The Life Of Jim ( Part 5)

I finish my pint and head on down to “The benches”. I want a word with Tommy Roberts, he said Brenda was going home with him. What the fuck happened?

Of course, I know the reality, Tommy probably had too much of his special wine and passed out by himself. I’m guessing Brenda woke up and went back down the underpass. Cold and alone.

I feel a sharp pain in my side. It’s something called guilt. Maybe I should have let Brenda come home with me? I ignore the pain and tell myself that it’s not my fault. It’s that bastard Tommy Roberts.

I spot Tommy on the benches. He sees me coming and immediately knows he's in trouble.

I’m twenty feet away, and I can feel my temper beginning to get the better of me. Tommy backs away.

“Jim, Jim, I passed out. When I came to, she was gone. I swear Jim, honestly, mate. I woke up and she was gone.”

I grab him by his grubby, wine-stained, charity shop overcoat.

“You should’ve taken her home.”

“I know Jim, I know. If I could turn the clock back, I would mate. I swear I would.”

I’ve known Tommy Roberts for over forty years, and I consider him a mate, but I bring my forehead down fast onto the bridge of his nose and hear a crack. That’s for Brenda. I go to walk away and leave Tommy on the ground. But I can't do it. Sanity comes back. I pick him up.

“Come on, mate. Let's go and get drunk.”

We walk back to Wetherspoons and order two large scotches. His nose is broken, and he should probably go to the hospital. But that’s not what drunks do. We carry on. It’ll heal itself eventually. It’s then that I notice Lenny. I promised him a pint. I buy the pint and push it in his direction. Martin and Steve walk forward. I know they’re going to ask for a pint as well.

Before they can speak, I tell them exactly what I’m feeling. “If you don’t fuck off, I swear I will stab you both in the neck and laugh as I watch you bleed out. Now FUCK OFF.”

They back off and take their place at the end of the bar. I move towards them and growl like a fucking rabid dog. Tommy pulls me back.

“Not now Jim. Let’s toast Brenda.”

We lift our glasses of whiskey, and pour them down our necks.

We’ve lost a few over the past few years, and it doesn’t get any easier, but we just move on. But this one has hit home and reminds me of when I lost Sarah. Not that she was a drunk, far from it. She kept me away from the booze for years. But she also died alone, and I know I should have been there.

It’s still morning. A lot has happened in the three hours I’ve been at the pub. I’ve got seven pints and four large scotches inside me before I decide to leave and move on. Tommy makes his excuses. I think he wants to go home and put a plaster on his nose. It looks sore and has started to go a deep shade of purple. I guarantee he’ll be back at the benches later today.

It’s only then that I notice there's a new barman, I ask him where the usual guy is.

“He got bottled yesterday by some nutty Irish women, seven stitches in his nut.”
I don’t want to, but I laugh. Good old Theresa.

I think about having a flutter, but I’ve looked at the paper and nothing takes my fancy. I’ll leave it till the weekend. I have to ask someone what day it is, time doesn’t really have a meaning to us drunks. A guy I don’t know replies that it’s Friday. I love Fridays. Poets' day, as we used to call it at the Brewery. Piss Off Early Tomorrow’s Saturday. I know a little boozer not that far away that has a big car park. The builders, scaffolders, and other trades will be parking their vans and having an early start to the weekend. I guarantee by 3 pm the place will be heaving. The juke box will be eating up the punters' money, and the beer will be flowing. I’ll just sit in the corner and say hello to several faces that I know. For every beer that I buy, I guarantee another three will come my way. I’m no ponce, but who doesn’t like free beer?

It’s two stops on the Docklands Light Railway. I call it the freebie. You walk on and you walk off. No driver, no conductor, and most of the time, no one at the entrance or exit. I get on at Poplar and get off at Limehouse. A quick ten-minute walk and I’m outside the pub. It’s 12.30 and already busy. I walk in and hear a few welcome remarks.

“Hiya Jim, Hi mate, how you doing?”

I wave to everyone, walk up to the bar and order a beer.

Ronny, the landlord, pours the drink and sets it down in front of me. I’ve known this man most of my life, we went to school together.

“That’s on me Jim.”

“You sure Ron?”

“Yes, mate, enjoy. Listen, I just heard the news about Brenda. I’ll wait till it gets busy, then we’ll have a whip round. Get some flowers or something. Shall I give you the money or pass it on to her daughter?”

For some reason, it makes me laugh.

“Fuck that, Ron. I’ll piss it up the wall, and Brenda’s daughter will probably spend it down at the Bingo Hall. Keep it, mate, and I’ll let you know the arrangements when I know what's going on.”

“Ronny goes and pours two large scotches. He pushes one towards me. He raises his glass. “Brenda.”

I take mine and we down our drinks.

I’m not sure why, but I can feel a tear forming in my eye. I didn’t know her well. But I knew her, we spent time together, we got drunk together, we passed out together, and I fucked her. Perhaps that’s it. Maybe we feel a greater sense of loss for the people we fucked.