“Two pints of lager please mate.” Pete took the drinks off the spotty youth behind the bar and walked over to the corner where his best mate Martin was sat with tears in his eyes.
“Thanks pal.” Martin took his pint and placed it on the table without so much as a sip and started to take deep breaths to stop the crying before it started.
Pete stared at the floor. “How is he doing?”
Too late. Martin shook with the sobs. “Neither me or Abigail are a match and I’m sure it’s worse than I think because her and the doctors keep whispering and I don’t know half of what’s going on. He’s fifteen for Christ’s sake! He should be thinking about girls and school, not his next fucking dialysis appointment and what God damn songs he wants playing at his funeral…”
Pete looked around. The spotty youth was staring. He downed half his pint in one go.
Martin’s crying stopped after what felt like an eternity. He started playing with his cig packet and Pete’s eyes moved to the floor. “Oh God, I’m sorry mate.”
“Yeah, you and everybody else.”
Pete put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. Never was no longer an option. It had to be done now. He looked into Martin’s still teary eyes.
“There’s a pretty good chance Christopher’s my son. I’ll phone Abigail tomorrow and make arrangements to take the test.” And with that he left the pub, leaving only the spotty youth behind the bar to see how many tears diluted Martin’s still untouched pint.