by Limey Lady
‘I do actually. Not that you'll be getting ridden anytime soon.'
Pat believed her instantly: the confession and the denial.
‘We could get away with it again,’ he said hopefully. ‘Dee's always swanning off for a day or two . . .'
‘McGuire . . . shut up. And get us refills; otherwise I'll be obliged to show off my shooting skills.'
‘Now you’re a girl with a gun; as if!'
‘I got my first gun when I was eight. For those rabbits . . .'
‘Were they rampant ones?'
‘No, they were wild ones. And I didn't finish my list: rabbits, crows . . . and aging prop-forwards. Now, are you getting us more beer or not?'
*****
Being as diplomatic as possible (for an ex-White), Harry reckoned Leeds were simply awful in that first half. Macka watched most of it through the window, standing beside him, but did keep circulating. Just before halftime a big, chatty bloke filled the latest vacuum.
‘Not what they were, are they?'
‘We'll get there,' said Harry.
‘Very loyally said,’ the bloke chortled. ‘Been watching a while?'
‘I have for the best part of twenty years. What about you?'
‘I was in Paris in '75.'
‘Nice one. You didn't meet Macka there in a supermarket, did you?'
‘I didn't know Ewan when he was "Macka". Although I understand he was a bit of a rough diamond.'
Harry glanced at the big bloke, unsure what to say. Macka hadn't exactly asked him to keep the past to himself, but this guy could be anyone. And forget reputations, the statute of limitations didn’t apply to some of the things they’d got up to.
‘It was a different world in the '70s,' he said finally.
‘I know; I was there.' The big bloke pointed across the ground, towards a small cluster of rowdy away fans. 'They would have been told they were going home like Sandy Richardson . . . and in no uncertain terms.'
(He meant in a wheelchair but Harry didn’t bite.)
‘That was one of my favourites,' said Macka, re-joining them. 'That and Bertie Mee.'
Harry waited until they had a private moment before asking.
‘I thought you'd know him,' Macka replied. 'Augustus Maxwell. He's from your neck of the woods.'
‘He's not that dead newspaper chap.'
‘No relation. Gussy's a top barrister. Defends the un-defendable and always wins. If he'd been a bit older he'd have got the Ripper off. He'll probably get Leatherjacket off, if they ever get him to court.'
‘He sounds interesting.'
‘Yeah, remember him for the future.'
‘I'm respectable, me.'
‘Yeah, yeah; that's why you have ARMLEY tattooed on your neck.'
United must have got a decent bollocking during the interval. They came out and scored a cracker almost straightaway. Then they proceeded to net two more without reply. Harry won fifty quid for getting the first goal scorer and thoroughly enjoyed all forty-five second half minutes, along with everyone in the tragically remodelled Gelderd End. So did Macka's other guests. Before the match was over everyone in the box had joined the chants of: We love you Leeds! Leeds!! Leeds!!!
The tradition was to have a few extra-curricular drinks at the bar while the crowd dispersed outside. Having been pre-warned, Harry had bribed Kev to collect him between six thirty and seven. This turned out to be much later than most. By six there was only him, Macka and Gussy left.
‘This lad,' said Macka, noticeably fresh, wrapping an arm around Harry, 'he's the salt of the earth, the pride of all Shipley. One time he was with us at Anfield. It was a Wednesday night, pissing it down, cold as fuck and pitch black. We bumped into hundreds of them coming out. Massively outnumbered, but we stood. And this lad . . . he went after them when they ran. “I’ll kill you Scouse fuckers,” he was yelling. So we had to run after him, hoping to hell they didn’t turn and make a fight of it, laughing all the way.'
‘Happy days,' said Harry, watching Gussy's expression. Gussy had been mainly having soft drinks, saying he was driving. He seemed all right, for a barrister. But you never knew.
‘Gussy’s cool,’ said Macka. ‘You can drop the pretence in front of him. Well, I can. You never pretend, do you?’
‘The things I hear every day’ said Gussy pretentiously. ‘A bit of hooliganism’s like a blast of fresh air. It takes me back, in many ways.’
‘Yeah?’ said Harry. ‘Don’t tell me you were in the Service Crew.’
‘Not me,’ the barrister said, ‘I had to watch myself for career reasons. But I did still have my moments. One time I got arrested away in Sunderland. The police said I made a Nazi salute, but I didn't. It was only a Roman salute.'
‘Bollocks,' said Macka.
‘There's a world of difference. There is nowadays, anyway. I'd be debarred. Back then I just got three hours in a holding cell full of home fans, pretending I’d lost my voice. Then they kicked me out with a flea in my ear. I learned my lesson, though . . . Don't get caught! It was a Monday night and I'd missed the last train. It's a hell of a long walk home from Sunderland. Speaking of which Harry, if you're going to Shipley, I can give you a lift. I'm off into Bingley myself.'
Harry's phone rang at that very moment. 'Kev's here,' he said after answering. 'Thanks anyway.'
The three of them said goodbye to their stunning hostess and the equally stunning barmaids, then made their way down a lot of steps and out into the prime car park, which still had plenty of vehicles on it, most of them highly desirable. Gussy pressed a button on his key and lights flashed on one of the nearest and best: a state-of-the-art Lexus.
‘Nice motor,' said Macka. 'Surprised you dare leave it out here. Every no-good in Leeds must have tried the handles today.'
‘Can't be nicked,' said Gussy smugly. 'Not without this unique key. And even then it's got the latest tracker in it. Anyone nicking this would be stopped and banged up before he got a mile.'
‘Tracker,’ Macka scoffed.
‘This thing’s the bee’s knees,’ Gussy protested. ‘And I got a bargain, with kickbacks in all directions.’ He chuckled. ‘In a way, we want some no-good to steal it, for the publicity. The tracker manufacturers will demonstrate how well their system works. The police are standing by pre-warned, straining at the leash, ready to break records with their reaction time. And to top it all, I’ll get to prosecute the thief. We’ve got the mass-marketing campaign already planned.’
The light bulb that came on over Harry's head must have burned a million watts.
He laughed about it all the way home.
Part Four
The future depends on what you do today.
(Mahatma Gandhi)
Chapter Thirty-Two
(Friday 12th December 2008)
Natalie was enjoying the last official sixth form disco of the year. Everyone was full of goodwill. There were balloons, decorations and exploding party-poppers everywhere. And all the old faves had been blaring out ever since they had got here.
She smiled to herself. Cliff was currently into his tenth rendition of Mistletoe and Wine. By her most conservative reckoning it would be George with Last Christmas next, probably followed by Wizzard and Slade, naturally. Then they’d be back to The Pogues and the whole cycle would begin again.
She had always loved Christmas and this was going to her best yet. Because, of course, it wasn’t only Christmas she loved this time.
The common room had been cleared to make plenty of space available for dancing. It was still quite early so the centre of the dance floor wasn’t so busy. Most folk seemed to prefer to crowd round the edge for the time being, talking in groups of threes and fours. So far these little groups were mainly same-sex as notes were compared and plans made for later on . . . some more ambitious than others.
Natalie’s smile widened. Seventy-five per cent of tonight’s partygoers were aged seventeen or under, so there wasn’t a bar. The drinking had been done elsewhere. Each group of girls had
had a nominated hostess, who’d badgered her mum into letting friends call round early to “get ready” . . . meaning to down vast quantities of supermarket booze rather than to spend hours in front of a mirror; less thriftily (and with considerably less organization), the guys had simply hit the pubs at the top of the town and worked their way downhill towards school.
Not Jamie though. While his mates were meeting in The Myrtle Grove at six thirty, he’d been at Nat’s. And she hadn’t been hostess to a gang of girls. By sheer good fortune Mum and Dad had been out on a longstanding engagement, so Jamie had been her only guest.
Watching him now, chatting rugby with his closest buddies, she felt a surge of what she could only describe as joy. They’d swigged Smirnoff Ice and shared a bottle of wine but, far more importantly, they had made good use of their time together.
‘What are you smirking at?’
She glanced round to see Jayne grinning at her. ‘I never smirk,’ she protested.
‘Well you were just then. You looked like a cat filled up with cream. I just bet you were thinking about Jamie.’
Natalie laughed. She’d actually been thinking about many things . . . all of them far too delicious to be shared with the likes of Jayne.
‘I’m just glad to be alive,’ she said lightly. ‘Sorry if my smiling upset you.’
Jayne was blonde with a passing resemblance to Kate Hudson. She had a bit of a reputation when it came to blokes (most guys happily threw themselves at her feet), but she didn’t appear to have made her choice yet tonight.
Not yet.
And there was plenty of time left. However ambitious her plans were, she would undoubtedly achieve.
‘I’m not at all upset,’ Jayne said. ‘And seeing as you’re in such a good mood, you won’t mind if I give Jamie a Christmas kiss, will you?’
‘Be my guest,’ said Natalie. ‘He’s got enough to go round.’
‘That’s what Simone told me.’ The other girl clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oops! That came out wrong.’
‘I’m sure Simone was only referring to kisses,’ Natalie said drily.
‘What else?’ Jayne agreed. Then, grabbing a lad as he passed: ‘Here Matty. Please give Nat a kiss for Christmas. She really wants one from you. She’s just too shy to ask.’
Matthew was clearly embarrassed. ‘I don’t know if I dare,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I don’t want Jamie to be bashing me up.’
Jayne opened her mouth to say God knew what but Natalie jumped in well ahead of her. She’d had a liking for Matthew from the start of term. He’d been on her wavelength all along. No way was she going to let the brassy blonde belittle him.
‘Jamie won’t be bashing anyone up,’ she said. ‘And I’m definitely not too shy to ask.’
‘Oh,’ he replied, ‘right.’
Natalie moved into his airspace and offered up her face. With amazing tenderness, he pressed his lips to hers.
‘Call that a kiss?’ said Jayne as they broke apart.
‘It was nice,’ Natalie countered, ‘just not long enough. Come here Matthew. I’ll kiss you this time.’
Very conscious of Jayne’s critical attention, she grabbed Matthew and made a quite serious attempt at kissing his face off. Really going for it, mouth wide open and tongue straining. Sensing Matthew was about to take off vertically, she clasped his shoulders to hold him down.
‘There,’ she said, finally releasing him. ‘That was a kiss.’
‘It was more like copulation,’ Jayne put in. ‘I’m definitely going to try for that when I wish Jamie Merry Christmas.’
Before Natalie could think of a reply Barry came hurrying up, looking concerned. ‘Matty,’ he said urgently. ‘Come and give us a hand with Roger.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Natalie wondered.
‘It’s nothing really, just a bit too much to drink.’
‘He was all right when I saw him half an hour ago.’
‘Yeah, well . . . It sometimes takes a while to catch up with you, doesn’t it?’
Jamie had left his rugby buddies and come over to join them. ‘What’s with all the big snogging?’ he began with his usual grin. Then, seeing Natalie’s worried expression: ‘Never mind that, what’s to do?’
‘It’s Roger,’ she told him. ‘Barry says he’s drunk.’
‘He was all right half an hour ago.’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘So what’s happened?’ he demanded, turning on Barry.
Barry flinched. ‘I think it might be coke,’ he said.
‘He’s done it again, after last time; the flipping idjit!’ Jamie sighed. ‘He’ll get himself excluded. Where is he?’
‘He’s in the gents’.’
‘Is he on his own?’
‘No. Craig’s with him, and Christine.’
Natalie could see the evaluation in Jamie’s eyes: the immediate dismissal of Roger’s stupidity, saving recriminations for later; the quick questions and analysis of the problem.
A hero waiting to happen, she thought, my hero.
‘We have to get him out of there before some teacher goes for a pee,’ he said. ‘Matty . . . have you got your mum’s motor?’
‘Yeah, it’s in the car park.’
‘Are you okay to take him home?’
‘No problem. Mum filled it up this afternoon. She’ll never notice an extra trip to Denholme and back.’ He frowned. ‘I’m not too keen on facing Roger’s mum, though.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Natalie said. ‘That is, Christine can do it. I’ll give her moral support.’
‘Okay,’ said Jamie. ‘We have a plan. You ladies watch the corridor. Barry and I will get him out of the bogs and through the fire door. Then you can all scout ahead while I carry him to the motor. Job sorted.’
‘That fire door’s alarmed,’ Matthew said.
‘Alarmed?’ Jamie laughed. ‘I’ll be alarmed if I can’t get it open without waking the dead.’
Natalie wasn’t sure what she admired most: his unshakable confidence or his loveable grin.
*****
Heather paused in the entrance to the Kings. She had never seen the place that quiet on a Friday night. And something was missing. Not Sean; she’d known he would be long gone by now.
She smiled as she realized what it was: she'd never seen the place without Andy hovering here and there, being very visibly in charge. And the barmaid was new too. Usually Andy only ever left the highly dependable Hayley alone behind his bar.
‘Good evening,’ the new girl said. ‘What can I get you?’
Heather had had a quite awful day. She was tempted to ask for strong spirits but settled for Tetley's.
‘A pint?’ the barmaid echoed uncertainly.
‘That’s right. It’ll probably be the first of many.’
Heather mentally backtracked as she checked her watch. No it won’t. I need to keep in control for the fun and games ahead.
Correction: the possible fun and games ahead.
She paid for her drink and plucked out her phone. Then, remembering the NO MOBILES sign above the front door, she decided to behave herself and go outside.
There was only one person in the smoking area at the back, watching rugby on the enormous plasma screen.
Wow, she thought. Then, using his terminology: Result!
Not that I really do men, of course.
Not anymore . . .
‘Well, well,’ she said aloud, ‘fancy seeing you here.’
Pat McGuire broke into a grin as he saw who was greeting him. ‘I fancy seeing you anywhere. Have you come to celebrate my birthday?’
‘I thought it was your birthday in November.’
‘I'm like the Queen, me. I have several birthdays.’
‘I bet you do. Where's DeeDee?’
‘She’s in Bristol again.’ Pat's grin slipped a bit. ‘Work commitments and clearing out her apartment. I’m celebrating alone.’
‘You and an army of Smash Martians,’ said Heather, marvelling as always a
t the vast array of patio heaters. ‘No wonder the drinks are so expensive.’
‘You're not old enough to remember Smash Martians.’
‘They were mentioned on a marketing course, together with a lot of old beer commercials.’
