by Guy Lilburne
Sloany stopped speaking. He was expecting a round of applause or something, but there was just silence and stares. For some reason, only known to Sloany, he saluted the coffin and started singing ‘We’ll meet again’ - the old Vera Lynn World War II song.
One by one the congregation stood up and saluted and joined in the singing. Before the end, everyone had joined in and the singing was loud and joyful and heartfelt. The singing stopped. Norris farted very loudly and John shouted out;
“Fuck, Shit Bollocks.”
Everyone clapped. They weren’t applauding the fart or the swearing. It was for the spontaneous singing and it was for Old Tony - dearly loved and dearly missed. A lovely man with a good heart had died.
The day after Old Tony’s service Mark Rodgers was waiting for Simon in the reception area of Pattaya 205 FM radio. Mark was wearing a lovely oversized yellow dress with a white rose floral design. He had a mug of tea in one hand and a Big Mac in the other. He chewed and swallowed most of what was in his mouth before he spoke.
“Simon. How lovely to see you.” He beamed a genuine smile. “Things have really taken off for Pattaya 205FM since you started talking about the Waiting for God Bar. We are getting some great sponsorship and advertising contracts are coming in thick and fast.”
Pom, sitting demurely behind the reception desk next to Mark Rodgers, nodded her agreement and smiled at Simon. Simon smiled back.
“We are starting to see Pattaya 205FM stickers and posters up all over the city and the audience for your show is doubling every week. I want to put your name up in lights - SIMON JONES…..”
“Simon Smith.”
“What?”
“My name is Simon Smith.”
“SIMON SMITH. I want to see your face on posters all around the city. The face of Pattaya 205 FM. Let the public see the face of the man they are listening to 8:00am to 12:00pm Monday to Friday. Pattaya Mail is sending a reporter here today to interview you. I thought that you might like to do the interview live on the show today. The Mail is running a feature on you this week. I just wanted to say well done Simon. We’re going to make a success out of this radio station.”
“Thank you.”
Mark took another huge bite from the Big Mac and it was gone. He turned and waddled off back into his office. Pom got up off her chair and ran towards Simon. She threw her arms around him and kissed him.
“I very proud of you too,” she whispered and kissed him again.
“Thank you.” It was all that Simon could say, because the only thing that he could think was that Pom had just kissed him….twice!
The show and the interview with Pattaya Mail went well. The phone-ins and the internet contacts were the biggest volume to date. The listening public had a whole list of questions that they wanted to ask. The biggest question from the newspaper and the public was ‘Is the Waiting for God Bar a real bar?’ and ‘Is Barry Moan a real person’? Simon insisted that the characters and the stories were all just made up, but not everyone was convinced. Two days later Simon’s photo was front page of the Pattaya Mail and the headline was ‘Radio music show hit’s a chord’. The story was about Pattaya 205FM’s amazing success since Simon Smith had started his phone-in talk show and, of course, the funny stories about the Waiting for God Bar.
It was that Friday afternoon when Simon walked into the Sloan Square Bar that Sloany pounced on him.
“Hey you! I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
Simon looked at Sloany and tried to work out what was coming.
“You never told me you were a famous DJ.” Sloany pointed to the front page of the Pattaya Mail, which was now framed and hanging on the wall of the bar.
“You never asked me!”
“And you used to be an actor. You’ve been on Casualty and East Enders and in some plays that I’ve never heard of.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You bloody dark horse you. I can’t believe you never said what you did for a living.”
“I can’t believe that you never asked.”
“Hey, I’ve listened to the show this last couple of days. Bloody funny! The Waiting for God Bar. Unbelievable! Tell me the truth. Is Barry Moan a real person?”
Simon thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure if this was a loaded question and Sloany was about to trap him into an admission.
“What do you think Sloany?”
“I don’t think he can be real. The bloke’s a fucking moron. He wouldn’t last five minutes in this business. And those losers that sit in his bar all day playing cards. The first thing I’d do is bar the lot of them and get some beer-drinking customers in. But the stories are funny.”
Simon felt slightly awkward. Although it seemed that it had all gone over Sloany’s head, the others weren’t so stupid. Simon suddenly realized he had been telling all these stories without anyone’s permission. He thought for the first time that he might upset the people who had become his friends. He had a dilemma and he would have to give it some thought.
It seemed for the time being at least that it wasn’t a problem, because none of the domino players had listened to the show yet. It was only Sloany who kept going on about it. But Simon knew that, if he kept relating the stories that he had listened to on the radio, it would only be a matter of time before the penny dropped.
Sloany’s mobile phone rang and, as always whenever he had a private call, everyone had to listen.
“Hi Pong! What’s up?………..I don’t know, it’s short notice……The boats empty. Hang on. I’ve got some mates, if it’s free.” He put his hand over the phone and spoke to the Domino Crew.
“Do you lot want a free fishing trip tomorrow?”
“Free? No strings, no catches?” asked John.
“Absolutely free. All the equipment is already on the boat and a mini bus will pick you up outside the bar at 5:00am.”
“Not the same mini bus you used for the golf trip?”
“No. It will be a new bus. I can’t go because I have to run the bar, but for you lot it’s a free day out. Come on I need a decision.”
“Well, I don’t mind. I’ve never been sea fishing and I mean that most sincerely,” said Terry.
“It’s a bit early, 5:00am.”
“Come on Norris. It’ll be a day out,” encouraged John.
“Do it for Old Tony,” said Sloany.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“He always wanted to go fishing.”
“Did he?”
“OK Sloany. We’ll all go,” announced Terry.
“Are you going Simon?”
“Yes, OK. Why not.”
Sloany put the phone back to his face.
“OK Pong. You can tell your man you have a crew. Pick them up at 5:00am outside my bar. No problem. We’ll sort that out later.”
He closed the phone.
“The things I do for you lot. You don’t realize how lucky you are. There aren’t many landlords who would arrange free trips for their customers. I hope you all remember this next time you are having a moan at me.”
5:00am comes surprisingly early in the morning. But even more surprising was that the whole Domino Crew was outside the Sloan Square Bar waiting for the mini bus when it arrived at exactly 5:00am.
A Thai man opened the driver’s side window and stuck his head out.
“You go fish?”
“Yes. That’s us,” said Terry, in his usual jovial cockney way. He rubbed his hands together, which showed that he was genuinely excited about the fishing trip. The others were slightly less enthusiastic. Terry just thought that it was because of the early hour. They climbed into the mini bus. John was the only one who thought to bring sandwiches. The others laughed at him with his packed lunch of sandwiches, biscuits, crisp and orange juice
.
“They’ll supply snacks on the boat. They always do on these trips,” said Norris confidently.
“Did anybody else bring sun cream?” asked John.
Everybody shook their heads and the mini bus pulled away.
“Hello Pong, I’m Terry.”
“I not Pong.”
“Oh!”
It was a very short journey to the Bali Hi pier. The mini bus drove them almost to the end of the pier, where they disembarked. The mini bus driver pointed to a surly looking Burmese man standing on an old wooden trawler boat. He waved them down.
“Hello Pong, I’m Terry.”
“Not Pong. Quick, quick! We miss tide.” The man pointed to Simon.
“Not you. You take rope off and jump.”
Simon was a bit shocked. It wasn’t a polite request. It sounded like an order. The others climbed down the old wooden ladder that was covered in clear slime and very slippery. The skipper started the diesel engine and plumes of black smoke billowed out from the engine. Simon pulled the heavy rope from off the anchorage and tossed it down onto the boat, before jumping down onto a pile of fishing nets.
“It’s not like I imagined,” said John. “I thought it would be a nice modern boat. This is more like a proper working fishing trawler.”
The boat chugged out into the Gulf of Thailand. It chugged out a long, long way for several hours. John had already eaten his packed lunch.
“Has anybody else noticed that there are no fishing rods? Just nets,” said Simon. He shouted over to the skipper.
“Excuse me. Where are we going?”
“Not talk. We fish.”
“I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this and I mean that most sincerely. I don’t think he is even Thai. He’s Burmese or something. I think Sloany has gone and sold us into slavery.”
“Well he’s gone too far if he ’as.”
“I’m being serious. He’s trafficked us.”
Just then, after three hours sailing, the skipper slowed the boat and shouted to the men.
“Put net.”
“What?”
“Put net now.”
“We don’t know what you mean.”
The skipper stopped the engine and marched towards them. He wasn’t looking happy at his inept crew. He grabbed John and pulled him towards a stainless steel winding rig and showed him how to unwind it. He then grabbed Norris and Terry by their wrists and took them to the portside and showed them how to feed the net over the side. He beckoned Simon over and showed him how to toss the weights and floats over.
“Watch rope. If rope hit you, you go in water and die sure,” he warned.
He went back to the bridge and started the engines again and the boat chugged forwards. He pointed to John.
“Put net.”
John started unwinding. It was surprisingly hard work and the sweat poured down from his bald head. It was white sweat - coloured by the sun cream and it stung his eyes. The sun was beating down and there was no shade. There had been no shade since they set sail, but now, with the hard manual labour, they were all soaked with sweat and quite dehydrated. By the time the nets were all out they were exhausted. They were concerned about the situation in which they found themselves. Terry was convinced they were now slaves and would be kept under lock and key somewhere in Burma. Norris was scared about being beaten and didn’t want to do anything to upset the skipper, who seemed to look meaner and tougher by the minute. The skipper couldn’t or wouldn’t speak English and couldn’t answer any of their questions. Simple questions like ‘Where are we?’ ‘How long are we going to be?’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Can we go home now please?’
“No talk. Fish,” was the skipper’s response to all the questions.
“I think he’s got a gun and I’m being deadly serious. Do you see where I’m coming from?” Terry got no response and pushed his glasses further up along the bride of his nose.
They were all feeling very miserable, bewildered and a bit scared. Another two hours had passed before the skipper circled the boat and instructed them to pull in the nets. This was even harder than putting them out. The weight of fish and water made it a great physical effort even with the winder. The men also had to sort the fish into boxes depending on type and size. Finally the nets were in and the boat headed back to land. The men were relieved to see that it was in fact heading back towards Pattaya. They were hot and exhausted. They were stinking of fish and they were angry. The boat arrived at Bali Hi pier three hours later. It was 3:30pm and they had been out at sea for nearly 10 hours. Simon threw the heavy rope up to a man who was waiting to catch it on the pier. The boat was tied up and the tired group of men climbed the slippery ladder to dry land. There was no sign of the mini bus to take them back to the bar. They tried to get a taxi, but nobody would let them in their taxi because they were stinking and covered in fish slime. They walked along Walking Street, Pattaya Tai and Soi Buakaow back to the Sloan Square Bar.
“Where are all my fish?” Sloany boomed out his loud laugh.
“What the hell did you do to us, Sloany?”
“What do you mean? I got you a free fishing trip.”
“It wasn’t a free fishing trip. It was slave labour on a fishing trawler and you set us up.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about and you are lucky I’m letting you all in the bar. You all fucking stink.”
“How much did you get paid for supplying a fishing crew?”
“I can’t believe you lot. I go the extra mile all the time to sort out trips and stuff for you. Many times at my own expense. Today I’ve arranged a free fishing trip and you couldn’t even be bothered to bring me some fish. I can see that you are not happy and I’m sorry if there has been some kind of misunderstanding. It is not my fault, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” Sloany pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his shorts and pulled out 5,000 baht. He held it in the air.
“Out of the goodness of my heart and because I’m angry that my customers are upset, I’m putting this behind the bar. You can eat and drink what you want all day long. Well, until the 5,000 baht has gone. I can’t say fairer than that.”
The men sat down.
“I’m going to have a word with Pong. I think he has taken advantage of me and I’m going to get to the bottom of it,” Sloany continued.
“I’ll have burger and chips and a bottle of Chang,” said Simon.
“And me,”
“And me.”
“Me too. Fuck, shit, bollocks!”
“Make that five.”
“Another day in paradise,” said Norris sarcastically.
“Look on the bright side. In ten years’ time we’ll look back and laugh about this,” said Simon.
“This lot won’t. They’ll all be dead.” Sloany wiped his head with the tea towel.
“Living the dream.” Terry raised his bottle.
“Living the dream,” they all chorused and chinked the bottles together.
Chapter 11: What’s love got to do with it!
Sloany had acquired a banner which now hung across the front of his bar. It had a photograph of Simon Smith and read ‘Pattaya 205 FM. The place to be on your dial.’ It was the same banner which also hung on the front of the Pattaya 205FM radio station and several other buildings around the city. Sloany had also made another two notices, which he had hung from the banner. The first one read ‘Simon Smith drinks here all the time. Come in for a free autograph.’
The second notice read ‘Pattaya 205FM listeners. Don’t forget to ask for your special discount on drinks in this bar.’
Sloany hadn’t asked Simon for his permission to add the notices. Simon wasn’t happy when he saw the ‘free autograph’ one. He didn’t want to be bothered when he was relaxing with friends. Sloany refu
sed to take it down until Simon said that he wouldn’t go into Sloany’s bar ever again if he didn‘t remove it. Sloany removed the notice. The special discount notice remained, but as it turned out, the discount wasn’t that special. It was one baht off a bottle of beer up to a maximum of five baht, but Sloany was getting more customers in the bar. Simon was getting bothered with people wanting a photograph with him, or an autograph, or both. But it wasn’t too many and it wasn’t very often.
Simon had more important things on his mind. Actually, it was just one thing and that thing was Pom. Simon seemed to be spending more and more time thinking about her. He loved seeing her each day Monday to Friday. In fact he thought it was the highlight of his day and he missed seeing her at weekends. What he didn’t know was that Pom was feeling the same way about him. She felt such a strong attraction between the two of them. She thought that it was more than just an attraction. It felt like a connection. She was starting to get frustrated that Simon hadn’t asked her out. She had sent out all the correct signals without even trying. She laughed at all his jokes, even the unfunny ones! She had started dressing up for work and even putting on a little make-up. They always seemed to have a lot of eye contact and Pom was pretty sure that she could feel some kind of spark between them. She got butterflies in her stomach every time she thought about him. She wondered if he thought about her too. She knew that he liked her. It was obvious!
