Chapter 1-3
543 Words
Paul spent much of the
journey to the King’s Head worrying. What
if anyone saw him with Trevor? He tried to think, did any of his
mates drink at the King’s Head? Why didn’t he suggest somewhere
else, somewhere further out of town? Then he mentally slapped
himself. Trevor seemed like a decent bloke, if a little on the
campy side. His musings were cut short as the drive to the pub took
less than five minutes.
“What do you fancy?” Paul
asked as they stood at the bar waiting to be served.
Trevor raised a thin, no doubt
plucked, eyebrow.
Paul had his usual half of
bitter. He was driving after all. Trevor said he’d have a campari
and soda.
After paying for the
drinks, Paul steered them to a booth. He tried to convince himself
there was no particular reason why he chose one at the very
back.
“Thank you. This is nice,”
Trevor said, leaning back in his seat.
Paul forced a smile. “Yes,
it is.”
“Did you manage to get
yourself sorted out with somewhere to stay?”
“Oh, uh, Yeah. I’m gonna
crash at a mate’s for a few days.” Paul conjured up an image of
Thommo’s lumpy couch.
“That’s good.”
Paul noted that Trevor
didn’t offer his spare room again. He wasn’t sure if he’d have
accepted if he had.
The pub was busy, even for
a Monday afternoon. Paul wondered what he could say. He felt the
silence between them growing more uncomfortable.
“So,” Trevor started. “Is
your house badly damaged?”
Paul sighed. “Yep, the
whole of the downstairs will have to be dried out, re-decorated,
then there’s all the kitchen equipment.”
“Oh dear.”
“But what I’m most
bothered about are all my LPs.”
“Yeah? You into
vinyl?”
Was Trevor trying to imply
something kinky? Paul was beginning to regret asking the bloke out
for a drink.
“Okay, I know some hi-fi
aficionados decry the advent of compact disc, but come on, all that
surface noise? Give me CDs every time.”
Paul relaxed as they began
a long discussion about the merits of CDs versus vinyl. He
mentioned his collection of classic rock albums. Trevor snorted.
“All that noise.”
“So, what do you listen
to?”
“My dear, I’ve got the
most complete collection of Broadway and West End cast musicals
this side of the Pennines.”
Oh,
God, Paul thought.
Trevor laughed, loudly.
“Relax, I was pulling your leg. Some classic rock is okay, but I’m
more into the middle of the road stuff, Queen, Celine Dion, even
some Frank Sinatra.”
“Uh huh.” Paul could cope
with that.
“Even got some light jazz,
Ella Fitzgerald, that kind of thing.” Shifting in his seat, Trevor
added, “Look, if you’re worried about your LP’s getting damp and
warping, you could always bring them round to my place and I’ll
store them for you.”
“Really? That would be a
help, thank you. It’s not so much the discs themselves, more the
covers.”
“Course, if your music
collection was on CD, you wouldn’t have to worry,” Trevor
smiled.
His drink almost finished, Paul
asked Trevor if he wanted a second.
“Thank you, but it’s my
round.”
“Honestly I’d much rather
do it, my apology, remember?”
Trevor looked as though he
was going to argue, but caved. “It’s not necessary, but thank
you.”
As he waited at the bar,
Paul couldn’t help but wonder why he’d offered to have a second
drink. Thinking about it, he realised he actually enjoyed Trevor’s
company. Ever since they’d left work, Trevor, for the most part at
least, had behaved, well, normal. There wasn’t the usual sibilance
in his voice, nor any limp-wristed mannerisms. If it wasn’t for his strange get-up, he’d just
look like a regular bloke.
- Writer
