As he got closer and closer to Dickens Court, he started to realise that it was not the wearing of the glasses which made him feel uncomfortable, it was the probable reaction of his floor-mates.
As he crossed the railway bridge, he noticed a small aeroplane, the size of those you see on telly spraying crops, battling with the wind over Southside University. The wind was so strong, the plane appeared to hardly move and it was so low that, now wearing glasses, Hugh could read the large code letters on the body of the plane. He wondered why it was so low. Must be taking photographs he thought. You could take a lot of pictures of houses very quickly. Maybe there was something in that for his next money-making scheme. His mind raced, but all the time, fell back on what his floor-mates would say when he walked in the kitchen wearing his new glasses.
He expected the usual jokes and intended giving somebody a good slapping to make sure he nipped it in the bud, but, even though he was the biggest on the floor, he didn’t want to tangle with the Hill brothers. They would put up too much of a fight. And he quite liked them. Tom was a bit self-righteous but fairly friendly and he always did well with the chicks. Brian was better. He was more of a man’s man, knew what women were for and always had a laugh and joke. And both the Hill brothers were in the football club so they enjoyed a few beers. No. He didn’t want to tangle with them.
No Balls Leopard wouldn’t dare say anything and he was harmless anyway. He would probably be too scared to even look at Hugh’s new glasses. Wanker would only say something after somebody else had started. He liked to jump on the bandwagon but didn’t have the bottle to start anything himself. Maybe he would be the one that needed slapping.
Then there was his best mate Colin Dean. Hugh never helped Colin out so he didn’t expect any support from him, but he was a wimp anyway. He talked a good game, but he couldn’t even stand up to No Balls Leopard, who had knocked him over during the Christmas party. What an embarrassment that had been. A friend of his knocked over by a spotty boy who was too shy to take his hands out of his pockets. Colin had only ever been a friend of convenience for Hugh. He just happened to be in the next room during Hugh’s first year. Hugh would much rather Tom and Brian had started at Southside a year earlier, then Brian would have been his best friend, possibly Tom too. Hugh was soaked as he went through the doors of Dickens Court, block F, and headed up the stairs.
Tom and Brian sat in the corner of their Dickens Court kitchen with a cup of tea. They should have been to a sociology lecture but it was raining and they didn’t want to get wet.
‘Who do you think it’s from then?’ Brian asked.
‘No idea,’ replied Tom. He had received two cards, one signed ‘all my love Vicky’ and the other, which had a picture of bread on the front, saying ‘would you like a roll with me?’.
Brian got no cards, but he hadn’t sent any either. Tom had sent Vicky a card. He wrote ‘you are my favourite girl in the whole world’, which was the kindest thing he could say without going as far as saying ‘I love you’.
‘Made any progress with Vicky yet?’ Brian asked.
‘No. Not really. We’re still at the sleeping-together-but-no-sex stage, but there was an interesting development last night,’ Tom replied.
‘Go on.’ Brian sat forward with interest.
‘We were about to doze off when I said, ‘Sweet dreams.” She was facing away from me, straight at the wall, and replied softly, “And you Tom”. Then about a minute later, even softer, she said, ‘I love you Tom.”
‘Shit … What did you say?’
‘I had to think for a second. She wanted an instant “I love you too Vicky”, but it didn’t come.”
‘So what did come?’
‘Nothing. I said nothing, hoping she thought I hadn’t heard her, but a few minutes later, I thought I could hear her crying. I wanted to tell her I loved her, just to make her feel good, but I couldn’t do it.’
Andrew Leopard, Ian Mellor and Colin Dean marched into the kitchen.
‘Anybody seen Hugh?’ Colin asked.
The boys all shrugged their shoulders.
‘That’s funny. He wasn’t at lectures and he’s not in his room.’
Before they could settle down the door flew open and Hugh walked purposefully into the middle of the room. He stood straight and tall, a good six feet and three inches including the heels of his boots. He puffed out his chest, almost daring anyone to comment. He might be wearing glasses, but his fists were just as hard. The kitchen was silent apart from a pan of baked beans bubbling on the one good ring of the cooker.
Before anybody spoke, Roger Evans came in with his cardboard box, stopped, looked up at Hugh’s glasses and stared rudely. Noticing the tension in the room, he pushed his own glasses back up his nose, turned straight around and left the room.
Brian was trying not to laugh and broke the silence. ‘What’s wrong Hugh? You look paned.’
Before Hugh could respond, Tom, who was trying to hide a smile added, ‘Are you on drugs Hugh? Your eyes looked glazed.’
If Hugh were a cartoon character, he would now have a bright red face and steam racing out of his ears. ‘Watch your mouth Hill or there’ll be trouble. Is that clear?’
‘Clear as glass,’ Tom quickly replied, with a friendly smile.
As Hugh had expected, Ian Mellor took the opportunity to join in now the banter had started, with an ill-timed cliché. Hugh darted in his direction and grabbed his lapels, holding him against the wall about a foot off the ground. ‘Apologise now or die. What’s it to be Wanker?’
Nobody jumped to his rescue. It was good entertainment and Hugh was hurting his pride more than anything.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ Ian whimpered.
Hugh pressed home his advantage. ‘Louder Wanker so everyone can hear.’
‘I’m sorry Hugh,’ Ian shouted.
Hugh let go and he slid back down the wall.
Again there was an awkward moment, which Brian ended with a song. ‘Four eyes a jolly good fellow.’
Hugh edged in Brian’s direction, but he was ready. He stood and held up both hands, palms flat towards Hugh, like a policeman stopping traffic. ‘No need for violence. A bit of banter never hurt anybody.’ Hugh backed off a little. ‘Actually I think they look quite good. What do you think Tom?’
‘Yes Hugh. A good choice of frames. They’re very “you”.’
After a while the hum of conversation returned and Colin used Ian’s pan to prepare Hugh’s lunch. He left the dirty pan for Ian to wash.
Andrew sat next to Tom. ‘Can I ask you a big favour?’
‘You can ask.’ Tom replied.
‘I’ve got the roses for Pink Socks in my room. Could you take them to the economics department and put a note in her pigeon hole?’
‘Why don’t you do it?’
‘It’s my department. Everybody knows me. They’re less likely to know you … they are.’
Tom didn’t think it made any difference. His sociology department was in the same building anyway, so some people would know him in the economics department, two floors below. He looked out of the window. It was still raining and he had already missed a lecture to avoid the rain. Mind you, if it hadn’t been raining, he would probably have found another excuse to miss the lecture.
‘Oh okay.’ He gave in. ‘You’ll owe me a big favour though.’
‘Thanks Tom.’
Ten minutes later, Tom was soaked as he walked down the corridor in the economics department looking for the pigeon holes. He found them above a desk and placed the card in the hole marked F for Fisher. He placed the flowers on the desk underneath. As he turned to leave, he saw Pink Socks at the other end of the corridor coming towards him.
He had been briefly introduced in the supermarket and wondered if she would recognise him. She certainly did and having seen him with the flowers, was hoping they were for her. She smiled warmly as she approached with the intention of stopping for a chat. ‘Hi Tom. How are you?’
Tom co
uld see she was about to stop. He politely smiled back and walked a little faster, so he didn’t have to stop and chat. ‘Fine thanks Karen. You okay?’
As he hurried back to Dickens Court through the rain, he cursed his bad luck. Why hadn’t Andrew put his name on the card like he had told him to? Now Pink Socks was going to think the flowers were from Tom.
Chapter 25
Southside District Waiting Room
Eleven days later, February 25, 1984: It was getting towards the end of term and most students were running out of money. Visits to the pub had become rare but tonight was a promotion night in the Union Bar with Fosters for 50 pence a pint. Having drawn two each with the top team, Tom and Brian Hill were in a mood to celebrate, especially as Tom had scored a goal, a headed equaliser from a corner. It was only his second of the season, Brian was on 35.
Andrew Leopard, Tom, Brian, Vicky Owen and Hugh Grundy shared a table. Colin Dean and Ian Mellor played snooker.
Hugh was not happy. He had tried his new idea for making money earlier that day and failed after being stopped by the police. He had gone with Colin to the smart tree-lined streets off Royal Avenue where Southside’s most wealthy residents lived and climbed the tallest tree armed with Colin’s camera. Having clung to the uppermost branches, he had taken what he hoped would pass as aerial photographs of the houses, which he wanted to sell to the owners of the homes.
Unfortunately, one of those residents had spotted him. They thought he was a burglar checking out his next target and called the police. He thought he had done nothing wrong. ‘I paid good money to put film in that camera. You make an effort to earn some honest money and there’s always someone waiting to knock you down.’
‘Why don’t you just get a part-time job?’ asked Vicky.
‘It’s not that easy,’ Hugh defended himself. ‘There’s three million unemployed and jobs are scarce.’
‘Can’t be that hard. Tom’s got a job,’ Vicky replied proudly.
Tom had successfully applied for bar work three nights a week at The Horse And Groom in London Road. He desperately needed the money. Having a girlfriend was expensive. Only Brian and Vicky had been told the news.
‘When do you start?’ Andrew asked. He was a little upset that he hadn’t been told.
‘Next week. Another one Brian, Andrew?’ Tom grabbed their empty glasses and went to the bar with Vicky.
It was a popular event and there was a big queue at the bar. It took ten minutes to get served. Tom reached over a couple of heads with drinks for Vicky and Andrew. ‘You take these and I’ll catch you up.’ She headed off. Tom had seen Greenpeace Badge and wanted a quiet word.
‘Sanita. How’s it going?’ he said holding both his and Brian’s drinks.
‘Good thanks. Very good,’ she said with forced enthusiasm. ‘My boyfriend is here. We’re getting on well.’
‘Excellent. Best get back. See you later.’ Tom thought she was just telling him things were going well to save face, but at least it took the pressure off him. He could concentrate on Vicky for now.
As Tom rejoined the others, Hugh was still complaining about the heavy tactics of the police. Vicky again changed the subject so she could proudly boast about Tom’s new job. As Vicky, Tom, Andrew and Hugh discussed the risk to academic performance posed by part-time employment, Brian was distracted by a fly on the table.
He was leaning forward with his cheekbone resting on his right fist. His right elbow rested on the table next to his fresh pint of Fosters and he kept very still while his eyes followed the fly. It walked up to his glass, back towards the ashtray and through some spilled beer. It then stopped to rub its front legs together before changing direction and headed back towards the glass. It went up the side of the glass, back down, rubbed its legs together again and walked just inches past Brian’s elbow towards a beer mat.
Brian followed it with his eyes until it passed in front of his fist by the length of Brian’s fore-arm, at which point he slammed his fist down on the fly with alarming speed and ferocity, jolting, but not quite spilling, everybody’s drinks. He wiped the dead fly on the edge of the table and, without changing his blank expression, addressed the others. ‘I went to the hospital yesterday.’
Tom already knew but was the only one.
‘How did it go?’ asked Andrew. He was a little upset that he hadn’t been told.
‘Well. It shouldn’t be called Southside District Hospital. It should be called Southside District Waiting Room. I spent most of the day waiting.’
‘How long?’ asked Andrew. Tom had already heard Brian’s rant, but Brian was so disgusted by how long he had waited that he wanted more people to share his anger. Andrew was happy to listen.
‘I got up early to be there on time and was kept waiting for half an hour before I was called. All they did then was move me to a second waiting room for another 45 minutes. Then I got a backwards-have-a-look-at-my-bum gown on and was kept waiting for the doctor in a cubical for another half hour.’
‘What then?’ Andrew was following with interest.
‘The doctor fondled my nads for three minutes and left without saying anything.’
‘He must have said something.’ Vicky thought Brian must be exaggerating.
‘Well not to me he didn’t. He mumbled a few things to the nurse and, reading between the lines, I think the doctor I saw last autumn was spot on and I need a small operation.’
‘When?’ asked Tom, now worried about whether Brian would be fit for the end-of-season run-in. The university had won through to the cup final, to be played at the home of Southside Wanderers in Thief Lane, and Brian was a vital player. The league title was out of their reach now, but the cup final was against a team they had already beaten twice earlier in the season, but with Brian at his best.
‘Don’t know. All they would commit to was “as soon as possible, but there’s a waiting list”. Tells me nothing. Could be tomorrow or next year.’ Brian wasn’t happy. ‘The future of my bollock is out of my hands.’
Andrew had been listening carefully, but had still been able to keep a lookout for Pink Socks over Brian’s shoulder and, as soon as he picked her out, Brian’s bollock was forgotten. ‘Tom. You won’t believe this, but I’ve just spotted Pink Socks and I’m sure she was looking at me … I am.’
Everybody looked across the room at Pink Socks, except Andrew, who put his hands in his pockets and squirmed, thinking this could be his moment. She must have worked out the flowers were from him.
Tom, who was sat alongside Andrew, had other ideas about who Karen Fisher might be looking at, but kept them to himself not wishing to upset Andrew, or Vicky. ‘Best get over there Andrew.’
‘Mmm … not just yet.’ Andrew couldn’t think of a reason why not, but still thought it wise to be cautious.
‘Come on Andrew.’ Even Vicky was getting a little impatient with him. ‘You’ve already spoken to her a couple of times. It won’t hurt to go and have a quick chat.’
‘Do you think I have any chance Vicky … do you?’ Andrew, without knowing it, was fishing for compliments to give him a boost in confidence. Tom usually made some up, Brian usually changed the subject, Hugh would happily tell him she was out of his league, but Vicky dug deep to find something positive to say.
‘Of course you have. You are a good looking boy with a heart of gold.’
‘You’re on,’ Colin shouted to the Hill brothers on his return from the snooker tables with Ian.
‘Who won?’ asked Brian.
‘Wanker on the black ball. Lucky bastard,’ replied Colin. ‘Pinball Hugh?’ Colin suggested.
Brian and Tom went to play snooker while Colin, Hugh and Ian crowded round the pinball machine, leaving Vicky and Andrew sat at the table.
‘What should I say to her?’ Andrew asked Vicky for advice.
‘Just tell her you sent the flowers and ask if she liked them.’
‘She’d probably just tell me to get lost.’
‘I doubt it. That would be very u
nkind. If she were that unkind, you’re best not getting to know her anyway.’
‘What next?’
‘Then ask her out. She probably wouldn’t say no. If she didn’t want to, she would make an excuse, but she wouldn’t tell you to get lost.’
Andrew thought for a moment. ‘How did Tom ask you out?’
‘Well. He didn’t really. You were there when we met at the photo shop. We just got talking, but he did ask me on a proper date a few days later.’
‘And you said “yes”?’
‘Well actually I said “no”, but he assumed it was because I didn’t want to waste his money, so he insisted and we went to The Pepper Pot for a meal.’
Andrew stood up. He was ready to talk to Pink Socks.
‘Too late Andrew,’ said Vicky. ‘She’s gone.’
Andrew sat down again, almost relieved that he had avoided a tense situation. At least not asking her delayed her turning him down. ‘Missed my chance.’
‘Never mind.’
‘I wish I were more like Tom.’
‘One Tom is more than enough,’ joked Vicky.
Andrew had drunk enough beer to have lost his nervous echo. Vicky was a good listener. Andrew was happy talking to her when Tom disappeared, which he often did. In fact, thought Andrew, he probably spent more time with Tom and Brian’s girlfriends than they did, so maybe he was becoming more like Tom. The thought gave Andrew a warm glow.
‘Tom’s the best friend I’ve ever had.’ Andrew told Vicky. ‘I’m happy he has such a nice girlfriend and you get on so well.’
Vicky was starting to think Tom would never love her and had no close friends to talk to. She had also drunk a few beers and Andrew seemed like a good listener. ‘Things aren’t always what they seem though Andrew.’
‘There’s nothing wrong is there?’ Andrew was shocked and genuinely worried for his friends.
‘No. Not really, but I love him so much and I’m not sure he feels the same way about me.’
Andrew was lost for words. A girl had never been so open with him on such a delicate subject and he didn’t know what he should say and he had no comforting words to offer. ‘Can I get you another drink Vicky?’
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