Down Among the Dead Men_ A Year in the Life of a Mortuary Technician - Michelle Williams [63]
And so he went on until four thirty came and we could escape. Maddie and I went for a drink because we reckoned we deserved one, or maybe three . . .
THIRTY-TWO
In early November Luke and I, together with Ed and my brother Michael, had a weekend away at the rugby. Ed and I had discovered that we were both huge rugby fans, and we had got hold of some tickets to see England take on the Pacific Islanders in one of the autumn internationals; it was the first time I’d ever been to ‘HQ’, which I later learned was the insiders’ name for Twickenham. I had only truly got into rugby by watching the Six Nations earlier in February that year, but was hooked straight away and was still a bit unaware of the terms the diehard fans used. Ed, who had been before, waxed lyrical about how impressive it was and what a fantastic occasion it would be, especially as England might even win, and I have to admit, I was blown away when we turned the corner and Twickenham stood in all its glory in front of me. Michael, who is not the greatest of rugby fans (and I’m sure Luke would rather have been at the football), was really just along for the jolly, but I knew neither of them would spoil the party. They are very similar in the way they are quiet and easy-going, and just rub along with whoever is around; they also both have a really dry wit which only becomes apparent when they have got a few beers under their belts.
Because Ed lives out of the town, it was agreed that he would drive, calling in early to pick us up. Luke and I had had a party the night before to celebrate something or other at our local pub, and only rose about twenty minutes before Ed arrived, true to his word, at nine o’clock on Saturday morning. After a quick cup of coffee, we set off in good spirits, all dressed in England shirts, apart from Michael, and all keen on one thing and one thing only, that we were going to have a good time. Halting for a quick refreshment stop at a service station near Swindon, we made it to Twickenham in a little over two hours. We had rooms booked at a small hotel in Richmond which Ed’s satnav found without difficulty; it wasn’t exactly a five-star luxury job – in fact, it was pretty dire, what with plastic headboards and dodgy carpets – a fact that was reinforced in no uncertain manner when Luke and I first went into our room and there was a strange little man sitting on the bed with his shoes off, bed unmade, apparently making himself at home. He soon skedaddled, but it was a rather unsettling experience. Luke mentioned this to the owner when we went back to reception, and he was as bewildered as we were.
With our bags stowed in our rooms, we assembled outside the hotel with the receptionist’s instructions regarding the nearest pub fresh in our minds. It proved to be a charming, typical London boozer and we settled down to pass the next hour or so by putting the world to rights and boosting their profits a little. What amazed me was the number of England shirts that came through the door during that time. I felt part of a huge – and very proud – group. At one, after Luke and Michael had visited the betting shop over the way to check out the afternoon sporting action, we called a local taxi firm. What arrived was a highway robber who demanded thirty pounds to take us the two miles to the stadium, a sum that Luke negotiated down to twenty-five; not surprisingly, Dick Turpin didn’t get a tip. At least the real one wore a mask.
The atmosphere as soon as we got among the crowds was better than I could ever have imagined; there was no sense of menace, just one of togetherness and camaraderie and enjoyment, with a lot of families and ankle-biters, most of whom were well behaved. It was past two o’clock by now so we made our way around the stadium, through the gates and up inside the giant concrete stadium. Our seats were on the upper tier, so by the time we arrived we were out of breath