Top of the evening

We meet the stranger that entered the pub...

Chapter Three

 

“Well B’jaysus, it’s nice to be in the warm.  Cold as a nun’s p***y out there so it is.”

               Harry looked in the direction of the Stranger’s voice over by the door and found himself at a loss.  He could not see the person in the darkness, but the voice was commanding and animated.  Like an Irish stereotype made flesh.

               “Hey, who is that,” asked Steph from somewhere behind the bar.  “Anyone we know?”

               A hearty chuckle came from over by the door and the stranger spoke once more.  “No Lass, I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure.  The name’s Lucas and I’m on a vital quest to get some beer down me neck.”

               Harry heard Steph laugh and if he was honest he was quite amused as well.  It wasn’t often the pub was graced with such colour.

               “Well,” Steph said, “I can only offer you bottles at the moment.  As you can see the power is off.”

               “I don’t care where it comes from, love.  It all ends up in the same place.”

               “No argument there,” said a voice Harry recognised as Old Graham’s.

               Over by the fireplace the flickering silhouette of Damien’s face glared, scowling at the presence of the stranger.  Damien didn’t like people he didn’t know.  People he didn’t know were usually unaware of his reputation.  He did not like that at all and usually set about trying to change it.

               Harry felt a surge of anger within himself.  Just behave for once you little shitbag.  You don’t always have to be the centre of attention.

               “Can we bear some light in here, you reckon,” asked Lucas, flicking open a Zippo lighter and illuminating his face.

               The chap looked about Harry’s age, early-thirties, and was quite striking.  Strong features and a full head of wispy brown hair that fell down below his ears. 

               “In weather like this, I’m surprised you’re not all around that lovely fireplace.”  Lucas began moving toward the bar, his flame-lit face a disembodied ghost as it moved across the room.  “Or does that bald headed fella hogging the sofa not play well with others?”

               “The less said about that the better,” warned Steph in a hush.

               Harry cringed at the response the newcomer’s comment might elicit from Damien, and was thankful when the young thug turned away and returned to whatever he was doing.

               Harry decided he would join the Irishman at the bar.  Sitting alone in the dark wasn’t very appealing and he needed a refill anyway.

               “So, Lucas,” Harry said, arriving at the bar and propping his elbows against its top.  “Where have you come in from?”

               The man turned in Harry’s direction, the flame still lighting his face.  The man’s eyes were a striking blue and flickered in the shimmering glow.  “I’ve come in from the bloody cold fella, but before that I come from all over.”

               “All over?”

               “Now that’s what I said now, isn’t it?  Been here, there, and everywhere in my time.  Up and down, upside down.  Originally though, I hail from the North, but spent a lot of time in the South more recently.  Warmer climate, you know?”

               Harry nodded, but the motion was pointless in the dark.  “I take it you’re talking about Northern and Southern Ireland?”

               “Now where is that drink I heard a rumour about,” said Lucas, single-mindedly.  “This is a pub is it not?”

               From somewhere in the backroom behind the bar, Steph shouted back, “Hold your horses.  For a complete stranger you’re pretty demanding.”

               Lucas let out a laugh.  “I’m a growing lad and if ye make me wait I may just fade away.”

               Steph came back through to the bar.  This time she was holding a bar-tray full of candles.  The flames flickered around her breasts and Harry looked away embarrassed.  Carefully, she placed them evenly along the bar.  The first one she placed was in front of Old Graham, whilst the last went in front of Nigel.  In between were himself and the stranger.

               “That’s better,” said Steph.  “Now, who wants a beer besides our new friend here?”

               “I’m ready for one, Steph,” said Harry.

               “Me too,” added Old Graham.

               Lucas chuckled again �" his cheeky laugh was becoming a trademark.  “Well, looks like I’ve come to the right place,” he said.  “Yer men after me own heart.  And now that I can see a little bit better, I can admire what a fine young wench we have ourselves behind the bar.”

               “Hey, less of the wench!” Steph objected.

               They all laughed as she handed out their bottled beer.  They all eagerly took a sip, like it was their first one all night.  Maybe for Lucas it was.

               “So who’s the fella down the end of the bar who doesn’t talk much?”

               “My name is Nigel and I can hear you.”

               “Well, Nigel, come down here with the rest of us and share a beer.”

               “Maybe later.”

               “What’s wrong with ya man?  You got a girl down there with ya in the dark?”

               “Huh, I wish,” Nigel said, a little less defensively than his earlier comment had been.

               “Well then get your anti-social be-hind down here.  No one should be alone on a night like this.  The cold out there could kill a man.”

               “Ok, ok,” Nigel finally conceded, disturbing the shadows as he raised his hands.  “I’m coming.”  He moved down the bar to join them, ordering another drink and then sitting himself down on a stool beside Lucas.

               “You know something, folks?  I don’t think that snow is gonna let up.  No word of a lie, but it’s like the bloody end of the world out there.”

               “Oh, very nice,” said Steph.  “You walk into my pub and start depressing us all.  We’ve all got to try and get home tonight.”

               “What?  Are ye drunk, lass?  Ain’t nobody getting anywhere in that winter blanket.”

               Steph looked worried in the candle-light.  “Well, how did you get here?”

               “I was nearby and realised things were bad, so I thought to meself, ‘where’s the best place to be stuck on a night like this?’  Well of course there was only one answer wasn’t there, fellas?”

               “The boozer,” Old Graham shouted gleefully, delighted at the Irishman’s philosophy.  “Anyway,” he added, “don’t you worry, young Stephanie.  There’s always room upstairs at my place.”

               Steph laughed defiantly.  “The only way you’ll get me up there, old man, is if you’re sleeping on the roof.”

               The group of them laughed and drank their beers, while the snow outside continued to fall.

               …and fall.

Author's Note

All advice welcome.