Read Online Last Orders by Graham Swift - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Graham Swift
Tags: prose_contemporary
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anyone. He takes a deep breath, then another one, quick, and I reckon he wanted to change his mind, but he was already teetering, toppling, on top of that hill, and he couldn't stop himself.
Lenny
So Vincey comes home, in his new civvies, and parks himself on a stool in the Coach, drinks all round, and after loosening me up with a large scotch I should never have accepted, he says, cool as Christmas, 'How's Sally?'
You couldn't tell from looking at him whether it was bare-faced cheek or whether there really was some dumb part of him that thought he could carry on again where he left off, that reckoned he'd done due penance, courtesy of the regular Army, and now here he was to ask for my daughter.
I suppose he pulled the same wool over Jack's eyes because you'd think by the way Jack behaves that Vince had had a change of heart, he'd gone and seen the error of his ways. You'd think Jack would have more sense than to believe that the only reason why Vince had bunked off for five years was so he could come back and ask to be forgiven and pick things up just as they were.
It takes the Army to put a finish on a man.
Good to have you back, lad. Take your time, rest up, have fun. Always a place for you in the old shop, you know that.
But he doesn't rest up and have fun, he gets to work pretty damn fast. He puts a tidy slice of his saved-up soldier's pay on one of Ray Johnson's special recommendations, and Ray, as he's been doing of late, comes good. Witness, one camper-van. Except that's a touchy subject, we don't talk about that, same as we don't talk about how Raysy came good when Lenny Tate needed a special job done for his daughter.
And Vince don't buy a camper-van, he buys a '59 Jaguar, so you might think he's letting the world know how he means to live. Takes the Army to turn out a true spiv. But he parks the Jag in Charlie Dixon's old yard, courtesy of Ray. Charlie Dixon having passed on to the scrapyard in the sky. Then he gets himself a set of tools and a trolley-jack and spends most of his days tinkering with the engine and taking it apart and putting it together again, then he touches up the bodywork and sells it. Then he buys another car and does the same, and before the year's out there are two cars standing there in Ray's yard, apart from the camper, that is, and I say to Jack» 'You can't kid yourself any longer, it aint just the lad's hobby He might want nothing better than to lie under a car all day but he aint just doing it for the love of it. It don't stop there.'
He says, 'It's Ray's fault.'
I say, 'Maybe. But Ray's got troubles of his own, aint he?'
But Jack don't give up easy. He makes one last bid to win Vince over. It's about as half-baked and cock-eyed as they come and it takes the form of Mandy Black, from Blackburn.
The story goes she turned up at Smithfield early one morning in a meat lorry, a long way from home and so far as she was concerned the further the better, but tired and lost and hungry. So Jack and his mates get her a decent breakfast. But Jack goes one step further and offers her a roof over her head for the night. Anyone else would have pointed her back in the direction she came and saved himself some sniggers and some trouble, but not Jack. And you'd think Amy might've had a thing or two to say about it. You could say it was plain kindness or you could say he was just following the old family tradition the Dodds' had of picking up strays. Anyhow, Mandy turns up in Bermondsey, in Jack's van, and my guess is that Jack wasn't thinking of Vince at all at this stage. He was thinking of June for once. He was thinking of Amy. Poor berk.
Snag is that with Vince back home there aint no spare bed. But that's no problem, Vincey says, he'll see if he can't kip down in Ray's camper. It's only for one night and he's used to living in a bivvy, even if it is the middle of November. And he'll be nearer to his precious cars. But one night turns into the best part of a week, she's begging them not
Lenny
So Vincey comes home, in his new civvies, and parks himself on a stool in the Coach, drinks all round, and after loosening me up with a large scotch I should never have accepted, he says, cool as Christmas, 'How's Sally?'
You couldn't tell from looking at him whether it was bare-faced cheek or whether there really was some dumb part of him that thought he could carry on again where he left off, that reckoned he'd done due penance, courtesy of the regular Army, and now here he was to ask for my daughter.
I suppose he pulled the same wool over Jack's eyes because you'd think by the way Jack behaves that Vince had had a change of heart, he'd gone and seen the error of his ways. You'd think Jack would have more sense than to believe that the only reason why Vince had bunked off for five years was so he could come back and ask to be forgiven and pick things up just as they were.
It takes the Army to put a finish on a man.
Good to have you back, lad. Take your time, rest up, have fun. Always a place for you in the old shop, you know that.
But he doesn't rest up and have fun, he gets to work pretty damn fast. He puts a tidy slice of his saved-up soldier's pay on one of Ray Johnson's special recommendations, and Ray, as he's been doing of late, comes good. Witness, one camper-van. Except that's a touchy subject, we don't talk about that, same as we don't talk about how Raysy came good when Lenny Tate needed a special job done for his daughter.
And Vince don't buy a camper-van, he buys a '59 Jaguar, so you might think he's letting the world know how he means to live. Takes the Army to turn out a true spiv. But he parks the Jag in Charlie Dixon's old yard, courtesy of Ray. Charlie Dixon having passed on to the scrapyard in the sky. Then he gets himself a set of tools and a trolley-jack and spends most of his days tinkering with the engine and taking it apart and putting it together again, then he touches up the bodywork and sells it. Then he buys another car and does the same, and before the year's out there are two cars standing there in Ray's yard, apart from the camper, that is, and I say to Jack» 'You can't kid yourself any longer, it aint just the lad's hobby He might want nothing better than to lie under a car all day but he aint just doing it for the love of it. It don't stop there.'
He says, 'It's Ray's fault.'
I say, 'Maybe. But Ray's got troubles of his own, aint he?'
But Jack don't give up easy. He makes one last bid to win Vince over. It's about as half-baked and cock-eyed as they come and it takes the form of Mandy Black, from Blackburn.
The story goes she turned up at Smithfield early one morning in a meat lorry, a long way from home and so far as she was concerned the further the better, but tired and lost and hungry. So Jack and his mates get her a decent breakfast. But Jack goes one step further and offers her a roof over her head for the night. Anyone else would have pointed her back in the direction she came and saved himself some sniggers and some trouble, but not Jack. And you'd think Amy might've had a thing or two to say about it. You could say it was plain kindness or you could say he was just following the old family tradition the Dodds' had of picking up strays. Anyhow, Mandy turns up in Bermondsey, in Jack's van, and my guess is that Jack wasn't thinking of Vince at all at this stage. He was thinking of June for once. He was thinking of Amy. Poor berk.
Snag is that with Vince back home there aint no spare bed. But that's no problem, Vincey says, he'll see if he can't kip down in Ray's camper. It's only for one night and he's used to living in a bivvy, even if it is the middle of November. And he'll be nearer to his precious cars. But one night turns into the best part of a week, she's begging them not
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