22nd November 2019
Evening
As I made my way to the other end of the village, I could see the smaller working man’s pub Jamie’s father used to own ahead of me. Its sign was lit, suggesting it was still in business. I wanted nothing more than to have a peaceful drink as I familiarised myself with the place I once called home. To breathe in its smells, and deal with the inevitable memories I wouldn’t want to recall.
Parking outside The Miners’ Arms, I kept my head low and darted inside. It was exactly as I remembered from when I was too young to drink. The walls were still adorned with photographs throughout the years of the pits in operation. I didn’t need to look, I remembered what was in each of the frames. There were smiling men in short-sleeved shirts in the dead of winter, veins bulging in their forearms from the grafting they did day in, day out. Photographs of them erecting the headstocks, which were the tallest ever erected in England. Overhead images of before and after the mine was closed in 1997. Above the bar hung postcards of the mine, their corners curled through age, the white of the paper now a nicotine-stained yellow. The pub was scruffier than back when I was young, but the smell hadn’t altered at all. And for a moment I was back in the summer when Jamie and I were madly in love. The biggest difference between now and then was this place was once busy – people laughing, joking, and eventually drowning their sorrows after their livelihoods changed. Now the pub was near-empty, except for a few old men, perched on bar stools, looking into their pints.
I approached the bar and waited for the barman, who had his back to me doing something in the till. As I waited, I could hear rain start to hit the window to my right. At first it was light, gentle, but soon picked up to become a full winter deluge. It made me feel colder. On a night like this, there was nothing better than a warm whiskey and a log fire. The drink wouldn’t be an issue. But the fireplace that sat in the middle of the pub looked like it hadn’t been lit in a very long time. I half expected there to be weeds cracking thought the flue, much like the car park of the social club.
The barman, his back still to me, asked what I wanted, and before I could see his face, I knew who it was – to my horror, it was Jamie’s dad. His ‘forty a day’ voice was unmistakable. I wanted to turn and leave but was frozen to the spot and, as our eyes met, there was a hint of recognition from him behind his tired, sleep-deprived expression. It quickly faded. I collected myself and ordered a whiskey and Diet Coke and he nodded. As he made my drink, I watched him. His movements were slow, deliberate, like it was taking all of his effort to complete the task, a sloth moving along the thick branch of a tree. I couldn’t begin to understand how he must have been feeling. But wondered, why wasn’t he out looking for his son? Then I thought about it. Where else would he be? Jamie had been missing for four days. He obviously wasn’t close by, and if I was his father, I’d want to be somewhere Jamie could find him when he decided to come home. I almost offered a kind word. I didn’t. Instead, I thanked him for my drink, and sat beside the fireplace.
If anything it was colder in front of it as the wind whipped down the chimney breast. But the chill didn’t last long, as the warmth of my drink soon spread through me. I took off my damp coat and slung it over the back of the Chesterfield chair to dry before walking back to the bar and ordering another from Jamie’s dad. Seated again I held it in both hands, like a child with a plastic cup and I looked into the fireplace trying to picture a log burning and the sound it would make as heat cracked the wood. When I was younger, we would sometimes sit in the pub whilst Jamie worked, mocking him in his green polo neck T-shirt with ‘The Miners’ Arms’ embroidered on it. We would laugh and tease as he cleaned tables and washed pint glasses. It was always harmless, and he would often join in. A fire was always on back then. The pub was always warm. Now, it felt so cold I wasn’t sure if the seatback I leant against was damp.
Outside the rain persisted, heavy droplets thrumming against the window with such violence I waited for the glass to crack. The whiskey in my stomach buried the sick feeling I’d had all day, replacing it with a burning that I knew I’d regret tomorrow. But that was then, this was now, and I was beginning to feel less terrified. I drank it quickly and got up to ask for another. Just one more that I would sip as I prepared myself to see Dad. In that time, I hoped the rain would ease. As I approached the bar, Jamie’s dad stopped busying himself and watched me.
‘May I have another?’ I asked quietly, almost like I was the 16-year-old girl I once was, trying her luck at the bar.
‘I’ll make you a double,’ he replied, eyeing me once more with a curious look. ‘Save you coming back so fast.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied, embarrassed.
He turned to face the optics and poured two measures. The whole time, he kept an eye on me in the mirror that sat behind the counter.
‘You’re not local,’ he said, a statement rather than a question.
‘No, I guess I’m not.’
‘But you were once, am I right?’
‘Do you recognise me?’
‘I recognise your accent.’
‘Oh.’
‘I guess the question is, should I recognise you?’ he asked as he turned towards me and handed me my drink.
I swallowed hard, unsure of how he would react.
‘I’m Neve Chambers, I was once… umm, friends with Jamie.’
I waited for his gaze to harden, and his tone to either become angry or cold. But the opposite happened, and a sad smile came over his face.
‘It’s been a long time.’
‘It has,’ I said, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘I’m really sorry for what’s been going on.’
‘Thank you, so am I.’
He poured a double vodka for himself and raised his glass.
‘To Jamie coming home.’
‘To Jamie coming home,’ I echoed, my voice catching in my throat.
‘So, what brings you back here?’
‘I wanted to help, if you’ll allow me to.’
‘Of course, I’m very grateful you’ve taken the time.’
‘I thought you would be upset at me wanting to be here.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of what happened when Chloe…’ I didn’t finish my sentence.
‘That was a very long time ago,’ he said quietly.
‘Feels like yesterday.’
‘Maybe. But it was a different life. How did you find out about Jamie?’
‘Holly connected with me.’
‘Of course,’ he smiled.
There was an uncomfortable silence for the briefest of moments, and I felt his eye appraising me, either in silent judgement or wanting to ask the questions I supposed most people in this village wanted answers to, seeing as I was the last person to speak to Chloe before she vanished. He must have sensed my paranoia, and changed the subject.
‘Are you staying with your father?’
‘Yes,’ I answered too quickly.
‘Tell him Derrick says hello. I’ve not seen your old man in a very long time.’
‘I didn’t know your name; you’ve always been Jamie’s dad,’ I said smiling.
‘Well, that’s my name too, my more important one,’ he replied, a sad smile lifting on the right side of his face once more. ‘He speaks of you often. Jamie, I mean.’
‘He does?’
‘He said you had a business in London?’
‘A café, yes.’
‘He’s really proud of you.’
‘He was? I mean is. Sorry.’ I couldn’t believe I slipped up, speaking of Jamie in the past tense. This place and its ghosts had already begun seeping into my marrow.
‘Yes.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He works here with me still, looks after the place more often than not. It’s not much, but it’s ours.’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me about your café.’
‘Well, it’s not much, but it’s mine,’ I smiled, one he returned.
‘I think my son never quite let go of you in his heart.’
I was taken aback to know Jamie had kept me in his mind. It was quickly followed by the crushing guilt that I hadn’t reciprocated. I buried everything I could about the village, even those I once loved. I finished my drink and without needing to ask, Derrick turned and poured us both another. We raised our glasses again, this time without words, and drank silently. I wanted to ask how Jamie was before he vanished, if he was happy. What his life had been like in the past twenty years. I wanted to say that a part of my heart still belonged to him, my first love. But I couldn’t. Instead, I went to pay for my drinks, and he told me they were on the house.
‘If I can do anything…’
‘I’ll be fine, thank you, Neve.’
Nodding, I walked back to the chair and picked up my coat. Putting it on, I gave Derrick a smile and headed for the door. I looked over my shoulder, but Derrick had already turned his back to me, working away at cleaning glasses that looked unused. And in the furthest corner, around the side of the bar where the old pool table sat, was a man wearing a flat cap. The peak obscured his face from me, and I couldn’t tell if he was looking down at his pint, which was in his hands, or if he was looking directly at me. I didn’t wait to find out. Yet another shiver ran up my spine. Pretending I hadn’t noticed him, I turned and left.