Forty-Two

Neil put the drinks down on the pub table, acknowledging Claire’s thanks with a nod. He sat next to her, leant back against the seat backrest and sighed. ‘In a few weeks time I will be forty-two. Where has all the time gone? Pissed away.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Claire said.

‘What?’

‘You haven't pissed your life away.’ She half turned towards Neil as she spoke and sipped at her orange juice.

‘What have I done, though, then?’ Neil stroked his fingers up and down his pint glass, but made no move to pick it up.

‘You've lived it... your life. You've had good times, haven't you?

‘Sometimes, yeah.’ He picked up his glass and drank about a quarter of the beer in one go.

‘Well, sometimes is as good as it gets.’

Neil licked the foam from his upper lip. ‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yes.’ Claire was emphatic. ‘Nobody could survive a life of constant good times.’ She picked up her glass again. ‘You would get bored.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

Claire half-turned to look at Neil. ‘Yes, you, I, everyone. We need ups and we need downs. Can you imagine how unbearable someone who never had any downs would be?’

‘What?’

Claire took a small drink and put her glass down. ‘Well, you know how someone who is always a sad, moody, bugger gets on your nerves?’ She picked up a beer mat and stood it on an edge holding it upright between her fingers and tapping it on the table.

‘Yes! Oh, yes. I remember whatshisname…? Oh, anyway, it'll come to me. Go on….’

‘Thanks. Well… it would be the same if they were the exact opposite, wouldn't it?’

Neil thought for a moment. ‘What? Yes, like those happy-clappy inane grinning religious folks?’

‘Yes, that's it.’

‘Smug self-righteous bastards.’ Neil sat back, took a drink and cradled his beer glass against his chest. ‘I'd rather be miserable.’

Claire sat back too, smiling to herself as she sipped her orange juice.