Last Orders

Old Kent Road

We head down past Albany Road and Trafalgar Avenue and the Rotherhithe turn. Green Man, Thomas a Becket, Lord Nelson. The sky's almost as blue as the car.

Vince says, 'Goes along sweet, don't it?' And he takes his hands off the wheel so we can get the feel of how the car takes care of itself. It seems to veer a shade to the left.

He said he thought he should do Jack proud, he thought he should give him a real treat. Since it had been sitting there in the showroom for nearly a month anyway, with a 'client' who couldn't make up his mind, and a bit more on the clock wouldn't signify and it don't do to let a car sit. He thought he should give Jack the best.

But it's not so bad for us too, for Vie and Lenny and me, sitting up, alive and breathing. The world looks pretty good when you're perched on cream leather and looking out at it through tinted electric windows, even the Old Kent Road looks good.

It veers a shade to the left. Lenny says, 'Don't go and give it a dent, will you, Big Boy? Don't want you to lose a sale.'

Vince says he don't dent cars, ever, least of all when he's driving extra steady and careful, on account of the special occasion.

Lenny says, "With your hands off the wheel.'

Then Vince asks Vie what they do in a hearse when they have to go on a motorway.

Vie says, 'We step on it.'

Vince isn't wearing a black tie. It's just me and Vie. He's wearing a red and white jazzy tie and a dark blue suit. It's his showroom clobber, and he's come from the showroom, but he could have chosen some other tie. He's taken off his jacket, which is lying folded on the back seat between me and Lenny. Good-quality stuff. I reckon Vince is doing all right, he's not so badly placed after all. He says now they're feeling the pinch in the City they pop across in their lunch hours to do deals for cash.

Lenny says, 'Don't encourage him, Vie.'

Vie says, 'A hearse is different, everyone makes way for a hearse.'

Lenny says, 'You mean they don't make way for Vincey here?'

Vie sits in the front beside Vince, holding the box on his knees. I can see it's how it should be, Vie being the professional, but it don't seem right he should hold it all the time. Maybe we should take it in turns.

Vince looks across at Vie. He says, smiling, 'Busman's holiday, eh, Vie?'

Vince is wearing a white shirt with silver cuff-links' and pongy after-shave. His hair is all slicked back. It's a brand new suit.

We head on past the gas works, Ilderton Road, under the railway bridge. Prince of Windsor. The sun comes out from behind the tower blocks, bright in our faces, and Vince pulls out a pair of chunky sun-glasses from under the dashboard. Lenny starts singing, slyly, through his teeth, 'Blue bayooo,..' And we all feel it, what with the sunshine and the beer inside us and the journey ahead: like it's something Jack has done for us, so as to make us feel special, so as to give us a treat. Like we're off on a jaunt, a spree, and the world looks good, it looks like it's there just for us.