I wake up in my brother’s lounge room and straining
a glance across at the red digital display to my right I read “13:15”, which I
soon realise means I have just had an unbroken thirteen-hour sleep. I lie there staring up at the ceiling for a
minute or so and then when I try to roll over onto my side I feel my whole
body’s heaviness. My head thumps repeatedly and I feel like I could vomit at any moment.
I feel absolutely horrendous and
decide immediately that lying on my back and staring up at the ceiling will do
for now. I slowly begin to recall the
events of the last few days and the flight back last night. As I lie there, barely able to move, I have
perhaps my first proper realisation that this needed to stop; I needed to calm
down and take a break otherwise I would probably kill myself before long. I’d also had enough of waking up on other people’s
floors or in strange rooms I didn’t recognise. I’d had enough.
TWO WEEKS AGO
I was in The George and Dragon, down one of the
narrow back streets of Brighton – one of our most common haunts for a night’s
drinking. It was cool in there; kind of
like grungy and a little bit ‘sticky’ in places, but it had character, and a
hell of a lot of stories to tell if it could’ve talked. It had been a quiet and chilled one tonight;
a few laughs, a few amusing tales told. I looked at
my watch at ten past ten and figured I’d probably have one more and call it a
night. Tomorrow was Thursday, which was
usually more lively anyway, tended to be a bit madder; so I supposed that
everyone would be feeling the same and say good
night, same time tomorrow chaps. Sophie
had been busily texting now for about half an hour and I thought it a bit rude;
but I knew what Soph was like so I wasn’t too bothered really, nor was I gonna
bother her; it was her business.
‘So you seein’ that Russian bird again then
Spots?’ enquired Terry over the general chatter.
‘Polish,’ corrected Spotty.
‘Polish…whatever; you been…err,’
‘Not really like,’ Spotty shrugged his
shoulders. I had heard something from
Stace about Spotty and a foreign girl.
‘Ahhh, she sounded well nice,’ said Sophie
sympathetically, though only taking a brief glance up at us from her phone,
that she was still mid-texting in her lap.
Soph’s hair tonight was burgundy coloured and spiked up a little; quite
refined by her standards.
‘When was this like?’ I asked.
‘Friday night,’ said Terry, pointing at
Spotty across the table from him, ‘this lad somehow found his way into some
foreign student night,’ he laughed, ‘what was the story again Spots?’
Spotty was rolling himself a cigarette,
which he then licked before sealing it deftly, ‘it’s my mate…he works with this
Russian guy, Ukrainian or whatever. We’d
had a couple of spliffs, a few beers and we were at a loose end. So my mate rings up this Russian…Ukrainian
lad, and he’s at this private party in some club. First off, can I just say it was a fucking long conversation they had on the phone; my god…’ I laughed, as did
Terry at Spotty’s humourous way of putting things. Tel was nodding and smiling broadly as if
he’d already heard the story before, but was more than happy to sit through it
again. ‘I mean…it had been a good night
anyway but he left me stood there freezing my nuts off;’ he tapped the cigarette down on the table top
repetitively, ‘I was seriously going to leave him there…seriously; the guy was taking absolute liberties.’
‘It couldn’t have been that long,’ added Stace.
‘It was!
I kept signalling to him to hurry the fuck up. It was Stuart,’ he looked to me now as I’d
met Stuart before and I nodded in recognition, ‘you know how he goes on
sometimes.’ I didn’t, but anyway.
‘Cut a long story short, he’s evidently trying
to talk his way into this party, but he keeps having to repeat himself. I mean, he
keeps going over and over the same stuff – they kept seeming to agree
everything but then he would repeat the same bit of the plan all over again –
as if he couldn’t cope without knowing it off by heart or something.’
‘So get to the party bit,’ urges Bell.
‘I’m getting there, I’m getting there,’ he
lights up the cigarette and Stace has lit up too next to me. I would like one but I’m really trying to give
up. I am tempted anyhow but concentrate
on the story, hoping the urge will go away.
‘So we get there and even after all the
planning and the endless conversation, we get to the club – which I swear, I
know Brighton like the back of my hand but I ain’t never been down this street before, but anyway – we get there and
Stu starts moaning and gesticulating wildly – right outside the club –
that Alex (that’s the Russian’s name) should be there to meet us; “he should be
fucking out here,” he’s gesturing,
“where the fuck is he?”’ Spotty is
miming the actions and the serious, angry look on his face brings out giggles
around the table. ‘So I’m looking at
Stuey,’ he continues, his eyes flicking around the table at all of us, ‘about
to tell him, “look it’s not really the end of the world like, maybe it’s not
meant to be,” when I notice these two great big doormen looking at us. I mean, they are big. One of ‘em’s got this
great big Mars Bar down his cheek and he’s wearing this tight black jacket and
he looks like some evil Bosnian straight out of the fuckin’ KGB or something,’
I have to put my beer down as I nearly slop it everywhere laughing; everyone is
laughing, ‘so I’m trying to signal to Stuart, trying to somehow say with my
eyes: “look mate, there’s two great big evil bastards over there who are
looking at us as if they want to kill us,”
but then this tall bloke comes out of the club and chats briefly to one of the
doormen; Stuey spots him and I work out it must be Alex, ‘cos Stu starts to
walk towards him at the door. He walks
up there with all the confidence in the world, as if he’s just going to walk
straight into the club, never mind the doormen.
I’m shaking my head at this point thinking, “Do I want to just leave now?
Do I really want to show that I have any association with this
bloke?” As I amble towards the door
anyway, both doormen put an arm out to stop Stuey, but the guy’s got the crust
to look up in surprise at this point, as if he has genuinely just noticed these two big bastards
stood there!’
I have finished my drink now and really
want another one. It’ll be last orders
soon and I really want a big double but I’m not going to the bar just yet, I
need to hear the rest of the story.
‘They’re looking at him like there’s NO
CHANCE he’s getting in there; “this is party,” says the one bouncer in a thick
Eastern European accent, shaking his head, “students only,” he adds, “are you
student?” Obviously we’re not but then Alex is speaking to them and I’m so impressed
at how calm he is and he even gives me a smile and a wink as he’s talking. It’s at this point that I think, “he’s going
to get us in here, there really isn’t
a problem,” and I quicken my step as I sense the bouncers weakening and the
next thing I know we’re being welcomed in – but even then Stuart tries to give
the Bouncers a dirty look as he walks past them into the club. Unbelievable!’
Everyone is loving the story and I realise how much I adore nights like
these when the vibe is good and the drink is flowing. There is a pause as Terry offers everyone
another drink and –of course – everybody accepts. As I am at the bar helping Tel with the order
I hear Stace ask ‘Where’s Caine tonight?’ and Bell answers that he spoke to him
a few hours ago and that he sounded completely wasted and that he was probably
having trouble moving from his couch. It
was a familiar story. ‘Carry on then,’
said Terry, laying the last of the drinks down on the already cluttered table,
full of empty glasses and bottles.
‘So anyway,’ Spotty laughs quickly, smiling
from ear to ear and shaking his head with a
far off look in his eyes, ‘it’s a crazy night. Half the girls in there…well half the people in fact, seem to be wearing
these tall, curly wigs, like white or red or yellow and people are dressed up
like I don’t know what. I could’ve just
stood there looking at people and that would’ve constituted a good night, I’m
telling you. It was like some fucked up Rocky Horror Show stroke Elvira stroke Barry Lyndon theme party or something; but there were some
seriously fit girls in there; sorry,’ he gestured to Stace and Sophie as if to
apologise for offending them. As
if! They’d heard it all and more from us
over the years.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ answered Soph, her
phone in her pocket now and glowing with enthusiasm for the story as she always
did, ‘carry on love!’
‘And I’m getting some really mixed looks
and I don’t know why,’ Spotty continued, ‘I mean, I guess I was over-casual for
such a night but I figured it kind of worked in a strange way…perhaps…I don’t
know,’ he shook his head again, ‘so then Stu introduces me to Alex and then
we’re at this big table with about seven blokes and two girls plus me and Stuey
and everyone’s smoking and chatting closely into each other’s ears, but there
was a nice atmosphere in there – kind of friendly, but cool at the same
time. I look around and there’s some
girls dancing, two of these girls with the wigs…and I don’t know why – I
haven’t danced all night and rarely do I ever
dance come to that, but I instinctively get up and start fuckin’ boogying. I don’t even know what the song is, but before
I know it this girl is chatting to me like she’s dead interested and it turns
out she’s from Poland and where am I from?
I think she knew I was English – surely she did – but I thought at the
time she was expecting me to say the Czech
Republic or Hungary or
something. Anyway, I’m really getting on
with this girl and I’m starting to feel a real vibe happening, but then Alex is
up on the dance floor talking to me, right close to my ear;
“You like this girl?” he’s asking – and I
don’t know what he means by it! You know
how Russians – or Ukrainians or whatever he is – you know how they talk
sometimes if you’re not used to it? To
me he sounded almost threatening, so
I’m thinking, “Shit, this is his fucking girlfriend”
and I’m terrified he’s going to take me out; but then he grabs my neck and back
of my shoulder, like in a really strong grip and he says almost in to my ear now, “this is nice girl,
you hear me?” I am still trying to dance
opposite her at this point; I mean I’m thinking: “I like you Alex, but firstly I can SEE she’s a nice girl – I’d worked
that bit out – and secondly, I kind of seemed to be doing alright without you
matey,” but all I say is, “yea, yea,” or something dumb like that and then
there’s a crowd dancing with us and the moment is lost; soon after that the
girl disappears.’
‘Oh no, so what happened?’ asked Soph,
excitedly sitting up and clapping her hands together.
‘No it was alright man!’ he exclaimed with
a broad grin on his face, ‘I met her at the bar about fifteen minutes
later. I don’t know where she’d been,
but we start…you know…at the bar and then at the end of the night she came back
to mine.’
‘Good work sunshine,’ I smiled, ‘so was it
worth it?’
‘Aye it were a good shag,’ he said. Everyone laughed. Spotty’s Yorkshire accent, where he was
originally from, coming to the fore as it occasionally did.
‘Tell them what you were telling me
yesterday,’ urged Terry, beaming.
‘What’s that?’
‘About, you know, the apparent boyfriend
and stuff,’
‘Oh right; well we’re back at mine and…well,
we’d done it…and then we’re lying in bed and Eva – that’s her name – starts
going on about how her boyfriend doesn’t do this and doesn’t do that. So I ask “where was your boyfriend tonight?”
thinking that he could’ve been at the party and I could be in a spot of bother
like, but she says, “Dusseldorf,” and
laughs and I laugh too.’ He sighs and
looks off dreamily for just a moment, ‘but…I don’t think anything else is gonna
happen with her.’
‘But I thought you said she was nice?’
Stace said before taking a slug of her drink; she appeared to be quite
drunk.
1) 'I write
what I feel. I kind of think that if you don't write what you want then what's
the point of writing? Sticking to conventions...I tried that and my writing
stank,' 
