I dreaded my brother's visits in the same way middle-aged men feared doctor's appointments. In fairness to Percy, his appearances on the coast were rare and spread far enough apart, that I often forgot just what an unlikeable, disagreeable and charmless character he was.
I expected him at six, but he arrived well after eight when most of the pub kitchens were closing. I suggested we ordered a curry, but he viewed my idea with suspicion and instead, decreed I took him into town for a fish supper.
Midweek in Deal didn't cater for impulses, so I drove him to the hotel on the seafront and let him pick out what he wanted from the special's board, while I found a table in the lounge away from the cold draft blowing through the doorway.
Most of the elderly guests had retired upstairs, or were staring at a cold gas flame in armchairs around the fireplace. I could tell Percy didn't care much for the décor and that it was going to be another one of those long, drawn-out evenings where he picked on everything, including me.
A young waitress in a tight black skirt and white blouse came over to take our order. I pitied her and anyone else whose job it was to serve people like my brother. Those types that had everything handed on a plate to them and still acted as if they'd made it own their own, through sheer determination and hard-work.
"Are the mussels fresh?" He wondered. "Is the crab local?"
"I don't know sir, I'll have to ask chef."
"Do it now please." He instructed her. "We haven't got all night."
Percy glared at me when he caught me looking at my watch, I think it was the first proper eye contact we'd made.
"I'll let you choose the wine." He offered. "Something like a Sauvignon, I think."
The house wine was the Sauvignon, so I ordered a bottle and a cheeseburger with fries for myself. After an age, Percy eventually plucked for the scampi, 'The ocean's bottom-feeders.' as I'd heard them called down here.
It was the sort of meal we might have had as kids, before Dad came from work, but mercifully, Percy had been absent from most of my early childhood, as I was of his.
"What kind of sodding dump have you brought me to Richard?" He complained as the waitress collected our menus.
"I thought you'd like it Percy."
"Like it? Why would someone like me like this place?"
I let it go like the elastic fastener of a balloon and followed it as it briefly zipped around the room behind him.
"What's your news then?" He asked me as he reached into his blazer for his phone. "Still wasting your life down here?"
"I've been quite busy, actually."
"Busy drinking in pubs all day, you mean."
"I'm not like that Percy."
"Mum and Dad were so disappointed in you Richard. Dad told me that once, said I should look out for you."
"So you've told me."
"For your own good Richard. But, at the end of the day, it's your life."
Finished with reading his phone, Percy slipped it back into his pocket and waited for the waitress to perform the tired ceremony of tasting the wine. Neither of us cared for his verdict or his company, but we suffered it anyway.
Our food followed quickly, and as usual, Percy kept me waiting long after I'd finished my meal. Even the peas looked bored, as he squeezed another sachet of ketchup over his plate and wiped it up with a slice of buttered bread. My glass was empty, like the bottle, yet my brother was still on his first. Percy drank slowly and moderately, in a way that had always made me feel thirsty in his presence. It made it appear that I had a problem, a weakness for alcohol that I used like some kind of crutch.
I ordered a pint at the bar and carried it back for his disapproval. It meant we'd be getting a taxi home and have another expense to squabble over other than the bill. We'd 'Go Dutch', I imagined, or what ever was less for him. I'd swallow it like a fool, because I didn't want a fuss or a scene, but on the ride back I'd tell myself, that this, other than rare family gatherings or funerals, was definitely going to be the last time.
"I expect you're wondering why I've come down to see you?"
I honestly had no interest. Percy was here for golf and couple of free nights at the house. He'd use it as a hotel and sniff around a bit to see if he could dig up any news. He'd rake up some old history, fly off the handle, then leave when I called him a 'cunt'. Months would go by, but when enough time had elapsed, Percy would return, convinced everything had been all my own doing and fault.
"You said on the phone that you were playing golf."
"I am, with some chaps from the city, but really Richard, I've come down to tell you that I'm getting married. I want you to be my best-man."
I was speechless. Lost for words. He was joking?
"I can email you a list of contacts and dates. I mean, if you accept of course?"
"Who is she?" I tried to ask him with a straight face.
"Who?"
"Your wife Percy, your fiancée?"
I expected him at six, but he arrived well after eight when most of the pub kitchens were closing. I suggested we ordered a curry, but he viewed my idea with suspicion and instead, decreed I took him into town for a fish supper.
Midweek in Deal didn't cater for impulses, so I drove him to the hotel on the seafront and let him pick out what he wanted from the special's board, while I found a table in the lounge away from the cold draft blowing through the doorway.
Most of the elderly guests had retired upstairs, or were staring at a cold gas flame in armchairs around the fireplace. I could tell Percy didn't care much for the décor and that it was going to be another one of those long, drawn-out evenings where he picked on everything, including me.
A young waitress in a tight black skirt and white blouse came over to take our order. I pitied her and anyone else whose job it was to serve people like my brother. Those types that had everything handed on a plate to them and still acted as if they'd made it own their own, through sheer determination and hard-work.
"Are the mussels fresh?" He wondered. "Is the crab local?"
"I don't know sir, I'll have to ask chef."
"Do it now please." He instructed her. "We haven't got all night."
Percy glared at me when he caught me looking at my watch, I think it was the first proper eye contact we'd made.
"I'll let you choose the wine." He offered. "Something like a Sauvignon, I think."
The house wine was the Sauvignon, so I ordered a bottle and a cheeseburger with fries for myself. After an age, Percy eventually plucked for the scampi, 'The ocean's bottom-feeders.' as I'd heard them called down here.
It was the sort of meal we might have had as kids, before Dad came from work, but mercifully, Percy had been absent from most of my early childhood, as I was of his.
"What kind of sodding dump have you brought me to Richard?" He complained as the waitress collected our menus.
"I thought you'd like it Percy."
"Like it? Why would someone like me like this place?"
I let it go like the elastic fastener of a balloon and followed it as it briefly zipped around the room behind him.
"What's your news then?" He asked me as he reached into his blazer for his phone. "Still wasting your life down here?"
"I've been quite busy, actually."
"Busy drinking in pubs all day, you mean."
"I'm not like that Percy."
"Mum and Dad were so disappointed in you Richard. Dad told me that once, said I should look out for you."
"So you've told me."
"For your own good Richard. But, at the end of the day, it's your life."
Finished with reading his phone, Percy slipped it back into his pocket and waited for the waitress to perform the tired ceremony of tasting the wine. Neither of us cared for his verdict or his company, but we suffered it anyway.
Our food followed quickly, and as usual, Percy kept me waiting long after I'd finished my meal. Even the peas looked bored, as he squeezed another sachet of ketchup over his plate and wiped it up with a slice of buttered bread. My glass was empty, like the bottle, yet my brother was still on his first. Percy drank slowly and moderately, in a way that had always made me feel thirsty in his presence. It made it appear that I had a problem, a weakness for alcohol that I used like some kind of crutch.
I ordered a pint at the bar and carried it back for his disapproval. It meant we'd be getting a taxi home and have another expense to squabble over other than the bill. We'd 'Go Dutch', I imagined, or what ever was less for him. I'd swallow it like a fool, because I didn't want a fuss or a scene, but on the ride back I'd tell myself, that this, other than rare family gatherings or funerals, was definitely going to be the last time.
"I expect you're wondering why I've come down to see you?"
I honestly had no interest. Percy was here for golf and couple of free nights at the house. He'd use it as a hotel and sniff around a bit to see if he could dig up any news. He'd rake up some old history, fly off the handle, then leave when I called him a 'cunt'. Months would go by, but when enough time had elapsed, Percy would return, convinced everything had been all my own doing and fault.
"You said on the phone that you were playing golf."
"I am, with some chaps from the city, but really Richard, I've come down to tell you that I'm getting married. I want you to be my best-man."
I was speechless. Lost for words. He was joking?
"I can email you a list of contacts and dates. I mean, if you accept of course?"
"Who is she?" I tried to ask him with a straight face.
"Who?"
"Your wife Percy, your fiancée?"
"Oh, his name's Bo. Listen, I thought you could organise the stag-night, you're much better at that sort of thing than me. Perhaps a nice meal, maybe a club later, nothing too wild. Can I leave it in your hands Richard? It'll be a huge weight off my mind."
Tim Synge is the writer of Seafront Pages, Original Tales from the dark corners of the Kent Riviera, and beyond..
Read more at, www.seafrontpages.blogspot.com
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