Read Online A Journal of Sin by Darryl Donaghue - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Darryl Donaghue
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had had one too many. He peeled John’s hand from the bottle of Jack and placed his fingers around the cold glass of water. Drunks were good for business until they got out of control. Some just slid onto the floor in fits of giggles, whereas others told all the other patrons they loved them, always have and always will. Some would gladly redecorate the lavatories an unpleasant shade of their own lunch. And then there were the violent ones. The Horse and Duck didn’t get many of those, maybe because its landlord knew how to spot and sort them out before it got that far, often by serving up a cool glass of water.
‘Get this down ya, mate. You’ll thank me in the morning.’ The glass didn’t leave the bar and John took another swig of JD.
‘Another straight Jack.’ John’s efforts to conceal his slurring were futile when faced with an experienced landlord.
‘How about a Jack and Coke to see you off?’
‘Yeah. Fine. One of those.’ It tasted weak, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue. A woman sat down next to him. Her short, black leather biker jacket was far too clean to have ever been on the open road and, even if it had, her long, white flowing skirt would have only gotten caught in the wheels. Leather doesn’t hide the life it’s led; each crease tells so much about the wearer. All this one said was ‘hung in the cupboard; waiting for the occasional night out.’
‘Same again for me.’ She motioned to the barman with her highball in hand. The landlord’s expression said, so much for the drunk leaving anytime soon. ‘You’re John, right?’
‘Yeah.’ Women didn’t strike up conversations with him and certainly not beautiful curly redheads. He decided sticking to monosyllabic mumbles may be his smoothest move.
‘You were at the search earlier, right?’ She leant back a little and spun her chair towards him.
‘Yeah.’ Playing it safe would only hold her interest for so long; one word responses were for the handsome, quiet types and something an ill-groomed computer geek wasn't likely to get away with. He’d have to take part in this conversation soon, no matter how it turned out.
‘And you didn’t say hello? I’m shocked and heartbroken,’ she said, placing her hands on her chest, not that he needed any encouragement to look in that direction. With all his efforts spent on reining in his slurring, he’d lost control of his eyes. ‘Well, aren’t you gonna make up for it now?’
‘Hello.’ He stared straight ahead, making a special effort not to look at her breasts, not realising this was even more awkward until she began waving her hands in front of his face.
‘Well, you’re just being plain rude this evening, aren’t you?’ The landlord passed her a mojito. The Horse and Duck wouldn’t have served mojitos a few years back, but even in small towns, the market wants what the market wants. Landlords disliked the invasion of ‘bar culture,’ but would happily serve mojitos, Jaegerbombs and various kinds of Orgasms if it meant being able to stay open.
‘I’m err, just kidding, hi, I’m John. But you seem to know that already.’ He hadn’t spoken to many girls in bars, something he was certain she’d noticed. He’d been a nerdy kid, back in the days before being a nerd was cool, before TV shows made thick-rimmed glasses and being an introvert fashionable. He’d been a thin, spotty, insular nerd. He’d stayed in on weekends playing computer games under a ceiling covered in Airfix kits, and not the snap together ones either; he was building them with superglue way before the age guidance on the box allowed. His only contact with girls during those tender years were through his one school friend’s porn magazines or when Miss Simms bent down to help him with a maths problem, something he didn’t need too often. Here he was at forty-four years old having his first conversation with a female stranger in a bar.
‘Suzanne,’ she said, helping him along.
‘You were on
‘Get this down ya, mate. You’ll thank me in the morning.’ The glass didn’t leave the bar and John took another swig of JD.
‘Another straight Jack.’ John’s efforts to conceal his slurring were futile when faced with an experienced landlord.
‘How about a Jack and Coke to see you off?’
‘Yeah. Fine. One of those.’ It tasted weak, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue. A woman sat down next to him. Her short, black leather biker jacket was far too clean to have ever been on the open road and, even if it had, her long, white flowing skirt would have only gotten caught in the wheels. Leather doesn’t hide the life it’s led; each crease tells so much about the wearer. All this one said was ‘hung in the cupboard; waiting for the occasional night out.’
‘Same again for me.’ She motioned to the barman with her highball in hand. The landlord’s expression said, so much for the drunk leaving anytime soon. ‘You’re John, right?’
‘Yeah.’ Women didn’t strike up conversations with him and certainly not beautiful curly redheads. He decided sticking to monosyllabic mumbles may be his smoothest move.
‘You were at the search earlier, right?’ She leant back a little and spun her chair towards him.
‘Yeah.’ Playing it safe would only hold her interest for so long; one word responses were for the handsome, quiet types and something an ill-groomed computer geek wasn't likely to get away with. He’d have to take part in this conversation soon, no matter how it turned out.
‘And you didn’t say hello? I’m shocked and heartbroken,’ she said, placing her hands on her chest, not that he needed any encouragement to look in that direction. With all his efforts spent on reining in his slurring, he’d lost control of his eyes. ‘Well, aren’t you gonna make up for it now?’
‘Hello.’ He stared straight ahead, making a special effort not to look at her breasts, not realising this was even more awkward until she began waving her hands in front of his face.
‘Well, you’re just being plain rude this evening, aren’t you?’ The landlord passed her a mojito. The Horse and Duck wouldn’t have served mojitos a few years back, but even in small towns, the market wants what the market wants. Landlords disliked the invasion of ‘bar culture,’ but would happily serve mojitos, Jaegerbombs and various kinds of Orgasms if it meant being able to stay open.
‘I’m err, just kidding, hi, I’m John. But you seem to know that already.’ He hadn’t spoken to many girls in bars, something he was certain she’d noticed. He’d been a nerdy kid, back in the days before being a nerd was cool, before TV shows made thick-rimmed glasses and being an introvert fashionable. He’d been a thin, spotty, insular nerd. He’d stayed in on weekends playing computer games under a ceiling covered in Airfix kits, and not the snap together ones either; he was building them with superglue way before the age guidance on the box allowed. His only contact with girls during those tender years were through his one school friend’s porn magazines or when Miss Simms bent down to help him with a maths problem, something he didn’t need too often. Here he was at forty-four years old having his first conversation with a female stranger in a bar.
‘Suzanne,’ she said, helping him along.
‘You were on
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