Limestone Man by Robert Minhinnick Read Free Book Online Page A

about you too. You’ve just opened that new shop in Caib Street. What’s it called now?
    Tesco, said Parry.
    Something … peculiar .
    I’ll say, said Mina.
    Oh yes, Badfinger , said Nia Vine. Terrible name for a shop. I’ll give it three months.
    As long as that?
    I was being kind, said Nia. You’re in a dead spot.
    Called The Caib, said Parry. The only way for a new business to work here is giving away free drinks.
    It was 9pm. Parry had come to Clwb y Môr because of the poster he had been asked to display in Badfinger. This proclaimed that if you could ask for your first drink in ‘the language’ then that drink was free.
    Now Parry tested himself. He found Nia Vine as good as her word. There was a crowd at the counter who might not have been renowned for their linguistic abilities.
    Admire the spirit, said Parry. You remind me of myself.
    Australia lost its allure has it?
    Everyone comes home, said Parry. Eventually. It’s one of the golden rules of business. Of life. But yes, I know what you’re taking on.
    Which is? asked Nia.
    Apathy. Alienation. Despair. Dandruff. Put them together and it’s quite a challenge.
    Sounds tough.
    Missionary work usually is.
    Found yourself in missionary positions before now? asked Nia.
    Had my moments, said Parry. He looked around. But my problem has never been too much space. Now at Badfinger, we could do with some of the room here. Anyone helping you out?
    Nia shrugged. The committee are good people. But they’re getting on.
    Parry gestured to the woman at his side. This is Mina, he explained. She keeps the off - licence next to Badfinger.
    Basement Booze, added Mina as an explanation. Parry had shown Mina the poster about free drinks and she had laughed and said if they were that desperate for custom, then fine. As long as the Queen’s English was still allowed.
    And Mina’s named after a poet, said Parry.
    So you keep telling me, said Mina.
    A pretty peculiar poet, too, he said.
    Oh yes?
    But quite a role model.
    III
    While they were waiting for the drinks, Parry said he’d go off exploring.
    The corridor to the toilets was a municipal cream. There were three different rooms, all with smashed locks. These held nothing but broken tables and chairs and two ancient fruit machines. At the far end of the corridor was a larger space with a stage, and a sign that said ‘to the dressing rooms’. On stage were papier - mâché segments of a model whale, painted grey and blue.
    Next, Parry climbed the stairs. In an empty bar, he found a crate of Schweppes’ mixers, a medical skeleton, a book titled Hymnau Calfinaidd , and an album by Showaddywaddy, The Arista Singles Volume One.
    The damp was worse up here. The paint on two walls behind the counter had disintegrated into dust. Above a chapel harmonium a tendril of ivy lay under a broken pane. There was another flight of stairs, leading up.
    The noise from the bar below was filtering upstairs, but Parry thought he heard someone else in the room he had left. He paused and walked back, looking around. But saw no one.
    Exactly as I thought, he announced returning to the front bar.
    Any hope for us? smiled Nia. And looked expectant. As if Parry might know what he was talking about.
    Of course, Parry said. Turn it all into apartments. Perfect sea view. In fact, so perfect that the sea’s coming through your excuse for a roof. Who owns this place?
    Not sure, said Nia. The committee administers everything. There’s a chair, and a treasurer. But the vultures are massing.
    Stick in there, kid, said Mina, taking an interest. Who opens up for you?
    I do, said Nia.
    Who closes up?
    Me too.
    Hey, maybe you could help, encouraged Parry, looking at Mina. After all, you’re always telling me about your insomnia.
    Bore you, do I?
    No, said Parry. But you say it’s tough. And I know what it’s like. Sometimes I can’t sleep.
    Maybe you should all come down here,