#123b

As I waltzed a drunken, shrunken Verity inside the apartment I caught sight of Brian the Postboy standing watching events from across the road. And he wasn't the only one. Just to the right of the gate, stood paused, with one paw still off the ground was Marlowe, and down the corridor, from out a doorway, loomed John's shadow the shape of his out-turned ear all too visible. I felt surrounded, like all these different forces were converging on me, ready to tear me limb from limb.

“God, what's happened to you?” I asked Verity once we were safely inside the hallway. “I thought you gave word that everything was fine?” Verity smiled, showing off a split and sown together bottom lip.
“Oh, it's nothing Darl, just my leaving bumps, ts'all. 'av ya got a drink? Anything 20% proof or stronger, I'm shaking here, Darl, I need something!” She held her hands out. Her fingers all trembled like she was reading the future.

In the kitchen, Verity pulled out a chair just in time to catch herself as she fell. It looked like a trick she had mastered. God, how she had changed. It was like having a six year old orphan boy sitting at the table. Where she once commanded the entire room, now she even seemed too small for the chair.
“There's no alcohol in the house...” I almost said. But the moment I got to the “no alcohol” bit, her face spread out in grief and huge blobby wet tears built up in her eyes and bagan tumbling down.
“But of course there's alcohol,” screamed John “only six full fucking bottles of Bacardi is all!” I gave him the eyes of my mother when she's on the rag, but it was too late. Verity had already stopped crying and was now hanging off John's neck like a garland of flowers and planting sloppy kisses all over his face and glasses. “You're a Darl, John, a real fuckin' Sweetie! Awww, I llove Ya!!! Mwaaaahhh” And then she unclung herself and staggered back to her chair.

When John returned with the Bacardi Verity snatched it off him like it was hers. She cracked the seal, spun the top off and knocked back two huge mouthfuls. What was weird was that it didn't seem to make her any more drunk, in fact the opposite, it seemed to sober her up.
“Ok Boys, I know I'm not looking my best, death warmed up an' all, but fuck it, what d'you expect after a month in the slammer! I just couldn't eat that shit in there, hardly any veggie stuff an'd'absolutely nothing vegan. Apparently the Queen likes to keep her vegetables at home! Hah hah. . Oh, it's good to be free, Boys... so fucking, fucking great! Ouch, my lip. Five stitches and a busted tooth. Spent my last two days in the hospital wing. And can you believe that they asked me this morning if I was fit and ready to leave? Too fuckin right! And you two, where's it at, huh? I had visions of arriving here and finding one of you dead or something. And Tristy, is that a black eye I spy??? Oh it is... A beauty! So I take it sex is good? Awww, you two rapscallions!”

John looked at me. He was waiting to see if I would open up and tell Verity all the mean and nasty things that had happened. I would, but not just now.

1 comment:

  1. I find it very telling that even Marlowe, a starving opportunistic dog, is not interested in biting the Postboy's arse.

    ReplyDelete

 
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