Swansea Summer Read Free Page A

and cocktail cherries in case you ran out.’
    ‘This is a girls’ night in, Joe,’ Helen said ungraciously.
    ‘Which is why I’m meeting Robin in ten minutes. We may even call in on my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s bachelor party.’
    ‘The two of you?’ Helen was amazed. Joe and his friend Robin were final-year university students, ‘stuck-up snobs’ in the eyes of Jack and his friends who saw condescension and arrogance in every overture they made, in her opinion with some reason. Bolstered by mid-course examination successes and the publication of his poetry in local magazines, Joe’s belief in his own social and intellectual superiority had grown to an irritating level.
    ‘Why not? We can’t study all the time and the finals are weeks away.’ Checking his pocket to make sure he had his keys, he opened the front door. ‘Enjoy your last night of freedom, sis.’
    ‘Pints of best all round, a drink for yourself and one of your specials for the bridegroom.’ Adam winked at the brassy middle-aged barmaid, as he thrust his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of change.
    ‘Bit early to start on the shorts,’ Brian cautioned, as he watched Lettie pour three measures of vodka into one of the beer mugs.
    ‘Can’t send a condemned man to the gallows sober.’
    ‘After one of those, Jack won’t be capable of standing upright,’ Brian demurred.
    ‘Jack can outdrink any of us.’
    ‘Only if he sticks to beer. Here, I’ll give you a hand.’ Taking two of the glasses, Brian returned to the table that Jack, Martin and Sam had commandeered.
    ‘Pint, Jack.’ John Griffiths set a full glass in front of him.
    ‘Cheers and thank you, Mr Griffiths. Why don’t you join us?’ Jack moved his chair to make room for John to sit at the table.
    ‘I’m with a party in the lounge bar, but thank you for the invitation.’
    ‘Maybe later?’ Jack not only respected but had grown fond of John Griffiths during the past few weeks. Instead of being outraged when he’d broken the news of Helen’s pregnancy, John had welcomed him as a prospective son-in-law, conjuring solutions for all the practical problems like finding them somewhere to live and giving him a reasonably paid permanent job in his warehouse, so he’d be able to support Helen and the baby.
    ‘If I can, Jack,’ John replied. ‘Enjoy your night.’
    ‘His scars are even worse close up,’ Sam whispered to Jack, as John limped away. ‘How did he get them?’
    ‘He was burned in a fire.’
    ‘Recently?’
    ‘When he was a kid.’
    ‘It’s made one hell of a mess of his face and hand.’
    ‘His leg too,’ Jack revealed, ‘that’s why he’s lame.’
    ‘I’d hate to have people staring at me wherever I went,’ Sam murmured, seeing a few heads turn as John left the room.
    ‘Since I’ve got to know him, I don’t even notice Mr Griffiths’ scars any more.’
    ‘You call your father-in-law Mr Griffiths?’ Brian set the pints he was holding in front of Martin and Sam.
    ‘I thought it best to keep it formal lest the others in the warehouse think I was taking advantage,’ Jack explained.
    ‘How’s that going?’
    ‘After the last couple of weeks I’m not sure he did me any favours. At least I could skive off from the building site for the odd half-hour without feeling guilty.’
    ‘But now he’s finding out what work is really like.’ Martin sipped his pint.
    ‘And in another’ – Adam glanced at the clock, as he set a tray holding three pints on the table – ‘sixteen hours, give or take a few minutes, he’ll find out what married life is like. All bliss, home cooking and romps between the sheets, as women would have us believe, or the shouting matches, burned messes and “Not tonight, I’ve a headache” that every shackled man makes it out to be.’ Placing the spiked glass in front of Jack, he lifted his own pint and toasted, ‘To Jack and Helen. Make the most of tonight, Jack, it may be the last time you’ve a life