Starter For Ten Part 13

'The usual. Same as last year's, same as next year's. You?'

'Oh, you know. The same.' Tone is back with the three special lagers. 'So . . . what's new?' I ask.

'What's "newnr says Spencer.

143.

'At work, I mean . . .'

'What work?' he asks, with a wink. As far as I know, Spencer's still signing on and doing cash-in-hand nights.h.i.+fts.

'At the petrol station . . . ?'

'Well, we've got a very interesting free-setof-wine-gla.s.ses promotion on at the moment, that's causing quite a stir, and the price of four-star went up the other day, that was pretty thrilling, too. So all in all, I haven't been this excited since I had that all-chocolate Kit-Kat. Oh, and last week a bunch of students drove off without paying . . .'

'I hope you chased after them,' slurs Tone.

'Well, no, Tony, I didn't, on account of them being in a car and me being on foot. Besides, I only get one pound eighty an hour. They'd have to pay me a lot more than that before I break into a run.'

'How do you know they were students?' I ask, taking the bait.

'Well, they were very badly dressed for one thing. Long scarves, little round gla.s.ses, bad haircuts . . .' He smiles conspiratorially at Tone, then back at me. 'How's your eyesight, Bri?' This is a running gag between Tone and Spencer, who believe that I lied to my optician just to get spectacles.

'Fine, thank you, Spence,' and I decide to go and get some crisps.

On the way to the bar, I think for a moment about heading for the door and walking out. I love Spence and Tone, Spencer especially, and I think it's mutual, though G.o.d knows we'd never actually use the L-word, not sober, anyway. But for my eighteenth birthday Spencer and Tone tied me naked to the end of Southend pier and force-fed me laxatives, so it's a love that expresses itself in unconventional ways.

When I come back they've started talking about Tone's s.e.x life, so I know I'm going to be in the clear for the next hour or so. Barmaids, hairdressers, teachers, school friends' sisters, or mothers even, no one seems immune to Tone's Nordic I.

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charms. The list is endless, and the detail is explicit, and after a while I start to feel I need a bath, but he's obviously got something going for him, Tone, something other than sensitivity or tenderness or consideration. It's far easier to imagine that, after making love, he rubs his knuckles very hard on his lover's head. I wonder, but don't ask, if Tone's practising safe s.e.x, but suspect that he thinks safe s.e.x is for wimps, in the same way that safety-belts and crash-helmets are for wimps. If Tone was thrown from a plane, he'd still think parachutes were for wimps.

'How about you then, Brian, any action?'

'Not really.' This sounds a bit feeble, so I add, nonchalantly, There is this girl, Alice, and she's invited me to stay with her tomorrow, at her cottage, so . . .'

'Her cottage? says Spencer. 'What is she? A milkmaid?'

'You know, a house, in the country, her parents' . . .'

'So you're s.h.a.gging her then?' asks Tone.

'It's platonic.'

'What's platonic mean then?' asks Spencer, even though he knows.

'It means she won't let him s.h.a.g her,' says Tone.

T'm not "s.h.a.gging" her because I don't want to "s.h.a.g" her, not yet anyway. If I wanted to, then I would.'

'Though recent evidence would suggest that not to be the case,' says Spencer.

Tone seems to find this incredibly funny, so I decide to retreat again, and go and get some more gin-and-lagers; I stumble slightly as I leave the booth, so I know they're beginning to do their work. Keenly aware of how pocket money doesn't stretch very far these days. The Black Prince is also incredibly cheap, and it's possible for three young men to get incoherent, aggressive, sentimental and violent, and still have change from a tenner.

When I sit back down, Spencer asks me, 'So what do you actually do all day then?'

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'Talk. Read. Go to lectures. Argue/ 'It's not proper work though, is it?'

'Not work. Experience.'

'Yeah, well, I'm very happy in the University of Life, thank you very much,' says Tone.

The applied for the University of Life. Didn't get the grades,' says Spencer.

'Not the first time you've said that, is it?' I say.

'Obviously not. So what about politics?' The question feels like being poked with a stick.

'What about it?'

'Been on any good demonstrations lately?'

'One or two.'

'What for?' asks Tone.

The sensible thing would be to change the subject, but I don't see why I should compromise my political views just for the sake of an easy life, so I tell them.

'Apartheid 'For or against?' asks Spencer.

'. . . the NHS, Gay Rights Tone perks up at this. 'What b.a.s.t.a.r.d's been trying to take away your rights?'

'Not my rights. There's a move by the Tory council to try and prevent schools from portraying h.o.m.os.e.xuality in a positive light; it's legislated h.o.m.ophobia . . .'

'Is that what they do, then?' asks Spencer.

'Who?'

'Schools. Because I don't remember anyone teaching it at our school.'

'Well, no, they didn't, but . . .'

'So why's it such a big deal, then?'

'Yeah, I mean you turned out gay without being taught it,' says Tone.

'Yeah, well, that's true, Tone, that's a very good point. . .'

'Well, I think it's a scandal,' says Spencer, with mock 146.

I.

indignation. 'I think it must be taught. Tuesday afternoons. Double Gayness . . .'

'Sorry, miss, I forgot my horn-work . . .'

'Gay-levels! . . .'

We all try and think of another joke and can't, so instead Spencer says, 'Well, I think it's great that you're making a stand about something important, I really do. Something that affects us all. It's like when you joined CND. Have we had a nuclear holocaust since? Nope.'

Tone lurches to his feet. 'So. Same again then?'

'No gin in it this time, please Tone,' I say, knowing that he'll put gin in it.

After he's gone, Spencer and I sit and fold up the empty crisp packets, into little triangles, knowing this is not quite over yet. The gin has made me bad-tempered, and sulky; what's the point of coming out with your mates if all they're going to do is take the p.i.s.s? Eventually I say, 'So what would you protest against then, Spence?'

'Don't know. Your haircut?'

'Seriously.'

'Believe me, it is serious . . .'

'But really, there must be something you'd actually make a stand about.'

'Don't know. Lots of things. Maybe not gay rights, though . . .'

'It's not just gay rights, it's other stuff, things that affect you too, things like cut-backs in the welfare state, cuts in dole, unemployment . . .'

'Well, thanks for that, Brian mate, I'm glad you're making a stand on my behalf, and I look forward to receiving the extra cash.'

There's nothing I can say to that. I try something more conciliatory, in a mate-y tone. 'Hey, you should come up and visit me next year!'

'Sort of like a Careers Day?'

'No, just, you know, for a laugh . . .' and this is the point 147.

where I should change the subject to s.e.x or films or TV or something. Instead I say, 'Why aren't you re-taking your A-levels anyway?'

'Ummmm, because I don't want to . . . ?'

'But it's such a waste . . .'

'Waste? f.u.c.k off it's a wastel Reading poetry and w.a.n.king into your sock for three years, that's a waste.'

'But you wouldn't have to do Literature, you could do something else, something vocational . . .'

'Can we change the subject, Brian?'

'Alright . . .'

'. . . because I get enough f.u.c.king careers advice at the DHSS, and I don't necessarily want it down the pub on f.u.c.king Boxing Day . . .'

'Alright then. Let's change the subject.' As an olive branch, I suggest, 'Quiz machine?'

'Absolutely. Quiz machine.'

The Black Prince has invested in one of those new computerised quiz machines, and we take our fresh pints over to it, balance them on top.

'Who plays Cagney in TV's Cagney and . . . ?'

'C - Sharon Gless,' I say.

Correct.

'The Battle of Trafalgar was in . . . ?'

'B - Eighteen-oh-five,' I say.

'The nickname of Norwich City FC is . . . ?'

'A - The Canaries,' says Tone.

Correct.

Maybe this would be a good time to mention The Challenge.. .

'What did Davros create?'

'A - The Daleks,' I say.

Correct.

'Whose original surname was Schicklegruber?'

'B - Hitler,' I say.

Correct.

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/ could just drop it into conversation, casually; 'By the way guys, did I tell you? I'm going to be on University Challenge!'

'Which American holds the record for most Olympic . . . ?'

'D - Mark Spitz,' says Tone.