Chapter Ten #2
Her invitation catches me by surprise. Am I? On the one hand I don’t want to be within a snooker cue of Spike Hargreaves, but on the other hand Cat seems really lovely and a game of pool does sound like fun . . .
‘Yeah, sure. That sounds great.’ I smile, tipsily. ‘Um, but there’s just one thing. About Spike—’
‘Don’t worry, I understand,’ she interrupts, her face suddenly serious. ‘I won’t let on I know. I can be very discreet when I want to be.’ And before I’ve got a chance to explain, she links her arm through mine and begins steering me towards the pool table.
Four games later I’ve eaten my first ever packet of pork scratchings – which I thought were going to be gross, then I tasted one and discovered they were gross, but also delicious – learned that Cat loves Lee, the Killers and Topshop (that’s the second time I’ve heard about this place.
Like Stella, she referred to it in a hushed, reverential voice) and finished my pint of cider.
Which in total means I’ve polished off one and a half pints and I’m feeling quite drunk.
Or, as Cat taught me they say here in England, pissed.
But it doesn’t matter, as I’m actually playing really well.
Funny, as for the last three shots I haven’t even been able to focus on the ball without getting double vision, but it’s not a problem as I’ve worked out a really easy way to fix that. I just close one eye. Clever, huh?
Screwing up one eye, I watch Cat, who’s zipping around the table, potting ball after ball with alarming skill and ease. At the moment we’re winning – girls against boys.
‘Whoo-hoo, you go, girl,’ I cheer, raising my empty pint glass. ‘Get ’em by the balls.’
Oh, my God. That’s so funny, isn’t it? Balls. Pool. Men. I suddenly get the giggles.
‘Hey, come on, Cat,’ whines Lee, pretending to beg as she goes to pot our last ball. ‘Have mercy on us.’
‘Oi, speak for yourself,’ grumbles Spike, looking over at me with this really sour expression as if he’s just sucked on a lemon. I don’t know why but it makes me giggle even harder. ‘We don’t need any favours.’
‘I think we do, mate,’ smiles Lee good-naturedly. ‘Cat’s a pub champion.’
‘True, but she’s got a disadvantage,’ says Spike pointedly.
‘Oh, is that a sporting term?’ I ask curiously. Grinning, I direct my question at Lee, who, like Cat, is totally adorable. I mean, really. I just love these guys. They’re such a sweet couple. In fact, I think I’m going to invite them to stay with me in New York.
‘Um, no,’ replies Lee awkwardly. He throws Spike a look.
‘But then I don’t understand . . .’
I trail off. Oh, I get it. I’m the disadvantage.
‘Bugger. Missed it,’ gasps Cat, grabbing everyone’s attention before I’ve got time to come back with a crushing put-down for Spike. Because I’m sure I’d think of one, it’s just it’s escaping me right now.
We all look at the table, just in time to see our last ball gliding past the pocket in the far corner and gently tapping the side, where it comes to a halt.
‘Bad luck, ladies,’ tuts Spike. ‘You were so near.’
‘And yet so far,’ finishes a grinning Lee. Ducking a playful punch from Cat, he looks at Spike. ‘So, who’s gonna show them how it’s done?’
Shrugging, Spike puts down his cue.
Thank God.
‘Leave it to me, mate.’ He winks.
We all wait as Spike begins circling the table, working out his next shot. Back and forth he goes, leaning across the table from one side, then from the other until, finally satisfied, he stands upright and begins making a big show of rubbing chalk onto his cue.
Oh, please. And this from a man who’s so far managed to pot just three balls. Two of which were ours.
‘For Christsakes, just get on with it,’ I can’t help muttering under my breath.
At least I thought I muttered it, but it must have come out a bit louder as Spike looks up and shoots me daggers.
Oooh. Grumpy.
Looking away, I catch Cat’s eye, who throws me a ‘secret smile’, as if to say, ‘Aw, look at you two, pretending to argue.’ I pull a face and try shaking my head to show her she’s got completely the wrong idea, but she just grins all hippy-dippily and wraps her arms drunkenly round Lee.
For a wistful moment I watch them, all coupled up and happy, and I get a sense of hope that maybe there are some decent guys out there, then I glance back at the table. About to take his shot, Spike is leaning across the table, revealing his underwear.
An image of the stranger I met this afternoon in the museum suddenly pops into my head. I bet his jeans wouldn’t be so saggy they’d reveal his underwear. Actually, he wouldn’t wear jeans, he wore smart trousers.
I watch Spike sliding the cue through his fingers.
He has bitten fingernails. I hate bitten fingernails.
That’s one thing I really remember about the guy in the museum. He had lovely hands, with long fingers like a piano player. In fact, I know I’m supposed to be off men, but this guy was different. There was something really – how can I put it? – dignified about him.
Unlike Spike, who lets out a loud belch.
Oh, gross! Honestly, the man really is a slob, I think, letting out a burp. Oops, excuse me. This cider is making me a bit gassy.
‘Uggghhh.’ Grunting, Spike hits the white, misses his ball and instead pots the black.
‘Oh, shit, mate,’ gasps Lee, but his voice is drowned out by Cat, who erupts like a shrieking volcano and rushes over to me.
‘Yippee, we’ve won, we’ve won!’
‘Put it there,’ I hear myself exclaiming, high-fiving Cat.
She laughs delightedly. ‘Oooh, I love how you Americans do that.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I laugh back, though to be honest I don’t really, as I never high-five anyone – in fact, I don’t know what just possessed me to high-five Cat.
‘I think that deserves a drink,’ laughs Cat. ‘Your round, boys.’
At that moment a bell sounds twice. How odd. I thought I heard a bell five minutes ago.
‘Sorry, that’s the end of last orders,’ grins Lee. ‘You weren’t quick enough.’ Then, seeing my puzzled expression, explains, ‘That means closing time.’
‘Awww,’ groans Cat, her face falling. ‘Well, we’ll have to do this again sometime.’
‘Definitely.’ Honestly, it’s amazing, I’ve only known Lee and Cat a few hours, but I’m feeling quite emotional. I’ve even got the hiccups.
I glance over to the bar, where Maeve and Ernie are engrossed in conversation, their heads bent low, their bodies turned towards one another.
You’d have to be blind not to read the body language, and as I catch Maeve’s eye her face flushes like a teenager on a first date.
Aww, would you look at that? They look so cute together.
Gesturing for her to wait for me, I turn back to Cat and Lee and launch into a round of hugs and goodbyes and the promise of keeping in touch, until we’re eventually broken up by the barman, who appears to collect our glasses.
‘There you go,’ I hiccup, passing him my empty one. Stumbling to my feet, I turn unsteadily to leave when I notice that Spike’s pint is still half-full.
‘Couldn’t finish that, huh?’ I hear myself slurring. God, I really am a lot more drunk than I thought. Still, I don’t think he noticed.
‘Nope,’ he replies, not looking at me as he hands his cider to the barman.
I feel a hot flush of satisfaction. This is so great. First I beat him at pool, then I drink more than him. That’ll show him!
‘’Fraid I’m a complete wuss when it comes to alcohol. Never could stand the hangovers.’ He grins smugly.
Huh? What? I hiccup loudly and put my hand up to my head, which is beginning to throb.
‘Make sure you drink lots of water,’ he chortles.
And with that he’s walking away across the pub and I’m left behind with a bad case of the hiccups and the woozy feeling that I’ve just been had.