A Month in the Life

A Month in the Life by Chris Green

Seven Card, Low in the Hole, Sixes Wild, what did that even mean? Whatever, we were playing Dealer’s Choice, in this case, Jason Swerve’s choice, and it was agreed around the table that Paddy’s hand, I can’t even remember what it was now, beat my Full House. I was cleaned out. I was able to hold my own at Five Card Draw Poker but I was not so clever with these weird Seven Card Stud variations. But it has to be said that, even by today’s standards, Your twenty and I’ll raise you twenty was a rash bet for someone who didn’t understand the rules. £40 would still be a rash bet on a single call in a pub game of Poker today, but this was January 1977. It wouldn’t have been so bad had I not been losing consistently all evening. I was broke.

I guess I took the gamble because I was feeling lucky, but I cannot imagine why. How could I have come up with such an absurd idea? My horses usually fell at the first. Perhaps it was just a sign of desperation over my predicament. Just a week before, Annie and I had parted after six years. I suppose this was inevitable. We were just nineteen when we got together. And we had drifted apart. It was simply a question of which one of us had been the most unfaithful over the last couple of years. I suspected it was Annie. She liked to be the centre of attention.

But get this, the final straw came when on New Year’s Day, Annie went around to see Suzy, who I had secretly started seeing, and put her oar in. Whatever it was she said, this was the last I saw of Suzy. It was simply a case of sour grapes on Annie’s part. She had nothing to gain from it. It was already over between the two of us. There was no question of reconsidering. There was a finality about it. This was it.

Annie’s intervention left me in limbo. To make matters worse, as a result of my foolish bet, I now had the prospect of getting through the rest of January with next to no funds. The keep calm and carry on rallying cry from my parents’ playbook somehow found its way into my sensibility, for which I suppose I should be thankful. I told myself something would turn up. It always had before.

I didn’t recognise Lucy at first, but I should have, even though she looked different. I had met her a few times before. She had been married to Marvin, an American friend of mine. Perhaps this was why she was in The Jazz Bass as I had occasionally had a drink with Marvin in there. That discovery out of the way, I found myself in Lucy’s company again at Reuben’s gaff at number 149 the following day. She had called around expecting a lift from Chadwick Dial to the curiously named Cosmic Cottage, some kind of community set-up out in the sticks where she was staying, but typically Dial had not turned up. Reuben had no idea where he was. Lucy and I decided to go to The Cotswold Bar to check if he was there, but I have to admit, I was beginning to entertain other possibilities for the night ahead. Lucy was an attractive woman, a little full of figure perhaps, but in all the right places. And it appeared she was no longer with Marvin. Marvin had returned to sunny California, leaving Lucy and the children in sunny Swindon.

Chadwick Dial was not at The Cotswold. No one there remembered having seen him. And he was someone that having seen him, you would remember. With his facial scar, his missing eye and random strands of matted hair coming out from all corners of his head, he would always stand out in a crowd. Realising that Lucy might be stuck for somewhere to spend the night, I told her in the nicest possible way while trying to remain aloof, she was welcome to stay at mine. For the time being at least, I still had possession of the house, Annie having been the one to move out. Lucy said that she would wait a while to see if Chadwick Dial appeared, but in the nicest possible way while trying to remain aloof that she would keep my offer in mind. Meanwhile, as I only had about 40p to my name, she bought me a pint of Old Thumper. Old Thumper on draught was one of the good things about The Cotswold. There were only two places in town that served it on draught.

It was then that Tony Flags came in with Jamie London. Tony said they were going on to the Never Never Club in Nailsworth. Never Never had a late licence. I said I remembered that from the last time.

‘Why don’t you two tag along?’ he said.

‘To be honest, I’m a bit strapped for cash, Tony,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry about it, Chet.’ Lucy said, putting her arm through mine. ‘I’ll cover it. After all, there’s nothing for us here. Let’s go. Let’s have a good time. I feel like dancing. Don’t you?’

This was a result. No waiting around for Dial. She had taken up my accommodation offer, and some. How easily things can turn around.

It was clear dancing was something she enjoyed. She did not have the repressed rhythmic gestures of disco dancers. Lucy was a real mover. Like a mamba, she commanded her space. She was letting go. All eyes were on her. And I was letting go. A new beginning. I’m not sure how it worked out for Tony and Jamie, but last I remembered they seemed to be doing alright. Lucy and I got back somehow and spent a blissful night and the next day at mine getting to know one another. She kept out the January cold with a vengeance. I didn’t realise two bodies could fit together so perfectly. While I could understand someone like Marvin not wanting to hang around too long in Swindon, he was insane to let go of something this hot for the sake of a bit of surf music and a few hard to reach beaches.

I decided to take time off work to spend with Lucy. It would have been plain wrong to squander an opportunity like this. January was not a busy time of year for me, and Lucy said her sister wouldn’t mind looking after the children a little longer so there was no hurry for her to get back. It was a good time. My ship was coming in. All was well with the world.

No sooner had Lucy left than, out of the blue, Annie called to say she was pregnant. What! Where was this coming from? We hadn’t exactly been at it like rabbits in the final few weeks we were together, if at all. How could she be sure it was mine, I challenged. She insisted that it was. She said she had not slept with anyone else in the lead-up to Christmas. More to the point, what was I going to do about it? I didn’t know why she was asking. The matter seemed to be out of my hands.

But my bubble had burst. How easily things can turn around. While Kipling’s values of yesteryear may not sit well with today’s woke audience, perhaps my experience of January 1977 illustrates the need to treat triumph and disaster as impostors just the same. Age old wisdom is sometimes the best. If there is one thing I have learned since those uncertain days, it is to expect the unexpected and take everything in my stride. Darius Self once said to me, when you can’t control what is happening, you must at least try to control the way you respond to what is happening. And remember wherever you are, whatever you are doing, and whatever plans you have, something unforeseen will be waiting just around the corner. February was just around the corner. What unforeseen development should I expect?

Wasn’t that Rose up ahead in the red coat? I hadn’t seen Rose for a while.

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