Mack’s is half empty when I walk inside; but it’s only eight o’clock.

‘Howaya Mack.’

‘Guinness, is it?’

Mack puts on a pint for me. He’s a grumpy fucker. Personally, I don’t mind that. I prefer to be left in peace for my quiet pint before Shakies. If the lads come in, we take over the corner near the pool table. Sometimes we don’t bother with the disco at all – full of little shits the place is. Besides, they keep putting the prices up.

Maybe the boys went to Murph’s. They started going there when he set up the beer garden during the summer. I don’t go near the place myself – packed full of children half the time anyway. They say Murph is a millionaire. He had the bouncers throw me out the one night I was there. I bumped into a sun umbrella and knocked it over. I was laughing my arse off; but it wasn’t so cool, the way he had the bouncers on me like a shot. I hadn’t a chance. They nearly broke my arm in two. There’s Joe now.

‘Well Joe, are you having a fuckin pint?’

‘Howaya. Yeah, sure I might as well.’

‘Did you see any of the boys?’

‘No. But they’ll be up at Shakies after.’

Joe puts his fag on the edge of the pool table and bends down for the first shot, screws up his eyes and pots the black!

‘You stupid bollocks!’

‘I’ve a blight on me tonight. Jaysus, look at the state of them cunts.’

Three of them walk in. Their spaceship must have got lost or something. Fair play to Mack; he doesn’t acknowledge them. Two of them sit down under the television. The other one stands at the bar. He’s hopping from one foot to the next as if he’s bursting for a slash. I’m standing down the counter now because our pints are finished. Mack puts on two more for me.

The character at the bar has got long, scraggly hair and there’s funny designs on his clothes. I eye him carefully; I don’t like the way he looks. He must have a problem or something. He’s holding out his money to Mack, but Mack won’t catch his eye. The long-haired one looks around him, catches sight of me and looks away.

Then the girl comes up, a thin, fierce-looking creature with loads of earrings. Jesus Christ she’s no shoes on! 

‘Joe,’ I call over, ‘Joey.’

But Joe’s seen it already. He gives me a wink.

‘What’s wrong?’ the girl says to your man. 

‘The guy won’t serve me.’

‘Hey, could we have three pints of cider, please?’

She must have forgotten to swallow the plum she had for lunch.

Mack is eating a bag of peanuts and looking at a game of snooker on the box. He slowly moves towards the taps. He doesn’t want to refuse her because she’s a woman.

We get back to our game, but I keep my eye on them. The woman comes over and looks at the pool table as if she wants to play. We have our money down for the night. So they can go and fuck off.

They have to pass us to get to the toilets. They’re pure cowards; Joe and I have a bit of craic – when we see them coming, we line up for a big shot and block their way for ages. They have to squeeze in against the wall. We hope this will get rid of them so we can enjoy the night in peace, but they order another round. Joe is shaking his head. He can’t cope with them at all.

‘I’d like to go down and skull one of them with this cue,’ he says swinging it around his head. 

We’re getting a bit locked at this stage.

Joe tells me he’s seen the golliwog up the town before, but that he’s never seen the faggoty one and the creature with no shoes.

‘No wonder,’ I remark, ‘People like that would just be laughed at.’

‘Mack’ll lose customers if he keeps serving fuckers like that,’ I add after my next shot.

The golliwog keeps looking over frightened in our direction. We glare back. The next time he goes past for a piss I wink at Joey and follow him in.

He’s swaying there trying to take aim. I stand beside him and stare at him until I can see the sweat popping out of his forehead. He’s too scared to piss. He zips himself up and tries to leave. At that minute Joe walks in and stands in his way.

Joe can put a fierce look in his eyes when he wants. He stands there with his arms folded saying nothing. Your man is paralysed for about five minutes. The faggoty fellow bursts in the door like a sheriff in the wild west, but he can’t hide the fact he’s shitting it as well.

‘Look guys! We just want to have a drink in peace. Why don’t you leave us alone?’

There’s a stand-off then: a bit of sport. Nevertheless, our pints await, and the thirst is drying the mouth off me. Me and Joe push past them through the swinging door.

In the meantime, your woman has taken over the pool table. There she is setting them up, with money down for another game. I never start on a woman so I take my pint and sit up at the counter. Joe follows me. He’s bulling; he sinks his pint and hammers the glass down. When Joe gets thick there’s no stopping him.

The lads come out from their homo piss and see what your woman has done. They don’t want to play; they’re whispering at her, pointing to the door. But she picks up the cue and breaks.

‘She has them both snookered,’ says Joe and lights a cigarette.

We watch them play. The light above the table shines down on their fear.

‘Whoever wins can ride her tonight,’ announces Joe real loud and belches. I can’t help laughing. They can hear us, but say nothing.

‘Watch her put her hand in their pockets and pull out their balls,’ Joe continues when the first game is over.

I nearly fall off my stool.

‘The cunts, robbing our table…’ 

Joe’s upset behind it all. He’s also upset at Mack for serving them in the first place.

After their game, they buy a few flagons as a carry-out. We haven’t spoken for a while, but I know what Joe’s thinking as they leave the pub as quickly as they came in.

‘I reckon they’re camping up near the canal. I saw two tents on the way in.’

‘Could be.’

‘Will we have a look before Shakies?’

‘Yeah, we could have a look.’

‘C’mon so. Goodnight Mack.’

‘Goodnight lads. Are yez goin up to Shakies?’

‘We might. It’s got fierce expensive. Good luck.’

A dreary old evening – you wouldn’t think it was only September, I think to myself as me and Joe head off past the market square. We’re both a bit locked. I can see a crowd outside Shakies – a few women as well, screaming at some joke. Four or five lads from Cross Hill are standing against the wall throwing shapes at us. Joe shouts over.

‘Go on, ya cunts!’

The lads move away from the wall and observe us pass. One or two of them look on for a mill. Unfortunately, the others aren’t finished their chips. Me and Joe race down the one-way street at the corner. Those lads would never follow us; they know we’ve friends all around the place. Once they’re away from their tractors they don’t know what to do.

‘There’s five of them,’ I inform Joe.

‘No fucking fear.’

‘I hope our lads will show up.’

‘I met Peter and Knife-sker last night. They said they were saving their sponds for Shakies. They wanted to cruise some beors.’

‘Good men to have around.’

‘Those Cross Hill lads are cowards when it comes down to it.’

Joe says this and lets a big roar out of him. Then he starts kickboxing the air. I knock over a bin. Joe starts breaking his arse laughing as it rolls down the street.

We cut across by the convent lane and up through the bushes. The spotlights from the Cathedral carpark blind my eyes.

‘Those lights are fierce,’ says Joe.

‘Shut up, will ya. Someone will hear us.’

‘Let them.’

We scale the wall at the nun’s graveyard. I’m sneaking along by the headstones when Joe jumps me from behind and tries to throw me onto a grave.

‘Come out from around me, you cunt.’

‘A dead nun, that’s all you’ll be getting tonight.’

‘Is it? We’ll see about that.’

‘I saw Knife-sker’s cousin in the queue. Jesus I wouldn’t say no to that one.’

‘I saw her last Saturday. She was lyin underneath that fella with the motorbike what’s his name? Jonesy. Right beside the dancefloor.’

‘Jaysus. The dirty whore. I’ll have to get myself a motorbike. Wha’?’

‘If that was what he was doin to her on the dancefloor imagine what he was giving her after?’ I remark.

‘Stop. I’ll be comin thinkin about it.’

‘All you need is to buy a one like that a few Ritz’s.’

‘You need a bit of dough all right. Tell me, did you ever lick the nipple? I’ll call you a man when you lick the nipple.’
            ‘Shut up, now,’ I say. ‘Do you hear the music?’

‘Yeah.’

We climb the rusty blue gate, make our way past the darkened school then out through the hedge onto the canal line. There are two tents pitched and a small fire is burning. The three of them are sitting around like witches. The golliwog is playing a song on a guitar. I glance at Joe. There’s that look in his eye; he wants to have some sport. There’ll be no holding him back now.

‘What’s this?! What’s this?! A fire!’

The three of them nearly jump out of their skins. I’m right behind Joe.

‘What do you want? What do you want?’ asks the golliwog.

Joe steps forward and with one boot, kicks most of the fire into the canal. Then he starts stomping around on the rest of it.

‘HEY!’

It’s your woman. She’s up and has her hands on him, trying to drag him away.

‘Go on the Joe,’ I yell. I can’t help laughing.

‘Fuck off! Leave us alone man!’

‘Cursing. What do ya think of that, Joe?’
            ‘It’s a fucking disgrace. Here give us that flagon there.’

‘Don’t give it to him!’

But the faggoty fellow isn’t an idiot – he hands Joe the flagon.

‘Just go! Just go!’ pipes up the golliwog.

Joe takes a mighty slug from the flagon and gobs it all over him. Your woman jumps on him now like she’s looking for a piggy-back.

‘Help, help, I’m being raped!’ screams Joe in a girly voice.

The other two lads get up now and stand there jumping from foot to foot, the golliwog holding the guitar in the air wondering whether to swing it. I hit him a clip on the ear and push his faggoty pal onto the tent. They know what they’ll get if they try anything else. I help myself to the other flagon and at the same time grab the guitar and hold it over the water. It’s a good move because it distracts your woman.

‘Stop the racket or I’ll throw it in,’ I tell her.

That shuts her up.

‘Now you people should know it’s against the law to light fires around here. You see the poor swans are frightened and can’t sleep. We’ll take these flagons off yez because it’s against the law to be drunk in public. There’s people have to use this lane at night, child molesters mostly, but even so.’

Joe’s a gas man.

‘If we hear any more noise, we’ll confiscate them auld tents now.’

There are people up at the bridge: I give Joe the nod. He takes alastKung Fu kick in the air, and then we leap into the bushes with a flagon each, to be skulled before Shakies.   

The clouds have dispersed for a moment. We’re walking under a half moon knocking back the cider. Joe wants to head back later and kick the shit out of them all.

‘I hate fuckers like that more than anything.’

But before that, there’s the Cross Hill lads to take care of, if they haven’t got windy, that is.

We run into Knife-sker and some others at the corner.

‘There’s some scum up the canal line having an orgy. Drug addicts,’ is the first thing Joe says as he passes the flagon. The boys want to sort them out immediately.

‘I saw those Cross Hill lads outside Shakies,’ I put in.

So we move off in that direction. We’re walking quickly; nobody stands in our way. The moon gets wrapped in clouds again. It starts raining; the town is quiet except for a few remaining figures outside the club who the bouncers wouldn’t let in. I recognise them, lads a few years older, mad bastards.

‘Howaya lads!’

‘Well boys. How’s the form?’

‘The bouncers wouldn’t let you in or what?’
            ‘Them bouncers. I’ll come back next week and burn the place to the ground.’

‘Good man.’

‘They said I was drunk and me with only six or seven pints on me.’

‘Sure tell me, who’d be able to go into a kip like that without a few pints on him?’

‘That’s right. Listen have you got a cigarette?’

‘Here boss. Here, have a go on my flagon.’

‘I will, thanks.’          

We head up to the door. Joe whispers to me.

‘I don’t like cunts like that asking me for cigarettes. Knackers, that’s what they are. I only gave him the flagon cos I couldn’t finish it myself.’

‘Ah, there’s worse.’

Joe doesn’t answer. The silver door opens outward. We cruise on inside. Knife-sker’s second cousin is married to the bouncer.

‘Well, lads.’

‘Alright, Harry.’

‘No trouble tonight, lads.’

‘No, Harry.’

‘Otherwise I’ll have the guards down.’

‘It’ll be alright, Harry.’

The Cross Hill boys aren’t there – they must have got yellow after all. There are no decent-looking beors around either. Joe tells the boys about what happened in Mack’s at the pool table. They decide to head up to the canal later. I’m so locked, the coloured lights and the music are swirling in my head. I watch the girls dancing. A shower of yelping dogs, they are. Joe and Knife-sker are laughing at some joke.

Then it’s over, the lights come on like an explosion. There’s a young one screaming at her boyfriend.

‘You fuckin bastard. I’ll never talk to you again!’

Joe stands behind her leaping up and down, taking the piss. I can’t help laughing. There’s nothing her boyfriend can do because he sees the rest of us. I think he used to work up in Tesco’s.

‘Goodnight, lads.’

‘Goodnight, Harry.’

I get sick on my way up the street. The boys go on ahead without noticing. I stumble up after them wiping the vomit off my face. It’s heavy rain now and I step into a puddle. I’m tired and in bad form. Joe is laughing up ahead as I nearly rupture myself getting over the nun’s wall.

The two tents are dark forms in front of me. The boys have already reached them. I begin to run through the muck. The tents are being kicked over; there’s screaming everywhere. The faggoty fellow leaps out of one and tears off along the canal; but Knife-sker is on him, boxing the head off him as he runs. The golliwog is gone in the other direction. Someone else throws one of the tents in the air. It lands in the canal like a space capsule. Then the girl is running past me. I hardly see her, she’s that quick. She could get away, only she turns back, screaming blue murder.

I grab hold of her arm. The moon flickers out from two parting clouds. She’s only a pair of jeans on. I see her tits with their big round nipples which are all pearly in the moonlight. I’ve never seen any so close apart from on the television.

‘Stop screaming!’ I tell her.

‘Fuck you!’

‘STOP!’ I bark in her face, getting vexed.

Behind me somewhere I hear Joe yell and another voice curse.

I push her over into the bushes and stand above her with my fists clenched.

‘Please, please, don’t rape me, don’t rape me,’ she says, half-rising.

So that’s what she thinks, the whore. I kick her in the head – the first time I ever hit a woman. She falls to the side, but is able to right herself. I look down at her again, at the raindrops and tears tumbling down her face, which is turned away from me.

‘Look at me!’ I command, but the clouds are regrouping, and she vanishes from my sight.

I hear Knife-sker’s whistle and leap into the bushes. We meet up after at the corner. The lads are hungry for chips. There’s a wildness in their eyes. Luigi’s is closing up; we have to hurry. A squad car cruises by, so close I can hear its wipers’ swish.

‘What happened to the girl?’ Joe asks slyly, when the tail lights disappear over the bridge at the end of the street.

‘Ah, I didn’t see her,’ I answer, glancing at him quickly.

But Joe’s already stepping into the chipper. I’m not in the form for chips. I just want to go home, to lie in my warm bed and listen to the rain outside. There’s this bad feeling coming on. I’ve felt it before. I hate its familiarity more than anything. And more than anything, I just want to get home.