Worlds Apart - PART 10

September 2004: Bournemouth, England.

‘So nobody’s met her yet?’

Bob shook his head, confirming my suspicions.

‘But we do think she exists?’ It was a stupid question, granted. Even Alan wouldn’t arrange to meet his new girlfriend in a pub if he didn’t have one. I quickly moved on.

‘Do we know what she looks like?’

Apparently not, but it didn’t stop us from guessing. She’d probably be hairy. On the basis we didn’t even know her name, she was from now on referred to as Mary. Far be it for us to suggest all Mary’s are hairy, there’s just a certain ring to it. We began to place bets on the rest of her appearance. It was a waste of time. We all came up with pretty much the same image. We had to introduce a wager somehow. Bob bet she had black hair. I, also thinking she’d have black hair, raised the stakes, insisting it would be down past her shoulders.

‘All the way down her back?’ smaned Jimmy. ‘None on her head, just all the way down her back.’

‘Hilarious,’ I groaned. ‘That joke’s older than … my trainers.’

‘God, I reckon she’s gonna be one hairy beast. I bet she has a tash.’

‘You can’t bet that,’ said Bob, ‘We all reckon she’s gonna be hairy.’ Jimmy opened his mouth to speak. ‘And no, you can’t bet she’s overweight either. That’s a given.’

‘More chins than a Japanese phonebook, granted.’ Jimmy lit another cigarette. ‘I was actually going to say I bet she owns a cat.’

‘A cat?’

‘Yep, she’ll definitely be a cat lover. I can picture her now, sat at home on her own, dressed in black, her breasts and her cat nestling on her lap, caterpillar on her top lip, gently weeping as she rocks back and forth whilst listening to I Will Always Love You by Whitney Houston.’

‘With black hair,’ added Bob.

‘Down past her shoulders,’ I piped up. We smiled at one another around the table. ‘At least he’s got one.’

‘You’re the last person to deserve a girlfriend after what happened.’ Bob scoffed.

‘Oh, no I was forgetting. Far be it for anyone to forgive me.’

‘It’s still too fresh in everyone’s mind for that,’ said Jimmy.

I raised my eyebrows at him in disbelief, ‘You can talk, Mr Fucking Immoral himself.’

‘Ah no, I’m a reformed …’ Jimmy’s voice tailed off as he clocked Alan walking into the pub. A young girl closely tailed him, barely more than a teenager. ‘Talking of immoral … take a fooking look at this lot,’ he said, flicking his eyes towards the pair of them.

‘Hi guys.’ Alan could barely contain his excitement. ‘I’d like you all to meet Mary.’

‘Hi,’ she said in a shrill voice. The shock of seeing her was too great to warrant any kind of cohesive response. Mary barely came up to Alan’s shoulders. She had wavy chin length hair and her clothes left little to the imagination, a baby pink angora sweater barely covering her ample bosom. There was a glimpse of black fishnets between her leather knee-high boots and denim skirt. Jimmy eyed her up and down with astonishment. She was a very attractive girl but it somehow all seemed wrong, especially when you consider this is Alan we’re talking about.

‘Shall I get the beers in boys?’ she squeaked. Jimmy and I nodded. Bob sat open mouthed. As she wiggled her way to the bar, we took Alan to task.

‘That’s your girlfriend?’ I said with disbelief.

‘Yeah.’ Alan nodded frantically, his face filled with a childish grin, ‘she’s great isn’t she?’ Alan still didn’t appear to believe his luck.

‘Where did you meet …’ started Jimmy, ‘how exactly did you …’

I took over the line of questioning in the absence of Jimmy being able to finish a sentence.

‘How old is she Alan?’

‘I dunno,’ he smirked.

‘I don’t suppose she owns a cat?’ asked Jimmy, realising both Bob and I had clearly lost our respective bets.

I made a b-line to Mary, leaving Jimmy to his enquiries.

‘Hiya,’ she said with a smile as I approached the bar. ‘You come to give me a hand with the drinks? It’s so great to meet you guys at last. He talks about you so much.’

‘He does?’ I said, scratching my head.

‘Yeah, you boys have such a strong bond eh?’

‘Errm, do we?’ Had I suddenly been teleported into the twilight zone? ‘How old are you Mary?’ I blurted. I’m not usually the type of person to speak my thoughts. I can only put it down to the surrealism surrounding the situation. There was a pause, her cheery expression eventually turning to a scowl.

‘Jailbait honey,’ she hissed. I took a step backwards. I wished I’d never asked.