Magnus Mills - All Quiet on the Orient Express

“Why not?” I asked.

“You just wouldn’t,” he replied. “You’re the wrong type of person.”

Marco had a very unfortunate way of putting things, but all the same I realized that if we were going to have to share then I might as well try and be friendly. For this reason I asked him if he fancied coming with me to the Packhorse.

“What, and spend the evening with ‘ye yokels’?” he said. “No thanks.”

“Actually, they’re a good crowd,” I remarked. “They’re going to put me on the darts team.”

“Lucky you.”

“We’re playing the Journeyman tonight.”

Marco leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “Oh the excitement!” he said. “I can hardly bear it!”

“So you don’t want to come then?” I asked.

“No,” he replied. “I think I might go and see if young Gail wants to come out to play.”

I didn’t like the sound of this, but I was hardly in a position to do anything about it. Instead, I had a bath and got ready to go out. As I did so I thought about Bryan, Kenneth, Maurice, Tony and the rest of them, and wondered if they’d appreciate being referred to as ‘yokels’.

When I got to the Packhorse I saw that someone had been busy getting ready for Christmas. In a half-barrel outside the door stood a tree decorated with tinsel, while bright fairy lights shone at all the windows. Down in the bottom bar the mood was similarly Jolly. The home team practised with their darts, drank beer and waited for the visitors to arrive. I ordered a pint from Tony and then went and spoke to Bryan, who was giving the scoreboard a wipe with a damp cloth. His crown was on his head as usual, but in the festive surroundings it no longer looked out of place.

“Evening, Bryan,” I said. “You’re looking very seasonal all of a sudden.”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” he replied. “Tell you what, though, it’s been a hell of a year in between.”

A few moments passed as the meaning of his words sunk in.

“Have you been wearing it for a whole year then?” I asked.

“Course I have,” he said. “That’s the bet.”

“What bet?”

“The one I’ve got with Tommy.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t know anything about a bet.”

Bryan gave me a surprised look.

“But you must have heard,” he said. “It’s public knowledge round here. Tommy bet me I wouldn’t wear my crown from one Christmas to the next.”

“Oh,” I said, smiling. “I see.”

“And I bet him he’d never find a use for all that green paint he bought.”

“Well, there was rather a lot of it,” I remarked.

“Yes,” said Bryan. “I thought I was on to a winner until you turned up.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“What difference did I make?”

“You saved Tommy’s bacon, didn’t you?” he said. “Once you got going on those boats I didn’t stand a chance.”

There was a flurry of movement around the door, and a new group joined the throng. It was the team from the Journeyman, and as they bustled in Bryan went over to greet them. Trying not to think about what he’d just said, I got some darts and took a few practice shots at the board. As I did so I realized that there was no sign of Lesley. For some reason she was late, and I assumed she would be arriving shortly. In the meantime, the two sides were drawn up, and preparations made for the first game. Only then did I discover that I hadn’t been selected.

“We’ve decided you’re not quite ready yet,” explained Tony. “But don’t worry, it’s only a matter of time.”

“So I’ll get on the team eventually, will I?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “Eventually.”

From beneath the counter he then produced a number of cardboard crowns, all folded flat. “Do me a favour and hand these round, will you?”

The crowns were made to the same pattern as Bryan’s. I passed amongst the players giving them out, and kept one for myself. It was gold, with three prongs. Bryan chose a new silver one to replace the old one on his head.

“Might as well be comfortable,” he remarked with a grin.

I didn’t enjoy the evening very much, despite having being given a yuletide crown to wear. I watched the darts without any sense of involvement, and as one game followed another it gradually dawned on me that Lesley wasn’t going to turn up. When I went for another beer I asked Tony if he knew where she was.

“Oh, we won’t be seeing her for a good while,” he replied. “She’s gone off on her travels.”

“Has she?”

“Yes,” he said. “Decided there was more to life than playing darts every night. She’s gone overseas, I think.” He handed me my pint. “By the way, this one’s paid for, courtesy of your boss.”

For the first time I realized that Tommy Parker was present in the Packhorse. Glancing through to the top bar I saw him standing with the landlord and his cronies. He gave me a nod and I raised my glass in thanks. It felt like a consolation prize.

♦

Sometime later a cheer went up, signalling that the home side had won the match. As hands were shaken and darts put away, I spoke to Tony about paying off my slate. He took a notebook from beside the till and studied it for a few moments.

“Right,” he said. “Forty-one pounds and ninepence I make it. Call it forty for luck.”

“Oh…OK,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to pay your darts subs while we’re at it?”

This turned out to be another tenner, and apparently covered the cost of the sandwiches which I’d always assumed were free. By the time I’d sought out Kenneth and Bryan, and paid what I owed them, I had less than ten quid left. I thought about my outstanding debt with Hodge and realized that, despite all my hard work, I was more or less skint. Not until I went round collecting the milk money would I have any cash again, and that’d have to wait until after Christmas.

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” said Bryan. “My Uncle Rupert sends his regards.”

“Does he?” I replied. “Er, right…thanks.”

“Very impressed with how early you’re delivering his milk.”

“Is he one of my customers then?”

“Of course he is,” Bryan grinned. “You know his place. Out at Wainskill. Got a rocking horse on the garden gate.”

A bell rang.

It was last orders at the Packhorse, but as usual no one took the slightest bit of notice. The darts team had won yet another victory, and they were now in celebratory mood. As a result, I was the only person actually to leave at closing time. I slipped out of the door and walked across the square past the Ring of Bells. Through the window I could see the gloomy minority seated round the bar. Everything seemed to be the same as it always had been. Then I headed home in the darkness, still wearing my pretend crown.

When I arrived back at Hillhouse I noticed that the light was on in the hay-loft. It was well past Gail’s bedtime, but I guessed she must have been up there with Marco all evening.

Entering the bothy I contemplated the untidiness he’d created. His clothes and bedding were lying all over the place, and on the table were unwashed cups and plates. I looked in my biscuit tin and found that it was completely empty. Even the plain digestives had gone. I was too tired to clear up now, so I went straight to bed and fell asleep immediately.

Some time later Marco came back, making no attempt to be quiet. He fiddled about for ages with his bag, taking stuff out and putting it back in again, until he heard me stir.

“Oh, you’re awake are you?” he said.

“No,” I replied.

“Enjoy the match?”

“It was alright.”

I heard him light a cigarette, and then he said, “I’ve been getting a bit of practice in myself.”