An Old Pub Near the Angel (8 page)

‘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.

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!’

Mick laughed aloud. ‘Bet you it’s Rothesay.’

‘Rothesay my knickers!’

‘Well why don’t you tell me?’

‘Bad luck! She says it’s bad luck.’

‘Jesus Christ I’m the best man.’

‘Ach she’s a bit superstitious Mick – tea leaves and that.’

‘Once they go to those games man you’ve got to watch it. Be holding spiritual parties behind your back whenever you’re out for a pint.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Telling you man that’s the way it gets them.’

‘Her maw’s a bit of a seance.’

‘What?’

‘A medium I mean, her maw – bit of a medium.’

‘What? Christ!’

‘Ach she’s okay Mick, apart from that sort of stuff she’s not a bad woman. Likes me too I think.’

‘Ah well, more than that old bag of Betty’s, Christ you want to see her? Or you don’t want to see her! I never see her – dive out to the boozer whenever she shows up.’

‘Posh isn’t she?’

‘Yeah from Bearsden. Thinks I abducted her daughter.’ Mick shook his head. ‘No wonder her man dropped dead.’

‘Export?’ asked John, rising with his empty glass. Mick nodded. He returned with two whiskies along with the beer.

‘Halfs! Can you afford it?’

‘Aye! Loaded!’ John sat down. ‘I’ve got a few quid. For the reception and the stag night and that.’ He raised the whisky glass to make a toast. ‘Well probably the last drink I’ll have with you as a single man.’

‘Aye. Good luck!’ They drank about half the whisky; then Mick winked. ‘Fancy getting blotto man? I mean really steamboats, fancy?’

‘Suits me,’ John grinned. ‘What about you though?’

‘I’m okay!’ he shrugged. ‘Got about four quid. Plenty!’

‘Don’t mean that.’

‘What do you mean? Betty? You’re jesting! She accepted all that years ago. Happy to see me bevied once in a while – makes her feel safe.’

‘Well then Michael, long time since we got drunk together.’

‘Probably the last . . .’

‘Don’t be so optimistic. Jesus Christ!’

‘Well, I thought you’d have more sense John, I really did. I mean you could’ve taken me as an example.’ He downed the remaining whisky and held up the empty tumbler. ‘First half for three months!’

John smiled. ‘Yeah, suppose I’ll have to quiet down to a certain extent – screw the head with the money and that.’ He paused. ‘Betty looks after your money, I know that but you’d only punt it anyway so it’s in your favour.’

‘I know,’ agreed Mick. ‘I don’t have any grumbles about finance. No, not at all. Freedom! I mean whenever you get bored you’re off – London or someplace – that’ll have to stop. You like to buy clothes – that’ll have to stop.’

‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘I know all that’s got to stop to a certain extent . . .’

‘Certain extent!’ echoed Mick. ‘What’s this certain extent? Listen man I haven’t bought a pair of socks for six months . . .’

‘You always were a smelly bastard.’

‘I’m dead serious John. Look . . .’ he fingered the lapels of his jacket, ‘. . . I bought this eighteen months ago – only one I’ve got apart from that glen-checked effort with the fifteen-inch bottoms. Can’t even pawn it man it’s pathetic.’ He stared mournfully into his empty whisky glass.

‘Surely it’s not that bad?’

‘Whit!’ shrieked Mick, causing several heads to look around.
They burst out laughing. Mick had to loosen his tie and open the top button of his shirt. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘same again?’

‘Now what about the stag night?’ John said when his companion returned.

‘Honestly man can’t make it. Would if I could.’

‘Okay then it’s finished.’

They remained drinking and reminiscing until the first bell rang at 9.50 p.m.

John said, ‘Listen Mick what you fancy doing now, I mean . . .’ he shrugged, ‘. . . we’re not really steamboats are we?’

‘No, you want to go for a meal or something?’

‘Well let’s get a carry-out first.’

‘Aye!’

‘I’ll get it and we can settle after,’ John said.

They travelled by taxi to John’s single end in Maryhill. Immediately on entering Mick collected the key and went out again to the communal stairhead lavatory. When he returned a bottle of malt whisky and six cans of Export lay neatly on the table.

‘Jesus Christ!’

‘Drink we want – not an appetizer!’ said John, searching in the cabinet for suitable cups.

‘Okay!’ cried Mick, taking two tumblers from his inside pocket and one half-pint glass from each side pocket. ‘My contribution!’ he said, smiling proudly.

‘Silly bastard, you’ll get caught one of these days.’

‘No chance man – used to call me Fingers Henderson at school. Not remember?’

‘How should I remember? You’re years older than me.’

‘Ah don’t give me that patter. You joined the Scouts long before me.’

‘You’re a liar man, you got tossed out before I left the Cubs.’

Mick smiled and sank into an armchair.

‘Pour us a drink,’ he said. ‘Can’t be bothered arguing with you.’

‘Cause you’re wrong.’

‘Up your arse.’

‘Ah well never mind.’ John handed him a whisky, and a beer.

‘Good luck son you have my sympathy.’ Mick gulped two-thirds of the whisky down. Then went on, ‘Listen why don’t you get off your mark. Get the first train to London in the morning before you start seeing ghosts with her and her mother? Cause I’m telling you man that’s what’ll happen.’

‘You really talk some piss at times.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

John did not reply. He leaned across and topped up his guest’s whisky.

‘If I had your chance,’ continued Mick, ‘I’d be off in a flash – bags packed and offski.’

‘Have I got to listen to this.’ He groaned staring at the ceiling, then said, ‘Anyway you could still do it for God sake. Why don’t you instead of telling me?’

‘Well the kid . . .’

‘Ach you’re always telling me he’s up at your mother-in-law’s with Betty all the time!’

‘Yeah,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘You know something? I’ve thought about it a few times – but taking them with me, not just myself. Get away from old greeting face,’ he paused, ‘and Betty’ll end up the same way if she carries on the way she’s going.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Oh cause I can’t get a job and that,’ he lit a cigarette. ‘Every time I see the old bag she’s on at me about it. Really gets on my nerves, and Betty as well. I know she’s thinking the same thing nowadays. In fact I was up with them a month ago, at
Bearsden and her maw started on. I sat watching the box not saying a word then Betty says there’s a lot of truth in what she’s saying. Jesus Christ!’ Mick laughed loudly. ‘I grabbed a nicker out her purse and went down the Black Bull, met a guy I knew and ended up at a party. Didn’t go home until the next morning.’

‘What happened?’

‘Her and the kid were still at Bearsden. Stayed the night, maw told her I was probably gone for good and good riddance. One miserable nicker! Not even enough for a taxi to Central Station! Jesus Christ.’ He looked so disgusted John could not help laughing. ‘All right for you with a job and that – not seen a fiver for months. Had four quid tonight. Most I’ve had since I’ve been on the broo!’

‘How’d you get it?’

‘Birthday! Aye!’ he laughed. ‘Betty’s maw – would you believe it? Gave her three quid for me, told her to buy me something cause I’d only fritter it away.’

‘After what you’ve been saying about her too.’

‘Ach she’s loaded. Should see her house man, like Elder’s Furniture Shop inside. Three quid! Gives her milk boy a bigger tip at Christmas. She really hates me.’

‘Why d’you see her then?’

‘Don’t know. Suppose if I had a job I wouldn’t go but she’s not bad in ways – buys the kid stuff and drops Betty now and then. Extra couple of quid comes in handy.’

‘Wouldn’t be me.’

‘What you talking about?’ Mick sneered. ‘Pride or something?’

‘For a couple of quid,’ replied John quietly. ‘I wouldn’t take it.’

‘Try living on a tenner a week then come and tell me!’

‘Why don’t you go south? Said you were thinking about it.’

‘Well why should I man, I mean I’m from Glasgow. Why the hell should I go down there to live?’

‘Work! I mean you liked it down there before you got married.’

‘Well five years married! I’ve changed. It’s not too bad, me and Betty get on okay together apart from her mother. Anyway . . .’ he grinned, ‘. . . I like it on the broo. Plenty of time to read and that, it’s not a bad life.’

‘Never have a penny.’

‘Don’t need it. Hardly bothers me at all now. Really!’

‘You’re a liar.’

Mick laughed. ‘I’m telling you man. Don’t need any. Take a pound a week to myself and Betty buys me the tobacco. Tell me what I need money for?’

‘That’s no way to live.’

‘Suits me.’

‘What about the kid?’

‘What about him?’

‘Surely you want him to get something better?’

‘Well if he wants to get a job down south I won’t stop him.’

‘Christ that’s no way to live.’

Mick laughed again and refilled the glasses. ‘Probably one of the most contented men in Britain when I think about it. If I could get an old cottage in the country – stay the summer – Glasgow in the winter. They send you your broo money when you stay in the wilds! Christ what a life eh?’

‘So you’ve given up? Very surprised. Really am, I mean it’s a load of piss. Balderdash!’

‘What you going to do?’ asked Mick still smiling.

‘Don’t know but I’m not going to give up like that.’

‘Still going to night school?’

‘Aye!’

‘How’s it coming on?’

‘Not bad, thinking of going to college. Get enough highers for the uni. Strathclyde or something . . . Technical maybe. Engineering . . .’

‘You?’ Mick gaped in astonishment.

‘Not think I’ve got the ability or something? Fuck me what’s up at all? I’m only twenty-four for God sake!’

‘Didn’t mean that. Just can’t imagine you,’ he stopped and smilingly said, ‘No offence.’

‘Cheeky bastard! Seriously, you should try it too. All those books you read – no trouble, start putting them to use! If I can do it you’d guy in. How far!’

‘Interesting maybe – but I’d still have to get a job after wouldn’t I?’

John shook his head slowly.

‘What you shaking your head about?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘I know it doesn’t matter. You don’t.’

‘You’ll have to get a job sooner or later.’

‘Why?’

‘Ach forget it man. Forget it.’ He smiled. ‘Just don’t come tapping me when I hit the big time.’

Mick hooted derisively. They continued drinking silently for a time.

‘Seriously though you’ve got no plans?’

‘None at all,’ answered Mick happily refilling the glasses once more.

‘Must be something?’

‘Might go into politics.’

‘What?’

‘Aye, there’s this bird from the Young Socialists keeps coming up to see me and when she first saw my books asked me to join them. Says I’m a Natural Leader.’

‘Young Socialists by fuck you’re nearly thirty.’

‘Don’t know where you get these ideas about my age.’

‘Come on.’

‘No! Really! I’m only twenty-five! Anyway she keeps on
coming back. Suppose she must fancy me. Or maybe it’s my mind she’s after. Wants to save me – says I’ve given up too.’ He grinned. ‘Funnily enough she wants me to get my highers and all that piss. Nobody believes I’m really enjoying life. Fuck them all!’ Mick declared with a flourish, knocking over his latest whisky in the process.

‘You’re blotto!’

‘Shite!’

‘Anyway . . .’ John stood up and walked to the door.

‘Want to see a doctor about your bladder.’

John laughed and staggered out to the lavatory. When he returned Mick was refilling the glasses again.

‘Here’s to your seance-in-law!’ he cried and downed half his whisky.

‘I’m steaming man you know that?’ John sank into his chair and wearily lifted his glass. ‘Went for that piss there . . . fresh air and that . . .’