by Liam Hurley
I’m sorry. I just can’t do it anymore.
Clearly, they were worried about me. They’d hounded me with messages and phone calls. Somehow, they found out the truth.
Tom Curran
I’ve heard about you and Erin. You should’ve said mate! Come around soon? Tonight?
Ryan Thorne
Why didn’t you tell us? Fuck the gig, it’s fine. Where are you living?
The responses from them were kind, yet expected. Of course, they would be warm and understanding, it was in their nature. They were good friends, too good for me.
I didn’t reply to either of them. I didn’t want to spend the night talking about what had happened. They’d give me sympathy and probably call Erin all the names under the sun, but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I didn’t want to hear anything, I just wanted to sit in my flat, drink, eat shit food and watch Judge Rinder. This was my sanctuary. I was master of my own domain in this new life, no one could hurt me because no one was allowed in. I wasn’t looking for a shoulder to cry on or an ear to bend. As somebody wise once said; ‘when the world turns it’s back on you, you turn your back on the world.’
As much as I’d made the conscious effort to leave my old world behind, somethings were trickier than others. Christmas was nearing and my Mum had begun to message me asking when I’d be home. That was the last thing I wanted to do. As much as everyone made an effort at Christmas, all the smiles were broadly on show, the tension still simmered beneath us. My Mum would buy me presents with a view to try and drag me back from my life of living in the city and playing in a band, like a suit or some ‘smart’ shoes. My Dad would sit behind his newspaper and make back-handed compliments about me and the guys. Then again, I wasn’t in a band anymore, maybe they’d think that was good news.
Once my Mum had started to pester me with requests, I booked every shift possible at work so I could spend as little time at home as possible. Joe told me the bar had planned a big Christmas party on the night of the 23rd, meaning I could get away with less than a week at home, I’d have to be back for New Year’s Eve.
I informed my Mum of my plans and she replied in a faux-cheery manner, mentioning how she’s got a big turkey this year so I better be hungry. Merriment and cheer were not part of my new world, but how do you keep that rule up when even Judge Rinder was wearing tinsel by the first week of December?
I’d never liked Christmas much since becoming an adult. I found it all a bit too fake, how all of sudden because it was a certain time of the year, we were all supposed to be joyful. As a child, Christmas was brilliant. Even in my world of darkness when I looked back on some of those times I couldn’t help but smile. I remember when I was eleven getting a karaoke machine. My Grandad came around and put it together for me, and I spent the rest of the day singing for the family. My Nana kept requesting Christmas tunes, but I was a cheese fan even then. I belted out Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, Hey Baby and I Want It That Way as the family tucked into a full dinner. My Mum dragged me away from the machine some time close to midnight and I fell asleep that night dreaming about singing in front of a real audience one day, and everyone clapping.
It was a warm memory, but that was all. Just a memory, not something tangible I could use to feel better. I just felt empty. I was now a shell just going through the motions, living day to day life essentially as a robot. And the only time I could truly be myself was when I was alone. I’d grab a bottle of spirits and some lemonade, take off my outer-shell, and the demon within would drink and stare into the blank space in front of me. The demon inside me was no longer a thing which came out and took over in my weakest moments, it was me. The real me.
You’d think that keeping the outer shell on would be difficult when I was in the bar working, but generally it was easy, I found myself laughing and smiling and talking to customers like always. From the outside, I was the same old Jim, always up for a laugh and quick with a comeback. But inside, the emptiness filled me and the demon slept in a corner, always ready to wake up when I was alone.
The week leading up to Christmas was hectic. You’d think people would be saving money for presents and be preparing their homes for family visits. But instead it seemed like the population of Manchester was on a constant Christmas party, and Ronnie’s was the location for all of them. As we lurched closer to the 23rd, all the staff began to prepare themselves. One of the girls stashed dozens of flip-flops under the bar, our pot cleaner bought overalls, and Joe had installed new panic buttons under the bar to alert the bouncers to any trouble. The 23rd it turned out, fell on ‘Mad Friday.’
‘Mad Friday’ is the last Friday before Christmas. And it had gained the reputation of being the one night a year all the idiots come out to play. I suspected it wasn’t so much that every drunk clown was hiding away 364 days a year waiting for it, and more that everyone finished work for Christmas on that day. And like Year 11s on their final day of secondary school, they were celebrating and causing chaos in equal measure. It was a coming together of merriment and mayhem. And it was a barman’s nightmare.
We prepared the bar the day of the 23rd like an army preparing for battle. The fridges were triple-stocked, the floor was mopped (for the first time since last Christmas), and every bouncer on our staff was called in with the promise of double-time pay. Ten minutes before the bar was due to open, the 7 of us who had been chosen to man the bar took up our positions. We turned and nodded to each other, I picked up my soft drink dispenser and held it to my side, and I gave the shout to the DJ.
“Paul, let’s go.”
He kicked us off with Jingle Bell Rock.
Normally the bar filled up slowly and peaked at around 1am. On ‘Mad Friday’ though once the doors were open they came flooding in, running straight at the bar. Even with all of our preparation we weren’t ready for that. We quickly found ourselves overwhelmed. We were pouring drink after drink without so much as a glance at the customers. I was diving below the bar every five minutes to restock the fridge behind us. As I came up at one point I noticed we were what is known in the bar industry as ‘seven deep’ (this has a totally different meaning in the porn industry), meaning we had a queue of at least seven people at every point of the bar. It was too much. I scanned around the room and saw Joe leaning over the DJ booth speaking to the DJ.
“Joe!” I tried to shout over Mariah Carey. “Joe!”
He couldn’t hear me, he was straining just to hear the DJ who was all of 2 feet away from him. I tried to think of another way to get his attention to tell him we needed reinforcements. It was hopeless.
“Here can I get a drink?” came a noise from the crowd in front of me.
I looked down to see a man glaring at me. He was wearing a Santa hat and half a white beard.
“Yeah one sec mate.” I looked towards Joe.
“I’m not your fucking mate.”
I stared at the Santa hat-wearing gent and tried to take in what he’d just said. I smiled at him and turned away from the bar. I pushed myself past one of the girls and shrugged my way through the hatch. The crowd was packed right up against the bar and I had to shout and shove my way through it. I dodged drinks as they flew past me and slipped my way around group pictures. It was like trying to get through a maze. I knew the right direction in general, but I kept having to go left and right when I needed to go straight ahead.
“It’s the barman!” shouted a drunk girl. She wrapped her hands around my neck.
“Hi, yeah thanks, I just need to get past.” I lifted her off me and ducked under an extended arm snapping a selfie.
It must have taken me about seven minutes to get the fifteen feet to the DJ booth. I eventually found myself within touching distance and looked around for Joe. Shit. He’d gone. I looked to the entrance and couldn’t see him or his mop of red hair. I tried to do a 360 but was limited in my turning by the crushing crowd. I went to grab my phone, I could text him and at least he’d see that at some point. As my hand slid into my jeans pocket (with some d
ifficulty due to the tightness), I realised that my phone was under the bar. Balls.
I started to push myself back towards the bar and again had to avoid drinks, dance moves and decorations. Once I’d wormed my way back to the bar I noticed that somehow the queues had become even longer. I looked to one of the guys behind the bar and we shared raised eyebrows in acknowledgement of how well it was all going.
I got back to my regular spot at the bar and grabbed my phone from underneath. I opened up my messages and started to type an alert message to Joe.
“Are you actually fucking texting?”
I dragged my eyes from my phone to see that Santa hat still hadn’t been served. I smiled at him.
“Just one sec.”
“You said that ages ago and I still haven’t been served, where’s the manager?”
I looked back at my phone.
“That’s who I’m texting.”
“What a joke.”
“Should I tell him you want him?” I offered.
“Oh, fuck off.” He said.
I went back to my message and tried not to laugh. My smugness was short lived however as just as I pressed the ‘send’ button I felt a glass crash against my face and my chest was suddenly covered in fluid. I stumbled backwards and looked up to see Santa hat smiling broadly.
“Yeah get sarcastic with me now.” He said.
Something happened to me in that moment. The laughter I felt coming on moments earlier had disappeared. The shock I felt from being hit with a drink had disappeared. My entire sense of consciousness had disappeared. And in their place, was pure unbridled rage.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and took a step up to the bar. He looked me dead in the eyes.
“Yeah what you gunna do you fat bastard?” he said.
Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth my fist had entered it. I’d swung a punch from low down, from below my waist, and let the momentum carry my hand directly into his face.
That was the first time I’d ever punched anyone in my life. What I’d never understood before is how much it hurts your hand. It felt like my fingers had been slammed in a car door, and my wrist had been bent all the way back like I’d got stuck in a sleeve.
“Ow, shit!” I said and shook my hand.
I looked down at my hand and saw it was red and throbbing like a cartoon. I looked back at the guy I’d hit to see that it’d barely impacted him. He shook his head and dived over the bar. I started to throw wild punches at his back and neck as he came over the bar, he grabbed me around the waist and we both fell to the floor.
One of the girls pressed the new panic button. We continued to tussle on the ground, I was terrified he was going to get up at any moment and start punching me in the face so I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him close to me. I clung on for dear life as he tried to pull himself up, but thankfully my extra weight was keeping us down.
After what felt like a fortnight two bouncers arrived to drag him off me. He continued to hurl abuse my way and even spat at me, but I was free. As they dragged him out I noticed that Joe was stood at the end of the bar looking apoplectic. He pointed to the ceiling and back at me. He mouthed the word ‘now’ and he was gone. Fuck.
I had to hold my hand up in the air as I fought my way through the crowds again. It was killing me. It felt warm and cold all at the same time. I could feel my fingertips pulsating. I turned myself away from the DJ booth and edged my way towards the door leading up to the flat. I shouldered it open and slammed it behind me with my good hand.
“Joe?” I called.
“Up here.” Came his reply.
I began to climb the stairs. The adrenaline had worn off now and I knew I was in for a bollocking. I sighed as I reached the top and ducked my head into the room sheepishly.
Joe had his back to me when I entered.
“Sorry.” I said.
He turned around and I saw he was holding an empty bottle of vodka in his hands.
“Ah” I said.
He looked me up and down for a minute.
“So, are you sorry for fighting with a customer or for stealing from me?”
He looked disappointed. That was the worst thing he could be, I’d much rather he be mad at me.
“Both.” I said.
“Okay so tell me about the fight first of all.”
“He was dick. I was trying to find you to tell you we needed help- “
“Oh, so it’s my fault?”
“No that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just that you know we’re snowed under down there, so I was trying to get help and he was just getting in my face, having a go at me.”
“He was drunk! You’re a barman, it’s your job!”
“He threw a drink at me, that’s not my job!”
Our voices were rising. Joe was holding the bottle still. I took a step into the room and leant against the sink.
“Why not get a bouncer? Those panic buttons cost me a fortune. They’re there for a reason.”
“I know, look I’m sorry, I’ve been having a shit time.”
“I know that but it’s no excuse.”
I looked down at my feet, I felt like I was back in school being told off for pushing Dylan Fenwick off the wall next to the sports hall.
“Now, tell me about the booze.” He said. And he turned around and began to look at the other empties lying around the room.
“I don’t know.” I muttered.
“I’ve made a complaint to the brewery because I thought they were short changing us! I didn’t think you of all people would be nicking from me, so tell me why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You don’t know why you’ve been stealing from me when I’ve put a roof over your head?”
“Yeah some roof.” I said.
“Well you won’t have to put up with it anymore, I want you out.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
“What?” I looked up at him.
“I can’t have you here, not if you’re gunna steal from me.”
“But I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Not my problem, is it? I trusted you, and look what you’ve done with that trust.” He slammed the bottle down on the side.
I was getting angry now, it was a mistake that’s all, and now I was going to be homeless.
“Come on I’ll pay you back you can dock my wage, I’m sorry it was a mistake.” I was pleading now.
“No, it’s no good, I can’t have people stealing from me, especially you.”
Fuck. I’d really fucked up now. But I’d never been great with confrontation and the demon was rearing up in me.
“Fucking hell it’s a few bottles, you’re out of order, I’ll be homeless now.”
“You’re being dramatic, go back to Ryan and Tom’s, you should’ve gone there in the first place.”
“Fuck that, I’m sorry come on.”
“I want you out Jim. I can’t have it.”
I looked around the flat. It was a shit hole, but at least it was my base. It’s where I’d set up my new world, now it was being pulled out from under me. I could feel the tears form in my eyes, I blinked them away and tried to keep in an angry frame of mind.
“And what about when I come to work, won’t everyone ask why I’m not living here anymore?”
“No, they all know it’s not the best flat anyway.”
“No fuck that, fuck the flat, fuck you, fuck your job, I quit.” I said all of that in one quick breath.
Once the words had come out there was no taking it back, I stormed around the room and started to snatch items up. Luckily, I’d barely unpacked when I moved in.
“Don’t be a dick you can keep your job.”
“No if I’m out, I’m out, let me just pack up and I’m gone.”
“Where?”
“Why do you care? Not your problem, is it?”
He sighed.
“No, it’s not. But how’re you getting there?”
“My cars outside.” I snapped as I stuffed clothes into my backpack.
I looked up just in time to see Joe grab my keys from the side.
“What you doing?” I said.
“You’re not driving anywhere tonight, you’ve been drinking.”
“Give me my fucking keys.”
“No. You can sleep it off. I’ll be back in the morning I’ll give them you then.”
“You can’t just trap me here!”
“Watch me.”
He strode past me before I knew what he was doing. I turned and walked to the stairs just in time to hear him click the lock with my keys.