I watched him take a drink over to her, which she raised in the air to me, smiling.
"Does he always do what you ask, or are you his boss?" I asked.
"No", Mickey replied, "God, neither".
I noticed that he looked at the younger man with a trace of a smile on his lips. Great, I thought, they’re gay, just my luck, there I was thinking that someone may find me vaguely attractive. I was about to give up hope of ever having a love life entirely when he added that the red-haired youngster was his brother.
For the next few songs, Mickey explained that they had both been in Antwerp for about four and a half months. His brother, Sean, had wanted to go travelling around Europe and see the sights when he left school and before he got himself sorted with a job. Their parents, who didn’t particularly approve, agreed that he could go on the basis that he at least looked for a job at home first. If he found a job he should stay at home, and just get on with it, as jobs were few and far between. If he couldn’t find a job after six months, then they wouldn’t put up any resistance.
Six months came and went, with no job for Sean other than occasional labouring on a few local building sites. At that point, his parents were still no happier with his desire to travel, but given that there was nothing at home in the way of work, they conceded. Sean argued that he could find casual jobs as he went, which would finance the experience and probably make it easier for him to find a job on his return.
His mother proposed that he should consider taking his brother, Mickey with him as he could keep an eye on him. She hadn’t exactly asked her elder son, but he was happy to go and there was no point grumbling.
Mickey told me that he had graduated from Queens University in Belfast the previous July, which I assumed meant that he was at least a year younger than me. As he didn’t have a job lined up after graduating, he had agreed to take some time off to travel with his brother. After all, he admitted, he’d always fancied doing some travelling at some point, and now was a good a time as anyway. Plus, it meant he could minimize their mother’s anxiety.
As he spoke, I studied the way he watched Sean go about his duties in the bar. There was a mix of pride, worry and care written in his face and I understood that Mickey had also wanted to keep an eye on his kid brother. What a decent guy. Must be nice to have a sibling to keep an eye out for you, I thought. My family had dwindled down to just Mum and me.
The bar stayed busy for most of the evening, with our conversation intermittently interrupted by the dispatching of drink orders. I discovered that, since the New Year, the Kelly brothers had managed to explore Copenhagen, Stockholm and Brussels, before making their way to Antwerp. It had originally been intended to be a short sojourn before heading on to Bruges (I made a quick comparison to Colin Farrell when he mentioned this), but they stayed on when they were offered jobs by the bar owner, Maggie. As she was able to offer them the use of a small flat above the bar and open-ended work, they had made the decision to stay.
I in turn shared a little of my own background, little being the operative word. I had no illusions about the lack of excitement in my life and wasn’t too comfortable trying to portray myself as anything other than ordinary. It was one thing to big someone else up when I was trying to get them a job or an interview, but it was quite another to self-promote. I briefly explained that I was originally from South Wales and had ended up in the West Midlands after my university studies finished.
The mandatory topics of conversation were ticked off while carefully avoiding anything which implied I was newly single and quite possibly vulnerable. The last thing I needed was some astute lothario taking advantage of my recent dumping, or that someone I actually quite liked thinking I was desperate. I was feeling very sorry for myself.
No brothers or sisters. Very close to my Mum. Yes, she still lives in Wales. A few distant relations left - cousins and great aunties and the like. How did I find myself in Antwerp? Cheap weekend away with my friend. Yes, she is a Brummie, no I didn’t go to university with her, I know her from work and yes, she does like a good time, but don’t take that as she’ll do anything more than have a few cheeky drinks and a bit of harmless flirting.
Apart from the few brief occasions that Tracy came over to put in her drinks order, I rarely saw her. She was far too busy enjoying the music, chatting to all and sundry. The pub entertainment was clearly holding her attention and he seemed to be reciprocating as when he went for a break at the end of this first set he happily lifted her drink out of her hand and took a sip.
Kieran asked Sean if he could keep their drinks topped up and instructed him to deduct the tab from his money for the gig. After that, Tracy had no need to come to the bar at all and I didn’t see her for the rest of the evening. I hoped he wasn’t trying to get her too drunk, but I was confident I could keep an eye on her from the safety of my stool.
I should have been annoyed at my friend ditching me, but it was pleasant talking to Mickey and I happily snatched moments of conversation with him as he worked. We shared ideas on places to visit during my trip and discussed our respective hometowns, which we discovered sounded very similar. Now and again we replaced chit chat with singing along to the music. By this time, I had learned that the singer was also Irish, but from Dublin, and that this was a regular venue for him on his local circuit. He generally played over the weekend so he would be there the following night too. By the way, that Tracy was figuratively hanging on every word, and literally hanging off him whenever he took a break, she’d be pleased to hear that.
"So, do you think you’ll be back again tomorrow?" Mickey ventured.
I looked over my shoulder at Tracy, pointing to a notice on the wall which read ‘Live Irish music tonight and Saturday’. She gestured back with a thumbs up.
"Looks like it," I replied.
His face lit up, which I could tell made him feel a little embarrassed. Heat crept across my cheeks at the unimaginable notion that maybe this guy actually liked me, me! I quickly gulped a swig from my pint glass, hoping that the floor would open up and swallow me whole so I wouldn’t have to think about what to say next.
Instead of being eaten up by the floor, a woman with a cloud of white hair, dolloped in a loose bun on the top of her head, lunged at me and waved a Polaroid camera in my face. The flash went off before I had time to react and I was certain that all she’d have ended up with was my extremely startled grimace.
Mickey laughed. "Looks like you’ll be on the wall of fame."
"Huh?" I snorted.
"That’s Maggie", he explained. "She owns the place. She does that sometimes, you know, takes snaps of some of the customers. She sticks them on that notice board." He gestured to a glass covered display board at the end of the bar. "She thinks it brings in customers if it looks like people have a good time in here. Right enough, I’ve seen people come in here every weekend trying to get on that wall."
"I guess I should be flattered then."
I wasn’t convinced about the appeal factor that an awkward looking Polaroid of me, which she was now in the process of pinning up, would have, but it wasn’t like I’d ever have to see her again. It seemed rude to make a fuss.
Maggie, evidently pleased with herself flashed an enormous grin at me and then at Mickey, the latter accompanied by an extremely conspicuous wink and a nod in my direction. Her skin crinkled at the corners of her mouth and coupled with the white hair, I had difficulty guessing her age.
Before I knew it, the evening had come to an end. We stayed until the last customer left, chatting about nothing in particular with Mickey and Sean. Tracy was occupied, firmly latched on to the guitarist’s face.
I was conscious that we were the only ones who actually needed to leave the premises, as the lads and Maggie all lived above the bar. The guitarist was also staying, Maggie proposing that he stay on the sofa rather than catch a taxi or try to arrange a lift. I was relieved, I didn’t want there to be any suggestion of him coming back to our hotel with us.
"C’mon Trace," I instructed as I hooked my arm under hers and lifted her up off her bar stool. "The nice guitarist will be here tomorrow, and if you behave, I’ll bring you back then".
Tracy was well and truly "under the influence’, both of the beer and good old-fashioned lust. I gently pulled her away from Kieran and steered her through the doors and out onto the street. As I looked at Maggie and the three Irishmen left remaining in the bar, I quietly muttered that I was sorry about the state she was in. I had no objection to her having a drink or a good time with lover boy, but it was a bit on the embarrassing side to have to prop her up when I was barely tipsy. You’d think that I was the older one of the two of us, not five years her junior.
As the saloon style doors swung shut behind me and the balmy evening air hit us, I could hear a man call after us.
"See you tomorrow?" he asked.
I smiled to myself. I recognised the voice instantly. It was Mickey’s.
CHAPTER 4
I kept smiling for most of the following morning, due in large part to the hangover which Tracy was failing miserably to cover. Smugly, I watched her battle with breakfast, moving her selection of cold cuts and cheese on her plate and wincing when I proposed that she tried a nice runny egg with them. It was impossible to resist recommending that she follow the savouries up with the strawberry waffles, syrup and lashings of cream. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t find it as amusing as I did.
"What the heck I did I drink last night?" She asked, consoling herself with a third cup of black coffee. "Oh, no don’t tell me, I know – a lot!"
"Judging by the empty shot glasses and the six empty pint glasses, I’d be inclined to agree with you," I replied.
She shuddered at the thought and asked how much of a show of herself she’d made. I assured her that she hadn’t embarrassed me too much and that her behaviour didn’t seem to put off the entertainment either. I beamed a smile at her across the table; she wasn’t sure if I was lying to be kind or to be mischievous. Neither was I.
"Oh well", she sighed, "as long as we all had a good time, that’s the main thing." I smiled, saying nothing. "Right, I’ve had a word with myself and pulled myself together, so what’s on the agenda for today? The day is all yours; I guess I wasn’t much company for you last night".
I shrugged my shoulders. Aside from her highly amusing antics and cavorting with Kieran, I’d had some pleasant company from the bar staff and the owner. I was careful not to single out Mickey and launch her furtive imagination.
"I’m quite easy going," I added," but it might be nice to check out some of the museums. We could have a look at some of the smaller shops and see if we can pick up some souvenirs. It was a rather late one last night, and, to be honest, I’m pretty tired myself. It may be a good idea to get an early dinner and then head back here for a quick siesta before tonight".
Tracy, looked up from her coffee, grinning. "Tonight?" she asked. If it was possible to make a word sound lascivious, she had just accomplished it.
"Yep," I tried to look nonchalant, "I thought we would check out that bar again. Your favourite musician is on again tonight."
Tracy didn’t reply. She just kept smiling.
The day turned out to be more productive than we had expected, largely helped by periodic caffeine refuelling stops. The morning was quite low key, taking in some of Rubens’ work at the Cathedral of Our Lady, and then visiting his tomb at the surprisingly more ornate St James Church. The art and architecture were both breath-taking, although Tracy was more enamoured with the level of quiet each location offered. She continued to nurse a pounding headache, but felt a little better after a large lunch.
The afternoon was spent shopping in some of the smaller boutiques and stores in the streets off the Grote Market. I purchased a few small gifts, some for myself, some for my Mum, and Tracy got a great deal on an oversized leather handbag. I thought it was a bit gaudy, but she liked it, which was the main thing.
We wrapped up our shopping expedition close to four o’clock. We decided that it would be a good idea to go back to the hotel for a catnap and head back out a few hours later for food and drinks.
I’m not a great one for napping during the day; even when I haven’t had much sleep at night, but I surprised myself by dozing off on my single bed for a whole two hours. Even more surprising, when I did open my eyes, I discovered that Tracy was up and showered. She kindly offered to make us both a cup of tea from the complimentary hospitality tray on the side table while I got my bearings, an offer that I took full advantage of.
While I sipped my tea, I watched the news on the small TV which hung on a bracket on the otherwise undecorated, white walls. I could only watch it, rather than listen, as I didn’t understand anything that was being said. However, the pictures intimated that a young family had fallen victim to some brute who had massacred them all in their own home. There were interviews with the local police and what I assumed to be friends or neighbours. This was interspersed with pictures of the young children in what looked like their official school photographs.
"It’s just sickening" Tracy sighed, massaging hair mousse into her mane; "some people should just be shot."
At this point, I would normally have let rip about my unease with the death penalty. I used to think that killing for the pleasure of revenge doesn’t elevate us above the criminal, but minimizes us. As I looked at the pictures of those two young children and their seemingly happy parents, it was hard to argue with Tracy's position.
"Is that here?" I asked her.
"Not too far, I think. I popped down to the bar earlier, to pick up a bottle of water and it was on the TV down there. The waiter told me that it’s about thirty minutes away by car, maybe less. It’s been on the news for the past hour; the bodies were found this morning."
It was hard to keep watching it, so I turned the TV off and tried to direct the conversation to more pleasant things. The evening was still early, but I recognise a hunger pang when I feel one, so I proposed that we go out and forage for food. After a brief debate with Tracy on where we should eat, I put down my teacup and headed for the shower.
Within twenty minutes, I was ready to go, wearing a crisp white shirt, jeans and the only pair of boots I’d thought to bring with me. Unlike Tracy, my holiday clothing was usually based on what would require the least amount of luggage.
Tracy was applying the finishing touches to her makeup when I noticed that she’d taken the tags off her new tote bag. She’d been busy filling it with the usual set of night out sundries – purse, camera, hairbrush, lipstick and so on. But as it lay open on the bed, I could see that she had also slung in her toothbrush and a pair of clean knickers.
"You planning on going somewhere, are you?" I blurted out, simultaneously annoyed by her brazen shirking of friendly responsibility and embarrassed by my own prudishness. This was meant to be a break for me to get over the loss of my man, not an excuse for her to find a new one. I tried to sound like I was teasing her, but I don’t think I did a particularly effective job of hiding the annoyance in my voice. As much as I enjoyed the company I’d found in the bar staff, if I had wanted to go on holiday on my own, I would have done. I had not planned on being her wingman.
"I’m sorry", she said, her face flushing as she grabbed the bag and slung it on the floor. "You know how I like to try out a new purchase straight away! After last night, if things did go, well with Kieran, I’d rather have a few extra things with me."
I raised my eyebrows at her in disbelief.
"I promise," she pleaded, "I’m really not planning anything. Please believe me, pretty please".
She was trying to use a cutesy baby voice, but she was appalling at accents at the best of times and with her visible discomfort at confrontation, it was utterly ridiculous. I struggled to keep a straight face. Spotting an opportunity to defuse the situation further, she grabbed the bag and lifted it up to her head.
"See", she exclaimed, "It’s not much bigger than my big fat head".
We both exploded into laughter.
Tracy and I found a table at a place close to the hotel, something that was midway between a restaurant and a tavern. As soon as I realised that it been seven hours since I had last eaten, my hunger pangs seemed to develop a whole new level of virulence. There was no way I was going to spend time wandering around trying to find somewhere else to eat. Tracy was equally hungry, now that the headache had gone and she felt more like her usual self. A couple of plates of breaded pork with potatoes and beets placated our hunger and gave us a much-needed boost in energy levels. We stayed there for about an hour after eating, watching the passers-by on the street and enjoying a post-dinner coffee.
I learned more about Tracy and the inner workings of her mind in that short hour, than I probably had during the months I’d actually known her. Tracy was not entirely honest in the way she presented herself to the world. Despite all her bravado and devil may care attitude, there was, deep down, someone who had been really hurt. It turned out that she had spent six months travelling around Europe a few years ago, eventually meeting a fella and coming back to the UK with him. She was in between brewery contracts and eventually got one with him as the second licensee. I’m not sure what went on exactly, but it had not ended well. Tracy had been left with a lot of debts and needed to earn more money than she could in the pubs. She got out as soon as she could, building a new life for herself and buying a small home of her own.
Her vocabulary and the tears welling up in her eyes hinted at an even darker side to the story, which she didn’t want to reveal. I let it go; it was evident though that Tracy had carefully crafted this public persona and talking about what had happened would undoubtedly make her uncomfortable. I just nodded in agreement, as if I understood what it meant to be in a complicated relationship. But what did I know? I’d only had one real relationship and I had been unceremoniously dumped at that. Perhaps I should cut her some slack, I thought, she needed a bit of fun too.
Sophie Morgan (Book 1): Relative Strangers (A Modern Vampire Story) Page 3
