Tooley looked so much like the stereotypical Irish writer - a rumpled suit, a mane of wild hair, eyes bloodshot from too much alcohol - that visitors to O'Hagan's bar thought he was an actor, employed to provide some Dublin atmosphere. O'Hagan, who was the owner and bartender of the eponymous establishment, would shake his head in despair at anyone who said this to him.
"Himself in the corner?" O'Hagan would give the man a contemptuous nod. "No. That's Arthur Tooley." And, at the mention of his name, Tooley would look up and raise his glass in a salute to the questioner.
Usually this would elicit one of two responses. Either the person asking the question would look baffled. Or, if he recognised the name would reply, "Arthur Tooley? B-but I thought he was dead?"
"Dead? No." O'Hagan would then wink and allow himself a sly smile. "He's just restin'. Now, what will ye be havin'?"
However, today had been a slow day. There had been no visitors to O'Hagan's bar. The sole occupants since opening time had been O'Hagan, Tooley and a fly that was sitting on the counter, rubbing its forelegs together. O'Hagan used his glasscloth to whisk the fly away. "If it's just us," he announced to the almost empty pub, "I may just join you."
Tooley shifted his stool closer to the barman, leaving scars in the sawdust that covered the floor. "And will I be paying for your drinks?"
"No. Sure, I might even buy you a couple."
Tooley drained the whiskey he had been nursing, and set his glass down on the polished wood of the bar. "That's very generous of you. The same again - and if you are paying, then I will be happy to drink it with you."
"Heh." O'Hagan took down a bottle of spirits from the shelf behind the bar, retrieved a clean shot glass from the rack, and poured both himself and Tooley a generous measure. "Cheers." O'Hagan raised his glass.
"Cheers." With one swallow, Tooley emptied his glass.
"Faith. It's a wonder that you've lived this long," O'Hagan muttered.
"And what does it matter to you? I pay my bill regular." Tooley pointed at his glass.
O'Hagan raised the bottle, ready to pour out another measure, then stopped. "I'd miss the business. But I'm sure I've told you, Arthur-me-boy, that alcohol is not the solution to life's woes?"
"You may have done," Tooley said. "And I agree. I see it more as the solvent."
