Tales From The Bottom Of The Glass: The Short Stories Vol 1

By Ciarán MacMahon

A collection of short stories from the pre social media era, where the stories' characters struggle with life's conundrums but with a sprinkling of dark humour to lighten things up a bit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781446719824

Book preview

Colophon:

Copyright © 2023 Ciarán MacMahon, all rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781446719824

A collection of tales of varying themes and one’s fantasy.

All are works of fiction any reference to real persons etc. is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

Well, I suppose to anyone who reads this bunch of tales.

God only knows you might deserve it…

Cover Design © Ciarán MacMahon 2023

INDEX

TWO SMOKES ONE MOUTH

No more One for the road for this fella

Two Smokes One Mouth Smoking

© 2002 / 2023

'I'll have another there Kate. Whenever you're ready.'

Kate acknowledged his half-slurred request with barely disguised disdain. It was obvious that Matt had once again crossed that barrier from being slightly lubricated to being a pissed nuisance.

Matt grunted a contempt of his own in self-righteous recognition that he might be on his way but still wasn't pissed enough not to notice the flash of irritation and disdain that had crossed Kate's face while she reached for a pint glass and started to pour his next beer. The whole time, except for the initial, forced but still blatantly false, smile, pointedly looking anywhere but at Matt himself.

Kate, Kate. The beautiful fair Kate. My beautiful fair Kate. Where have all those 'come-on eyes' disappeared to? I thought we'd something special. Kept my tongue from drooling and my mouth clean of innuendoes voiced aloud with regards your enticing contours. And thinking therefor that I was held in higher regard than the usual boisterous, eyes-agog, tongues-a-hanging, riff-raff that swivel their grog at this watering hole. But now I see the truth of your worth. Your disdain in my direction has been duly noted. Fuck you! I've seen you in the day time too! Outside. Away out from under the shading lights of this here bar. Exposed! Revealed! Ah yes! Daylight lays bare the hidden scars. The wrinkles.  Age is not a friend to our daytime Kate…

Turning to his present company Matt chose to grumble his discontent, being sure though not to make it too loud.

'Bloody all nice and friendly taking your money when you first come in and the place is begging for a customer. But as soon as it begins to fill a bit then it's a case of here's-your-coat-where's your-hat-and-have-ye-not-gone-yet?'

His present company not actually being his present company refused to be baited, turning instead his attention in a deliberate fashion away from Matt in the pretence of lighting a cigarette.

Up yours! And in a sort of nicotine-junk, copycat-like automatism Matt reached for a cigarette of his own. After lighting up he exhaled forcefully his first drag while casting, with smoke-stinging eyes, a look about for someone to share a moment with. But as if on some telepathic, drunk-alert, cue everyone present seemed to be suddenly preoccupied.

Bollocks to them all! He reached for his new pint, refusing out of hurt, alcohol-doused, pride to acknowledge Kate as she slid his money from the counter into her hand and turned away to the cash register.

I'll show them all soon enough! They have me written off as just another piss-head! But I'm not out of control! No way! Not like Jigs or any of the other wasters that haunt this dump on a regular basis. Matt silently chuckled to himself as a recent memory flashed into his mind. Well Jigs won't be dipping his head in this trough any more after his solo performance last night.

From behind his cigarette he smiled to himself recalling how Jigs had been barred the previous evening. It wasn't for the first time either by a long shot! But definitely for the last. Normally he'd have gone quietly enough but for some reason last night he protested rather exuberantly. The fool had even tried to put a head-butt on Martin the barman. But in his wobbly state failed miserably. This in itself mightn't have been too bad but realising that the head-butt effort wasn't succeeding the prat proceeded to gob on the man. Well ending up gobbing more so on himself than on Martin. But the very fact of trying to in the first place was the real point of sacrilege!

Bye bye Jigs. Next stop: the supermarkets and the park benches with bottles in brown paper bags.

Matt, in silent wisdom, took another swig from his pint. It was with a smug satisfaction he swallowed his beer. An even bigger scoop than normal in some half-conscious protest at any lurking doubt there might be as to his present position in the alcoholic league. The sigh of satisfaction as he sat his pint down again his stamp of conviction that he clearly didn't belong to that level at all. The Jigs level. Not by a long shot. Okay! So he was out of work. But that was only a couple of weeks now. Well, a month and a half. Or so. But that situation wouldn't be going on for long as he had a couple of things in the pipeline. Dead certs' in fact. And hadn't he sorted one of them out right here in this very establishment. Sure wasn't it mostly only through his contacts in the bar that he had ever found work in the past. Nothing like a few drinks between yourself and some fella to put you in touch with some business.

Matt refused, with the usual stubbornness often familiar to heavy users of alcohol, to allow the thought that things had been a little thin on the ground this last while to get through to him. And not only due to his age either. His favourite excuse when moaning about the injustices done to him on the employment side of things. He wasn't entertaining any thought either that his present preoccupation, that of barstool-filler, might be having anything at all to do with his difficulty in getting some steady work. And keeping it! The last few numbers hadn't lasted very long. But Matt, like every drunk, always had a ready excuse to hand as to why that might have been. Never once, even in some small way, laying the cause, or causes, at his own feet.

They're all wankers! As far as he was concerned. He sent a disgruntled look around the bar, again not failing to notice how heads just seemed to be turning away as his stare was about to land on them. Eyes averting before proper contact could be made.

They bloody think I'm like Jigs. Or one step away from being his clone at any rate! But I'm not! Not by a fucking long shot matey! I'll show them all. And it won't be too long either.

His watery, bloodshot eyes fell and focused on a painting hanging on the wall just inside the door. A work he was particularly fond of. A man looking at a painting of a winding deserted road fading in the distance.

Imagine if I could paint like that! Life would be great being able to do something like that. Talent. A few with an overdose, others with fuck all!

Aware though that he couldn't and never would he grabbed another cigarette, forgetting the one already smouldering in the ashtray before him, and lit up again. The smoke rising before his eyes obscuring Kate's raised eyebrows as she shared a knowing smile with another customer at Matt's slip-up.

Soon he'd put them all in their place! He thought exhaling smoke out over the counter. He mightn't be able to paint but he wasn't short of talent altogether either. Some had the gift of art. Others for music. And still others for the business. And that's where Matt felt he belonged. Okay! There were ups and downs. Downs and ups. He forced away any attempt for the 'downs' to creep into his thoughts by grabbing once more for the 'ups'. He drank. Then to shut out the pain of being ignored and silently mocked by his surroundings he turned to pondering his latest escapade. Yet again.

This contact I've now. A sure thing. These sausages hereabouts hadn't even sussed it. Just a couple of nights ago. Right here! Shared a couple of drinks. Well, I put up for most of them. But what matter when it was investment for the future? But the man knew his business though and obviously saw in me someone who could make good on coming in with him. There would be money for the making once I'd picked up on the basics. No personal investment necessary. Yeah! That was the key for me alright. I've heard that 'put-in-a-thousand-and-make-fifty-grand' bollocks before. I've never been so dumb to fall for that shite!

Reaching for his pint, Matt frowned as the nagging, repetitive, thought niggled its way in again as to what exactly the fella had been going on about. Truth be known he'd had just the couple too many and could no longer recall what the guy's gimmick was exactly. At all in fact! But he was sure it was a dead cert. Well at least that's what he'd been convincing himself ever since.

Matt tipped his frown over the rim of his glass. Another thing that bothered him was that he was pretty certain that the man said he'd meet him in here the next night to finalise the details and get Matt signed-up to start. When he hadn't turned up Matt drowned his disappointment with a few jars until he'd intoxicatingly convinced himself that the man must have meant the night after.

That being tonight in fact! That's why Matt had been here since the early afternoon. Not because he was turning into a Jigs but because he had an appointment! He just wasn't sure if they had agreed a time. So to be sure he'd decided to cover himself by hanging around from an hour or so after opening.

I've been pacing meself though. Don't want to be bollixed when the man arrives. As sure he will. Being lampy when the man showed wouldn't look too good now would it?

But it was early evening now and Matt hadn't eaten. He was of the kind whose appetite diminished with the consumption of alcohol. Which in turn only quickened the actual effect of the alcohol on the brain because there was less to absorb it and slow its transition from the stomach into the bloodstream. Besides, not that Matt was acutely short or anything, but he was kind of hoping that when he did show up he'd be paying him back the few bob he'd lent him. Not much! Nothing to do with any advance investment! Like the man had said over and over: it wasn't that kind of set-up. He'd just wanted enough for a taxi and a bite to eat. And to pay his way on a couple of rounds. A decent man who didn't want Matt paying for all the gargle. And seeing as how the nearest hole-in-the-wall was miles away and how the poor chap had neglected to load up with cash before leaving his hotel Matt wasn't at all hesitant in slipping the man the few bob to see him through till the following morning.

Sure isn't he a sure bet anyway! And I'll have my shillings back as soon as the man gets here!

Showing nerves despite his mental self-reassuring he had a quick and secretive gander in his wallet and then raised his heavy eyes towards the clock on the pillar at the end of the bar. A forced shrug of indifference being brought into action to keep at bay the one of worry trying to break through on his face. The cash flow was drying up and he was buggered if he'd lower himself to ask your highness behind the bar for a tab after the ugly looks she'd been shooting his way while thinking his attention wasn't on her. He'd caught her though! Once or twice out the side of his eye. Enough anyway to know that asking for credit would be nothing but wasted humiliation.

Fuck the ol' cow!

'I'll show yez all soon enough!' he said aloud reaching for his half-finished pint. Not realising that he had spoken aloud. Unaware too that it was an impulsive effort to dispel wriggling, worm-like, creeping doubts with regards the credibility of his latest business contact.

Matt had always been pretty proud of being able to say that he'd never been sucked in by some smartass shark. And he was determined to deny any thought that he might have been so drunk that he was for once indeed taken for a ride. Even if it should turn out to be a relatively minor one. But he was vulnerable emotionally since being blown out of his last job and even minor setbacks had a tendency to take on mountainous proportions what with the paranoia of unacknowledged alcoholism playing its part.

'No way,' he again spoke aloud. Then realising that a few heads had turned at his latest exclamation he continued. 'This fella was legit!'

He looked slightly confused as the heads turned without reaction, or at best with half-smiles of whatever-you-say-yourself, away back to their own business. He knew now he was too far gone again and tried to compensate himself with even more promises and reassurances that things would soon change, that he wasn't out of control. He'd get the smile back on his face. And the skip into his gait.

If only this fucker from the other night would turn up! Show these shites what he was made of! Come on God! Give a man a break for fuck's sake!

All heads turned suddenly towards the door as it was noisily barged open.

Was this him now? Matt swung round on his stool in drunken slowness towards the commotion at the door. Funny? Why is everyone ducking any-which-way out of sight? In fact in turning, in what was for him, suddenly, the split-second realisation hit him as to just how far he was with regards being pissed. Shit! The whole bar is tilting like a ship at sea. Steady on there man!

Making a grab for the bar which no longer seemed to be there where it should have been Matt just had time to mutter Jigsey's name before Martin, (Now where the fuck did he come from?), began pushing the poor man roughly back out the door.

What's that in Jigsey's hand? Oh no! A fucking gun! Jesus! Jigsey's revenge! Finally cracked the bollicks!

Matt swayed staring agog. Martin had Jigs almost out of the place but before he could slam the door on the lunatic Jigs managed to get a hand back in. Trapping it in the process.

The hand with the gun! And even with the weight of Martin pushing against the door that hand wasn't letting the fucking thing go!

Matt's eyes locked into the gun's black-holed funnel. Sucking him in before the first blast sent him and his hallucinations flying in bloody pieces backward off his stool.

Where would a wanker as stupid as Jigs get his hands on a gun? Never mind that! Where's the fuckin' bar?

The stool toppled as Matt's flaying arm failed once again to locate the bar. He tilted backwards taking with him the stool next to him for good measure. The noise of his downfall clattering loudly on the tiled floor.

Jigsey's forced departure hardly complete Kate's attention turned sharply to the crashing noise of the tumbling Matt. Her angry eyes locked on to the vacant spot where the fool should have been but where now only two smouldering cigarettes burned in the rests of an ashtray.

'Jesus! It's not going to be one of these nights!' She pleaded aloud crossing to the vacant spot and leaning over the bar. A few customers stood on stool supports, heads straining for a better look, smiling exuberantly at the sudden spate of comic incident. And so early in the evening too!

Kate looked down at the abysmal, flat-on-his-back Matt. The remnants of his drink miraculously, as-only-a-drunk-could-manage, unsplit, held afloat in his hand. She was in no humour for showing mercy though.

'Right! That's it! I've had enough of your capers this last while. Your barred Mister Two-Smokes-One-Mouth-Smoking!'

Matt lowered his drink-sodden, stunned expression to meet the arrival of Martin coming to a halt next to his prone body.

Yes, a little assistance on getting up might not be a bad idea at all at all…

THE END

[1ST draft 13 may 2002 / Reread and printout: July 2002]

WHAT ABOUT THE BOY?

The not so subtle, subtle break-up

WHAT ABOUT THE BOY?

© 1997 / 2001 / 2023

The stereo's mine!

Like bloody hell it is!

What? But you... You never use the thing! I wouldn't be surprised if you still didn't know how to bloody run it after all this time!

Yeah? Well if that's so it's no thanks to Mister Women-shouldn't-be-allowed-near-electrical-sophistications-because-they're-technically-backward-by-nature himself!

Eh... It's appliances.

Jane was halted in her tracks; awaiting further explanation. But Sean chose to leave the temptation to antagonise where it was. The situation was after all serious enough. It being his stereo for one thing that he was in danger of losing if he didn't thread carefully with some quickly-thought-up, deft, verbal persuasion.

Well it's a fact! Especially when it comes down to you! You're a disaster waiting to happen in the vicinity of the sounds! How many...

So much for the 'carefully and deft' approach. Jane didn't let him finish.

Don't start harping on about your precious collection and how I damaged your rare, took-me-years-to-find, copy of 'Willy Wonk never bonked on a Sunday' or whoever! Besides the sounds you can have...

I should hope so!

But the system stays!

Wait just a minute here...

Your sounds are awful crap anyway!

There was a sharp shot of verbal venom to her latest opinion as if by almost spitting it out she was stabbing with an invisible knife at some known and easily exposed emotion in Sean's defences.

Being just a little taken aback a second or two passed, in which he'd the nip of self-acknowledged regret at not having rubbed her 'electrical sophistications' slip-up in just that little bit more, before he half stuttered a