‘One shepherd’s pie,’ she cried.
Her chins trembled and her breasts rested on her knees as she bent to plonk the full plate down in front of Charles’ table.
‘This looks wonderful,’ said he sniffing the meal. He smiled up at her, ‘Madam you’ve excelled yourself. How much do you ask for this delicious fare?’
‘14p.’ She pointed to her husband. ‘He’ll give you the condiments. Just shout, he’s deaf occasionally.’
‘Many thanks,’ said Charles placing 20p on her tray. ‘Please have a drink on me.’
‘Ta son,’ she said as she toddled off to the kitchen.
Charles ate quickly and thoroughly enjoyed the meal.
‘Hoy! Hoy!’ he called when he had finished.
The barman was standing elbows leaning on the counter, staring up at the blank television screen.
‘Hoy!’ shouted Charles again, walking to the bar.
‘Yeah? Yeah? What up eh?’
‘Another pint of bitter and have one yourself.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Jesus! What’s up here at all. Listen man. Get me a pint of bitter please and have one with me eh? How’s that eh?’ cried Charles.
‘Fine son, I’ll have a half. Nice weather eh?’ the old fellow pulled the drinks showing distinct signs of energy.
‘Pity about the Fulham eh? Still they’ll be back, the old Fulham eh? Yeah they’ll be back eh?’ He took a long swig of beer. Eyes closed, a slow stream trickled down his half-shaven chin winding its way round his Adam’s apple on down under his shirt collar.
‘Yeah poor old Chelsea,’ he said and finished the drink.
‘What about the old Jags though? Even worse than Fulham.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The Thistle man, the old Partick Thistle were relegated last season.’
‘Ah. Scotch team eh?’ he asked. ‘Don’t pay much heed.’
‘Yeah you’re right. Not much good up there,’ said Charles.
‘Bloody Celtic and Rangers,’ the old fellow shook his head in disgust. ‘Get them in here sometimes and the bloody Irish. Mostly go up the Angel they do. Bloody trouble they cause eh?’
‘Give me another of those Dimples will you?’
‘Yeah,’ he smiled awkwardly. ‘Like them do you? Can’t say I do. Drop of gin now and then, yeah that’s about it.’
Charles returned to his chair with his fresh drinks and sat quietly for about five minutes. Then he looked up at the bar.
‘Hoy!’ he shouted.
The deaf barman had regained his former position beneath the television set. He gave no indication of having heard.
‘Hoy!’ bawled Charles.
The old fellow jumped and turned angrily.
‘What’s up then? What’s this Hoy all the time eh?’
‘Well you’re a bit deaf aren’t you?’
‘No need to bloody scream like that.’
‘All right. I’m going out for a paper. Keep your eye on my drinks will you?’ Charles got to his feet.
The barman muttered under his breath and began polishing some glasses.
Charles had to visit three newsagents before obtaining a copy of the Sporting Life. Nothing else could possibly do with all that back money lying about.
When he returned to the pub he noticed another customer sitting at a table opposite him in a corner. She was around ninety years old.
‘Morning,’ said Charles. ‘Good morning missus.’
The old lady sucked her gums and smiled across at him, then looked up at the barman.
‘Goshtorafokelch,’ she said.
The barman looked from her to Charles before replying.
‘Yeah I’ll say eh?’
Bejasus thank God I’ve a paper to read. Perhaps this is an old folk’s home in disguise.
‘Hoy what time is it?’ asked Charles when he had finished his drink.
The old fellow thought for a moment before answering.
‘Well. Must be after twelve I reckon eh?’
‘Think I’ll be going then,’ said Charles.
‘You please yourself,’ he muttered. ‘Going to another shop then are you eh?’
‘No it’s not that man, I’ve got to go home, get a bath and that,’ replied Charles. God love us why should I feel guilty about it? It’s not as if he welcomed me with open arms.
‘Will you be back then?’ asked the old fellow.
‘Well not today. Maybe tonight though, but if not definitely be back sometime.’
‘Ah they all say that. Who cares eh?’ he poured himself a gin. ‘Fancy another short son?’
‘What?’ screeched Charles.
‘Another short. Want a Dimple?’
‘Why eh,’ he looked over to the ancient lady for support. ‘Why I’d really like another. Yeah thanks.’
‘Bloody bottle’s been here for years,’ he poured a liberal glassful. ‘Glad to get rid of the stuff.’
He passed the drink to Charles and watched him drink some.
‘You really like it then eh?’ he asked.
‘It’s a nice whisky. Yeah I quite like it.’
The barman opened a bottle of Guinness.
‘Give that to her,’ he said pointing to the old woman in the corner.
‘Okay,’ Charles carried it over. ‘Here you are missus, the landlord sent it over for you.’
The old woman looked up and nodded her head with a smile.
‘Patsorpooter,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ replied Charles smiling, ‘yeah!’
He returned to the bar and downed his remaining whisky.
‘Well I’ll be off then and I’ll be in again don’t worry about that.’
‘Hum,’ muttered the barman polishing the counter. ‘Yeah we’ll see eh?’ He moved away to the other side of the bar.
‘Listen I’ll be back,’ cried Charles.
The old man was polishing glasses again and could not hear for the noise of the cloth rag.
‘I’ll see you later,’ shouted Charles hopelessly.
He collected his newspaper and cigarettes from the table and made for the door. Christ this is really terrible. Can’t understand what it’s all about. Perhaps! No. I haven’t a clue. Sooner I’m out of here the better. He stopped by the old lady with his hand on the door.
‘Cheerio missus I’ll be in next week sometime. Okay?’
She wiped a speck of foam from the tip of her nose.
‘Deaf!’ She cried, ‘Deaf’ and burst into laughter.
Charles had a quick look around but the aged barman had disappeared. He left quickly.
The Best Man Advises
John returned with the drinks and carefully placed them on the table. ‘Stop drinking the hard stuff?’ He pushed a pint of heavy beer across.
‘More or less,’ Mick paused. ‘Like a half now and then, if somebody else’s doing the buying.’ He shrugged and held up his right hand, thumb between the first two fingers. ‘Got me like that man!’
‘Bad as that?’
‘Just about.’ He frowned. ‘Matter of fact I prefer her to hold the money. I’d do it in before Saturday mornings, on my own.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway you’re worse than me so stop smirking.’
‘Not me man,’ he sat back comfortably. ‘Well under control. Finished with it! No I mean it man, don’t laugh. I’m telling you. Occasional game of cards and that’s that.’
‘Well good luck if it’s true.’
‘You’re better drinking it, I suppose.’
‘Yeah.’ Mick stared thoughtfully at his glass.
‘What’s the forehead creasing for? Not agree?’
‘Well I mean all the same really man. Piss it up against a wall or get beat in a photo! Same difference.’
‘At least you get a drink for it!’
‘Get a thrill if you gamble it.’ He changed the subject. ‘Anyway so you’re still getting married?’
‘Aye — even fixed up the honeymoon.’
‘Where?’
‘Not telling you, you bastard!’