Joe is the last to turn up at the bar, just as we feel the engines starting up below decks, like a roll of thunder that shudders through our shoes. My stomach flips. Joe’s baseball cap is circulating around the lads and when it reaches me I stick in a tenner, just like everyone else. I know it’s his hat because I can see the white stitching that says New York on the front, even though it’s upside down. Joe went to New York with his wife last year, on a plane. Seven hours and he was there.
Joe has the hat back now and he’s up at the bar.
‘Alright team, all present and correct – and the bar’s open! What’ll it be?’
Everyone shouts out what they want, and Joe tells the barman, getting it right, not forgetting anyone, and even though I didn’t call out, he passes down a pint of bitter, saying, ‘’Ere go Ed. Cheers!’ and he gives me the thumbs up.
Joe’s so smart. He makes me feel like he likes me, not just a bit like the other lads do, but really likes me, properly, like old mates. Joe stands at the centre of the group, and everyone seems happy.
He raises his pint glass, ‘To victory in Dieppe!’ and together we all reply, ‘Victory!’, and then we cheer and knock back our pints.
I get that fluttering in my stomach again. I need to get more comfortable, so I lean back, sort of casual, with one elbow on the bar holding my pint, and the other hand in my pocket, along with my pool chalk. I’m watching the others where they stand together, all used to this kind of get-together. I re-shift my position to cross my legs at the ankle, feeling the sticky carpet tug gently at the soles of my shoes. I wonder whether it’s sticky from drinks spilled by people, or from drinks spilled on a rough crossing. The carpet is one of those geometric designs, blue and orange, with a brass strip separating the carpet from the lino walkways. Sticky. I’m glad it’s just my shoes touching it and not my hands, or worse still, my face.
‘You all right Ed? A bit quiet?’ It’s Joe.
‘Yeah I’m good Joe,’ I say. ‘It’ll be good in Dieppe, won’t it Joe? What about talking in French? You know I can’t do that.’
Joe grins and puts his arm around my shoulder.
‘Mate – don’t you worry about that. I’ve got my phrase book, and anyhow, they can all speak English over there. No worries!’ and he’s off to get a refill.
From where I stand with my drink, I can see the curtains twitching over beyond the seating area, and one of the lads tells us there’s going to be a cabaret show in an hour’s time. Lance says you get some really fit birds in these cabarets, and they sing and dance and wear sexy, spangly outfits, and sometimes they’re really easy and if someone takes their fancy, they might even take you back to their cabin, for, you know, a good time. If one of them got talking to me I wouldn’t call her a ‘bird’ or ‘fit’, because it sounds disrespectful. I feel sure that women don’t like that kind of talk. Mum once told me that some of the performers, if they’re really good, get talent-spotted and become quite famous. There was this one night when we were watching a show about these cruise ferries, and this singer came on who Mum seemed to like, called Jane MacDonald, so I bought her the album as a surprise for her birthday. When I gave it to her, she made this sort of smile with just her mouth, and said, ‘Well, it’s a lovely thought Edward.’ And then she put it up on the dresser shelf, and never opened the case. I imagine her now, back home on her own, reading the note I left by the kettle. I’ve put her pills out, in her special pill sorter box, enough to last over the weekend. It’s for her angina; Mum says it’s a slow killer, a lot of people go that way.
Joe’s tapping me on the arm, nodding his head towards the front, and I wander over with the others to the red comfy seats right below the stage. It’s going to be great. When Joe and Lance come over, they are carrying trays with a round of beers on one, and an unopened bottle of scotch and eight glasses on the other.
‘I’m starving Joe,’ I tell him.
‘Don’t worry Ed mate, I know you’re a slave to your stomach – I’ve ordered a load of chips and burgers. Cheeseburger for you Ed, just how you like it, eh?’
I look at Joe’s warm, lined face with its reliable eyes. Some of the other lads start taking the mick,
‘Ohhh Joe, what about me Joe? I wanted cheese too!’ and Joe just laughs and punches me on the arm, you know, like a joke.
I get the joke and laugh with them all. When the chips arrive, we get stuck in, fighting over the ketchup, and Joe makes sure the cheeseburger makes it into my hands. He had even asked them to not put gherkins in it. Just how I like it. The low coffee table is a mass of beer glasses and napkins and ketchup and mustard, and I think this must be what it’s like to be in a big family, with everyone reaching over and talking and joking. When I’m done, I take a big swig of my beer, and a huge, round burp just jumps out of me.
‘Bloody ‘ell Ed!’ shouts Lance, ‘Careful mate, you might knock the ferry out of the water!’ and all of us are laughing.
And then in the middle of all this laughter, the lights dim, the music starts to play, and the cabaret begins. The lights along the edge of the stage are multicoloured, like Christmas lights and the centre of the stage is lit more brightly than daylight. I look around the vast room and see row upon row of couples and groups, all huddled around tables of drinks and chips and ash trays, their blank faces fixed on the stage beyond us. There is an uncommon hush amongst our men and I feel the need to move away from it all, right now.
In the Gents, I use the loo and then go to the sink to wash my hands with soap and water. There’s no excuse for dirtiness. I try to push Mum out of my mind. She’d never have agreed if I’d told her I was going beforehand, and Joe really needed me on the team. I’m an integral part of the pool team, he told me, nuts and bolts. I didn’t tell him I might not come because of Mum, but I think he had an idea, because he said, ‘For God’s sake Ed, you’re 42 years old. You’ve got to have a life of your own as well. I mean it Ed, it’s important.’ He’d never spoken to me like that before, and I thought, yeah, you’re right, so I said, ‘Alright Joe. I’m on the team.’ He gave me a high five, and I fumbled it a bit, but it still felt great. My face looks pale and waxy in the mirror, fat like a baby’s. I stare at my heavy shape for a moment, and quickly look away. Mum says there’s no point in looking at yourself too much, when you already know what’s there. I splash some cold water on my face and slap it dry to get some colour in my cheeks, and when I feel a bit more with it, I head back to the seats.
As I sit down, the act on stage comes to an end and the curtains close for a set change. Joe is pouring out the scotch, and we all take one in hand,
‘Victory!’ but now we don’t all manage to say it at the same time like before.
My heavy legs feel heavier, and the faces of the lads look like the end of a night’s drinking, even though it’s still early.
‘I hope there’s some better talent in the next act, eh Ed?’ says Lance. Girls always seem to like Lance. He’s as thin as a whippet with mousey, spiky hair, but he just knows how to talk to them in a way that they like. He winks a glassy blue eye at me,
‘You got yourself a girlfriend yet Ed?’
All eyes are on me, and I feel myself swiping at the sweat on my top lip. I hate this stuff, I just want to talk about pool, and tv, and the book I’m reading. . .
‘No pressure Ed, I’m only pulling your leg. Everyone knows you’re on your own mate.’ Lance sounds sincere. ‘Well, except for your old Mum, that is. . .’ he adds, and they all laugh like it’s the funniest thing, until Joe shouts them down.
‘Alright! Leave it out, all of you!’ and they look embarrassed and I feel embarrassed, and thank god, the next act comes on.
It’s a duet, a handsome man and a lovely girl, singing that song by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. All the lads know the words, and they start joining in, swaying from side to side, with these happy, sleepy faces and I nearly join in. During the applause, Lance leans over and drapes his arm on my shoulder, with his hot mouth right up against my ear,
‘Sorry Ed mate. Sorry mate. I din’t mean nuffin by it. It was just a laugh Ed.’
Then he pulls away and looks me right in the eye, with his eyes that seem to be melting and asks, ‘Mates?’
I nod, and he shakes my hand, saying ‘You’re alright Ed,’ and then he looks peaceful.
I feel sleepy, but my eyes keep going back to the scotch rings that the glasses have left all over the table, and it bothers me. The lights from the stage seem to pierce through the room, picking up nothing but the eyes of the audience and the rings of scotch. As soon as the lights come back up for another set change, I bunch up all the packaging from our burgers and take it over to the bin. I have to really shove it down to get all the cartons in, and then I get one of those towels from the barman and come back to wipe the table down. As I get back some of the lads are falling about laughing with each other, and I see that they are comparing passport photos.
‘Bloody ‘ell Andy, you look about twelve!’ says one of them,
‘Well I had it done about eight years ago – I’ve matured!’ says Andy, ‘At least my hair looks alright. Look at your greasy mullet!’ They go on like this for a while, sharing joke insults and slapping their knees, and I concentrate hard on scrubbing away the scotch rings with the barman’s towel.
And then Lance says, ‘What about you Ed? Let’s ‘ave a look.’ My stomach tightens again.
‘Oh it’s boring,’ I tell him, but they all jeer me on, and in the end I have to hand it over. They pass it around, and no-one says much, until it gets back to Lance.
He says, ‘You only got this done two weeks ago Ed.’
I don’t say anything.
‘This your first time abroad Ed?’ he asks me, and I feel my sweaty face flushing, which he takes as an answer, and he blurts out, ‘Fuck me, Ed. I can’t believe it. Forty whatever years old, and you’ve never been out of the fucking country. Your old Mum’s got a lot to answer for mate.’
And he looks to the rest of the group for agreement and then he’s on the floor, because I hit him, not just a normal thump, but a punch of iron that flies down my arm and into his cheek. And I’m twice his size, so it’s not fair, it’s not a fair fight.
So now I’m up on deck, standing by the railings, with the spray and foam lashing up at me and the half moon bearing down on me, and I’m crying so much that the sea spray and tears and snot and spit have joined together, and my chest is aching with a squeezing pressure. Like Angina. Then I think about what Mum will have to say when I get back. It won’t be, Well done Ed, it’s about time you spread your wings. She will have had a fall, or another ‘episode’, and Mrs Newbury will have had to come in and help. The milk will have gone off, even though I bought it fresh before I left, and she’ll have heard someone round by the bins again at midnight. And even if we win the pool match in Dieppe, she’ll give me that sad look, without saying ‘disappointed’, but that’s what she’ll mean. And then we’ll have to carry on where we left off, her in her armchair with the remote control, me in mine with my Stephen King. And Mum will get over it, and we’ll just get on with life like nothing ever happened, but we’ll both know, we’ll both remember how it felt when I went away.
‘Come on Ed mate.’ Joe is next to me, leaning on the paint chipped rail. ‘Lance was out of order. You’re not in any trouble Ed. He wants to apologize. Come on mate.’
He puts his arm around my shoulder and I feel this gasp that turns into a sob, a huge moaning sob and he’s hugging me like a baby and I’m sobbing.
When Joe takes me back, the lovely girl is on stage, alone now, singing ‘You’re the One’. She is lovely, so pretty, with a soothing, gentle voice, and I’m glad that I wore my best t-shirt and jeans tonight. Perhaps, she’ll come over later. We could just talk. But I know I’d never stand a chance with Lance there. I glance over at him now, dozing in his tub chair, a dead pint glass resting on his chest under a floppy hand. His bottom lip droops a bit, and he looks like a little kid, and I can’t feel angry at him like I want to. Across the table from me Joe sits in his own seat, guarding us quietly, watchful. I close my aching eyes, and that lovely girl’s still there, behind my lids, singing that song. The swell of the boat takes me, rocking against the distant roar of the engines below, and the channel tide draws us on.
***
