How're you doin', mate?' Davie grinned.' Thought I'd get the boys back together to mark the occasion. Little Danny Starkey's back in town.'
'Davie.'
'Whaddya think — The Clash on The Stables' jukebox! It only took Vernon twenty-five fuckin' years.'
Vernon grinned across, but it seemed to me that a flicker of anger crossed his face. The boys themselves looked a bit awkward.
'C'mon and get a pint, Davie,' Mark said.' Vernon's buying.'
Davie stood by the jukebox for a moment longer, then came across with his hand extended.' Dan,' he said.
We shook.
'Shakin' hands like we're all grown-up,' he said.
'I know. Happens to us all.'
I nodded around my old friends. It did happen to us all. We managed to get a couple of rounds in, chatting about the old days, without me talking to Davie directly at all; there was something between us, an awkwardness, a holding back. But then one by one the others began to make their excuses and leave. One was driving and didn't want to risk his licence. One had to relieve a babysitter. One couldn't take another drink or he'd be up all night burping. They shook my hand again and said how great it was to see me, but I could tell they were kind of relieved to be going home. The pub was no longer their natural environment. They were family men. Davie and I never were, never had been.
'Great to see them, all the same,' I said.
'Ah, part-time punks,' he replied dismissively.' You see them more than I do.'
'But you're still in Groomsport.'
'Oh aye. Fucking fixture in here.' He nodded around the bar. Vernon glanced over, but stayed talking to another punter.
'What about Joe, then?' Davie said.
'Aye. Dreadful.'
We looked at our drinks. I'd come all this way to reminisce about The Clash, but we seemed to have exhausted it with one exchange.
Davie nodded back up to the bar.' Ah, fuck it,' he said.' Vernon, give us four pints of snakebite.' He winked across at me.' It's like we're on a first date, mate, isn't it? Awkward as fuck. Let's sink these and then the barriers will come down.'
I nodded.
I was in a quiet village getting quietly drunk with an old mate. It wasn't the sort of place where you could possibly get into trouble.
4
Vernon, my new best buddy, threw us out just after midnight. He barred Davie for ramming bottle-tops into the coin slot on the jukebox and screaming, 'Daniel O'Donnell's a cunt! Daniel O'Donnell's a cunt!' at the top of his voice.
The sentiment wasn't wrong, just the means of expression.
I was drunk, but Davie was pissed. He was funny though, which makes up for a lot of things. We'd talked for hours. He was right. We needed to get pissed together to break down the barriers that had been erected over the past twenty years. Now we were rolling along the main street like kids, the wind off the sea battering us, the rain soaking us, but neither of us caring. We were just having a laugh. Big Davie. My mate. He'd even managed to persuade Vernon to sell him half a dozen cans before throwing him out. It was like the United States selling weapons to Iraq. Sooner or later he knew Davie was going to come back and slap him in the face with them.
'That fucker bars me every week,' Davie growled as he drank his first can in one.
It was a comment I should have taken on board at the time.
Davie crumpled the can, threw it up in the air, then kicked it hard.' He shoots! He scores!'
Except that he had scored through the front window of a terraced house. The glass shattered, and for a moment we just stood there in shock.
Then we took off, racing up the street laughing madly.
Davie led me along several back streets at a gallop, then down a lane where we stopped for a piss against a brick wall, still laughing our socks off.
'Jesus,' I kept saying, gulping for air.' I'm gonna have to get fitter.'
'Ah bollocks,' said Davie.' Come on.'
He turned and walked further along the lane. I was drunk. I followed without asking. He opened a small wooden gate and led me down a garden path. He
'Davie.'
'Whaddya think — The Clash on The Stables' jukebox! It only took Vernon twenty-five fuckin' years.'
Vernon grinned across, but it seemed to me that a flicker of anger crossed his face. The boys themselves looked a bit awkward.
'C'mon and get a pint, Davie,' Mark said.' Vernon's buying.'
Davie stood by the jukebox for a moment longer, then came across with his hand extended.' Dan,' he said.
We shook.
'Shakin' hands like we're all grown-up,' he said.
'I know. Happens to us all.'
I nodded around my old friends. It did happen to us all. We managed to get a couple of rounds in, chatting about the old days, without me talking to Davie directly at all; there was something between us, an awkwardness, a holding back. But then one by one the others began to make their excuses and leave. One was driving and didn't want to risk his licence. One had to relieve a babysitter. One couldn't take another drink or he'd be up all night burping. They shook my hand again and said how great it was to see me, but I could tell they were kind of relieved to be going home. The pub was no longer their natural environment. They were family men. Davie and I never were, never had been.
'Great to see them, all the same,' I said.
'Ah, part-time punks,' he replied dismissively.' You see them more than I do.'
'But you're still in Groomsport.'
'Oh aye. Fucking fixture in here.' He nodded around the bar. Vernon glanced over, but stayed talking to another punter.
'What about Joe, then?' Davie said.
'Aye. Dreadful.'
We looked at our drinks. I'd come all this way to reminisce about The Clash, but we seemed to have exhausted it with one exchange.
Davie nodded back up to the bar.' Ah, fuck it,' he said.' Vernon, give us four pints of snakebite.' He winked across at me.' It's like we're on a first date, mate, isn't it? Awkward as fuck. Let's sink these and then the barriers will come down.'
I nodded.
I was in a quiet village getting quietly drunk with an old mate. It wasn't the sort of place where you could possibly get into trouble.
4
Vernon, my new best buddy, threw us out just after midnight. He barred Davie for ramming bottle-tops into the coin slot on the jukebox and screaming, 'Daniel O'Donnell's a cunt! Daniel O'Donnell's a cunt!' at the top of his voice.
The sentiment wasn't wrong, just the means of expression.
I was drunk, but Davie was pissed. He was funny though, which makes up for a lot of things. We'd talked for hours. He was right. We needed to get pissed together to break down the barriers that had been erected over the past twenty years. Now we were rolling along the main street like kids, the wind off the sea battering us, the rain soaking us, but neither of us caring. We were just having a laugh. Big Davie. My mate. He'd even managed to persuade Vernon to sell him half a dozen cans before throwing him out. It was like the United States selling weapons to Iraq. Sooner or later he knew Davie was going to come back and slap him in the face with them.
'That fucker bars me every week,' Davie growled as he drank his first can in one.
It was a comment I should have taken on board at the time.
Davie crumpled the can, threw it up in the air, then kicked it hard.' He shoots! He scores!'
Except that he had scored through the front window of a terraced house. The glass shattered, and for a moment we just stood there in shock.
Then we took off, racing up the street laughing madly.
Davie led me along several back streets at a gallop, then down a lane where we stopped for a piss against a brick wall, still laughing our socks off.
'Jesus,' I kept saying, gulping for air.' I'm gonna have to get fitter.'
'Ah bollocks,' said Davie.' Come on.'
He turned and walked further along the lane. I was drunk. I followed without asking. He opened a small wooden gate and led me down a garden path. He
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