Norman nodded, breaking off from what he had been speaking about.
Alison smiled. She said: I think it’s good you showing this new-found resolution Mister Doyle.
Patrick did not look in her direction for several seconds. When he did he chuckled.
Alison had her bag in hand and was arising from her seat. Maybe she would float straight up with a pair of angel wings flapping. He shook his head, grinning; returned his empty glass to the table although there again the glass could hardly be described as empty with all the dregs of tomato it contained. He stood up alongside Norman. They followed her to the car, Patrick waiting until both were inside; he shut the passenger door, strolled round to the driver’s side.
When he eased off the handbrake he was not going to the arts centre. He turned to inform Alison but she was listening to Norman who was telling her something Mister Mills had said. Mister Mills was the second headmaster, otherwise known as MI6. Once more it was pretty boring stuff but probably he should have taken note of what was being said if only for the sake of future reference to do with social obligations in a freemarket economy, but he had the road to watch, being the driver and all that ergo having to take care not to crash the fucking machine. And it appeared as though Norman, the soon-to-be-erstwhile, was no longer even pretending to seek his attention. He was now swivelled sideways on the seat, actually straining to see into her eyes it looked like. And him being married as well, was his marital state satisfactory? did he have children? sitting here chatting away with Mirs Houston in this fashion. It was strange how married folk aye seemed to rush headlong at each other. Here you had millions of single people all crowding out the gravitational waves and all anybody was interested in was another married person. It was actually unfair. Daft as it may sound, it was unfair. I’m not going to bother going, he said, glancing sideways as the car approached a junction. He glanced to the other side then to the first side once again.
Neither of the pair answered until the vehicle’s path had been manoeuvered safely onto the main road. You’re not going to bother going? said Alison.
The arts centre I mean, I’m no going.
O Pat.
Nah it’s just all the faces christ you know what I’m talking about, ye see them all week and then at the weekend you’re supposed to meet them all again during the leisure time. Sometimes I find it hard. Desmond and them, Mrs Bryson.
Mrs Bryson just goes home on Friday evenings.
Ah but Desmond’ll be there and so will Diana and Joe Cairns.
Alison didn’t respond. Patrick glanced into the rearview mirror: she was peering out the window.
Joe Cairns, said Norman eventually, that’s the science teacher?
He’s a science teacher no the science teacher, there’s thousands of the bastards.
Yeh but is he no the one that played football?
That’s correct.
Stirling Albion?
Mmhh.
God sake! said Norman.
At one time there was talk of him moving to Manchester United.
What!!
Was there? asked Alison. Honestly?
Well right enough maybe it was Scunthorpe United. Patrick laughed for a moment. Naw, he said, it was Carlisle United. But they were up in the Second Division at the time.
Norman made a whistling noise. Wait till I tell my boys!
Ach he was good, said Patrick, I actually mind reading his name in the English papers a couple of times. You’ll see for yourself when the pupils v. staff comes round. It makes ye sick so it does — we all try to kick his ankles never mind the fucking opposition!
The drive continued in silence for some time. Alison said, Why are you not going Pat? You did say you were.
I know. I’m sorry. But look, I just dont want to eh get too tempted with the booze — because what it ends up doing, it ends up making me spend too much time doing things that’re totally ludicrous, things that’re totally stupid and absurd. Plus my brain’s dying.
Patrick could see Norman frowning at that — then he nodded and looked like he was wanting to add something he considered very pertinent but was holding himself back in case it could be construed as presumptuous. And then he glanced over his shoulder at Alison as if in the hope she would say it for him. But she didni. She had been listening to Patrick but she made no comment. When Patrick looked at her in the rearview mirror she smiled at him and he acted as though he took her smiling for granted, continuing on to say: I mean here I go as usual, meeting people in the arts centre for a pint and christ almighty I hate the place, the whole atmosphere of it. And let’s face it, some of the folk! Okay I absolve Joe but you’ve still got Diana, she goes on and on and on about her own subject. That’s all she ever talks about, her own subject. Who the fuck’s interested! Christ sake we could all go on about our own subjects.
What is it she teaches? Norman asked.
History, replied Alison.
That’s the lassie with the blonde hair?
Yes, said Alison.
Any special period?
I think the First World War.
No kidding ye, said Patrick, sometimes I used to go staggering home moroculous drunk from such nights. Can you imagine it! Unbelievable. Getting drunk and bored like that at the same time for god sake it’s almost like a logical contradiction I mean ye wouldni think it was possible.
He swung the wheel too abruptly and apologised once the corner had been turned. That’s me gabbing too much instead of trying to concentrate on the road. Yous two talk.
But neither did.
Okay? said Pat.
Alison said, Is that it definite then, you’re not going?
Nah. Yous two go. I’ll still drive yous but.
Another silence. It was obviously difficult for them; perhaps especially so for Norman because he didnt really know Pat, so this sort of carry on must have been a mystery. He was probably thinking along the lines of:
Is this the true state of affairs? Or is it all a ploy to get rid of me so’s he can be alone with Alison?
And the guy couldni be blamed for thinking that. It was partly true anyway. In fact Patrick had gone in a huff, from that moment he eased off the handbrake back when leaving the pub. Its cause could be traced directly to Norman who should have had the gumption to appreciate Patrick was wanting to be on his tod with Alison. He was a brother man. Brother men should appreciate such things.
They do appreciate such things. They just sometimes are obliged to shove a spoke into your wheel. Sour grapes or something. And there was also a certain look on Norman’s face occasionally, as of a person secretly enjoying the havoc s/he is wreaking. It was a bit reminiscent of Wringhim in old Hogg’s novel. Norman would have to watch himself: one of the dangers inherent to the teaching racket is starting to act out the character parts of the topics you get paid to encounter.
The silence had been breached. Alison asked Norman a question concerning families. He replied. Gradually Norman attempted to involve Patrick by glancing at him and smiling. Patrick smiled back at him. In the rearview mirror he saw that Alison was also smiling at him. So perhaps a question had been asked him. A traffic light on the amber; he accelerated to get across. No polis motors. This was a bad corner. The bastards had a habit of hiding in the vicinity. One time they had stopped him under the pretext of examining a faulty tail-light but obviously they had wanted a look inside the vehicle and to see whether they should bring out the breathalyser. Wee John and Elizabeth — his nephew and niece — had been in the back. He had been taking them to the pictures as part of a babysitting night, a Walt Disney film.