Free Silent Voices by Gary McMahon Page B

asked himself as he sipped his pint? Was it just two old friends catching up after twenty years, or something more? What was the real reason behind them coming here, to this shabby little boozer that probably should have been pulled down years ago?
    Simon stared at himself in the mirrors behind the bar. He looked tired, pale and gaunt. His hair was a mess and his cheeks were hollow. He had not been sleeping well, not since receiving the acorn. London seemed a million miles away, or part of another existence altogether. Right now, he felt that he’d stepped back into a cloudy past that had not changed, while out in the world everything about him had altered dramatically.
    He had been shopping at the Tesco Express in Near Grove when he’d taken Brendan’s call. He’d gone straight to the checkout, paid for his meagre provisions, and then returned to the flat to unpack the bags. He didn’t have time for a shower or a coffee; he left the flat and came straight here, where the only reasonable thing to do was buy a drink.
    An old man brushed up against him and leaned across the bar, interrupting his thoughts. “Pint of bitter,” he mumbled to the skinny barmaid. She was standing against the wall reading a fat, dog-eared paperback with a water-damaged front cover. Most of the title had been rubbed off – something about kicking a hornet’s nest. The barmaid glanced up from the page, nodded, and pushed away from the wall like a swimmer moving away from the shore. She put her book down on the bar and pulled a pint, her thin, hard forearms tensing as she tugged on the pump.
    “Ta, petal,” said the old man, leering as he handed her a five pound note. She sighed, shook her head, and gave him his change.
    “Stupid old fart,” she said to herself, as she picked up her book and drifted back to her spot against the wall.
    Simon laughed, but she didn’t even acknowledge him. He coughed lightly, dipped his lips to his glass, and looked around at the rest of the drinkers.
    The Dropped Penny had not changed a bit since he’d last been here. Even the faces looked the same, only older, more worn and wrinkled. It had never seemed to get too busy back when Simon used to sneak in for an under-age drink, nor was it ever empty. Always roughly the same number of punters, drinking quietly, chatting in low voices, and watching the world from over the rim of a dirty glass.
    He saw Brendan enter the pub, watching him in the mirrored wall. His old friend looked twitchy, on edge. His eyes were rimmed with red, as if he’d already been drinking heavily. Or perhaps he was simply deprived of sleep, like Simon.
    He was just about to turn around when Brendan saw him. A look of regret – or was it sadness? – crossed his face, and then he walked towards the bar.
    “What can I get you?” Simon smiled. It took some effort, but it was the least he could do. He had to try and get the man on-side.
    “Pint of Landlord. It’s good in here.”
    “It certainly is,” said Simon, nodding towards the remains of his own drink. “Two Landlords, please,” he called to the barmaid, who was lost in her book.
    The woman looked up, sighed, and trudged to the bar to pour the drinks.
    “If it isn’t too much trouble, that is.” Simon smiled.
    “Don’t get smart with me, son, or I’ll bar you.” She did not return the smile.
    “The old Ridley charm... it never fails.” He turned to Brendan and winked.
    Despite himself, Brendan smiled. “I remember you could charm the pants off a nun... an old nun, with a smelly crotch and poor personal hygiene.”
    “Thanks, mate,” said Simon, handing Brendan a pint. “You always knew how to make me feel better about myself.”
    “Let’s sit down. There’s a table over here.” Brendan moved away from the bar and sat at a table near the window, more relaxed now that he had a drink in his hand. He took a long swallow with his eyes closed, and then placed the pint glass on a soggy beermat but kept hold of it, as