What's in a name?

“Derek, that’s his name,” Janet discreetly indicated the man in the corner of the smoky pub. He was sitting on his own, nursing a pint of beer which didn’t look to be going down too quickly. He was there when they entered the bar for their usual Friday night after work drink, and hadn’t looked up when, unable to get a table near the window, they sat nearby with their newly purchased drinks.
A packet of cigarettes lay on the polished wooden table next to a silver Zippo lighter. Derek was chain-smoking his way through them. Occasionally he would look up towards the door then around the smoke filled bar, but his eyes would always return to the table and the untouched pint.
“His wife left him,” Janet went on. “About a month ago. Ran off with his best friend. Can you imagine that?”
“No, really? Poor man. No wonder he doesn’t look very happy,” Karen watched as he ground a cigarette out in the already full ashtray.
Derek was only thirty-five. They’d been married since the mid eighties, Janet explained. Childhood sweethearts. They never went out with anyone else, which was quite touching. Until it all went wrong. Eggs in one basket, type of thing.
They watched in silence as Derek finally lifted the pint glass and took several gulps of the dark liquid. He briefly glanced in their direction. Piercing blue eyes and a five o’clock shadow. His signet ring glinted as he reached for the cigarettes.
“The worst part,” Janet leaned closer and whispered, “is that his wife is three months pregnant. With his best friend’s child.”
“No!” Karen exclaimed. “What a terrible thing to do. He looks so nice too.” And he did. In that moment when he had looked up, Karen had noted the dimple in his chin and the sandy brown hair, slightly too long, but definitely right for him.
“They bought an old run down farmhouse only last year. Spent all their savings on it by all accounts. Loads of work still to do, and she’s run out on him. Left him living in a shell. The potential is there, but apparently he’s lost all interest in the project,” Janet sipped her gin and tonic.
“Where does he work?” Karen asked, feeling more sorry for him by the minute.
“He’s a builder. Owns his own company,” Janet fumbled in her purse as she stood up. “Shame he’s lost interest in his own house. Same again?”
Karen nodded and watched as her friend jostled her way through the early evening drinkers to get to the bar.
She turned her attentions to Derek again. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she saw him look at his watch. He had nice hands. Very clean finger nails for a builder. He stretched out his denim-clad legs under the table and she could hear him sigh. Another cigarette ground out in the ashtray. He only seemed to smoke them halfway down.
Janet returned with the drinks, and for a while the conversation moved on to other things: the dull working week at the insurance brokers, plans for the weekend, holidays to exotic locations on the proceeds of tomorrow‘s lottery win. All the usual Friday after work topics. They finally came back to the man in the corner.
“He doesn’t look like a Derek,” Karen declared. “Too young to have a name like that. He looks more like a Steve or an Andy,” she sat back and surveyed him out of the corner of her eye.
“Well,” Janet leaned on the table and lowered her voice. “He was named after his father who was killed in a car crash just before he was born. I guess his mother wanted her husband to live on in her son.”
“Mm. Suppose so,” Karen agreed. “Seems a bit cruel though, to be saddled with a name like Derek.”
“The really cruel part is,” Janet was whispering now, “when Derek was only two she had a nervous break-down and he had to go into care. I tell you, life can be very hard.” She sat back, looking very pleased with herself for imparting this information.
At that moment, a mobile phone rang from Derek’s direction, and he pulled it from his pocket and answered it. The girls fell silent as they listened to the conversation.
“Where are you?” Derek asked. “Call yourself my best man. Aren’t you supposed to be here? And where is everyone? Some stag night this is turning out to be.”
The Zippo lighter and cigarettes were quickly stuffed into pockets as Derek got to his feet; the phone still glued to his ear.
“You said The Duck and Drake!” he exclaimed. “All right. I’ll be there in five minutes.” And with that he was gone.
Karen turned to Janet with a smile as the door closed behind him.
“Funny,” she said. “I was starting to believe you. Anyway, my turn. How about that couple near the bar?”