Magnificent Joe (5 page)

‘I didn't ask her what her name
was.'

‘Does it matter?'

Jim shrugged again.

‘She wouldn't have told you her real name anyway.'

‘Right.'

‘Look, do you want this job or
not?'

‘Aye. All right, then.'

‘That's the spirit. Let's get you home and get you drunk.'

Jim slept badly and his dreams were weird. They jolted him awake in the early hours and he couldn't sleep again. He'd get up and clean, read, smoke, do press-ups – anything to clear his head – and in the morning he went to
work.

Work was where he lost himself. Work and drinking after work. Jim took to it. He wasn't skilled like Barry or Geoff, but he was strong and reliable, and he could handle the labour. Barry was the leader now. He bullied and cajoled the other two and usually got his own way. Geoff and Jim just got on with the job. Now and again, Jim would catch Barry watching him as he humped buckets of mortar or swept up. Barry looked satisfied. Jim didn't care anymore.

Out in the village, Jim kept his head down and tried to ignore the human shapes that flickered in his peripheral vision. Even so, he couldn't help finding himself face to face with people he used to know. Geoff's family looked right through him; they blamed him for getting ‘their boy' involved in all that ‘nastiness'. His old neighbours smiled sadly. Barry's big brother, Martin, gave him one solemn nod and never acknowledged him again. It was always hate or pity, and Jim didn't want either. One day in the pub, though, Mac's dad said, ‘Welcome home, son.' Jim accepted a
pint.

Old school friends were the worst: they asked Jim questions, but he didn't want to talk about any of it. Some of them had good jobs, a few were starting families, and one or two had even been to university. Sometimes when they talked to him, Jim felt anger welling like hot vomit in his throat and he had to turn on his heel and walk away before a fight happened. Eventually, he shaved his head and then fewer people recognized him. And that was better.

When he talked to his probation officer, Jim smiled nicely and told him everything was going
well.

That summer, Jim passed his driving test and bought an old car. He opened his UK road atlas and looked at the country. It was all made of places that he'd never visited. He thought about going somewhere, Scotland maybe. He planned a route and he could imagine himself driving it, but after that all he could see were the things that might go wrong. Truth was, he had no idea where to start. No idea how to find rooms, or campsites, or any of the other things he would have to arrange. Christ, he'd barely managed to arrange furniture for the house: one dining table, two dining chairs, and a sagging armchair were the best he could do. Upstairs, he was still sleeping on a mattress on the floor. His mother would have called the place ‘a bloody shambles' and told him to pull his socks
up.

Worst of all, if he went away, he would be alone. Alone in all those places where everyone else would be together. Jim closed the atlas and went out for a
walk.

—

Later, Jim was walking across the park when he saw a familiar figure coming his way. Jim stopped and smiled. The surprise of smiling made him smile even more. At first, the man didn't see Jim, because he was staring at the ground. The day was warm – Jim was in his shirtsleeves – but the man was wearing a duffel coat, buttoned up all the way. He still hadn't seen Jim, but then he looked up and stopped too. They faced each other for a few seconds.

‘Joe!'

‘Howdy, partner.'

‘“Howdy, partner”? It's been years! How are you?' Jim felt a bizarre urge to hug Joe, but fought it and put his hands in his pockets for good measure.

‘I'm magnificent.'

‘I'm glad to hear it. Have you been hiding? I haven't seen you at
all.'

‘No. I've seen you. You didn't notice
me.'

‘Shit. I'm sorry, Joe. I've had my blinkers
on.'

‘Your what?'

‘Since I got out. Eyes front. I only see in corridors.'

‘But we're in the park.'

Jim laughed. ‘Yeah, we're in the park. So how's your mam getting on? Are you still up at that house?'

‘Aye. She says it's falling down around our ears.'

‘It can't be that
bad.'

Joe looked at his toes. ‘I'm going back now. Do you want to come for a cup of
tea?'

Jim scratched the back of his head and sighed. ‘I don't think your mam would be glad to see me,
Joe.'

‘She won't mind.'

‘Another time maybe.'

‘Suit yourself. See you later, alligator.'

Jim watched Joe shuffle away, across the park and down the road. He hadn't changed a bit. ‘Daft bugger,' Jim muttered to himself, but he was still smiling.

—

One Friday night shortly afterwards, Geoff, Jim, and Barry went out together. It was one of their ‘big nights'. Usually they just went to the Admiral, but now and again they went into town and did a proper bar crawl. They caught a bus – nobody wanted to be the driver – and sat on the top deck. Jim looked out of the window and watched fields and villages trundle past as the other two chatted. He was nervous. Going out like this always made him feel anxious; all those people chatting and dancing and flirting and he had no idea at all how to join in. It was ridiculous; he was with
Geoff and Barry
. They were the same age. They'd grown up together. Jim had known the pair of them for longer than he could remember: he should feel comfortable in a pub with these men. They should be mates, out having fun together, but Jim felt like the Tin Man. Some clanking monstrosity. He thought he looked foolish to everyone, and warmed up only after a few drinks. Then he enjoyed himself, until oblivion set
in.

Barry poked him. ‘Brighten up, Jim. You'll pull no birds with that face
on.'

Jim wished for a tart comeback but just said, ‘Don't worry about
me.'

‘Aye,' said Geoff. ‘Tonight'll be your lucky night. Finally.'

‘Piss off,' said
Jim.

The other two laughed at
him.

When they eventually arrived, they found that the pubs were full way beyond the usual Friday-night crowds. Barry identified the problem immediately.

‘Fucking students,' he
said.

‘They'll have finished their finals,' said Jim. ‘It's that time of year.'

‘They're a bunch of cunts at any time of year.'

Jim went to the bar and found it at least four deep for its entire length. It was only eight o'clock and the floor was already slippy with spilled drink. He was crammed in with a group of girls in tiny skirts. He winced as his elbows unavoidably collided with their tits, but they didn't even notice. He smiled at one of them and she smiled back. Then she turned away, but it was better than a kick in the balls and it gave him a kind of
hope.

He bought bottled beer, because there was no way he'd get back to the others with pints intact. As he turned away from the bar, though, one of the girls stepped into him and knocked the bottles out of his hands. They hit the floor, rebounded like skittles, and sent up a triple fountain of foam. The girl danced out of the way, but Jim caught a jet of beer all up the leg of his jeans.

‘Sorry,' she mouthed, with outspread hands.

Jim just looked at her. He had nothing to say; he was still in the blank, calm time before emotions respond to events. She slipped away and he lost sight of her in the crowd. It was the same girl who'd smiled at him earlier.

‘How, watch what you're doing. You've fucking soaked me.' Some lad, shouting in Jim's ear. Jim gave the lad a brief glance and without thinking about it reached out and shoved him off his
feet.

Geoff appeared beside Jim, linked arms with him, and steered him towards the exit. ‘Let's go somewhere else. It's too busy in here anyway.'

They emerged onto the pavement under the summer evening sun and Barry was already there, waiting. Jim looked at his jeans and said, ‘I'm all
wet.'

‘Let's get some tinnies and sit in the park for a while. You'll soon dry off,' said Geoff.

Barry marched off ahead of them, setting the pace, eager to get out of the area. Geoff walked next to Jim and said, ‘You need to settle down, mate. You can't keep doing things like that.'

Jim ground his teeth. ‘Fuck that. You saw that bloke. He was looking to start something.'

‘You have to let these things go,
Jim.'

Jim turned and stopped right in front of Geoff. ‘Look at this.' He pointed to the scar bisecting his eyebrow. ‘This is what you get when you don't stand up for yourself. It was my first week inside and someone had a point to prove. I was so scared I just stood there and let him do it. I never let it happen again, and I'm not going to start
now.'

‘It's different out here. You're not in prison anymore, and I don't want to see you go back there. You need to leave all that stuff behind.'

Jim stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground.

‘Come on, Jim. It's over
now.'

‘Thanks. I'll bear that in mind.'

—

Later that evening, they'd all had a lot to drink, and they were in a club. Jim leaned against the bar and watched as Geoff danced self-consciously. He was trying to bump 'n' grind with the girls, most of whom looked horrified and quickly left his vicinity. Eventually, he found a fat bird who didn't mind his attentions and soon they were frotting in a corner.

Barry was propped up next to Jim, insensible with drink. He still had a pint gripped in his hand and looked like he was trying to climb into the glass headfirst.

‘It always ends up like this,' Jim muttered to himself. He thought glumly of the cost of the taxi home, and decided to drink more to take the edge off it. Then he became dimly aware of a tugging at his sleeve.

Jim looked round and blinked, trying to focus on the face in front of him. He was drunker than he had thought.

‘Hello. It's me.' It was a girl. She was shouting to be heard over the music.

‘What?' Jim leaned into her so that they were ear to mouth. She smelled of perfume and vodka.

‘I spilled your drinks. I'm sorry.'

Jim squinted at her. He recognized her now and tried to smile. She tried to smile back. She was supporting herself with one hand against the bar. ‘It's all right,' he yelled. ‘I'm dry
now.'

She motioned towards the dance floor and took him by the
hand.

—

Later, Jim would be unable to remember how they got to her house or even what her name was. He woke up at dawn, huddled in a bus stop, with a vague sense that something unpleasant had happened. There was vomit on his jeans that he knew wasn't his own. He looked at the timetable; he could get a bus
home.

When the bus arrived, the driver looked at Jim sceptically. ‘Rough night?'

Jim just paid and went and lay down on the back seat. There was hardly anyone else aboard, and the thrum of the engines lulled him back into a drunken
doze.

When he got home, he went straight for a piss and saw himself in the bathroom mirror. There was a mark under his eye. Not quite a bruise, but something or someone had definitely hit him there. Then he remembered the girl throwing him out of the
flat.

‘Fuck,' he said, and sat down on the toilet seat. Had they had sex? They must have. Mustn't they? He remembered seeing her naked. He'd said something funny about her nipples and she'd laughed. But then later, she was angry with him, and Jim couldn't fit the two scenes together. Somehow he'd screwed it
up.

‘Fuck,' he
said.

—

That Monday morning, Barry and Geoff picked up Jim from the corner as usual. He climbed into the van and sat silently, knowing what was coming. It was Geoff who said
it.

‘Are you seeing her again?'

‘No.'

They drove on for a few minutes.

‘Never mind,' said Barry. ‘It's better to have loved and lost than to live with the stupid cunt for the rest of your life. Take it from me: I know.'

Jim told him nothing.

—

That night, Jim was ejected from sleep at about 3 a.m. He stumbled downstairs into the kitchen and smoked at the table, drinking instant coffee. He felt unco-ordinated and numb. His hands shook and it was hard to roll cigarettes. He got tobacco everywhere. He felt like shit, and he couldn't think of a single good thing.

‘There's got to be more than this,' he said out
loud.

—

In the morning, he didn't go to work, but got dressed and walked through the village and along the lane to Joe's house. Jim hadn't been there for years, but the route came automatically to
him.

When he arrived, he went round the back and stopped as he walked into the yard. There was a car there. He recognized it, but it used to be serviceable and parked at the front to be driven occasionally – and inexpertly – by Mrs Joe. Now it was up on blocks and the dark, dry stain on the cobbles said all its oil had long leaked away. There was no one here to maintain it, thought Jim. The last person to do any work on it was probably his own father. Jim slipped past it and knocked on the back door. He felt like someone forcing themselves to step out into space.

She answered after a while. To Jim, she'd always looked old. Now she looked a bit older than that. She peered at him over the rims of her specs.

‘He told me you were back,' she
said.

‘He says the place is falling down around your ears.'

Mrs Joe sighed. ‘You'd better come
in.'