Chapter 11
Arthur
What was that? What on earth was that? Did she slip something in my drink? Or am I drunk off of one and a half pints I’ve nursed over however many hours I’ve been in here now?
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, clutching the sink.
My cheeks are flushed the same colour as the old blush-style suite that looks as though it hasn’t been changed since the Seventies.
Absolute bloody idiot, that’s what I am.
And now Beatrice probably thinks I’m some touchy creep like Bill.
Why did I even do it? I am cynical, I am arrogant, I am a pessimist. I am not whoever it is who caresses a woman’s face after five minutes of knowing her when I have no intention of sleeping with her.
But somehow every time I’ve found myself in her presence, I end up doing something so out of character that I’m sure she’s put some sort of curse on me where I’m destined make a tit of myself every time I see her.
Splashing my face with water, I make a futile attempt to cool down but the red hue in my pores only deepens.
But this time when I look in the mirror, it isn’t the sight of myself that concerns me most. All of the doors to the cubicles behind lay open, the first and third are empty, but the middle is very much occupied.
Jimmy sits slumped on the porcelain, his head in his hands.
‘Jimmy?’ I ask and he lifts his eyes to meet mine. The jolly look that has graced his face all evening is gone and instead he seems gaunt, his eyes are sunken, and any trace of colour is drained from him. ‘You okay?’
Instead of replying, he looks down at his lap. I follow his gaze. A dark patch stretches across his jeans and it’s soon clear what’s happened.
‘My hands …’ He trails off, lifting his palms towards me. They’re scarred, bent, as though he can’t fully straighten his fingers. ‘I couldn’t unbutton my trousers.’
Everything in his manner would suggest he’s defeated. It’s a look I’ve seen too many times before.
‘You might have to start holding back on the tequilas.’ I try to lighten the mood and I’m grateful when a timid smile follows his exhalation. ‘Need a hand?’
Refusing to meet my eye, he reluctantly nods his head.
Without another thought, I help him unbuckle his jeans, and move quickly to help get him cleaned up.
‘I used to be in the army. I’d run ten kilometres every morning before I’d even had my breakfast. Could shoot a fly off the back of a horse’s arse without the mare even noticing.
’ He laughs, though there’s no humour in its cadence. ‘Now look at me.’
‘I can almost guarantee you had plenty of nights that ended like this in the army.’ I give him a reassuring grin.
‘Aye, you’re not wrong there, lad.’ Jimmy runs a hand down his face until his smile reappears behind it.
‘I had a mate who would shit himself every time he drank a stout. That would never stop him though. He used to chuck his boxers away in the paper towel bins or in the bottom of urinals. Bloody animal.’
‘Lovely.’ I grimace. ‘This is nothing then.’
‘I suppose not.’ He chuckles but the spike in his humour is short-lived. ‘But I can’t walk out there like this.’
For the third time in two days, I find myself disrobing in front of strangers.
It is becoming a habit that I really, really don’t want to be known for, but at least it’s a good cause.
‘Now, these aren’t actually mine, but I’m sure from what I know about Tracy, she won’t mind me sharing them with you. ’
‘Oh no, lad.’ Jimmy shakes his head. ‘I couldn’t do that.
’ But I hand him the jeans and refuse to take no for an answer.
Thankfully for Cerys’s dad’s beer belly, the hem of the T-shirt covers most of my dignity.
That’s if walking around in a mini dress in a country pub as a man in his twenties could ever actually be dignified.
I picture my overalls slung over the bench outside.
There’s a whole pub, its patrons, and Beatrice between them and me.
My gut stirs, but I know that Jimmy needs this more than I need my pride.
‘Can you manage to get them on whilst I go and grab my stuff?’ He nods and I, as softly as possible, slide open the door just enough to peek out.
Cerys is nowhere to be seen, thankfully.
The few other Saturday evening patrons seem occupied, or drunk enough.
Beatrice sits behind the bar, an open book on its top that she scans intently as she fills the quiet spaces of the evening.
Perhaps they won’t notice me nipping across the room in Liam Gallagher’s nightie.
Just as I work up the courage to open the door a little further so I can slip through, it decides now is the right time to scream out for some WD-40.
The old hinges must have been ignored for so many years that they fail to draw anyone’s attention.
Unlucky for me, however, Beatrice isn’t quite like everyone else.
Her eyes are on me in an instant, scanning me up and down as she seems to do rather a lot.
Calmly closing her book and setting it down in front of her, she folds her hands together and sighs.
‘We were just starting to get along and now I find out you’re some public toilet pervert.’ That’s enough to get the rest of the pub’s notice.
‘Who’s a perv?’ One of the patrons speaks up and my chest tightens.
‘Are you always ready to strip off at any moment?’ Beatrice continues as I shuffle through the room, pulling my T-shirt down as low as it will go.
‘If I had pins like that, I’d always be getting them out, to be honest,’ another voice calls.
‘You definitely own one of those Burberry trench coats, don’t you?
’ Beatrice can’t control her laughter now.
Though my heart pounds, and I wish for nothing more than to scream out to get her to cease her teasing, I know my purpose.
I can take this as long as Jimmy is able to preserve what little of his dignity he’s been able to cling to.
And from the little I know of the woman who devotes herself to my grandmother’s farm, this pub, and just about anyone in this village, I know that she wouldn’t joke if she knew the truth.
Diverting my course, I meet her at the bar. ‘Beatrice,’ I hiss. Still she smiles.
‘I let you out of my sight for ten minutes and you’re half naked again. We’ve only just met. If you fancied me, you could have been a little more discreet about it.’ I know she’s joking but her face flushes almost as quickly as mine does.
The rest of the patrons watch on with great intrigue and I know I have to do something, anything to throw them off the scent, for Jimmy.
‘Oh my God!’ I call out, pointing to the window. ‘The sheep are out.’
‘Ah they do that, lad. Don’t worry about them; they’ll find their way back.’ A kind-looking older gent I have yet to be introduced to speaks up from the corner as he, and the rest of the regulars, don’t take their eyes from me. ‘Little bastards they are for that.’
Anywhere else I’m sure the exclamation of sheep on the loose would at least turn a few heads, if not send a few others running, but clearly not here.
I must try a different tack. Thinking quickly, I point again to the window.
‘Dad?!’ I say loudly enough for them to hear and without fail every single pair of eyes snaps in the direction of my finger, whilst Barbara runs to the window, throwing half her G I’m sure there’s an ITV drama with Sheridan Smith in that you can watch with your wife or something.
I know your wife hates you. I never said you had to talk to her, but either way that’s not my problem tonight, I’m afraid. ’
Tugging my farm overalls back on, I laugh at her candour, whilst also thanking my lucky stars that I’m not on the receiving end of her orders.
Soon enough, bodies spill out of the pub; one bloated man, who I assume is Scott, takes his pint, glass and all, with him as they all disperse down the street.
Returning inside, now fully clothed, and a little on edge that Tracy may return and catch me in my dirty farm gear, I find Beatrice whizzing around the room collecting half-empty glasses.
When she sees me, she thrusts her hoard onto the closest table and offers me her full attention.
‘Is he okay?’ she asks in a loud whisper, clutching my forearm. ‘Is he hurt?’
‘He’ll be fine. I’ve got it all sorted. Don’t worry, he’s not hurt.’ Her face is twisted in a look of vulnerability that I’ve not once seen in her these few days of knowing her. She cares, deeply; that’s evident.
‘Thank you.’ Beatrice releases a quiet breath and returns to her glasses. ‘I’ll just get this place closed down and then I’ll take him home.’
‘Eddie?’ Jimmy’s voice greets me as soon as I open the bathroom door. ‘Is that you?’
‘Sure is,’ I reply with a smile and he sighs in relief. ‘Beatrice cleared the pub so no one will get to see you in your new outfit.’
‘Can you just …’ He gestures to the zip and smiles at me sadly. ‘Please?’
Soon, Jimmy is confident and decent enough to follow me out of the cramped loos.
‘All right, Jim?’ Beatrice’s look of concern is replaced by her friendly barmaid facade. ‘Shall we get you home? I am on my bike, I’m afraid, so unless you fancy a croggy, walking it is.’
‘Aye, that’s fine by me, duck.’ Jim smiles the first proper smile since his accident.
I suppose Beatrice can be warm and charming.
Who knew? ‘Cerys is going to lock up behind us, so you can head on back to your gran’s if you like.
’ She addresses me, then walks out of the door, chatting away, the tiredness still heavy in her eyes though she hides it well.
Jogging to catch up, I follow them down the road, until the pavement melts away and I soon find myself trudging up and over the potholes of the road.
‘Where are you going?’ Beatrice turns back to me, brows furrowed, when she notices my presence.
‘With you.’
‘It’s okay, I can manage alone,’ she insists. But the empty countryside is so thick with darkness that I can only just see the strands of her hair as they catch the light of the moon every other step.
‘I want to come,’ I say, still trailing behind them. ‘Plus, this is still technically my second day here and I don’t exactly know my way “home”.’
Without an excuse or a comeback, Beatrice is forced to let me join her, and we, plus Jimmy, walk wordlessly through the silent streets of New York.