The Rabbit

by Ted Lewis

“Now, boy,” he said to Jackson.

  “Now, Billy,” Jackson said, looking nervously over at me.

  “What you up to, then?”

  “Nowt.”

  “Nowt? Looks like you’re having a drink to me.”

  “I am.”

  “Then it’s not nowt, is it?”

  The girls were staring at Billy with suspicion and dislike.

  “Who are these, then?” he asked Jackson.

  “We’ve got tongues, you know,” one of the girls said.

  “Oh, aye?” said Billy, looking at her. “And what else have you got?”

  “Nothing for you,” said the other girl, the one who Jackson had said fancied me.

  Billy laughed and walked forward and sat down on the long seat between Jackson and one of the girls. The only thing was that there was only about one inch between Jackson and the girl and until they moved apart. Billy was virtually sitting in both laps at the same time.

  “Here, look what you’re bloody doing, you great pig,” said the girl.

  “Eh up,” said Jackson, “you’re spilling my beer.”

  “You what?” said Billy, giving Jackson his full attention.

  “Well, I mean,” said Jackson.

  “Did you speak, boy?”

  Jackson shook his head.

  “I thought I heard you speak.”

  Jackson shook his head again.

  “That’s all right then,” said Billy. He turned to Howard and Pete. “What are their names, then?”

  Howard and Pete looked blank.

  “Ain’t you found out yet, then?”

  Howard cleared his throat.

  “What do they call you?” he said to the girls.

  The girls glared at Howard.

  “Did you hear him?” Billy asked them.

  Jackson saw a chance for him to get in with Billy.

  “They’re called Jean and Anita, Billy,” he said.

  Billy turned back to Jackson.

  “You what?” he said.

  “They’re called Jean and Anita,” Jackson said, beginning to realize he’d made a mistake.

  “Did I ask you, boy?”

  “No,” said Jackson.

  Billy looked at him for a while.

  “Why don’t you fuck off?” Billy said at last.

  “What for? I’m not doing ’owt.”

  “Are you arguing with me, boy?”

  “No, but—”

  “So fuck off, then.”

  Everyone at our table had been watching these develop¬ments, except Veronica, who was sitting with her back to the scene. Cec grinned and said:

  “That’s what I like about Billy. You always know where you are with him.”

  Veronica turned to see what was going on.

  “I can’t stand bastards like that,” I said.

  Cec shrugged.

  “He’s all right,” he said.

  “All right?” I said.

  “Well...”

  “It’s about time somebody put him straight,” I said, stand¬ing up.

  “Now then, stranger, sit down and act natural, eh?” Mart said, his voice a little shaky. He disliked trouble of any kind, whether it came in the shape of women or of punch-ups.

  “Let him go,” Veronica said. “After all, he’s got to do something.”

  I looked at her for a moment, then I walked over to the other group. By now Jackson had stood up and was moving towards the bar.

  “Where are you off to, Jackson?” I said.

  Jackson tried to think of something to say but he couldn’t think of anything.

  “Sit down, I was just going to buy you a drink.”

  Jackson looked from me to Billy. Billy said:

  “There’s no room, Jackson.”

  “You’d better make room, then,” I said.

  Billy grinned.

  “Are you off to make me, then?” he said.

  I heard a chair scrape on the floor behind me.

  One of the lads was getting up to give me a hand. Then I heard Don’s voice at my shoulder.

  “Want some help?” he said.

  “No thanks,” I said.

  “Look...”

  “Just piss off, that’s all.”

  “Suit yourself,” Don said and went back to his seat.

  “Come on then, artist,” Billy said. “What are you off to do about it?”

  I began to shake and I found myself unable to take a deep breath. The situation was completely beyond my control and I’d caused it. I’d known that if I interfered then the only result would be to have it out with Billy. I’d known this and yet I’d made it happen and the outcome would add another more spectacular failure to the evening’s proceed¬ings. The only thing I could do was to try not to show the fear I was feeling, and to take my inevitable defeat in the best way possible.

  “Are you going to make room or aren’t you?” I said.

  The landlord had gone into the public bar shortly after he had served Billy. Now he returned and immediately realized what was happening. He stared at us for about ten seconds then disappeared back into the public.

  “I’ll make room all right,” said Billy, and stood up. He pushed the table away from him a little so that it was easier for him to walk round to where I was standing. To do this he had to pass the door that led to the gents and eventually through to the public bar. He was just passing this door when it opened. The edge of the door caught Billy squarely be¬tween the shoulder blades and pushed him off his balance so that he had to steady himself by putting his hands on the bar. Straight away he whirled round to face whoever it was had caused him to lose his dignity, fists clenched, ready to swing. But his attitude softened as soon as he saw who had opened the door, the awful figure of Big Tess Patchett stood in the doorway, wiping the beer from the hand holding his pint pot which Billy’s position in the room had caused him to jolt. Big Tess was about six foot four or five, tall and very thin. His billiard-cloth green drape jacket would have done as an overcoat for most people. His long face was made to seem even longer by his jet-black hair which was swept straight back from his forehead and finally came to rest just above his shoulder blades. The only really fleshy parts of Big Tess were his lips and his jowls. His mouth was out of proportion with the rest of his face but in keeping with the rest of his body: big and slack and mean. Big Tess didn’t speak much but when he did his lips would draw back and reveal great green curving teeth embedded in acres of gums. But usually Big Tess kept his mouth in a state of half-openness, as if the bottom half of his jowly face was too heavy to keep his mouth comfortably shut. Big Tess didn’t talk a lot. He hardly spoke to anyone, not even the Sampson brothers who he spent all his drinking time with and who would now be through in the other bar waiting to be called if needed but not expecting to be called. I was one of the few people that Big Tess acknowledged, normally a source of great pride to me, because without exception everyone in the town and round about was terrified of Big Tess. The most anyone could hope for when they were in the same bar as Big Tess and his gaze fell upon them would be for Big Tess to be too blind pissed at the moment for him to be able to recognize who it was his eyes were pointing at. But he always acknowledged me, however rigid he was. Once, years ago, on his way home from the club, my father had been driving by Big Tess’s house when Big Tess had run out of the front door, obviously in some kind of a state. My father had stopped and asked what was the matter. Big Tess had told my father that he’d been frying some chips and he’d put the chip pan on the gas and fallen asleep and when he’d woken up he’d seen his mother opening the back door to throw out the blazing chip-pan. The wind had blown the flames back into the house and had badly burned the arms of Big Tess’s mother. My father had told Big Tess
what to do as a temporary measure and had driven and fetched the doctor. That was all there’d been to it but since then whenever my father was in the same bar as Big Tess a drink would be sent over, and whenever Big Tess saw me he would acknowledge that I was the son of my father. The legends about Big Tess were many, and the local police must have believed them all, because in recent years Big Tess had bought an old van that had no lights and Big Tess had no licence to drive the van, but never once had he been stopped on his way home from the pub, a route which always took him past the front door of the police station. This was the figure who Billy Hanson now faced.

  It was obvious that the landlord had called upon Big Tess’s services to calm things down. The landlord had in fact now returned and was leaning on the bar, relaxed, prepared for the pleasure of seeing Billy Hanson and his mates reverse their roles.

  Big Tess shifted his pint to his other hand and wiped the wet hand on the lapel of his jacket. Billy was at a loss for words. To apologise would only bring Big Tess’s anger that much closer. And to apologise would be to lose face in front of his mates.

  “You clumsy cunt,” said Big Tess.

  “Well, Tess...”

  “Eh?”

  Billy didn’t answer.

  “You’re a noisy cunt as well, aren’t you? Can hear you through in’t Public.”

  Billy gave a brief glance in the direction of Mrs Keel and the piano but decided against pointing out the obvious argu¬ment to Big Tess’s complaint.

  “You’d do better to get off to Bottom pub,” Big Tess said. “Then that way we’d be certain of not hearing you.”

  Billy looked at his mates who ever since Big Tess had appeared on the scene had been looking at Billy, waiting for him to give them a sign. There was nothing Billy could do but to go along with Big Tess’s suggestion. If he had stayed Big Tess would have put his beer down and cleared Billy out of the bar. Billy jerked his head at Howard and Pete who straightaway stood up. Billy swivelled away from Big Tess and led his men towards the door. As he passed by me he caught me in the chest with his shoulder, causing me to lose balance and fall against a chair, knocking it over. At the moment of impact Billy said:

  “Next time, cunt.”

  Big Tess began to go after them but without turning round Billy and Howard and Pete sensed Big Tess’s movement and sprinted the last part of the distance to the door, crashing into tables and upsetting pints as they went.

  “And if you’re anywhere near when I finish supping I’ll put you up Barrow Road,” Big Tess shouted as they negotiated the door. Barrow Road ran past the town’s cemetery.

  Big Tess downed the remaining half of his pint.

  “Same,” he said to the landlord, sliding the glass across the bar.

  “On me, Tess,” the landlord said.

  I smoothed down my jacket and tried to look as though Billy’s shoulder hadn’t knocked all the wind out of me.

  “Are you all right, Victor?” Big Tess said.

  I blushed and nodded. His question made me feel far worse than I’d already been feeling: I’d got up to sort out Billy, a stupid gesture in itself because I couldn’t have sorted him out in a million years but I’d been prepared to try in an attempt to save face in front of Mart and the others, and now Big Tess’s intervention and sympathy made me feel even sillier than I had felt before; if Billy had beaten me up everyone would have been concerned for me and thought me foolhardy but brave. Now I just looked silly.

  “Let us know if he tries anything else,” Big Tess said.

  All right, Tess, I thought. Just leave it. I nodded again and went back to where Mart and the others were sitting.

  “That was handy,” Cec said as I sat down.

  I gulped some of my beer.

  “What was?” I said.

  “What was?” Cec said, looking at the others in amazement. “Big Tess, you soft bugger.”

  I shrugged.

  “You could have handled it, couldn’t you, Vic?” Veronica said.

  I glared at her.

  “Why do you do it?” Mart said. “Why do you get involved like that?”

  “Somebody has to.” I could have bit my tongue off, sound¬ing like a B-movie.

  “Yeah, Big Tess,” Cec said.

  Veronica laughed.

  “I just can’t stand people throwing their weight about like that,” I said. “You can’t just ignore it.”

  “Why not?” Mart said. “You get less lumps that way.”

  “Let’s just say we’re not all the same, shall we?” I said. There was a silence at table for a few minutes. Then Jackson came over.

  “That was close, then, wasn’t it?” he said.

  No one answered him. Jackson bent down and put his face near my ear. The intention was to whisper but every¬one at the table heard what he said.

  “That girl Jean wants you to come and sit with us,” he said. “Are you coming over?”

  “You’re barmy, man,” Mart said. “You’ll end up in clinic.”

  “You’ve impressed somebody, at least,” Veronica said.

  I ignored her and said to Jackson:

  “Yes, why not? I’ll be over in a minute.”

  “Never misses the chance to meet a fan,” Veronica said.

  “Oh, bollocks,” I said.

  I picked up my glass and followed Jackson over to the other table. Even this wasn’t going to compensate for my losing face, not with the boys thinking that the birds were slags, and Veronica appearing only amused at everything that had happened so far.

  I sat down at the table, opposite the girls.

  “This is Victor,” Jackson said. “I work for his dad.” Both girls said hello in unison. I nodded in return, and now I was close to them their proximity made me decide to rejoin the boys and Veronica after as short a decent interval as possible, but that ploy was scotched when I looked up to see Cec who was mouthing “George,” being in the rearguard of Veronica and the other two as they went out of the door. Now there was no way out for myself. I couldn’t follow without my actions being misinterpreted. So there was about a quarter of an hour of non-conversation in competition with Mrs Keel’s non-piano playing. I suggested we went to the Steam Packet to get out of the way of the piano. Jackson thought that was a great idea. The girls neither agreed or disagreed so we got up and made our way out through the thick atmosphere of Mrs Keel’s chords.

  Outside the pub the night air was cold, colder than it had been for some time. The moon was sharp and bright in the clear sky and the moon’s light made the tiles on the pub’s outbuildings look frosty.

  The car park was empty except for a few bikes propped up against the gents’ wall.

  “They’re not waiting, then,” Jackson said.

  “Not after what Big Tess said they won’t be,” I said.

  “Eh, but supposing they’re waiting in Market Place? When bus leaves?” Jackson said.

  The night air gave the beer greater effect so I said:

  “Listen Jackson, don’t you worry. We’ll be all right. Those buggers aren’t as tough as they think they are.”

  The girls giggled.

  “You saw them,” I said. “Off at the first sight of trouble.”

  The girls looked at each other and giggled again.

  “Anyway,” I said. “Let’s get to the Packet. There isn’t all that much time left.”

  We set off for the Packet. The streets were empty and there were no signs of Billy and his mates. By the time we got to the pub Jackson was walking in front, holding hands with his girl and I had progressed to holding hands with Anita. Her hand was cold, like pottery, and I was conscious of the hardness of the bones beneath the flesh. Once we’d stopped and kissed, in Rowsons’ doorway, and her kiss had been open-mouthed, not the French sort, but rather instead of pursing
her lips she’d drawn them back from her teeth so that when I’d first kissed her I’d actually touched her teeth with my lips, reinforcing the impression of her boniness.

  We went into the back room of the pub. The room was small, space enough for only three tables and a form and an enormous juke-box. Saturday and Sunday nights the room was packed out with Teds but tonight the room was empty. There was no bar and you had to get your beer through a panel cut in the wall of the passage that led to the room. The girls squealed when they saw the juke-box and began to search their handbags for change.

  Jackson and I set the drinks down on one of the tables.

  “Smart, aren’t they?” he said, nodding in the girls’ direction.

  “Not bad,” I said, as though I was used to better, and downed half my pint.

  The girls put on Buddy Holly and Little Richard and the Everlys and came and sat down. My girl and I clenched hands again. There were no such formalities for Jackson and Jean. They started necking straight away and almost at once Jackson tugged Jean’s sweater out of her trousers and pushed his hand right up to her breasts and began to rub them so violently that I thought he was going to tear her sweater. Jean tried to pull Jackson’s arms away.

  “Here,” she said, “what are you playing at?”

  Jackson ignored her and continued to fumble away, bury¬ing his face in her neck. He pushed her sweater up over her breasts and tried to squeeze his hand into one of her brassiere cups. I wanted to stare at the action, memorize it for later fantasizing, but that strange guilt that makes one not want to be thought of as being stimulated prevented me from fiercely observing, so I resorted to picking up my pint and looking over the top of the froth. Anita giggled, still squeez¬ing my hand, and that made it all the more exciting, and I wanted to do to her what Jackson was doing to Jean but even though I was well away with the beer, thoughts of what my parents would think of this sort of performance inhibited me. At the back of my mind there was always my mother’s phrase after I’d been caught at the age of seven and been forced to confess that I’d been playing doctors in Fosters Field with Norma Stevenson: “Girls are worse than boys, Victor. Much worse. Stay away from them because they’re smutty and they’ll lead you on.” This had been said the next morning, after I’d sobbed all through my confession and all through the night following, grief-stricken with the know¬ledge that I could be so dirty and horrible and that my parents should have discovered the fact too. My mother had come and sat on the edge of my bed and leant over me and run her fingers through my hair, looping the strands on my forehead round her finger into the quiff that she liked so much, and I had been able to smell the warm musky smell that was a mixture of powder and tobacco smoke and she’d told me that really I hadn’t been to blame, that girls led boys on, and afterwards in the warmth of the bed I’d felt noble and full of resolve not to let them down again. But my father had avoided making contact with me for days afterwards, in the sense that there’d been no frank glances, no unsolicited conversation, and it had seemed to me from the thin set of his lips and the aloof angle of his head that I had done something which he was prepared not to mention, not because it was something to forgive and forget but because it was too distasteful even to acknowledge. I’d stayed out of his way, spending long hours in the garden, in the barns until it was bedtime, behaviour they also seemed to find suspicious. Ever since then my mind seemed to be filled with guilt instead of excitement whenever I was in a promis¬ing situation with a girl. Even with Veronica, who they liked, I’d never felt really easy, even when there’d been no way of my parents finding out what we’d been up to, and so I’d never gone all the way with her in case pregnancy con¬firmed all the thoughts they’d had since nine years ago.