Inspiration

The pub was quieter than usual for a Thursday night. The Specials were playing on the stereo and Bernard, Peter and Stephen were keeping time with their feet as they glanced around at the other punters in the hopes they would be recognised. That had happened a few times now, since they’d played live on So It Goes, and the lads had gotten a taste for it. 

“My round!” Bernard announced as he eyed the punters at the bar and took off with a swagger.

Shortly after Ian walked into the pub and Peter and Stephen barely stifled their groans. They loved Ian, he was the centre of their universe and the band but when he was down, he dragged everyone else down with him, and they could tell from his bearing he was well down.

“Hey Ian.” Peter said as Ian sank into a chair at the table and lit up a fag.

Ian drew deeply and exhaled without making eye contact with either of them. His brow was furrowed, his mouth downturned. Neither Peter nor Stephen attempted speech again until Bernard returned with the round.

“Ian?” Bernard asked as he set down the drinks and it was clear he wasn’t asking for a drink order.

“It’s fucked. It’s so fucked.”

“What is?” asked Peter.

Ian pinned him with a gaze that held so much pain Peter wanted to look away.

“I’ve no control anymore.” Ian said as he dragged hard on his hand rolled.

“Control of what?” Bernard pushed.

“Me and Deb. It’s like we’re stuck in a routine, no ambition, but she resents my success like I’m leaving her behind, but I’m not, we’re just changing our ways, you know, taking different roads.”
Ian dragged deep on the cigarette, held his breath for a long time and then let the smoke burst forth from his lungs. The expelled cloud covered the inhabitants of the table.

“The bedroom is so cold; she always turns on her side, regardless of my timing. We seem to have lost respect for each other but some appeal is seeing us through. The other night she cried out in her sleep but she wasn’t crying out for me. I felt like a failure. I couldn’t stand the taste in my mouth, I felt desperate. How could something so good just not function no more.”

Stephen shifted uncomfortably. “Jesus, it’s like the antithesis of that Captain and Tenillle song.”

Ian wasn’t listening. He was staring into the distance in that way he did and humming a tune under his breath.

“What’s that tune?” Bernard asked, getting his attention.

Ian turned his wide eyes on him. “Just something playing around in my head, it won’t leave me alone.”

Bernard downed his pint in three big gulps and banged it noisily on the table as he stood. “Then let’s go and get it down man.”

By Dayv Metcalfe