Giving You All

GIVING YOUR ALL

It would have been wrong to call it a caf? and to be honest, nobody
did. To it's regulars, like Dennis it was 'The Caff'; plain and simple
with no frills. It served instant coffee, buckets of muddy coloured tea
and a definitive range of food. There was no attempt at cheeriness; it
was a purely functional place where the food was simple to prepare and
the tabletops easy to wipe clean.
Best of all, there were no children. It did not cater for them nor
tolerate their raucous, nerve-jangling screams and their impatient,
shattered mothers: Macdonald's in the High Street had that dubious
pleasure. Without them a curious calm had settled like a comfortable
dust over it's regulars: mainly men in their 50's and 60's who sat
around reading, sipping tea and talking absentmindedly, without
interest or attachment.
Had the cafe been situated anywhere in the Mediterranean, the tables
would have been littered with cards or checkers and half-empty wine
glasses but this was England and instead they held condiments, greasy
plastic tomatoes and copies of the Racing Times and The Sun. Still,
Dennis liked it because it was predictable but he also hated it for the
same reason. He found an ever-increasing need to be in places where he
could find peace and quiet on his own terms. At home, Helen would try
to keep him busy because she thought he would give in to his feelings
and become morose. She confused his need for space and quiet with
depression and he could never convince her that he needed time for
thought. Consequently he spent most of his time at home in the shed or
in the toilet.
It was nine thirty, an allotted time. The door 'chinged' open and Brian
came in; a burly figure wrapped in a blue car coat, with a rolled
newspaper in one pocket and his hand in the other.
"Dennis." Was the single-word greeting.
"Brian." Was the acknowledgement.
Brian ordered tea, pulled the newspaper from his coat pocket and sat
down opposite Dennis. "Bloody cold," he said shuddering. "Brass
monkeys," agreed Dennis. Brian unfolded his paper and began to read the
back page. As if this action, in itself, was an agreed signal, a kind
of reverential silence fell between the two men. Dennis lit a cigarette
and after a short time Brian spoke. "Fuckin' lost again I see," he
said, shaking his head as he did so. Dennis nodded in agreement.
"Useless, they are, our bloody dog could do better, at least he could
fetch the ball out the back of the net." Brian chuckled which made him
cough violently. "Give us a fag mate," he said, " I need to loosen
this." He thumped his chest with his fist and Dennis offered him a
cigarette, which he took and lit, drawing in the smoke deeply as he did
so. " So what's on the cards for today?" Said Brian, folding his paper
and proffering it to Dennis. Dennis shook his head and Brian stuffed
the paper back into his pocket. " Thought I'd fly over to Paris for
lunch and spend the evening having wild, deviant sex in a shady
bordello, you?" " Water skiing on the canal, followed by wild deviant
sex with the Vicar's daughter under a bridge somewhere," he
replied.
"When were you last wild and deviant Brian?" Asked Dennis. "1945," said
Brian wistfully. Dennis checked his watch. "Bugger me, it's only 21.30
now," he said, with fake gravity, " you can get too much of that sort
of thing, you need to slow down a bit." "Can't mate, I'm totally
rampant for it, ever since I came out of string vests last
Christmas."
Brian stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and sighed. "What are
you gonna do today then?" "Go down the job centre I s'pose," replied
Dennis, " though I'm sick to death of the place; it's full of zombies
and no-hopers." "Like you and me you mean?" Added Brian. " We're not
like them and you know it: we were made redundant after giving thirty
bloody years to that firm and that qualifies us as something
different." " Only in your eyes mate, don't think for one minute that
it qualifies you for anything different as far as they're concerned."
Countered Brian. 'They' was the collective noun Dennis and Brian used
to describe anyone who was even remotely connected with their jobless
state from the government, down through the echelons of management and
now to those who occupied a desk at the job centre. They'd become
privileged dirt as far as the two friends were concerned and their
bitterness knew no bounds. " Same patter every bloody day," said
Dennis, "Now then, Dennis, I have several positions which you may find
interesting: there's a waiters post at the Red Lion, a computer trainee
is needed at the Sawmill and there's a jockey wanted down at the
stables if you can lose eight stone by next Thursday." "Don't!" warned
Brian, "It'll get you nowhere." " I like being cynical, it's the one
joy left in life&;#8230;apart from Prozac."
"Relax, something'll turn up sooner or later," said Brian. "Bollocks,
replied Dennis vehemently, "who are you kidding we're over fifty and
we're trained to do one thing and we're too long in the tooth to
change. We're on the sodding scrap heap and you know it. This country
owes us and it's not willing to put its hand in its pocket and cough
up. How much redundancy pay did we get after giving thirty years to
that factory: five thousand miserable quid. Is that really all we were
worth?" Brian got up from his seat and picked up the mugs from the
table in his big fist and looked at Dennis. "Another cup?" he asked
staring Dennis straight in the eye. Dennis read the message, "why not,"
he answered, " let's push the boat out." Brian grinned and moved to the
counter to order. "Two more please Mary," he said. Mary was smiling as
ever: a motherly figure in her plastic apron, her hands red from too
much hot water. She deftly poured tea from a fresh pot into two clean
mugs and frowned as she said, "Is he alright?" Nodding her head towards
Dennis. " Not really Mary. To be honest, he worries me: wallowing in
self-pity and bitter as hell he is." "Poor lamb," she sighed, "too
proud for his own good that one." "Proud?" Queried Brian, "I'd hardly
say that: broken more like." "No love, it's pride, won't allow him to
accept what's happened, it's a kind of arrogance, I've seen it too many
times to be mistaken, you mark my words." Brian paid for the teas and
returned Mary's warm and knowing smile before moving back to the table.
" There we go mate, get that down yer neck." "Thanks," said Dennis and
he leant forward over the table signaling that he was about to say
something in confidence. " Listen Bri, I'm sorry, you know for going on
like that, I know you're in the same boat and I don't mean to burden
you with more of the same." "That's okay mate, a problem shared is a
problem doubled, that's what I say." " Thanks mate, you're a brick...
gotta get it off my chest to someone." Brian looked quizzical, "don't
you talk about his stuff with Helen, Dennis?" He asked. "Not really,
said Dennis, "you know how it is, after all twenty years you tend to
avoid conversations that might turn into arguments. I think she's lost
her patience with me and I don't want to get into something that will
hack her off any more than she is already." Brian leant over the table
and gently patted Dennis on the back of the hand. "I know," he said. To
anyone witnessing the scene it would have gone unnoticed but as a
gesture it was almost too much for Dennis to bear: Brian was seventeen
stone and as tough as old boots but his touch was so full of warmth
that it might easily have been his mothers. The moment touched Dennis
beyond his expectation. It was probably the first time anyone had shown
true compassion and understanding towards his feelings for a long time
and he'd not only forgotten how it felt but also how to react.
Consequently, he recoiled under Brian's touch and withdrew his hand to
safety beneath the table. Nonetheless it still glowed, the warmth
spreading slowly throughout the rest of his body. Suddenly, Dennis
needed his mother more than at any other time in his life. He was
filled with an overwhelming sense of worthlessness and he knew that
Brian sensed it too and that made matters doubly worse. " Come on."
Said Brian, "to hell with the Job Centre&;#8230;we're going to the
pub."

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