‘Ah,’ I smiled gratefully at Gram, whose boyish face wrinkled at Midge. His patchy adolescent stubble, still bald in places, was at odds with the prematurely grey tuft of hair sticking up on his head.
‘Repeat after me. The rain in Spain—’
‘Piss off,’ responded Midge calmly, flicking a beer mat at him.
I glanced at Ned. With his elbow perched on the table he was watching the pair of them with an indulgent smile. He gave me a wink.
‘Teacher, eh? Gosh that must be tough in London,’ I said. ‘Real front-line stuff.’ Compared with that, I really didn’t want to have to explain my job.
‘You get used to it,’ grinned Midge, ‘although my first day was a bit of a shock.’
‘Really? Was it rough?’ He looked as if he could handle a couple of scrapping sixteen-year-olds. Ned and Gram were sniggering.
‘Yeah, I had to tie thirty pairs of laces, open fourteen Dairylea Triangles and one kid weed on me. It’s murder teaching Reception.’
‘Little ones?’ I’d assumed he’d teach older ones. ‘Do you like kids, then?’
‘Only on toast.’ He roared with laughter.
It was an old joke. Ned, the leader of the pack, shot him a look. The three of them had obviously known each other for a very long time. They had a habit of finishing each other’s sentences and had too many in-jokes. When Ned disappeared to the loo, giving the other two a definite ‘behave’ look, they both leaned over the table and gave me the thumbs up. Midge looked over at Gram winked and said, ‘A babe’. I blushed.
There was a silence, as if without Ned the two had lost the necessary prompt to make small talk. This was broken eventually by Gram politely asking, ‘So what do you do?’ just as Ned came back.
‘She’s one of those glamorous PR types,’ he said, sinking back onto his stool, moving it as he did so that his leg now touched mine.
‘I hate to disappoint but I work on the building side,’ I replied. If I mentioned the film premiere it would match all their preconceived ideas. I was conscious of the hard thigh next to mine. Slightly thrown by it, I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘My main client is Collingwood Construction.’
All three heads dipped dramatically towards me.
‘Really?’ said Gram, his mouth dropping open.
‘Whoa,’ enthused Midge.
‘Nice,’ said Ned, his leg definitely pressing against mine.
I looked back at them, looking from face to face and raising my shoulders. ‘What?’
‘You don’t know?’ said Midge incredulously.
‘Don’t know what?’
‘Collingwood Construction sponsors a box at Arsenal,’ explained Ned gently.
I tutted. ‘Yeah, the Chairman’s always inviting me to go to a match. Says I can take a friend.’ Looking up I suddenly felt like a very meaty bone under the gaze of three starving dogs.
‘And you’ve never been?’ Midge’s voice went up several octaves. Gram’s eyes were wide.
‘Dear, dear,’ said Ned, shaking his head patting my leg with his hand. ‘D’you know people would kill for that?’
‘I don’t think so, you’ve never seen Jabba. There’s no way you’d want to be in a box with him.’
‘The Collingwood box is one of the biggest and the best in the premiership,’ said Gram in a strained voice, fanning himself with a beer mat and looking round furtively at the rest of the pub.
‘Oh,’ I said in a very small voice.
‘Next time he offers, say yes,’ said Midge urgently. ‘I’ll come. I’d dress in drag just to see a match.’
‘Really. Can’t you just buy tickets to see a game?’
