An after-school venture
Parents waited at the gates as the classes of children flooded out the doors, a sea of red jumpers and cardigans, books bags and grey slacks
the sounds of high-pitched voices and sliding gravel echo for miles,
My dad was always early, Taller than all of the other fathers I could see him a mile away.
Shaven head, red faced, blue jeans and a navy jacket.
A short walk it was, hand in hand with my father as we head to the pub after school
I can already smell the beverage soaked in his clothes, a slur in his voice that crackles
Told me he’d been there since opening.
My head at his knees, we enter the fortress of dark wood and sticky tables.
Boomy voices and the smoke of cigarettes,
the colour of the carpet is dulled with a rich history of spilt beer and latched nicotine.
The glamour of fruit machines too tall for me to ever reach and play,
The deal or no deal always enticed me…
A rounded golden coin placed in my palm opened doors to
Green felt tables with red and yellow spheres that dart from one end to the other.
Left to our own devices, the children are left to bicker about the rules of an adult game.
I always preferred the shorter que to the long one.
Cubes of chalk to dust ‘em off and ensure an accurate shot.
I place my orange J20 on the edge of the table to peer across at the television
Elevated in the corner of the room.
“back in my day kids weren’t allowed in pubs”
I think that was probably for the best.
A walk inside the gents with my fellow warrior.
We were brothers and both children of drinkers and drug takers.
The toilets stunk of piss, as most public toilets do,
I saw a man sniffing a line of coke above the urinals
“you lot shouldn’t be in ‘ere” he said as he sniffled and whipped his bugle on his sleeve.
He left the toilets without washing his hands in what seemed a rush.
My mate whipped his hands across the surface and stuck it in his mouth rubbing his finger around his gums – Why he did this I didn’t really understand - but I knew he’d had a better idea of what we just witnessed
“he was doing coke” the boy bragged – I didn’t really know what coke was…
but I knew it was naughty.
I remember a journey home; Dad was swaying like a pendulum without a string.
I was much too small to help him up.
I remember feeling a sense of responsibility for him
As if I was his guardian, I wondered how we’d get home.
I wondered If we’d get home.
He was strung out across the concrete and I had both his arms trying to pull him to his feet with no luck. His heaviness became mine and I had lost this task.
I couldn’t do anything, So I cried and screamed his title at him
…Dad!?
A car had pulled up and a bloke had wheeled down his window and called my dad by name
“…Kev?! You alright mate?”
He picked him up as best as he could and slumped him into the back seat of his small motor.
“it’s alright mate we’ll get you and your dad back home now, shall we?”
The geezer had warm eyes and could see I had been crying.
He drove us back but didn’t stay for a drink.
It’s been emotional,
It’s fucked
Being a kid inside a pub.
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