by Carl Meadows
Then came my big reveal. Fancy dress for everyone.
Everyone.
Nate gave me a look of, “Everyone except me, right?”
EVERYONE, NATE!
As the evening came, allow me to regale you with the marvellous selection of roles we would play for the evening.
Norah had us in stitches, as she was full on dressed up as Mrs. Doubtfire, even throwing out the, “Helloooo dear!” with real aplomb. The funniest shit was that she stayed in character all night. As we got deeper into our cups later in the evening, it just got funnier and funnier. My ribs are still hurting from laughing. Love that woman.
I had to be careful with Alicia as I didn’t want to give her something provocative. The last thing she’d feel comfortable in was something overtly feminine and flesh baring, so I was pretty made up with finding an adult sized costume of Jessie from Toy Story 2 in the store. She had her little plastic six-shooter, big red cowgirl hat, jeans, shirt, waistcoat, and boots. She looked epic and I could see her visibly relax when I pulled it out for her. She got right into the swing of things and bought into the whole fancy dress party notion. Two for two.
Isaac got his swagger on when I gave him a Han Solo black-and-white ensemble complete with blaster. Every Star Wars boy wanted to be lovable rogue Han rather than whiny Jedi wannabe Luke, so no complaints there.
Maria looked the absolute bomb. She’s a damn good-looking woman, and the dark tone of her skin is just gorgeous. Against the blazing turquoise blue of the Princess Jasmine dress (from Aladdin) with the same coloured headband, she looked fucking knockout. How do I know this?
Nate isn’t visibly affected by much, but when Maria appeared in that Princess Jasmine outfit with a dramatic twirl, I swear he nearly snorted the bourbon he was supping out of his nose. Lockey scores again.
Also, Nate and Maria? Hmm. You know, that would work. Not yet, because we don’t know shit about Dean, even though we should really be accepting that he’s probably gone, but Dean and Maria were childhood sweethearts and if he is gone for good, she won’t get over him quickly. I should really talk to Maria. She’s been avoiding the whole Dean conversation. I need to see where her head’s at regarding his fate.
Mark and Charlie were next, and I’m quite sure this is some of my best work to date. Mark was painted all green – because yes, I got some body paint at the party store too – and the pair of them were Shrek and Donkey. Charlie was in a full grey donkey outfit, his grinning face sticking out with a mahoosive donkey head on the top.
Oh, my swirling heart. I swear, the pair of them were cute as all hell. I’m amazing at this shit.
I’m building the tension here. You just know I’m leaving Nate till last.
I’ll go next. Obviously, having a smart mouth, slightly goofy sense of humour, and being generally awesome, I went for a gender-bended Captain Jack Sparrow, mate. Savvy?
My hair’s getting super long, so I had Maria help me put it in a load of little braids, had the big tricorn hat, long coat, boots, fancy eye makeup… everything. I rolled my pirate swagger all night long. I’m fairly certain, however, if I say “savvy” one more time to anyone in this lodge, I’m getting decked. I said it a lot. Like, at the end of every sentence a lot, savvy? Good times.
For our penultimate contestant we have… Particles. Well, I wasn’t going to leave him out of the festivities, was I? Especially when I saw the shop had fancy dress costumes for pets as well.
I think I may have forever damaged mine and Particles’ close bond, as the withering gaze he gave me, forced to trot round all night long dressed as a hot dog with mustard and everything, clearly asked me this question every time we locked eyes.
“Am I a fucking joke to you, human?”
Outraged.
But, my lovely Freya, there could only ever be one true winner in this competition. Despite the breathtaking Maria as Princess Jasmine, the hilarious Norah in her role as Mrs. Doubtfire, the world’s cutest family unit as Shrek and Donkey, my pirate awesome (you savvy?) and Particles’ raging disgust at being paraded as junk food, the moment Nate walked into the room, there was only one true champion.
Nate Carter, ex-Royal Marine Commando, former special operator with the 22 Special Air Service, the Terminator’s granddad, and the Grim Reaper’s unfriendly, kind of threatening dad, stole the show.
As Super-fucking-Mario.
Bright red shirt, super-blue dungarees, giant red hat with an M plastered in a white circle at the centre, and a gargantuan faux moustache stuck to his top lip. Freya, let me tell you.
It. Was. GLORIOUS.
The whole room collapsed in laughter, not just because this giant ferocious ball of deadly awesome was dressed like a cartoon, but because his facial expression was so fucking stern and incongruous with the frivolity of his costume… Freya, we all just lost it.
Nate was not amused.
Eventually, his ferocious demeanour cracked, mostly because who can stay mad when a ten-year old is absolutely pissing himself laughing? And not just a chuckle, oh no. Charlie was crippled with paroxysms of proper uncontrollable belly laughter that was on the verge of causing respiratory failure.
It was funny as hell anyway, but it was cranked up to eleven when Nate turned to me, and with a completely straight face and total deadpan tone, said one line.
“Tomorrow, I hope a bird shits on your face.”
That was it. I needed medical help. I couldn’t fucking see, couldn’t breathe, and thought I might die from too much funny. I had to prep Maria to apply CPR any moment as I collapsed from lack of oxygen.
Nate soon got into the swing of it, and once he got a couple of bourbons down him – and started chatting with Maria, I should point out – he chilled the fuck out and soon he was smiling as warm and genuine as I’ve ever seen.
The guy has been carrying so much, always looking out for us, always focused and on point, so I think it did him a power of good to let go for just one night. Engaging in conversation with a beautiful age-appropriate woman would no doubt have helped as well. Nate’s just over fifty, Maria is forty-four and looks good with it as well, so a couple of drinks and a chat with a beautiful, intelligent woman of his own generation went down a treat, I think. They seem to get on really well.
There were games. I officially suck at musical statues, because once I’ve got a couple of drinks in me, I basically turn into a ten-year old anyway, and spend more of my time trying to distract other people so they’ll lose, rather than sorting my own game to win. I’m the most competitive person in the room when sober, but after a few drinks I’m more concerned with pissing about and having a giggle. Nate was a certain shoe-in for musical statues, as he’s basically made of granite anyway. And what do you know? Old Stony McGrumpychops wins the musical statues game by a landslide.
He tried to say it’s because of his sniper training and having to remain motionless for hours, but that’s just smoke and mirrors. Really, it’s because he’s a big grumpy golem.
On one of our house clearances, we found a ready cake mix, chocolate fudge no less. Nom nom nom. No eggs or flour needed, just add hot water and oil, mix, put in the oven and boom. Chocolate fudge flavoured cake.
We stuck some candles in, and we gave Charlie our own rendition of Happy Birthday, and he got to blow out ten candles. Kids love that shit, but as an adult, or even a teenager, that must be the most awkward moment in existence.
Seriously, what are you supposed to do for those fifteen seconds? Where do you look? You sit there, a slightly nervous and borderline hysterical grin on your face, not knowing what the hell you’re supposed to be doing for that time and just praying for it to end. It’s only made more uncomfortable by the fact that half of your impromptu choir are belting the words out with overenthusiastic gusto, while the other half are self-consciously mumbling the lines just so they don’t look like miserable sods. You’ll catch one of those eyes in your axis of awkward, both gazes haunted and pleading with each other, praying for this torment to end.
Honestly, if the Devil and Hell do exist, old Lucifer could put that one in his “eternal torment” playbook for sure.
Torment Option 666: Have ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to the tortured soul in a perpetual loop until the stars burn out and die.
I think I’d request a vinegar-coated whip to my butthole for eternity instead. Ultimate cringe moment.
For a ten-year old, however, he just beamed through it then had a “fuck yeah” smile on his lips as we all cheered his monumental success at blowing out ten tiny candles.
All in all, the party was a huge success. Everybody had an awesome time and it got to about 9pm when Charlie was super-tired from all the excitement and ready to hit the sack. Before he retired, my little dude came over to me while I was on the floor chatting to Isaac.
“Dad said you organised everything for today, Lockey. Is that right?”
“Hey, we’re all here little man. Everybody did this for you, savvy?”
“She’s just being modest, Charlie,” said Mark. “It was all her idea, so she deserves the credit.”
Charlie didn’t say anything, just flung his arms round me, the donkey head atop sliding forward a little to bonk me on the forehead.
“This day was the best,” came his muffled voice. “Thank you so much.”
That was the best bit of the whole damn day. It was a close-run thing with Particles’ towering disgust at being dressed as a hot dog, and Nate’s reveal as the grumpiest Super Mario in history, but it edged them both out. Operation Birthday was a resounding success and for this one day, Charlie got to be a normal kid.
As Charlie pulled away and went off to bed, I watched him go, my face hurting from the half-drunken grin of pure happiness. Nate caught my eye as Charlie disappeared and he gave me that little grin of his, tipped his glass of bourbon my way, and went back to his conversation with Maria.
The adults continued to drink for another hour or two, but eventually started drifting away. We don’t do all-nighters here, Freya. Too much shit to do. One by one, everyone started saying their goodnights and drifted away. It was about midnight and I have a terrible fear of missing out at parties, so I wasn’t hitting the sack until I was the last woman standing. Nate said his goodnight last and disappeared, leaving just me and Isaac.
We shot the shit for another half hour and laughed about stupid stuff because basically anything can make me laugh when I’m drunk. I go hyper-loopy, so I’m fun – or annoying – to be around when I’m drunk, because I’m a happy drunk. Everyone’s my bestest best mate in the whole wide world, and I become a hugger.
During one hug, we pulled away and I was about to say something, but Isaac leaned in and planted a kiss on my lips. The initial shock drew me back, and we said nothing for a second, just looking at each other.
And like the dumb drunk bitch I was, I ended up having sex with him. Mostly clothed, urgent, and frantic, outside on the cold porch where we’d been sitting. Jack Sparrow and Han Solo going at it hell for leather like some weird porno crossover parody, all animalistic and frantic, at the end of October in the cold.
Unprotected sex no less, making my dumb choice even dumber. Getting pregnant in a fucking apocalypse? Aw, hell no!
I feel like such a fucking dick, Freya. I don’t feel that way about him. There’s nothing long term there, but I was drunk, I was in high spirits, I hadn’t had sex for so long I felt my insides were shrivelling and dying a lonely death, and the world is fucking shit out beyond the gate.
I guess... I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to feel something.
Everyone likes to be desired, right? Everyone likes to feel wanted. Ultimately, we’re all alone, but we spend our lives trying not to be. I don’t know.
I get horny when I’m drunk, Isaac isn’t unattractive, I was in a good mood, and I just wanted to get laid. When I’ve had alcohol, I don’t think ahead. It’s a massive failing of mine, amongst many others. That whole impulse control thing I’ve mentioned before, huh?
I was done then and said my goodnight and went to bed. My horny lust had been sated by a three-minute quickie on the porch, and I just wanted to sleep.
Today, things were… awkward.
Well well well, if it isn’t my old nemesis… the consequences of my actions.
It’s bloody hard to avoid someone when they live in the same building as you that is mostly communal space. Isaac gave me a beaming, conspiratorial smile in the morning, and I gave him a vanilla one like I gave to everyone else. I’ve purposefully managed to stay around other people all day, as everyone was recovering from hangovers, so going beyond the gate was just a big fat no. It’s been all about the chill today. We watched movies together, chatted, I played one of Charlie’s board games with him, and generally we just hung out.
It would have been nice if not for the fact that Isaac was trying to orchestrate an opportunity for it to be just the two of us. Instead, the “chill” day was fucking exhausting as I dodged him constantly, not giving him the opportunity to address our brief sexual liaison.
I know I’m going to have to address it, but today I was hung over to shit, and I just wanted to chill with everyone and work on garnering Particles’ forgiveness for garbing him as a hot dog. Every time I looked up though, Isaac’s gaze was fixed on me.
Men. They’re so fucking fragile. If a dude bangs a woman just for sex, he’s a player, no matter how hurt the woman might be. Gender flip that, and I know I’m going to get the whole, “Do you just put out then, it doesn’t mean anything?” question from him.
Simple answer, yes, I fucking do. It’s my body, we were consenting – albeit horny and judgment impaired – adults, and there was no pre-written agreement that it was anything more than just a brief encounter.
I still feel guilty, because I’m going to have to let him down and it can go one of two ways. He’ll take it on the chin like a man, I’ll apologise if he thought there was anything more to it than a brief liaison in the moment, he’ll be a bit hurt, and get past it.
Option two, which is the most common in my experience, is that he’ll turn sulky, maybe even unpleasant, and it will eventually explode into a full-blown argument with hurled accusations that will be impossible to have without everyone else in the lodge witnessing it. There just isn’t the space.
I’ve a feeling it’s going to be the latter, Freya. The jutting jaw and staunch refusal to look at me as I said goodnight to everyone tells me he’s going to stew on it all night, constructing all the accusations he wants to throw at me.
I couldn’t face it today. To quote Withnail and I, I feel like a pig shat in my head.
Maria already knows of my stupidity. I had to confide in her and she got me a morning-after pill from the collection of things we’ve taken from pharmacies. Obviously, I got my ass chewed out by her in a whispered conversation for my dumbfuckery, but I deserved it, and she means well. It was stupid doing it without protection.
Tomorrow is likely to be as much fun as gargling with the contents of a hobo’s piss pot, and just as uncomfortable. For tonight, however, I’m just going to sleep. All that bullshit is Future Lockey’s problem. Present Lockey is too damn tired.
Goodnight, Freya. Still miss you. Tonight, more than ever.
OCTOBER 30th, 2010
DRAMA
Freya, I am not a fan of drama.
Admittedly, this drama was of my own making, but I don’t have the time, will, or care to gently massage the male ego that’s taken a bit of a slap. There’s far more important shit to do than coddle Isaac’s fragile masculinity. I would probably be more sympathetic and less harsh had he not been such a fucking dick about the whole thing.
I felt better yesterday morning after sleeping off the hangover and rehydrating. However, when I awoke, it was absolutely pissing down with rain. Not a little, but a lot, too heavy for us to go out on a run beyond the gate. The last thing any of us needs is to get soaked to the bone and pick up a chill.
Which is a point Nate and I had a conversation about,
now I think on. Remember that service road that runs behind the shopping centre? Well, much further up, there is an army surplus store, which will have good gear in. Waterproofs, BDU clothing, tactical glasses, shooting gloves, backpacks, camouflage gear, water bottles with filtration, arctic quality sleeping bags, cartridge belts, weapon cleaning kits, and all kinds of other good stuff. The popularity of war games like paintball and airsoft has people playing at soldier and wanting to look the part. There’s a big market for it, as people spend shitloads of money trying to look like something out of a spec-ops movie, even though they’re shooting harmless little balls at each other, and their name is Barry from accounting. What it does mean though, is that these stores now carry a massive range of useful gear.
Nate agreed it was worth the risk going back downtown, but we should roll with both the pickup and van. We could load the white van up to the gills with useful stuff and just sort it all when we got back here. It might even be useful trade stuff if we ever actually meet someone who doesn’t want to kill us.
We’re not doing that until the rain lets up though. We need that gear, as we can’t spend every shitty day indoors. This is northern England, and shitty weather is kind of our jam.
“It’ll be fine, just make sure you wear your big coat,” is something of a northern mantra.
We can’t stop clearing houses and gathering resources just because it’s a shit day, but we need proper outdoors gear to make sure we don’t get soaked to the bone and sick. We’re going to wait for the rain to let up and put that at the top of our “shit we need to do” list.
Incidentally, our little “inventory” room has had to be extended to a second one upstairs. We’ve gathered so much stuff that we’ve had to take over a second bedroom in the lodge. That reduces space for any survivors we might find, but as we haven’t found anyone else who wants to be friends as yet, it’s not such an issue.
