Ma's Bar (Chapter 1) by Elizabeth Obadina

credit Jide Obadina

Harris slipped into the evening shadows of the alley opposite Ma’s Bar. Not long to wait now. A grey Bentley purred to a stop outside and illegally parked in the disabled driving bay. A portly, balding man in a Saville Row suit heaved himself out of the driving seat and into the bar, stubbing out a cigarette on his way.

Harris thought he was probably the last arrival. Three men of similar build, similar looks and similar age had already gone inside, each one had been smoking and each one stubbed out their smoke before reaching the bar door.

‘Here goes nothing,’ thought Harris to himself as he too dropped a smoking cigarette butt into a puddle where it fizzed and died. Harris watched it for a second before taking a deep sigh, buttoning up his coat and tugging his hoodie lower against the biting March wind and launching himself across the road.

By now unseen hands had drawn blinds across the windows of Ma’s Bar and only a glimmer of light showed in the gaps between the walls and the blinds. Harris crept closer to the door and peeped through the chinks. They were all there; four sullen grown up men, one stretched almost full length on a kitchen chair, head resting on its back, neck and back rigid and lanky legs disappearing under the table. He was staring at a distant spider spinning her web on the ceiling. Another sat glumly, squarely on his chair, hands cupping his chin. He was staring absently across the table’s surface. A third man wasn’t sitting but making his way around the framed photographs decorating the walls of the bar, inspecting each one minutely. The fourth man, the last arrival, had taken his place at the head of the table and was sitting palms down on the tabletop like a board chairman. Tension played around his forehead, he kept looking to the door and erratically drummed his frustration out on the tabletop with chunky fingers weighed down with gold rings.

No one spoke. There was no-one else there besides the four men.

A quick look passed between the be-ringed man and the wandering picture inspector who disappeared through a side door.

A few seconds later the door re-opened and a formidable matron appeared dwarfing the three men around the table who hurriedly scrambled to their feet. She paused a moment taking them all in before greeting them.

“Good evening.”

“Evening Ma,” they chorused in reply.

The picture inspector, whom Harris could now see was some years younger than the others took the dowager’s elbow and steered her to her chair; the chair that seconds earlier had been occupied by the chairman of the board.

“I’m not dead yet,” she said pointedly, looking towards the offending chair usurper. “So … did you contact him?”

“Yes Ma,” the chairman of the board’s confidence had evaporated, and beads of perspiration stood up on his forehead. “I left a message on his mobile.”

“Tsch,” an explosion of irritation escaped from between Ma’s clenched teeth.  “We will wait.” Her hands opened upwards, tracing an ancient and universal signal of resignation. “He will come.”

A minute passed in awkward silence. A single un-shaded light bulb cast a steely light over the sandwich bar which at lunchtimes heaved with office workers but at weekends stood closed and desolate. All four men remembered childhoods spent in exhausting shifts behind the counter and in the kitchen of the family business and the tyranny of their mother who had made ‘Ma’s Bar’ into a global franchise. Despite becoming a multi-millionaire Ma had refused to leave the city café where it all started and now, nearing 90, she still had family business to settle. Today seemed as good a day as any.

At last Ma sighed long and loud, “We will start without him.” She glanced over her gathered sons and drew her reading spectacles from her bag along with a bundle of papers.

It was the signal the peeping Harris had been waiting for. He arranged a wide smile on his face, took a deep breath and burst through the door. The old-fashioned bell over the door rang wildly and a gust of wind created by the door flying open blew the papers off the table. The picture inspector scurried after them, collecting them.

Ma’s face broke into a radiant smile, “Now we can begin,” she said.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” beamed Harris, producing a box of chocolates from beneath his coat. “These are for you Ma.” He stood behind his mother’s chair, resting his hands on her shoulders and bent forward to plant a kiss on Ma’s cheek. She squeezed his hand resting on her right shoulder and left her hand lingering over his.

He was still smiling and his smile passed over the four older men all glowering at him.

“Hi bros,” he said cheerily. “Let the business commence! Let’s get this celebration going!”