The Tied Man
I was watching him drink the entire second pint in one go when I realised. ‘That’s where it began. It was one of them,’ I stated, and Finn fumbled and dropped the lighter that he had been turning in his fingers. ‘Oops. Sorry. That was a bit of full-on.’
‘S’all right. I’m getting used to you.’ He recovered the Zippo from the carpet and lit his next smoke. ‘And anyway, you’re right. Just what every twelve-year old wants from his favourite uncle for Christmas – a good buggerin’ across his ma’s bed, while she sleeps off a turkey microwave-meal and a gallon of Special Brew.’ He downed his whiskey chaser and slammed the glass down. ‘Ah, fuck it, I’m not wasting tonight on this shit. D’you play pool?’
I shook my head. ‘Never tried it.’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing. Right, come on. I’ll teach you. But I’m warning you, I take no prisoners.’
‘We need another drink first,’ I declared.
‘Good idea. Go and get ‘em in then, woman. Same again, if I’m playing catch-up.’
‘I need crisps. To soak up the alcohol.’ I stopped mid-journey and frowned. ‘You want some?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘What d’you want?’
Finn suddenly gave me an glorious drunken smile. ‘Any. Long as they’re not spunk flavour.’
My last mouthful of vodka erupted from my nose and I had to grab the nearest table as the landlord glared at my laughter. I stuck out my tongue in suitably mature response.
Finn
‘Cow.’ Lilith potted her third consecutive yellow ball of the first game. ‘You sure you’ve never done this before?’
‘Never. Honest. But it’s about lines, isn’t it? Lines and angles and logic. I can do that.’
‘No, it’s an art,’ I argued through a mouthful of prawn cocktail crisps: Lilith’s joke. ‘A beautiful, noble art. Played by pissheads.’
‘Oh. Well in that case I can do that as well.’ Lilith leant over the table to line up her next shot. She was so tiny that she had to stand on the very tips of her toes to reach halfway across the baize. She had discarded the sweater of Henry’s she’d been burrowed into, and now I caught a glimpse of shell-pink, lace trimmed bra under her white vest top. Her tongue was caught between her teeth as she concentrated on finding that crucial angle, and a strand of midnight-black hair had broken free of its tie and draped itself across her forehead. She was no longer my fantasy mermaid, but no less beautiful.
‘What are you looking at? Have I grown a bloody tail or something?’ she drawled, upper-class pissed, as yet another ball slammed into a pocket.
‘Yeah. N’whiksers. I mean whiskers,’ I grinned. I suddenly wondered how twisted it made me that I was happier at this moment than I had been in years.
I remembered reading an article in one of Henry’s magazines about ‘Living in the Now’ – seizing the moment, appreciating the power of the present and various other gems of utter psycho-bollocks. I was a world expert.
*****
I won that first game by a particularly pathetic three balls.
‘How long have we got?’ Lilith asked, before I even had time to gloat.
I glanced up at the clock over the bar. After another four pints to follow the two I’d started with, and with attendant chasers, I needed to shut one eye and squint before the numbers would fall into focus. ‘Half n’hour before Henry picks us up.’
‘Good. Time for another game then. See if I can beat you now I know what I’m doing.’
‘In your dreams.’ I sounded more confident than I felt.
I was just about to break when the door to the bar-room shuddered open under the weight of a boot and the night went tits-up for the second time.
Lawson, Philly and Damo were Coyle’s three closest comrades. If he wasn’t with them it meant that he was screwing one of the chambermaids from the holiday village, but it looked as though they’d been drinking at his filthy flat for most of the day as they staggered to the bar.
‘Do you want to leave?’ Lilith asked.
Part of me wanted to vanish like the Cheshire Cat, leaving nothing but a contented smile hovering over the pool table. ‘Do you want to leave? They’re going to be arseholes. Especially Lawson there – likes to think he’s Coyle’s lieutenant.’