It’s Saturday afternoon and Dad’s taken me to the pub again.  He points at a table and tells me to sit there, while he goes over to the bar.  He talks for a bit with another man at the bar.  I’ve seen Dad talk to the man before.  The man always seems to be in the pub when we come.  I think he’s in the pub when Dad’s in here at night-time.

There’s a big ashtray on the table, full of smelly cigarette ends.  I shove it to the other side of the table, through a little puddle of spilt beer.

The man laughs loudly and slaps Dad on the back.  Dad doesn’t laugh or say anything.  The man looks over to where I’m sitting, lifts his glass of beer in the air, and winks at me.  I don’t know why.

Dad comes over.  He’s got a big glass of black beer in one hand.  Guinness, it’s called.  He’s got a small glass of Coke in the other hand.  And he’s got a bag of crisps hanging from his mouth.  The top corner of the crisp bag is between his teeth.  He drops the crisps onto the table from his mouth and puts the drinks down.

“There’s your Coke and crisps,” he says.  He always gets me Coke and crisps when he takes me to the pub.  He used to ask me what I wanted and I always used to say “Coke and crisps.”  Now he just gets them without asking me.  If he did ask me, I wouldn’t ask for Coke and crisps anymore.  I’m a bit fed up with them.  I’d ask for something else.  I don’t know what though.  I used to ask for Coke because I thought it looked a bit like Dad’s Guinness.  But I don’t like it when Dad drinks his Guinness anymore.  I would have a drink that looks like something else.

I pick up the bag of crisps but it’s all wet with beer off the table.  It’s all dripping.  It’s on my hands.  I wipe my fingers on my trousers.  “Here,” says Dad.  He takes the crisps off me and tears the bag right open on the table.  He takes a big handful of crisps and shoves them in his mouth.  Then he takes a big drink of his beer.  Then he shakes his head to himself, let’s out a big slow breath and looks around the pub.

The table we are sitting at is just about in the middle of the pub.  We’re facing the big telly screen, which is at the end of the pub.  Everyone else is facing the big screen too.  It’s all the same men who we usually see in here.  There’s also that woman who sits next to the cigarette machine on her own and who was shouting and swearing at everyone last week.

“Salt and vinegar. Your favourite,” says Dad.  I remember the crisps and start eating some.  Salt and vinegar’s still my favourite crisp flavour.  Mum’s favourite too.

“They’ve got the rugby on today,” says Dad, nodding towards the screen.  I can see the teams coming out.  It’s Ireland against Scotland.  But I don’t like rugby.  I like football, but they never have football on the telly in the pub at this time on a Saturday.  Dad says they have it on Sundays.  It wouldn’t be too bad coming to the pub with Dad on a Saturday if it was football on.  Usually they don’t have anything on.  Maybe the rugby will make it a bit better.

The match starts and lots of people shout for Ireland.  Dad doesn’t say anything.  He just looks at the telly and drinks his beer.  I don’t think Dad likes rugby either. 

“Who do you want to win?” I ask Dad.  “Ireland, I suppose,” says Dad.

Dad finishes his beer and gets up without saying anything.  He goes over to the bar again.  He comes back with another Guinness.  I’ve finished my Coke.  When Dad gets to the table, I ask if I can have another Coke.  “Not yet,” he says, and sits down.

Scotland score a goal or whatever it’s called and a lot of the men start shouting at the telly and swearing.  Dad just carries on looking at the screen and drinks his beer.

I don’t think I like coming to the pub with Dad anymore.  That’s what I told Mum before she brought me over to his flat this morning.  Mum had to bang on the door and shout for Dad for ages before he let us in.  He had been asleep in bed.  Mum shouted at him for being out drinking again the night before.  “Don’t you waste another Saturday with him,” she said to Dad before leaving. 

Mum will be back to get me at 1 o’clock tomorrow.  Then we’ll go home to have our Sunday dinner.  That seems a long time off.

“Dad, can I have a play on the fruit machine?”  I ask.  “No, its not for children,” says Dad.

Dad gave me some money to go on the slot machines when we went to Brighton that time.  But that was ages ago.  And it was when he still had his girlfriend.  I used to like it when I came to see Dad and his girlfriend.  She was nice and we used to go out to places together.  But then she didn’t want to see Dad anymore and now all he wants to do when I come to stay is to go to the pub.  I don’t know whether he thinks I like going to the pub with him or not.

“Do you want another Coke then?” asks Dad.  “Yes please,” I say, and he goes off to the bar again and comes back with the Coke and another Guinness.

I’m a bit fed up with the rugby.  It’s too boring to watch.  But that doesn’t stop everyone else watching it.  They’re all happy right now because Ireland are winning.  Even the shouty woman next to the cigarette machine is happy and the men near her are laughing along with her.

I don’t know if Dad is really watching the telly.  He just seems to be staring into space most of the time.  He doesn’t really say anything except “Ireland have scored another try,” or “the Scots won’t be happy tonight,” or things like that.

I need a wee.  “Dad, I need a wee,” I tell him.  “Go on then,” he says.  He knows I don’t like going to the toilet on my own in here.  “Can you come with me?” I ask.  “Jesus!” he says and looks a bit mad at me.  “Just go, will you, there’ll be no-one in, they’re all watching the match”.

I go down the stairs and into the men’s toilets.  It’s always smelly and dirty in here and I don’t like seeing the men and hearing them talking the way they do.  They always seem to be drunk and swearing at each other and looking at me and it makes me a bit scared.  But Dad was right and no-one else is in the toilets now so that’s alright.  I go in the cubicle.  It’s not very nice in the cubicle but I have a wee anyway because I need one.

I come out and go back up the stairs.  Dad’s not there but I see him over at the bar again.  He’s talking to someone while he waits for his beer.  I think the other man is called Michael.  I heard Dad call him that once.  He’s showing Dad something in a plastic shopping bag.  I can’t see what’s in the bag but Dad is shaking his head.  The barman goes over to Dad with his beer and says something to Michael and points at the door.  Michael and the barman start arguing a bit and Michael is saying all sorts of swear words but he turns away, walks past and goes out through the door, still swearing.  Dad stays at the bar drinking his Guinness and talking to the barman for a bit.

I wonder what Mum is doing right now, and what I would be doing if I was with her instead of Dad.  I like living with Mum but I still like my Dad because he loves me and he makes me laugh and we have fun together and he gives me presents and everything.  At least that’s what I remember anyway.  I can remember loads of good times with Dad.  Not just when he was still married to Mum but after that as well.  I don’t know why it still can’t be like that.  Being with Dad just makes me sad now.

One of the men who works in the pub comes to the table.  He picks up the ashtray, tips it out into a bucket and puts it back on the table.  “You need to cut back on the old ciggies, son.  Ha ha!” he says to me, laughing.  “Bad for your health!” he says and laughs again.  He goes to the next table.

Dad is back next to me.  “Half time,” he says.  “Did Mum give you any spending money?” he asks.  “No,” I tell him.  I tell him that even though it’s not true because Mum told me not to give him any more of her money, because he’ll just spend it on drink, she said.  I don’t know why she’s that bothered about the drinking because Mum and Dad always used to go to the pub together and come home drunk.  They both used to get happy when they were drunk.  But sometimes Dad used to get a bit angry as well.  Mum still goes out and gets drunk herself.  Mum goes out with the girls on Saturday nights.  That's what she calls her friends.  Best night of the week, she calls it.  That's what she'll be doing tonight when I'm not there.

I need another wee.  “Dad, I need another wee,” I tell him.  “Again?” he says.  I don’t want to go because I saw loads of the men go down the stairs at half-time, but I need to.  “Go on then, go to the toilet,” says Dad.  “But Dad,” I say, looking towards the stairs.  “Second half’s starting now.  You’re alright.  Go on,” says Dad.  So I go for my wee and it’s alright.

The match seems to go on forever.  Dad gets me more Coke and crisps.  I don’t really want anymore Coke but I eat the crisps.  Dad goes off to play on the fruit machine.  I go to follow him.  “Stay there,” he tells me, so I stay sitting at the table.
I wonder what we’ll have for tea tonight.  We normally go to the chippy.  That’s after Dad’s been in the betting shop when we’ve finished in the pub.  I have to wait outside the betting shop, which makes me feel a bit funny, especially if it’s raining.  But it’s not raining today.

The man who works in the pub comes over again.  “Alright, son?” he asks.  I don’t know what I should say to him, so I don’t say anything.  He takes Dad’s empty glass and my crisp packet away.

I look over at Dad.  He bangs his fist on the fruit machine and swears at it.  One of the other men turns away from the telly screen and says something to Dad.  Dad stares at the man for a bit and then goes back to playing on the machine. 

Someone opens the door and comes into the pub.  I can see through the open door that the sun has just come out.  As it closes, the door slows down, squeaks a bit, then speeds up again before it bangs shut.  I suppose it’s been doing this all afternoon but I haven’t really noticed it before.  There’s a beer mat on the floor under the table.  I put it under my glass of Coke.  Then I take the glass off, pick up the beer mat and read what it says.  I think it’s supposed to be funny but I don’t get the joke.  I look back at the door.

I know where the bus stop is where you can catch a bus back to Mum’s.  I know the number of the bus and I think I know where you have to get off.  And I’ve got the money that Mum gave me.  “Emergency money” she calls it.  I don’t know how much the bus fare is but I must have enough.  I don’t know what times the buses come but I don’t mind waiting for a bit if I have to.

Dad is still playing on the fruit machine.  His beer is on top of the machine.  He can’t see me from there while he’s playing on the machine.

Someone else comes in through the door and I watch it close in its funny way.  It’s still sunny outside.  There’s a big cheer from the men watching the telly. 

I look at the door.  I wonder if Dad would be mad at me.  I wonder if Mum would be mad at me.  I look over at the door again.

END