by Graham Joyce
Tony threw in another Paki gag about an Indian family eating dog food, and while the audience was howling he handed the microphone back to Norman Prosser. Prosser got to his feet and thanked Tony not only for his “wonderful humor” but also for his lifelong commitment and dedication to the serious business for which we were assembled. And, he pointed out, while we can all laugh, and that it’s good to laugh, the things that were happening to the country were no laughing matter. The Reds and the Jews and the immigrants were hand in glove—and on this phrase he paused and looked searchingly round the audience—hand in glove, presiding over the demise of a once great nation, and the government was like the emperor Nero, fiddling while Rome burns. Well that’s all coming to an end, he said, the party was growing and change was coming. There was evidence of all sorts of new people coming forward, workers, schoolteachers, people from industry, and students. In this last category I knew with absolute certainty that I was his evidence. I even felt a few eyes flicker in my direction. Prosser went on to say that we were fortunate today in being able to welcome to the meeting Harold Carter, who would outline for us the Way Forward.
Prosser handed Carter the microphone and Carter got to his feet, taking some early applause from the floor. He was a tall, slightly stooped man with thinning sandy-colored hair. In a cut-glass accent he told us that the people of the country were awakening. Evidence of this was to be seen in the number of votes the party had received in the last election and the number of deposits that were not lost in that election. Furthermore, he told us, memberships in the party had increased by several thousand in the last two years alone. Awakening, he said ominously. The people are awakening and beginning to arise.
This last bit of rhetoric got not only enormous applause but a standing ovation. It also pulled me to my feet. Not because I thought that what he was saying was either brilliant or even convincing but because my sense of self-preservation was working overtime. Perhaps I’m a coward. It’s possible. But I’m not stupid. This wasn’t a rational position to be in. To have resisted the mob in this context would have been like standing in front of a herd of stampeding cattle. As I joined in the hand-clapping, as lightly as I could, I noticed the way that Carter, lapping up the applause, darted his tongue rapidly between his lips, or shoved his tongue into his cheek to bubble out the side of his face. It was a tic I observed in him every time he paused in his oratory to take the applause from the floor.
The Way Forward was very clear. Immigrants who were stealing our jobs would be repatriated. They would be deported. Incentives would be found to encourage them to leave the country, and if that was not acceptable then secure methods would be found to make the deportation happen. When that was done, legislation would be passed to disengage the Jewish monopoly of the financial institutions. After that the Reds would be systematically exposed and their stranglehold on all public national and local apparatus of the state would be broken.
I give you only a summary of the Way Forward, but this speech went on for an hour, punctuated by regular outbreaks of wild applause. The audience got to its feet on numerous occasions, and I of course with it, even though nothing I heard made any kind of sense to me. Maybe I was too fixated on the man’s darting tongue.
The speeches concluded and the platform group rose to disperse. As the audience stood up the skinhead foot soldiers went around with plastic buckets encouraging donations. Norman Prosser and some others at the front made a show of putting large-denomination notes into the buckets, but I noticed most people dropped in a bit of loose change and when the bucket came my way I clattered in a few pennies.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Couple o’ minutes an’ we’re out of here.” It was Colin. He shoved a fiver into my hand. “Get another drink and a whiskey for me.”
I was grateful for the role. I dodged another bucket and an incoming Spearhead vendor and made my way to the bar. There was nothing I could do but wait out my time before getting a lift back to the resort. At the bar I bought myself another pint of bitter, a whiskey for Colin, and a whiskey for myself. I didn’t want the whiskey but I felt like I needed it. I leaned against the bar sipping my drinks and watching buoyant party members leave in small groups, some of them resting ceremonial flags on poles across their shoulder.
Colin reappeared. He had a way of ghosting to your side. “What you make of that, then?”
“Interesting,” I said.
His face was like a sea-washed stone. “Interesting, eh?” Then for the first time ever I saw him laugh. It was a cynical laugh. “Listen, I’m not a cunt. I know it ain’t where you’re at. I told Tony but he thought you deserved a chance.”
I’m not sure what chance it was that was being offered to me, but I nodded my appreciation.
“Listen,” he said again. “You’re honest. I like that. You come to me for anything. You got that?”
“Yes.”
“No,” he said. “You ’aven’t got it.”
“Yes, I have.”
“No, you don’t get it. You come to me for anything. Any reason.”
I was embarrassed by the idea that Colin was telling me he’d taken a liking to me. I didn’t know what to say so I offered to buy him a beer, but we were interrupted by Tony. “Enjoy any of that, David?”
Colin rescued me from having to think of an answer. He said to Tony, “Any word?”
“Suspended without pay, old son, and banned from the resort for two weeks.”
Colin swore. “Cowsons.”
Tony put a forefinger under his own right eye and pulled down the fold of skin there. “You’re lucky that I put a word in for you,” he said. “Be grateful. Could have been a lot worse.” He switched his gaze to me. His lower lip was moist. “A lot worse.”
I recalled what Norman Prosser had said about them looking after their own. It seemed that Colin’s party membership had come in useful: Tony would have some sway with Pinky and the rest of the resort management team. In the next moment I heard someone call Colin by his name but he didn’t look up. Instead, while Tony was buying more drinks at the bar Colin drew me aside and tapped me with extreme delicacy on my breastbone. “While I’m away I want you to keep an eye open.”
I shuffled. “Keep an eye open for what?”
“If she talks to anyone, I want to know.” He fixed me with an intense look. It was like having someone insert their thumbs into your eye sockets.
Most of the party members were drifting away, with their flags and regalia, while we knocked back our drinks. Tony seemed upbeat, cheerful. He wanted us to stay but Colin was ready to leave. But not before Norman Prosser came bustling through.
“Where’s my young student?” he said loudly. The whiskey had given him a red complexion and there was a glow of perspiration on his jowls. When he put a hand either side of my face and gently patted my right cheek I could smell his cologne. He was all smiles. “I saw you listening. I saw you listening. And that’s all I ask, that you students give us a fair hearing and then spread the word. That’s not unfair, is it? You want another drink?”
“He doesn’t,” Colin said. “We’re away.”
“Now you’ve got Colin if you need anything from us,” Prosser said.
“Colin’s not going to be around for a bit,” Tony said.
Prosser tipped his head back to look at Tony. From that simple remark he seemed to gather all he needed to know. “Well in that case he’s got you.”
“Give the lad a breavin’ space,” Colin said.
Prosser brushed some imaginary lint from my shoulder. “Never mind these two. Colin’s a good spotter. We’re like family and you come to me for anything at all. Are you all right for a few quid?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Prosser,” I said.
“Norman to you. And you come to us for anything at all.”
OUT IN THE car park the two backseat passengers were waiting by the car. They stood in their Doc Martens with their arms folded, fists bunched behind their biceps. I hadn’t seen them in the mee
ting though I knew that’s where they’d been. They sized me up like I was the prodigal son. Or the fatted calf, ready for the knife.
We climbed in and set off to return to the coast.
“Ignore Norman,” Colin said. “He can’t hold his drink.”
“What’s Norman said then?” asked one of the lads in the back.
Colin ignored the question so I thought I should, too. There was no further discussion about the meeting and I certainly wasn’t going to bring up the topic. Meanwhile Colin drove in silence, utterly focused on the heat-shimmering road ahead.
At one point in the journey Colin stopped the car and took out a cloth to wipe away the huge number of bugs that had splattered the windscreen. I studied his face as he worked. It was flat and emotionless, but it was full of history. Deep diagonals raged across his forehead and twisted over his brow. I wondered if there were people who could read faces, in the same way that a palmist looks at your hands.
He caught me looking a second time and I glanced away sharpish.
Shortly after he started again, the bucktooth passenger in the back said, completely out of the blue, “Is he a puff, then?”
“Ask him yourself,” Colin said.
“Are you a puff, then?”
I realized he was talking about me. I turned and looked him in the eye but said nothing.
After a while the same boy piped up again. “He thinks we’re all cunts,” he said.
I turned around a second time. “No,” I said. “I don’t think Colin is a cunt. And I don’t think your mate is a cunt, either.”
“Ha!” shouted Colin, and he hooted his horn. “That’s fucked you!” Then he hit his horn again. “You’re out of your league wi’ this boy! Haha!”
After that we drove back to the resort in complete silence.
6
THE EXTRAORDINARY SEDUCTION OF MARINE PHOSPHORESCENCE
I spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping. I wasn’t used to drinking in the daytime—whiskey or beer—and what with the heat, when I got back I just crashed on my pallet bed. By the time I awoke I’d missed tea at the canteen. I remember sitting up on my bed in a semi-stupor, gazing down at the floor where my sandals lay alongside the copy of Spearhead magazine while a stupid newspaper shoutline “Was Jesus a Fascist?” looped around my head. It was half an hour before the paralysis left me and I was able to drag myself off to the shower.
It had been my plan to wander into Skegness that evening to get away from the resort, but I still felt sluggish and decided it was too late. I needed to eat. I trailed over to the fish-and-chips bar but even that failed to shake me from my stupor.
Several drinking venues were available on the site. There was a licensed ballroom where older couples did the fox-trot and the cha-cha, but following my afternoon with the National Front I didn’t feel up for either. There was another watering hole known as the Tap Room featuring a stout and rather warty lady called Bertha who slapped the piano stride-style for a traditional sing-along. “Down at the Old Bull and Bush” and all that. Then there was the strip-lit giant aircraft hangar of the Slowboat. If you didn’t like any of these, the last recourse was a tiny bar situated in a corner of the theater foyer, a hideaway favored by the professional acts if they wanted a drink after a performance, and that’s where I decided to go. But of course there was no variety show on a Saturday evening, so the Review Bar, as it was titled, was closed. I settled instead for the Slowboat.
The resident three-piece band bashed away onstage at the far end of the hangar: drums, organ, and bass artlessly covering standards and classics. Dozens of circular table-and-chairs sets filled the space between the band and the bar, populated with new holidaymakers relaxed and drinking at a hearty pace that would last all week and quicken on Friday. I made for the bar and was surprised to see Luca Valletti sitting near the band and in his civvies. He was smoking a cigarette and had a glass of wine in front of him. I wanted to go over but he seemed deep in conversation with a woman I knew to be the girlfriend of one of the band members. Anyway I was immediately distracted when I was rounded on by a coven of kitchen girls.
“Hey it’s him from the college of knowledge! Show us your IQ!”
I was learning how to racquet back the banter but I still couldn’t stop myself from blushing. I said my IQ was too big for any of them. It got a big cheer that made a lot of people turn round to look at us. The girls took everything as a double entendre, even if there wasn’t one. They wanted everything to be a double entendre. You could say “I once knew a man who kept an aardvark in his garden shed,” and they would treat it a sexual remark. They were always excitable and always thirsty for lager.
“Come and drink with us, college boy!”
There was no way out.
“He fancies you, Rachel,” said Pauline, a girl with luscious lips and thick eyeliner. “You could teach him how to fuck.”
This sort of thing could go on for hours. They bought me a drink. It was all teasing, all talk. At least I suspect it was. I had no idea what would happen if you tried to take one of them up on all this. Not that I was interested, and neither would I have had the courage. I bought a round of drinks back, for Pauline and Rachel and two other girls. It was while I was waiting for my change at the bar that I felt someone’s eyes on me.
Terri stood alone at the far end of the bar. When people say “my heart missed a beat,” I don’t believe that phrase exactly describes the experience. I felt a sudden suffocation, a noose tightening around my throat, an instant of time freezing when all sound was sucked out of that giant hangar of a bar. I had the uncanny, stupid notion that she had been able to do that to me just by looking, like a moment of witchcraft. And then just as quickly everything was normal again.
I turned away with the drinks I’d bought for the girls. Did my hand tremble? When I looked at her again she was still gazing at me. She almost huddled into the corner of the bar, as if she was trying to make herself small. Her arms were folded and she was shrunk into herself. She wore a simple black dress, cut somewhat low and reaching halfway down her thighs. The reason I was so struck by her dress was that this was the first time I’d seen either her bare arms or her bare legs. The lustrous dark hair that she always wore tied back now fell forward in a loose wave across one side of her face.
I went over to her, as if pulled by a magic thread. As I approached she dropped her eye contact and looked away, squeezing herself with her folded arms. “I thought you’d been banned,” I said.
“No.”
“Or that you were suspended?”
“Not me.” She averted her face, as if she’d found new interest in the band. Anyone looking at our body language would assume that she was bored but trapped by my conversation. She wore large gold earrings and a gold bangle that reminded me of something Luca had said about women.
“I saw Colin today. At a meeting.”
That surprised her. She flickered a glance at me and then looked away again.
“Not that I’m one of them,” I said.
“So why were you there?”
“It was a mistake.”
“You went to a p’litical meeting by mistake? Not very bright, are you?”
“Did I claim to be bright?”
At last she looked at me. Her eyes had a feline flame, but with a dissolving quality, an intelligence behind them as if she processed and documented every detail that came before her. She wore eyeliner and a little lipstick, again something I’d never seen on her before. Some instinct told me I should back away. Instead I said, “Can I buy you a drink?”
She looked away again. “No, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because everyone will see you buy me a drink.”
“Do you want me to go away?”
“Of course not. Why do you think I’m here?”
The remark left me openmouthed. “So … I can’t buy you a drink. I can’t talk with you because you won’t look at me. What am I to do?”
“You figure out
a solution. You’re the one who is supposed to be clever.”
Not that clever, is what I wanted to say. I asked her where Colin was and she said that after the meeting he had gone back to London. He would be staying down in the capital while his suspension was in force. When I asked why she hadn’t gone with him, she said that they simply couldn’t afford for her not to be working. I flashed on what Colin had said in the pub that afternoon, and it occurred to me that this, at least, might give me permission to be seen talking to her. I would also be keeping any predators away.
But even that was of no use if she couldn’t look me in the eye. I felt emboldened and said, “It will be dark in an hour. We could go for a walk on the beach.”
“Up to the dunes? Bit obvious, ain’cha?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
It really wasn’t. For one thing, the idea of the dunes at night didn’t appeal; for another, you would be in serious danger of tripping over any number of fornicating couples in the dark.
She unfolded her arms. In her glass of gin and tonic was a pink plastic straw. She took a sip through the straw and set the glass back on the bar. Still without looking at me, she said, “Do you know where the wreck is?”
“Yes.” Way up the beach in the other direction a very old shipwreck lay offshore. At low tide the masts and the rotting prow of the boat were exposed, festooned with lime-green seaweed.
“Meet me opposite that. There’s a break in the wall.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She just left me and her unfinished gin and tonic without a backward glance. I was still watching her go when I felt a shadow at my side. I turned to see a row of perfectly white teeth smiling at me. It was Luca Valletti. He put his mouth very close to my ear. “Stromboli,” he whispered. “You play with a-fire.” Then with a tiny, formal bow he walked away, leaving by the same door as Terri.
