The crowded room buzzed with young evenings’ patrons. Beer glasses joined white wine, spirits and cocktails in a line of slowly sipped glassware. Yellow lights luminated the carpeted floor and now, entering the pub was a burly, bearded man. He took his stool, ordered a pint and in search of company, produced a comment. “Didn’t expect to see this place packed.” the man said. It wasn’t long before the other man drawn up next to him, heeded the call to conversation. The man, having heard a recognisable voice, turned his head, his eyes slowly gliding to meet his compatriot. It was now, the bearded man processed who he was trying to talk to. Seeing the ridgeline of his eyebrows meeting the top of a buttoned nose, brown eyes grouped closely together and those flushed red cheeks; the realisation dawned upon the bearded man, it was Joseph. To see Joe here! How many years had it been? How much time had passed since those golden days, back when things were simpler. “Joseph! It’s me, remember me?” said the man, his eyes brightened with excitement.

Joseph could remember him. Stuart, was his name, Joseph’s heart sunk. Joesphs feigned an reaction of excitement, desperately submerging the horror draining through his psyche. Then the memories began their march. For Joe, this was misery incarnate. Stuart had ripped apart so much, Joe began to remember all the fits of rage, the ceaseless anger. Twangs of paranoia shot through Joe’s head. Stu was back on the beers, how was he going to get out of this?

“Stu! How you doing these days?” replied Joseph, his enthusiasm, a sham. 

“Oh you know, still with Anne and-” Stu gulped some of his pint, his elation compounding, it was just like old times! Drinking with Joe used to be such a laugh, and to be on the beers again; for the first time in all these years, it must have been fate! “And, still working the docks. What about you buddy?”

Joseph reshuffled in his seat, he resisted the widening of his eyes in shock. Still with Anne? Joseph still remembered the flush of blood sprinting out his nostrils, that violent night, such grotesque irony of what Annes birthday should have been. That was some months ago, the poor girl must often feel awful, a hostage to him. Joseph spoke, “Yeah, doing good, I hope you and Anne are doing better.” Joseph did not dare risk mentioning where he had moved town, there would be a few more formalities – as we all know, it’s best to at least appease Stu’, then Joseph will fabricate some excuse, take his leave and finally, just maybe relax.

“Look, I’ve really missed everything. I miss the good times, they weren’t so long ago looking back. I understand why I fell out with the others, but you? I remember us being as thick as thieves; to only meet you now, after all this time. It just feels great.” Stu cried out. He took another drink from his beer. He desperately tried to remember over what he’d fallen out with Joe for. “Yeah man, the world has moved on since those days. All the boys have gone their separate ways and it’s only a few of us left that frequent the pub still.” Joe replied. Stu tried to talk about Anne’s new job. Joseph’s strategy continued, progressively less attention and wholesomeness was attributed to the conversation. Open exclamations in reaction were cut down to intermittent eye contact and Stu carried on a one sided conversation. Finally Joe had run down his old friend’s patience and an escape attempt was narrowly possible. 

Flicking his wrist to eye level, and reading his watch out loud, Joe said “Early night for me. Gotta zip back, sort out the kids’ bedtime and whatnot.”

“Why don’t you stay a bit longer? I haven’t heard about your kids for ages!”

“It’s really quite important, so-”

“Do you really need to get back? Or are you just worming yourself away from me?”

Stu had drunk three pints and had started on his fourth. Joe had, in the same amount of time as Stu, meditated over his drink, so that his pint had lasted him the whole time talking. Stu had picked up on Joe’s steering away from the conversation. Flashbacks, the last time he’d seen Joe, an argument over Anne, nearly escalating into violence. The embers of loathing were alight again. 

Stu began speaking before Joe could reply. “There was something off with Anne that birthday.” Joe’s eyebrows raised, he remembered the night vividly again. “I don’t want to argue, I have got to go.” Joe declared, it was best to get out now. Joe didn’t know how far away violence was. “No.” Stu, despite his very public environment, gripped Joe and forced him to sit. “Let’s sit. Let’s talk.”

Joe, now with an agitated manner, “Stu, hands off.” Stu’s hand retreated away. Joe spoke with authority in his voice. More of those stinging flashbacks came to Stu, his rage beginning to recede into guilt.

After a short pause, Stu bursted out, “Joe- I’m sorry, it was hard to know back then. with Anne, I mean. I couldn’t trust her then, I honestly trust her now.” Stu, a tear rolling from his eye, drinks, taking big gulps. “Let’s just calm down maybe, we can talk about this outside?” Joe said. He feared someone would recognise him talking to Stu, whilst he was crying. Stu grunted, climbed off his chair and set off towards the door; beer in hand. 

Outside, the evening air bit at them coldly. Stu was weeping.  Joe realised the state Stu had fallen into. Caught by guilt, Stu slumped against the wall of the pub, sulking quietly. Joe stepped towards Stu offering consultation. He actually felt pretty bad. “You’re doing good Stu, you’re changing.” When Stu raised his head, looking at Joe with tearful eyes, he finally realised. Joe had produced from his pocket a lighter identical to Anne’s.