“I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston – she sang it all the time and it made her excited every time she heard it. It went so quickly. I watched the curtains close and Hannah was gone, my beautiful Hannah was gone. Dad came over and sat next to me. I longed to weep, but I was too embarrassed, and I had to keep strong for my darling Frances. The vicar told us to stand, so we did, but my knees were rather wobbly. Frances continued to hold my hand; Mum gave me a kiss, and Nan kept her distance. I was the last to leave the chapel: I stopped, turned around, and looked at the cross on the wall, where the coffin had once stood. I smiled, and then winked at my beautiful wife as she was laid to rest. “Goodbye, baby, see you soon!”
It was raining hard outside, Mum was soaked, and so Dad ran to the car to get his umbrella.
“Right Michael, we’ll meet you up the Four Seasons then, yeah?”
“Ok! See you in a bit.”
Fran was led away by an armed escort, but she seemed ok about it. When I arrived at the pub everyone was already drinking, and I felt left out. Dad got me a pint and I literally downed it in one go: I was a thirsty boy. Pete joined me with a few old mates and we got hammered. The barmaid brought us out a few nibbles to munch on, which was good of her. It didn’t take long before Dad was in the toilet throwing up his beer, bless his cotton socks. The alcohol had taken its toll on a few people, and Hannah’s sister burst into tears. I sat down, pulled up a chair nearest the fireplace and finished off the last of my pint.
“Fancy another pint, buddy?” My old school mate and a friend of Hannah’s was buying the next round; I felt knackered, exhausted by it all. By half ten, I was propped up at the bar with a double whiskey in one hand, and a packet of ready-salted crisps in the other. Frances had been carted off and I was now sat by my lonesome. Another old school friend, Daniel, turned up for a quick pint. His Mrs had not long kicked him out after he shacked up with another girl. Daniel always wore funny clothes. He seemed straight, but I had my doubts; he may have swung both ways, or even batted for Pakistan instead of England, if you get what I mean. I stumbled out the pub about half one, completely hammered. My brain was telling my body to do one thing, yet my legs were doing the opposite.
“Now listen in, boys, you need to work together now! Listen to your daddy now!” I was talking to my legs. I needed to get home.
“That’s it, right, left, right, left!”
“Oh fuck!” I fell into a bush.
I stumbled the six miles home and finally collapsed onto my bed, but it was not long before my head was down the bog throwing up all that beer. Once I had finished throwing up, I got back into bed and collapsed. I found myself fully dressed in the morning, and I had wet myself during the night. My head was killing me. I could barely see, let alone stand up; I put my head down and fell asleep again for another hour.
I was rudely awoken up by a knock on the door at 07:46am. My head felt like a brick; I had the headache from hell. Walking downstairs to answer the door, I heard Mrs Jones shouting through my letter box.
“Yeah, I’m coming! Hold on, dear. Oh, my Lord Jesus!”
Throwing on my skids I hunted around for last night’s socks; they smelled fresh enough, for me anyhow! I wrapped a towel around my privates and answered the door, Griffer looking up at me barking with excitement.
“Hello! Was he a good boy?”
“Oh, he was an absolute angel, weren’t you my little lovely!”
“Cheers, Mrs Jones.”
“That’s ok. I don’t like to pry, but how are you feeling now, are you ok?”
“I’m fine, dear, just worried about Fran at the moment.”
“If you need anything, just pop on over. I’ve always got the tea on!”
“That sounds grand, Mrs Jones – thank you.”
Griffer ran to the back door, wanting to check that his territory had not been invaded by squirrels or the local neighbourhood cat. His little tail was wagging like a trooper. I let him outside, got a brew on, and while the kettle boiled I slipped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. I believed I had some strawberry jam left in the fridge! Then I quickly rang up Fran to make sure she’d got home safely last night.
Nan answered, “How is she doing?” Nan sounded poorly.
“She’s ok, Michael. Moreover, how are you this morning, young man? I think you drank a little too much, so you did.”
“Not far wrong, Nana, you’re not far wrong. My head is killing me.”
“It won’t cure the pain, Michael: it won’t – it’ll only make things worse.”
“Yes, Nana, I know. You don’t need to explain, I’m a big boy, Nana.”
“I’m only trying to advise you, son. Don’t listen to me then! It’s your life, Michael.”
I clenched my fist and held back my anger. “Ok! You win then, Nana. I’ll learn from my mistakes then.” I had to let her win; she was my daughter’s only hope of survival. I polished off my last piece of toast and let Griffer back inside, still wagging his little tail.
“Come on then boy; let’s get you out for a walk.” His tail was going like heck. We followed our normal route, down the road, up the muddy track, and into the fields, it was heaven for Griffer. Half way round I bumped into another dog walker, about thirty-five, and good looking. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. Her dog came running up and it didn’t take Griffer long before he fell in love; he was behind her, and riding her like hell. That’s my boy!
I only said a few lines to her, like, “Hi”, and what a horrid week it had been weather-wise. She smiled, and then carried on walking as we passed each other in the rain. By the time I got Griffer home we were soaking wet. The heavens had opened up on us, my feet were bloody soaking, and Griffer’s paws were covered in filth.
“Time for a bath for you, young man. Now come here, you little bastard!” I chased him through the corridor, finally wrapping a towel around him, and then lowering him into the bath. I ran luke-warm water into the bath to about an inch depth. He loved it really. I could hear the phone ringing, so told Griffer to stay, closed the bathroom door, and then raced downstairs to answer the home phone.
“Hello, mate! It’s me, Pete. Fancy a night out on the town tonight, buddy?”
“Are you having a laugh, mate? I’m still half cut from last night. I can’t even remember my own daughter leaving.”
“I’ll be round at eight to pick you up then. We’ll catch a taxi into town, ok? Now sod off, knob-head!” He put the phone down on me, when I remembered little Griffer upstairs. I ran up as quickly as possible, opened the door and found him lying there on his back with all fours in the air. It looked damn funny and I burst out laughing.
“Who’s a good boy then, hey? Good boy, Griffer! Who’s a good boy?”
I picked him up and knocked his head on the sink, poor little blighter, so I gave him a big hug. As soon as I’d dried Griffer off, my home phone rang again, and this time it was my daughter, I told her that she was my best girl, and that I loved her with all my heart. She missed her dad. Nan said a quick hello and that was that. Time passed and before I knew it, Pete was standing at my back door with twelve cans of lager.
“You’re a dickhead, Pete.”
“Yeah, I know but you do adore me don’t you, Michael! I’m like your new brother, hey buddy?” He smiled and gave me a hug.
“Hell no! You weird bastard.” I laughed with him.
“Now give us a beer then, you hypocrite. For God’s sake, don’t shake it up, you annoying cretin!” Pete was already half pissed I think by the way he was acting; he was very excited. I had ironed my new shirt, put on my new jeans and we were off. The taxi was waiting for us outside. I sat in the back, and Pete was laughing. It was the first time I had been able to relax since Hannah went. Maybe the funeral putting a curtain down had given me closure, if you understand. When we arrived in town Pete paid the taxi driver five quid and we jumped out. Our first port of call was ‘The Fountain’, our local on a Saturday night if we were ever about. I got the first round in;
Pete had got up, left the bar and gone for a piss, leaving me on my own. I felt a little awkward standing there by myself, as if people were staring back at me. I kept my head down, buried myself in my pint and watched the football on Sky. They had a 42inch plasma on the wall – looked all right from where I was standing.
“What we having now then, mate, hey? Do you fancy a shot?” slurred Pete upon his return.
“What sort, mate?”
“I think, as it’s my treat, we should have, umm, Sambucas!”
“Are you joking?”
“No, I am not joking! Come on, live a little, you poof!”
I took the drink in my hand, looked at Pete with his empty glass, and downed it. Jesus, that was strong! Our Pete was laughing. Pete didn’t know it, but getting me drunk and acting the fool took my mind off things. It made me feel a little easier about myself and gave me hope! A hope for a better future for myself and Fran.
The crowd in the pub got bigger; there were more men than girls out tonight. I reckoned it was time for us to move on to somewhere else.
We ended up drinking in the ‘Blackshear Bar’, in the main square; the women were everywhere. We continued drinking and I was hammered by eleven o’clock. I could barely stand up: my legs were shattered. I was getting too old for this drinking lark – it was definitely a young man’s game. I leant on the bar, and a young girl walked up to Pete. She put her drink down next to his and started chatting away. Pete looked around at her, nervous at first, but he soon settled once his next pint entered his mouth.
“Hello!” She smiled and her head came closer to Pete’s; she was pissed right up. I was pulling faces at Pete behind her back.
“I’ve been watching you, mate; I think you look pretty hot. Are you going to buy me a drink?” She was dressed to impress, top straining to hold her boobs in place, skirt no longer than a belt: all legs and heels.
“No, sorry, I’m off in a bit. Maybe someone else will buy you one.”
“What’s your name, sexy lips?”
“Pete, what’s yours?”
“Shannon.”
“If you buy me a drink, I’ll take you outside after and suck your cock.”
I pulled a face behind the girl, simulating giving a blow job. Pete smiled back.
“What are you having then, love?” Pete asked.
“Bacardi and Coke,” she leered.
“Hello, Sir! Could I have a Bacardi and coke, and a pint of Fosters?” Pete ordered right up and was outside in the courtyard before you knew it. When Pete finally walked back inside he was full of life, and had a big smile on his face.
“What happened then Pete?”
“She wasn’t lying either! She undid my zip, pulled out my old boy and sucked on it hard. I cum right down her throat. Then she zipped me back up, thanked me for the drink, and then she just walked off.”
What Pete didn’t notice was that when she did come back inside the pub, she went and stood next to her boyfriend. Of course, I was well chuffed for Pete, but also afraid for him. Apart from that, we had a cracking night. We got up on the dance floor, did a few body pops, a bit of the Michael Jackson moon walk, and sunk a few more beers.
Then as we were leaving the pub, by which time Pete was completely arse-holed, the boyfriend shouted out to me with his mates from across the street. I walked on, half carrying my good mate Pete back home, trying not to notice that three of the guys were crossing the street behind me. I manoeuvred Pete to a taxi rank and managed to get him in the back. I gave the cabbie the money and told him the address. There was no other taxi on the rank and, thinking about it now, I should have gone with Pete, but I wasn’t thinking straight, I just wanted him safe. I didn’t hang about for another taxi to turn up, but started to make my way home on foot.
“Oi, you! You wanker! You think you’re something hard do ya, ya twat!” I tried not to listen and kept on walking.
The girl Pete got the blowjob from was now screaming at her boyfriend to stop, she wanted to go home.
“Oi! Yeah, you! Are ya listening to me?” I turned around to face my opposition.
“Look, guys, I don’t want any trouble. I don’t know what you’re on about. Just go home and sober up.” They stopped and started laughing at me.
I carried on walking. I could see a taxi dropping a couple off a few metres up the road, but before I could get to it the taxi pulled away. I probably looked like trouble with the gang following me.
“Oi, you pussy! Come on then.” That was it!
I walked up to the tossers, giving myself a little space: I was ready for it.
“Can you calm down and tell me what you want, lads?”
“We want you, you cunt!”
“Fair enough, mate, but I need to ask you a question. Which one of you is the hardest?”
“What you want to know that for?”
“Because the other two can fuck off whilst I skull fuck the Mr Big Bollocks.”
They were throwing their weight all over the place. They looked like your typical chav yobs. A gang of useless thugs, living on benefits, cheating their way through life.
“I’m the hardest! Come on then!”
He walked towards me, but I could tell he was nervous, his hands were shaking. Before he got too close, I dropped him to the floor with one punch and then repeatedly smacked him in the face. The other two had legged-it down the road. I picked the lad up by the throat.
“You think you can fucking talk to me like that, you cunt!”
“Sorry mate! I’m sorry – alright? Let me go, blood!”
“I bet you’re the kind of bloke that robs old ladies aren’t you, you fucking wanker?”
“Na, blood, na! I don’t rob no old folks, mate. Promise, blood!”
“If I ever see you around here again, I going to rip your fucking head off and piss down your throat. Do you understand me, cunt?” The bitch started crying, and I threw him on the floor like a piece of garbage.
“Go on, fuck off!” He legged-it, but it wasn’t long before the Old Bill turned up. I was arrested on the spot and put in the back of a police van. Everything had been picked up on camera.
“You’re having a laugh, mate. Let me go, I haven’t done anything wrong!” I kicked the back doors as hard as I possibly could: the Old Bill just told me to shut up.
When we arrived at the station, I had no idea where we were. I was now in front of the Reception Sergeant at the main desk. “Stand there and empty your valuables into this box please, Sir.” They laughed amongst themselves; it had been a full on night for the guys and girls. I was still pissed off though.
“What is your name, Sir?” I kept my head down and told them nothing.
“Sir, can you hear me? What is your name?” I told them nothing.
“Ok, put him in the back cells, lads.” They chucked me into a cell on my own, but I had a bed, so it was all ok by me. It was only when they slammed the door in my face that it really hit me. I picked myself up off the floor and banged on the door.
“Oi, you lot! Let me out!” I screamed at them, but no-one came. The cell stank of sick. I had a bed with no pillow and nothing to wrap myself up in; it was as bare as you could get.
I came to in the morning, woken by an all too familiar smell and sensation. I sat up on my now damp bed. I must have wet myself in the night. It took me a good while, but I soon came back to reality when I noticed my door being slammed shut by a man in a black uniform. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and put my hands over my face. I felt bloody awful; my head was throbbing and I seriously needed a few painkillers. It was very doubtful that these bastards would give me anything. I stood up and banged on the door, my hand throbbing. I got an answer at last from some young sprog of a copper who opened the small peeping hatch outside my cell.
“What do you want, mate?”
“Is there any chance I could get a nurse to give me a couple of headache tablets please?” He slammed the hatch and walked away from my cell; I did not hear from him again.
I walked about my cell, staring up at the ceiling, repeatedly reading the wall art that the previous occupiers had left for us during our stay. I could not quite work out what half of it meant. There was lots of ‘init – u no wat I is sayin m8.’ It was all very strange; was this what our youth was coming to nowadays! “U no wat I is sayin m8, init.”
I sat down on my bed, scratched my feet and pulled off a piece of dead skin that was hanging off. I looked down at my hands, and there were bloodstains on them. It suddenly hit me what had happened last night! I slapped myself across the face, jumped back up onto my feet and did a bit of shadow boxing before repeatedly banging on my cell door.
I could hear the officer’s boots coming closer and closer towards my cell. My little hatch opened and I could see his blue eyes. He looked tired.
“What do you want now?”
“Obviously that’s a no to the nurse then, but can you tell me what the time is, and how long I will be with you please, and then I will shut up and let you be!”
“It’s quarter past eight and someone will be here to see you in a moment. Now stop banging on the bloody door!”
“Lovely!” I ran around in circles, hearing a song playing repeatedly in my head – it was Chesney Hawke’s ‘The One and Only’. I continued running in a loop and was on my forty-third lap when my cell door burst open.
“Bloody stinks in here! Have you wet yourself?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” I smiled at him; he didn’t look too impressed.
I stopped running and stood there looking a right prat. I didn’t feel much like a man that had fought for his country, and I felt ashamed.
“Are you ok, Michael? Are you feeling ok?”
“Yes, Sir, I’m fine.” He told me to follow him down the corridor. I had a police officer in front, and one behind as they escorted me into an office.
“Take a seat there, Michael; someone will be with you in a moment.” I sat my butt down and waited for the stranger to arrive, the police officer standing by the door in silence.
Sabre Six : File 51 Page 9
