I was a witness to it all.

From the numb bashing of a remote control onto a 50 year old’s balding and sweated head to the subtle smile someone pulls as they take a delicate swig from their gin, knowing eyes are planted on them and that they have a secret they can hold onto. They are the keeper that holds all of the aces.

He now looked frightened at what was about to happen.

Although it was mid afternoon I’d only woken a moment or so before having had to return to bed with my raging hangover. Attacking the sinews of my mind, the dull thud bouncing across my skull until a twisted spasm struck forward every minute or so.

‘I’ll kill you, you fucker’ she shouted.

It was easily the angriest I’d ever seen her.

True hurt wallowing in her eyes with a vitriol flying from her mouth. I had noticed her sad on occasion, this though was a whole new precedent. Depression, the falling apart of a promising career and death of loved ones had all combined like a sucker punch years back. Aside from those dark moments her confidence, and drive had always been palpable. This was different though. Way different.

A flail of blonde hair flew into the air as she wrestled with him. Sweat across his brow a symbol more of fear than of the hangover that must have been pounding through his head as it was mine. His brandy sickness rotting his stomach and head, calling him a fool whilst mumbling into his ear so that he could make little sense of what was going on.

Soon, more people descended into the mahogany hallway, pulling them apart and pushing the man back. He now looked like a bull flailing toward the red flag. Moving with all of the strength of a young Tyson, he wrestled control of himself pushing past a boy away who was half his age. Before he could reach the door though it had been slammed in his face. His prize long since dragged to the safety of a tear filled bedroom.

He paced the floor — all energy and no idea. In that moment he looked as helpless as a young calf. His adrenaline soon dissipated and a grave face came upon him. I knew the smoke was the result of fire.

On the other side of the emulsion covered wall she sobbed into a shoulder for half an hour contemplating and wondering, piecing together the past in a disheveled maze of what if’s.

She didn’t know how her life had traversed from Sunday afternoon drinks to this. Or why she had no control over the relationship that was utterly and wholly her, yet had now slipped. Her eyes looked up at my face, gleaming with tears and the odd trickle of embarrassment. Looking to someone for guidance who a month before had been lying flat on the canvas. I looked back at her. Deeply and attentively yet miles away and unqualified for the role. I wasn’t shocked, but I did consider the strangeness of the situation, how lust and the thrill of the chase can distort even the most sacred. How some false adulation can rip apart years of sacrifice.

‘I don’t…I can’t’ she stuttered before dropping to her knees.

I helped her to her feet, squeezing the overly tanned hand as we walked to the stairs. I supported her up to the sanctuary that a bedroom provides before turning my back and going to try and piece the past number of hours together. I think my hope was that the space would act as a shelter from the world and its elements. A strong structure that would stop the ungodly coming to attack her or maybe even help patch the hurt and pain together into some kind of positivity.

‘Rest and I’ll come back in a few minutes’.

I thought about this as I descended the stairs and looked at his anguished face.

Then I heard her wail.

— —

I stood polishing glasses. I’d already cleaned the bar once that morning and had restocked the fridge so that we could survive an attack of George Best proportion.

The day had a lacklustre feel to it, or maybe it was just the bar. The sun shone outside, the midsummer heat clawing at those walking to the bookies or the shops. Hoping to pick up a winner before the weeks end, bringing a story or some form of achievement to their average, simple lives.

As if to disrupt this or possibly because of it, he came in with his usual swagger. An innate confidence that he always held.

‘Alright kiddo?’ he exaggerated as he chucked bags of copper and silver into the recently opened till drawer.

Some small talk was made. The weather, football and the marches.

‘I’ll be back in a minute’.

Like a drunken stupor induced by a little too much whisky the day slowed until it slipped into evening and I dragged within it. At half past ten or thereabouts she walked in. I noticed her as I walked around the large room, an act more out of boredom than of need.

I held a door open and went into the cellar, the cold air breathing through my tight white shirt cooling me immediately. I kicked an empty red crate to the floor and then carefully placed it onto a stack of plastic wrapped bottles so that I could rest. I stared at the door, let out a yawn and after a few moments rose from the darkened concrete room feeling my hand against the freezing, cracked block walls. As I climbed the ladder to the main bar back into the light I noticed her again, talking to him whilst fiddling with her hair. Twisting it delicately and beautifully.

As I walked back behind the bar he smiled and ordered a few Cola cube shots. I watched the drama unfold and then reached into the fridge for a cold beer. The hiss and crack tingled my ears as much as the freezing lager did when it ran down my throat. In between serving I watched as he moved closer, inching slowly yet confidently. The music of some western singer played in the background, with men and women becoming ever more jovial.

As the clock ticked, Chardonnay, whisky and more shots. She tugged menacingly at his shirt, holding between two buttons with her long, elegant fingers. The chase had been tweaked, she now forcing her will upon the situation, exploiting it as I’m sure she had before.

I figured I knew the game plan and where we would end. He pulled me to one side resting his hand on my shoulder. I looked into his eyes and gently asked if he was sure.

The shrug told me all I needed to know, ‘she has friends’. He smiled suggestively.

— -

I soon grew tired of life serving drinks, I was more adept at drinking them.

I didn’t see the man for a few months after that. It was a late summers day when I saw him across the street, maybe 30 yards in the distance. In his possession the tanned hand that I had held onto, hoping to heal.

For a moment I felt happy. The misunderstanding had somehow been overcome. Life had moved on and they continued to act as one. I thought of a man eating a meal for one, lonely in an ugly, grey and undecorated flat and the image brought me anguish. I thought it better that she forgave.

And then as I thought about it, a tear came to my eye. As although he got away with it, I realised he had trapped himself forever.

I thought of the night at the bar. Like Father Like Son.