Not many were
bothering with the football that was on the television. Indeed, most were doing
their level best to avoid it. Liverpool v QPR.
English football, that had no place in Ireland , according to the regulars.
A foreign sport. Only two young men sat watching it, adorned with red T-shirts
that screamed You’ll Never Walk Alone, trying their best to ignore the opinion of
one particular man;
“Looks more
like fruitball than football to me!”
His comrades
agreed enthusiastically.
Paddy walked
into the bar. A giant of a man, with a physique honed from years working on the
building sites of Belfast. A scar above his eyebrow. Not quite a regular yet,
he imagined he was still too young for that dubious accolade. Acknowledging the
other men, he sat down quite happily on the high stool next to the bar.
“The usual
Paddy, aye?” enquired the barman.
Paddy responded
with a nod. He pondered the hours he had spent sitting on that stool, drinking,
complaining and giving out. He remembered the more lively occasions too, the
trophies they had filled, the craic they enjoyed and the hours spent in
stuttering conversation with women who were both unattainable and unimpressed.
The barman
broke into his personal reverie.
“Will I put it
on the tab Paddy yeah? Until you get that job?” he asked, a grin breaking onto
his face.
“Ya will
surely,” replied Paddy, not seeming to pick up on the man’s smile, “or Seán
will pay for it when he gets this far.”
Paddy looked
around him again, scanning the crowd. As the years had gone by, a gradual
change had come upon the clientele. Paddy barely recognised this crowd, except
for Ruairí Rua O’Connor in the corner. He wasn’t so much Rua these days, bald
as an eagle for years now. Ruairí was a big drinking man, Paddy supposed, always
in the corner, drinking and reading his newspaper. When he didn’t have his
paper, he would sit in silence, staring into his drink, a lonely, thoughtful
expression etched on his face, not taking any notice of the world as it passed
him by.
Paddy pitied
him, sitting there without a friend in the world, apart from the pint of plain
he lovingly caressed with his worn hand. It was whispered that he had once
owned a successful corner-shop. He had a wife and three children whom he loved.
A nice house and a garden at the back. Everything he had worked for had
disappeared, prised from his grasp by the relentless onslaught of addiction.
He had tried to
visit the children, but his wife would not let him anywhere near them.
Heartbroken, he sought solace in the familiar surroundings of the pub. Customers
arrived in the morning only to be met with the sight of closed doors. Sometimes
they would find Ruairí slumped over the counter asleep. One morning he awoke
and found the till was empty. He closed the doors, never to open again, and
took refuge in his pint-sized companion. It was widely rumoured that he had
emptied the till himself.
With a low
grunt, Ruairí shifted, and Paddy realised with a start that he had been staring
at the old man. He turned quickly back in the direction of the optics and
sipped his pint wistfully.
Seán strode
confidently into the bar. His suit was still in place but his collar unbuttoned.
Paddy spotted his tie raising its head above the parapet of his breast pocket.
A laptop case hung reluctantly from his hand. Paddy greeted him.
“Seán! How are
ya lad? Sit down and have a wee drink! How was the Murder Machine
today?”
He sat down,
complaining about his long day educating the masses of the nation. Paddy always
enjoyed these rants, it was nice to see that teachers felt the same emotions as
the normal man on the street. He gave a wry smile. That was how he liked to
think of himself, the ordinary man on the street. The working class hero. If only
he had the work.
“If that wee shite
O’Neill gives me any more hassle this week, I’ll give him something to whine
about! Thinks he owns the place, just because his family are worth a fortune!
If I shout at him it’s the end of the world, and the school will hardly back me
up, sure aren’t they happy to accept their big fat cheque every year!”
“Good day
then?” Paddy offered, trying to hide his smirk as he tipped his glass to his
lips. There wasn’t much left.
“Is there any
such thing?” Seán answered, as the barman set a pint in front of him. Sean
watched it swirling, the red glow piercing through the dark liquid as the
creamy head settled softly at its peak. He drank hungrily for a few seconds as
Paddy watched.
“Ahhhh…fantastic!
How are ya anyway?”
Paddy paused as
he finished his pint. “Ach it’s not good Seán. This recession is killing me, there’s
not a job to be found for fuck’s sake. Will it ever end?”
“It will,
Paddy, it will, wait and see. Sure won’t there be a wheen of jobs going soon?
Gearóid O’Neill is after buying that site out towards Carryduff. He’ll be
building all sorts soon, you’ll get a chance there, will ye not?”
“Ach I wouldn’t
work for that oul drip! Thinks he can lord it over the entire place because of the
money he has. No Seán, I wouldn’t take his dirty coin if I was on the streets!”
“Beggars can’t
be choosers Paddy, are you not in a bit of bother sure? You have to get money
somehow, you can’t have a tab here forever.”
Paddy snorted
and gestured to the corner of the bar. “Who do ya think I am, Ruairí Rua? I’ll
get something soon.”
He looked away
from Sean and scanned the growing crowd. Many were younger than him. Young
professionals, finishing work for a Friday and calling in for a few drinks on
their way home, or before heading out for the night in the city.
In one corner
there was a group of young men, still dressed in their site clothes. There were
holes in their trousers and stains on their shirts. One or two of them were
messing around with a big yellow helmet, but all wore beaming smiles. They were
quite happy, cash in their pockets and not a worry in the world. Hakuna
Matata. Paddy remembered the hours he himself had spent in that corner, staring
and whooping at any woman who had the misfortune to walk past, amid the raucous
laughter of his friends.
And there were women
in tonight. Glamorous and young, already dressed up for the night. One in
particular caught his eye. When she laughed, Paddy supposed her smile was
illuminating the room. Her blonde hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders
and her soul seemed to stare out at him from her bright green eyes. Paddy
froze, his glass floating purgatorially between the bar and his mouth, and stared
at her. She reminded him of his wife.
Seán was
looking at him questioningly. The two men drank in uncomfortable silence for a
short while, but there was a question hanging in the air. It was Seán who gave
it a voice.
“What about
Máire?”
Paddy was taken
aback.
“What about
her?” he replied sharply, regaining composure, “She’s away, and the weans with
her.”
“I don’t even
care,” he continued angrily, “she’s a stupid oul’ bitch, and I’m near sure she’s
been sneaking about with that arsehole Séamy McAnespie. Anyway, I’m far happier
without her gairning and shouting at me.”
Seán nodded his
head to the obvious untruth and dutifully agreed. He knew that Paddy loved that
woman, and it was like a knife to his heart when she made it clear she intended
to separate from him. He had often heard Paddy sobbing in the early hours, the
whiskey and the witching hour getting the better of him. But you couldn’t talk
to him about it, he would deny that he had been crying, become aggressive and
eventually storm off home.
Paddy wouldn’t
admit it, but he knew himself the cause of their split. It was said that there
were no jobs in the area, and there was plenty of truth in that, but Seán knew
that Paddy hadn’t the heart to work any more. He had lost everything he loved.
“Anyway, look
at those wee things in the corner, what would ye not do?” grinned Paddy, trying
to change the subject.
Seán met his
gaze and opened his mouth to bring the conversation back to the subject of his
separation, but it was Friday night and he didn’t want to start a row with his
close friend. At least not this early in the evening.
“Oh aye, if
only I was a single man again!”
The two of them
laughed loudly, but Paddy’s eyes were still drawn to the blonde-haired woman in
the corner of the bar. Seán bought him another drink.
“Another one will
hardly do any harm, will it?” he asked rhetorically, heading towards the
toilets. He knew Paddy had done the damage already.
Paddy had
different thoughts on his mind. He lifted his pint and gulped it, making his
way towards the women.
“Well, girls,” Paddy
began sluggishly, “how are we tonight?”
The women
stared at him in silence. The object of his gaze finally answered him.
“We’re just
about to leave love, maybe we’ll see you another night?”
Paddy stared at
her. He saw his wife staring back at him. He heard the words coming from her
mouth.
“Go home Paddy,
it’s finished.”
Paddy was
startled.
“What did you
say Máire?”
The woman began
to laugh. Paddy felt the tears beginning to sting his eyes.
“I said we’ve
finished our drinks love…maybe see you again sure!”
Paddy watched
the girls as they rose and left the bar. He looked at their table. Most of the
drinks were almost full. He shook his head and drained his glass.
“Ready for
another one already?!”
He felt a hand
on his back. It was Seán.
“We’ll have a
few more and then we’ll hit the road. Any luck there?”
“Not a bit! No
fish biting tonight!”
“Ach sure there
are plenty more mate! Barman, one more if it pleases you sir!” laughed Seán.
“Right away
lads” came his dutiful response as he tipped the tap once again.
“Stick it on
the tab. I’m feeling lucky! I’ll have a job soon” Paddy grinned, rubbing his
hands.
Seán began to
speak, but Paddy cut across him.
“Will ye be in
tomorrow night, for the Quiz?”
The men began
talking and laughing. They forgot Paddy’s worries, ignored the romantic rejection,
belittled the financial difficulties and all of life’s woes. The barman rang
the bell and they decided on a quick nip for the road. The stinging heat of the
whiskey yielded to the cold air that snapped at their faces as they stepped
outside.
“I better head
on here, or the wife will be cracking up!” Seán joked, trying to lighten the
mood.
“Sure aren’t
they always?” answered Paddy uncomfortably. Now that they were outside, the loneliness
was creeping up on him, encroaching in the darkness of the winter night.
The men shook
hands and went their separate ways.
Seán opened his
door and walked inside. He went to bed, kissing his wife on the forehead.
“Just a few
then, Sean?” she smiled sleepily.
“Aye, just a wee few” came Seán’s reply as the alcohol carried him into a deep sleep.
Paddy never
opened his door. There was nothing there for him. He walked down the Ormeau
Road towards the city.
The red brick
swarmed around him. The wind roared a cacophony, whisking stubborn leaves from
the trees that lined his path. Excited laughter floated on the winter wind as the
carefree youth of the city made their way home, oblivious to the turmoil of the
sobbing man to whom they barely gave a second glance.
Paddy crossed
the embankment to the bridge and stared down at the choppy water. He watched trees
dancing in the night wind all around him. He watched the colours merging as he
fell towards the water. The laughter, the red brick and the tree-lined avenues
faded from his consciousness until only darkness and silence remained.
The police
opened Paddy’s door three days later. The house lay empty.