Day 291 - Title First

 TITLE FIRST

Prompt - Title First : Make a list of potential poem or story titles and choose one to write from

Arthur and the Ducks

His Trousers Didn't Do Him Any Favours

Clear the Desk

A Nest Without Eggs

Reading Gravestones

The Music Lift

Granular Reciprocity

The Cleaner's Song

Artificial Insubordination

Got a Way With It

Give and Rake

Blank Verse in Rhyme

There's a First Time for Every Body

Bar Trek

After the Dancing's Over

Grim Reapers and Joyful Sowers

Get the Milk In

Kickstarter Addict

All the Meanies at Her Disposal

Corstorphine

The Ballad of Pilrig Park

Homosaurus

Moonlight Begets Shoe

No More Elbows

The Day I Took My Nan to the Pub

There But For Grace

THE DAY I TOOK MY NAN TO THE PUB

Grandmothers.  Kindly, caring, benign.  Doting on their offspring's offspring, knowing they always get to hand them back.  Seeing them as someone to spoil, indulge, even conspire with.   Stereotypes.  And not everyone can fit in.

My Nan didn't.  She hated my father, her own son, for what he'd done to my mother, for what he'd done to me.  And I loved her for that.  For being able to recognise the evil in her own flesh, and to act to save those he hurt.

I was nineteen now, and fresh back from my first term at Uni.  Went round to see Nan, check on how she was doing, get the welcome I knew I'd get, that made me feel about six again, but also made me feel so safe.  Except that it wasn't quite like that.  My going away had confirmed for her that I was now her equal, with less need to be indulged, or humoured, and more to be subjected to her homespun sarcasm and view of the world.  And that was fun, once I adapted to it.  Suddenly I had a Nan who was a bit of a mate.

So we talked about what we enjoyed doing, and the subject of drinking came up, and she offered me a Guinness, and then, definitely not according to plan, I suggested I buy her a drink.  She was out of her seat before I'd had time to reflect on the consequences of my words, and rushing to get her shoes and coat.

"Where we going then?"  I hadn't thought that far.  This was more her part of town than mine, at least as far as drinking establishments went, for I hadn't really done much drinking before I'd left.  So the pause gave her time to answer her own question.  "We'll go to The Targe, I don't know so many folk there."

So out we went, with me pondering the meaning of her last statement.  How many pubs around here was she known in?  How many did she visit regularly?  And how many people knew about this side of her character, for it was a surprise then, and about to become an even bigger one.

I bought our drinks, and took them to a small table by the far wall, where Nan was sat on the bench and licking her lips.  When I made to sit across from her she tutted and told me to sit down by her.

"That way we can watch the buggers about their business."  Whether there were specific buggers to watch, or the term covered anyone else in the place, i wasn't sure.  Not that there were many.  Now I had a chance to look properly I realised I wasn't just the youngest in there, but the only one likely to be alive in ten years time.  Even the barman looked like he needed a bit of a lie down.  Only five tables were occupied.  Two men in sleeveless Fair Isles and flat caps playing dominos.  Three large red faced old guys with the look of ex-dockers about them.  A small beige woman on her own who never let her fingers stray from the half pint glass on the table.  A couple, clearly very very married, sitting in silence and staring into space.  And three women with broad beams and big laughs who provided the main source of noise.

"Anyone you know then?" I asked Nan.  

"Maybe."

"How maybe?  Does one of them look familiar?"

"You might say that.  It's whether she does or not that matters."  I was pondering the enigmatic nature of this information when I realised the voluble trio had gone silent.  One of the pair facing us was making jerky moves of the head towards us, and whispering slyly.  So that the one with her back to us turned, slowly, and the look she gave was not friendly.  "Ah.  She does." said Nan, with a smile I'd never seen on her before.  Like she was holding a winning hand and not letting on at the same time.

The woman with the unfriendly face got up, and started across to our table.

"You've got a bloody nerve coming in here." she stated pointedly.  And the dominos ceased clacking, the dockers swivelled, the small woman let go of her glass, and even the couple unified in joining the audience.  These were moments not to be missed.

"Why's that then?" says Nan, like Leith's Lauren Bacall.

"You know.  After the last time.  My Freddy's never been the same since.  Who's the goldfish?"  And she nodded at me, for my mouth had started opening and closing without my say-so, my brain uncertain how to react.

"This is Gary, my grandson.  He's just back from the university."  This said like I'd just returned with the Nobel Peace Prize.

"Let's hope he's not as big an arsehole as his gran then, eh?"  This wasn't on, was it?  I stood, advanced, ready to give this aggressive blob of a woman an indication of my strength of feeling.  But three words in she walloped me.  Not a smack, but a proper punch, with all her considerable mass behind it.  I fell, pushing over a chair as I did so, and cracking my head on one of the legs.  She watched me fall, I watched her watch me, and then I watched as my Nan, my sweet, kindly old grandmother, took up her glass, threw the beer in the woman's face, and battered round the head with the receptacle.  The glass didn't break, but it was the woman's skull I felt greater concern for.  That had been some swing.

The other members of the trio stood, Nan waved the glass threateningly, and they didn't move any further.  Nobody else did anything much, except the beige woman who looked over, raised her glass to Nan, and downed it in one.

"Come on son, up you get and we'll go somewhere a bit quieter.  They get some funny types in here."  And with that she was heading for the door, leaving me to scramble to my feet, and stagger across the floor mumbling apologies to the apparently unconcerned barman.  And the dominos restarted.

When i got out, and managed to catch her up, I thought there's be some explanation.  But all she did was point across the road to Deans Bar and march, because there was a definite swing to the arms about her now, over and in.  We got our drinks, sat down, and it was as if this was the first place we'd come, like nothing had happened.

When we left, a couple of pints later, she did ask if I was OK.  And when I nodded she winked, turned, and sauntered off like she'd had the best day out ever.  Leaving me to work out my most pressing concern.  What did I tell Mum about the day I took Nan to the pub?