I woke to the blast of the boat's horn as it docked at Liverpool. Thanks to delays, I was arriving late, somewhere around 11p, I guessed. Bad time to come to a new town, since the pubs would be closing and most of the hostels locked the doors about now.
I geared up and slogged off the ferry with a group of weary travellers wondering what in the hell I was going to do until sunrise. I didn't fancy sleeping in the ferry terminal. One option was to find a late train to anywhere that would let me sleep for a couple of hours, but I had no idea where the train station was, or if there was even a train leaving this late. I walked out onto the street, which was deserted except for the last few cars and trucks leaving the ferry. As I stood there wondering what to do, the security guard locked the terminal doors, which took that option out of consideration.
I wandered up the street a ways. Being at the docks was not the safest place to be at night in any city, and Liverpool didn't have the best reputation in any case. I heard music coming from somewhere, but I couldn't pinpoint the location. The sound was echoing off of the various buildings and it seemed to come from different directions when I turned around. I picked my best guess and started walking that direction. After several minutes of walking and the sound getting louder, a door suddenly burst open and I was hit with a wall of light and sound.
A group of drunken men stumbled out into the street, singing loudly and holding on to each other for support. They turned rather clumsily and made their way up the street away from me.
I went up to the door and could hear loud music and raucous laughter inside. There was no sign around the bright green door, and only a single bare lightbulb above it. The door swung open again, nearly hitting me in the face. As I stepped aside, a young woman firmly steered two more drunken men out.
"Get on home, you lot," she cheerfully but sternly commanded the two men.
The men stumbled out laughing and clapping each other on the back. "Aw, come on, love, give us another pint for the road," one of them slurred.
"You'll be wantin' to get home to your wives, lads," she chided. "You've done enough damage for one night."
They walked on laughing and mumbling to each other. The woman looked at me, scanned me up and down, and smiled.
"You look a bit lost, love," she said cheerily. "What might you be lookin' for?"
"The ferry got in late and I'm not sure where to go," I said. "Everything's closed by now."
"C'mon then," she said, pushing the door open. "Barney's Home for Stray Animals is open all night."
She guided me in as I sidled past her, maneuvering my pack and myself past her. When I had come inside, she slammed the door shut and pointed to an empty table along the wall.
"What can I get you, love?" she yelled over the music.
"I'll have a pint of bitter and a sandwich or whatever pub grub you've got," I hollered back.
"Right! Take a seat, then," she gestured to the table.
I carefully wound my way past several tables of loud revellers. I noticed that most of the patrons were men, probably merchant seamen either on leave, or preparing to ship out. I got to the table and dropped my pack. Thankfully, there was a padded bench along the wall side, and two wooden chairs placed opposite. I put my pack on the floor under the table and collapsed onto the bench.
The air was thick with stale beer and cigarette smoke. There were probably 15 men and two women, plus the bar maid and a bar back. The music was coming from a beat up old jukebox across the room from me, and one of the female patrons was standing provocatively in front of it, feeding in coins and selecting songs.
One man was going table to table. He would talk for a minute, then the table would erupt in laughter, and he'd move on to the next group. He was a burley type, like a rugby player, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a wool jacket.
Just then, the bar maid came and placed an overflowing pint of bitter in front of me, then set a plate down and a jar of Coleman's mustard next to it. On the plate was a pathetic but typical English ham sandwich - two pieces of buttered bread with a translucent slice of ham in the middle.
"You want to pay now or shall I keep your tab?" she asked.
"A tab, if that's OK," I replied. "I may be here a while."
"No worries, love, we trust Yanks here," she smiled and wandered off to the next table.
She hadn't taken my name, but from her comment, I imagined they didn't get many Americans in here. Just then, the Boomtown Rats big hit, "I Don't Like Mondays" blasted from the jukebox. I smiled, not because it was Monday, but because I knew members of the band from Dublin. They had been shocked by the sudden popularity of the song, and with their newfound wealth, had begun taking themselves way too seriously.
I reached into the pocket of my pack and carefully withdrew the fast-deteriorating copy of "The Women's Room" that I had been carrying for a month. I reassembled the pages that were falling out and thumbed through to find the dog-ear marker and began reading and choking down the pub grub with ample gulps of fairly decent beer.
I started to nod off a couple of times, but was jolted awake by new assaults on my ears. The jukebox had obviously not been updated too recently, as some of the vinyl records sounded more like a bowl of Rice Crispies, than music, but no one seemed to notice and certain songs got the entire house singing like gargling frogs, making the lack of audio fidelity a minor annoyance compared to the lack of vocal acuity among the singers.
I must have dozed off, because I snapped awake when the rugby player pulled a chair out and plunked down at my table. The character grinned at me and ran his grubby hand through his tousled brown hair. His grin was more gold than enamel and he had a prominent scar running across the bridge of his nose that formed a deep canyon between his eyes when he smiled.
"I thought my vasectomy would keep my wife from getting pregnant, but apparently it just changes the color of the baby," he roared with laughter, looking at me to gauge my reaction.
I was still half asleep, but after a moment is realized it was a joke and smiled in response.
"I'm Big Eddie," he said, as if expecting me to suddenly recognize who he was.
"I'm Rex," I said. "Pleased to meet you."
"HA!," he roared. "Hey lads, we've got us a Yank here!"
The other patrons turned and mumbled barely-audible greetings, and one of the women gave me an apprising stare. I gave a small wave of acknowledgement.
"Right! Your pint is nearly dry. Mags!" he called to the bar maid. "Two more...what're you drinking, mate?"
"Bitter," I said.
"Two more bitters," he called out. "And how about a couple of packets of crisps? That's a good girl."
He turned back to me with his unceasing grin. "What brings you here, then?" he asked.
"The ferry was late getting in," I explained. "This was the only place open that I could find."
"Well, you came to the right place, then," he bellowed. "We waste our nights drinking and..." the music stopped just then, "...fucking our way to dawn!"
I looked around, hoping no one noticed. The woman who had looked me over smiled at me.
"Dawn, c'mer!" he shouted.
The woman who had been checking me out came over. I stood and gestured to the empty chair. She sat and offered her hand.
"I'm Dawn," she said offering her hand with a wry smile. She was an attractive blonde - it looked natural - early 20s, with a pleasant heart-shaped face accustomed to smiling, a slim figure with firm breasts and erect nipples barely contained by her loose tank top, and wide hips that appeared to be struggling to escape her tight shorts.
"I'm Rex," I said, taking her hand. I started to pull my hand away, but she held it a bit longer, looking me in the eye with a hint of seduction.
"Mags, make it three pints, then!" Big Eddie hollered, just as the jukebox started again, this time with Led Zepplin's "Black Dog".
"At every party, there are two kinds of people: those who want to go home, and those who don't. The trouble is they're usually married to each other," blurted Big Eddie, followed by guffaws.
"You really need new material, Eddie," Dawn said, apparently having heard all of his jokes too many times.
"So, you're a Yank are you?" Dawn asked, planting her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers under her chin and resting her head on them. She stared at me clearly noticing my eyes wandering down to her loose shirt. She smiled again.
"Well, I guess. We think of Yankees as being from the north. I'm from Texas," I said, trying to keep my mind away from more lascivious thoughts.
"Who shot J.R.?" Big Eddie roared with laughter. "We got us a cowboy here, lads!" he said over his shoulder to no one in particular.
Dawn reached over and took my hand, held it open like a palm reader and smiled appreciatively. "They say everything is bigger in Texas. Is it true?" she stroked the palm of my hand from the heel to the tip of my middle finger. She was assessing the size of my attributes, which according to some is indicated by the size of the hand.
"Well," I said, suddenly finding myself full awake, "Yes, I have to say we tend to be proud of the size of things in Texas."
Just then, Mags showed up with three pints and a bag of potato chips. Dawn moved my hand down to her knee, while Mags cleared the table and laid down fresh glasses, and Big Eddie rattled off a couple more one-liners.
"Where are you staying," Dawn asked.
"Whoa!," Big Eddie roared. "Looks like Dawn is going fishin', lads!" he yelled to the other patrons. No one seemed particularly interested - probably happy Big Eddie had found another distraction.
"Just got in," I said, ignoring Eddie. "Haven't had a chance to find a room yet."
Dawn frowned ever so slightly, apparently hoping to escape the noise for more intimate surroundings.
"Never mind that," shouted Big Eddie. "You're stayin' with me. I've got an extra room."
I looked at Dawn. "Where do you live?" I asked.
"Near Eddie, actually," she said, smiling again. "We usually share a ride."
I was a bit confused by the relationship between these two. I imagined Big Eddie being a pimp and wondering if I should go anywhere but away and fast.
Despite my misgivings, we stayed on drinking and singing to the point I was getting hoarse and quickly coming up on having too much ale and not enough sleep. Dawn's teases and taunts kept me energized, but at some point, sheer exhaustion would win out.
The bar clock said 4am, and I was ready to find a quiet place to sleep. The bar was down to just three other patrons and my group, and Mags was clearing the register. She came to our table with the bill. I reached for it, but Big Eddie grabbed it first.
"This is on me," he bellowed. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a tenner and I saw that the tab was 30 quid. I waited for a moment, but Big Eddie was fishing around for more money. I pulled out a 50-pound note and handed it to Mags. She went off to make change.
"I'll catch up with you, don't worry," said Eddie, looking completely unconcerned and pocketing his tenner.
Mags came back with the change, and I gave her a generous tip. She thanked me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
Just then, the door flew open and a short, dark stocky man in a trench coat and cap stepped in and spotting Eddie, came toward our table.
"You ready?" he said to Eddie.
"Right on time, lad," said Eddie, standing and clapping the shorter man on the back. "You right, then?" he said to Dawn and me.
I looked at Dawn and she nodded for me to follow along. We stepped out into the early morning as it was just getting light. I followed the other three across the street to a handsome cab and we all piled in. Eddie took the front passenger seat, and Dawn and I got n the back. The short man started the engine, ground the cab into gear and pulled away. I noted that he didn't pull the flag on the meter and I figured this was a frequent ritual.
Dawn put my hand on her thigh and smiled at me when I turned to look at her. She kissed me lightly on the cheek and my grip tightened on her soft flesh.
Big Eddie turned to look at me.
"You're going to love Skelmersdale," he roared, his giant gold grin shining in the early morning light.