An Old Pub Near the Angel Read online

  ‘Hey give us another pint man will you?’ Not even rinsing the glass out. Percy. Percy. You’ll never make the big time going to those games.

  ‘Hullo Joe how you going,’ said the barman to a newcomer. A man in his forties, average build although a bit overweight.

  ‘Brown and mild Freddie. When you’re ready.’ The fellow looked around nodding to one or two patrons. Oh to be an accepted regular. Oh God the glory.

  ‘Two and five.’

  ‘Anything to eat?’

  ‘Not a bad night Joe.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Joe nodded.

  ‘Nuts and crisps.’

  ‘Finished are you?’ The snidey bartender paid no attention as he made up a brown and mild.

  ‘All finished Freddie. Yes finished for the day.’

  ‘Want any?’

  ‘Any what?’

  ‘Nuts and crisps.’

  ‘Oh!’ Up you Freddie. ‘No!’

  ‘Two and five,’ he pushed the brown and mild gently across to the regular.

  ‘Give us a whisky as well.’ The barman turned to a bottle of brewery Joe Bloggs whisky.

  ‘Any good ones?’

  ‘Good ones?’

  Now Percy why do you look at Joe! Is there something lacking? Are you inferior? What is this moral support business?

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Give us a glass of that. That black label man. Next to the Emva cream.’

  He counted each drip into the tumbler smiling to himself.

  ‘Eight and eleven.’

  I paid up and lit a cigarette. Perhaps I could join their talk.

  ‘How’s the missus?’ asked the worker.

  ‘Pooo.’

  ‘Like that. Yeah,’ Freddie nodded knowing it all.

  ‘Aye, aye,’ I muttered from the boots.

  Both looked at me.

  ‘Aye, this married business,’ I shook my head in summing up.

  ‘Yeah. You’re right Jock,’ agreed Joe. ‘Married yourself?’

  ‘Once upon a time.’

  That’s a downright lie gents.

  ‘Has its good points Joe.’ Freddie nodded to emphasise, ‘Must admit that.’

  ‘Pooo!’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘On your own now are you?’ asked Joe as Freddie went to another customer.

  ‘Yeah,’ I winked, ‘the only way to be man.’

  ‘Lucky bastard.’ Poor old Joe lit up a cigarette. ‘Yeah.’ He muttered, exhaling a little smoke, ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Kids?’

  ‘Two of them Jock. Yeah two of them.’

  What else is there to say. That’s nice? What is there?

  ‘And . . .’ I began.

  ‘Trouble? Pooo nothing but bleedin trouble Jock.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. Once a kid reaches fourteen! Look out.’ Joe glanced around the room and thrust one hand deep into his trouser pocket. His shoulders hunched as he shook his head.

  ‘Why I come in here, init?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Why else? Place like this. Pathetic.’

  ‘What’ll you have Joe?’

  He looked, trying to figure it out.

  ‘Eh.’

  ‘C’mon.’

  ‘I’ll have a gin and a bottle of brown then Jock cheers.’

  ‘Hey give us a gin, another black label and bottle of brown and a bottle of light ale.’

  The barman looked at Joe and then back to me once more.

  ‘Have one yourself man.’

  ‘I’ll have a brown mate thanks.’

  ‘He’s OK,’ said Joe.

  ‘Drink in here regularly then?’

  ‘Most evenings at opening times. Sometimes stay on till late.’

  ‘Here lads,’ the barman downed half his beer, his nose wrinkling as he put the glass back on the counter.

  ‘Not very busy is it?’

  ‘Not at nights Jock. No. Lunch hour trade mostly,’ he nodded his head. ‘Busy then. That right Joe? Live around here do you?’ after a pause.

  ‘Quite near.’

  ‘Drink up Jock.’

  ‘What?’ I swallowed the whisky.

  ‘Drink up.’ Joe stood counting out some money. ‘Same again Freddie. No beer though. Not for me. Had a drink earlier.’

  ‘Nor me man, whisky’s plenty.’ I drank some light ale to clear my mouth. ‘Want a plain Joe?’

  ‘No I’ll stick to the tipped.’

  We lit up and remained silent until the round of drinks arrived.

  ‘What do you do Joe? For a living I mean.’

  ‘Piss-ball about in a printing shop, that’s what I do.’

  I laughed, ‘Jesus.’

  Joe grinned, ‘Why what do you do?’

  ‘Nothing man, I don’t really do anything.’

  ‘Are you a drop out?’

  ‘I don’t think so Joe, never been in anywhere to drop out. No I just don’t work. Had a job a couple of years ago right enough. Desperate at the time.’

  ‘Well, good luck if you can get away with it. Cheers.’ He finished the gin but I let the whisky remain where it was.

  ‘Freddie another gin and light ale.’ I turned to Joe and said, ‘I’ve got to be going soon.’

  ‘You’re a bit well dressed to be a drop out,’ mused Joe.

  ‘What age are your kids?’

  ‘One’s twenty-two now, the girl’s eighteen,’ he grunted to himself.

  ‘What do they do?’

  ‘God knows. Don’t even know where he is.’ He looked at me. ‘He’s a bloody drop out I think. One of the neighbours thinks she saw him up west a couple of weeks ago. Hair down to his ankles she said. Fits the description anyway. His mother wants me to look for him.’ Joe laughed bitterly. ‘Where would I look for him?’

  ‘I don’t know, there’s places you could look for him.’

  ‘Would you look for him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Course you’re the same as him. Are you in advertising?’

  ‘Jesus. Not me Joe.’

  He shook his head trying to suss it all out. ‘No, can’t reckon you at all. You a pop singer for God’s sake.’

  ‘Think I’d be in here bevying?’

  ‘Of course, of course. Scotch? Footballer that’s what you are. Think you’re Georgie Best. Yeah.’

  ‘Wrong again.’

  ‘What’s wrong with all you bastards Jock. Just can’t understand it any.’ He went silent and noticing the barman hanging about, called the same again.

  ‘Listen I went through the war and detested nearly every minute of it. All those bastard officers. Walking over the top of us and poncing around shouting orders at you. Christ it was bad. I never bore anybody with details about it like some do. I mean I . . .’ Freddie was standing waiting for payment.

  ‘Listen Jock,’ Joe collected the change, ‘listen Jock here’s us having a drink together, I’m forty-nine and what are you? Twenty-four or something?’ I nodded.

  ‘I mean we’re quite enjoying the chat aren’t we? But we could come to blows any minute. Let’s face it.’

  ‘I know what you mean Joe.’

  ‘You don’t know what I mean son.’

  I nodded slowly. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

  He snapped his fingers. ‘A student.’

  ‘No not me Joe.’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean,’ his eyes twinkling out with something deeper, he poked his forefinger into my chest. ‘Tell me what I’m talking about son.’

  ‘The age gap. Generation gap that’s all.’ I sat back nearly falling from the stool.

  ‘Look at you just now son. Just about fell off the bloody stool there. What’s wrong? Can’t you hold your drink?’

  I smiled contemptuously, ‘What does it matter.’

  ‘Shouldn’t drink if you can’t stomach it son.’ He laughed, ‘that’s the trouble with you bastards, think you’re men cause you’re old enough to go into a pub.’

  ‘Listen man I’m twenty-five and
divorced. Don’t talk to me like your wee boy or something.’

  ‘Listen man. Man, Man, Man. Why do you say man all the time.’

  ‘Same reason you say son I suppose.’

  ‘Don’t give me that Jock. Freddie!’

  The barman walked over.

  ‘Same again and one for yourself.’

  ‘It’s my round man.’

  Joe pulled a face. ‘I’m buying.’

  ‘It’s my turn.’

  ‘What you talking about. Turn. I’m buying, OK!’

  ‘What’s wrong Joe, does it make you feel good to do all the buying or something. Superior, do you feel superior is this it?’

  ‘Pooo.’

  I shook my head. When Freddie returned with the drinks I immediately ordered the same again with beer as chasers.

  Joe smiled, not wholly sarcastic.

  ‘You’re all right Jock. Drunk but all right.’

  Christ this fellow was getting on my nerves.

  ‘Who’s bloody drunk man.’ I drank half of the whisky to prove it.

  ‘D’you like the printing game?’ I asked blinking as the drink hit my toes.

  ‘Money for old rope.’

  ‘Are you a printer?’ Christ my stomach.

  ‘No labourer.’

  ‘Machine minder?’

  ‘Yeah. Ah it’s not bad. Good money. Strong union.’

  The whisky was becoming harder to get down. I stepped down from the stool very deliberate in my movements.

  ‘Second on the left,’ said Joe pointing to a door. I nodded and set off. Christ it was difficult to negotiate a clear round. Have to calm down with the drink man. Don’t let him needle me into getting pished. I pushed the lavatory door open. One old timer stood peeing, one hand supporting him against the wall. A scratched black pipe clenched between his gums, he mumbled something about old Enoch being a boy all right, then he farted and sniggered. ‘Bloody mice,’ he said. I finished and splashed the cold water on my face and neck. Much better. Much better indeed. I left the old guy to his toil and marched back to my seat.

  ‘Thought you’d gone home then.’

  ‘Who me?’ I pointed to my chest, ‘With all that yellow peril hanging about. Jesting?’

  I tilted back the glass, ‘Cheers Joe,’ I finished it.

  ‘Been in London long?’

  ‘On off about five years.’

  ‘That long eh?’

  ‘Yeah. Always come back here eventually.’

  ‘Born here myself.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah down Kentish Town way.’

  ‘Where d’you live now?’

  ‘Got a house out Wood Green.’

  ‘Quite nice out there.’

  Joe wrinkled his face. ‘Yeah got a garden and that.’

  ‘Neighbours all right?’

  He stared at me for about a minute curiously then said, ‘I know you Jock,’ nodding his head with certainty. I sipped the light ale and lit a cigarette before replying.

  ‘I don’t know you Joe.’

  ‘What do you do again?’

  ‘Nothing man. I don’t do anything.’

  Joe sighed and began tapping his fingers on the glass.

  ‘You’re a strange bastard.’

  ‘Not me Joe.’ I glanced at the clock above the gantry. Nearly an hour and a half till closing.

  ‘Yeah Jock you.’ Joe put his glass down firmly on the counter and stepped back swaying a little.

  ‘I’m off for a piss.’

  ‘I’ll get another round up.’ I smiled but Joe did not return it.

  A man sitting alone near the door gazed up questioningly but I slowly shook my head. He looked away. Ten minutes passed before Joe returned. He had obviously gone through the cold water routine and appeared steadier on his feet now.

  ‘Ah Jock,’ he said heavily, ‘some life eh?’

  ‘I doubt if I’ll get this whisky down.’

  ‘Never try the gin then?’

  ‘Bloody perfume man.’

  ‘Oh it’s good. Pleasant to the taste.’

  ‘What does your girl do?’

  ‘Hairdressing. At college. Yeah.’ Joe smiled to himself. ‘Ah she’s quite a girl Jock. Yeah.’

  We remained silent for two minutes. I was finding some difficulty in concentrating. Joe appeared to be quite fresh which rather surprised me. He looked at his watch.

  ‘Time I hit the road,’ he lit another cigarette.

  ‘Already?’

  ‘Christ you were talking about leaving two hours ago.’

  ‘Aye, but I was enjoying the chat.’

  ‘Pooo.’

  ‘I was Joe.’

  ‘Anyway.’ He glanced quickly around the room. ‘I’ll see you again son.’

  I gave him a sort of salute and smiled. ‘Cheerio man.’ Joe turned and marched across the floor and out. The man at the door rose slowly, nodded over to me and followed him out.

  Poor old Joe.

  Abject Misery

  He was in his third month of poverty-stricken freedom and fast losing most of his friends including the one commonly known as his best. It couldn’t last much longer. He checked his pockets, again discovering that 1½d. which had haunted him since Monday night. He also had the usual fruitless search for forgotten fags and butt ends. He couldn’t understand how he’d managed to survive the past three days. One of these days he’d have to get a job. This no money was becoming a problem. How was one supposed to eat? He spoke aloud, ‘God, how is one supposed to eat? I mean fair do’s and all that piss.’ Lapsing into a depressed silence he lay staring at the ceiling until remembering about the hotel up west. The one that served meals to all their employees and all the people who worked in other hotels in the chain. No questions or raised eyebrows he’d heard. Why not take the chance. Of course it would mean having to leave this lovely, warm and tender, dirty, scratchy kip. Still it was worth it. He got out of bed. It was so cold. Why do landlords never supply electric fires? Only those shitey gas fires needing shitey tanners. This was really terrible. Why not huge roaring logs burning and hot toddies. Danish blue cheese and french bread. Twenty Players and a bird. Oh man. They definitely do not care about their lodgers in this place. You could starve or freeze to death. Have to do a moonlight, that would show the bastard, course old John would probably hang out the flags. Christ imagine having a right few quid though. Maybe get a real good place with fitted carpets, refrigerators and TV sets. Easy to get a chick up then with a bit of comfort around.

  He lifted a towel and walked over to the sink.

  No on reflection why wash? The water would be ice cold. Could possibly die of heart failure when it splashed the face. Why take the chance? Nobody would know the difference anyway.

  He walked back and quickly dressed.

  Have to get down to the laundrette shortly, the socks are beginning to crack. It must be great to be able to put on a fresh pair of pants and maybe a vest. Still, at least I can dress quite respectably on the outside. Thank God I can’t find a pawn shop that accepts clothes. Hope I don’t get knocked back at this hotel canteen, Christ that would just about finish me. Oh just imagine though, chicken fricassaise or something. No. No. Curried chicken with all the etceteras oh man man cups of tea, one during and two after. Perhaps someone will offer a polite fag afterwards who knows.

  He had a look in the mirror screwing up his face and smoothing his untidy hair into order with both hands then he turned and left the room. As he locked the door one of the other tenants happened to be climbing the stairs carrying a brush and shovel.

  ‘Well Charles,’ he said, ‘got a start yet?’

  ‘Why, no Mr Reilly. Have not got a start yet.’

  ‘Why don’t you try building sites. Always plenty of work going there eh?’ he smiled.

  ‘Yeah that’s a good idea, thanks. Might just do that.’

  ‘Yes it would get you back on your feet again eh?’

  ‘That’s right, it would put me back on my feet again. Ha ha.’
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br />   ‘Well, anyway,’ he smiled uneasily, ‘got some cleaning to do eh? Ha ha. No rest for the wicked eh?’

  ‘That’s right ha ha.’ Yeah hurry away you miserable, ‘Oh Mr Reilly,’ he turned, ‘Mr Reilly could you spare a fag, haven’t had a chance to . . . thanks, ta . . . bye.’

  Charles walked downstairs, paused, scanning the piles of mail and left without checking to see if he had any.

  At least it had stopped raining. Also Charles had cheered up. He enjoyed walking, normally he had no choice, money was too scarce to waste on bus or tube fares. God please let me find two and six lying on the pavement. Hey look at the bent-looking idiot – wonder if that’s the only nose he has. His gait man look at his gait. Take one look at me you bastard and you will need a new nose. Oh quite a nice looking chick over there. Hullo there she’s looking across. Wink at her, no response. Yeah thanks for returning it, nice of you to acknowledge it with a quirk of the lips or friendly smile. Actually you are a hackit-looking bag, so there. Ha Ha Ha. Jasus another, look at the walk on her, definitely the girl from Ipanema.

  ‘Good morning Astrud,’ he called. The girl looked startled and hurried away. Ah well at least you noticed me. The crack was a bit above your level anyhow. Sorry darling but there it is. Not your fault. Man. Oh. Thought that was a tanner there – might have saved the old legs a couple of miles’ slog. Or perhaps a couple of scones from that dairy. Ah never mind. Still though imagine having lived on Britain’s green and pleasant land for twenty-three years and not a tosser to show for it, apart from the faithful 1½d. Look at John Stevens too, a bloody millionaire at twenty-six. Christ look at The Beatles. No man, I’ll definitely have to change my ways. I mean it this time. Get a job and a good flat. Really go to town – do it all up – get a cocktail cabinet, that’s a must – have a few bottles of Dimple and Drambuie – all the best gear. Brandy of course – vodka too and Bacardi for the women. One of those boxes containing at least a hundred fags. The fridge of course, cheese and steak and ice cubes, crates of Guinness and lager. Christ imagine it, ninety-six mohair suits and thirty-four Crombie coats and . . .

  He stepped off the kerb, right into a deep puddle.

  ‘For FUCK’s sake,’ he shouted, and stepped back again noticing the startled expressions of the shocked passers-by.