Ataxia Part Two: Pubs, Reunions and Too Many Pints by George Truman
Sol and Alfie waded their way into The Crown and Anchor; a pub which, despite its name, held no relation to a body of water, geographically or physically. The crowd of recently returned students lapped like waves against a small boat caught in the unexpected storm of the bar front. Sol clung to Alfie for refuge, fearing she’d be swept away in a swell of brightly coloured windbreakers and badly dyed hair.
Alfie buoyantly surfed his way through, negotiating the current to safely find them a spot against the hull of the bar. At the centre of the bar stood the landlord pulling a light-yellow cask. His flushed face complemented his red rugby shirt that he threatened to burst from at any moment. He laughed and joked with a few patrons as his poor beleaguered crew attempted to stop the bar from sinking by pouring pints overboard as quickly as possible.
“What are you drinking Sol?” Alfie attempted to cut over the din.
“Are you buying?”
“Of course!”
“With what money?” Sol looked at Alfie disbelievingly. Alfie eyed up the pumps one by one reading the labels weighing up the hop count in his head, quickly realising he had no clue what he was really looking at.
“Two pints of Yang Amber please?” Alfie shouted to the landlord who nodded, swinging back over to the cask and slowly pulled another two.
“London’s ruined you, y’know that.”
“What?”
“Two pints of Yang Amber” she teased mocking his voice and rolling her eyes in disgust. “Craft fucking beer!”
“It’s beer Sol. It all tastes shit.” Alfie quipped
“Why pay more then?”
“For the thrill of it clearly.” Alfie handed over the obligatory tenner, shocked to find he still had enough money for another round. Maybe London had ruined him, he thought. He wheeled around his arms acting as ores forging a path away and hopefully to a table. Sol felt a tug on her shoulder.
“Solveig?” a naiad voice called out over the din of chatter. Sol whirled around to see Brit reaching between two skin fades. Sol tried to follow the arm back out, finding Brit seated at a table offering the space next to her to sit down. Sol wobbled her way into the seat.
“Steady there. Had a good pre’s have we?” Brit laughed.
“Clearly.” Sol replied shyly, now wouldn’t be the best time to tell her best friend of her condition, considering she never did it three years ago, and then proceeded to completely cut off all connection to her after she went to university.
“Didn’t think you’d be here. Has Alfie come too?” Brit asked.
“Yeah, he’s somewhere in all that” Sol gestured towards the constant flow from bar to smoking area to toilet. It really did feel like the river or the sea, she thought. Brit smiled taking a sip from her thin stemmed wine glass, leaving the soft imprint of her lipstick on the rim. “Red wine, hey? When did you get so classy?” Sol teased.
Brit lent in closely as if she was telling Sol a secret. “Sometime between first and second year. Came with a period of slam poetry.” She interlaced her strong fingers in Sol’s. The heat of her touch ran all the way from her hand into her chest, causing it to become ever tighter.
“Thank god that’s over” Sol squirmed, releasing her hand to grab her pint. “Who said it was. I’ll get up on the table and recite some if you like” She smiled, flashing her stained teeth. Before Sol could decide whether or not she would like that to happen, Alfie appeared at the table, happy to find Sol and Brit who leaped up to meet him.
“Alfie!” She shouted, reaching across Sol to give him a hug, causing the table to rattle and the remains of a pint to spill into the lap of the young lad sat next to her.
“Fuck sake!” he cried. Sol quickly grabbed a tissue from her pocket and began mopping it up. Brit engaged Alfie in a hug. “Hey! Glad to see you’ve found Sol.” Alfie muffled.
“Yeah! How’s London? You didn’t say you were coming.” Brit smiled.
“Big. Way too big.” Alfie smiled. “Who’s out?” he enquired.
“Oh, I’m here with Jacob, Joe, and David” she gestured to the table.
“Cheers for the shower Brit” Jacob said. Brit hastily apologised and sat down. “Do you always keep tissues on a night out” Jacob asked Sol, beaming at her.
“Just for emergencies” she smiled back.
“Oh, Ameerah’s here as well Alf.” Brit said as gently as she could, as if she didn’t want to broadside him.
“Where?”
“Probably in the smoking area” Brit gestured to the back door and turned back to Sol. “Do you remember Jacob?” Alfie took this as his cue to go outside, moving through the crowd like a fire had been lit at his feet.
“You were in band, weren’t you?” Sol nodded.
“Second best trumpet player in school I’ll have you know.” Jacob said wryly. Sol laughed, taking a sip of her pint. Jacob smiled watching her blue eyes swim from his to Brits. Almost like a lighthouse warning a ship of rocks.
Alfie burst into the smoking area, fumbling into his pockets and pulling out a cigarette packet. Flicking it open, he leveraged out the last one with his lips. He scanned the smoking area as he patted his pockets in search of a lighter. He may or may not have been looking for Ameerah in the throng of vaguely familiar faces. Eventually, he spotted her; glowing under the heat lamp and locked in an intense discussion. Alfie felt his lack of a lighter was as good an excuse as any to talk to her.
“I didn’t vote Tory. I just didn’t vote!” Ameerah’s sparring partner whined as Alfie got within audible range.
“Nice to see you’re still changing the world.” Alfie joked as he made his way over. Ameerah looked up suddenly. She high beam smiled to him and leaped up into a hug, spilling her drink onto her adversary, who harrumphed and withdrew from the debate. Alfie quickly took her seat under the heat lamp alongside Ameerah.
“Sorry to be a beg but have you got a liggie?” he enquired hoping to jump start an easy conversation.
“Of course.” Ameerah nodded. She pulled out a cheap purple lighter from her khaki jacket pocket. She straightened Alfie’s cigarette and lit it for him. He took a happy drag.
“Sorry I’d offer you one, but this is my last” Alfie offered in apology.
“I don’t smoke anyway.”
“Oh, just have a lighter for show?”
“No, to make people talk to me” She laughed.
“Ah, is that how you manage to mither peoples ears then? I’ll take note.” Alfie said. Ameerah flashed another one of those high beam smiles to Alfie, causing a small spark of guilt in his mid-section. It had been too long since he’d seen that smile, he hoped it wouldn’t cause an issue.
“Tell you the truth Alf, deep down, I know you will always need a lighter on a night out. Even If I haven’t seen you in a year.” She teased wryly. Alfie looked into her large brown eyes, watching them. Where most eyes could only see, Ameerah’s danced with carefree abandon from thought to thought and feeling to feeling. He’d never seen eyes like hers before or since. He still loved them. He still loved every inch of them in spite of all of it.
“Glad to know I’m still the centre of the universe.” He tried to match her, futilely
“Bradford at least.” She quipped and laughed, her honey sweet warmth radiating onto Alfie. That, or at least the heat lamp threatened to thaw some of his post-break up numbness.
“Guessing the dissertation is done?” He tried to small talk his feelings into submission, hoping by boring her to tears he would be able to maintain his distance.
“We won’t talk about how that went. It’s nice to have you back from London Alfie.” She said sincerely. Alfie smiled.
“How often do you think that’ll be the case” He spoke without thinking.
“What do you mean”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just. This. Everyone back here. When does your life move on from then?” Alfie recovered fairly fluently.
“Has it not already?” Ameerah said, concernedly glancing down to her left hand, playing with a small ornate ring on her third finger. Alfie followed her wonderful eyes to her hand. He saw the ring. His world fell from his stomach and out of his backside suddenly.
Alfie in his hasty escape from the smoking area almost collided with Sol. After he helped to recover her balance, the twins looked at each other, equally shell shocked.
“Where are you going?” they said in unison. “Home.” They answered together again.
“Why?” Alfie managed to get in quicker this time.
“Jacob asked me on a date!” Sol managed.
“Why are you going home”
“I don’t know what to do! Why are you going home?”
“Ameerah.” Alfie managed glumly. Sol looked confused “Ameerah’s getting married.” Alfie said defeatedly.
“Fuck!”
Written by George Trueman
I am a 20-year-old poet & writer from Bradford. Originally wanting to join politics, I pivoted to create art as it was the quickest way for me to express my thoughts and feelings about complex matters in a succinct and confident way.