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.