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1988: Fine Time
By the evening we were slaughtered again. The beach bar
we were in was packed with toasted yobs, and apparently
Daithi wasn’t happy, offering the occasional hint such as
prolonged bouts of weeping, shouting, and falling on the
floor. I knew how he felt; my scalp was sunburnt and tender
as hell. The more drunk we became, the more Daithi’s antics
became amusing. The booze was cheap and the general mood
so light that Tony was even allowed to make jokes about it all
being ‘Balearics’.
“I’m hungry,” complained Daithi.
The restaurant was in a small cove away from the main
drag, fishing boats within spitting distance of our quayside
table. Yellow lights swayed merrily above the thatched
canopy and a light wind eased away the last of the day’s heat
to make it fresh and clean for the morning.
Becky took my hand; for a second I’d been somewhere
else. Closing my eyes I gently tasted her olive oil fingers,
then kissed my way up her bare brown arm like a cartoon
French skunk to her taramasalata mouth. Tony and Hermione
stopped arguing about vegetarianism for a moment and
whistled, and even Daithi went “woooh.” We hadn’t really
shown our affections before; Herm looked wryly amused as
she lit a fag.
“Leave it out!”
“Pass the bucket!”
A waiter brought Tony’s lobster, sat on the plastic bottom
of its bucket with a gloomy aspect, as was its right. Tony was
winding Hermione up, smacking his lips and saying “mmm!”,
and Herm fell for it as usual. Becky looked offput and took
another look at the menu.
“Maybe I’ll go for the fish,” she said faintly.
“Coward,” replied Tony.
“No I’m not! I just don’t know if I’d like lobster. It doesn’t
look like it’s got much meat on its bones.”
“Lobsters don’t have bones,” I reminded her, “they’re
crustaceans.”
“I don’t know where the hell you get these useless bits of
information, Joe. Didn’t you say you left school at fourteen?”
I looked uneasily at Tony, who smiled knowingly.
“Fourteen-ish.”
“Following a torrid affair with your geography teacher.”
Tony laughed. “Really, Joe? I didn’t know you and
Melville were so close.”
“Oh fuck off,” I said through gritted teeth. “Are we having
this lobster or what?”
“Well, I am,” said Tony, “Can’t wait to sink me teeth into
the bastard.”
“Might be better if they cook it first,” I suggested, “bit hard
on the teeth old boy.”
“Do you know how they cook it?” said Hermione, lighting
a fag and looking witheringly from under her cap. Tony
shrugged. Hermione told him. Tony seemed crestfallen.
“You’re kidding.”
He looked into the bucket where the lobster waited
patiently, only its claws making any movement. “Poor little
bastard. Fights all its life on the floor of the sea then we come
along and boil it alive.”
“That’s life, I suppose,” said Hermione. She looked at
Daithi, who looked tearful again, and tried to change the
subject. “Would you like chips, Daithi?”
He shrugged miserably; I swigged San Miguel, warm and
flat; Tony looked green; Becky looked out to sea with that
infuriating wan-ness; Hermione stubbed out her fag
impatiently. “Well, I’m having calamari and salad, what’re
you all having?”
I looked round at the other tables, which were mostly
empty. The three aproned waiters at the kitchen door smoked
and joked. “Not many here, are there? Where’s all the fucking
waiters?”
“Language, Timothy,” reproached Tony, looking at Daithi.
He leaned over. “Know what we should do, Daithi?” Daithi
shrugged. “We should liberate the lobster. Why don’t we just
chuck it back into the sea and run for it?” Daithi giggled.
Tony looked at me. “What do you say?” I smiled. He
looked at Hermione, who nodded seriously, and at Becky,
who lit a fag and shrugged. She didn’t believe him, even
when he looked round for the waiters and picked up the
bucket.
“Ready?” said Tony. I picked up Daithi, Herm grabbed his
pushchair handles. Tony tipped the bucket into the sea and we
ran, shouts behind us fading beneath our laughter.
(ENDS)
*This is an extract of “Fire Horses” byM L Piggott.
“Fire Horses”: synopsis and quotes
“Fire Horses”: buy it here
ine Time (w Order)