One Man by M T McGuire

Author:M T McGuire
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hamgee University Press
Published: 2014-06-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

The Pan would have preferred to begin the clean-up operation in the flat upstairs. Sure the Grongles had made less of a mess up there but it was his home and the sense of violation he felt at the state of it was stronger. However, he knew that Gladys and Ada would have begun in the pub. The Pan could almost hear them explaining how they could cope with living in a wrecked flat if having an un-wrecked bar meant they’d earn enough money to get it mended. That wasn’t the only reason of course. He imagined Ada asking what the neighbours would think.

He started with the main bar. First he threw away the damaged cushions. Luckily there were plenty left undamaged, and he remembered that there were some spares in the settle by the door. Having primped the furnishings as best he could, he got the broom out. Sweeping up with one arm was difficult but not totally impossible and before long the room began to look less as if a tornado had been through it and more like a pub. Then The Pan spent a couple more hours rearranging the bottles and glasses behind the bar, throwing away the broken ones, polishing the survivors and checking the beer pumps were working and clean. He moved to the kitchen area behind it, where Gladys and Ada prepared the sandwiches and did the washing up.

“I is not leaving the Holy of Holies looking like we has exploded a beer keg in there,” he said in a falsetto impression of Gladys.

“Quite so dear, it’s absolutely shocking!” he said, switching to the role of Ada.

“Yer, I wants it shipshape, mind, no slacking.”

“Oh come on,” The Pan reverted to type, “I’ve only one arm.”

He pretended to be Gladys and Ada’s Trev and stuck up for himself.

“’S right Mum. ’E’s armless.”

“That was a shockingly bad joke ... and this ... talking to yourself is ... not the way to go,” he said.

Even so, he could imagine Gladys’ nod of approval when it was done and that was a comfort. It was good to think he would spend the bleakest day of his life doing something more constructive than moping. This small kindness for the people he cared for was something they would have appreciated.

Finally the main bar, the hall, the stairs and the Holy of Holies were finished. Only the snug to do and that wasn’t too bad. It was fitted out like a library, with all sorts of old books, mostly snaffled from skips and dustbins by Gladys, Ada and Their Trev. The Pan had tried to read one once, one of the more recent ones – some of them were truly ancient, by the looks of things. However, he had never finished it because the last chapters were missing. When he’d complained Ada had said, “They’re not for reading, dear, they’re only there to look old and interesting ...” and The Pan had said, “I thought that was your job,” and she’d laughed.

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