Anything You Can Do

ANYTHING YOU CAN DO

As I turned the corner I saw him standing in a circle of light underneath the lamp-post. I wasn’t positive it was him but there was something about his superior pose, his cut above the average suit, the-not-a-hair-out-of-place appearance that drew my attention. It was supposed to be my night out with the lads, but I was early so I decided to drive around the block and take another look.

         Slowing down as I passed the lamp my suspicions were confirmed. It was him all right. Alan-bleeding-Allcock. I’d not set eyes on him since leaving school but he’d barely changed. Didn’t look a day older either but then being Alan, he’d probably been born with an extra gene that prevented him aging. Maybe he was immortal.

         I’d known Alan since starting school at five. My mum had assured me I would be the tallest, strongest and brainiest boy in my class and I’d believed her but then neither of us had accounted for Alan Allcock. You know the sort; anything you could do he could do better. Whatever you had, or did, he had one bigger and better or had done it with knobs on. Mr Superior, Mr Perfect, Mr Pain in the Arse. Throughout my whole school career he’d made me feel about as much use as the Pope’s testicles.

         I remember our first playground encounter well. Wanting to impress him I’d approached him one morning play time. Six years old and already painfully aware of his supremacy.

         “Hello, I’m Martin. Fancy a game of marbles?”

         He looked down his nose, firstly at me and then at the treasured collection of marbles I held in my grubby hand.

         “Is that all you’ve got?” was all he said. Never believe that sarcasm is lost on children. He condescended to play and walked away with every one of my precious marbles jangling in his pocket alongside his superior ones. I never did win them back and I never forgave him. I spent years trying to get one over on Alan-bleeding-Allcock but never succeeded.

         For every ‘very good’ I received on my school work he received an ‘excellent.’ For every blue ribbon I won on Sport’s Day he walked away with the red one. I was always a star in the school plays but he always landed the leading part. I played one of only two xylophones in the school band; he played the one and only drum. Even when I broke my arm I returned to school to find he’d broken both, gaining him more sympathy, attention and plaster area for signatures.

         Nothing altered when we both transferred to Grammar School. If I achieved ninety nine marks in an exam it was always topped by his perfect one hundred. For every B plus I earned, he was awarded a straight A. (A plus wasn’t around in those days but it wouldn’t surprise me if they later invented it in his honour.) If I scored a goal in football, he’d score a hat trick. When I later became a prefect he became Head Boy. And so it went on. Alan could also have his pick of the girls; they all seemed to go weak at the knees when he was around. While the rest of us stood around with our tongues hanging out, too frightened of rejection, Alan was carving notches in his bedpost as fast as gaining all his other qualifications. It seemed the man was faultless and I lived in his shadow, bubbling with resentment.

         School was a long way in the past but I’d never come to terms with always being second best to Alan. I considered I’d done pretty well for myself; good job, comfortable home, nice car and the best wife a man could wish for. Rachel and I met at a party a few years ago. It turned out she went to the same school as Alan and I but being several years younger she didn't remember us. But she soon became painfully aware of my animosity towards the infallible Mr Allcock.

         "Why can't you just forget about him?" she'd ask every time I related one of my bitter tales from the past.

         "I don't know. It just gets to me. He was just too bloody perfect to be true. I reckon he gave me a lifelong inferiority complex."

         "Well, you're the number one man as far as I'm concerned," she'd reassure me but I always recognised a glint of sympathy in her eyes.

         I backed into a space beside a flashy red Porsche. One glance at the personalised number plate and it was obvious he’d done well for himself too but I wasn’t going to let that put me off. I feared that old feeling of inferiority would return as soon as I spoke to him but this was something I must do.

         “Alan,” I shouted, feigning enthusiasm as I approached him. “I thought it was you. How are you mate?”

         “Martin, old chap. Not seen you in years. I often wondered what happened to you. Fill me in.”

         “I’m doing well. Went to Manchester University after school and studied law. I’m a solicitor now.”

         “Hey, I went into that field too. Studied at Cambridge; I’m a barrister.” Par for the course.

         I nervously lit a cigarette and offered him one.

         “No thanks, gave that up years ago. Where you off to anyway?”

         “Going for a drink and a curry with some friends from work. Always do on a Wednesday when the wife goes to her Keep Fit class. How about you?”

         “I'm meeting an old girlfriend."

         “Oh, never married then?”

         “No, never found the right girl.” Well, he wouldn’t would he? Not until they market a blow up doll with IQ.

         “Don’t know what you’re missing mate. Been married five years now. Fabulous wedding and honeymooned in Mauritius. Wonderful.”

         “Oh, what a coincidence. I’ve got a villa there.” Of course he has; probably got one on every planet in the solar system.

         “You should get hitched Alan; can’t beat it in my opinion.” I flashed him my best happily married, domestic bliss smile.

         “Aye well, we’ll see. Must get together some time. I think this is the girlfriend.” He raised an arm to wave at the approaching figure.

         I turned to look and recognised her instantly despite the distance. I watched as my beautiful Rachel returned the wave and smile. I remained silently rooted to the spot as she approached.

         "Well, hello Rachel," he smarmed as she came within earshot. "You're looking absolutely gorgeous."

         "Hi, darling. You're looking pretty tasty yourself." She smiled at Alan and then turned winking, as she enfolded me in her arms.

         The expression on Alan's face will stay imprinted on my mind for the rest of my life. At last; I'd got something he couldn't have.

         It had been Rachel's idea. She's smart a well as beautiful. She'd checked out our old school on one of those 'Friends Reunited' websites and found Alan's notes posted there. She'd contacted him, making out she remembered him and suggested meeting up. He'd responded quickly, admitting he'd always had a crush on her at school and would be delighted to meet. I wasn't convinced her plan would work but it looked like we'd pulled it off.

         Rachel turned to a very confused, and for once, defeated looking Alan.

         "I take it you remember Martin. I forgot to mention I'm married to him Alan; believe me he's worth ten of you. You may think you're superior to the rest of us but I wouldn't touch you with a barge pole. Compared to Martin, you're nothing."

         My ego, along with other things, expanded to hitherto unknown dimensions. Linking arms with Rachel I grinned at Alan, a deep feeling of satisfaction spreading through me.

         "Tough luck Alan. This time you're the loser. Rachel is something you'll never win but I tell you what mate. You can hang on to those marbles with my blessing."