9
That evening, after the hype of my fight with Terry had died down, I was getting myself ready for the night out. My stomach buzzed with excitement. Soulfire pounded from my computer speakers at full volume and several different shirts lay strewn across my bed.
My phone vibrated on the desk. It was Tim replying to a text I’d sent earlier, inviting him out.
Well up4 it m8! I’ll b at urs in about an hr.
Tim arrived armed with a shopping bag full of lager cans. He bounded up to my room and sank down on the desk chair. Mikey came in to say hi and Tim pulled some beers out of the bag. He threw one to me and my brother, then cracked a third open himself. He took a long pull from the beer and set it on the side. I opened mine. The beer was warm but tasted good. “So, any gossip?” he asked, resting his arms over the back of the chair. Mikey and I exchanged a look. “You could say that,” laughed my brother. Tim straightened up. “Serious? like what?” “Rocky here beat Terry to a pulp.” Tim’s jaw dropped. “Shut up, no way!”
Mikey gestured towards me and I nodded, trying not to smile. Maybe I should have felt more remorse for what I’d done, but I simply didn’t. Terry was a truly vile human being who revelled in my misery. Now he wouldn’t be bothering anyone else in a hurry. There were of course potential backlashes due to his father being who he was, but I’d decided to cross that bridge when I came to it.
“It’s true,” I smiled.
Tim took a second to shake the confusion from his head. Then he stood up and gave me a hi-five. “Yes! Alex, you legend! I am so happy right now. That guy is such a dick. I want a full breakdown — spare nothing!”
So I told him what had happened. He gasped and winced at the right time in his usual theatrical way. Afterwards he held out his can towards me. I tapped mine against it.
“Here’s to standing up to dickheads all over the world!”
Downstairs, I put a couple of Pizzas in the oven and slipped thirty pounds out of the emergency money jar, giving Mikey the remaining half.
“Looks like someone has finally grown a set of balls,” he said with a smile.
The taxi dropped us all off on the road leading to the house party. I could hear the steady boom of music as soon as I opened the car door. The party was only a few minutes from town, so we said goodbye to Mikey and started walking in the opposite direction. “So, Gabriella out tonight?” asked Tim pulling the collar of his jacket up around his neck. I felt the familiar stab of emotions at the mention of her name. “No, she has some family thing going on.” He made a disapproving noise. “You would have been the centre of attention with her on your arm.” “Tim she wouldn’t have been anywhere near my arm. It’s not like that.” He rolled his eyes. “Sure mate, whatever.”
Ahead of us, I could see the bustling life of Friday night Chapter Hill. In the evenings, the place shed its casual town vibe and pulled on a seedy big city coat of bright lights and thumping music. Groups of underage teenagers hung out near off licences, drinking from cider bottles wrapped in paper bags and dragging on badly rolled cigarettes. Drunk patrons talked loudly outside pubs and bars, and yelled at women who wobbled past in miniskirts and tall heels.
We headed for the Pheasant, stopping shy of the old style door. Tim pulled a cigarette out of a pack in his shirt pocket and sparked it up. Thick rolls of smoke climbed into the air. He offered me one, but I raised a hand. He shrugged and took a deep drag before continuing his argument.
“Regardless of what you say, I think Gabriella has a soft spot for you.”
The idea made me smile, even if it was one that I didn’t truly believe. I got the impression it was more of a wounded puppy scenario; she felt that I needed looking after. Still it was an amazing thought. Just thinking about the possibility made my stomach do somersaults.
“Maybe,” I shrugged in an effort to appease him.
After Tim had smoked his cigarette, he dropped it to the ground and crushed it under his boot heel. As we headed inside, I noticed with a sigh of relief that there were no bouncers to deny me entry.
The interior looked like any other English pub. A long wooden bar lined one side, manned by bar staff in black shirts. The opposite was home to tables and chairs as well cracked leather sofas. Gambling machines stood huddled in the far corner, winking and whistling like shady con artists hoping to dazzle patrons into giving away their money. The pub had no music, instead dozens of voices mixed together, producing a hum of friendly sound. Richard, Elliot and a good chunk of the football team were already drinking at the bar. Richard saw us enter and walked over. He draped his beer-arm around my shoulders. “Lads, can I have your attention please!” he shouted. The rest of the crowd turned to face us. Confused I turned to Tim, who shrugged. “Let’s hear it for Alex Eden. Chapter Hill’s very own Chuck Norris!”
There was a roar of cheering from the football guys and beers were held skyward. I felt my face flush. Guess they heard then.
Richard ushered me towards the bar. “Two of your finest lagers please mate,” he said to the barman, who rolled his eyes in response and poured two Fosters.
The conversation flowed as freely as the alcohol. Word had spread like an epidemic about my fight with Terry. Everyone wanted the inside scoop. The guys crowded around as I recounted the story, making sure to downplay the part where I had crushed his hand with mine. They made approving noises and cheered at each key point. It appeared that no one actually liked Terry. Instead it seemed most people had been too scared to stand up to him. My actions had burst the fear bubble.
My encounter was a cue for others to recount stories of idiotic things Terry and his gang had done. I laughed so hard, I had to grip the bar to stop myself falling over. The beers kept pouring and the good atmosphere carried on.
On my way to the toilet, I noticed the one person not enjoying himself. Andrew Pearson glowered at me from a table near the back corner. His girlfriend, Leila Riches was busy talking to him, but he didn’t alter his focus. When I emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he still hadn’t changed position. He simply rolled his half-empty pint on its axis and glared.
Looks like he heard about Terry, I thought as I made my way back to the group. I couldn’t have cared less.
After four more beers and a couple of shots, none of which I paid for, we left the Pheasant and headed for Bakoo. Richard suggested we stagger our arrival. Apparently bouncers often turned away large groups of guys. I had no clue about nightclub etiquette.
Tim and I joined the back of the queue first. I leaned against the wall. My head was starting to feel woolly. All my thoughts had to wade through water.
A group of girls tottered past us. One of them leaned towards me. “Wake up darlin’ I’ll be expecting a snog later!” Her words were followed by a cackle of drunken laughter as the group moved on.
“You okay?” asked Tim, inspecting me with a squinted eye as he drained another cigarette.
I sighed. “Yeah I’m fine. I’m a bit of a lightweight if I’m honest.”
Understatement of the decade.
I’d only ever been drunk once before in my life. At a barbeque Mum and John had hosted in Birmingham. I’d sat in a corner of the garden alone all night, nursing my contemporary woes with several bottles of cider. Nowadays the very smell of the stuff made me want to chuck.
“Total lightweight,” laughed Tim. “Well you better suck it up or we won’t be getting in.”
I waved a heavy hand. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
We moved up the steps to the front of the queue and I scanned the doormen. One, a stocky black guy looked like he won UFC championships in his spare time. The other, a fat bald man, had a bright orange beard and a metal rod speared through the middle of his nose. To top off the look, he had the word hate tattooed across both knuckles. If these were the guys Tim’s friends Baz and Kel had picked a fight with, then they were two very stupid people indeed.
We reached the front and the biker bouncer frowned at me. I waited for him to turn me away, the typical
