Paulson toyed with his lighter as he propped up the bar. Through his fingers it spun, gold casing catching the noonday light which refracted from his half-filled whiskey tumbler. The lid opened and closed arrhythmically, and his intermittent catching of the spark wheel caused its flame to dance into life before being repeatedly snuffed out. Paulson did all this without looking at it.
"Look old boy" he rounded, "you've been a bit down in the dumps lately, and a friend of mine is heading to the ballroom tonight. Dance band. Could be a giggle. What do you say you come along?"
"Well..." I began, and I could see he'd been tracking the growing distaste on my face as his proposition had progressed and was already braced for my excuse not to. "...hasn't really been my thing for some time, as you're very aware. What's the show?"
"It's a group called the Lords Of Albion, of all things."
"Good lord, that sounds a bit..?"
"No, no. It's all on the up-and-up. Surprised you're not familiar with them already, to be honest. All started by that chap from those ones you used to like. Stephen something. Hamlyn? Harrington?" I raised my hand in supplication. I knew by now who he meant, and the fellow's pedigree was indeed sound enough.
"I'm more surprised they're playing at all, to be honest with you", I admitted. "Didn't think that sort of thing was still the fashion."
"Well, it's not. I think that's rather the point, if anything. Nostalgia and all that?"
"Yes well you know what they say, nostalgia's not what it used to be..."
"Very droll, I'm sure. So are you aboard?"
I physically restrained the sigh in my soul from making its way to my voicebox, although I was certain my eyes fought a losing battle with that same. "Any of the old faces going to be there?", I probed.
"Oh, I should imagine so. Algernon mentioned it to begin with, Aldus was rather taken with the idea, and so was Andrew." The flame punctuated the moment's stillness as I considered this. It would be no hardship to see those chaps again, that was for sure. My own history with them could hardly be considered to cover many volumes, but each page therein contained a happy tale nonetheless, stout fellows all.
Paulson grew impatient. "Oh come on, you silly arse. You lock yourself away in that library of yours with books, languages and 'rituals' only you understand or care about. You complain - quite rightly - that the local night life isn't a patch on the old century, and then the moment someone tries to breathe a wisp of life into it you hum-and-hah like an old maid avoiding someone at the knitting circle. We'll be trying to have a night out, not cure a marauding disease!"
I left a moment's silence to curdle in the air. "Speaking to me like that, it's a good job you're my best pal."
"I'm your only pal. You despise people, remember?" We both knew this wasn't worth the effort of attempting to deny.
"Well you can hardly talk," I retorted, "it's not me that's converted half of his study into a private bar."
"If I loathe the company of strangers", my companion intoned knowingly, "it's only because I learned from you..."
"Learned with me", I corrected. "It's people that are the problem, Paulson. Concerts rather tend to attract them, and in my experience the convivial atmosphere does little to put them on their best behaviour."
"Tish", Paulson sighed, "you've no history of being a choirboy yourself. Besides, I know you're never more content than when installed at the snug in the Southwood club telling shocking tales of others' behaviour with withering judgement. Well it's about time you restocked your catalogue of debauchment, and if tonight serves no other purpose than to get your righteous dander up, then I should say those will be hours well spent."
By this point my left eyebrow had raised along with my spirits. "Well since you put it as trippingly as that old chap, who am I to refuse? What time?|
"Ballroom opens at seven, I say we get there closer to eight. Let the place get warmed up first, hmm?"
"Splendid." I raised my own tumbler. "Just time for another as we draw our plans?"
"Oh I should say so", quipped Paulson as he slid behind the bar and reached for the bourbon. "But don't get too settled in, Albert wants us all to meet in the Lord Shelley at three for a livener, and we've to get ready first."
Ah. Albert. Our gang's very own wildcard, fly in the ointment and elephant in the room, all in one go. A lively presence and one I'd count as a friend no less than my compatriots, although no small part of me suspected that was because one would rather have him chaotically inside the tent spitting out than have those tables turned. I was not the only one among our group dabbling in forbidden tomes by midnight, and it was certainly true that of those previously alluded-to 'tales of battle' that featured a less than favourable outcome, most coincidentally featured Albert's name in some prominent role.
The alarming problem was that Albert had apparently told all and sundry of his social availability this afternoon, and that all and sundry had readily agreed. And that was a problem because Albert had died, six months ago.
And I know Albert had died, because it was myself who had, reluctantly, killed him...
DISCLAIMERS:
• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• Short stories © WorldOfBlackout.co.uk, all entries are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Y'know, mostly.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.
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