THE SIT-IN
It had been his seat
for years and no-one was going to take it from him. He’d sat in its comforting softness for over
two-thirds of his life and Alan considered that fact made it his. He had forgotten the times he’d had to tell
some young upstart that they couldn’t sit there,
“The place is almost
empty,” they’d whine and he had his usual answer ready and waiting, trembling
on his whiskered lips,
“Then you won’t have
any trouble finding another one then, will you?” he’d say, swallowing the smile
as he watched them trudge over to another seat.
This was his
sanctuary, his one constant in a world that had changed beyond anything he
remembered and he would fight with all that he had to keep things here the
same.
“Brewery wants to
close some of its establishments,” Ian had told him over his second pint,
“build some kind of new-fangled wine bar or hairdressers or something.”
“Like this town
needs more hairdressers or beauticians,” Alan had sympathised and he had meant
it. He didn’t hold with this obsession
with looks. If people spent more time
concentrating on working, then the country wouldn’t be in the state it was in
today.
“You won’t let them
will you though?” he asked, trying not to let his feelings colour his voice,
“No, I’m going to
the meeting though, going to give them a piece of my mind,” he’d muttered
whilst wiping a pint mug clean with his cloth, “numbers might be down, but
we’re not out.” Alan hoped he meant it;
he wasn’t convinced that Ian didn’t suffer from all mouth and no trousers.
“I could come with
you Ian, show them that this is a cornerstone of our community,” he’d
suggested, wanting to be sure that the right thing was said at the meeting, but
he’d had none of it.
“Don’t worry mate,
it’s only talk, nothings decided yet.”
And he hadn’t
worried, until he had seen the lad with his tape measure. Well, he said lad, but he was built more like
a strong oak and was nearly as tall and when he’d told him to work around him
(he wasn’t moving, it was his seat and if the lad wanted to measure, he could
find a way to do it without disturbing his pint) at least he’d had the decency
to do so without too much fuss. But when
he’d asked Ian what they were measuring for, he had mumbled something about
‘interior design’ and disappeared off to do the barrels, even though Alan knew
the delivery wasn’t due for another hour, so he’d watched and waited. He ruminated as he watched the lad move
around the room, measuring and taking notes.
He knew that he was one of the very few regulars during the day and that
numbers had dwindled on an evening too, but that’s because some of them had
stopped coming when Ian had decided that the turns weren’t up to scratch. He’d been right too, none of them were proper
singers and some of them lasses, well, their outfits were indecent and anyway
THAT wasn’t entertainment. He’d downed
his pint and, taking his monogrammed glass with him, followed them. They’d gone to the office and knowing that it
was unoccupied (he knew the cleaner didn’t come until 5) he had slipped into
the ladies, knowing he would be able to hear every word.
“Can’t believe it’s
the last time I’ll be locking up,” he’d heard Ian tell the lad and Alan had felt
a heavy weight settle on his chest, but he wasn’t having that though, if Ian thought
it was going to be that easy he would be mistaken.
“Got any plans for
your retirement?” that must have been the lad and suddenly Alan had felt
better, he known what he could do, he could stage a sit-in. They couldn’t shut a pub if it had still got
an occupant.
“Thought I might go
to visit my sister in Spain and then see what comes,” Ian had stated with some
finality.
“How you going to
break it to that chap then?”
Alan knew that he’d
meant him, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of allowing him to
tell him. He didn’t deserve it, but he
was going to thank him when he single-handedly saved his pub.
He’d watched as they’d
exited the office and went back to the lounge.
Ian had smiled as he’d seen the empty table, relieved that he hadn’t had
to face him, but the lad had had him check the loos before locking up.
“Yeah, I guess he
could be in there,” and Alan had watched as he’d trudged dejectedly to the
gents, only to see his face wreath with smiles when it became apparent that it
was unoccupied. He’d watched as they’d
left, secure in the knowledge that he had nothing to go home to and that there
was a spare set of keys hanging in the galley kitchen that he could use if he had
to.
He’d pulled page
after page of paper from the files in the office and then sat in his seat
coming up with plan after plan, waiting patiently for them to come back, so
that he could put them into action.
He wasn’t sure how
long it had been, but he heard the keys move in the locks and watched as the
lad came in with two decorators in tow.
It was the same lad, tall as ever, but this time he had a tie on and it
aged him somehow. It surprised him that
he must be a boss man; he hadn’t seemed like it at their first meeting.
Alan sat calmly in
his seat and waited for them to ask him to move. They would have to paint around him if they
thought they could change his pub with him in it. They must have been working to a tight
schedule, because none of them even looked at him, let alone spoke to him as
they moved around the room putting down their equipment then looking and
listening to the lad explain the drawing in his hand.
“I think we should
start with the smaller rooms guys,” the lad told them and one of the decorators
disappeared out of the room. Before too
long he came barrelling back into the room,
“Er boss, I think
you ought to come and look at this,” he looked pale and seemed to be trembling;
Alan smiled, maybe they had seen what he had done to the office? His plan was going to work without him even
having to raise his voice.
But they weren’t
headed towards the office; they veered left and entered the ladies loos.
“Oh my God,” he
heard the lad exclaim and Alan’s curiosity was now too much for him, he hadn’t
done anything to the ladies loos. He
came in just as the second decorator threw up into the sink and watched
confused as the lad begin to dial his tiny little phone.
“Police I think, er
no, not an ambulance, I think he is way past that.”
Alan peered around
the statuesque figure of the lad to look down between the first cubicle and the
wall where something was lodged. It was
hard to tell what it was, but he thought he could just about make out clothing
and something glinting in the blurry ray of sunlight from the tiny window. It was a monogrammed pint glass.
The challenge was this: A local man, in his local pub, but he's been dead for two weeks, why?
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