free. Giving Ben a black look he stalked off to the other side of the table. Kath, sensing the tension, elected not to have Ben shake hands with anyone else so he nodded hello to them instead.
"Come on, Neil," called Glenn. "It's your break." They'd set up a new game and were now waiting for Neil to take the first shot and spin the balls out to the edges of the table.
"I'm not in the mood any more" said Neil, flexing his hand. "Why don't you get Reilly to play?"
The insult was evident in his voice but Kath either didn't pick up on it or chose to ignore it. "See?" she said to Ben. "They don't care who you were in High School."
"Mm-huh," said Ben. He was already regretting his decision to stay.
At first it seemed okay. Ben took up the pool cue, lined up the white ball and slammed it at the neat triangle of coloured balls. The balls sprayed out across the table and an orange "singlet" rolled into the corner pocket.
"Cool," said Ben, with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Do I get a second shot?" he asked, knowing full well that he did.
"Yeah, take it," said Glenn.
Ben leaned in, holding the cue a little awkwardly, and took his second shot. He got down close to the cue like dancing cheek to cheek with a lover, sighted along it, pulled the cue back and shot. The white ball shot across the table and ricocheted off the side of a blue singlet and bounced into the side pocket.
Neil and his mates laughed.
"Ah shit," said Ben. "What a shit-house shot."
Glenn moseyed in to the table and sunk two of his balls straight off.
"Good shot," Ben said. Cock-sucker.
"It was all right," grunted Glenn.
Ben carefully lined up another shot and took it. This time he hit his target straight on but all it did was bounce the ball off the cushion and send it back to right near where it was.
"Nice," chuckled Glenn, knocking him with his shoulder as he walked past.
"I'm a bit rusty," said Ben. "I haven't played in a while." For a week.
Glenn sunk another of his balls and Ben, in turn, missed another.
"Ah, for fuck's sake," said Ben as the white ball chipped off the edge of a ball he was aiming at and the ball bounced across the table and back. While he was apparently focussed on the ball he'd missed though the white ball shot on and squarely hit another of his balls and sunk it.
"Flukey bastard," said Glenn in a voice devoid of humour.
"Huh? Cool," said Ben, pretending he hadn't noticed the after-effects of his shot.
He took another shot and this time missed. The game continued this way, one after another, Glenn sinking balls, Ben missing and sinking only by chance until Glenn had only three left.
Ben still had six on the table.
Glenn shot and lined one up by the hole for later. Ben lined up for a ball completely different to the one he wanted to sink, and fired. The white ball streaked along the table, slammed into the side of a red singlet, sent it shooting across the table to hit another one of Ben's and carried them both into the pocket.
"Wow," said Ben. "I didn't expect that to happen."
With his second shot he knocked away Glenn's earlier set-up and sunk another of his own.
"Sorry," he said.
Glenn, now wearing a wary, distrustful look, took his shot and didn't accomplish anything.
"Oh, too bad," said Ben and Glenn glared at him again.
Ben lined up to take his shot and as he went to strike someone jogged the cue and it skidded into the ball. The white ball sliced across the table and fell in the pocket without hitting anything.
"Sorry, mate," said Pete, standing behind Ben wearing a goofy grin and with his hands spread in apology. "Take it again."
"No, it's fine," said Ben. "I played the shot. I'll live with it."
"Ooh, isn't he brave," he heard Rob's voice raised in a falsetto from somewhere behind him. Obviously at some point the whole crew had started paying attention to the game.
Glenn took another ball and Ben lined up for his shot. This time as he was about to drive the cue in a burst of raucous laughter erupted from behind him and threw off his aim.
Rob, Peter and Glenn were cacking themselves laughing at something, clapping each other on the back and guffawing like simpletons.
"You guys finished?" said Ben.
"Yeah, sorry man," said Glenn, still chuckling. The laughter was about as genuine as Pete's apology had been.
Ben took his shot and neatly sunk another ball, leaving him with only two on the table, equal to Glenn. Glenn stormed up to the table and slammed the white ball into one of his remaining two. The ball shot towards the side pocket but was coming in at the wrong angle and it bounced off across the table.
Ben knew he was getting under Glenn's skin, it was galling to be beaten by such a loser. Let him suffer, thought Ben. It had been hard enough for Ben letting himself lose to Glenn so he hoped Glenn was stewing well.
As Ben took a mouthful of beer and went to have what would hopefully be his second last shot he was aware of Rob and Peter having a muck-around fight near the end of the table where the white ball lay.
Leaning low over the table, sighting down the cue, Ben knew what was going to happen next. So he fussed over his shot, leaning in on the cue, standing up to look over the whole table until finally he had to take it.
Bracing himself for the blow Ben leaned once more over the table and lined up his cue. His aim was unsteady as he set himself for one of Neil's boof-headed mates to crash into his back. In his nervousness he barely nudged the white ball and it rolled only a couple of inches. Neil's mates never touched him.
"Fuck it," Ben said under his breath as he straightened up and reached for his beer.
His glass was gone. Ben glared angrily around and saw nothing but Rob and Pete grinning vacantly at him.
Fuck it, he thought, and waited for his shot.
Kath had spent most of the game standing silent in the corner in Neil's protective grasp. She had given a small cheer when Ben sunk his second ball but promptly shut up after a filthy look from Neil. Now she looked profoundly uncomfortable, as if she were as eager as Ben for the game to end.
After Glenn's shot there still remained one of his balls on the table and Ben's two, plus the black. Ben sighted up the table, his remaining two weren't even anywhere convenient, sitting out in the middle of the table like abandoned children. If he could line up the right angle though he might be able to at least sink one and set up the other.
Maybe he could even sink both of them.
Filtering out the distractions of the pub, of Neil and his mates around and behind them and drawing his focus in tight until it encompassed only the green rectangle of the table, Ben leaned down low over the cue. All that existed in the world was the white ball and Ben's remaining two balls.
The cue rustled through the V shape of Ben's thumb and forefinger as he slowly drew it back, its lacquered surface tugging slightly at his skin. The white ball swelled until it filled his world, as bi
g as a full moon rising. With a long, slow breath Ben slid the cue forward and pulled it back again, testing his shot before he committed to it.
Letting his breath out in a long exhale Ben pushed the cue forward like a needle beneath skin.
Someone slammed into him from behind and Ben was shoved forward against the table. His pelvis banged painfully into the wooden edge and the cue tore into the velvet covering, tearing it and sending the white ball flying.
Ben dropped the cue, spun around and pushed the guy who had fallen on him. It was Pete, his false, feeble apologies dying on his lips as Ben shoved him.
"Hey!" Pete said, all sign of attrition vanishing. "Don't fuckin push me, mate!" He pushed Ben.
Ben fell back a step and a fiery scowl drew down over his face and a roaring void filled his head. A shining glow filled his body with heat and seemed to even extend outwards from him. He bounced forward, his whole body twisting from the balls of his feet, and punched Pete clean in the face. Cartilage crunched beneath his fist as Pete's nose exploded all over the place and Pete stumbled backwards with a look of near comic surprise spreading across his face. With blood trickling down over his mouth and dripping off his chin Pete stepped silently in to meet Ben and slammed a fist into Ben's stomach.
All the air rushed out of Ben in a big gasp. He doubled over and Pete's other fist swung up and crashed into Ben's head, knocking him backwards. Ben scrabbled for purchase at the pool table, missed, and fell on his arse. He saw Pete's boot swinging at him and he grabbed it. Pete cursed and Ben yanked his foot out from under him and he went flat on his back, cracking his head a good one on the tiled floor.
Ben rose to his feet and grabbed a pool cue, raising it like a baseball bat as he saw Neil leave coming towards him, Kath tried to pull him back and he pushed her away.
"What the bloody hell's going on here?" bellowed the publican as he strode towards them. "Break it up, break it the hell up." He interposed his stumpy, tough body between them, glaring at them all. "Now what's this all about?"
Pete, clambering to his feet and wiping blood from his mouth, turned to Terry.
"This bastard just decked me, Terry," Peter said, gesturing at Ben. "You oughtta throw him out."
"Is this true?" Terry asked Ben. "You hit him?"
"Yeah," said Ben, his temper still up and his left eye already swelling. "I hit him."
"Shoulda made it count," said Pete and Terry told him to shut up.
"Right then," said Terry, talking solely to Ben now. "I don't tolerate that sort of behaviour in my pub so I'll have to ask you to leave."
"Yeah, whatever," said Ben. "Wouldn't want to drink in this shit-hole anyway." It was ungracious perhaps, but Ben wasn't feeling particularly gracious.
As he stalked out of the pub, muttering a sullen goodbye to Kath, Ben heard Neil say "See ya, Reilly." And then Pete saying, "I don't see what his problem was, we were just having a friendly game of pool."
Ben wanted to go back and deck the lot of them.
CHAPTER SIX