An Autumn Crush

by Milly Johnson

  The fact that Steve looked horrified and Floz instinctively pulled her dressing-gown around her told Guy everything he needed to know. The rat. He would never have believed that his best friend would have moved in on Floz when he knew that Guy carried a torch for her. But Steve sure as hell wasn’t there because he’d spent the night with Juliet – that much Guy did know.

  ‘Paint!’ roared Guy, exiting the flat so fiercely that when he slammed the door shut, the whole building seemed to rattle.

  ‘Oh shit!’ said Steve. He hadn’t thought that Guy would have reacted so badly to him and his sister getting it together. ‘Here, quick, take over the cooking, Floz.’ Steve thrust a spatula at her and sprinted across the room and out of the flat, taking the steps like a Hollywood stuntman. He was just in time to throw himself over the bonnet of Guy’s car as it started to accelerate away.

  ‘You wanker!’ said Guy. ‘One: I could have just killed you and two: I want to kill you.’

  ‘Get out of the car,’ said Steve. ‘Look, I really like her and it just happened.’

  ‘Bollocks. Get off the bonnet and get back to your shagging.’

  ‘I’m not getting off this bonnet until you turn off the engine.’

  ‘I’ll drive down the road with you in a minute.’

  ‘Go on then, you thick arse!’

  The car jerked forward and threw Steve off; he landed on something very prickly in a herbaceous border. By the time Steve had managed to extricate himself from the thorns of an old rosebush, Guy was long gone. His fast accelerating car threw back a cloud of dust – the kind usually associated with the Batmobile. Tim Onions from the flat downstairs came out of the building dressed in a very badly fitting faded black suit and carrying a battered old briefcase to find a transvestite in a pink satin garment that left nothing to the imagination standing in the drift of fallen leaves. He scuttled off to his pristine Austin Maxi before he could be raped. It was bad enough that there were druggies in the town, but now the flashers were moving in as well.

  Juliet was waiting for Steve upstairs, cross-armed and annoyed that her post-coital breakfast in bed ideal had been so rudely interrupted. She looked at her best dressing-gown covered in soil and small stones and a bewildered slug.

  ‘What the bloody hell . . . ?’ Then her tone flipped to one of concern when she spotted his knee bleeding. ‘Steve, are you all right?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ puffed Steve. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘What’s up with our Guy?’

  Steve picked up his mobile and dialled Guy’s number. It went straight onto voicemail. Steve left a brief message for Guy to ring him, but guessed he wouldn’t.

  ‘He was defending your honour,’ said Steve. ‘He’s obviously really pissed that I’ve seduced you.’

  ‘You seduced me? Yeah, right. Anyway, he can mind his own goddamn business,’ said Juliet, grabbing him by the satin belt. ‘I’m thirty-four, not four. Now, sod the bacon sarnie, where were we?’

  Steve, however, could not perform. Not with the spectre of Guy’s face hanging in his brain. He didn’t want Guy thinking he’d hurt his sister or use and abuse her. But try as he might, he couldn’t get in touch with him at all that day to tell him as much.

  Chapter 33

  That evening, Juliet and Floz got a cab to the Centennial Rooms early enough to get a good ringside seat. The Centennial Rooms were in a once-beautiful theatre hall with elaborate stonework. Sadly it had been allowed to grow grubby, and no one cleaned off the pigeon shit from the facade any more. Only the patronage of an ex-factory-owner’s very old widow kept it from being shut up and abandoned.

  Juliet and Floz hardly had to fight anyone for the front seats – flip-down brown velvet, way past their best days but comfortable enough.

  ‘Quite exciting, isn’t it?’ enthused Juliet. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing some muscly flesh.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Floz, who had seen enough male flesh in their kitchen that morning to last her a couple of lifetimes.

  Behind them, people were really filtering in now and a busload of pensioners, many in wheelchairs, arranged themselves in the wider, accommodating Disabled spaces. Soon, there didn’t seem to be a lot of empty seats. The hall took on a different character when it was full of people – it felt less drab with a little crack of electricity in the air, as if it had been injected with life.

  ‘I hope they do ice creams,’ said Juliet. ‘They do at some places, you know. You can get popcorn at Wakefield Hall.’

  ‘Ice cream, sweat and groins. Sounds delightful,’ smiled Floz.

  ‘It’s actually much better fun to watch if you get a big crowd in,’ said Juliet. ‘The atmosphere is brilliant. The crowds have got smaller and smaller over the years, alas, but it’s still a laugh. Makes a change from watching soaps anyway.’

  ‘So Steve’s playing the baddie tonight then?’

  ‘Yes, Steve is the bad guy tonight,’ echoed Juliet, quite surprised by the fact that not only was she saying his name without her customary annoyance, but her voice actually went soft as it came out of her mouth. ‘Guy’s the goodie, but he’s down to lose for a change.’

  ‘Looking forward to seeing Steeeeve in his costume?’ teased Floz as Little Eric bounced into the ring followed by two busty women with goddess bodies but faces of Staffordshire bull terriers.

  Juliet sniffed. ‘Floz, I’ve seen Steeeeve loads of times before in his costume. We aren’t having a relationship, you know. It’s just sex.’

  As expected, Guy didn’t call to pick him up for their bout at the Centennial Rooms, so Steve had to drive there himself. Guy, who was always on time, wasn’t in the dressing-room. Little Derek was pacing about in there and not in the best of moods.

  ‘What am I supposed to do? They’ll all want their bloody money back. Where the bloody hell is your mate?’

  His mood wasn’t helped by the fact that Jeff Leppard should have won in the sixth round but twisted his ankle running away from Klondyke Kevin in the second and had to be carted off. And the new lad ‘The Barnsley Chopper’ had nearly knocked out the Grim Reaper by tripping over his own foot and nutting him before they’d even started round one, the stupid big Jessie. And Guy hadn’t even turned up and he was due on in a minute.

  ‘You’ll have to go on with Alberto.’ Derek got his cigarettes out of his pocket. He didn’t care that he couldn’t smoke in here; if he didn’t light up and get some calming nicotine inside him he would blow up.

  ‘Not a fecking chance, Derek.’ Steve started to back up. ‘He’s a maniac.’

  Then the dressing-room door opened and Little Derek breathed a sigh of relief that could have put out a forest fire as Guy walked in ready to fight with his plain blue costume and white boots.

  ‘Finally! Where the fuck have you been? Are you all trying to give me a fucking heart attack tonight?’ Derek puffed on his cigarette and wafted wildly at the smoke so it didn’t set off any fire alarm sensors.

  Guy didn’t answer. He threw his bag down on the bench and cast Derek and Steve a look so black it should have been on a paint chart listed as ‘hell’.

  ‘Guy, before we go on . . .’ said Steve.

  ‘Save it,’ said Guy, half-Heathcliff face, half-Rottweiler.

  ‘Get on that stage, you pair of—’ Little Derek was cut short as Tarzan and the Apeman and the Pogmoor Brothers burst in and nearly knocked him flying.

  ‘Guy . . .’

  But Guy wasn’t in the mood for talking. He was, however, in the mood for fighting.

  Juliet was ‘whow-whowing’ as Steve made his entrance, loud enough to make herself heard above all the rest of the boo-ing. Then Guy followed and the hall erupted into cheering.

  ‘So what do you think?’ said Juliet.

  ‘Er . . . Steve looks nice,’ replied Floz.

  He did actually, thought Juliet. Very attractive in his black trunks and his long white hair flowing behind him. She remembered her legs wrapping around his thighs last night and felt decidedly quivery. God, wha
t was happening to her? Why was she suddenly seeing a different Steve Feast to the one she had been looking at for thirty years?

  ‘He doesn’t look bad,’ Juliet conceded casually. Then she caught Floz grinning at her. ‘I know what you’re thinking but it really is just sex. A mutually beneficial arrangement until Piers Winstanley-Black is mine and Steve can pull Little Derek’s daughter Lambrusco, or whatever she calls herself.’

  Floz too was focusing on Steve, for no other reason than she was trying not to look at Guy. Especially as that blue costume was very clingy and her eyes kept dragging over to him against her will. To make it worse, Guy caught her staring and the scowl that he gave her in return made her feel as if she had done something wrong. Probably breathe.

  ‘I want a good clean fight, boys,’ said Little Eric. ‘Down in the fourth, lad,’ he whispered to Guy.

  ‘Not a chance,’ said Guy in the same flat voice as the Terminator. He could see Floz in the front row. She’d obviously come to see her new boyfriend. Shame he was going to be steamrollered.

  Ding ding!

  Guy grabbed Steve with undue force and slammed him into the corner, cracking his back.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ laughed Steve. He bounced back and grabbed Guy around the head speaking into his ear. ‘I know what you’re thinking . . .’

  ‘Do you?’ said Guy, twisting expertly out of the hold and knocking his duplicitous opponent to the ground.

  Little Eric groaned. He couldn’t afford for this bout to end in less than four rounds. The crowd already felt short-changed by wimpy Leppard hobbling off like a big girl’s blouse.

  Steve rolled over, just avoiding Guy’s powerslam which would have broken his ribs – and the stage – had it landed.

  ‘I won’t use her, you know!’ said Steve. ‘I’ve liked her since I first laid eyes on her. I care a lot about her.’

  Guy made a snatch for Steve but missed.

  ‘How could you?’ Guy growled.

  ‘Bloody hell, Guy. I never knew you were that possessive. What’s up with ya?’

  Guy lunged at Steve using his head as a battering ram against Steve’s stomach. Severely winded now, Steve was grateful for the bell. Ding ding!

  Steve pulled back, avoiding the giant hammer-like hand swinging in his direction. Little Eric pushed Guy none too gently into his corner.

  ‘Steady, you. You’ve got to last four rounds,’ said Little Eric. He stopped short of reminding Guy that he was supposed to be the good guy because he appeared to be winning some brownie points from the crowd. At last a fight that actually looked like a proper bout, and not like two ballet dancers arguing over a handbag.

  Ding ding!

  Steve and Guy circled each other like warring crabs.

  ‘I’m going to batter you to a pulp,’ snarled Guy.

  ‘You think you are,’ said Steve, ‘but you’re not. You don’t own her, you know. Bloody hell, I don’t think anyone would dare try and own her! What do you want me to do – apologize?’

  ‘Yes, for starters.’

  ‘I would if I thought I had anything to apologize for!’

  ‘Yeah, ’cos you didn’t look at all guilty half-naked in the kitchen together this morning, did you?’

  Grappling ensued. Guy grabbed Steve in a very tight chin-lock that Steve couldn’t get out of. As Guy piled on the pressure, Steve thought that he might have had an easier time if his friend hadn’t turned up and he’d had to fight Alberto Masserati instead. Then Guy slipped, and in the split second when he released his arm pressure, Steve twisted up and out. Guy made a sweep for Steve, missed and instead Steve grabbed his arm and sent him flying into the ropes, winding him. He followed it up with a side headlock. Gottim. Then Guy’s words came back to him.

  ‘Hang on, what do you mean you caught me half-naked in the kitchen with her this morning? You don’t think . . . ?’ Ding ding! ‘Bloody hell,’ said Steve as Little Eric ripped them apart.

  ‘There’s another two rounds to go. Pace yourselves.’

  ‘You’ll get your four rounds, don’t you worry,’ said Guy, and thumped Steve on the back as he retreated to his corner. The crowd went nuts. Someone threw a shoe into the ring, hitting Guy on the chest.

  ‘Is it always this aggressive?’ asked Floz.

  ‘Well, it’s slightly different to usual. Probably a change of tack to attract punters. After all, they are sworn enemies on stage,’ said Juliet, who was loving it. In a past life she would probably have been knitting by a guillotine.

  ‘It’s very good acting,’ said Floz, not quite convinced that Guy was putting on his aggression, which looked very real. ‘I thought Guy was supposed to be the goodie.’

  ‘He was,’ said Juliet, not taking her eyes off the ring in case she missed anything. ‘Don’t know why they’ve changed it.’

  The two men glowered at each other across the diagonal space between them. Steve was really pissed off, now he realized that Guy wasn’t being ultra-possessive over Juliet but thought he had spent the night with Floz. It wasn’t much of an indication of their friendship if Guy really believed Steve would steal away the woman he had a hell of a mighty crush on. Even if she wasn’t actually his yet.

  Ding ding!

  ‘You’re an arsehole, do you know that?’ said Steve, slowly coming towards him. ‘I’ve just realized that you thought I’d spent the night with Floz.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t sleep with Juliet, did you?’ Guy laughed humourlessly.

  ‘Actually I did,’ said Steve.

  ‘You sodding liar,’ said Guy, and with a spurt of fury he threw himself at Steve, who tottered, allowing Guy to overpower him and twist him into a Full Nelson, bending his arms back, forcing his neck forward.

  ‘Aaarrghghh!’

  ‘Hurt, does it?’ spat Guy. ‘You haven’t felt anything yet.’ He propelled Steve forward, then he followed him, twisting his body over and through the ropes. They both tumbled out of the ring, narrowly avoiding a bloke with his leg in a plaster cast.

  ‘War-ning, war-ning . . .’ came the chant from a highly charged audience. Juliet was leading the mantra at her side of the hall.

  ‘You are dead, mate!’ promised Steve, climbing back into the ring, helped by a couple of little old grannies, grateful for a feel of his muscly leg.

  ‘Yeah, course I am!’ returned Guy, yelping as a lumpy woman ran at him and started battering him on the back with her handbag. He quickly sprang into the ring to avoid her.

  Little Eric made a meal of giving Guy a warning, much to the pleasure of the crowd. They were baying as loudly as if they were in the Coliseum watching Christians take on lions. Ding ding!

  Right, this is war, thought Steve to himself. If Guy wanted to fight properly, then he’d give him exactly what he wanted. He was going to make sure that Guy flaming Miller had a fourth and final round that he’d never forget.

  Ding ding!

  The two men came at each other like mad bulls clashing in the epicentre of the ring. Equally matched in anger-fuelled strength, neither managing to push the other off or down or get purchase on a head, an arm, a neck.

  ‘I’ll make you listen to me if it’s the last thing I do, you stupid, thick knobhead!’ yelled Steve.

  ‘What are you going to tell me? That you couldn’t help yourselves?’ Guy hurt inside. He wanted to go on fighting forever, because at least he could hold himself together when he was doing so. He thought he just might crumble into pieces if he stopped.

  ‘Bloody hell! What’s he playing at?’ winced Juliet, realizing this fight was real.

  ‘That’s for not even having the guts to admit it,’ stormed Guy, hooking his leg around Steve’s and seeing him stumble to the canvas. ‘ “Slept with Juliet”! Yeah, like I’m going to believe that!’

  ‘What’s he saying?’ asked Juliet, catching wind of the word ‘guts’.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Floz bit her lip. ‘But they’re arguing about something.’

  ‘I’ve never seen Guy act like this before, on-stage �
� or off,’ said Juliet, thinking, What on earth is up with him? In the past couple of weeks her brother had changed from being a quiet, gentle man in the shadows to Mr Mean and Moody with cooking skills sinking to the level of their mother’s. She only hoped he wasn’t heading for another breakdown.

  ‘That’s not acting,’ croaked Floz, seeing the black look in Guy’s eyes. Not even Laurence Olivier could fake fury like that.

  ‘Surely he can’t be that annoyed that Steve and I spent the night together?’

  Floz shook her head. Lord. Guy really was possessive over his sister then. No wonder he didn’t think much to Floz, usurping his place as best friend. It explained a few things.

  Guy draped his arms over the ropes, waiting for Steve to get up so he could clothesline him – ram him with his arms open and knock him to the deck. Then he could climb out of the ring and go home.

  ‘Up, up, up, up,’ the crowd chanted, as Little Derek counted. ‘Five, six, seven . . .’

  Steve stumbled to his feet. Guy launched himself forward, but Steve deftly leaped out of his path and stuck out his leg. Guy tripped but didn’t go down. As he righted himself, Steve locked his arm around Guy’s neck, pulling his head down into his ribcage in a Grovit lock. It hurt like a bastard.

  ‘Gotcha. Now this, Guy Miller, is for thinking that I’d done the dirty on you.’ Steve rolled his hips, turning his wrist until Guy’s neck felt as if it was about to snap and he yelped. ‘And the reason I couldn’t look you in the face in the kitchen this morning was because I’d just got out of your sister’s bed. Really and truly. Are you listening to me, you arsehole? Juliet’s – not Floz’s – bed!’

  ‘Bollocks! Arrghghh! Ju hates yooouuu!’

  ‘Not any more she doesn’t. Ask her yourself

  ‘You expect me to believe that?’

  ‘Bloody hell, how many more times? YES.’

  ‘Not you and—’

  ‘NO.’

  ‘Arrghghh!’