JP and Mono were sitting at the bar counter in contemplative mood. Nursing their pints. Staring at the mirror behind the bar counter. Well, staring into the middle distance anyway. It was a quiet midweek night and there were very little background pub noises to deflect their thoughts. Donleavy was propped up against his side of the counter in his usual spot in front of the whiskey.
JP turned to Mono
“Rasher?”
“Don’t know where he is. Not like him to be missing liquid therapy. “
“True enough. “
They went back to their fascination with that blemish on the mirror right behind the Pernod bottle.
As if by telepathy Mono broke the new silence.
“D’ya ‘member when the mots went mad for Pernod?”
“Yeah. Whole pub’d be stinkin’ of liquorice. “
“Water. Ice. Blackcurrant. White lemonade. It all tasted shite.”
“True enough.”
At that precise moment Rasher whoosed into the pub like a tornado and took his seat. He had a flustered look about him.
“Hoi Rasher. D’ya member when your missus used to drink Pernod. Did she taste like a bag of ‘Liquorice Allsorts’ afterwards?”
Rasher looked down his nose at the pair of them. The type of face you’d make if you stepped in something.
“Wha’ the hell is it to you? What kind of stupid question is dat?”
Mono looked to JP for guidance. JP took stock of the situation. Clearly Rasher had little interest in discussing the olfactory or gustatory elements of the French liquor.
“Settle yourself there Rasher and we’ll organise more incoming.”
“Donleavy – three more pints of the best.”
When they were all served. When the white head had settled. When the world had slowed a bit. Then – JP took his cue.
“What’s atein’ ya Rasher?”
Rasher took a big glug of his pint, returned the glass to the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m perplexed lads. I’m in a bit of a quandary. I’m battered and bewildered. Befuddled even.”
“Jaysus.”
“Jaysus.”
JP recognised the seriousness of this situation. This was not good. They were sailing into uncharted territory – perhaps buffeted by unknown winds and dragged by dark tides. Rasher could be relied upon to always be stable as old boots. An unprecedented approach was called for.
JP took a deep breath and went for it.
“Rasher – would you like to take my stool at the bar and sit here between the two of us?”
A seismic event would not have produced the same reaction. Mono sat bolt upright on his stool. Rasher almost took the reverse reaction and cowered under the responsibility of potentially taking the stool in the middle. This had never happened before. Rasher wasn’t sure how to handle it.
It was almost a whisper when it eventually escaped his lips
“If you’re sure?”
“Of course. Of course. Get yourself sorted there.”
A rearrangement occurred. Pint glasses were swapped. An alignment of legs and limbs followed. Finally, a cycle of synchronised pint swilling was completed. Only then did dialogue resume.
“So. Rasher. What has ya discombobulated?”
“Don’t know anthin ‘bout dat, JP. But me conscience is in a mess. I’m as confused as a recoverin’ alcoholic at a free bar. “
“Jaysus. That’s serious. Share your pain here Rasher. We’ll help if we can. “
Another great gulp of synchronised imbibing took place. Rasher looked straight ahead.
“I don’t know where to start. I’m confused and guilty.”
“Jaysus.”
“Just make a start there. Get somethin’ off your chest.”
Rasher took a deep breath. Then another gulp from his pint. Then another deep breath. Then his words came fast.
“I’m not sure about social housing.”
JP looked at Mono. Mono looked at JP. The looks exchanged were part astonishment and part hostility.
“Wha’ the f….!”
“Jaysus.”
“We thought ya’d killed someone.”
“…or at the very least robbed a bank…”
“Bloody social housing.”
“Wha’ the hell is yer bloody problem with social housing.”
Everyone went back to drinking pints. A drought was imminent. JP beckoned for more ‘incoming’. The waves worked out their energy and calmed and everything went back to a whisper. JP was thinking to himself that he had given up his middle stool under savage false pretences. He was focusing on his own breathing to make sure his waves didn’t grow to levelling Rasher with a tsunami of abuse. After another decent volume of stout he felt himself calm enough to re-engage with social intercourse.
“So – what’s yer prob with social housing.”
Rasher looked from JP to Mono and back to JP again.
“I keep thinkin’ they’re shaggin’ spongers. I have to sweat for what I’ve got. I’ve been sweatin’ for years for the little I have. They sit on their hole and get houses and vouchers and electricity and travel and feckin’ everything. And I’m payin’ for it. And they get new houses with the best of insulation and they’re nice and warm and I’ve got breezes blowing through me windows. And all the time they’re just laughin’ at me. I’m payin’. They’re laughin’ their holes off. I’m angry lads. I’m feckin’ angry. But I don’t feel right about bein’ angry. Me head is in a mess.”
JP could feel that Rasher was reaching out to him for guidance; for some understanding of values; to simplify a view about society. A big moment. He had to get it right. His friend’s ethics could be at a crossroads.
“Ya know when we play 5-a-side soccer down in the community hall?”
Rasher looked with a frown that you could have planted spuds in the furrows.
“…eh…yeah.”
“Nine lads turn up – all ready for a decent competitive game…”
“Yeah.”
“One lad turns up stinkin’ a drink. Decided to have a few pints before the 5-a-side.”
“Yeah.”
“What happens?”
“Feckers no use to anyone. Screws up the whole game.”
“So do you see what I’m getting’ at?”
“Not a notion.”
Mono was hopping up and down on the stool.
“JP,JP. I have it. Nine out of ten are good. One ruined it for everybody.”
Rasher started into his pint for an inordinate stretch of time. JP was urging him with some encouraging shoulder movement. It was a seminal moment.
“So are ya’ good now Rasher? Does dat sort ya? Good with the world again?”
“Fecked if I know, JP. Maybe the people in social housing need to play more 5-a-side. Maybe, that’s it.”
“Ah Jaysus.”
“Let’s just go for a batter burger.”
“Most sense I’ve heard all night.”
JP@Donleavy’s 