words 'Garden Gate' were spelt out in small white letters on the black door. I stood there picturing every kind of York cadger and area sneak putting back beer inside. I pushed at the door, and walked in.
His cap was off, and his hair was round and white like a jellyfish, but it was the big oaf, the Blocker, all right – standing just inside the door with his coat open in a tiny blue room filling with smoke from a badly laid fire, which set my eyes stinging straightaway. The Blocker seemed to be looking directly at my glass-less spectacles. Then, to my relief, he turned away Approaching the bar, I glanced down and noticed my wedding ring. Allan Appleby was not a married man. I pulled it off as I stepped up to buy a drink. Serving on was an old fellow who stared at me all the while as he raised up a pewter of beer from somewhere below the bar. Leaning on the bar to my left was another elderly party, like the barman seen in a looking glass. And there was another present, sitting by the fire on a rocking chair: the Brains, the dip who haunted the Scotch expresses.
A bottle of stout was on the floor by the side of his chair, and he was raising and lowering two long keys on a rusty ring that hung from the end of the longest finger of his right hand. He sat in his coat, but his hat was off, and he had scant black curly hair and sleepy eyes. He looked like a musician, I thought, and I wondered why he could not have put his long fingers to better use by learning to play the mandolin, or some such thing.
He was watching me as I walked towards the bar, and the Blocker spoke up as I walked past, but I didn't catch the words. I ordered a pint of Old, drank it off fast with shaking hands; ordered another. I stood side on to the bar, my portmanteau at my feet. The Blocker was leaning on the door, blocking it, giving me the eye. The Brains was still playing with the long keys. Taking a deep breath, I pitched in: 'I'd be obliged for another glass of Old,' I said to the barman, 'and two more for these lads.' I pointed at the Blocker, and the Brains. They were looking back at me, holding fire, waiting further developments. Then, as the landlord started to pull the beer pump, I added: 'Can you not do owt about your fire?' 'Want more coal on it, do you?' he said. 'Less, if anything,' I replied, 'and a little air put to it, perhaps.' This drew the Blocker, who said: 'Who are you giving orders to?' 'Nobody,' I said. Silence again. The Brains had put down the keys, folded his arms. He was watching me. It was the old barman who spoke next: 'Are you a sanitary inspector by any chance?' he said. I shook my head. 'Because you better fucking not be,' called out the Blocker. The drinks were now being set on the bar. I put one on the fireside table in front of the Brains; handed one to the Blocker. On receiving the ales, neither man said anything; but they continued to stare. At last, the Brains spoke up: 'I'm obliged to you for the pint,' he said, 'but what's it in aid of?' 'Just being hospitable,' I said. 'But the Gate's our boozer,' said the Blocker, 'so by rights, it's up to us to be hospitable to you.' As he spoke, I heard a sound from the direction of the door. It was the Blocker, sliding home the bolt. A longish silence, broken once again by the Blocker: .. Speaking of hospitals' he said, 'you're going just the right way to ending up in one.' 'I've come to see you specially, like'1 said. The Brains said: 'How did you know we were here?' 'Might as well give out that I followed you last night' I lied. 'But we never came here last night,' said the Brains, sounding curious more than anything, 'not directly at any rate.' 'That's right,' I said. 'I know it is' said the Brains. 'You went somewhere else beforehand' I said. 'Where, for Christ's sake?' 'Over yonder,' I said, moving my hand so as to maybe indicate everywhere else in the city. 'But where exactly?' asked the Brains, almost smiling. 'You went to a pub' I said. Well, it seemed a fair hazard. 'What bloody pub?' said the Blocker, impatient. 'Don't recollect the name' I said. 'I'd spotted the pair of you at the station, see? A chap had on a very heavy coat. And you lightened it for him. It was a very good bit of work.' The blackness rolled from the fire; the old boy at the bar said another thing I couldn't catch. 'Well' said the Brains after a while, 'what's your interest in the matter?' 'I was thinking you might be able to use another pair of hands.' Long silence. The Brains stood up. 'I've never seen you round the rattler before' he said. 'I'm new in town, like.' 'From where?' 'Hebden Bridge.' 'And where's that, when it's at home?' This was the Blocker speaking. 'Next door to Halifax,' I said. 'How did tha get bread there?' asked the Blocker. 'Had a go-on in a factory, like.' 'A factory making what?' asked the Brains. 'Screws' I said. I looked at the Brains: a foxy-looking sort: skimpy hair, sleepy eyes; a lot of eyelid visible at all times. Pickpocket… Well, it was a skill above the ordinary thief. 'I had a bit of a run-in with the charge hand… got stood down over it, so then I worked in the fields for a time… Over Bradford way. That was last back end – harvest time.' 'And when the harvest was in?' the Brains asked. 'Workhouse,' I said. 'It was a pretty soft doss.' 'Got a name?' said the Brains, with the creeping smile about his lips as before. 'Allan,' I said. 'Allan bloody what?' said the Blocker. 'Allan Appleby' I said. 'Bollocks' said the Blocker. I gave a glance down at the portmanteau, saying, 'I had this away earlier on.' I kicked the bag over towards the Brains, who stood up, plucked out one of the magazines, leaving a page dangling on which we both read the words 'British Locomotive Practice and Performance.' From over by the door, the Blocker said: 'What's this rubbish?'
'Railway Magazines,'
I said. 'Short of arse wipe are you?' he said, striding over, taking that particular number from the Brains and pitching it on to the fire, where it just lay in the smoke for a while. Presently, though, it began to burn, signifying as it did so the end of all my railway hopes for ever. I did not want to be in this smoke hole, I did not want to be in the Pantomime Police, and the anger came up in me all at once.
'You're a fucking rotter,' I said to the Blocker.
I heard the Brains say something surprised-sounding as the Blocker closed on me. His fist went back, and I fancy that I said out loud, 'Here we go, then', just before spinning back under the blow, feeling the bar floor come up towards me like something carried on a wave.
‹O›-- I put my finger towards my eye, and it touched my eye too early. Some things had happened. The fire was smoking even more strongly, and the place was becoming like a damned kipper house. I put my hands to my eyes again. Of course… the fake spectacles were not there. It was all up with my disguise. I was propped against the bar, and the Brains had swapped places with the Blocker.
'You in the York workhouse?' he said, in a kindly sort of tone, with folded arms.
'No,' I said, and I saw the specs on the floor beside me, good as new. The want of glass in them might not have been noticed after all. I picked them up, and put them back on my nose.
I was all right really, refreshed somehow by the thought that the worst had passed for the moment. My eye was swollen. I could force it open, but it wanted to be closed so I left it be. As the water from the stinging smoke rose within it, I wiped it away with my coat sleeve.
'I'm in a lull just at present,' I said, 'but I'll turn me hand to outdoor portering… handyman… spot of cow walloping now and again on market days. You can get half a crown a day at that lark.'
'Who maintains you in between times?' asked the Brains.
I looked at the fire, where the magazine number was one big cinder under the flowing smoke.
'Me old man has a bob or two put by. It's him I lodge with… over Holgate way.'
'You'll take a pint?' said the Brains, and he stepped back and nodded at the Blocker, who stood up and walked around the bar, to draw the pints himself. Of the landlord there was now no sign. The fossil at the bar had pushed off, too. The Brains jabbed at the fire, reached into the chimney and moved the flue, and an orange glow was revealed in the grate.
He pulled two more chairs from the far side of the room over to the hearthside, and we all sat down as the Blocker came back with the beer.
'What's your game then, mate?' said the Blocker, after necking most of his ale.
'Well, I've seen you operating up the station,' I said, 'and I liked the look of it. You know, steal from folks before they get on a train then don't get on yoursen… And I was wondering whether I could lend a hand.'
'Put 'em up,' said the Blocker suddenly, and I made two fists thinking: is he going to lam me again?
Then the Brains was shaking his head.
'Fingers held out straight, like,' he said, and I did as he said. The Brains looked at my fingers, looked away.
'You've the right-shaped hands for a hoister,' he said, staring into the fire. He turned to me once again, saying: 'Ever done the work?'
Before I could tell another tale, the Blocker was reaching out towards my glasses.
'Let's have a skeg through those gogglers, mate,' he said, and I swayed back away from him.
'Leave off' I said. 'I don't like other folk… looking through 'em.'
The Brains laughed.
'Well, we're all cranky some way' he said.
