Who Kissed Charlie Fine?

Chapter 3

True to its name, the Suds And Sods pub was teeming with both. Charlie walked through the front to find the back of his closest friend, Martin Shields, haloed in the amber haze of a hundred backlit bottles at the bar.

As usual, he was talking too closely to someone; a giant twenty-something looked agitated for having his space invaded. Martin was always a friendly sort of drunk, but in the giant's defence, he was shouting in his face.

"It does! It does!" the British voice blared. Charlie saw him slap the counter with an adamant hand. "The backbeat of this horrible song is exactly like 'I Really Love Ya Aileen'! They must have sampled it."

Charlie remained a few steps away hanging his coat on a communal rack. The man next to Martin was leaning as far away as possible without giving up his seat, obviously trying to watch the baseball game on the screen above him in peace. Martin, God love him, wouldn't take the hint, and likewise leaned in on the stranger to sing his point along with the music playing in the background.

"I really love ya, Aileen and that much you should know.

I'd love to make you my wife, but yer mother has to go!

She sings her hymnals backwards and she stands up on one toe!

I really love ya, Aileen, but my answer must be no."

He really was a gentlemen, straight sober throughout his working day and piss drunk from the five o'clock whistle to sunrise. He had a youthful face for a man of forty-eight, in spite of dozens of tiny bumps of milia which dotted his eyes. He had a turned up nose somewhere between an elf's and an aardvark's and rosy cheeks thanks in part to the broken capillaries of binge-alcoholism. He reminded Charlie of Jimmy Cagney, not only because of his short, stocky stature, but also because of the way he walked with his posterior tipped upwards. He was thrown out of so many places by the seat of his pants it was as if his good nature extended to permanently taking a position to make the job easier for bouncers. As Charlie watched Martin lean into the ear of his angered neighbour it appeared as though this very shape was the only thing keeping him from slipping right off his stool.

"I really love ya, Aileen and this I do avow!

I'd love ya 'til forever but yer mother is a cow!

She cursed me with her good eye and she beat me on me brow!

I really love ya, Aileen, but I think I'm done for now."

"For Godssakes! Shut up!" the giant bellowed.

"You don't know it?" Martin seemed disappointed.

"I heard enough to know I don't give a shit!"

"But you seriously don't - Charlie! Hey, it's me best mate, Charlie!" Martin hit the man with his knuckles to get him to look.

"Your mate," he sniffed with a look of disgust. "Figures."

"Tell him, Charlie. Tell him it sounds like..." He counted a few beats. "'...take you by your hand and throw your mother's out!' It's from the old country. Let's drink to the old country!"

Here Martin's reluctant seatmate erupted. "Yeah, well this is the new country and I'm not drinking jack all with you or your fruitbag boyfriend, so take your old man sing-alongs and screw the hell off!"

"THE WOMAN'S ALWAYS YELLIN' AND SHE ONLY STOPS TO SHOUT!" Martin sing-barked in his face.

Charlie put a hand on his friend's shoulder to rein him in. "Martin, enough. You are right though."

"Sure I'm all right," Martin hiccuped, suddenly looking a little pale. "Just had an iffy curry before."

"I meant about the song."