Yes. Yes. I saw his badge. She flaps a hand at him, dismissively. I checked his badge. Of course I did. Im not a complete idiot. He had a clipboard and this tiny
Although an impostor could forge a badge, easily enough, Noel reasons.
You think an impostor would have a tiny torch?! Valentines almost deriding him, now. And a special, little mirror inside an old powder compact?
Yeah. Sure. Why not? Noel bristles.
Well he wasnt an impostor, Noel. She scowls. He was just some guy. And if youd come home on time, like you promised
Noel glares at her, balefully.
She rubs at her eyes, exhausted, as the child coyly whispers something into her ear.
Nessa needs the toilet, she murmurs. Would you mind taking her up while I get started on some sandwiches?
Cant she use the potty down here? Noel groans.
Absolutely not!
Her voice is suddenly implacable. Were trying to encourage her into a set routine, remember?
Noel gazes down at the child, malevolently. Nessa grips on to her genitals, twists her legs together and grimaces.
Ive got a headache, he mutters, thickly, and I feel like shit.
Youve got a hangover, Noel, Valentine corrects him, almost tenderly, and an extremely beautiful and brilliant two-year-old daughter she pushes the child forward, very gently who really, really needs to do a wee.
John Daly?
Stanislav battles to place him, mentally: Isnt he that fat, alcoholic red-neck with the weird, pudding-bowl haircut?
Ransom turns and inspects the boy with a haughty, almost pitying eye. When I was a kid your age, he tells him, there was only one golfer I ever gave a damn about. No one else even came close. The others werent fit to lick his shoes. He was a god in human form a golfing deity. He single-handedly re-wrote the games rule book. Dyou know who Im talking about?
Stan shrugs. Faldo?
Faldo? Faldo?! Ransoms horrorstruck. Are you swinging on my dick?! It was Seve, you fuckin dipstick! Seve! Seve Ballesteros! Its like Ransom frowns. One of the defining moments in my life was the birth of my daughter, Chelsea four years ago, in Santa Barbara but I can honestly say with no word of a lie that the defining moment and I mean the defining moment was watching Seve sink that final putt in the 1984 Open Championship at St Andrews. I mustve been around Ransom ponders. I dunno, ten, eleven years old at the time. Man he shakes his head, almost forlornly I fuckin idolized Seve as a kid. I wanted to be his double. Seve was my hero, my role model. I wanted to be an artist, just like Seve was. Because Seve was the real deal. He was the Big Cheese. He was the golfing gorgonzola and I wanted to play exactly like he did you know? All that amazing spunk and fire and recklessness? I dreamed about painting on the greens with my putter, the way Seve could. Because at his best, Seve was without doubt the most brilliant, the most explosive, the most creative player that gololf has ever
Ransom pauses for a second. Gololf, he backtracks, cautiously, glol-ol-o-ol
Then he sneezes.
Stan stares at him, perplexed.
And a real dude, to boot, Ransom continues (pulling at his nose and sniffing). Totally sharp. I mean totally sharp an absolute Geezer, a Face. Seve was like the Sean Connery of golf
He sneezes again. the Salvador fuckin Dali of golf
He sneezes for a third time. Bollocks! He shakes his head, blinking.
Is he still playing today? Stan wonders.
Seve was wild to the fuckin core. Ransom grins (ignoring the question). Unruly tempestuous. He redefined the games parameters. He broke the mould. And I loved him for it, man, I worshipped him for it, because Ive always been a lawless, little bastard myself. A firebrand. I guess Im just anarchic by nature Ransom shrugs, then inspects Stan for a second, speculatively. How about you, Poland?
Pardon?
(Stan is momentarily thrown by his new moniker.)
Are you anarchic?
Me? Uh. Oh. Yeah. Of course I am. Stan nods, emphatically.
Too fuckin right, you are!
Ransom ebulliently high-fives him. The high-five is accompanied by a sharp tearing sound (as one of the jackets armpits finally gives way). The golfers brows rise (his expression a combination of admiration and surprise as if he thinks the teen has just discharged a loud fart). Stan returns his gaze slightly bemused (plainly thinking the same thing about the golfer).
I mean Ill make no bones about it, Ransom returns (with enviable focus) to the subject at hand, I was almost too anarchic back then. I was pretty much completely, fuckin feral. I just flew by the seat of my pants. And if my pants had holes in em which they generally did then I flew by the hair on my fuckin balls.
Stan winces, fastidiously.
One things for sure Ransom starts ransacking his pockets for cigarettes again while I was always pretty obsessed by the game of golf he twitches his nose but doesnt sneeze this time it certainly wasnt now he sneezes the be-all and end-all for me back then. Not like it is today. It was definitely more of a means to an end than anything else. Surfing was my true passion. I was deadly serious about it spent the best part of 90, 91 bumming my way around the planet, catching waves in all the worlds top, surfing hotspots: Morocco, Australia, the Indian Ocean In fact I was just starting to garner some serious recognition on the amateur circuit when I fractured this Ransom cuffs his hip, irritably in a motorcycle accident: Kommertjie, South Africa. February 5th, 1992. He shakes his head, forlornly. Ill never forget that date, long as I live. A yellow Kawasaki 200cc scrambler. Borrowed it off a mate. No mudguards, no mufflers. Pair of cut-off jeans, no shoes, no gloves. Popped a wheelie just showing off to some beach babe then hit a fuckin pothole and flipped the damn thing. Im still carrying the red dirt from that road under the skin of both elbows
Ransom shoves up the sleeves of the military jacket (with some effort).
So your surfing career was over? Stan asks, neglecting to acknowledge the (fairly impressive) scars Ransom has just revealed.
Nah-ah. The injury wasnt serious enough to ground me for good. I almost wish it had been, with hindsight. Life just got in the way there for a while Ransom delivers Stan a warning look. It has a nasty, fuckin habit of doing that.
Stan perhaps prompted into action by Ransoms tone of foreboding (and an equally powerful urge not to acknowledge it) silently recommences uncovering the vehicle.
I never quit, not officially, Ransom continues, in fact I dont think I wouldve been mentally capable of quitting at that stage. Surfing was my life. My dream. I just played a few holes in the Cape while I was on the mend, came second in an amateur event there, flew to Jamaica on a whim with the prize money, hung out for a while, got stoned, got laid, got dumped, got ripped off, got into a bit of financial strife, then hustled on a couple of courses to raise my fare home. Got into more strife. He rolls his eyes, exasperated. Dont even ask (Stan wasnt intending to), and eventually got deported. He shrugs. Then, when I finally arrived back home, the whole thing kinda steamrollered. Two years later, Im number one on the British amateur circuit. Turned pro in 93 and entered the Big Time, wholescale. Everyone said it was too early, but what the fuck? It was wild. It was a blast! I didnt really have the first, bloody clue whatd hit me.
By the time Ransoms potted biography has concluded, the tarp has been removed and an old, military Hummer with immaculately maintained camouflage paintwork has been revealed in all its glory. They stand and silently appraise the vehicle together. Ransom kicks a wheel.
Shes a beaut.
Yeah. Stan nods. She was my dads, originally. He ran a war games shop in the centre of town. Used it for publicity. But the business went bust last year, so he flogged it to Gene for a couple of hundred quid before his creditors could get a hold of it. Gened helped him to do it up and stuff. Mum hates having it stuck out here. She says theres no room to barbecue, but we never barbecued anyway
Ransom tries the door handle but the Hummer is locked.
I had this dinky, little military jeep in the early nineties, he muses. Havent thought about it in years. It was nuts. Looked like something out of Mad Max. I totalled it about five times but it just kept on going. People would stand in the street, their mouths hanging open, pointing at it and laughing. It was completely fuckin wrecked. God, I loved that vehicle I remember I was driving it around Paris with Karma this one time
Karma? Stans head jerks around. Not Karma Dean?
Huh?
Ransoms still thinking about his old jeep.
Did you check out the huge poster in my room? Stan demands, excited.
Poster?
In my room. The massive poster. The massive Karma Dean poster.
A Karma Dean poster? Uh no. Ransom slowly shakes his head (plainly irritated by the teens sudden, high levels of engagement).
Oh.
Stan looks disappointed.
I guess what people generally tend to forget, Ransom mutters (his mind turning back, momentarily, to Jen, and the previous night in the hotel bar), is that Karma was basically a nobody when she and I first hooked up. Just another very boring, very ambitious French model in a long line of very boring, very ambitious French models. I was never serious about her. Id recently split with Suzanne Amour. Karma was essentially just rebound fodder
Ransom pauses to gauge Stans reaction to the Suzanne Amour revelation (there isnt one).
Now Suzanne really was sensational, Ransom persists. Really crazy. Really wild. Had the weirdest, cutest little vagina you ever saw, kinda like an inside-out flower, like a sea-anemone
Ransom describes the shape of Suzanne Amours strange vagina in the air with his finger.
A complete one-off. In all my years of pussy, Ive never seen another like it not even when I fucked her sister.
Stan looks slightly uneasy.
She was probably a little before your time Ransom shrugs. An exotic dancer the former girlfriend of Plastic Bertrand.
Stan now looks utterly bemused.
The punk singer. Ça Plane Pour Moi?
Stan shakes his head, apologetically.
Yeah. Well the point Im trying to make here is that Karma was pretty much a nobody back then. Shed done an advert for this second-rate brand of pantyhose. She had a great pair of legs. Amazing legs. In fact she still has great legs although the tits are a complete fabrication. The tits are just a big, old lie, a huge lie, I can promise you that Anyhow, the truth was that I was the big star at that stage. Aside from Faldo, I was basically the biggest thing to happen in European golf for years He pauses for a second, thoughtfully. Though credit where credits due Karma always really believed in herself. Its like I dunno people sometimes say that to be a star you have to think like a star, and Karma always thought like a star. She always acted The Star. She was ridiculously, high-maintenance, even back then. My old jeep was the bane of her life. She loathed that jeep. In fact Ransom scowls as he remembers no She actually loved the jeep to begin with. Yeah, typical female she fuckin loved the jeep. And Im like the wild, crazy, English kid with the jeep. She thinks the jeep is brilliant; its so funny and cool and eccentric. Then the next thing you know, weve been dating for about a week and shes griping on about her hair getting messed up every time we head out in the damn thing