Vince says, 'Not me, Raysy,' holding up a flat palm, all strict. 'Unless you want to find another driver. You could get me a coffee. And a half-corona.'
Lenny looks at Vince like he's going to give a mock salute. He says, And I'll have a knickerbocker glory.'
It's always the third drink with Lenny.
I order the drinks and ferry over the pints and Vic's whisky.
Vie says, 'Just as well Amy didn't come, she wouldn't have planned on a piss-up.'
Lenny says, 'Is that whisky or tea you're drinking there then, Viccy?' He slurps some beer. 'Jack wouldn't begrudge us.' Then he says, 'All the same.'
Vince says, 'All the same what?'
Lenny says, 'He'd've appreciated it if his missis had carried out requirements.'
I say, 'That's been settled. We're doing it for her.'
They all look at me as if they're expecting a speech.
I glug some beer.
The barmaid brings over Vince's coffee. He looks up and says, smiling, 'Old ones are the worst, eh gorgeous?'
' "For" aint the point,' Lenny says. ' "For" don't apply. Some things is direct. None of us is next of kin, is we? None of us is close relative. Even Vincey aint close relative.' And he looks at Vince like he wouldn't look if he hadn't had three pints of heavy. Vince is lighting his cigar. 'Even Big Boy here aint next of kin, is he? Vincey here aint got no more claim to be here than any of us, have you, Big Boy? Specially as, if you ask me, there wasn't no love lost in any case, not till Jack was on his last legs. There wasn't ever no love lost, was there?' Lenny's face is all knotted up.
Vince puffs on his cigar. He doesn't look at Lenny. He pours the milk from the plastic thingummy into his coffee, then he tears the sugar sachet and tips out the sugar, slow and careful, concentrating, stirring all the while with his free hand. It's like he doesn't intend talking to any of us again.
Lenny opens his mouth, as if there's more to come, but something sort of clicks shut in his throat. 'I've got to take a leak an' all,' he says. He gets up, sudden, looking around like he's dizzy. I jerk my thumb in the direction he should take.
Vie says, 'I was wondering—'
You can trust Vie to do his peace-keeping act.
Lenny slouches to the Gents. I wonder if he's going to do some blubbing too.
Vince shakes the sachet even though it's empty, then screws it up. He looks up. 'What was you wondering, Vie?' He smiles, calm and polite, and sips his coffee.
'I was wondering, as we're close, if we could pop over to Chatham and see the memorial. I've never—'
Vince looks at Vie. He raises his eyebrows slightly, he puffs his cigar. Vic's face is serious and steady. You can't ever tell with Vie.
'Don't see why not,' Vince says. 'Do you, Raysy?' He could be chairing a committee. He gives a quick glance to me then back again to Vie. It's like he's forgotten all about Lenny. 'If a man in your line don't get enough of memorials.' He smiles, then wipes off the smile quick, as if it wasn't anything to smile over. 'That's why we're here, aint we? To remember the dead.'
'It means a detour,' Vie says.
Vince blows out smoke, thinking. 'We can do detours.'
Lenny comes back from the Gents. His face looks like it's been having a fight with itself, like it don't know what expression it should wear.
He says, 'My round, aint it? Same again, Vie? Ray? Vince? Another coffee? Something to go with it?'
I reckon Lenny'll need to do better than that.
Vince glances up quick at Lenny but he don't say nothing. He puffs his cigar, eyes narrowed, then he takes the stub from his mouth, there's still a few puffs left, and crushes it in the ashtray. He says, 'I don't know about you, Lenny, but I'm here to take something to Margate, that's what we're all here to do. And Vie here would like us to pay a little extra call on the way, which I aint against, considering. We're here to remember the dead.' He looks at his watch. 'Gone two fifteen. Now if you want to stay here drinking all afternoon' - he sweeps his gaze round the table as if we're all suddenly included in some plot against him, it's not just Lenny -'that's your business. But I'm going to the car right now and I'm driving to Margate. If you don't want to come too, you better find out where the station is.'
He takes a last sip of coffee. Then he gets up, unhurried, putting on his coat, rolling his shoulders so the cloth sits, tugging at the lapels. Then he walks out, not looking back, the door swinging to behind him. When Vince was a nipper his hero was Gary Cooper.
We look at each other, not moving, though it's plain we don't have no choice.
Vie gets up first, then I get up.
Lenny says, 'Tosshead,' under his breath, not moving.
Vie says, 'You shouldn't judge.'
Then we notice the plastic bag, Rochester Food Fayre, lying on the seat and it's as though a new spark comes into Lenny's face, there's a new look in his eye. He picks up the bag and grabs his coat. He's the first of us to reach the door, though he pauses for a moment in front of it, waiting, as if he's thought for a moment that Vince might be about to step back in. Then he pushes it open and we follow.
Vince is walking back the way we came. The high street looks like a model. He isn't looking back but it doesn't seem like he's keen to make too much ground. We follow him, Lenny scuttling on ahead with the bag.
'Hey, Big Boy!'
Vince don't look back but his pace quickens and he hitches himself up a peg.
'Hey, Big Boy!' Lenny's moving at a fair old lick, you wouldn't think it. 'You forgot something, didn't you? You forgot something!'
Then it's as though Vince's shoulders sag just as quickly as they perked up and though he keeps on walking it's as if he can't make no more headway, as if his leg's tied to the end of a rope. He don't look round, like his neck's stuck. Then Lenny catches up with him and Vince turns his head slowly like someone else is having to wrench it round for him.
'Forgot this, didn't you? Forgot your coffee. You might think you can do without us but you'd look a bloody fool going to Margate without this.'
Ray
He says, 'If it wasn't for my mate Lucky there.'
It's that dark-haired nurse, the tasty one, Nurse Kelly. She's come to change his drip. She holds the glucose pack like it's something you throw in a game. Here, catch this. She has this gleam in her eye like she's used to warding off remarks.
He pulls the bed-shirt back over his shoulder where he's shown her the old scar. He says, (I aint ever introduced you proper to my mate Lucky, have I?'
She shoots me a smile.
'We calls him Lucky but his real name's Ray. Ray Johnson.'
She says, 'Hello Ray, hello Lucky. I've seen you around.'
'Hear that, Ray? And, Ray, this is Joy. Joy Kelly.'
It's like we're in his home and we're his guests.
'Joy by name and Joy by nature.'
She smiles, like she hasn't heard it a hundred times before.
'Me and Raysy go back donkey's, before you was a twinkle. Fighting Rommel. Lucky here saved my life, more than once.'
'Aint true,' I say. 'Other way round.'
'Owe my life to Lucky,' he says.
She reaches up to change the drip.
'We calls him Lucky because he's lucky to be with, and on account of if you want to put a bet on, he's your man.'
She hangs up the new drip.
'It's like me and Ray have got this bet on that them's stockings you're wearing, not tights.'
She don't say nothing, fiddling with the drip. Then she says, 'That'd be telling, wouldn't it?'
'Wasn't telling I was thinking of.'
'How are your pillows? Want propping?'
She leans over him again and he says, 'You must get some suggestions, working in this place,' as though he hasn't just made one.