Йен Райт: The Final Winter

Thankfully, Damien had been uncharacteristically quiet all night; but Harry couldn’t help but worry that meant something bad. When a venomous snake stopped acting like a snake, what did it mean?

Does it mean they’re more dangerous?

“Can we bear some light in here, you reckon?” Lucas asked them all, flicking open a glinting zippo lighter and illuminating his face in flame. He looked about Harry’s age – early-thirties – boyishly handsome with a cheeky grin to match. The man’s head was tangled with wild tussles of mousy brown hair that crept below his ears. Harry thought he looked like a handsome traveller from the front cover of one of the trashy Mills and Boon novels his wife used to collect.

“In weather like this I’m surprised you’re not all around that lovely fireplace.” Lucas moved toward the bar, his flame-lit face a disembodied ghost as it crossed the room. “Or does that wee bald fella on the sofa not play well with others?”

“The less said about that the better,” warned Steph in a hushed voice.

Harry cringed, worried about the response the newcomer’s comment could possibly elicit from Damien, and was thankful, if a little surprised, when the young thug merely turned away and returned to whatever he was doing. It really wasn’t like Damien to be so reserved.

He’s preoccupied with something. But what?

Confident that no trouble was going to occur – at least for the time-being – Harry decided he would join the newcomer at the bar. Sitting alone in the dark wasn’t awfully appealing and he needed a refill anyway. His current beer smelt like bad eggs.

“So Lucas,” Harry said, arriving at the bar and propping his elbows against its gnarled surface. “Where have you come in from?”

Lucas turned to Harry, the zippo still lighting his face. His striking blue eyes flickered in the shimmering glow of the flame. “I’ve come in from the bloody cold fella, but before that I came from down south.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “South?”

“That’s what I said now, isn’t it? Been here-there-and-everywhere in my time – up and down, upside down – but originally I hail from the North. Been spending a lot of time in the South more recently though, after a falling out with me father. Suits me just fine; warmer climate, you know?”

Harry nodded; the gesture pointless in the dark. “I take it you’re talking about Northern and Southern Ireland, or do you mean since you’ve been in England?”

“Now, where is that drink I heard a rumour about,” said Lucas, single-mindedly. “This is a pub, is it not?”

Steph shouted from the backroom behind the bar. “Hold your horses! For a complete stranger you’re pretty demanding.”

“I’m a growing lad, and if ye make me wait I may just fade away. Or, worse than that, I may sober up.”

Steph came back through to the bar holding a wooden tray full of mismatched candles. The flames danced around her breasts and Harry tried not to stare at them. Carefully, she placed the candles evenly along the bar and the heady smell of burning wax wafted into the air. The first candle she had placed in front of Old Graham, whilst the last went in front of Nigel. In between, Harry and Lucas got candles too.

“That’s better,” said Steph. “Now, who wants a beer besides our new friend here?”

“I’m ready for one,” said Harry. “This one has gone bad.”

“Mine too,” said Old Graham, pushing his own pint forward. “I’m going to have to have a dozen more just to make up for it.”

Steph scrunched up her face. “Strange… Maybe there’s a problem with the taps. Not surprised, the amount you lot drink. They probably couldn’t take the strain.”

Lucas chuckled. “Looks like I’ve come to the right place. You’re men after me own heart, and now that I can see a little bit better, I can also admire what a fine young wench we have ourselves behind the bar.”

“Hey, less of the wench!” Steph objected. They all laughed and she got to work handing them their bottled beers, each of them swigging deeply as though it was their first of the night. Perhaps for Lucas it was.

The Irishman pointed a finger. “So who’s the beefy fella down the end of the bar that doesn’t talk?”

“My name is Nigel and I can hear you.”

“Well, Big Man, come and suck ale with the rest of us.”

“Maybe later.”

“What’s wrong with you, man? There a gal down there with ya?”

“Huh, I wish,” said Nigel.

“Get your moody arse down here! A fella shouldn’t be lonesome on a night like this. The cold out there could kill a man stone dead.”

“Okay, okay!” Nigel conceded, disturbing the shadows as he raised his hands in front of his face. He slid down the bar to join them all, dumping his heavy mass down onto a creaking stool beside Lucas. Harry nodded hello at the man and he nodded back.

Lucas certainly had a knack for bringing people together. Magnetic personality was the phrase that came to Harry’s mind.

Lucas spoke again. “You know something, fellas? I don’t think that snow is gonna let up tonight. No word of a lie but it’s like the feckin end of the world out there.”

“Oh, very nice,” said Steph. “You walk into my pub and start worrying everyone. We’ve all got to try and get home tonight.”

“What? Are ye drunk, lass? Ain’t no man getting anywhere in that winter blanket.”

Steph’s face dropped slightly, the dull candle-light making her expression seem grim. “How did you get here then?”

Lucas smiled knowingly. “I was nearby and realised things were bad, so I thought to meself, ‘where’s the best place to be stuck on a night like this?’ Well of course there was only one answer, wasn’t there?”

“The boozer!” Old Graham shouted gleefully, clearly delighted by the Irishman’s philosophy. “Anyway,” the pensioner added, “don’t you worry, young Stephanie. There’s always room upstairs at my place to keep warm.”

Cheeky sod , thought Harry. Wonder if the old guy even has enough lead in his pencil to get it up these days? If he does, then fair play to the old bugger.

Steph laughed defiantly, the air from her nostrils slanting the flames of the nearby candles. “The only way you’ll get me up there, old man, is if you’re sleeping on the roof.”

Everyone cackled and swigged their beers. Everyone except Damien, Harry observed. The thug was scowling at them from the shadows of the fireplace, watching their every move. No one else seemed to notice though, and the giggling chatter amongst the group at the bar continued.

Yet, despite the light-heartedness, Harry couldn’t help but notice that the snow outside continued to fall…

And it seemed to be getting worse.

As did Damien’s scowling.

“Dude, just sit the hell down! If you break something my Dad will freak.” Ben didn’t need this from Jerry tonight. Not with the power going out and such shitty weather. It was like a dozen winters rolled into one and he was stuck in his father’s video store not knowing what to do for the best.

“Chill out, B-Dog!” said Jerry, shining his key ring torch into his face and contorting his skeletal features into a ghoulish grimace. The DVD cases on the cluttered shelves behind him shone with each movement of the light. “You need to stop worrying about your slave-driving old man. It’s not like he ever does anything for you – other than work you to death, that is, and make you come in on a day where everything else is closed. An important meeting , my arse! He just couldn’t be bothered to waste another day at the Video Store of the Damned.”