‘Different Times.’
‘Strange Times.’
‘Jaysus’, shouted Mono, banging his fist so hard on the bar counter that he set up eddy currents in the pints. ‘If I hear one more person talk about the strange and different times – I may commit murder.’
JP looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at JP. JP gave Rasher an almost imperceptible wink. He picked up his glass, had a decent gulp, placed it back on the counter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked directly into the big mirror behind the bar.
‘Oh, strange times alright’, he said to no one in particular.
Mono put his head on his arms on the bar counter and cried.
Rasher called down to Donleavy at the far end of the bar.
‘Hey Donleavy. More pints please. This big girl’s blouse who’s sobbing his little heart out might need some more of the black nectar to revive him.’
Donleavy, for a big man, could move with the speed and grace of a dancer. He was up on them in an instant.
‘You remember what I said lads?’
‘Jaysus, Donleavy – if we didn’t remember at this stage we’d want be quare thick. You’ve told us a million times.’
Donleavy went to pull the pints.
‘Seriously though. The world is fair screwed up.’
‘You can whistle that.’
‘Look at us. Six feet apart at the bar. Donleavy pushing the pints towards us on a tray.’
‘Can’t go to work.’
‘Can’t stay at home.’
‘Just lucky that Donleavy is who he is ‘
‘Mega true – in times of great hardship – you really know who your friends are and who can step up to the plate.’
The lads went back to their pints.
Donleavy arrived with incoming. Final settling of the folding black waves in the glasses was followed with the intensity of concentration of an operating surgeon.
Donleavy stood back and in turn looked each of them directly in the eye.
‘Repeat what I said to yez.’
It was said like an order from an army sergeant. All it was missing was a click of his sensible bar owner shoes.
‘Ah Jaysus, Donleavy?’
‘We musta done dis a million times.’
Donleavy stared them down.
‘Well we’ll do it for the one million and one time.’
The lads looked at each other in rotation. When you are each two meters apart it’s more difficult to get the best eye contact. As usual JP was in the center flanked two meters each side by Mono and Rasher. Donleavy began…
‘One…’
It seemed like all he was short of doing was smacking a riding crop along his thigh.’
JP, Mono and Rasher sighed but started the responses.
‘This is your bar and it’s your livelihood and licence at stake.’
‘Two…?’
The lads were intoning the response like it were a religious service. With just as little real conviction if the truth were known.
‘We will at all times speak in hushed tones with no whooping or hollering.’
Donleavy looked each one with a steely eye but then settled on Rasher.
‘Then wha’ the feck was dat hollerin’ down the bar to me for fresh pints? Eh? Tell me dat, if everythin’ is so bloody clear?’
Rasher started a ‘redener’ which began at his neck and moved quickly up his face until he was glowing like a light bulb. He hadn’t been as embarrassed as this since Ms Murphy caught him reading a skin mag in class.
‘Sorry Donleavy’, he whispered, briefly looking at JP and Rasher. He didn’t know in these looks whether he sought back up or redemption.
Donleavy continued his parade ground instructions.
‘Three…’
‘Always enter and exit through the store room.’
The chastisement of Rasher had resulted in clearer and swifter answers.
‘Four…?’
‘Never just arrive without ringin’ first.’
‘Five…’
‘In the event of being caught by the Peelers – look for sympathy by saying it’s a funeral gathering. A Covid-19 death.’
The three lads were getting the response in thick and fast and synchronised now.
‘Six…and the most important of all…?
Macker couldn’t resist it. It started from his lips before he could control anything.
‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with your whole being…’
Donleavy shot him a look that could have turned diamond back to carbon. He gritted his teeth.
‘Six…’
‘Upon pain of permanent disbarment – never tell anyone of this arrangement – ever.’
Donleavy looked at each of them individually for a disquieting passage of time before he spoke.
‘Good lads. Now – enjoy yer pints.’
The three lads looked at each other. Rasher still had the residue of his redener that hadn’t fully gone away.
‘Slainte’, offered JP, raising his pint glass in a formal toast and wish for all present.
‘Yeah. Right on. Good Health is the order of the day’, Macker replied raising his own glass.
‘Well feck this ‘new normal’’.
That last word was left with Rasher as the lads fixed their concentration on synchronized pint glugging. Different times. Strange times. Indeed.
JP@Donleavy’s 