James Kelman - An Old Pub Near the Angel

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.

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.’