Scrap CH THREE part 36

Scrap CH THREE part 36
Saturday afternoon has kept Scotty busy with domestic matters, mostly involving in severe earache from the missus and he is itching to get away for his one night out in the week. Unfortunately Mavis has stuck her oar in and offered to babysit so he can take Dawn. There’s nothing like being stuck with a gooseberry to ruin a good night out but he can’t very well refuse as the two have not been out together since their wedding anniversary in May and that was only to the pictures to see the Bond film with a Chinese takeaway afterwards. Frank doesn’t seem to mind though and even opens the back door for his passengers to get in.
‘You look very nice this evening,’ comments the chauffer, if you weren’t already taken…..’ Dawn simpers and blushes slightly, hoping that he means the compliment. ‘It will make a nice change from watching telly all evening,’ says Dawn, ‘while you two go off and get pasted.’ Frank looks at his pal’s reflection in the rear view mirror and sees he is looking skywards. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the look on Ken Chapman’s face when you two roll in,’ adds Dawn, ‘you’ll have to watch he doesn’t have one of his fits or you’re both in bother.’ They laugh heartily at the thought but hope the man behaves in a dignified manner because they don’t want to get chucked out.
Maurice Golding, who owns the Bay club, is already half cut when the pals arrive. They have to push their way to the bar as the room is packed out with punters waiting for the arrival of the group, who had several hits in the sixties and are now on the wane but still finding work in clubs such as this. Maurice has always had a crush on the bass guitarist and has been taking Dutch courage before he has to introduce himself to the band. His doorman beckons him over as they arrive for the gig then steps outside to help with the rest of the gear; the drum kit was set up in the afternoon before the sound check. ‘Blimey mate, let us get inside first,’ says the lead singer as Maurice grabs his hand and greets him to his humble establishment. The rest of the group squeeze inside and find their way to the dressing room where the barman has laid out some snacks and a crate of beer. They close the door on Maurice, firmly but politely, and emerge ten minutes later to be announced. The room rocks with tumultuous applause, whistles and whoops as they stream out, through a tight path in the crowd and onto the stage.
As they launch into their first number all hope of conversation is killed by the noise, which is probably for the best because Ken has spotted Frank and is fighting his way towards him, his face the colour of a boiled lobster, but that might be due to the Marbella sunshine. ‘Look out, here comes trouble,’ mouths Scotty, who then ducks down and disappears in the vague direction of the gents.
Ken beckons and jabs a finger in the direction of the back door. Frank finishes his pint of bitter and follows him into the car park to face the music. ‘You’ve stitched me up good and proper this time, haven’t you?’ The older man accuses, ‘left me in the lurch and landed me with two dimwit rejects from BRS.’ Frank calmly takes out a pack of Rothmans and lights one. He offers the pack to Ken but he waves it away. ‘It had to happen sometime,’ he says as he blows smoke away from the other man; no sense in antagonising him still further. ‘Times change and people move on,’ he continues, ‘the opportunity arose and I jumped at the chance. Anyway, what’s wrong with a bit of good healthy competition?’ His former employer is in no mood for a lecture on business but the wind has gone from his sails. ‘You’d better just keep out of my way,’ he warns, ‘and don’t try treading on my toes or you’ll regret it.’ And with that he pushes past and disappears back into the fog.
Frank can feel the thumping bass from the loudspeakers reverberating in his chest. He takes another long drag from his cigarette and goes into a fit of coughing which forces him to rest on one of the benches. The world seems to spin around him and he feels a pain grip his left arm, travel across his chest and hold him in a vice for just a few seconds, leaving him gasping for breath. Jason comes out looking for him and panics when he sees his pal hunched over the metal table, cold sweat dripping from his face, his eyes wild and bulging. ‘Stay there, I’m going to call for an ambulance,’ he says as he sprints back into the bar.
Before he knows what is happening Frank is surrounded by nosey people wanting to witness the drama. An ambulance pulls into the car park and he is bundled into it before he can get enough breath to protest. ‘I’ll follow in the car,’ says Rosa, ‘let the others know will you?’ She asks of Jason. The crowd watch as the ambulance drives off with its lights flashing and for Scotty and his pals the night is over.
Staff at the local hospital are dealing with the usual Saturday night clientele, patching up minor injuries and counting the minutes until the end of their shift. Frank is wheeled in and a doctor is found to assess the damage. A heart monitor is attached to the patient’s chest and the print-out read briefly. The usual checks are carried out without comment then the doctor makes his diagnosis. ‘Well Mr Ridley it looks as if you have been lucky this time. You haven’t actually had a heart attack but you are heading for one if you don’t stop smoking and get your weight under control. How much have you drunk this evening?’ Frank’s confusion has subsided as the pain died away and he thinks for a moment. ‘Six or seven, and maybe a drop of rum, or two, nothing out of the ordinary,’ he tries to convince himself. The doctor takes a seat and positions himself closer to his patient. ‘That is far in excess of what you should be taking,’ he warns, ‘how long have you had a drink problem?’
Frank was not aware that he had a drink problem and is somewhat miffed at being accused in this way. ‘I can only advise you,’ the doctor continues as he gets up to leave, ‘give up the cigarettes and cut down on the drink and food intake or you are heading for the morgue my friend.’ Rosa has been standing outside the curtain and heard all of this. She steps forward as the doctor leaves and forces a smile. ‘Well you heard what he said, you can’t argue with that, and I for one don’t want to be going to another funeral any time soon.’
Sometime later Scotty walks in with Jason; ‘the nurse said you can go home,’ he says, ‘she’ll come and get the machine off and give you a diet sheet or something then we can drive you back.’ Frank thanks them, looks guiltily at the packet of cigarettes he has out of habit taken from his pocket and hands them over to Rosa. ‘Here, I won’t be needing these anymore,’ he says as if he truly means it. ‘And I’ll hold you to that,’ she replies as she squashes the packet and drops it in the bin. ‘If you’re giving up then so will I.’ the other two make no comment but are both thinking maybe they should do likewise.
It is almost 3am by the time the party leaves the hospital and as Scotty drives Frank back along the Low Road they see flashing blue lights heading towards them: a police car followed by an ambulance and a fire engine. ‘Someone else had too much to drink and gone off the road I suppose,’ guesses Scotty, who has had at least as much as Frank this evening, ‘some people never learn do they?’