Lee Rourke - Vulgar Things

‘Pounds?’

‘Yes …’

‘I can help you.’

‘Can you?’

‘Yes, I can. Of course I can.’

‘I knew you would, I knew you would …’

She leans over, throwing her arms around me. She kisses me on the lips, pressing her body up against me. I stand there, gripping on to her waist, not sure if I can let go.

‘I can get you the money tomorrow … We can meet … On the pier …’

‘Yes, the pier …’

‘Where we first met …’

‘What?’

‘The pier …’

‘…’

‘The bell …’

‘… The bell, oh … yes, the bell …’

‘Meet me by the bell at 3 p.m. tomorrow …’

‘The bell, 3 p.m., yes …’

‘I’ll give you the cash.’

‘Yes, the cash, oh the cash. Yes, you give me the cash tomorrow …’

‘I’ll follow you, I’ll come after you, after you are home and safe …’

‘Yes, when I’m settled …’

Her hands are all over me, grabbing me, squeezing me. She’s breathing heavily.

‘Yes.’

‘We have to go, you have to go, we can’t be seen together …’

‘Yes, okay …’

I walk out of the cubicle and out into the bar. She follows me a couple of seconds later. I push through the group of lads again, ignoring them, staring down at my feet. When I look back up I notice the men from the black Mercedes at the door. They’ve already spotted me and are looking over. The man from the passenger seat begins to grin.

‘You’ve got to go …’

‘…’

‘They’ve seen us … You’ve got to go …’

‘…’

‘Say nothing.’

it all happens quickly

I’m shaking. I walk over to the door. The man is still grinning at me. He blocks my path. He stops grinning.

‘What she say to you?’

‘…’

‘What you doing here with her?’

‘…’

‘Why you here with her?’

‘Let me through. I need to get through. I’ll call the bouncers …’

‘No good.’

‘Please … I haven’t done anything wrong.’

I try to push past him, but he grabs hold of my arm and pushes me up against the wall. The bouncers at the door look away, talking among themselves.

‘What you fucking say?’

‘I didn’t say anything … Honest …’

‘What she fucking tell you?’

‘Nothing … Nothing … Honest.’

‘What you fucking doing here?’

‘I was asking for a bar job …’

‘A bar job? … A bar job?’

They all begin to laugh. He lets go of me. I walk to the counter for my stick. The woman hands it over without looking at me. I do my best to remain calm. When I turn around the men are all facing me, blocking my exit again. One of them tries to grab my stick, but I pull it away just in time. Then the man who pinned me up against the wall throws a punch at me, I think, and I thrust the stick in his face at the same time. It all happens quickly. He falls to the floor, screaming in a language I don’t understand, blood pouring from his eye. I swing the stick around like a lunatic. I can feel the heavier end hitting things, but I don’t know what, heads, limbs, walls, I haven’t a clue. I don’t hang around to find out, either. I push through the bodies, frantically swirling and jabbing my stick at anything that moves or is in my way. Just as I step out onto the pavement, something hits the back of my head, probably a bottle. It causes me to stumble onto the road, my rucksack swinging around my neck. I stumble to my feet and run as quickly as I can up Lucy Road, past the clubs and burger vans and up towards Rossi’s ice-cream factory and the back of the Palace Hotel. I don’t look back, but I know they’re all running after me.

just the silence

I turn right through the car park, onto Herbert Grove, past the dilapidated row of guest houses and then left onto Chancellor Road. Just before I turn again I look back; they aren’t far behind, a huddled mass heading towards me, two or three of them running at high speed. I figure the others must be in the black Mercedes somewhere, so I decide to get off the road. I turn left and dive into the cemetery at St John the Baptist Church. I’m suddenly enveloped in blackness, I feel at home and soon my eyes grow accustomed to the change in light. I weave along the path, gravestones and sarcophagi all around me. I run into the corner and hide behind a huge grave displaying a bust of a bearded, bespectacled man. I lie down in the long, wet grass behind him. I act like I’m dead, clutching my stick to my chest as tightly as I can, trying to slow down my breathing, directing it down into the earth.

I can hear their footsteps behind the crumbling wall separating the cemetery from Chancellor Road. I hear them enter the cemetery; they’re out of breath, wheezing, talking to each other, then shouting and arguing. They stick to the path — I can hear their footsteps on the gravel, heading through the cemetery, out towards the other exit by the Palace Hotel. I wait. Dead in the blackness of night. Waiting for however long it takes to convince myself they’ve gone. I sit up in the grass, the large bust above me. For some reason I look up at him and thank him. I’m sopping wet all through. I pull the slugs from my arms and legs, wipe down my back and front and walk on to the path to find a bench to sit down. I sit on the hard bench until it feels like my clothes have dried out, although I know they haven’t. I get up, convinced it’s safe enough to venture out of the cemetery.

I walk out the same way I entered, onto Chancellor Road. It’s deathly quiet, empty and cold. I walk up towards the Royals Shopping Centre and then take a left, following the road around to the High Street, turning left again to head back down to the seafront and the Palace Hotel. I stand at Pier Hill beneath the Palace Hotel, staring out at the pier, just visible within the blackness of the estuary. I take out my phone to capture an image of it, but I remember the battery has gone and put it back in my pocket. It must be late, maybe around 3 a.m. or something like that. I look up into the sky just as the clouds break around the moon, and my first instinct is to get back to Uncle Rey’s caravan, to look through his telescope, just to see if Saturn has returned, but the trains will all have stopped by now. Silence, that’s all I have. I listen, I wait, hoping to hear it out there: that rumble, that low grumbling of a cargo ship’s engines, reverberating underneath the water all the way to my feet: but nothing, just the silence, and the moon, and no way of knowing if Saturn is up there, hanging, waiting for my gaze. I turn around and walk up the hill to the reception doors of the hotel. I’ve still got money in my pockets.

we understand that, sir

A young lady and a grey-haired man are sitting behind the reception when I walk through the sliding doors. I walk towards them. It doesn’t occur to me that I’m clearly drunk and sopping wet, grass-stained and mucky from the stint next to the grave.

‘I need a single room, just for tonight.’

‘…’

‘Please …’

‘We’re, I’m sure we’re … let me see … yes, we’re fully booked I’m afraid, sir.’

‘Well, I’ll have a double room, then?’

‘…’

‘A double room, for tonight only …’

‘Okay, right, sir … I’m afraid we are fully booked …’

‘What …’

‘Yes, he’s right, we’re fully booked.’

‘What about a family room?’

‘We’re fully booked, sir.’

‘Oh … I get it, right, I’m sorry … yes, I’m a mess … Sorry, I’m locked out of my house … I have money, I’m good for the money … look … seriously, just look … I was in here earlier, drinking in the terrace bar …’