STARSHINE. THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter three Part thirteen
The sky blue, rusting morris minor coughed and spluttered but it ran. Joe drove and drove, he was aware of the controls and the traffic but his mind was blank and his direction blind.
It was afternoon when he drove through the wood. Ash gold rays from the lowering sun slanted through the branches. He turned off the road up a lane. The wheels crunched over gravel and the engine strained against the incline. Only then did Joe know where he was. He drew up at the gate. The garden path was an avenue of waist high grass, the cracks in the curved stairway seemed wider and the edges of the stone steps more crumbled. The gargoyle knocker no longer scared him and the door was ajar, so he walked in. His footsteps were slow and soft as a cat's as he entered the drawing room and stood behind Clare. She was sitting in a rocking chair in a patch of sunlight that fell through the window. There was a glass of brandy on a table beside her. She gazed out into the haze of bright light on dirty glass. She did not turn to look at Joe. She sat very still, like a dark shadow, her head outlined in a halo of intense white light.
" Hello godson ! " Her quiet words filled him and made him know why he was there. She was his godmother.
Wednesday, 30 September 2015
Friday, 25 September 2015
STARSHINE, THEOCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter three Part twelve
The grandstand was crowded. It was a clear sunny day 'though a cold wind blew, Joe felt it through his thin jacket, it chilled his already cold body. He was in a daze, he felt weak and feverish. He lost himself in the crowds and the movement of the racecourse. People milled around and men stood high above them, waving their arms about in their weird tick-tack language, while names and numbers were chalked up and rubbed off blackboards. Joe watched the sleek horses being warmed up by impish jockeys in colourful shirts and caps. He tried to make a plan but his ideas raced around his head and fell over themselves. He knew he had to wait for Jack to arrive, then things would just happen and his mind would clear. He drew hard on a cigarette, his lungs seemed to shake and his heart hammered against his breast bone. He wanted to cry but his tear ducts were dry.
" Sorry I'm late."
Jack O'Neil was a little, ferret faced man, he had thick brown hair around the sides of his head and a bald pate. Joe could see him out f the corner of his eye, he could see the garish colours of Jack's red shirt and navy, nylon suit, too short in the arms and legs. Joe would not look at him, he could not look at him. He felt all the eyes around them digging deep inside him connecting him with Jack O'Neil. Joe could not bare it. His brain screamed with paranoia. He pushed past Jack and said quickly,
"We mustn't be seen together. Meet me in the pub in half an hour. The one near the station car park on the main road."
Joe walked away quickly before Jack could object. He tried to breath deeply and make his fever subside as he walked from the racecourse, down the main road to the pub, but a bird was inside his body, an ugly, ferocious bird, it held his larynx tight in its beak, its wings beat crazily against his rib cage and its talons clawed at his guts.
The pub was plush with red carpet and oak tables. He sat at the bar and drank two whiskies, his mind had gone blank and the chatter and hubbub around him seemed far away. Then he bought himself a third whisky and a black coffee ready for Jack. He sat at a table with his back to the wall. He took the ring box from his jacket pocket tipped the sugar lump from its satin lining, onto the saucer to join the other one, careful not to touch even its paper wrapping. He cast his eyes around the room, but none were cast back in his direction, he had not been seen. He put the ring box back in his pocket and pushed the cup of coffee to the far side of the table, right on the edge, as if it belonged to someone who had nothing to do with him. He tried again to relax but he was crazy with guilt and fear. Suddenly Jack was there. Joe got up to go and without even a glance at Jack he said under his breath,
" Drink the coffee and then follow me out to the gents, I've got something to show you. "
Jack giggled,
" Didn't know you felt that way about me," he pursed his lips. Joe cringed and got away from the table, fast. He looked back quickly from the doorway and saw Jack stirring his coffee, a pleased look on his face as if enjoying the excitement and mystery of the shady bit of business about to be revealed to him. Joe did not think he would take too long finishing his coffee and getting to the gents.
The gents sparkled with pure, disinfected white ; the hand basins, the bogs, the tiled walls, the urinals, all clean like they were fresh out of a shop window and had never been used. Joe was alone and he prayed there would be no other occupants for the next five minutes. He leant on a basin, his fevered heart beating hard and sweat started to bead around his temples. Jack was a conniving, lying, cheating little runt, but Joe had never meant him this much harm. He splashed cold water over his face and wiped it off with a paper towel. Jack stumbled through the door, he was pulling at the collar button of his shirt, his face was puce and a horrible scratching and rasping was coming from his throat. Joe caught him under the arms, swung him round into a cubicle and locked the door. He sat Jack on the bog seat and by the time he had pulled his nylon , navy trousers down around his ankles, Jack's head had fallen back against he pipe and he was staring up at the cistern with bulging, dead fish eyes and Joe remembered the courier at the airport. He heard the door bang and quickly climbed onto the seat, putting his feet on either side and tucking them underneath the body to hide them from the gap under the door. The guy pissed into the urinal, it was a long, steady, full stream that would not end. Joe's head was spinning and he was weeping inside. He wanted Jack to cry out and give him away, but Jack was dead.
The stream turned into a trickle and then stopped. Joe heard the zip and then the door. He got down, out of the cubicle and closed the door as far as it would close with the lock turned to "engaged". He turned a tap full on, soaped his hands and let the hard rush of water run over them. He ripped out another paper towel and did not know why he had washed his hands. He should have got out straight away, but he had washed his hands and he did not know why. He screwed up the paper towel, threw it down and split.
Outside two articulated lorries thundered past him, one after the other. Joe was glad of the noise, it drowned his thoughts and hid deed. He threw the ring box into a ditch at the side of the road and walked towards the car park.
Chapter three Part twelve
The grandstand was crowded. It was a clear sunny day 'though a cold wind blew, Joe felt it through his thin jacket, it chilled his already cold body. He was in a daze, he felt weak and feverish. He lost himself in the crowds and the movement of the racecourse. People milled around and men stood high above them, waving their arms about in their weird tick-tack language, while names and numbers were chalked up and rubbed off blackboards. Joe watched the sleek horses being warmed up by impish jockeys in colourful shirts and caps. He tried to make a plan but his ideas raced around his head and fell over themselves. He knew he had to wait for Jack to arrive, then things would just happen and his mind would clear. He drew hard on a cigarette, his lungs seemed to shake and his heart hammered against his breast bone. He wanted to cry but his tear ducts were dry.
" Sorry I'm late."
Jack O'Neil was a little, ferret faced man, he had thick brown hair around the sides of his head and a bald pate. Joe could see him out f the corner of his eye, he could see the garish colours of Jack's red shirt and navy, nylon suit, too short in the arms and legs. Joe would not look at him, he could not look at him. He felt all the eyes around them digging deep inside him connecting him with Jack O'Neil. Joe could not bare it. His brain screamed with paranoia. He pushed past Jack and said quickly,
"We mustn't be seen together. Meet me in the pub in half an hour. The one near the station car park on the main road."
Joe walked away quickly before Jack could object. He tried to breath deeply and make his fever subside as he walked from the racecourse, down the main road to the pub, but a bird was inside his body, an ugly, ferocious bird, it held his larynx tight in its beak, its wings beat crazily against his rib cage and its talons clawed at his guts.
The pub was plush with red carpet and oak tables. He sat at the bar and drank two whiskies, his mind had gone blank and the chatter and hubbub around him seemed far away. Then he bought himself a third whisky and a black coffee ready for Jack. He sat at a table with his back to the wall. He took the ring box from his jacket pocket tipped the sugar lump from its satin lining, onto the saucer to join the other one, careful not to touch even its paper wrapping. He cast his eyes around the room, but none were cast back in his direction, he had not been seen. He put the ring box back in his pocket and pushed the cup of coffee to the far side of the table, right on the edge, as if it belonged to someone who had nothing to do with him. He tried again to relax but he was crazy with guilt and fear. Suddenly Jack was there. Joe got up to go and without even a glance at Jack he said under his breath,
" Drink the coffee and then follow me out to the gents, I've got something to show you. "
Jack giggled,
" Didn't know you felt that way about me," he pursed his lips. Joe cringed and got away from the table, fast. He looked back quickly from the doorway and saw Jack stirring his coffee, a pleased look on his face as if enjoying the excitement and mystery of the shady bit of business about to be revealed to him. Joe did not think he would take too long finishing his coffee and getting to the gents.
The gents sparkled with pure, disinfected white ; the hand basins, the bogs, the tiled walls, the urinals, all clean like they were fresh out of a shop window and had never been used. Joe was alone and he prayed there would be no other occupants for the next five minutes. He leant on a basin, his fevered heart beating hard and sweat started to bead around his temples. Jack was a conniving, lying, cheating little runt, but Joe had never meant him this much harm. He splashed cold water over his face and wiped it off with a paper towel. Jack stumbled through the door, he was pulling at the collar button of his shirt, his face was puce and a horrible scratching and rasping was coming from his throat. Joe caught him under the arms, swung him round into a cubicle and locked the door. He sat Jack on the bog seat and by the time he had pulled his nylon , navy trousers down around his ankles, Jack's head had fallen back against he pipe and he was staring up at the cistern with bulging, dead fish eyes and Joe remembered the courier at the airport. He heard the door bang and quickly climbed onto the seat, putting his feet on either side and tucking them underneath the body to hide them from the gap under the door. The guy pissed into the urinal, it was a long, steady, full stream that would not end. Joe's head was spinning and he was weeping inside. He wanted Jack to cry out and give him away, but Jack was dead.
The stream turned into a trickle and then stopped. Joe heard the zip and then the door. He got down, out of the cubicle and closed the door as far as it would close with the lock turned to "engaged". He turned a tap full on, soaped his hands and let the hard rush of water run over them. He ripped out another paper towel and did not know why he had washed his hands. He should have got out straight away, but he had washed his hands and he did not know why. He screwed up the paper towel, threw it down and split.
Outside two articulated lorries thundered past him, one after the other. Joe was glad of the noise, it drowned his thoughts and hid deed. He threw the ring box into a ditch at the side of the road and walked towards the car park.
Sunday, 20 September 2015
STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter Three Part Eleven
The hollow clanging of barrels echoed from outside where the draymen were loading empty kegs and unloading full ones from the lorry and rolling them down the hatchway in the pavement to the cellar. Joe sat up at the bar, the morning paper spread out in front of him and a cup of black coffee to one side. The chairs were stacked on the tables and Mad Maria was mopping the floor. Joe could hear the sounds of the water slopping and the mop being wrung through the holes in the metal bucket. Maria's presence made him prickle. He looked at her quickly but saw nothing but an old Italian woman, her thick grey hair drawn back and knotted behind her head, a pink nylon overall over her black dress, varicose veins on her white, stubby legs and a pair of dirty, torn espadrilles. She was Mad Maria. She was pathetic. She responded to everything with a shrug and a nervous laugh. She did not understand enough English to have said the words she had said to Joe. Joe put it down to his ears playing tricks on him and forgot her.
Annie tottered in in a tight red skirt and stiletto heels. She had a note pad and a pencil. Joe watched her checking the shelf stocks. Her hair was pinned up, her nails were polished and there was just a hint of make-up on her pretty face to emphasise her gorgeous eyes and high cheek bones. She marked things down on her note pad. Joe kept gazing at her and then he remembered that he had yet another favour to ask of her,
" Annie ? "
" Yes luv."
" Can I borrow your car on Saturday ? "
" Of course you can luv. If you can get it to go. It just sits in the yard getting rusty. I never use it. "
" Thanks ! "
Annie turned round and looked at his cup of coffee.
" That's your breakfast is it ? "
" I'll get something later on, " Joe lied. Food was no longer part of Joe's life, he never remembered to eat and hunger had been forgotten too.
" I've got to get on, " said Annie, she kissed him quickly and was gone.
Joe rifled through the paper and found the star signs, but the old witch broke into his reading with her heavy Italian accent and her clear English words.
" Then I'll light another candle on Saturday Joe. There are three already. "
Joe swung round and his anger met her look of pity.
" Yeah, " he tightened and spat out his words, " Light four more ! "
Mad Maria was unmoved and her voice still calm,
" I'll light three more. The fourth will be yours and I don't know yet if I should light it. "
Chapter Three Part Eleven
The hollow clanging of barrels echoed from outside where the draymen were loading empty kegs and unloading full ones from the lorry and rolling them down the hatchway in the pavement to the cellar. Joe sat up at the bar, the morning paper spread out in front of him and a cup of black coffee to one side. The chairs were stacked on the tables and Mad Maria was mopping the floor. Joe could hear the sounds of the water slopping and the mop being wrung through the holes in the metal bucket. Maria's presence made him prickle. He looked at her quickly but saw nothing but an old Italian woman, her thick grey hair drawn back and knotted behind her head, a pink nylon overall over her black dress, varicose veins on her white, stubby legs and a pair of dirty, torn espadrilles. She was Mad Maria. She was pathetic. She responded to everything with a shrug and a nervous laugh. She did not understand enough English to have said the words she had said to Joe. Joe put it down to his ears playing tricks on him and forgot her.
Annie tottered in in a tight red skirt and stiletto heels. She had a note pad and a pencil. Joe watched her checking the shelf stocks. Her hair was pinned up, her nails were polished and there was just a hint of make-up on her pretty face to emphasise her gorgeous eyes and high cheek bones. She marked things down on her note pad. Joe kept gazing at her and then he remembered that he had yet another favour to ask of her,
" Annie ? "
" Yes luv."
" Can I borrow your car on Saturday ? "
" Of course you can luv. If you can get it to go. It just sits in the yard getting rusty. I never use it. "
" Thanks ! "
Annie turned round and looked at his cup of coffee.
" That's your breakfast is it ? "
" I'll get something later on, " Joe lied. Food was no longer part of Joe's life, he never remembered to eat and hunger had been forgotten too.
" I've got to get on, " said Annie, she kissed him quickly and was gone.
Joe rifled through the paper and found the star signs, but the old witch broke into his reading with her heavy Italian accent and her clear English words.
" Then I'll light another candle on Saturday Joe. There are three already. "
Joe swung round and his anger met her look of pity.
" Yeah, " he tightened and spat out his words, " Light four more ! "
Mad Maria was unmoved and her voice still calm,
" I'll light three more. The fourth will be yours and I don't know yet if I should light it. "
Tuesday, 8 September 2015
STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter Three Part Ten
The sash window above the pub door squeaked and strained as it was opened and Annie leaned out. She held back her wild tresses of red hair and looked down at Joe, peering through the darkness and the sleep that still filled her eyes. Joe looked up at her like a little boy lost and shrugged his shoulders. He saw her smile, she closed the window, it rattled and Joe waited for her to come downstairs. The street that bustled in the day time was motionless and eerie at night, even the air was still and the hollow sounds of bolts being drawn and the ringing of chains being unchained echoed in the silence. Then the door was opened, Annie drew him inside quickly and closed the door on the cold.
The bedroom was warm. A small light shone from beside the bed and filled the room with soft shadows. Annie's dressing gown fell to the floor. Joe held her close to him, he ran his hands down her back, over her slender hips and the roundness of her arse. Her skin was like satin and Joe melted into the warmth that came from her. They kissed deeply and heard the beating of each other's hearts. Annie climbed into bed. Joe got out of his clothes quickly, left them straggled over the carpet and followed her between the cream silk sheets. Her red hair was spread over the pillow and her green eyes smiled at Joe in a way that made him know he was wanted. She moved with a slow, sensuous delight as he kissed and touched all of her. He moved inside her. Her sweetness flowed and closed around him. Like sea waves drawing from an ocean they filled and filled until they broke with the fever and the madness and the cries of love.
Afterwards as they lay wrapped in each other's arms, the lengths of their bodies touching, Joe told Annie that he had a lot of money coming his way and that when he had got it he would take her somewhere far away for a holiday. Annie laughed, it was her own sweet, good natured laugh for a boy who dreams but Joe's memory could hear the strains of Jason's sick laughter in the massage parlour when Joe had said he could get the money to buy himself out. Joe realised that his fortune was a secret only because he was someone who was not believed. Annie kissed him lovingly on the forehead, but Joe was all empty of their love and a sadness was filling him. He turned over to go to sleep where the sadness would not reach him. He slept deeply and dreamt of pearls floating on dark water like stars in the night sky.
Chapter Three Part Ten
The sash window above the pub door squeaked and strained as it was opened and Annie leaned out. She held back her wild tresses of red hair and looked down at Joe, peering through the darkness and the sleep that still filled her eyes. Joe looked up at her like a little boy lost and shrugged his shoulders. He saw her smile, she closed the window, it rattled and Joe waited for her to come downstairs. The street that bustled in the day time was motionless and eerie at night, even the air was still and the hollow sounds of bolts being drawn and the ringing of chains being unchained echoed in the silence. Then the door was opened, Annie drew him inside quickly and closed the door on the cold.
The bedroom was warm. A small light shone from beside the bed and filled the room with soft shadows. Annie's dressing gown fell to the floor. Joe held her close to him, he ran his hands down her back, over her slender hips and the roundness of her arse. Her skin was like satin and Joe melted into the warmth that came from her. They kissed deeply and heard the beating of each other's hearts. Annie climbed into bed. Joe got out of his clothes quickly, left them straggled over the carpet and followed her between the cream silk sheets. Her red hair was spread over the pillow and her green eyes smiled at Joe in a way that made him know he was wanted. She moved with a slow, sensuous delight as he kissed and touched all of her. He moved inside her. Her sweetness flowed and closed around him. Like sea waves drawing from an ocean they filled and filled until they broke with the fever and the madness and the cries of love.
Afterwards as they lay wrapped in each other's arms, the lengths of their bodies touching, Joe told Annie that he had a lot of money coming his way and that when he had got it he would take her somewhere far away for a holiday. Annie laughed, it was her own sweet, good natured laugh for a boy who dreams but Joe's memory could hear the strains of Jason's sick laughter in the massage parlour when Joe had said he could get the money to buy himself out. Joe realised that his fortune was a secret only because he was someone who was not believed. Annie kissed him lovingly on the forehead, but Joe was all empty of their love and a sadness was filling him. He turned over to go to sleep where the sadness would not reach him. He slept deeply and dreamt of pearls floating on dark water like stars in the night sky.
Monday, 31 August 2015
STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter Three Part 9
It was early in the evening and the club in Old Compton Street was empty. Joe had hoped to find Mandy there, but Nick the owner's son was behind the bar on his hands and knees, stocking up the cold shelves with bottled lagers and fruit juices. Nick had not seen him come in so Joe sat himself on one of the high bar stools and cast a long leisurely eye over the row of spirit bottles. He wanted to start with a short, something smooth on the tongue and warm in the belly. His eye stuck on the rounded bottle filled with honey coloured liquid and the label with a pen and ink drawing of a Mississippi paddle steamer. He waited for Nick to squeeze the last bottle of lager onto the cold shelf.
" I'll 'ave a Southern Comfort please Nick ! "
Nick shot up. He was tall, dark haired boy, well dressed and quiet mannered, good looks, dark eyes and a smile that got him friends and rich women.
" Hello Joe ! " Nick kicked the empty crates aside and stuck a glass under the optic. Joe watched the measure of clear gold run into the bottom of the glass and stop.
" Make it a double, "said Joe. The optic was pushed up again and another measure was added.
" Where's Mandy ? "asked Joe, without showing any obvious interest.
" Gone. Got a job in Amsterdam. "
" Oh ? " Joe's surprise showed.
" Yeah. Always off somewhere. It was Go-Go dancing in Bangkok last time. "
Nick lifted the flap of the bar and moved quickly round the tables, putting an ashtray and four coasters on each one. The Southern Comfort was as smooth and warm as Joe had anticipated but Mandy's spirit of adventure soured it a little. He imagined nothing past the safety of her cosy, heated room and the gentleness of her kisses. Nothing more had occurred to him and now the pieces did not fit and a mild sense of betrayal gnawed at him, because his understanding had misunderstood. He pushed the matter somewhere deep in his mind where it could be forgotten and instead he wondered why Ned was not there yet to chew his ears off with stories of old Ireland, its green lands and sweet grass. Maybe he was about his business of extracting coins from meters and phone boxes or maybe he was in his rented bedsit sitting amongst piles of money, all counted and stacked into little pillars of silver and gold. Joe wondered what three million pounds would look like in coins and how big a room it would fill. He could hear the gentle clinking of little cascades of coins falling from mountains of money. But it was Nick rearranging glasses on a high shelf behind the bar.
" There's a card game on tonight Joe. Fancy joining ? " said Nick.
Joe thought for a moment,
" Yes !" he said and smiled because he could think of nothing he would like more. He loved the feel of cards . The dealing and receiving of hands, chance combinations of luck that turns as the cards are played. He liked the raising of bets, the pushing of money and paper promises to the centre of the table and after some moments of solemn silence, tension and cigarette smoke the drawing back of money towards a winner. Joe had always walked away from a card game with nothing but a pocket full of debts. He had winning streaks, but he never learnt to leave the table until a losing streak forced him from it. This time Joe had a secret mountain of money so that he could win or lose with no other goal but the joy of playing and it seemed so long since he had played.
Nick had a final look around the room to see that everything was set up for the night. He turned bright lights off and low lights on, put some funky music on the stereo, turned the volume up and sat down to a drink. Joe offered him a cigarette. The two men smoked and drank, they talked of the comings and goings in Soho, the court cases and the pay offs, they exchanged jokes and remembered good times and beautiful women. And so the evening went on. Nick was kept busy behind the bar as the club filled up. Cousin Carrot Top turned up with a crowd of friends he and Joe had grown up with and hour passed hour with new rounds of drinks and old rounds of conversation. Joe was relieved to see Ned come through the door and know that he had not been crushed by the weight of his fortune. Nick gave Joe a nod and a wink. The card game was about to begin and there was no time to hear Ned tell of clear running streams through bluebell woods and full cream milk, frothy, warm and fresh from the teets of fat, juicy, brown eyed cows. Joe turned to his friends and cousin to bid them goodnight but there had been some joke that Joe had missed and their faces were red and screwed up with laughter, Joe left them that way and slipped out through a side door.
The backroom was set up for the game, everything was spick and span. Bottles, glasses and cans of cold beer were set up on a small bar, the ashtrays were clean and the packs of cards were in neat piles on the table. Several men hung around the edges of the room to spectate. Some of the faces Joe recognised, others he did not. Three men sat round the table; one was a young trendy who Joe did not know, with the latest cut in clothes and longish black hair stuck back with brylcreem, another was a wiry, middle aged villain with nicotine stained fingers and eyes as sharp as needles , Joe remembered him as an old drinking partner of his dad's. The third was Harry, Nicks father and owner of the club. Harry was a kind hearted man, he was short, fat and bald and had a permanent cigar sticking out of his face.
"Hello Joey boy ! Glad to 'ave you with us. This is Ted and this is Ken. "
The trendy was Ted and the villain was Ken. Joe nodded to them and took his place opposite Harry. Harry dealt the cards and the game began. The cards felt good to Joe, they were smooth and shiny. Hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades, blood red and jet black, clear and sharp edged on bright white. The court cards sat straight backed and stern faced in their regal crowns and embroidered robes. They played on while disorganised piles of money appeared in the centre of the table, disappeared and then reappeared. Jackets were taken off and sleeves were rolled up. Stale smoke hung in the air, ashtrays overflowed, empty bottles and beer cans littered the room and the players played on. Sandwiches were brought in and offered round and more drinks. Joe refused the food and took the alcohol. More hands were dealt, more bets were raised and more time passed. Joe was winning when the cards began to bore him. The air was too thick to breathe and the booze was racing around his veins. He wanted to be outside, he wanted to walk through the ice cold night and ring on Annie's doorbell in case she was alone. So he gathered up his money and left the table.
Chapter Three Part 9
It was early in the evening and the club in Old Compton Street was empty. Joe had hoped to find Mandy there, but Nick the owner's son was behind the bar on his hands and knees, stocking up the cold shelves with bottled lagers and fruit juices. Nick had not seen him come in so Joe sat himself on one of the high bar stools and cast a long leisurely eye over the row of spirit bottles. He wanted to start with a short, something smooth on the tongue and warm in the belly. His eye stuck on the rounded bottle filled with honey coloured liquid and the label with a pen and ink drawing of a Mississippi paddle steamer. He waited for Nick to squeeze the last bottle of lager onto the cold shelf.
" I'll 'ave a Southern Comfort please Nick ! "
Nick shot up. He was tall, dark haired boy, well dressed and quiet mannered, good looks, dark eyes and a smile that got him friends and rich women.
" Hello Joe ! " Nick kicked the empty crates aside and stuck a glass under the optic. Joe watched the measure of clear gold run into the bottom of the glass and stop.
" Make it a double, "said Joe. The optic was pushed up again and another measure was added.
" Where's Mandy ? "asked Joe, without showing any obvious interest.
" Gone. Got a job in Amsterdam. "
" Oh ? " Joe's surprise showed.
" Yeah. Always off somewhere. It was Go-Go dancing in Bangkok last time. "
Nick lifted the flap of the bar and moved quickly round the tables, putting an ashtray and four coasters on each one. The Southern Comfort was as smooth and warm as Joe had anticipated but Mandy's spirit of adventure soured it a little. He imagined nothing past the safety of her cosy, heated room and the gentleness of her kisses. Nothing more had occurred to him and now the pieces did not fit and a mild sense of betrayal gnawed at him, because his understanding had misunderstood. He pushed the matter somewhere deep in his mind where it could be forgotten and instead he wondered why Ned was not there yet to chew his ears off with stories of old Ireland, its green lands and sweet grass. Maybe he was about his business of extracting coins from meters and phone boxes or maybe he was in his rented bedsit sitting amongst piles of money, all counted and stacked into little pillars of silver and gold. Joe wondered what three million pounds would look like in coins and how big a room it would fill. He could hear the gentle clinking of little cascades of coins falling from mountains of money. But it was Nick rearranging glasses on a high shelf behind the bar.
" There's a card game on tonight Joe. Fancy joining ? " said Nick.
Joe thought for a moment,
" Yes !" he said and smiled because he could think of nothing he would like more. He loved the feel of cards . The dealing and receiving of hands, chance combinations of luck that turns as the cards are played. He liked the raising of bets, the pushing of money and paper promises to the centre of the table and after some moments of solemn silence, tension and cigarette smoke the drawing back of money towards a winner. Joe had always walked away from a card game with nothing but a pocket full of debts. He had winning streaks, but he never learnt to leave the table until a losing streak forced him from it. This time Joe had a secret mountain of money so that he could win or lose with no other goal but the joy of playing and it seemed so long since he had played.
Nick had a final look around the room to see that everything was set up for the night. He turned bright lights off and low lights on, put some funky music on the stereo, turned the volume up and sat down to a drink. Joe offered him a cigarette. The two men smoked and drank, they talked of the comings and goings in Soho, the court cases and the pay offs, they exchanged jokes and remembered good times and beautiful women. And so the evening went on. Nick was kept busy behind the bar as the club filled up. Cousin Carrot Top turned up with a crowd of friends he and Joe had grown up with and hour passed hour with new rounds of drinks and old rounds of conversation. Joe was relieved to see Ned come through the door and know that he had not been crushed by the weight of his fortune. Nick gave Joe a nod and a wink. The card game was about to begin and there was no time to hear Ned tell of clear running streams through bluebell woods and full cream milk, frothy, warm and fresh from the teets of fat, juicy, brown eyed cows. Joe turned to his friends and cousin to bid them goodnight but there had been some joke that Joe had missed and their faces were red and screwed up with laughter, Joe left them that way and slipped out through a side door.
The backroom was set up for the game, everything was spick and span. Bottles, glasses and cans of cold beer were set up on a small bar, the ashtrays were clean and the packs of cards were in neat piles on the table. Several men hung around the edges of the room to spectate. Some of the faces Joe recognised, others he did not. Three men sat round the table; one was a young trendy who Joe did not know, with the latest cut in clothes and longish black hair stuck back with brylcreem, another was a wiry, middle aged villain with nicotine stained fingers and eyes as sharp as needles , Joe remembered him as an old drinking partner of his dad's. The third was Harry, Nicks father and owner of the club. Harry was a kind hearted man, he was short, fat and bald and had a permanent cigar sticking out of his face.
"Hello Joey boy ! Glad to 'ave you with us. This is Ted and this is Ken. "
The trendy was Ted and the villain was Ken. Joe nodded to them and took his place opposite Harry. Harry dealt the cards and the game began. The cards felt good to Joe, they were smooth and shiny. Hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades, blood red and jet black, clear and sharp edged on bright white. The court cards sat straight backed and stern faced in their regal crowns and embroidered robes. They played on while disorganised piles of money appeared in the centre of the table, disappeared and then reappeared. Jackets were taken off and sleeves were rolled up. Stale smoke hung in the air, ashtrays overflowed, empty bottles and beer cans littered the room and the players played on. Sandwiches were brought in and offered round and more drinks. Joe refused the food and took the alcohol. More hands were dealt, more bets were raised and more time passed. Joe was winning when the cards began to bore him. The air was too thick to breathe and the booze was racing around his veins. He wanted to be outside, he wanted to walk through the ice cold night and ring on Annie's doorbell in case she was alone. So he gathered up his money and left the table.
Sunday, 30 August 2015
STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN.
Chapter three Part 8
Leicester Square was crowded with people and pigeons, all brisk and strutting. Joe sat in the park in the middle. It was anaemic patch of grass with a path around it, all covered in bird shit and surrounded by iron railings. Joe sat beneath the grey spidery branches of winter trees, on a wooden bench that was so cold it felt like stone. He looked around at the film titles, he picked one out and headed for the ticket office underneath its big, brash letters.
Joe found himself a place in the back row while the adverts were showing. He sank down into the soft velvet seat, it was large and comfy with a high back and wide arm rests. Joe ripped the cellophane from a new packet of cigarettes and lit one, and in the blackness of the auditorium the flame threw a flickering orange glow over his face. He flicked his wrist and the match died and the glow was gone. He sat back and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. It seemed to have been days since he had smoked, he guessed it had been his lack of money before Morgan Alexander had paid him his pittance and then after that , one thing after another had simply left him no time to think, or maybe it was just forgetfulness. He felt the nicotine mingle and move with his blood, it felt good. He relaxed and looked at the screen that was filled with the sea, breakers and surfboards and girls in bikinis with droplets of salt water over their dark tans, and bottles of clear, sparkling lemonade. The lights came on. The tiny matinee audience was scattered over the rows of red velvet seats. The floor was littered with spilt popcorn, plastic cups and sweet papers. Joe dragged hard on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly through his nose to deaden the stale, toasted smell of the popcorn. He watched in disgust as a teenage couple three rows in front of him gave each other salivary kisses and he was relieved when the lights went out again and the movie began.
He sat through two hours of star ships flashing through space outer space and landing on mountainous and cratered planets where humans wearing bizarre uniforms and six eyed aliens shot at each other with laser guns on battlefields of swirling orange mist. And a beautiful alien queen who wore garments of coloured scales like an exotic fish and who had foot long silvery eye lashes , was rescued by a swarthy, blue eyed space outlaw. They got married and there was peace throughout the universe and Joe knew he should have gone to see the movie on the other side of the square.
Chapter three Part 8
Leicester Square was crowded with people and pigeons, all brisk and strutting. Joe sat in the park in the middle. It was anaemic patch of grass with a path around it, all covered in bird shit and surrounded by iron railings. Joe sat beneath the grey spidery branches of winter trees, on a wooden bench that was so cold it felt like stone. He looked around at the film titles, he picked one out and headed for the ticket office underneath its big, brash letters.
Joe found himself a place in the back row while the adverts were showing. He sank down into the soft velvet seat, it was large and comfy with a high back and wide arm rests. Joe ripped the cellophane from a new packet of cigarettes and lit one, and in the blackness of the auditorium the flame threw a flickering orange glow over his face. He flicked his wrist and the match died and the glow was gone. He sat back and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. It seemed to have been days since he had smoked, he guessed it had been his lack of money before Morgan Alexander had paid him his pittance and then after that , one thing after another had simply left him no time to think, or maybe it was just forgetfulness. He felt the nicotine mingle and move with his blood, it felt good. He relaxed and looked at the screen that was filled with the sea, breakers and surfboards and girls in bikinis with droplets of salt water over their dark tans, and bottles of clear, sparkling lemonade. The lights came on. The tiny matinee audience was scattered over the rows of red velvet seats. The floor was littered with spilt popcorn, plastic cups and sweet papers. Joe dragged hard on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly through his nose to deaden the stale, toasted smell of the popcorn. He watched in disgust as a teenage couple three rows in front of him gave each other salivary kisses and he was relieved when the lights went out again and the movie began.
He sat through two hours of star ships flashing through space outer space and landing on mountainous and cratered planets where humans wearing bizarre uniforms and six eyed aliens shot at each other with laser guns on battlefields of swirling orange mist. And a beautiful alien queen who wore garments of coloured scales like an exotic fish and who had foot long silvery eye lashes , was rescued by a swarthy, blue eyed space outlaw. They got married and there was peace throughout the universe and Joe knew he should have gone to see the movie on the other side of the square.
Sunday, 23 August 2015
STARSHINE, THE OCEAN AND THE UNICORN
Chapter Three Part Seven
Joe sat in a greasy café and looked down at the weak tea in a grey-white china cup on a grey-white china saucer on a red formica table top. Then he looked out of the glass front of the café at the clear winter's day. The sky was a clean blue and the sun bright, but the air was freezing and the pavements were busy with fast walking people buttoned deep inside their overcoats and carrying small white clouds of breath in front of their faces. Lunches wand were being ordered and served all around him, there was a smell of frying and the sight of plates full of egg, sausage and chips or pie, chips and peas or liver, bacon and onion. Joe could not remember eating over the last few days, but he reckoned it was a trick his mind was playing on him because if it had been so long since he had eaten he would be feeling the need to eat, but he felt no hunger.
Joe tried hard to concentrate. His brain reached out long tentacles in all directions to try and gather in any tiny clues and details that would make some kind of sense out of Jason's deal. But it all got scrambled inside his head. He found no reasons and he found no answers and when he could not even find the questions he stopped. Because all there was was Jason's deal and he had to kill four more times or get killed himself. Joe sipped his tea. A calmness began to grow inside him and it grew into a decision. He would kill, maybe easily and maybe not, but he would kill. The decision made him happy and he was glad that Jason had not believed that he could get hold of any significant amount of money and he was glad Jason had not allowed him to buy himself out because now his inheritance could not be forfeited, it was all his and nobody knew about it and when the killings were over Joe would lose himself in three millions pounds where the dead men, the chinamen and Jason would never find him. Joe continued to stare through the glass front of the café, but he was blind to what his eyes were seeing as his thoughts carried him even further to a realisation he had reached once before. A game was being played and he had been put on the board without being asked and he could play to win or play to lose and winning was surviving and losing was dying. Joe no longer felt so guilty about killing. He had no choice. He drank the rest of his tea and paid the twenty pence it cost to a greasy haired, acne ridden girl behind the counter. He crossed the street to the post office.
The phone cubicles inside the post office were door less. Joe dialled a number and pushed in the coin almost immediately as Jack O'Neil answered. Joe was half himself again, sparky and cheerful, a fast talking wide boy.
" Hello Jack old man ! It's Joe here. Listen ! I want to meet with you, I've got a little business proposition I think you'll like............ No, no I can't say any more on the phone. Where shall we meet?.......... Saturday at the races. OK I've got it. See ya then. "
Chapter Three Part Seven
Joe sat in a greasy café and looked down at the weak tea in a grey-white china cup on a grey-white china saucer on a red formica table top. Then he looked out of the glass front of the café at the clear winter's day. The sky was a clean blue and the sun bright, but the air was freezing and the pavements were busy with fast walking people buttoned deep inside their overcoats and carrying small white clouds of breath in front of their faces. Lunches wand were being ordered and served all around him, there was a smell of frying and the sight of plates full of egg, sausage and chips or pie, chips and peas or liver, bacon and onion. Joe could not remember eating over the last few days, but he reckoned it was a trick his mind was playing on him because if it had been so long since he had eaten he would be feeling the need to eat, but he felt no hunger.
Joe tried hard to concentrate. His brain reached out long tentacles in all directions to try and gather in any tiny clues and details that would make some kind of sense out of Jason's deal. But it all got scrambled inside his head. He found no reasons and he found no answers and when he could not even find the questions he stopped. Because all there was was Jason's deal and he had to kill four more times or get killed himself. Joe sipped his tea. A calmness began to grow inside him and it grew into a decision. He would kill, maybe easily and maybe not, but he would kill. The decision made him happy and he was glad that Jason had not believed that he could get hold of any significant amount of money and he was glad Jason had not allowed him to buy himself out because now his inheritance could not be forfeited, it was all his and nobody knew about it and when the killings were over Joe would lose himself in three millions pounds where the dead men, the chinamen and Jason would never find him. Joe continued to stare through the glass front of the café, but he was blind to what his eyes were seeing as his thoughts carried him even further to a realisation he had reached once before. A game was being played and he had been put on the board without being asked and he could play to win or play to lose and winning was surviving and losing was dying. Joe no longer felt so guilty about killing. He had no choice. He drank the rest of his tea and paid the twenty pence it cost to a greasy haired, acne ridden girl behind the counter. He crossed the street to the post office.
The phone cubicles inside the post office were door less. Joe dialled a number and pushed in the coin almost immediately as Jack O'Neil answered. Joe was half himself again, sparky and cheerful, a fast talking wide boy.
" Hello Jack old man ! It's Joe here. Listen ! I want to meet with you, I've got a little business proposition I think you'll like............ No, no I can't say any more on the phone. Where shall we meet?.......... Saturday at the races. OK I've got it. See ya then. "
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)