Norman Leaves the Nest

Norman’s eyes darted around the coach, looking for a means of escape or something to attack Dominic with. He was out of luck on both counts. He wasn’t sat next to the emergency exit door, although that was probably a good thing. Hurling oneself out of a moving vehicle wasn’t the best idea. Knowing Norman’s luck, he would have probably ended up falling onto the road in front of a car approaching the other way. That is, if the door didn’t jam first. The idea of grabbing something to attack Dominic with was also laughable. There was no way he could grab said weapon and deliver a blow, before Dominic jabbed him with his blade. Besides, Norman was far too scared to be able to do it anyway.

‘What…do you want?’ he stammered, unable to conceal how terrified he was.

Norman had been in a fair few fights before, and had been hit a lot. He wasn’t what you would call tough, but he was accustomed to physical violence. However, he’d never been threatened with a knife before. Little Werthing didn’t suffer from any knife or gun crime. Even the local druggies operated with their fists as opposed to weapons. So, it was a real shock to be sat next to someone with a sharp blade in their hand, even if it was currently retracted.

‘You ruined my life Norman,’ Dominic growled.

Norman eyed the man. His eyes burned with a fierce rage. He really meant what he was saying.

‘It’s not my fault you got caught,’ Norman said, unable to help himself.

It was a foolish thing to say and he noticed Dominic move his finger slightly, so it was resting on the Stanley knife button.

‘You may not be responsible for me getting caught, but it’s your fault I got convicted,’ Dominic said in a low voice.

The coach wasn’t that full and luckily for Dominic there wasn’t anyone sat in the seats in front of or behind them. However, he still spoke quietly just in case. The lack of nearby passengers wasn’t so favourable for Norman. He scanned above him, hoping to spot a camera. Nowadays there often was on public transport. But unfortunately, he couldn’t see any sign of one. Even if there was, Dominic had sensibly chosen to keep his knife concealed under his bag.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t tell the police anything,’ Norman said, forcing himself to look Dominic straight in the eye.

Dominic pushed the button and the top of the knife slid out slowly.

‘You’re lying.’

Norman swallowed; his eyes focused on the knife.

‘I wouldn’t do that to you.’

‘Stop,’ Dominic hissed, a little louder.

Someone a few rows down glanced over their shoulder. Dominic gave them a friendly smile. The nosy passenger frowned for a moment, but then eventually lost interest and turned back around. Dominic’s smile faded and he turned his attention back to Norman once more.

‘I’m not stupid Norman. You were found with the card, not me. The only way for you to walk would have been to incriminate me.’

Norman said nothing. The knife hadn’t come out any further but if he kept saying things to upset Dominic it most certainly would.

‘And in answer to your question I want five years of my life back,’ Dominic said.

Norman glanced out the window. The coach was following signs to the M4. Soon they would be on the motorway and he would feel even more trapped.

‘I can’t give you that. What do you want me to do…walk into the nearest police station and state it was me, not you?’

Dominic shook his head, smiling, although he didn’t look that amused.

‘That won’t work. They were clearly onto me before that. But what you can do is get me what I’m owed.’

‘And what’s that?’ Norman asked apprehensively.

The coach went over a bumpy patch of road and Dominic slid a little towards him. Norman inhaled sharply, shimmying further against the window. Somehow being accidentally stabbed by Dominic seemed worse than intentional.

‘Money, five years’ worth,’ Dominic stated plainly.

Norman looked at the con man in disbelief. The coach driver’s voice crackled into life on the overhead intercom. For a brief second there was a glimmer of hope. That maybe Dominic’s Stanley knife had been caught on camera and the driver was announcing that he would be pulling over, while they waited for the police to come to the rescue. All his hopes were dashed however. The driver was simply welcoming everyone on board, and notifying passengers of the trip and expected time of arrival.

‘I… can’t do that. I don’t have any money. Surely you remember?’ Norman eventually said.

His legs were trembling, despite being sat down. It was a miracle he hadn’t wet himself already, but there was still time.

‘I remember,’ Dominic said bitterly. ‘Well, then you’ll just have to help me out.’

‘With what?’ Norman said, not liking the slightly crazed glint in Dominic’s eye.

The man was unhinged. He was also a lot more terrifying than when they’d met previously. The main reason being fairly obvious. However, it was also the accent. People from Yorkshire could indeed be terrifying. The Yorkshire Ripper being a prime example. However, something about the accent just came across as very warm and friendly. The Reading accent on the other hand is harsh, rough edged and slightly aggressive, and that isn’t even factoring in the person speaking.

‘A job,’ Dominic said.

‘What sort of job?’ Norman queried, starting to feel really queasy.

Maybe if he was sick on Dominic, he could use the distraction to somehow get away. How he wasn’t sure, but it would certainly take the man by surprise. Further down the coach, two young men were having a loud conversation. There were quite rowdy, presumably gearing up for a day of debauchery in the capital city.

‘All in good time. I’m not going to risk telling you the details now. Not after what happened last time I entrusted you with a job,’ Dominic replied.

He was referring to the stolen bank card. Norman chastised himself. If only he’d not gone back to the pub. If he hadn’t, he would have never have bumped into the Thompson Twins and stayed in the warm embrace of Elise. He clutched one of his legs, in a feeble attempt to stop it shaking. It continued to vibrate through his palm.

‘Shouldn’t you be…I don’t know…. running away? Fleeing to another country or something?’ he asked Dominic.

Dominic nodded.

‘Oh, I fully intend to but only after we do this job and I’m paid what I am owed. I want to be set up comfortably when I relocate. I haven’t worked hard all these years, only to end up hiding in some hovel in the ground.’

Norman wanted to point out two things. One, that he didn’t think stealing people’s cards and identities and galivanting around the country was hard work. And two that he was clearly delusional bordering on insane risking another con, being currently on the run from the authorities. Of course, he didn’t say either of these things though. Not when a Stanley knife was pointed at his chest.

A tall man rose from one of the seats several rows down and began making his way down the aisle to the toilets. Norman stared at him intently, his eyes wide. The man, who was bald and heavyset, narrowed his own eyes at Norman as he got nearer. Dominic was watching the man too but occasionally glancing away, so as not to arouse suspicion. Norman cleared his throat loudly as the man was passing. He paused.

‘What?’

Norman said nothing. The heavyset man had stopped and was glaring at him. Norman felt the knife inch closer towards him.

‘Nothing,’ he mumbled.

‘Come again?’ the man said, not hearing.

‘…sorry, thought you were…someone else,’ Norman stammered.

The man looked at Dominic, who simply shrugged in response. Norman’s lips felt very dry. The man carried on to the toilets, looking a little irked. Norman’s heart sank. Probably, his one and only opportunity had gone.

‘Don’t try that again,’ Dominic said sharply, leaning in very close to Norman’s face.

He could feel the con man’s hot breath on his cheek. On reflection he’d made the right decision. A part of him had thought that Dominic was possibly bluffing. He was a con man after all, not a killer. But now Norman wasn’t so sure. The bloke had clearly gone off the rails and seemed too unpredictable to risk calling his bluff.

Then, rather bizarrely, Dominic yawned loudly. Norman observed him curiously. Dominic’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, underlined by dark bags. He looked like he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep. This didn’t come as a huge surprise, considering he had recently escaped prison and was on the run from the police. Norman also doubted that he’d been able to sleep well while in prison.

He was a good-looking man and would have undoubtedly drawn the attention of the other inmates. Despite the fact that Dominic was clearly exhausted and sleep deprived, Norman still didn’t attempt anything.

‘What ever happened to those two birds we bumped into in Clatchdale?’ Dominic asked.

The coach was on the M4 now and the journey had suddenly become a lot smoother and unimpeded by stops. Norman knew what Dominic was doing. Forcing conversation to stop himself succumbing to the rhythmic trance like effect of the coach, as it rumbled on towards its destination. 

‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Norman replied, feigning innocence.

It was no use. Dominic was a professional liar and could see right through Norman’s fib.

‘Give us your phone,’ he demanded.

‘What?’ Norman said, outraged. ‘Why?’

Dominic slid the Stanley knife out yet further. Begrudgingly, Norman got his phone out of his pocket and handed it to him.

‘Passcode?’

Norman considered refusing for a moment.

‘I won’t ask again,’ Dominic growled.

‘1970,’ Norman said, reminding himself that not losing his life was more important that his phone privacy.

It was quite scary how protective he was over the thing, and he couldn’t honestly tell whether it was down to the breach of privacy or his gen z umbilical cord attachment to it. Dominic unlocked the phone.

‘1970?’ he queried.

‘My dad’s birthday,’ Norman said, clearing his throat.

Dominic shrugged, seemingly uninterested and returned his attention to the phone. Norman couldn’t see the screen, as Dominic had deliberately angled it away. Ironically, if the two had been sat the other way around, he would have seen it in the reflection. However, in that scenario he would have also had a strong chance of escaping, not being blocked in.

‘Elise, that was her name,’ Dominic said, nodding.

Norman’s blood ran cold.

‘Well, according to this, the two of you have been chatting,’ Dominic went on to say.

‘And? What of it?’ Norman said, a little defensively.

Dominic studied the phone a little longer. Then, much to Norman’s surprise he returned it to him.

‘Just as well. Those two were too much hassle if you asked me.’

Norman returned the phone to his pocket, feeling decidedly rattled. Dominic must have been referring to the last message Elise had sent to him. The one telling him that she’d left. It didn’t explicitly say that she was no longer interested in him, but certainly conveyed the sentiment. Norman was just relieved that none of the texts had mentioned Bristol. The last thing he wanted was for Elise to get caught up in this.

‘What are you going to London for anyway? And don’t lie to me. I’m a good reader and you’re not a good liar,’ Dominic said.

Norman readjusted himself. His legs had stopped shaking but his muscles ached sharply from being so tense. It wasn’t just the Stanley knife that put him on edge. It was also Dominic. He just couldn’t get a read on the man. One minute he was quiet and watchful, making efforts to keep a low profile. The next he was aggressive, threatening and unhinged. But neither of these unsettled Norman as much as Dominic’s casual chit chat. In those moments he resembled his alter ego Al, and Norman found it truly terrifying.

The distinctive smell of prawn cocktail crisps filled Norman’s nostrils. It was not unusual to come across on a coach headed for London. But it felt extremely odd to Norman, considering the severity of his situation. Oddly normal and familiar.

The journey to London Victoria was only a couple of hours but as it carried on, Norman started to notice Dominic struggling to think of more topics to talk about. A few more people got up to go and use the toilet, but this time Norman didn’t try and signal for help with his eyes. It wasn’t an effective SOS technique, as evidenced by his first and only attempt with the heavyset man.

Every now and then Dominic’s eyes would start to go, as he was overcome with tiredness. At the last moment though his eyes would suddenly spring open, and he would grip the Stanley knife even tighter in his hand. This only made Norman more nervous.

Norman was the polar opposite to Dominic. He was wide eyed and alert. His adrenaline levels kept rising and dipping, each time Dominic drifted off for a moment then jerked back awake. Even though it was exhausting, sitting there constantly on edge Norman was far too terrified to allow the fatigue to overpower him.

An hour and a forty five minutes passed by and Norman spent the time looking out the window, trying to distract himself from the knife wielding maniac beside him. Usually, he couldn’t look out of windows on a moving vehicle, as it made him feel sick. However, it didn’t really make a difference on this occasion as he already felt incredibly queasy to begin with.

They passed by a long lorry and for a split-second Norman caught sight of Dominic in the reflection. His head was bent forward, tucked into his chest. Slowly, so as not to rouse him from his slumber, Norman swivelled his head around. The Stanley knife was still in Dominic’s hand but his grip had loosened a little. It was a good indicator that the man was actually asleep.

Norman’s initial thought was to try and climb over the dozing Dominic and make a break for it. But that plan didn’t hold much merit. They were on a moving coach. If Norman alerted the driver, Dominic would surely wake up. Then what? They were still on the M4. Even if the driver pulled over there would be nowhere to go. Besides, Norman very much doubted he’d be able to climb over Dominic without waking him.

This only left one other option. His gaze returned to the Stanley knife once more and he felt a flutter of nerves in his belly. He had to get the blade and turn the tables on Dominic. It wasn’t something he wanted to do. Although a teenage truant, Norman was no knife wielder. However, he didn’t have much choice. It was either that or suffer another half an hour in perpetual fear of Dominic, and whatever nefarious scheme he’d hatched up for the two of them.

Trying hard to keep his shakiness under control, Norman began to very slowly extend one of his arms towards the Stanley knife. His hand was trembling slightly but not as much as he’d thought it would. The coach was quite cool, the overhead aircons performing their job surprisingly well. Despite this, sweat clung to Norman’s body, big beads forming on his forehead and temples.

The toilet at the back of the coach flushed and Dominic frowned in his sleep. Norman froze, his arm still outstretched. Dominic muttered something inaudible but his eyes remained shut. He moved his head to the right. This didn’t help with Norman’s nerves. If Dominic were to suddenly open his eyes, he would be looking straight at Norman.

The door to the toilet cubicle opened and a small ginger boy trotted out. He looked to be about ten and was wearing a football shirt. Norman didn’t recognise the team as he knew next to nothing about football. The kid began to make his way down the aisle. Norman realised that his arm was still outstretched. Just before the ginger nut passed them, Norman decided to stick his middle finger up at the still asleep Dominic. He grinned as the boy took in the scene and put a finger to his lips. The boy grinned back, nodding, and continued down the aisle to his seat.

Norman let out an internal sigh of relief. Gingers’ may not have a soul he reflected, but at least they had a good sense of humour. When the child was back in his seat and with the coach still fairly quiet, Norman returned his attention to his all-important mission. Operation Stanley knife retrieval. Dominic seemed pretty still now. The exhaustion getting the better of him.

Norman held his breath as his hand grew ever nearer the loosely held Stanley knife. It wasn’t fully closed. Dominic hadn’t retracted it before falling asleep. It was a miracle the man hadn’t accidentally impaled himself while dreaming. Norman didn’t often wish ill on others but would have been glad if that had indeed happened. He concentrated hard. The task required dexterity and light fingers, otherwise he would end up doing exactly what he’d just fantasized happening to Dominic.

His fingers lightly clasped the sides of the Stanley knife and he was just about to carefully lift it by the handle, when a sharp blast of a horn suddenly sounded. A car had cut in front of the coach last minute, and a little too closely. Dominic jerked awake, gripping the Stanley knife tightly once more. Norman quickly retracted his hand, but not quickly enough. Dominic slashed at him viciously with the blade.

Hot pain flooded Norman’s palm and he cried out in surprise. A few of the other passengers looked around alarmed, but the driver was too busy shouting at the car in front of him to notice. Cradling his hand, Norman shrunk back against the window. It hurt something awful and he would have cried out more, if not for the shock that had taken hold of him.

‘I warned you,’ Dominic whispered sharply to him, although he too looked shock.

He’d probably lashed out with the knife, due to being half asleep and caught unaware. There was clearly concern in his face, that suggested it had never actually been his intention to use the tool as a weapon. Still, Norman wasn’t going to try anything like that again. His hand was throbbing now, like a mini heartbeat. He couldn’t look down, for fear of passing out at the sight of his own blood. Dominic was looking around, to make sure no one was paying them any attention.

‘Let me see,’ he said to Norman, gesturing at the hand.

Norman shook his head, scooching away further.

‘I need to make sure it isn’t too deep or hasn’t caught an artery. You bleeding out isn’t going to help either of us,’ Dominic responded.

Norman thought for a moment and then regrettably proffered his hand. It seemed foolish to do so, after what had happened. But the alternative was looking himself and he was pretty sure he’d pass out if he did. Dominic grabbed his hand a little roughly and gave it a close inspection. Norman realised that the Stanley knife was now sat in his lap, unguarded. It was a good opportunity but he refrained. There were too many possibilities for it to go wrong. Like what had just happened.

‘It’s only a flesh would but it’s bleeding a fair bit. Hold still,’ Dominic instructed.

Norman kept his eyes shut tightly. He had no idea what Dominic was doing, but at this moment in time he didn’t care. He just wanted it dealt with. Something was wrapped tightly around his palm, which made him wince.

‘There, that should stem the bleeding for the time being. Until we reach the station.’

Norman opened his eyes and looked down. Dominic had wrapped what looked like a handkerchief around his palm, knotted tightly in one corner. Some of the blood had already stained the thin piece of material. Norman felt his stomach lurch sickeningly.

‘Keep it out of sight,’ hissed Dominic, extracting a jumper from his bag and throwing it at Norman.

Norman did as he was told. He didn’t want to look at the bloodied handkerchief anyway. Dominic had implied it wasn’t serious but it still hurt a lot and Norman felt extremely woozy. He hoped that was due more to his queasiness over blood loss, as opposed to the actual blood loss itself.

‘You’re a damned fool you know that,’ Dominic muttered under his breath.

For once Norman couldn’t help agree with the convict con man.   

~~~

For the rest of the journey Norman had to concentrate on two things; not throwing up and not passing out. This became increasingly more difficult with time. His hand wasn’t bleeding really heavily, otherwise he would have noticed it drip from the handkerchief. However, it was enough to make him concerned.

He felt woozy and lightheaded and chose to lean forward and rest his head against the back of the seat in front of him. Dominic gave him a plastic bag to hold with his good hand, just in case he did throw up. But that was all he did. Still, the man did look fairly worried. Whether it was genuine concern for Norman’s welfare, or the worry that he might lose his hostage was unclear. Norman had his suspicions though.

‘I…don’t feel good,’ he groaned.

The coach driver had just announced that they were a few minutes away from their final destination of London Victoria.

‘We’re almost there. Just keep it together for a little longer,’ Dominic said, eyeing him gravely.

Norman’s vision was dotted with black spots and he kept experiencing horrible waves of vertigo. He forced himself to lift the jumper covering his hand, and have a look. Instantly, he regretted the decision. The handkerchief was almost entirely red. A dark burgundy shade of red. That wasn’t good. It meant that the bleeding, although not gushing, still hadn’t stopped. Norman was suddenly overcome with nausea and he stuck his face in the top of the bag Dominic have given him. Somehow though he didn’t throw up.

‘Look, we’re here,’ Dominic said, pointing out the window.

Norman removed his head from the bag and did as instructed. He’d never been to London before and so didn’t know what to look for. However, the big white building was hard to miss, not to mention it had both a sign above the entrance and one at the top of the building itself. Even so, it was hard for Norman to focus on it properly, as his head was swimming. On top of this he found he was unable to stop shivering.

‘Hey, stay awake. We’re going to need to move soon,’ Dominic said, snapping his fingers in front of Norman’s face.

Norman nodded but wished he hadn’t. After what seemed far longer than a minute, the coach finally came to a stop. The engine cut out and the passengers aboard began to climb out of their seats. It was darker than it had been before. Norman couldn’t tell if that was due to the fact they were in coach drop off area, or because his vision had severely worsened.

Dominic waited until the last other passenger was heading down to the aisle towards the exit door, before getting to his feet. He quickly slung on his backpack and helped Norman to his feet.

‘Sometime this century lads,’ called the coach driver from the front.

‘Sorry, just a moment,’ Dominic said cordially.

Norman had managed to stay upright but his legs felt like jelly. His hand was still concealed under the jumper, which rested lightly against his stomach. Dominic guided him out into the aisle.

‘I’m right behind you,’ he whispered in Norman’s ear, as the two of them walked slowly towards the front of the coach.

Norman didn’t know if that was meant to be a threat to remind him not to try anything crazy, or to reassure him that there was a safe pair of hands behind him if he needed them.

‘You alright mate?’ the coach driver said, as they passed him.

Norman had paused on the top step, caught off guard by a dizzy spell.

‘Travel sickness,’ Dominic explained.

‘He better not have thrown up back there,’ the driver exclaimed unsympathetically, and stormed off to the back of the coach.

‘Move,’ Dominic ordered bluntly.

Somehow Norman made it down the steps and moved across the bay towards the automatic door, that served as their boarding gate. Dominic was very close now, gripping Norman’s good arm to steer him in the right direction. Norman had no idea if the man still had his Stanley knife to hand, but lacked the necessary strength to find out regardless.

The coach station was busy with travellers and Norman was incredibly overwhelmed by the sheer number of bodies and faces around him. Dominic worked hard, making sure to keep Norman upright while trying to avoid bumping into people. It was impossible to dodge everyone though, and both of them were knocked into a few times. One person, who bumped into Norman, brushed his concealed hand, causing him an explosion of pain.

It woke Norman up like a shot of adrenaline, although not enough to dispel his other concerning symptoms. Somehow the pair made it to the exit without further incident. Norman really needed to lie down now but he was too weak to resist Dominic. They emerged onto a street. It was busy out here as well but there was more space. The two paused for a moment. Dominic was looking around with a frown.

On the other side of the road, Norman caught sight of two policeman walking along the pavement. They were both wearing stab vests. It was London after all. Norman was suddenly overcome with a need to get their attention. Drawing on what meniscal energy he had left in the tank; Norman managed to lift his foot and bring it down on Dominic’s.

It wasn’t a powerful stamp as Norman was in such a weakened state but he was wearing boots, not to mention it had caught Dominic off guard. So much so that his grip around Norman’s arm loosened. It was just enough for him to slip free.

Norman ran across the road. There was the blast of a car horn, as a taxi narrowly avoided him. Norman felt the whoosh of the air it was so close. He didn’t stop but carried on running to the pavement on the other side of the road. Well running wasn’t really the correct term. It was more like a frantic stagger. To anyone watching he must have looked like a suicidal drunk.

As he reached the pavement, everything flipped on its axis and thrown even more off-balance, Norman tripped over the curb and crashed down onto the hard concrete. His knees and elbows connected with the ground heavily, but he didn’t feel a thing. He was so out of it, that pain wasn’t even registering to him anymore.

There were a few shouts and the sound of running footsteps. Norman lay face down on the pavement, immobile. He was still conscious but couldn’t move. The last of his energy had been spent crossing the road. A hand seized him by the shoulder and he was rolled over onto his back. Fuzzy dark shapes crowded his vision. He blinked several times but his eyes refused to focus. He could hear voices but they were muffled and undecipherable.

‘Stand back now,’ was the only audible words he heard.

Then everything went black and Norman slipped out of consciousness.

~~~

Norman’s eyes slowly flickered open. At first all he could see was a fuzzy shadowy shape in front of his eyes, and all could hear were the low vibrations of someone talking. He blinked a couple of times. Dominic’s grinning face materialised and Norman recoiled sharply.

‘Easy Norman,’ a calm voice spoke.

It didn’t belong to Dominic. It was a woman’s voice. Norman blinked again and suddenly Dominic was gone, and he found himself presented with another face. It was a woman, which explained the voice. She was middle aged, black, with short brown hair and kind eyes. She was smiling at him. Norman relaxed slightly.

‘Here, let’s make you a little more comfortable,’ she said warmly.

Norman felt her hand under his arm but he didn’t flinch, and allowed her to help him sit up a little higher.

‘That’s better,’ she said, moving back a little.

Norman looked around. He was in a hospital ward. That much was obvious from the beds, the people sat in them and the staff milling about the area, dressed in their unmistakable scrubs.

‘How are you feeling?’ the nurse asked.

Norman returned his attention to her. She had one arm leant on the bed and was observing him closely.

‘…Groggy…but okay,’ Norman croaked.

His throat was dry and his eyes gluey from sleep, but apart from that he felt alright. He looked down and caught sight of his hands, which were resting in his lap. One of them was dressed with a bandage. It wasn’t bloody, like the handkerchief, but seeing it made him extremely nauseous.

‘I think…I’m going to be sick,’ he exclaimed, doubling forward.

Quick as a flash, the nurse was at his side, thrusting an emesis bag under his face. Norman dry retched a few times but produced no vomit. The nurse rubbed his back in circular motions.

‘Hold onto that,’ she said, lowering it gently into his hands.

Norman said nothing but took it. The nurse went silent for a minute, keeping a quiet eye on him.

‘Do you feel any pain at all?’ she eventually said.

Norman shook his head, which was a bad idea. He wasn’t in any pain but he still felt quite lightheaded and dizzy. Content that he was no longer going to throw up, he set the emesis bag down on his lap. He wanted to keep it close by just in case.

‘My hand feels a little stiff.’

‘Well, it should do. You had a few stitches,’ the nurse explained.

Norman’s nausea returned but it wasn’t as intense as before.

‘Where am I?’

‘Cleveland Clinic dear,’ the nurse replied.

Norman squinted at her badge. Her name was Harriet.

‘And how did I get here?’

‘You were found lying in the street outside Victoria Coach station,’ the nurse answered.

Unexpectedly, Norman chuckled. The image of him face down in the street popped into his mind. However, it wasn’t how it had actually been. Him, pale faced and sweaty with his blood-soaked hand. Instead, the image that presented itself was an almost slap stick representation. Like he had tripped and fallen on the ground comically, Norman Wisdom style. His chuckle turned into a laugh. Harriet’s eyes twinkled merrily.

‘Enjoying the morphine, are we?’

‘Yes, Nurse Harriet,’ Norman said, and burst into laughter again.

~~~

Norman sat in the chair next to his bed. He was still wearing the hospital gown provided and his slightly exposed legs felt a little chilly, being out from under the bedsheets. A female doctor had removed his hand bandage and was inspecting the palm closely. She was older than the nurse, somewhere in her sixties, with long blonde hair, blue eyes and many frown lines.

‘It seems to be healing up nicely,’ she commented. ‘You’re very lucky. Any deeper and you might not be sitting here now.’

Norman said nothing. He knew just how lucky he was. His dash for freedom had been a risky move, and had nearly ended up with him being splattered across the windscreen of a taxi. But it had been the right decision to make. Nurse Harriet had already explained to him how much blood he’d lost and would have continued to lose, if he hadn’t of got to those policemen in time.

The door to the ward opened and coincidentally a police officer walked in, accompanied by Nurse Harriet. Norman secretly wished that the officer was here for someone else, but knew deep down it was him he was after. This was confirmed a second later as they made their way over.

‘Sorry to interrupt Doctor McManus, but there’s a policeman here who wants a word with Norman,’ Harriet said, a little shyly.

Norman locked eyes with the police officer. The man stared back at him fixedly. Norman gulped.

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2024]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Norman’s Depressed

Norman sat perched on the edge of Evie and Divvy Dave’s floral patterned sofa, clasping a cup of tea in his hand, that gave a little tremble every now and then. As he’d been manhandled in the house, Norman’s mind had developed two terrifying theories about what was going to happen.

One, that Divvy Dave and Evie were going to torture him, or two that they were going to kill him. A third theory had entered his mind at this point which had been even worse, that it would be both. But instead, Divvy Dave had plonked him down on their sofa, while Evie had made him a cuppa. Somehow this terrified Norman even more. They weren’t exactly being friendly, although the biscuit on the side of his cup saucer was a nice touch, but the generous hospitality made him feel on edge.

At first, he didn’t want to drink the tea, for fear that it was drugged or poisoned. However eventually he succumbed, after noticing Divvy Dave kept looking at it pointedly. It was evident, that the man felt that Norman not drinking his wife’s brew was an insult to her tea making skills. Fortunately, it wasn’t drugged or poisoned, or if it was the effects hadn’t yet kicked in.

The living room they were sat in wasn’t what Norman had expected. It was, for want of a better term, a room that one would expect an elderly lady to inhabit. The sofa Norman was sat on had a sixties style pattern of flowers and plants decorating it, the television opposite him was an old-fashioned cube with a built-in relic VCR, and there was a cabinet filled with small China cat figurines next to it. A large cat clock mounted on the wall opposite Norman kept holding his gaze. It was one where the eyes moved from left to right. More worrying than the sheer amount of cat related items, was the fact that there didn’t seem to be an actual cat anywhere in sight.

‘You’re a lucky man you,’ Evie said, sitting down on the sofa next to him.

Norman would have scoffed loudly if he hadn’t been so scared. He didn’t feel like a lucky man. In fact, quite the opposite. Based on the events of the last hour he felt like an especially unlucky man. He glanced in the direction of Divvy Dave. The large brute of a man was sat in a custard yellow armchair that had seen better days. He was eyeing Norman with murderous intent, his goliath hands clenching the armrests tightly.

‘I…don’t follow,’ Norman said, looking back at Evie.

Evie pulled a face. She seemed to have calmed down a little since their last encounter.

‘Dave and I have been trying to have kids for a while…but…’

Evie trailed off, looking at Divvy Dave. He suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

‘Ah, I see,’ Norman said, nodding. ‘Well…it’s not uncommon in some men.’

Divvy Dave rose suddenly to his feet, fists clenched. Norman flinched, spilling some tea on his leg. It scalded the skin but he bit his lip. Evie was on her feet too, pacifying her enraged husband.

‘Word of advice, keep your mouth shut, drink your tea and listen to what I have to say.’

Norman nodded obediently and took a sip of tea. It was a bit milky for his liking but he didn’t say anything. He’d learnt his lesson. Divvy Dave was now sat down again. Norman could almost see the smoke puffing out of his flared nostrils. Instead of returning to her spot on the sofa Evie chose to remain standing, one hand resting gently on Divvy Dave’s shoulder.

‘Here is what we propose,’ Evie said, steeling herself. ‘We keep the baby, raise him or her as our own, you have nothing to with the child and you leave town.’  

Norman took a while to process this information. The cat clock ticked rhythmically and Divvy Dave breathed loudly. It had been clearly established that the two of them wanted to keep the baby, but Norman was a little surprised at the idea of him being cut out of the situation completely.

Over the last couple of days he’d been thinking about the whole sordid affair, and had been under the impression that they would want him to assume some form of responsibility for the child.

He took another sip of tea. In a lot of ways Evie’s proposal was the best solution to the situation for all parties concerned. She and Dave got the child they wanted and he wasn’t obligated to do any co-parenting. If it was down to him, he would have terminated the pregnancy but that wasn’t an option on the table. However, his main issue with the idea was the leaving town bit.

The prospect was an inviting one, especially with Elise going to Bristol. Norman had left before. However therein lay the problem. His time spent away had made him realise how much he’d missed his mum. He’d already abandoned her once. It didn’t sit right with him doing it again.

‘But what about my mum? She doesn’t have anyone else?’

Unexpectedly, Divvy Dave actually looked a little sympathetic.

‘And how is that supposed to work?’ Evie said hotly. ‘Little Werthing is a small town. We won’t be able to hide you from the kid forever.’

Norman bit his lip. Evie was right, although truth be told the kid would probably find out fairly soon regardless. Someone would let slip to him, even with the possibility of a pummelling from Divvy Dave as a result.

‘…perhaps we should let Norman think on it Evie. Talk to his mum first.’

Norman and Evie both looked at Divvy Dave, flummoxed. The big man’s eyes were focused on a framed photograph on the coffee table in front of him. From where he was sitting Norman couldn’t see what the photograph was. However, based on the décor of the house he could hazard a guess. Divvy Dave’s mum had passed away a year ago.

‘You sure?’ Evie said slowly to her husband.

Divvy Dave nodded.

Norman looked at the clock. It was quarter to six. If he left now and ran, he could possibly make it to the train station in time. He drained the rest of his tea.

‘I’ll talk to my mum tonight.’

Evie didn’t look best pleased but she didn’t protest. Divvy Dave cleared his throat and furrowed his brow once more, looking formidable. He’d clearly let his guard down a little too much.

‘Well if that’s all, I should be going,’ Norman said, a little awkwardly.

He got to his feet with slight trepidation, eyeing Divvy Dave as he did so, but the giant didn’t move. Evie did however.

‘I don’t have a problem with you talking to your mum Norman, but I want your assurance that whatever happens you won’t try to get involved with your…our child’s life.’

Norman glanced at the cat clock. It was nearing ten to six now.

‘I promise,’ he said.

Evie scrutinised him closely for a moment before nodding, apparently satisfied. Norman had responded quickly. He knew he didn’t want children, and he was pretty sure that the one he’d accidentally created held no interest to him.

‘Thanks for the tea.’

Evie grunted in response, sounding very much like her husband. Perhaps they’d been together long enough that they were starting to copy each other’s mannerisms and traits. Norman had no idea. He’d never held down a relationship long enough to know if that was a thing. Divvy Dave escorted him to the door.

‘Let me make one thing clear,’ he growled at Norman, before opening the door. ‘You tell anyone about this…apart from your mum…and I’ll break both your legs.’

Divvy Dave really was divvy, Norman thought to himself. Evie had announced the fact that he was the father to the whole of the Rusty Anchor. With Beryl the landlady as witness, it would have already spread through the town like wildfire. That being said the threat felt very genuine to Norman, as they were stood opposite one another in the house hallway. It was a narrow space, exacerbating Divvy Dave’s size and intimidating presence.

‘My lips are sealed,’ Norman responded nervously, mimicking the motion with his fingers across his lips.

Divvy Dave examined him closely, just like Evie had done moments before. Norman could feel time slipping away from him, and prayed that Elise’s train was somehow delayed.

‘Okay, now get the fuck out of my house,’ Divvy Dave stated, opening the door.

Norman didn’t need any encouragement and bolted from the property. Divvy Dave was still angered by the whole situation, but couldn’t help but smile seeing Norman flee through the doorway and sprint away down the pavement. He assumed it to be from fear, as opposed to the young man’s hurry to reach the train station.

~~~

Little Werthing Station was busy. At least busy for Little Werthing. It was a weekday and people who travelled away from the town for work were coming back from their shifts. The first thing he did when he arrived, after recovering his breath, was to scan the foyer to see if Elise hadn’t gone through the ticket barriers yet. He had a nasty stich and was massaging his side.

The majority of the people occupying the space were tired looking men and women, most wearing suits. There were a couple of families sat on one of the nearby rows of seats, and a homeless woman sat on another talking to herself. There was also a cleaner who was talking to one of the station guards. Norman was relieved to see that it wasn’t the same one he and Dominic had tricked last time he was here.

The small shop and café were fairly empty. Most commuters were mobile and heading away from the ticket barriers, arriving as opposed to departing. There was a group of college students huddled around a self-service machine though. Somehow a pigeon had managed to get into the foyer and was wondering around confused. Neither the cleaner or the guard paid the bird any attention but the homeless women was watching it, ironically, like a hawk.

For some reason Norman envisioned her staggering to her feet, swiping the pigeon up in one hand and biting its head off. He was getting distracted. He turned his attention to the departure boards, but didn’t look at any information about the trains. His eyes were drawn instead to the big live digital clock in one corner. The time read 6:15. How?

He’d pegged it to the train station and yet somehow it had taken him longer than fifteen minutes to get here. A devastating thought entered his mind. He hadn’t checked his phone when leaving the Foliswell residence. It was possible that the cat clock had been wrong. Damn feline time he lamented. Nevertheless, he scanned the board for the next train to Bristol.

According to the display the next one left in twenty minutes. Most likely Elise had already caught the one she had been waiting for, but it was worth a shot. He started to make his way to the ticket barriers, contemplating how he was going to get through them without a ticket this time.

His phone buzzed and he retrieved the device. It was another message from Elise. He stopped dead in his tracks. Someone walking behind him huffed loudly, as they were forced to manevour out of his way. He opened the message and although it was only a short one, he stared at it for a long time.

‘Train has just left, bye.’

It was so blunt and matter of fact, but then why shouldn’t it have been. It was the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. On top of everything else Norman had done, he’d delivered this final insult of not turning up to say goodbye.

‘YOU!’

He looked up. Moving towards him at some speed was the dreaded ticket guard he and Dominic had enraged. It was true then Norman reflected. He was cursed. At that moment, the confused pigeon flew in front of the ticket guard, making him flinch in surprise and stagger slightly back. Norman seized upon the distraction and turned and ran, his only consolation that at least not all birds in the world had turned against him.

~~~

Norman tried to compose a text on the way home from the station, but no matter what combination of words he tried nothing sounded quite right. Eventually, after nearly getting run over twice and almost walking into several lampposts, he gave in and returned the phone to his pocket.

He entered the town park. It was now well into evening but there were still a group of kids kicking a ball around. A couple of older kids were sat on the swings in the nearby playground. They were far too old to be in there but too young to be drinking and smoking, not that it was stopping them.

Norman was exhausted. Not physically. It had been a relatively light duty day for once. Emotionally on the other hand, he was spent. From both conversations with Elise and the Foliswell’s, only one of which he’d been prepared for. Really what he wanted to do when he got home was take a nice long hot shower, and stick on something mindless to watch in his room.

Norman would have done exactly that if he’d had known it would actually relax him and empty his mind. Even without trying though he knew it was folly. He needed to talk to his mum, about everything. Not only because Evie and Divvy Dave had asked him to, but also to unburden himself. There was a high possibility that she knew anyway, but nevertheless.

The kids playing football had set up makeshift goalposts using their jumpers and coats. They were shouting enthusiastically at one another. Although it was just a casual kick around, most of them were taking it very seriously. The kid in goal, a slightly chubby boy with short legs, dived as the only girl playing launched the ball towards the goal.

He missed and the ball rolled between the makeshift posts, as the girl’s fellow teammates cheered and whooped. The ball bounced along the ground towards Norman. The kids all shouted at him to kick it back. He did as requested, but his foot didn’t connect with the ball properly and it soared off at an angle. It hit the playground fence and bounced off to the left. The teenagers sat on the swings stood up quickly, startled.

Norman held up his hands in apology to the kids. Some of them looked annoyed, but the girl striker was laughing. Although she was clearly the best player on the field, the girl didn’t seem to be taking the match as seriously as everyone else. Norman hurried on through the park, eager to get home.

~~~

Just before he reached his house, Norman caught sight of Shelia talking to someone in a car. He quickly crossed the street, hoping to avoid detection. Somehow though Sheila sniffed him out and glanced up from the car, fixing Norman with a murderous stare. For a moment it looked like she was going to either shout at him or march right over.

However, the person in the car seemed more important so Shelia returned her attention to the driver, allowing Norman to slip away, much to his relief. He hadn’t managed to glimpse who was inside the vehicle, but dearly hoped that it hadn’t been Felinthia.

He didn’t run into anyone else before home, although he did spot a wandering fox, slinking between cars. They were definitely becoming more brazen. It wasn’t that late in the evening and people were still coming to and fro in their cars.

Norman checked his phone before letting himself in the front door. There were no messages or missed calls. It didn’t come as any great surprise. Elise’s message had been pretty final. In the hallway, he took a while removing his shoes. Even simple tasks seemed beyond him at the moment.

First shoe off, he paused. There were voices coming from the kitchen. When Norman had entered, he’d presumed it to be the television but that would only make sense if coming from the living room. His mum didn’t have a TV set in the kitchen. It could always be the radio, but there was something about one of the voices that seemed recognisable to Norman. Any suspicions of another person in the house were confirmed when he went to put his shoes on the rack.

There were a pair of well-kept black boots. They didn’t belong to Norman and looked to be size nines or tens. He knew for a fact that his mum was a size 6. It was also suspicious that she hadn’t called out to him when he’d come in. The woman had the ears of a bat.

Norman made his way down the hallway to the kitchen and slid open the set of French doors. His mum was stood with her back to the kitchen sink, a large glass of red wine in one hand. Sergeant Tom Braithwaite was sat at the small kitchen table. A mug of coffee or tea was sat on a coaster in front of him.

‘Evening dear,’ his mum said cheerily.  

Norman stepped hesitantly into the room. His initial instinct was that he’d done something wrong. Why else would Sergeant Tom be here? The only thing he could think of was that the station guard had reported him, after failing to catch Norman for a second time. But surely that made no sense. Norman had come straight from the station. There was no way Sergeant Tom could have got here before him, but then why was the policeman here.

Norman’s eyes were drawn to countertop space next to the draining board. There was another wine glass, this one empty but he could make out the red ring at the bottom, indicating wine had been in it previously. It was unlikely it was another glass his mum had drunken from, as she was a woman who liked a clean as you go approach to washing up, a practice she’d tried and failed to instil with Norman most of his life.

‘Evening Norman,’ Sergeant Tom said, looking a little awkward.

Something was definitely up. Sergeant Tom was usually so confident and self-assured. It was pretty much a requirement for the most senior officer of a police station.

‘What’s going on?’ Norman asked his mother.

‘Sergeant Tom just dropped in for a chat.’

She too now looked awkward. Norman nodded slowly. Sergeant Tom drank from his mug and cleared his throat. A deeply long and excruciating silence followed, before Norman’s mum eventually broke it.

‘Have you had dinner?’ she asked Norman.

‘Not yet,’ he replied, eyeing Sergeant Tom, who was keeping quiet and drinking his hot drink.

‘Well, there’s some lasagne left in the oven if…’

‘Can we talk?’ Norman said abruptly, cutting his mum off.

She looked a little side-lined. Sergeant Tom looked a little nervous.

‘Alone?’ Norman added.

His mum opened her mouth to respond but Sergeant Tom suddenly got to his feet, distracting her.

‘I’ve got to be going anyway. On late duty tonight.’

He finished his drink and handed the empty mug back to Norman’s mum.

‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said stiffly.

‘Don’t mention it,’ she replied.

They locked eyes for the briefest of moments, before Sergeant Tom made for the hallway. Norman moved aside to let him pass.

‘Oh, by the way I saw some teenagers hanging around in the playground over at the park. They looked like they were drinking and smoking. Thought you might want to check it out.’

Sergeant Tom was knocked for seven.

‘…right, thanks very much Norman, I’ll take a walk over there.’

Norman nodded, also confused as to why he’d mentioned that. He didn’t hate the police, but he also didn’t usually go out of his way to help them.

He and his mum waited until the front door had closed behind Sergeant Tom, before either of them spoke.

‘Any chance I could get one of those?’ Norman asked, gesturing at his mum’s wine glass as he sat down at the table.

She nodded and reached out for the other wine glass before hesitating and retracting her hand. Instead, she placed her own glass down in front of Norman.

‘Take mine, the first glass went straight to my head anyway.’

Norman took a sip, glad that she was already a little tipsy. It would hopefully make the conversation slightly easier.

His mum pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down. She looked a little on edge.  

‘If this is about Tom I’ve been meaning to tell you, but wanted to wait for the right opportunity.’

Norman, who’d had been rehearsing what to say in his head on the way home, faltered. Tom? Since when were his mum and the Sergeant on a first name basis? Then the penny finally dropped.

‘You and Sergeant Tom?’

His mum nodded, rubbing at a wine stain on the table mat in front of her. Clearly Norman had been spending too much time in the company of Divvy Dave. It didn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to work out something had been going on between the two of them.

‘I know it’s probably very weird for you…and really I should have run it past you first,’ his mum said, ‘but your father has been gone a long time now and I’ve been very…lonely.’

Norman took a big gulp of wine. It was weird but not for the reasons his mum was stating. At the end of the day, he wanted her to be happy. He knew that at some stage dating another person would be a possibility. He just never would have thought that it could be Sergeant Tom. That was the weird part for Norman.

He liked to think, or least hope, that his days of truancy were behind him, but that didn’t get rid of the fact that he and Sergeant Tom had an awkward history. It made things decidedly uncomfortable, in the same way that if she had decided to date one of his school teachers.

‘It isn’t serious at the moment but it also isn’t nothing. We care for one another and there is definitely something there,’ his mum said.

Next door’s dog could be heard barking loudly in their garden. The animal was well behaved for the most part, but occasionally something would set the hound off. Norman took another drink of wine, this time just a sip. He needed Dutch courage but he also wanted to retain enough of his faculties.

His initial thought was to tell his mum that he had no issue with her seeing Sergeant Tom. Yes, it was weird for him but her happiness was more important. Also, as far as Norman was aware, Sergeant Tom was a decent man and not just because he was a member of the police constabulary. Although nowadays wearing a badge was no guarantee of good moral ethics. He was just about to say as much when an idea suddenly popped into his head.

‘What would dad think?’ he said, giving his mum a fake look of disapproval.

‘I think…your dad would have wanted me to be…happy,’ came her stammered response.

‘Perhaps,’ Norman said, looking unconvinced.

For years his mum had floated the idea on and off that he should pursue a career in acting. Norman had never taken the idea seriously, not to mention his lack of work ethic or drive to do anything, apart from drink and chase tail. It was only now he realised how he’d potentially missed his calling in life. His fake expressions seemed to be working.

‘It’s important to me that you are okay with this,’ she said, reaching across the table and resting her hand gently on top of Norman’s.

The warm gesture almost caused him to break character but he fought hard against it.

‘I need time to think about it. It’s a lot.’

A flicker of annoyance flashed in her eyes. Norman feared he’d pushed his luck too far. However, she just nodded, patted his hand and sat back, recomposing herself. Norman counted to five in his head.

‘While we are sharing stuff, I’ve got something to tell you.’

His mum raised one eyebrow. She didn’t look surprised though. Norman had been better behaved since his trip away, but the drama with Evie and Divvy Dave had made his mum aware, that trouble was always somewhere on the horizon when it came to her son.

‘What have you done this time Norm?’

Norman was a little irked at this. Why did she have to assume it was his fault? He let it slide though. Instead, he relayed to her the conversation he’d had with the Foliswell’s and the proposed agreement. His mum listened attentively, digesting the information.

‘So, what do you think?’ Norman asked hesitantly, when he’d finished.

He’d slightly reprimanded her about Sergeant Tom as a guilt trip, with the hopes that she would be less preachy, judgemental and disapproving when it came to his turn.

‘I think going to Bristol is a good idea,’ she eventually decided.

Norman, who had the glass of wine raised halfway towards his mouth, paused. He replaced it gently onto the table.

‘You do?’

She nodded. Norman was surprised. He’d expected a less severe response than usual, but not this.

‘Your dad and I met when we were young, then he went off to serve. I never resented him for that. He was upfront with me the day we met that it was something he’d already decided to do. However, that didn’t make things any easier. Those long times apart were hard.’

She paused, and refilled Norman’s wine glass. He didn’t protest. Alcohol was always preferred when discussing his dad.

‘It sounds like you really like this Elise and she seems pretty sweet on you,’ his mum continued.

Norman scoffed.

‘Not anymore by the looks of it.’

‘I didn’t raise no quitter,’ she replied sharply.

Norman wanted to point out that being a quitter was exactly what he was, but the severe expression on his mum’s face made him sensibly reconsider.

‘If your dad here was today, I’m pretty sure he would tell you not to get hung up on the things you have done wrong in the past, but instead focus on what you can do right going forwards.’

Norman nodded, a small smile creasing the corner of his mouth.

‘You think we didn’t have our fair share of hiccups along the road?’ his mum explained. ‘It was hard work sometimes, but always worth it.’

Norman noticed that his mum’s eyes were slightly watery. He looked elsewhere. Avoiding conversations about his dad had been a skill Norman had mastered for years. It seemed to be getting harder the older he got though.

‘It’s not just about the girl,’ his mum reflected. ‘Although she definitely seems like a good’un.’

Norman nodded in agreement.

‘You don’t want to stay. There’s nothing for you here. Those no-good friends of yours, that dead-end job, nothing interesting to do. Is that really what you want to be doing the rest of your life?’ His mum asked.

‘But what about you?’ Norman pointed out.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

‘Mum, you’re all alone. Who’s going to help you with everything?’ Norman went on.

His mum chuckled. It helped ease some of the tension.

‘I raised you for a good part of your life alone and besides…I have Tom now.’

She glanced at Norman hopefully as she said this. He raised his eyes to the heavens and then leant back causally in his chair.

‘I guess you could do a lot worse than Sergeant Tom.’

She beamed at him. Norman coughed awkwardly.

‘You really think I should go?’ he said, changing the subject.

His mum nodded but her expression hardened slightly.

‘I don’t accept this business about not being allowed to see your own child though.’

Norman gave a heavy sigh. He knew she wouldn’t be happy about that part.

‘You want to see your grandson or granddaughter?’

‘It’s not me I’m concerned about but you,’ she replied, fixing him with a strong stare.

‘I told you I don’t want anything to do with the kid,’ Norman insisted.

‘You say that now but that might change in a few years. You’re still young but later you may think differently,’ she argued.

An image of Divvy Dave using Norman as a punch bag popped into his head.

‘Leave and never return. What a ridiculous sentiment. I’m happy for you to go out in the world and make a life for yourself, but I’ll be dammed if anyone is going to stop my son from returning home whenever he wants to.’

There were a few dull thuds and sharp crackles from outside, and Norman noticed coloured lights in the sky briefly through the kitchen window. Someone was setting off fireworks. That was why the neighbour’s dog was barking more than usual.

‘But what about Divvy Dave and Evie?’ Norman asked.

‘Don’t call him that, it’s not nice. Leave those two to me,’ she said determinedly.

‘Mum,’ Norman went to protest, but she held up a hand.

‘Seriously, let me handle this. I knew Dave’s mum and I happen to be dating the local police sergeant.’

Norman almost noticed a note of self-satisfaction in her voice as she said the last bit. He did as his mum said. He was scared of Divvy Dave and Evie but they didn’t hold a candle to his mum. He wouldn’t go so far to say he felt more relaxed, but some of the pressure had definitely lifted from his shoulders. His mum’s expression softened slightly.

‘So, what’s your plan?’

Norman thought for a moment.

‘Go to Bristol I guess.’

His mum chuckled, shaking her head.

‘That simple, just hop on a train and see what happens?’

‘Well yeah…no…I don’t know,’ Norman said, sighing.

His mum observed him fondly.

‘I agree you should go to Bristol, but I think you need to plan it out better. You tried winging it last time and look what happened.’

Norman nodded, well aware that he didn’t want a repeat of last time.

‘I guess I should look at places to stay…and jobs.’

His mum held up her hands.

‘Hold your horses. The first thing you need to do is actually visit there. You’ve never been before. Bristol’s a great city but not for everyone.’

Norman nodded, making a mental note.

‘I suggest you take a trip up for the day and start by finding Elise, because the conversation between you two is going to dictate what happens next,’ his mum suggested.

Norman liked the prospect of seeing Elise again, but was also afraid of how that conversation was going to go down.

‘And while you’re there you can check out the city, get a feel for the place,’ his mum went on to say.

Norman smiled. God bless his mum he thought to himself. When push came to shove, she always knew the right thing to say and do.

‘I’ll check out the buses,’ he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

His mum smiled and got to her feet. She went over to the kettle and flicked it on.

‘Fancy a hot chocolate?’

‘Yes please,’ Norman said, frowning at his phone.

She retrieved a mug from the draining board and began drying it.

‘Mum?’

‘Yes dear,’ she said, glancing round at her son.

‘Thank you,’ Norman said.

‘Always,’ she replied.

~~~

Norman sat at the back of the bus to London in one of the window seats. To reach Bristol by bus from Little Werthing you had to change at Victoria Coach Station. However, the good news was that he wouldn’t run into a certain train station guard, not to mention that the tickets were considerably cheaper.

It was a work day but he’d taken it off sick. His mum had said she’d cover for him, but Norman doubted anyone at work would actually care anyway. The bus was busy. Norman had been lucky. He’d managed to nab one of the last remaining tickets online the night before.

The bus engine rumbled into life, as the last arriving passengers found their seats. Norman was hoping that the seat next to him was going to remain unoccupied, but he was in no such luck. A young man with a rucksack took it at the last moment. He was tall and bearded, and wore a baseball cap and sunglasses. He was dressed casually in a hoodie and jogging bottoms. Unusually though, he wore boots instead of trainers. Norman looked out the window. He didn’t feel like engaging a stranger in conversation today.

The bus began to slowly pull away from the stop and Norman took a deep breath. Once again, he was venturing into the unknown, this time alone. His stomach was a bag of nerves but at the same time he felt quite excited.

Norman felt something press into his side. He looked down. The stranger was holding something in his hand. Norman’s eyes widened. It was a Stanley knife. The blade was retracted but the man’s finger was resting lightly on the lock button.

‘Hello Norman.’

Norman’s blood ran cold. He knew that voice. Reluctantly, he raised his head. The sunglasses were gone and Norman found himself face to face with his old nemesis; Dominic Furnell.

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2023]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Norman and the Pregnancy Test

As Felinthia passed through the door and entered The Rusty Anchor, time seem to slow down for Norman. At first, he just remained sat where he was, waiting with insurmountable dread until the moment that Felinthia spotted first him, and then Elise. Then he snapped quickly into action, getting to his feet.

‘Come sit down, you must be exhausted,’ he whispered, leading Elise to his seat and helping her to remove the bulky backpack from her shoulders.

He did all this with his back to the door, hoping that Felinthia wouldn’t recognise him from behind. Elise sat down, looking a little flustered from his frantic removal of her backpack and forceful ushering to her seat.

‘Norman?’

He sighed. He’d grabbed the back of the other chair and was half in the process of sitting down. Smiling weakly at a now confused looking Elise, Norman slowly swivelled round. It was Felinthia. Of course it was. They’d known each other for donkey’s years. Enough time to recognise one another from behind.

‘…Felinthia…you came,’ Norman said, leaning awkwardly on the top of the chair.

He was squeezing it so tightly that his fingernails were digging slightly into the wood. Felinthia gave him a long penetrating stare, before shifting her gaze to Elise, who gave an awkward little wave of one hand. Beryl was cleaning the plates away on a nearby table, occasionally glancing over at the three of them. The landlady didn’t usually do this, as she had ample waiting staff. No, it was purely an excuse to get close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation. Norman was now regretting his decision to come here after all.

‘I did, as have you…and you’re not alone I see,’ Felinthia stated, nodding at Elise.

Norman laughed nervously.

‘Ran into an old friend.’

Felinthia nodded. Her expression was neutral but Norman had a sneaking suspicion she was simmering underneath. She was wearing a very fashionable green jumpsuit, a gold necklace and a pair of half moon earrings. Her hair had been done up in a bun and she wore very red lipstick. Her eyelashes had been curled and her nails polished green, like her jumpsuit.  

She’s obviously put a lot of time into looking this good. This made Norman feel even worse. All he’d done was pluck away the hair that was causing his monobrow and thrown on his smartest, least crumpled looking shirt.

‘Norman?’

Norman forced his gaze away from the vision that was Felinthia and instead focused on Elise. She was wearing baggy clothes; her face was red and sweaty and her hair dank and lifeless. A very different sight to behold, and yet he was just as hypnotized.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ She said, giving Felinthia a polite smile.

Norman didn’t entirely process what she said at first. Both Elise and Felinthia were being so civil to one another and it had totally thrown him. He didn’t know what he’d expected to happen but it hadn’t been this. When he had been caught before in the past it had usually involved a lot of shouting and hitting.

‘Right…right.’

He prised his fingers free from the chair and put his hands on his hips. Everything he did with his body felt clumsy and awkward. Although more upright he was still leaning at a bit of angle, and with his hands on his hips and a slightly bemused expression he appeared to resemble Eddie from an episode of Bottom.

‘Elise, this is my…friend Felinthia,’ Norman said, gesturing at her rather formally, like a stuffy professor.

Felinthia raised her eyebrows at his use of the word friend. There was the smash of glass. The three of them glanced round. Beryl, trying her utmost to eavesdrop on their conversation, hadn’t been paying attention to what she’d been doing, and had accidentally knocked one of the pint glasses off the side of the table.

‘Apologies,’ she said guilty, and barked at a passing member of staff to fetch her a dustpan and brush.

The young girl scampered away dutifully to do as instructed. Felinthia moved forward, brushed past Norman and sat down in his chair. Norman he on stupefied as she put her handbag down on floor and rested one arm on the table, drumming the surface a few times with her fingernails.

‘How rude of me, I interrupted your da…evening. I’ll leave you to it,’ Elise suddenly said, beginning to alight from her chair.

Norman felt a little relieved at this, although he shouldn’t have. The situation was far from resolved. Felinthia flapped at her.

‘No, no don’t be silly. Sit, you’ve had a long journey by the looks of it.’

Elise hesitated. She looked unsure what to do. Norman sympathised. He too was at a loss. What was Felinthia doing? Was she being genuinely pleasant and accommodating, or was she trying to make Norman more uncomfortable and on edge? If so, it was working. Elise sat down, glancing at him for help but he had no idea what to do. The three of them fell silent.

Felinthia stared at Elise, Elise stared back at Felinthia and Norman stared at both of them, one at a time that was. Eventually the two women both looked pointedly at him. It was then that he realised what was happening. There were only two chairs and he was still standing.

‘Just a mo,’ he said, and rushed off in search of another.

He needed to get back to the table as quickly as possible. The more chance Felinthia had to talk to Elise the worse it would be. Beryl was still stood at the same table, observing the young waitress sweeping up the glass and pointing out spots she’d missed. Norman went to grab one of the chairs.

‘Don’t even think about it Norm, this table is reserved for 8pm,’ Beryl barked sternly.

Norman backed down and went in search of another chair, muttering a slightly rude remark under his breath. He made sure Beryl didn’t hear though. The landlady was a force to be reckoned with.

‘Make sure you don’t take any from tables with reserved signs on,’ she instructed bossily.

The second table Norman checked was also reserved. He glanced over his shoulder. Felinthia and Elise were still sat opposite one another. Felinthia’s lips were moving but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. A few diners Norman knew were also starting to take an interest in the situation. He finally found an available chair, grabbed it and made a beeline back to the table.

‘Everything alright?’ Beryl asked him nosily, as he rushed past.

Her ignored her. Telling her would be futile. Beryl was a sharp one and he was almost certain she’d already connected the dots, or at least had some rough idea what was going on. He wondered how long it would be till the Merkel Sisters found out.

‘Got one,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Ow.’

In his haste to return to them he’d walked the chair straight into the table and banged his ankle as a result. Whatever conversation Felinthia and Elise had been having promptly ended. Norman quickly sat down and began massaging his throbbing ankle.

‘What did I miss?’ he asked.

‘Elise was just telling me how you two…’friends’ know each other,’ Felinthia said, fixing him with an uncompromising stare.

Norman’s ankle continued to throb but he didn’t seem to notice the pain as much, distracted by her words.

‘Okay.’

It was a weak response but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

‘And Felinthia was telling me how you two know each other. Been…’friends’ a long time I gather,’ Elise said, folding her arms.

This was excruciating and that was without factoring in the ankle pain. What Norman really wanted to do was run away and bury his head in the sand somewhere, instead of suffer this intense grilling. At the same time, he couldn’t bear the idea of the two of them being left alone and him not being present to hear their conversation.

‘Well, you know, small town and that,’ Norman offered.

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever said but he was pretty certain it wasn’t the response Elise had wanted. Then again he didn’t think there was anything he could say at this moment in time that would be sufficient.

‘Well, I don’t know about you Elise but I could certainly do with a drink,’ Felinthia said, rising to her feet.

‘Sounds good,’ she concurred.

‘What you having?’ Felinthia asked.

Not for the first time that evening Norman was confused. Felinthia and Elise were being so friendly to one another. He hadn’t expected them to go for one another’s throat. They weren’t the type to do that. Not as far as he was aware at any rate. However, he’d expected a little more hostility between them. It appeared though that the hostility was directed more at him, evidenced by the frosty looks thrown his way. Felinthia not offering him a drink was further proof of that.

‘You sure, I can get….’ Elise began but she waved her down.

‘Gin and Tonic please,’ Elise asked.

Felinthia nodded, gave Norman a withering look and made her way over to the bar. He’d slipped down a little in his chair, subconsciously trying to slide down and disappear under the safety of the table. For a strange moment an image of a family huddled under one during a World War 2 air raid popped into his mind. Elise cleared her throat.

He glanced round. She looked cheesed off but not as angry as he would have thought. More than anything she looked very uncomfortable and uneasy. Her inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Beryl had returned to the bar to serve Felinthia. No doubt to try and prise some information out of her.

‘She looks nice.’

He focused his attention back on Elise. She looked a little more upset now. Her cheeks were still red but Norman suspected that was more from high running emotions than the exertion of her journey.

‘Yeah…I suppose,’ he replied, as casually as he could.

‘Do all your…’friends’ always dress up this nicely when you meet up?’ She asked coldly.

Norman’s eyes hovered momentarily on the lit candle at the centre of the table. Elise wasn’t stupid. She knew this was more than just two friends hanging out. The Rusty Anchor wasn’t exclusively focused on catering for couples and romantic encounters, but it was a big component. One only had to glance around the place to see that most of the diners were couples or people on dates. Norman scooched his chair closer to Elise. She remained where she was but seemed to retract slightly in her seat.

‘I know how this looks but you’ve got to let me explain…’

But he never got a chance to do so as he was interrupted by an ungodly sound. The low din of chatter from the other patrons was suddenly cut short, as was the clink of cutlery and glasses. Even the muffled sounds from the kitchen behind the bar died off. All that remained was the gentle rhythmic beats of Bonobo playing from the jukebox. Everybody’s attention was focused on the source of the new noise. This was revealed to be an enraged looking Evie Foliswell stood in the doorway.

‘There you are,’ she hissed at Norman, marching over to him.

Everyone watched on, mouths slung open in surprise, Norman’s included.

‘…Evie…what’s going on?’ he said, flabbergasted.

Evie said nothing but instead slammed something down on the table hard. Norman and Elise leant forward to see what it was. The bottom of Norman’s stomach fell out. It was a pregnancy test but much worse than that, it was a pregnancy test with a little plus symbol on it.

‘I don’t…understand,’ Norman gasped.

He looked at Elise. She scoffed indignantly.

‘You assured me you used protection,’ Evie said loudly, not caring that everyone else in the pub could hear what she was saying.

Of course, the night he and Evie had done it in the disabled’s. For Norman it had felt like a lifetime ago, or rather another life entirely. In reality it had only been a few weeks ago, but so much had happened since then and he’d undergone quite the transformation.

‘…I did,’ Norman stammered, although in all honesty he couldn’t remember.

He was surprised that’d had managed to actually finish, considering his inebriated state at the time. Elise tutted. Norman turned to look at her and his heart, which had already sunk quite low, sank yet further still. She was shaking her head in disbelief and her eyes lacked any warmth.

‘You’re unbelievable Norman.’

He dropped his head, defeated, and got to his feet. It was Felinthia who’d spoken. She was standing next to Evie, holding two drinks in her hand. Norman went to speak but didn’t even get a single word out, before Felinthia threw one of the drinks in his face.

‘Sheila was right about you.’

She moved over to Elise and placed the other drink down in front of her.

‘Good luck with him.’

Norman, Evie and Elise watched silently, as Felinthia stormed out of the pub. None of it felt real to Norman. It was so dramatic and theatrical, that it felt like an episode of EastEnders as opposed to real life. Then he remembered the night of the impregnation and following day, and realised that his life prior to the last couple of weeks had been quite similar to a soap. He went to go after her but Evie sidestepped in front of him, barring the way.

‘Oh no Mr, you’re not going anywhere until we sort this out.’

Evie was a tiny woman but had a fiery disposition, not to mention that her husband Divvy Dave had a mean right hook. There was a sharp hiss. Norman glanced around. Elise had necked her gin and tonic and was getting to her feet.

‘Elise, if you give me a chance to explain.’

She ignored him as she lifted her backpack off the floor and onto her shoulders.

‘I’d run while you’ve got the chance love. This one’s a rotten apple,’ Evie commented, glancing around at the spectating diners.

The handful of men who were sat at tables with women who weren’t their wives, visibly sunk lower in their chairs. Backpack on, Elise made for the door, shrugging Norman off when he went to put a hand on her arm. He had the sense at this point to leave it alone and let her go. At the door she paused and turned to face him.

‘I really thought you were different Norman but you’re just another liar and a womaniser.’

Her words cut into him deeply. He knew it was true but hearing it hurt nonetheless. So much so that he wished she’d thrown her drink in his face like Felinthia instead. 

‘Elise,’ he pleaded, but it was no use.

She’d already gone. Even Beryl, who had moments ago been watching the heated exchange with devilish delight, now looked rather saddened by the whole affair.

‘I’m keeping the baby,’ Evie said.

Norman reeled. It just seemed to be one shocker after another.

‘Why?’ he asked bemused.

‘I have my reasons,’ she replied, tight lipped. ‘Believe me its not the way I wanted it to happen.’

Norman pressed his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes. He could feel a migraine coming on.

‘Can we talk about this somewhere else?’

Some of the other diners had returned to their meals but most were still watching Norman and Evie, unable to look away. There was a light tap on Norman’s shoulder. He turned round.

‘Look, can you give us a sec…’

He was face to face with none other than Divvy Dave. Correction, he was actually facing Divvy Dave’s chest, as the man was well over six foot. Norman instinctively brought his hands up to shield his face. He needn’t have bothered, as Divvy Dave opted for a gut punch instead. As Norman doubled over and crumpled to the floor, the one solace he could take from the encounter was that at least his nose had been spared a pummelling this time around.

~~~

Norman trudged back home, still massaging his stomach that ached sharply from Divvy Dave’s punch. His head was all over the place. In the space of five minutes his date with Felinthia had been ruined, Elise had come back into his life only to promptly leave it again, and worst of all he was now apparently going to be a father to none other than Evie Foliswell’s child.

When he’d made the decision to better himself and improve his life and those around him, he knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. Wrongs needed to be made right and things from his past would rear their head from time to time, but he’d never envisioned this.

Felinthia and Elise’s response to the situation had been devasting but not unexpected. Deep down in his heart Norman had known as soon as Felinthia had seen him with Elise it was over, and when Evie had slammed that pregnancy test down it had pretty much spelt game over for Elise too. He was at a loss what to do. Evie and Divvy Dave had left shortly before Norman had staggered outside, heavily winded.

They were nowhere to be seen on his journey home. This provided some solace. The last thing he wanted to do was to run into Divvy Dave again. At the same time, he needed to talk to Evie about their apparent baby. He wasn’t totally against the idea of having kids but not now and certainly not with Evie Foliswell. It still came as quite a shock to him, and from the looks of it most of the people in The Rusty Anchor, that she didn’t feel the same.

~~~

Norman was hoping to avoid seeing his mum when he got home but he had no such luck. She was sitting in the living room watching TV and despite Norman’s best attempts to be as quiet as possible, she heard him come in.

‘In here Norm,’ she called out to him.

Reluctantly he slouched into the living room. His mum was watching some reality show where a bunch of Z list celebrities were smashing up large barrels in front of a swimming pool. She hit the mute button and turned to face him, a wry smile on her face. She had a large glass of red wine in one hand.

‘A young lady stopped by asking after you.’

‘Elise,’ Norman clarified, almost choking as he said her name aloud.

‘She seems nice. You should invite her round some time. I’d love to meet her properly,’ his mum said, her eyes twinkling.

Norman nodded, forcing himself to smile.

‘Sure mum.’

He scratched his arm.

‘I’m going to go to grab a shower.’

‘Okay dear,’ his mum said, beaming at him warmly.

Norman left the room and began slowly climbing up the stairs, his head bent low.

~~~

Although Norman’s series of unfortunate events had been a direct result of his past shenanigans and general tomfoolery, he’d almost reverted back to his old ways and decided to go out on the town on Saturday night. In the end though he decided against it, opting to get drunk at home instead. He couldn’t deal with seeing everyone at Flannigan’s Dick, as by now they would all know what had happened. 

His mum had gone round a friends for the evening which Norman was relieved about. He’d been avoiding her all day, unable to bear any more questions about Elise. So, he’d shut himself in his room, turned up the volume on his sound system and blasted music, while he cracked on with the crate of beer he’d bought from the shops.

At first it was a sombre affair and although the music helped vent his pent-up emotions and provide some cathartic relief, it didn’t stop him from occasionally picking up his phone, opening the Fuckface app and checking his message thread with Felinthia. The last message between them had been about the time of the date. He considered messaging her several times but never acted upon that impulse. He knew it was a bad idea.

Elise wasn’t on Fuckface, a factor that Norman wasn’t sure was a good or bad thing. He didn’t have her number and it was the only way of contacting her. Unless she was somehow still in Little Werthing,d but he doubted that. She had come here for Norman so there would be no reason to stick around now things hadn’t worked out.

Norman’s thoughts eased a little when he had a smoke. It was raining lightly in the garden but he braved it regardless. It was too risky smoking in his room. His mum undoubtedly knew he enjoyed a bit of the old puff but she would not stand for it being smoked in her house. 

~~~

Norman drank on the Sunday evening as well, which wasn’t unusual but he imbibed far more than his customary one or two, and woke with a horrendous headache on the Monday morning. It hadn’t been overly long since his last hangover but enough time had passed that he’d become accustomed to waking up and not feeling like absolute death. He didn’t go to work that day, or on the Tuesday for that matter. 

~~~

On Wednesday though he had no choice but to attend. His mum had strong-armed him into going and he’d conceded, if only to get away from her insistent badgering. No one said a word to him through the first part of the shift, but he knew they were all aware of what had happened last Friday at The Rusty Anchor, their occasional whispering and furtive glances indicating as much. During lunch however Waxy Ears Gavin came over and sat next to him. Norman deeply regretted talking to the man last week. Gavin was the last person he wanted thinking they were friends.

‘Bit of a dark horse aren’t you Norm,’ he said, plonking himself down next to him and scratching his little beer gut. ‘Got three on the go you dirty bastard.’

Norman eyed his BLT for a long time before putting it back in its cardboard sleeve.

‘Not got, had.’

‘Yeah, shame that,’ Gavin said. ‘I mean Evie’s no real loss. She’s a bit past her prime but that other bird, the out of towner…what’s her name?’

‘Elise,’ Norman said, through clenched teeth.

Gavin gave Norman’s BLT sandwich a sideways glance.

‘That’s the one. Saw her this morning. Not bad. Gives Felinthia a run for her money. You planning on eating that?’ he said, eyeing the sandwich again.

‘Wait, what do you mean this morning? You’re telling me you saw her here in Little Werthing?’ Norman asked, an intense look of concentration on his face.

‘Yeah, I saw her coming out of Dawn and Tim’s place,’ Gavin responded, a little taken aback by Norman’s sudden intensity.

Dawn and Tim owned a little B and B that was ironically located only one street down from Felinthia’s house. Norman couldn’t believe it. Elise was still here. He was sure she would have left by now. He studied Gavin. The man looked highly confused. Norman got to his feet.

‘Here,’ he said, handing Gavin the BLT and starting to walk way.

‘Cheers, here where you going, you’ve still got fifteen minutes left on lunch.’

But Norman wasn’t listening and he wasn’t going back to work. 

~~~

Norman stood at the door to D and T’s B and B, eyeing the doorbell pensively. When he’d left work his plan had been, quite simply, to go find Elise, apologise profusely, beg for her to reconsider and throw himself on her mercy. However now he was here, he was struggling to go through with it. He’d been rejected once already. Twice if he counted Felinthia’s drink in the face. Why did he expect this to go any better?

Much to his surprise the door opened and he found himself face to face with none other than Elise. She was wearing a vest top, jogging bottoms and trainers. The water bottle in her left hand suggested she was about to go for a jog.

‘Hi,’ Norman forced himself to say.

‘Hi,’ Elise said, flustered by his unexpected appearance. 

~~~

Elise sat on the edge of her bed, processing what Norman had just said. He’d spent the last five minutes explaining to her, in detail, the many transgressions of his past. He didn’t know exactly why he’d done this. It had started out as a simple but heartful apology, that had somehow transformed into a longer speech about his misgivings, not just on Friday night but those before that.

There was a scratching noise at the door. Norman went over, opened it and Clarence the Cat wandered into the room, purring loudly. Elise didn’t comment on the fact. Anyone who stayed at Dawn and Tim’s quickly learnt that Clarence the Cat came and went where he pleased. Norman knelt down to stroke the animal. He wasn’t actually much of a cat person, tending to prefer dogs. However, at this moment in time he needed something furry and soft to stroke to calm his nerves.

‘Thank you for telling me that in such…intricate detail,’ Elise eventually said.

Norman nodded. She sighed and got to her feet. The bed had various clothes laid out in neat piles. She began packing some of them into her backpack, which was on a nearby chair.

‘When’s your train?’ Norman asked.

Clarence had lost interest in Norman and was instead licking himself with great aplomb.

‘Six twenty,’ she replied, rolling a pair of socks into a ball.

‘Lot of stuff to bring for a relatively short journey,’ Norman commented, moving around the other side of the bed.

Elise threw the socks into her bag with some force.

‘Well, I didn’t think I’d be leaving again so soon, did I?’ 

Norman looked at his feet guiltily. Elise’s temper receded a little.

‘Besides, I’m not going home.’

‘No?’ Norman said, frowning. ‘Then where?’

‘Bristol if you must know. Got a friend I can stay with. He has a flat on the outskirts,’ Elise said, grabbing one of her t shirts before Clarence managed to walk across it.

‘He?’ Norman said, raising one eyebrow.

‘It’s not like that,’ Elise said, pausing in her packing for a moment. ‘Besides, you’d have no right to be funny about that even if it was the case. Not after the other night.’

Norman held up his hands placatingly. Elise returned to her packing.

‘Why did you stay?’ Norman asked, leaning his back against the wall.

Elise picked up Clarence and dropped him gently on the floor. He was getting in the way. Clarence looked affronted and immediately jumped back up onto the bed again.

‘…I needed a few days to think. Figure out what to do next.’

Norman nodded. He’d been hoping she was going to say for him. His chances with Felinthia were slim to non-existent, but he’d figured that out of the two of them Elise might be slightly more forgiving. Felinthia had known Norman his whole life, the two had a difficult history and she was best friends with Sheila. Elise, on the other hand, had only witnessed the old Norman once.

‘That other night was a mess Norman,’ Elise said, giving into Clarence and stroking him under the chin.

He purred loudly and plonked himself down on one of her folded pairs of trousers.

‘I know, but you have to believe me when I say that it was from another part of my life. One that I’m trying desperately to put behind me,’ Norman explained.

Clarence was staring intensely at him while receiving his strokes. It wasn’t helping the situation.

‘I want to but how can I know for sure,’ Elise said with a heavy sigh.

She stopped stroking Clarence. He looked a little irked by this but was too comfortable where he was to demand more affection at the moment.

‘Okay, I can understand whatshername? Evie…is it?’

Norman nodded.

‘That clearly happened before we met and she seems like a bit of a handful anyway,’ Elise went on.

Norman chuckled weaky but sensibly fazed it out quickly.

‘But with Felinthia. Was she… or is she still your girlfriend?’ Elise asked directly.

‘Neither,’ Norman stated plainly and when Elise looked unconvinced, he carried on. ‘Look, I’ll level with you. Before we met I had…feelings for Felinthia but they were never reciprocated. I’ve told you what I used to be like.’

‘Yes, in great detail,’ Elise said, folding her arms.

‘When I met you, everything changed and I know how that sounds but it’s the truth. I never planned on rekindling things with Felinthia. In fact, when I first got back all I could think about was you,’ Norman said.

Elise turned and walked over to the window, hiding her expression.

‘It was Felinthia who became interested in me and that was only because I had changed. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have given me a second glance,’ Norman detailed.

‘If that’s supposed to make me feel better it isn’t,’ Elise said quietly.

Norman banged his head against the wall.

‘I didn’t ever expect to see you again and standing here now I feel like an idiot for not trying myself. But I mean it when I say that I never meant to hurt anyone. My decision to go out with Felinthia wasn’t just so I could get my end away and have a good time. It was because I was lonely and…’

Elise turned around. She was crying. Not full-on sobbing but her face was clearly wet from tears.

‘I think it’s best that you go now.’

‘Elise?’ Norman said, taking a step forward.

‘Please,’ she said, turning back to the window.

Norman stopped. There was no more he could do, or if there was he didn’t know what.

‘Safe travels,’ he said, feeling his own eyes beginning to well up, and left the room.

~~~

When Norman returned to work, he steered clear of Gavin and tried to focus solely on his job. Thankfully no one bothered him, including Waxy Ears. If he’d still been on good terms with the old gang, they would have hounded him for details but they probably knew them all anyway. Even Norman’s boss had left him alone, meaning that either the man was sensitive to his situation or more likely he just didn’t care.

The emotional fallout from his conversation with Elise had messed with his head so much that on his way back from work, he hadn’t realised what street he ended up walking down until it was too late. Wirral Road. Norman considered turning around. He hadn’t quite passed Divvy Dave and Evie Foliswell’s house. Ever since the events of last Friday he’d been sensibly keeping clear of the pair of them and so far, successfully.

His phone buzzed. He got out the device and unlocked it. It was a text message from a number he didn’t recognise. The message read, ‘Meet me at the station at six.’ It had to be Elise. Norman’s heart leapt. Maybe she’d reconsidered. Whatever reason he was just happy that he had another chance to see her again.

He returned the phone to his pocket, as someone grabbed him roughly by one arm from behind. He twisted around awkwardly and his euphoria instantly vanished. It was Divvy Dave.

‘Time for a chat,’ the giant said, manhandling him along the pavement with unsurprising force.

Norman tried to break free of the vice like grip but Divvy Dave was too strong and continued to half escort, half drag him down the street. It was when they reached the Foliswell residence, that Norman started to become really scared. He tried to call out but Divvy Dave clamped his other hand over his mouth.

The door opened, revealing Evie stood in the doorway. She glanced up and down the street covertly, as the two approached the house. No one was around. If they had been things might have gone down very differently. Evie stepped aside as Divvy Dave shoved Norman inside. The door shut with a loud bang.

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2023]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Norman’s Surprise Guest

‘What happened while you were away?’

Norman and Felinthia walked through Bartholomew Park, side by side. Altogether there were three parks in Little Werthing. The small one next to the high street where Norman had gone fishing for his vest, another slighter bigger one by St. Agnes Primary School, and this one on the north side of the village. It was the biggest of the three parks with a decent sized playground, and a sloping hill that led onto a wide and long field, where most people walked their dogs.

‘What do you mean?’ Norman replied, giving Felinthia a quizzical look.

He wondered if she knew about him and Elise. If Sergeant Tom had kept things quiet than Norman didn’t really see how. The Merkel Sisters hadn’t been privy to that piece of juicy gossip. He himself hadn’t told a soul and although his mum probably suspected it was something to do with a girl, she didn’t know who.  

‘I don’t know, you just seem so different,’ Felinthia reflected, stopping at the playground swings.

The park around them was empty. There weren’t even any late-night dog walkers out. Going through was the quickest way to get to Felinthia’s house. Norman knew this for a fact. On more than one occasion he and the lads had messed about on the playground while heavily intoxicated, before Norman had inevitably broken off from the pack to visit her house.

There he had tried and failed to woo her out of her house, by calling up to her window in a drunken stupor. Felinthia had never entertained him and either he would get bored and leave, or her dad would come out and scare him off.

She was now sat on one of the swings, rocking slowly back and forth, watching him curiously. Norman sat down on the swing next to her.

‘…I guess it was a bit of a wake-up call for me.’

He turned to look at her. It was a clear night, hence why it was so cold, and although it was dark the moonlight illuminated most of her face. Nothing about the situation felt real. The two of them sitting together on the swings in the park talking like friends, just didn’t compute in his head.

When he thought back to how he had treated Felinthia in the past. Embarrassed her, made numerous advances, and generally disturbed her day-to-day life. In many ways he’d made things a living hell for her. Even with his transformation he couldn’t fathom why she would want to give him the time of the day, and yet here they were, sat side by side.

‘In what way?’ Felinthia asked.

Norman shrugged awkwardly.                             

‘I think it was meeting Dominic.’

‘Who’s Dominic?’ Felinthia said, trailing her shoes along the ground.

Norman explained about Dominic, regaling their exploits together, deliberately omitting any details about Elise or her sister. Felinthia listened attentively. He’d never noticed how good a listener she was, but then he had never really taken much notice of anything above her neckline before. Well, that wasn’t technically true. He knew she was a looker, but it was only sat this close to her and being sober that Norman properly registered it for the first time.

‘So, what you’re saying is that you had to meet someone who is more of a scumbag than you to reassess your life choices?’ Felinthia commented, when he’d finished his tale.

‘Harsh but justified,’ Norman responded, after a moment’s pause.

They glanced at each other and laughed. Norman swung back and forth a little. Felinthia glanced around, shivering. She’d never normally walk through the park to her house at night. During the day yes but never at night. The other way added an extra five minutes but it felt safer. Occasionally there were groups of young men hanging around at this time, causing trouble. Norman used to be one of them.  

‘I owe you an apology.’

Felinthia glanced round at him, looking surprised.

‘Can someone tell me who you are and what you’ve done with Norman?’

He smiled briefly before looking serious all of a sudden.

‘I mean it. The way I acted toward you was out of line. I should have treated you with more respect and behaved more honourably…’

He trailed off for a moment. Felinthia was trying hard not to smile. 

‘…but the thing is I liked you…a lot. I just didn’t know the right way to show that. So, I drank too much and said and did stupid things to try and impress you, but all I did was make things worse.  And you don’t have to forgive me, that’s fine. I just want you to know that I’d truly sorry.’

Norman stopped swinging and got to his feet. His hands were shaking. A little from nerves, mainly from the biting cold. He dug them into his trouser pockets. Felinthia had tried to give him his fleece back but Norman had refused. Hyperthermia was his penance for being a terrible human being. There was the jangle of the swing chains and Norman felt the presence of Felinthia close behind him. He turned around.

‘What do you mean liked?’ she asked.

Norman laughed nervously. Felinthia put her hands on her hips.

‘Do you not like me anymore Norman?’

‘I do,’ he answered, before his brain had time to process what he was saying.

Felinthia took a step closer towards him. He felt a mixture of things in that moment. Guilt. Elise still lingered in his mind. She’d faded and receded but was still there. An ever-present reminder of where his true feelings really lay.

Attraction. Felinthia had been his first true crush and nothing would ever change that. For years he’d dreamt of this moment. To be standing so close to Felinthia and not have her look at him with irritation and disgust.

Desire. The stirrings in his nether regions, the blood pumping hard in his Little Werthing, which if she kept on looking at him like that, wouldn’t be little for much longer.

She continued to stare at him. Norman’s nose was running from the cold. He wanted very badly to wipe it but he resisted the urge. It was so strange. He’s never had this issue before. Shagging around hadn’t been his sole objective in life but he’d done his fair share, and never hesitated when the opportunity had presented itself.

‘It’s late. I should get back,’ Felinthia said, finally shifting her gaze.

‘Right,’ Norman said with a nod.

He’s blown it. There was no way of knowing for certain if Felinthia had wanted him to make a move, but either way the moment had passed. The two of them walked a few paces before Felinthia slapped him gently on the arm.

‘Race you to the top of the hill.’

She started running before Norman even had time to respond. He smiled and started running too. His anxiety over the previous moment between them disappeared. At least for the time being.

~~~

Felinthia had beaten him in the impromptu race easily and would have done anyway, even without the head start. Norman’s feet were still not fully recovered but that wasn’t the real reason he lost the race. He was healthier now than he’d been in a long time. Although alcohol was still part of his life it wasn’t as much of a crutch as it had previously been, and because he was actually attending work more often he was in better physical shape.

His mum had always cooked his meals but because he was staying in more, he wasn’t having so many late-night kebabs and burgers. However, this was only a relatively new form of lifestyle and Norman was working against several years of drinking and food-based abuse to his body.

He was still slightly out of breath when they reached Felinthia’s house. The curtains were closed but Norman was reticent to go near the front door. Felinthia’s dad could be hiding inside, waiting to spring out at him. He really needed to start making better first impressions with parents. Fortunately, the house had a front garden gate so he was able to say goodbye to her there.

‘Thanks for walking me home,’ she said.

‘Any time,’ Norman replied, finally accepting his fleece back from her.

‘I didn’t think I’d be saying this but I’m glad you’re back,’ she said in a low voice.

They were speaking quietly so as not to wake her parents or the neighbours.

‘Me too. I think I have a new found appreciation for Little Werthing,’ Norman stated.

Felinthia raised her eyebrows.

‘I wouldn’t go that far but I get what you mean.’

Norman nodded. She leant forward and kissed him gently on the cheek, placing her hand lightly on his chest at the same time.

‘Night Norman.’

She turned, opened the gate and walked up the garden path to the house. Norman remained rooted to the spot, still processing the kiss. He raised his hand and softly brushed his cheek. A smile crept across his face. He started to walk home with a noticeable spring in his step, despite still being tired from the race. He was no longer thinking about Elise.

~~~

Norman saw Felinthia a handful of times over the next week. It wasn’t unusual. Little Werthing was such a small place, that it was nigh impossible to not run into a familiar face throughout the course of a day. In theory this should have been a positive. Now Elise was no longer occupying his thoughts, he could focus his attention solely on Felinthia. He was pretty sure she was interested in him too. The kiss had been a sure-fire sign. He’d tried to work out why though and the only conclusion he came to was one of probability.

Being a small village Little Werthing had a limited choice of worthy male candidates. Not only was the average age around fifty but a lot of the men were already shacked up, many of whom already had kids. Not that this stopped some of them doing the dirty on their wives and girlfriends. There was no way of telling for certain, but Felinthia didn’t strike Norman as the unfaithful type. Furthermore, there was a reason why the small pool of single men were single. They were a bunch of intolerable swines. Norman’s old crew were a prime example but they weren’t the only ones.

What was left was a very small group of male specimens. Norman wasn’t fully aware of how many people Felinthia had dated but he knew of a few. One of them an absolute tool called Ronnie Sturgeon. Another was Tim Horace, who was nice but unbearably dull. So given there was a new Norman on the scene, she had probably weighed up her limited options and hedged her bets.

This should have affected Norman’s pride but it didn’t in the slightest. He was just amazed that he’d managed to garner the attention of two women in the same month, while managing to not disappoint and ultimately enrage them. For Norman that was a record.

The problem was that he’d never actually asked anyone out on a date. Sure, he’d drunkenly asked Felinthia and half of the women of Little Werthing to go out with him before. But that was different. On those occasions it hadn’t been a specific date but rather a general request, with the ulterior motive of a roll around in the hay. Not to mention that the alcohol had given him something he now sorely lacked, confidence.

It wasn’t like there wasn’t enough opportunity to do so. They usually ended up running into one another at the shops, when they were both out on their work lunch. Each time though Norman bottled it at the last minute, the pressure of the situation becoming too much for him. It wasn’t help by the fact that there was often someone else he knew nearby, meaning any privacy between him and Felinthia was almost impossible to achieve.

The week grew closer to its conclusion and Norman began to panic that if he didn’t act soon than he would miss his chance. Felinthia would only wait to be courted for so long. True there wasn’t much else in the way of quality in Little Werthing, but that didn’t provide complete certainty that she wouldn’t look elsewhere. So, Norman set himself an ultimatum. By end of day Friday, he would ask Felinthia out.

~~~

Friday came and Norman was aflutter with nerves. He’d arrived at the supermarket early, to make sure he wouldn’t miss Felinthia on her break. He’d already got his meal deal but was still hanging around the section, as he knew that’s where Felinthia would head to when she arrived. Fred’ the security guard’ had been keeping half an eye on him since he’d come in. Apparently not everyone had got the memo that Norman was a changed man.

‘Hi Norm.’

He almost dropped his meal deal as he turned around. Somehow, he’d missed her coming in, even though the meal deal section was located right near the shop entrance.

‘Hey,’ he replied, loosening his tight grip on his crisps.

He suddenly gripped them tight again, ruining any chance of their structural soundness. Felinthia wasn’t alone. Her best friend Sheila was with her. This wasn’t good. Unlike most people in the town, Sheila hadn’t been totally on board with Norman’s change. In fact, she didn’t seem to believe it was genuine and had said as much to Norman during his second week back. He understood it. Felinthia was her best friend and Sheila didn’t want to see her hurt or played for a fool. Dominic was a con man after all so it made sense to be sceptical of Norman too.

‘Sheila,’ he said politely.

She ignored him and turned her attention to the sandwiches on the shelf. Norman took a deep breath. This wasn’t how he’d envisioned doing it but he couldn’t stall any longer. There was no actual time limit, but somehow he knew that if he didn’t do it now then it would never happen.

‘I was hoping to run into you,’ he said to Felinthia, in a slightly higher tone of voice than he’d preferred. ‘I was wondering…if you…would…want to grab a drink some time?’

At first Felinthia looked confused and Norman worried he’d totally misread her feelings towards him, but then she gave a little smile. Her cheeks had reddened slightly.

‘We better get back Warbs,’ Sheila announced, appearing beside her.

‘But I haven’t got my meal deal yet,’ Felinthia pointed out.

‘Picked it for you,’ Sheila retorted. ‘You always get the same thing.’

Felinthia looked Norman dead in the eyes.

‘Maybe I want something different this time.’

Norman beamed. Sheila huffed loudly and began to lead her away forcefully by the arm.

‘No you don’t, now come on.’

Norman’s spirits sank, as he watched helplessly while Sheila lay waste to his plans. At the last minute however Felinthia managed to mouth a few silent words over her shoulder to him, before she was promptly whisked away. He waited until they were out of sight before he fist pumped the air victoriously. She’d mouthed the words ‘call me’ to him.

‘You planning on buying that at any point today?’

Norman glanced around. Security guard Fred was stood next to him with his arms folded, eyeing him suspiciously.

~~~

Norman’s elation soon disappeared that afternoon as he quickly realised that he didn’t actually have Felinthia’s number, and with Sheila acting as guard dog it would be very tricky to acquire it. In the end he’d had no recourse but to ask Gavin. Gavin wasn’t one of the old gang but he and Norman knew each other through work. Gavin and Felinthia had dated briefly before she’d found out that he was a sexist, racist, bigoted tory loving pustule of a man. Even Barry disliked Gavin, and Barry was pretty anti PC himself.

‘Can’t help you mate. She blocked my number ages ago and when I got a new phone I lost half the numbers, hers included.’

‘Shit,’ Norman lamented.

Gavin was leant back on a chair, picking wax out of his ears with a fingernail and inspecting the digits periodically. Norman shuddered. The man handled fudge for a living.

‘You getting on that are you?’ Gavin said, rather uncouthly.

‘That’s the plan. Although Sheila is trying her best to stop me,’ Norman explained.

‘She’s a frigid cow that one. Shame, because she’s got a set of lungs on her, but when she opens her mouth…fuck me.’

Norman just nodded. It was the safe option. He found what Gavin was saying pretty awful, but he also didn’t want to attract any more attention by getting into a heated debate with him about women’s rights. He’d already drawn too much notice by telling him about Felinthia. That news would reach everyone at the factory by close of day.

‘Why don’t you just look her up on Fuckface? Drop her a message on there,’ Gavin suggested.

Norman palmed his forehead in frustration, feeling an idiot for not thinking that in the first place.

‘You should see some of the photos she puts on there, pwoar. Plenty of material for the wank bank there I can tell you,’ Gavin remarked. ‘I recommend the folder Spain 2018. Lots of bikini selfies to peruse.’

He was almost salivating at the mouth. Norman felt sick. He couldn’t help but give Gavin’s chair leg a swift kick. The waxy pervert cried out in alarm as he toppled backwards onto the ground.

~~~

Norman lay on his bed, staring at his phone. He had the Fuckface app open on the screen and was staring at Felinthia’s profile page. Periodically his finger would hover over the add friend icon, before he would retract the digit once more. All he had to do was tap the button and send a message, but he was finding the task extremely difficult. Despite being of a generation where he was accustomed to and had grown up with technology, Norman wasn’t confident using computers. This probably explained why he hadn’t thought of Fuckface in the first place.

When he’d launched the application, he’d gone to his profile page and discovered that the last post he had made was three years ago. It was a generic ‘thank you for all the birthday wishes’ message. Another indicator of how long ago it had been was the most recent photo displayed. It was him with his hair dyed green. The photo was a painful reminder of how many bad decisions he’d made during his early teens.

‘Norman, can you come and give me and hand with the bins?’ his mum called from the hallway landing.

He signed heavily.

‘Yeah mum, two secs.’

He had an open bottle of cider on the bedside table next to him. Sitting up, he took a big swig, flexed his fingers and tapped the add friend icon. He then sent Felinthia a short message which simply said ‘Hello there.’ Throwing the phone down on the bed, he got up and left the room.

As he helped his mum with the recycling all he could think about was how lame his message had been. Norman wasn’t gifted with natural charm. His suaveness in Clatchdale had been a one off, and he was pretty certain that Felinthia would take one look at the message and lose interest.

When he returned to his room ten minutes later, he was surprised to find that Felinthia had not only accepted his friend request, but she had also sent him a message back. It was a GIF of Ewan McGregor from Revenge of the Sith. Norman had never taken her for the Star Wars type and the revelation only made him keener still.

They talked for a couple of hours and Norman, who usually had difficulty messaging back and forth, had no issue thinking of things to say. Throughout the conversation he discovered that Felinthia was a huge nerd, particularly in regards to Lord of The Rings. It made the discourse far easier as Norman was also a big fan.

‘You free tomorrow evening?’

It was nearing eleven and although Norman was enjoying the conversation, he’d been struggling to keep his eyes open for the last fifteen minutes. Felinthia’s question woke him up. He stared at the screen; his mouth very dry all of a sudden. He wrote a response, deleted it, wrote another, deleted that too, before finally settling on what to say.

‘Yeah, why?’

It was a weak reply but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

‘You mentioned getting a drink earlier. How about The Rusty Anchor?’ she typed back.

The Rusty Anchor, despite its unappealing name, was what locals referred to as the posh pub of Little Werthing. It had been determined as such because of three factors; the interior had actually been decorated sometime in the last decade, they served food, and most importantly because pints were a whole pound dearer. It was a good choice on Felinthia’s part. Although the nicest of the Little Werthing pubs, the place was usually quite quiet.

Most folks went to Flannigan’s Dick as it was cheap and cheerful. It was also the most centrally located, whereas the Rusty Anchor was a whole five minute extra walk away. It was still a high certainty that they would see someone they knew there, but it was preferable to walking into Flannigan’s Dick together and having every patron turn around and look at them.

‘It’s a date,’ Norman said, cringing the moment the message had left his fingers.

There was a long pause and he clenched his jaw.

‘I know,’ came Felinthia’s reply a moment later.

Norman let out a sigh of relief and lay back on the bed.

~~~

Norman dreamt about Felinthia and when he woke the next morning it was evident that part of him was still dreaming about her, evidenced by the tent he’d made in his duvet. The first thing he did was check his phone for messages, but there were none. They’d agreed to meet at 7pm so there was no reason why she’d need to message him again.

As he lay staring at his phone, he found himself opening her profile page on Fuckface and scrolling through her feed. She wasn’t a highly active user herself. but there were several nerd related posts to games and films Felinthia clearly liked. Next, he examined her info page. He already knew she worked at Mudge’s Fudge Pantry, although ironically, they never saw each other at work, him being at the warehouse and her at the shop. He didn’t know however that she did martial arts. Tae Kwon Doe to be specific.

At the photo section he paused. One folder in particular caught his attention. It was labelled Spain 2018. The hand that wasn’t holding his phone began to slowly slip beneath the duvet, edging gradually closer to the erect tent. He opened the folder. The first photo that popped up was Felinthia in a bikini, as Gavin had detailed. Norman swallowed and swiped across the screen with his free hand. The next one was a sunset. It took him several more photos but then he found another one of Felinthia stood in the sea in a bikini. His Little Werthing twitched beneath the duvet.

Then, much to his horror, an image of a grinning Gavin appeared in his head. He exited the app and threw down the phone, feeling sick. What was wrong with him he thought to himself? He could only take solace in one thing. That his mum had gone out and there was no chance of running into her on the hallway landing, when he would inevitably walk stiffly to the bathroom to take a cold shower.

~~~

Norman waited nervously at one of the corner tables at The Rusty Anchor, nursing a pint of Mr Mudge’s Cider. In an effort to lure in tourists, the factory and shop had teamed up with the local brewery to produce a limited-edition fudge flavoured cider. According to Beryl the landlady, Norman had been the first person to actually order a pint and after a few sips he could see why.

The taste of fudge simply didn’t lend itself to cider, which was odd because Norman had drunk a toffee cider before that had actually been quite nice. He persevered with the pint regardless. Norman actually had a bit of money now, thanks to his improved work effort. The train fine had only been twenty pounds but he still wasn’t exactly flush, and he was keen to use what he did have on Felinthia as opposed to himself.

Beryl was stood behind the bar teaching one of the new starters how to operate the till. The employee, who looked around the same age as Norman, appeared a bag of nerves and was bright red in the face despite it not being overly hot inside the pub. Norman didn’t recognise him which was unusual but a relief.

The staff milling about waiting on tables he knew but they were too young to say anything to him. They didn’t seem like they cared anyway. Beryl on the other hand kept shooting him knowing looks. She didn’t know it was Felinthia he was meeting, but he’d booked the table for two so it was obvious he was dining with someone else.

Norman was nervous, which was part of the reason he persisted with the fudge cider. He didn’t know if it was better or worse already knowing Felinthia. On the one hand it was more comforting knowing that it wasn’t a complete stranger, but on the other there was a lot of pressure to get things right.

If it didn’t work out it wasn’t the end of the world but things would undoubtedly be awkward between them. People would talk and generally life would be made more difficult. Now Norman remembered why he’d left Little Werthing in the first place. To escape the close confines of the chatty community.

The pub was fairly quiet. It was still earlyish in the evening and besides, times were tight. People were less inclined to dine out these days, due to the recent spate of price hikes. There were a few faces he recognised though. A couple of work colleagues and a few local shop owners.

Thankfully only one or two were being nosy. The rest were minding their own business. Some were clearly out for a special occasion, such as an anniversary or birthday, and one particular pair he knew to be married, but to not to one another. Being out in public was risky, but in their defence The Rusty Anchor was the most inconspicuous pub in Little Werthing. That’s why Felinthia and Norman had chosen it.

The door to the pub opened and Norman sat up a little more attentively in his chair. Even Beryl paused mid tuition to glance up, intrigued to see who it was. Her response was raised eyebrows and so was Norman’s. It wasn’t Felinthia. However, it was another woman that he recognised, albeit someone he hadn’t ever expected to see again. Stood in the doorway, with a bulky backpack on her shoulders, was none other than Elise.

She took a couple of steps toward the bar as she glanced around the pub. Norman sat utterly still, completely flabbergasted. Elise was about to speak to Beryl when she caught sight of Norman, and stopped dead in her tracks. A look of intense relief graced her face. She made her way over to him. Beryl, a little confused, watched on intrigued.

‘Hello Norman,’ Elise said, reaching his table.

Norman couldn’t formulate any words. Elise, a little sweaty and out of breath, smiled at him. The door to The Rusty Anchor opened a second time.  

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2023]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Norman’s Confessed

Norman’s left leg bounced up and down, as he stared at the darkened one-way glass set into the wall opposite him, in the large police interview room. It was very cold, which was part of the reason his left leg refused to stay still. That and the fact that he was about to be interviewed by the police. He’d been waiting here for some time, which only served to exacerbate his nerves. Run ins with the law weren’t uncommon for Norman, but this was different. This time two detectives were involved.

His eyes drifted to the recording equipment on the table in front of him. Its presence in the room made the situation feel more serious, and it had already been fairly serious to begin with. Despite spending much of his youth in and out of holding cells, he’d never actually been in a police interview room before, or had himself recorded for that matter.

Apart from the interview equipment, table and chairs, the rest of the room was empty. Norman had wished they had at least left a bin in one corner. On several occasions he’d experienced severe nausea and almost thrown up. The bacon sandwich and coffee were not sitting well in his stomach. To distract himself from both this and the intimidating looking interview equipment, he got to his feet.

He rubbed his arms as he paced the room. It was quite likely that the temperature was actually cold, but the fact that Norman was run down had to be a contributing factor. His thoughts drifted to Al. He wondered what had happened to him. Had he been caught too? Or had his retrieval of the backpack been more successful? What’s to say he wasn’t back in the park now, waiting for him to return? It was an uncomfortable thought. If Al was, he wouldn’t wait around for ever. The lad had enough sense to keep moving. Norman had to get out of here. He shuffled over to the one-way glass and rapped on it with a knuckle.

‘Hello? Can someone tell me what’s happening? I’ve been waiting here for a while.’

It was meant to come out as forthright demand but ended up sounding more like a feeble beg. There was no answer. Norman moved back over to the table, doubting that there was anyone actually behind the glass anyway. It was painful to stand on his tender feet too long, so eventually he returned to his chair. It was hard backed and low down. Somehow the room was more uncomfortable than the cell Norman frequented back in Little Werthing. Perhaps this interview room was dedicated solely for out of towners and there was another more comfortable one down the corridor, he thought to himself.

The door to the interview room opened and Norman instinctively sat up straighter in his chair. Two people entered the room. Norman recognised them as the two detectives from the pub. The man was carrying two mugs in his hand and the woman a thin manila folder. She shut the door behind them as the man set the two mugs down on the table, one in front of Norman.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said with a polite smile.

The man had short hair and a well-trimmed beard, both grey verging on white. He looked to be in his mid-fifties to early sixties, but he moved with the stiffness of a much older man. Norman noticed that as he had walked into the room he’d been limping slightly. His suit was well pressed but not fancy, and his shoes were polished but not expensive. A pair of square framed glasses sat on his nose. He pulled out one of the vacant chairs opposite Norman and sat down.

The woman remained standing, instead choosing to lean casually against the wall. She was younger, perhaps late thirties, with shoulder length black hair, dark skin and hazel eyes. Her suit was also smart but affordable. However, unlike the man she wasn’t wearing a tie and the top button of her shirt was undone. Instead of shoes she had boots, but low-heeled ones. Norman glanced at her and they locked eyes. She had quite a piercing stare. He was reminded of PC Geraldine Myers.

‘Tea’s alright I take it? Or would you rather something else? Water? Or a soft drink perhaps?’ the male detective asked Norman.

‘Tea’s fine,’ he replied, wondering why the man was being so friendly to him.

Was it genuine or was he about to experience the classic good cop bad cop routine?

‘I’m Detective Inspector Andy Scully and this is Detective Sergeant Imra Mulder,’ the male detective explained, gesturing at his colleague.

She nodded at Norman cordially but said nothing. DI Scully took a sip from his mug. Norman did the same, expecting it to be equally bad as the coffee from the café. However, he was pleasantly surprised. It was actually a decent mug of tea.

‘I expect you’re wondering what you’re doing here Norman?’ Scully said, tapping his finger on the side of his mug.

Norman was. In his mind he and Al had caused a fair amount of trouble since they’d arrived, but nothing to warrant interest from a couple of detectives. He nodded at Scully. DS Mulder moved over to the table, pulled out the last remaining vacant chair and sat down. From the folder she produced a photograph and slid it across the table to Norman.

‘Do you recognise this man?’ she asked. 

He did. It was Al. Slightly younger and with a different hairstyle, but it was him alright. Norman’s throat became very dry all of a sudden and so he remedied it by taking a sip of tea. Scully clasped his hands together and leant forward on the table.

‘There’s no point denying it son. We have multiple witnesses who claim to have seen the two of you together last night and this morning.’

Norman looked down at the table, feeling trapped.

‘Why are you asking me about Al? I thought you were interrogating me?’

Scully and Mulder glanced at one another momentarily. Mulder, who had been quite stony faced up until this point, actually appeared a little compassionate.

‘So, to your knowledge this man here goes by the name Al?’ she queried, tapping the photograph.

Norman looked up at the two detectives, surprised.

‘What are you talking about?’

Scully sat back in his chair and readjusted the glasses on his nose.

‘The man in the photo goes by many names; Al is one, Jeremey another. His real name though is Dominic Furnell.’

Norman frowned hard, trying to process what the detective had just said. His head hurt, a lot.

‘I don’t understand.’

Mulder folded her arms.

‘Dominic has been using a fake alias for over a month now. Al is an invention. Mr Furnell isn’t even from Yorkshire. He was born and raised in Reading.’

Norman scoffed incredulously.

‘You’re having me on.’

Scully was stony faced, betraying nothing. Mulder extracted something else from the folder and pushed it slowly across the table to Norman.

‘Recognise this?’

The little colour that Norman had in his cheeks promptly drained. It was the missing bank card. He squinted at the name on the front, remembering the night before when he’d noticed it. Noticed and ignored. It had struck him as odd at the time, but he hadn’t wanted to entertain the thought that Al was anything apart from what he’d said.

‘We had a conversation earlier with a Sergeant Tom Braithwaite,’ Scully said, scratching his beard.

Norman bit his lip. He really had pushed his luck too far this time.

‘Nice chap,’ Scully continued. ‘From what I gather you are a bit of local legend over in Little Werthing.’

Norman opened his mouth to protest his innocence but Scully held up a hand. It was just as well. Norman didn’t know what innocence he actually possessed.

‘He was surprised when I told him about your little escapades with Dominic. Said you were a troublemaker but nothing like this. Is that true Norman?’ Scully asked.

Again, Norman didn’t know what to say so he just nodded dutifully. Mulder rapped her fingers on the manilla folder.

‘We’ve both been in this game long enough to know the difference between a no-good criminal, and a kid caught up in something he doesn’t understand. Isn’t that right Sergeant?’ Scully said.

‘Yes sir,’ Mulder said, observing Norman keenly.

Norman’s knee was bouncing up and down again. He knew what they were doing. Being reasonable to get him to rat on Al, or Dominic, or whatever his name was. Norman was torn. Part of him wanted to say nothing and protect his friend. True, the lad had got Norman in over his head but he’d also made him feel more alive than he had in years. Without Dominic, he would never have met Elise. On the other hand, he had lied to Norman about who he was, and if he had lied about that what was to say he wouldn’t just throw Norman under the bus to save his own skin.  

‘We have Dominic in the room next door,’ Mulder stated, as if reading his mind.

Norman studied the DS intently. She could be lying. Norman had watched enough detective shows to know it was a well-known intimidation technique to get someone talking.

‘He’s claiming that this bank card belongs to you. Well, in so much as you stole it,’ Mulder stated plainly.

‘That’s not true,’ Norman blurted out, unable to stop himself.

‘Well, we know that of course,’ Scully interjected. ‘But nevertheless, you were seen using it which makes you an accomplice. Do you know what the punishment for fraud is? Not much, I bet you reckon. You’d be surprised.’

Norman tried to take another sip of tea to calm his nerves but his hand was shaking too much to raise the mug, so he gave up.

‘There’s no point protecting him, Norman. If you do you will both go down. But if you tell us the truth, that you had no knowledge that the card didn’t belong to him or any idea of his real identity, then it will go a lot easier for you,’ Mulder laid out.

For once in his life Norman actually thought long and hard before he opened his mouth.

‘When you say easier…what exactly do you mean?’

Scully and Mulder looked at each other and smiled.

~~~

Norman sat on his backpack outside Clatchdale Police Station, occasionally glancing up and down the road. He didn’t know whether he was the luckiest man alive or the most cursed. After making the wise decision to incriminate Dominic Furnell and clear his own name, Norman had been allowed to go, with one condition. That he would leave Clatchdale and never return.

Norman was surprised. Not only was he essentially left off the hook for technically stealing drinks, but the two detectives had also returned his backpack to him. With regards to the unpaid train fare, it had been determined that Norman would pay the required fine out of his pocket, when he had earnt enough money to do so. Detective Inspector Scully had made it clear that he would be keeping in contact with Sergeant Tom Braithwaite to ensure that this happened.

The familiar sight of his mum’s red Toyota Aygo filled Norman with both relief and despair. It was odd to feel so much love for someone while being simultaneously shit scared of them. However, that perfectly encompassed Norman’s relationship with his mum. When he’d been escorted out of the police station Norman had kept an eye out for signs of Dominic, but had seen no sign of the friendly fraudster. It was probably for the best. The last thing he had wanted to do was to bump into him.

DS Mulder had been the one to escort him out of the building and although Norman felt in many ways like a changed man after meeting Elise, he still couldn’t help glancing sideways at the detective’s slightly opened shirt. There was something about a woman in a suit that was a turn on for Norman. However, his eyes didn’t linger as long as they usually did, although Mulder’s tough attitude might have been a contributing factor.

The Toyota pulled up in front of him as he got to his feet. He waited for the door to open and his enraged mum to climb out and scold him in her customary fashion. Unusually though she remained in the vehicle. Apart from a brief glance at him, she chose to stare out the windscreen in front of her instead. Her expression was hard to gauge from Norman’s position but she didn’t look angry. At least not obviously.

While he had been sat waiting for his mum he’d considered casually slipping away. No one at the station was keeping an eye on him, at least not to his knowledge. He’d been told never to return to Clatchdale but the detectives hadn’t stipulated that he return home to Little Werthing. The thought had crossed his mind to hit the road, hitchhike like Dominic had suggested. Only instead of with Dominic he would go with Elise. The two would escape the town together. However, the longer he’d sat there the less confidence he’d had in the idea.

For one thing he could barely walk. The pain in his feet had intensified tenfold since this morning. Also, there was the possibility, however slim, that he could run into Dominic. Scully and Mulder had claimed that he was being held at the station but how did he know that was true? If Dominic was free, the two could bump into each other while respectively hitchhiking.

Aware that he was still not in his mum’s car, Norman moved round to the boot, opened it and flung his backpack inside. As he shut the boot, he took one final look at Clatchdale Police Station. Apart from a solitary policeman stood on the steps talking on a phone, the place was quiet. As he stood there Norman decided that he wanted that to be the last time he left a police station. It wasn’t unusual for him to think this. He didn’t like ending up in the place, it just inevitably seemed to happen. Often this was a false promise he made to himself. However, this time it felt different. That he actually meant it.

He moved around to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and joined his mum inside. She was fiddling with the radio now. The engine was still running.

‘Thanks for picking me up,’ he said.

His mum stopped playing with the radio and turned to look at him. She gave him a good hard look, which made Norman squirm slightly.

‘You good?’

Norman nodded. He’d not been expecting this. Where was the lecture? The rage? The inevitable grounding?

‘This…Dominic Furnell, he didn’t hurt you, did he?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine mum,’ Norman replied.

‘Because I saw you limping when you got in the car,’ she went on, looking concerned.

Norman chuckled weakly.

‘No, that was my own doing. Running around with no shoes on. It’s nothing serious.’

His mum nodded slowly. Then she did another thing Norman hadn’t been expecting. She took his hand in hers and gave it a firm squeeze.

‘Don’t do it again.’

It was technically a reprimand but she had said in a soft tone of voice, and Norman could tell it was more of a plea than an authorative order.

‘Ready to go home?’ she asked him.

He nodded. She gave his hand another squeeze and then returned it to the wheel. As they pulled away from the curb and began the journey back to Little Werthing, Norman tilted his head towards the window. He didn’t want his mum to see that his eyes had become very watery all of a sudden.

~~~

Norman slept most of the journey back to Little Werthing. The last thing on his mind before drifting off had been Elise. He knew he was making the right decision returning home, but that didn’t make leaving her any easier. It was so strange that he had fallen so quickly and heavily for Elise. They had talked a fair bit the night before but it wasn’t like they knew each other really well. The only other person that this had happened with was Felinthia, but it wasn’t the same. In the brief time Norman and Elise had known each other they had formed a connection. He and Felinthia might have had one too if he hadn’t been…well…Norman. The Norman everyone was used to.

Despite initial fond thoughts of Elise, Norman had a troubling dream. In it the scenario of the two of them running away together had played out in his head, and it hadn’t ended well. Initially, it had been good. There had been the same thrill of adventure he’d experienced with Dominic, only this time it was even better as it was with Elise. However, things had quickly soured. The driver, who stopped to give them a lift while they had been hitchhiking, was weird, making inappropriate remarks to Elise. He also had an unusually angular face, with a joker sized smile, deep sunken eyes and a distinct lack of eyebrows.

They’d eventually managed to get out of the leery ghoul’s car but Norman couldn’t remember how, the dream being a little foggy and patchy. The next part of the dream he remembered the most clearly, as it had featured a huge argument between him and Elise at some unknown petrol station in the middle of nowhere. His lack of courage in calling out the lecherous car driver had been a point of contention, but the main crux of the argument had been money i.e., his lack of it. The last thing Norman recalled before waking, was the sight of Dominic walking towards them across the petrol station forecourt.

Little Werthing was just over an hour away from Clatchdale but the journey felt much longer for Norman. The dream had been one of those long narrative ones and he hadn’t awoken feel particularly rested. If anything, he felt more tired. His mum was humming away to the radio, a sure sign that she was trying to act as if everything was hunky dory.

As they entered the familiar village of Little Werthing, Norman was surprised to find that he was actually happy to see the place. Something he thought would never happen.

~~~

Norman wanted nothing more than to just collapse on his bed as soon as they got home, but his mum was insistent that she give him a check over first. Being a nurse she both knew what she was doing and knew not to take any protestations from her patients. Norman was too tired to argue anyway, although he struggled to stay still as she applied antiseptic to the undersides of his feet. Once or twice, she told him off for his use of bad language but eventually decided to allow it.

Having sorted out his feet as best as she could, she ran him a bath. Norman raided the kitchen cupboards in the meantime, consuming every snack he could find. He knew he had to eat properly but for the time being he just needed to silence the pangs of hunger in his stomach. Appetite somewhat sated, Norman was finally left alone to his bath. Undressing was a painful process. Every muscle in his body ached deeply and felt like they had been stretched to tearing point.

It was even more painful lowering himself into the bath but his mum had thankfully got the temperature of the water just right. It was a gradual process and the longest part was getting his feet in first, but eventually he managed to submerge most of himself in the warm water. Within a minute he was fast asleep.

~~~

Sergeant Tom had visited the next day to check up on Norman. The conversation had gone as everyone had expected. Norman had been told to sort himself out and not go getting into trouble again. He’d promised he would. Both his mum and Sergeant Tom acknowledged this but looked sceptical as ever. This wasn’t the first time Norman had made a promise and they weren’t expecting him to keep it. Why would they?

~~~

The following week went by without incident. Norman returned to work. He was reprimanded by his boss for his poor attendance but that was all. Half the lads that worked for Mr. Cross at the fudge packing factory were guilty of the same thing, and he didn’t care enough about his job to do anything about it. Besides he knew they could only push things so far. They all wanted the money too much to continually skive off.

News had spread through the village of Norman’s exploits over in Clatchdale. Sergeant Tom had tried to keep a lid on it but the Merkel Sisters had gossiped, as Norman suspected they would. To combat this, he kept his head down and tried to get on with his job as best as he could. It was difficult. Elise was in his thoughts pretty much constantly. His absence at the pubs was noticed during the week, but people didn’t pay it much heed. They presumed he was too embarrassed by what had happened to venture out. At least until the weekend.

Norman was embarrassed but that wasn’t his main reason for not going to the pub. He didn’t want to fall back into old habits and in all fairness, he had no money. He was also trying to avoid hanging out with his old crew, although it was almost impossible given the fact that he worked with half of them. Still, he was unusually quiet at work and only made small talk as opposed to the usual banter and drivel they called discourse.

~~~

Friday evening came and to everyone’s surprise, Norman was nowhere to be seen at any of the pubs in Little Werthing. This was so out of character that even his mum came to check on him several times during the evening. Each time she would find him either reading or listening to music in his room, and each time he would say the same thing; that he was fine and didn’t want to go out. The same thing occurred on the Saturday evening. Barry and Frank stopped by to try and cajole him out, but Norman refused. Eventually they’d to be chased off by his mum as they were trying to peer pressure him into coming out, by throwing stones at his bedroom window.

~~~

The next two weeks went by in much the same fashion. Norman attended work dutifully, arriving early each morning and leaving late every afternoon. Mr. Cross called him into the office on one of the days to make sure he was feeling alright, to which Norman insisted he was. Although he continued to see the other lads at work, they began to engage with him less and less as time went by. At first, they’d teased and taunted him about his strangely mature behaviour, but they soon lost interest. In the end it was decided he was a lost cause.

Norman continued to drink in the evenings but only the odd can or bottle at home, watching the telly with his mum. Occasionally he’d think of Elise but the frequency in which he did was less than the first week he’d been back. He still didn’t feel complete, something or someone was missing from his life, but at least now he felt a sense of purpose. He didn’t want to pack fudge for the rest of his life, but if he could at least earn enough money to do something worthwhile, than he could feel some sense of accomplishment.

~~~

People had begun to notice Norman’s change in behaviour and were more friendly towards him as a result. Everyone apart from his so-called friends that was. They hadn’t ostracised him from the group, but he got the feeling that they were muttering about him behind his back. They often suddenly stopped talking when he entered the break room at work, and now and again, he caught them staring at him during the shift. In the past this would have bothered him, but nowadays he wasn’t particularly fussed. To be honest he found the whole thing rather infantile.

One person that had taken particular interest in Norman since he’d begun to sort himself out was none other than Felinthia Loquacious Warburton. They’d run into each other a few times since he’d been back. First in a coffee shop, where Felinthia had been taken aback by both the fact he was there, and that he drank anything other than beer. Another time when he was out walking in the park one morning. Again, she’d been surprised to see him in a park, fully conscious and wearing all of his clothes.

Norman had tried to feign interest to begin with, feeling guilty for thinking of someone other than Elise. After the third encounter however he started to think that perhaps it was time he moved on from her. It was about being realistic. He wasn’t allowed back in Clatchdale, meaning that he would probably never see her again. He needed to direct his attention elsewhere.

~~~

Norman and Felinthia’s third meeting occurred late one night during the week. Usually, he went to bed at a reasonable hour on a weekday. It was an early start at the fudge packing factory and he was keen to prove himself and impress Mr. Cross, if that was even possible. However, on this particular night Norman had trouble quieting his mind and getting to sleep, so he’d decided to go for a walk to clear his head.

It was a cold frosty night and Norman’s breath kept escaping his mouth in misty clouds, as he walked down one of Little Werthing’s residential streets. It was quiet, as was to be expected during the week. A few of the houses still had their lights on but most had the curtains shut to keep in the warm. It was so dark that at first Norman didn’t notice the other night time wanderer, heading down the pavement towards him. They were a little way off so all he could see was a shadowy figure. For some reason Norman felt a little scared.

The light of an approaching car on the road illuminated the figure, revealing it to be none other than Felinthia. She was walking quite fast and kept glancing over her shoulder now and again. Norman noticed that although Felinthia was wearing a jumper it wasn’t particularly thick, and she’d made the foolish decision to wear leggings as opposed to jeans.

‘Norman,’ she called, still a little way off.

They closed the gap between one another.

‘Felinthia, how’s it going?’ Norman said.

His voice was shaky and it was a constant effort to stop his teeth from chattering.

‘I think I’m being followed,’ she said in a low voice, glancing over her shoulder again.

The car that had been moving along the road had now stopped. Bassy music was playing from the back of the vehicle and three lads were sat inside, watching them silently. Norman didn’t recognise any of their faces, which immediately sent alarm bells ringing. He turned his attention to Felinthia. She was wearing makeup but, it was minimal, and her hair was tied back in a bun. Norman had caught a whiff of vodka on her breath as she spoke, but she didn’t appear outwardly drunk.

‘…would you mind walking me home?’ She asked, a little awkwardly.

Norman glanced back at the idling car. The three lads stared back at him. It felt like something was about to go down. Norman stared back, despite being terrified. A moment later they began to slowly drive away, much to his surprise and relief.

‘You look freezing,’ he said to Felinthia, unzipping his fleece lined jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders.

‘And they say chivalry is dead,’ Felinthia commented.

Norman smiled at her. She smiled back.

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2023]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Norman Fails the Test

Things didn’t get off to a good start. In his haste to get out of bed and get dressed, Norman ended up catching his foot in the duvet and tumbled onto the floor with a heavy grunt.

‘Elise, open this door at once,’ her dad shouted.

He was rattling the door handle violently now. Elise also jumped out of bed, with considerably more grace than Norman, and threw on one of her dressing gowns.

‘Hurry up,’ she hissed at him, like a feral cat.

Norman, who was pulling on his trousers, nodded obediently. Elise ran over to the window and yanked up the pane. Her dad was now pounding on the door so hard, that Norman worried the supposedly sturdy section of wood was going to give way at any moment. He went to put on his shoes but Elise snatched them off him and shoved them into his arms instead, along with his t shirt, socks and jumper.

‘There’s no time. Do it later,’ she said frantically, beckoning him towards the window.

Norman followed her over and looked out. Handily there was a roof directly below the bedroom window, although it was a little bit of a drop. Just enough of a distance to make him apprehensive. Once more Elise seized his clothes from him and promptly threw them out of the window. The jumper, t shirt, sock bundle and one of his boots landed on the roof but the other one bounced off, spinning through the air until it landed in the garden.

‘I don’t know…it’s quite a drop,’ Norman said.

‘Elise, you have ten seconds. After that this door is coming down whether you like it or not,’ her dad shouted.

‘On second thought, I think my chances out there are better,’ Norman decided.

He swung one leg out of the window and perched momentarily on the sill. He glanced down and took a deep breath. Now that he was halfway out of the room Norman wasn’t entirely sure he could go through with the rest of it. Elise gave him a swift peck on the cheek. They locked eyes. She still looked highly agitated but there was a tinge of compassion in her eyes. It gave Norman the required confidence he needed. Gingerly, he swung the other leg over the sill so he was sat facing the early morning world.

‘Coming dad,’ Elise called and made her way to her bedroom door.

It was now or never. Norman tensed his arms, fought back the urge to scream and pushed off from the sill. He plummeted down. Miraculously, he managed to land on the roof in a semi decent crouch, although one of his knees made an alarming popping sound in the process. Shouts could be heard from upstairs. Norman straightened up and glanced back up. A second later, a big bald head appeared through the open window.

‘Oi,’ Elise’s dad roared.

‘Shit,’ Norman exclaimed, gathering up his errant clothes and boot, and hurrying to the edge of the roof.

The drop from here to the ground was shorter but he was in a panicked state and when he jumped down, he didn’t judge it quite right and after landing briefly, he lost balance and fell flat onto his front. Fortunately, it was grass but his clothes and boot, which were cradled in his arms, caused him to groan as he hit the ground.

‘I’ll kill you,’ Elise’s dad shouted from above.

Norman had no doubts about that. It was hard to tell the size of the man from just seeing his head, but the deep voice suggested there was a good chance he was a big bloke. There was a slam of a door being flung open as Norman got to his feet. As he turned around something heavy slammed into his chest, knocking him down to the ground, this time onto his back. Norman cowered, assuming it to be Elise’s dad on top of him.

‘Morning sunshine,’ Al greeted. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘My ribs,’ Norman lamented.

Al pulled an apologetic face and quickly got up, recovering his duffel bag that had fallen on the ground, as well as Norman’s other boot.

‘Time to go.’

As if on cue Elise’s dad appeared in the open doorway to the back of the house. Norman had managed to get to his feet and was clutching onto the rest of his gear. Elise’s dad was actually very short but had large forearms and a burly chest. He was compact and angry looking, like a bulldog. The man was frozen to the spot, the appearance of Al confusing him momentarily.

Norman and Al capitalised on that brief delay and ran. They headed for the back of the garden, where there was a door set into the fence. Luckily, they were in a terraced house with a garden leading onto a shared alley, otherwise they would have been cornered. Elise’s dad was slower than Norman and Al, being an older man, but his apparent rage seemed to be giving him added speed.

Someone was shouting from nearby. It sounded like Lorna. As they reached the fence door, Norman had a sudden troubling thought. What if it was locked? For once though in the last twenty-four hours something appeared to go in their favour. The door was not locked. Al reached it first and hastily flipped up the latch. Elise’s dad was gaining on them. Norman could feel his heavy footfalls trembling through the ground. Al yanked open the door and the two raced through.

They emerged into the back alley and immediately Al darted right. Norman didn’t know if he knew where he was going. In fact, he was almost certain the Yorkshire lad didn’t, but he followed anyway. It didn’t matter where they were headed, the two of them just needed to outrun Elise’s dad. There was a cry and a loud thud from behind them. Norman and Al didn’t stop to find out what it was. They just kept running.

~~~

Norman and Al only stopped when they were absolutely sure they’d lost Elise’s dad. Al clearly didn’t have any qualms about getting into fights with school kids, but in regards to enraged fathers, he’d had enough sense to run instead. A few people had spotted them tearing through the neighbourhood, no doubt their attention drawn by Norman’s bare torso and feet. In the end, the two of them they chosen a nearby churchyard as an appropriate place to stop.

This was one of the few areas of Clatchdale that was quiet, it being a Monday and a normal working day for most. After they were sure the livid dad wasn’t anywhere in sight, Norman finished getting dressed. His feet ached and stung badly from where he’d been forced to run barefoot through alleys and along pavements. He couldn’t bear to look at the undersides so instead he just pulled his socks straight on, wincing loudly.

Al had wandered off somewhere out of sight. His duffel bag was on the bench they’d stopped at, so he couldn’t have gone far. It was peaceful in the churchyard. The birds were singing in the trees and although there was the noise of traffic from the nearby road, it wasn’t overly loud. Norman was grateful for the relative quietness. He felt just a little worse for wear. Although not as bad as the preceding day he still felt quite rough, and it hadn’t been the way he’d envisioned waking up after spending a night with a pretty woman.

The serene semi silence was abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone throwing up nearby. Norman now understood why Al had moved away out of sight. It went on for a while, to the point where Norman was considering to go check on Al, when he finally reappeared. He wore his customary big smile as if everything was hunky dory, but his face was gaunt and his eyes sunken, and underlined by dark bags.

‘Hell of a night,’ Al stated, sitting down next to Norman on the bench.

Norman got an aromatic whiff of tobacco, beer and vomit. He wrinkled his nose, despite knowing that he probably didn’t smell much better. They both said nothing for a little while, soaking in the mild morning and the scenic setting around them. An old woman hobbled past, carrying some flowers in her hand. Norman expected her to eye them with a look of hostility or disapproval, but instead she politely greeted them good morning and carried on her way.

They watched her shuffle over to one of the gravestones. Norman felt a twinge of guilt. He knew that the whole supposed point of religion and a church was to welcome and accept everyone, but he felt bad that he and Al were stinking up the place, figuratively and literally.

‘How do you feel?’ Norman asked.

Al was still watching the old woman, seemingly deep in thought, and didn’t appear to hear. Norman gave him a nudge and repeated the question.

‘Well, I feel slightly better than I did half an hour ago,’ he said, as if waking from a daze.

He wiped some spittle from his lip and asked Norman the same question.  

‘Everything aches and I feel like death…but apart from that, swell,’ Norman replied, giving him the thumbs up.

Al chuckled croakily before breaking into a coughing fit. Norman massaged his knee. When it had made that popping noise earlier, he’d felt no pain but now it was throbbing a fair bit. He also had to keep his hands concealed in his jumper pockets as he had the shakes, due to alcohol, caffeine withdrawal or possibly both.

‘Worth it though, even if we did nearly get our heads kicked in. I don’t know how things went with you and Elise, but Lorna was wild in the sack. But then the ones with overly protective dads always are. Am I right?’ Al reflected, giving him a knowing wink.

‘…right,’ Norman stammered. ‘…part of the reason I ache so much.’

Al laughed loudly. Norman glanced at the old woman, worried she’d be offended by Al’s lack of decorum, but either she was hard of hearing or didn’t care.

‘A successful night all things considered,’ Al mused.

Some of the colour seemed to have returned to his face. Norman simply nodded. He had no idea if Al was telling the truth about him and Lorna. They’d been in separate rooms and Norman had been too sloshed to hear anything through the walls. He’d also been so passed the point that he had no idea if Elise had been wild or not.

She’d given him a compassionate kiss on the cheek upon leaving, so things must have gone well to a degree. A troubling thought entered his mind. He had no recollection of using a condom. Even ‘no sense Norman’ usually remembered to use protection, mainly because he abhorred the idea of having children. Hopefully that had made him do it out of muscle memory.

‘And it’s all thanks to this little beau…’ Al began, but trailed off.

‘What is it?’ Norman asked, observing him as he frantically searched his coat pockets.

After a minute of rummaging, Al glanced round at Norman with a despondent expression.

‘My bank card is missing.’

~~~

Norman and Al sat in one of the two greasy spoons that was located along Clatchdale high street. Norman had a black coffee and Al a tea. Usually, Norman had milk as well but his stomach wasn’t up to the challenge of lactose this morning. They were faced with two pressing concerns. One, Al had lost his bank card, meaning they were surviving on the little amount of cash he had remaining, which wasn’t much. Two, Norman was still without his backpack.

The only silver lining was the greasy spoon they were sat in. The church, although peaceful, had made both Norman and Al uneasy. For Norman it was the guilt of being disturbers of the peace, and for Al it was just being in a place of religion. He’d explained to Norman that when it came to Christianity, he had a very problematic relationship with the faith.

The other benefit of the greasy spoon was that they looked more at home here. The place was busy but occupied by tradespeople, old blokes reading the paper and a few rough looking individuals. It was the one place in town Norman and Al didn’t seem to stick out like a sore thumb.

‘So, what are we going to do?’ Norman poised, trying to distract Al’s attention away from the waitress, who he’d taken a shine to.

Unusually, Norman wasn’t interested in the waitress. He seemed to be the only one in the café. The seated patrons might as well have been a bunch of over excited dogs, with their drooling tongues hanging out of their mouths. She was flirty but a little bit bossy, which seemed to attract the men like wasps to a jam jar. For Norman though his mind seemed to be only focused on Elise, and every now and then he would gently brush the cheek she’d kissed.

‘I believe it’s time for your test young Norman,’ Al said, eventually wrenching his eyes away from the waitress.

Norman paused; his mug of coffee raised halfway to his mouth.

‘Test? What test?’

‘Well, the way I see it we have only have one course of action. We need to leave this town, preferably sooner rather than later,’ Al said, taking a gulp of tea.

‘Agreed, but what has that got to do with a test?’ Norman asked, clasping the coffee mug in his hands.

Its warmth was comforting. The waitress wandered over and flashed them a winning smile.

‘Anything else I can get you?’

‘I could murder a bacon sandwich,’ Al said, leaning casually back in his chair. ‘Norman?’

Norman shook his head impatiently, irritated by Al’s constant habit of flirting with every woman they seemed to come into contact with.

‘Brown or white?’ the waitress asked.

‘Surprise me,’ Al said playfully.

‘You got it love,’ the waitress said, and sauntered off.

Al watched her go, as did several of the other customers. Norman snapped his fingers loudly in his face.

‘Right, the test,’ Al said, returning his attention to Norman.

He leant forwards over the table and clasped his hands together, becoming very business-like all of a sudden.

‘Last night was fun and like I said at the time I didn’t mind paying your way.’

He paused, not quite sure how to go on.

‘But?’ Norman said, sensing a catch was on the horizon.

Al tugged on his earlobe.

‘I think it’s only fair you do something in return for me, considering our predicament.’

Norman sighed.

‘You want me to steal back my bag from the station guard.’

‘Actually, I was going to ask you to recover my lost card from Elise and Lorna’s house, but now you mention it that’s not a bad shout too,’ Al responded.

Norman took another sip of coffee. It wasn’t very nice. Instant and so strong that you could stand your spoon up in it. He didn’t like a weak cup but he also didn’t like having his bowels assaulted on a regular basis. The sip of coffee, which also had a slight hint of washing up liquid, was urging him to go to the toilet. However, he ignored the stomach crap. He’d already been twice and was too embarrassed to go again.

So instead, he returned his thoughts to the matter at hand, weighing up the two options. Neither were inviting prospects. The retrieval of his backpack was risky as the station guard was a representative of the law and if Norman was caught, he would most likely be handed over to the police. The other option i.e., return to Elise and Lorna’s house ran the risk of bumping into their dad, who was sure to dish out a beating.

Al’s sandwich had arrived. He thanked the waitress but didn’t pay her attention like before. Instead, he was watching Norman closely. It most definitely felt like a test. A way for him to prove himself. It was true that Al would do the other option but Norman got the impression that the Yorkshire lad had ulterior motives. He pushed his coffee away. He’d had enough. It had been necessary to make him feel more human but he’d had his fill.

It was strange. Norman could drink almost anything if it was of an alcoholic nature and when it came to food, he certainly wasn’t fussy. The little money he didn’t spend on alcohol was usually reserved for kebab vans and takeaways. Yet when it came to coffee, he suddenly became a little snobby. One of the few items he actually owned in his mum’s house was a cafetiere and although Norman was a lazy git when it came to helping out, he always made coffee for him and his mum.

‘I’ll get the card…I mean as long as you don’t mind getting my backpack?’

Al raised an eyebrow. He still hadn’t touched his bacon sandwich.

‘Why…’

He paused, smiling. Grabbing one of the cut halves of the sandwich he took a big bite out of it and flapped the remainder of it at Norman. The sight of the limp fatty bacon hanging out of it should have made Norman’s stomach even unhappier, but quite the opposite. It made him hungry all of a sudden.

‘You want to see that Elise bird again, don’t you?’ Al said.

Norman shrugged. Al took another bite, wrestling with the chewy bacon for a moment.

‘You like her.’

‘Well…yeah,’ Norman replied. ‘You like Lorna too, right?’

‘She’s alright. Was good fun granted,’ Al commented frankly, his attention returning to the waitress once more.

Norman eyed the other greasy half of the sandwich, biting his lip.

‘Just don’t get too attached. The plan is to get our stuff and split right?’ Al said, glancing at him.

Norman nodded, still staring at the bacon sandwich half.

‘So where should we meet?’

‘Hmmm, well station is out. Stealing the backpack is one thing but it would be playing it awful risky to hang around for a train afterwards. Maybe bus, but those cost. I reckon our best bet is to hitchhike. Not the most glamourous of ways to travel but free,’ Al said.

‘Hitchhiking…right,’ Norman said, not really listening.

He now felt ravenously hungry. Al finished off his first half of the sandwich and was about to start the next, when he noticed Norman’s lingering gaze. With a sigh, he pushed it across the table towards him.

‘Really?’ Norman said, elated.

Al nodded.

~~~

Norman stood in the alley behind Elise and Lorna’s house, or rather their dad’s house. His initial idea had been to approach from the front, before realising that was a foolish idea. He’d then remembered that the garden fence door had been unlocked, when he and Al had scarpered earlier that morning. Norman had been surprised he’d managed to work out how to get back. They had been running in a blind panic. He wasn’t surprised though how badly his feet hurt, having put them through the ringer.

Double checking no one was about, Norman approached the fence door. He was about to slide up the latch but ended up hesitating. Looking around, he spotted a nearby wheelbarrow. The alley he was in ran alongside a set of allotments. By a stroke of fortune no one seemed to be working in any of them, or at least no one close enough to see Norman. Wheeling the slightly rusty piece of gardening equipment over, he flipped it upside down and climbed on top of it.

He had to stand on tiptoes to see over the fence and even then, the wheelbarrow wasn’t entirely steady. However, it was just enough to glimpse over into the back garden. It was empty and quiet. Unfortunately, no Elise in sight but fortunately not her dad. Satisfied there wasn’t any danger, at least in the garden, Norman moved the wheelbarrow out the way and slid up the latch. However, when he went to pull open the fence door it didn’t budge. Thinking that perhaps it had just got stuck, he gave it a few strong tugs. No luck.

‘Balls,’ he exclaimed.

He hadn’t factored in that it would be locked but of course it made sense. After what had happened Elise and Lorna’s dad had probably padlocked the thing immediately. The man took protective parenting to a whole another level. Someone clearing their throat made Norman’s heart skip a beat. Slowly he swivelled round, instinctively flinching at the fist that was probably headed his way. Much to his surprise though it wasn’t Elise’s dad. It was Elise herself.

‘Are you mad?’ she said, glancing around covertly.

‘Hi,’ Norman said awkwardly, unable to think of anything else to say.

Elise grabbed his hand and led him away from the fence door. Norman went without protest. He knew she had some sort of pull over him and it was useless trying to resist. For one thing he didn’t want to.

‘If my dad sees you here, he will kill you,’ Elise said, pulling him into the alcove of a nearby garage.

Once again, she glanced up and down the alley, frowning pensively. They were stood very close together. Norman studied her face. Elise wasn’t wearing as much makeup as the night before, and in the clear light of day Norman realised that his initial assumption that she was older had been a mistake. He didn’t know for certain but she looked about his age, which better explained her murderous dad.

‘What are you looking at?’ she said, noticing his stare.

‘Nothing,’ Norman said, ‘It’s nice to see you again.’

He didn’t know what was going on. Elise was technically pretty but she wasn’t exactly a stunner. A little on the heavier side and her skin was quite spotty without the makeup, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

‘…erm…thanks,’ Elise said, a little taken aback.

There was a moment of silence between them before Elise managed to recompose herself.

‘What are you doing here?’

Norman scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

‘I left something here…this morning.’

‘Oh,’ Elise said, sounding a little disappointed. ‘What?’

‘My bank card, you haven’t seen it have you?’ Norman asked.

Elise shook her head. It was odd. Norman had presumed she wouldn’t be very happy to see him again, after what had transpired this morning, but her body language suggested otherwise. They’d got on the night before and he liked her. Quite a lot it turned out. He just hadn’t been aware she liked him a lot too.

‘The thing is, I’m kind of stuffed without it,’ Norman explained.

‘You’re leaving I take it?’ Elise said, playing with a hole in the bottom of her jumper sleeve.

‘Yeah, me and Al are going further west. Might check out Bristol,’ Norman replied, studying her face again.

Her expression was a bit sterner. Not severe but slightly impassive. Either she didn’t care or she was masking the fact that she was actually quite upset. He selfishly hoped, it was the second.  

‘I can have a look for you. I’d invite you in but my dad is home and…’ Elise started to say.

Norman held up a hand.

‘Say no more.’

Elise nodded and they lapsed into silence once again. A middle-aged woman, wearing colourful clothing, cycled past. Norman did a double take. The bike had a basket on the front and sat inside of it was a black cat. The animal looked quite calm, content even, to be travelling in this manner.  

‘Have you tried looking in the pub?’

Norman shook his head slowly, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that.

‘I could meet you there…after I’ve had a look in the house first. That is…if you’re not rushing off straightaway?’ Elise suggested.

Norman massaged one of his arms, knowing that Al wouldn’t like it. Elise was watching him expectantly. He felt a slight flutter in his stomach, and it wasn’t due to the half bacon sandwich and washing up liquid coffee he’d had earlier.

‘Yeah,’ he said softly, the words escaping his mouth of their own volition.

Elise went to brush past him but he placed a hand gently on her arm. She paused, looking up at him. Their faces were almost touching.

‘The card wasn’t the only reason I came back,’ he said quietly.

‘No?’ Elise said, almost in a whisper.

She was breathing quickly. So was he. They kissed. In the alcove of the garage entrance the two teenagers wrapped themselves around each other, and the world surrounding them melted away.

~~~

Norman was in luck. The pub was open. According to the sign on the window they served late breakfast/brunch, and were due to close shortly before reopening again in the evening. He opened the door and headed inside, with a slight spring in his step. This was impressive considering he was still having to limp everywhere, due to his sore feet. The pub was dead, despite their being breakfast and brunch on the menu.

Correction, almost dead. There was one solitary customer sat on one of the stools at the bar, conversing with the landlord. He was wearing a suit and overcoat and had short closely cropped hair. Norman headed over to them, recognising the man behind the bar from last night. The two of them caught sight of him approaching.

‘There he is,’ exclaimed the landlord.

Norman, who was smiling broadly, came to a halt. The customer had alighted from the bar stool and was watching him curiously. Norman’s smile faded. The door behind him opened and a dark-haired woman entered the pub. He turned around. She was also wearing a suit. There was nothing particular unusual about that. It was a Monday and many working people wore suits. However, something about the two sharp dressed patrons made him nervous.

‘Nothing sir,’ the woman announced.

Norman felt a hand curl around the top of his left shoulder, squeezing it ever so slightly.

‘No worries sergeant. I believe we’ve found one of the young men we’ve been looking for.’

Norman’s feelings of elated joy were suddenly shattered, replaced by a deep despair.

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2023]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Saturn’s Ring

It is one thing to wake up with a massive hangover after a heavy night of drinking with no recollection of the previous night’s events, but it is another to wake up with this handful of ailments on a completely different planet. This shouldn’t have come as any particular shock to Aled Jefferies, as he had prior knowledge that he would be spending his stag night in the exotic capital city on Saturn. Still, it is always odd waking up somewhere that isn’t your own bed, especially when that bed is on another planet.

Aled didn’t usually drink much these days. Being in his late thirties he had suffered far too many hangovers and near-death experiences to put him off drinking to that degree anymore. Unfortunately, Aled had an Achilles’ heel when it came to alcohol. His groomsmen. Bill, Jez, and Dean were his three groomsmen but more than that they were his three best friends.

Over the years they had lost contact. Bill had been living on a mining colony on Mars, Jez and his partner had had a kid and Dean was just terrible at reading or responding to any or all messages. Aled hadn’t planned on drinking that much, not that he ever really did, but they had all been aware that it had been too long since they had last enjoyed themselves, and might possibly be a long time before they would again.

So, they had partied accordingly. Aled had got drunk pretty quickly. He remembered that much. These days he was a lightweight, his tolerance being a lot lower. At the same time, the fact that his head felt like it had been split in half and filled with ants suggested that he had definitely drunk a considerable amount. It took him quite a long time to even open his eyes, such was the discomfort and pain it caused. He had been woken by a slither of light that had managed to pierce through the surrounding darkness.  

He wanted nothing more than to carry on sleeping but his head and stomach protested heavily. Despite lying still, he felt like he was boarding a ship on a choppy sea voyage. He tried to take his mind off his queasiness by focusing his thoughts on the events of last night. He remembered meeting the lads at the start of the night and having a drink in the hotel bar. The rest was a blur.

The sound of a toilet flushing suddenly sobered Aled up a little bit. He tentatively opened his eyes. It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the room around him, partly due to the fact that it was dimly lit, the only light peeking through a gap in the curtains.

The first thing that struck him as odd and troubling was that it wasn’t his room. The main indicator was that it was very big and very messy. He had cracked open a few beers with the guys in his hotel room the night before but that was about it. They had spent the rest of the time exploring the sights and sounds of the capital city.

Furthermore, this room was clearly part of a residential abode as it had a lot of expensive-looking furniture and there seemed to be clothes everywhere. On the floor, on the backs of chairs. Aled’s hotel room was a sparsely decorated affair with the basics one would want while on a boozy stag do.

Aled was frowning at the room around him when something on the floor by the foot of the bed caught his attention. What he presumed to be another pile of clothes had moved. Looking more closely however he realized that it wasn’t a pile of clothes at all. It was a man. He was lying fast asleep on his back half covered by a blanket, his mouth slung open in a very unflattering manner. It was Bill. Aled would recognise that goatee and army jacket anywhere.

Somebody coughed loudly. Aled’s eyes widened. It sent a sharp stab of pain through the front of his head. It hadn’t been Bill because Aled had been watching him. It had come from behind a door on the left-hand side of the room. A moment later the door in question slid open with a hiss and a completely naked woman entered the room.

At least Aled had initially thought it was a woman. As she drew nearer, he realised that, although female, she wasn’t of human origin. Evidenced by her slightly translucent skin and lack of a nose. In its place were two thin slits. The biggest giveaway however, that she wasn’t a human, was the fact that she had four arms.

Aled pulled the duvet cover higher up him. He felt like he was going to be sick and not as a result of his excessive drinking. He had many shortcomings in his life but being unfaithful wasn’t one of them. It was then that he noticed something that made him start to panic even more. His engagement ring was missing. This was bad. This was really bad.

The four-limbed female drew nearer. She looked so tired and hungover that her eyes were just thin slits and her hair was a messy nest. Instead of heading towards the bed where the terrified Aled sat gripping his duvet tightly, she staggered towards where Bill was laying asleep. Aled watched in stunned silence as she lay down beside him, pulling the blanket off him and over her.

For the briefest of seconds, Aled had glimpsed her bare bottom. It wasn’t a traditional one. It technically had a bum line but much longer than your average humanoid, extending up past the cleftal horizon and reaching up to her shoulders. Although Aled had been clearly visible sitting on the bed under the duvet she hadn’t paid him any attention. Either she hadn’t seen him or she just didn’t care about his presence.

Aled was relieved that she had been Bill’s conquest and not his own, but that relief was momentary when he remembered he was still missing his engagement ring. He had to find it and quick. Making an effort not to disturb Bill and the mystery alien Aled got to his feet, involuntarily groaning at the physical and mental toll it caused him.

The first challenge he had was retrieving his clothes which shouldn’t have been such a problem had it not been for the fact that the floor was littered with clothing. At one point he had to suppress a yell of surprise lifting a random top and finding someone’s bare leg underneath. It was long and slender, suggesting it belonged to a woman or a female species of some kind. He covered it up and moved quickly on.

Eventually, he found his clothes, pulled them on, and tiptoed towards the door and freedom. Bill was still fast asleep, as was his female friend. She muttered something as Aled reached the door which made him freeze but then she rolled over and fell silent a moment later. Aled considered waking Bill but then decided against it. Bill was a loud man and Aled was worried that his booming voice would stir both the alien next to him and whoever else was concealed within the room.

Aled swiped the wall panel and the door slid open with a hiss. He stepped out into a long hallway. It wasn’t in a much better state of affairs than the bedroom. In fact, it was worse. There were empty bottles and cans strewn over the floor. An ashtray had been upturned and cigarettes and ash had been kicked and trodden into the hallway carpet. Graffiti had been sprayed on one of the walls and a man was passed out at the far end of the hallway underneath a window. He was topless and had a mustache and glasses.

Aled gagged slightly on the smell of stale alcohol and cigarette ash as he began to thread his way to the stairs. A few times he had to steady himself against one of the walls as he was overcome by dizziness. There was a landscape painting on the wall that kept changing to other landscapes. It didn’t help with Aled’s motion sickness.

When he reached the top banister of the stairs, he took a moment to steady himself. It was then that he realized that the man didn’t really have a mustache and glasses. They had been drawn on with pen. Going down the stairs wasn’t a fun sensation at all and at the halfway point he was forced to stop and throw up in a nearby plant pot. Aled felt bad but then reminded himself that with the current state of the house, it probably wouldn’t matter.

Downstairs wasn’t much better than upstairs. In the living room, there were more passed out people, lying comatosed on sofas and the floor. The tables were hidden under mountains of alcohol containers, food-laden plates, and all manner of drug paraphernalia.

He was about to turn and leave when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. When he had popped his head into the room the large tv on the wall had been on and a children’s program had been blaring away loudly. Aled had presumed it had been left on from the night before but he had been wrong.

A small kid was sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room watching the screen, oblivious to the passed-out revelers around him. The child wasn’t human, Aled could tell that much even from here. He had the same translucent skin, nose slits, and four arms as the woman Aled had seen upstairs. The kid, as if sensing he was being watched, turned his head and studied Aled. Aled waved and the kid waved back before returning his attention to the TV.

Aled entered the kitchen. Fortunately, there was nobody slumbering there, although like the other areas of the house, it was still a mess. In one corner of the room, there was a service droid but rather gruesomely someone had removed its eyes and one of its arms. It had also been dressed up in ostentatious clothing and someone had liberally smeared lipstick over the lower part of its synthetic face.

Aled used the aforementioned arm that was lying on the floor to clear a corner of the table and sat down on one of the breakfast bar stools. He frowned hard at the dirty surface of the table in front of him, trying yet again to recall the events of last night. With the driving migraine assaulting him it was near impossible.

Leaning one of his elbows on the table he decided that his best hope of recovering his engagement ring was firstly to track down his friends. One of them might know. Bill was upstairs but Aled had no idea where the rest of them were.

Loud music blasted into the room, jerking Aled awake. He had dozed off as he had been sat there, his face pressed into the palm of his hand. Letting out a disgruntled cry Aled lifted his arm to reveal that a display interface had appeared on the table surface. Aled jabbed and swiped at it angrily until it eventually disappeared. With a sigh of relief, he sat back on the stool.

His most pressing question was where was his ring but the second was where he was and how he had ended up here. The blinds were thankfully shut but that did prevent Aled from determining his location. If he was still in the city then it must be somewhere on the outskirts as it was quiet. He was just about to get up and venture to the blinds to find out when the door whirred open and the alien kid entered the room.

The kid moved over to the fridge confidently, aware of Aled’s presence but not fazed. It clearly wasn’t the first time that a party of this magnitude had been thrown at the house. Aled watched the small alien fetch itself some breakfast. The alien sat down. It had a bowl in one hand, a box of cereal in the second, a glass bottle in the third, and a spoon in the fourth.

The cereal box had a moving picture on the front of a cartoon frog riding a spoon. The bottle was full of white liquid and written on the front were the words MILK in block capitals. They locked eyes for a moment and the little alien smiled at Aled. He smiled back and grimaced as the movement of his facial muscles was annoyingly painful.

While the alien kid tucked into his breakfast Aled began searching through the debris on the table in front of him, muttering under his breath. The alien watched him curiously as he ate his breakfast. It was weird. Although Aled had interacted with aliens before he had never seen them eat. Somehow, he figured they would consume something strange and exotic, not everyday cereal.

The only ring Aled found in the trash pile on the table was a funny-shaped one. It took him several minutes of squinting and frowning to realize what it was before he dropped it back onto the table with a yelp. He covered it over and wiped his hands hastily on his top. The alien kid chuckled. It was a croaky laugh.

Aled felt hot anger consume him at the blatant poor parenting that had and clearly was, still taking place. Strange clicking and buzzing noises started up. The alien was watching him expectantly. Aled suddenly realized the little creature was trying to communicate with him.

‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ Aled said, massaging his throat immediately afterward.

It felt like he had swallowed a golf ball. The alien leaned forwards and began tapping away on the table in front of it with long slender fingers, still eating its breakfast with its two free hands. Aled watched silently. When the little alien was finished, it pointed a long finger at the table space in front of Aled.

‘Oh.’

Writing had appeared on the table in front of him. The words read; What are you looking for? Aled held up his hand and pointed at his ring finger.

‘My engagement ring. It’s silver with a weave pattern on it. Have you seen it?’

The alien nodded almost at once. Aled gripped the sides of the table, becoming excited.

‘Where?’

The alien thought for a moment before tapping away on the table again. Aled waited eagerly for the new set of words to appear.

‘I traded it with a friend for some cards,’ the words read.

Aled’s elation turned to one of anger. He pushed it down though. The alien was an infant. Well, as far he knew anyway. The being could be in its late fifties although Aled highly doubted that.

‘It was not yours to trade,’ Aled said, trying to mask the rage in his voice.

‘You gave it to me last night and said it was mine to have and do what I wanted with it,’ came the display message a few moments later.

Aled pressed a fist into his forehead, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot, or better yet the universe’s biggest idiot. He could hear the alien typing away again. Looking down he waited for the next message. When it eventually appeared Aled looked up with a hopeful expression.

‘You know where he is?’

The alien nodded, downed the remaining milk in the cereal bowl, and wiped its face with the back of its sleeve. Then it skipped over to the kitchen door. Aled swiveled around in his stool. The alien was beckoning at him to follow. Aled’s eyes traveled up to a clock on the wall above the door.

It read one pm. The sight of it made his blood run cold. The space shuttle back to earth was in an hour and his wife would be waiting at the other end. If he missed that flight, she would know something was up. Aled got up and followed the small alien out of the room.

At the front door, Aled had to wait as the alien put on his shoes. He noticed that the creature had only eight toes. Aled was already wearing his. He had wisely put them on upstairs to avoid stepping on anything nasty barefoot. There had been one or two needles lying around. If he hadn’t had felt so rough Aled would have marched back upstairs and given the mother a stern talking to. However, he could barely stand and from the looks of the alien mother, she wasn’t going to be stirring anytime soon.

The front door opening was one of the most horrific experiences of the day for Aled. His eyes and head felt like they were going to explode from the impact and it took all of his willpower to not flee back to the safety of the kitchen. It was a blessing that the house was such a shit tip after all. When his eyes adjusted Aled didn’t feel any less disorientated. In fact, if anything he felt more.

He was presented with a suburban street that looked like something out of a 1950s film. Lining either side of the wide road were rows of large multicoloured houses, each nearly identical to one another. In fact, a handful were. They all had neatly kept lawns and long driveways with open-topped cars parked there. Every single house had a little post-box at the front of the garden.

If it hadn’t been for the large circular dome and one of Saturn’s large rings looming in the sky up above, Aled would have presumed he had somehow ended up back on earth. In truth, he was relieved he wasn’t. His fiancé would be that one step closer to discovering his unforgivable deed if that was the case.

Aled felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down. The alien gestured with his free hand at the house across the road. Aled nodded and the two of them made their way outside. A paper boy zoomed down the road on a hoverbike, chucking newspapers onto the lawns with reckless abandonment. Aled had to duck as one of the rolled-up papers nearly hit him in the face.

They began to make their way across the road to the house opposite. A few doors down a man was washing a fancy-looking car, occasionally throwing them suspicious looks but not saying anything. They continued on. The ground underneath Aled’s feet felt unsteady despite the fact that it was quite clearly solid. The alien kid reached the front door of the house first and jabbed the front doorbell. There was a jaunty musical jingle.

At first, there was no response. Aled glanced at his watch. Time was ticking down. Did this kid really know where his ring was or was he leading him on a fool’s errand? A series of loud horns made Aled glance up. Two hovercars had nearly collided in the air and the drivers were engaged in a heated debate. The front door whooshed open and Aled looked down to see a kid standing in the doorway. This time human.

‘Hi Colin,’ the human kid said to the alien kid, before turning her gaze to Aled.

Colin greeted the human kid. Aled discerned the only recognizable word, Sarah. Colin said something else and Sarah answered him in his own dialect. Aled leaned on the pillar of the house porch, feeling unsteady again.

‘What is it you are saying?’

‘I don’t have your ring,’ Sarah stated plainly.

Aled banged his head against the pillar.

‘My dad sold it,’ Sarah further elaborated.

Aled took a deep breath. He had never wanted to strangle a young girl before but there was always a first for everything.

‘Is your dad here?’ Aled asked, crossing his fingers behind his back.

Sarah shook her head. Colin was scratching his belly with two of his hands while rubbing his eyes with the other two.

‘Who did he sell it to?’ Aled asked, his right eye twitching irritably.

‘Mac’s Emporium. It’s in the city center,’ Sarah explained helpfully.

‘Right,’ Aled said, praying to all that was holy that this Mac hadn’t already flogged it on.

He was about to enquire where it was when a loud car horn drowned him out.

‘Oi, Aled.’

Aled spun around. A taxi had pulled up to the curb and sat in the back were none other than Jez and Dean. Jez had a wide grin on his face while Dean was pressed up against the far window, cradling his head.

‘Thank you,’ Aled said to Sarah and Colin.

They both nodded. Aled made his way over to the car but stopped, hesitating. He turned back to the house.

‘Will you be alright?’ he asked Colin.

The little alien gave him four thumbs up. Aled turned away quickly before either of them saw the tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

‘What’s up with you?’ Jez asked Aled, as he joined them in the back of the taxi.

‘Hayfever,’ Aled said, wiping at his face.

Jez was annoyingly perky. The man never suffered hangovers which was highly infuriating.

‘Where’s Bill?’ he asked.

As if in response the door to the party house opened and a topless Bill came racing out, pursued by the four-limbed mother. She was screaming blue murder at him and brandishing what looked like his shoe in one of her hands.

‘Get ready to drive,’ Jez informed the driver.

‘That will be extra credits,’ the driver said bluntly, puffing on a small vape.

‘Yes, yes fine,’ Jez said irritably.

Bill threw open the back door and dove inside. There were several groans as he landed atop the other three. The door shut automatically and immediately the driver hit the acceleration pedal. They began to rise in the air. The enraged female alien launched Bill’s shoe and it bounced off the side window. The cab driver tutted despite the glass being reinforced. A necessary precaution on Saturn.

~~~

Mac’s Emporium was a shabby-looking pawn shop located in the very heart of the city. Five of the letters at the top of the shop front were missing, spelling out the words Ac Poium instead. Fortunately, the driver knew the place. In the tall display window on the left was an assortment of odds and ends. A mixture of scrap, general tat and the occasional gem. The other window was boarded up, presumably from looting or general property damage.

Sat next to the store was a weird blob-like creature. It had several eyes but no mouth and it had a sign asking for spare change. The boneless creature seemed to have spread itself out on the pavement as much as possible to attract attention and sympathy from passers-by. Aled scanned the display window first but there was no sign of the ring. He had explained the situation to the rest of them on the cab ride over.

The street they were on was busy. Cars trundled along the road and zipped through the sky. The pavements were crowded with foot traffic and synthy music blared out of several shop fronts. Not Mac’s Emporium though. The place was deadly quiet. 

The four of them headed inside, eager to get away from the noise of outside. The shop was large but somehow felt cramped at the same time, mainly due to the fact that it was made up of narrow aisles with shelves upon shelves of various second-hand items. At first, Aled tried scanning the shelves but he soon gave up. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Jez and Bill got distracted by a mysterious glowing orb floating on one of the shelves while Aled and Dean carried on. After a few twists and turns and redirecting their course, they reached the main area of the shop which had a counter and a few display cabinets.

There was an old-fashioned bell on the countertop. Aled hit it and Dean groaned at the noise. He looked even worse than Aled with his red-rimmed eyes and incredibly pale skin. A hologram appeared suddenly behind the counter and both Aled and Dean involuntarily shouted in surprise.

‘Good afternoon gentlemen. Welcome to Mac’s Emporium. How may I be of service today?’

‘I’m looking for a ring,’ Aled said, for the third time that day.

‘We have many rings sir. If you look at the display cabinets here,’ the hologram replied, gesturing with one of his long arms.

Aled had been prepared for this. He tapped away on his watch for a moment and then a small holographic image of a ring appeared above it. The hologram leaned forward to examine it.

‘Ah yes, I recognize that one.’

Aled waited with bated breath to hear the inevitable words; that item had been sold. However, those words never came. Instead, the hologram disappeared.

‘Well, that’s just great,’ Aled said, turning to face Dean.

Dean went to shrug but then frowned, noticing something on the counter. Aled swiveled back around. His engagement ring had magically appeared there. Aled blinked twice, worried that he had somehow hallucinated. It was definitely there though. Dean had been the one to spot it. Aled reached out a hand. The hologram reappeared, making the two of them jump again.

‘Stop doing that,’ Aled growled.

‘Apologies sir. How would you like to pay?’ the hologram said with a toothy grin.

The hologram looked like a space pirate. He had one milky eye, a pockmarked face, and crafty little eyes.

‘Cash,’ Aled said bluntly, digging a hand into his pocket.

He suddenly went very pale. His wallet wasn’t there. Dean stifled a yawn as Aled searched his other pockets frantically. Nothing, and yet he had definitely had it on him this morning.

‘Colin,’ he muttered aloud, ‘that four-armed little shit.’

Sensing where things were going Dean slowly started to back away. Aled turned to him imploringly. Dean shook his head.

‘Come on mate, it’s an emergency. You know I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important,’ Aled pleaded.

Dean resisted for all of a minute before sighing, stepping up to the counter, and pulling his wallet out. The hologram licked his lips as he watched Dean count out the cash he had on him.

‘Well, that’s a good start,’ he commented.

‘Oh, come on,’ Aled said indignantly. ‘That’s more than enough.’

The hologram folded his arms. Aled looked to Dean, who shook his head and pulled out one of his bank cards.

‘No cards,’ the hologram said, his eyes flickering playfully.

‘Then why ask how we wanted to pay?’ Dean said with an irksome expression.

‘There are other forms of payment that can be accepted,’ the hologram stated, his eyes hovering for a moment on Aled’s watch.

‘Really? It was a birthday present from my girlfriend,’ Aled said, looking extremely put out.

The hologram and Dean watched him expectantly.

‘Fine,’ Aled said, throwing up his hands in frustration. ‘You know you’re robbing me blind. It was my ring in the first place.’

‘Was it really?’ the hologram teased. ‘Well, that’s unfortunate. On the bright side at least I didn’t sell it on. I very nearly let it go this morning.’

‘Mmhm,’ Aled mumbled, removing the watch and placing it on the counter.

He went to retrieve the ring but the hologram held up his hand.

‘The watch is half the payment; the cash is the rest.’

Aled and Dean looked at one another. They were thinking the same thing. The hologram chuckled merrily.

‘I am programmed to automatically dial for the authorities if any theft is attempted on my premises.’

Dean slammed the cash down on the table and waved away Aled’s heartful outpouring of gratitude. He was too hungover to deal with begging and pestering from one of his best friends.

‘Pleasure doing business with you,’ the hologram said and disappeared.

‘Yeah, cheers then,’ Dean muttered moodily, as Aled picked up his prize.

A deep sense of relief engulfed him. He was going to be alright.

‘Shouldn’t we be getting to the shuttle. It leaves in twenty minutes,’ Jez called from where he and Bill were stood.

Aled was consumed with fear once more. Without saying anything he rushed to the door.

‘I guess that’s our cue to leave,’ Dean said to the others, and the three followed after him quickly.  

Outside the shop on the pavement, Aled scanned the road hastily for a cab. For a moment he couldn’t spot one, neither on the road in front of him or in the sky above. The irony of the situation was not lost on Aled. Taxis seemed to be everywhere and yet when he was in need of one there were none in sight.

The engagement ring was clasped tightly in Aled’s closed fist but it didn’t feel quite safe enough and so he unfurled his hand. He extended out his ring finger and was in the process of slipping it on when a young kid on a hoverboard zoomed past. The rider only bumped into Aled slightly but it was enough to make the hungover husband to be stagger forwards.

The ring slipped from his hand, bounced once on the pavement, and then went straight down one of the gaps on the slated drain cover at the side of the road. At first, Aled didn’t react. He just stood stock still, staring at the drain in disbelief. Then he sank to his knees and bowed his head.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jez said as the other three emerged out of the shop.

‘My…ring,’ Aled said quietly, slowly raising one arm to point at the drain.

His three friends all stared at the drain, then Aled, then at each other, completely dumbfounded.

~~~

Aled spent the journey back to the earth in a state of numbness. He should have been more nervous and apprehensive about the conversation that was about to occur with his fiance, but he was still having a problem even processing what had actually just happened.

The other travelers in the shuttle around them were chatting away with one another loudly. A couple of bug-eyed alien teenagers were laughing at a video on one of their phones, two serious-faced androids were having a quiet discussion with one another, and a bunch of gaseous-based forms were cheering and heckling the other passengers. They were clearly on a stag do to Earth. It was a painful reminder for Aled, Jez, Bill, and Dean.

~~~

Aled’s numbness was replaced by anxiety once again as they departed the shuttle and made their way through luggage and checkout. Jez had been the only one trying to reassure him that it would be alright, but then to be fair he was the only one who didn’t feel and look like a zombie.

Aled’s fiancé Gemma noticed the lack of a ring almost straight away as the four of them emerged into the main waiting area of the shuttle port. He hadn’t even made an effort to hide his hand. There was no point. She would find out anyway.

Nothing was said at first and Gemma acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, greeting the rest of the gang jovially. When he and Gemma got into the car she still didn’t raise the topic and although she was silent, she didn’t seem upset or angry at Aled. In fact, every now and then she kept shooting him warm smiles.

‘Okay, I can’t take it any longer,’ Aled eventually burst out.

‘Take what?’ Gemma replied, frowning.

‘The ring,’ he said, holding out his ringless hand. ‘Why haven’t you mentioned it? Is this some sort of reverse psychology? Acting nice to me to mess with my head.’

‘Aled…’ Gemma began but Aled cut her off.

‘Look I lost the ring okay. I dropped it down a drain because I’m a terrible person and if you don’t want to marry me anymore then I understand.’

‘Aled…’ Gemma started to say but once again Aled interrupted.

‘But I can’t take you acting like this. Just scream and shout at me… or something. Tell me I’m a piece of shit. Lord knows I deserve it.’

‘It’s a fake,’ Gemma stated plainly.

‘I fucked up but I…wait what?’ Aled trailed off.

‘The ring,’ Gemma said casually. ‘It’s a fake.’

Aled frowned at the dashboard, unable to comprehend.

‘But…?’

‘I swapped it with the real one when you left,’ Gemma explained, taking one hand off the wheel and squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Aled said nothing for a moment and then cleared his throat.

‘But why? Don’t you trust me? I didn’t do anything…with anyone?’

Gemma smiled, amused.

‘I know you would never cheat on me Aled. You’re too honorable for that.’

Aled felt a little better for her saying that.

‘However, you are an absolute idiot when you’re drunk,’ Gemma pointed out.

Aled felt a little irked at her comment and opened his mouth to say as much but at the last minute, he changed his mind. He squeezed Gemma’s hand and nodded. She was right. He was an idiot but luckily for him, he was an idiot with a wonderful fiancé.

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2023]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Norman’s Arrest

It wasn’t Norman’s first trip to the police station and it was unlikely that it would be his last. His frequency in which he ended up there during, after and sometimes before a night out, had resulted in one of the cells being jokingly nicknamed Norman’s room by PC Geraldine Myers. His arrests were never for anything deeply serious. Usually just minor drunk and disorderly behaviour, although Sergeant Tom did look a little sterner faced than usual as he escorted him through the front doors and up to the reception desk.

‘Morning Norm,’ the desk sergeant said, not looking up from the text he’d been trying to compose for the last five minutes.

‘Hello Greg,’ Norman said with a heavy sigh.

Desk Sergeant Greg looked up from his phone.

‘Why so glum?’

‘I lost my vest,’ Norman replied bitterly.

Greg looked to Tom, who just shrugged.

‘So young man, another night out on the razz? What are the charges this time?’

From his stab vest Tom produced a notepad and flipped it open. He flicked through the pages for a while before finding the relevant page.

‘Oh Norman has had quite the time. He started off the night in customary fashion i.e. drinking far too much and dancing on the tables at Flannigan’s Dick.’

Tom paused and peered at Norman over his notepad.

‘By the way you owe John four glasses and an ashtray. All broken by yours truly.’

‘But Frank and the lads broke some of those,’ Norman protested.

‘That’s excluding the ones your buddies broke,’ Tom responded.

Norman frowned hard at the reception desk, hoping that Tom’s mentioning of some of his exploits last night might have triggered his brain into remembering more. Problem was that he didn’t even remember dancing on the tables.

‘And that’s what got me barred from the pub?’ Norman asked.

Tom shook his head.

‘There’s more.’

Norman groaned and leant on the desk. He needed a lie down. His head was pounding, his gut was flipping and his legs were wobbling.

‘Might I suggest that next time you have sex in a pub toilet, make sure it isn’t the disabled one,’ Tom advised.

Greg raised his eyebrows in surprise.

‘Mr. Bartle couldn’t use said toilet as it was otherwise occupied,’ Tom continued. ‘And so…well I think you can fill in the rest of that picture. You owe him money for a new pair of trousers, and stain remover for his wheelchair seat.’

Norman suddenly perked up a little bit. Not because he’d made Mr. Bartle soil himself the night before, but that he’d had sex with someone. Had Felinthia suddenly succumbed to his irresistible charm?

‘Oh and Evie Foliswell says you owe her a proper orgasm. That one you supposedly gave her last night was rubbish,’ Tom said grinning.

Greg chortled loudly. Norman massaged his head, mouthing Evie’s name, not following. Then it suddenly clicked into place. Evie was Divvy Dave’s wife. Which explained why the bloke had lamped him one in the street earlier on. Norman felt his genitals shrivel up at the thought. Evie wasn’t a looker. In terms of physical appearance, she wasn’t far off the horse he’d woken up kissing. His attempts to woo Felinthia must have gone really bad if he’d ended up giving Evie one in the disabled’s.

‘As much as it pains me to say he isn’t the only one to be caught with his trousers down in Flannigan’s Dick,’ Greg pointed out.

‘True,’ Tom admitted. ‘But he is the only one to wander out of the toilets afterwards wearing nothing but a vest.’

Norman scratched the back of his head, his checks reddening slightly. It wasn’t the first time he’d been arrested for public exposure but usually he had enough sense to do it somewhere fairly quiet. Like in a park or on a quiet street. Exposing himself in a busy pub though was a step too far, even for Norman.

‘Does your report say anything more about my vest?’

Tom flipped the notepad shut and regarded Norman severely.

‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously young man. Getting a bit merry and having some fun with the ladies is one thing, but full-on nudity in a public house is another matter entirely. My uncle was dining there last night and said it almost put him right off his spotted dick.’

Norman bowed his head in shame. He presumed the combined act of copping off with another woman and wandering butt naked through Flannigan’s Dick was the reason Felinthia was angry with him. At least he hoped.

‘I didn’t…you know… bother Felinthia while I was…’ Norman trailed off, gesturing at his lower body.

Tom shook his head.

‘No it was Frank who was bothering the ladies last night. Thought it be funny to perform his elephant impression to one of the other young women.’

Norman thought hard. That must have been Sheila. No wonder she didn’t want Frank near her again. By a weird coincidence a door just to the right of the reception desk opened and the pervy partner in crime appeared, escorted by PC Geraldine Myers. The big bloke looked even worse than Norman with his bloodshot eyes, dishevelled hair and colourless complexion. He also wasn’t wearing any shoes.

‘Oi oi,’ he shouted to Norman, but toned it down upon seeing the three disapproving law enforcers.

‘Where do you end up last night?’ he asked Norman as he drew level.

‘A bench on the park,’ Norman said quickly. ‘You?’

Frank was not only fat but he smelt and was a letch towards women, and that was when he was sober. The added input of alcohol only made things worse.  

‘Here,’ Frank said, almost proudly. ‘You haven’t got a tenner I can nab have you?’

‘Go on get out of here Frank. One pillock in the police station is quite enough thank you,’ Geraldine said, giving him a shove.

Frank glanced over his shoulder, considering a rude response but then thought better of it. He gave Norman a wink and headed for the station doors. Norman was surprised. It was unusual for Frank to show restraint, especially when in the presence of a female police officer. How he hadn’t made a uniform joke was beyond him.

‘Hello Norm, how’s your mum?’ Geraldine said, turning her attention to Norman.

‘Fine,’ he replied bluntly.

Geraldine nodded, realising that it was about as much as she was going to get out of the young man. She was a good reader, often sitting in interviews with Tom on the odd occasion they happened.

‘I’m popping out on a coffee run, anyone want anything?’

‘I’ll have a skinny latte,’ Norman said mockingly.

Geraldine took a step towards him. The young man didn’t flinch. The constabulary of Little Werthing weren’t the sort to knock around their prisoners. That honour was reserved for Greater Werthing, where the real antics of a night out kicked off. Still the police officer made him uneasy. Norman never usually had this problem. If anything his issue was that he was a little too confident with the ladies. With Geraldine it was different. She was a lethal combination of quiet and watchful, and stern and reprimanding. He found it far more intimidating than most other women, who gave him an earful or enacted physical violence. That he could deal with. Nine times out of ten it was a customary response.

‘Wise up Norman. You’re not a kid anymore. It’s time to stop mucking about and do something productive with your life,’ Geraldine lectured.

Norman didn’t say anything as the police officer waved at Tom and Greg and left the station. It was not often that stern words had an impact on him but Geraldine’s advice had somehow managed to break through. The lad wasn’t stupid. Not like Frank and Divvy Dave. Norman got himself into trouble for two main reasons. One, he was usually inebriated at the time, impairing his judgement and decision making. Two, he was bored and unhappy. Little Werthing was a suffocating place to live for a young man. He wanted more from life than working a dead-end job and playing pool at Flannigan’s Dick. In truth the answer was quite simple. It was just the process that was the hard bit. To the extent that it was easier to bury his head in the sand, or in Norman’s case, eleven pints of beer.

‘Come on Casanova. Time for your close up,’ Tom instructed, gripping him firmly by the arm and guiding him towards the door next to the desk.

Norman put up no resistance. Tom didn’t think he would but maintained a firm grip just in case. Greg said something to Norman as they headed through the door, but the young lad wasn’t listening. His mind was too preoccupied. Throughout the day he’d presumed his bad mood had be due to the loss of his vest and the trouble with Felinthia. Now he wasn’t so sure. Hangovers always made him feel slightly blue, alcohol was after all a depressant, but this was more than that.

Tom seemed to notice his particularly foul mood as he took his mugshots and filled out the accompanying arrest form. Usually, the young lad would the use the opportunity of being in front of the camera to pull a variety of silly faces and poses. However today he just stared dead eyed down the lens, as Tom took his photos. The bright flash of the camera light hurt Norman’s eyes and head, even though he should really be use to it by now. As Tom led Norman to his usual cell, the young lad reflected that Greg was right. He really did spend an awful lot of time here. The corridor and cell more traversed than the hallway and bedroom of his own home. In one of the cells someone was singing loudly and out of tune. Tom banged on the door as they passed.

‘Quieten down Alistair.’

‘Morning Tom,’ came the response from the other side of the door.

There were a few homeless people in Little Werthing but Alistair was the most well-known. Mainly because he was the one lacking the foresight to avoid running afoul of the law. He never did anything that bad but like Norman enough to land himself in a cell for a night. He was an alcoholic and although Norman didn’t consider himself one, (he didn’t start his day with a drink, at least not during the week), the homeless man served as a cautionary tale. Similar to Geraldine’s lecture, Alistair’s cautionary tale was harder to ignore than usual today. They arrived at Norman’s cell and feeling a little dizzy, he leant on the wall. Tom produced his large set of keys and jangled them about, as he searched for the correct one.

‘If you’re going to be sick wait until we get in the cell. This corridor has just been cleaned.’

‘I’m not,’ Norman replied, although he wasn’t entirely sure.

Although he’d already thrown up once today, he’d drunk like a fish last night and hadn’t managed to have any breakfast yet. Usually Norman wouldn’t be particularly keen to get into a cell, but his legs were starting to shake and he just needed somewhere to lie down. Thankfully Tom had sensibly labelled the keys, so it didn’t take too long to locate the required one. Door opened, Norman made a beeline for the wall bench at the back of the cell and immediately lay down. As usual it was cold, hard and uncomfortable but Norman was just glad to be off his feet. He lay with his back to Tom and the door, facing the wall. The sergeant presumed he was in a strop, but in reality Norman was focusing intently on not throwing up. His gut kept voicing its discomfort but for the time being the contents of his stomach remained where they were.

‘I’ll have to give your mum a call. Get her to come down and pay the fine,’ Tom instructed from the doorway. ‘Unless you have the money on you.’

Norman didn’t. He’d spent all his hard earnt money buying beer and placing bets on the pool tournament. Despite being the most intelligent of the group, (which wasn’t very hard), Norman was terrible at gambling. It wasn’t that he didn’t bet well but more that he didn’t know when to stop.

‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Tom said, sensing he was keen to be left alone. ‘I’ll bring you something to eat in a bit.’

‘Thanks Tom,’ Norman said.

The sergeant was taken aback by his gratitude. He knew deep down that Norman appreciated how Tom, Greg and Geraldine looked after him despite his naughty behaviour. However the young lad had never actually said as much. There was definitely something different about him today. As Tom shut the door and locked it, he reflected that maybe he should have removed the lad’s belt and shoelaces. In the end he decided to leave it. There was no way Norman would kill himself before breakfast.

Norman readjusted himself slightly on the cell bench and sighed deeply. In a way he was glad that Divvy Dave had given him a nosebleed. The congealed blood was doing quite a good job of keeping the smell of piss and bin juice out of his nostrils. In the wall in front of him were a series of lines carved into the brickwork, separated into rows of fives. There was a time when he’d been proud of his score of cell visits, an achievement that he often compared with Frank, who had his own tally. Usually, cell occupants had all personal effects removed to both prevent damage to station property and self-harm. But Norman and Frank posed no threat. Alistair was the only one who had items confiscated, but then again the homeless man had been clinically proven to be mentally unstable.

‘Alright Norm,’ came Alistair’s voice through the wall separating their cells.

‘Hey Alistair,’ Norman replied after a moment.

‘You want to buy a snake?’ Alistair asked.

Norman massaged his eyelids. He needed to sleep.

‘I would but I’ve got no cash on me right now.’

‘Right oh, well let me know if you find some,’ Alistair replied.

Norman frowned, which in turned caused a sharp stab of pain to shoot through his forehead. Normally, as soon as he crawled his way on to the cell bench he fell asleep in a matter of seconds. Despite the hard surface, his body’s need to rest overruled any discomfort he often felt. Today though his body struggled to overpower his mind, which was whirring away like a hot computer. 

***

Norman was tucking into his breakfast, if it could be called that, when a commotion in the corridor outside made him look up from his meal.

‘Bastard coppers, I done nought wrong,’ shouted a voice.

‘Pipe down you,’ Tom’s recognisable voice commanded loudly.

The new arrival did as ordered, but the sounds of squeaking shoes and laboured breathing suggested that he was still putting up a bit of physical resistance. Norman didn’t recognise the man who had spoken to begin with, suggesting that it was most likely an out of towner. In a small place such as Little Werthing everyone knew everyone.

‘ROXANNE, YOU DON’T HAVE TO PUT ON THE RED LIGHT,’ Alistair wailed from his cell, set off by the new arrival.

There was the sound of the cell on the other side to Norman opening and a series of grunts.

‘Fascist pigs,’ the out of towner remarked.

‘Watch it,’ Tom growled.

It wasn’t often that Tom got properly angry. Not unheard of. Norman had lived in Little Werthing all his life and witnessed the sergeant lose his temper a few times. However on most occasions Tom remained cool and calm headed. Still, when provoked the sergeant could be quite fearsome. The out of towner must have sensed this too, as he fell silent.

‘Greg, go and shut up Alistair will you,’ Tom instructed.

The out of towner must have been a big fella, if it had required Tom and Greg to manhandle him down the corridor and into the cell. As curious as Norman was he returned his attention to his meal. Out of towner or not, the man was just another cellmate. Norman was already firm pals with Alistair on one side. He didn’t want to add another looney to his roster. It was precisely this sort of thing he needed to distance himself away from.

‘Pack it in Alistair,’ Greg shouted over the homeless man’s tone-deaf version of the police song, banging on his door with a fist.

Alistair slowly trailed off much to the relief of everybody present, including the out of towner. Only the sounds of a door being locked and the fading footsteps of Tom and Greg could be heard. Norman eyed what was left of his food on the tray, before putting it down on the bench and pushing it away.

***

It was another hour before Norman’s mum turned up to collect him. She would claim that this was due to an urgent appointment that simply couldn’t be missed. Norman knew better. The real reason was to punish him. To let him stew a little longer in the hot confines of the jail cell. On most occasions the cell was the opposite; freezing cold but that was because more often than not Norman was arrested on the night in question, not the following morning. Whereas now it was the middle of the day, and the cells were located on the side of the building that was a suntrap.

‘Come on,’ his mum said to him curtly, after the door had opened.

Norman begrudgingly got to his feet and followed her out of the cell. He leant against the corridor wall as his mum apologised for the umpteenth time to Tom, while occasionally shooting her son the stink eye. Norman glanced down the corridor, considering making a break for it. The idea was tempting but there was no point. He’d spent all of the money the night before and his mum would have taken the rest from his room to pay off the fine. He wouldn’t get very far without funds. This was the continual problem he faced. He would work like a dog, save up some money, think about skipping town only to be coerced by his friends into going out on the pull instead. The money would be blown and if he ended up in a cell, which was a high likelihood, his remaining cash would be used for bail.

‘Go and wait in the car,’ Norman’s mum hissed at him.

Norman eyed the two of them for a moment, before heading down the corridor to the station foyer. There was a rumour going around town that there was something going on between his mum and Tom, hence why the sergeant was a little lenient on him. Norman denied it ardently and had even got into a couple of fights over the matter. This ironically had landed him in his cell for the night. Norman liked Tom, but the idea of him and his mum made him sick to his stomach.

***

The last thing Norman wanted to do was sit in a hot, stuffy car, so he chose to lean on the door while he waited for his mum instead. He stifled a yawn. Typical. When he’d needed to sleep it had eluded him, but now he was stood outside in the sun he was overcome by tiredness. Graham, the local butcher walked past.

‘Morning Graham,’ Norman greeted.

‘Norman,’ Graham replied a little curtly.

Graham wasn’t much for conversations but his response was even blunter than usual. Norman gave him the finger. Graham had his back to him but Norman still did it quickly for fear the butcher might turn around. Best not to get caught swearing at the man who dealt with sharp blades on a daily basis. The doors to the police station opened. Norman straightened up and tried to smarten himself up as best he could. The term you can’t polish a turn instantly came to mind. Much to his surprise it wasn’t his mum that appeared, nor was it Tom.

It was a young man with sandy shoulder length hair and a stubbly beard, wearing an army surplus jacket, faded blue jeans and chunky looking boots. He was carrying a duffel bag, slung over one shoulder. Norman didn’t know for sure but he had a sneaking suspicion who the man was. The first thing the man did was pull a crumpled looking rollup and lighter from his coat pocket. The man, who looked to be in his early twenties, tried a few times to unsuccessfully light the rollup. Cursing, he returned the lighter to his pocket and glanced around. His gaze fell on Norman and they locked eyes. Norman quickly broke eye contact but it was too late. The man descended the station steps and made a beeline towards him.

‘Hey up,’ the man said, drawing level with him.

‘Alright,’ Norman said a little awkwardly, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets.

‘Don’t suppose you have a light?’ the man asked.

Norman searched his pockets and sighed. He must have leant it to Barry the night before. The wanker always forgot to bring one.

‘I don’t,’ Norman replied, casting a furtive look over the man’s shoulder at the station doors.

‘Bugger,’ the man said, sticking the rollup behind his ear.

Norman noticed that it wasn’t just any ordinary rollup. It was something of a decidedly funkier nature. The man was either incredibly thick or didn’t give a shit about rules, considering he’d almost lit it up right outside a police station.

‘I’m Al by the way,’ the man said, holding out his hand.

‘Norman,’ Norman said, shaking Al’s hand and relaxing a bit.

Norman had initially been a little wary of Al, due mainly to the man’s episode in the station and his slightly military looking appearance. However up close Al came across as quite laid back, friendly even.

‘What did they have you in for?’ Al asked, scratching his stubbly chin.

‘Drunk and disorderly behaviour, public exposure and damage to property,’ Norman said, after a moment’s thought.

Al chuckled merrily, running a hand through his blonde hair. Norman had no idea who Al was, but there was something undeniably cool about the out of towner. Maybe the hair, or possibly the clothes. Or the fact that he didn’t seem to give a fuck.

‘How about you?’ Norman asked.

Al smiled.

‘Mistaken identity.’

Norman searched the man’s face, not convinced. If Al was lying it wasn’t obvious. His expression gave nothing away.

‘Here, I don’t suppose you know where the nearest train station is?’ Al said, sliding his hands into his coat pockets.

‘Yeah,’ Norman said, pushing off the car door and pointing in the relevant direction. ‘Didn’t you arrive from there though?’

Al gave a cheeky grin.

‘I did but I’d had a few bevvies like.’

Norman nodded, grinning.

‘Where you headed?’

‘West,’ Al answered.

‘Where west?’ Norman asked.

‘Find out when I get there,’ Al said with a casual shrug.

Norman was impressed and a little jealous. Al was a free spirit. The definition of cool. Norman suddenly became highly aware that he probably still smelt of piss and vomit.

‘Anyway, I’ll see you around,’ Al said, starting to move off.

‘Right. Sorry I didn’t have a lighter,’ Norman responded, instantly realising how lame he sounded.

Al waved a hand casually, indicating he needn’t worry about it. Just another indicator of how cool the man was. He walked a few steps away, stopped, turned and returned to Norman. For a horrible moment, Norman thought he’d done something wrong.

‘I don’t suppose you want to tag along?’ Al propositioned.

It took a few seconds for Norman to form a response, so taken aback by the question.

‘But I don’t have any money.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover your ticket,’ Al said.

Norman took a step back towards the car.

‘You’re not some kind of perv, are you?’  

Al laughed loudly.

‘No but it pays to be careful. I’ve been travelling around long enough to know that.’

Norman relaxed a little but not fully.

‘So what do you want in return?’

‘Nought,’ Al insisted.

Norman still looked unsure. Al blew at a loose hair dangling in front of his eye.

‘Tell you what, have a think about it. I’m going to grab a bite to eat. If you change your mind I’ll be at the station in an hour. How’s that sound?’

‘Okay,’ Norman said, a little nervously.

‘Sound,’ Al said, holding up a fist.

Norman bumped it with his own fist. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his mum emerging from the station doors. Even from this distance, he could tell she was out for blood. He turned his attention to Al, who had already begun ambling his way down the street in the opposite direction.

‘Who was that?’ his mum demanded, as she reached him.

‘Just some bloke asking for directions,’ Norman said.

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2022]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Rosie and Julian

Julian was the last one of the boys to get a moped, and as such always ended up being stuck at the back of the group whenever they went out for an evening ride. Still the late teen was just happy to be there for the atmosphere. It felt invigorating to be a part of something bigger than himself. Plus it was the only real place he felt he truly belonged. Julian’s parents had decided to have a child later in life. The end result was that they had very little in common with their son. He was interested in fresh new bands like The Who, whereas his parents had more of a classical ear.

The advantage of having older parents though was that it was much easier to sneak out at night because they were usually in bed by nine, and asleep by half past. However a small part of him did envy his best mate Jonesy whose dad had helped him build his own custom moped. Julian’s dad was a teacher and only ever got hands on when turning the page of a book.

Worse still was that every time he collared Julian creeping back into the house in the morning he always ran an eye up and down his son and shook his head disapprovingly. Little comments about the way he dressed or the music that blared out his room would infuriate Julian yet further. His father just didn’t get it. The man was just too much of a square and at times Julian wondered if maybe he had been adopted.

Shouting made Julian glance to his left. Jonesy had stood up on his moped and was making wolf howling noises. A few of the others including Julian laughed and joined in. Dean, the gang leader, riding at the front of the pack didn’t join in or glance over his shoulder. He was too cool to join in with their antics. Although he did get some sadistic pleasure in how it was probably upsetting the residents of the estate they were cruising around.

A skinny, pretty looking girl was sat behind Dean with her twig like arms wrapped around his waist. She had long brown hair with a straight cut fringe and a smattering of freckles. Her dress was quite short and displayed her long legs. Many of the boys stole glances now and then but knew not to let their eyes linger for too long. She was Dean’s girl and that meant hands off.

A few of the other guys had girls with them too but their positions weren’t so exclusive. Either the charming gents would shift their attention to somebody else after not too long, or alternatively the girl would gravitate towards someone else instead. That usually ended up being Julian.

Although he could quickly become the party animal when encouraged (particularly by Jonesy), Julian was quieter and more introspective then the others. With his dark hair and serious expression girls found him mysterious and intriguing. He was also one of the few of them who actually bothered to listen. Steve, a rotund bloke with blonde hair and a perpetually red face, often jested that he was a poof.

Julian paid it no heed. One time they had got into a bit of a punch up over it but that sort of thing wasn’t unusual. They had all scrapped with one another at some point. But most of the time they teased each other mercilessly, and saved their anger and hatred for any unfortunate Rocker that might run into their path.

As they neared the end of the street an upstairs window of a nearby house was flung open and an vest clad man roared at them to be quiet. Jonesy replied by howling even louder and some of the lads even honked their horns just to add insult to injury. Julian joined in, grinning like an idiot. He glanced at Jonesy who gave him a wink and started flapping his parka, imitating a bird this time.

Jonesy was the mad one of the bunch. Every group had one. The performer who went above and beyond the call of duty to get a laugh. Julian unzipped his own parka and joined in for the sake of solidarity. It also helped cool him down a little bit. It was a muggy evening and the combination of suit and parka was making him sweat like crazy. They were all heading to a house party around the corner. A girl Dean knew had invited them as her parents were away for the weekend.

Most of them had already been drinking and some had taken pills in preparation for the party. Julian hadn’t though. He had the sense to stay off the stuff until they reached the house. The journey back home would be a different story however. A bus was pulled over at a stop a little way ahead. The driver was indicating to go right and moving slowly out but Dean paid it no heed.

The driver blasted his horn angrily as he was forced to slam on the brakes. Some of the gang were had to swerve to the right and responded by hitting their own horns, and pulling silly faces at the people sat on the bus as the zoomed past. Jonesy grinned at Julian who laughed back but deep down he had felt his heart race at the close call they had just had.

The house party was already well into the swing of things by the time they arrived. Music blasted out of the open windows and some of the guests were stood in the front garden, smoking and drinking cans of beer. Julian glanced at the houses sat either side, surprised that the residents hadn’t called the police to complain about the noise. There were no lights on in either, meaning that they were either too scared of the partying kids or they weren’t in. They were a few other mopeds parked up alongside the curb so the gang parked up on the front lawn instead. A few drunken revellers cheered loudly as they dismounted their rides.

As Julian climbed off the moped, resting it on its kickstand, a big fucker of a bloke appeared and thrust a can of beer into his hand. Julian cracked it open and took a big gulp, some of it spilling down his top. Shit. He had spent a good half an hour making himself look sharp in the mirror only to spill sodding beer on his shirt. The big bloke roared with laughter and staggered off back to the house. Dean and his latest squeeze had already gone inside to the rest of the party, as had Steve. Jonesy was chatting up a girl stood up against the wall of the house smoking a joint. He caught Julian’s eye and raised his eyebrow.

Julian laughed and moved through the garden to the house. It was crammed full of people. It looked like Dean’s friend had invited pretty much everyone on the estate. As Julian weaved and slipped his way through the crowded hallway he noticed a few recognisable faces. They patted him on the back as he moved past and Julian nodded in response. The furniture in the living room had been pushed to the far edges of the room to make room to dance. Dean was in the centre of the throng of dancing bodies showing off his girl and dance moves.

Julian joined in for a bit and almost got into a fight when a specky git started on him for dancing with his girl. Steve had shown up and the jealous boyfriend had soon backed down, retreating away with his guilty looking girlfriend in tow. That was the thing Julian liked about the boys. They didn’t always see eye to eye but they stuck up for each other, and you knew someone always had your back. Julian’s beer can was empty so he made his way into the kitchen in search of more alcohol. Dean and his lady friend host were chatting to each other against the fridge. His girl was nowhere to be seen and Julian wondered if had moved on to the host of the party. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Other partiers were chilling around the central island of the kitchen, rolling joints and dispensing pills. Julian took an offered pill and grabbed a beer from the counter top. He ended up getting into a conversation about the Kinks with a kid name Billy who went to the same school as him. They got on well. Billy was a musician and a talented one at that. Usually they hung out together behind the bike shed during the first lesson of the afternoon. Billy was just offering Julian a hit of the passing joint when Jonesy burst into the room.

‘Julian, Dean, we got some Rockers just turned up and Steve is beating the living crap out of one of them.’

Dean and Julian exchanged raised eyebrows before rushing outside with Jonesy. Half of the people in the kitchen followed closely behind. The other half remained, not keen to see yet another Mod Rocker punch up. Julian could hear shouting and screaming as he elbowed his way through the hallway to the front door. A large group of party goers had congregated in the front garden. Julian and Dean pushed their way through the dense crowd of spectators to the front. The first thing that Julian noticed were the two motorbikes parked up on the grass next to the mopeds.

Steve was rolling about on the ground with a leather clad Rocker, his fingers hanging on tightly to the front of the other man’s jacket. They were delivering heavy blows to one another with their fists. Steve had a cut lip and the Rocker a bloodied noise. Jonesy was gesticulating wildly, cheering Steve on. Dean watched silently but seemed amused by the two men scrapping with one another. A Rocker girl was stood nearby screaming at Steve to stop, who had managed to pin the Rocker bloke down and was reigning heavy blows to his face and chest.

The Rocker girl went to step in but the big guy who had given Julian his first beer grabbed hold of her arms, restraining her. Steve was known for having a bit of a temper and he was seeing red right now. The Rocker was taking a pummelling. Julian glanced at Dean who chose to ignore him. Sighing Julian elbowed Jonesy and motioned at Steve. Jonesy looked put out but seeing Julian’s serious expression he eventually nodded his head. They both stepped forward and with a great effort pulled Steve off the Rocker. There were a few shouts of protest as Jonesy led him away.

The Rocker was lying on the ground defeated, his nose bloody, eyes turning purple and face swollen. The Rocker girl was screaming blue murder and struggling against the big guy who was grinning amused. She managed to get an arm free and socked him one in the face. He roared in anger and raised a hand. Before Julian knew what he was doing he had dashed forward and seized the big guy’s hand. The big guy glared at Julian, debating whether or not to take him on instead.

But he caught sight of Dean, Jonesy and Steve standing nearby watching him and changed his mind. Wrenching his hand free he made an underhand remark and sloped off. Julian turned to look at the Rocker girl. She wore a tight leather jacket, light blue jeans and big black boots. Her hair was jet black and spiky. There was something about her that rooted Julian to the spot. She was pretty but no more so then some of the Mod girls that he and the gang hung out with. But it was something else.

Her eyes were dark and intense and Julian was transfixed by them. She was staring at him with loathing, and when he flashed her a smile she responded by shoving him hard in the chest. A few of the onlookers laughed at this and watched as she knelt down beside her Rocker man and inspected the damage. Julian finally managed to wrench his eyes away from the Rocker girl and turned to face the rest of the gang. Jonesy was grinning at him and shaking his head.

Steve was still glaring furiously at the Rocker couple on the ground. Dean on the other hand was eyeing Julian curiously. It made him slightly uncomfortable. Dean was a cool cat and as good a leader as you could want, but he was awfully intense sometimes and Julian felt that intensity in Dean’s stare. The crowd that had gathered to watch the fight were starting to peel off, having lost interest now that things had calmed down.

Dean opened his mouth to say something but got no further as the blare of sirens nearby broke the night air. Everyone stood frozen to the spot, immobilised by the approaching threat. Then mass hysteria broke out, as everyone made a dash for freedom. Party goers scattered like rats out of a sinking ship. Dean, Jonesy and Steve were already at their mopeds and firing up their engines. A few people barged past Julian as more party goers streamed out of the open front door of the house.

Jonesy was shouting at Julian something mad but it was having no effect. Julian was still watching the Rocker girl with her man who seemed to be the only ones not moving. Fed up of waiting Dean and Steve made tracks. Jonesy remained there for a little while longer but when it was apparent that Julian wasn’t going to move any time soon he too zoomed off. The sirens were louder now and the blue lights of the nearing police cars could be glimpsed down the street. Suddenly snapping into action Julian ran over to the Rocker girl and grabbed her by the arm.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ he shouted to her over the shrill scream of the fast advancing sirens.

‘I won’t leave him,’ she cried, wrenching her arm from his grasp.

The Rocker dude was in a bad way but he was conscious and mumbling incoherently.

‘Look I don’t know about you but I’m carrying a few things that will land me in trouble with the rozzers. I assume you are in the same boat. Are you really sure you want to hang around and try explaining that plus all this to them?’ Julian said quickly, gesturing at the bloodied Rocker dude.

The Rocker girl looked torn. She glanced from her bloodied man to Julian, biting her lip anxiously. The police appeared at this moment and that seemed to make her decision for her. She took one last guilty look at her man before clambering to her feet and following after Julian. He was leading her back into the house which confused her at first, but when she noticed other people heading that way too she realised it was to avoid running straight into the police coming the other way.

The house was a mess. Cans of half full beer and empty glasses littered the floor. Any chairs or tables that had unfortunately been in the path of the fleeing guests were upturned, lying on their backs like helpless tortoises. Everyone was heading in the same direction. For the back door in the kitchen that led to the rear garden. As they entered the kitchen the Rocker girl slipped on a patch of spilled beer. Julian grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. She shrugged him off but there was a glimpse of acceptance in her unforgiving eyes.

There were footsteps close behind them and nearby shouting. Julian didn’t know if it was other fleeing guests or the police themselves. Either way he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Making it to the garden they paused, deciding which way to go. Most people were climbing over the fences to the left and right of the garden. The Rocker girl went to follow but Julian grabbed her arm. She shot him a furious look but realised he was motioning for her to follow him instead. Not having time to argue she nodded and the two moved off.

Instead of joining the others as they fought to clamber over the side fences Julian led the Rocker girl to the rear fence. The fence was just a little bit too high, so Julian crouched down and laced his fingers together. The Rocker girl glanced back at the house for a second and then allowed Julian to boost her up. She clambered over the top and disappeared over the other side. Julian made the mistake of looking over his shoulder. More party goers were spilling out the kitchen door followed closely behind by impassive faced police officers.

Julian took a few steps back and ran at the fence, launching himself at it at the last moment. Thanks to his lanky physique and height he was just able to cling onto the top. His legs scrambled for purchase on the flat slats of the fence. This was not helped by him having to hold up his own body weight. Eventually through a combination of grit and fear of the encroaching police Julian managed to climb over the top and drop into the next garden. He slipped on the wet grass on the other side and landed on his backside with a audible oomph.

At least it was well padded he thought to himself. The Rocker girl was already sneaking forward through the garden looking for a way out. Julian scrambled to his feet and followed after her. She had reached a back gate leading to a communal path that ran behind the terraced houses. Julian seized her by the arm, yanking her back sharply before she had a chance to attempt opening the door. The Rocker girl spun round to face him, a furious expression on her.

But the look of annoyance turned to alarm when she saw he had a finger pressed to his lips. He was staring intently at the top of the rear garden fence. The flickering of approaching torchlight had caught his attention. Some of the coppers must have been searching the path between the houses, looking for escapees from the party.

Julian motioned for her to follow him and they crept over to a nearby shed. The door was stiff and required the two of them to prise it open. They slipped inside and closed the door behind them just as the lights from the overlooking house came on. It was very dark in the small shed and Julian banged his knee on something hard as they tried to navigate a way to a non occupied space.

The Rocker girl suffered a nasty knock to the head from something hanging in the darkness but brushed off Julian when he tried to check she was alright. Eventually they found a free spot and lowered themselves gingerly onto the floor. The slats were cold underneath them but they both sat still, fearing any more movement would draw attention. They sat together in the darkness of the shed, neither one saying a thing. Julian kept making furtive glances at the Rocker girl. She either didn’t notice or was choosing to ignore him.

They could hear the sound of faint voices and heavy footfalls on the nearby path for a while. It kept the two still and on edge. Julian was expecting the door to be flung open at any moment and a pair of mean faced bobby’s to materialise on the other side, but it never happened. After a while the noises petered off and the only sounds that could be heard were that of the wind rustling the trees and the occasional owl hoot.

Feeling they were probably safe for the time being Julian turned to say something to the Rocker girl but discovered she had fallen asleep. She had brought her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Every now and then her body would shiver from the constantly pervading chill. Taking care to not make too much noise Julian removed his large parka and placed it gingerly on top of her. She mumbled in her sleep and he froze, fearing she might wake up and reprimand him. But a moment later she lay still again.

***

Julian was woken by the bright light of the morning sun shining through one of the shed windows. He was sat slumped awkwardly against the shed wall, one arm resting on the handle of a lawnmower that had seen better days. He sat up and shivered. His back was sore from having slept in an uncomfortable position and his head pounded from the hangover and pills. Julian went to reach into his parka coat pocket for his come down miracle cure joint when he realised it wasn’t on him. Then he remembered covering the Rocker girl with it last night.

‘Looking for this.’

Julian glanced round surprised. The Rocker girl was sat a few feet away from him, wrapped up in his coat and holding the joint between her fingers. Ignoring his shocked expression she raised her other hand which held a lighter and sparked up the joint. She took a deep drag and then exhaled, watching him with a challenging stare the whole time.

‘Help yourself,’ Julian said with a wry smile.

‘I figure its the least you could do considering what your mate did to my fella,’ she said, taking another hit of the lit joint.

‘Look, I’m sorry about that,’ Julian said awkwardly. ‘Steve has a nasty temper, especially around you…’

‘You what?’ The Rocker girl interjected with a fierce look.

‘Nothing,’ Julian mumbled, shifting his attention to his lap.

They lapsed into silence for a while, Julian becoming increasingly conscious that the Rocker girl was still smoking his spliff. He held out for a while before he eventually had to say something.

‘Any chance I could get on some of that? It is my joint after all?’

The Rocker girl regarded him coldly for a moment but then relented and handed it over with a sigh. Julian took a long drag before exhaling in his favourite way with an Irish waterfall. The Rocker girl had her head lent back against the slats of the shed wall eyes closed. Julian had to admit she was cool. For a Rocker anyway. They both finished the joint in silence, relaxing as it worked its magic. The atmosphere was still a little tense but then they were supposed to be mortal enemies.

‘Do you think it is safe to leave now?’ the Rocker girl announced, suddenly becoming aware how long they had both been in the shed.

‘I should think so. Unless you’re wanted for murder, I doubt they would stay out the whole night looking for you,’ Julian responded.

His attempt at humour failed miserably and the Rocker girl just glanced at him blankly. He was about to say something else when she suddenly got to her feet.

‘Where are you going?’ Julian blurted out.

‘I don’t know about you but I think I have spent enough time in a shed with a stranger,’ the Rocker girl said bluntly.

‘My name’s Julian,’ he replied, not sure why he had felt the need to say it.

‘Rosie,’ the Rocker girl stated and moved over to the shed door.

‘Wait up,’ Julian, said, scrambling to his feet.

It was early morning outside but the pair were still careful to not make any noise as they headed for the rear gate at the back of the garden. At any moment Julian was expecting someone to come running out of the house armed with a kitchen utensil, but they reached the gate safely and slipped through it to the path beyond. They walked a little way down it together before coming to a halt. Rosie turned to face Julian. She took off the parka and offered it to him.

‘Thanks for the lend and the smoke,’ she said, somewhat stiffly.

‘Won’t you be cold?’ Julian said, noting the frost on the grass by the path.

‘I live just around the corner. Besides my boyfriend will go ballistic if he sees me wearing it,’ Rosie pointed out.

Julian nodded, taking the coat. The two stood in awkward silence for a moment before eventually Rosie turned to leave.

‘I’m…really sorry about….I’m not like the others,’ Julian blurted out suddenly.

Rosie turned to face him and smiled. It was the first time he had seen her do it since the two had met. It was the sort of smile that made his heart ache and knees weak.

‘Me neither,’ Rosie said and with that she left.

Julian stood on the path for a whole minute, trying to process the complex and conflicted feelings running haywire around his mind. Then he started to make his way slowly home. He carried the parka in one hand but refrained from putting it on despite the chill morning weather.

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2019]. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Take A Seat

Jack darts after the passing tram, his large fisherman’s coat flailing wildly behind him. The oval wooden toggles rattle musically. As the metal cage reaches the first hill Jack speeds up, desperate to catch it in time before it begins its downward descent. The blustery sea breeze whips against his face making him feel alive. The apprehension in his gut to make it in time is outweighed by the rush of adrenaline pumping in his body.

Jack loves the chase. The strong beats of his racing heart, the heavy crunch of his workman boots. The tram’s nose tips forward and Jack forces himself on, ignoring the screams of protest from his aching thighs. A group of dockers stand huddled on the rear balcony of the tram beckoning him on with energetic hand gestures. The tram slides down the hill, the dockers and the rear balcony gradually dipping out of sight.

Jack grits his teeth and makes one final push, diving from the hill’s top arms outstretched. He slams up against the back panel of the balcony and holds on for dear life, his heavy boots scraping along the ground beneath him. The dockers stare at him in disbelief for a moment before rushing forwards to assist him. With tender ribs and stinging hands Jack stumbles inside the tram, receiving several hearty slaps on his back from the dockers.

***

Charmaine jabs the typewriter keys vigorously, her eyebrows furrowed in a deep frown. A loud foghorn rattles the cheap window frame and she glances outside as a monstrosity of a ship sails past. Deep inside their lies a deep desire for the window to explode into a thousand pieces and cover the waiting room floor with shattered glass. To her dismay the window remains intact and so Charmaine returns her attention to the typewriter.

Usually she would have no trouble focusing on her duties but today for some unknown reason she is extremely distracted and irritable. Even the sound of her fingers tapping nosily on the keys grates on Charmaine’s ears. Losing interest in the paper in front of her she glances around and puffs out her cheeks.

Charmaine is in the process of debating whether or not to sneak off and make herself a coffee when the doors burst open and a tall imposing man enters. He has a messy tangle of curly black hair surrounding an extremely red face. His eyes are wild and intense, casting a scrutinous stare at the taken aback Charmaine.

‘Can I help you?’ Charmaine queries, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet.

The wild man ignores her and storms towards the frosted double doors which lead into the copywriting room. Charmaine sidles in front of him, barring his access.

‘Move out of my way,’ the wild man roars.

‘If you need to speak to someone I am more than happy to help you with your inquiry,’ Charmaine informs him with an even smile.

‘How dare you talk to me like that? Do you know who I am?’ the wild man growls, puffing out his chest under his fisherman’s coat.

‘I don’t give a damn who you are. Now take a seat or I will have to ask you to leave,’ Charmaine replies hotly.

The wild man shoots her the daggers. Charmaine remains on the spot, one hand adamantly placed on her hip.

‘Take a seat,’ she commands, her patience growing thin.

The wild man huffs loudly, overwhelming Charmaine with his whiskey-drenched breath. She wrinkles her nose in disgust. The two stare stubbornly at one another, both of them refusing to budge. Eventually the wild man relents and laughs, shaking his head ever so slightly.

‘Fine, whatever.’

He moves over to one of the chairs and sits down heavily, slapping the armrests in frustration. Satisfied with putting the rude man in his place, Charmaine returns to her desk and pulls her chair up to the typewriter. The wild man taps his foot impatiently, his heavy boot echoing across the hollow marble floor. Charmaine removes the half finished document before her and replaces it with a fresh new page.

‘First things first, what is your name?’

The wild man leans forward in his chair and raises his eyebrow in alarm.

‘You are joking?’

Charmaine regards him with a blank expression. The wild man sighs and sits back, scratching his beard irritably.

‘Jack London.’

Charmaine types the first two letters and then pauses.

‘Ah, now I feel silly.’

‘I suppose you thought I was a crazed docker making a complaint?’ Jack remarks.

‘One often gets that impression when a bearded boot cladded stranger barges through the doors.’

Jack raises his eyebrows for a second time, only instead of outrage they betray curious intrigue.

‘Bit of a firecracker aren’t you?’

Charmaine’s lip curls into the slightest of smiles. Established author or not she isn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

‘I assume you’re here in regards to your most recent novel?’ Charmaine inquires, changing the subject.

‘No, I came here to apply for a job as a junior copywriter,’ Jack answers sarcastically.

‘I will take that as a yes then,’ Charmaine continues, concealing a half grin.

Jack heaves himself out of the chair and curls his hands into tight fists.

‘Look I did not come here to be insulted and laughed at.’

‘No, you simply came here to stamp your feet like a stubborn toddler,’ Charmaine replies hotly.

Furious, Jack dashes forward and lashes out with his arm, sending the typewriter flying off the desk and crashing onto the marble floor. Charmaine delivers a harsh slap, stinging Jack’s right cheek.

‘Go ahead,’ she yells, as he grabs her roughly by the shoulders.

They stare wild-eyed at one another, both of them flushed and breathing heavily.

‘Forget it,’ Jack grumbles and loosens his hold.

Charmaine watches him storm angrily out of the doors, a stray hair dangling in front of her eye. She takes several deep breaths and shakes out her trembling hands. A little calmer Charmaine goes to retrieve the felled typewriter. She is in the process of collecting the broken sections when the doors open behind her and heavy footsteps draw closer.

‘I’ll pay for the typewriter.’

Charmaine glances behind her at Jack, who looks rather sheepish.

‘You’re damn straight you are.’

Jack crouches down next to her and helps replace the damaged typewriter on the desk. They stand back glancing awkwardly at one another, a strained silence between them.

‘…so, you wanna get a cup of coffee?’ Jack eventually says in a surprisingly civil tone.

Charmaine stares at him in disbelief, unable to fathom the eccentric author before her.

‘Yeah, sure,’ she shrugs and grabs her coat.

© [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales], [2014]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Daniel Ashby] and [Ashby Tales] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.