The Ascendant

Chapter Twenty

I’m the last one out of the house, and by the time I get to The Enterprise at 7.15 the gang have commandeered a big table near the bar.

After a few quick hello’s, I order a full round of drinks: three pints of Stella, a bottle of Stella for Greek and a large glass of white house wine for Dawn. Dealing the drinks out, I see everyone is upbeat and ready for a splendid night. Joe has been here since four o’clock but shows no obvious sign of wear and tear, while Iain, Greek and Dawn each arrived about a full drink before me.

The exterior of the pub is decorated with bright primary colours although inside it is dark, lit mostly by dim bulbs and candles. Second hand books and photographs from a bygone era adorn the walls and the mood is relaxed and romantic.

I’ve not yet been out socialising with my house mates so I’m wary of making a fool of myself. With this in mind I want to keep my alcohol intake at a sensible pace but fear that after the week I’ve had it’ll be a plan which slowly disintegrates in practice. I’m sat between Dawn and Iain but the conversations are mostly communal, with everyone chipping in with quips and opinions, and it’s clear that everyone really does get on well with each other. Even Iain seems to be behaving normally, well almost normal: he does still allow his gaze to linger just a shade past what’s comfortable but he’s laughing and smiling and is definitely contributing to the general good feeling. Despite my initial worries about being out of my social depth, I’m actually completely at ease in their company.

‘You survived your first week then Ben,’ says Dawn. She’s batting her eyelids at me again but I think she does it to every bloke, almost like a programmed condition.

‘Just about,’ I reply, chuckling at the events of the past week.

‘Good, glad to here it. So have you worked out what you’ve actually been employed to do yet?’, she asks and this time we’re both laughing.

‘I think so but that could change next week. It seems pretty challenging and everyone there seems to have their own way of working, so it’s not quite as clear as I'd hoped but I’m getting there. I’ll just have to see how it works out. It should be quite intriguing, anyway, if this week's been anything to go by.’

‘That’s good,’ says Dawn, who has now switched into professional mode. ‘It sounds varied at least, from what you were telling me the other day. I can imagine nothing worse than getting into work and knowing exactly what your day will involve. You need that element of surprise, otherwise it just ends up being a prison sentence.’

‘Absolutely,’ I reply, for the first time this week talking about something I can relate to with actual recollection!

Dawn grabs her minute handbag from under her chair and offers to buy everyone a drink. ‘Same again?’

No-one says no, so as Dawn makes the short journey to the bar, I listen in on Iain’s conversation with Greek and Joe. Iain, a surprisingly articulate man, describes an incident that occurred during his journey into work this morning.

‘So you can only imagine my shock when the guy starts preaching to the entire carriage and then, to my shear horror, to me in particular!’

Joe and Greek are laughing along, thoroughly entertained by Iain’s tale of sharp misfortune.

‘So what did you do?’, asks Joe.

‘What could I do? I was on the fucking tube, if I opened my mouth everyone would think I was as mad as he was. I just gave him the finger and he quickly got the message.’

Dawn distributes the drinks, and mine arrives just in time to ensure a smooth change over with no dry spell in between.

‘Cheers Dawn,’ everyone says and Dawn reassures us all that the pleasure is really hers.

However, I have an awkward feeling that this evening may have been organised for my benefit to ensure I was made to feel welcome and part of the family so to speak. Although the house outing is something of a regular jaunt so why worry. The bar staff are on speaking terms with all of them, sometimes stopping for brief chats as they collect our empty glasses, and there's a reassuring feeling of familiarity which I hadn’t been expecting.

‘Is this the local then?’ I ask Iain.

‘Yeah sort of Ben. There are a few pubs more local to the house but we started coming in here about a year ago and just kept coming back. It’s got a nice atmosphere; not too far to walk and it’s near the tube station so it makes a handy meeting point.’

Iain seems to be a completely different person from my unfortunate experiences of him to date, and I can now see why the others like and accept him as one of their own. He can be charming and witty and if it wasn’t for that slightly lingering stare, I would now categorise him as entirely sane, though I ought to take into account that my slightly judgement clouded at present. It is shortly before nine o’clock and I’m close to finishing my fourth pint, which wouldn’t be disastrous under normal circumstances, but after such a strenuous week my head is beginning to spin and float, though thankfully not at the same time.

Greek places another pint of Stella in front of me and a belch escapes from my throat. The Stella is filling me up and I regret not changing to something less voluminous.

‘Shall we move on after this one?’ Iain asks and everyone seems to think that it’s a good idea.

‘So how do you think the Gers will get on tomorrow?’ I ask Iain, using the nickname of his football team, Glasgow Rangers, to aid our new found familiarity.

‘Who?’ he asks.

‘The Gers!’ I shout back. It is getting quite noisy in here now. ‘How do you think they’ll get on tomorrow?’

‘Don’t know who you’re talking about,’ says Iain, and he seems to be back to his serious self, although his intensity levels are not currently unnerving.

‘Glasgow Rangers,’ I explain, and wondering which of us is actually losing it. Maybe it’s both of us.

‘Oh, the Super Gers. Why didn’t you say?’ Ian gives me a wide grin and winks horribly at me as he takes a generous sip of his whisky and coke. ‘We’ll win, of course.’

‘Of course,’ I say after a moment’s thought, and now it’s my turn to gulp down some alcohol, although in my haste a fair measure of it slides down the side of my face. Thankfully no-one notices, apart from Iain that is.

‘I take it you don’t drink much Ben,’ he says, still wide eyed and manic in his appearance.

‘No, not really Iain.’ Why is he picking on me? I take another swig of lager to temper my nerves.

‘Too busy spilling it I suppose,’ he says before turning to engage in a more civilised conversation with Joe.

Dawn taps me on the arm.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks, and I’m not sure how to respond. Do I tell her I think her trusted friend is a psychopath and covert menace?

‘Yeah, I think so,’ I tell her and although I can tell she’s not entirely convinced, I’m not about to rock the boat with any drunken theories about Iain’s alarmingly erratic demeanor.

‘Really,’ I tell her, ‘I’m fine, just a little full of lager that’s all. I think it’s gone straight to my head, and there wasn’t much room left in there as it was.’

Dawn laughs and I think I’ve won her favour again. We chink classes and smile drunkenly at each other. She shouts something, like a catch phrase, but I don’t quite understand what she’s going on about. It doesn’t seem to matter as it’s all in good spirits. I’m not entirely sure how much wine those glasses hold but she’s certainly able to knock them back at a noticable rate.

Greek and Joe enthusing over indie music and who the latest big thing is likely to be. Joe's saying how he particularly likes Muse, and compares their guitar led style of music to some of U2’s earlier songs. Iain is listening on intently yet showing none of the danger signs he displayed when haranguing me a few minutes ago.

We all throw back the remainder of our drinks and Iain leads the way to the next venue. It’s now 9.25pm and the High Street is beginning to bustle and teem with extravagantly attired people once again.