Welcome to 2025. Already the year has begun with a massive change in my life and I’m sure the same will happen to everyone. The only constant in life is change. Here is a short piece for your entertainment and my apologies for the long absence of this newsletter. This story arose from the challenge of choosing an art piece and writing a story to fit the picture. I hope you enjoy it. As always, feel free to pass it on.
‘THE GOSSIPS:’ (THREE OLD MEN TALKING AROUND A TABLE)
The warm fug of the bar embraces me like an old friend, when I push the door open. The familiar smell of hops, spilt beer, fags and sweat is a welcoming cheer. I pause, peering into the gloom to rest my legs more than anything, but hoping my scan of the room’s smoky haze convinces the watching patrons that I’m looking for my mates.
They’re leaning on a corner table, as far from the loud-speakers as possible. The Publican refuses to turn the music down.
The barman pours my usual stout and I pick it up on the way past. I must pay my tab, real soon.
“Hey-up lads,” I say and hoist my crook hips onto the third stool.
‘You’re two drinks behind. Your shout next,” Bobby says. a laugh in his voice. “Where’ve you been?”
“Chasing women,” My usual answer, which always amuses them. Being younger than me they think sex and love ends at sixty. I’ve outlived two wives and intend to maintain the charade I’m looking for a third. “Have I missed anything?”
Bobby nods “Remember Sidney Piper’s wife?”
“The one with the wandering eye? You never know if she’s giving you the glad eye or looking over your shoulder. That one?” Henry exaggerates.
“Sid’s only ever had one wife, not like Bill here.” A dig at me from Bobby, then he winks.
“I know her,” I say. “What’s she done?”
“Only up and died, she has. Like yesterday, according to Gladys next-door.”
I shake my head. “Poor Sid. He’ll be devastated.”
“That’s not as bad as the Postmaster’s daughter. Gladys told me this morning that she’s run off with young Thompson. Her Dad’s fit to kill the pair of them. Rumour has it she’s up the duff,” Henry says.
“I don’t believe it. Not pretty little Jilly. Wasn’t long ago she was a baby.”
“She’s eighteen,” Henry adds.
“I don’t believe she’d run off with anyone,” and I don’t. “She might have gone to the city looking for a job.”
They grunt, preferring their version of Jilly’s absence.
“What’s your news, Bill? You’ve been missing for a few days. And missing your turn to buy the drinks. Short of cash?” Henry’s idea of a joke.
Cheeky sod. But I know he’s only ragging me. Time to bite the bullet. If you want something spread around town, this pair will do it in twenty-four hours.
“I’m on the way out.”
“To where?” Henry cocks his head, his brow furrows.
“Could be hell or heaven, depends on St. Peter.” Their eyes widen, jaws drop and they stare at me.
“True?” Henry whispers.
I nod.
“No shite?” Bobby scrubs his face. His gaze scans the room and returns to me. “That’s awful.” His voice breaks and he grasps my wrist. “How long?”
“Weeks.”
“Don’t forget to pay your bar tab,” Henry mutters. He searches for a handkerchief, deep in his trouser pocket, then blows his nose and wipes his eyes. “Damn smoke.”
I feel like crying too.
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