Fir Lodge

by Sean McMahon

  Jon, meanwhile, was rocking a parody costume of Craig David, one which was made famous in the early two-thousands. His short black hair was covered by a beanie hat, his face covered by a rubber mask that was kept in place by retro headphones, an inflatable kestrel attached to his arm completing the look.

  Hal winced, as he remembered the last time he had played. In fact, he found it almost impossible to forget. How they had run out of beer and switched in mojitos to every cup…and how Hal and Alex thought they could take on Jon, a seasoned RAF professional and Gavin, who had years of university experience under his belt. Hal and his brother had failed so spectacularly that, to this day, even the slightest whiff of fresh-mint caused Hal to cringe at the triggered sensory memory. It was not his finest hour, an emotion that Alex clearly shared, as he slinked off inside, under the pretence of helping Rachel.

  Luckily, Fearne and Stacey, dressed as Marilyn Monroe and the centre-forward for Colchester United respectively, excitedly stepped up to take on the lads, meaning that Hal was safe for another ten minutes or so.

  Fearne appeared at Peter’s side, looking breath-taking in her 1950’s white dress, which complemented her curvaceous frame, and an eerily convincing blonde wig that covered her naturally brunette hair. Despite her high heels, she still managed to look somewhat shorter than Peter.

  No one expected the next ten minutes to play out quite the way they did, however. In the purest demonstration of beginner’s luck, and against all odds, Fearne and Stacey methodically, and systematically, destroyed The Mask and Craig David at their own game. The rupture of applause at the hilarious turn of events was deafening.

  As the girls demanded a rematch, drunk on their success, unlike Jon and Gavin, who were soon to be drunk in a more conventional sense, their adversaries were honour-bound to down the remaining cups of beer on the table, and rack them up for the next round.

  Accepting their fate, they honoured the forfeit and downed their beers. Jon and Gavin then re-racked the cups and refilled them (with a slightly lower amount of beer than they would have done if they had won.)

  Their rematch was unexpectedly interrupted, however, as Jerry bounced into the garden, colliding with the table and knocking over the carefully aligned cups, leaving the freshly-poured beer now freshly-soaking into the grass.

  ‘Je-RRRRRYYY!’ shouted a stranger from the side of the lodge. The dog’s frustrated owner walked into the rear garden, apologising profusely.

  ‘I really am sorry about this one. He tends to wander the woods and likes to hassle the new arrivals,’ said the man, as he clocked the barbecue, and voiced his deduction by adding ‘though in this instance, clearly he was just drawn by your dinner.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Jon, pulling of his mask. ‘He’s welcome to join us, as long as you don’t mind?’

  ‘Kevin. The name’s Kevin.’

  Jon and Kevin shook hands. Kevin was taller than most, approximately in his fifties, and had the heavyset build of a man who had worked hard in a profession that possibly involved moving breeze blocks or incredibly heavy timber. Jon wouldn’t have fancied his chances in an arm-wrestle contest with the gentle giant. Wearing a blue and black plaid shirt, denim jeans that had been washed a few-thousand more times that was probably recommended, and large, heavy-duty, brown work-boots, he was precisely how you imagined a man who spent the majority of his time in the woods to look.

  ‘Well,’ continued Kevin, ‘as long as you’re sure. If he gets too much for you, just get his attention and say “JERRY. GO HOME.”’

  The man clicked his fingers, causing Jerry’s ears to perk up, and demonstrated by repeating the phrase. Jerry stared at his owner, tongue hanging out, and panted excitedly. He barked, and then went to acquire a sausage from one of the easily-manipulated humans sitting on the picnic benches.

  Kara skipped across the grass in a flurry of bright orange, thanks to the colouring of her matching top, and knee-high socks, her red pleated-skirt and retro magnifying-glass combining exquisitely with her nerdy-glasses. With her naturally-bobbed auburn hair, she was the spitting image of Velma, a member of an iconic ghost-hunting team from the 80’s, who was often affiliated with a talking dog and an unshaven, loveable waster.

  She broke off a piece of sausage, asking for Jerry’s paw, and rewarded him accordingly when he obeyed.

  Kevin sighed exhaustively. ‘Well, it’ll work for you when you try it, I’m sure. I’m only up the road if he doesn’t let up.’

  ‘Cheers, no worries,’ said Jon.

  ‘Right, well, I’ll get back to it then,’ said Kevin, looking more than a little out of breath, as if he had recently been for a run. ‘Hope the sun holds out for you. Nice costumes by the way,’ he added.

  And with that, Kevin left through the same side access that he’d arrived from, as Marilyn and her professional-footballer partner racked up the plastic cups into a triangular formation, ready for round two. Jon was feeling just a shade too drunk to accept, however, and was begrudgingly forced into admitting defeat, making his way to the hot tub instead.

  ‘Anyone?!’ said Fearne, her white dress swishing crazily amidst her newly acquired enthusiasm for The Great Beer Pong War of 2018.

  With a mutual nod between them, The Mask and Tiger Woods accepted the challenge.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Pink Flamingo

  Saturday Afternoon, 2:07pm

  With the rest of group dispersed in the rear garden, Alex made his way inside the lodge under the guise of offering up some assistance to their host.

  Rachel was preparing some additional food for her ravenous guests, as Alex wandered into the open-plan kitchen to grab himself a beer, twisting the cap and flicking it towards the bin that was situated several feet away. The cap bounced off of the side, missing its intended target, forcing Alex to perform the walk of shame to pick it up, and having to dispose of it in a more conventional, less-flashy manner.

  ‘This place is awesome Rachel. Thank you so much for arranging it,’ said Alex.

  Rachel thrust an additional tray of spicy chicken wings into the gas oven that dominated the north wall of the kitchen area, utterly unconvinced that one tray alone would be enough, and that only a second, perhaps a third, would suffice. She spun around to face Alex, and leant on the counter, her eyes shockingly bright amidst the red and blue lightning bolt that ran across her face. Alex couldn’t get over how spot-on the birthday girl looked, noting how she perfectly embodied the image of the legend that was David Bowie. Dressed in a well-tailored blue suit, white business shirt and yellow tie, the outfit complemented her self-applied face-paint; a flawless recreation of the red and blue lightning bolt that only Ziggy himself could pull off, until now that was. Her electric-red hair now less a reflection of her mood, as it was a carefully thought out and fundamental component to her costume.

  ‘Not too shabby, right?’ said Rachel, ‘I’m just thrilled so many of the gang could make it.’

  In many ways, the group was as close as it always was, and each of them knew that any one of them could have called on the other, day or night, and they’d be there for each other in a heartbeat. But as they glided into their thirties and beyond, life inevitably got in the way of the weekend-long parties of old. Many of them were parents now, some soon to be. Others were wrapped up in their careers, chasing promotions and various other opportunities. Things that used to drive them, such as buying tequila slammers, ten rounds of Jagerbombs, and dancing in clubs and bars until the sun began to rise, had been replaced with mortgages, parenthood, and the ruthless reality that they just couldn’t brush off a hangover sent direct from Mother-Nature quite like they used to in the old days.

  “With the exception of Kara of course,” thought Rachel, pensively. And yet, they were the cliché in the best possible way. Whenever they got together, no matter how long it had been, it was always as if no time had passed. It was as if they’d pressed the pause button on their last gathering, continuing exactly where they had left off, whenever they
next met.

  Alex caught a whiff of a familiar scent, and thought it best to ask Rachel if she had noticed it too.

  ‘Can you smell gas?’ he said casually, in-between swigs of beer.

  Rachel swished her hand in front of her face, as if she were swatting away an invisible fly.

  ‘Nah, it’s just this beast of an oven! It takes forever to heat up,’ said Rachel.

  Alex nodded, told Rachel he’d catch her in a bit, and walked out onto the eastern-side balcony. His inflatable nuclear accelerator smashed into the door frame, causing him to have to walk through the door sideways.

  Applying pressure to the wheel on his lighter, which took several attempts for the flint to catch so that the sparks ignited the gas contained within, he eventually lit his cigarette. Looking out over the balcony to his friends in the garden below, he noticed how much cooler it was under the shade of the roof, which extended beyond the balcony itself, and experienced a chill that made him shudder.

  It was at that moment that a bright-pink flamingo flew up to him, and landed at his feet. Which was unusual at this time of year. In England. Whilst in the middle of a woodland area that the species was not even remotely indigenous to.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Scooby Don’t

  Saturday Evening, 8:34pm

  Being the forward planning adults that they were, the gang cleared up the remnants of the barbecue, and took the dirty plates and utensils up to the kitchen, ditching them in the sink, due to the over-filled dishwasher being packed to bursting-point. Jerry had lost interest several hours prior, continuing his adventures elsewhere.

  Kara, adopting a persona akin to the Velma costume she was wearing, was currently reviewing a recently accepted case, using her deductions and sleuthing to figure out how the high-tech dishwasher was supposed to work. After pressing every button, the machine eventually showed pity on her, humming to life, and Kara grabbed her bottle of Southern Comfort, contentedly rewarding herself for a job well done.

  She saw Gavin scanning the now-communal mobile phone in the dining area, searching for the next track to play, and called out a request to him.

  ‘You got “Spirit in The Sky” Gavin?’

  He shot her a wink and, several seconds later, her wish had been granted.

  Fearne and Stacey, like many of the others, had shed the more-encumbering components of their costumes, relishing in their inexplicable hat-trick of wins in the beer pong tournament. Stacey grabbed a nearby bottle of Prosecco from the kitchen counter, her Colchester football shirt clashing ridiculously with Fearne’s 1950’s ensemble. Fearne had discarded her wig well into the second round of the competition, due to it allegedly being responsible for her missing some easy shots, a fact that was seemingly invalidated by her naturally brunette hair, which was as equally as long and voluminous as the flowing wig.

  Fearne span around with the bottle, knocking over one of the champagne flutes, which were all lined up precariously on the counter next to Kara, who was pouring a hefty measure of her American liqueur. The glass fell from the counter, causing the other flutes to ripple threateningly and connected with the wooden floor with a sickly clink, shattering violently.

  Daisy immediately took charge from the other side of the room and tasked Kara with grabbing a dustpan and brush.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ said Fearne, offering to help pick up the pieces.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got this!’ said Daisy, as Kara passed her the dustpan and Daisy began sweeping up the broken pieces. Slightly drunk, Fearne decided more drink was the answer and that she would pour her friends some more wine.

  Gripping a nearby bottle of Prosecco, Fearne shook it a little, readying the cork for popping. With a vibrant pop, the cork, being a slave to predetermined physics, flew across the room, down the stairs and into the back of Hal’s head.

  ‘Ow. Thanks upstairs,’ moaned Hal, hearing the girls giggling laughter from the landing above him. Hal grumbled, attempting to stifle a chuckle, then continued onwards towards his bedroom.

  Will and Jon, meanwhile, were starting another round of pool, manoeuvring their way around Peter, who was in the corner, tapping incessantly on the screen of his phone.

  Finally, arriving at his room, Hal acknowledged how his thick rubber boots had been a bad choice.

  “These things man…” he thought, noting how they were all but filling up due to the mugginess of the evening heat. Wellington boots were definitely not a lifestyle choice he would be switching to in a hurry. He was about to switch into more conventional footwear when Peter called from outside his door.

  ‘Hal mate, can I borrow your charger?’ said Peter.

  ‘Sorry dude, I gave up the fruit a while back,’ said Hal. ‘Try Robert, maybe?’

  Peter mumbled something and continued on his quest.

  Hal pulled his filter box from his pocket to take stock on how many pre-rolled cigarettes he had left, discovering that only three remained. He made a mental note to dig out his tobacco from his suitcase to roll some more. Slipping the inflatable nuclear-accelerator from his back and chucking it onto his single-sized bed, he pulled out his phone, noticing that he had a missed call from Jess, along with a pre-recorded video in his inbox. Unlocking his phone, he pressed play, turning the screen sideways. Shelby filled the screen, doing her favourite thing in the world; chasing bubbles, as Jess’s voice filled the speakers.

  “Say hello to Daddy!”

  Judging by the lack of response, Shelby was clearly far too preoccupied with taking down the bubbles for such a task. As the video came to an end, Hal chuckled to himself, then exited through his bedroom door, took a left turn, and headed back out into the rear garden.

  As he made his way outside, he heard a strange clunk from Robert’s room, which backed onto the hot-tub area. Mercifully for Hal, he was pleased to see that the sun had finally set. With the hot tub cleaning cycle over and done with, Robert had jumped back in for what must have been the thousandth time, having grabbed a beer from the cool box he’d cunningly positioned within arm’s reach, the bottle perching precariously on the edge near the control panel.

  “Poor tub, having to ensconce this lot,” thought Hal, as he punched the dial button and waited for his phone to connect to Jess.

  As he walked past the hot tub, still waiting for the call to connect, he looked over his shoulder and saw Peter through the window of Robert’s bedroom. Peter’s face was illuminated by the blue hue of his smartphone. Paying more attention to Peter than the potential hazards in his surrounding environment, Hal walked straight into one of the gazebo struts.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Hal, immediately checking his angles, relieved to see that only Robert was currently in the garden, and that Robert was too busy snoozing in the hot-tub, his Santa hat pulled down low and covering his eyes, to have paid him any attention.

  Jess’s voice emanated from the speaker of his phone and the ghost-buster rolled his eyes, as the familiar answerphone kicked in. He loved her to bits, but she was the absolute worst at answering her phone. If he was honest (and less tipsy), he would have rationally acknowledged that he too had been the absolute worst at answering his own, having been the one to miss her initial call in the first place.

  ‘Hal, get in here!’ shouted Kara from across the hallway which he had just traversed.

  Flicking the lid back on his box of cigarettes, he begrudgingly walked back, past the tub, past Robert’s room, along the full-length of the hallway, and stood next to Kara, who was standing in front of the stairs, looking out towards the front driveway.

  ‘You okay Kara?’ he asked, with the tone of a man that was being nagged, then noticing why she had called him.

  ‘Look!’ she said, gesturing with her head towards her feet, as if he had somehow missed the obvious.

  ‘Oh, hey buddy!’ said Hal, setting his eyes on Jerry, who was sniffing Kara’s shoes. Responding to his name, Jerry’s excitement levels increased somewhat, and he took off, running between everyone’s legs, sniffing eve
rything he could get near. He began to run up the wooden staircase when Daisy called down at them.

  ‘Can someone grab the dog please?!’ said Daisy, clearly more than a little stressed out. ‘Don’t let him upstairs, there’s broken glass everywhere!’

  Stacey began to walk down the staircase to assist them, but Fearne lost her balance, all but falling over into her path. Stacey spun round, catching Fearne just in time, preventing her from falling down the stairs, and escorted Fearne to one of the sofas in the living room so she could lay down.

  ‘Wow, looks like the beer pong finally finished Fearne off,’ said Kara. ‘What should we do?’ she added, turning her attention back to Hal.

  Will, who had fully embraced his costume, was still dressed as an iconic anchor-man, his bushy, fake moustache completing the full-on Burgundy look, and was currently revelling in his victory at the pool table over Jon. Fed up of Will’s lucky streak, Jon was willing to do anything to free himself from the humiliation of another inevitable defeat, and chimed in.

  ‘Didn’t that Kev guy say you just have to tell him to “go home”?’ said Jon, preparing to ditch his pool cue entirely. ‘Here, let me try…’

  ‘Don’t think so mate,’ said Will, ‘you’re not getting out of this that easy.’

  Alex arrived through the rear doors, taking up a seat next to the pool table and laughed, eager to see if Will’s lucky streak would continue.

  Being the only two in Jerry’s vicinity who weren’t battling for bragging rights, or spectating on a battle between two self-proclaimed pool gods, they didn’t feel comfortable just kicking Jerry out. Hal stepped outside, the gravel crunching under his cumbersome boots.

  ‘Jerry, GO HOME!’ he said, pointing into the darkness in an authoritative manner.

  Jerry, who had followed him outside, stared at him for all of two seconds, made an indignant huffing noise through his nose, and then tried to walk back past him into the lodge.