Magnificent Joe (13 page)

‘I've got a ticket to ride. I've got a ticket to ra-ha-hide.' Geoff can't help himself. He's full of singing as he marches down the street.

‘C'mon, Elvis!' someone yells, and over the road Geoff sees three lads in the bus stop punching their Super Strength in the air. He sneers and whirls his arm round, and one of the lads shouts, ‘You're a wanker!'

Geoff blows him an extravagant kiss. The lad stands up, but Geoff walks on and hears behind him, ‘Leave it, Wayne. He's not worth it,
man.'

‘I'm worth a bit more than you think, you charver fuckwits,' says Geoff, but not very loudly.

Geoff intended to head home, now that he knows what he's going to do, but when he reaches the turn-off, he decides to carry on. He'll have a little celebration of his own, while the secret is still all his. He likes holding it unsaid in his mouth. He'll go to the other pub, nobody will bother him there: it's twenty pence a pint more expensive than their local, and Barry thinks it's full of posh bastards. Geoff looks forward to being a posh bastard himself.

That's the best part, the getting one over on Barry. Not that Barry will ever know, but Geoff takes great pleasure in the idea that while he's sipping a pina fucking colada on the beach, Barry will still be slogging his guts out, ignorant and miserable. As for Jim, well, what would Jim do with a full share? Drink himself to death, probably. Anyway, isn't Geoff the one who bothered to put the numbers on, week in, week out, rain or shine, even if they hadn't coughed up their subs? But Geoff isn't the mug anymore; he's a lottery winner, and they're just unlucky.

By the time Geoff reaches the Top House, his mind steams with thoughts, possibilities, and questions. What if they find out our numbers came up? They won't: they never bothered to check before and they wouldn't start now. How do we get away without anyone twigging on? Laura will have an idea: she's a clever lass. Will she really want to leave? Of course she will: there's nothing to stay
for.

He goes straight to the bar – he needs a beer just to slow him down before he goes home and tells Laura about the win – and pays with a tenner to get change for the cigarette machine. It's in the corner and he wanders over to it, pleased with the swagger in his stride, but when he comes to put the coins in the slot, he finds that his hands are shaking as if he was rattling from some drug. He has to concentrate to avoid spilling pound coins all over the floor. Finally, he feeds the machine the correct change and selects the most upmarket brand it offers.

‘Classy fags, now,
son.'

A couple of girls at a nearby table hear him and giggle. Geoff turns and looks at them for too long and they shuffle their chairs away from him pointedly. He shrugs, picks up his cigarettes, retrieves his pint, and takes a seat at an empty table by the window.

Geoff is about half-way through his first beer when he gets a prickling sensation. It's the feeling of being watched. He looks around the pub more carefully than he did before. There, at a table tucked away in the shadow of the fruit machine, is the source of his discomfort. Sinister Steve tips a glass of something with Coke in Geoff's direction and nods like an off-duty undertaker passing an old client in the street. Geoff tries to smile, but it feels very unnatural.

Sinister Steve gets up and walks over, but Geoff doesn't want him to. Steve gives him the shudders, with his little rat face always looking like he knows something you don't. There's nothing Geoff can do to stop it as Steve sits down with
him.

‘All right, Geoff
lad?'

‘Aye, Steve, I'm well.
You?'

‘Ah, nothing a good shag wouldn't cure.' Steve gives Geoff a weird, slippery sideways look. Geoff forces a little laugh, but over Steve's shoulder he can see those two girls looking at them in open disgust.

‘I know what you mean,' Geoff
lies.

‘You looked a bit agitated when you came in, like you were muttering to yourself or something.'

‘Oh, aye. It's the stress, Steve, because I'm so high-powered and that.'

Steve laughs for longer than he should. Geoff watches the tabletop.

‘I saw your mate Barry the other day. He's a good customer,
him.'

‘Right.'

‘Anything I can do for
you?'

‘No, Steve. No. There's nothing you can do for
me.'

‘Suit yourself.' Steve drains his glass. ‘Well, I'd better be going. See you later, Geoff.'

‘Aye. See
you.'

Steve slinks out and Geoff sees him pass the window with his mobile to his ear. Geoff shakes his head – ‘Creepy bastard' – then sinks the rest of his pint and buys another.

He drinks quickly and has time to buy a third pint just as last orders are called. He takes his seat again as the landlady crosses the room to close the outside door. She disappears into the vestibule, but the inside door is open and Geoff can hear her talking to someone: ‘I've called time.'

‘I just need to have a word with someone inside.'

‘All right, but I'll be kicking out soon.'

‘Won't take long.'

Geoff looks around for the gents', to hide himself, but it's too late. Barry enters the pub and sees Geoff immediately.

‘Hello, Geoff.' Barry looks much calmer than he did earlier, but this does not comfort Geoff.

‘I've said everything.'

Barry ignores this, sits down, and lights a cigarette. When Barry is angry or upset, he smokes in hard little puffs, as if the filter were a teat. Tonight, he smokes like he does when he's pleased with himself: wide-mouthed, deep drags that he holds and blows out slowly. Geoff is worried for a few moments, but then he remembers that Barry has no power
now.

‘Whatever it is, I don't give a fuck, all right? Leave us alone.'

Barry smiles, leans over the table, and stubs out his half-finished cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Have you spoken to Jim
yet?'

‘Aye, and I told him to fuck off and
all.'

‘Well, that explains why he's not answering his phone, then.'

‘What?'

‘Nowt.' Barry waves away the question.

‘Barry, have you just come to sit there to be a cunt?'

‘No, Geoff. I thought since you're moving on and all that, I'd try to give you a proper fresh start.'

‘I don't need your help for nowt.'

‘There's just something I think you should know.'

‘Fuck off, Barry.'

‘Your wife's a whore.'

Geoff freezes. Even when they've been really pissed off with each other, no one has ever brought family into it. Barry just looks at him, steady as anything. Geoff stares back. Barry smiles at the corner of his mouth and it dawns on Geoff that this is more than just an insult.

‘You what?'

‘She fucks for money,' says Barry brightly. ‘Or she used to, anyroad.' The numbness of shock stops and suddenly Geoff fizzes with anger, but Barry sees it before Geoff even moves and holds up his hand. ‘Settle down. It's all true. Ask Jim – he knows all about it. They're very close, your wife and
Jim.'

‘Barry, I'm going to fucking kill
you.'

‘No, you're not, because I'm telling you the truth. If you don't believe me, ask them. G'night, mate.'

Barry gets up and swans out. He even gives a cheery wave to the landlady and the regulars at the bar. Geoff just sits there.

By the time Geoff can move again, it's nearly 1 a.m. Calling time had been a ploy: the landlady locked the barflies in and continued serving. They tolerated Geoff because he didn't do, or say, anything. They looked at him, though, sly, over their shoulders, with a wink and a nudge. Eventually, Geoff stands
up.

‘What? What the fuck are you looking
at?'

‘Get out.' The landlady points at the
door.

‘Fuck the lot of you!' Geoff storms out and makes for
home.

The car isn't in the drive, and as he walks through the front door, Geoff feels as if his guts have gone through a blender. He is ready to start shouting now, but the house is quiet. He goes upstairs and finds the bed empty and not slept in. Laura is nowhere to be found. Geoff sits on the bed and tries to breathe himself into some sort of
calm.

It could be true; in some ways it all adds up. Geoff tries to get his brain around the evidence. Laura never talks about her past except to say that she was a ‘tearaway' and that she ‘fell in with the wrong crowd' and had a ‘rotten boyfriend'. Then there's Jim. Geoff thinks back to all the times he's seen them together, and there is always something wrong with the picture, something secret. Then, with a sudden rush of sickness, he remembers Bonfire Night and finding them asleep together on Jim's couch.

‘Christ.' It's all falling into place. This is why she was so interested in what he was going to say to Barry tonight. She was worried Barry would give up the secret. This is what he has always been afraid of: he knew he was punching above his weight. He knew something like this would happen. He wants to vomit. His testicles
ache.

He'll give her a chance, one chance to explain, but if it's not right, he is going to leave there and then. He'll leave and he'll take the ticket with him. He'll claim his money and he'll go somewhere none of them will ever find him again.

Geoff stands up and looks around the bedroom. His duffel bag is on top of the wardrobe. He pulls it down and stuffs it with a couple of changes of clothing, selected at random. Then he goes downstairs, to the kitchen, opens a drawer, and pulls out his passport, his counterpart driving licence, and a credit card. He chucks them into the bag, zips it closed, turns out the lights, then sits down and waits.

In the dark, he tries to imagine what it would be like to be without her, but he can't feel anything except the anger. All he knows is that if it's true, he can't stay whatever happens. He has an escape, right now, and he can't waste
it.

A car pulls into the drive. Geoff stiffens. There's a door slam, and then another, and then voices as the front door opens.

‘Is he in?' That's Jim. Geoff grips the sides of his chair.

‘I don't think
so.'

‘I can stay, if you like.'

‘No, me and Geoff have to deal with this ourselves. Thanks for looking after
me.'

‘What are you going to
do?'

‘I don't know. I mean, I'll have to tell him, won't I? I'll have to tell him before Barry does.'

Geoff stands up. He's heard enough and there's no point in sticking around now. He picks up his bag and slips out of the back door. He doesn't stop to cry until he is a long way down the street.

For a moment, as I wake up, I am warm and contented. Then I remember Laura banging on my door last night and regret even opening my eyes. I roll over and stare at the wall. The only comfort I can take is that whatever turmoil has been unleashed is now completely out of my control. All that is left to do is to look after myself, which for the immediate future means going to the Spar to secure my usual Sunday treat: a delicious TV dinner and a bottle of Scotch.

I get up and leave the house. Outside, the world seems more drab and miserable than ever. It's a cold, grey day and it looks like rain could come at any moment. I walk quickly – the sooner I can get back in and turn on the fire, the better – so it only takes me ten minutes to get to the shop. I'm about to walk through the door when the cash machine outside reminds me that I should check my bank balance; I haven't worked since the day of Mac's accident.

Predictably, I'm not well off. I never spend very much, but without an income I'll be in trouble pretty quickly. Breaking into my modest savings isn't an option. I put that cash away – bit by tiny bit – with the idea that one day I might
do something
with it. I'm not sure what that something is, but it doesn't involve sitting on my arse and spending the money on living expenses. In short, I need a new
job.

I retrieve my card and stand there, tapping the edge of it against the keypad of the machine. Fuck it. I may as well call him while I'm thinking about it. I pull out my mobile and scroll through to Lee's number.

I'm about to press ‘call' when I see Barry walking down the opposite side of the street. He kicks his way through some fallen leaves, hands in his pockets, head down. He hasn't seen me yet. He crosses the road and heads for the shop. I step round the corner of the building, and after a few moments, I hear the beep that happens when the door opens.

Then there's silence, broken only by the sound of passing cars. Why did I hide? Surely by now Barry has played his hand, or had it played for him. He's got nothing left to hold over me. I lean against the wall, and as its cold seeps through my jacket, I feel an even colder fury spread in my belly and the back of my throat. I want to do something, but I don't know what. The door beeps again.

I peek round the corner and see Barry walking away, back the way he came, with a folded
News of the World
stuffed under his right arm. I let him cross the road and turn right at the T-junction up the street. Then I set out after
him.

When I get to the junction, he is a long way ahead of me. It's an effort to hold myself back – for some reason, I want to keep him in sight – but from here I know which way he has to go, so I measure my pace. He doesn't stop, or deviate, or look around. He knows this place – it holds nothing new for him – and he thinks he knows exactly how this journey will
end.

Once upon a time – and I mean years ago, when we were all tiny – Barry was a sweet lad. When my granddad died, he made me a card with a crayon drawing on the front. He said it was a picture of my granddad in heaven. Maybe everyone is still sweet when they're that age, and maybe Barry was always destined to become a bastard, but his brother and father made damn sure they beat all the softness out of him. They wanted him to be tough and hard like them. He never quite measured up and it turned him
sour.

I follow him, from a distance, until he takes the footpath that runs behind the primary school. Then I speed up to close the gap, turn onto the footpath, and slalom my body between the offset metal frames designed to frustrate cyclists. There are tall railings to one side of the path, and a hedge of bramble, elder, and hawthorn to the other. Barry and I are the only people here, and I'm closer now. I can see the frayed fabric at the hem of his jeans and the glint of his wedding ring when his left hand swings
back.

The school building is new – it was finished last year – and construction debris is still scattered here and there. Broken bricks are trodden into the mud or just lie at the base of the hedge. A long piece of carcassing timber, split and rotting and tangled with weeds, runs against the railings. Then I notice an iron spike, sharp at one end and with a tight curl of metal at the other. I stop walking. The spike is pressed into the mud, but I could turn it up easily and
then…

‘I don't need this.' The words appear in my mouth, but feel as if they are spoken by someone
else.

‘Are you following
me?'

I look up. Barry faces
me.

‘What did you say to Geoff?'

‘What are you going to do? Kill me? You're the first door they'd knock
on.'

I don't move. ‘What did you say to Geoff?'

Then Barry smiles. ‘The truth. Well, the basics. I told him he should ask you for the details.'

‘You what? What does he know, Barry?'

‘I don't know why you're angry. If they break up, you'll get your chance.'

‘Chance?'

‘Howay, man, don't act innocent. I know there was something going on with you and her. You were spotted.'

‘That's not true.'

‘Fuck off. I had an eyewitness account. Anyway, I've done you a favour.'

‘You've ruined my best friend's life.'

‘Bollocks.'

‘Why?'

‘The time for fucking talking was last night, but you fucked it up. I'm going now. Nice seeing
you.'

The spike is still there, but Barry is walking away and whatever made me follow him has dripped out of me. I test my will, but my hand doesn't want to
move.

‘Leave it,
boy!'

It is a dog-walker, coming up the path behind me and dragging his Jack Russell along on a red lead. He gives me a strange stare and then passes.

I walk back the way I came and emerge from the footpath. I lean against the metal frame and watch a crisp packet scuttle along the gutter. There is blankness in my head, until a sudden thought forms: I can't let this stand. I need to go and face Geoff. I may have hidden the truth from him, but I can't let him believe this
lie.

—

I walk up his drive and knock on his door, but I have no idea what I'm going to say to Geoff. In the event, it's Laura who answers. She wears the same clothes she did when I dropped her off last night.

‘Hello.' It's the best opener I can come up
with.

‘He didn't come home.'

‘Shit. Has he called? What did he
say?'

‘He hasn't called. He's gone. He took a bag. Clothes, his passport.'

‘Fuck. Laura, something bad's happened.'

‘Oh really?'

‘Let me in. I need to talk to
you.'

She shrugs and turns back into the house. I follow her through the front room and into the kitchen. She gestures at the kettle.

‘Tea?'

‘Uh, no, thanks.'

She nods and then closes the door to shut out the noise of the TV. It's uncomfortably intimate; the kitchen is just a narrow galley at the back of the house and there's nowhere to sit, no social space for me to occupy. I'm standing right in the middle of her private life. I lean back against one of the worktops and focus on a band of light reflected from the rim of a plate on the draining board. Of her, I can only see the legs now, in the left of my peripheral vision. She has propped herself against the door. I keep the plate front and centre.

‘So?' Her voice sounds far
away.

‘I talked to Barry.'

‘And?'

‘He told
him.'

‘Yeah, well, we'd guessed that.'

‘I was still hoping he hadn't really done
it.'

‘Fat chance. He's a bitter, evil
man.'

‘Aye, I've been coming to that conclusion myself. Look, that's not all – he told Geoff there was something going on between you and
me.'

She doesn't say anything. I manage to turn my head and look at her, but she's completely still and just stares past me, through the window. Then her lower jaw moves, almost imperceptibly, as if it was frozen and she was struggling to form the shape of words. ‘I…I…' The first sounds come as a faint stutter, and then, ‘I was always afraid that I couldn't really have this, but it was the truth I was scared of. I never thought anyone would have to make something up, you know?'

‘Aye, I know.'

‘I mean, it's not much to ask, is it? All I wanted was a normal life, nothing special. He's hardly the man of my dreams, is he? But he's sweet to me and I thought I could have a nice life with him, a good life. I just wanted to be like everyone else, and I wanted a proper home. And now the silly fat bastard's run off and ruined everything.'

Her voice tremors with the approach of tears, and suddenly there's a twist and lurch somewhere in my own insides and I'm moving towards her and putting my arms around her and my voice is saying stuff that hasn't even passed through my brain. ‘Come here, pet, it's not that bad. He'll be back soon and you'll get it sorted out. He knows what's good for
him.'

‘He won't even answer his phone!'

‘Don't worry about that. He'll have a think and he'll be back.'

‘Will he? And what then? He knows what I was and it's always going to be there. It's not fair. I tried so hard to leave it behind.'

The side of her face presses against my chest, and the top of her head just brushes under my chin. ‘It's going to be OK. Just give him some time. He'll do the right thing.' She squeezes me tighter. I can smell her hair and skin. I remember the last time she was this close to me and feel sick. I'm lying to her, and we both know it. I have no idea what Geoff will do, and he has no reason to believe anything she or I say. Even if he did, the truth is bad enough.

She looks up at me. ‘What are we going to
do?'

‘You just sit tight,
OK?'

I don't tell her about the eyewitness, and I don't tell her that I know who he is, but in my mind's eye I see Steve scurrying away that day at the ponds – just after he saw Laura kiss
me.