Joseph said he was going to give up the drinking with his boys. He said he’s giving up the drink. And you know it’s not for health reasons because the boy is fine.
Let me tell you something. Ever since our mate Gozzer got his new place, next door to the Two Pence pub that is, we’ve been coming to the pub every Saturday for 12 years. That’s 12 years of drinking, chatting, story sharing, banter, snooker, pub quizzes, darts and shots – and it’s always been the same crew: Gozzer, Bigsy, Paul, Joseph and myself. Not one of us has missed a night. Never. It’s what we do, it’s our tradition. There ain’t much else to do in this town of 200 people so we’re sure to be there every Saturday.
Joseph said he’s giving up drinking. Took some convincing but he still came out the week after. He drank less but he still came out.
Then, he says he wants to go to a different pub. Suggested the Horseman. Said it’s because he didn’t like the noise at the Two Pence. He says this after 12 years all of a sudden? And it’s because of the noise? As far as I know – and here’s a big, fancy word from me – but the words ‘pub’ and ‘noise’ are synonymous, no matter which pub you go to. We stayed at the Two Pence and went back the week after. Sure enough, Joseph still came out.
Then, he says this: “Why come out if I ain’t gonna sip the nectar, you know? It’s not fun being the sober one when everyone else is on merry lane.” That’s how he put it. ‘Sip the nectar’ and ‘merry lane.’ Funny boy, he comes out with some strange stuff.
None of that changed. We drank at the Two Pence, we all had beer and that’s how it was.
One Saturday, the 26th it was (I remember because Joseph is our sports man when it comes to the pub quiz questions), Joseph didn’t come out. Of course, we lost the quiz. Thought he might be ill or something so we let him off. Let him break the tradition because he was whingin’. Even Gozzer came out the morning after he had his operation those years ago and he had a pint.
But when he didn’t turn up for the second and third time, we thought there was something wrong. Couldn’t let him get away with not seeing his boys. Maybe he was ill and needed some comfort. So, we went to his house. All of us, including Paul’s girlfriend, Lara, who’s practically a conjoined twin to Paul considering how much time they spend together. We knock on his door, his wife answers. She’s lovely, she is. Lovely girl. She lets us in and says he’s in the living room.
And it’s right before we get to the room when I realise…
Shit. What if he IS ill? What if he’s got liver failure from drinking? What if he’s got leprosy or some shit? We can’t come storming in there expecting him to come out if his bloody leg’s falling off!
But it was too late. We were all walking to the living room and we couldn’t stop. Curiosity, probably.
We get in there and Joseph is sat in his dressing gown with a fucking book in his hand. I then think there’s still a chance he might be ill – you know, because he’s reading – but he’s got a whiskey tumbler on the little table next to him and he’s smoking a cigar! He was fucking living it up! We didn’t ask questions, shock got to us all. Gozzer was speechless, his big mouth hanging open. We poked a bit of fun at Joseph for his dressing gown because it was baby blue, as you do, and then we left.
Joseph came out with us the week after. He felt bad for not making the effort. Gave us a little apology. I bought him a beer from the far end of the bar – one of the expensive ones. Christ, even the handle for the tap was dusty when Frank poured it. Felt it needed to be done for our Joseph, you know. Give him something nice.
He thanked me for the drink and said he liked the taste, but he nursed that pint throughout the night. Bigsy had three and he’s a slow drinker. That showed something still wasn’t right.
What was odd about Joseph is that he showed no sign of, well, anything. Bigsy was talking again about the time he slept on that church roof after a drunken night out at the Foresters – wakes up with a pigeon on his head. We’re all cracking up. Nothing from Joseph.
Paul and Lara told us again about when Gozzer got in that fight with the barmaid’s husband. Funniest story there is. Nothing from Joseph.
Bigsy then told us again about how he chased that pig through the field – and then he got stuck with his pants down in the mud! Classic tale! But still, nothing from Joseph. I asked him what was wrong. He said, ‘I’ve heard it before.’
Now, I remember not long ago, him and I got in a little bit of a fight. No fists or anything, but a lot of insults, lots of nasty words and it ended with Joseph leaving the pub early, stumbling out the door whilst giving us the finger. I caught up to him outside, he was slumped over a fence throwing up. I tried to start with an apology, I hate fighting and we’re all mates. Sometimes the alcohol rings like a wrestling bell. Before I could say anything, he stopped me and said this:
“Habit is a great deadener.”
I didn’t know what it meant – especially with half a keg of beer in me. But I remembered what he said. Both of us went home, to sleep it off. In the morning, I searched what the phrase meant online. Came up with some play about two tramps or something. Waiting for something, can’t remember what it was called. But there was a little help box for phrases – you know, for kids, probably, or thicks like me. Clicked it and it said it means that if you do the same things, like, over and over, it kills it. It kills the enjoyment or fun.
God I felt shit when I realised.
Joseph had heard these stupid stories, from Gozzer, from Bigsy, from Paul, from me, a thousand times. He’s heard them every weekend every time we’ve been here. That’s all we talk about, that’s all we’ve ever talked about. Just reliving our old days every Saturday. We don’t talk about the present or the future. Maybe because we’re all scared of it. Couldn’t tell you where Paul works now, couldn’t tell you how old Bigsy’s kid is. I had no idea who Gozzer was married to now, if anyone. Joseph had put up with it this whole time and the excuses he made were just to get away from it all for a bit. He tried to not hurt our feelings, you know. Kind kid and we gave him stick for it. Felt awful for him, we fucked up really bad there, for the pressure and all.
All Joseph wanted was to see what was over the hill. He wasn’t wearing these blinkers like the rest of us were, who were happy and content with routine. He wanted something different, even if it was spending his one night off reading Moby Dick or Waiting for Whatever. I stuck up for him when he didn’t show up on Saturday. Bigsy and Paul both gave him banter in the texts they sent but I stuck up for him. I don’t think they’ll understand.
Good thing, though, was that Joseph was a lot happier after.
Saw him buying skimmed milk – of course only Joseph would buy skimmed milk – down in Mahed’s last weekend. He was really happy. Non-stop talking, you know. I was jealous, I gotta say. It’s like he’d had sex for the first time all over again, just from a bit of variation to his life, reading instead of drinking. He wasn’t smug about it neither – he even apologised, though it wasn’t necessary, for not being with us and for breaking the tradition. He said he would join us again soon.
Couldn’t get that image out of my head. His fat, podgy face buying milk, smiling and content.
There’s a coaster nailed to the ceiling at the Two Pence. On it, it says ‘Variety is the spice of life.’ Makes sense now. I was never smart in understanding what stuff like that means, but now I do. Just had to follow Joseph in his footsteps.
So, I started reading.