Servants to the Club
Liz leaned over, her thumb and forefinger hesitating only the briefest of seconds before she turned the volume up on the car stereo.
“Those three wise men, they had a semi-prophecy…”
Luke’s hand was just as fast. There was a certain predictability to the jousting: Liz just full out cranking it to songs she liked, Luke wanting the volume to stay at an even level. When he got tired of the game, his finger would simply press the radio off. Liz would pout for a few minutes, and then her hand would turn it on again. Sometimes she sang more quietly. Usually she just picked up where she left off, daring Luke to try to shut her up.
“Where are you now…”
Luke had made what he considered a huge allowance: Liz could sing “Eye of the Tiger” at the top of her lungs. It was her unofficial theme song, as if a girl her age could have an official theme song.
The radio was still on when James Blunt finished, a small victory for Liz especially considering her purposefully off-key rendition that played fast and loose with the lyrics. Liz looked around, then asked over the music,
—-I thought you didnae want to go to the pub? I’m not dressed for it. I need to change my shirt.
She was wearing her oldest, loosest jeans, the kind that she now had to belt and wear rolled up at the bottom. The clingy blue t-shirt showed off her breasts, and it also showed off the pit stains she’d gotten over the course of the day. Anxiety and stress made her sweat. Luke knew she hated to go out looking so classy; she’d learned that she attracted the greasy ones when she looked like that. It was a mistake she’d only made once.
Luke didn’t look much better, with his ratty button down and scuffed shoes. Liz noticed that this pair of jeans didn’t have holes. Liz wondered if he’d planned his outfit in advance and just neglected to tell her of his plans.
—- You’re not out on the pull, Liz. I just want to have a quick pint and see some of the game. I bloody well think we deserve it after the day we’ve had, don’t you?
A drink’s a drink, Liz thought to herself. She refused to dwell on the days they had to spend with Maureen and Stan. Best to let go and forget, otherwise the constant negativity would overwhelm her. Resigned, she pulled out a lipstick from her purse and flicked down the passenger side visor, glancing at Luke as she did so. She half expected him to reach over and replace the visor, but he was too intent on the combination of the rear-view mirror, steering wheel, clutch and reverse gear. In part to distract him she asked him if he was okay.
—- Och aye.
Liz rolled her eyes,
—-You sound like Granda.
They made their way over the road to the pub in silence. Just before he pulled open the heavy wooden door, Luke smirked,
—- You look rough as fuck ya know.
Liz went straight to the bar while Luke found seats that afforded a decent, albeit peripheral view of the game. The pub was out of the way, and catered to an older crowd; Luke must have picked it so that he could watch the game in peace. He cared as much as he had to, depending on who he was with. Tonight he cared because of who he had put up with all day, but not that much, since they were alone. When he got in one of his moods, he resisted the mania. Football was his excuse to sit with his pint and get philosophical with her. One pint, one game, then home to continue with the business of living.
There were two young guys at the bar at the only spot Liz could find to order. It should have been Luke at the bar, she realized too late. She could feel the eyes on her. Just as suddenly, then, the feeling of being looked over was gone.
—- YA FUCKIN IDIOT, AH COULD’VE SCORED THAT FAE FIFTY YARDS AWAY.
They had the bred in the bone passion and intensity of twenty-something football fans. The testosterone seemed to seep into the air, to be sucked up by the other guys as oxygen. It worked to incite, inflame. The lads looked normal enough, but Liz knew better than to assume. At least there were only two of them tonight, she thought to herself. In groups of more than two, the lack of oxygen and the violent competitive slagging of the other team’s players got to be too much even for someone who had grown up with it. Her da had never quite figured out how he managed to sire a girl who could talk football and a boy who would rather not, most days. It served her well, her knowledge of the sides. A best defense is a good offense, and all that. Liz looked the near one in the eye,
—- Dinnae tell me that’s a card?
—- They were oot to get im the match. He was gettin kicked fae all directions, and now that he done that tackle, he’s called.
Liz chuckled to herself as she ordered the pints of Tennants. The officials were taking it tonight judging from the rhetorical incredulity of the boys at the bar.
Liz placed the pint on the table in front of her brother, nodding to the game,
—-Pity he pulled his shot wide and pillaged the post.
Luke smiled,
—-Ta.
Liz tried again,
—-He done well and a’that.
Luke had his head turned to the game, but his eyes were vacant. He was absorbed in his own thoughts, as he often was after they’d been out for a visit. The rows were more frequent now. Neither one of them could escape from it; at best they knew that the anger would be directed at one, not both of them.
—-I’m gled you’re here, Liz.
Liz faced the television, but her eyes were trained on Luke’s hands.
—- You dinnae need to say so. I know I’m everything to you, ya wee wanker. Now, speak. Let’s out with it.
She watched him twist the glass around and around. He needed time to figure out how to talk to her about whatever had happened. He trailed off,
—-It’s nae just today. I dinnae call him back and I said I would, and I know that stuff just doesnae sit well with him. It’s my fault. He’s right, I’m just preoccupied with ma own nonsense.
Liz bristled. She tried to control her anger. She wasn’t angry at Luke. She took a deep breath, listened to him,
—- I feel like gettin aff ma heid, and I know I cannae, not now, not with the way things are. I’d just be runnin away, provin him right. I won’t do it. Why do we bother goin there Liz? I’ve bin feelin a bit more settled lately and he just goes and fucks me up again. I am who I am, he’s never goin to change that. Time’s come we started lookin out for each other more, keeping away from them.
He looked directly at her,
—-I loathe him, Liz.
Liz wants to tell him that hate is a strong emotion. It’s not the kind of feeling that one bandies about in a pub when you’re pretending to watch a game that means nothing for the top of the table either, she realizes. She says the only thing that jumps into her head at that instant,
—-Fuck him, Luke. Let’s get home. Why are we hangin aboot in this place anyway? I look like shite and if I want to hear nonsense about footie I’ll go back and talk to Granda.
