‘No thanks. I’m fine.’ She had a full glass and realised Andrew only asked to hide his embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with my troubles.’
‘No. No. I don’t mind at all.’ He did. ‘I just don’t know what to say.’ That was obvious.
‘I think you’re supposed to say, “don’t worry, these things take time. He’ll come round.” That’s what I’ve been telling myself.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ That was the best Andrew could do.
Two hours later, Colin, Hugh and Ian staggered to the coffee bar, while Tom, Brian, Vicky and Andrew headed back to Dickens court. They sat in Andrew’s bedroom while Tom made coffee. It was instant and not even coffee. It was a budget jar containing mostly chicory.
Brian sat in the soft chair while Andrew sat at his desk. Vicky sat on the bed with her back against the wall, leaving enough space for Tom to sit next to her.
The last time they had shared a coffee in Andrew’s room was when Frank and Maureen Leopard had come to meet Karen Fisher and discovered their son’s best friend kissing Karen Fisher, who wasn’t actually Karen Fisher. Tom was a shade anxious that the subject wasn’t bought up in case Vicky heard about Tom’s kiss with Greenpeace Badge.
In an effort to steer the subject safely away from Sanita Harrison, Tom raised the subject of Andrew’s relationship with his father. ‘So Andrew. Last time we were in here for coffee, your father left in a hurry. Have you heard from him since?’
‘Yes, but only to make travel arrangements for Easter.’
‘Has he banned you from talking to me?’
‘No. He didn’t even mention their visit.’
‘Is he waiting till he’s got you at home?’
‘Possibly, but I’ll be ready. What you said to him during their visit was right. He does treat me like shit, and he has chipped away at me for years, so I don’t have the confidence to defend myself.’
Tom thought he was at last getting somewhere with Andrew. If he could start thinking for himself instead of doing what he thought his father wanted, he would be much happier. ‘You’re talking a good game Andrew, but he’s going to try and re-establish his hold on you over Easter. It’s a six-week break. That’s a long time. But if you can see what he’s doing to you, you’ve more chance to break free. Trouble is, he truly believes he knows best, and he doesn’t want you to think for yourself.’
‘I know you shocked him.’ Andrew was hugely proud of Tom for standing up to Frank on his behalf. ‘He’s not used to people standing up to him. I’ve got to do it now though.’
Chapter 26
Action on the squash court
Three weeks later, March 16, 1984: It was the last day of term before the six-week Easter break. Vicky Owen was going home tomorrow. Tom Hill was staying at college with his brother for the holiday; they had nowhere to go. It would give them chance to do some studies for the first time, catch up on course work and prepare a few answers for the exams at the end of the year. The grades weren’t important as they didn’t effect the final grade of the degree. It was just pass or fail and if you passed, you progressed to the second year.
Tom had high hopes of making progress with Vicky on their final night. He wasn’t going to see her for ages. Surely she would give in. He had booked the final session on the squash court behind the Dickens Court reception. There were a number of squash courts alongside the sports hall, but each accommodation block had its own court near their reception building.
He had taken her to see a romantic film at the Odeon for the first part of the evening to set the mood with a vigorous game of squash to follow. Tom had booked the final session of the evening at 20 past eleven. The warden left at 11.30 so Tom agreed to lock up and push the key through the letterbox outside reception.
Vicky changed first and began warming up, hitting the ball against the far wall. Each time she hit the ball, she muttered under her breath. ‘He loves me … ping … he loves me not … ping … he loves me … ping … he loves me not.’ The ball hit the frame of her racket and fell to the ground. She picked it up, disappointed. ‘This time. He loves me … ping … he loves me not … bother.’ She missed the ball and it rolled towards the door, ending at Tom’s feet as he came in.
‘You ready for a good tonking?’ Tom was glad he hadn’t made a Freudian slip.
‘We’ll see about that.’ Vicky had improved, but Tom still won every game.
The first game ended nine zero in Tom’s favour. He put his racket down at the end of the game and took his shorts and shirt off.
‘What are you doing?’ Vicky asked anxiously.
‘I was giving you a chance. I had my clothes on backwards.’ Tom chuckled to himself as he dressed correctly.
Vicky managed a smile. ‘It won’t be so easy this time. I’m just getting warmed up.’
The next game was a little longer. Tom’s co-ordination wasn’t so good, Vicky took advantage and served a few times, but still scored nothing, the game ending nine zero again.
‘I nearly had you there,’ Vicky said with determination.
Tom theatrically tossed his racket from his left hand to his right hand. ‘You should have beaten me. I was playing left handed.’
Vicky playfully punched Tom in the chest.
Tom replied with a playful squeeze of her buttock.
‘I’ll get at least one point this game. You see if I don’t … and play properly. I don’t need any favours.’
Even though Southside was a relatively modern university, the squash courts were shabby, probably not redecorated since the day they were built around 20 years ago. The markings on the floor were almost worn away and multi-coloured streaks filled the corners from countless racket heads thrust desperately towards the wall to keep the rally alive. The strip lighting was mostly good, but in one corner it flickered and hummed. The gallery overlooking the court had been taken over as storage. It was filled with spare beds, desks and chairs.
Ping, thump, ping, smash. ‘Nine zero. What happened to those points you were going to score this time?’ Tom mocked, rubbing his right eye with the palm of his hand.
‘What’s wrong with your eye?’ Concern from Vicky.
‘Oh nothing … nothing really … it’s just a bit sore.’
‘Let me have a look. Have you got something in it?’ Vicky reached up to Tom’s face to get a closer look.
‘No. No. There’s nothing in it. It’s just a bit sore because I played the whole game with it shut.’
Vicky pushed his face away in light-hearted protest. Tom beamed a triumphant smile. She gave him another playful punch in the chest.
‘I told you not to give me a chance.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ Tom was still smiling and turned his bum towards Vicky. ‘Are you going to smack me?’
Whack. She swiped him on the backside with her racket.
Tom howled in pain and fell to the floor. She had caught him with the frame and it hurt.
She bent over him full of apologies. ‘Are you okay Tom? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.’
‘I will be in a minute.’ He was still writhing in agony. ‘But I need something for the pain.
‘What do you need?’
‘A good snog.’ Tom pulled her on top of him.
She battled a little, but conceded to his advances.
The coin-operated lights switched themselves off. It was midnight. The time slot was over. But Tom and Vicky’s passion continued despite the darkness and strange surroundings, which were turning out to be quite inspirational despite the cold hard floor.
Tom pushed Vicky against the door, still kissing her and still entwined on the ground. He wanted to make sure nobody could get in and also it hid them from the balcony above.
It was the last night of term. Vicky was deeply in love and desperately hoping Tom would declare his love so that their passion could reach its natural conclusion.
Tom was also hoping this would lead to full sex,
but he was hoping he would not have to declare his love. He wanted to, but it would be a lie. He was very fond of Vicky, but no more, but she was responding with great enthusiasm. Perhaps they could skip the love thing.
They had both got used to the dark and could see each other in the soft amber light which lit up the top part of the room from two windows at the back of the balcony.
Vicky was wearing a short blue skirt and light blue polo shirt, and Tom’s hands found their way under the loose fitting clothes. ‘You’re so beautiful Vicky.’ He helped her off with her shirt and kissed her neck before working his way down.
She helped him off with his shirt. ‘I love you Tom.’
‘You’re the nicest girl I’ve ever known.’ Tom replied.
‘The floor’s very cold.’ It had been cold through Vicky’s shirt. Now it was very cold on her naked back and her bra fastener was pushing uncomfortably into her soft skin.
The thrill of the moment dulled the pain and she resisted only a little as Tom pulled off the rest of her clothes. She knew she wanted him badly but she kept hearing the voice in the back of her head telling her to wait. Tom tossed his own clothes in the corner. The heat of the moment hid the chill in the air. They had been hot playing squash and the passion had kept the temperature up and there was plenty of passion after ten weeks of holding back.
Tom paused to reach for his condom and lay back down beside Vicky and held her tight but her enthusiasm had faded. She no longer responded. The moment had passed. In the faint orange glow, Tom could see a tear trickle down her cheek. Suddenly the room seemed cold.
‘Do you love me Tom?’ she asked with desperation in her voice, hoping he did, but knowing he didn’t.
‘You know how I feel about you Vicky. You mean the world to me.’
‘But do you love me? I need to know.’
Tom sat up and faced away from Vicky. She hated the silence. He hated the silence. He carefully considered his words before speaking. ‘You’re always in my thoughts and I’m ever so fond of you, but I’m only 18. I don’t know what love is. It’s for serious people, working people, settled people. I’m young and looking for adventure. Why can’t you just come on an adventure with me? That’s all I want, but I can’t say I love you.’ Tom now had desperation in his voice.
He knew he was upsetting her, but he couldn’t think the way she did. ‘You know I adore you. I want to be with you and, whether you think it’s morally right or wrong, I want to have sex with you. It would be fun … for both of us.’
The flow of tears increased. ‘It would be fun,’ she repeated. ‘That’s not enough for me Tom. It has to mean something.’ After another pause, she added, ‘Whenever I’m with you Tom,’ she was looking down now, unable to look him in the eye, ‘I always think of that Meatloaf song you play all the time.’
‘All revved up?’ Tom suggested cruelly.
‘No.’ A slightly bitter response. ‘Two Out Of Three Ain’t Bad.’
Tom felt guilty now, first for his All Revved Up jibe but secondly as he thought of the words Vicky must have ringing in her head. ‘I want you, I need you, but there ain’t no way I’m ever goin’ to love you. But don’t be sad, ‘cause two out of three ain’t bad.’
Chapter 27
Temptation
Three weeks later, April 6, 1984: The Horse And Groom wasn’t as busy as it had been on bonfire night, but it was busy enough to keep Tom Hill, the landlord and his wife all working hard. Tom had been doing shifts at the pub for just over a month and had most of the prices in his head. He could change barrels but still needed help with some drinks and duties. He enjoyed the work mostly, although some customers could be unpleasant.
‘Two pints of your best bitter young sir. Jugs. None of those pansy lager glasses with no handles … what will you have darling?’ demanded a moustached man in his fifties as he turned from Tom to face his wife.
‘Make mine a G and T,’ replied the woman, also in her fifties, age and waistline.
‘And Doreen?’ shouted the moustached man to a second woman. There were two couples together. All about the same age, very expensively, yet casually dressed and all four of them spoke loud enough for the people surrounding their group to hear what they were saying, which mostly included name dropping and descriptions of their latest saloon cars or long-distance holidays. They were from the wealthy residential corner of Southside near Royal Avenue, where Hugh has been ousted by the police after climbing a tree.
Tom repeated the order to avoid mistakes. ‘Two pints of bitter and two gin and tonics?’
‘Is there a problem young man?’ said the moustached man tersely. He didn’t like saying anything twice and didn’t like menials keeping him waiting. He adjusted his pale yellow lambs-wool V-neck golf jumper before asserting himself. ‘A man could die of thirst here. Jump to it my lad.’
Tom thought what an obnoxious man he was but kept it to himself. He was prepared to tolerate the awkward customers because some of the others were quite nice. ‘Not at all … coming right up.’ Tom hoped he had got the order right.
Tom placed the drinks on the bar. ‘That’ll be four pounds and six pence please sir.’
The customer handed him a five pound note without looking at him. Tom placed the man’s change next to his drink and turned to the next customer. Before he served them, the moustached man shouted over. ‘I say young man. I gave you a ten pound note. You’ve only given me change for a fiver.’ He was adamant.
Tom knew it had been a five pound note. The landlord had warned him about people like the moustached man and told Tom that is was often the richer customers who would try it on. Tom remembered his boss’s words. ‘It’s always the rich bastards try to rip you off. Arseholes the lot of ‘em. Don’t budge an inch. They’ll back off if they see you’re determined.’
Tom held his ground. ‘I’m sorry sir, but you gave me a five pound note.’
The man was alone now. The other three had moved away from the bar. He twisted the ends of his moustache. The barman’s impertinence had taken him aback and he wasn’t having it. He puffed out his chest with great authority. ‘Are you calling me a liar sonny?’
Tom maintained his cool. He was comfortable with conflict, almost enjoyed the challenge. Again he spoke calmly, looking the man directly in the eye. ‘Not at all sir, but you gave me a five pound note. Would you like me to get the landlord?’
The man’s strategy would have been to ask for the landlord next, but Tom had called his bluff. He twisted the ends of his moustache once more before pointing a finger at Tom in warning. ‘You have a serious attitude problem young man. You can keep my five pounds this time. Fortunately I am sufficiently wealthy to not notice the loss, but if you try it again, I will have you in front of a magistrate … you mark my words.’ He stormed off.
Tom returned to the other customer, an unshaved scruffy, yet intelligent-looking man in his late sixties with small wire-framed glasses sat on the end of his red nose. He was average height and, despite being a little scruffy, wore a shirt and tie, although the tie was stiff with the dirt of many years. It was Tom’s favourite customer, Old George. He sat in the same seat every night and always bought Tom a drink. During quiet moments, Tom would listen in awe to the old man’s tales. He had been a corporal in north Africa during the Second World War, responsible for maintaining a fleet of trucks.
‘Evening George. How are you? The usual?’ Tom asked with a smile, the conflict already forgotten.
‘Yes please my boy and one for yourself.’ He winked at Tom and settled in his favourite chair at the end of the bar.
‘Most generous George. I’ll join you with half a stout.’ Tom had developed a taste for Guinness. George had told him it would darken his hair and keep the girls interested. ‘Lager sends you blond like the Aussies,’ George had told him. Tom doubted it, but was happy to humour his new friend. George was always quick with advice, on any subject. Often his thoughts were unsolicited but always well intended and well received. Tom thought tonight
may be a good chance to ask his opinion on Vicky Owen.
A small aggressive man shouted down the counter. Tom went to serve him. The short man had a scarred right cheek and ordered through narrow lips with such a strong dialect that Tom couldn’t work out what he had said. The delivery made it even harder. His small eyes burned with anger and his words shot across the bar like they had been fired from a gun. ‘Um beb.’
‘I’m sorry. What was that?’
The man’s eyes closed slightly as he spat his order over the bar with fresh venom. ‘Um beb.’
Tom was fine with conflict but this was something new. The man wasn’t being unpleasant, but Tom feared he may appear disrespectful if he couldn’t give the man what he wanted. He stood back and ran his hand past the optics, hoping the customer would shout when he passed the correct drink. The customer just repeated his order with obvious frustration and impatience.
Just as Tom reached for a pen and paper to ask the man to write down his order, the landlord came to his rescue. ‘That’s not a good idea Tom. He can’t read or write. He wants a rum and peppermint. That’s all he drinks. He’s one of the Irish workers from the building site. I’ll take care of him.’
Tom returned to washing glasses.
‘Pint of lager barman and make it snappy.’
Tom’s smile returned and he placed a pint of lager on the bar for his brother Brian Hill, who had popped down for a quiet drink and grabbed a seat next to Old George. He had also got to know the friendly old bloke and ordered him a drink. Brian had a bit more money than Tom. He had no girlfriend to entertain.
‘How are our studies going Brian?’ Tom asked. He said ‘our’ instead of ‘your’ because they were on the same course and shared the work.
‘Sorry. Fell asleep watching the news.’ Brian was supposed to do half the work, but was easily distracted.
Love's Cold Burn Page 17
