Short Stories

Dave: Friday Night Messiah Jude couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew this man, but he didn’t know how he knew him. ‘So I say No! we should stay' He was sure he had heard this before. ‘We will be punished’ Why Can’t I remember his name?’ Jude thought to himself. ‘Its far more beneficial to be in’ Around the man at the bar an appreciative crown of punters grew, evenly spaced, graded by height, graded by profession. Matt the part-time gardener, John the window cleaner, still in his work clothes. Luke, the solicitor, cradling his beer, his thumb caressing the dimples in the handled glass as he hugged it to his stomach, whilst Tomas, haematologist and pub sceptic, held his head slightly to one side and pursed his lips above his Gin & Tonic, as if to sip, but not doing so. ‘the thing you all have to appreciate is that we will lose all influence’. It was the tone of his voice that tugged; where have I heard him before? Why can’t I pin this man down? I remember everything, every face, every name, but why can’t I remember him? He looked again and the group had grown, ten, eleven, twelve, plus himself. How had he arrived in this space. There was a glow that seemed to sit above the huddle as they listened. ‘Article 50. On the 23rd’ The light seemed to emanate from above the man, a soft light, a blue-white B & Q LED bulb kind of light. It couldn’t be, impossible, it looked like a halo. Jude squinted, trying to adjust his vision. Perhaps it was the reflected light of the TV. ‘My God. Dave! He had seen him, had heard him, but where? Was it The Blind Beggar, The Union, The Market Inn? ‘Sovereignty will remain in our hands.’ Jude focused on the light, transfixed whilst the words he heard circled around him, and he could see Dave smiling. A delightful, benevolent smile and he saw him rising, levitating, there was nothing holding him aloft. ‘My God he is real’ Jude muttered to himself as Dave’s hypnotic words became entwined in his head. ‘Our place at the centre as influencers will be maintained.’ Jude shook his head, the words. He knew these words, yet he wanted them gone. He looked hard at Dave, saw the perfectly manicured outstretched hands, reaching out to the scarred faces around him that were nodding sycophantically. ‘Trust in me on the 23rd.’ Jude edged back, releasing himself from the momentary spell, unhooked from the glow of Dave’s aura. He took a deep breath and surveyed his acquaintances; in a rapture, unable to recognise the Armageddon being preached. A prophecy from the Friday night prophet down the pub. Jude turned his back on Dave’s new acolytes and with a purpose, leant against the fruit machine fed it a fifty pence piece and slapped the start button with the flat of his hand. The whirling, clicking mechanism started to come to a halt, Clerrdunk, clerrdunk, clerrdunk. Three lemons aligned themselves in the centre of the display. The machine coughed. Kerrplink, kerrplink, kerrplink. Thirty times in total. ‘You know it makes sense’ Jude scooped the pile of silver coloured coins from the silver coloured tray and weighed them in his hands. ‘That should be enough’ he thought to himself, turning to a man sat quietly at the other end of the bar. ‘Hey, Nigel, can I buy you a pint mate?’