Coincidence: Is There Really Such a Thing?

By Chris Tate

CHRIS TATE




Coincidence
George and Stephanie thought that life couldn't
get any better after experiencing a coincidence that
changed their lives forever. But a series of coincidences
that occurred soon after had them worried out of their
wits. A visit to a fortune teller on the beach front at
Scarborough was the beginning of a year that George
and Steph would happily erase from their memory.
With a friendly ghost and a revengeful spirit, this
tale will have you wondering if there really is more
to it than just pure chance.

Is there really such a thing as...

Coincidence?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477251157

Chris Tate

chris tate

Book preview

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2013 by Chris Tate. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/13/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5114-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5115-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Epilogue

59010.jpg

CHAPTER ONE

‘Please, please go on, this will be the first time ever. I’ll turn the lights off if you like, and I’ll do the same for you next, I promise. Lower, lower, nearly there, Oh no, who’s that ringing at this time of night? Just ignore it, carry on, that’s lovely.’

But it wasn’t the telephone ringing, and at 8am, George Ramsay’s dream was rudely interrupted by the sound of his alarm clock, and it was reminding him that it was time to get up for work.

BZZZZ… . BZZZZ… .

‘Right, right,’ he moans.

BZZZZ… . BZZZZ… .

‘Ok,’ he then shouts, ‘I’m getting up.’

He slowly opens one eye and stares at the digital clock in the corner of his bedroom with hate, as ‘this’ was the culprit that had timed it perfectly so that the beautiful blonde he was dreaming about had stopped what she was doing right there and then.

‘She was nearly there you sod! he snarled, and like a small child having a tantrum, he began to kick wildly at the sheets, and they fell in a heap at the bottom of the bed.

BZZZZ… . BZZZZ… .

‘Bloody hell, that was so real.’ he thought, and he threw his pillow with such force, that it knocked over not just the clock, but a number of items into a broken pile of unidentifiable objects in a heap on the floor.

George knew he had to get up, but just couldn’t bear the thought of a hard days work, and all he wanted to do was lie there for the rest of the day and do nothing.

Another few minutes had passed and he began to resemble a vampire slowly rising from his coffin after a good days rest. He turned, spun round and placed his feet on the laminated flooring.

‘Bloody hell,’ he hissed through his teeth, ‘It’s cold this morning.’

‘You’re telling me?’ his friend said from the passageway outside his bedroom door. ‘They reckon it’s going to snow today George.’

‘Kev?’ George shrieked whilst trying to cover his modesty. ‘What are you doing here? I nearly shit my trousers, how the hell did you get in?’

‘What? You mean you can’t remember last night?’

‘Why, what did we do?’ George asked worriedly, but he knew he would never have been that drunk.

‘I thought you wouldn’t remember anything after what we had drunk last night! Anyway, you can relax, I’m no ‘shirt lifter.’ Kevin laughed.

George looked puzzlingly at his friend who was laughing in the doorway, and realized why his head had felt like it was going to explode into a thousand pieces.

They had both been to their local pub to celebrate George’s birthday a day early as his birthday fell on a day when George was working a double shift. The thought of trying to celebrate after a twelve hour shift of walking miles around the hospital, pushing beds and chairs with horrible old fat people stinking of urine, wouldn’t put him in the right frame of mind for a night to remember.

‘You look as bad as I feel,’ Kevin joked.

‘Haha, very funny,’ said George, ‘put the kettle on will you Kev?’

‘Yeah, alright then. By the way, when are you going to do my floor for me? I’ve been asking you for ages.’

‘Wait until the summer eh Kev? Believe me, it’s the wrong time of year for laminate flooring, It’s bloody murder on your feet, too cold.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’ he huffed to himself as he walked towards the kitchen.

Twenty African drummers, George had decided is what his head must have contained as he rose from his bed, and all of a sudden he had to stop dead in his tracks. He forgot he had a guest in the flat and thought he’d better cover himself up, as he often woke with that condition after a raunchy dream. So, on went the clothes he found in a heap next to the bed, which were obviously the ones he had taken off just a few hours earlier, and he staggered along the passageway to the kitchen, in not such a different manner than he had the night before.

‘How’s the brew comin along Kev?’

‘It’s on the table in here. Have you got any biscuits?’

‘No.’ George lied. He only had his favourite ones left, and they were for him only!

Kevin was sitting in George’s chair in front of the fire and the television set. He was ogling over the quiz masters assistant who was showing how clever she was at maths, and so George had to sit in the old rickety chair in the draughty corner of the sitting room. He didn’t mind too much though, as his eyes were also glued to the box.

‘Phoar! What could you do with that eh? I bet she’d wake you up in the morning.’ said a wide eyed Kevin.

‘Put it this way Kev, I’d rather wake up to her than a bloody alarm clock!’ said George, and they sat there discussing whether they would or wouldn’t, you know, with the various women they had saw on the box that morning. Then Kevin asked him what time George started work as the time was getting on.

‘Shit!’ George sighed, and then thought for a moment, ‘Do me a favour will you Kev?’

‘Yeah, what do you want?’

‘I don’t fancy going in to work today, make up a good excuse and phone in for me will you?’

‘Yeah ok, give me their number and I’ll phone from my place when I get in, I’ve got to get in the shower, I’m humming.’

‘Oh yeah? And what tune is that Kev?’ George joked.

‘Hey very good, you’d have to get up pretty early in the morning to catch you out, make that up yourself?’ Kevin joked.

George was a porter at one of the largest hospitals in the north, and he loved his job. Every day was different, and he worked with what he called ‘A great bunch of guys’. The wages weren’t the best, but he earned enough to go out at least twice a week, and it was only a short walk to work. George felt he couldn’t be happier. A good job that he loved, a smart fiancé who he loved, and a tiny little flat that he was proud to call home.

‘That reminds me Kev. What are you doing sleeping at my place when you only live on the next floor up?’

‘You tell me George, we were going to the bar in rounds last night so I had exactly the same amount to drink as you.’

And as George heard the front door close behind Kevin, he thought that a fried breakfast would put him right and decided to check the fridge for…

eggs? . . . . none!

bacon? . . . . none

sausages… one!’

‘Looks like I’m going to have to go to the rip off merchants over the road.’ he said to himself, and checked the pockets of his trousers for his wallet.

‘Five bloody quid, is that all I’ve got left?’ he moaned, realizing that he must have over spent the night before. He recalled having a twenty and three tens when he walked into the bar last night, so he decided to calm down on the aftershocks and cocktails from then on.

George searched for his keys. They weren’t in his jeans he had on last night, as those were the jeans he had quickly thrown on an hour ago. They weren’t on the fireplace either, and after searching the whole flat, he realized where they must have been. Yes! Luckily, they were still in the keyhole of the front door where he must have left them in the early hours of the morning.

George then stood at the lift waiting, waiting some more, and then a bit longer.

‘I bet there’s some bugger moving in,’ he mumbled to himself.

‘Why is there always some bugger moving in when I’m in a hurry? No!’ George thought, ‘They can’t move into a flat on an odd floor because that wouldn’t affect Georges life, let’s move into a flat on an even floor, because that will really piss George off!’

When the lift finally arrived he stepped in, and his nose was suddenly filled with the most foul smell he had ever experienced since his late granddad dropped a floater in the toilet and didn’t use the aerosol before he left the bathroom. But too late, the doors had already closed and he had another forty five seconds before the lift would reach ground floor.

Just as George thought he would make it to the bottom, the lift stopped on the second floor to allow in a beautiful young oriental girl. She shyly entered the lift and stood as far into the corner as she possibly could.

‘I don’t bloody believe it.’ George thought, ‘Just my luck, she’s bound to think it was me!’ he cringed, and tried to make conversation to take her mind off the bad odour that was surrounding them.

George was never any good at talking to women, and no matter how hard he’d try, he’d always say the wrong thing and not realize it until it was too late. ‘But,’ he thought, ‘I’ll probably never see this girl again anyway, so here goes’.

‘Hi… you just moved in?’

The young Chinese girl looked at him, smiled, and said…

‘I sorry, I no speak mach Ingrish.’

‘Oh,’ George thought, ‘Well, do you mind showing me your tits then?’

George couldn’t resist it. He was always a bit of a joker, and he knew it would be only a matter of time before he’d get into some serious trouble, and as the lift reached the ground floor, the beautiful oriental looked at him and said…

‘I know enough get by though!’

And before George could say SHIT!!! He broke the world speed record for getting through three lots of double doors, a single door and a long corridor in less than five seconds flat.

As he made it to the front door of the tower block, he was blinded by the reflection of four inches of snow which had fallen in the last hour, and decided to ask the concierge, who was watching countless CCTV screens and looking bored out of his brain, if he had an umbrella he could borrow until he got back from the shop.

‘What?’ said Norman (the doorman), ‘A little bit of snow never hurt anyone.’

‘A little bit of snow?’ George repeated. ‘Are you kidding me? It’s a blooming blizzard out there, just give me one if you’ve got one will you?’

‘You’re a big girls blouse you are, and anyway, I haven’t got one.’

‘I suppose I would’ve looked a bit of a woolly woofter! Cheers anyway Norm, I’ll see you in a bit.’

‘Yeah!’ Norman replied, with his eyes still glued to the screens.

George open the door of Sanjays corner shop and he stepped in. The warmth surrounded him as if he were getting a cuddle off a rather large lady, and he stood motionless until the warmth had at least reached the digits of his icy feet.

‘Morning boss.’ Sanjay said cheerfully in his Indian accent.

‘Hi Sanjay, you sound like you’re in a good mood. Have you won the lottery or something?’

‘Yep!’

‘What? You’re joking!’

‘Nope, I not joking. Ten quids!’ he grinned, with a smile that went from ear to ear.

‘I wouldn’t bother, what can you do with a measly ten quid?’

‘Probably buy all the things that you have come to buy off me today!’

‘Fair point.’ George admitted. ‘Anyway, I want some sausages and some eggs. How much are you going to rip me off with today then?’

‘Three quids please boss.’

‘What, three bloody quid? What a con merchant. Here, I want two pound back.’

And as George was leaving the shop, he noticed a large sign in capital letters surrounded by stars that read…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

*   MILK . . . SPECIAL OFFER   *

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

George was curious, and he turned to Sanjay and asked…

‘Sanjay?’

‘Yes boss?’

‘Explain!’

‘Out of date!’

‘Bloody foreigners.’ George mumbled to himself as he walked away into the blizzard.

Meanwhile, Kevin was thinking hard for an excuse for why George was getting someone else to ring in sick for him, but he was finding it tough. He also thought he would say that George would be back the day after next, as he knew they would end up on the drink again and probably have another hangover.

Still thinking hard, Kev dialled the number.

‘Hello, porters.’ said the voice on the other end of the line.

‘Er hello,’ said Kevin, still searching for a better excuse than the one he earlier decided on. ‘er, I’m phoning on behalf of my friend George.’

‘Which George is that? We’ve about four Georges working in this department!’

‘Er sorry, George Ramsay.’

‘Hmm, what about him?’ The man on the other end of the line asked as if he were watching something interesting on the television.

‘Er… he won’t be in until Friday because er…’ Kevin was struggling now and wished he had never agreed to phone his workplace on his behalf.

‘Tut . . . What’s wrong with him this time then?’

‘Er… he’s got the shits… Yes, that’s it… He’s got the shits.’

‘Oh, is that right? You don’t sound very convincing to me! Who is this?’

‘It’s Kev, his friend, George can’t get off the toilet. Have you got a problem with that? Are you calling me a liar? I’ll come straight down there and knock you out you cheeky sod!’

‘Woah, calm down pal, there’s no need to get your knickers in a twist, It’s just that, well . . . he always seems to have the shits on his birthday, do you know what I mean?’

‘Yeah, he’s very unfortunate isn’t he?’ Kevin replied in a sarcastic tone.

‘Well I don’t believe you, but thanks for phoning anyway, and tell him not to be late on Friday, Ok?’

‘Will do,’ said Kevin, ‘Bye!’

He was pleased that that conversation was over and decided not to tell George what the excuse was that he had given.

When George finally made it back to the tower block, he decided to go up to his flat in the odd numbered lift, as he was hoping that he wouldn’t bump into the oriental girl he had earlier embarrassed himself in front of.

He entered the lift and pushed the button with the number seventeen on it, as he’d ‘rather walk down a flight than up’ he thought. With the key in the lock he opened the door, and to his amazement, there were lots of letters with hand writing on them scattered over the doormat.

George was so used to receiving letters that were usually bills, statements, and ‘You’ve been specially selected by our computer’ type nonsense. He picked them up and headed for the sitting room to reclaim his place in the comfortable chair, and as he opened the first letter, his jaw dropped to the floor. It started to sink in straight away, he dreaded the day when he’d see a card with these words printed inside.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

YOU ARE

40

TODAY

Lots of love

from Mick and Bob.

XX

Michael and Robert, (fifteen and ten), were Georges two boys from his first marriage. A marriage that George was only thankful for, for producing the two boys he loved so much, and missed continuously when he was not with them.

Michael was a big strong boy who was already two inches taller than himself, yet very sensitive and very kind. But Robert was the type of boy who found the best things in the world were making fart noises with his hand under his armpit, and sneaking a taste of his dads beer when he wasn’t looking. But George loved there little faults and in his eyes, they were just perfect.

Then George suddenly realized something… ‘This is it, it’s all downhill from now on. Getting old, going to get wrinkles, my eyesight will start to go, I’ll have to dye my hair to hide the grey, and I’ll probably start moaning at bus queues.’

Then he giggles, picturing himself wearing underpants that cover his naval, wearing a flat cap, and buying himself a walking stick, even if he would only use it to give people directions.

‘It had to happen sometime.’ he admitted to himself as he picked up the cups off the floor and tried to find a place in the kitchen sink.

George was never any good at keeping the kitchen clean, any other room he didn’t mind, but the kitchen?

The kitchen was the only place he hadn’t decorated yet, and he didn’t like being in there. That was the place where the little old woman who had lived there before him was found rotting away. No visitors for weeks on end, and wondering if you’re ever going to see anyone before you ‘pop off’. ‘What a horrible existence.’ George thought.

Then, rather hurriedly, George had to race to the toilet as the previous nights intake was about to become an out-take.

‘Must’ve been that kebab!’ he thought, ‘Plenty of times I’ve had that amount to drink and I’ve been alright! Yes! Definitely the kebab.’

George didn’t know if he was having a number one or a number two, ‘Certainly sounds like a number one’ he thought, and couldn’t believe his ears when…

RIING… RING…

‘I don’t bloody believe it’, he shouted at the telephone in the hallway. ‘I’ve started so I’ll finish!’

George was amazed to find the telephone still ringing, even after the second flush! It was his fiancé Stephanie.

‘Hello,’

‘Hi love, happy birthday, how’s your head?’

‘Oh, hi Steph… to be honest with you love, it’s not my head, it’s my backside that’s giving me gyp.’

‘Well . . . serves you right, you were both drinking silly drinks all night.’

‘It was that kebab love, I’m sure of it!’

‘Yeah right!’ she said, and she didn’t believe him, ‘So, what did you tell them at work then?’

‘Don’t know, Kev hasn’t got back to me yet.’

‘Oh no, you didn’t get that Kev to phone in for you, did you? You know what he’s like.’

‘It’ll be alright, he’ll think of something good, I bet you. Anyway, saying as I’m not at work tonight, do you fancy going down to Raff’s for a few?’

‘Yeah ok, I haven’t been down there for a while.’ she said sarcastically.

‘Thought you liked going to Raffs, it’s a good laugh.’

‘I do, I was just joking, I’ll be down about Seven Ok? Oh, will you get me a lottery ticket on your way down to the pub?’

‘Yeah, no bother love, which numbers do you want?’

‘Any will do, choose some we’ll be able to remember though, just in case we lose our ticket, ok?’

‘Just leave it to me love, I’m feeling lucky tonight.’ But George never did carry any real luck.

‘And if I’m staying at yours tonight, keep that bottle of wine in the fridge will you? There’s nothing worse than a warm bottle of wine.’

‘Ok love, gotta go.’ and he really ‘did’ need to go. ‘I’ll see you at seven ok?’

‘Right, love you.’

‘Yeah, so do I!’

And George knew his abdominal muscles were about to tense, and they did,but he never made it to the bathroom in time.

A few hours later, George looked out of the kitchen window to check the weather. The blizzard was no more, the snow had stopped, and he noticed the branches on the trees weren’t swaying like they were earlier. So he decided not to wear his jacket tonight as he didn’t want to carry it around with him everywhere they went.

Because it was only ten to six, he thought he’d have a few in the bar with the boys before Steph turned up, as the bar had a few undesirables that sometimes got a bit out of hand.

The lift came almost immediately this time and he was relieved that the smell of dirty nappies had vanished from the air. The doors closed, and he watched the numbers above the door decrease in multiples of two, then his heart stopped as well as the lift, on the floor that the oriental girl got in.

George silently prayed to himself.

‘Please God, no.’ he prayed.

‘Harrow gain.’ the same girl said cheerfully.

‘Hello there,’ George grinned and tried to think of an excuse for his behaviour on their first encounter.

‘Listen, about before… er,’ Nothing came to his mind, until…

‘I… THINK… BEFORE… WAS… MISS… UNDER… STAN… DING!’

He thought that speaking in broken English would help for some reason.

‘Yes, you do speak too quickly.’

‘Thank God for that.!’ George sighed with relief, as he thought she mustn’t have understood what he had said earlier.

‘I happy you notice breasts, I just got. You like?’

‘Gotta go,’ George said without looking at her, and he got out of there before he could say ‘another’ SHIT!

Most of the snow had already turned to slush, and he jokingly asked Norman if he had any Wellingtons he could borrow until he returned.

‘Piss off you queer.’ he said, and they both fell about laughing until George stepped outside into the biggest puddle he had ever seen since the people in the upstairs flat got high whilst running the bath.

As George stepped into Sanjays shop for the second time that day he was greeted in the usual way.

‘Hello there boss, you forgetting something?’

‘Yeah, the other half wants me to get her a lottery ticket.’

‘Ha ha,’ Sanjay laughed, ‘you see? you see? You mock me and now you come to your senses. You feeling lucky eh?’

‘I told you Sanjay, It’s for the other half!’

George was annoyed that he wasn’t believed, and he tried to think of some numbers he’d remember easily.

‘Four, because that’s my birthday, er twenty eight’s our Stephs birthday, six is my brother and mothers birthday, er, twelve is my dad’s,’ Now he was struggling, ‘Oh yes, and thirteen.’

Thirteen was George and Stephanie’s lucky number, as there first date was on Friday the thirteenth, George was born in sixty seven which came to thirteen, and Stephanie was born in seventy six which also came to thirteen. Being happy with his choice of numbers, he walked over to the counter and handed the ticket to Sanjay, whose permanent cheesy grin turned to a frown and said…

‘You are being one number short, which one are you wanting?’

‘Am I? Er, don’t know, you choose.’

‘Ok boss, now… let me think, er, twenty seven.’ said Sanjay with his cheesy grin returning.

‘Why twenty seven?’ George asked.

‘I’m being twenty seven.’ he said, still grinning.

‘Get stuffed.’ George said, in disbelief.

‘Sorry?’ Sanjay was puzzled.

‘Nothing, just an expression, twenty seven it is then.’

George left the shop and put the ticket safely away in his front left pocket of his jeans, then walked wearily down the steep hill in the already melting snow towards his local.

He soon started fantasizing about what he could do if he really did have a few million in the bank. ‘A house, a car, or better still, a brand new Harley Davidson.’ Would I go public? Would I keep it to myself? What if people found out? But it didn’t matter, he had never won anything in his life over a tenner. ‘To fantasize about things like that are silly’ he thought. ‘Now, fantasizing about something that’s within your grasp is more realistic,’ he thought to himself, ‘like a nice second hand car, or trying something new with your girlfriend’. Those were the things George fantasized about.

Just then, he recognized the silhouette of a bald guy that was a hundred yards in front of him, and he tried to catch up without landing on his rear.

‘Kev.’ he shouted,

‘Kev, wait up.’

When George finally caught up with Kev, it wasn’t long before they were arguing about who was going to get the first round of drinks in, and as usual George was at the bar first.

59010.jpg

CHAPTER TWO

‘Bottle of Brown ale love, and er, one for the ugly bird on my left thanks.’

‘Hey, you cheeky sod,’ said Kevin whilst giving George a dead arm. ‘Don’t listen to numb nuts here, I’ll have a pint of lager thanks.’

‘That’ll be four ninety thanks George.’ said Adele, who was what all the lads thought, the classiest barmaid in the town. Everybody wondered what a girl like her was doing working in a dump like Raff’s, but they didn’t care, and were happy with the view she displayed night after night.

When George put his hand in his pocket to pay up, he suddenly realized something.

‘Kev?’

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Have you got anything on you?’

‘What? You mean you’ve came out with no money? I now it’s your birthday and all that, but you can’t expect me to pay for you all…’

George interrupted.

‘I’ll pay you back, I always do. I just forgot to go to the cash point, that’s all.’

‘Well I must admit,’ confessed Kevin, ‘You’ve always paid me back on time in the past. How much were you wanting to borrow?’

‘Twenty pound should do it I think.’

‘Twenty pound? That’ll leave me with next to nothing, will Fifteen do?’

‘Yeah, cheers Kev, the other half might get me a couple when she turns up later anyway.’

Although it was only 6:15pm, the atmosphere was rocking. There were all the regular alcoholics, sitting in their seats that they had put their names on so many years ago, the jukebox was at a fair level, and the left overs of the darts team were still there from the match that afternoon.

Raffle’s was the kind of place that had low prices and a regular happy hour that attracted the pensioners in the daytime, and the unemployed at night. But as word had spread, it was soon full of students, gothics, punks, you name it, and it wasn’t long before the jukebox had lost most of the hits from the eighties downward. No more Cliff, Mud, Del Shannon, and most of the golden oldies that once had everyone singing the wrong words and doing silly dances to had gone. Yes! Raffles had certainly changed over the last couple of years.

Even though it was only a few hours since George had sobered up, the famous drink of his home town was going down well, and he was about to light up when he felt a hard slap in the center of his back, and he heard someone sing happy birthday to him so fast, that he could only recognize the tune.

‘You alright matey?’ Gary shouted over the noise of the jukebox.

‘Gary?’ George was surprised, ‘What are you doing working tonight, is there a match on?’

‘No match on tonight George, I’m down for your birthday, did you think I forgot?’

‘I didn’t even know you knew!’ and he felt he’d better not tell him that the do was in fact the night before.

‘Kev told me last week, and I thought I’d better make sure you don’t cause any bother, because you know what you’re like with a couple of bottles in you.’

‘What are you talking about? Well behaved I am Gary, cause no bother!’

‘I know I know,’ Gary said laughing. ‘What do you want, bottle of brown?’

‘Does a fat girl sweat?’ George asked, thinking it was obvious.

Gary was probably the oldest doorman around, but he was still a fit guy who worked out every day so he could impress the girls. He had such a strong accent that even people from the same area sometimes had a problem understanding what he was saying. It was as if he had so much to say and very little time to say it, but George had known Gary a very long time, and there weren’t many people George would call a great friend, but this was one of them.

Not long had passed when the bar was already becoming too crowded and too loud to hear each other speak, so they decided to drink up and wander through to the lounge next door. Gary went through first and cleared the way like he did when he was working on the door, followed by Kevin, then George. The lounge had also filled up and they were lucky to find a couple of spare stools at the bar.

Just as George was about to sit down, he was again tapped on the back, and when he turned around, it was not who he was expecting to see.

‘Hello stranger, long time no see.’

‘Bloody hell, Vicky? Is that you? It’s been a long time.’

‘Yes, nearly twenty years to be precise.’

‘What are you doing in here? Never thought I’d see you you in this bar.’

‘Well, I’ve been avoiding the place to tell you the truth. The thing is, well… is there any where we can go and chat?’

‘Not really Vicky, you see, my fiancé will be in soon, and to be honest, she doesn’t do the ‘meet my ex girlfriend’ thing very well.’

‘Fiancé?’ asked Vicky.

‘Yeah, the date’s not set yet or anything but…’

‘Listen George, just forget I ever came eh? I have to go.’

‘Wait Vic, don’t go yet.’

But she was on her way out through the door and into the street.

‘Want you back eh George?’ asked Adele from behind the bar.

‘Can’t keep their hands off me, you know how it is.’

George, Kevin and Gary had just sat themselves down at the bar when the air was all of a sudden filled with a terrible sound! It was Kevins older brother Trevor singing his heart out.

‘AH,GA, DO DO DO, push mine… .’

‘TREV!’ they all shouted in unison,

‘APPLE SHAKE THE TREE,’

‘SHUT UP!’ more people joined in.

‘What’s the matter with you lot? It’s a good tune this.’ and he carried on singing.

‘TO THE LEFT, TO THE . . . .’

‘Trev,’ George said with a desperate tone, if you think this is a good tune, I’m going to have to show you some more… modern stuff, you know? Like from this century!’

‘You don’t know what you’re all talking about, you lot. This hasn’t been out that long.’

‘About as long as Beethoven!’ a voice from the entrance to the lounge shouted over, and it was Georges fiancé Stephanie, looking as gorgeous as ever.

‘Hello love, come and sit down. What do you want to drink?’ George asked.

‘I’ll have half a dry cider, if you’re buying that is,’

‘Of course I’m buying, why wouldn’t I?’

‘Well,’ said Stephanie, ‘after what you and Kev drank last night I’m surprised you’ve got anything left!’

Stephanie wasn’t angry with him, she was just teasing him a bit, and as George began to explain how most of his money the previous night went on a taxi to get his fiancé home, Stephanie had already guessed how he had money in his pocket and interrupted his explanation.

‘How much have you borrowed off Kev this time then?’

‘Just Fifteen.’

‘Well I’ve got plenty tonight, wages went in this morning.’

‘Great!’ George said, as he didn’t want an early night.

George ordered his fiancé a dry cider and paid Adele the £1.25.

While she was pouring the drink, George turned around and saw the ugliest excuse for a woman he had ever seen. He realized that it was the person who was tasting Kevins tonsils the night before, and he thought he had better warn Kevin.

‘Kev,’ he whispered, ‘Kev!’ he then shouted.

Kevin turned around and realized why George was trying to grab his attention. Was this the one who he had scored with last night? ‘She was much better looking last night’ he thought to himself, but it didn’t take him long to see why he was getting a few sniggers off the others, and when the truth really hit him, Kevins face began to resemble a picture by Picasso that had not yet been seen by the art world.

‘Did you know? Last night?’ Kev hissed through his teeth.

‘What do you mean? I did ask if you knew what you were doing, didn’t I?’

George had to quickly think of an excuse for why he didn’t tell Kevin of his bad feeling when he saw that this ‘girl’ must have had a rather large pen knife in ‘her’ front pocket at the time of snogging his pal in the pub doorway.

‘Well,’ said George, ‘I didn’t want to interrupt, I mean, you looked very happy and that, and I thought, well… if he wants to swap spit with a man it’s up to…’

‘I feel sick!’ Kevin finally said, and struggled to make it to the gents in time and everyone viewed the half digested sandwich he had eaten for his tea.

‘Oh, that’s foul that.’ Stephanie said, sounding as if she too was going to be sick.

‘Don’t you be sick mind.’ George warned. ‘I want a good night tonight, and I don’t want anyone looking over and thinking you’re drunk this soon on.’

‘I’ll not, I’ll be all right in a minute. It wasn’t the sight of it, it’s the smell! It’s worse than that time in the lift at yours.’

George was confused.

‘How do you know about that?’

‘Eh?’

‘Nothing, nothing, doesn’t matter.’ and George emptied his bottle quicker than a Ford Cortina’s radiator.

‘Come on love,’ said Stephanie, ‘let’s throw a few coins in the jukebox eh? See if we can show these old cronies a few moves. What do you say?’

‘Yeah, come on then.’ said George as he searched his pockets for a couple of pound coins.

‘There was a song on the radio today that took me back to the time when we first got together, but I don’t know if it’s on here, let’s see.’

George didn’t have a clue of which song she was talking about, and as Stephanie was searching through the list of songs, George thought he’d better play along with it, as he didn’t want to upset her or make her think he couldn’t remember their first night together.

Although it was what he had always wanted to happen, and was over the moon when it did, he couldn’t remember much of it. The bottles were emptying quickly that night so he would have enough Dutch courage to ask her out on a date…, and