Ambition

James had been in finance training all day and lost the will to live.  It had been unspeakably dull; the convoluted processes and petty rules had fried his brain, but now it was over.

He’d never understood the people who strived to complete a job they didn’t care about, or cared about a job they didn’t have yet.    

‘Ambition’s what you get when you don’t have anything else to live for,’ he’d always said.  And he was saying it again.

And he was sure about that.  Or he used to be.  His future had been troubling him lately, he couldn’t stop turning it over in his mind.  It was making him restless, time was marching on, he needed to make a choice.  Trouble was, he couldn’t think of a single career he’d enjoy; nothing particularly interested him and he didn’t have a natural aptitude for anything.  He only worked for money; and as every job paid, he’d never seen the point of excelling for any specific employer.  It was a cavalier attitude, and the reality that had begun to terrify him daily was that he’d be stuck in the same dead-end job forever.  

James harboured some vague desire to become a journalist, but he’d never mustered the enthusiasm to do anything about it.  He always thought the right career would make itself known to him at the right time, so rather than commit to something that might hold him back, it was better to commit to nothing.  But the dream job hadn’t materialised, and wasn’t showing any signs of ever doing so.  So when his boss sent him on these nasty little training days he felt the pressure of being forced down a path he didn’t want to take, which consolidated his failure by sharpening his sense of helplessness.  The reason for the bon mot was two-fold: to justify his pathetic existence and cheer up Robert.   

Robert’s girlfriend had just left him.  She’d been sleeping with his housemate for two weeks, and had finally decided that her new squeeze was a better prospect than her old Robert; who was a musician with no prospects at all.  James was newly single too, but James was always newly single, they never stuck around.      

‘So what you gonna do?’ James asked before flushing his mouth with beer.

‘Don’t know,’ Robert replied.  ‘I’m going to have to move out though aren’t I.  Can’t exactly sit around listening to them two get loved-up every night.’  

‘I’ll keep my ears open for anyone with a spare room.’  

‘Thanks.’

The friends had their favourite seats in their favourite pub, they loved it; they could drink expensive Belgian beer and mind their own business, put the world to rights.  

‘Beer?’

‘Go on then.’  

James brought back two pints of white beer from the bar.  

‘I always wanted to travel, y’know,’ Robert said.  ‘I just never got round to it because of Sarah.’

‘You always talked about it when we were in Manchester.’  

‘I’d still like to do it.  Got a bit of cash saved.’

‘Now’s the time mate.  Where would you go?’

‘Spain.’

‘Spain?’

‘Yeah, Spain.  I fancy that.  I could trade my Vespa for a bigger bike and ride there.’

‘That’d be cool.’

‘Why don’t you come with me?’

‘Me?  I couldn’t... I’ve got my job.’

‘You hate your job.’

‘I know but...’

‘But nothing, what have you got to lose?’

‘Toulouse?  That’s not in Spain.’

‘Shut up you idiot, stop changing the subject; are you gonna come or not?’

‘I don’t reckon I can afford it.’

‘Course you can.  Trade in your Vespa and move out, collect the deposit on your flat and use that.  It’s nearly summer so we’ll be able to get bar jobs when we get there.  Reckon we could be gone ‘til September at least.  It’ll be a right laugh,’ he paused.  ‘My round ennit?’

Robert sat two heavy glasses down on the table.

‘So are you coming or not?’ he said.  

* * *

The two friends stood outside James’ flat admiring their new 500cc motorbikes.  They’d got a pretty good deal, though Robert thought they could’ve done better.  

‘My brother’s coming to pick up my stuff next Saturday,’ James said.  ‘The new lad moves in on Sunday.  I’ll get the money for my deposit then - cash.’

‘You found someone pretty quick, eh?’

Finding a replacement was easy.  James lived in a three bedroom flat at the top of a Victorian mansion: fireplace, wooden floors, that sort of thing.  For the last three weeks Robert had been sleeping on the sofa in the living room.  The other housemates didn’t mind; we like having another person round the place, they said.  And they meant it, just as long as it wasn’t forever.  

‘When d’you finish work?’ Robert asked.

‘Next Friday, I told you that.’

‘Might as well leave on the Monday then.’  

‘Cool.’  

There was a lot to be done so Saturday came quickly.  James enjoyed seeing his brother Mike, and Mike enjoyed helping out.  Mike had a strong paternal instinct, which was useful because James had very childish tendencies.  An outsider might think James took advantage, but that’s not the way Mike saw it.  

‘So when are you going?’ Mike asked James.

‘Monday.’

‘With Robert?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You take care, you’ll have a great time.’

‘I know.  I was so jealous when you went travelling, but I never thought I’d get my act together and actually get round to going.’

‘Just make sure you enjoy yourself this weekend, because when the trip’s over you’ll wish you could do it all again - you’ll wish it was this weekend again.  Remember that.’

‘I will.’

Mike left and James called Robert, who was drinking with the football team in North London.  There was a birthday so this was a big night, and now Robert was leaving they had two reasons to celebrate.  Gareth, the loud-mouthed team captain, a Londoner born and bred, was standing at the bar when James walked in.  Gareth hadn’t seen him for ages,

‘Jimmeh!  Aven’t see you for ages,’ he said.

‘Gareth,’ James acknowledged laconically.

‘I ‘ear you’re off to Spain Monday?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I was there in ‘98 - mental.’

‘What part?’ James asked.  But Gareth didn’t answer, Robert had just walked passed and that was enough to distract him.

‘Roberto!’ he said.  ‘’Ear, I ‘eard your missus left ya.’

‘She did, yeah.’    

‘That’s tough.  Still, no need for a missus where you’re goin’!  RA HA HA HA!’

‘Yeah,’ Robert said.  He looked uncomfortable and clearly couldn’t think of anything to say.  ‘I’m staying with James ‘til we leave.’

‘You better put your ‘and in your pocket so I can buy ‘im a drink then bruv.  This is a double celebration: Rishi’s birthday and we’re gettin’ rid of Bobbie.  Might finally get a decent striker!  RA HA HA HA!  What you ‘avin, Jimmy?’

‘Cider, ta.’  

‘Barman!’

James took a seat at the long table against the far wall.  It was three in the afternoon and everyone was having a right old time.  They were talking about girls mostly, and masturbation, but when they talked about football they disagreed.  Some of the comments were quite informed - every man’s a pundit. 

It was one of those days, there are lots of them, when alcohol takes your hand and leads you smilingly up the garden path.  After one pint James was starting to relax, getting in the mood.  He had a few things to sort out - currency, medical insurance, a room for the first night in France et cetera - but when Robert sat another cider down in front of him he decided to stay.  There’s always tomorrow, he thought.  

‘You got everything sorted for the trip, Jimmy?’ Gareth asked.

‘Not yet.  But there’s always tomorrow,’ he said.

The football team decided they should leave.  No-one had thought of anywhere to go but they went anyway - Fortuna would direct them now.  The message didn’t reach James in time, so he had to down the drink he’d just bought.  Outside they dominated the street.  A few of them bought unnecessary cans for the ten minute walk to Camden.  James couldn’t be sure how many of them there were but it looked like a lot; all boys, all spread out along the pavement, all singing and shouting to each other.  Every now and then, one of them would grab the boy next to him, or jump in the air, or stumble forward laughing... and all for no reason any passer-by could see.   

‘Let’s get in here for a shot,’ someone said.  

James and Robert got a rum.  It was the drink they liked best, they intended to get lots more when they got to Spain.  James reckoned Spanish rum was the finest in the world.  It wasn’t true that the best rum came from Cuba.  The Spanish learnt a lot when they were in the Caribbean, and according to him they could rival even the Dominicans at rum production.  Robert suspected James was wrong, but he was accustomed to his friends misinformation so he let him ramble on.  James just needed to say these things, he guessed.  Gareth necked a nuclear looking spirit and said,     

‘You speak the Espanol then bruv?’

‘I don’t,’ Robert said.  ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult to learn though.’

‘I can speak French,’ James said.

‘What good’s ‘at?’

‘All the same aren’t they.’

‘Listen, so long as you can say Quisiera dos seniorita and Cuanto cuesta? you’ll be right.  RA HA HA HA!’

Things were really hotting up.  A delegation of debauchees approached them and told them to drink up, they were off to a club.  James, Robert and Gareth decided on one more quick round - two rum’s and a god-knows-what - before throwing back their heads and tipping the drinks down their throats (wince).   

Inside the club, the friends stood on the edge of the dance floor.  They had a bit of a dance but their hearts weren’t in it, they looked a bit like home-made Pinocchio’s at the mercy of a novice.  Gareth disappeared to entertain some other gang so they were left to their own devices.  The music was very loud.

‘Forty-eight hours and we’ll be out of this hell-hole,’ James shouted.

‘I like it in here.’

‘Yeah me too, but I’ve been coming here five years.  I’m ready for a change of scene.’

They sipped at their spirits.

‘I’m glad you’re going away with me, mate,’ Robert said.

‘I’m glad I’m coming,’ James replied.  They could barely hear each other.

‘We have a laugh man, and we’ve never fallen out, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be going with.  I want this to be the trip of a lifetime.  It’s cool you’re coming because I need to be around someone I trust.  All this trouble I’ve been through with Sarah, it’s shaken me a bit; I’m not so sure of myself around people anymore.’  He was struggling to shout over the music.  ‘I’m glad I haven’t gotta put on an act for you because at the moment, I’m not sure which part I’m supposed to play.’

‘What?’ James asked.

‘Doesn’t matter.’

Boys rarely connect emotionally, but alcoholically they’re watertight - you’ve got to play to your strengths.  They went to the bar together and bought a couple more drinks.  Then they bought a couple extra so they didn’t have to queue again after ten minutes.  They returned to the edge of the dance floor.  A girl Robert knew from somewhere came up to him.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Hey,’ he said back.

‘I heard you’re going away?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Spain.’

‘Spain?’

‘Yeah, Spain.’

‘How long for?’

‘Not sure, could be a while.  I’ve got a bit saved and fancy working out there.’

‘That’s a shame.  I mean, that’s really cool, but I’ve got a gig next week, I was hoping you’d come?’

‘We’re leaving Monday.  What day’s your gig?’

‘Thursday.’

‘Shame.  I’m sorry I can’t make it.  That’s cool you got it though.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Is it you on your own, or are you playing with that band again?’

‘Me on my own.  I’m quite nervous...’

‘You’ll be fine.  I’ve seen you sing, you haven’t got nothing to worry about.’   

James didn’t really remember much after that.  Neither did Robert.  When they spoke about it later, James said he could remember getting a kebab on the way home, but he couldn’t remember getting into the club.  Robert could remember getting into the club but he couldn’t remember getting home.  

Robert was the first to wake up and there was a girl beside him in bed.  In James’ bed.  James was on the floor, slumped against the TV stand, it looked uncomfortable.  Beer cans were everywhere.  An empty bourbon bottle and a spent kebab tray were next to the wardrobe.  Clothes gathered in piles.  What had happened here?  Sex?  Possibly.  Given her proximity, it was likely he tried it on.  But she hadn’t left, so he guessed the No couldn’t have been too severe.  Who knows, maybe they did get it on?  You never can tell ‘til they wake up.  In a few minutes he’d slip out of the room and bring her back a coffee, tenderly rock her shoulder until she stirred.  And then he’d look for some kind of sign in her body language, some clue as to the acceptability of his behaviour.  

She woke sharply, dressed quickly, declined the coffee thoroughly, avoided eye contact impressively and hot-footed it out of there decisively.  She must have had things to do, he thought.  But that didn’t matter, they were off to Spain tomorrow; and a night you’d rather forget is a perfect point for a new beginning.  

They spent the rest of the day in the cafe and in front of the telly.  Robert bought a Sunday broadsheet even though he always told people it had gone down hill lately.  James had never liked the papers, he didn’t even like The News of the World.  They went to bed early because they had an early start.  Robert slept in James’ room because his housemates wanted to watch a film.

* * *

The next day, having slept in, they crawled out of bed at noon.  They were nervous and tired and wobbly, and they got chippy with each other as they strapped their bags to their bikes - the way people do when they’re on the cusp of realising a dream.  The conditions were awful, low cloud and a steady drizzle.  Somewhere along the A2, about 20 miles south of London, James started having problems with his bike.  He signalled to Robert and they pulled over.  James cut the engine and the duo studied it intensely, but they weren’t mechanics so all they saw were inanimate metal lumps.  When James tried to start the bike nothing happened.  He tried again, nothing.  Again... same result.  He looked at Robert and Robert looked at him.  Robert didn’t say anything because he knew the unfortunate boot could easily have been on his foot, but James saw the murder in his eyes.  A concerned motorist pulled over, turned out he used to ride himself, though not for years now.  

‘What’s the problem lads?’ he asked.

‘Not sure,’ James said.  ‘Can’t tell.  Thanks for pulling over.’

‘That’s alright.  Nice bike.  You called the AA... the RAC?’

‘Thanks.  Not yet, just happened.’

‘Shame.  Where’ve you come from?’ 

‘London.’ 

‘Where’re you going?’ 

‘Spain.’    

‘Spain?’

‘Yeah, Spain.’

T H E   E N D