A Small Glass of Sherry

by Owen Townend

Winter’s early dark and sudden chill often sets me in search of comfort. Familiar ground for better or worse.

That December night brought me to the tired town of Feldon, one of four places I grew up in. For a little over a year in my mid-teens, Feldon was home and a happy one. I had friends who led me through its streets, just watching the comings and goings of everybody else. We always ended up at the car park of the local wine bar, Your Excellent Sherris. An odd name but the place looked so suave. All the fancy drinkers went there. It was gratifying to see them slink in and stumble out.

Years on, it still seemed pretty sharp and slick, if a little dark around the windows. And yet the light inside was ruby red and golden. So many cheery faces caught in the overall glow.

I lingered a moment out of curiosity then realised I was gawping at someone else’s good time. Whoever organised this party had probably booked the entire venue to ensure privacy while they let their hair down. Just because I used to be a nosy teen didn’t mean I had carried that on to adulthood. Who was I to stand at the window like this?

Then a passing partygoer locked eyes with me. A balding man in a velvet jacket. He frowned and raised a hand. Before I could turn away, a bewildered smile widened his face, and he waved. He pointed left, towards the front door. Though I shook my head, I still followed him away from the window to the entrance. He opened the door.

“Are you here for the party?” the man asked in a clipped yet playful voice. “Did Sue get you to come? She threatened inviting some friends from outside the office.”

I held up my hands. “I don’t know Sue. Just passing. Have fun.”

“Oh, we intend to.” The man smiled, wiping sweat from his forehead. "It's not exclusive, of course. If you want to join, you're very welcome. Never mind Sue."

I looked inside, hearing the wheezing laughter and rumble of excited chatter. "I really must be going."

The man leaned in the doorway. "Don't be like that. If I were invited to a shindig, I wouldn't say no. Christmas is around the corner, after all. Merriness all round."

I hesitated. A blast of warm air reached me in the cold spot. It smelled of sweet citrus and sharp mint. "Are you sure?"

The man sighed. "Of course." He winked. "The name's Hugh, by the way."

We shook hands. I crossed the threshold.

"Thank you," I said.

"That's quite all right."

I told him my name. Hugh patted me on the back, and we entered the hubbub. So many suits and ties loosened and flung around. So much booze spilled. Drunken face touching. Snorting and kissing. Motown in the background, loud but barely discernible in the party atmosphere.

"This debauchery is brought to you by Munro & Blackwood. Solicitors, would you believe?" Hugh patted my back again. "So what are you having? I'll go fetch."

"A small glass of sherry," I said. “Please.”

"Any preference?"

"Whatever you recommend."

"Good man!” He turned away. “Take a window seat. That’s Daphne, by the way."

I glanced left. There sat a bespectacled woman in a periwinkle cardigan. She clutched a glass of white wine. Daphne smiled at me and shuffled up the chair to make space.

"Thank you," I said. Glancing at the window I had just been standing at, I saw that it was clouding over. Was the temperature difference between outside and in really that great?

"Are you a friend of Hugh's?" Daphne asked.

"Just met him outside." I laughed nervously. "He insisted I come in. I won't stay long."

"I'm just relieved I'm not the newest arrival for once." Daphne smirked and tucked a lock of black hair behind an ear.

“I’m not looking to join the firm.”

“Really?” Daphne watched me with muted amusement. “You convinced one of the senior partners to let you in. That takes skill.”

I wondered if Hugh was Munro or Blackwood. “Well, he’s in a festive mood. A couple of drinks, maybe.”

“More than a couple of merlots. Only the best for the best.”

“And what are you having?”

“Chardonnay.”

“That sounds upmarket.”

Daphne sneered at her glass. “Doesn’t taste that way.”

“Hugh is bringing me a sherry. I’ll fetch you one instead if you like?”

“Thanks, but it’s best not to mix your drinks.”

I shook my head. Daphne wasn’t the easiest conversationalist but I couldn’t help but hear something sweet in her few words. Something familiar.

“I used to live here,” I found myself saying. “Feldon. For a time. Never entered Your Excellent Sherris before today. Too shy to even peer through the window.”

“What brings you here now?”

“Hard times, I suppose.” I licked my dry, cracked lips. “Drifted to Feldon to see if I can rekindle something.”

“A sense of home?”

“Home comforts.” I sighed. “So far the warmest welcome I’ve had is from your wine-quaffing boss. And you.”

Daphne dipped her head. “I’m really not as good a host.”

“You’ve spoken to me the longest so far.”

She smiled, rubbing her knees. “I suppose I’m looking to kindle something myself.”

“Comfort?”

She avoided my gaze. “Maybe.”

In the nearby candlelight, Daphne glowed. Well, some of the light came from candles. Other sources I couldn’t quite perceive, always at the edges of my dozy vision. Anyway, it all seemed to be trained on her, softening Daphne’s complexion and adding sparkle to her grey eyes.

Hugh returned with a sherry for me and another merlot for him.

“Settling in nicely?” He gave a grey-tooth grin.

Daphne rolled her eyes. I retrieved my glass and took a long sip to pass the graceless moment.

“Thanks, Hugh,” I said. “So tell me a bit more about this firm of yours.”

He brought the merlot to his nose and inhaled, likely to seem nonchalant. “Let’s see. Munro & Blackwood specialises in crown court cases. Substantial credit fraud and such like. Rather dull when it comes to party banter. Suffice to say we’ve had a good year. Largely in part to clerks like Daphne here. Sharp as a tack, modest as a church mouse.”

Daphne tutted. I was beginning to understand her disapproval. Still, I smiled at Hugh. Best not to offend the host, especially if he is drunk and indiscreet.

"So what blows you into town at this frosty hour?" Hugh asked me.

"A homecoming," Daphne answered for me, swigging the last of her chardonnay.

Hugh cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I used to live here in Feldon," I said. "I'm afraid I needed the comfort of the familiar."

"Nothing wrong with that, old boy." Hugh chuckled. “Tis the season, after all. There are far worse places than Feldon to call home. In fact, how about a toast?”

“To Christmas?”

“To homecoming.”

We each raised a glass. Mind you, there was no clinking, just a polite gesture made in tandem.

“Cheers,” Hugh said and tipped back his glass. He baulked.

“Bad drink?” I asked.

He shook his head, scrunching up his nose. “Something else. A right rotten stench.”

I sniffed the air. Nothing. Checked my wine glass. Just the usual shade of reddish brown.

“Can’t you smell it, man?” Hugh gagged. “It’s strongest here. In this part of the room.” He frowned. “Have you been running?”

“No,” I said.

Hugh groaned. “Absolutely honking! Daphne, can’t you smell it?”

I turned to her. She sniffed the air tentatively then squirmed. Daphne slid away from me. Hugh retreated too. They both were staring right at me, squinting.

My cheeks felt aflame. I almost snapped the stem of my wine glass. “What? I really can’t smell anything.”

No stench but no wine either. No more citrus. No more mint. It was like my nose had been stoppered.

Still, their staring bothered me more. It was one thing to be ridiculed by some snooty solicitor slugging expensive drinks, but to have a pretty woman watch me like some disgusting smear was more than I could take.

“Damn it!” I barked. “It’s not me! Are you mocking me? I didn’t ask to come here. You invited me.”

They flinched and turned to each other.

“No-one is mocking you,” Daphne spoke slowly. “Actually, I think the smell is coming from the radiator!”

Hugh sniffed again. His eyes widened. “It’s gas!”

The surrounding revelry slowed to a halt, replaced by nervous murmuring. I heard a scraping sound followed by a thump, like someone running for the door.

Then something pushed hard behind me. Daphne and Hugh flew backward. I jumped. The following bang filled my ears, deafened my thoughts. The world went white before I even hit the carpet.

Except there was no carpet where I landed; no smashed glass, no sticky spilled wine. Just cracked floorboards. I ran my fingers across the gaps until I could finally see again.

Gone were the hazy indoor lights. The fancy furnishings were blackened husks. At last I could smell something: an abundance of ash. When my hearing returned, the silence was worse. I was alone in Your Excellent Sherris, an abandoned bar that had been burnt beyond repair.

I stood up and saw walls missing. What remained standing looked like it might collapse if leaned against even lightly. The explosion must have happened some time ago, before I arrived in Feldon in any case.

Then the party that I entered was…what? A hallucination. Except it was so detailed, filled all my senses. Like a lovely, lingering memory.

I never saw such an explosion in my life, never witnessed even one death, never mind countless. And Hugh. Daphne. They were gone. Perhaps they had never been.

Of course, once I had dusted myself down, returned to the chilly world as I knew it, I investigated the fate of Your Excellent Sherris in Feldon.

There was a gas leak just under a decade ago, during a Christmas party. Twenty-three employees of Munro & Blackwood perished, including senior partner Hugh Blackwood and legal clerk Daphne Hardie.

These kind strangers had seen me out in the cold, taken pity, fixed me a drink, made conversation. They had welcomed an outsider into their final festive celebration. At the time, I felt like a ghost at the proverbial feast, even believed they had brought me in to humiliate a lonely fool. How wrong I was.

All I had wanted was some basic human connection, a reminder that life was in fact good and being celebrated regardless of my sadness. I had found that reminder in an impossible remembrance, a party longing for more time. Longing for even my attendance.

If only I could have finished my drink. If only I could have danced with Daphne. If only I could have stayed there longer.