He indicated her near-empty glass. D’you want a drink?
No thanks.
He smiled.
I’m going in a minute.
He smiled again. There’s barriers between us, the sexes. But what you cannot deny is that we’re drawn to one another. We are: we’re drawn to one another. There’s bonds of affection. And solidarity as well, you get solidarity between us — definitely. . That’s what I think anyhow — course I’m aulder than you. . When you get to my age you seem to see things that wee bit clearer.
She looked at him. That’s just nonsense.
I’m no saying you see everything clearer, just some things.
She sighed.
I was reading in a book there about it — it was a woman writer — she was saying how there’s a type of solace you can only receive from the opposite sex, a man from a woman a woman from a man.
It’s nonsense.
It’s no nonsense at all.
She paused for a moment, then replied, Yes it is. She looked away from him, off in the direction of the group of young blokes, one of whom stared at her. So blatant too, the way he did it. He just turned and stared at her, then he turned back to his pals. And the lassie shifted the way she was standing. She looked up at the clock and checked the time against her wristwatch.
They keep it quarter of an hour fast, he said. Common practice. A few of the customers complain right enough. But it’s so they can get the doors shut on the button else the polis’ll come in and do them for being late and they might lose their licence. So they say anyway. Mind you it’s bloody annoying if you’ve come in looking to enjoy a last pint and then they start shouting at you and start grabbing the glass out your bloody hand. My auld da used to say it was the only business he knew where they threw out their best customers!
She didnt respond.
He grinned. I mean it’s no as if they open quarter of an hour early in the morning! Look eh. . are you sure I cant buy you one afore you go?
No, thanks.
He nodded.
I’m just leaving.
He never turned up then eh!
No.
Was it your boyfriend?
She shook her head.
D’you mind me asking you something. Are you a student?
Why d’you want to know?
I was just wondering.
Why?
Aw nothing.
She continued looking at him. He felt like he had been given a telling off. For about the third bloody time since she had come in. He swallowed the last of his lager and glanced sideways to see where the bar staff had got to. And then he said, Do you think it’s possible for men and women to talk in a pub without it being misconstrued?
She paused. I think people should be able to stand at a bar without being pestered.
O you think you’re being pestered? Sorry, I actually thought I was making conversation. That’s how come I was talking to you, it’s what’s commonly known as being sociable. I didnt know I was pestering you.
She nodded.
Sorry.
It’s just that I think people should be able to stand at the bar if that’s what they want to do.
So do I, he said, so do I. That’s what I think. I mean that’s what I think. My own daughter’s coming up for seventeen you know so I’m no exactly ignorant of the situation.
The woman behind the counter had reappeared and was looking along in his direction, like she had heard the word ‘pester’ and was just watching to see. He shook his head. It was like things were getting out of hand; you wanted to shout: Wait a minute! He frowned, then smiled. When he was a wee boy him and his brother and sisters would be right in the middle of a spot of mischief when suddenly the door would burst open and mammy would be standing there gripping the handle and glowering at them. And they would all be on the confessional stool immediately! She didnt have to fucking do anything! They’d all just start greeting and then cliping on one another! What a technique she had! It was superb! All she had to do was stand there! Everybody crumbled.
He grinned, shaking his head, and he called for a pint of lager. For a split second the woman didnt seem to hear him. Then she walked to the tap, started pouring the pint, staring at the lever very deliberately, as if she was making some sort of point. It was funny. Maybe she was a bit put out about something. Well that was her problem. If you’ve got to start safeguarding the feelings of everybody you meet on the planet then you’ll have a hard time staying sane.
The lassie wasnt there.
Aye she was but she was across at the group of young guys. They looked like students as well. He didnt have anything against students. Although the danger was aye the same for kids from a working-class background, that it turned you against your own people. How many of them were forever going away to uni and then turning round and selling themselves to the highest bidder as soon as they’d got their certificates. Then usually they wound up abroad, if no England then the States or Canada or Australia, or Africa or New Zealand, it was all the same. Then they spent the rest of their lives keeping other folk down.
One of the young blokes laughed. It would have been easy to take it personally but that would have been stupid. Getting paranoiac is the simplest thing in the world. A gin and orangeade was on the counter in front of the lassie but she was paying for it out of her own purse. A young guy glanced across. Another one said something. But there was no point seeing it directed at yourself. The woman behind the bar was away serving another customer. The change back from the money for the pint of lager was lying on the counter. He put his hand out to get it.
Real Stories
So because she couldnt get doing her own work she occupied herself in other ways. What happened is she stayed in her room and started telling wee stories to herself. She did. That was what she did. Wee stories about her girlhood with outcomes that were different from real life. Usually it was her that was the heroine whereas in real life she had never been the heroine, and none of her pals had ever been the heroine either. But that didnt matter. Not to her. She never deluded herself. She always knew them for what they were so so what is what she said to herself as soon as the criticism started, they’re my own stories and nobody else’s so why should I worry about them being true or no, just to suit other people. She did enough worrying without having to worry about that as well. And with the spare room being hers she could shut the door tight and she could have put a bolt on if she had wanted to. But there was no need.
When her husband was there he tried to get into her mind. It was like he started needing solace or a comfort or something like that. It was funny. As if he thought he would maybe manage it through her stories, as if he thought that was how to do it, by getting inside her imagination. Because he didnt like his own imagination. That was what he said. But there had to be more than that even although he said there wasnt.
At first what he did was he started getting her to tell the stories out loud. But that never seemed to work properly. She couldnt do it right except once or twice, and even then, when she felt she had got close to succeeding he wouldnt believe her. He thought she was making it up, he thought she was just saying the stories succeeded because she was wanting to keep the real ones secret. He thought there were ‘real stories’ she was keeping secret from him and that was where the solace lay. But this was happening at the stage where there was a coldness in her towards him anyway so she was quite happy to let him believe she was cheating if that was what he wanted. She felt really that he could believe anything he liked. She was then stopping all her interest in him. But leaving that apart her stories just werent for him. She didnt like having to share them, especially no with him. It was not like he had been a good man to her. She had always preferred it when she could go away into her own room and shut fast the door, for he would at least respect that, he would never try to enter unless she invited him. And she stopped inviting him. By then it had got so she just couldnt abide the idea of him at all, it was excruciating and she couldnt cope with it. She couldnt, she just couldnt cope with it. It was awful. She felt clammy. It was a creepy feeling. Him sitting there the way he did.