Retirement

The smell of almost forgotten tobacco smoke hung in the air as Jim Conroy walked uncertainly through stained glass doors into the pub. He looked from one end of the room to the other over the heads of the group of regulars until he saw a hand in the air waving him over. He threaded his way past grey woollen jumpers and pints of stout, past rickety old wooden furniture of different designs and colours, along the threadbare, beer-soaked old carpet to the corner where Seán O'Connor sat alone, nursing a pint of lager. Seán stood up, flushed lean face beaming with relief.
“Jim, good to see you, good to see you!” he said as he clasped Jim's hand firmly, and shook it like he was trying to physically vibrate his welcome into the other man’s body. “So glad you came! Ah, is there anyone else with you?”
“No, it's just myself. I'm sure the others will turn up a bit later.”
“Ah, you're probably right.”
“Sit down there now Sean. What're you drinking?”
“Ah, Heineken, thanks very much Jim.”
Jim turned, and threaded his way to the bar. An old, grey haired and round bellied man shuffled up and down the length of the counter, slowly but surely taking orders, pulling pints and pouring shorts. Eventually, he came to Jim and made eye contact, inclining his head slightly. “Pint of Heineken and a Guinness please” Jim said. The old man shuffled off again, picking up a pint glass as he went. Jim took his phone out of his pocket and began to write a message to Paul Ferguson: “Are you coming?” He hit send, picked up his now ready pints off the bar, and returned to his seat next to Sean.

“There y'are now Sean”, he said as he put the pint of lager in front of him on the table. Sean picked up the glass and drank thirstily before putting it back down and gasping with satisfaction. Jim raised his own glass and drank before holding it aloft. “Sláinte” he announced. Sean picked his drink back up and they knocked them together carefully. “So,” Jim said “what's retired life like Seán?”
“Ah, it's grand. A bit boring I suppose. It's strange not going into work every day.”
“I'll bet. Any plans? Going on holiday or anything?”
“Maybe, maybe. I'm not too sure yet what to do. It all came about so suddenly, you know?”
“If I were you Seán, I'd just pick up and leave. Get the hell out of here for a while. Get some sun”
“You know you're probably right. It all just happened so fast, you know? Sure two weeks ago I had no intention...” He trailed off.
“What made you do it, so?”
“Ah, it was just the...the circumstances of the situation. I'd had enough anyway. The politics and all that bollix.”
“Hmm.”
Jim's phone beeped; Paul Ferguson had replied. “Would you fuck off!” it read. Jim put the phone away. “The wife” he said. “Wants to know when I'll be home.”
“Oh right. All the same, I suppose it's not such a bad situation, early retirement. Could start my own business if I wanted.” Sean put his now empty glass down on the table.
“That you could. Will you have another?”
“Don't mind if I do.”

Jim took the empty glasses to the old man at the bar and got two more. Seán was a quick drinker, and Jim felt obliged to keep up. He made his way carefully back to the table, and placed the glasses in front of Seán. “What type of business would you start?” he asked.
“Well I've always had an interest in coffee believe it or not. I'd like to open a little café. Sell the really good stuff, you know? I'd roast it myself and everything. Couldn't be that hard.”
“That's not a bad idea at all. They say that a food and drink business will never fail as long as the place is clean. Would there be much of a market for that sort of thing?”
“I suppose so. You could sell the roasted beans on the ah...the world wide web, you know that sort of a way? There's a fella in Cork that does it. He must at least be making a living off it, or else he wouldn't be doing it.”
“And it's not like you'd be relying on the money anyway.”
“Exactly. I wonder if anyone else is going to show up.”
“Sure it's still early days yet.”
“I suppose.”
Seán drained his glass for the third time and put it pointedly on the table. Jim decided to take the hint. “Will you have another one Seán?” he asked.
“Oh, yes please. And a small whiskey too. Neat.”
“Ok so.”
Jim made another trip to the bar, this time returning with four glasses. Seán drained his whiskey in one quick swig before picking up his pint glass. Jim followed suit and did the same. “Sláinte” Seán said, and drank from his pint without waiting to touch glasses. “Sláinte” said Jim. He stifled a cough brought on by the harshness of the whiskey and drank from his pint, thankful for something cool and wet. “I'm just going to run to the toilet Seán. Back in a minute.”
In the grimy bathroom, Jim relieved himself and washed his hands in the cracked sink. He could feel the alcohol going to his head already. The whiskey had been a bad idea. Still, he was caring less and less that it was just going to be him and Seán for the night. He took out his phone and wrote another message to Paul Ferguson; “For fuck sake Paul, I'm the only one here.” He hit send and returned to the table.

“Would you look at your one” Seán said quietly as he gestured to a middle aged woman in a short dress. “I'd give her a go all right. Would you look at the tits on her.” Jim looked the woman up and down. She was overweight, and her dress was too small. Fat bulged out from her hips and stomach. Her breasts were squashed into a push-up bra, and spilled over the top of the dress. “What do you think? Hmm?” Seán leered.
“Not my type.”
“What do you mean?”
“I prefer attractive women.”
“Fuck sake Jim! The ugly ones are a sure thing! They try harder, and they can't believe their
luck when they get it. Especially ones like her. Gagging for it so she is, dirty little whore.”
“Jesus christ Seán, you're married.”
“Well. What they don't know, ha?”
Seán drained his glass once again and slammed it down on the table. “Jaysus,” he said. “I'm dying of thirst over here. Same again, good man.” Jim looked at him. “I'm not the fucking lounge boy Seán” he said.
“All right all right. Keep your knickers on missus. Here.” Seán threw a twenty euro note
onto the table. Jim stared at it in disbelief. “Off you go now, there's a good lad” Seán said.
“Tell you what Seán; I'll pay for these again, and you go up to the bar.”
“Even better. Have to take a slash anyway.”
Seán snatched the note out of Jim's hand, and picked his own up off the table. Jim watched him stagger towards the bathrooms, bumping into people as he went. He wondered how many drinks he had had before he arrived. His phone beeped again. “Well we're all down in Slattery's having our own little celebration in Seán's honour” it read.

Seán arrived back at the table balancing four glasses unsteadily on a tray. The whiskeys were doubles this time. “There you go now. And me paying for drinks at my own retirement party! Disgraceful!” Jim didn't say anything. “So tell me” Seán continued, “what ever happened with your young lad?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your young fella. Wasn't he ah...”
“Wasn't he what?”
“A poof, like. He's a poof isn't he? You ever get that sorted out?”
“Sorted out?”
“You know, beat it out of him or something? Unnatural so it is.”
“Just...stop there. You’ll want to be very careful about what you say next. Understand?”
“Look, I don't mean any offence or anything. I just don't like faggots, ok? Should all be shot
as far as I'm concerned.”
“Seán, you didn't retire at all did you?”
“What?”
“You were told leave weren't you?”
Seán’s face fixed into a frown. “No, Jim. No I wasn't told to leave” he said firmly.
“Oh yes you were Seán, and do you know how I know? Because you've been a fucking thorn in everyone's side since day one haven't you?”
“I don't know who you think you're talking to...”
“Seán, remember when the department wasn't doing well, and you got it into your head that someone should quit 'for the good of the company'? Do you remember what you said? You said 'Well it can't be me, I've got a wife and a young family and a mortgage to pay'. And then Gary Kelly said that we all had young families and mortgages too, and do you remember what you said?”
“No.”
“You said, 'so what?'. Like it didn't matter. 'So what'.”
“Ah, now Jim I was only joking...”
“No, Seán, no you weren't. You honestly didn't understand. Even though we were in the exact same situation, you couldn't understand. There's something wrong with you Seán”.
“I don't understand where all this is coming from Jim. I thought we were friends.”
“I'm not your friend Seán. You don't have any friends.”
“Well...that clearly isn’t...”
“Ok Seán. Whatever you have to tell yourself. Here, get yourself another drink.” Jim threw another twenty euro note onto the table. “I wish you every happiness Seán. I really do.”

Jim threaded his way back out of the pub and left Seán sitting in disbelief with two half drunk pints in front of him. Outside the cold night air made his head swim. His face was flushed with anger and embarrassment and alcohol. He walked briskly down the street, towards Slattery's pub where the rest of the department were celebrating Seán's departure. When he walked in, he was greeted by a drunken cheer and a sea of familiar, smiling faces. Within thirty seconds he had a pint thrust into his hand. He found Paul Ferguson and said hello.
“Jaysus you look like a bag of smashed crabs, you know that?” said Paul.
“Just been a stressful night is all.”
“Drinking with Seán O'Connor? I should bloody say so. How was it?”
“It was fine. He left. Said he was tired.”
“Lucky for you ha? I tell you, you're a better man than I am. I would've told the bastard to
go fuck himself”.
“Ah he wasn't that bad.”
“Whatever you say Jim. I'm just glad he's gone. Come on; finish that up and I'll get you
another.”
Jim drained his glass and gasped with relief. He put the empty pint on the bar and turned to say hello to some other people while Paul ordered another two. He returned after a few minutes and handed the still settling pint to Jim. “Well, here's to Seán”, Paul said. “To Seán” repeated Jim. They touched glasses.
“Sláinte.”