Taming the Alien

‘Yada Yada’ or some such
(Melanie)

Brant was sitting in the GBC — a restaurant right in the centre of Galway. It had the mentality and kudos of a transport caff, ie lashings of food, good food, cheap and friendly. Brant liked it a lot.

A waitress asked, ‘By yourself, are you?’

‘What? … Oh yeah … No. My cousin’s coming.’

And caught himself, thought — ‘What am I doing? Jeez, I’ll be telling her the size of me socks next.’

He gave a mortified smile and she said, ‘T’will be nice for ye.’

Argue that.

Brant recalled the night before and Sheila. She had a small flat along the canal, and no sooner there, than she hopped on him. Gave him a ferocious ride. He’d lain back on the floor, exclaimed, ‘Wow, that was Trojan!’

‘You mean you’re done?’

‘Jeez, woman — one shag and I’m for a kip!’

She’d given him an elbow in the ribs, said, ‘Ary go on outta that! Two squirts and you’re calling it a night! I’ll get you roaring till the small hours.’

She did and did, till them small hours. Finally he cried, ‘I’ll give you serious money not to touch me dick again.’

She laughed out loud and climbed on. When finally she’d nodded off, he’d limped to his feet and hobbled outta there as fast as he could manage.

Pat arrived in. ‘There you are … Sheila’s looking for you.’

When he saw Brant’s alarm, he added, ‘Only coddin’ yah! Isn’t she a gas woman?’

‘Gas?’

‘She’s a widow, you know.’

‘Christ, I believe it! I’m only surprised she’s at large.’

Pat shouted across the tables, ‘Mary, bring us a nice cuppa tea and a currant bun, there’s a good girl.’ He sat down, said, ‘So you’ll be going now?’

‘Yeah, the local boyos are running me down to Shannon … see me off the premises, I suppose.’

Pat looked sad. ‘I’ll be sorry to see you go.’

Brant reached in his pocket, produced a fancy bag with ‘WILLIAM FALLER’ written in gold across it. ‘I didn’t know what else to get.’

Pat opened it fast and out fell a shining gold Zippo. He turned it over, the inscription: ‘PATEEN’. Pat said, ‘I’ll mind it like laughter.’

‘In south-east London we’re not big on hugs or that, so I’ll …

Pat got up and grabbed him in a hug that Sheila would have admired, said, ‘You be careful now, young Brant.’

On the way to Shannon, Brant reached for a cigarette and lit it carefully with a Zippo. His thumb near covered the ‘1968’.