I'm the first to admit its not much of a pub. It's certainly not one of those raucous city centre places, full of drunken yobs and tarty girls every Friday and Saturday night. I'm sure they make loads of money, but I couldn't stand the hassle. Neither is it one of those twee and charming country pubs, that fill with twittering yuppies at the weekend, out for a Sunday lunch and quaffing their real ale and sipping their white wines. Its much more down to earth than that.
We're in a small town, probably smaller than average, that had grown from being a mining village many years ago. The town had grown off to one side and, what had once been the centre, was now a suburban area on the outskirts. Orderly streets of small tenement rows of miner's housing, that had gone through a period of decline and decay when the mines closed, to be slowly reborn as new industry arrived and younger people wanted somewhere to live. Slowly the area grew smarter as people took pride in their surroundings.
And stuck right in the middle was the pub. My pub! I'm Dana and I'm the proud owner and landlady of this little pub. Hidden away among the warren of streets, little known to anyone outside the area. I'd bought it a few years ago with an inheritance from my grandparents. I'd spent most of my working life in pubs, but it was such a relief finally to have a place of my own and not have some multi-national looking over my shoulder. It was a little run-down, and the intention was to do the place up. My husband at the time was a builder and was supposed to be in charge of it all. That was my big mistake. He turned out to be more interested in spending my money on booze, than on building materials. And most of it wasn't even spent in our pub!
So, he got kicked out and I found one of the regulars who was happy to take it on. In fact, employing locals for all the work turned out to be an unwitting stroke of genius. They all started to feel like it was theirs. Bit by bit they brought their friends in and my group of regulars grew slowly. It was never a huge crowd, but it was enough that I could pay the bills every month.
The regulars we catered for all knew each other, which was why I was surprised when four women, all of them strangers, walked in one night. As so often happens, when they walked in all heads turned to look and the murmur of conversation stilled for a moment. They looked okay to me, so I smiled and asked them what they'd like to drink. I was a little surprised when they looked so relieved at my greeting. The regulars slowly went back to their chatter and the four women found themselves a table in one corner.
They were an odd group in many ways. To me they looked like two couples who had sort of coalesced into one group. I found out later that they were exactly that, but not in the way I imagined. There were two older women, late forties or early fifties was my guess, and two much younger girls, both early twenties. It came as a bit of a shock when I found out later that, although they were indeed two couples, they were two sets of young and old pairings. But it was really none of my business. They sat at their table, quietly chatting, until it was time to throw everyone out, and they left with a cheery wave and a "Goodnight!".
When six women turned up a week later I was pleasantly surprised. Thursday night is not one of our busiest, and six extra mouths to get drinks down was not to be scoffed at. There were one or two mutterings from the men at the bar, but I soon shut them up.
"You lot can keep quiet for a start," I hissed at them, "any complaints and you'll be making them from the street outside."
That shut them up at least, as none of them wanted to be kicked out of their favourite pub. It was also gratifying that the majority of them voiced their agreement with me. As for the six women, I hoped they were oblivious to all this. Whether they were or not, the fact remained that they stayed again all evening and left with smiles on their faces.
By the third week there was eight of them. That was when I had the idea of showing them the back room. Its rarely used except for the occasional local wake, so I was pleased when they thought it was a great idea. It was just as well I did, as their numbers started to grow. From four to six to eight and now there's often twelve or fifteen in there every Thursday. And they're not a quietly sitting down nursing a half pint all night sort of crowd. I've had to increase my weekly order for wine by quite a bit and this has brought in a not unwelcome boost to my income. So, of course I was happy to post a 'Reserve' notice on the door.
There were one or two "bloody dykes" comments from the usual miseries but a dark look from me quickly silenced them. As far as I was concerned, they could keep their opinions to themselves or find somewhere else to drink. At the end of the night, the women would all quietly leave and go their separate ways. No rowdy drunken singing or throwing up in the street. So unlike the scenes I'd occasionally seen in town.
One night, when I'd just booted the last of the men out of the door and I was going around collecting empty glasses, one of the women appeared out from the back with two handfuls of empty wine glasses.
"I thought I'd help out and bring these through,"
"You made me jump," I said, making a face of mock surprise, "I thought everyone had left."
"Sorry," she replied, "but we leave such a mess, I thought I'd help out. If you have a cloth I'll go and wipe the tables."
"There's no need," I said, "you get off home. I'm used to doing it."
"I'm in no rush. It'll be a pleasure."
"Well, if you're sure ..."
The truth was I was glad of the company. This was the only part of the day I hated. The world outside was mostly in bed and I was stuck here cleaning up. Some things could wait but I'd learned a long time ago that glasses needed doing as soon as possible. So, I found her a cloth and some cleaning spray, and she set to work on the tables while I fed the glasses through the machine. We didn't talk much while we worked but it was just comforting too hear the sound of another person. She'd just about finished as I put the last of the glasses in the draining rack.
"Thanks so much," I said to her, "the least I can do is offer you a night-cap. I always have a brandy when I've finished work, what about you?"
"That would be lovely, thanks," she said, settling herself on one of the stools on the other side of the bar. I saw her look round the room, as though for the first time, as I turned and put two brandies on the counter.
