Hymn From A Village (11 page)

Still keeps the lock-up garage in Islington. Fills it with things he couldn’t get rid of. Arsenal champions shirts, fireworks from the wettest November since records began, singing goldfish that were all the rage until someone found the poison in them.

I help him with the heavy stuff when he needs.

It was those fireworks that popped into my head when I was trying to sleep off the beating.

“Still got the old chestnut stove?” I asked him Tuesday.

“Sure. Always handy for barbecues.”

“And the fireworks?”

“In the lock-up.”

“Thing is, Uncle A, I might need to take them off your hands for a bit. Sort out a problem I’ve been having.”

He didn’t need to know what I was thinking, but it felt good telling. Even added some fresh ideas, he did. Wanted to get his hands dirty on this one.

Can’t keep a good man down.

***

“H
ow’d you boys like to earn a few bob while you’re standing here with your hands on your cockles?” Uncle A was the crafty cockney Dick Van Dyke could only have dreamed of being.

The boys just stood. A few of them spat in the snow.

The short ugly one with the ‘I’ bandage over his nose stepped forward. “Jog on, mate,” he said coming close like he was trying to rub eyeballs with the old man.

“Can’t jog on account of my knee. Can walk though. Your loss.” Uncle A took the handles of the converted oil barrel and went to push it away.

“Hang on,” the bandaged one said. “Tell us about it before you go.”

He let go of the handles and stood up straight. “Me and the boy here, we’ve got to head up north for a few days. Can’t bear to miss out on the profit with the weather like this.”

“Something in it for us?”

Uncle A smiled.

My scarf slipped. Pulled it up, tightened it at the back then jostled about in the extra-large boxer-shorts I’d invested in on account of the swelling.

He explained things as I fiddled. How to light it, to roast the nuts, how to keep them warm. Told them the trick with the small bags and gave them advice on the patter.

“Never mention the price,” he said. “Hit them with that when you’ve passed them over. ‘That’s two quid, squire’ tell them. If it’s a woman, ‘Darling’. Kids are always ‘Sweetheart’. Keeps them sweet. It’s the cockney shit they’re paying for.”

“Where’s the catch?” a lad with a pug-ugly face asked.

“No catch. Straight fifty-fifty and you’ll be able to buy all the tunes you like. We’re back Monday for the split and the gear.”

Job was a good one. Couldn’t have stitched them up better if he’d been a seamstress.

We retreated. Took the back way into the office. Headed upstairs for the ringside.

They’d already lit the firelighter and were huddled around it staring at it like it needed fixing.

“Sure it’ll work?” I asked.

There wasn’t time for him to answer.

Went off like a bag of grenades.

Looked like I’d overdone the powder the way it threw them onto their arses with their clothes on fire.

We settled back to watch the display.

Green and blue fountains poured from the sky. Rockets exploded over rooftops.

Trickles of red stained the snow, pug-face on his back waving his arms and legs like he was making a snow-angel.

It’s the weather, I guess. Brings out the kid in all of us.

“G
irl like you’s the kind I roll the red carpet out for.” Her tongue fell from her mouth and rippled from side to side. “If you know what I mean.”

It was a red carpet all right. Furry and stained with wine. Wouldn’t have done a thing for me if it hadn’t been for the silver stud. Way it rattled against her teeth made me tighten my thighs.

“How long you been propping up the bar?” I asked. She certainly carried the weight to support the thing if it ever came loose.

“Who in hell’s counting?”

Been a long time since I went into a place like this. Roger doesn’t like me going out without him.

Fuck Roger. He’s out on the piss every night expecting me to sit the kids.

Enough is enough I decided. Phoned the baby-sitting agency. Got them to send someone over. Twenty bucks to play movies and eat chocolate – maybe it’s something I should look into doing.

The sitter turned up all sweet sixteen and wearing a mini. I might have got it out of my head if it hadn’t been for the perfume and the way her breasts came out and spoke to me. “Just a little stroke,” they said. “Nothing wrong in that.”

That’s when I changed my mind about where I was going. Ended up in ‘The Dog and Duck’ ready for some kind of action.

“Wanna drink?” the lady asked.

“You sure you need one?”

The stool slipped a little as she bent towards me. I put my hands on her arm to steady her. She may have looked tough as walnuts but she felt soft as apple-blossom.

“Hell you getting’ at?” Her eyes widened for a moment, then closed back up.

“Just that maybe you need hydration.”

The lady called over to the bartender. “Two Tequila Sunrises, heavy on the orange.” Then she turned to me. “Happy?”

“Yeah, I’m happy,” I told her, then called over to the bartender myself. “With two double T’s on the side.”

I don’t know if it was the salt that got her or the lime. Whatever it was, soon as she got the T down her neck her cheeks turned grey and her head fell onto the chrome.

She stood up, steadied herself and gave me a little peck on the cheek. “’Scuse me, darling. I may be requiring the ladies’ room.” She wandered off with a stagger that was all foxtrot. “Keep that seat warm, Honey,” she told me.

And I did. For the first hour. After that I moved on. Check what was happening around town.

Couldn’t say what time I got back. It was late is all I know.

By the looks of the baby-sitter the chocolates hadn’t been the only things she’d helped herself to.

She was dancing barefoot in the middle of the room, her stockings curled up tight on the sofa alongside a couple of empty beer cans.

“These records are amazing.” She smiled at me like I was her fairy godmother.

“I’m surprised you knew how to put the things on, girl your age.”

She stretched out her arms to beckon me over. The way her hair was swinging I wasn’t about to say no. A dance was just what I needed.

“Dad has a heap of them in the garage. Lets me take ‘em out sometimes.”

“My dad was the same. These are his. Pure fucking originals.”

The girl had taste. “Gene Vincent. ‘Race With The Devil’. 1956, Capitol Records. Flipside, ‘Gonna’ Back Up Baby’.”

“Colour of the label, Maroon.” She already had my body. When she said that, that’s when she took my breath.

I hit that floor like I was seventeen again, which wasn’t so long ago if I think about it.

How I loved to hear the old music.

Roger’s all for selling the stuff. Says he’ll rent us a bigger apartment with a garden.

Stuff the garden. Can’t let him loose with a lawn-mower.

Next record she chose was a slowy. Little Anthony and the Cleopatras. You could hear the static all the way through as the needle scraped its way around. I didn’t care how shit the sound was, just how good it made me feel.

She came in real close, rubbed her body into mine. I rubbed back. ‘Tears on My Pillow’ we sang.

Last I remember we were kissing and my hands were inside that beautiful summer dress of hers.

When I woke up it took me a while to remember where I was. Who I was, even.

Didn’t take long to figure out.

Roger was shouting something over me.

I didn’t hear a word. All my ears were picking up was the loop from the record player.

Always loved Sticks McGhee.

Roger was getting redder and redder. Picked up a glass and smashed it into the wall.

I noticed that all I was wearing was my watch. Maybe that’s what got him so riled.

Never minded him breaking things before, but it was different when he went for my nose. It crunched under his fist like he was using a pestle and mortar.

Took a while for the pain to go. I could feel my eyes watering and my cartilage move back to place.

Didn’t look to me like he was finished.

I reached for the neck of the wine bottle and took hold. When he came back for more, I slugged him right across the head.

Fell down like he’d been practising all his life.

I went upstairs, picked up Tim and Anne-Marie and juggled with them as I opened the front door.

The cold air sobered me up a little. Made me think about what I was doing.

I went back into the den, stuffed my bag with as many singles as would fit and headed into the night.

I
n my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it. That’s why I kept my mouth zipped. If the guys dishing out justice were anything like me, the more noise I made the more pain they’d inflict.

Luckily, their first punch was too good. Right on the point of my chin. I didn’t see the stars, but felt them speed through my nervous system, tingling down to my fingers and toes.

From the way I hurt when I came round I knew they hadn’t stopped at one hit.

It was like my birthday in reverse. They gave plenty and I ended up with less than I started with. I lost the sight of one eye, one front tooth and a button from my favourite jacket. I didn’t mind - it was about time I got myself a few new clothes and the missing tooth just made me look interesting.

I reckon I’d make the perfect front man for the Popes should Shane MacGowan pop his clogs. We’ve been laying bets on him dying before Christmas every year since ’86, and we’re still losing money. I could do it. Stand in for Shane. I know all of the songs and can’t hold a tune. What more could they possibly want?

Lucy Whale was worth every moment of agony. Taught me things I’d never heard of, stuff any man would want in his life if he could get it. Shame Mr Whale couldn’t see it my way, that she was doing humanity a service.

When I arrived home I was a wreck. I washed down a couple of painkillers with my cocoa and decided I needed a lie in. I set the alarm for 6:00 and crawled into bed. The way things turned out, I wish I’d never even tried to get up the next day.

In the morning I wasn’t sure I could make it, but the nationals were almost upon us. The squad had been working their gym shorts off trying to get to the top of their game and I wasn’t about to let them down by crying off sick when they needed me.

My boys were already in action when I arrived. Luke was on the rings, James on the parallel bars, Ken and Crazy Horse were practicing floor exercises, Donald was on the pummel horse and Hugh was pumping weights.

Good lads they are. Known them since they were eleven, and seen them grow from children to teens to young men. Not many kids would make the sacrifices they have, not these days.

I took them out for ice-cream when we heard Britain got the Olympics. Last thing they needed was sugar, but I gave it to them all the same. I doubt they slept a wink that night. I’ve not treated them since – it’s a serious business preparing for a games. I can take them there, I know I can. All I ask in return for my help is education, dedication and perspiration.

Train like you’re coming second I tell them, and for the most part, they do.

I interrupted their workout, offered a few suggestions and answered all questions about my face in the same way. “It was a full moon. The lunatics were out of the asylum.”

8 o’clock we took our usual break. The boys went to the changing room to re-hydrate and take in calories. I went to talk to the desk-staff to see if I could book a session for the weekend.

For the umpteenth time that week, I saw the back end of Billy the Cheese. I had no idea what he was up to or where he got his name, but whenever he was around I felt uneasy. If I’d have seen him entering I might have turned him round and sent him packing. Instead, he was heading for the exit when I clocked him. There was nothing I could do.

I carried on chatting with Laura and Ruth at the desk.

Donald burst through the double doors to interrupt. Told me I should come. “In a minute,” I said, but he pulled my arm and I found myself moving in his direction. These boys have got muscles on top of muscles. More than I ever had and that’s saying something.

It wasn’t until we were alone that he spoke again.

“There’s something wrong with James. We can’t get him to wake up”

“Is this a gag?” I asked as we entered the changing room. I could have saved myself the bother if I’d waited a moment.

James Foster lay on the floor, his eyes bulging, leg swollen and his arms circling like he was trying to swim in the air. Sticking out from his thigh was a hypodermic syringe, half full of blue liquid.

“Get the epi-pen, for Christ’s sake,” I told them.

Crazy Horse and Ken opened his locker and fumbled through his things, throwing them onto the floor as they were checked.

There wasn’t much I could do by then. I knew already he was leaving us. He was telling me with his eyes.

The pen arrived and I took off the cap with my teeth. I jabbed it into his leg and the contents emptied into his bloodstream in seconds. Seconds too late, as it turned out.

You shouldn’t have favourites, I know, but James was mine. He was quiet. Didn’t talk much and hardly smiled. We understood each other from the moment we met. I went to his birthday parties, family events, spent time at their holiday cottage and took him to all his competitions. I’d spent more hours with him in hospital than with some of my closest friends. And there he was, white as an England shirt, lying in my arms, life already drifting to another place.

“You stupid bastard,” I said as I hugged him to my chest. “You stupid, stupid bastard.”

It’s not a situation you can prepare for. Won’t find it in the gymnastics manual. I looked round at the others and saw the panic on their faces. Not one of them spoke, not even Crazy Horse. Ken gagged, looked like he was going to puke and ran to the toilets. We listened as he filled the sink with isotonic drink and bananas.