In which the village’s new found honesty comes into play.
As they reached the last building at the top of the hill, Mark wondered why on earth anyone would open a chandler’s shop at the furthest point from the fishing boats. It didn’t surprise him; this place was about as twisted as you could find.
‘So, how we going to do it?’ Billy asked, stopping near the shop.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Course you do, you’re smart.’
‘Am I?’
‘You’re from London. You’ve got to be clever. You went to school, right?’
‘Yeah,’ Mark agreed, ‘I did. And I ain’t always had that accent.’ He found himself slipping back into the voice of his childhood. ‘But I ain’t sure what you want me to say, nor do, come to that.’ He felt happier in his real voice and realised that he had been hiding from his past for too long. He was a lad from the East End dragged up by a family who thought that moving to Islington meant bettering themselves. North London hadn’t been home. A pleasant rush of realisation assured him that there was no reason why he could not be his real self.
‘Make me a plan,’ Billy said.
‘Yeah, well, it ain’t as easy as that.’
The sycophantic eel of a fisherman approached the shop, and Billy busied himself checking out ropes and lines. Mark followed suit and pretended to take a keen interest in lead weights and plastic buckets.
‘Morning, Billy,’ the eel said as he slithered past the boys and into the shop.
Billy grabbed Mark’s arm and pulled him to one side. ‘We better wait until he’s gone. Ralph will be easier to get when he’s on his own. Come here.’
They sat on a low wall behind which the heather-covered hill climbed steeply up to the ridge. In front of them, the lane slid steeply down to the sea. The podium was now completely decorated, and people were gathering there.
‘Yeah, you need to get the geezer on his own,’ Mark said. ‘That’s the start of your plan.’
‘Aye, I got that far. Then what?’
Mark chewed at the side of his nail, thinking. ‘How far do you wanna go?’
‘What do you mean?’ Billy looked at him.
‘I mean, do you wanna take him out completely, for good, like? Or you wanna just keep him out of the way for a bit?’
‘Good point.’ Billy considered it. ‘I suppose we’d better make it temporary. After all, he is the skipper.’
‘Right, so that’s stage two. We gotta get Ralph on his own and incapacitate him.’
‘I ain’t chopping his head off!’ Billy moved away in shock.
‘No, you twat, incapacitate… Put him out of action for a bit. How long d’you need?’
Billy checked the time and looked at the crowd on the seafront. ‘As long as it takes.’
‘That ain’t helpful, mate,’ Mark said. He could see that Billy, although surprisingly amiable today, was still not the brightest button on the uniform. ‘What’s the timetable?’
‘We didn’t do math’s.’
‘I mean, what time is it now? And what time you meant to be doing whatever it is you gotta do?’
‘Right, got you.’ Billy nodded enthusiastically but said nothing.
‘Well?’
‘Oh, right yeah. Okay, so the thing’s going to start in about ten minutes. The vicar gets up there and blesses the water with some prayer that everyone ignores. Then Old Sam gets his squeezebox out and plays a song that no-one sings along to. Next, the merman gets up on the platform and makes his speech, and everyone does listen to that. He, I mean I, chooses the mermaid for the year, someone throws haddock at her family, and that’s it. Don’t take long.’
‘So, we need him neutralised and you ready to make the speech in, what? Ten, fifteen minutes.’
‘Yeah. You’re good at this ain’t you?’
‘Making it up as I go along.’ Mark looked around for inspiration.
He was convinced that if he could help this hillbilly out, he’d gain at least some kind of respect from him, and life for his mum at the pub might be a little easier. On the other hand, Ralph might turn against him, and they’d be hostile. Things could get a lot worse. Was it worth the risk?
‘What you gonna say in your speech?’ he asked.
‘I got it all planned out,’ Billy said. ‘If I can remember it.’
‘You got no idea, ’ave you?’
‘No mate. I ain’t. I thought I had. Yesterday I had it all up here.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘This morning it all went. It was like I pissed it out first thing.’
‘You were going to say something about getting rid of me and me mum, weren’t you? I heard you in the bar last night.’
‘Yeah, that’s it. Well done.’ Billy slapped him on the back.
‘Fuck off. Why should I help you do that?’
‘’Cos Ralph’s gonna say the same thing and mean it.’
‘So? Let him.’
‘But I don’t want him to.’
Mark thought this through. ‘I get it. You only wanna be the centre of attention. You wanna get the crowd on your side, say your crappy piece about us, and get the adulation and the girl. Not that I can see that woman’s daughter being any better than that woman herself. And you want to involve me ’cos you want to humiliate me or get me into trouble or something. Right?’
‘Almost,’ Billy said. ‘But we’re wasting time.’
‘Good.’ Mark stood up to leave. ‘I thought you were decent. I thought you were trying to be nice for the first time since I got here, but really, you’re only trying to drop me in more shit. Well, you can stuff it.’
‘No, hold on!’ Billy also stood, and he took Mark by the arm.
His grip was tight, and Mark was suddenly aware of how strong he was. He was taller, too, broader, fitter for sure, and his hands were the size of boxing gloves. This guy was someone you didn’t want to mess with, but wasn’t he messing with Mark?
‘Tell me then,’ Mark said. ‘Tell me why I should help you?’
‘’Cos we only got a few minutes left and I can’t do it on my own. I’m not talented enough.’
‘See? It’s all about you.’ Mark prised Billy’s fingers from his arm and shrugged him off. ‘See ya.’ He walked away.
‘I’ll be your best mate,’ Billy said.
‘You don’t know me,’ Mark shouted. ‘But I can see right through you. Fuck it. Fuck them all and mainly, fuck you!’
‘You don’t mean that.’
Mark stopped in his tracks. How did Billy know? It was true, he didn’t mean what he said. Deep down, he wanted to help him in his crazy little scheme. He wanted to see him get his way. He trusted the guy to do what was right by him, but none of that made sense. All he knew about him was that he was as bad, rough and hostile as all the others. Yet that curiosity boiler was still fired up and burning away in his gut.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, this is stupid!’ He turned back. ‘Right. Don’t ask me why I’m doing this, but you need help and I ain’t the kind of bloke who stands around looking on when someone’s in trouble. Come on.’
He walked towards the chandler’s shop.
‘What we doing?’
‘Saving your bacon,’ Mark said.
‘How?’
‘Fucked if I know.’
Billy joined him by the display of chains and water pumps, nets and tackle. ‘I like the way you work,’ he said.
‘Whatever. Right. Grab that. Get one of those, and do as I say.’
Billy collected some items from the display and waited, tooled up and ready. ‘What now?’
‘Listen carefully, and trust me.’
‘Ah, hang on.’ Billy’s expression changed. He’d thought of something. ‘How do I know I can? You incomers can be a slimy lot. How do I know you ain’t gonna trick me like your mum tricked Mackerel Willy into selling you the pub?’
‘We didn’t trick anyone.’
‘You got the place off him. You’re the first outsiders to own a house in our village. You must have done something dodgy to get it.’
‘You want to know?’ Mark’s face was tight with anger. ‘You want the real story?’
‘Yeah, I do. But make it quick.’
Mark had never told anyone the real story before, certainly not a stranger, but the boiler fired up again, and he found the words poured out. ‘Me dad was from Mile End, same as me. He worked hard, made some money, we moved to Islington. He died. My mum was alone, she took in this other bloke, married him, and he started beating her up. And me. He was after the money. We had to run. She sold everything, and we ran here, as far away as we could get. The pub was for sale, we offered the asking price, your Mackerel Willy took it, we moved in, end of story. So, shall we get on with it?’
‘Your dad used to hit you?’ Billy’s face was white with shock.
‘What, it don’t happen ’round here?’
He could tell from Billy’s face that it did, and it had probably happened to him.
‘Anyway, it were me stepdad, my real one’s dead, remember?’
‘Oh, man. I’m so… so…’ The word stuck in Billy’s throat.
‘Yeah, I go it. Ready?’
‘No. I got to say it.’ Billy swallowed. He was fighting against the words that were trying to come out. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, and it looked like he meant it; his eyes were watering.
The sycophantic eel slithered from the shop carrying a tub of wriggling bait and headed off down the hill.
Mark could hear the vicar’s voice droning on over the hubbub. ‘We gotta go.’
Billy pulled himself together. ‘Right, mate, sure. So, what do I do?’
As Mark told him, Billy’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in a huge, toothy grin.
Miss P stood at the back of the crowd, slightly away from the others and tried to listen to the vicar’s words. He said a small prayer which no-one listened to and blessed the sea. He was now making something of an impassioned speech, but everyone else was intent on insulting each other or apologising. Miss P thought it was rather rude of them, but at the same time, she couldn’t blame them. She had, after all, been the cause of what was being said. Sandra stood outside the inn, straining to hear the ceremony.
The whole village had turned out, all apart from a few who, Miss P hoped, would soon be joining them. She moved silently among the crowd, keen to hear more of the conversations that were acting as an underscore to the vicar’s words.
‘I’ve been meaning to tell you for months, Marjory. I’m sorry if it has come as a shock.’
‘That’s alright, dear. I never liked that cat much anyway.’
‘It ran straight into my yard and got its tail caught in the mangle. I thought the noise was Mrs Simms giving a singing lesson. I should have been paying more attention.’
‘She does sing awful, doesn’t she? But where is Snowy now?’
‘Oh, by the fire. He made a lovely rug. Would you like him back?’
‘You keep him, love, and thanks for telling me.’
Miss P moved on.
‘I’ve always felt this way about you, Sally. I’ve not been able to tell you before.’
‘You don’t know how happy you’ve made me, Dave. But him indoors will never give me a divorce.’
‘He will when I tell him that I know about him and the vicar.’
‘No! I thought so. And he said he was bell ringing.’
‘He was pulling on something alright.’
The couple laughed. Miss P noticed their fingers touching tentatively as they looked into each other’s eyes.
A little further into the crowd and more revelations were forthcoming.
‘Mick just told me that Ralph came to the bakery this morning and paid off his debts.’
‘No, really? How long’s that been?’
‘Well, he’s not paid a bill for at least ten years. Came as quite a shock.’
Miss P squeezed past the old ladies from the post office.
‘And there’s another thing. I stole your beau from you when you were eighteen.’
‘Old Sam?’
‘He was Young Sam back then and quite a man. Can you forgive me?’
‘I don’t want to, of course. You’re still a lying old cow who wets the bed, but you’re my sister.’
The vicar finished his reading, and Miss P saw the oldest fisherman being helped into an accordion. Two men stood behind him, holding him up against the weight of the instrument that would otherwise drag him face first to the ground.
‘And now, dear, dull people,’ the vicar said, opening his arms to them, his white surplus billowing out like the sails of a schooner. No-one paid any attention, so he spoke more loudly. ‘I said, and now…’ The chatter continued. ‘My flock!’ No reaction. His face reddened. ‘My dear, though rather rude, congregation…’ Nothing. He gripped the top of the lectern. ‘People of…’
‘You ain’t half boring,’ someone shouted, and everyone else laughed.
The vicar exploded. ‘Oi! You ignorant fuckers! Shut the fuck up and stop your pathetic bitching. That’s all I ever get from you heathens. She did this, and he did that, and Father how can I cope with my husband’s cheating? And I mean you, Mrs Bullock. If you know he’s cheating just kick him in the balls and have done with it. You lot are all me, me, me, and I’m sick of it. You got problems? We’ve all got fucking problems. Why d’you have to come crying to me every time something doesn’t go your way, you life-sucking leeches? Who gives a toss about anyone else out there? Eh? None of you. None of you cares that I live a solitary life with no love in it because you and your ignorant attitude keep me locked firmly in my vestry closet. None of you cares about anyone else apart from your own stinking drivel of a life. You can all fuck off.’
The crowd had fallen quiet some time ago.
‘Oops,’ Miss P said and chuckled.
‘Thank you.’ The vicar continued. His calmer voice returned. ‘And now, this old duffer here,’ he waved his hand at Old Sam as if to dismiss him, ‘is going to assault our ears and attempt some hideous Victorian melody that you can all sing along to. I won’t. I think it’s a load of shit. But that’s what we have to do, so please your fucking selves.’
The vicar stepped down from the podium and entered the stunned silence. It was soon broken by the sound of wheezing reeds and a couple of discords as Old Sam began to play, and
Miss P watched the sloping lane, wondering when Mark and Billy would appear.
