Spirit On The Slab

I ordered a lemonade for her which she didn’t drink immediately, and a beer for myself which she did. It should have been her round but she kept a reclusive purse – one of her shortcomings – whereas I possessed a sociable wallet. One of mine.
Is that too much detail for you?
OK.
Having downed my pint, she reached across the table and necked her lemonade, a drink which I had not unfairly assumed would pass into my possession following the defection of my beer to her throat. I watched her drink and then heard her complain that it wasn’t diet and there was too much ice. There was always too much ice. She demanded another lemonade, diet and iceless, so I told her to cool down while I sought some sanity at the bar. I should have known she had something else on her mind.

*** ***

I’m going to be really straight with you because I know you know I’m involved in all this, so I’ve nothing left to hide have I? I’ll take what‘s coming.
I was drinking his beer which I hated and smoking his fags which I loved. I wanted to get the evening over with. I wanted it to be next week so that the events of that night were a history I’d had time to come to terms with. You know what I mean? I knew the plan. Of course I knew the plan. I’d planned the fucking plan. All I had to do was to keep him there until closing.

*** ***

I held a tenner over the bar and the remarkably bald barman served me immediately, a novelty for a townie like me, but obviously a regular thing out there in the sticks. I ordered another lemonade, which he wisely delivered in swift silence. It was only when he placed the glass in front of me that I realised I’d forgotten to request no ice and it wasn’t diet. It was never diet. I knew that would annoy her, so I ordered myself a couple of bottles of beer to numb the pain. Maybe that was the spark or the final straw, I don’t know which.
I never used to drink beer, not when we first met anyway. Bad for the job, beer. I think that’s what attracted her to me initially, the fact that I didn’t drink beer like all the other blokes she’d been with. Shorts. That’s what I was into and that’s what she was into. She liked me to drink them and wear them.
But that night, all I knew was she had something on her mind and the sight of ice and the sweet taste might help her get it off her mind. I think that’s why she’d wanted to go there. That pub. Neutral ground. Ground where she could get angry with me if she wanted, storm out on me if she desired, without the fear of whispers and looks on the high street the following day.
I myself would have preferred to discuss our problems over a civil dinner in a local restaurant rather than a beer and an icy sweet lemonade in a crude pub miles from home ground – but she was determined. It had to be this pub. I think she’d been there before, with one of her exes and I was surprised she wanted to go back. It’s the kind of pub the guides would say had ‘character’.
She’d insisted that I parked my car as far as possible from the tavern, even though there were plenty of spaces nearer. I thought, or rather hoped she was planning some of that back-seat business we hadn’t done for some time, and wanted the privacy of the shadows and the distance. So I parked under the overhang of an old oak that had seen a few inches of flesh in its time no doubt and looked forward until later.
When we got inside, I ordered, I paid and she drank and she smoked and I tried to talk.
I remember saying, Nice pub. I wonder how old it is.
It wasn’t and I didn’t and I knew it was a crass thing to say but someone had to say something. She nodded vacantly and stared over my shoulder into the middle distance like she always did when she wanted to show me how piss...sorry, how fed up she was with me. She sat facing the bar, her back to the window. She’d insisted on our seating arrangements. I knew how much she liked to watch other people so I didn’t mind, but I did mind having only her miserable face and a window that could have looked out into a black hole as my view.

*** ***

Watching him standing at the bar had made me angry. With myself as well as him. I used to be proud when I looked at him, proud to be seen out with him, but I could see too much of his scalp now, his shoulders had lost their symmetry, and his midriff had gained one. His once tight arse was sagging in those greying blue denim jeans that he seemed to wear every time we went out. Every time. I don’t ... didn’t like any of the clothes he wore or how he wore them. It was as if he didn’t care how he looked, while I always make the effort, as you can see.
Anyways, he came over with the new drinks and I heard my lemonade was still packed with ice and I knew before I tasted it that it wouldn’t be diet. It was then that I knew I was doing the right thing, bringing him here.
Could I have one of them fags please? Ta.
He’d also bought two bottles of beer for himself because he’s trying to make a point and maybe he thinks I’ll find it funny.
Light?
So he lined them both up in front of him, the beers, like they were a couple of toy soldiers. I tell you, he was more protective of them beers that night than he’d ever been of me, even during the good times. But that’s men for you. Sorry. Most men.
Then he tried to break the silence with pointless comments about what a good choice of pub I’d made, when I could see he hated it.
Christ these are weak. You trying to kid yourself you’re giving up? Got any with any nicotine in ‘em?
Well, my thinking’s always been if you haven’t got anything interesting to say, keep it shut. You know what I mean? I was desperately trying to find something to interest me, and I was really regretting arriving so early. We still had another hour to kill. I could see the other punters at the bar, there was about four or five of them. Five was it? Of course, you’ve met them all now haven’t you?
Well, I was hoping none of them was planning on having a late night.

*** ***

With little to talk to and less to look at, I started thinking that the pub was the kind of place where you could get away with an all-night lock-in. That’s where the landlord...oh! You know what a lock-in is. OK.
I was thinking it would be just my luck to experience the first lock-in of my life on a night when I’m driving. So I’m wanting to get out of there as soon as I can, to avoid temptation. Out of there and into the back of the car if that’s what she had in mind, or off home to bed if she didn’t.
I was waiting for her to shatter the ice and tell me what was on her mind but she swilled her thoughts around in her glass, letting them dilute with the ice. I wasn’t going to ask her what was up. I’m not one for firing the first shot. So I started peeling beer bottle labels in lieu of conversation and because I knew it annoyed her.
We said the odd thing to each other, nothing memorable, that’s why I’ve forgotten, though we went over to the jukebox a couple of times and wasted money on songs we could have heard at home for free.
She even went to the bar once, with my wallet of course and somehow we managed to stay until closing even though I suggested several times before that we should leave, but she insisted we stay until the end. I asked her if she had something special planned and she looked at me funny.

*** ***

I was certain I’d be sick before eleven I was drinking and thinking so much. I was filling the ash trays with the fear of the consequences quicker than the funky but bald barman could empty them. Nice looking bloke he was. You’ve met him, ain’t you? What do you reckon?
I dunno. You blokes. You’re all the same. Always shy about admitting another man’s handsome, ain’t you?
Anyways, I stared at him every time he came over, hoping to exchange a smile, hoping that the joke sitting opposite me could see I still had it in me, but the barman must have been gay. Shame really. You can see I’ve still got it in me though, can’t you?
Anyways, I was trying to act normal but we’d run out of things to say, me and him. We’d lost the ability to interest each other, at least he’d lost the ability to interest me. I think my body still interests, interested him, but he’s a man. Like you. I’ve seen you looking, both of you. And him by the door. Don’t worry. I’m used to it. 36 double D. Not implants neither.
Can I have another fag? One of them real ones. Ta.
See, things had gone a bit stale on my side of the bed. I was looking for a change and I’m not the sort of girl who has to look for long. Changes come looking for me if you know what I mean. But he’d never let go. He’d make it difficult just like the last one did. There’d be lawyers, deals, courtrooms, and false tears. I’m thinking I’m not going through all that again. I got lucky with the last one. I’m not going to risk it all on this one. He’s not going to get his hands on any of it. Over my dead body. And when he asked me if I had anything special planned I nearly lost it. I thought I’d been rumbled. Honest to God I did. I thought the bastard had been stringing me along all night and knew what I had planned for him. But when he smiled I knew he didn’t have a clue. That’s when I got the thrill in my stomach that told me it was going to happen.
*** ***

Closing time found her reeling and me moaning about what a wasted night it had been. I thought we’d come to talk things out, not fill ashtrays and peel labels. She told me to shut up. She never liked being reminded how much she’d smoked.
By now I was spinning around the legal driving limit and I suggested we hang around to see if there was a lock-in so that I could use the extra time to soak up a bit more alcohol, but she insisted.
I had to help her to her feet after she’d stood up a bit too quickly and fallen down even quicker. She had a bit of a track record for falling over when she was piss... sorry, I forget where I am, drunk, and she’d dragged me down with her a couple of times before now. We’d both laughed at the time but both complained about our backs in the morning. I followed her through a pair of swing doors and down a corridor which shouldn't have led to the car park and didn’t. Having accepted the correct directions from the landlord, who was really nice, given that we’d managed to find our way into one of his private rooms, I apologised. She giggled.

*** ***

I regretted the distance I’d told him to park from the the pub. It was cold and I couldn’t walk properly. I needed his support and he gave it willingly. And some. We stopped just as we got outside and he got me in a suffocating hug that I was too drunk to get out of. He was still a big bloke you know. Upper body anyway. Never too big downstairs if you catch my drift. I don’t think many men like that are, are they? Well, you three are bound to agree looking at the state of you.
Anyways, he said he still loved me and he didn’t want to lose me and he groped my arse and he tried to tongue me. I could feel his limp pecs against me. I pulled away. I told him to wait until we got in the car. Knowing that we wouldn’t.

*** ***

The fresh air hit me and made me all loved-up. She was there with me and I wanted to touch her, her to touch me. She got all sweet and vulnerable when she was drunk. She was drunk when we first met, her and her mates, but she was the one I fancied. She was the best of the lot. I could see her dancing at the front, looking up at us. I’m not sure if I was her first choice, but the other guys in the act were all sorted at the time whereas I’d just ended it with someone.
I wanted to hold her and show her what she still meant to me. But she wanted to get in the car. I was all for that. We got to the car pretty quickly I can tell you. But as I was about to undo one of the back doors I looked over and saw that the front passenger window had been smashed.

That was unexpected but I recognised the signs. Do something that would allow them to catch him off his guard. He soon forgot about groping me when he saw what they’d done to his beloved car. Effing and blinding he was. Flexing his soft muscles. Threatening to take on all-comers. Then, when he realised no one was about he yelled at me to get in the car.
I told him – I’m not sitting on that glass. I said it loudly, hoping that would be the cue.
Nothing.
He strode round my side of the car and made a poor attempt to sweep the shards from the seat onto the floor, but he cut himself. That was the cue.

A shard of glass sliced into my forefinger. It didn’t hurt at first and I thought maybe I hadn’t cut myself as badly as I thought I had because there was no blood. But then it came. Big time. I’ve never liked the sight of blood, mine or anyone else’s. I swore, I cursed. I might have blasphemed. If I did, I’m sorry.
Then it happened.
I was ambushed from the bushes. I thought it was a game at first, a case of mistaken identity at second, and for real at third. I think there were two of them, and I think one had a baseball bat.

I’d expected three but not the cricket bat. Someone must have bottled it. I’d expected them to follow my plan, not turn up tooled up and beat the living daylights out of him in front of me. I thought they’d show more respect for my feelings than that. Obviously they weren’t sure if they could do him over without weapons. He was still a big bloke like I said. Upper body. But that cricket bat did for...
What? Oh, it was a baseball bat was it? Baseball bat, cricket bat, what does it matter? They both hurt the same.
I wanted them to give him more of a verbal kind of warning, you know, shit him up a bit with talk of violence. But they ignored the plan. They weren’t there to talk. I think he scared them, the size of him I mean and cr... baseball bats aren’t great for conversations are they?
And after the first crack to the back of his bonce the conversation was always going to be a bit one sided. He didn’t stand a chance, the poor sod. He fell like a ton of. Then they laid into him. Good and proper. They hardly made a sound, though. That’s the spooky thing about it. It was all so quiet, like someone had turned the sound down. I didn't know what to do.

A few years ago I reckon I could have handled the both of them. But they were fairly big lads and like I said one had a baseball bat or something. I didn’t feel it. No, that’s not strictly true. I felt the first one to the back of my head. But after that... I don’t care how big you are, how often you used to work out. You go down.
I must have screamed at her to help or go and get some, but it wasn’t until it had stopped hurting that I saw her. Standing. Watching.

I didn’t like to look at what they were doing but it was fascinating. Amateurs at work. Animals around prey. Once you get a taste for it... They dragged what was left of him into the bushes and yelled at me to go and wait in the car. This was not the time for regrets but I had them. Big time. I didn’t realise it would be so brutal. They were amateurs. Even I could see that. But they were cheap. Cheap thugs who got the job done even though they didn't do it properly. And when they were done with him, he didn’t look like him anymore. They legged it and joined me in the car and we wheelspun our way out of there, thinking we’d gotten away with it, hoping we’d made it look like I was being kidnapped, but they were amateurs, officer. You get what you pay for, don’t you?
Got another fag?
Ta.

I saw her watching but she couldn't see me watching. I saw them going to town on me out there in the country and she watched. The blood. God, the blood. I’ll never forget their faces. I’ll never forget her face, the....
Forgive and forget? Forget to forgive I say. If you’d have seen what they were doing to me...
Christ.
Sorry.
I saw them dragging a body into the bushes. Then they ran back to the car she was in and sped off, with her still watching like I meant nothing to her, like I was a piece of meat. Then the bald barman rushed out, straight over to the bushes. Like he knew where to look. Like he must have seen it all.
He took one look and then turned his head away, towards me. He looked straight at me. I must have been sitting on the roof of another car, and he saw me. The bald barman saw me, and looked at me straight in the eye. Then I remember hearing a noise, someone screaming and that must have startled me, because I started getting higher, the bald barman started getting further away. A couple of others had joined him, looking at the body, then looking away, covering their eyes, covering their mouths with their handkerchiefs, but he was the only one still looking at me. Then there were some blue lights, then there was you.
Are you going to let me in?