an hour or so later they’re in the Dartmouth clubhouse on the right side of a couple of pints and they’re scooping up the trophy and milking the applause and feeling thoroughly pleased with themselves when Kinsey starts again.
‘Starts what?’
‘Post-race analysis. That’s his fucking phrase, not mine. My friend, you need to make an effort, you need to imagine it. We’ve won. We’ve done the business. We’re all getting happily bladdered and Kinsey starts banging on about post-race analysis . Where we got things wrong. What we could do better next time. How we need to sharpen up on the catch or the extraction or changes of rate or any fucking thing. Can you believe that? We’ve pissed all over the opposition. We’ve come close to setting some kind of course record. And he’s talking about rate changes ? The man’s an eejit. Was an eejit. And that’s being kind.’
Suttle wanted to know what happened later, back in Exmouth.
‘This is last night, right?’
‘Right.’
‘OK. So we tuck the boat away in the club compound and kiss it goodnight and then we go to the pub. This is a proper pub that’s stayed scruffy and real and for once in his life Kinsey uses it the way you should. Maybe Andy’s had a word. Maybe Andy’s told him to lighten up, enjoy himself, tie a couple on. That’s probably the way it was because Andy’s the only one Kinsey ever listens to. The freemasonry of the minted, right? Both these guys have got money, real money, and so Andy deserves a hearing. The rest of us? We’re just bad-arse drinkers, also-rans, trophy fodder for the man’s fucking ego.’
At the pub, he said, they were joined by Milo Symons’ partner.
‘Now this girl is a piece. Her name is Natasha – Tasha if she knows you. She’s late thirties, maybe older, good nick, works out, blonde, describes herself as a resting actress. Way back in the day she probably did it for real on some crap telly series, but we’ve been around her for the best part of a year now and I can’t remember catching a single fucking gig, not one. But fair play to the woman, she’s still got it, she’s still good-looking, and she’s funny and sexy in the way that those two words often go together, you know what I mean? She rows with us sometimes when one of the other guys can’t make it, and while she’ll never win any prizes for technique she makes us laugh. She’s also taken Kinsey’s fancy big time, which is funny in itself because the guy’s a midget and she’s way taller than he is. Not that little me can talk.’
‘So how long were you in the pub?’
‘An hour, tops. Kinsey’s ordered champagne. In the end we do three bottles, no problem, and then Kinsey orders us all back to his apartment round the corner for a nightcap or two, and at that point it’s Tasha’s idea to sort out a curry because that woman eats for England. So she takes orders and gets in her little car and then the rest of us halloo round the corner to Kinsey’s place.’
Suttle tried to imagine this little knot of revellers making its way through the windy darkness. Kinsey, it turns out, has more champagne in his fridge but no Guinness. Pendrick thinks that’s a shame and so Milo gets on the mobile to Tash and tells her to pick up some resupplies.
‘Tash has gone for the takeaway by herself?’
‘Yep. Now I’m with Pendrick on the Guinness. Excellent fucking call. So we’re all lying around Kinsey’s pad, helping him with the Krug, and then Wonder Woman turns up with a whole load of takeaway plus an armful of tinnies. Me and Pendrick split the tinnies between us and we’re drinking toasts to how fucking invincible we are and all the time the temperature’s dropping because the sliding door to one of the balconies is open and then it occurs to us that Kinsey’s out there chucking up over the rail. You can hear the splat-splat on the promenade below. Nice.’
Suttle made a note, remembering the CSI telling him about the puddle of vomit
‘Starts what?’
‘Post-race analysis. That’s his fucking phrase, not mine. My friend, you need to make an effort, you need to imagine it. We’ve won. We’ve done the business. We’re all getting happily bladdered and Kinsey starts banging on about post-race analysis . Where we got things wrong. What we could do better next time. How we need to sharpen up on the catch or the extraction or changes of rate or any fucking thing. Can you believe that? We’ve pissed all over the opposition. We’ve come close to setting some kind of course record. And he’s talking about rate changes ? The man’s an eejit. Was an eejit. And that’s being kind.’
Suttle wanted to know what happened later, back in Exmouth.
‘This is last night, right?’
‘Right.’
‘OK. So we tuck the boat away in the club compound and kiss it goodnight and then we go to the pub. This is a proper pub that’s stayed scruffy and real and for once in his life Kinsey uses it the way you should. Maybe Andy’s had a word. Maybe Andy’s told him to lighten up, enjoy himself, tie a couple on. That’s probably the way it was because Andy’s the only one Kinsey ever listens to. The freemasonry of the minted, right? Both these guys have got money, real money, and so Andy deserves a hearing. The rest of us? We’re just bad-arse drinkers, also-rans, trophy fodder for the man’s fucking ego.’
At the pub, he said, they were joined by Milo Symons’ partner.
‘Now this girl is a piece. Her name is Natasha – Tasha if she knows you. She’s late thirties, maybe older, good nick, works out, blonde, describes herself as a resting actress. Way back in the day she probably did it for real on some crap telly series, but we’ve been around her for the best part of a year now and I can’t remember catching a single fucking gig, not one. But fair play to the woman, she’s still got it, she’s still good-looking, and she’s funny and sexy in the way that those two words often go together, you know what I mean? She rows with us sometimes when one of the other guys can’t make it, and while she’ll never win any prizes for technique she makes us laugh. She’s also taken Kinsey’s fancy big time, which is funny in itself because the guy’s a midget and she’s way taller than he is. Not that little me can talk.’
‘So how long were you in the pub?’
‘An hour, tops. Kinsey’s ordered champagne. In the end we do three bottles, no problem, and then Kinsey orders us all back to his apartment round the corner for a nightcap or two, and at that point it’s Tasha’s idea to sort out a curry because that woman eats for England. So she takes orders and gets in her little car and then the rest of us halloo round the corner to Kinsey’s place.’
Suttle tried to imagine this little knot of revellers making its way through the windy darkness. Kinsey, it turns out, has more champagne in his fridge but no Guinness. Pendrick thinks that’s a shame and so Milo gets on the mobile to Tash and tells her to pick up some resupplies.
‘Tash has gone for the takeaway by herself?’
‘Yep. Now I’m with Pendrick on the Guinness. Excellent fucking call. So we’re all lying around Kinsey’s pad, helping him with the Krug, and then Wonder Woman turns up with a whole load of takeaway plus an armful of tinnies. Me and Pendrick split the tinnies between us and we’re drinking toasts to how fucking invincible we are and all the time the temperature’s dropping because the sliding door to one of the balconies is open and then it occurs to us that Kinsey’s out there chucking up over the rail. You can hear the splat-splat on the promenade below. Nice.’
Suttle made a note, remembering the CSI telling him about the puddle of vomit
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