Set One Up For George

A tale for the Angel birds.

           Set One Up For George

 

As sensations go the dry lick of a dogs tongue on the sole of the foot is not the most pleasant morning wake up call. “Snipe”, Angela rasped. It’s not that she didn’t love her little wag tailed whippet, she just needed some black coffee and a couple of cigarettes before she was willing to resume her default, pleasant disposition. The clock read five to seven, and Angela elbowed her pillow into a sitting position and reached for her lighter she inhaled sharply and settled back in contemplation of the day ahead; bidding farewell to Jack would not be easy.

Attending funerals always rippled the normally placid pools of Angela’s orderly emotional balance, as haunting and unresolved memories of Michael’s murder would flood back, reigniting those well scorched paths of inner lament. Death is the beginning of a new foundation for the spectator, a mitotic platform where time and motion suspend, bubbled together, bloating in expectation of our chosen direction. Angela’s initial feeling was as if a claw had dropped from the shadows and snatched her burgeoning hopes and dreams away. It was in that period of loss and grief that she learned, through therapy, to accept that random acts have the power to corrode the spirit of all who submit unknowingly to their effect.  

 

A fresh start in a new city was part of the planned healing process, and that’s where she first met Jack Grimshaw. Jean from the butcher’s had said there might be a job available keeping bar at “The Swallow’s Oak” “I’ve put a good word in for you, Angie” she had said eagerly.

“Go see Jack tomorrow after three; he’ll be expecting you. Good luck”. The pub was about a mile away, two bus stops from her house, close enough to walk if the weather permitted. Angela timed her arrival for a little after three so as not to appear too eager, but in truth she was keen to expand her horizons and her bank balance could also do with additional support. The front of the pub was dominated by a large window made up of multiple panes of opaque glass aside an oversized wooden double door, not unattractive but a little foreboding nonetheless, Angela gave a tentative rattle of the brass knocker and stepped inside, she was immediately overcome with an intense feeling of familiarity, as if she had slipped through a time porthole, and was re-entering her childhood school house. There was a sweet cinnamon aroma in the air,  and she sensed a warmth, not heat as such, more a kind of glow- perhaps it was the light shining off the long wooden bar top that ran the length of the room, the walls were a rusty red colour almost blending perfectly with an assortment of mahogany tables and chairs, the wooden floor was bare but clean, there was a highly polished square area directly under the strangest bar lamp she had ever seen; the end of the bar top raised up to the height of about five feet in the shape of a llamas neck, and perched on top was a beautiful glass shade in various tones of indigo blue, made in the shape of a winged angel. The light from it was reflecting in different hues along the large rectangular gantry mirror casting oscillating shadows on the polished part of the floor.

 Angela’s eye was drawn towards the Jukebox in the corner to her left, its light seamed to flicker intermittently as if to subtly request attention. Angela’s admiration was interrupted by a thud as the cellar trap swung up from the floor to her right and out popped Jack, she was surprised at how fast Jack appeared to spring from below, he was a tall man, heavy set and bald, aged about sixty, his face set in a smile as if held there in permanent place by well grooved laughter lines running from ear to ear.

“Hello there” Jack boomed “You’ve come about the job?”

“Yes, I’m Angela, Jean from the butchers said I should call in.”

Jack thrust his big hand forward grabbing Angela’s hand even before she was aware of lifting it in response and shook it vigorously he then lifted her left hand, “You’ve got a good long reach on you girl” he said gesturing in the direction of the bar, “It’s got a broad top, be no good if they were stumpy” he laughed.

Angela withdrew her slender hands, suddenly aware that she had not yet had the courage to remove her engagement ring as it still seemed to bring her some comfort in a weird unfulfilling way. As if reading her mind Jack chipped in “You’re engaged I see, that will ward of any undue attention” he said with an exaggerated wink, Angela smiled weakly and made a decision not to offer any response. “You’ve moved here from the big smoke Eh! Have you worked a bar before?” Jack enquired

“Yes! Done a stint in the Union when I was at university” Angela replied. “Ah! Educated and work experience, fabulous”, Jack beamed, “Come on I’ll show you the ropes”. Jack let Angela pull a pint, offered some direction on keeping inventory, pointed out where things were stored and gave a little demonstration on using the till “There’s no tick or tabs, no matter what the excuse” Jack said firmly, “And that’s about it, when can you start?”

“Anytime that suits” answered Angela, relieved at how smoothly things had gone.

“Oh! Just one last thing, Jack pointed at the polished area of the floor, occasionally customers like to have a wee dance and I’ve just got the floor re-done would you do me the honour of helping me test its grip?” he smiled and walked over to the jukebox.

Angela was a little surprised but moved gingerly towards Jack just as Dean Martins “Everybody Loves Somebody” seeped into the air; Jack placed a hand behind Angela’s back and held her other hand high with a respectable distance between them. They circled round the square, Jack smiling generously and complimenting Angela’s graceful movement. It had been a while since Angela was held in the arms of a man but she sensed that this unusual interview in this enchanted barroom had all the hallmarks of her hoped for happiness in a yet uncertain future.

Suddenly, as if fate’s hand was forced by events, Angela felt sure she saw birds flying round their feet and in that instance, as if her dammed up emotion had been waiting, for that very moment, she began to sob, and felt like a wave had forced her on to Jacks shoulder,  where she clung fearful she would fall. Jack held her in silence for a while until Angela’s body relaxed then he sat her at a table and fetched her a brandy.

It all came pouring out, she hardly drew breath. Jack listened intently to how Angela’s fiancé had been killed in a mistaken identity gang turf war and how her world had fallen apart as a result. How she’d gone through intensive counselling and then in an attempt to find closure had enrolled on a university course to study the same subject but dropped out after two years still stuck in her own tormented trauma and that coming to Ralston was designed to help her move forward. Jack never said much, only to reassure her that she would be alright and that he himself had known some hard times, that he had been a soldier and on returning from the war had been unable to see any beauty for concentrating too keenly on the shrapnel wounds.

Angela felt drained, empty, as she travelled home on the bus, it was as if, finally, finding herself in a new town where nobody knew her story had somehow allowed her well-defended guard to come down exposing her pent up fragile insecurities and allowing them their freedom to express real feeling.

It was a few busy days later before Angela asked a question of Jack that altered the course of her life forever; she hadn’t seen much of him the past few days except for opening and closing and once to change a barrel, he was just seeing the last few customers out for afternoon closing, while she waited until the door was bolted and asked for a quiet word. “Jack” she ventured hesitantly “what’s happened to George?” Jack seemed a little taken aback by the question “George who?”

“Well it’s probably me being silly but over the past few days various customers have requested a drink be set up at the far end of the bar for George and at the end of the night I’ve had to poured them down the sink because he had not come in” said Angela.

With a look of resignation, Jack beckoned Angela to the table closest to the door, and waited until she had sat down before he began. “I first met George many years ago, I was well down on my luck, sleeping rough and trying to get by doing odd jobs and I was drinking way too much, wallowing in what might have been, if only, you know? George stumbled across me out the back of the cellar door and once he found out I was ex services he offered me a chance to get back on my feet, he let me bed down in the cellar and told me he was about to open a pub in the shop above and that if I straightened myself out he would offer me work, he was just putting the finishing touches to the wooden bar you see there” Jack pointed, and paused for a moment.

 “I guess everyone has a story” he continued “ George had been stationed at Hornsea on some coast line defence project and had fallen in love with a local farm girl called Ida, they had spent the spring and summer, dreaming lovers dreams and planning for when they could be together, they would lie beneath the large Oak tree by the side of barn, drink cider and watch the busy Swallows duck and dive, they think a German Bomber had been blown off course on a particularly stormy night but when George returned to the farm on his next leave all that remained was a large crater, a burnt out barn and the main trunk of the Oak tree with the broken stump of a branch. I don’t know much about what George went through at that time; we soldiers are deep sorts, he paid a local farmer to store the tree and when the war was over he transported it here, he had leased the flat above and bought the shop with a family inheritance, he must have been wrestling with his own demons as from what I have gathered he shut himself off, recluse like, for a number of years” Jack stopped talking, walked over to the bar and returned with two glasses and a bottle of brandy, he poured them both a generous measure as Angela lit a cigarette.

“I can’t be sure what woke George from his slumber”, Jack continued, “all I know is he crafted the bar from the solid trunk and for some reason left the bulk of the broken branch. Perhaps he felt  that if it could survive a thousand pound German bomb, it deserved to bear further witness to new purpose, and maybe that’s what got his mind to thinking about crowning it with a lamp. But for me Angela, this is where the real ingenuity starts.” Jack took another sip of brandy and pushed his ample frame further into the body of the chair. “George had removed a large chunk of shrapnel from the trunk and had hammered out seven pieces of the metal into the shape of swallows, he then used an assortment of old poison medical bottles left over from the previous shop owner and fashioned them into the angel shade, hanging the seven swallows from wire threads within and piped an old gas feed up through the bar from the cellar, I tell you Angela, sometimes when the gas pressure drops you can see the swallows glow!” Tears were streaming from Angela’s eyes, she felt as if she was being born again, she knew if she hadn’t been sitting, she’d have fainted, her thoughts were spinning. Angela took a gulp of brandy and blurted out “And the bar drinks, for George?” “Ah!” said Jack “George was an altruistic gentleman, who never shut his ears to the plight of his brother and over the years he accumulated many an admirer. Although he passed some years ago they still like to raise a glass to the good man whose big heart touched so many.

Angela’s head was spinning, she was watching Jacks mouth move but not really hearing the words, so the birds were real, she thought, the gas pressure, German bombers, poor Ida. It would take a time for this lot to settle, “So he left the pub in trust, to me, on the condition that no major material alterations were to be made to the interior of the bar and I guess I’ve been doing my best to follow his wishes”. Jacks voice cut back into her thinking!

Jack had become a good friend to her over the last ten years and they had grown very close in this last year, quite naturally Angela reckoned, as a result of the intimate nature of hospital visiting. Her life had settled down, she had been deeply moved by George’s inspirational life and example and over the years had tried to emulate his care and consideration for others.

Angela had learned that many people who come into pubs do so because there lonely, so from behind the bar she had developed a good ear for listening, she tried to offer support and encouragement whenever possible and sometimes when the gas pressure dropped she’d remember that fateful day long ago when the magic swallows danced and her new life as the angels apprentice began.

Snipe barked, and leapt from the bed in anticipation of breakfast, Angela stubbed out her second cigarette, accidently clinking her engagement ring on last night’s water glass and made a decision to set a drink out for “Jack” tonight, some traditions were worth following, she closed her eyes and said a prayer for Michael.

Author's Note

Second story, be helpful, but true.

Reviews

[Tinker Pete]

Dude, I read your request. This story is outstanding. It caught my interest and there was much I could relate to. If you're going to write and be read, more like this seems to be your ticket, imo. You have a unique voice. Stick with it and please, please write another. Maybe another Angela story or three. Follow up with what happens with Jack, or what she witnessed on the way to work or what she had to do to get the dog back from the Person or persons who took it. Just pick up the ball and run with it. See what happens.
(I added this story to my favorites folder.)
Cheers! ;)

[Ookpik]

I liked it, very succinct and descriptive when necessary. There isn't an ounce of fat on this, every line serves a purpose and I appreciate the way the story is brought full circle.

I saw a couple of typos and an occasional misplaced semi-colon but a thorough edit should smooth that out.

Lastly, I read this through a thread on a writing group and thought I'd exchange requests to review?

If you have the time I have a W.I.P. that I'm looking for feedback on - it's titled (Dionysian Short) and draws influence from a number of classical plays (Bacchae - Euripides & Eumenides - Aeschylus), as well as Neil Gaiman's 'American Gods'.

- Ook

[Abdul Future Author]

Wow, great formatting. Meaningful story 🎉
There are a couple of grammar mistakes.

Could you please take 5 minutes and read my story (Jay and the mysterious creature at Dylan Primary School) just go to my profile. And review it please.

NOTE: ITS NOT THE COMPLETED/FULL CHAPTER OF MY STORY