Tales from the Bar 05

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.

"Cheers," she said, picking up her drink and holding it towards me, "I'm Gilda, by the way."

"Hello, Gilda, and cheers to you," I replied, clinking our glasses together.

It was nearly an hour later, and another brandy, before I unlocked the front door and let her out. She only lived a few doors away on the other side of the street, so I waited by the door to see her safely home. She gave me one last wave as she went indoors. I locked and bolted the front door of the pub and went around for a last check, before I switched off the downstairs lights. As I climbed the stairs I felt strangely chilled out. What a nice way to finish an evening, I thought to myself, and what a nice woman Gilda had turned out to be.

It turned out to be a habit that she fell into and which I warmly welcomed. I began to look forward even more to Thursday evenings. Not just for the extra life the group brought to the pub, and the extra income as well, but also to the after hours chats with Gilda. I felt privileged when she started sharing little secrets of her life with me and I did the same by opening up to her. One evening I broke down in tears, as I told her of my struggles with my ex, and how free I felt when I finally kicked him out.

She'd gone through much the same, but in her case her ex was a woman. Even though I'd guessed about the nature of the group that gathered in my back room, it still sounded slightly odd to my ears. It helped that she was so clear and honest about her love for women, as it took all awkwardness out of the conversation.

That must have been the third or fourth of our late-night sessions. That particular night it was nearly one o'clock before she went home. As I unlocked the front door and stood aside to let her by, she simply leaned across and kissed me. It wasn't anything particularly remarkable, certainly not long and lingering, but it wasn't a peck on the cheek either. It had been a long time since my lips had felt the softness of another pair, pressed into them sensuously. She didn't tarry too long, just enough that it hovered somewhere between chaste and desiring. And then she was gone, almost running in her haste to get home.

As usual I stood and watched until she reached her front door and went inside. The difference this time was that she didn't look back and give me her usual wave. The other difference was that I stood for ages on the threshold lost in thought. Had that really happened? Indeed, what had just happened? My mind was a whirl of uncertainties. I looked upwards trying to gain some perspective. It was a clear night and, although the street lights masked any stars, they couldn't blot out the gibbous moon that hung over the houses opposite. Shining like a beacon almost exactly over her house.

After about ten minutes, the chill night air made me shiver and reality crept back in. With a last look up and down the street I went in and locked the door. Later in bed, lying in the dark, I tried to make sense of things. If it had been a man, in similar circumstances, I would, at least, have been able to understand it. But Gilda was a woman, and as such totally outside my comfort zone. And yet ... And yet, it had felt so right. Talk about being confused!

It had been two years since I'd kicked the old man out and since then I hadn't been near another human being, certainly not in that way. A couple of the locals had tried it on, but I knew they were married, and I was definitely not going down that road. One of them even brought his mate in to see me but, although he was nice enough, he wasn't really my type and it was too soon. But that kiss, brief as it was, had opened up a whole new set of possibilities. Confusion was definitely my main feeling.

I found it difficult to focus most of the next week and I was nervous when Thursday came around. The women arrived in dribs and drabs as per normal and I began to worry the Gilda wasn't going to show up. I was busy pulling a pint for one of the locals, when she finally appeared. She seemed to slink through the front bar, and I detected a shy and muttered 'hi' as she made her way quickly to the back room. Someone else was buying the drinks when I went to the back bar, so I never got a chance to say 'hello' properly.

It was difficult to concentrate that night as we seemed to be busier than usual and one of my locals was demanding my sympathetic ear. When it finally came to closing time, and everyone slowly drifted off to their various homes, that my attention was finally able to turn to Gilda. It was a bit of a surprise that she was still the last to leave, having gone around and collected empties as was usual. I thought she might sneak out quietly, given her behaviour when she'd come in, but her joyful chatter was gone and we both operated in silence. When she had done she headed for the door.

"Not stopping for a drink with a friend tonight?" I asked her, stopping her in her tracks.

"I wasn't sure I'd be welcome," came her sotto voce reply.

"Don't be so daft. Sit yourself down." I was determined not to let something so petty spoil what had become an important part of my life.

I turned from her and, grabbing two glasses, I poured two double brandies. When I turned back she had seated herself on her usual bar stool but was still not making eye-contact. "Fuck it," I thought, "enough of this nonsense." Instead of perching on the stool I had behind the bar, I lifted the flap and walked round to her side and climbed onto the stool next to hers. I pushed her glass towards her and picked up my own. She looked up at me and gave me a shy smile as she picked up her glass. I could sense her plucking up the courage to say something, so I let the silence hang between us. She took a large swig and then put her glass down.

"I nearly didn't come tonight," she said, finally summoning her nerve.

"Why ever not?"

"I was embarrassed. It was a stupid impulse. I'm sorry."

I could hear the catch in her voice as she fought back a tear. Her head dropped again, and she looked intently at the floor. I took a sip of brandy. Now it was me that needed the courage. I felt it was down to me to break the impasse. With my free hand I lifted her chin and I leant forward, kissing her softly on the lips. I tried to make it different to last week's snatched affair, letting it linger far beyond an accidental touch. When I pulled back she was looking straight at me, just inches away.

"Does that answer your question?" I asked her.

"But you ... you're ..." she started to say, but I interrupted her.

"Shut up and kiss me again," I said.

This time it was she who leaned forward, our lips meeting once more and staying locked together for an age. We only stopped when a police car went speeding past colouring the walls with its flashing blue light. None of this did anything to help clear the fog of confusion. If anything, it simply made it denser. I had no idea why I was doing this. Something deep inside told me it was alright. We'd pulled back when the police car had gone past and now we both took swigs of our drinks.

"I never expected that," she said sheepishly.

"Well, you started it," I said, giggling like a teenager.

"But you're straight," she said, raising her eyebrows at me.

"I'm the ex-wife of a grade one bastard," I told her, "so who knows what I really am."

"C-c-can we do it again?" she asked, leaning forward hopefully.

In response I met her half way. This time her lips parted, and I felt the tip of her warm tongue tracing the outline of my lips. I was grateful she went no further. Most men would have had it half-way down my throat by now, but this was so different. There seemed to be no rush. Taking our time seemed the right way to do it. When her tongue retreated I tentatively pushed mine out and mimicked her action. When we stopped I had to gasp for air. I realised that I had stopped breathing. Then she surprised and saddened me. She downed the dregs of her drink and stood up.

"I need to get home," she announced decisively.

"But I thought ..." and my voice trailed off. I really didn't know what I thought. The old confusion had been replaced by a new one.

"We both need time to think."

I knew she was right, and I nodded dumbly. I followed her to the front door and unlocked it, holding it open for her. She gave me a chaste peck on the cheek before she left. As always I stood and watched her safely to her door. Before she disappeared she turned and blew me a kiss. Like a silly child I made a catching gesture and placed my hand to my mouth. She waved and went inside. I stood for a long time gazing across the road to her front door. When I looked upward the moon, now in full phase, was almost obscured by drifting clouds. I felt a kinship with the moon, it looked exactly like I felt.

Reluctantly I forced myself indoors and locked up for the night. There were two glasses side by side on the bar, hers was empty but some remained in mine. I tipped it into my mouth and savoured the warming drink as it slid down my throat. As if in a dream I traced a fingertip around the rim of her glass, where her lips had been. I mentally shook myself back to reality, put them both in the washer ready for the morning, switched off the lights and went upstairs.

I slept little that night and what sleep I did get was filled with strange dreams, none of which I could remember in the morning. All the next week I tried to bury myself in my work. Luckily the pub was busy, and I was kept on my toes most of the time. There was one slightly awkward moment when we bumped into each other in the corner shop. Anyone catching us would have plainly noticed our embarrassed looks and bumbling conversation. She finished paying and left with a "see you Thursday" farewell, in a voice so obviously striving to sound normal.

By this time, four years after I'd bought the pub and two years running it alone, business had picked up. Enough that I could employ a chef, a young local lad just finishing at the local catering college. He worked Friday evenings, all day Saturday and Sunday lunchtimes. I also had a young girl who I occasionally hired to help out behind the bar. And word about the back room had spread around the area. I now had a couple of other groups meeting there regularly but I'd made sure that Thursday evening was always reserved for the women. They'd been the first after all.

That Thursday I had Karen the young barmaid in, and around five o'clock, in the middle of the slack period between the lunchtime drinkers and the evening crowd, I left her in charge and went upstairs. I had no idea what to expect from tonight. Maybe nothing would happen, but I couldn't help hoping. I took a long and contemplative bath, indulging in scented candles and smelly bath oils, and then went through my wardrobe. I didn't know why it was so important but somehow it was. I carefully chose my outfit to pick out my best features, or so I hoped, I was so out of practice at this sort of thing. I blushed in the privacy of my bedroom when I realised how much care I was taking choosing my underwear. If this evening didn't work out I was going to feel like an idiot. A long look in the full-length mirror just made me feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. But a rather attractive middle-aged version.

The evening passed as normal, although I did get one or two compliments which surprised me. When Gilda came through on her way to the back room she called "hi" and then paused, raised an eyebrow and smiled broadly. She pursed her lips and made a kissing gesture in my direction. I'm sure no one else saw it, but I blushed nonetheless. We spoke briefly when she came to the back bar for drinks.

"You're looking good," she said with a conspiratorial wink, "is that for me?"

"Shhhhh," I hissed at her and blushed again.

She craned her neck to see into the main bar. "Is there some new fancy man?" she joked and gave me a knowing wink.

I held out her change and our hands touched, and I felt her finger stroke mine. Without another word she turned and went back to her friends. I almost skipped back to the main bar and forced myself to join in with the general chatter. Tonight, it was all football and I tried to look interested, but mostly I was ignored except when more drinks were needed. I watched the slow movement of the hands on the large clock as they crept round to closing time. I tried hard not to sound too eager when I finally called 'TIME'. It was probably only my imagination, but they seemed slower than ever to drink up and leave. Even the women in the back room seemed reluctant to go.

Finally, I said goodnight to the last of them and clicked the latch on the front door. I felt a shiver run through me as I heard the sounds of clinking glasses from the back. I walked back behind the bar and tried to look busy. When she finally appeared with two handfuls of glasses, neither of us looked at the other. By now she knew where I kept the cleaning stuff, and when she came behind the bar I assumed it was for that. I was surprised when I felt hands on my waist, and I was spun round. Arms went around me and then her lips were on mine. Not a peck this time, nor a lingering shy touch, but an open and eager coming together. My head was swimming with a mixture of joy and relief, and I responded in kind.