I were scratting to find something clean to wear after me shower and that bear were there at bottom-a drawer. Scruffy thing; flat face, tartan ears all ratty, scuffed nose. Mum had stitched a blue jumpsuit onto it to stop it falling apart. I tossed it in bin and then changed me mind. Would do more than that. Would give it back. Tell her didn’t need it no more.

            Then I were back on track. Getting dressed. Getting ready. I were headed down road to Jubilee for a drink. Liane should be serving. Dad busy, out working instead-a drinking and nosying. Half-a lager. Bit-a chat. Then ask what she were doing on Saturday. Did she fancy a drink? Casual-like.

Outside pub, checked me hair. Had money in pocket, phone in hand. Took a breath. Went in. Liane were holding wine glasses up to light, inspecting ’em for lipstick.

            ‘Look, it’s our Lee. Come to have a pint with yer dad?’

            Dad were coming out-a gents, rearranging himself on way to his usual spot at bar. He patted stool next to him. Ned, a regular, sat close but not close enough to be drinking with Dad.    

            ‘Early for you, ain’t it?’ I said, and shifted me stool further away from his.

            ‘Cab’s been rattling all afternoon. Old dears and their pills wanting to go up and down between Infirmary and doctors non-stop. Had enough.’

            ‘Drink, Lee?’ asked Liane.

            ‘Half-a lager. Thanks, Liane.’

            ‘Half!’ said Dad. ‘What yer doing? Liane, make it a pint and top me up. I’m paying.’

            Liane set to work pulling pints. We’d been at same school together. She were a couple-a years younger. Almost everything about her were pointy: elbows, glasses, nose, but not way she looked at people. That were softer. I liked that.

            ‘Been running, ain’t you?’ said Dad. ‘Getting a sweat on. Making that little face-a yers all puffy and red.’

            ‘Dad.’

            ‘It’s true though, ain’t it. Not saying owt that’s not true.’

            ‘It’s true. Just don’t know why you’re saying it,’ I said.

            ‘I’m proud-a me lad. You’ve got a good job, with a good company.’

            ‘Changing tyres at Kwik Fit?’

            ‘Changing tyres. Taking care-a yerself. Doing up that motor good and proper. Improving yerself. If I were any other man, I’d be jealous. All you need now is a young lady by yer side. What do you reckon, Liane? Doesn’t our Lee need a young lady by his side?’

            ‘Dad.’

            ‘What? Perfectly good question to ask.’

            Liane put Dad’s pint in front-a him. Then mine in front-a me.

            ‘Cheers,’ I said.

            ‘Nine forty,’ she said.

            Dad handed over a crumpled twenty. Liane went to till and came back again.

            ‘Out-a notes,’ she said and put change down in front-a Dad, on bar.

            ‘Not to bother, Liane. Not to bother. So Lee, what you got to tell yer old dad?’     

            ‘Not so much. Been to work. Changed some tyres. Bought a sports exhaust for Suburu. It’ll have good tone when I fit it. Had a run. Usual.’

            ‘Did you eat yer banana?’ asked Dad.

            ‘No, Dad. I hate bananas.’

            ‘Keep putting ’em in yer bag so you’ll eat ’em, not throw ’em away. They do you world-a good. I keep saying, ever since I started me regimen—’

            I snorted into me drink. ‘Regimen? A banana a day ain’t no regimen.’

            ‘Eeeh. Hark at him. Thinks since he started running, he’s expert on all things healthy. But, like I were saying, since I started me regimen I ain’t had a sniffle or a cough. With all germs I see in me cab, that’s a miracle. What do you say to that, our Lee?’

            Liane were smiling. Soft dimples in her cheeks. Dad saw me looking.

            ‘Yer a little monkey, ain’t yer, Lee? A right little monkey,’ said Dad, and he patted me on back.

            ‘How many times? Don’t call me that. Ain’t a kid no more.’

            Dad started stacking his change. Pound coins at bottom and twenty-pence pieces at top. Liane picked up a book that were thick with lots-a small writing. She started underlining bits and making notes. Ned looked like he were dropping off.

            ‘You’ve got some holiday coming up, haven’t you, Lee?’ said Dad.

            ‘A week. In a fortnight.’

            ‘Decided what yer doing with it?’

            ‘Visiting Mum,’ I said. ‘Take back that bear she left.’

            ‘Yer mum?’

            ‘Ain’t going to go see no one else’s.’

            Dad flicked his stack-a coins over and did nowt but watch as pound coins rolled away, over edge-a bar. Then he supped from his pint.

            ‘Your mum?’ asked Liane. She’d put book down. Come over and picked up Dad’s coins. Couldn’t tell if she were proper interested or if she just wanted to stop me and Dad rowing.

            ‘She moved to Wales. Runs a gallery down there,’ I said.

            ‘Gallery? It ain’t art. Craft at best. Tat more likely. Her specialty? Squares-a wool. Put together into bigger squares. Till they get big enough to be a blanket. Why would a woman do that, Liane? Knit square after square after square. Any clue?’ asked Dad.

            ‘Keeps hands and mind busy. Away from problems and worries. Like drinking, I guess,’ said Liane.

            ‘And we all have problems,’ said Dad. He stared into his pint.

            ‘Not all-a us,’ said Liane.

            ‘Some of us ain’t getting lost in knitting or drinking. Some of us ain’t stuck,’ I said.

            Dad said nowt. Just shook his head, slipped off his stool and headed back to gents. Liane half-smiled in me direction. Her dimples were tiniest-a things. Stopped her looking so pointy. Made her look younger, her age.

            ‘What plans you making?’ I asked.

            ‘I’m studying and working. Health and social care. Want kids to have chances and opportunities. Someone to talk to, at least,’ said Liane.

            ‘I know what you mean. Since Mum left, Dad’s just been moping about. I went off rails for a while. Not derailed. No major smash. Just-a bit off track.’

            She were looking straight at me. Couldn’t tell what she were thinking, whether it were good or bad. Wanted to ask her about Saturday. Going out for that drink. Thinking about it made colour rise in me cheeks. I swirled me lager round and knocked back a mouthful. Was about to ask. Then two blokes walked in. Liane went to serve ’em, got two bottles-a beer from fridge, popped off their lids and set ’em down on bar. They wanted nuts. Roasted. She’d to go out back.

            ‘Keep an eye on things, will you, Lee? I’ll be thirty seconds.’

            ‘Will do,’ I said.

Didn’t know if to go behind bar or not. Stood and leant for a while instead. Then Dad were back, supping and moping about again.

            ‘Wouldn’t have yer mum back if she came running,’ said Dad

            ‘I’m going to give back that bear she left for me. Don’t need or want it no more. Doing okay and like Liane says, making plans for future. Moving on. What’s in past is in past.’

            There were a clatter-a something tumbling and falling out back.

            ‘Shit!’ shouted Liane.

            ‘I’ll leave it in yer capable hands, our Lee,’ said Dad with a wink.  

            Round back-a bar Liane were picking up packets-a crisps, nuts and straws.

            ‘Avalanche,’ she said.

            ‘I’ll get ready salted and then pick up pork scratchings.’

            Liane were busy putting a jumble-a pink and yellow straws back into box.

            ‘Thanks, Lee. Now I just need to get the box-a bloody roasted nuts from beneath all the others.’ She knelt down, then backed up and brushed up against me legs.

            ‘No room back here is there,’ I said.

            ‘No room. Ah, come on.’

            ‘If I lift this …’ I picked up boxes on top-a nuts.

            ‘Then I can pull the nuts out. Thanks.’ She stood and brushed herself down. Dust had stuck to her knees and her hair had come loose from twist she’d had it in.

            ‘Fancy going out sometime. For a drink. Not here. Not because it’s not good or anything. In town?’ I said.

            ‘I’d like that, Lee.’

            ‘You would?’ I asked.

            ‘I would.’

            ‘Saturday?’

            ‘Working. Sunday afternoon?’ said Liane.

            ‘Grand,’ I replied.

Back at bar Liane finished serving blokes, then they sat in a booth and split open bag-a nuts. Ned had nodded off. Arms folded on bar. Dad were surrounding him with beer mats stood on their edges, building him into some sort-a cardboard castle.

            ‘Did our Lee sort things, Liane?’ asked Dad.

            ‘He did,’ said Liane.

            There were those dimples again. Impossible not to smile back.

            ‘Good lad, our Lee. Right, I’m off.’

            Dad knocked back his pint. Pocketed coins from bar.

            ‘That bear, it’s not yer mum’s.’

            ‘What yer mean?’ I asked.

             ‘After she left, you hugged it so much its fur wore off. I stitched that jumpsuit on it and you cried yer little heart out. Said it weren’t same, and it weren’t. It were lumpy and ugly. Me fingers ain’t made for dainty sewing work. But it were that or let it fall apart. Tried me best, lad. Hope you know that. To be honest, don’t know why you kept hold-a it all these years. Be best if you just tossed it out.’

coming of age father and son flash fiction pub working class