The Tab

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. There were eye rolls elsewhere.

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.

“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 vacant 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 caressed with his worn hand. It was whispered that he had once owned a successful chain of corner shops.

He had a wife and three children whom he loved. A nice house with 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 the courts had other ideas. Heartbroken, he sought solace in the familiar surroundings of dim lighting and liquor.

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 into the bar. His suit was still in place but his collar unbuttoned. Paddy spotted his tie peeking from his breast pocket. A laptop case hung uneasily from his hand. Paddy greeted him.

“Seán! How are ya lad? 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 thought 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.

“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 fucking 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 copper glow glinting in the dark liquid as the creamy head settled softly at its peak. He drank eagerly for a few seconds as Paddy watched.

“Ahhhh…fantastic!”

Seán wiped his top lip.

“How are ya anyway?”

Paddy paused as he finished his pint. “Ach grand Seán. Still no job, but grand. Luck is bound to change soon.”

“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 in 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 bastard! 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.”

Seán narrowed his eyes.

“Are you not in a bit of bother sure? 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.

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. They were all smiling.

Cash in their pockets and not a worry in the world. Paddy remembered the hours he himself had spent in that corner, staring and whooping at passing women, 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 stared 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, “she’s a stupid oul’ bitch, and I’m near sure she’s been sneaking about with that prick McAnespie. You know, the one that sells the bikes.

“Anyway, I’m far happier without her gurning and shouting at me.”

Seán nodded at this 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.

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, he would deny it, become aggressive and eventually storm off home.

Paddy wouldn’t admit it, but he knew himself the cause of their split. It was said there were no jobs in the area, and there was some truth in that, but Seán knew that Paddy hadn’t the heart to work any more.

He had lost all 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 unsteadily, “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?”

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! One more there, when you’re good to go” gestured Seán to the bar man.

“No bother lads” came his 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. It 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 lurking, emboldened by winter’s darkness.

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.

The colours merged as he plummeted.

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.

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