by Georgia Hill
Chapter 15
As they sauntered down to the pub, Rachel’s stomach was in knots and she wasn’t sure why.
Was it because she was entering the hallowed halls of village gossip central and having the temerity to join in the quiz? Was it because she was worried about what Tim might get up to?
She flicked a quick glance sideways and breathed out in quick relief; at least he was more soberly dressed now, in black jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Perhaps it would be that rare occasion when he behaved himself. Immediately she felt thoroughly ashamed of herself. It was Tim’s right to act in whatever way he wanted and she’d rarely given it a thought in London – unless he’d provoked someone too much.
Rachel looked around, at the yellow fields already shorn of the first harvest, at the lush hedgerow with the finches shooting out in front of them as she and Tim made their way down the track. It must be difficult to be in any way different around here. Everyone she knew of in the village appeared to be straight, married … conformist. Even in Hereford, the local youth dressed in a uniform of baggy jeans and baseball caps. Not one Goth, punk, or anyone else who attempted to stand out in the crowd. It must be a lonely life for anyone daring to be different, let alone gay.
Why do we struggle to please others at the expense of our true natures, she wondered. She’d certainly been guilty of that with her mother. Then there was Hetty, battling the expectation that she should marry Edward, when it seemed obvious she was far more drawn to Richard. And Jyoti, compromising to keep her parents happy.
Her thoughts skewered to Gabe. Working for his Dad, living at home, always at the pub on Friday nights. All that ambition and raw talent wasting away, untapped. His grinning brown face swam into her vision. Was the knot of anxiety because she might bump into him in the pub? Now why would that be?
‘Penny for them, Rachel?’ Tim took her hand.
She smiled back and swung his hand in a playful manner while deciding what to say. She certainly didn’t want to discuss Gabriel Llewellyn. Playing it safe, she said, ‘I phoned Jyoti while you were in the bath.’ Rachel made a wry face. ‘Attempted a reconciliation.’
‘Oh, darling heart, well done. How was the lovely girl?’ Tim bent to pick a buttercup and stuck it behind his ear.
‘She actually seems fine, happy. We had quite a chat. Said there was no way she’d do anything if she didn’t really want to.’
Maybe not such a big compromise after all?
Tim raised his eyebrows in approval. ‘Sounds like our Jyoti. What about the doctor?’
‘Met him at a family party, got on like a house on fire. Very talented, tipped for the top. Orthopaedic consultant, apparently. He’s called Kamal. She said, once the wedding is over and done with, they’ll come to visit.’
‘Well, hopefully, we’ll meet him at the wedding before then.’
Rachel frowned. ‘I’m not sure we’ll have a chance to talk to the happy couple at the actual wedding. Jyoti was saying they have to sit on some sort of platform and the guests don’t get anywhere near them.’ She gave a little sigh, trying to keep the longing out of her voice. ‘She said meeting him was like recognising your fate. That being with him was supremely comfortable. Said something about the deep, deep peace of the double bed after the hurly burly of the chaise longue.’
‘Think I prefer a bit of the chaise longue.’
‘You would,’ Rachel said, without rancour.
‘Oh well, we’ll catch up with them at some point, I suppose.’ Tim stopped and leaned against a gate. He rubbed his thighs. ‘Hadn’t realised that track was so steep.’ He grimaced, ‘How much further?’
Rachel laughed. ‘Townie! Have you got so unfit?’
Tim looked up at her. ‘We’re not at home to Little Miss Smug, are we?’
‘I think we might be.’ Then she took pity on him. ‘We’re nearly there. About another half a mile along the lane.’
They continued in silence, enjoying the sharp green scents of the country air and the birdsong fluting across the clear evening.
With the pub in sight, Tim groaned. ‘Thank the Lord.’
Rachel’s misgivings about the evening returned. She focused her nerves on the upcoming quiz. ‘I hope there won’t be any questions on the gestation period of sheep or anything like that.’
‘We’ll be buggered if there is.’ Stopping under the bright light, which illuminated the door to the Plough’s lounge bar, Tim raised Rachel’s hand to his mouth. He gave her a wicked look. ‘For those of us about to die –’
‘Idiot,’ she said fondly, realising how much she loved him. ‘Come on, I bet you a tenner we’ll win. Oh, wait a minute,’ she reached up and removed the buttercup still lodged behind Tim’s ear. She laughed up into his face. ‘Very fetching, but maybe not for a quiz night in my local!’
Tim looped a casual arm around her shoulders. Giggling, they opened the door and went in.
Unseen, from the shadows at the far side of the car park, Gabe watched them. He got out of the Toyota and then paused, keys in hand, staring hard at the spot where Rachel and the man had disappeared into the pub. Abruptly changing his mind, he got back into the pickup, slammed the door and drove off, sending up dust clouds as he gunned the engine.
The pub was packed and smoky. It was, as predicted, decorated with a riotous clash of worn patterns and possessed the requisite sticky carpets.
Tim shouldered his way to the bar as Kevin waylaid Rachel. She nearly didn’t recognise him without his glasses. She often wondered why Mike employed him as casual labour, as he moaned about him constantly. Rachel wasn’t at all sure she liked Kevin; there was certainly something about him she didn’t trust.
‘Rachel! ‘Bout time you got yersen in here! You gonna be on our team? We’re a man short, seeing as Gabe ain’t bothered to make it. Go on, say you will.’
Kevin came closer, invading her body space; Rachel could smell beer on his breath. He was already quite drunk, even this early in the proceedings.
‘We only got Stan and Paul and Paul don’t know nothing.’
‘Well, I’m actually with a friend,’ Rachel began. She tried to back away, but there wasn’t enough room to put space between them.
Kevin wasn’t in a mood to take a hint. ‘Sound!’ he slurred. ‘That’ll make up our team, then, if we can get Dawn to get her arse from out behind the bar.’
Rachel felt hounded. She’d hoped she and Tim could make up a team on their own, not have to join in one. Deaf to her protests, a determined Kevin took hold of her arm and dragged her to a table, where, sure enough, Stan and a fair man she assumed was Paul were sitting.
‘You all right, our Rachel?’ Stan said mildly, as he pulled on a roll-up. ‘Wasn’t expecting to see you in yere.’ He pulled out a chair. ‘Sit yersen down, then.’
Rachel sat next to him. ‘Didn’t think it was your sort of thing either, Stan.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind a quiz, every now and then.’ Stan pulled a face, ‘And gets me out o’ the house, like. You met young Paul? Lives in one o’ them new places down near the main road.’
‘Hello Paul,’ Rachel said, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, silly nerves making her use a posh London voice.
Paul nodded.
‘Who are you with, then?’ Kevin asked, as he collapsed into a chair on the other side of Stan.
‘Erm … him,’ Rachel replied, just as Tim shoved himself through the crowd, carrying a large white wine and a lager.
Kevin looked Tim up and down suspiciously and Rachel’s heart sank. From the little she knew of Kevin she feared the worst.
‘Ah, here you are,’ Tim said, without a hint of camp. He put the drinks down on the table, with a wink for only Rachel to see. ‘I asked what sort of wine they had and the lovely barmaid said red or white, so I hope it’s okay.’ Then, becoming aware of the group’s eyes on him he added, ‘I’m Tim. Nice to meet you all. Now, I can see empty glasses. What can I get you?’
As an icebreaker, it wasn’t startlingly origin
al, but it worked. Introductions all round followed. Having been offered a drink, the panacea for all wrongs in life, the men grinned, nodded and gave their orders.
Rachel breathed out. Perhaps it was going to be all right after all. Watching Tim, as once again he made his way through to the bar, she relaxed a little and sipped her wine.
In the end, they couldn’t persuade Dawn to join the team; she had to work behind the bar but Stan assured everyone that Rachel had fancy degrees and education and what not and they’d be fine with only five players. Paul was an unknown quantity and Rachel had her doubts about what Kevin would know. She chastised herself for being such a snob.
‘What are we going to call ourselves?’ asked Tim. ‘We ought to have a team name.’
Paul and Kevin exchanged uncomfortable looks.
‘Well,’ Paul began, ‘we’re usually called Wankers with Attitude.’ He shrugged an apology at Rachel. ‘Kev thought it up.’
He seemed nice and was obviously smitten with Dawn. Rachel noticed his eyes kept straying to the bar, where the redhead was hard at work.
‘There’s usually only the three of us,’ he explained further. ‘Stan’s only just started coming into the pub again.’
‘Might as well change the name, seeing as we’ve never fuckin’ won,’ muttered Kevin into his beer.
‘Well, I’m all for a bit of tradition,’ Tim put in, unsuccessfully hiding a grin, ‘so, if you’re always called Wankers with Attitude then that’s what we’ll be. Perhaps Rachel and I will change your luck?’
‘Ar perraps,’ Stan added with a raspy laugh.
Alan, the landlord, settled the unruly crowd with a yell and announced that the quiz was about to begin. ‘An easy one to get you all started with on the general knowledge round,’ he said. ‘What is the gestation period of a pig?’
Tim giggled, elbowed Rachel in the ribs and whispered, ‘We’re doomed!’
‘I knows that,’ Stan said. ‘Put down three months, three weeks and three days.’
‘Are you sure, Stan?’ asked Paul.
‘No, don’t seem right to me,’ added Kevin. ‘What we need is Gabe; he’d know that sort of shit.’
Tim looked at the others. ‘Well, if no one else has any better suggestions, we’d better go with Stan’s answer.’ Glancing at Rachel, who shrugged her ignorance, he pushed the quiz sheet over to her.
Stan merely sat back, looking smug, his strange eyes half-closed over his cigarette smoke.
‘Where’s Gabe gone, then?’ Paul gestured to Kevin’s empty glass. ‘You ready for another?’
Kevin nodded. ‘Into town to see one of his fancy women, I reckon. You know our Gabe, always disappearing off somewhere.’
Paul snorted, asked if anyone else wanted another drink and sauntered off.
Kevin watched him go. ‘Look at him, can’t keep his hands off her, sad bastard.’
They all watched as Paul leaned over the bar towards Dawn and made her giggle. ‘Trying it on while Gabe’s not here.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Rachel, feeling another prickle of distaste for Kevin.
‘Dawn’s got the wet knickers for Gabe, like every other bit of skirt for fifty mile round here and Paul’s making the most of the fact that lover boy ain’t about.’ Kevin leered at her and laughed. His face was flushed with alcohol and Rachel decided she definitely didn’t like him.
‘Look, we playing this quiz or not?’ Stan interrupted, getting impatient with the gossiping. ‘Put the answer down, Rachel, you got a pencil there? It’s three months, three weeks and three days, I tell yer.’
There were six rounds in the quiz. If possible, it got even hotter and smokier. She managed to concentrate long enough to answer which fruit Persephone ate but couldn’t get Kevin’s words out of her head. So Gabe was a bit of a lad, was he? He certainly had enough charm for it. But why did it bother her so much?
Tim poked her in the side again. He was straining to see the scoreboard. ‘We’re joint top, I think,’ he said, with mounting excitement. ‘How many more rounds are there?’
‘Just one more,’ Paul answered. While Kevin was happy to drink himself into oblivion, he’d been as competitive as Stan and Tim.
Rachel groaned inwardly. With Tim’s love of winning, he’d be unbearable if they lost at this late stage.
‘And now, the last round,’ Alan announced.
Kevin raised a pint in a wobbly hand and cheered sarcastically. ‘Thank fuck!’
‘Glad you’re enjoying it, Kevin,’ Alan said, to a cheer from the crowd. ‘It’s art and books this time. So, get your pencils and brains sharpened and here we go.’
‘Christ, it could all be on this last question,’ cried Tim in anguish, fifteen minutes later. ‘We’re neck and neck with the bloody Women’s Institute. Come on, darlings, concentrate that grey matter. We’ve got to win this!’
‘Which Dickens novel is set against the Gordon Riots?’ Alan’s voice boomed over the increasingly chatty crowd and silenced it.
‘Bugger,’ said Paul, ‘that’s one for you two, Tim and Rach. Haven’t a bleedin’ clue.’
Tim’s face screwed up in pain, his fist clenched on a tabletop glossy with spilled beer. ‘Come on,’ he urged himself, ‘come on. Think!’
Rachel closed her eyes and racked her brain. Dickens … Dickens. God, why did it have to be a question on Dickens? Now if it had been Austen or George Elliot she might be in with a chance.
‘Barnaby Rudge,’ said Stan, in a hissed whisper. ‘Go on, put it down. Right answer, that is, make no mistake.’
The rest of the team, bar Kevin, who had drifted off into an alcoholic daze, looked blankly at him.
Panicking, Tim peered over to their rivals. ‘They’re writing something down!’ he groaned. ‘You got any ideas?’ he asked Rachel. She shook her head.
‘Well, put it down then, sweet pea,’ he urged. ‘We haven’t anything else to offer and Stan’s got a lot of answers right this evening.’
‘Yes, but they were all about plants and crows and things,’ Rachel whispered back.
‘Go on, Rachel love. It’s the right answer. I’m certain o’ it.’ Stan said, sounding supremely confident.
Rachel stared at Stan’s face, with its permanent cigarette hanging from a corner of his mouth and the green eyes belying his age. He was the most surprising man. She wrote down the answer: Barnaby Rudge.
As the quiz sheets were handed in, a collective sigh of relief rippled around the room. Now the quiz had finished, some real drinking could begin.
‘There’ll be a short break, as usual,’ intoned Alan, ‘while we mark the papers. Snacks on the bar everyone. Help yourself.’
As soon as he’d said this, there was a stampede to the bar – and to a very startled- looking Dawn. It was led by their very own Paul.
Stan laughed. ‘Folks round ’ere likes summat free and no mistake.’
‘How did you know that?’ Rachel asked.
‘What’s that, then?’ Stan extinguished his roll-up between thumb and finger and, as was his habit, placed the butt neatly in his tobacco tin.
‘About the Dickens novel?’
Stan pursed his lips. ‘They drilled it into us at school. Dickens. Great Expectations, Dombey and Son, Bleak House and the like. Never lost the love for a bit o’ Dickens. You not read any, then?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘Not Dickens, no.’
‘Don’t know everything then, do you girl?’
Rachel shook her head again. Had she been so transparent? Had she fallen back into her habit of pre-judging everyone? True, Kevin had been a waste of space, but both Paul and Stan had answered lots of questions correctly. More, in fact, than her. Looking Stan in the eye, she had new respect for both him and Paul. She was ashamed of herself and vowed to try better at accepting people for who they were – and not loading them with her pre-conceptions. She’d done it with Gabe and she’d done it again tonight.
‘Alan’s about to announce the winners,’ Paul said, as he and Tim came
back to their table and sat down. They’d brought back plates laden with sausages, sandwiches and crisps. Paul shovelled a sausage into his mouth and spoke through it. ‘It’s got to be us. We’ve got to be in with a chance of winning this time?’ His eyes were over-bright and his face flushed and, although drinking at a slower pace than Kevin, he was definitely tipsy.
‘Got to be, darling heart.’ said Tim in return.
Rachel watched Paul closely. The endearment had gone unnoticed. So, she’d been wrong about how they might react to Tim. He’d been less camp than normal, but not really by much. And, apart from the choking smoky atmosphere and the new knowledge of Gabe, which nagged at the back of her mind, it had actually been a really good night. She took a large slurp of wine. She’d been wrong about lots of things tonight, it seemed. She ate a sausage. It was delicious.
It was time to let people in, to give them a chance. She’d been closed up for years. It was time for a new start, a new her. To discover a zest for life and meet it head on. Be more like Hetty.
‘And the winning team is – Wankers with Attitude! Come on up lads and, er, lady and collect your prizes!’
As Alan made his announcement to the raucous crowd, Gabe slipped into the pub. He leaned against the bar and ordered his drink.
‘The boys did well tonight, then,’ Dawn said, as she pushed over his pint of Stella. ‘You missed a treat, Gabe.’ She smiled at him and jiggled the neck of her t-shirt a little lower.
Her efforts went unnoticed. Gabe’s eyes were on Rachel, as she celebrated with her team. She and Paul leapt up and hugged one another and the tall, thin man he’d seen with Rachel earlier shook Stan by the hand and then grabbed Rachel and kissed her resoundingly on the lips.
‘I take it they’ve won,’ he said sourly and took a swig of lager.
‘Mate, where’ve you been? It’s been a crackin’ night.’ Spotting him, Paul made his slightly unsteady way over to the bar and slapped Gabe on the back. ‘Another pint, my lovely Dawn, please.’
