Chapter 5

 

They were getting louder and it would be only a matter of time before their corner would be getting some looks from the other customers. The landlord had already vetoed the game of poker.

“No boys, no gambling in this public house–could be more than my license is worth.” That had left a taint in the atmosphere. Davey looked at the others, at Ben and Stephen and Michael and wondered. Were their lives as much of a mess as his? No. They were getting on with things. Only he was stuck back in that bloody place, all those years ago–stuck in his head. They only ever talked about what had happened when they were drunk and it was never good.

“Keep your effing voices down,” Michael had said once when it had started with politics and ended up talking about France, some of the things that had happened to them there.

It was better forgotten or at least it was better to pretend you’d forgotten. He tried, really tried to forget, but then things happened to bring it all back

“Changes, sweet fanny Adams,” Michael said once. “What’s done is done.”

So they started talking about nothing, pub talk, women, the football and the problems with the country.

“Going to the ruddy wall,” Michael said about the country–as always, he was the most vocal. Somehow, none of them could stomach having a proper argument with him. It was easier to go along.

There was a bit of bravado at closing time, when the landlord looked like he was glad to see the back of them. A half-hearted attempt at a song, Roses of Picardy. A burst of laughter,” a “shut, the hell up, you tone-deaf wanker,” from Michael.

Then, he was on his own, again, almost taking the two sides of the lane home as the ale hit his bloodstream. He lit a fag and that made the nausea rise up in him. He threw it in the ditch and continued walking back to his parents’ house.