Lee Rourke - Vulgar Things

It’s way too much to think about right now anyway, so I banish these thoughts from my mind and concentrate on the sound of my stick click click click clicking with each of my steps. Its rhythm soothes me. I feel like I’m making progress once again. It doesn’t take me long to reach Uncle Tom’s Cabin at the end of the beach at Thorpe Bay; an ugly little building dwarfed by a recently built sea wall that obscures any chance of a view out into the mouth of the estuary.

if you want anything

The café’s empty. I sit at a table by the window, with a view of the sea wall. I take comfort in knowing it’s keeping the estuary and its surging currents away from me, keeping it all ‘out there’ where only the container ships, oil tankers and the odd Thames sailing barge can take it on. Inside the café everything is still. In here there are no currents to contend with. I order a full English breakfast and a large mug of tea. I mix some white pepper into it, something I haven’t done for a long time, remembering how I like the peppery aftertaste.

When the breakfast arrives it’s huge. I take my time eating it. My stomach welcomes each forkful gladly, and I can feel the blood returning to my veins under my skin. Before I know it I’m contemplating a short walk out to Shoeburyness to see the old Second World War anti-aircraft gun casements. I haven’t seen the gun casements since I was a child. I want to know how much things have changed out there, if at all.

Just as I’m contemplating the sheer immensity of the concrete gun emplacements, the power that used to be fixed in position there, the door to the café opens, sending white light across the floor. I nearly jump out of my skin. A large, bearded man enters the café, who looks the spitting image of Mr Buchanan, so much so that I have to convince myself more than once that it definitely isn’t him. As I dip some of my buttered toast into the yolk of my fried egg, I watch him. The resemblance is uncanny. The man orders a mug of coffee and gammon and chips, then walks over and sits down at the table directly next to mine. Almost immediately his mobile phone begins to ring. The tune is tinny, but familiar. I soon realise, just in time, that it’s a Dr Feelgood track. I’m not sure which one, but I’m convinced it’s the first track I’d listened to in Uncle Rey’s caravan that first night. It’s the same geometric guitar riff.

‘What?’

[…]

‘What’s that got to do with me?’

[…]

‘He should have done it.’

[…]

‘Well, that’s not my problem, is it?’

[…]

‘When?’

[…]

‘Fuck off, did he?’

[…]

‘When?’

[…]

‘You’re joking, what’s he on?’

[…]

‘It’s not the first time.’

[…]

‘Listen, I’ve told you before. One phone call and I’ve got fifteen of Bethnal Green’s finest to sort his lot out. Seriously, if he thinks he can just come down here and fuck around like he has been, then on his fat head be it … the cunt.’

[…]

‘It’s not my problem … But … I … I know … Listen, if he wants one, tell him he’s got one.’

[…]

‘I don’t care.’

[…]

‘I couldn’t give a flying fuck.’

[…]

‘No.’

[…]

‘No.’

[…]

‘Listen, fuck off, what part of “no” don’t you understand? He’s fucking trouble, a fucking nuisance …’

[…]

‘No. I’ve told you.’

[…]

‘Fuck off.’

[…]

‘Fuck off.’

He slams his phone down on the table and takes a large gulp from his coffee, which makes me flinch — it must be scalding, but it doesn’t seem to affect him. He looks around the café for some time, until his gaze finally settles on me. I look away immediately, hoping he will too.

‘Never nice to hear, is it?’

‘Pardon?’

‘A phone call like that, when you hear a phone call like that … Never nice to hear, is it?’

‘Oh, that, oh, I wasn’t listening …’

‘Well, I was loud enough to hear. So I apologise for that. Never nice. Never nice at all, that.’

‘No, really, it isn’t a problem.’

‘Just come in here for some peace and quiet, I bet.’

‘No, well, yes … no, not really.’

‘Always good to escape, isn’t it?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You look like you’re in hiding …’

‘I don’t know what you mean …’

‘You, in here … away from all that … you look like you’ve had enough, that’s what I mean.’

‘Oh, well … I was just out for a stroll … I was hungry …’

‘Long … stroll …’

‘Pardon?’

‘I’ve been behind you all the way, from Royal Terrace, all the way to here … Long stroll.’

‘Yes, oh, well, I like walking … I prefer it to driving.’

‘Is that why you have that big stick?’

‘I suppose so …’

‘Can come in handy a stick like that, eh?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s hefty … you could do a man some damage with a stick like that …’

‘I use it for walking …’

‘Always useful, just in case …’

‘Yes. I suppose …’

I tuck into my black pudding and then look at stuff, nothing in particular, on my phone. I don’t feel like talking to him and I hope he gets the message. He continues to stare at me while he chews on large chunks of gammon.

‘I think I need a stick like that.’

‘I bought it on Canvey.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘Well, people like walking sticks, I guess.’

‘I saw you before Royal Terrace, actually …’

‘Oh …’

‘Yeah, near York Road …’

‘Oh …’

‘You were asleep, I think … flat out on the grass.’

‘Was I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure it was me, I mean …’

‘I never forget a face.’

‘Oh …’

‘You waiting for someone?’

‘Now?’

‘No, on York Road.’

‘No … No … Just having a rest.’

‘You want weed, brown, coke?’

‘Pardon?’

‘What do you need? … A woman … man?’

‘No, no, no … None of that, that’s not why … No, I’m not into any of that.’

‘You sure?’

‘No … Thanks … Really …’

‘All right.’

He stuffs more gammon into his mouth, like he’s in a rush to leave, but he isn’t and I realise that this is just the way he eats his food. Chips and gammon, the bits that miss his mouth, fall back onto his plate and the table, which doesn’t seem to bother him, as he just picks up the bits, stuffing them into his mouth with his hand.

‘If you ever need anything I can always be found, I’m always knocking around … York Road, out here by the wall … get a lot of men out here, wanting certain things … You know what I mean … You just give me a shout next time you see me, if you want anything … You only have to ask.’

‘Oh, right … yes.’

I eat my food as quickly as possible. I swig down my peppery tea and take my empty plate to the man behind the counter. I give him the money and he takes it without smiling. I’m not sure he heard our conversation. I think about saying something to him about it but I think better of it as the man eating the gammon is staring at me again. I wave goodbye as he gives me a wink.

ejected and abandoned

I head along the sea wall towards the garrison, towards the Second World War gun casements. It’s an eerie place out here. The sky stretched out, like I’m walking into it, and the sea over the wall is almost black in the distance.

I walk around the first of many gun casements: a smattering of thick-walled, concrete structures that still seem to maintain a sense of permanence and importance. I peer inside where the huge guns used to be, hurling shells out into the estuary. It’s quiet and it’s hard to imagine how loud the guns must have been. Now it’s bathed in silence it doesn’t seem right, although I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, the silence, as odd as it may seem, is comforting.