Thicker Than Water

I’m done with them now if you want them back.’

He pursed his lips as though he was actually considering the offer, then made an obscene gesture. ‘What can I get you?’£can""1e he asked.

‘Pint of Guinness,’ I said, not being a big fan of Tetley beers. While he poured it I took another look around the room. Still just that thin leavening of people I vaguely knew, none of them likely to lead me onwards in the direction I needed to go in, even if they decided to talk to me.

So I went for the big man instead.

‘Richie Yeats still drink in here, Harold?’ I asked.

The Guinness was on an electric pump, so Harold didn’t need to give it much attention as it sluggishly climbed the glass. He looked at me shrewdly. ‘Well, now,’ he said, with a humourless smile. ‘If I had a fiver for every time I got that question . . .’

‘Yeah?’ I was interested. ‘Who else is looking for him, then?’

‘Who isn’t, these days?’ Harold countered. ‘That’ll be two sixty.’

‘And whatever you’re having.’

‘I’m having rectal surgery.

He took my money and gave me my change: true to his word, he’d just taken the cost of my pint, refusing the offered drink. Since I mentioned Richie, the temperature had cooled. I fed my change into the RNLI money box, a coin at a time. Harold waited, staring me out.

‘What about Anita?’ I asked, changing tack. ‘Ever see her around?’

To my surprise, Harold’s dour face suddenly cracked open in an involuntary smile that had real warmth in it. ‘Not in too many years,’ he said.

That reflection seemed to sour his mood again. He shook his head, his lower lip jutting out like a shelf weighed down with all the world’s woes. Down at the other end of the bar some other guy’s hand was waving with an empty glass in it. Harold noticed it and turned, starting to head in that direction: I put my own hand out to detain him.

‘Could I leave a message for Richie?’ I asked.

He stared at me hard, frowning so that his eyes almost disappeared as the topography of his corpulent face shifted seismically. ‘Could you what?’ he echoed."

"‘I just want to talk to him,’ I said. ‘About Anita. She’s missing and I’m trying to find her. He knows we used to be friends. If he wants to meet up he can leave a message here. Or he can just call me.