It was three in the morning, and Rich, Steve, Samantha, John, Emma, Charlotte,
and Jeff had all ended up at Sam Linton's dive of a flat. Lightweights Keith, Helena, Simon and Natalie had long since
gone home, in the hope that they might just about be able to "sleep it off", before work.
Jeff - having finally twigged that neither Emma nor Charlotte
intended to get off with him in the forseeable future - had accordingly re-focused what there was of his attention
span, upon his favourite, non-sexual activity: that of getting stoned on a cocktail of "Class A" drugs. What a nice-looking
bird like that Helena saw in a tosser like him was anyone's guess.
Richard, for his part, had never been so pissd in his life.
In fact, he had only ever been drunk once before and, in all honesty, that had been somewhere on the borderline between
"tipsy" and "drunk"; his current state was probably situated nearer to the borderline that separated "drunk" from "paralytic".
Bloody Hell - did this feel good or what!
A couple more cans of that glorious substance in the gold
cans - a. k. a. Carlsberg Special Brew - and Rich might actually have the guts to tell Charlotte Fisher where to go, once
and for all.
"Oi, bruv, can you get the door for us? Me and Sammy
are a bit busy here!"
Yeah, well, if shoving their tongues down one another's
gobs constituted "busy", then they were that, all right.
"I'll come with you, Richard," offered Charlotte.
"I think I'm capable of answering the front door by myself
- thanks all the same." It was a good thing that it wasn't just Charlotte who was pissed, or Rich wouldn't have known
how to deal with her increasingly flirtatious behaviour. It was only because he was as rat-arsed as she was, that he
was able to tell the bitch to, "Sod off."
So much for the soft drinks, upon which she, Emma, and John
had all insisted for the first half-hour or so. Bloody hypocrites, all three of them.
Moments later, Richard was opening Sam's front door to the
sexiest woman in the Universe.
"J-Julie, hi."
"Richard - what are you doing...? What's going on?
I seem to have walked into some sort of party." Staggered was more like it; she was more pissed than Richard himself,
which was saying something. "Sham dint tell me she...I juss dropped by t'arse her if..."
"Listen, Julie, I don't it's such a great idea for you-"
Too bloody late. She was already standing in the doorway
of her so-called best friend's living room. Richard watched reality crash through the iron gates of Julie's delusional
hopes. Confirmation of her worst fears hat hit her with the force of a double-decker bus, and Richard would have done
anything to take away her pain, right then.
"You bastard! I knew there was something
going on with you and that fucking slag! You were meant to be my best mate, Sam!"
Samantha extricated herself from Richard's brother.
"I'm sorry, Jules. It just sort of-"
"Happened, right?" She was becoming hysterical
now. "These things don't 'sort of happen', Sam." Amazingly, Julie's speech was no longer slurred, and she seemed
remarkably steady on her feet. The girl had seemingly sobered up, in a matter of seconds. She could no longer
have been described as "drunk" - just livid. Livid, and broken. "You and Steve chose to do what you've
been doing. And it's been going on for months, hasn't it? Answer me! Hasn't it? Turn the
sodding music off, someone!"
"Look, we need to talk, Julie," said Steve. "Talk,
okay? As opposed to screaming the place down."
"Go to Hell! I've had it with both of you!"
"It's no good, mate," Richard was telling John, about five
minutes after Julie had stormed off, slamming the door with such force that it was a miracle the glass hadn't shattered.
"I can't just sit around here and do nothing. Steve obviously isn't going to go and look for her, so I'm
going."
John nodded. There was no use in arguing with Richard,
when he was in this frame of mind. "'D'you want me to come with you, Rich?"
"No, you're all right. You stay here, with Emma.
I'll text you if I - no, shit, I forgot. Em, I couldn't borrow your mobile, could I? In case I need to get in
touch with John. My bloody battery's not charged."
"Sorry, Rich. My battery's dead, too. You'll
have to borrow John's, and ring the landline."
Samantha Linton's landline? Bloody Marvelous,
thought Rich.
"No, it's okay. Have mine," said Charlotte, handing
her silver Motorola to Richard, who, for once, smiled at her with what looked to John like genuine gratitude.
The situation was nuts, as far as John was concerned.
Charlotte was a nice girl, and not nearly as overweight or ugly as Richard made out. She was totally obsessed
with Rich, who didn't want to know. Being, as he was, more interested in Julie Bishop - who didn't want to know him,
preferring Richard's brother, even though Steve treated her like shit, and got off with her "best mate".
John was just glad that things between him and Emma were
straightforward.
She looked about twelve, sitting there, on that graffiti-covered
park bench, where she and Richard had often sat, watching Steve running up and down the left wing, as if his life depended
on it. Steve had been the star player for the "under eighteens".
"You'd better have my coat. You must be freezing out
here."
She visibly jumped. "Richard - you gave me the fright
of my life! What are you doing here?" demanded Julie, who had evidently been miles away.
No prizes for guessing what - or who - had been
on her mind.
Richard sat down, next to her. "I couldn't just leave
you to wander the streets, the state you're in." He started to take off his jacket. "It should fit okay."
"Thanks, but I'm okay. This fleece is quite warm.
Thanks, though."
Richard hesitated. "I think it really stinks, you
know - what my brother and Sam have been doing."
Her eyes met Richard's, and she held the gaze for a moment
longer than was strictly necessary. "You're sweet, Rich. Maybe I picked the wrong brother to fall in love with."
"Yeah?" He could almost taste her nearness. The
familiar scent of that perfume, which Julie had almost always worn since the age of fifteen.
"You fancy me, don't you?" she said.
"You're gorgeous. How could anyone not?"
"You'd have to ask your brother that."
"Steve fancies you, too. It's just that - well, Steve's
Steve, isn't he? You'd need a degree in psychology to figure out what goes on in his head sometimes."
"Let's forget about Steve."
Richard wanted the kiss to go on forever. He'd never
wanted anything so much, in his life.
