Chapter 9 He’s A Rebel #2
“Thanks for telling me.” Mick finally broke the silence. “About Alistair. He sounds like a right prick, and you’re best shot of him.”
“Yeah, that’s true enough.” I took a drag of my ciggy and tapped off the ash in the ashtray. “I don’t know why I blathered on about my sordid past. It’s not like me at all.”
“I don’t mind. I’m glad you did. It’s nice to have another friend.”
“Have you not got many, then?” I asked.
“No, I’ve got more mates than a dalmatian's got spots. If I want a pint and get called a tosser, I’m sorted.
I’ve got my brother Pat, too. When it’s just us in the house, we sit down and put the world to rights.
We’re not a lot alike, and people think we don’t get along but we do–when we’re not working together.
We take the piss out of each other, and I hate how my dad is soft on him and hard on me, but we’re mates all the same. ”
He stubbed out his cigarette and carried on.
“And then there’s my closest friends.”
“Tommy and Eric.” I said, more as a statement than a question.
“Yeah, and the rest of the gang.”
“Gang?”
“Yeah, sounds a bit silly doesn’t it? But there’s this group of us that see each other all the time, and we just sort of exist as a unit.
A bit like a family. Sissy is the mum, loves us all dearly and keeps us in line.
Or tries to. I suppose that means Frank–her husband–is the dad.
Which makes sense when I think about it because he never helps Sissy sort us out and just encourages us to be silly.
Alan is like the cool uncle, and Davey is the weird uncle. ”
“That makes you, Tommy, and Eric, the naughty children?”
His eyes crinkled in laughter. “Yeah, that’s about right. Although me and Tommy are the naughty ones, and Eric is the good kid. And he’s new, so he’s like a step-brother or the kid from next door.”
“I think this metaphor is getting away from you,” I teased. I thought he’d laugh, but he was just staring into space.
“Tommy’s my best mate; I’ve known him since the day I was born.
Our mams were best mates and got pregnant at more or less the same time.
I was born two weeks after him, and we’ve not spent more than a couple of days apart since then.
Well, until a few months ago when he moved into his new gaff with Eric… ”
“And you feel like you’ve lost your best mate to him.”
“Yeah, sort of? I mean Eric’s a top bloke. He’d spend his last shilling buying you a drink. I’ve got all the time in the world for him, but I never see Tommy on my own anymore.
“And since the Frankies got married they’re not around as much, and I never see Frank on his own.
And Alan’s met a girl now too, so he’ll probably get married soon and have kids and stop seeing us all.
Then it’ll just be me and Davey. And don’t get me wrong, I love that boy like a brother, but there are only so many conversations I can have about Ford Cortinas, even if his did take part in a rescue mission… ”
I laughed. It sounded like there was a story there, but I didn’t think it was the right time to ask about it.
“So yeah, it’s nice to have someone else to talk to.”
“Yeah, for me too.” I smiled at him.
I desperately wished we could be more than friends, but I knew that would never happen.
Even if Mick did ever share my feelings, I didn’t think I could ever trust another person again.
Giving your heart to someone was a dangerous thing, because they could stomp on it at any time.
Just as well my feelings were unrequited, then.
Mick’s eyes darted around the pub, like he couldn’t find a place for them to settle.
“Why do all old pubs have the same pictures on the wall?” he said out of nowhere.
“Pardon?”
“Look.” He pointed to a faded painting in a chipped plaster-cast frame. “Bowl of fruit.” Then he pointed to another picture further along the wall. “Old fashioned seaside. They’re always the same, like they all came from the same shop. I bet I’ll find a picture of a woman in a big hat on a swing.”
I laughed and nodded to the very thing he described, over his shoulder. Twisting his head around, he found it and snorted.
“See? I told you. Always the same paintings, faded and worn. Why do they bother? Nobody pays them any attention. It’s like they’re there because they’re expected to be there. I don’t see the point.”
“I’ve never thought about it. A throwback to Victorian ideas of propriety, I imagine.”
“Well it’s daft. I bet there are loads of paintings sitting in attics or at the back of old shops that would look a lot nicer than this crap.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But I doubt the landlord gives a toss about the paintings. Like you say, they’re just there because they’ve always been there.”
“Be nice to see something a bit different though, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, it would. It’s always nice to look at beautiful things.
” I winked at him when I said it, and he went bright red.
I loved flirting with him; I loved flirting with anyone.
Doing it with Mick was skating a little too close to my real feelings, but it would be more obvious if I stopped.
Like the mass-produced cheap paintings–it was expected and would be missed if it were gone.
“I’d like to see more art, if I could.”
“You can. There are art galleries all over London.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, like I’ve got the time and money to waste traipsing around some posh building full of old paintings.”
“Most of them are free.”
“You what?”
“All the big art galleries and museums in London have had free entry since they opened.”
“You’re taking the piss!”
“No, not at all.”
“So any bloke off the street can just walk into, say, the National Gallery and just wander around?”
“Yep.”
“Nah. That can’t be true. You’re pulling my leg.”
“I am not. It’s the truth, and I’ll prove it to you. We can go to one.” I thought for a few seconds. “The Tate perhaps. I heard they’re doing a retrospective of Marcel Duchamp. He’s a bit harsh for my tastes but interesting nonetheless”
“I’ve no idea what any of that means, but a trip to a gallery sounds nice. As long as it is free and you’re not having me on.” He smiled like he was joking, but there was a hint of nervousness.
“Honestly, I’m not. When do you think you’ll have the time.”
“Oh, that’s a good point–I don’t know. I work Saturdays, until noon. I don’t suppose they’re open on Sundays?”
“I’m not sure, but I could find out. Do you have a telephone? I could give you a ring and arrange to meet.”
“Yeah, we do. My mam insisted on getting one when the family over the road got one installed. I’m not allowed to use it, but I could accept an incoming call.”
Hands trembling, I pulled out a pen from my inside pocket and scrambled around for a piece of paper.
I’d been trying to think of an excuse to ask for his phone number for ages, but nothing had come up.
I searched for something to write on, I wasn’t going to miss out on this chance.
Mick picked up the box of cigarettes on the table and ripped out a piece of the packaging.
He took the pen and scribbled down his number on the scrap of paper then handed it to me.
“Alright, I’ll give you a ring one evening next week. I’m on a party line, so be careful about what you say.” I placed the torn paper in my breast pocket, close to my heart.
“I’ll be on my best behaviour, scout’s honour.” He held up his three middle fingers and grinned at me. This overgrown boy scout was going to get me in a lot of trouble.