The Brentford Chainstore Massacre

22

By three o’clock in the morning the PARTY began to thin. But this was three o’clock in the morning of the PARTY’S second day, so no one felt too embarrassed about that.

Paul strummed upon an acoustic guitar, but it was after three in the morning and he was strumming the blues (in A minor), so that was permissible.

Professor Slocombe had long said his goodbyes and left with two of the young women from the windscreen wiper works. These would later know such exquisite pleasure as to leave them smiling for a week.

Old Pete was asleep in the shed. And the lady in the straw hat was asleep on the sofa with Suzy’s uncle Rob.

Suzy and Jim were nowhere to be seen.

John Omally awoke in Jim’s bed to find himself gazing into a face that looked like a bag of spanners. “Oh dear,” said John. “Oh dear, oh dear.”

Suzy and Jim sat upon the canal bridge staring down into the moonlit waters.

“You could have made love to me, you know,” said Suzy.

“I know,” said Jim. “But actually I couldn’t. I never can the first time and often not even the second or the third. It puts a lot of women off. But it’s the way I am. Too emotional, I suppose.”

“You’re a good man, Jim. I like you very much.”

“And you’re a very beautiful woman.”

Suzy flicked a pebble into the canal waters. “What do you want to do with your life, Jim?” she asked.

“Just experience it, I suppose. When I was young I promised myself that I would experience everything I could. Travel the world, see exotic places, take it all in. As much as I could, before time ran out.”

“So, what stopped you?”

“What stops any of us? Habit, I suppose. You get into habits. They’re hard to break away from. But what about you? What do you want to do with your life?”

“Something wonderful,” said Suzy. “I think something wonderful is about to happen. I can feel it in the air. Can’t you?”

Jim put his arm about the beautiful woman’s shoulder and gazed into the stunning amber eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Oh yes, I can.”

The sun rose slowly from behind the windscreen wiper works and two young women crossed the bridge. Both were smiling broadly.

Jim took Suzy in his arms and kissed her fascinating mouth. “I hope I’ll see you again,” he said.

“You will,” said Suzy.

John and Jim munched upon egg and bacon at the Plume Cafe.

“I thought I might find you here,” said John, thrusting buttered toast into his mouth. “There’s no food left at your place.”

“You look a little, how shall I put this, shagged out, John.”

“I barely escaped with my life. If the woman hadn’t tripped over this bloke who was being sick in your wardrobe, I don’t think I would have made it.”

“I suppose a wardrobe full of vomit is not too high a price to pay.”

“Someone set fire to your shed. Old Pete, I think.”

“It was only a shed.”

“Sorry about the front windows. The lady in the straw hat woke up and threw Paul out through them. Something to do with key changes, I believe.”

“Windows can be replaced.”

“A cruise missile then demolished the entire house.”

“Such is life,” said Jim.

“Jim, you’re not really paying attention to me, are you?”

“Yes I am.”

“No you’re not. You’ve gone all vacant.”

“No I haven’t.”

“Then why are you stirring your tea with your toast? And you’re glowing, Jim. You have a definite glow on. You’re not…”

“I am,” said Jim. “I’m in love.”

“No, no, no.” John shook his head fiercely. “You don’t want to be in love. You really don’t.”

“I do, John. I really do.”

“No, trust me, you don’t. Love is… well, love is – love is marriage, Jim, marriage and babies and a mortgage and not going out with your mates and having Sunday lunch at home instead of the pub and it’s mowing the lawn, Jim, and cleaning the car and having respectable friends round for dinner parties and…”

“Turn it up, mate,” said a married man at the next table. “We all know what it’s like, don’t rub it in.”

“Marriage doesn’t have to be like that,” said Jim. “Not if you’re married to your best friend.”

“I’m not marrying you, Jim.”

“No,” said Jim. “You’re not.”

“But I’m your best friend.”

“I used to have a best friend,” said the married man wistfully. “My wife soon put a stop to that.”

“Listen to him, Jim. The man knows what he’s talking about.”

“John, I’m in love. I can’t help it. I don’t have any control over it. I’ve fallen in love.”

“No.” John shook his head once more. “No, Jim, no, Jim, no.”

“I’m sorry, John, but there it is.”

“Another best friend gone,” said the married man. “What a tragedy.”

“Quite right,” said John. “Listen to this poor wretch, Jim. You don’t want to end up like him.”

“Steady on,” said the poor wretch.

“Ground down, henpecked, under the thumb.”

“I said steady on!”

“A shadow of his former self, doomed to hoovering and babysitting, while the wife goes out to 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.