The Ascendant

Chapter Nine

Leaving the office block, I took a right down Newport Road and headed towards the city centre, contemplating which pub I should stop off at first. It would normally be a toss up between Stamps and the Park Vaults, but as both were at least ten minutes walk away, too long for my urgent requirement, I instead took a minor diversion up City Road and called in at The Ernest Willows. It was a new pub, largely devoid of character, but it was near and inexpensive.

I walked straight to the bar and ordered a bottle of Grolsch; at 99p a go it was a bargain not to be missed. I took a stool within close proximity of the bar and enjoyed a refreshing slurp of beer. My facial muscles contracted and my taste buds went into minor shock as the alcohol hit the spot with deadly precision. My mind cleared as I closed my eyes, allowing my head to loll back on my shoulders; it had been quite an emotional morning.

‘Whooo!’ – I heard myself say out loud as I regained my bearings. A middle aged woman stood at the bar, eyeing me with some suspicion as she awaited a bottle of Chardonnay. I couldn’t take her seriously, instead laughing to myself as I took another generous swig of beer. Two words kept ringing through my head over and over: “fifty” and “grand”, always in that order. It was entirely beyond my comprehension. Since I had left school, after failing my ‘A’ levels I'd drifted from one lowly paid job to another. Office junior, barman, betting office clerk, shop assistant, telephonist. The reality did not make for a glamorous or impressive CV, but now I had finally been given, and – in my own way – earned, a chance of a real career, earning real money. I would have a company car, too. Amazing.

I swigged back the dregs of my beer and ordered another; like I say, at 99p a go, it was a bargain not to be missed. I wasn’t earning fifty grand a year just yet.

I sat back on my stool and considered how I would explain my early release date to my new employers. They would obviously be pleased with the situation but I had to make it sound plausible. The second beer would hopefully work as a stimulus, as my mind currently felt as if it had been bleached.

There would be plenty of ways round it, I assured myself, a quick explanation confirming my early availability would be all that was necessary: plenty of annual leave still to take, a goodwill gesture by my boss after four years’ loyal service, or something like that.

I polished off the remainder of my beer and continued on my journey. Cutting through an alley into West Grove, I found myself back on Newport Road and practically in the city centre. After a walk through the wind tunnel leading towards Queen Street I decided to dive into the Park Vaults as Stamps was beginning to fill up with people seeking a more solid and sensible luncheon.

The surroundings were dark and dingy, with more spit than sawdust, but this had been the scene of many a drunken evening during my misplaced youth, and seemed an appropriate venue for a celebratory drink. I ordered a pint of Guinness, the same as everyone else seemed to be drinking, and took a seat in one of the booths. As my pint settled, I checked out the other lunch time punters. There were a couple of bikers hanging round in an alcove, a gang of five card players and four or five other guys were dotted around the pub at various vantage points. Most of them looked as if they’d had a headstart on me, with one or two already quite the worse for wear. I took a sip of my drink and decided to check out the juke box. Something uplifting had to be the order of the day.

The choice was mostly Rock n' Roll or Heavy Metal: befitting the clientele. I skipped through a number of CD’s before stopping on AC/DC’s Live album, inserted my pound coin and selected five songs: Thunderstruck, Shoot to Thrill, Back in Black, You Shook Me All Night Long and Whole Lotta Rosie.

The first song started up as I reached my seat. The noise faded in slowly and at first all that could be heard were the screams and whistles of the crowd. Then as the volume increased, so the crowd began to chant the lead guitarist’s name, “Angus! Angus!”. Meanwhile, the sound of thunder rolled deeply in the background, getting ever nearer as the drummer thrashed the cymbal over and over and over ...