Becoming Strangers by Louise Dean

said. 'Got to get off, lads, work to do.' He shook hands with both of them, putting a second hand on their arm as he did so. 'Cheers, George,' he said, 'very much. I owe you. And for the bewie. Top man.'
    George nodded.
    Both men watched him walk slowly up the path to the main hotel, his feet half out of his trodden-down sneakers, untying the green staff shirt from around his waist and putting it on before he reached the door.
    'It's a different world, today,' said Jan, seeing George's admiration plain in his face.
    'It is, but people don't change, do they? I look at a lad like that and I see myself, Jan. Not the ponytail and tattoos, granted, but the attitude. Good laugh. I always wanted to have a boy. A chip off the old block they used to call me, and to see the old boy smile at that! He used to say, that's my wealth that is, pointing at me, that's
what makes me richer than a rich man. It ain't things what carry you on, is it, it's your kids. I'd have liked a son.'
    Jan slid the menu towards George who took a quick look and they chose another pizza, taking account of each of the topping options. George sanctified Jan's suggestions sombrely.
    'Sausage is good. Peppers is good but they do repeat on you. Mushrooms. Good.'
    Jan ordered a bottle of the house white wine. He could recognize several of the people at the bar now that they had been there a couple of days and he nodded if his eye was caught.
    With the pizza shared equitably, George belched and pushed the remaining slice to Jan. 'Its yours, mate, fair's fair. I've had my half.' When Jan hesitated, he ate the last piece himself rather than let it waste.
    'Shame to chuck it.'
    They agreed that although it was nice to come away with the ladies, it was a bit of luck to find some quiet time like this, time for a bite to eat and a drink and some 'cordial conversation' as George put it.
    'See, I've had to ask myself, over the years, whether it wouldn't have been better if we'd got ourselves divorced, would we have been happier like?' George said in a quiet voice. 'People like us didn't do it. Not like nowadays. I remember in our village, people would whisper to each other about a certain lady, "Look, there goes Mrs So-and-so, she's divorced." Funny ain't it, the way things are now? My eldest daughter's gone and got
divorced and is thinking about getting remarried. Didn't you ever think about it?'
    Jan was silent.
    'Beg pardon, didn't mean to pry.'
    'We are Catholic. There is that, you see. But I was just thinking that it must be something else also as I have not observed my religion in many years. I think the example was set before me. Although my own father was killed in the war, those families I respected, their parents were married all their lives. Well, they worked together, as business partners you could say on a farm or at a shop, I think it made a difference.'
    'Too right. It was different in them days. The family was the business, wasn't it. My mum was the boss. Lord above, didn't she mind the pennies, counting out of my father's wages for this and that and mine too when I got older, putting some by, here and there. It wasn't about religion then either really, we didn't go to church much. I've never been much of a religious man. I believe what I believe, more and more as I get older, but I've done a few things I ought to be ashamed of, that's the truth of it. Don't feel right going into church and doing the mumbo jumbo.'
    'We've all done such things.'
    'Yes, but,' George leaned forward, close to Jan so that Jan could smell a mixture of the white wine, garlic and beer, 'I've been ambidextrous. Had affairs.' A small burp released the smell of sausage into the mixture.
    'Oh,' said Jan.
    'There's the things I did and the things I thought
about. The things I didn't do. Sometimes I wonder if the regret ain't the worst. First of all, right from the beginning, Dorothy was second best. That's the truth of it. There was a woman before her, Millicent, her name was. Millie.