Chapter Seventeen

 

They took their drinks to a small table near the pub door where Joe felt it was safer in the event that they had to make a quick get-away, since Bertie was becoming visible and invisible at the drop of a hat. It seemed that there was no way he could control it and Joe felt that Bertie’s nervous experience with the fat lady fortune teller had something to do with it.

It was when they were talking and drinking, that suddenly Bertie’s body went, as quick as a flash, but his glass remained suspended in the air as he kept talking to Joe . .

Did I ever tell you about . . .” Bertie went on, but Joe stopped him in the middle of his sentence as he could see the barman staring at them

“I think I’ll just get another drink Bertie and a packet of crisps if you like,” he said, “What flavour do you prefer?”

“Flavour . . Oh! I like flavours,” said Bertie. “I’ll have strawberry please,” and Joe shook his head slowly and smiled as Bertie put his glass down on the table and rubbed his hands together, which made the barman look again. Not that he could see the hand rubbing, but he saw the glass move from mid-air and rest on the table and this started him thinking something was amiss. . Joe went to the bar.

“Could I have two more beers please and . . Now let me see, a couple of packets of salt and vinegar crisps . . Yea, that’ll do, thanks.”

He looked back to where Bertie was sitting and smiled again. The glass had left the table and was circling round in the air and Joe guessed that Bertie’s glass was empty and he was waiting eagerly for a refill. . . . and that the barman was beginning to look pale.

“Thanks Joe . . You are kind to me. Did you get the flavours?” Bertie enquired when Joe returned to their table and threw the crisps on Bertie’s knee, but they fell to the floor and the old man’s face dropped when he saw that there were no strawberry ones . .

“Joe I wanted . . I didn’t want this vinegary stuff . . I wanted something sweet. Why didn’t you get that for me?” he demanded in a high pitched nervous voice as Joe sipped his beer slowly.

“They don’t come in sweet flavours Bertie . . They’re potatoes, don’t you know. Potatoes all cut up in little slices and baked until they’re crisp . . That’s why they’re called crisps, you see. . You couldn’t get them in strawberry flavour or raspberry or whatever else you wanted. They just don’t make them like that,” said Joe, but Bertie screwed his face up and went into a sulk.

“Yes, they do,” he snapped and his lips went down.

“No they don’t,” argued Joe.

“They do . . they do . . they do . . I know they do,” Bertie argued back and Joe sighed heavily as he closed his eyes and Bertie stamped his old foot.

“Potatoes are potatoes and sweets are sweets . . They don’t mix, Bertrand,” Joe shouted emphasising his friends name as his mother would have called him and Bertie sulked all the more.

“I saw them in a shop just along the road then. . How is that?” he asked and Joe glared at him as if he had lost his senses.

“No shop would sell crisps with those flavours, Bertie . . You must believe me. You’ve made a mistake.”

“I never make mistakes, Joe . .” he shouted before he hesitated for a second, “Well not with things like crisps, I don’t,” he added quickly, “and don’t you say I do . . I saw them and it said in the shop . .’We sell SWEET POTATOES, so there . .”

Joe grinned and went again to the bar, but he knew he would never get sweet potatoes there, however it might have satisfied Bertie if he saw him making enquiries.

“Barman . . What kind of crisp flavours do you have please,” he asked, but the barman didn’t seem to hear him and he asked again . . with the same results.

“I don’t know much about the flavours Sir . . I only work here twice a week and at weekends,” the barman informed him, “But . . that trick I see you doing with the glass in the air. How do you do it?” he asked and Joe grinned again.

“Sorry mate . . a trick of the trade, you know and we artistes don’t give away trade secrets,” he said and returned to his table with a broad smile on his face as he pretended not to notice the glass in the air that emptied itself, and a loud belch roared through the air, somewhere to his right. . .. a few moments before Bertie’s body sat upright in his chair. . . but only for a second before he disappeared again.

“Keep a low profile Bertie. We don’t want to be thrown out of here, do we?” he said, knowing that it would only be himself who would be thrown out if he didn’t join Bertie soon and become invisible, but Bertie misunderstood, forgetting about the crisps with this new compliment that he thought was being paid to him. He preened and threw back his shoulders, closing his eyes with pure delight. . . as he came and went at regular intervals, like a light bulb being switched on and off.

“Oh Yes, of course, dear boy. That has always been my best pose . . the profile, you know. My right one is much more superior to my left. Just get a load of that nose from the side . . isn’t it just gorgeous? Have a good look . . and take your time, lad.”

Joe coughed and turned his eyes to the ceiling as a crashing sound came from the bar and when he looked, he could see that the barman had fainted. He rushed towards the bar to help, but already someone had revived the barman and was plying him with brandy as they mopped his head with a cold cloth.

“Why do you keep doing this Bertie? Being here with us one minute and being invisible the next? You’ll scare everyone around here. Don’t you realize that?”

“Cos I want to . . so there. That’s why and besides, that poor young man was straining to see me and why should I disappoint him?” Bertie smiled smugly showing his toothless gap as he sipped his beer complacently.

“Cocky devil . .” muttered Joe under his breath.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Joe smiled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and the old man jumped up from where he was sitting. He put his five fingers up to his nose and hopped about in glee to perform a little jig as the barman dropped another glass, but he caught it this time in his hand before it crashed to the floor.

Bertie grinned widely as he looked towards the bar, crossing his eyes as shook his arms lightly in the air, as if he was about to fly.

“Exhibitionist,” muttered Joe . .”Show off . . You should be ashamed of yourself,” but Bertie ignored that remark as he glanced at the barman, who ducked when he saw the old man looking at him.

“I’ve had rather a sad life when I reflect back, dear boy. Did you know that?” said Bertie as if his antics were in revolt of the hardships he had to endure when he was a younger man and Joe nodded sympathetically as he continued to sip his beer and the barman re-appeared at the bar with his glass and cloth in his hand, taking sly glances towards a table where he wasn’t sure if there was an old man sitting there or not . . .

“But there must have been some good times too Bertie. Surely?”

“Of course there was . .” Bertie replied and then he fell into a deep sleep.

“Bertie . . Bertie, wake up . . You’re spilling your beer all over the place. Wake up Bertie,” Joe called out and the old man tottered for a moment where he sat before rubbing his eyes and staring into Joe’s face.

“Sorry about that, dear boy . .Where was I?”

Bertie paused to think and tugged at his long nose with scrawny fingers, but Joe was concerned.

“Are you alright Bertie. I’m sorry . . I shouldn’t have probed into your private life.”

“Oh! That’s perfectly alright Joe. I’m glad in a way to be able to talk about it. You get rather lonely when you’re my age you know . . and not many people are interested in what you’ve done or what you’ve been,” he said and toppled over into another sleep.

“TIME GENTLEMEN PLEASE”

The barman interrupted as he shouted for last orders and continued to study Joe and his friend with grave suspicion.

“Come on Bertie. We’ve been here long enough and it’s closing time now. What are you going to do? You can’t come home with me, you know . . unless you go invisible again and sleep on the settee,” said Joe, but Bertie only yawned and twitched his nose as stroked his chin.

“Goodnight Bertie,” Joe added with a wide grin on his face. “Do take care won’t you and if you do change your mind I’ll leave a key under the door mat.”

“Goodnight Joe. I would just lock up as usual if I were you. The Guest House people might not like their keys lying about any old place and besides, walls don’t present any problem to me. I thought you realized that.”

“Well I should have done I guess, but then I’m just another one of those idiots, aren’t I? Goodnight.”

Joe sauntered back to the Guest House with his hands dug deeply into his trouser pockets.

He glanced along the still, calm esplanade before staring up at the large, clear moon. The earth was quiet and peaceful now and he thought again of Bertie’s long life and of all the things that had happened to him . . good and bad . . Idiots all, he thought. Idiots all . . . .

“I don’t know how many men could endure all that Bertie has done. It’s not fair,” he muttered to himself as he walked back to the Guest House . . “He’s had enough. Someone, somewhere should see him when he’s invisible and free him from all of this NOW . . . I wish . . . I wish . . . and yet I’d miss him. I really would,” he said, talking to himself in the silence of the evening. “I don’t want him to leave me . .”