Famous (33 page)

‘Bubbles?’ replied the man, searching her face for more clues. ‘You mean something fizzy like lemonade?’

‘No. I mean something bubbly. Like champagne.’

‘Oh. Sorry. Nope. None of that stuff here.’

‘Well,’ said Mands, clearly dismayed but also wisely remembering this was the only drinking establishment in the entire village. ‘What can you recommend then?’

‘The beer’s good,’ he replied.

She turned round to face us. ‘The beer’s good, girls. Did you hear that?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, very keen to remove myself from the scene we were already causing at the bar and find a dark and dingy corner table to sit at. ‘I’ll have a beer then.’

‘Right. Three beers please!’ said Mands, turning back to the barman. ‘Make them large.’

I went and found us the most inconspicuous table I could and watched as Mands and Lizzie carried over three buckets of beer.

‘I’m not sure whether to drink it or strip off and have a swim in it,’ said Lizzie, putting hers down on the table.

The people at the table next to us were staring at Mands and Lizzie as though they were a couple of Martians. We sat and watched the group of people playing pool at the table in front of us. It looked as though the middle-aged Maori woman with no front teeth and her burly partner had just won, judging by her gummy smile.

‘Who wants a game?’ asked Mands. Lizzie and I stared back at her mutely. ‘Of pool?’ she added.

‘Har-har,’ said Lizzie.

‘Very funny,’ I added.

‘I’m putting a coin up,’ declared Mands, jumping out of her seat.

Lizzie and I passed each other a furtive has-she-finally-gone-completely-barking-mad look.

‘Mands, what are you doing?’ I hissed, when she sat back down. ‘All these people do is play pool. Every single day. And night. You are going to get your tiny arse kicked.’

‘Bring it on,’ she replied.

Dear God, I despaired. She’d only been in the pub for twenty minutes and she was already chugging back the beer and talking like a bogan.

It appeared Mands and her partner were going to play the winners, toothless Cass and tattooed Jimmy. Jimmy even had a tattoo of a fin with the words ‘pool shark’ engraved on his right forearm. Mands tried to pry me out of my seat, but I wouldn’t budge. So she picked on Lizzie instead.

‘Oh come on!’ she encouraged.

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Lizzie. But she wasn’t as strong and feisty as little Mands, who had pulled her out of her seat and up to the pool table before she could utter another word of protest.

‘So,’ said Mands, once she had introduced herself and Lizzie to Cass and Jimmy. ‘Who’s breaking?’

‘You are,’ said Jimmy, handing her the cue.

Oh God! I thought, bracing myself for the painful sight ahead.

But Mands was one of those annoying people who never screwed up anything. Anything. She managed to break the balls evenly and even managed to sink one in the process.

I watched in dismay as the four of them embarked on what can only be described as the Longest Game of Pool Ever. It wasn’t aided by the fact that whenever Lizzie hit a ball (when she did) she just sort pushed it with the cue, rolling it in slow motion towards the edge of the table.

‘Could you at least try and aim for the holes,’ urged Mands.

‘I am,’ replied Lizzie through gritted teeth.

Sport had never been Lizzie’s forte. At college, during physical-education class, she had managed to take a forehand swing on the tennis court and chip her two front teeth in half. This was no mean feat. In fact it had been deemed ‘absolutely impossible’ by our teacher, until she saw Lizzie’s teeth that is. Jimmy and Cass were clearly taking it easy on the girls too, which wasn’t speeding things up.

The only disadvantage of drinking beer, I thought to myself as I sat and watched, aside from the fact I didn’t actually like it, was that it turned the bladder into some sort of garden water feature. We had only been in the pub for an hour and I had already peed six times.

Might as well just take the beer and sit on the toilet, I thought to myself.

‘Barp!’ burped Lizzie, covering her mouth. ‘Oopsie. Scuze me.’

The propensity to burp was the other issue with beer.

Finally, praise the Lord, Jimmy sank the black and the game was over. Mands and Lizzie still with two-thirds of their balls sitting on the table. Relieved it had finally finished I got up to congratulate him too. Cass, the toothless woman, stood with her arm draped across Mands’ shoulders. It appeared she had taken quite a shining to her.

‘I think you should move here too,’ she said to Mands. ‘You’re alright, you are.’

That was a big compliment in these parts, and Mands took it well.

‘Cass, you know, I’m seriously considering it,’ replied Mands, returning her kiss on the cheek.

It was a Kodak Moment. Big, toothless, grinning Cass engulfing petite, immaculate Mands in a pub bear hug.

‘Mands,’ said Lizzie, pointing over at our table. ‘Your bag’s smoking.’

‘Jesus!’ yelled Mands, running back to the table, and grabbing her bag, ‘My bloody handbag’s on fire!’

And it was too - smoking like a banshee and seconds away from bursting into a very expensive fiery ball. The few people in the pub who hadn’t been staring at the three of us all evening definitely were now.

‘Water!’ yelled Mands, as one of the big-bearded men from the next table over lunged across and tipped his full jug of beer into her handbag.

‘That’ll sort it love,’ he said, very happy with his swift thinking.

‘Thank…you,’ managed Mands, just. As she stared down at the beer-soaked, steaming piece of charcoal leather in her hands. The beer dripped onto her brown boots.

On closer inspection it appeared she had been ashing into her handbag for a good portion of the evening. It was fair to say Mands had suffered some collateral damage in the country thus far. A pair of Prada sneakers and a Louis Vuitton handbag, all in one day. Lizzie and I made her put down the still-smoking handbag and dragged her up to the bar for some shots of consoling tequila.

‘I loved that bag!’ cried Mands, slamming down her third shot glass. ‘Cost me two weeks bloody wages!’

‘Insurance,’ placated Lizzie.

‘New handbag,’ I added.

Seeing how upset Mands was over the bag, Cass even came up to the bar and bought her another tequila, before wrapping her into yet another gummy bear hug.

‘Shanks Cass,’ said Mands, now quite drunk and also having the air consolingly slammed out of her.

By this time the karaoke was in full swing. A woman named Sharee, in a mauve shell suit and with enough blue eyeshadow to sink a small ship, was belting out an ear-shattering rendition of
I Got You Babe
with a very bearded man named Bill.

‘How about a song?’ suggested Lizzie.

I pretended I hadn’t heard her, in a vain attempt to not draw any more attention to myself.

‘Let’s!’ said Mands, on whom the tequila had worked wonders.

The two of them decided we should sing
I Will Survive
. A sort of ode to Mands and her handbag.

‘It’s all right for you two,’ I hissed, as they dragged me up onto the small stage. ‘You’re leaving tomorrow!’

I had no choice but to throw myself into the performance, with the same drunk gusto as the other two. Thankfully, as the three of us had karaoke’d to this song more times than was called for over the years, the words came flooding back. We even remembered our dance routine. Standing in a row, hands on hips, turning side on and pointing our arms at the crowd. A formation which was broken down and repeated, many times over. Much to the crowd’s unbelievable delight.

‘Encore!’ shouted Cass, the table of big-bearded men joining in.

‘Yeah!’ shouted what appeared to be the rest of the pub.

‘Okay!’ shouted back Mands, gripping my arm and stopping me from hopping off the stage. ‘You got it!’ She appeared to be immersed in some sort of entertainment trance.

Lizzie and I looked across at each other, nervously.

‘Stay there girls,’ she instructed, walking towards the karaoke operator.

Ten seconds later the opening sequence to
Material Girl
began.

Oh dear God, I thought in horror. What on earth was she doing? They’re going to hate this!

But I was wrong. Oh so wrong. We danced in a line with Mands at the centre helm, wiggled our hips, did lots of Madonna-inspired shimmying and arm pointing, and they loved it. When we had finished the entire pub erupted into claps and cheers, with a series of wolf whistles piercing the air.

‘Thank you,’ mouthed Mands to the crowd, as she instructed Lizzie and I to take a bow.

‘Another one!’ shouted several people, as we climbed off the stage.

‘Maybe later,’ replied Mands, as the three of us walked through the clapping to the bar.

‘Jane,’ said a voice behind me. ‘Great performance.’ I turned around to see the man from the market. Elsie’s friend.

‘Oh hi…um, thanks…I think.’ Mands and Lizzie, who had suddenly slammed on their brakes, turned around and gave me the elbow.

‘Oh, these are my friends, Lizzie and Mands,’ I said. ‘And this is…’

‘Ethan. Hi,’ he replied, shaking both of their hands. ‘Do you karaoke for a living?’ he asked. ‘Or just when you’re on holiday?’

‘Just wherever there’s the demand,’ replied Mands, giving him one of her very best flirty smiles.

‘We’ve only just come out of retirement,’ I added.

‘That’s far too much talent to be hiding away,’ said Ethan.

‘I think you should take up a regular Saturday night slot.’

‘We’ll think about it,’ replied Lizzie.

‘What are you ladies drinking?’ he asked.

‘Um…vodka…I think,’ I replied.

‘Please let me,’ said Ethan, as he excused himself to the front of the bar and ordered three vodka and tonics.

‘I’m sitting over there with some friends,’ he said, handing us our drinks and pointing to a table at the far wall. ‘Would you like to join us?’

‘Sure,’ said Mands and Lizzie, before I had a chance to reply. ‘We’ll be over in a sec.’

As he walked off Mands and Lizzie stood staring at me.

‘Looks like someone won the meat pack,’ said Mands, slapping me on the arm.

She obviously thought Ethan was good-looking.

‘And?’ said Lizzie.

‘And what?’

‘And why the hell haven’t you told us about him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We mean,’ said Lizzie, ‘that you appear to have omitted to mention to us, your two best friends, that you have met a foxy man in this town.’

‘Village,’ I corrected her.

‘Or that there is actually a good-looking person living in this place,’ added Mands.

‘I hardly know him,’ I protested. ‘I’ve only met him once. At the market.’

‘At the what?’ asked Lizzie.

‘The market,’ I repeated. ‘It happens every Saturday morning in the church car park.’

‘I see,’ she replied, looking decidedly blank.

‘Irrelevant details,’ said Mands, dragging me over to Ethan’s table.

He was sitting with his friend Mack, and Mack’s wife Abbie, whom he promptly introduced us to.

‘Outstanding performance!’ congratulated Abbie, one of the few women in the pub who wasn’t wearing a shell suit.

Fortunately they had only arrived at the pub in time to see our back-to-back karaoke performance, and had not witnessed Mands’ flaming handbag episode. But naturally they had heard about it. After a couple more rounds of vodkas Cass tentatively approached the table. It appeared she wanted to sing a duet. With Mands.

‘Hell yes!’ said Mands, jumping up from her seat. It seemed you just couldn’t keep a good karaoke-er down.

The next minute they were up on stage, big solid toothless Cass with her arms wrapped round Mands’ tiny shoulders, belting out
Islands in the Stream
. One microphone apiece.

‘Dear God!’ exclaimed Lizzie. ‘I knew I should’ve brought the camera.’

‘No kidding,’ agreed Abbie, laughing.

I was rendered speechless. Mands was a human chameleon. It didn’t matter what situation you threw her into, she’d blend in as though she’d been there all her life. At the end of the song Cass gave Mands another of her bone-crushing hugs, just for old times’ sake. Thankfully the call was made for last drinks and we weren’t subjected to an encore.

As we said our goodbyes to Ethan, Mack and Abbie and headed for the doors, Mands handed Cass one of her business cards.

‘Call me dolls!’ she instructed. ‘We’ll do lunch.’

I dragged myself out of bed far too early the next morning, as Lizzie once again moved in for the spoon-and-thigh rub. I was sitting motionless at the kitchen table, sunglasses planted firmly over my eyes and strong coffee in hand, when Mands surfaced.

‘Hell!’ she moaned, as she dragged herself, eyes barricaded also, onto a chair. ‘Quite a night.’

‘Oh yes,’ I replied, unable to string together more than a few words.

‘What on earth were we drinking?’ she asked.

‘Beer, vodka, tequila, rum…everything,’ I replied.

‘That’ll explain it then,’ said Mands, tentatively stroking her forehead.

‘Lord above,’ said Lizzie, walking in and stumbling over Louie, who couldn’t even summon the enthusiasm to yelp.