Last Orders

(I did. He said twenty-eight years.)

I watched Amy lean back, without Ray leaning forward this time, and dip her hand again, briskly, into the bag and throw. You felt they both wished they hadn't stuck that bag between them. Then Amy picked up the bag and started crumpling it into a ball and brushing down her skirt as if she was about to stand up, and just before she did, Ray reached out and dasped her far shoulder, then shifted his hand to the back of her neck, the fingers reaching under her hair, just like they'd done into his own collar. As if he'd been meaning to do that all along, or something like it, but it was only her moving to get up and him not having another chance that pushed him to it. Then Amy hesitated for a bit, her head sort of wriggling against Ray's hand. Then she got up like she'd meant to, and Ray jumped up too like he was on a spring and they started walking back towards the car park.

I hunched down in my seat but I don't suppose they could see me, with the reflections on the windscreen, if they were looking anyway. It was like just for a moment they'd been two younger people and now they were two older people trying to act their age. It made them look funny. But I suppose if you were going to look funny, this was the place to do it. Amy dropped the balled-up paper bag into a litter bin and Ray flicked his fog-end a few feet in front of him and stepped on it. They walked separately, like people being careful to walk separately, as if they just happened to be on parallel courses.

I suppose it can happen a lot here. Visitors crossing paths. Time to spare, burdens to share. Regular lonely-hearts' club.

They passed maybe four or five car-widths to the left of me and this time I ducked right down, nose to the passenger seat, acting funny too. Then I lost them as they passed out of sight behind the back of the van. But I watched in the wing mirror, and I had a clear view of the main gate out of the side window. It's one thing about a van, you can see over the roof of a car next to you. I heard an engine start and a bit of reverse gear, then I saw the camper creeping out towards the gate, past the little 'Out/In' bollard with its arrows pointing. The turn to go back was left. The other way took you out of London: Ewell, Epsom, Leatherhead. I watched Ray brake, flash his indicator and turn right.

You shouldn't judge. What you learn in this business is to keep a secret.

Ray

I said I felt about as Lucky as I'd ever felt. Being Lucky.

So he said, smiling, he felt about as Jack as he'd ever been, or was ever going to be. About as sweet jack all.

Then he looked at me and I thought, just for a second, He aint saying it's down to me? Like when they first brought him in here, before the op, before he knew, and I felt everyone looking at me sort of special, like I was the man of the hour. Ray'll swing it, Ray'll fix it. All Jack needs is a dose of his old mate Raysy. And while we're at it, we'll take a bet on the surgeon doing a top-notch job.

I thought, It's a terrible burden having all this luck.

But he looks at me as if he can see how he's putting me on the spot, when it's not me who ought to feel on the spot, it's him. And he says, like he's shaking his head at what I'm thinking, 'I've come to terms, Raysy,' slow and firm. He says it again as if I haven't heard. 'I've come to terms. It's Amy I'm thinking of.'

Which makes me hold my eyes, wide open, on his as if I'm lost if I so much as blink.

He says, 'I've come to terms, but I aint squared up with Amy.' I look at him. I don't move an eyelid. 'I don't want to leave her in the lurch.'

I say, 'It's not your fault that you—'

He says, 'It's not that. I aint played straight with her.'

I look at him. He looks at me.

He says, It's money I'm talking about. We was all set up to buy that place in Margate, weren't we? Westgate. And the whole world thought this was cos Jack Dodds had finally seen the light and decided to start a new life. And everyone thought it was a crying shame that just when he did, he finds out there aint going to be no more life.'

I say, 'Including me, Jack.'

He says, 'Including you. Including Amy. Except what everyone don't know is I had to sell up or fold up. That's why I did it. What the whole world don't know is I took out a loan to save the shop five years ago, and it comes up in a month. Wouldn't have been no problem. I sell the shop, sell the house, buy a little bungalow in Margate, a little tinpot bungalow, and I scrape through on the difference, just about. Except now it's all off, aint it? All bets off, eh?'

He looks at me like I should know best.

I say, 'Why not've sold up five years ago and paid yourself what you went and borrowed?'

He says, 'Cos then I had to make a living, didn't I?'

I look at him.

He says, 'I'm a butcher, Raysy. That's what I am.'

I keep looking at him. It's him and it's not him. It's like he's been hiding. He says, 'It's something I aint got to do now, make a living.'

I say, 'So you never - saw no light?'

He says, 'No, Raysy.' I don't believe him. 'And no new life, eh? Not for me.'

He looks at me.

I say, 'How much?'

He says, 'Seven large ones when I took it on. Now they'll want nearer twenty.'

He sees me whistle silently.

He says, 'We're not talking bank managers. It was a special sort of a loan. A private loan.'

I say, 'Not Vince?'

And he laughs. He tips back his head and cackles so it hurts him and I find myself reaching for a paper bowl, I find myself looking at his call-nurse button. 'Vince?' he says, half choking. 'Vincey wouldn'tVe lent me money if I was dying, would he?'

I say, 'So who?'

He says, 'Vincey wouldn'tVe forked out for the shop, would he? He wanted me to sign on at the supermarket.'

'So who?'

'One of his mates, from the early days. One of his -business pals. Rough stuff, you understand.'

He looks at me like he's in for a scolding.

I say, 'You'd've been better off taking a long shot on a two-year-old. You'dVe been better off coming to Uncle Lucky.'

Even as I say it I see which way the wind's blowing.

He says, 'Would've been a big 'un, Raysy. Where would I have got the ante? But it's funny you mention that.'

He looks at me, starting to smile, so I nip in quick. I say, 'You told Amy about all this?'

He shakes his head.

I say, 'You going to?'

He says, 'That's a tricky one, aint it? What I'm hoping is I won't ever have to, there won't be no need. It's funny you mention her.'

He pokes with his finger at the empty paper bowl I've been holding all the while. He says, 'You look like you're begging, holding that.'

I put the bowl back where I got it.

He says, 'I don't know what she's going to do. I mean, when I'm— She might want to stay put. She might want to go ahead with that bungalow anyway. It aint kiboshed yet, it could still go through. Either way, I don't want no debt-collector knocking on her door. I don't want her finding out she's got twenty grand less than she thought she had.'

It's like he wants me to tell him the solution.

He says, "That's a nest-egg, aint it? Twenty grand. That's what they call a nest-egg.'

I say, 'So, for all she knows, it was just you seeing the light too. It was just you going for a new life. Glory hallelujah.'

He looks at me as if I'd know the answer to that too.

He says, 'Some things are best not known.'

I say, 'Why Margate?'

He says, 'I don't want to leave her in the lurch. I want to see her right.' And his eyes shut suddenly, the lids drop in that heavy way, as if it's more than he can do to keep them open, like he's nipped out for a moment without saying and left me guessing.