Writing for Fun
February 2018
Last Summer - Pete Norman
'It was beautiful last summer.’
Brian glanced down at the man at the far end of the bar. He was sitting on a bar stool with his elbows resting on the counter. He was nursing an empty spirit glass. The statement had been made in a voice loud enough to be heard but he was clearly talking to no one in particular – there was no one else at that end of the bar. It seemed as if the man was still talking but his voice had dropped – it was now far away and indistinct. He looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and Brian could certainly empathize with that – he had a whole set of those t-shirts himself.
Pubs seem to have a magnetic attraction for the sad and lonely – they were after all purveyors of the anaesthetic with which to numb pain but of greater importance they housed a captive audience in the barman who, provided the money continued to flow, would usually be prepared to listen to a sad tale for a while – even if it was only lip service.
Trade was quiet at the moment so Brian drifted down the bar, ostensibly to pick up a couple of empty glasses. He stopped in front of the man. There was slight shift in the man’s demeanour as if he was acknowledging Brian’s presence but he never looked up, he simply repeated the statement in a voice quiet and devoid of emotion. ‘It was beautiful last summer. One of the hottest in living memory.’
Brian said, ‘Yes it was, I remember.’ He smiled. ‘Hot weather is good for trade.’
‘I met her in the park. Small park. So peaceful.’
Brian pressed the glass into the washing device and picked up a towel.
‘Bench by the duck pond. Ducks crap all over the pathway. Bit aromatic.’
The man stopped talking and Brian was desperately searching for some comment to fill the gap but his usually mercurial banter could not find an appropriate response to that one. Instead he continued slowly polishing the glass until it gleamed – he knew from experience that this monologue would resume whenever the man was good and ready.
‘It was beautiful last summer.’
Brian began to feel uneasy; the man had not been at the bar for that long and it was Miriam who had served him up to now, so he had no idea how much he had had to drink but from his appearance he was either drunk or on something recreational or else his mind was in some way compromised.
Suddenly the man’s head snapped up and his deep brown eyes locked onto his. It was a most uncomfortable experience.
‘One of the hottest in living memory.’
The head dropped back again.
Brian nodded and then glanced back at Miriam to make sure she was still behind the bar and in some way aware of the situation – in this business the staff always kept one eye on their colleagues – you can never tell when they might suddenly need assistance. Brian was not afraid of the man as such, he was about his own age, quite short and slightly built, so he did not pose a physical threat but there was something quite disturbing about him nonetheless.
‘She sat on the bench. By the duck pond.’
Once again he fell silent. Brian pushed the other glass into the washer. He was half expecting the man to ask for another drink – after all his glass was empty – but this appeared to be of little consequence to him and under the circumstances Brian was not about to encourage him to drink any more.
‘She threw bread to the ducks.’ The man put his glass to his lips and took an empty swig. He looked at the empty glass as if its emptiness made no sense to him at all and then he simply set it gently back on the bar in front of him again.
‘I said, “They’re enjoying that.” Had to say something. She had a beautiful smile.’ His voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper. ‘She was not beautiful. She was ordinary. I am ordinary. Perfect for me.’
The man pushed his glass across the counter but gave no instruction.
‘What can I get you?’
The man remained silent; he appeared to be making an intense study of a stain on the counter surface. Brian held up the glass to Miriam and she tapped the whisky optic at her end of the bar. Brian pulled a double and slid the glass across to the man. He made no offer of payment but Brian felt that he was prepared to wear the loss himself if only it would speed his departure.
The man took a healthy slug and put the glass down again with a slow and precise movement. ‘Asked if she wanted coffee. She was nice. Perfect for me.’
His voice broke. He snatched up his glass and drained it in an apparent effort to control his emotions. He replaced the glass to the counter with the same precision as before. His head dropped and he fell silent again.
Brian looked at the empty glass and wondered how he was going to extricate himself from this awkward situation. In all his years behind the bar he had met some odd characters but none quite as odd as this one and despite his height and weight advantage he felt irrationally threatened by the man’s demeanour. Perhaps if he were to move away, remove the object that the man was talking to . . . or rather was talking at . . . then he might just get the hint and go home and sleep it off.
Brian turned to walk away but the man looked up at him. ‘Seven months . . . twenty eight weeks . . . three days.’
Brian put two and two together. It was obvious now that his idyllic relationship had failed – it was a common enough topic of conversation from that side of the bar. However, the man had not been specific so Brian chose not to reply in case he had guessed incorrectly – in the circumstances that might not be the sensible option.
He waited for a few moments and then for a few moments longer but the man did not seem to want to take the conversation further. Brian picked up the two empty glasses and slid them onto the rack and then he turned to walk away again.
The man said, ‘Her name was Gloria Windsor.’
Brian froze. His heart was pounding. Now he really was afraid.
He turned back to the man.
The man snapped his head up and fixed his mud pool eyes on Brian. A faint ironic smile graced his lips. ‘You knew her, didn’t you? In the Biblical sense you knew her. I know. And you know. You know why I had to kill her.’
The man paused as if for dramatic effect, even though this was superfluous and then he followed in a whisper, ‘And you know why I have to kill you.’
Brian spun around and screamed to Miriam,