In Pieces (25 page)

Lenny belched and slowly sat up. He beckoned the Sleeper to sit beside him on the wall and patted his knee. ‘Yes, you're a good friend to me. I'm feeling better already.'

‘So what did you drink, then, that poisoned you so bad?'

‘Brandy. I found a half bottle in the bin down there, and seeing I'd run out of cans, I couldn't really stop myself. Fool that I was.'

The Sleeper laughed. ‘Are you telling me you can't handle a drink stronger than lager?'

Lenny looked shamefaced. ‘I've never had that problem before. But I must be getting old. And for so long now I've just stuck to lager. The occasional bit of beer, but mostly lager. I guess the grape is stronger than me.'

‘What?'

‘No matter. Onwards and upwards. That's what they used to say at school. I've never asked you. Are you a public school man? I imagine you are, being such a nice young man.'

The Sleeper looked at the grimy ravaged face sunk into the desiccated body about which hung the rancid smell of human excrement. ‘You were one of those posh public school boys?' He was incredulous.

Lenny straightened himself and stuck out his chin. ‘What makes you think that I might not have been?' He looked slightly offended that anyone should question his education. ‘My present state should not conceal from you that I am a gentleman by birth and breeding.'

‘Get away. You're a laugh, you are.' The Sleeper fell about.

Lenny watched him with a pained look. ‘I'm glad that I amuse you. But if you don't mind, I am feeling unwell and would prefer to be left alone.'

‘Oh Lenny, man, don't take it to heart. I'm sorry if I've upset you. I didn't mean to be rude. Can I stay a bit longer?'

‘Well, if you must. But I expect a bit more respect in future. After all, I'm at least twice your age.'

‘Thanks.' They sat in silence for a while. A small dog strolled past. It seemed to know where it was going. The sun came out briefly, and then it clouded over again. It even looked as if it might rain.

Lenny broke the spell. ‘I intend to be buried here,' he pronounced.

‘What, here in this churchyard?'

‘Yes. So that my friends can visit me easily.'

‘Well, not too soon, I hope.'

‘One never knows. Maybe even tomorrow? The way I was feeling an hour ago…'

The Sleeper smiled. ‘Just stay off the brandy; then you'll live to a grand old age.'

‘The only problem is that the priest is putting obstacles in the way.'

‘Obstacles?'

‘He insists that I become a Catholic. Totally unreasonable, I think.'

‘So this is a Catholic church?'

‘Yes, and I'm an Anglican. I mean, I explained to Father Theodore—don't you think that's a silly name? I do. Anyway, I told him we believed in the same God and that as a good Christian I had every right to be buried in my local parish church.'

‘What did he say?'

‘He said that I should go to the Church of England place over the way.'

‘So why don't you?'

‘Well, it's not so pretty. And I never sit outside that horrid new church to socialise with my friends. Only here.'

‘Aye, I see the problem.' The Sleeper thought for a moment. His face lit up. ‘I've got the answer.'

‘You have?'

‘Aye, it's simple. You convert.'

Lenny's disappointment was visible. ‘You think I haven't considered that? Of course I have. But I don't think I can bring myself to do it.'

‘Why not?'

‘When I suggested it to Father thingamajig, he said it was not something to be done lightly. There were all sorts of considerations.'

‘Like what? I thought the church was always trying to recruit new people.'

‘Questions of faith. Sacraments.' Lenny delivered these words like a judgement.

‘Well, I'm a Catholic and I've never had to worry about them.'

‘Ah, that's because you're one of the lucky ones. Born into certainty. The life of the righteous. Hereditary membership.'

The Sleeper looked mystified.

‘The problem arises when you try to join your Church. The entrance exam is really rather rigorous. Now I'm perfectly happy to have regular little chats with the priest and to discuss theology. In fact, there's nothing I like more than a little bit of theology…' Lenny tailed off, lost in thought.

‘And?'

‘Oh yes, excuse me. Quite lost myself for a moment. As I was saying, a bit of Socratic dialogue never hurt anyone and I'd be delighted to debate the finer points of the Gospels. But this Father Theodore,' he pronounced the syllables with distaste, ‘he says that I must be prepared to listen and then accept the teaching he would offer. Dictatorship, that's what it sounds like to me. No doubt he'd want me to worship graven idols, eat human flesh and believe in angels. Well, I just won't do that. I've got principles, after all.'

The Sleeper looked puzzled. ‘But Catholics don't do that, do they?' He thought of his devout mother and just couldn't recall her doing other than going to church most days, crying a lot, particularly after his dad left, and wearing black more as she got older.

‘Oh, I see. You're not really a practising Catholic, are you?'

For no explicable reason, the Sleeper felt guilty. He hadn't thought of his religion for months until now. It had never been something other than a backdrop in his life, like being a boy, or being Irish. No, in fact, being Irish was something stronger, more real. ‘What I mean is, Catholics don't eat flesh.' He racked his brains. ‘It's the communion, that's all. Don't you do that in your church?'

‘Yes, but it's different. Anglicans don't believe in transubstantiation. At least I don't.'

‘What's trans-sub-stan…?' He gave up. ‘What's that when it's at home?'

‘It means the sacrament when the bread and wine turn into the body and blood of Christ. Anglicans believe it figuratively and your lot take it literally.'

‘No, they don't. You're being daft. When I was a lad I used to take communion all the time. But it never turned into flesh and blood in my mouth. I promise you, Lenny. You've got it wrong.'

‘Hmmm.' Lenny was thoughtful. ‘Perhaps. But the priest seemed pretty clear… And what about worshipping Mary as the Mother of God? Isn't that what you do? That's proscribed in the Ten Commandments.'

‘I'm not really the man to talk to, Lenny, but I remember we used to pray to Mary for various things. I can't quite remember what. But I don't think we worshipped her.'

‘And angels? What a load of hocus pocus.' Lenny rallied accusingly.

‘Oh, I don't know about that. It'd be nice, though, wouldn't it? I guess it's just stories, really.'

Lenny clearly wasn't fully satisfied. ‘Well, I'll have to think about it. I suppose I should have another chat with that priest to clear a few of these points up.'

‘Aye, you do that. Sounds a good idea to me.'

They sat quietly for a few more moments and watched the first prostitutes come out for work. A panda car sped by, siren blaring. Just another day in Notting Hill Gate.

‘Well, I'll be off then, Lenny. Got to get back for lunch.'

‘Right. Goodbye. And thanks. We had an interesting chat, didn't we?'

‘We certainly did, Lenny. It's always a pleasure.' The Sleeper walked quickly home, leaving the tramp on the church wall staring into space.

‘I'm home,' he called.

‘Good timing. We'll eat in five minutes.'

The Sleeper dropped the papers onto the table, made a face at Greta's youngest who watched him from the high chair, and took off his jacket.

‘Did you get the milk?'

‘Ah, sweet Mary. I knew there was something.'

Greta looked disappointed.

‘Now look. I'm sorry. See, I'll get it after lunch. Okay? And I promise you; I'll make it up to you somehow. Okay?'

Greta cheered up. ‘You will? How'll that be, then?'

‘Oh, never you mind. I'll find a way…' And they both laughed with nervous anticipation.

~

‘When we were small… my ma used to feed us nothing but grits some days…'

‘What are grits?' slurred Si.

They were back at his gaff, slouched on the floor drinking whisky. Si was already beginning to look towards his bed. As predicted, the second gig had been an even bigger success than the first and celebrations had led to many drinks. Too many. He had a mounting, bilious feeling rising within him. Soon he'd stop drinking. After this whisky. But it would be a waste not to finish off the glass.

Ricky, still flying on adrenaline, seemed more awake than ever.

‘Grits are like cereals, you know. You eat them for breakfast.'

‘Right.' Si felt his eyelids begin to fall. Not far away he could hear a train cut though the embankment. The post train or the milk train, he supposed. Perhaps they were one and the same? Carrying milk and post together to save money. It certainly made sense. He pondered this as he listened with half an ear to Ricky.

‘Sometimes I was so hungry I couldn't stop my stomach rumbling in class. The teacher used to look at me kind of pitiful like, but she couldn't do anything.'

‘Where was your dad?'

‘My pa went off when I was about ten. Son of a bitch…' There seemed little to add. ‘But my ma did her best for us kids. There were four of us. I was second youngest. That's when I decided to be a rock star…'

‘Mmm…' nodded Si as he fell asleep.

~

Si woke first.

The sunlight streamed in through the big window and surrounded Ricky with a halo. His burnished hair shot out in all directions. He sat in the same position he'd been in the night before and must have fallen asleep mid-story.

Si vaguely remembered something about a childhood of grinding poverty followed by Ricky making a serious amount of money quickly, just before coming to London. How he'd done this, he hadn't explained… Or at least Si couldn't remember.

Si slumped gracelessly on the floor. ‘Oh…' he moaned. He knew the whisky had been a mistake. Why, why hadn't he listened to the voice of his own experience? ‘Oh shit.' Si raised himself to all
fours and crawled into the bedroom, pausing only to gulp down a couple of glasses of water. Kicking off his shoes, he burrowed deep into the duvet. With a bit of luck he'd feel better next time he woke up.

~

‘The famous Jimmy… It's great to meet you, man.'

‘Yeah and you.' Jimmy looked far from convinced. ‘Si says you're a wild man.'

‘I don't know about that. But I just love your soccer. I've watched all your games recently. Ask Si, if you don't believe me.'

Si shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot and smiled tensely as they both turned to look at him. They'd come to the players' entrance, which was under the stand away from the main turnstiles, to pick up their complimentary tickets. But Si hadn't planned on introducing Ricky to Jimmy until after the match. However, by chance Jimmy had been standing in the reception area chatting to another player when they'd walked in. Si nodded to affirm Ricky's claim. He felt a foolish. ‘Yeah, he's become a real fanatic.'

‘Great, great.' Jimmy was having difficulty not being rude.

‘It was real good of you to get us tickets for the match. It's the first time I've seen a game live.'

Jimmy looked over his shoulder towards the glass security door beyond which only club officials and players could go. He wasn't making much effort to conceal his impatience. ‘Well, I hope you enjoy it. It's another cruncher. Listen, I must be getting back. I need to change and …'

‘Yeah, sure. Well, it's been real cool to meet you.'

Si threw a warning glance at Jimmy. But he need not have worried. Jimmy retained his impassive expression.

‘And, Jimmy, next time you're in London—'

Jimmy left him mid-sentence as he greeted a passing teammate. ‘Hi Gary. How did it go last night?' The two players had a brief, hearty exchange before Jimmy turned back to his guests. ‘Hey guys, I'm sorry, that was really rude of me. It's just that Gary…' he paused to gather his thoughts and then clearly thought better of explaining. ‘Oh, never mind.' He made to go.

Si was fuming. But Ricky was undeterred. ‘Jimmy, as I was saying, next time you're in London come and see my band play. I'd love to return the favour, although it's hardly in the same league.'

‘Band?'

‘Yeah, didn't Si tell you about The Crocodiles?'

‘Uh no…'

‘Oh, I'm sure I did,' blurted Si, now even more uncomfortable.

‘So, what kind of a band is it?'

‘R and B, mostly covers, but we're already working on a few of our own numbers. We're gonna be big. Catch us while you can.' Ricky shimmied and did a few of his Mick Jagger steps to emphasise the point. He grinned.

Jimmy grinned back. ‘Wow, that's great.' Jimmy suddenly came to life. Bemused, Si watched his friend open like a flower to the sun.

‘Yeah, real cool.'

‘I'd love to come and see the band next time I'm down in London.'

‘Anytime, man, just say the word.'

‘You know, I'm a bit of a musician myself,' said Jimmy shyly.

‘You are?' asked Ricky, interested.

‘You are?' Si echoed. This was the first he'd heard of it.

‘Yeah, well, a guitarist really.'

‘What, classical?'

‘No, man. Rock ‘n' roll.'

‘No way…'

‘You're kidding,' said Si, totally amazed. Jimmy was the most unmusical person he knew.

Jimmy ignored Si.

‘What's your axe, man?'

‘Fender copy,' blushed Jimmy. ‘It's got a great action.'

‘Yeah, real cool.' Ricky reflected a moment. ‘Listen, you should come and jam with us. That'd be awesome.'