Grace/Off

‘Would you like some ravioli?’

Alex was holding a bowl in front of my face. I doubt it was ravioli; it was just a sauce with ominous lumps in it. The soup that I’d just managed to keep down was more like salty water than real food, so I wasn’t holding out much hope for the main course. ‘Main course’ is a bit of an overstatement, too. ‘Main course’ suggests it’s the best thing on the menu and the main reason why you’ve come out to eat.

I hadn’t come out to eat. I didn’t want to come out at all. Darren informed me I’d be a kind of chaperone for the two dates. But seeing that I was the youngest of the five of us, I didn’t have the authority or the interest to do any form of chaperoning. He also suggested that we should use this time together to get to know each other. Fat change of that happening, so far Steve and Grace had been engrossed in a rather heated yet respected debate about the early years of Deep Purple, and Alex and Fran hadn’t spoken a word to me, just to each other. Grinning and giggling every so often, using noises and words that only they seemed to understand. But I let that slide, it being their one month anniversary. So much for getting to know each other, but I tried, gingerly accepting the ravioli.

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘I come here quite a lot.’ Alex beamed proudly, scooping a mass of red sauce onto his ladle and emptying it in my bowl. ‘I love it. The kind of people you meet.’

The people Alex was referring to were six of seven homeless people scattered around the powder blue coloured room. It looked like a sports hall for a failing, under funded youth club. At the back, a block of stainless steel with food in it, volunteers serving around it. The room was starkly lit, with bright white strip lights racked up above us, making everyone look pale and cold. Thin wooden tables were arranged in neat rows, with benches beside them. Not my ideal venue for a double date, but Steve was dressed for the part. In a navy blue pinstripe suit and shiny shoes, he was out to impress Grace. So much so it looked as if he’d straightened his ponytail. Anyone would have thought he was a Metallica roadie going for a job interview at a bank.

‘I don’t know, Grace. Their first outing, ‘Shades Of Deep Purple’, nineteen sixty-eight, seems far more superior in terms of lyrical style and musicianship.’

‘Na,‘Machine Head’ is by far their best.’

‘Nineteen seventy two?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah, well, you would say that.’ Steve grinned.

‘I would. It’s got Sm…’

‘Smoke On The Water on it?’

‘Yeah!’

They both laughed as if it was funniest thing in the world. I rolled my eyes and scanned the room. I must tell you, it was hard not to double take. I mean, when you see a homeless person on the street, you hardly look at all. You just want to get past them before feeling guilty about not giving him any money, holding your arms out and miming 'Sorry, mate.' But here, they were at home. Well, as close to home as possible. It felt like we were the ones who were intruding, but Alex assured us we were welcome. His cousin had sat us down and served us drinks, told us to enjoy the meal. He even introduced to a man called Grizzly. I’m not sure that was his christened name, even though he told us it was. The full beard and shaggy hair gave it away as a nickname, but you never know, he could have been born with that name, I’ve seen documentaries.

‘I can see why you like this place so much.’ Fran said.

‘Why do you think?’

‘The great food?’ I suggested.

‘Well, yes, but the company too. The interesting company.’

Of course, there’s the bloke in the corner who we met when we arrived, who sneezed in his hand and ate the residue. And the girl with the dark hair in her sleeping bag who shouted ‘You stole all my plums!’ Very interesting company. I tried to avert the attention of the plums woman and started a conversation involving all of us.

‘So, what do we all like most about work?’ I asked, stabbing my ravioli with a rusty fork.

‘Fran.’ Alex said.

‘Alex.’ Fran looked at him.

‘Steve? Anything?’ I pointed.

‘Err…’

Steve was about to say something when a man sat down in-between him and Grace, forcing his way into the gap that was far to small, making Steve shift along the bench.

‘Excuse me, gentleman. And ladies. You don’t mind if I just squeeze in here?’

We didn’t have time to answer. He’d already gotten comfortable and started to make his way through a slice of buttered bread.

‘Brian’s the name. How’d you do.’ He said, in a thick Birmingham accent.

Brian was dressed in camouflage trousers, a stained yellow shirt with a thick khaki jacket over the top of it. I was sat across the table from him but could instantly smell the scent of stale cigarettes. It certainly gave the ravioli I was eating a nice kick. But the most intriguing thing about Brian was his uncanny resemblance to Steve. They obviously weren’t dressed the same but they were around the same age. Brian had the same balding head with a grey ponytail over his shoulder, a little bit overweight and unshaven, like a trucker on his day off.

‘Do you come here a lot, then?’ Alex tried.

‘Oh, yeah, this and the one on Capwell Road. The pie is better.’

I love the fact this guy had a preference of pie. He wasn’t even wearing shoes, just grey socks with holes in them. Not he's saying he's had better pie in his time.

‘My cousin works here. Serves the food.’ Alex smiled.

‘Good work. I did a bit of work serving back in the day. On the Sabbath tours.’

Grace and Steve shot a look to Brian, who was sat in between them and licking the butter off his beard.

‘Sabbath tours?’ Steve asked.

‘Yeah. My first was the World Tour, nineteen seventy five.’

I looked at Steve, who wasn’t ready to believe him.

‘Where did the tour end?’

‘California Jam Festival.’

‘Venue?’

‘Ontario Motor Speedway.’

‘Attendance?’

‘Two hundred thousand.’

‘Shit! He’s right.’ Steve leaned back.

Grace leaned in, putting her elbow on the table and hand on her chin, grinning at Brian.

‘So who else played there?’

‘Oh all the greats. Sabbath, of course.’

‘Of course.’ She grinned.

‘Eagles. Emerson, Lake and Palmer. 

'Them and Deep Purple co-headlined.’ Steve added with a sigh.

‘Awesome.’ Grace gleamed.

‘People go on about their debut album as being the best. But it’s got to be…’

‘Machine Head!’ Grace jumped out of her seat, making us all flinch.

‘Yes!’

Brian and Grace high fived, making Steve wince and turn away. I felt a little sorry for him, but it was fascinating to see Grace and Brian talking, looking into each other’s eyes and chatting enthusiastically. Fran, Alex and I all sat and watched the three of them. After a few minutes, Steve leaned around the back of Brian, holding his breath to avoid the smell and tapped Grace on the shoulder. 

‘Grace. Grace. Do you want to come and get more ravioli with me?’

‘No, thanks.’ Grace managed to say, in between a sentence about a guitar riff.

‘Oh, I’ll get in on that Shaun.’ Brian held out his bowl.

‘Steve.’

‘Stevie!’ He shouted.

Grace let out a spurt of laughter, making Steve turn away violently towards the back. Alex and Fran seemed to be enjoying each other’s company, and I suddenly felt like I was enjoying myself, occasionally adding to each conversation. We were interrupted by Steve slamming down the bowl of Brian’s ravioli, which splattered over his jacket. It didn’t seem to matter; there were many stains on there anyway. It was like adding a paint stroke to a wall of the same colour.

‘Grace, would you like to come for a walk?’ Steve nodded to the door.

‘No, thanks.’ Grace replied.

Steve’s face went bright purple like a ribena berry. He ripped off his clip-on tie, threw it down on the table and stormed off. The room turned towards him. The guys serving meals put down their ladles and the sneezing man sat up from the floor. Steve got to the door, took a deep breath in and stormed back over to us, making Brian stop eating for the first time.

‘OK, how powerful was that festival, precisely?’ Steve tested him.

‘Total power was fifty four thousand watts RMS, by BFA two thousand amplifiers, manufactured by Tycobrahe.’ Brian stared him down.

‘Shit!!!’

Steve stormed off again, this time getting through the door. His outburst woke the woman in the sleeping bag, who sat up and looked at me.

‘Where are my plums?’ She barked.

I looked around the table. Alex and Fran were looking down eating; Grace and Brian started another conversation.

‘I…I don’t know.’ I looked at her. ‘But do you want some ravioli?’

She accepted it, snatching it from my hands as I walked over.

‘Tell you what. Here’s a tenner.’ Getting the note out of my wallet. ‘Treat yourself.’

‘Oh, just what I wanted. Thank you.’

She looked at me and smiled, before putting the crisp ten-pound note to her face and blowing her nose in it.

'Oh, thank you, darling.' Rolling up the note into a ball of snot and giving it back to me.

I think it was time to call it a night.

We’d all gotten to know each other tonight, some more than others. I learned Steve’s impatience and willingness to dress smartly. Alex and Fran’s love for each other, which seems to be doubling every time I see them. And finally, Grace’s love for Brian. Who, without wearing any shoes, managed to pull using his astounding knowledge of Black Sabbath.

I didn't keep the tenner, by the way. I gave it to Brian.