her story circle and…”
“I said steady on and I meant it.”
“See that? Hair-trigger temper, brought on by too many nights of walking the baby up and down while his wife snores away in her hairnet.”
“Right, that does it.” The married man had possibly been quite an accurate puncher in his youth, before he got all ground down and henpecked and under the thumb. He took a mighty swing at John.
And he hit Jim right on the nose.
Jim went down amidst tumbling crockery, two eggs, bacon, sausage, a fried slice and half a cup of tea with a bit of toast in it.
“Fight!” shouted the lady in the straw hat, who was just coming in.
John brought down the married man, but also two of his colleagues. These were unmarried men and still quite useful with their fists. They set about John with a vim and vigour most unexpected for that time of day.
Jim struggled to his feet and leapt into the fray to aid the man who was still his best friend. Further tables were overturned and others joined in the melee.
Lily Marlene, who ran the Plume, issued from the kitchen, her mighty mammaries sailing before her. As a married woman she knew exactly how to deal with men. She laid about her with a wok spoon.
“This is the kind of stuff I like,” said the lady in the straw hat, seating herself at a respectable distance from the fighting. “I’ve just come from this PARTY. It was pretty crap until the stove blew up.”
“My stove blew up?” Jim raised his head from the fighting.
“Your mate there did it. Said he knew this trick with an unopened can of beans.”
“What?” But Jim got hit by an unmarried man and went down again.
“What exactly are they fighting about?” the lady asked Lily Marlene.
“Marriage,” said Lily.
“Bastards!” said the lady, taking off her hat and wading in.
The police got there in remarkably good time. They were just passing by, as it happened, on their way to investigate a report of an explosion that had blown a kitchen wall down. They whipped out the electric truncheons and did what had to be done.
“That does it,” said Jim. “That absolutely and utterly does it.”
“What does it do?” John asked.
Jim made a very bitter face. “Just tell me where we are,” he said.
“We’re in a police cell,” said John. “But look on the bright side.”
“There isn’t any bright side. And look at me. Look at me.”
“You’ll heal. It’s not too bad.”
“I’ve got a black eye and a fat lip and…”
“Don’t go on about it. I’m hurt too.”
“There’s not a mark on you.”
“I’m hurting inside.”
“You lying bastard.”
“Language,” said John.
“Don’t you language me. This is all your fault.”
“It’s not my fault. You started it with all your talk about falling in love.”
“I never did. You wound up that married bloke.”
“And that’s just how you would have ended up. You’ve learned a summary lesson there, Jim. You should thank me for it.”
“What? What?”
“Love and marriage, they’re all very well for some people. Ordinary people. But not for the likes of us.”
“But we are ordinary people, John.”
“We are not. We are John and Jim. We are individuals.”
“I’ve had enough,” said Jim. “If I hadn’t had enough before, then I have certainly had enough now. This is the end, John. Our partnership is dissolved. Our friendship is dissolved. When we get out of here I never, ever, want to see you again.”
“Come off it, Jim. Don’t say such things.”
“You blew my kitchen up.”
“I was just trying to make breakfast. You didn’t have a tin opener.”
“That is quite absurd.”
“Yes, sorry, I know. It was a bit of a laugh.”
“It’s all a bit of a laugh to you, John. Everything. Do it for the crack, eh? Let’s go for it, Jim. Well, I’ve had enough. I quit.”
“You’re just a tad overwrought.”
Jim raised his fist and shook it. “John, I am in love, and I do not need you any more.”
There was a terrible silence.
“You don’t mean that,” said John. “You can’t.”
“I do. And I can.”
“She’s married,” said John.
“What? Who?”
“Suzy. She’s married.”
“She never is. You’re lying.”
“I’m not, Jim. That uncle Rob isn’t her uncle. He’s her husband.”
“But she called him uncle Rob.”
“It’s some kind of pet name. Married people do that.”
“People in love do that,” said Jim and he sat down upon the bunk beside John.
“I’m sorry,” said John. “But there it is.”
“It’s not.” Jim jumped up. “You’re lying, John. I can hear it in your voice.”
“All right, Jim, yes, I’m lying. But I’m lying to save our friendship.”
“That was a low-down filthy rotten trick.”
“Desperate men do desperate things.”
Jim sat down upon the bed once more. “I’m desperately in love,” he said.
“I know. And I won’t stand in the way. But we will stay friends, won’t we? Best friends?”
“Yeah,” said Jim, extending his hand. “Put it there.”
“Yeah,” said Jim, extending his hand. “Put it there.”
John put it there.
With his free hand Jim hit him right in the mouth. “That’s for blowing up my kitchen and lying to me,” he said.
23
“One hundred hours of community service!” Jim threw up his arms. “One hundred hours! And what is community service anyway?”
“Just what it says, serving the community.”
“And how come you only got fifty hours?”
“I plea-bargained.”
“What is that?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. But it seemed to work.”
“Work.” Jim made a gloomy face. “Work.”
“It’s not like real work.” John unfolded a piece of paper and spread it over his knees. They were
