1. Bad News

BAD News

‘Plawn Clackers,’ I announced. ‘Ruvry.’ My wife, Melissa, gave me a stern look. So did the Chinese waiter as he removed some half empty plates.
‘Why do you always have to act like such a wanker?’ Mel irritably demanded.
‘I don’t have to,’ I replied, defiantly as if the statement had been an actual question. ‘I choose to.’
Mel tutted, raised her eyebrows and took an intake of breath that hissed through her teeth. ‘Yes I know,’ she replied. ‘But why?’
‘Because I am master of my own destiny,’ I replied. ‘I say what I like and I like what I say.’
‘Whatever,’ she replied, dismissively, as she turned away from her partially eaten Chow Mein and strode across to the next table to whisper about me to her mother.
‘Married for twenty years,’ I announced to the other guests at my table. ‘Yet she still hasn’t worked out that she can’t tell me what to do.’ Though, as I spoke, the voice in my head attempted once again to lead me astray.
‘Fooking bitch!’ it told me. Fortunately, by this time I had well and truly rumbled that voice. I knew that no matter what it said, I no longer had to listen.
‘Drinks anybody?’ I asked, holding my empty glass in the air. Mum nodded and tapped her glass, as did her idiot husband, Pete. Great Aunt Hilda licked her lips and downed the remains of a Guinness before placing her glass as far toward me as she could reach. I picked it up and placed it along with my own in front of Pete.
‘Get’em in then, Pete,’ I suggested. ‘It’s about time you got your wallet out, ya tight git.’
Some things really annoy me. Well, alot of things really annoy me. One of them is the way Pete smiles and nods whenever the drinks are being offered yet somehow, he always tries to avoid buying any. In this way, I like to think of myself as his conscience. The bloke is a prize pillock. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was married to my mother, I’d have to have him put out of my misery.
‘Give him a break, Terry,’ suggested Mum, in the way that mothers do.
‘Shut up woman!’
I nodded toward the empty glasses and pointed a thumb at the bar.
‘A pint for me, Pete, cheers mate.’
As Pete fumbled for his wallet, I wondered if he could remember where he last saw it. However, my attention was broken by my sister, Sandra. She staggered out of the toilets, adjusting her knickers and wrestling her tits back in her bra.
‘Sand? What ya ravvin?’ I shouted, gesturing the downing of a pint.
‘Lager,’ she replied through the side of her mouth as she lit a fag.
‘Pete?’ I yelled. ‘Our Sandra wants a pint of lager.’
‘OK,’ replied Pete with a thumbs up.
‘No, no, no!’ I rebuked. ‘Get her a half and tell her that pints are for men.’
Sandra gave me the Vs and Pete grinned at me as if I was joking. What can I do? I try to toughen the puff up, but there is just no helping him.
‘Leave him be, Terry,’ advised Mum.
‘Give it a rest,’ I replied, stubbing my cigarette out in a bowl of soy sauce sodden worms.
I stared my mother in the eye, just to show her that I wasn’t in the mood to take any shit from her. Then after a couple of seconds, my favourite stepfather returned to the table with an apologetic expression on his face.
‘That was quick, Pete. What did you fax your order through?’
‘No, Terry, sorry’ he replied. ‘The girl at the bar wouldn’t let me pay.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I replied, with a wink. ‘Our table is on my tab.’
‘Cheers, Tel,’ he replied, with an expression on his face that suggested that he was oblivious to the point that I had been making. He looked meek and confused. Perhaps I should have just said, ‘I know that you are skint but I am on to you matey.’ I guess that would be the mature thing to do. So, that would be completely out of character for me.
The drinks arrived and I sank my face straight into mine. Then I surveyed the room with an ample mound of froth on my nose
‘Y’alright, Tel?’ asked my sister’s spotty boyfriend, Barry. ‘Can I get you a bevvy?’ he asked. The fact that I was supping a full pint at the time didn’t seem too much of a clue to Barry, but then again he is a fucking moron.
‘Yeah cheers, Baz,’ I replied. ‘I’ll have a pint.’ Barry’s face dropped. I considered that he must have thought that he had timed his offer to perfection. Too bad for him that I’m not fooled by his bullshit either. Besides, I can’t imagine why he seems to seek my approval so eagerly. I mean he is shagging my sister not courting my daughter.
Great Aunt Hilda was rolling a fag, and when I say rolling a fag, I don’t mean that she was stinging some bummer out of his hard earned cash. She had folded a cigarette paper around a fistful of Old Holborn and was trying to wet the sticky part without letting her teeth fall out. You would of thought that after fifty odd years of smoking rollups that she might have learned how to roll them by now. I watched on in amusement for a few more seconds before bailing her out.
I held up a finished cigarette for inspection, pointing to the tobacco that bulged out of either end of a perfect cylinder.
‘That reminds me a bit of our Sandra’s bikini line,’ I quipped. Hilda smiled without really breaking out into laughter, which should be expected as I should imagine that she probably doesn’t even know what a bikini is.
I felt a clip across the top of my head that startled me.
‘I heard that.’ It was Sandra.
‘I happen to have a very neatly coiffeured fanny, thank you very much,’ she stated, as if we didn’t see it for ourselves regularly on a Saturday night in the pub.
She lifted her tight, partially see-through, white, clingy dress and reached for her skimpy g-string.
‘Fucking hell, Sand. Not again,’ I moaned. ‘I’ve seen your rat more times than I’ve seen Die Hard.’
‘You can’t have too much of a good thing,’ she replied with a theatrical smile.
‘Well, Sand,’ I said. ‘That’s probably true of Die Hard, but not about your sweaty clam.’
To be fair to her, apart from being a complete slapper who loses her knickers at the drop of a hat, she is actually a good sport. She is without a doubt the one person in the world who I could exist on a desert island with without feeling the need to bludgeon them to death with coconuts. More importantly though is the fact that I don’t think the experience would turn her homicidal either.
Sandra pulled her pants up and bellowed a full belly laugh, adjusted her tits again, helped herself to one of my fags then waddled back across the pub. The V of her white thong shone through her dress, making her huge arse look far bigger than it actually was. It baffles me why fat birds wear thongs. I mean, who cares if you’ve got a visible panty line when your arse is the size of a small country? Besides, there is something very Sumo about fat, thronged arse cheeks.
‘What has she got stuck on her foof, our Terry,’ asked Hilda.
I presumed that my Great Aunt was referring to my sister’s piercing down below.
‘Anybody who will buy her a drink, usually.’
Hilda looked a little perplexed but shrugged off her confusion with another sip of her drink.
Mum was looking decidedly unflustered by her eldest daughter dropping her knickers in public. She seemed distracted, worried about something. Her brow was ridged and her bottom lip protruded like it was trying to prevent her nose from dripping down her cleavage.
‘What’s up Mum?’ I asked.
‘I smell something fishy,’ she replied anxiously.
‘That’ll be Sandra’s fanny, Mum.’
‘Don’t be disgusting, Terence,’ she rebuked. ‘That’s your sister that you are talking about, you know.’
She turned her attention back toward the bar where my daughter Kelly was whispering in Melissa’s ear.
‘Hey up,’ I thought. She was staring right at me.
‘Your Kelly’s up to something by the look of it,’ stated Mum.
I waved her over. ‘Kel,’ I called.
‘In a bit, Dad,’ she shouted, as she departed toward the toilets.
‘Can I get you anything else, sir,’ asked a waiter that, as it happened was barely taller than me while I was seated.
‘Geez, mate,’ I announced. ‘You’re a biggun!’
The little feller smiled, well his mouth did.
‘How come you chinks are so small?’ I asked, with a genuine curiosity.
‘Pardon, sir?’
‘Have you ever wondered why evolution has determined that you chinks are all short and we are tall and hairy?’
The little feller looked toward the bar as if his colleague might be able to answer on his behalf.
‘Excluse me, sir?’
I waved him away. ‘Don’t wolly about it.’ I told him. Nevertheless, it was a valid point and one of many questions that troubled my uneducated mind.
‘Do you have to be so rude, Tel?’ asked Mum, in a way that suggested that a nag was approaching.
‘I’m going for a piss, mum. If I promise to wash my hands, will you get off my case?’
‘Depends, Tel,’ she replied. ‘on whether you wash them before or after your pee.’
‘Mother,’ I replied, patronisingly. ‘I haven’t pee’d since I was twelve years old. Or pooped for that matter.’
She’s alright really, my mum. At least she has got a sense of humour.
‘You must be really constipated, Terry,’ she declared in a concerned whisper.
At least I think she was joking.
Well, so far it had been a pretty average Saturday night. The only minor deviation was the diversion to the chinky instead of the usual curry house. Personally, I’m not a bit fan of Chinese food. I never really feel satisfied by Chinese but then again, I would usually pop into AbraKebabra after, for a top-up on the way home.
Most weeks, I’d sink a few jars down the snooker club with my mates. Then I would meet up with the Missus and the rest of the family in the pub after they had been to the bingo. Even after the wife left me, we still maintained the same routine. I suppose that it was one of those things that would never change.
Out of the corner of my eye, a familiar face distracted me from my thoughts. A bird that I used to date appeared through the restaurant door with a couple of other slappers. Fortunately, she saw me and made a hasty retreat. I’d already had to have words with her about drinking in my boozer. I mean, I didn’t mind her drinking in there. It was just that she would always make a scene. It all got a bit too much. It was embarrassing. Every week it would be the same.
‘Terry, I love you. Terry, I miss you.’
‘Sorry love.’
‘Don’t fucking sorry me you bastard!’
Needless to say, she wasn’t the sort of bird that took rejection very well. So, I had to give her a slap. Now, I’m not really one for hitting women but the English language is generally insufficient for resolving issues with bunny boilers.
Once she had left it was safe to go for a slash. I rose to my feet and was surprised to realise that I was a bit uneasy. I was nearly there. A couple more pints and I would be dancing on the tables. I weaved through the tables to the little boys room. On the way there I bumped into another of my former conquests.
Stella was tall, elegant and attractive. I used to quite like her but her family didn’t approve of me much. So, diplomatically, I told them to go fuck themselves. Of course, I got shot of her while I was at it. It was a shame really because she has got legs to die for.
‘Stella?’ I interrupted. She had looked deep in conversation with a tosser in a pin-striped suit.
‘What?’ she replied, begrudging me a second of her time.
‘How’s your pussy?’ I asked with a wink.
‘Fuck off, Terry!’ she shrieked.
I raised my hands defensively while her feller gave me a stern look.
‘I used to like stroking your pussy.’ I kept a straight face even though I could see her blood boil.
The one thing that women around here don’t seem to understand is that once you have belonged to Terry Malone, you will always be mine to do with what I wish.
‘You talking to my bird, mate?’ asked the suit.
‘It’s a free country isn’t it?’ I replied, squaring up to the stranger.
That voice in my head had it’s say. ‘Fuckin ‘ave ‘im! Go on! You a fookin poof or summut?’
I ignored it, as I had learned to do.
‘Twat ‘im. Go on, nut the bastard!’
‘I’ll tell you what, mate.’ I stepped forward a pace and whispered in the suit’s ear. ‘You would never guess it to look at her but she is as ginger as ginger can be.’
I pulled a disgusted face as if I had found a turd in my cornflakes, gave him a gentle slap on the cheek and turned away.
‘Say hello to Cybil for me won’t you, Stella,’ I asked, over my shoulder as I headed for the toilet. Needless to say that the suit would ask Stella who Cybil was and Stella would be forced to admit that she has a cat, a ginger one.
She loves me really, that Stella. If I gave her one of my cheeky smiles she’d drop her knickers in a flash.
‘Wanker!’ she yelled, as the toilet door closed behind me.
I nudged my way between two blokes at the urinal and joined in on a team effort piss. As is usual for me I took a little look at my neighbours’ tackle. Its not like I wanted to see, I just like the fact that it freaks them out.
However, as I relieved myself, my mind was taken back to an event earlier on in the evening in the pub.
A couple of lezzies were propping up the bar, drinking pints and getting on my nerves.
As I thought about it I could feel myself getting irritated all over again.
Who do they think they are? They waltz into my local boozer all tarted down, with their sensible shoes, stinking of library books and drinking out of men’s glasses in my pub.
So, anyway, I took the opportunity to introduce myself.
‘Evening Gents,’ I offered. They weren’t really amused.
‘Haven’t you ladies got someone’s dinner to prepare?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked the ugly one.
‘I suppose you think that’s funny,’ stated the other ugly one.
‘Of course,’ I agreed. ‘Are you saying that you don’t?’
‘We are just having a quiet drink,’ said the fat one, defensively.
‘Minding our own business,’ added the other fat one.
‘Well, that’s where you are wrong isn’t it?’ I replied. ‘You are spoiling my evening. So, you can hardly say that you are minding your own business, can you?’
‘What is your problem?’ asked the one with the moustache.
‘My problem,’ I explained. ‘Is that you are drinking in my pub when you should be having a nice, quiet evening together in a gay bar somewhere,’ I paused, ‘else,’ I added.
They both stared at me blankly as if they were working out if I was just teasing them. The trouble was that I wasn’t. What is the point of having gay bars if they can come and drink in mine? I’m sure that they would get a bit miffed if I went into one of their bars with a few of my mates.
‘You macho blokes have got such a problem with us haven’t you?’ spat lezzie number one.
‘You are right,’ I agreed. ‘I have a problem with you being in here.’
‘I bet you wouldn’t mind so much if you were watching us as we rolled around, naked, in oil, making love.’
‘I fucking would if you did it in here,’ I told them.
‘O yeah,’ stated lezzie number two. ‘You think that we don’t know what your pathetic fantasy is.’
‘You see that is where you are wrong,’ I said. ‘My fantasy is to watch two attractive women, rolling naked in oil making love not a couple of sasquatches like you two’
It was at that moment that I broke them.
‘Just fuck off, you wanker!’ they barked, unanimously as they abruptly finished off their drinks and stormed for the exit.
‘You need to take the 52 bus, ‘ I told them as they departed. ‘It goes right through Lesbia.’
Some might say that I was being a bit cruel, after all it is a free country, a fact which is true. But of course I would argue that that very fact gives me the right to protect my own boundaries. Besides, they should know better. In my opinion they were being deliberately provocative.
So anyway, I finished my slash and avoided the sink on my way out. I’m not a soap dodger, I just don’t like standing under the hand dryer for weeks on end then still having to wipe my hands on my shirt.
Our Kelly was back at the bar with her feller and as soon as they saw me approaching they started to look a bit furtive and fidgety again.
‘What’s going on Kel?’ I asked her directly. Before I could get a reply though, Andy Kirk interrupted me. I sort of saw him making a beeline for me from the entrance on the other side of the restaurant.
‘You fucking bastard, Malone!’ he shouted, as he swung his right fist toward me. I ducked and stepped aside as his momentum forced him to slump over the bar in an embarrassed heap. Even so, I grabbed an ashtray off the bar and smashed it into the back of his head a couple of times. I may be a reformed character but I’m not about to let people get away with shit like that. So, I was shagging his wife. That’s no reason why we can’t act like civilised men. Fucking hell, anybody would think that it was me that had broken their wedding vows. He should be having a word with her, not me.
Regardless of whether he had a genuine grievance, I’m not about to let anyone think they can have me. So, once he had crumpled to the floor, I made my point by stamping my heel into guts a couple of times.
‘I was talking to my daughter,’ I told him. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it is rude to interrupt.’
‘Anyway Kel,’ I said, turning my attention back to my daughter. ‘What’s going on?’
Kelly looked at me with disdain. ‘Was there really any need for that?’ she asked, as she looked down at Andy on the floor.
‘Absolutely not,’ I agreed. ‘He should have known better.’
Kelly shook her head and walked off. Nick, her feller looked at me nervously as he followed. So he should too. I wouldn’t want him thinking that his girlfriend’s dad was ever going to let him treat her bad.
One of the waiters tentatively approached me.
‘I’m solly, sir but I am going to have to ask you to reave.’
‘What?’ I asked him. ‘For being attacked?
Nevertheless, I pulled a wad out of my pocket, peeled off a couple of centuries, handed them over to the waiter then I turned and walked straight out of the door. I figured that the appropriate thing to do under the circumstances was to go around to Andy’s house and feed his wife some pork.
I didn’t get far though. Kelly called me back before I had even got across the car park.
What she told me cast a white haze to blur my vision. I could feel my blood freeze as she spoke.
‘Thanks a fucking lot!’ I thought. I tried to speak but my voice was unusually weak, pathetic almost so I remained silent. Fortunately, there was a lump in my throat that seemed to stop my words getting out and my lungs seemed not to be working. I could breathe in and out, yet still I struggled to catch my breath.
It was fear that had shaken me. I’m not usually scared by much, so I suppose that I just wasn’t really used to the feeling. I certainly wasn’t prepared for it. On top of it all aswell, the voice had to stick its fucking nose in.
‘Slut!’ it snarled.
When I call it, a voice, I think that I’m not really describing it very well. It isn’t a voice. It is more like a compulsion, an overwhelming urge, a rage that commands me to do its bidding as if it is completely beyond myself. Generally speaking, I had it under control at that point yet there were still times when I needed to focus every morsel of my willpower to deny it.
Kelly is my daughter and I love her beyond comprehension. Yet, for a split second I wanted to punch her in the face until she begged me to stop. The voice screamed at me.
‘She gone and done it now! You’re a dead man mate! Make her pay you pathetic corpse!’
The fear was huge. I could feel it well up in my stomach until an acidic taste coated the inside of my mouth. Apart from fear being a strange new experience, another alien feeling shocked me, selflessness. It was a momentary thing that gave me the strength to deny the voice. I forced a smile.
Nevertheless, I was livid. My rage was beyond reason. Most fathers would have been overjoyed at such news as I received. Very few would consider beating their own daughter senseless. But then most fathers didn’t have the voice to contend with when they first discovered that they were going to become a grandfather for the first time.
‘That’s great, love,’ I said, feigning as much sincerity as I could muster. Then I checked my watch and smiled back at Kelly as I left.

© Copyright 2005, Harry Parry. All rights reserved. No part of this nonsense may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.