The Naked Drinking Club (29 page)

‘Have we got money?’

We both felt in our pockets. I found a coin in the front pocket of my jeans. I vaguely remembered being in a call box, unable to talk for slurring, but I couldn’t be sure. In my back pockets were my flip-flops. I stopped for a moment and tried concentrating, for I thought the flip-flops may lead somewhere, but they didn’t.

‘Nothing,’ said Scotty. ‘Remember nothing, d’you?’

‘No, not really.’

I wasn’t afraid; I wasn’t anything really, except drunk. I could confirm with myself that this was the most drunk I had been in a long time. Whatever had gone on, whatever it was, felt like much more than just one heavy night of drinking. The night I slept with the barman of The Naked Drinking Club was the worst I’d been since coming here, but this even beat that. I remember someone telling me a story once of a truck driver who got so drunk he had to look at his passport when he woke up to see who he was. I felt just a stage behind that, on the beach in the dark. At least I knew who I was with and what country I was in.

We sat up. I rubbed my face. I just wanted to sleep this off, but we kept on trying to move. We put our arms round each other’s backs and stood up. I had a feeling whisky was involved; I would never ordinarily be this drunk with beer or wine. Still, whisky rang no bells. At this moment I had no understanding of how we came to be sleeping by the sea. As
we
wandered in the dark, mostly within a small radius, there was a feeling of nothing except Scotty and me on the entire planet.

‘Look!’ I pointed into the blackness, to what I thought was a tiny flicker of light.

‘I see it.’ Scotty pulled me tighter to him.

‘Is it land in the distance?’ I asked.

‘Think so.’

It was hard to talk and walk; my body was so uncoordinated and trying to control it was exhausting, plus we were walking on sand. I took the light to be streetlights in the distance. I had no idea how far the distance was from us, but thought it might be the nearest town. Anyhow, it was something to aim towards. We walked as fast as we could, which seemed extremely fast. The sand beneath me passed under my feet so quickly I felt as though I was on coasters, or on that long, fast, conveyor belt that takes you from one airport terminal to another. Scotty was leaning on me a bit, which weighed me down and made me breathless, but I needed to feel him close to me, so I didn’t complain. We mostly stumbled along in silence, except for the odd bit of giggling.

The light got nearer; it was brighter but still flickered. The closer we got, the more I thought it unlikely to be a streetlight because it was too shaky. If it was a town in the distance then it was very far, and we had a real struggle ahead, moving all the way there as we were. We started stopping every so often to recharge for a moment, then immediately after we would make a half-run advance, often falling over, then starting again, frustrated at not reaching the mysterious light we were banking on. The darkness was getting more claustrophobic as I was forced to accept its permanence; I wanted to unzip it, and return to daylight. It was the oddest thing to have nothing around, not even an out-of-focus object to fix on. I couldn’t even make out Scotty’s face; there was no reflection of the water, no moon. I was generally bad at reading the moon, and the sun. If only Jim was here, he could tell us moon things. Then I remembered Jim.

I stopped and grabbed Scotty. ‘Scotty.’

‘What?’

‘Jim, Jim, the paintings – think we were with him?’

‘Fuck, yeah. Think you’re right. Dunno, come on, keep going.’ He was right. We had to follow the light and work out the rest later. There was definitely a Jim though, and a group we were with not so long ago, in a car. I remembered someone shouting at us, then throwing us a blanket.

The nearer we got to the light, the more it wobbled around, but never really got much bigger. At first it seemed straight ahead, many miles away, but now as we were approaching we made a direction change uphill and far left.

‘Sssh.’ Again I was saying nothing when Scotty stopped me, holding onto my shoulders. I wondered what his face looked like, or mine for that matter. ‘D’ye hear?’

I strained to hear as best I could. He was right; there was something other than the waves gently lapping the shoreline. There was a slight breeze building that was carrying some guitar chords over us. The sounds were coming from the light. It spurred us on even more, and we made another ridiculous attempt at running.

‘Come on!’ I shouted, as encouragement for us. We kept on moving and moving, sometimes falling and crawling for a bit, then back up, always attached to each other. As we approached, the music was clear, though gentle. The flicker had lit up some of the beach; I could just make out tall blades of beach grass on the bank up to the left. I was so relieved to be coming out of the darkness.

‘Hello!’ Scotty called out, slightly ahead of me now, pulling me by the hand. I had slowed down a little, trying to establish whether part of my wet jeans was seawater or piss.

‘Hello!’ I called out. Nobody called back. We kept moving towards the light and sound, which was a huge relief.

Three people, their faces illuminated, sat in a dip in the sand; I think two male, one female. One had a guitar; the light came from two candles stuck in wine bottles. I don’t remember what we said but we joined them for a while, and they seemed friendly if monosyllabic. They were smiley and stoned, I thought. They passed a joint round; Scotty had some, I said no thanks. They were singing something unrecognisable as the man strummed away. The woman wore a
poncho.
None of us reacted very much to each other. Scotty asked about a town, and bummed a cigarette. A man with blond hair, who I tried to focus on but couldn’t, swung his arm round behind him and pointed. We thanked them and left. I thought the pointer had a tattoo. Maybe not.

What if he did have a tattoo? I worried, remembering something about a tattoo warning from someone.

‘Did he have a tattoo?’ I asked Scotty, as we cleared foliage out of the way, trying to move inland.

‘Fuck knows.’

I put on my flip-flops as the ground was changing and had now become gravelly.

After the foliage we could see a light as tall as a tree, and stumbled upon a small road. There was a wall by the road; we leant against it, and tried to focus again. I could feel my head rolling as I looked at Scotty, although I didn’t feel as out of it as when I first woke up.

I had never so far had a hangover that stopped me from drinking again. Nor had I vomited through drink, unless you count the alcoholic poisoning I had when I was fifteen, which my father thought would teach me a lesson – that I don’t count. And while I knew that drinking to excess, as I often did, could endanger my life or certainly hold it back, there really was little incentive to stop. Somehow I always landed on my feet, and was certain that it would be the same in this instance.

Scotty lit up the bummed cigarette and we shared it, swaying and wondering what to do. He took a pee, without turning round. It was after all too late for all that now. Across from where we were standing was a road sign, a small country-type one, no more than a post with an arrow-shaped piece of wood at the top, with white-painted information. While Scotty peed I went over to try to read it. I held onto the post and looked up, opening my eyes wide trying to concentrate, but no luck. I grasped the post with both hands and squinted, which was better, and barely made out ‘3km’ to some place I stood no chance of understanding.

‘I don’t care if it rains or freezes, long as ah got my plastic Jesus/hangin’ on the dashboard of my caaagh.’
Scotty started singing something I’d heard before.

‘Next car, Scotty, we’ll stop it, yeah?’

‘Sure, yep, that’s it.’

‘Got any money? I haven’t.’

Scotty felt around then exploded. ‘Yes, you fuckin’ beauty!’ He pulled out a note folded tightly from somewhere in his jeans.

‘What is it?’

‘Fuckin’ ten bucks. WHOOOA!’

We grabbed onto each other and swung around, falling on to the road. The way I saw it, it was unrealistic to think that the situation would be sorted out tonight; it was late and we were fucked. We might as well continue drinking and start again tomorrow in the daylight, when we would be clearheaded. I shared my thoughts on the subject with Scotty and he wholeheartedly agreed. While we waited for a car, we talked about a campsite and felt that the others must be there, and must have left us on the beach, or perhaps we had refused to go back with them. Maybe we’d had our own party with some beach people like the three with the candles we’d just encountered. Whatever had happened, we now had a plan, which was excellent. To go to the next town and have a beer, then find the nearest campsite.

Scotty tried to teach me a verse of his song, until a car arrived. As soon as we heard an engine, we placed ourselves in the middle of the road, which was hardly wider than the both of us anyway, and outstretched our arms, just in case he tried to drive past.

The car approached with a light on top. As soon as we clocked the light we dropped our arms, worrying that it was a police car.

‘Where you headin’?’ said the man, leaning out.

‘Next town.’

‘Got your fare?’

‘You a taxi?’ I asked, thinking I sounded charming and he might let us in.

‘Mate, you’d really be—’ Scotty began.

‘Come on, get in, I’ll sort it,’ I said, pushing him in. ‘Course we have,’ I said to the driver, whispering to Scotty that he must trust me and to not mention money to him. We got in. I
told
the driver then that we had no money but he could see and touch my tits if we got a lift. Of course, he agreed. I indicated for him to drive off first, but gave him a flash as a taster.

The road swirled round and round from where we sat in the back. I lifted my top up for most of the way. The driver had the radio on; we shouted for him to turn it up. The Rolling Stones came on, which woke us up a bit more. When we drove round a bend, we made an excited noise like kids. He smoked, and I saw his eyes watch us in the mirror, then his hand go down to his crotch. By the end of ‘Sympathy For The Devil’ we came to a town, of some sorts. There were some motorbikes outside a bar. He pulled in, stopped the car and switched his inside light on. I nudged Scotty and put my finger over my mouth.

He twisted round in his seat.

‘Doesn’t your boyfriend mind?’

‘He’s not my fucking boyfriend,’ I said, letting him have his feel.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

IT WAS EASIER
to see by now, with the air sobering us up slightly. The town had only three things as far as we could see from where the car dropped us. A phone box, a shop that was closed, and the bar we were about to walk into, which had a large board outside with ‘Talent Night’ written in yellow chalk. The bar was half full. There were some beardy men, who must have owned the bikes outside. Rod Stewart boomed out, which was quality in the circumstances. We jigged around at the bar, as we drank down the schooners that Scotty bought us, feeling as if we were now an inseparable duo; therefore, we agreed to stay together for ever, travelling from one bar to another, then we toasted to it. We attempted to recall the events that led to us becoming a couple of some kind, but found it to be too much effort to concentrate.

‘Does it matter?’ I asked him.

‘Not one fucking bit,’ he said.

I swung my head round, taking in the bar and its customers, who were mostly men, almost all of whom seemed to have tattoos on their arms; a couple of them wore them on their chests.

‘Notice anything?’ I asked, pulling him towards me so no one could hear. ‘All these people are ugly.’

We laughed.

‘Tattoos!’

‘What, mate?’

‘They’ve all got them. I think it’s a club. Do you think it is?’

Scotty glanced around. ‘Could be.’

Scotty was less concerned with the tattoo theme than I was;
I
could see that, even in my state. I finally remembered Joyce Cane’s tattoo remarks, which explained my obsession. Her vision had clearly been a warning, even if she’d told me not to worry. People only ever say things in the way she did, when it is meant as a warning. Odd, that on the beach I met a man with a tattoo just out of nowhere, who points us to the road that leads us to here, this bar, the only bar for miles, full of tattoos. Was this fate again? Had I been led to this bar for a reason? I wondered about that for a few moments in my own world, as Scotty talked to the old man next to us about his lighter. The man was as drunk as us, so the conversation went on; the man sang a completely different song from the one playing in the bar. I couldn’t hear him, but I could see him looking ahead and swinging his head from side to side and contorting his face. Scotty moved the guy’s lighter slowly along the bar, making it do somersaults. Soon I completely forgot my concerns over tattoos and the possibility of me meeting my fate tonight.

I soon worked out that we were in the interval of the talent contest. The music quietened down as various men took their positions at their instruments at the front of a makeshift stage. There were six or seven men, all wearing white shirts. The drummer began to warm up, rattling his moves. I was bored with Scotty and the man next to us, and wandered off towards the band. I mumbled to the saxophonist, who had a tattoo on his forearm. It had a date on it; I tried to read it but spilt some of my beer on the cables on the floor coming from the keyboards, which caused a bad-tempered big guy to run over and grab my arm and usher me back to the bar.

‘Have you got a tattoo?’ I slurred, as he marched me. He didn’t reply. His angry silence made me giggle, which made him tighten his grip, which only made me giggle even more. I didn’t care about anything, and felt increasingly mischievous.

I wanted to get back to the saxophonist and read the date on his arm. I looked to Scotty for help but he had joined in singing with the old guy. I grew tired of the restrictions, and decided to enter the talent contest, which seemed to be pretty relaxed. I walked up the steps onto the stage with my schooner in my hand, and grabbed the mike.