The Chequers
Mark waited in reception for Sally to meet as arranged, getting there five minutes before the time they had agreed. He was a bit nervous and wondering why he had asked her out for what was - a date. He pondered, “When was the last time I went on a date? I can’t remember. Was it never?” Then he remembered the blind date he had been on with his friend Martin’s sister and shuddered.
It was nearly ten to six when Sally came in from the street which Mark thought a little odd as she was supposed to be coming straight from her office. She smiled at him as she walked over and stumbled on the step. “Bollocks!” she said with a frown, which Mark didn’t think particularly ladylike, but then there wasn’t much about Sally which was ladylike. Still a date was a date and he wasn’t sure what was normal nowadays for a woman.
“Sorry I’m a few minutes late,” Sally said, brightening her face with a smile, “I forgot and started to go home. Still, never mind, I remembered. Let’s go.”
After a short walk, they came to the Chequers. It didn’t look very inviting, but Sally led the way in, so Mark thought he’d better go in too.
As Mark followed Sally in he was almost knocked over by a large angry looking man in what looked like black overalls who barged past him. The large angry man was well over six feet tall and looked a bit like a small building. Being English, Mark naturally said “Sorry.”
The large angry looking man turned and growled, “Sorry! You’re sorry! You want to look where you’re going!”
“Er, yes. Sorry.” Said Mark, backing up.
“You’re sorry again!” The large angry man almost shouted at him. “I’ll show you bloody sorry!”
Mark took another step back, stumbled and fell against the wall, sliding down it into a half sitting position. He realised his first assessment of the Chequers as not being a great place to go had been accurate. He hoped that he would pass out before anything too bad happened.
Sally stepped between Mark and the large angry looking man and looked up at him towering over her. “He’s with me.” She snapped at him.
The large angry man went pale and stepped back two paces, looking a bit less angry and a bit more nervous now, but still just as large. “Oh, er, sorry. Um, just a slight misunderstanding. My mistake. Can I get you a drink?” He said as he reached out to grab Mark’s shoulder, pulling him to his feet. Mark winced and thought there would be bruises on his shoulder for a week.
“I think you were just leaving.” Sally said acidly.
The large man took the hint and hurried out of the pub.
“What was all that about?” Said Mark, still badly shaken.
Sally smiled at him and said “Oh that was just Simon. He gets a bit cross sometimes. Come on let’s get a drink.” She turned and walked in, Mark got up and followed. He thought if that was Simon getting a bit cross, he wouldn’t want to see him really angry.
The pub was almost full, which surprised Mark as it was early, not yet six o’clock. As Sally walked across to the bar, everyone she passed looked up and greeted her. It seemed that everybody in the pub knew her.
When they got to the bar, the barman said “Hi Sally, what you would you like tonight?”
“I’ll have my usual and my friend will have a pint of Badger’s Set. That’s all right isn’t it Mark?”
Mark nodded his agreement although he had no idea what a Badger’s Set was. Apart from being where badgers lived. However, when the barman put a pint of beer in front of him it seemed like the sort of thing he should be drinking. He was no expert, but this date wasn’t going the way he had expected. He had in mind sitting at a table for two in a quiet bar making stilted small talk for an hour or so, with him ordering the drinks. Half a shandy for him, a glass of lemonade for Sally and possibly sharing a packet of salted peanuts.
Mark noticed that the barman didn’t ask Sally to pay for the drinks and neither did she offer.
“This is nice.” Said Sally. “Have you been here before?”
“No.” Mark replied, “But you seem to be known here.”
“Yes, I’ve been here a couple of times.”
If she’s only been here a couple of times, Mark thought, she must have made a hell of an impression. Sally was always very quiet at work – at least when she wasn’t walking into something sending it crashing to the ground or dropping yet another tray full of mugs of tea and coffee, but here, Sally seemed full of life, chatting to everyone who came near.
Mark took a sip of his Badger’s Set. It wasn’t bad at all. Sally reached up, took his tie off and undid the top button of his shirt. “There, that’s better. You’re not at work now, you can relax.”
As Sally turned away to talk to one of the customers, Mark surreptitiously did the top button up again. He wasn’t comfortable with looking too casual in his suit. Sally turned back and noticed the button done up again. Giving Mark a big smile she reached up with her left hand and tucked her fingers inside his collar. Mark smiled down at her. Sally yanked at his collar and it burst open with a ripping sound. The top two buttons flew off and dropped down behind the bar. Mark thought his neck might have become dislocated. “Much more relaxed now.” Said Sally with a smile.
Mark was frightened to move in case his head fell off. He gingerly lifted his right hand, trying not to move his neck and reached round to feel it and was relieved to find that it felt normal. When he experimentally turned his head, his neck didn’t seem to be broken, but it really hurt. He carefully lifted his drink and took a good swallow of it. After a few more mouthfuls he started to worry less about his neck, although it was still quite painful.
Mark looked around at the other customers. The few times he had been in pubs before, there were small groups of people drinking quietly and only speaking to each other occasionally. The Chequers was full of men and women enjoying themselves having animated – and some heated – conversations. Mark thought that a lot of them looked a bit odd, but that was probably normal for people who went to pubs regularly, especially this early. He hardly ever went to one, and then it was always with a crowd of people from the office, or with glum relations that he only ever saw at a funeral. Everyone seemed to be happy and the whole place was full of laughter and life. Mark felt like someone standing outside looking in.
He quickly finished his drink, not sure what else to do apart from to keep drinking as Sally chatted away to yet another customer. The barman noticed his glass was empty and said “Mark – it is Mark isn’t it? Would you like another? Another Badger’s Set or would you like to try something different? We have six guest beers tonight if you like real ale.”
“Oh, er, I’ll try something else.” Mark's said, the alcohol making him feel adventurous. “What would you recommend?”
“We’ve got a beer called Skull Splitter on tonight, that’s very popular.”
“That sounds a bit dangerous. Have you got anything safer?”
“Oh don’t let the name put you off. Tell you what, you try a pint and if you don’t like it, I’ll swap it for something else.”
Mark took the pint of Skull Splitter and tried it. It was actually rather nice. ”That’s fine,” he told the barman. “I’ll stick with this.”
The barman gave him a big grin. “That comes all the way from Orkney you know.”
“Oh, good.” Said Mark, unsure why the barman told him that or what the significance was.
As he took another drink Sally turned to him.
“There you are. I wondered where you’d gone.”
Mark thought that was a strange thing to say as he hadn’t moved from the spot where he was standing since she had nearly broken his neck.
“How are you enjoying your Badger’s Set?” Sally asked.
“I finished that, this is Skull Splitter.”
“Skull Splitter? I am impressed. It comes from Orkney you know.”
“Yes, I did know, the barman told me. What’s the significance of it coming from Orkney?”
“None really, I just thought you migh
t be interested. What with Orkney being a small group of islands off the northern tip of Scotland. They’re very remote.”
“What is she on about?” Thought Mark.
“I don’t know much about you, Sally. Where are you from?”
“I’m not local.”
“Ah – I thought I detected a faint accent. New Zealand? Or possibly South Africa? Definitely not Australian.”
Sally smiled and asked, “Where are you from Mark?”
“I grew up just outside the village of Under Wallop – it’s part of a little group of villages known as The Wallops. You probably only know about the army helicopter base at Middle Wallop.”
“An army helicopter base? Wouldn’t that be an air force?”
“I suppose it should be, really.”
“Did you like it there?”
“Not much. It was a boring little village. I went to school in Romsey and I didn’t like that much either. I had no real friends there, though there was one teacher there who was great. Mrs Cox. She always had time to listen to me.”
“Never mind. You’re working at IFG now. Isn’t it great?” She beamed. Mark looked closely at her to see if there was any irony in that, but she seemed to be completely sincere.
“To be honest Sally, no. I’ve got a crappy job, I live in a crappy flat and my parents only ever talk to me to tell me where I’m going wrong. My life never really seemed to get started and it’s been going nowhere ever since. I really need to do something with my life before my spirit finally fades away and leaves an empty husk behind, just going through the motions of living.”
Mark suddenly realised that the beer was having an effect on him. He certainly hadn’t meant to unburden himself to Sally like that. He didn’t know what had come over him. He was also a bit surprised at his eloquence. Where had that come from?
“Oh, right, well cheer up. We’re out to have a good time tonight!” Sally said with a huge grin. “You’ve finished your beer. Same again?” Without waiting for an answer Sally waved to the barman and got him another pint of Skull Splitter.
Mark had to admit to himself, the beer was good, he was in a place full of happy people and that was beginning to rub off on him a bit.
“Come on,” said Sally. “Let’s go and meet some people.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to a table full of people.
The pub got noisier, the beers kept coming and Mark got to meet a lot of new people.
Winchester
Alan had booked his lodgings by phone. It was only a short walk from the station and close to the City Centre. The train got in at six fifty exactly, which was thirteen minutes late but as Alan was in no hurry it wasn’t a problem. The sun had been up for nearly an hour but the City was still quiet. Alan planned to spend the next two hours walking around the City to get his bearings and then get to the lodgings in Grange Road at about nine o’clock.
Alan attracted some attention from the growing number of people in the City as he walked. He noticed the School of Art - you could hardly miss it, although it looked more like a municipal office than an offshoot from the University of Southampton. Some of the students were early starters and going into the large entrance hall.
Out of curiosity, Alan followed two of the students through the doors. Apart from his height and slightly unusual build, Alan didn’t look too out of place compared to the few students who were ambling about, or indeed, with some of the staff.
Most of the students were standing chatting, rubbing their eyes and yawning, several holding cups of coffee from vending machines. Alan wandered slowly round the entrance hall, carefully scrutinising the artworks displayed. There was an eclectic mix of art of virtually every form imaginable; paintings in oils and watercolours, metal, stone and plastic sculptures, screens with short films, writhing and pulsing shapes and colours and recorded poetry coming from small sculptural forms. There were piles of what seemed to be discarded items but which embodied carefully thought out concepts, although one of these that Alan was admiring turned out to be an overflowing rubbish bin.
Alan had always been fascinated by art as a reflection of a culture's beliefs, values and aspirations and found these student pieces to be particularly raw and visceral. Sometimes while Alan was contemplating one of the pieces a student would come over, the creator of the piece, and speak about it. Alan enthusiastically questioned the students about the pieces and the thought processes that led to the design and creation of them. The students seemed reluctant to get drawn into long discussions with Alan and a few times when he turned back to the student after pointing to some feature of the artwork, he found that the student had mysteriously disappeared.
It was gone eleven when Alan finally left, feeling he had bonded with the students he had met.
On the way to his lodgings in Grange Road, Alan noted the location of the Cathedral and the County Council offices as they were on his list of places to visit. Although it was later than originally planned, Alan thought that his time in the City had been well spent.
He finally came to the door of fifty three Grange Road and rang the doorbell. A short, stout, grey-haired woman in her late middle age opened the door and took a step back when she saw Alan. After a moment she said: “Oh, you must be Mr Martin.”
“Yes, but please call me Alan.”
“I’m Mrs Beech.” She said, with an emphasis on the Mrs. “Come in Mr Martin, don’t just stand there.” She peered out the door, trying to look behind him. “Where is your luggage?”
“I travel light, I have all I need in here,” Alan said, unshouldering his large backpack.
“Mmm. Come in, I’ll show you your room.” She said, disapprovingly.
Alan stepped in past her and then had to squeeze against the wall as Mrs Beech bustled past him up the stairs.
“Come on.” She called over her shoulder.
She showed him his room, which was big enough for his needs and it had a double bed – which was a bonus for Alan. The furnishings were showing their age but it was it was fine for him. After a quick look round, Alan put his backpack in the wardrobe and went back downstairs. Mrs Beech was standing in the hallway, looking stern.
“Mrs Beech,” Alan said. “we haven’t discussed payment arrangements, but is it OK if I pay cash?”
“Yes. How long are you planning to stay?”
“I’m not sure, but can I pay ten weeks in advance?”
An immediate change came over Mrs Beech. She felt herself suddenly warming to him. “Oh yes, Mr Martin – I mean Alan, that will be just fine.”
Alan reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick roll of banknotes, peeled off four thousand pounds and handed it to Mrs Beech. He had no intention of staying for ten weeks but had found that this approach usually improved any bad impression he may have made. “May I take a door key please?” He asked.
“Of course Alan, I have one right here for you.” She said, with a seldom used smile that sat uncomfortably on her face, and handed him a key on a fob. “Are you going out again now?”
“Yes, I’ll be back late. I usually leave early in the morning and get back late in the evening so I won’t be troubling you much.”
And with that, he let himself out.
Alan spent the rest of the day at the City museum, making notes and taking photographs. When it closed at four o’clock he walked across the City to the commercial and industrial area at Winnal. He walked around, paying particular interest in the empty units. He eventually found one that interested him. At the back of its large loading area were several empty skips and shipping containers. After a close inspection of the area, Alan paused and stood still for a few moments, as though meditating. He walked to the footpath that led down to the river and followed the path back into the City.
Alan left his lodgings in Grange Road early the next day and walked across the city, back to the empty industrial unit and went straight round the back to where the skips and shipping containers were stacked. He walked up to a metal container that was a lot
smaller than the others. He had a close look all around it and then, satisfied that all was well with it, walked back to the city.
Alan could complete a small museum in a day and didn’t expect to be here for more than a week. The Cathedral and the Great Hall were worth investing time in and he also planned to inspect, measure and catalogue the remaining medieval and Georgian buildings. Some of the city fortifications were still standing, so they were on the list to be visited.
Also on Alan’s agenda while in Winchester was a visit to a building that had been the home of a company that played an important role in providing funding for the expansion of the old British Empire, which may have been bad for the people subjugated by it, but it had a significant role in the development of the global culture. Alan found, when researching, that it still contained all the original historic archives with records of transactions, maps of properties and building plans where loans and investments had been made, from the seventeenth century until 1939 when the company ceased that activity.
The Day After The Night Before
Mark woke up and found himself laying on the floor just inside his flat. He had no recollection of how he got home and felt like he was dying. In fact, he rather hoped that he was dying, he didn’t want to go on living feeling this bad. He reached up for the door handle and pulled himself up with it. “Oh god.” he thought, remembering the incident in Berlin, “Not again. Still, at least I got home this time.”
He felt in his jacket pocket expecting his wallet to be missing but to his surprise found it. He pulled it out and checked how much money was left in it. He had been to the cashpoint Friday lunch time to make sure he had enough money for all contingencies in the evening and at the time had one hundred and seventy pounds in it. Mark counted the remaining money and to his surprise found that he still had all of it left. “I wasn’t expecting that. Who paid for all the drinks?” he wondered.
Unwilling From Earth Page 3
