8 posts tagged “pub”

That's it. We're all going to prison for murder. I'm going to be put in a cell with some large, butch lesbionic-type woman named "Chuck" and she's going to make me her plaything. Poor Bert. He looks like a woman half the time as it is! He won't last a second in prison!

And it's all Elle's fault.

"Great," I said, putting a hand on my jutted out hip. "Just great. You've just gone and ruined my day."

Bert frowned. "Uhhh... I think that guy's day is going a little worse... as he's dead now."

Elle just rolled her eyes. "He's not dead. See?" She propped him up against the stove and waved his hand around like some kind of ventriloquist. She even dared make a Monty Python reference, using a different voice and speaking from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not yet dead! I think I'll go for a walk!"

I glared at her. "Bugger off, Elle. That's not even funny."

Bert snickered. "...Well, it was a bit funny-"

I gave him a stern look. He stopped snickering.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, glancing from Elle to Bert. "What are we going to do?!"

Elle grinned. "Stuff him into Bernard's trash bin and call the police?"

Possibly...

"No!" I exclaimed. "That would make things worse, not better."

Elle knelt down to get a closer look at our newly-bludgeoned corpse friend. Then, without notice, she reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, a silver flask and a pack of fags. She tossed the fags at me, gave the wallet to Bert and  kept the flask for herself.

She pointed at me. "You. Go smoke. You always think better when you're calmed down." She nodded at Bert. "You go give Fran some cash, as we'll likely need to use her new car for a few minutes."

"...Well," he said, "what are you going to do with the flask?"

"Get stinking pissed." She unscrewed the cap and took a swig. She winced as the taste hit the bank of her throat. "Water!" she exclaimed. "Are you fucking kidding me?!?!" She grabbed the wallet back from Bert, grabbed a tenner, threw the wallet on the floor and stormed out. I can only assume she was heading to the pub down the street.

I was on the verge of tears. I'd never been involved in a murder before... Well, once before but I didn't feel so guilty the last time. This man was innocent, just doing his job. And Elle killed him.

...Maybe Bert and I wouldn't have to go to prison for something Elle did...?

No. She's your sister. You can't just turn her in!

Bert grabbed a fag from me, rummaged around in the cupboard for some matches and lit up. I think he thought having a fag might calm his nerves. He ended up puking into the sink.

"Bert, honey, this would not be a good time to take up smoking for the first time."

He wiped his mouth. "I believe you're right."

I lit up and blew smoke up into the air above my head. "Bert," I said. "What are we going to do?"

"We have to turn ourselves in. Or, rather, Elle," he said. "It's the only way."

Perhaps he had a point.

I was kind of hoping that Leo would invite me along on his tennis trip to Edinburgh, but no. (Mostly because I haven't shagged anybody in Och Eye Land... since the last time I was there.) Turns out my gorgy boyfriend doesn't love me that much. He mentioned about meeting up with one of his old school chums who moved to Edinburgh after college and then getting pissed with him in some pub they went to last year.

Well, that's just fab. He can do what he likes. He's his own person, certainly. I don't own him or anythin'. I can't stop him from drinking with old friends- and I wouldn't.

Because I am a very good girlfriend. Always have been.

But still. Leo hasn't been my boyfriend that long. I'm not sure if I trust him 100% yet. What if he shags some Highland Goddess and decides to stay there and continue to shag her because she's got that whole Highland Goddess thing going for her.

Well, it would be his loss. I could have the whole Highland Goddess thing about me, too, if I wanted. But I don't.
It just makes me mad, that's all. Almost mad enough to go to Tom's sleepover orgy thing... that I wasn't exactly invited to.

I don't understand it. Tom invited various friends for an all-night shag fest... and he didn't invite me... just because I made some harmless comment about his penis being small.
Really. He's such a child. I'm thankful to be with Leo now, instead of Tom. Leo is a man while Tom is just a boy.
But how can I be with Leo if he's off shagging some Highland Goddess?!

While Elle (who was quite pissed about the me-and-Theo thing... and the fact that her gorgy boyfriend just CAME OUT) and Bert (who was being quite nice about the whole me-being-preggers things... and the it-might-be-Tom's-or-Bert's thing) waited in the kitchen, I squatted awkwardly with the pregnancy test between my legs, yet again. This time, my bladder was full, as I'd just downed two litres of orange juice.

Never thought orange juice would be so awful to drink without vodka in it...

I leaned against the bathroom wall while the plastic, pee-covered stick did whatever it is that pregnancy tests do. I was reminded of that American movie with the teenage girl who got pregnant after having sex just once.

Poor thing. Can't believe she didn't win the Oscar for that movie.

After two and a half minutes, I slowly approached the counter and looked down at the stick. One blue stripe stared back at me, mocking me. I immediately burst into tears.

Elle peered in. "So?!"

"I'VE GOT A BLUE STRRI-I-IIIIPE!!!" I wailed. I sunk down to the floor and sobbed into the top of my knees. "This can't be happening!! I'm not ready to be a mum! I've got my whole life ahead of me!! What am I going to do?!?"

Bert pushed the door open and saw me on the floor. He frowned. "What if we got married?"

I stared at him, my vision blurry from the tears. "Wot?"

"Elle said that Tom wouldn't be..." He hesitated. "...the good dad. And who knows, it's quite possible that it's mine, you know." He shrugged. "I mean, we did shag..." He swallowed, a shadow of fear passing quickly over his face. "What if... I married... you?"

I almost considered it. Good GOD, I almost considered it.

Elle plucked the pregger-ancy test from the garbage and read the back. "Two blue stripes means you're pregnant. One stripe means you're not." She looked down at me. "Stop crying. No need to marry Bert this time."

I have never been so relieved over anything in my life. I just looked at Bert and smiled. "Let's not shag again, alright?"

Bert grinned. I think he was more relieved than I was. "Agreed."

I celebrated that evening by getting pissed at the pub with Elle, Bert, Manny, Fran and Bernard. Elle, fresh from her recent break-up, was back to being uncomfortably chummy with Bernard. I was happy to see Manny flirting with the waitress (who seemed quite uninterested and repulsed by his drunken advances). I've been told a few times that it can be quite hard to get over me, but I was glad to see that he was on his way.

Bert was still feeling a little awkward about what had happened earlier and he made an early exit. He said something about going to some comedy thing later and meeting some friends.

As for Fran, she was pissed before we even got to the pub. She ended up snoring away, her head down on the table for most of the evening.

I called Tom from the pub. I told him about my pregnancy scare and told him that there was no baby in sight. He picked me up in his car and we had a celebratory shag in the back seat.

Life without a bun in the oven is quite nice, really.  

What a right mess.

Before Bert shared his doubts about their…romp…, I hadn’t even considered the information he had just presented.

“The baby’s not Tom’s, is it?!” I asked, slightly astounded.  Elise gave me a distressed look, before she pushed Bert out of her way and ran up the street.  “Elise!” I ran to the door and out onto the street, shouting after her.  It was useless.  There wasn’t even any point in running after her.  She was probably half-way to Russell Square already; she didn’t win every track meet she’d ever been to for nothing. 

I heard a strange gurgling sound behind before I remembered that Bert was there.  I whirled around to face him…well his chest anyways.  I looked up at his face and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“This is all your doing, you…you promiscuous tranny!” I blamed him.  I stomped away from him, but stopped myself.   I turned back around to say something, but Bert’s face was completely blank.  I waited for a few seconds before I tried to get his attention.

“Bert?” I ventured, stepping slowly towards him.

“Is she really pregnant?” he asked me suddenly.  He sounded concerned.

“I dunno,” I replied, sighing.  “She hasn’t taken the test thing yet.”

“Oh,” he replied softly.  Seconds later he asked, “So we don’t know for sure if it’s…it’s mine…or…?”

“No,” I replied, trying to understand what Bert was thinking.

“Even if it’s…his…,” Bert started.

“If there even is an ‘it’,” I pointed out.

“Yes, if there is…a baby…he wouldn’t stay round, would he?”

“He’d probably be on the first ship to Amsterdam,” I replied.  Bert nodded.  He rubbed the back of his head in thought.

“I’m…I’m gonna go see if I can find her,” he said quietly.  I nodded, unable to think of anything else to say.  Just as he headed out the door, I thought of something.

“Bert!” I called.  He stepped back inside. I ran for her coat and handed to him.  “Could you tell her…tell her I’m not mad or anything?  I’m just…you know…worried about her?”  He nodded, taking the coat and holding to his chest.  “I just wanna be there for her, that’s all.”  Bert left quietly and I was left with the empty, cold and dark shop.

Then it was “later” and Theo came round.

“Hey Elle,” he called, coming into the shop, just as I was clearing up the remnants of this afternoon.  I hid the Clear Blue boxes as quickly as I could, without him noticing.

“Look Theo, I’m not really in the mood for going out tonight…” I started.

“Ah…that’s alright,” he replied, hunching his shoulders.  “I wanted to talk to you about…something, anyways.”  The hesitation in his voice caught me off-guard. 

I sighed. 

The end was coming soon.

“Yes?” I prompted.

“Maybe you should stay away from the cutlery…,” he chuckled nervously.  My stomach felt sour, knowing what was coming and my throat felt thick.  I just looked at him, feeling the blood draining from my face.  “I…ah…don’t really know how to say this…but…and I feel really terrible about it…” he babbled, words streaming out of his mouth in disorderly confusion.

“But what?” I managed to say.

“Well…you were right about me,” he sighed heavily.  I blinked. 

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Are you sure?” I asked, realizing milliseconds too late how stupid I sounded.

“Sort of?” he replied, shrugging.

“Sort of?  How can you be “sort of” sure that you’re gay?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice level.

“I…I dunno.  Simon and Julian told me to make sure that I was absolutely positive about being gay…so…so they prompted me to get a girlfriend,” he explained, staring at the ground.

“And so you led me to believe that you were straight as an arrow and lied to me point-blanc when I asked you if you were?!”  I couldn’t believe it.  I could not bloody well believe it.

“I didn’t know how you’d take it…”

“I was ready to except it if you had of said yes!  But then you lied to me!  And I even had sex with you!!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms in the air.  I tried to calm myself down.  Pinching the bridge of my nose, with my eyes closed, I said quietly to him, “Maybe you should leave.”

“Yeah,” he shuffled to the doorway.  Before he left, he turned around.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, before slipping out the door.

“And so is the fucking Pope for being Catholic!” I yelled at the closing door. 

I screamed some more, before grabbing my coat and heading to the door.  Maybe I could jump off a bridge.  No, no.  Too drastic.  That’s it!  I’m giving up men and sex!  I’ve had it!  I fumed as I slammed the shop door shut.  I began marching up the street not noticing that someone was approaching me.  It was Bernard.

“Where you goin’?” he asked, staring at the sidewalk as he walked next to me.

“Pub,” I grunted.

“Can I come?”

“I don’t care.”

As pay back for having to come and get me after spending the night with Jim- er, Tim, Elle made me work the next day. This job really is God-awful dull. I actually caught myself reading a dictionary to pass the very slow-moving time.

I wander if I could just give myself a severe paper cut across the throat and DIE.

I was spying on Black Books through the window when the little bell above the door jingle, letting us all know that a customer was coming in. Nobody had been in all day so it gave me quite a start.

It was Tom.

And he didn't even notice me.

So, I had to make him notice me.

I grabbed a book off a random shelf, opened it and "accidently" bumped into Tom.

"Oh, gosh," I exclaimed. "I'm so sorry!" I looked up at him, batting my eyelashes discreetly. "Tom!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Elise. What the bloody hell are you doing in a book store?"

I glared at him. "I can read, you know!"

Tom glanced at the cover of the book I had in my hand. It was, unfortunately, The Black Man's Guide to Understanding the Black Woman. Just my luck. It couldn't have been something like The Da Vinci Code or-or-or... 1001 Ways To Tell If Your Lover Is A Complete Fuck-Up Named Tom. Oh, yes. That would have been a really good one.

"Interesting choice," he said with a laugh. "So. How long have you been a black man, anyway? Not long."

I tossed the book onto a nearby shelf and crossed my arms over my chest. "Well, you would know!!"

It was about 0.5 seconds later that I realized that that wasn't actually a come-back. Bugger.

I glanced at Elle for a little assistance. Maybe she would toss the wanker out on his ass. But no. My dear sister was asleep, her head on her desk, an empty bottle of wine sitting on some old books. Great.

Tom just smirked. (Prat.) "I think we should go to lunch."

"It's half ten," I said.

Tom looked at Elle. "Think your boss would mind if you took off a little early?"

"She's not my boss!" I huffed. "She doesn't tell me what I can and cannot do!" I grabbed his hand and lead him out of the shop.

We went to the nearby pub and had some lunch. We talked about everything. Mark. Trish. Us. The whole complicated mess. But, there had been an update since the whole blow-up happened.

"Mark and Trish have been sleeping together for over a year," Tom explained. "And Trish is pregnant."

I gaped at him. "Well, is it yours or is it Mark's?"

Wow, I thought. That is exactly what happened on EastEnders yesterday. 

"Well, the doctor told her she is four weeks pregnant," he said, looking like he didn't give a fig. "So, it has to be Mark's." Tom sighed and sipped his lager. "Needless to say, Mark and I are no longer chums. And Trish is now at his place."

"Do you miss her?" I asked softly.

"Not really," he said with a shrug. "I do miss you, though."   

When Bert and I got back from France, it was New Year's Eve. He slept most of the way home on the plane- but I could barely close my eyes, let alone drift off to Dream Land.

There was no point in denying it. Bernard and Elle were shagging. Or, at least they had shagged. At least once.

I cringed at the thought. I mean, really. Ew.

So, when we got home to the shop, I just wanted to get Elle alone and ask her if the bloody thing was true or not. God, I hoped it wasn't... especially after I'd gone and told Bert that Elle fancied him. Yeesh.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Bernard had really only just slept at the shop. Highly unlikely- but I imagined Bernard and Elle were probably brilliant drinkers together and ended up pissed and he just crashed at the shop. With her.

Ew, ew, ew!! No, no!! Bad brain, bad!!

Before I could talk to Elle, Bert suggested we all go down to the pub for a New Year's Eve drink. So, the lot of us (Elle, Bert, Bernard, Fran, Manny and I) all went down to the pub and started drinking.

And drank some more. And laughed for a bit.

And continued drinking.

Well, my suspicions were confirmed, more or less. Not by Elle, but by Bernard.

He had his arm draped around Elle's shoulders and, despite the amount of vodka in her blood stream, she still looked uncomfortable with the public display of affection.

Bernard nuzzled her ear and announced to the whole pub, "This is Elle and she is... reeeeeeally lovely!!" His head then slammed onto the table as he passed out.

Bert, oddly enough, didn't seem too bothered by the fact that his woman was being nuzzled by somebody else and, of all people, Bernard Black. He was too busy flirting with Fran! And she seemed quite keen on him as well. She didn't even mind the wig, makeup and Marilyn Monroe-style dress.

So. That left Manny and me.

Manny smiled at me awkwardly as we clinked our shot glasses together and downed some tequila. Manny started getting handsy under the table, the more liquor we ingested. And since I was absolutely pissed and he was being so sweet, I didn't even bother removing his hands from underneath my skirt.

"...Elise?"

My eyes flashed open- and my head was suddenly struck with the worst hangover headache the world has ever known. I looked up to see Manny.

...Standing beside the bed in which I was laying. He'd brought me breakfast on a tray. And a newspaper. And a rose in a slender glass vase.

"Well," I said, sliding up in (his) bed, "Happy New Year to you, Manny."

On behalf of Elle, Bert and the whole gang, Happy Holidays!!

“Last call, luv.”  Sigh.  I already had had six pints of lager, what harm could another do?

The barman here is nice.  Nice to a lonely little drunk girly.  Sigh.

God I hate Christmas.

At least Mr. Baker (the barman) is trying to cheer me up.  He keeps telling me corny jokes about Father Christmas, Americans and Dumb Blondes.  It’s a good thing it’s kind of dark in his pub, or else I’d clock him.  Well, maybe not clock him, perhaps stare at him angrily; I’m a blonde.  “Dirty Blonde” rather.  Elise takes it to heart (if you know what I mean).  Maybe I’ll dye my hair brown and give Elise a fright when she and Bert get back. Ha.  That’ll show them.

I remembered hazily why I was here on Christmas Eve, alone.

I was sitting at the shop desk, reading, while customers argued amongst themselves and panicking, trying to fine the perfect Christmas present.  Bert and Elise had been out shopping all morning, when they suddenly burst in through the front door, rosy cheeked and excited.

“Ellie! Ellie!  Guess what?” shouted Elise, pushing customers out of her way as she ran over to me.

“Father Christmas is actually going to exchange you for that puppy I asked for 20 years ago?” I asked.  She stopped short gave me this short of pitying frown, but quickly began smiling again.

“No, don’t be daft.  Bert and I won a trip to the French Alps for Christmas!  We can stay in a fancy lodge and ski and eat at fancy restaurants…!!” she replied, her eyes shining and face getting redder.  I tried to hide my excitement in; the French Alps?  Did any of us know how to ski?

“When do we leave?”

“Ahh…well…you see, Ellie, ah, um, there’s just one teensy weensy little thing about the trip…,” she said nervously, clearly becoming antsy at my interest.

“Yes?”  I dreaded the answer.

“Th-the trip’s for two, y’see…an’ well, it’s suppose to be like one of those, um, daft romantic getaways for two…Bert an’I only entered it for a laugh, Elle; we honestly didn’t think we’d win,” she rambled.

“That’s fine; some one’s got to stay here and mind the shop,” I replied, as stocially as I could.  I opened the drawer next to me and handed Elise a white envelope that I was saving for Christmas Day, but seeing as she wouldn’t be here…well, you know.

“Wh-what’s this?”

“Open it, go on.”

She did.  After what seemed like forever, she finally managed to pull out the money with shaking hands.  What did she think it was?  Anthrax?  Honestly.

“Ellie…why?” she asked, staring at the money.

“It’s your half of our inheritance.  You kept telling me how much this place was a waste of it, so I decided to give you back your share.”

“But…um, thanks,” she replied, confused.  Bert hung around awkwardly and finally disappeared behind the curtain with Elise.

Four days later they left for the Alps. 

The bells above the pub door jingle as someone comes in.  Another lonely soul on a lonely Chrimble Eve.

I hear Mr. Baker talking to who ever it is, before the black figure moves to sit across from me.  I have to screw my eyes up to see who it is – 7 lagers will do that to a person.  I realize who it is.

“I t’ought you’d be here,” he said to me.

“Wha’ddya want?” I asked.

“I’m going to take you home.  You don’t need any more of dat rubbish,” he said, soberly, taking my drink from my hands.

“Yes, I do,” I reply, grabbing for it.  He takes it over to the bar and gives it to Baker.  He comes back over and grips my arm.

“C’mon,” he says quietly.  I’m too pissed to care, so I slide off my stool and begin to fall.  He catches me expertly and props me upright.  I lose my balance, but he counters it and leans me against him, while holding me in place with one of his arms wrapped around my shoulders.  We half stumble half walk to the door.  Baker gives us his crinkly smile and says, “Yer in good hands now, luv.  Happy Christmas, Bernard.  You too, miss.”

“Nnng,” I reply.  Bernard nods to Baker as we shuffle out the door. 

We start down the street, Bernard, uses his arms to hold me steady and stop me from falling on my visage.  I can’t bear it any longer.  I have to ask him.

“Why’re you so nice to me when no one’s around?”

“Dere’s lots’o’people around,” he answered, avoiding the question.

“You know who I mean.”

“I dunno…,” he sighs, making life more complicated than before and harder for my now slow brain to work out.

“You yell at me a lot when they’re around,” I mumble.  “I’ve tried being nice to you…”  I trip; he catches me and puts me right.  “You’re just…just really…really…”

“Maddening?” he answers.

“S’pose,” I answer slowly.  “Where are we going?”

“I told you, I’m taking you home.”

“Mine or yours?” I laugh, finding myself extremely witty and clever in the moment.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him smiling.

Since Elle decided to stay in a grump for the rest of the day, I left her to glare at work on the computer while I popped to the shop down the street for some crisps. Before I got to the shop, I found myself strolling passed the shop- through a curtain of those annoying door beads so popular in past decades- next to Black Books. It was called Nifty Gifty. I went inside, just to check it out.

Apparently, Elle is an idiot and has chosen we've chosen a poor street to open a business on. Because everybody else on this street is completely mad.

Inside Nifty Gifty was a fit-looking woman with quite nice hair, staring angrily at a large purple orb with a metal spout coming out of the side. Honestly, I had no idea what it was. Something told me that she didn't know what it was either.

"What are you?" she whispered to it. Or at it. I'm not sure- and more importantly, I'm sure I don't care.

"Hello?" I said quietly.

"Oh! Hello!" she said, still holding the... thing. "Welcome to Nifty Gifty. What the hell is this?" She stuck the purple... thing in my face. "Please tell me what this is." 

"Is it some sort of... exercise... thing?" I suggested. "Or a Christmas tree decoration, perhaps?"

The woman wrinkled her nose. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Were you looking for something?"

"Not really," I said. "I just wanted to come 'round and introduce myself. I'm Elise Whyte. My sister and I just bought the bookshop across the street." I struggled to think of something else to say. "Your shop is really lovely."

"Ohhhhhh," she said. "Bernard's gonna hate you."

I blinked at her. "...What?"

"Never mind." She stuck out her hand. "Fran Katzenjammer."

I hesitated. "I'm sorry. Who is Bernard, exactly? ...And why will hate me?"

"Oh. Right." She smiled awkwardly. "Bernard Black owns Black Books. I'm sure you've seen it. Well, he doesn't fancy the idea of having so many bookshops on the same street. He was hoping that shop would be turned into something useful-" Fran shrugged. "-like a pub."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Well, he can hate my sister too. It was her idea to buy the damn place."

Fran and I chatted for a few minutes before I returned to the shop. Then I forgot about wanting crisps so I left again and came back again. Elle's face was turning redder and redder every second. So, I just went home to my lovely flat and my lovely boyfriend.

Now. If only every aspect of my life was, well, lovely.