‘Actually, do you fancy a pint?’ asked Mark.
It was a warm Saturday evening, and Declan had no other plans.
‘Sure, sounds good.’
They walked the short distance to the pub on the corner, and sat in the outside beer garden, a pleasant area with blue painted fencing and pot plants bursting with colourful blooms.
Nursing their pints of draught beer and cold lager respectively, they sat in the warm sunshine at a wooden picnic-style table and chatted.
‘I got talking to a guy at the marina a week or so ago, but it completely slipped my mind till today,’ said Mark as he sipped his beer. ‘He mentioned he was looking for a new accountant.’
‘Oh yeah?’ said Declan with interest. He could probably fit another part-time client around his hours, but only just. As well as the café on Liverpool Road, he had recently started doing the books for a small painting and decorating firm, owned by one of his football friends. Still, the more clients on his books, the closer he would be to setting up himself.
‘Have you heard of Sanctuary Bathrooms?’ Mark asked Declan.
‘I have,’ said Declan. ‘They have a shop in town, don’t they?’
He had browsed the huge showroom just outside the town centre that catered for every taste in bathrooms with his mum one Saturday afternoon. She had bought a new shower, and he had dreamt of the day he would own his own place, and have a huge bath, like the one displayed on a granite floor in the corner of the room.
‘And another two showrooms across Merseyside,’ Mark informed him. ‘As well as a huge warehouse. Ken told me the business has grown massively over the years.’
Declan felt a tingle of excitement. This was a massive deal. Sanctuary Bathrooms was a huge organisation, and the director was looking for a new accountant.
‘So, what’s the deal with his current accountancy firm?’ asked Declan. His thoughts had already turned to the office in Liverpool Road, just waiting for him to set up shop.
‘Cooking the books seems to be the essence of it. Embezzlement of some sort,’ Mark told him. ‘He’s up in court next month.’
Declan gave a low whistle. ‘Wow, so I am guessing he wants someone sooner rather than later?’
‘I would imagine so. Anyway, I told him to hang fire until I had a chat with you,’ explained Mark. ‘Are you still thinking of setting up by yourself?’
Declan had told Mark all about Alice’s offer of some office space when they had chatted on the evening of his BBQ.
‘I would love to, for sure. I just haven’t had a big enough account to pack in my job with the council,’ he told him as he sipped his drink.
‘Until now,’ said Mark. ‘Anyway, I told Ken I would give you his number, so you can at least arrange a meeting with him.’
Mark pinged Ken’s number to Declan, and they tapped their pint glasses together.
‘Hope it all goes well, mate,’ said Mark. ‘It seems a shame to let that office space go to waste.’
Declan could not agree more.
‘Fancy another?’ Declan offered when they had finished their drinks.
‘Why not?’ Mark smiled. ‘It’s been a bit of a week. I might just lose myself in a few pints,’ he told Declan.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said Declan when he had returned with their drinks, and Mark told him of his mother’s passing.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asked Mark, although he sensed that was doubtful. All the same, he knew how important it was for men to talk about their problems and open up. One of the lads at Sunday football had been in a dark place a year ago and often spoke of how the football and the chats with his friends in the pub afterwards had saved him.
He hadn’t really reached out to anyone when his sister died. Running had become his saviour. But at least there had been solace in that. If only everyone could find that something.
‘Thanks, but we weren’t close,’ Mark told Declan candidly as he sipped his beer. ‘I was with her at the end, though, and I am glad I was. It was more for my sister really, but it seems to have given me some peace of mind,’ he admitted.
The two men sat silently for a couple of minutes, before Declan lifted his pint in a toast to Mark’s mum.
‘May your mum rest in peace.’
