A Pub Story

I had finished university and was now unemployed and living at home. It was a total nightmare, a Kafkaesque torment of body and soul. I had taken a good degree in PPE, getting a 2:1 yet still hadn't been able to find any kind of job commensurate with my ability. Dreams of a 25k salary and buying a pleasant flat in a nice part of town had curdled into a stifling nightmare of signing on and being back with my parents after four years of living in flats with friends, where we could have parties anytime. Now back in the smalltown of Insch, near Aberdeen, I was separated from my friends who still lived in the Big City, and who were still having the great fun I ached for. My parents hadn't gone to university themselves and so couldn't understand why I couldn't get a decent job; the four years studying seemed a complete waste of time; especially to my Dad, who had never understood what PPE was "for".

"But it's what he wanted tae dae," Mum had said, in tones showing she was being supportive rather than understanding. All the same, I wanted a good job very badly, and most nights would toddle down to my Aunt and Uncle's house, as they had a PC which was online; unlike my parents, of course.

My uncle and aunt lived in a plush bungalow at the edge of town. I went round yet again that cold November night. Most companies nowadays only accepted employment applications online, and whilst at university I had spent several hours filling out interminable online forms, citing my S-Grade and Higher passes, the subject of study in the various courses I had endured, my extracurricular activities and achievements (I invented several examples which showed my leadership and teamworking skills), and my good personal qualities. From February to May I had been busy on this, as well as my dissertation, but was still surprised to find that so many companies and institutions had a closing date for applications in December. I'd missed the boat for half of them, already. Still, I got a few interviews, for the Corus financial division, KPMG and Shell, but to no avail. No-one had ever suggested to me that graduates didn't get good jobs. The fact of there being so many thousands of fellow graduates clutching our fresh degree certificates unnerved me completely. But I knew I just needed a little more luck and I would find myself in my suit and full-length pure-wool black overcoat, swanning down Queens Road. I was worth it.

I entered the house. My uncle Bill was in the kitchen just to the left, at the breakfast bar, intently reading a Daily Mail and drinking a cup of proper coffee. "Graham," he said. "Needing to use the computer, are you?"

"Again, I grimaced. "One day, eh?"

"Aye son. On you go, there's nobody in the computer room."

"Cheers, Bill," I said, moving down the lobby. The PC was on and I logged onto the Arthur Anderson website; they seemed the biggest and best of all the big consultancies, and I hoped my experience applying to KPMG would work in my favour. Interminable questions greeted me, asking what my greatest achievements were, for examples of when I showed leadership in an activity, and why in particular I felt suited for the position of trainee tax consultant.

I typed away ploddingly, seeking occasional respite with Freecell. I was just playing a game to take me over 90% success-rate on Freecell when the door opened.

"Fucking hell, man, how you doing?" said a voice as I hurriedly minimised Freecell and guiltily maximised the application site.

I turned round and saw my cousin Ed. "No bad no bad, yourself?" I said. Ed and I had been mates when we were kids. He was an only child and had been like an older brother to me, until he'd got to High School and I'd been the embarrassing wee fart. He worked offshore and was hardly ever home, "getting up to god knows what" as my Aunt May had said. "Not seen you in ages!" I added.

"Fucking right man! Dad said you were in when I got back. How ye doin?"

"Ah, still looking for a job after uni," I said embarrassedly. Everyone had said I would "go far. "Bit of a bummer with this recession, ken," I added knowingly. "Hardly anyone's taking on graduates."

"You'll find something! No fear of that. I mean, if a pleb like me can get a good job on the rigs, you'll be bound to get a good job. You were aye the brainy ane," he reminded me. He'd obviously had a few drinks, on the train home I guessed.

"Right well, I'd better crack on with it," I said. "You back for the night or something?"

"Aye, jist though I'd pop in and see the old man and the old doll, like," he said. "Right, I'd better chuck in ma bag. See you in a bit"

He left me to my application. Oasis suddenly blasted out of the next room. I finished the Arthur Anderson one and started one with Credit Suisse First Boston. The wall between the rooms was surprisingly thin and rather than turn down the banal drivel Ed was listening to, he began to shout loudly, into his mobile presumably. Either that or he was going nuts.

"HEY MAN, HOW YOU DOING? YOU UP TO ANYTHING THENIGHT?"

A pause. I pointed and clicked my way into the CSFB site, typing in all the sodding information and details. Despite the tedium of it, the glimpse of the world of power, wealth and culture the website gave was intoxicating. I salivated and lusted to be part of it. To not be there yet I found incredibly galling; it was where I belonged. Ed's conversation continued.

"EH? AH, COME ON! I'M ONLY BACK ONE NIGHT."
...
"OH WELL! OKAY. I'LL CATCH YOU SOME OTHER TIME THEN."
...
"AYE. OKAY. SEE YOU... ya fucking dick."

I plodded on with the job app, sickening yet alluring. They were almost addictive. As I was inventing some extra-curricular activities (I'd left all that shit for the ambitious wanker types at uni), Ed came back through.

"Hey, Graham, fancy a pint?" he asked; he already had put on a clean YSL shirt.

And now he mentioned it I really did fancy a drink. Living on the dole hardly allowed for much entertainment. But of course I had no money: £3.47 in my pocket to last till Friday, three whole days. "Eh, I don't know, I'm not exactly flush."

"Ah, don't worry about that! I'll buy you a couple. You'll be able to buy me a couple one day!" he grinned. "Not fancy a pint? It's about time we caught up, eh man?"

I feigned shame-faced embarrassment. "Yeah, it's just I've got absolutely no money at all. It's a few days til I sign on."

"Dinna worry aboot that!" he cried, cheeks reddening. "Like I say, I'll buy these ains. You'll be able to get me some another time!"

Now that I had things exactly as I wanted, I agreed. "Alright then, I'll just close this down," I said as I logged off.

"Cool," Ed said. "I'll just phone a taxi," he said, flipping open his expensive new mobile.

*

As the taxi pulled up at the pub, I hopped out quickly, leaving Ed to pay for it. Then I'd to wait for Ed to come out of the taxi so that he could be first at the bar when we went in. All of these petty humiliations had become normal, so that I was adept at them while still registering their sting. As I followed Ed in to the bar, my eyes stung as they adapted to the warm fug of the bar. It was a typical smalltown pub, with "comical" pictures on the wall, a pitiful jukebox, a strapping barmaid who had been there, by the look of her, for decades, yellowing walls, lager-sponsored ashtrays brimming with fag butts, and a few regulars propping up the bar. It was only Tuesday so there were very few people there ' some old men, two young boys playing pool and a middle-aged woman nursing a vodka and Diet Coke. I took a seat at the bar as Ed handed me a pint. "Cheers, Ed," I said gratefully.

"Ah, no bother," he said. "It's about time we caught up, eh? Hardly seen you in donkey's years." This was true. He'd been out working after leaving school whilst I was living it up, and now there I was, subbing drinks from him. I ruefully reflected on the arrogant pronouncements I had been given to on people who hadn't wanted to go to university.

"Well, then," I said, "cheers for the pint, like. I hardly get out just now, just get the odd bottle of wine at the weekend."

"Fuck it!" Ed cried. "You'll get a good fucking job one day, I'm fucking sure of that. We've all had ups and downs, ken? Ye just have to help folk out when you can."

This sentiment I wholeheartedly agreed with, now that Ed was buying the drinks, and I clinked his glass before taking a large gulp. It was funny seeing him after so long; he had gained weight and looked far more solid than I remembered him. He looked like a man, with his expensive watch and smart new clothes, whilst I still a skinny young thing, clothes bought when I had first acquired an overdraft, three years earlier. I supposed working offshore put a bit of beef onto you, as would the ability to go out and drink for two weeks when back home, as I'd heard that was what he got up to.

I finished off my pint thirstily. I didn't smoke, and so got through pints of lager pretty sharp. I belched and said, "I'm off to the toilet." I didn't especially want to urinate, but I knew that I would have to sit and wait for Ed to finish his drink, which would be embarrassing.

"Want another pint?"

"Aye."

In the stinking hole of a toilet, I squeezed out half a pish and then washed my hands. I looked at the mirror, grimacing to myself: it was a sore situation, hating to sub drinks off someone, but I badly wanted a drink. I realised that poverty wasn't so much about having to go without things, it was seeing other people have them and feeling that crushing dispiriting ache, wondering why you couldn't get them, or having to Uncle Tom for them. Before, when I'd read about the how depressed the unemployed were, I'd thought they were being lazy, and that there were always libraries and groups where you could spend your time in a profitable way. These things didn't seem such a big deal anymore, when confronted with the fact of your seeming uselessness.

When I returned, Ed was talking with one of the young guys, a boy I'd vaguely known at school, despising him as a little spastic destined for the local slaughterhouse. He had these sappy eyes, like he was frightened you were going to hit him. I supposed this made sense; he'd been a laughing stock at school and we had often ripped the pish out of him, and no doubt some had done more than that. They were arguing about football, Ed seeming to get rather heated, his new pint already halfway down, as I saw when I picked mine up.

"Aye, but Rangers get their goals from all over the team! Van Bronkhorst, Albertz, Reyna, Dodds, Wallace, they all chip in, instead of relying on one player like you's do!"

"Okay," the boy (Gary, I remembered) said. "But mind Lubo n that, eh ' how many does he create? Ye cannae say that Celtic are a one-man team. Ye mind that belter that Stubbs scored against you's?"

"Aye, and who scores nearly a' your goals? One fucking player ' Larsson. A fucking one-man team!"

And so it went on, each side of the argument able to cancel the other out, the two sides locked together, unable to stand without each other. Total stasis. I sat listening for a moment and then, utterly bored by the football talk, picked up my pint and went to put one of my precious pounds into the jukebox. The usual array of utter shit greeted me ' dreadful dance "anthems", "pub anthems, albums by Dido, Robbie bloody Williams, et cetera et fucking cetera. Eventually I found some real music, tucked away on compilation albums, some Bob Dylan, the Who and Beck, which finally gave me a pleasing sense of homeliness.

I returned to the bar, where even Ed and Gary had tired of their football talk, Ed going to the toilet. "Heh, I mind you," Gary said. "You were that brainy boy at school, eh?"

"Yeah, I said nonchalantly. "How's it going with you? I added, though I couldn't have cared less.

"Och, nae bad. Just out for a couple of drinks, ken. Helps ye git through the week!" he chuckled.

"Oh aye, where you working at?"

"Sutherland's, the slaughterhoose, ken. S'aright likes."

"Aye, well, you aye need the money."

"This is it,"Gary added sagely, "this is it. Cannae live on nowt. So fit you up tae noo? You'll hae some brainy job eh?"

"Well, I'm just at hame for a while, I've just finished uni. Then I'm going to do a Masters in Economics, maybe a PhD after that."

Gary looked suitably baffled but impressed, as I'd intended. No way was I telling that spastic that I was on the dole. "Aye, abody ayewis said that you were a brainy cunt. Didna think I'd see you in here though!"

Neither did I, I though wearily. Thankfully Gary returned to his mate, who'd set up the pool whilst he was waiting. Ed returned, having been putting his songs (Coldplay, Idlewild, Travis) onto the jukebox. He nudged me, eyeing my emptying pint. "Another pint?"

"Aye, cheers," I said.

He got yet another crisp £20 note out of his leather wallet. "Gina!" he called. "Two pints of Tennants... and, hud on a minute," he said, turning to me, "What nip you wanting?"

"Aftershock."

"Two Aftershocks," he added. "Fuck it," he said, "hivnae seen you in ages, let's push the boat out." Gina, with a body like a tank, and the mobility, got the drinks together and passed them to us. Ed held the shot aloft. "Cheers, buddy!" he said, quickly downing his shot, but spilling some down his mouth. He was obviously halfway to being blind-drunk, and I thought I should suggest that we call it a night after those drinks. But I'd had had my taste for drink whetted, and not having to pay for it meant that I wanted more. I followed Ed and downed my shot, grimacing as the rasping chemical taste and the compensating overly-syrupy body.

"Aaahhh!" he said, shaking his head. "Aftershock, cannae beat it! Stuff's the shit."

"Mmm," I said, "certainly warms the cockles."

Ed laughed. "Ah, I told you we'd have a good time. I hadn't seen this boy for fucking years," he called out to Gina, "and I came hame and there he was!" Gina, serving someone already, smiled in recognition. "Tell ye what," Ed added, turning to me again. "What say we go tae Aberdeen? We can get a taxi and go oot for the night properly," he said, looking around him disdainfully.

Oh, by fuck I was tempted. It was only about thirty minutes away by taxi, and Ed would be no doubt able to pay it. I would be able to meet up with some mates, go to a few clubs like I'd used to, when I was a student. But it was obvious that Ed was drunk already, and that if we got into a taxi he might pass out in it, and I'd be stranded in Aberdeen with no money at 11pm. I didn't even have any credit in my aging mobile phone. So I looked regretful and said, "Nah, we'd probably better stay here, Ed. It's already nearly ten, it'd be much to late by the time we got there."

"Ah, come on," Ed pleaded. "The clubs are open til two in the morning in Aberdeen, eh, there's plenty fucking time! And we could go to someplace with plenty birds eh! Come on!"

"Nah, you're alright, Ed," I said; his desperation was a dead give-away. "Come on, we're having a good enough night here, eh? No point spending all that money on a taxi. Let's jist get some more drinks in?" I added, thinking that the best way to shut Ed up might be to incapacitate him with drink. "Let's get another shot of Aftershock, eh?"
Ed duly obliged, again holding up his glass, but slurring when he said 'cheers'. His eyes were lowering, and his whole stance seemed to be starting to collapse in on itself. I realised that we'd have to be getting home soon; Ed was out of his skull, and I had no money to be getting him a taxi. "Hey, Ed, it's about time we were getting back," I said, optimistically.

"Nah," he slurred, "fuck it, let's get these pints..."

I supped my pint quickly down. I was feeling rather boozy myself but not out of it, where Ed was gibbering. Once I'd downed it, I showed Ed my empty pintglass. "Ah fuck it man, c'mon, let's get going, afore it gets too late."

Ed's brow wrinkled as he tried to think up a counter-argument, but the strain was clearly too much for him, and he capitulated. "Ah, fuck it," he said, taking a last slurp of his pint, "let's go."

*

Once we got outside, Ed turned out to be far drunker than I'd realised. He wasn't just barely able to speak; he was also practically unable to stand. He leaned on me as soon as we got a few steps away from the pub, into the dark November streets. The pub was in the centre of town and Ed's house was at the edges so this was going to be some trek. Ed leaned on me so much that I had to hold him up, keeping an arm around his shoulders, which was almost impossible as he weighed so much more than me. The weather was howling, the utter blackness of the night worsened by the raging wind and the bitter cold. Through the lightless streets, with implacable houses shuttered down against the horrible conditions giving no illumination, I slowly carried Ed. He was a barely-articulate rubbery mass, swaying from one side to the other, almost tipping forward and then almost falling back. He kept slurring apologies to me and thanking me for helping him up the road, giving the uncomfortable feeling that this wasn't so rare a condition for him. Meanwhile, the wind howled like deadly wolves, stinging my red-raw cheeks and unleashing potent piranhas in my ungloved hands.

Eventually, we reached Park Grove, where they stayed. I walked Ed up the driveway, saying, "You're about home now, man, you can stand up now," encouraging him to try to stand by himself when he got in. No such luck. He was beyond help. I supported him into the house, the warm fresh smell of the pleasant bungalow now a guilty rebuke. My aunt May was in the kitchen as I opened the door. I tried to play it lightly. "He's a bit worse for wear but I've got him home in one piece," I smiled. May looked at Ed, who was collapsing onto a chair, and smiled briefly, and said thanks. But I saw the look on her face when she turned to look at Ed, like there was something wrong with her eye, like she was away to start crying.

I walked out of the house and made my way towards my own home. I looked up at the sky, and a sudden streak of pure anguish gripped me, anguish at my own vanity and folly.