by David Haynes
The waitress delivered the food in two visits and it smelled incredible. Chris could smell the chilli in Joe’s jalfrezi but he tucked in with gusto. There was even a whole red chilli on top which he ate first. He devoured it as if he were eating an apple.
Joe looked up briefly. “How’s yours?”
Chris took a mouthful of lamb which melted like butter on his tongue. “Lovely. Yours?”
“Spiky.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. Chris could see a few beads of sweat on his forehead.
“Looks it.”
They ate the rest of the meal in a comfortable silence. It didn’t last long because Joe ate his as fast as he ate his boiled egg.
“You can’t stop eating to talk. The moment you do that, it gets you.” Joe untucked his napkin, wiped his mouth and scrunched it into a ball. He dropped it onto his empty plate.
“That filled you, lad?”
Chris still had a few mouthfuls to go and even though he was full he wasn’t about to leave any. “Just a bit. It’s tasty, really tasty.”
Joe reached into his jacket and slid a ten pound note across the table. “My treat.”
Chris opened his mouth but Joe spoke before he could. “No arguing. And when you’re done I’ll have a half, please.” He drained his glass and patted his belly. His cheeks glowed red and he looked healthy.
The meal had provided a natural break in the conversation and Chris had no intention of raising ghosts again. The pub was filling up. Most of those arriving knew Joe and came over to talk to him. They all shook hands with Chris and some, but not all, mentioned his dad. At just before eight o’clock, Joe stood up.
“I’m going to play dominoes with the boys. I’ll happily walk home if you’ve had enough.”
Chris looked around the pub. He didn’t know anyone enough to talk to but he didn’t fancy being alone in the cottage.
“I’ll stay for a bit and watch you, if that’s okay? I’m just going to phone Ollie.”
“Course it is.” Joe set off toward the snug and Chris followed with the drinks. The little room was empty but a box of dominoes and a reserved sign had been put in the middle of the table. There was no disputing whose territory this was. How many smugglers had sat on the very same wooden benches?
Chris set the drinks down and walked outside to phone Ollie. The air was fresh and cool. In the distance he could hear the sound of the waves crashing into Hawk’s Cove. It made him shiver but he discarded the image of the cove from his mind easily. He’d been doing that same thing for most of his life.
Ollie spoke about his day at school and what he’d had for dinner, but he seemed distracted.
“What’s the matter?” Chris asked.
“I don’t want to go to bed.”
“Come on, Ollie, you’ve got to go to bed. You need to get your batteries recharged for tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to, Dad.”
“Well if you don’t got to bed, I’m going to phone school and tell Mrs Simpson...”
“I’m scared.”
Chris cringed. He should be there. “Of what, big boy? Your bed is the safest place in the whole...”
“Of the nightmares.” Ollie’s voice was shaking.
“They’re not real. It’s just your mind playing a nasty trick, that’s all. I bet you have some good dreams too?” He was a fine one to talk about tricks of the mind. His own mind was in a shambles.
“But they are real, Dad.”
“Have you talked to Mum about them?”
There was silence on the other end. Chris was desperately thinking of something to say. “Want to come and see Lollipop and go surfing?”
“When?” Ollie’s voice changed in an instant and it made Chris smile.
“Well, I’ll talk to Mum but it’s half-term in a week or so.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Ollie shouted.
“Well, think about that when you’re going off to sleep and you’ll be fine. Just think about eating fish and chips down at the cape.”
“I will.”
“Okay, off you go. Night, night. I love you. Can you put Mum on please?”
“She’s in the shower. I love you too, night night.”
Chris was about to end the call but stopped. “Ollie?”
“Yes?”
“You can phone me anytime you want, you know that right? Even if it’s the middle of the night and you’re scared, just tell Mum you want to speak to me. Okay?”
“Okay. You know when we come to see Lollipop, can we go to that place where he caught the crab? I think I know how to catch one now. I’m going to catch the big mutant crab that he told me about. I don’t want to eat it though, not like Lollipop. He likes eating crabs but I don’t.”
Chris laughed. Ollie was already thinking about coming here. That was good.
“Of course we can, we’ll go and find this super-crab and then Lollipop can eat him. We’re going to need a new crab-line though, especially if it’s that big. Tell Mum I’ll text her later.”
“Night!” He sounded happy again.
Ollie ended the call before he could say anything else. He stood for a moment. Beside the low hum of the waves and the chatter of people in the pub, he could hear his own heart beating loud and clear. He felt stronger too. The thing that had broken on the day they buried his dad wasn’t fixed. He doubted it ever would be, but today he’d pushed a tiny bit of glue into one of the cracks. He just hoped it was superglue and not paste.
Chris went to watch the old boys play dominoes, although calling them boys wasn’t exactly accurate. Joe was the oldest out of the four, but there didn’t seem to be a lot in it. The other three were chatting away but as soon as they saw Chris, they stopped. One by one they got to their feet and shook hands with him. Not one of them mentioned his dad but they all gave him a pat on the back, wished him a happy birthday and invited him to join the game. Chris had never played dominoes in his life and declined. He was happy just to watch and join in with the conversation.
The snug was exactly that – snug. It was wide enough for a table to seat four, six at a push, with a small fireplace at one end. If the fire was ever used, the snug would become an oven.
Unsurprisingly given Joe’s nature, the game was extremely competitive and loose change seemed to be passing rapidly from one side of the table to the other. In between grumpy exchanges, the men talked about anything and everything. Although Chris had never met any of the men before, they were familiar with Ollie and Lou. When they asked about Ollie learning to ride his bike and how his new school was suiting him, he smiled and looked at Joe. Joe didn’t look back, he was too busy scrutinising his tiles, but Chris knew Joe probably talked to these men about little else other than his great-grandson.
An hour passed pleasantly. It was clear the men knew each other for most of their lives. They had raised their own families and in turn had seen their sons and daughters raise their own families. It was normal life but none had experienced what Joe had gone through. Thank God, none of them had gone through that.
“Here they are!” Pat Bailey stood in the doorway to the snug, or rather he leaned on the doorframe. None of the men looked up but there were several sighs.
Joe was the only one to speak.
“Evening, lad. Are you having a game?”
“Not me, Joe. You boys’d bleed me dry.” He lifted his head. “Chris, you buying me a drink then?”
Pat’s slur was evident for everyone to hear and it sounded like his volume dial was broken.
Chris stood up and sidled past the chairs to the door. “Come on then.” He guided Pat out of the snug and back to the bar. He had a feeling this was a regular occurrence and not a particularly welcome one for the domino players.
“Two Rattlers please, Susie, and he’s paying,” Pat shouted although Susie was standing right in front of him.
Chris looked at the barmaid. “I’ll just have half a Tribute, please.”
“What? What’s the matter with you?” Pat banged his fist on the bar. �
��He’s not like his old man, is he?” He looked at Susie who just looked back at him without offering an opinion.
“I’m driving, Pat. I’ve got to get the old boy home, haven’t I?” He hoped his answer would soften the undercurrent of hostility in Pat’s demeanour.
“Ah, you won’t find a bloody copper around here at this time. They’re all over in Penzance with their feet up.”
“Just half.” Chris smiled at Susie. “And a Rattler for Pat, cheers.”
“Suit yourself.” Pat clapped him on the back and drained the last half of his current pint in one go.
“So how’s about you and me take a drive later?”
Chris paid Susie. He didn’t want any more to drink but he took a sip to placate Pat. “A drive? Where to?”
Pat took his cider and started pouring it down his throat. He didn’t seem to swallow and when he stopped, half of it was gone.
“I thought I could show you all the places your dad and me used to go.” He turned and winked at Susie.
“I don’t know. I need to drive Granddad back home and...”
“Come on, it’ll be Bailey and Kestle back on the road again. I’ve got some new ones?” He winked at Chris now.
The thought of being in a car with a drunk wasn’t attractive, even if it was his dad’s best friend. But the idea of hearing something new about his dad had a certain appeal to it. It wasn’t a good idea, not with Pat like this, but still...
“I’ll come back and pick you up after I’ve dropped him off. Just don’t go too heavy on that, okay?” He pointed at the glass in Pat’s hand.
Pat put the glass down on the bar and offered his hand. “Scout’s honour.”
Chris shook it and put a five pound note on the bar. “That’s for the last one.” He walked back to the snug and sat down.
“Everything okay?” Joe asked without looking up.
“He’s just having his last one.”
One of the other men grunted. “He’s getting to be a real pain in the arse is Pat.”
It was noticeable that none of the others disagreed.
“That he is,” said Joe flatly.
Chapter 9
Chris pulled the car in but didn’t turn off the engine.
“Are you planning on sitting out here all night?” Joe had his hand on the door handle.
“I’m going back to see Pat. He wants to take a drive and see the places him and Dad used to go to.” He stopped and looked at Joe. “I don’t know if it’s catharsis for him but he looks like he needs something.”
“Just be careful. I love him like my own but he isn’t right. He isn’t the man your dad grew up with.”
“It’s the booze. I’ve only been here a couple of days and both times I’ve seen him he’s been...”
“Yes,” Joe interrupted, “and he’s been like that for a while now, so you just be careful.” Joe climbed out of the car and tapped the roof with his hand.
Chris watched him go inside and put the car into reverse. He had an idea that this was catharsis for both him and Pat. He’d heard Pat’s stories, some of them several times, and he’d been to most of the places in those stories but never put the two together. He hoped they would add up to more than the sum of their parts when they were joined.
He drove into the village. He could see a dark shape sitting on the steps to the war memorial. His mind went back to the morning and the shadow on the cemetery shed. The headlights swooped around and lit up the hunched figure. His head was down but there was no mistaking Pat. He looked like he was having a snooze, but as soon as Chris pulled up alongside, he jerked into life. Chris noticed the four-pack in his hand.
“Supplies,” he announced as climbed inside.
“I thought I said no more.” Chris felt his heart sink and turned the engine off. He didn’t need the night to turn into a bickering match with a bad-tempered drunk. Nor did he want to sound like a babysitter.
“I didn’t have any more. I thought we’d have a toast to Jack later.”
Chris scrutinised him. Pat looked sincere, although judging by the state of his speech he’d had some more, plenty more.
“Okay but just one.”
Pat chuckled. “Of course. Just one.”
Chris started the engine again. “Okay, so where to first?”
“Oh, it’s got to be the park.”
“You mean, Cape Park? Just over there?” Chris pointed up the road. The park was on the road out toward the cemetery, but not as far.
Pat nodded. “Go on, I’ll tell you a story about your dad and some dark deeds in the park.” He grinned like a maniac.
Chris shook his head and started driving. He’d taken Ollie in the park when he was a toddler. The swings and the slide were marked by rust, and the football pitch had been overgrown and unused. It was dismal in the day. As he pulled into the car park, he realised it was equally so at night.
As soon as the car stopped, Pat opened the first can of cider. Chris took one too but he had no intention of drinking more than a mouthful.
“Switch the lights on.”
Chris did as he was asked.
“In there,” Pat started and pointed at the trees around the football pitch, “is where your dad took Susie Curnow’s bra off and squeezed her tits. We were fourteen and it was your dad’s maiden voyage. He didn’t stop smiling for a whole week.”
Chris thought back to the pub. “Not the same Susie from The Queen’s?”
Pat laughed and held his can up to the window. “The very same. Mind you, she soon wiped the smile off his face when she found out he’d been telling half the school about it. To Jack!” He took a drink and Chris did the same.
Was this something he needed to know? He smiled. Of course it was. “Where next then?”
“Trewellard Arms,” Pat said without hesitation and took Chris’s can off him.
It was a ten minute drive to the next destination but Pat didn’t stop talking all the way there. The stories were just minor incidents at school resulting on one or both of them getting into trouble, but Pat spoke about them as if they were just yesterday, and was very animated.
Closing time had long passed and The Trewellard Arms was in darkness when Chris drove into the car park. It was a place he’d never been in but had often passed on the way to St Ives.
“This, my boy, was the first pub your dad ever bought me a drink.”
Chris nodded.
“This was back in the Sixties and it was my fifteenth birthday. We caught the bus up here ’cos we knew we wouldn’t have a hope of getting served at The Queen’s.” He paused and smiled as if he were picturing it. “Jack walks straight up to the bar, bold as brass, and leans on it with an Embassy hanging from the corner of his mouth. ‘Two pints of cider please, love,’ he says. He didn’t look more than ten years old and she took one look at him and said ‘You ain’t old enough.’ He just looked at her and put the money on the bar. ‘Two pints of cider, please.’ Well, she just tutted and poured our drinks. Everyone used to say he was the shy one out of the two of us, but he weren’t, not when you got to know him. He had more bottle than half of the school. We had four pints each that night and we were both as sick as dogs.”
Pat threw his head back and laughed. “Joe had him up at five pulling them pots and he was throwing up the whole trip. Joe didn’t give a rat’s arse about him puking up like that, just told him to get on with it, but Jack never did that to Joe again.”
Chris laughed too. Joe wouldn’t have cared if he’d been half-dead. Pulling the lobster pots was all that mattered.
“What about you, did your dad give you a roasting?”
Pat’s face changed. “My old man was probably asleep in the gutter, covered in his own piss and too drunk to know where his bed was.” He passed a can back to Chris. “Here’s to Jack.” He took a long drink and crumpled his can before dropping it into the footwell.
They both sat in silence for a minute. Pat opened his second can and took several long swallows from it.
&n
bsp; “How about the lighthouse?” Chris suggested. “Pendeen’s just down the road.” He knew his dad and Pat had been there on numerous occasions, especially once they had access to a car. He reversed out of the car park without waiting for a reply. Pat was just staring out of the side window in silence. Chris knew Joe had helped raise Pat in the absence of his own father and thinking about the man obviously had a bad effect on him. He was morose, but once they got to the lighthouse he would start up again.
It was a couple of minutes before he spoke.
“I don’t want to go there.”
Chris pulled onto the access road and switched the main beam on. It was pitch black and he knew the track was full of crater-like potholes. It was wide enough for only one car and wound down toward the coast. It wouldn’t do the car any good but they were nearly there now.
“What? We’re more or less there.” The flashing beacon from the lighthouse was brilliant in the darkness.
“I said, I don’t want to go there. I want to go home now.”
Pat had been happy up until that point but the mixture of alcohol and a mention of his dad had changed things in his head.
“Pat, I can’t turn round and I’m not reversing all the way back up there, so there’s not much I can do about it now.”
Pat remained silent.
There wasn’t a car park next to the lighthouse, just a worn patch of grass that people used. Chris pulled onto it and turned the ignition. Pat was still staring out of the window and hadn’t said a word for some time. Whatever was going on in his head, he was keeping to himself.
He opened the door and the sound of the ocean filled the car. “I’m going for a whizz, Pat, back in a minute.”
“We used to bring girls up here.” Pat carried on staring out of the window. “When we had the car, that was.”
Chris stopped but left the door open. It was chilly but it would be a crime to shut the door on the cool smell of sea spray.
“We’d bring a carry-out from the pub and go sit down there.” He tapped his finger on the window glass. “We’d dare each other to see who could get closest to the edge. The more we drank, the closer we got.” He turned to Chris. “Pretty stupid, eh?”
