Bill and the UFO12

Rab, his denim collar turned up, as if he was hiding in his Wrangler jacket, slouched and leaned against the cool grey concrete shade of the Council huts smoking a fag.

Wendy crouched down in the oval patch of golden sand in front of him. Her hands traced lazy patterns, back and forth like the incoming tide. Her long black fringe covered her magpie eyes, which peeked out at the gamblers and the smokers, intertwined in the haze, coiled like a snakes around each other and at the money pot, which was incongruous among the bright colours, a worn out old man’s cap. Nothing changed in the card school. The faces; all the same, with faint traces of anguish, like fading copperplate, flickering and disappearing, needing another chance; the quick white hands creasing and snapping the cards and the litany of responses.

‘Fuck this.’
‘Fuck that.’
‘Fuck you!’

Wendy took it all in and wormed her way forward pushing through the outer circle of card watchers into the coterie of potential players without creating a ripple. The game varied. Sometimes, it was Three-card brag, but that was just the cards warming up and took too long. When there were lots of players it was the hard stuff: Pontoon. Whoever held the bank dealt, but the money pot could be ‘shot’. Kevie Poldosky, had been the dealer and banker for as long as she was there. She knelt, stiff legged, behind Martin Monaghan, a boy she knew vaguely from school, with longish hair curled up on his collar and enough dandruff to populate China, or gain Christmas work experience in Santa’s snow globe factory. Wendy watched the cards he played; which showed him to be one of life’s losers. In one hand of Pontoon he was the bidder and turned over an Ace as a first card. If he turned over a ten or face card then he’d 21, which could only be beaten by the Podolsky banker if he equalled it. When it was level pegging the rule was the banker won, but if the banker had 20 and Monaghan 21 then the latter won.

Bill was the only one of their group that wasn’t interested. He watched the cards fall for a while then waded upstream, mouthing to Wendy that he was going ‘ticklin’ for trout’. She didn’t bother looking up at him. Nor did she see him coming back. But she couldn’t fail to hear the high pitch, two stringed banjo of his voice, telling Summy about the one that Todger almost caught, but didn’t care about in the end, because he’d found two golf balls instead and they were new, or almost new.

Wendy groaned as Martin Monaghan's bid of 22p, was unlikely to put a new dealer in the chair. When he went bust trying to go for a five card trick, Wendy was in the inner sanctum of potential players. She made her move and crawled forward like sniper under fire. ‘I’m in.’ She eyed Kevin Poldolski, shuffling and boxing the cards as if he was on TV.

Podolski didn’t blink. When he practiced his card tricks, he practiced not blinking in the mirror; his malachite eyes staring back at himself. And his wide-boy shoulder swagger sometimes needed adjusting. When walking his left shoulder had a tendency to dart to the right, like a horse slipping off the reins, but it was worth the work, it added at least a foot to his five foot two inch frame. But this was wasted on Wendy, because he was lying down and she was sitting. There was a paying space to be filled. He shuffled the cards, which gave him time to think. He pronounced his verdict out of the side of his mouth. ‘No girls.’

Podolsky didn’t have anything against women in general. It was just that they were a distraction and he felt chivalrous. It was a man’s game. The term ‘eyes in the back of your head,’ didn’t cover it. Every face card held the glare of disapproval that it was going to be wasted. And it wasn’t just that. Fair play was for people that couldn’t cheat properly. Some of the players, like McGinly, tried packing the cards together and saying something like a nine of diamonds was a Jack and their total was 20 and not 19. Only the monster that appeared in Dr Who, covered in a cloak made out of human eyes, could see the amount of subterfuge going on. Cheating, as Podolsky knew, was like farting in company. Nobody admitted to it, and it was difficult to prove. Podolsky boxed the cards and looked through Wendy, waiting for somebody to take her place. ‘Ups a daisy.’ He had to finally say something. She looked like the kind of girl that also practiced not blinking in the mirror. And she didn’t look like she was moving.

Bill was in the shadow of the L shape between the garage and the hut and was talking to Todger, but his voice carried. ‘She’s no’ really a woman.’ He practiced his survival skills, moving his fingers back and forth, like frowns in the water, guddling for fresh air fish.

Wendy went picture postcard red.

‘What do you mean by that.’ There was a growl in Rab voice.

All eyes were on Bill.

Podolski thought about nicking a quick £1 note from the pot, but the memory of the monster in Dr Who stopped him. All eyes might have been on Bill, but that didn’t mean another eye wasn’t on him, and yet another on the money on the pot. The most annoying thing was he didn’t even like Dr Who, but only watched it because it frightened his wee sister, whom he liked even less.

Bill could see that they didn’t understand what he was trying to say. ‘A mean she’s no’ like a flesh and blood women.’

‘Shut it ya Mongo.’ Wendy blushed from the tips of her toes to her nose.

‘A don’t mean anything. You’re just one of the boys.’ Todger jumped up on Bill, but he had to push him away and make everything right. ‘But you’re not a boy of course.’ He tried one of his little laughs, but nobody joined in, apart from Summy who didn’t count. ‘You’ve got breasts.’ He was relieved that he’d got that bit out. Bill didn’t want the guys that didn’t know Wendy getting the wrong idea. ‘Although, of course, nobody has ever seen them.’

‘Just shut up.’ Rab let out a long sigh. He couldn’t stay mad at Bill. It was like staying mad at Todger. It didn’t make any difference.

Bill was breathless with his new idea and couldn’t get the words out quick enough. ‘Maybe if you dyed your hair. You’d be like one of those blond phantoms. Then everybody would know you’re a girl.’

Phil smaned. ‘What’s he talkin’ about now.’

Summy grinned back at him. ‘Nobody knows. But I think he means platinum blonde.’

‘Shut it. If a turnip face could talk it would sound just like you.’ Wendy was no longer interested in cards. She just wanted to die.

But Bill was on a roll. He needed to share his vision of Wendy and make things right. ‘The other thing is, you’re too thin. And that’s why you’ve no breasts. So you should eat more. With front teeth that size you’d expect to have a fair appetite.’

‘ffffin’ nuts,’ Summy held finger up to his head to indicate he was missing a screw.

‘With teeth like that you’d expect her to be a good singer.’ Phil was a bit shamefaced when he spoke; he felt a bit sorry for Wendy.

Summy didn’t care. ‘Those teeth have got a life of their own.’

‘You can’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’ Podolsky boxed the pack and laughed at his own joke.

Wendy scrambled to her feet. She didn’t know what to say. ‘At least I’ve not got a… nine of clubs and a three of hearts…a two of diamonds and a a king of diamonds… A seven of spades and a queen of hearts…’ The players in front of her quickly folded their cards into their chest but it was already too late.

‘Alright. Alright. You’re in.’ Podolsky expertly flicked two playing cards face down in front of Wendy.