Second From Last In the Sack Race by David Nobbs

Author:David Nobbs [David Nobbs]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2013-04-09T00:00:00+00:00

The Day Pratt Broke Out

‘I WOULDN’T GO myself if I hadn’t helped to organise it,’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘Rawlaston Working Men’s Club isn’t the Moulin Rouge, you know.’

It was pre-prandial drinks time in Cap Ferrat, on a wet evening in January, 1950.

‘I’ve never been to a club,’ said Henry.

‘You’re under age,’ said Auntie Doris.

‘I don’t want to drink,’ said Henry. ‘I just want to see the cabaret. I’ve never seen a cabaret. They’ll let me in if you’re the organiser.’

‘I don’t like abusing positions of influence,’ said Uncle Teddy.

‘You never take me anywhere,’ said Henry. ‘I’m nearly fifteen. I can behave myself. Every summer holidays, when I come back, you’re as bronzed as Greek gods. You think I don’t realise that you’ve been on holiday, but I’m not as green as I’m cabbage-looking. That’s why I never get any letters towards the end of the summer term.’

Uncle Teddy and Auntie Doris didn’t look as bronzed as Greek gods at that moment. In fact they’d both gone deathly pale.

‘You go to Cap Ferrat,’ said Henry. ‘It’s your favourite place. You named your house after it. I used to think it was a hat for ferreting. I was naive. You’ve given me the chance to be sophisticated, and that means I can see through you.’

Auntie Doris burst into tears and left the room.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ said Uncle Teddy.

‘It’s what you’ve done,’ said Henry.

‘You don’t like us very much, do you?’ said Uncle Teddy.

‘I want to,’ shouted Henry. ‘I want to, but you won’t let me into your lives.’

It was quite a large room, with thirty-two tables. Some of the tables were square, others oblong. They were arranged in straight lines. The men came in flat caps and many of them had square, rugged faces. They drank their pints from straight glasses. It was a world that had eschewed curves as the product of weakness. Henry loved it. It was also a dark room. The lights were low. The decor and furnishings were a tribute to the versatility of brown. All the men wore dark clothes. Many of the women looked as if they hoped they’d be mistaken for men. Here and there, there was a blaze of blonde hair, some real, more false. Occasionally, a woman in a colourful dress. One woman had a bright yellow drink. These were exceptions. Auntie Doris wore a low-cut, blue evening dress. Her figure was still excellent.

The room smelt of stale beer, fresh beer, cigarettes, cheap perfume, furniture polish, disinfectant and sweat. The atmosphere was smoky.

Also seated at their table was Jack Ibbotson, his wife Mabel and her friend Denise. It was because he employed Jack that Uncle Teddy had allowed himself, so untypically, to be roped in. He resented it.

‘It’s never been properly ventilated, hasn’t this venue,’ said Jack Ibbotson. ‘Not within living memory, any road.’

There were three acts on the bill. The Amazing Illingworth (The Crown Prince of Prestidigitation), Talwyn Jones (The Celtic Droll) and Doreen Tibbs (The Tadcaster Thrush). The weak

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