It’s another tedious midweek afternoon, the pub sits almost empty save for a small group who’ve been carefully nursing their drinks for nearly an hour, desperate to avoid the damp autumnal chill outside.
‘When you’re ready Nathanial.’ Peter, currently the only patron who seemed to be doing the thing you’re supposed to do in a pub waved his almost empty pint glass in my direction.
I put down the comic I’d been idly flicking through for the third time, selected a fresh glass from beneath the counter and set about the hand-pump, before placing the foamy ale in front of him. Without looking up from his paper, which was still filled with tears and vitriol over Princess Diana’s death, Peter indicated a note sitting on the bar.
After dealing with the stubborn cash register and returning his change I decided I could probably get away with pretending to clean ashtrays, whilst actually having a coffee and cigarette, something we weren’t technically allowed to do whilst working, for reasons unknown to anyone. I poured myself a cup of something hot and brown from the pot in the kitchen and wandered the tables making myself look busy. It hadn’t been my intention to work in this, or actually any pub, let alone somehow end up practically running it. Although, if I’m honest, I’d never thought about a career, planned for the future, or done any of those things that young people are encouraged to whilst still at school.
Outside the clouds began to part, the soft afternoon sunlight cast a warm light and long shadows across the room, which was clearly the small group’s cue to leave. Without a thank you or returning their glasses to the bar on their way past, they pulled on coats and hats and shuffled out the door. Bloody typical I thought, as I trudged across, collected the empties, gave the table a cursory wipe with a damp cloth and returned to my station. Peter left shortly after, with a brief goodbye and wave from the door.
I knew from experience that nobody would come in for the rest of the afternoon, so decided to close the doors and take a break.
I’m not the kind of person who takes naps, in fact I sleep very little, so when I was awoken by a banging on the door and a shouting voice enquiring as to where, exactly, the fuck I was, it took me a moment to regain my senses. Ken, the landlord, clearly not impressed at the possibility of having to do some work today had come looking for me. I glanced at my watch, 16:40, no panic yet. Calling back down that I was just getting changed, I grabbed a clean t-shirt from the drawer, sprayed myself with deodorant and headed back to the bar for the night shift.
The Regulars would start coming through the door at any minute. Frank first, dead on five, Monday to Friday no matter the weather. Fulfilling the role of alcoholic in residence, although would refer to himself as a drunk, not an alcoholic, on account of how alcoholics went to meetings and he’d never been to any meeting, ever in his life.
A thud from the stubborn door signalled his arrival, ‘usual newbie.’ He called before it had even closed. I pointed to the fresh pint, already waiting for him. Frank took up his favoured stool and began counting out piles of coins onto the bar, each the exact amount for a pint, one of which he slid across to me.
It was always a toss-up whether Rob or Geoff would be in next, but the sound of Geoff’s clapped out diesel van rattling like spanners in a metal box alerted me to his imminent arrival. Before he’d walked in I’d placed his drink and a cigar next to the correct stool.
‘Cheers newbie,’ he smiled, taking that first long pull from the glass, ‘how’s your day been?’
‘Quiet.’ I replied, ‘yours?’ knowing exactly what his reply would be.
‘Mustn’t grumble.’ He looked at me over the top of his beer, ‘that’s what I’ve got the wife for.’ It hadn’t been funny the first time. He grinned and began unwrapping the cigar. Although sitting only a few feet apart, neither he nor Frank began a conversation, instead each contented themselves with consumption of their drinks in blissful silence. I left them to get on with it and went to wander around, pretending to tidy up whilst smoking.
The door clattered again, followed by a familiar voice, ‘what-ho gents. Newbie!’
Kosmos, a rare oddity amongst the regulars, one who could and would string more than a few words together or start a conversation. An aging hippy prone to wearing kaftan pants of the type found in street markets the world over, which came in a sickening variety of garish colours or patterns. He accompanied these with a combination of t-shirt beneath unbuttoned shirt, neither of which matched the rest of the ensemble.
‘Coming Kosmos.’ I shouted, stubbing out my cigarette and heading back to the bar. ‘Usual?’
He tapped the pump of choice whilst pulling a pouch of tobacco, rolling papers, a lighter and finally a bunch of crinkled notes from his pockets. Dropping them all onto the bar, he pushed some cash in my direction, before perching himself atop a stool. The best thing about Kosmos was his perpetual smile, the kind of infectious grin that no matter the weather or mood would always lift my spirits.
I slid his pint across and did the business with the till and change. ‘Busy today?’ I asked him.
‘Had a few wannabe’s in,’ he replied, setting to with papers and tobacco, ’it’ll get busier in the run up to Christmas. You um need anything?’ He asked with a wink.
‘I could use a top up, yeah please.’ I replied.
Kosmos slid a hand, palm down across the counter-top, then lifted it just enough for me to reach under and retrieve the small plastic baggy, which quickly disappeared into my trouser pocket.
‘Sort me out on payday.’ He said, his head bobbing gently up and down to whatever tune was currently playing in his mind. Knowing that nobody was paying the slightest attention I quietly topped off his glass and pushed it back across the bar.
Outside, darkness had descended and it started raining again, heavy droplets bouncing off the thin glass of the front windows. This’ll be it now for tonight, I thought to myself.
‘Newbie,’ Frank had finished his pint and pushed another stack of coins towards me. I picked up his empty glass, refilled it and swapped it for the cash.
Over the course of my first six months here, without any effort or request I’d been promoted from new boy with limited experience to bar manager. Although as I was now the only employee, the title seemed somewhat redundant. My promotion had seemingly escaped many of the regular’s notice however, still referring to me as newbie. I wasn’t sure if Frank even knew my name.
As predicted, the three of them sat drinking for the next couple of hours. Geoff leaving first, as usual, followed by Kosmos. By nine Frank had exhausted his funds for the day, so with nobody left to buy him another pint, sloped off into the cold, damp night. I locked up, turned off the lights and gave up for the night.
The next day was surprisingly busy, Kevin and Craig, who marked out the middle of my day, had arrived on schedule just before twelve. As usual, they’d spent their time sat together in amiable quiet, reading two copies of the same newspaper.
Between them and the others who would arrive later they were the timekeepers of my day; guaranteed custom to alleviate the boredom, bringing with them the chance of a brief conversation or at least to be told their tales and, on very rare occasions included in a round of drinks, usually when Rob was buying.
That evening a fairly large group from some kind of club in the nearby town had decided to try out the bar for the evening, having been enticed by the promise of free sandwiches, which it somehow fell to me to provide. As I’d expected, they ordered one drink each, mostly soda waters with lime cordial in, rearranged the furniture to suit their needs and then left once they’d exhausted the free meal. Long before closing time the room was once again empty, so for the second night running I shut up early.
‘You finished then Nate?' Ken had decided the day I started that Nathanial was too long and formal sounding and had taken to calling me Nate almost immediately. Fancy a quick game of pool?'
A quick game of pool was Ken’s code for lets stay up drinking, which meant he’d had yet another row with his missus. Retrieving the keys to the pool table, along with our own cues, (no self-respecting barman uses the ones left out for customers), I began setting up the game. Ken indicated that I could help myself to a drink, so I poured off a large measure of the only decent bourbon the pub stocked and flipped a coin to see which of us would break.
Everything changed on Saturday, a local event was taking place and there seemed to be people in all the time. On Friday lunchtime Ken had assured me that he and Jo would be around to help out and that he’d arranged for extra staff from another pub to come in. Neither of them turned up and Ken and Jo remained firmly shut away in their apartment the whole weekend.
I worked my arse off trying to keep on top of serving and cleaning up.
At some point a couple of the regulars took it upon themselves to become deputised and started helping collect glasses, empty ash trays, fill the dishwasher and move the clean glasses back onto shelves. Even with their help, which I rewarded with free beer whenever their glasses started to look empty, I didn’t stop until well past closing time each day.
The change of pace was welcome, I love being busy and relish the challenge, but after the rush of the weekend, the quiet of Monday was worse than usual.
Sitting at the end of the once again empty room I felt quite proud that I’d kept the whole place under control with that level of pressure. The more I thought about it, the more I realised just how much work I did around here above and beyond my limited job description. Maybe I’d finally found something I could call a career.
By lunchtime I’d made up my mind, this was definitely what I wanted to do. I decided to talk with the regional manager and ask to be put on their training course to get my own pub. For the first time in my life, I finally had a plan, some purpose and a goal. It felt good.
My dreams of becoming the brewery’s youngest ever landlord were quickly thwarted however when the regional manager arrived that Wednesday for his weekly visit.
‘No.' A solitary answer that dashed my hopes against the wall. 'Can’t do it.’ He said, ‘we only take couples in long-term, stable relationships. It’s brewery policy.'
My protestations fell on deaf ears, he didn’t care that I was already almost single handedly carrying out all the management of this pub, or that at twenty-two a relationship that lasted more than a couple of nights was long-term. It just wasn’t going to happen.
Weeks passed, I trudged through the days, despondent and uninterested, having finally found something I could not only do, but was actually good at, just to have it immediately taken away left a hole that needed filling, except I had little or no free time to fill it. It was one of those glorious bright winters days; the sun sat low in the sky and filled the room with a magical mix of white light and long black shadows. Christmas was drawing near and the bar was getting busier as people took to finishing work early or having works outings. That Tuesday though was a nice quiet afternoon.
'Pint of Best please Nathanial.’ Peter, something of an enigma who would come and go at odd times of the day and night. Randomly varied what he drank, often accompanied by phrases such as 'today I think I’d like to try a gin and tonic', as if this were something he’d never previously experienced. He would sometimes converse with the regulars but not on others, always came in for the pub quiz, but never took part and was the only person who ever left a tip. I poured his pint as he opened the newspaper and began to read. He was the only person I knew in the bar who started at the front and read the news first.
I placed his pint in front of him, took the note he’d already left, rang up the sale and left his change next to the beer, which he carefully arranged into a small stack with the largest coin at the bottom and smallest on top.
I checked my watch and decided enough time had passed since my last cigarette to warrant having another. Pausing to grab a coffee from the pot, I wandered out from behind the bar, sat at a stool and lit up.
'Break time?' enquired Peter
I nodded and offered him a cigarette, even though I’d not once seen him smoke. He declined with a polite wave.
'I’ll take another pint when you’ve finished; no rush though', he nodded towards his half full glass and went back to the crossword he was working on. A few minutes of silence passed, broken only by the rustle of pages from Peter’s newspaper; uncomfortable in the quiet, I decided to break it by asking Peter a question that had been nagging me.
'Peter, if you don’t mind me asking, what do you do?'
He closed his newspaper, carefully folded it over and looked at me, 'I try to help people,’ he responded. 'However, I suspect the question you meant to ask is, how do I have enough money that I can spend significant amounts of time sat in this bar during the day.'
I smiled and confirmed that was what I’d meant, but said I was also now curious how he helped people.
'Have a drink.’ He said, pushing another note across the table. I wasn’t technically allowed to drink on duty, but as the only customer was offering and I was the only employee on the premises, I decided this was a rule which could be temporarily broken, also it meant I got a free drink and could stay sat down. After pouring Peter his next pint and helping myself to a generous glass of bourbon, I pulled another cigarette from my pack and sat on the stool next to him.
'Lets start with the financial question as that’s not very interesting and some people still think it’s a bit vulgar to talk about money.' The wry smile which accompanied this told me I probably hadn’t caused any offence, but should know better. 'I’m in the fortunate position of not having to work, although I sometimes do a little, let’s call it consulting, when needed. My family has what people refer to as old money, which is just a polite way of saying that one way or another we came into land and property, which is now worth sufficient that I can live comfortably from my investments.’ He paused for a sip of beer, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief. ‘As for helping people, that is a far more interesting and much longer answer. I have, well for now let’s call it an educational establishment, which I founded some years ago to assist people in understanding their true potential.'
'You run a school?’ I asked
'On its most simplistic level, yes, you could say that I run a school, however it’s less formal than that. The official title is dreadfully boring, so we mostly refer to it as The Academy. We let people find what they’re good at, where their talents lie and then nurture and grow them. Our,’ he thought for a moment, ‘students usually possess certain abilities they’re not even aware of.'
'Wait, that sounds a lot like Charles Xaviers School for Gifted Children?'
Peter laughed, ’well not exactly,’ a smile lifted the corners of his mouth, ‘we have no mutants that I’m aware of, I’m not in a wheelchair, nor do I have physic abilities, but apart from that, well… let’s just say that Professor X and I have similar underlying principles.'
I hadn’t really expected Peter to get my comic book reference, so I followed that up with 'Um… Ok', which raised another quizzical smile.
'Has that answered your question, or just raised more?' he enquired.
I took a pull on my cigarette and a sip of bourbon, more to give myself thinking time than anything else. 'So, you said talents and abilities, but not mutant powers, are we talking circus skills, computer stuff, or what?’ I asked with a shrug, not really knowing what someone could learn that wasn’t taught in school.
'Each individual has their own path,’ he replied, ‘we simply help guide them along it, but I’d say we’re more likely to have the next Alan Turing or Howard Carter than Dick Grayson.'
OK, so that’s Marvel and DC references in under five minutes, which for me is very impressive, but still not an actual answer. I thought for a moment, clearly I either wasn’t asking the right questions, or Peter didn’t want to go into any significant details. That said, he had bought me a drink and invited me to sit with him, so it was most likely me. He was clearly looking for me to figure out the right question.
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