{"id":7247,"date":"2020-12-24T08:41:08","date_gmt":"2020-12-24T08:41:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/?p=7247"},"modified":"2024-09-23T06:10:48","modified_gmt":"2024-09-23T06:10:48","slug":"nunchucks-and-mistletoe","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/nunchucks-and-mistletoe\/","title":{"rendered":"Nunchucks and Mistletoe"},"content":{"rendered":"

A Christmas Drink<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

December twenty third. Atherton Cemetery blanketed in snow. Me, with my big coat on and a can of Carling, blinking away the falling snowflakes.
\n+++++<\/span>Crouching at my mate Ronnie Finkell\u2019s grave.
\n+++++<\/span>Staring at the headstone, thinking how weird it was his body was just under my feet. Probably warmer than me.
\n+++++<\/span>He once held the Northern Area Flyweight belt. The Hag Fold Hurricane. I remember his first pro fight. Was in his corner carrying the water bottle. First round. He got rattled with a rabbit punch that stung so hard it made me piss blood. Ref separates them and Ronnie comes over. Goes to climb out the ring.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat you doing?\u201d I said.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHe got me reet in\u2019t piss pump. I\u2019m going home. My name\u2019s Van Gogh and I\u2019m off,\u201d he said.
\n+++++<\/span>I gave him an openhanded slap across the kisser. His bottom lip wobbled and he looked at me like I\u2019d pissed on his kitten.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIt\u2019s a kidney, not a piss pump. He caught you because you were prancing about. Tuck your elbows in and get dancing.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIt hurts, you dickhead.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWell hit him and don\u2019t get hit then. You\u2019ve trained for this, now go and show what you can do. Stop crying for God\u2019s sake.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWell, you didn\u2019t need to slap me.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cJust pretend he\u2019s nicked your bong.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cRight. I\u2019ll pissing have him.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>The tears stopped in their tracks as his jaws ground the gumshield. And that was all it took. Never lost another pro fight.
\n+++++<\/span>I stood up and poured the rest of the beer onto the grass.
\n+++++<\/span>Some fella shouted, \u201cOy, you\u2019d best not be having a piss.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t be ridiculous. Sling it, you whopper,\u201d I said.
\n+++++<\/span>Looked back at the headstone. \u201cMerry Christmas, mate.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A Christmas Blessing<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Coming up to seven. Snow turning to grey slush as I trudge up Market Street. Flashes of lights shaped like stars the council had put up. Bustle of last-minute shoppers and drinkers smoking outside the pubs. Turned right by the Wheatsheaf and headed to St Richard\u2019s church on Mayfield Street to catch the early evening mass.
\n+++++<\/span>I wasn\u2019t sure about God, in fact if He did exist I wouldn\u2019t mind a quiet word with Him to be honest. But there was something about the hymns and the reverence that I couldn\u2019t quite let go of at this time of year.
\n+++++<\/span>Hoped Father Langan had mellowed. Long story short, I\u2019d bugged the confession booth and two people subsequently died. Not my finest moment.
\n+++++<\/span>Walked in, most of the benches already brimming.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou. Out,\u201d he shouted. Nope, no mellowing. Everybody turned round.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cCan\u2019t we move on?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cOut.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>What would Ronnie have said? Something popped in my head. It was his riposte when he was informed he\u2019d been banned from JR\u2019s off license for pinching a penny toffee. It just came out: \u201cA penny toffee? You want grab your piss flaps and get a grip.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat? Just get out!\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Can\u2019t reason with some people. Slammed the door behind me as I left.
\n+++++<\/span>Muttered, \u201cNobhead,\u201d and slinked off to my apartment, one of the new ones across from the Punchbowl pub. Got a beer from the fridge and flicked on the tele. Some service, a choir singing.
\n+++++<\/span>Drank myself to sleep, passing out on the sofa after watching a Gremlins dvd, trying to remind myself of the Christmas magic from childhood that was melting quicker than the snow.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Stocking Fillers<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

9am. Christmas Eve. Atherton Town. Rough as a hedgehog\u2019s ballsack.
\n+++++<\/span>Woken by the zap of the doorbell.
\n+++++<\/span>I click unlock and hear footsteps up the stairs, eye up to the peephole, baseball bat by my side.
\n+++++<\/span>A woman, white bob hat with a red bobble, blonde curls framing her face. Open up as far as the chain lets me.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cAre you Mr. Gibfield?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou the police?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNo, why what\u2019ve you done.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNothing, but it\u2019s only them what call me Mr. Gibfield, usually while being arrested.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI don\u2019t want to arrest you. I want to hire you.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou\u2019re dafter than you look.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI was told you were a P.I.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSome people would claim those letters stand for pissing idiot.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>She burst out laughing. Just before the tears.
\n+++++<\/span>Her Story came flooding out. Boyfriend being a nasty bastard so she dumps him. He\u2019s not happy and now he\u2019s blackmailing her, threatening to release intimate images taken at happier times. Revenge porn.
\n+++++<\/span>I use my one and only real skill I\u2019d honed over the years: Listening.
\n+++++<\/span>She finishes her tale and wipes her face with a sheet of kitchen roll.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat does he do?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHe\u2019s a proctologist.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cDr Arsehole, eh?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>That triggers a giggle. She says, \u201cYou think you can help me?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cCan\u2019t promise anything. I\u2019ll see what I can do.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>She reaches into her purse and pulls out a wedge of money.
\n+++++<\/span>I wave it away.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSort me out later, if my plan works.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat are you going to do?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cThe less you know, the better.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>She insists with the cash but I decline. I still had a few grand left over from backing Ronnie to win the belt, otherwise I\u2019d have snatched her hand off, truth be told. Or maybe not. Tis the season for good deeds and all that jazz.
\nShe wrote down her name, April, telephone number and address, alongside Dr Arsehole\u2019s location.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ll be in touch.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>She nods and leaves.
\n+++++<\/span>Her perfume lingers with her sense of reassurance. Me, taking a deep breath and running through a scenario in my head, hoping I don\u2019t fuck things up. Tried to shower the headache away.
\n+++++<\/span>Put my big coat on, rummaged through the kitchen drawer for some plastic bags and headed out. Kicked up grey slush, melting snow mixed with oil from the road.
\n+++++<\/span>Walked to Max Spielmann and on the way back nipped into the butcher\u2019s next to the Punchbowl. I told him what I wanted and he gave me a funny look.
\n+++++<\/span>He said, \u201cPeople usually have turkeys or geese.\u201d Grinned.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cReally, I hadn\u2019t noticed.\u201d
\n\u201cNo need to be sarcastic, it\u2019s just unusual.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cThese are strange days,\u201d I said and fixed him with my best stare.
\n+++++<\/span>He must have thought I was fucked out of my head on drugs. It sped up the transaction and clipped the banter.
\n+++++<\/span>Market street, heavy foot traffic, frying fish and bakeries wafting in the cold air. My mouth was drooling but my stomach wouldn\u2019t process anything substantial so settled for a corned beef and onion roll from Bar Be Chic and went home.
\n+++++<\/span>I needed assistance and made a phone call to Ste Hulme, former doorman turned gigolo:
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHairband, merry Christmas. I need a hand.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIf you keep calling me hairband you\u2019ll be shit out of luck.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou can\u2019t be so sensitive. People go bald.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cAre you winding me up?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSorry. No, I\u2019m serious.\u201d I told him the tale.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNo bother. What tools do you think I should bring?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ll leave that up to you. Pick Lieutenant Perry up on your way.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cDo we really need Pez? You know he causes carnage.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou never know when carnage can be useful.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>They arrived in under half an hour.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cMerry Christmas, lads. Check out your Christmas stockings,\u201d I said, pointing to the bags.
\n+++++<\/span>Pez seemed to really think I\u2019d got him a present. Opened his bag, recoiled his head back and shouted, \u201cWhoa, what the fuck is this, you dickhead.\u201d Ste peeked a look and laughed.
\n+++++<\/span>I explained the plan of action and they nodded along.
\n+++++<\/span>Pez said, \u201cSoon as it\u2019s dark. In the meantime I think we should visit Johnny.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cFair shout.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Jumped in Ste\u2019s car and shot off.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Visit Of The Three Wise Men<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

DS Johnny Wood had been suspended without pay from the police force after getting coked out of his eyeballs and causing a near riot in The Mill bar with a poem. I wasn\u2019t sure if he still held us responsible for his descent into drugs, although his dabble as a bard was entirely his own doing. He\u2019d been checked into the psychiatric unit.
\n+++++<\/span>On the drive to the infirmary I said to Ste, \u201cYou\u2019ve lost weight. Everything ok?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cGigolo overtime. Raking it in. Plenty of lonely ladies this time of year. Feel like I\u2019ve been milked dry. Got balls like raisins.\u201d
\nPez just shook his head.
\n+++++<\/span>We buzzed the ward doorbell and the staff let us in. Went to fetch Johnny.
\n+++++<\/span>He was at the top of the corridor in a side room. Came out, had a look, recognised us and said, \u201cWell, well, well. If it isn\u2019t the three wise men.\u201d He had a blanket over his shoulders and straight away I wondered which one of us would say it. I was very tempted myself.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cAlright, mate,\u201d Pez said, \u201cJust thought we\u2019d see how you were doing, cheer you up, like.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Ste said, \u201cYou could do with a haircut and a shave. Do you want me to get the clippers off the staff?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Johnny padded down to us with a right look on his face. Said, \u201cHow I\u2019m doing? Cheer me up? My career\u2019s in tatters and this prat is banging on about my hair?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cJust trying to help, mate,\u201d Ste said.
\n+++++<\/span>A crowd of staff and patients had gathered.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIt\u2019ll be a cold day in Hell when I need help from a prostitute, an idiot who thinks he\u2019s a P.I. because he\u2019s read the fucking novels\u2013 \u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Ste looked around at half the ward who\u2019d burst out laughing and said loudly, \u201cI think you\u2019ll find I\u2019m a gigolo actually, Johnny.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Pez creased up.
\n+++++<\/span>Johnny turned to Pez and said, \u201cI don\u2019t know what you\u2019re laughing at. You\u2019re one loose screw away from going feral up rucks like the British version of Rambo First Blood. The three wise men? More like the three absolute dickheads.\u201d He swished his blanket and added, \u201cStaff, show these people to the door.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Ste was still embarrassed and I just knew he\u2019d say it. He shouted, \u201cAt least try and enjoy your Christmas dinner. If you can\u2019t be bothered with the turkey there\u2019s always pigs in blankets.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cStaff, get them three out before I go ballistic,\u201d Johnny shouted.
\n+++++<\/span>We crossed the car park to Ste\u2019s car and Pez said, \u201cThat actually went better than I expected.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Bearing Gifts or The Northern Shinobi<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We still had a bit of time before dark, so went back to mine and played poker swigging cold beers.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat tools did you pick?\u201d I asked Ste.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWent for the nunchucks in the end.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Pez threw his cards down, stood up and stretched, flicked open the curtain and said, \u201cRight lads, let\u2019s get the party started.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Drove through town, rehearsing what we were going to do, and parked on the carpark of the Talbot pub on Wigan Road. Dr Arsehole\u2019s place was a house on the new estate. Scoped it out.
\n+++++<\/span>Pez said, \u201cRight, you two figure out if you can get in on ground level. I\u2019ll check the skylight on the roof. If you can manage it, I\u2019ll stay up there as lookout.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>I said, \u201cWhat is it with you, roofs and skylights?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHave you been trained in reconnaissance?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNo.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWell shut up then.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>With that, he scaled the roof.
\n+++++<\/span>Ste said, \u201cI can see him through the curtains in the living room. He\u2019s on his own.\u201d He crouched down and scuttled under the window ledge to the front door. Put his hand in the letterbox.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat you doing?\u201d I whispered
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cThere might be a key on a piece of string.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cDo people still do that these days?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSoon find out. Oh, shit.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cMy hand\u2019s stuck.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cAre you having me on?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNo, I\u2019m being serious, it\u2019s pissing stuck.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>I just couldn\u2019t believe this. Gripped his arm at the wrist and yanked it back. The letterbox clattered like a starting pistol. I grabbed Ste\u2019s collar and we rolled behind the bushes.
\n+++++<\/span>Our revenge porn merchant opened the door, looked both ways and muttered something before slamming it and locking up.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWe could have just tried the handle and walked in. Back door might be open,\u201d Ste said.
\n+++++<\/span>It was. I texted Pez: We\u2019re in. Got a thumbs up in return. Slowly depressed the door handle and crept through the kitchen.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cAre you ready,\u201d I said to Ste
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cBorn ready and bold as brass,\u201d he grinned.
\n+++++<\/span>I lead the way. Opened the adjoining door and strolled in. Did a double take.
\n+++++<\/span>Our target was sat on the couch. Pez was sat behind him, gripping him in a sleeper hold with a hand over his mouth. He shrugged and said, \u201cNipped in while you two were fannying about. Was going to come down the chimney seeing as it\u2019s Christmas but it\u2019s a gas fire.\u201d I wasn\u2019t sure if he was joking. \u201cI\u2019ll leave yous to it and get back up on roof as lookout.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Ste pushed his top lip up exposing his teeth and said in a Bugs Bunny voice, \u201cWhat\u2019s up, Doc?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>The Doc just sat there, gobsmacked.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ve always wanted to do that,\u201d Ste said.
\n+++++<\/span>Doc found his voice. \u201cWhat the hell do you think you\u2019re playing at? Get the fuck out of my property you troglodytes.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIs this where I nunchuck him?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNunchuck me? How dare you.\u201d He reached for the phone but I yanked the wire out.
\n+++++<\/span>I said, \u201cTell me about revenge porn, Doctor Arsehole. If we can be reasonable we won\u2019t need nunchucks.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Blood drained from his face. \u201cNone of your fucking business.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIt is actually. You shan\u2019t fuck with my clients.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cClients? Just who do you think you are you fucking scumbags.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSte, I think it\u2019s nunchuck time.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Out cold.
\n+++++<\/span>Pig\u2019s head out of one bag and a polaroid camera out of the other.
\n+++++<\/span>Plenty of cheeky snaps.
\n+++++<\/span>Wrote on the back of one:<\/p>\n

Leave her alone or else.<\/em>
\nTwo can play at this game.<\/em>
\nMerry Christmas Doctor Arsehole.<\/em>
\nFrom Nun Chuck.<\/em><\/p>\n

Searched and found the digital camera. Bagged it and the laptop just in case.
\n+++++<\/span>We were heading for the back door, a job well done, when we heard commotion coming from outside.
\n+++++<\/span>Ste chanced a glance through the front window and saw a small crowd had gathered. I went over and heard, \u201cLook, Father Christmas has let himself go. Talk about bad santa,\u201d and a rupture of laughter. Dawned on me that Pez had been spotted on the roof. Odds on someone had phoned the police.
\n+++++<\/span>I said to Ste, \u201cI fucking told him about knocking about on roofs.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cShit. What are we going to do?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cFucked if I know, half the street are out.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>I saw it through the window before I heard it. Some kind of flash grenades were going off and pumping out billows of red smoke. We dashed through the door and out onto the street and pushed through the crowd disoriented by the plumes. Spotted Pez already nearing Ste\u2019s car with his jet-black fleece turned inside out now yellow and we ran after him.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI worry about you sometimes,\u201d I said to Pez as we climbed in.
\n+++++<\/span>He gave me his trademark wild shark\u2019s grin and winked as Ste put his foot down.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mistletoe and Wine. And A Good Few Pints Of Lager. Plus a violin.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

7pm Christmas Eve. Showered, shaved and dressed. Thought I\u2019d make an effort instead of looking like I\u2019d been dragged through a hedge. White oxford shirt underneath a navy suit with a woollen overcoat. Topped off with my black Kangol 507 flat cap.
\n+++++<\/span>Light snow falling. Crowds on the streets outside the pubs. Ale and fag smoke. Aftershave and perfume. Raucous laughter and clicking heels.
\n+++++<\/span>Pushed pat the crowds to my van on the car park near the sunbed shop whose window emanated blue light.
\n+++++<\/span>Drove down Leigh Road to Howe Bridge. April\u2019s place. An apartment across from St Michael\u2019s.
\n+++++<\/span>She opened the door wearing a little red dress that took the wind out of me. Smiled beneath cobalt eyes.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou\u2019ve dressed up for me.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cThe outfit\u2019s for going out in, actually, Mr Gibfield.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cJacob.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Stepped back and lead me inside.
\n+++++<\/span>Low light. Candles flickered. Eartha Kitt\u2019s Santa Baby from the music player. I had no illusions she was out of my league, we were talking at least four divisions. Spiked any romantic thoughts.
\n+++++<\/span>Handed over the bag with the gear. \u201cYou can either boot them up, wipe them and send them back with a Dear John letter telling Dr Arsehole to permanently leave you alone. Or you can smash them up with a hammer and lash the remnants up the rucks. Entirely up to you.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHow sure are you it\u2019s over?\u201d She said.
\n+++++<\/span>Flashed her a couple of polaroids. \u201cPretty sure.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Laughter.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cHow much do I owe you?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Shook my head. \u201cConsider it a Christmas miracle brought to you by the three wise men of Atherton Town. Have a merry Christmas.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Turned to go and she put her hand on my arm. \u201cOne second,\u201d she said. Came back from the mantlepiece with a piece of mistletoe. Held it above her head.
\n+++++<\/span>Hands round her waist. I didn\u2019t need asking twice.
\n+++++<\/span>She slid her mouth from mine, whispered into my ear, \u201cI don\u2019t go out for another half an hour.\u201d Pushed my hands down to her arse and hitched up her dress as she licked my neck.
\n+++++<\/span>Heavy smell of spirits and wine. Looked over her shoulder, saw nine tenths of a bottle of Merlot empty.
\n+++++<\/span>I couldn\u2019t gauge whether the moment was the relief, the drink, the season or whether it was genuine attraction. An element of self loathing ruled out the latter and I didn\u2019t want to feel like I\u2019d taken advantage. So, very reluctantly, I pulled away slowly, smiled, and said the dickhead thing, \u201cIt\u2019s not you. Trust me, it\u2019s definitely not you. It\u2019s me.\u201d Like I say, the dickhead thing, but at least it was the truth. Also, the last client I\u2019d gone to bed with wound up dead. Not a fate to tempt.
\n+++++<\/span>I could have said, \u201cIf you weren\u2019t pissed out of your face it might be different,\u201d but I didn\u2019t fancy a hard slap across the chops.
\n+++++<\/span>She took a deep breath and shrugged. \u201cSuit yourself.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Let myself out. As I was coming down the stairs, I shouted, \u201cHave a good one.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou too, Mr P.I. I agree, it must stand for pissing idiot.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Indeed. Walked into the cold, unforgiving winter air, thinking at least she knew where I lived if she wanted me sober. Wouldn\u2019t be holding my breath, that\u2019s for sure. I was trying to pinpoint the exact time when life suddenly exploded into complexities as I made my way to meet the lads. Dumped the van, slinked through the drinkers on the street and gave up pondering as I entered The Mill bar.
\n+++++<\/span>Lieutenant Perry and Ste were in the corner with pints and shots. Sat down in the chair they\u2019d guarded for me.
\n+++++<\/span>Pez said, \u201cYou\u2019ve took your time, what\u2019ve you been doing? Is that lipstick on your neck? You\u2019ve not been shagging your clients again have you? Where\u2019s your service ethics?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span> \u201cNowt happened. Never mind that, I need a pint. So does he,\u201d I said, pointing to Ste, \u201cyou look dehydrated to fuck.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span> \u201cMilked dry, man. Bollocks like bloody raisins.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>It just clicked to me, \u201cLads, we\u2019ve forgot Liam.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>PC Liam Hunt was another old mate of ours, joined the cops with Johnny. Unlike Johnny he hadn\u2019t been suspended without pay, but he had been told in no uncertain terms to check himself into a drug and alcohol rehab. Whether it was the pressure of the job or the simple fact he just liked cocaine and ale and found them increasingly moreish was debatable and up to the rehab people to help him work out.
\n+++++<\/span>Wasn\u2019t allowed visitors because he\u2019d been caught trying to bribe people to bring stuff in for him. So Pez got his phone out and facetimed him.
\n+++++<\/span>Liam\u2019s face popped up and filled the screen. He said, \u201cAlright, folks. Where are you? In a pub? I bet you\u2019re in a pub.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cDrinking responsibly,\u201d Pez said. Ste and I burst out laughing.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cShut up you dickhead,\u201d Liam said.
\n+++++<\/span>Ste got his debit card out and poured some salt from a shaker onto the tabletop. Started chopping it up and separating it into lines. Nudged Pez who swung the camera down to show Liam.
\n+++++<\/span>Liam\u2019s beady eyes came right up to the lens and he said, \u201cYou rotten bastards. You\u2019re going to have to send me some, I\u2019m crawling up the walls. I\u2019ve been thinking about it. A lot.
\n+++++<\/span>Right, what you need to do is get a bottle of aftershave, empty it, wash it out, fill it with whisky. Or, get a tube of pringles, slide half of the crisps out, tape a baggie \u2013 just a small eye opener so it doesn\u2019t look suss \u2013 onto the back of one of the crisps in the middle and put the rest back on top. Then, you\u2019ve got to glue the foil back down so if the staff test it they can\u2019t tell it\u2019s been tampered with.
\n+++++<\/span>Or you could buy a drone and fly it to my bedroom window with a magnet stuck to the bottom. Put a piece of lead in the bag of coke so it sticks to the drone and nobody will see it because it\u2019s on the underside.
\n+++++<\/span>Or you could send me a box of washing powder and put some of the good stuff in. You\u2019d have to mark the crystals with permanent marker so I could differentiate which powder was which. Painstaking, I agree, but undetectable to the untrained eye. Essentially fool proof.
\n+++++<\/span>What do you reckon?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Pez said, \u201cI reckon you need to get a fucking grip and accept the help you\u2019re being offered.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cSo you\u2019re not going to send me anything?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYes, we\u2019re sending you thoughts and prayers on your journey to recovery. We\u2019re rooting for you.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Liam just shook his head and started ranting and raving so Pez ended the call.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pubcrawl. Wheatsheaf, Jolly Nailor, Pendle Witch, Red Lion, Weaver\u2019s Rest till closing. Traditional British boozers. Can\u2019t beat them.
\n+++++<\/span>One place left open. Mountain Dew.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cDew till two?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat do you think?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>We walked in. Four deep rammed at the bar. Raucous. Everyone dolled up and a jovial atmosphere. Speakers blaring.
\n+++++<\/span>Some geezer I\u2019d known for decades comes over and I recognise him immediately but for the life of me can\u2019t place his name.
\n+++++<\/span>He says, \u201cI\u2019m up next. Singing Gangster\u2019s Parasite. Coolio.\u201d Points at the karaoke.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cParadise.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cIt is innit. Nowhere else in the world like the Dew on Christmas eve.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>I suspected he was right, for all sorts of reasons. \u201cI meant the title.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat\u2019s vital?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cNevermind. Have a good one.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cYou too.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>He gets up on the stage and serenades the place.
\n+++++<\/span>I\u2019m dragged through the bar by my wrist. April. She takes me into a cubicle and gives me a blowjob. Romance alive and well. I\u2019m more pissed than she is at this point. I finish. She looks up and says, \u201cMerry Christmas. Call me.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>I try and say, \u201cI will do,\u201d but I can\u2019t get my words out proper, slurring.
\n+++++<\/span>Last orders bell rings and not long after we all pile out onto Market Street. I look for her but she\u2019s nowhere to be seen. Ste and Pez pop their heads out of the kebab shop doorway. \u201cWhere\u2019ve you been?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>I try and tap my nose but I keep missing.
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cFucking lightweight,\u201d Ste laughs.
\n+++++<\/span>Hanging about for food, the cold night air sobering me up. Light snow falling. They come out with three big pizza boxes and Pez says, \u201cFollow me.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Leads us round the back of St John the Baptists Church, where the old market used to bustle.
\n+++++<\/span>Gone now. Like the job centre.
\n+++++<\/span>Scaffolding. Leads the way. Ste looks at me as if to say, \u201cWhere\u2019s he going?\u201d I shake my head and we start climbing, following his lead.
\n+++++<\/span>We end up on top of the church. \u201cJust what is it with you and roofs?\u201d I say to Pez, who doesn\u2019t respond. Instead he leans over and pulls across a black box. Out comes his violin. Ste shakes his head. Says, \u201cJust when you think you\u2019ve seen it all.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cI really, really worry about him sometimes.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>Pez ignores us and tucks the violin under his chin. Gets straight into it. I think he\u2019s going for The Pogues: Fairytale of New York.
\n+++++<\/span>A fair crowd down around the Obelisk get it and start singing along, looking around for the source of the music but can\u2019t see us.
\n+++++<\/span>Our fiddler switches gears and fires into the hymn Jerusalem. Find myself singing along the Blake\u2019s words.
\n+++++<\/span>Bangs puncture the night. Mostly fireworks, probably one dodgy Ford Escort backfiring and maybe even the odd gunshot as the town sees in Christmas Day.
\n+++++<\/span>I saw the rows of red brick terraces, the fields, and in the distance Winter Hill at Rivington Pike.
\n+++++<\/span>It might not be the best place in the world. But all through Christmas the locals clothed the homeless and made sure the less fortunate got a Christmas box. A fifteen-foot tree glowing with lights shone up at us. Glasses smashing, folks scrapping. I thought I could make out a couple shagging down the side of Weaver\u2019s Rest.
\n+++++<\/span>It was our hometown whether we liked it or not.
\n+++++<\/span>I didn\u2019t buy the deterministic idea that the future was mapped out for you. It was necessary to reach out and make of it what you could.
\n+++++<\/span>I said to Ste, \u201cCan\u2019t wait to see the back of two thousand and nineteen.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>He said, \u201cTwenty twenty will be our year. Things can\u2019t get any worse can they?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>I said, \u201cYou honestly reckon Two thousand and twenty will be a good year or are you just saying it to make me feel better?\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>He said, \u201cI\u2019m a very deep thinker. I\u2019m telling you, twenty twenty is going to be good. Definitely.\u201d
\n+++++<\/span>\u201cCategorically,\u201d said the Lieutenant.
\n+++++<\/span>They seemed sure so I went with them, nodding along, letting them convince me and convincing myself. \u201cI agree. A hundred percent.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

How wrong can you get? The three wise men of Atherton, eh? Johnny was right all along. The three absolute dickheads, more like.<\/p>\n

The End<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A Christmas Drink December twenty third. Atherton Cemetery blanketed in snow. Me, with my big coat on and a can of Carling, blinking away the falling snowflakes. +++++Crouching at my mate Ronnie Finkell\u2019s grave. +++++Staring at the headstone, thinking how weird it was his body was just under my feet. Probably warmer than me. +++++He […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":250,"featured_media":5390,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1464,1476,1452],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7247","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-l","category-l-a-sykes","category-short-story"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p1Zyqm-1ST","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/02\/RadioCityBloodbath.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7247","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/250"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7247"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7247\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5390"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7247"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7247"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7247"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}