Say Goodbye to the Boys by Mari Stead Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

‘I’ve got a feeling I may be asked, that’s all.’ Then she got flustered and picked up her handbag and headed for the Ladies – a place she never used...
    â€˜You took Ceri Price to the pictures?’ Emlyn said. ‘My God, come and join us! Anything doing?’
    â€˜I never tried.’
    â€˜As bad as that? Have another pint. You can pay. I’m using the Amos Ellyott system.’ We were in the King’s Arms, our favourite pub. It was Friday night, the doors and windows open wide, a summer wind coming in off the estuary. Emlyn was wearing a silk scarf to hide the bruising on his throat. He had dispensed with the plaster above his ear. He looked dapper, like something off the fag adverts.
    â€˜Three pints of best bitter,’ I said, placing the drinks on the table. ‘Hey where are you off to?’ I asked Mash.
    Mash pointed silently to the gents. I took the chance to ask Emlyn how they had got on that day.
    â€˜Fine,’ he replied. ‘Everything’s OK.’ He raised his glass and drank.
    â€˜Yes, but what did Mash say? Did you talk it out with him?’ There was no response from Emlyn. ‘I asked you a bloody question.’
    He placed his elbows on the table, cupped his face in his hands. ‘Not the real question, though, was it?’
    â€˜What d’you mean?’
    â€˜What you want to know is did Mash go berserk because he saw me coming out of Lilian’s,’ he grinned. A challenge on the table, and I was about to take it up when he said, ‘Oh God, look who’s here.’
    MT came sweeping in, called four pints as he passed the bar and planted himself at our table.
    â€˜Hasn’t it been a wonderful day?’ he said. ‘Marvellous! Absolutely marvellous. Like the summers of old. We can only pray’ – he looked up at the ceiling – ‘that it holds for carnival week.’ The sun had left blisters on his forehead. ‘The first step back on the road to recovery.’ The barman placed four pints on the table. ‘Thought I’d join you for a little session,’ he said, and cleared the best part of his pint in a couple of noisy gulps.
    â€˜Didn’t know you were a drinking man,’ Emlyn said.
    â€˜It used to be fifteen pints a night back in the old rugger days.’ He gave Mash a friendly punch as he rejoined us. ‘My God, I’ve sunk some stuff in my time. You boys – drink? You’ve no idea...’ and he went rambling on about the times he’d had, and calling out for more pints from the bar. Emlyn and I had them lined up, but Mash who had the bigger capacity kept up with him and seemed to be the only one who was listening to him too. ‘We used to drink the bars dry. But never mind about ancient history...’
    â€˜Hear, hear,’ Emlyn said.
    â€˜Now is what counts. There’s going to be a renaissance in the old town. My committee’s organised. The carnival entries are pouring in. And the sports day – you’ve got to enter, all three of you.’
    â€˜We’ve retired, haven’t we, Philip?’ Emlyn said.
    â€˜Nonsense! It’ll be fun. The amateur spirit.’ He’d finished another pint. ‘To the bar!’ His face was red and sweaty now. ‘It’s my treat.’
    â€˜Then leave me out,’ I said.
    But he was up and off to the bar, booming four pints, best bitter.
    â€˜Marshall, speak to your father,’ Emlyn said. Mash smiled and shrugged his huge shoulders and retired into his own silence. MT returned, slopping beer all over the table, breathing hard. ‘How are we doing?’ He said, clapping me on the back.
    â€˜I’m sinking,’ I said.
    â€˜Nonsense!’ he said and went stamping out to the gents.
    â€˜Our night for getting drunk under the table,’ Emlyn said. ‘Shall we join in?’
    â€˜You’re on your own, mate’ I said.
    Emlyn smiled. By the