chapter 11 part 2

‘Yeah, good game…’ Bird took his defeat stoically but it was obvious he was very disappointed, not to mention humiliated. Finishing his games before everybody else, Barry walked over to see how his friend Jenny was getting on in her match against Michael Perry. Barry was pleased to see the old wrinkly-faced git had underestimated his female rival, and had not been able to crush her like a flower as he’d presumed he would. Barry wanted to shout encouragement or tips to his friend but thankfully managed to restrain himself: he might have found his immediate disqualification after just pulling off such an impressive victory rather disenchanting. Jenny and Mr Perry had had their minds locked in a tussle for almost five hours, with Barry watching on for three. It was at this time that Barry realised that not only did you have to be a great thinker to be good at chess, but that you also needed incredible mental stamina and toughness. It was exhausting just to watch. At two games a piece it was all coming down to this last contest. Jenny had fallen behind, and with time running out and her opponent having more material left on the board it looked like she would need a checkmate. And to make matters worse Perry was playing warily now, knowing in his current position he would win and avoid the unthinkable, being knocked out of the tournament ingloriously by a woman. Emitting a clearly audible gasp, Barry had noticed a checkmate opportunity for Jenny that neither she, nor apparently Perry had noticed. For the first time since he’d been watching the game Jenny looked up at him. Barry wanted more than anything to help his friend defeat this slimeball of a man but it’d be cheating, and the arbiter, standing close by was keeping a vigilant watch. Jenny and Barry both knew if
189 the arbiter saw any signs of skulduggery he wouldn’t hesitate to have them both disqualified. Barry—resorting in desperation to doing an impression of Uri Geller—looked into Jenny’s eyes. E7 to B4; E7 to B4; E7 to B4, he said over and over in his head, whilst looking intently at her. Jenny glanced back at the board. It was her turn and there was only time for a couple more moves to be made. She’d come close to giving up hope, but then she saw it: E7 to B4. She looked back at Barry for a second and thought, My God; Barry has the
sloping forehead of an ape, before turning her attention back to the game of chess. ‘Checkmate,’ said Jenny. Utterly flabbergasted by his loss, Mr Perry began to resemble a large tomato, though he quickly shrank and faded into anonymity. Jenny was victorious and that was all that mattered to the people in attendance. Barry tried to console Jenny as best he could. ‘Commiserations; there there, it’s okay. They’ll always be next year.’ ‘What are you on about Barry? I won the match.’ ‘Well done, well done,’ said Barry congratulating his friend. Momentarily he went to embrace Jenny, but for some reason stopped and instead shook her hand heartily. Barry was so happy that he wasn’t sure what to do, and so did a handstand before saying: ‘I knew you could do it and beat that old fool.’ ‘I thought you reckoned he was a good bloke.’ ‘Yeah…well maybe I was wrong. Look, that doesn’t matter, what matters is that you won.’
190 ‘Did you win as well?’ Barry had completely forgotten about his own success in the euphoria of witnessing Jenny’s triumph. ‘Yeah I did. And to think, we both thought we’d lose in the first round. We showed them didn’t we?’ That night Jenny and Barry left the hotel to celebrate, believing they might as well enjoy themselves now seeing how it was highly unlikely either of them would manage to get past the second round. Unfortunately celebration was a bit difficult because Barry didn’t have a penny to his name; he found it highly amusing when a tramp had a go at him for his inability to spare some change. ‘Bloody tight git,’ shouted the beggar. ‘We could go and get a meal somewhere. Come on I’ll pay, I don’t mind.’ Being too proud for his own good, Barry didn’t want Jenny to pay for him: in a quaint, old-fashioned way he thought it should be the man who paid for such things. Jenny found this bothersome complication to their evening annoying, but still had to stifle a smile. ‘Okay Mr 1950’s, how’re we going to celebrate on a budget of zero pence.’ ‘I dunno—I just thought we’d walk and talk—I’ve never been to London before.’ Jenny frowned at this cheap-ass idea. ‘We could go to a bar or pub. You don’t have to drink anything. You can just sit there with two empty hands.’ ‘If we go to a bar or pub all we’ll see is that bar or pub, don’t you want to see a bit more?’