The Final Winter

Chapter Ten

Damien had separated himself from the group and was now standing by the window in his bulbous puffer jacket, staring intently at the world outside. Harry and the other drinkers had remained around the sofa, a row of beers at their feet thawing in front of the fire. A couple were cracked due to the change in temperature, but several more seemed to be returning to their more natural state of crisp, bubbling liquid.

Damien stared out into the night.

What is with this weather? It came out of nowhere…

Damien had never known anything like it. The air was cold enough to freeze a person’s eyelashes – not to mention the beer – and if he was honest (which he never was if he could help it) he was worried. If the power didn’t come back on soon, would it continue to get even colder? Would he freeze to death? It seemed absurd in this day and age, but he wasn’t so certain anymore. The ghost-white blanket swirling outside the window made him even less sure. The whole world was freezing.

How did I get stuck in this dump on a night like tonight? The one Tuesday where I have serious business to attend to and this happens – and that fuckface Jimmy hasn’t even turned up. I should be sitting in my Jacuzzi right now – some bitch waiting on the bed to gobble my knob – but no, I’m stuck here with a bunch of deadbeats. Steph isn’t so bad – in fact I wouldn’t mind giving her one – but the others deserve a good old-fashioned beat down. Especially that waster, Harry. Thinks he’s better than me when really he’s the biggest degenerate here.

Damien craned his neck towards the group by the fire. Harry was sitting on the sofa alone, whilst the others milled about nearby.

Everyone probably moved away because of the stink of booze and vomit. Who the hell does that guy think he is?

Damien had noticed plenty of times how Harry turned his nose up whenever him and his mates were in the pub. Damien would have done something about it before now but the guy wasn’t worth the effort. Besides, despite his superior attitude, Harry pretty much kept to himself, and it was a bad move to pick fights with people that kept to themselves. It put you on the radar, and that was the last thing he needed right now

Still, the geezer best wind his neck in because I’ll put him down if he gets in my face again. That thick Mick will get his too if he’s not careful. Sick of people treating me like a worthless thug, thinking they know all about me, but they don’t know shit.

For some reason, when Damien thought about Lucas it produced butterflies in his stomach and he wasn’t sure why. Certainly wasn’t because he was scared of the man (or any man for that matter), but for some reason Lucas made Damien feel uneasy. Especially after the guy had damn-near bust his hand.

Damien shuddered as a cold breeze made it inside his collar. Time to get back in front of that fire, I think; freezing my bloody nutsack off!

He turned away from the window and saw Lucas staring at him from across the room.

Speak of the Devil!

Damien wrinkled his brow at the man, who had now begun smiling as well as simply staring. Damien shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. Body language for: What you looking at?

Lucas nodded at him and held up a bottle of beer.

Right! Damien thought, relieved, without knowing exactly what he had to be relieved about. He’s just letting me know that the beer has thawed out.

Despite relaxing a little, the butterflies in Damien’s stomach were still acting up. In fact they were multiplying.

Harry watched while Damien took a lightly-frosted beer from Lucas and wondered if he saw nervousness in the lad’s eyes. The lad had started to seem less sure of himself as the night had gone on, as though some well-kept veneer of toughness had slowly started to show cracks. Harry took a swig of his own beer and cringed as the icy liquid passed over his teeth, making them ache a little. Think I would actually prefer a steaming mug of coffee about now.

Lucas exited a conversation he’d been having with Steph and then headed off towards the toilets. Suddenly alone, Steph took up a seat beside Harry on the sofa. He could feel the warmth of her thigh against his as she settled into the cushions.

“You got anywhere you’re supposed to be tonight, Harry?” she asked him.

He laughed. “You know me! When do I ever have any place to be other than here?”

“True,” she said. “But I don’t know why it is that you come here every night. It can’t just be the alcohol? You could drink at home and pass out on your own floor if you wanted to.”

Harry laughed again. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t be there to pick me up afterwards.”

Steph shook her head at him as though she didn’t accept his answer. “I’m serious! Why do you come here?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s because misery loves company. I think I come here to be among the living dead.”

Steph raised one of her neatly-kept eyebrow. “I don’t follow.”

“How can I explain it? On the weekends you get the kids in having fun, but during the weekdays you have guys like Nigel who sit at the end of the bar without saying a word all night, or guys like Old Graham who live in the past because they don’t know where they fit in during the present. They come to be around others that have ceased living in the here and now, people who instead live inside their own heads and exist on memories alone.” Harry took a swig of his beer and then looked Steph in the eyes. They looked to him like glistening pearls and, for a few seconds, he stopped speaking, just staring into them. Frightened that the pause might become awkward, Harry carried on with what he was saying. “I come here because it reminds me that there are other people that have nothing left in their lives except regret. If I stayed at home I’d lose sight of the fact that I’m not alone in misery – that I’m not the world’s unluckiest man. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me going. Doesn’t matter how much I hate my life, I’m not unique and my pain isn’t special. I’m never alone because I’m part of a club. The Living Dead Club.”

Steph rubbed a hand against her forehead. The various rings on her fingers glinted in the fire’s glow. “God, you’re depressing. Were you always like this?”

“No.” Harry didn’t say anything else. Once he’d been a positive, upbeat person, but now he wasn’t – and that was that. The death of his wife, Julie, and his son, Toby, had left a charred, sucking wound where his heart had once been. He missed them and there was nothing else. It was as much as he was willing to think about it. If he thought about it any further than that, he would end up thinking about what he did one year ago. And about how he got the star-shaped scar.

Steph must have understood the feelings that her question provoked in him and changed the subject. She knew Harry had lost loved ones, but possessed none of the details of when or how it happened. Harry did not share that with anybody. It was locked up inside of him and the key was broken, and lost.

“Hey, Graham?” Steph shouted suddenly.

The old man was sat on the floor by the fire and flinched. “What?”

“Can you go upstairs to your flat and get some blankets and stuff.”

The old man nodded. “Good idea.”

Whilst Old Graham tottered over towards the bar on his way to the stairs behind, Nigel shifted along the floor and filled his place nearer the fire. The man’s greasy face turned in Steph and Harry’s direction and spoke. “Is it ok for me to bed down here tonight, Steph? I’m parked round the back, but I don’t fancy a night in the lorry.”

Steph shrugged. “Can’t exactly see you out on the street now can I?”

Nigel’s face lit up. “Thanks Steph.”

Damien piped up from the opposite side of the fire. “So you live in a lorry then?”

Nigel nodded. “Sometimes, I do. Travel Europe most the time so what’s the point in paying rent? I book a hotel when I fancy a soft bed and a warm bath, but most nights the driver’s cabin suits me fine enough. Never did much like being tied down to one place.”

Harry wondered what that must be like. Such freedom to be able to lay your hat anyway in Europe and call it home for the night. Part of him yearned to disappear like that, to become a wandering nomad: a man with no emotional ties. Yet, for some reason, it just felt unnatural. A man without a home, without a family, wasn’t really a man, was he? It didn’t seem right not to yearn for those things. He wondered what had led Nigel to live such an isolated life.

Damien sniggered. “So, you’re basically one step up from a homeless person, huh, Nigel?”

Nigel shrugged. “Aside from the fact that I have a well-paid job and get to see most of the continent in any given year.”

“Where have you been recently?” Steph asked.

“Well, I was in France last, but that was on my way back from Amsterdam, and Copenhagen before that.”

“Am-ster-dam.” Damien said the word slowly as though he enjoyed the feel of it on his tongue. “I’ve been there, big man. Next time you go, say hello to Cindy Suckalump. She’ll give you a discount if you mention my name.”

“Don’t be so crude,” said Steph. “I’m sure Nigel doesn’t know what on earth you mean.” The attention of the group suddenly turned to Nigel who was looking away sheepishly. “Oh my!” said Steph finally, realising that Nigel was just a man like any other.

Damien let out a raucous laugh. “Oh, he knows. Look at his face.”

Nigel seemed embarrassed but was smiling nonetheless, like a ten-year old boy caught with his father’s porno magazines. Harry leant forward and was about to speak, but was interrupted by a voice behind him.

Old Graham was holding something in the air triumphantly. “Got the blankets, folks. Brought me something else too.”

“And what would that be?” asked Lucas, returning from the toilets and tucking his shirt back into his trousers.

“I think we need to know what the hell is going on tonight,” Old Graham explained, “so I brought down me old radio.”

Harry slapped his hands together and congratulated the old man. “Excellent,” he said.

Now maybe we can find out just what the hell is going on with this weather and when the power will be back on.

Deep down, Harry wasn’t so sure he wanted to know.