An Old Pub Near the Angel Read Free Page B

scratched black pipe clenched between his gums, he mumbled something about old Enoch being a boy all right, then he farted and sniggered. ‘Bloody mice,’ he said. I finished and splashed the cold water on my face and neck. Much better. Much better indeed. I left the old guy to his toil and marched back to my seat.
    ‘Thought you’d gone home then.’
    ‘Who me?’ I pointed to my chest, ‘With all that yellow peril hanging about. Jesting?’
    I tilted back the glass, ‘Cheers Joe,’ I finished it.
    ‘Been in London long?’
    ‘On off about five years.’
    ‘That long eh?’
    ‘Yeah. Always come back here eventually.’
    ‘Born here myself.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Yeah down Kentish Town way.’
    ‘Where d’you live now?’
    ‘Got a house out Wood Green.’
    ‘Quite nice out there.’
    Joe wrinkled his face. ‘Yeah got a garden and that.’
    ‘Neighbours all right?’
    He stared at me for about a minute curiously then said, ‘I know you Jock,’ nodding his head with certainty. I sipped the light ale and lit a cigarette before replying.
    ‘I don’t know you Joe.’
    ‘What do you do again?’
    ‘Nothing man. I don’t do anything.’
    Joe sighed and began tapping his fingers on the glass.
    ‘You’re a strange bastard.’
    ‘Not me Joe.’ I glanced at the clock above the gantry. Nearly an hour and a half till closing.
    ‘Yeah Jock you.’ Joe put his glass down firmly on the counter and stepped back swaying a little.
    ‘I’m off for a piss.’
    ‘I’ll get another round up.’ I smiled but Joe did not return it.
    A man sitting alone near the door gazed up questioningly but I slowly shook my head. He looked away. Ten minutes passed before Joe returned. He had obviously gone through the cold water routine and appeared steadier on his feet now.
    ‘Ah Jock,’ he said heavily, ‘some life eh?’
    ‘I doubt if I’ll get this whisky down.’
    ‘Never try the gin then?’
    ‘Bloody perfume man.’
    ‘Oh it’s good. Pleasant to the taste.’
    ‘What does your girl do?’
    ‘Hairdressing. At college. Yeah.’ Joe smiled to himself. ‘Ah she’s quite a girl Jock. Yeah.’
    We remained silent for two minutes. I was finding some difficulty in concentrating. Joe appeared to be quite fresh which rather surprised me. He looked at his watch.
    ‘Time I hit the road,’ he lit another cigarette.
    ‘Already?’
    ‘Christ you were talking about leaving two hours ago.’
    ‘Aye, but I was enjoying the chat.’
    ‘Pooo.’
    ‘I was Joe.’
    ‘Anyway.’ He glanced quickly around the room. ‘I’ll see you again son.’
    I gave him a sort of salute and smiled. ‘Cheerio man.’ Joe turned and marched across the floor and out. The man at the door rose slowly, nodded over to me and followed him out.
    Poor old Joe.

Abject Misery
    He was in his third month of poverty-stricken freedom and fast losing most of his friends including the one commonly known as his best. It couldn’t last much longer. He checked his pockets, again discovering that 1½d. which had haunted him since Monday night. He also had the usual fruitless search for forgotten fags and butt ends. He couldn’t understand how he’d managed to survive the past three days. One of these days he’d have to get a job. This no money was becoming a problem. How was one supposed to eat? He spoke aloud, ‘God, how is one supposed to eat? I mean fair do’s and all that piss.’ Lapsing into a depressed silence he lay staring at the ceiling until remembering about the hotel up west. The one that served meals to all their employees and all the people who worked in other hotels in the chain. No questions or raised eyebrows he’d heard. Why not take the chance. Of course it would mean having to leave this lovely, warm and tender, dirty, scratchy kip. Still it was worth it. He got out of bed. It was so cold. Why do landlords never supply electric fires? Only those shitey gas fires needing shitey tanners. This was really terrible. Why not huge roaring