Last Orders

Bermondsey

Vie takes the jar and starts to ease it back in the box but it's a tricky business and the box slides from his lap on to the floor, so he puts the jar on the bar.

It's about the same size as a pint glass.

He says, 'Bern!'

Bernie's at the other end of the bar, usual drying-up towel over his shoulder. He turns and comes towards us. He's about to say something to Vie, then he sees the jar, by Lenny's pint. He checks himself and he says, 'What's that?' But as if he's already worked out the answer.

'It's Jack,' Vie says. It's Jack's ashes.'

Bernie looks at the jar, then he looks at Vie, then he gives a quick look round the whole of the bar. He looks like he looks when he's making up his mind to eject an unwanted customer, which he's good at. Like he's building up steam. Then his face goes quiet, it goes almost shy.

'That's Jack?' he says, leaning closer, as if the jar might answer back, it might say, 'Hello Bernie.'

'Jesus God,' Bernie says, 'what's he doing here?'

So Vie explains. It's best that Vie explains, being the professional. Coming from Lenny or me, it might sound like a load of hooey.

Then I say, 'So we thought he should have a last look-in at the Coach,'

'I see,' Bernie says, like he don't see.

'It's a turn-up,' Lenny says.

Vie says, 'Get me a large scotch, Bernie. Have one yourself.'

'I will, thank you, I will, Vie,' Bernie says, all considered and respectful, like a scotch is appropriate and it don't do to refuse a drink from an undertaker.

He takes two glasses from the rack and squeezes one up against the scotch bottle, two shots, then he takes just a single for himself. He turns and slides the double across to Vie. Vie pushes over a fiver, but Bernie holds up a hand. 'On the house, Vie, on the house,' he says, 'Aim every day, is it?' Then he raises his glass, eyes on the jar, as if he's going to say something speechy and grand but he says, 'Jesus God, he was only sitting there six weeks ago.'

We all look into our drinks.

Vie says, 'Well here's to him.'

We lift our glasses, mumbling. Jackjackjack.

'And here's to you, Vie,' I say. 'You did a good job Thursday.'

'Went a treat,' Lenny says.

'Don't mention it,' Vie says. 'How's Amy?'

'Managing,' I say.

'She hasn't changed her mind about coming then?'

(No, she'll be seeing June, as per usual.'

Everyone's silent.

Vie says, 'Her decision, isn't it?'

Lenny sticks his nose in his glass like he's not going to say anything.

Bernie's looking at the jar and looking anxiously round the bar. He looks at Vie like he don't want to make a fuss but.

Vie says, 'Point taken, Bernie,' and takes the jar from where it's sitting. He reaches down for the fallen box. 'Not much good for business, is it?'

lAint helping yours much either, Vie,' Lenny says.

Vie slides the jar carefully back into the box. It's eleven twenty by Slattery's clock and it feels less churchy. There's more punters coming in. Someone's put on the music machine. Going back some day, come what may, to Blue Bayou... That's, better, that's better.

First wet rings on the mahogany, first drifts of blue smoke.

Vie says, 'Well all we need now is our chauffeur.'

Lenny says, They're playing his tune. Wonder what he'll bring. Drives something different every week, these days, far as I can see.'

Bernie says, 'Same again all round?'

As he speaks there's a hooting and tooting outside in the street. A pause, then another burst.

Lenny says, 'Sounds like him now. Sounds like Vincey.'

There's a fresh round of hooting.

Vie says, 'Isn't he coming in?'

Lenny says, 'I reckon he wants us out there.'

We don't go out but we get up and go over to the window. Vie keeps hold of the box, like someone might pinch it. We raise ourselves up on our toes, heads dose together, so we can see above the frosted half of the window. I can't quite, but I don't say.

'Jesus Christ,' Lenny says.

'It's a Merc,' Vie says.

'Trust Big Boy,' Lenny says.

I push down on the sill to give myself a second's extra lift. It's a royal blue Merc, cream seats, gleaming in the April sunshine.

'Jesus,' I say. A Merc.'

Lenny says, it's like a joke he's been saving up for fifty years, 'Rommel would be pleased.'