Christmas Eve

Jeff pulled into the pub carpark and parked with difficulty, his tyres slipping in the snow. With his engine safely off, he glanced up at the darkening sky in dismay. It was still falling thickly, landing heavy on the icy ground, and it didn’t look like it was stopping any time soon. He knew he should turn back and go home. Instead he looked longingly at the alluring light of the pub’s sign, before popping off his seatbelt. It was worth the risk.

As he trudged through the new snow he thought back to his childhood, and the excitement it had brought. School’s closed – snowmen – snowball fights – a bleak forecast had brought a world of fun, even as a young man. There had also been extreme pleasure in stepping in fresh snow – somewhere no one’s feet had ever been before. Instead of this momentary power, now he just felt bloody cold. He reached the door and hurried inside, away from his bitter memories and the pain they brought to his chest.

The pub was a welcome heat, the air sticky with the smell of beer, tobacco and old men. Do I smell like that too now? He wondered. Am I classed as an old man? He scrunched up his face at the thought, before swinging himself into his regular barstool. Ricky sidled along almost immediately, his face sporting what he probably thought was a welcome grin.

“The usual?” He asked, to which Jeff nodded. Ricky shuffled off to get him his beer, and Jeff glanced around. The pub was a little rough around the edges and always needed a clean, but it was normally still packed with people. Today there was no one. But then again, it was Christmas eve. Everyone is probably home with their families, Jeff thought, prematurely reaching for his glass, his hand coming down and slapping the bar.

But then there was Ricky with his beer, sliding it along the surface like an hockey puck as he always did. Jeff took a sip of his frothy friend, his eyes closing a little with the bliss. Ricky disappeared into the back – he’d never been much of a talker. But then again, neither had Jeff – he was more than content to sit here in miserable silence, sipping his drink…that’s why he’d come, was it not?

Minutes later he set down the empty glass. The sound was like a dog whistle to Ricky, who bounded forward to offer another. Jeff glanced at the window, the falling snow illuminated in the nearby streetlamp. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea after all. Did he want to sleep in the pub? But just as he pondered this, the door behind him opened, the wind blasting in both white flakes and a hurried human being.

He was chubby, old and red faced. There was snow caught in the rim of his cap, and he was sporting a rather impressive cough. He smiled toothily as he threw off his large coat, hobbling forward on unsteady feet. Jeff stared. Ricky gave him his winning smile.

“The usual?” he asked.

Jeff looked up, confused. He was in this pub almost every night, and he’d never seen this man before in his life. How could he have a “usual” if he was never here? But the man had nodded, and Ricky bustled off. Jeff eyed the new man with suspicion and slight annoyance – this was his pub. Who the fuck was this guy? He was filled with a sudden misplaced rage, and he couldn’t understand it… all he knew was that this guy was a moron, and he really should give him a piece of his mind.

But at that moment, Jeff again stopped by circumstance, Ricky came back with the man’s drink. Well, he had two drinks with him actually – and they were both pints of Stella. Jeff watched incredulously as Ricky slid them both like pucks along the bar: one to Jeff, one to the new man.

“I presumed you’re staying, Jeff, thought I’d save you the trouble of answering me,” Ricky nodded.

Jeff nodded back. It was true – maybe he’d considered leaving for a moment, but he wouldn’t have done.  What did he have to go home to? Fucking nothing. Not even on fucking Christmas eve. He might as well stay here, in the warmth, and get a little drunk. Plus, this new man had started to intrigue him – he wasn’t angry any more. Stella? Great choice mate.

As Ricky wandered off again, Jeff stole subtle glances at the man at the other end of the bar. He had taken off his hat now, revealing a crown of wispy grey hair. The contrast of the warm room against the cold night has caused his cheeks to redden further, and his wrinkles looked like deep crevasses on the face of Mars.  He sipped his beer, closing his eyes in bliss – just like Jeff did. Then his eyes opened, suddenly shifting to Jeff, and he quickly dropped his gaze.

“Hey there, how come I’ve never seen you around here before?” Jeff glanced back up – the man was speaking to him! His voice was rough, like sandpaper on skin.

“I come ‘ere every day between 5 and 9. How come I never seen you? You seem to know Rick.”

The distance between the two men was comically large, their glances to the other stretching all the way across the bar.

“Oh aye I do, he’s a great barman. Pulls a good pint, probably the best in Yorkshire,” the man chuckled. “I come here in the mornings, 12-3, and then I go to work in the afternoons.”

He went to work on a belly full of beer? Jeff’s intrigue was starting to build, but he was still awkward. He barely spoke to anyone any more – not at work, not even at the supermarket. If the checkout lady asked him how his day was going, he stared her down, daring her to speak another syllable. But, fuck it.

“Oh? And what do you do? I’m Jeff by the way. Jeff Parkinson.”

“Peter”, the new man nodded, and with both feelings of relief and slight apprehension Jeff saw he was hobbling off his barstool and coming over. He sat down directly next to him, and the men simultaneously sipped their beers.

“Where do you work?”

“At the scrap heap. Help with loading an unloading, an’ that. What about you?”

“Oh, I work in an office, down in Sheffield.”

“Oh wow, that’s quite a way! Watcha doin’ comin’ all the way up here for a beer?”

Jeff thought for a moment.  It was a long way. His house was half way to Sheffield too, hence his concern about the weather. But did he want to disclose the real reasons for his daily commute to this dank and dirty pub to this stranger? Not quite yet.

“It’s just a great pub, and as ya said – Rick, he’s a top lad. Pulls a good pint. Its ma place,” he said curtly. Peter nodded, though he seemed to know this was not entirely the truth. Another sign of a decent bloke, thought Jeff. Knows not to pester.

“What ya doing here on Christmas eve?” Peter asked, as soft as he could with his sandpaper voice. That did it – he was pestering.

“Cos I fancied a pint, didn’t I?”

There was a small silence, before Jeff sighed. He was being an arsehole, he knew that. It was just that it was so much easier to be an arsehole than not to be.

“’m sorry. I…I have no family to be with. This – this is ma place. Might as well be here. Whatcha doing here?”

Peter looked down at the crumpled beer matt in Jeff’s fingers. “I have no family to be with either. Fancied a pint, jus’ like you I guess.”

There was another silence, each man pulled away by his own train of thought. Jeff continued to crumple the mat. Peter sipped his beer until it was gone. Then Jeff did the bravest thing he had done in years.

“Mate, I don’t suppose you want to meet here. You know – tomorrow. We could – we could get a bit of food n’ that, maybe have a beer together…” his voice trailed off. He’d just met this bloke. He was definitely going to think he was a complete crackpot and decline.

“The pub is closed tomorrow,” Peter said, and Jeff’s heart fell. Of course it was, how stupid. “But – I always cook on Christmas day, even when I’m alone. You should come over. I’ll have enough for two, and I have some Stella!”

J

eff smiled, a rare occurrence. “I’d love to!”

So Peter wrote down his address and passed it across. An important friendship had begun.