Easy As Calling On A Hike.
by: Parker pens & Bonzi's bum.
part:334

I went off to sort out the dinner while the ‘boys’ were chatting, they were laughing and joking with each other so I assumed things were okay. After taking in the chicken for Tom to carve, I went back to the kitchen for the vegetables.

While Tom carved lumps of meat off the chicken carcass, Simon took the empty bottle of claret they had been drinking off the table and replaced it with another, which he opened with a ‘pop’.

“Have a glass, Cathy,” he urged me. I refused, I didn’t want one. He poured me one all the same. Tom of course swigged down what was left in his glass and held it out for a refill. I wasn’t sure what I felt, but happy wasn’t the operative word.

I ate without saying anything, they both nearly fell over laughing when Simon said, “Poor chicken, I can see what he had for his last meal,” referring to the orange I’d stuffed it with.

“Her last meal,” I corrected him.

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“No, you said his last meal. Chicks are sexed at a day old and the male ones are gassed.”

“Ugh! That sounds terribly sexist, if you ask me,” he quipped back. I hadn’t asked him, but at this very moment it seemed it might be better if they did it to humans too! Then I contemplated all the female children who are killed or aborted in countries like India and China. That seemed like an abomination to me.

I didn’t drink the wine, I didn’t fancy it, just not in the mood. I finished my dinner and cleared the plates. The men stayed at the table finishing the bottle. I loaded the dishwasher, and then returned to the dining room,

“I hope you brought some clothes with you,” I said to Simon.

“No, I didn’t. I’ll go and get shome from the cottish in a minute.”

“You’ll be well over the limit if they breathalyse you,” I cautioned.

“It’sh true, Shimon,” confirmed Tom, “You’ll have to borrow shome of Cathy’sh.”

“Nah, I’ll be alright, where did I put my keysh? Have you sheen them, Cathy?”

“Yes, they’re little metal things which open doors.”

“Ha bloody ha, where are they?”

“If I knew I wouldn’t tell you, you are too drunk to drive.” I knew perfectly well where they were. I’d hidden them in the garage, along with my own. “Anyway, I’m off for a bike ride.” So saying, I left them and went to change. I’d poured my wine down the sink and I was fizzing with anger. I needed a ride to calm down, sadly it was the wrong time of day, straight after a meal.

I returned an hour later, I hadn’t pushed my luck, just a gentle ride out to the cottage to see if Monica was still there. If she was, she had moved her car because that was missing and it wasn’t in the garage.

I wiped down the bike and locked her up again, inside the men were on their third bottle of wine. I was livid, however, I decided I wasn’t going to say anything then. I would wait until the next day and hopefully they’d be sober.

After a shower, I discovered they were both asleep and the television was on. I switched it off and neither of them moved. I had work to do to check some stuff over before Des arrived the next day. Maybe I should get him to run off with me?

At eleven, I went back to the dining room, Tom was asleep on one side of the table and Simon the other. I left them to it and went to bed with my book. At half past I put the light out and went to sleep.

I was awoken by somebody bumbling around the bedroom and walking into the bed and swearing, then hushing themselves, it was pathetic. This pathetic mess, then got into bed with me at the second attempt, he fell off the first time. I pretended I was asleep and lay with my back to him. He kissed me on the back of the head, and fell asleep in moments. That’s when the snoring started and my frustration began.

No matter what I tried, I could not get back to sleep. At about two in the morning, I gave up, took my pillow and a blanket and went downstairs to the lounge. I curled up on a sofa and eventually went to sleep.

I awoke at six, with Simon staggering about the place. “Oh hello babes, I wondered where you were.”

“Are you fit to drive?” I asked, wondering if his blood alcohol level would be safe now.

“Yeah, course, why?”

“I just wondered.”

“What are you doing down here?”

“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You are so good to me, Catherine Watts.”

“Not really, I’m concerned by the amount you are drinking.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I mean Tom is as bad.”

“I’m not marrying Tom.”

“Oh, back to that are we?”

“I thought we were supposed to be trying to communicate better, I’m trying to communicate a worry I have, but you keep poo-pooing it!”

“It’s alright, okay?”

“No it isn’t, how can it be?”

“It’s under control, alright.” He walked out of the lounge and a few minutes later I heard him start his car. The ball was back in his court, which was just as well, because I was so angry I’d have knocked it off the planet and him with it!

I went and made some tea and started some coffee for Tom, I heard him walking about and groaning.

“Morning, Tom,” I said loudly and he cringed and held his head.

“Please be quiet, my head hurts.”

I shrugged and walked away with my tea, “I take it you don’t want bacon and eggs for breakfast then?”

“No, not this morning.”