Same Old, Same Old.

William stared at the unopened packet of crisps on the table, cosied up to his pint of bitter. He didn’t even like the cheese and onion flavour and had no real idea why he had requested them. He flicked the packet with his finger over to the other side of the table. He saw Mick arrive out of the corner of his eye, knew his walk, the way he held himself. He sat down opposite William and their eyes met.

‘Good to see you, Bill’

‘You too, Mick’

They held the gaze, then Mick picked up his soda water, took a sip. He glanced at the crisp packet and raised an eyebrow.

‘That a present?’

William smiled and picked up his pint. ‘If you like.’ His jowls felt heavy. Regret sank into his body centre. ‘A going away present.’

Mick put down his glass and turned it around on the new coaster.

‘Let’s not talk of that just yet. Let’s enjoy the ...ambience!’

William smiled and looked around at the other customers dotted around the pub. ‘Not sure I like what they’ve done with place. I was quite fond of the old horse brasses and hunting scenes.’

‘Move with the times, old man .At least you managed to get our usual table.’ They sat next to the stone fireplace, still blackened from centuries before but gone were the trinkets and knick knacks. Now it was all grey and cream woodwork and modern artwork accessories.

‘Cheeky sod. I’m only sixty-two.’

Mick grinned and ran a hand through his black hair. William nodded at the gesture.

‘Like the colour. When did that happen?’

‘About three months ago. Gotta keep you lot on your toes. Not mad about the moustache though.’ He fingered the small whiskers. ‘Your monk’s tonsure is getting wider. Still hanging on to that little ring of grey hair?’

William laughed then, a proper belly laugh and it felt good and light for just a moment. Then reality swam back into focus and he tried desperately to push it away, to have more time for this.

‘Aren’t you tired yet, Mick? Always hiding, always changing?’

Mick took his glass and raised it. ‘The only constant thing is change, Bill. Keeps you alive... and me one step ahead.’

The customer hum had dropped and the atmosphere felt sombre, as the two men reconciled themselves to this being their last meeting in this place.

William drained the last of his pint. ‘I shall truly miss this, Mick.’ He sat back and folded his hands across his belly, trying to keep them together because he really thought he may reach out for the other man’s hand.

‘Don’t get maudlin on me now, Bill. I don’t think I can cope with that.’ Mick swirled the soda water and tried to keep the bubbles effervescing, trying to keep this time alive.

‘You know, you’re the only person that I let call me Bill.’

Mick smiled and felt an uncontrollable urge to cry. He swallowed, measuring his words that were in danger of being lost in saliva and a fat tongue. ‘You always looked like a Bill, from the first time we met. And I knew that was what I would always call you. Until the end.’

William leaned forward. ‘How old are you now?’

‘Forty-four.’

William nodded. ‘I lost count for a while.’

They sat in silence for a moment, both looking around at the country pub that had traded heritage for a contemporary drinking experience.

Mick gestured at the empty glasses. ‘We having another, as it’s a special occasion?’

‘Why not. Make them brandy or a nice malt if they have it.’

Mick stood up, turned back. ‘Don’t fancy one of these designer gins then? Elderberry and coconut or some such shit?’

William laughed again. ‘No chance. Too much for me. I like the old ways.’

He watched Mick stroll to the bar as if not a care about what was to come. But then, that was his way. William placed his hands on the table and pulled himself more upright. He needed to get a grip, do this properly, say what needed to be said in the manner it needed to be said. Mick retuned with their drinks.

They raised their glasses to each other, wanting words to come out but nothing further to say.

‘We know about your Dad.’

Mick shrugged. ‘I guessed as much. I hear the hospice is looking after him well.’

William nodded. ‘That’s good to know. A comfort for you. Rebecca passed.’

Mick’s heart surged. ‘Christ Bill, you could have opened with that. When?’

‘Three months now. Just before Christmas. Heart attack. Dead before she hit the floor. Nice service. Shitty day. Rained.’

‘You are looking after yourself though, right?’ Mick’s concern creased his brow. ‘Cooking and eating right?’

William nodded. ‘Neighbours have been good. He sipped his brandy but it felt sharp and uneasy running through his gut.

The mood needed to be changed.

‘So, retirement then, is it? After this?’

William pursed his lips, cracked from the cold winter now receding at last.

‘That’s the plan. Gardening and daytime TV stretching ahead of me.’

Mick took the final pull of his brandy and shifted in his chair. ‘But you’ll write me, won’t you?’ Maybe even a visit?’

William’s breath stuck in his body. ‘I’d like that. I really would. Thank you.’

‘Same old, same old, just a different setting, eh?’ Mick wanted reassurance now, that things would stay the same, as much as they could under the circumstances.

‘Yes, I think we can do that.’ William looked at his watch.

‘Don’t.’ Mick’s voice was a hint above a whisper. ‘Not yet.’

William’s eyes flicked around the pub lounge, hid mind searching for stuff to say that didn’t involve what he actually had to say.

‘So, we’re left with Religion and Politics for ten points.’

Mick smiled for a moment then pushed his glass away and leant his scrawny arms on the table. ‘Is there gonna be any comeback on you... for this?’

William smiled. ‘Suppose they could fire me, but a few months off retirement won’t look good for Them Upstairs. Don’t worry about me. I can take the flak and then fade gracefully into the background.’

‘As graceful as a JCB with that belly.’ Mick pointed and William tried to suck it in. ‘It’s taken years of Rebecca’s cooking and the work canteen to build this beautiful specimen. Cheeky beggar.’

Mick sat back. It was time.

‘How long can you give me?’

‘Three days, tops.’

Mick nodded. ‘I can deal with that. Armed Response Unit?’

William sniffed and looked at the ceiling. ‘Possibility. I’ve always admired you, Mick. You know that?’

Mick raised an eyebrow. ‘How come?’

‘You’ve just done your job, clean, quick, no fuss, no mess, and moved on to the next job. It’s a rare thing.’

‘I’m paid well for what I do, no point in doing a shoddy job. Best practice, best care, best result. Never a casualty in all these years. Just the target. Removed.’

William blew out a long breath. ‘I’ll walk you out, I think’.

The two men scraped back their chairs and Mick picked up the glasses and took them to the bar. William’s hands clenched and moved to the exit, amazed that the people around him drinking their expensive gin knew nothing of the two of them. Two men, out for a drink together. Regular. Normal. But this was a new normal now. Next phase, next chapter.

The March breeze felt good on his face. They stood together past the various vehicles in the car park area looking out over the Derbyshire countryside.

‘I’ll never come here again, Mick. Wouldn’t be the same without you.’ He turned to face the man that he had liked from Day One of the operation. That wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal. And yet it had defined his career, defined him as a human being.

Mick opened his arms and they hugged. It was not an awkward embrace but a meeting of breath and hearts, of two men who were on different sides but still held regard and admiration for the other.

They parted and Mick held out his hand. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Harris, it really has been an absolute pleasure.’ William’s paw engulfed Mick’s small fingers and they shook hands as if they would see each other again soon.