MAUREEN'S GIN NIGHT. | By: Terry Collett | | Category: Short Story - Introspective Bookmark and Share


Maureen Mahony sips her gin her eyes looking across the bar at Daly his head back in a huge laugh the cigarette held between stubby fingers the mouth open showing the decaying teeth and he promised to kiss her once thank God a promise never kept and his wife Doris a thin woman with hair drawn back causing her features to look like one straining with constipation and her father had known Maureen's father back in the old days before the last Troubles before Donal was shot dead at the checkpoint before her mother had gassed herself and the priest had promised a Catholic burial nonetheless being a family friend and all and Maureen senses Dominic beside her his hand on his glass his eyes on the Fitzgerald girl with her thick thighs and navy-blue eyes and lips like red strawberries and Maureen can sense his knee touching hers she can feel it rubbing against her own seeming to say we'll be all right tonight unlike this lot unlike these half dead ones about us and giving Dominic a sideward gaze taking in his bony features the high cheekbones the thin lips like a slit in the face and the pipe clenched between teeth like tightly clenched buttocks waiting outside a locked toilet door with the diarrhoea coming and his eyes undressing the Fitzgerald bitch his hand moving tight around his glass as if he were touching the girl's arse and turning her head away Maureen sees Father Fitzsimmons his collar needing a wash the priestly garbs stained his eyes scanning the bar a cigarette held loosely between lips and an old mahogany rosary swinging at his side like an abandoned child and raising his hand as if to bless he takes in the thin features face of Dominic and ventures over like an old dog chasing a stick and takes his place beside Maureen putting himself down with a deep sigh and a wet fart and mine's a small Jameson he says before Dominic can ask and Dominic taking himself to the bar leaves Maureen sipping her gin before her husband gets another in hearing the priest mutter to her about the new curate the young man with the red face like a slapped arse and gingery hair whose knows as much Latin as a Dublin whore and buzzes about the rectory like some fecking saint as if I've not been there and done that and worn the collar myself and not known the dark night of the soul the constant absence of the Almighty and the bickering women about the place and the doubts creeping in the bones and head the old priest mutters on and seeing Dominic returning with the glasses with the pipe held tight the hands gripping the glasses between fingers his eyes aglow the feet unsteady as he does a silly dance as he approaches the table and as he puts the glasses down Maureen notices the Fitzgerald slut give a sweet smile the legs crossed the thick thighs the tight skirt and looking away she sees the priest pick up the glass to his nose to sniff taking in the scent the aroma the head dizzying smell then bringing it to his lips sips like a girl with the first gin then swallows it all down like one having a much needed piss and shaking her head she drains her own glass before she starts another and notices the beer stained mats the full ashtrays the music from the jukebox the bodies the smoke the voice of the priest and Dominic laughing over some smutty joke his fingers touching her thigh under the table his eyes wide in anticipation and she remembers as a child her uncle bringing her onto his lap his lips kissing her naked neck his cigarette stained yellow fingers walking her thighs up and down up and down and all the time his silly smile and constant deep ridged frown and pushing the memory away she brings the new gin to her mouth the lips feeling the warm dampness the tongue touching remembering to forget it all again forgetting to remember hearing the wild wind outside and the icy cold November.

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