squeeze it. I opened my eyes and saw that she was smiling at me. It was a moment that I would come to recognise as being quintessentially Ange. She was being sensitive and cunning at the same time. Sensitive, because she knew what I was feeling. Cunning, because she knew that the darts player's remark would spoil our still fragile relationship if she let it.
'Come on,' she said, pulling me gently to my feet. 'Let's play darts.'
So there I was, at ten to eleven on a Tuesday night, in a busy pub, with more than three-quarters of a pint of flat beer staring reproachfully at me from my straight glass, being given three darts by a young lady, and having to play this ghastly game in front of three young men who had just shown themselves to be thoroughly proficient at it. I had rarely felt so embarrassed even in the theatre of self-consciousness that was my life to date.
'Five-oh-one, no starting double,' said Ange.
What on earth did she mean? Maybe I would find out.
'I'm going to be Nineteens Normanton,' she said. 'Who are you going to be?'
'What?'
'It's more fun if you pretend to be someone. I'm going to pretend to be Nineteens Normanton.'
'Nineteens?'
'He's unusual among top players. He doesn't go much for twenties. It's all nineteens with him.'
'And no doubt you've slept with him.'
She glared at me, really quite fiercely.
'What if I have?' she said. 'What if I fucking well have? That's my business.'
I didn't reply. I didn't even object to her swearing. I realised that I had made a very bad move. I was terrified that we were on the verge of a full-scale row. I didn't want a row, certainly not in public. I didn't know if she might storm out. If she did, I would never see her again. I realised to my amazement that I would be devastated if I didn't see her again. Actually I felt quite devastated by this realisation.
The moment passed. She wrote NN on the top left of the blackboard.
'Who are you?' she asked.
'I'll be Einstein,' I said.
'Good. Nice one.'
I could tell that she was really pleased by this piece of invention. She chalked a large I on the top right of the board. I didn't tell her that it should be E. I was handling her with kid gloves now.
She let me go first. I scored seven. She chalked 494 under I. Then she threw three twenties.
'A steady start from the burly champion,' she said.
With my next three darts I scored eleven. One of them bounced back off the surrounds to the board. '483,' chalked Ange.
With her second go, she hit single twenty, treble twenty and a five.
'Eighty-five. Einstein's in big trouble now. Will his famous theory of relativity save him?'
She gave me a triumphant glance, and I hurriedly looked suitably impressed at her knowledge of Einstein, which I must say surprised me and rather thrilled me.
I won't go right through the progress of that dreadful game. I didn't look round once, for fear I would see that people in the pub were watching my humiliation, and, if they were, that they were laughing at me. I told myself that darts didn't matter, there was no evidence that either Kant or Wittgenstein had ever played the game, I was a respected figure in the world of Academia, it was absurd to be concerned. But I hated it. Suffice it to say that at one stage, under NN, the scores were 441, 356, 302, 202, 166, 96, 40, and under I they were 494, 483, 480, 466, 456, 449, 438. Even Ange's running commentary began to lose its sparkle, as she realised that I was providing no real opposition.
And all through the game, every time another success was recorded under those dread initials NN, I was wondering if she had slept with Nineteens Normanton. It was a boil that throbbed, and I didn't know how to lance it.
At last our mismatch was over. I must say that I wondered, on that evening, if there was any activity in the world as boring as the game of darts.
We returned to our table. I took a sip of my beer. There was still more than half a pint to go. People were beginning to drift away into the
'Come on,' she said, pulling me gently to my feet. 'Let's play darts.'
So there I was, at ten to eleven on a Tuesday night, in a busy pub, with more than three-quarters of a pint of flat beer staring reproachfully at me from my straight glass, being given three darts by a young lady, and having to play this ghastly game in front of three young men who had just shown themselves to be thoroughly proficient at it. I had rarely felt so embarrassed even in the theatre of self-consciousness that was my life to date.
'Five-oh-one, no starting double,' said Ange.
What on earth did she mean? Maybe I would find out.
'I'm going to be Nineteens Normanton,' she said. 'Who are you going to be?'
'What?'
'It's more fun if you pretend to be someone. I'm going to pretend to be Nineteens Normanton.'
'Nineteens?'
'He's unusual among top players. He doesn't go much for twenties. It's all nineteens with him.'
'And no doubt you've slept with him.'
She glared at me, really quite fiercely.
'What if I have?' she said. 'What if I fucking well have? That's my business.'
I didn't reply. I didn't even object to her swearing. I realised that I had made a very bad move. I was terrified that we were on the verge of a full-scale row. I didn't want a row, certainly not in public. I didn't know if she might storm out. If she did, I would never see her again. I realised to my amazement that I would be devastated if I didn't see her again. Actually I felt quite devastated by this realisation.
The moment passed. She wrote NN on the top left of the blackboard.
'Who are you?' she asked.
'I'll be Einstein,' I said.
'Good. Nice one.'
I could tell that she was really pleased by this piece of invention. She chalked a large I on the top right of the board. I didn't tell her that it should be E. I was handling her with kid gloves now.
She let me go first. I scored seven. She chalked 494 under I. Then she threw three twenties.
'A steady start from the burly champion,' she said.
With my next three darts I scored eleven. One of them bounced back off the surrounds to the board. '483,' chalked Ange.
With her second go, she hit single twenty, treble twenty and a five.
'Eighty-five. Einstein's in big trouble now. Will his famous theory of relativity save him?'
She gave me a triumphant glance, and I hurriedly looked suitably impressed at her knowledge of Einstein, which I must say surprised me and rather thrilled me.
I won't go right through the progress of that dreadful game. I didn't look round once, for fear I would see that people in the pub were watching my humiliation, and, if they were, that they were laughing at me. I told myself that darts didn't matter, there was no evidence that either Kant or Wittgenstein had ever played the game, I was a respected figure in the world of Academia, it was absurd to be concerned. But I hated it. Suffice it to say that at one stage, under NN, the scores were 441, 356, 302, 202, 166, 96, 40, and under I they were 494, 483, 480, 466, 456, 449, 438. Even Ange's running commentary began to lose its sparkle, as she realised that I was providing no real opposition.
And all through the game, every time another success was recorded under those dread initials NN, I was wondering if she had slept with Nineteens Normanton. It was a boil that throbbed, and I didn't know how to lance it.
At last our mismatch was over. I must say that I wondered, on that evening, if there was any activity in the world as boring as the game of darts.
We returned to our table. I took a sip of my beer. There was still more than half a pint to go. People were beginning to drift away into the
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