James Kelman - An Old Pub Near the Angel

‘Aye, I saw him.’

‘He’s camping with his parents up at the site.’

‘Is he now?’

‘Yeah, he’s okay.’

Patrick nodded and left for the bar as Dave returned with his round.

‘Do you play dominoes?’ asked Pete.

‘No, not really. Not since I was a kid.’

‘Well listen,’ he leaned across, ‘me and old Patrick usually get a game going.’

Dave nodded with the glimmer of a smile.

‘Partners you know? Just for pints,’ he grinned, ‘with the tourists.’

‘I see,’ Dave grinned back, ‘you mean you con them.’

‘Well we don’t really con them man, I mean they enjoy the game and once or twice we have been known to pay for an evening.’

‘Not very often though.’

‘Once or twice.’

‘In four years.’ Dave laughed, ‘I’ll enjoy watching.’

‘Right,’ said Pete.

Patrick came back with the domino box and board. Pete spread the pieces face down and shuffled.

‘Quick game of knockout eh? Miserable shillings OK?’

‘Does he know the game well enough?’ Patrick gestured vaguely towards Dave.

‘Enough to lose a couple of bob,’ Pete winked at Dave.

‘Looks like he’s going to the bloody dancing,’ grunted the Irishman.

They settled down to the game, playing steadily for half an hour before one man who had been spectating for two games asked if he could have a hand. Pete said yes and the fellow sat in. He was a Newcastle man and said his name was John and his mate who liked a game would be in in ten minutes. His mate duly arrived and was invited in.

‘If you don’t mind I’ll just watch,’ said Dave moving to another seat.

Old Patrick shrugged, ‘Fancy partners?’

‘Aye,’ said John, ‘mates. Fancy it Bert? Me and you eh? The old firm.’

‘Aye good idea Johnnie.’ Bert turned to the other two, ‘Half pints a corner eh?’

The two friends were on holiday with their wives and they were boarding together in a small hotel near St Martin.

After a comment on the weather the dominoes were shuffled and the men lifted six apiece.

‘Heh, heh. Is this what starts the game off then?’ asked John laying the double six on the board.

Pete smiled at him, Bert made no sign. Old Patrick farted loudly. The big game was under way.

Dave watched the first few games but soon lost interest apart from when he had to go to the bar for the losers’ rounds. After a while the stakes were raised to pints then eventually to shorts. Patrick and Pete were winning consistently now and Dave was being pushed an occasional whisky from Pete.

The bar was crowded now and a group of young men and women in yachting gear were standing by the counter drinking half pints of mild and trying to engage the French farmworkers in conversation. There were cries of ‘Oui’ now and then, and an occasional ‘Oo la la’ as one of the older Bretons slapped one of the young English women on the bum. Everyone was laughing and enjoying the fun.

About thirty minutes before closing time, Bert stood up after another defeat and sniffed.

‘Think I’ll turn in now. What about you John eh? Coming?’

‘Aye,’ replied John rising to his feet, ‘long day ahead of us tomorrow.’

‘Okay lads, good game,’ said Pete.

‘Not a bad game eh?’ John asked Patrick.

‘Played worse,’ agreed the old Irishman.

‘Aye!’ Bert smiled at last, ‘aye you’re too hot for us, lads. Come on mate,’ he emphasized the last word as he led his friend from the bar.

‘He wasn’t a bad player,’ said Pete.

‘Aye,’ Patrick nodded. ‘Don’t know where he found his friend though.’

Dave yawned, ‘What time do they close?’

‘About ten past eleven,’ replied Pete. ‘Think I’ve had enough myself. What about you Patrick?’

‘Think I’ll stay on for a few minutes.’

Dave stood up unsteadily holding on to the table.

‘Good night.’ Patrick knocked his pipe out and began cutting from a block of moist black tobacco. ‘Better take the boy home Pete,’ he grunted out the corner of his mouth.

Pete nodded and steadied Dave as they walked to the exit.

The path leading between the fields from the cross to the camp site had no lighting of any kind and when Pete had first come to the island courage had to be taken to walk home alone. Now being accustomed to the country he never gave the darkness a second thought.

Shortly after leaving the hotel Dave staggered up to a tree where he spewed and retched for a while. Pete was rather worried about any possible reaction from his parents. Bad examples, corrupting influences, etc. Still Dave was old enough to take care of himself.

‘Man you look really awful,’ said Pete sympathetically.

‘Oh God!’ Dave closed his eyes, both hands supported by the tree, he shuddered fitfully.

Later Pete asked him if he was able to continue the walk home.

‘Think so,’ mumbled Dave. ‘Feel bit better.’

‘Fine,’ said Pete pulling out a packet of cigarettes, ‘want a fag?’

‘No, no,’ groaned Dave shaking his head violently.

‘Okay, okay, sorry,’ said Pete quickly, adding, ‘come on, we better start or we’ll be here all night.’

He strode on and Dave lurched steadfastly after him. Ten minutes had passed before Pete stopped. He said, ‘Have to have a piss. You carry on man and I’ll catch you up.’

Dave nodded silently and staggered on up the track disappearing into the night.

Pete finished and lighted a cigarette feeling surprisingly well. Perhaps watching Dave had helped sober him up. Poor bastard. He hitched up his jeans and set off after him walking quickly. Probably find him lying in a ditch somewhere, good suit and all.

‘Ah! Aaah.’

A terrible cry rent the still night from a hundred yards ahead.

‘Ah God! Aaa.’

Pete stopped in his tracks. ‘Christ Almighty,’ he said loudly.

He heard the sound of running footsteps increasing in volume then Dave burst into view sprinting madly.

‘Up there,’ he gasped. ‘Up there in the middle of the road.’

Pete looked and could see nothing. Dave tugged his arm.

‘Come on,’ he cried, ‘come on.’

‘Wait a minute,’ shouted Pete.

But too late. Dave was away and practically out of sight on his way back to the hotel.

As Pete stood wondering what to do old Patrick approached hurriedly.

‘Hoy Pete, what’s up with the kid? Nearly knocked me over the bloody fool.’

‘God knows Patrick. Something in the middle of the road.’

‘Aye he said something like that. Come on. Let’s find out.’

They set off walking side by side in case of emergencies, although neither admitted as much. Pete was whistling uneasily while Patrick’s pipe-stem seemed to be about to snap due to the pressure exerted on it by his false teeth.

As they turned a bend in the path they could vaguely make out a dark shape filling the pathway.

‘Jesus!’ Pete moved one pace forward and laughed with relief.

‘A cow!’ he said, ‘It’s a bloody cow.’

‘A bloody old cow,’ answered Patrick in disgust. ‘Just what you’d expect. You better go and find that boy.’

‘What about you? You not coming?’

‘Me?’ the old man snorted, ‘see you tomorrow boy.’

‘You rotten old bastard,’ said Pete grinning.

‘Bloody dancing he should’ve been, that’s what. Eh? Bloody dancing.’

Patrick laughed and lighted his pipe then, giving a wave, ambled on home.

Pete watched him go then turned and set off to discover whether Dave had reached St Helier.

‘Jimmy! Jimmy! Come on, it’s half past.’

‘What? What is it?’

Billy was leaning over me shaking my shoulder. ‘Half past five man come on.’