Just before ten, however, Ulysses blew out the candles and turned off the lights. He thought they were heading down to Michele’s, but Peg took his hand and led him back upstairs to his room.
Peg?
She pushed him down on the bed.
Through the window, a black and blue marbled sky, a now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t moon and stars and household lights and Col’s laugh rising outside Michele’s.
Put these on, she said, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out his glasses. She unzipped him, pulled up her dress and straddled him. They didn’t move for a while. A slow pelvic rock till it became unbearable. She pressed both hands onto his mouth to stop his groans.
At ten thirty they went down to the square. Peg called out to Cress and the old fella’s face lit up at the sight of her. Peg sat down next to him and held his hand and Ulysses grabbed a stool from the neighbouring table and sat next to Pete. He poured out the remainder of the wine and said, What we interrupt, Cress?
Well, I was just about to tell them about my new vision, said Cress.
What’s it this time? said Col.
England to win the World Cup in 1966, said Cress.
You’re dreaming, said Col. They’re crap. Always have been, always will be.
But there’s more, said Ulysses, lifting his glass. This is the genius twist.
Col turned to Cress. Well, Mr Genius? he said.
Geoff Hurst hat-trick.
Mr Two Left Feet? said Col. Mr Geoff ‘I’ve never played for England’ Hurst?
He will in February, said Cress. And he’ll be picked for the squad. That’s what came to me and that’s the bet. England to win but with a Geoff Hurst hat-trick. Everything on the black.
I’m in, said Pete.
You’ll have to put the bet on in London for me, Pete, because they don’t like that sort of thing here. I’ll give you a specially adapted false-bottomed suitcase to take the money back in.
Pete tapped his nose. Thanks, Cress.
You ain’t going near Tubs, I hope? said Col.
I was thinking Soho Sid.
Soho Sid? scoffed Col. He still got a patch?
Quite a big one, said Pete. Holed up next to the Mandrake.
I like Sid, said Peg.
I’m after at least ten to one, said Cress.
Ten to one! said Col. He thinks it’s Blankers-Koen all over again. Lightning don’t strike twice, Signor Cresswell!
But it does though, don’t it? said Pete. Alan Beantree.
Alan—？
Beantree, said Pete. You remember him. Out walking his dog. Struck by lightning in August 1939. When he recovered he showed everyone his foot.
His foot?
Where the lightning came out. A year later, out walking his dog and it happened again.
Dead?
I hope so, said Ulysses. ’Cause they buried him next to me mum and dad.
But what’s this all about? said Col.
About lightning not striking twice, said Pete. I’m saying it does. Because it did.
But in all fairness, Pete, said Cress. The two strikes were different.
Fucking hell, said Col.
The first strike that afflicted Alan Beantree was a side flash. When the current jumps from a tall object – in this case a tree – to the victim. Alan Beantree acted as a short circuit for some of the energy in the lightning discharge.
What happened to the dog? said Peg.
Cinders.
Dead?
No, the dog was called Cinders.
Jesus help me, Temps, said Col.
It ran off, said Pete. Found a new family in Bow.
And the second strike, said Cress, was a direct strike. In the open air. Alan Beantree hadn’t even got to the tree. Struck down in his prime, he was.
Cress, he was seventy! said Peg.
A direct strike it was, the deadliest strike of all, said Cress. From which there’s no coming back. Who’s for another carafe of red?
I’m in, they all said.
Peg winked at Ulysses. ‘Cress’ll be all right’ was what that wink said. He pushed his leg against hers under the table, their own little energy discharge. Giulia noticed it when she brought over the wine; so much static it nearly lifted her hair combs. Someone’s happy, she said in dialect before walking off.
As the days passed, Cressy’s spirit raised its head above the ramparts again and it was a glorious sight to behold. Ulysses told him to take everyone out so he could get on with the cleaning, and Peg wanted to help Ulysses, but of course it was Peg who Cress wanted by his side. Pete wanted to wander by himself and compose a song or two. I can feel the muse right here right now, he said.
That’s just someone walking on your grave, said Col.
So, with Col riding pillion, and Peg in the sidecar, Cress pulled out all the stops. And all those experiences he’d had with Paola, no longer dormant but alive. He gunned it out to Piazzale Donatello and the English Cemetery: a green hillock surrounded by choking traffic, but Cress called the place a mirage.