The International Writers Magazine:Hot Gossip -A Dreamscapes
burger was rubbery and I wasnt speaking to my wife. So I
was glad to hear another voice at the table behind me.
Must be back by 2:15 she whispered.
I glanced at my watch instinctively - 20 minutes. We had another
house to view at 2.30, and the pub lunch was a time filler before
undoubtedly another colour scheme nightmare, another Llewellyn-Bowens
granny influenced, flock wallpaper monstrosity. I was on holiday
and I was fed up.
So the velvety
middle aged voice behind me had opened my fantasy tank. I glanced around
the pub, from left to right; you know the kind. Brass chimney blower
thingies hung from the walls (too high up to actually reach to blow
your chimney), alongside pictures of nautical nightmares and self-help
graffiti - the best being A friend is just a person
that you havent met yet
Do me a favour. I certainly wouldnt want to be friends with the
person who designed this carpet; were those really swans twisted around
Its ace to see you, you know.
He sounded much younger. Rosies raised eyebrows confirmed this.
Its been murder finding time she smouldered.
They could find time here? I thought. The pub was quiet,
and big. A snatched moment could be found, definitely. Playing with
my food, I ran through the options. A trip to the toilet, her first.
They could pass in the corridor. A brush of wool skirt against his thigh,
a knowing look in the alcove next to the disabled toilet. Better still,
VERY knowing looks and more in the disabled toilet. I remember going
in there a couple of weeks ago (the burgers really are rank here and
the gents cubicle was lockless). Loads of room in there, and a wide
seat. Plus the added advantage of metal holding bars on either side.
How are Alfie and Betty? wool skirt enquired.
Shit, she knows his parents! The plot thickens.
Another Rosie intrigued look. She was enjoying this too.
And it meant that she didnt have to talk to me. The student and
the teacher. Detentions
..wool skirt and long, long legs just visible
underneath the school desk
blonde hair swept back by an elegant,
nail painted hand
.an accidentally dropped pencil as she walks
past. I spun my beer around the glass to keep its head, although
my imagination was losing its.
Alfies fine, hes eight on Tuesday. And Bettys
crawling now, into everything!
Youngster sounded every inch the proud Dad. I couldnt believe
it. But now I understood. Young dad, proud dad, randy dad. Hes
got the home security of his family, but he still has needs. He wants
the danger. The thrill of the chase. He can have two kids, but hes
still got it. But he still thinks of his wife when it matters. Birthdays,
Christmas. So thats OK isnt it?
What are you having Steve? velvet voice purred. God, she
sounded good. A Jessica maybe. Daddy Steve must be a lager man I decided.
Pint of Dragon Slayer. A real ale man. I was disappointed.
Real ale meant safe, honest, dependable, older. Not young, proud Dad
who had a result a few weekends ago on a night off and pulled the bored,
older, slightly classy divorcee. Jessica's time at the bar gave me time
to answer some questions in my head.
How old are you? Where do you shop for those sexy wool skirts? Where
do you get your amazing stamina? Would you be partial to some disabled
There you go sweetheart. I heard the plonk and spill of
Dragon Slayer, and nearly turned around. I caught the whiff of wood
spice mixed with smoke as she sat down behind me. It cheapened Sara
in my head, but not enough for me to a: finish my dinner or b: talk
to Rosie. And they could now share a post coital fag, Steve sat on the
baby changing table and her on the disabled loo (maybe her legs could
be draped over the arm supports). Are you ready for next Wednesday
night? Sara said. I knew it! They were having an affair! I had
a smug look on my face, satisfied that my fantasy was right, but disappointed
that my short lived interception in the toilet corridor now wouldnt
happen. Im really looking forward to it! Steve
said excitedly. Its such a good read. The way that Hornby
has got into the mind of a woman so effectively; it just left me begging
for more! How to be good? How to be bloody marvellous more like!!
Oh youre so right Steve! I couldnt put it down! I
rang Trevor at work yesterday to get chips on the way home; I didnt
want to waste valuable reading time cooking!
Hornby? Chips? TREVOR????? I couldnt believe it. Again.
They were in a bloody book club. I finished my pint, chewed my dog burger
and went to the toilet. On the way there I passed the disabled toilet,
(vacant) sighed an unrequited sigh and went into the gents. I could
see that the table next to ours was empty when I came out of the toilet.
Ready to roll love? Rosie chirped as I trooped back. Maybe
I was back in her good books. Maybe she had been thinking about a real
ale drinking stallion who could ravage her whilst viewing a flock wallpapered
. As Rosie and I got into our car, we heard two familiar
voices opposite. OK Phyllis, see you next Wednesday Steve
said politely. No chance of him ruining his chinos in a toilet! He looked
almost sensible as he lightly kissed the rather portly, flame haired
woman in a supermarket uniform on the cheek.
Phyllis? Thatll teach me.
© John Bradshaw
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