The Red Lion

I met Dave at The Red Lion, one of our old haunts from the time we worked together twenty-two years before. My memory of that time was not great because, to be honest, it was pretty boring. I was an IT contractor and Dave was not exactly my boss, but a senior employee of the client with a supervisory role over my job. So far, so dull. However, fortunately for me, Dave was a decent guy and fun to be with. We went out drinking fairly regularly after work. He was into rock music and football and knew how to have a laugh. We weren’t best mates or anything but more than just work colleagues. There was some mutual respect there. He could be a bit difficult sometimes at work. A bit of a blocker if he didn’t agree with something, a stubborn bugger in fact, but we got on fine almost all the time, and the pub was another matter entirely. Dave was always good with a beer in hand. We never discussed work down the pub, it was taboo, apart from bitching about the bosses of course. He was a bit older than me and maybe a bit wiser, certainly wiser about the company we worked for. Anyway, I was looking forward to meeting him again after all this time. It would be fun. We would have a laugh. 

The Red Lion was an old-fashioned pub. You know, loads of dark wood panelling, booths down one wall and a long bar with stools. Back in the day, the air would have been thick with smoke and the ceiling was still nicotine-yellow, even though nobody could have smoked in there for years. 

Dave was there ahead of me. I saw him right away in a booth near the door, half a glass of bitter in front of him. He smiled when he saw me.

He looked like shit. 

I smiled back, badly, hoping my horror didn’t show while knowing it must be obvious. 

‘Hello, mate,’ I offered him my hand. I was glad he didn’t try to get up and greet me. His hand was thin, dry and cool. His eyes were grey ringed and sunken in his pale face. I slid into the booth opposite him, unable to think of anything to say. My mind was frozen blank. 

‘How are you, John?’ His voice was as thin as his face. ‘Keeping well?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ I nodded like an idiot. I should have asked how he was, the obvious reflex question, but I stopped myself and the question hung in the air between us like a glass wall of silence. I didn’t ask because I knew the answer would be bad and I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted to get away from this horrible situation and was disgusted with myself. I was appalled by my reaction. I needed to get away for a second to collect myself. I needed a drink. ‘I’ll get a drink,’ I slid out of the booth. ‘Want another?’

Dave shook his bald head very slightly and gently as if his skinny neck might break so he had to be careful. I hurried to the bar feeling clumsy.

The pub wasn’t busy, and the middle-aged barmaid served me immediately. She smiled a welcome and I ordered a pint of London Pride. As she was pulling it she nodded her bottle-blond head towards Dave and looked me in the eye, lips pursed and painted eyebrow raised. Her unspoken question was obvious—Is he alright? She seemed a friendly sort and I liked her for taking an interest in people. I was grateful for her concern and humanity, but all I could do was shrug with a rueful smile. I felt inadequate, somehow a lesser human than her. I needed to get a grip. 

‘There you go, love,’ she said, passing my pint. ‘Need anything else?’

‘No, thanks,’ I gave her a fiver.

‘Well if you do just shout,’ she said with another nod towards Dave.

‘Yes, I will, thank you.’ 

As soon as I sat down Dave answered the obvious question before I had a chance to pluck up the courage and ask it.

’Prostate cancer. Inoperable.’ 

‘Jesus. Mate.’

‘It’s okay.’

'I don’t know what to say.’

‘It’s okay,’ he made a smile.

I took a long pull of beer, blinking hard.

‘I’ve got a month, maybe six weeks.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Yeah.’ 

We sat in silence for a few minutes which felt like a few hours. I looked at my beer until he cleared his throat. I looked up then but couldn’t help my eyes flicking away from his face almost immediately. I couldn’t bare to look at his pale, big-eyed, hollow-cheeked face. I stared hard out the window at the crowded street and then over to the bar where the barmaid was serving a young couple white wine. She looked so alive and happy. She was smiling like she was proud of the youngsters for being so grown-up as to come in here and order wine rather than cokes or alcopops. She welcomed them to her establishment like a mother, happy to serve these nice young people—.

‘I have something to say, John.’

My mind and face snapped back to point at Dave.

‘I have something to tell you.’ 

‘Okay.’

Dave looked down at his hands while he told me why he called, after all these years, to arrange this drink with me. Because something had haunted him for all those years. Because he needed to unburden himself before the end.

‘I hope you can forgive me, John.’ 

I was shaking my head, ‘Dave, please—‘

And then he told me what it was.

Ten seconds later I was on the street striding away from the pub as fast as I could go without actually running. I made for the tube on autopilot. Heading home without thinking about it as I had done hundreds of times. Thousand of times. The familiar streets, stations, stairs, platforms, and trains went by without consequence. I passed five thousand people who didn’t know or care about me and I ignored them all. I stood with my face to the black window of the underground train and watched the blackness rushing past. I left the last station and walked the dark, wet streets to my front door and stopped, key in hand. My head was full of questions without answers. 

How can I go in? 

How can I face her? 

What will I say to her?

I stood in silence for a few minutes which felt like a few hours. 

The sound of footsteps came up the road from the station. It would be one of my neighbours coming home from work. They would see me standing in the porch light in front of my own house. They would wonder what I was doing there, but I didn’t care what they thought. I really didn’t care. The steps passed behind me and for a second I thought I heard them falter as if the person was about to stop. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself and relax my face enough to turn and smile, but no, the steps continued and I breathed out shakily.  

I opened the door and went inside silently as if I could creep in without her noticing. As if I could avoid her completely. As if I could be invisible and ignored, like a ghost in my own house. 

‘Hi,’ she said coming down the stairs. ‘You’re early.’

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘Good day?’

‘Not too bad,’ I smiled and took off my coat.

‘How was David?’

‘Yeah, pretty good. Enjoying retirement.’

‘Oh?’ The barest hint of a frown. 

‘Yeah, he’s looking good too, lost a bit of weight.’

‘Really?’ She turned away. ‘That’s good then.’ 

‘Yeah, it is,’ I followed her into the kitchen.