I may even be staring

I’m glad for a natural break because the conversation, as well as becoming a little heated, had taken a strange turn. I can only think of one reason that Jenny would be so upset, so angered at the thought of me and Jas. At the same time, there was that comment about moving on. Jen might think she knows how hard it’s been for me, but she doesn’t. She never even met Emma – she only joined FUA about three years ago. I feel torn between wanting to apologise, so that we can explore this sudden conversational tangent further, and wanting to continue the row.

I avoid making a decision by going off to find Craig and shoot some pool. As I walk past her table, Jas very deliberately catches my eye. My gaze drifts past her to Ruth, who is watching Jas with equal deliberation. Mel is nowhere to be seen

The Seven Bells’ pool table is away from the main bar area, in a little side room, just past the fruit machines. They’re audible from a way off though, Craig and the Software boys. My colleague’s nasal whine is unmissable – oh, and that’s a bad miss, time for Craigy-boy to clear up!

I enter the pool room just as the black drops into the corner pocket to a whooped yes from Craig. He stands before the vanquished Nev and Trev and waves the cue above his head enthusiastically, like Dennis Taylor. I watch this tableau, with a shy Kev completing the scene, wanting to join in the victory celebration but seemingly constrained from doing so. It occurs to me that Craig is too young to remember Dennis Taylor doing that – this exaggerated pool-room celebration is just Craig, being Craig. I step into the room and, pulling a handful of shrapnel from my pocket, place three pound coins on the edge of the pool table.

C’mon lads, who’s next? Winner stays on, is it?

Craig turns to look at me, cue frozen aloft.

Hey, Pitter-Patter, wondered where you were. We were getting thirsty, weren’t we boys, gagging. Get ‘em in, will ya?

And with that, he puts the cue carelessly down on the pool table, picks up his empty pint glass, and foists it on me. Then he scoops up the money I’ve just put down.

This from the whip, yeah?

I nod.

Come on then lads, jukebox’s gone quiet, let’s do something about that.

Craig exits stage left, and his silent Software retinue follow. I am left in the empty pool room, looking at the empty table. On the far wall, an ancient dart board has been speared with three cheap plastic arrows. Someone’s game of 501 has been chalked on the wall next to it and, from the scores, abandoned when neither player could hit their doubles. The thought occurs, as it often does, that life sometimes drops metaphors into your lap.

I turn to leave, but find the way out blocked by Jas. She is leaning on the door frame, her arms lightly folded. That red dress is quite short.

I’ll play with you, if you like.

She walks slowly into the room – in those heels, she’s about an inch taller than me, yet takes slow, deliberate steps as she crosses to the pool table and picks up the cue so recently discarded by Craig. She hefts it in one hand, then makes an inexpert bridge with the other and makes as if to hit an imaginary ball in mid-air.

I’m not very good though, you might have to show me what to do. Give me lessons.

I realise I’m not saying anything. I may even be staring open-mouthed. I give myself a kick.

Jas, sure, yeah. I’ve just got to get the drinks in first. I’ve got the whip and, you know...

They can wait five minutes, can’t they?

She bends over the table as she says this, and practices more air shots.

Don’t you want to play?

The thing is, Jen has just finished telling me how wrong she thinks Jas is for me, and is it just me or was she also hinting at other things? I know how she’ll dislike me and Jas being tucked away in here together, and how it might hurt her. I also know the impact Jas rearranging her hair had on me earlier. And again, I imagine her doing that without the red dress.

C’mon then, I say, reaching into my pocket for another pound coin.

Let’s play.