by Drew Black
When Ted and Gerald had moved Jack said, "I feel a bit guilty now, Gerald did invite me here, after all."
"What to your own club?" Ray asked looking puzzled.
"Well Yeah, you see I was going to work today, but Gerald convinced me into coming out to watch the match instead."
"Don't overdo it mate, look at me and Gill, we're not even working in our own restaurant, on a day like today."
"Yeah, how is that?"
"We came to see you."
"Honestly?" Jack asked sounding surprised.
"Yeah, we figured you'd be in here today, especially knowing how much you like football."
"You'll have me filling up next." Jack said shaking his head.
"John, take over from Maggie for ten minutes will you." Quilter said to a passing member of staff."
"I'm taking orders from the floor at the moment Mr Quilter."
“John just fuckin' do it, and don't backchat me, okay?"
"I'm doing Mr Davies's order sir."
"Okay, relieve her once you've finished Jack's order, but no later."
"Certainly, Mr Quilter." John said before heading towards the bar and allowing himself a little smile.
"He's a cocky little cunt." Jenkins said before taking another swig from his pint.
"Yeah, well he's one of Jack's boys, isn't he?”
"How come he's doing the recruiting down here now?"
"He is the fuckin' boss Dave, when all's said and done. Besides, you know what Davies's like, he's into everything. If you let rip right now, he'd find out about it come Monday. That's why this thing has got to go like clockwork.”
Maggie plonked herself down on the stool in between Quilter and Jenkins.
"Thanks for that Dave, I needed a break."
Quilter smiled at her and then turned to the bar. "John, stop whatever you are doing and get Maggie a drink." The man John was serving went to protest, but quickly changed his mind when he saw the look on Quilter's face.
"What would you like, Ms Townsend." John asked with just the tiniest hint of sarcasm.
"Hey behave." Quilter said holding out a hand to restrain Dave Jenkins. Quilter had anticipated his colleague's reaction to the bartender’s comment, which was probably something akin to leaping over the bar and glassing him.
"A dry Martini, please John." Maggie replied.
"I'll be back in a minute; I'm just going to take a leak." Jenkins said.
"Thanks for sharing that information with us." Maggie said with a smile.
Jenkins smiled back at her.
"Have you thought anymore about what we discussed the other day?" Quilter asked Maggie.
"Not now Dave, for God's sake, don't forget I've got to work here." Maggie replied in a strangled whisper. Quilter had asked her if she fancied making some extra money, which with the flat and all her other living expenses would certainly come in useful. it was just the way she had to earn it that bothered her. Apparently, Quilter had a business associate coming to town who would require wining and dining. One night only, it wasn't a whole weekend or anything. That much she could handle, what she couldn't handle however, was the belief that she would end up being part of the menu.
"Come on Maggie, it's no big deal, nothing will happen if you don't want it to."
"Of course, I don't want it to Dave, what do you take me for some kind of slut?"
Quilter raised his hands, "Maggie stop being so defensive, all I'm asking you to do is take this guy out for a few drinks and a meal. This fellow is a major player, he can make things happen for both of us. Listen, if you're not up to it, I'll get someone else. It's just that, oh it doesn't matter …"
"No, go on, it's just that what?"
"Well, you've always struck me as the ambitious type, someone who wanted to make something of them self. Perhaps I was wrong."
Maggie thought about this for a second; "Hold on," she said frowning, "what's my ambition got to do with any of this?"
"Listen Maggie, if you want to play little-league in a place like this for the rest of your life, it's no skin off my nose, and furthermore, I won't think any the less of you. But I know people, like this guy, who could muster more clout with just one phone call, than this lot could manage from a lifetimes endeavour. It's all down to who you choose to associate with."
"I'd want more than one hundred pounds." Maggie said trying her best to keep her voice down.
Got ye Quilter thought without showing the slightest change in expression.
I do want to make something of myself, Maggie thought, she could handle this, and maybe these kinds of people could open a few doors for her.
"How long does it take you to make one hundred pounds Maggie?"
"With my tips, a couple of weeks."
"Okay, I would’ve said more like three to four. Nevertheless, two weeks wages for one night’s work. Plus, you're then on this guy's radar, and who knows where that could lead?"
"I want a hundred and fifty." Maggie said.
Quilter laughed, one hundred and ten, and that's your lot. Are you in or out?"
"Maggie paused, "Okay," she said finally, but no more talk of it in here, ring me in the week with the details, and I want the money up front." She knocked the rest of her drink back and got up from her stool. She'd just negotiated the biggest pay day of her life, she should've felt ecstatic, but as she returned to the other side of the bar, she felt empty and cold. She'd made her decision, she just prayed it was the right one.
2
"Come on Christine, Sally take a seat, it's about to start." Jack shouted to the two girls.
"There's nowhere to sit." Christine replied over the din.
"There's room here."
Christine sat down and motioned for Sally to sit on the sofa's arm. Sally duly sat where she was told.
"Hey, you can't sit there love, I can't see a bloody thing."
Jack turned around; "Shut it Clive, the girls got to sit somewhere." Sally was looking distinctly awkward.
"Come on Jack, be fair mate, we can't see back here." someone else shouted.
"Come over here Sal, you'll have to sit on my knee until we find you a seat. A cheer went up as Sally manoeuvred on to Jack's lap, but this was drowned out by a much bigger cheer as both teams emerged from the tunnel. "Come on Bobby!" Harry Robertson shouted. Gill shook her head; "Look at you all, you're like a bunch of kids." she said to Ray, who just smiled back at her, "Come on England!" he screamed,
The Queen came out onto the pitch and Bobby Moore started introducing her to all the players. John managed somehow to squeeze in an extra chair for Sally, amidst a fair bit of abuse. "It hasn't even started yet." he protested.
"Come on out of the way mate, we're trying to watch a game here." a guy with dark hair and glasses informed him. "Yeah, come on mate." someone else shouted. John hustled his way back through the crowd.
"Thanks." Sally said getting off Jack's knee. However, Jack didn't hear her his eyes were glued to the TV set.
"Sit down love." Someone shouted before everyone got to their feet - "God save our gracious queen, God save our noble queen …" echoed all around the club. It was an emotional moment for all of them, men and women alike, there wasn't a dry eye in the house. "… send her victorious, happy and glorious, long to-o re-ign o-o-ver us, Go-od save our queen."
Rapturous applause broke out, "Come on England!" the club shouted as one. The TV cameras cut to the cheering crowd, all of whom were waving scarves and flags vigorously.
3
"How long to go?" Jack asked Ray, for the umpteenth time, without taking his eyes off the set. He was answered by the commentator; "With less than five minutes to go England still lead West Germany by two goals to one. England are now within touching distance of lifting the World Cup for the very first time."
"Oh Christ, that was close." Harry Robertson said getting to his feet and putting his hands to his head.
"No way Harry, they can keep them there all day." Quilter shouted.
"The nerves
are starting to show amongst the England supporters ..." the commentator continued.
Come on England, Jack thought, get it up their end of the pitch. Waste time, feign injury, do anything, just don't let them get possession of the ball. At this precise moment, he would give anything if it meant that England would hold out for the win. Come on lads, come on, don't blow it now.
"Goals by Geoff Hurst and Martin Peters look like seeing England home ..."
"How long?"
"A minute." Ray screamed.
"West Germany win a corner, this must be their last chance. The referee takes a look at his watch."
"Come on England!" everyone was shouting. "Come on, just keep this out!"
"The corner's swung in from the left, it's headed away by the English defence."
"Jesus, just get it away!" Jenkins shouted.
"It's been launched back into the box, Seeler controls it, swivels, It's a goal! Uwe Seeler has equalised for West Germany with what must be the last kick of the game!"
The club fell silent, and this was mirrored by the English supporters in the stadium. Everyone was in total shock and disbelief. The German players were celebrating wildly whilst the England team looked absolutely dejected; some with their heads in their hands, others were bent over. Some of the players were even sat down on the turf.
The game re-started to be stopped again immediately as the referee blew the final whistle. No-one in the club moved or said anything, until Harry finally broke the silence, "I told you didn't I, they kept pissing about with it at the back, instead of getting it up the field. That's it now, we've no chance, their heads will drop ..." he shook his own head.
"Come on," Ted Jackson said, "they haven't beaten us yet, we're still in it."
"The last kick of the game, can you believe it? Argh!" Jack said.
"Greavsie, should've been playing. In fact, why the fuck wasn't he?" John Sergeant complained.
"Probably because he's not up Alf's ass." Jenkins commented, which brought a ripple of laughter.
"There's less than a minute to go in extra time," the commentator confirmed, "Again England lead West Germany, this time by three goals to two, both sets of players look out on their feet. Surely, England are going to hold out this time. It's a long punt upfield, and Geoff Hurst is after it. The crowd are on the pitch, they think it's all over … It is now!"
The club erupted as Geoff Hurst's shot thundered into the roof of the German net. Everyone was screaming, shouting, hugging one another, and jumping up and down for joy, beer was flying everywhere.
"Eng-erland, Eng-erland!" Dave Jenkins sang as he stepped out into the night air.
"Come on Dave, the taxi's this way." Quilter said laughing.
"What a match!" Jack said waving his arms in the air.
"Water match? Water team, ye mean. Ooh, I think I've made a rhyme." Gerald said. "Water bloody team!"
A car pipped its horn which was quickly followed by two or three blasts from other motorists.
"I told you, didn't I?" John Sergeant said.
"Told me what?" Jenkins asked as he stumbled along.
"Alf was right to leave that bum Greaves on the bench."
Everyone laughed.
"Night Maggie." Harry Robertson said, to which everyone turned around.
"Night everyone." she said getting into a taxi.
"Hey Maggie, show us yer--"
Quilter clamped a large hand over Jenkins's mouth, "Come on you, you've had enough fun for one day, let's get you home." Quilter said removing his hand, he grimaced and wiped it on his trouser leg. "Come on Dave, get in, mind your head.”
"Good night Jack mate ..." he managed before Quilter slammed the door. "Goodnight Jack, great game, I'll catch you next week." Quilter said walking around to the other side of the cab."
"Yeah, it was, I'll see you in the week."
Quilter smiled and got in the taxi.
4
"Eng-erland, Eng-erland!" Jenkins sang as he staggered up his path. "Shush!" he said to himself, putting a finger to his lips. "We don't want to wake Philippa now, do we." Jack Davies wasn't such a bad bloke really, he thought, he'd met a lot worse. Quilter for one; he'd cut your fuckin' leg off if he thought he could find a use for it. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys. On the fifth or sixth attempt his housekey finally slid home. He entered his house doing his utmost to co-ordinate his movements. However, he tripped on something and nearly lost his balance. He turned the hall light on and looked in the mirror. He opened his eyes wide in an attempt to focus them, his head swayed gently from side to side.
The lounge door opened, "Dave, Dave, is that you?" Philippa called out.
"Yes, it's me." he replied trying his best to sound sober.
"They won, didn't they?" she said smiling. "Are you okay?"
Jenkins nodded, Philippa's voice and lip movements seemed distinctly out of sync to him, and her face, her beautiful face, stubbornly refused to stay in focus. "I’ve just had one too many, that's all. On account of Eng-erland, ENG-ERLAND!" Jenkins quietened when Philippa shushed him. "How come your still up, I thought you'd be in bed ages ago?"
"I've just been watching an old film; do you want a coffee?" she said disappearing down the hallway to the kitchen.
"Yes please." he replied as he turned carefully and made his way into the lounge. The telly was fuzzing but he didn't turn it off, instead he just sat down on the sofa and stared at it fascinated by all those thousands of tiny dots banging into one another. However, he soon tired of it, and lay his head back on the sofa.
"Dave, Dave." Philippa said shaking his shoulder gently.
"Uhh?" Jenkins said as he came to.
"Your coffee." she said placing it down by his side.
"Oh thanks." he said rubbing his forehead.
Philippa knelt on the carpet, placed her coffee on the fireplace, and then crawled over to the TV and turned it off. "How did you get on with Mr Jordan?" she asked returning and kneeling on the hearth.
Jenkins frowned, "Mr Jordan?" he enquired.
"Oh Dave, you did ask him didn't you, about the possibility of me moving in on Monday?" she said desperately trying to contain her annoyance. He'd forgotten all about it because of the damn football, she thought, getting up and starting to pace the room. "You promised, you'd try and get me in there for Monday."
"Hey, calm down, calm down." he said. ""I didn't know who you were talking about, that's all. It's sorted' you'll have the keys by Monday lunchtime. I promised you, didn't I?"
Philippa squealed with excitement, "Oh, that's fantastic." she said going over to him and planting a large kiss on his cheek.
Jenkins got to his feet and kissed her back. She accepted the kiss although she wasn't comfortable with it, it was quite rough and suggested that there would be more to follow. He pulled away from her slightly, and she managed to calm him down a little, but suddenly he tightened his grip on her again.
"Let go of me Dave, you're hurting me." Philippa said trying to smile and retain her composure. Although her heart rate made a liar of her.
"I've fancied you from the moment I laid eyes on you Philippa, do you know that?" he said through beer breath.
"No, I didn't, I'm useless at things like that." She lied.
Jenkins removed one hand from her shoulders and moved it to her left breast and started massaging it.
Philippa laughed, more out of surprise than anything else, "Come on Dave," she said looking directly into his eyes, "enough is enough." Jenkins went to kiss her again, so Philippa brought her knee up swiftly between his legs. Jenkins released his grip on her instantly and fell back on the sofa clutching his privates, "Aww, aww, aww, you've crippled me you bitch."
"I did tell you Dave; no freebies and no foreigners, this is strictly business. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but you gave me no choice." Philippa flung back her hair with one hand and sighed with relief.
"Jenkins's moans turned to whimpers, and as she stood looking down on him, he began to snore. After fetching
him a blanket and wedging a chair beneath her bedroom door handle, she got into bed.
5
Jenkins awoke with the mother of all headaches, he remembered the England match and smiled to himself, but he also sensed that there was something else, something bad that had happened during the course of yesterday. He just couldn't figure out what it was, just that he felt pretty sure he'd made an asshole of himself. Quilter will be raging mad he thought worriedly. Jesus, what the hell had he done. No matter how hard he tried to recall it, it just wouldn't come to him. What was he doing on the couch? he thought suddenly. "Philippa?" He called out, "Philippa?" No reply. He glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece - twenty to eleven. He heard the front door open. "Philippa, is that you?" "Yes." came the reply. He breathed a deep sigh of relief and checked under the blanket to see if he had his trousers on, he did.
The lounge door opened and in Philippa walked. She looked resplendent in her brown leather jacket and Jeans. Her cheeks were slightly coloured. She threw the Sunday Paper to him, it landed on his lap. "There you are." She said. "Not though you deserve it." she added before leaving the room and closing the door.
He had a flashback - he was kissing her - then it was gone. He tried desperately to retrieve it, but it wouldn't come. What the hell had he done? He jumped up off the couch, an action that in its self-made his head hurt even more, but right now that was the least of his concerns. He walked down to the kitchen. "Philippa, what happened last night, what did I do?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer. A knot formed in his stomach.
Philippa was sat at the wooden picnic-style kitchen table nursing an empty cup.
"What did I do?" he repeated.
"You upset me, that's what you did Dave. Okay, I may sleep with men for money, but I make that choice, not them, not you Dave, I make the choice." She looked up from the coffee cup and pursed her lips.
"I didn't ..." Jenkins paused.
"No, so you can stop worrying what David might do to you." Philippa said shaking her head. "You really frightened me though Dave." she said as a tear trickled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. "I couldn't breathe, I trusted you Dave ..." she managed before more tears came. Jenkins went to comfort her, but she held a hand up to keep him away. He looked round for something for her to dry her eyes on but couldn't find anything. "I'll get you some tissue." he said leaving the kitchen. He returned and placed a box of tissues on the kitchen table. Philippa removed one and dried her eyes with it.
