Life is a firecracker sometimes, and sometimes it’s a little bar like this. This just suits me down to the ground.
The Harbour Pub, it never stops surprising me just how many people it fits when it looks like someone’s front room. The library round the corner, quiet on a Tuesday afternoon. Get a book and come in here for a pint or two.
The river rolling on like it knows better than to stick around, door open in the summer with the sunshine fading out. In winter, the door’s closed and if you hold it open too long when you go outside for a smoke you’ll be sure to know about it.
Maisey behind the bar is my kind of woman, a little bit grumpy but honest, you know. Doesn’t have to be the centre of attention all the time so I get peace to read.
Friday lunchtime I go and get her and me a ticket for the lottery, £5 each and if we win we split it between us. We used to just go for it when the winnings went above £100 million. High rollers, eh. But now we just do it out of habit.
She says she wouldn’t change a thing if she won. Not a thing. I like that. I think we have that in common, though I would like to travel, visit a few places.
The rain cleared and the three cats lay sleeping in the sun.
They had found some shelter behind the wall, away from the cool breeze blowing from the Atlantic.
The boy sat amongst them and sneezed.
The ginger cat lifted his head.
Opened his eyes.
And immediately went back to sleep.
While the black cat came over and let the boy pet him.
When the music from the party stopped he could hear the sound of the waves. He felt the warmth of the wooden boards beneath him.
The boy sat with them for another five minutes before he heard his mum calling him.
He sighed.
Ran his hands along the cat’s back.
He heard his mum’s voice louder this time, a little harsher.
“I’m over here!” he shouted and then ran back to the sound of music and drinking.
The black cat lay back down and closed his eyes.
A cloud moved across the sun and for a moment they were all cast in shadows.
He shivered.
Sat.
Waited.
Just like magic, he felt the warmth of the sun again.
He stretched out. His eyes heavy. He fell asleep.
Just sun.
Sea.
And time.
They heard footsteps on the wooden boards.
People coming and going.
The smell of sunscreen.
Alcohol.
Someone lit up a cigarette, smoke drifting over.
But the cats didn’t care.
It was only when they smelt the perfume on the air.
Certain. Specific.
That they stirred.
Maria.
4 p.m.
She brought them out some water and sat down amongst them.
Ginger pressed against her trouser leg and she ran her hand along his back.
The black cat purred and looked at her. She smiled and put the water down.
The two cats started to drink but the third cat kept a distance.
“Oh Andro,” she smiled. “Always here but never quite. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
She pushed another bowl of water out towards Andro.
The cat didn’t move.
She pushed it further and sat back.
Andro approached the bowl, slowly.
Before settling to drink.
Maria smiled as she watched.
She felt the warmth of the sun, but it was much cooler here. She drank from her bottle of water.
She muttered, “You cats are lucky out here. Peace and calm and sun and sea. You should try being in that kitchen for five minutes. It’s hot, it’s sweaty and it’s not much fun.”
She heard the music playing from the party as she lit up a cigarette.
“More customers, less staff.”
She shook her head.
Ginger and the black cat came over to her.
“What a life you cats must have, eh? All the food you can hunt and I’ll bet I’m not the only one bringing you water. You’ll need to watch or you’ll get fat.” She laughed.
“It’s okay. To me you are Fugeo, Sol and little Andro.”
She smiled.
Checked her watch.
“Time to go. Same time tomorrow. Love you all.”
She scooped up the bowls, giving Andro a gentle pet as she left.
Took a walk in the winter sun. The cold air stings your lungs.
The cough is proof of life.
The streets are quiet, but the gyms are busy. Folk still got Christmas trees up, lights shining through the windows. A few casualties still making their way home from Hogmanay parties. C’mon, pal, it was New Year’s 3 days ago. Guy’s asking me:
“Can you help me find my house? I’m due back to work tomorrow.”
“Er… whit?”
Turn around and they have gone. The search continues.
I cut through the alley, avoiding the shoppers, and over the bridge.
The mural looking good.
Couple playing acoustics on the bench. Sounding good. Sounding real. Could be the next Biffy.
Walk through the park. Sunshine glistening off the river. The water running low. It hasn’t rained for days. Blue skies. Typical, we get the sunshine and it’s minus 3.
Christ, I’m a moany bastard.
A smile breaks across my face.
I turn up the music and listen to the song I recorded last night.
Paul Andrew Sneddon 