No-One Ever Has Sex On A Tuesday: A Very Funny Romantic Novel (10 page)

They picked the boys up outside Whitelocks pub in the city centre.

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

“Katy, when God made you, he took a star out of the sky and gave it a heart,” declared Rick.

“Then he chopped the moon in half and gave her the most glorious tits,” muttered Braindead.

“I heard that,” said Katy. “Are you both drunk already?”

“Soz Katy,” said Braindead. “But you do have glorious tits now you are pregnant and everything. I was just stating a fact,” he slurred slightly.

“So what about my tits before I was pregnant?” asked Katy indignantly.

“Well I can’t say they were in my top five or anything. They were more like your kind of average everyday tits then. But yesterday I put you in my top five.”

“Yesterday? You mean you were thinking about my tits yesterday?”

“Err yeah.”

“But I didn’t see you yesterday?” asked a confused Katy.

“So?”

“You mean you think about my tits when I am not there?”

“Well I am hardly likely to think about them when you are there am I? That would be, like, a bit weird wouldn’t it?” said Braindead in genuine amazement.

“No. It’s weird that you think about my tits at all!”

“Ah well it was only fleeting if that makes you feel any better. I was in the shop at the end of my road and Mrs. Rashid served me as usual. Now she has always been in my top five as sort of like a mystery guest. Mystery because she wears one of those Indian costume things so I can’t actually do a full assessment, but I liked the idea of having someone in my top five who could surprise me. Anyway yesterday she looked somehow lacking in the appropriate potential, so I thought I’d be ruthless and ditch the mystery guest and put you in instead as a dead cert.”

“Dead cert for what?” asked Katy.

“Dead cert that you have glorious tits. Could never be sure with a mystery guest you see,” replied Braindead.

Katy glanced over her shoulder at a contented looking Braindead slumped across the back of her car wearing his usual crumpled, just got out of bed look. She actually really liked the way Ben’s mates only ever talked about stuff that really mattered in life which somehow seemed to make the stuff that really, really mattered, not matter quite so much.

“Well Braindead thank you so much for that little lesson on how not to treat your designated pregnant driver,” said Ben. “Tell Katy you’re very sorry and you promise to take her out of your top five, never think of her glorious tits again, and buy her copious amounts of J2O all night.”

“Right, I see what you mean,” agreed Braindead reluctantly. “Offending the driver not good. Sorry Katy. Your glorious tits are forever banished from my mind. But I am begging you please don’t make me ask for that illuminous muck at a beer festival.”

“Beer festival! What beer festival? I thought we were going to that pub in Otley?” exclaimed Katy.

“We are, we are,” said Ben quickly. “When Braindead says beer festival he doesn’t mean beer festival, he means they’ve just got this special week with a few guest ales that’s all. Nothing major.”

OTLEY BEER FESTIVAL was written on the huge banner across the main street as they drove into the small market town.

“Well I never,” said Ben. “They put a few extra beers on and they think they’re hosting a blinking Oktoberfest. Look Katy, I am really sorry, I honestly thought it would be really low key. We don’t have to stay long. Something to tell the little-un eh? First beer festival at the age of minus four weeks.”

“I suppose so, but you owe me big time,” said Katy, pulling into the pub car park.

“You got it. Come on junior, let’s go taste some ale,” said Ben, addressing Katy’s bump.

When Katy crossed the threshold into the pub however her heart thudded to the floor. It was heaving with sweaty, overweight, middle-aged men mumbling and gurning over warm beer. There was the odd woman. Odd woman being the operative phrase. All the females present had long shapeless hair, wore men’s shirts and a determinedly grim look on their faces that said there was no way their husbands were having a night out with the lads without them, even if they didn’t enjoy it themselves.

The most upsetting thing about the chosen hostelry however was that there was nowhere for her to sit down and give some relief to her swollen ankles. Ben saw the look of panic cross Katy’s face and seized his chance to get them all a coveted seat in the packed public house.

“Lady with a baby. Lady with a baby coming through,” he bellowed to Katy’s absolute mortification. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks immediately as the stares of the drinking masses bore into her swollen belly.

“Would you mind if we took this table gentlemen,” Ben asked two solid Yorkshire men sitting in the perfect spot under a window. “My girlfriend is due any day now and her back is killing her.”

“Of course, please, be our guest,” they replied getting up hurriedly and scattering to the far side of the pub as if she might give birth there and then and they could get caught in the afterbirth.

“Katy, please take a seat,” he said, very pleased with himself.

Katy sat down and leant back, banging her head against something. She looked around sharply only to come face to face with a beady eyed, stuffed Puffin staring at her from the windowsill.

“What is this place?” she asked staring around her and noticing for the first time that there was an entire collection of stuffed animals and birds lining the walls.

“Someone gave the landlord a six-foot stuffed iguana years ago and he’s been collecting ever since. Cool eh?” said Rick.

“Mmmm maybe. Bit more of a minimalist myself,” replied Katy, thinking longingly of the clean, crisp cocktail bars she had frequented in her previous life.

“Naah, all that white and chrome everywhere, you could be drinking in a public toilet. Beer normally tastes like piss too,” chuckled Rick. Rick was undoubtedly the most image conscious of the three, indulging heavily in the type of branded clothing that was popular on the football stands; however he was still a northern lad at heart.

“We have to come here every so often to visit Braindead’s bird,” added Ben.

“He’s got a girlfriend?” exclaimed Katy. “Where is she?” she asked, scanning the pub for suitable candidates.

“Right behind you,” laughed Ben. “Meet Gloria. The Puffin. Braindead took a shine to her years ago when she fell off the windowsill and landed head first right in his lap.”

“And he sat there, looked down and said,” continued Rick now struggling to speak he was laughing so much. “He said without even a pause, Katy, ‘Now that’s my kind of bird.’”

Ben and Rick collapsed; enjoying the story for what was probably the hundredth time. Katy couldn’t help but join in with their infectious laughter. It was these moments with Ben and his old school buddies that she loved. When the banter and the stories were flying around in the way it only ever does between true friends. It almost made up for the fact that the time when she would have sat and had conversations like that with her old friends had somehow gone.

“I’ve bought Gloria some crisps,” announced Braindead arriving back with the drinks. “And for us, I thought we’d start with Black Gold all the way from Scotland. And for you my darling Katy, not one, but two J2O’s to apologise again, for my previous poor behaviour.”

“Thank you Braindead, you are forgiven,” said Katy. “What flavour crisps did you get?” she asked, suddenly realising she was famished.

“Prawn cocktail of course. Gloria only eats fish,” replied Braindead.

“Of course,” smiled Katy, grabbing one of the bags before Braindead could commandeer it for his feathered friend.

They all sipped and crunched for a moment in silence.

“Aye well,” said Braindead eventually. “I guess that makes up for losing my mystery guest and replacement in my top five.”

“So moving swiftly on,” said Ben kicking Braindead under the table. “Our spectacular lack of organisation leaves us with just two weeks to get Rick’s send-off sorted. So first things first – how many are coming Rick?”

“There’s you two. Then I reckon four from work. Barry, Dave and Jacko from footie and Danny and Chris from college. So I make that twelve including me,” stated Rick, counting them off on his fingers.

“Good, now home or away?” asked Ben.

“Well, I heard about this stripper boat in Prague you can hire for the afternoon. It’s really efficient because you can get pissed with your own private bar and do the stripper thing all before you go out at night. What do you reckon?” asked Rick, looking eagerly between Ben and Braindead.

“Boats make me a bit queasy,” grumbled Braindead, clutching his stomach.

“I really think the combination of private bar and stripper should allow you to overcome any minor ailment,” said Rick impatiently.

“I know, but what if the stripper came on and I was really sick, just as she’s doing the whole baby lotion over the breasts thing whilst gyrating on my knee. It doesn’t bear thinking about,” said Braindead, shaking his head.

“Thanks Braindead. There is no way that I can now picture a stripper on a boat without her being covered in your puke,” said Ben, leaning his elbows on the table and covering his eyes.

“Erm, can I say something,” interrupted Katy. “I really don’t want to spoil anything but aren’t you forgetting something Ben?”

“What?” asked Ben leaning up again, brow furrowed.

“The baby.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“It’s due less than two weeks after the stag-do. Don’t you think you should at least be in the country?” she said, hating herself for sounding like such a kill-joy.

Ben suddenly looked his age if not much, much younger. He pulled a face not unlike a small boy who had just had his toys taken from him for reasons he could not understand.

“She’s right you know,” Rick finally said when Ben didn’t respond. “You’ve responsibilities now lad. It’s coming to us all sooner or later. The minute that baby’s born, that’s it. No more Ben,” continued Rick, oblivious to Ben’s growing distress. “Footie? You can forget that for a start. Pub on the way home from work? No way my friend. Poker night? Disbanded until further notice.”

Katy willed Ben to say something but he was staring at Rick having turned quite pale.

“Having a baby isn’t going to do that to us,” she said firmly, reaching over for Ben’s hand. She turned to Rick. “I just don’t want Ben to miss the birth that’s all. I’m not saying he’s never going to be allowed out ever again.”

“Yeah right,” said Rick. “Have you met any parents of young kids? Too knackered to even think of having any fun. I tell you there is no way me and Mel are having kids until we are at least thirty-five.”

Rick realised he had gone too far when Ben failed to produce a witty comeback. “So anyway,” he said finally. “Whatever happens, we are going to have a cracking night on my stag-do. Tell you what, why don’t we go to the home of this fair ale?” he said, raising his glass. “Och aye the noo, jimmy lad. Those scotch wee lassies are in for a treat,” he said in a Scottish accent with curious hints of Indian and possibly Welsh.

Ben appeared to emerge from his troubled thoughts and shot Rick a grateful smile.

“Great idea,” he said finally, his face relaxing back into the usual cheery Ben formation. “Who wants to go abroad anyway? Weak lager and foreign language music. I can stop at home and watch the Eurovision Song Contest and do that. I’ll get on the internet tomorrow and get us a B&B somewhere.” He took a very long gulp of his pint, avoiding eye contact with Katy. Having drained his glass he slammed it down on the table. “So we’re all sorted,” he said. “I’ll go and get another round in shall I?” He stood up and strode off to the bar leaving Rick and Katy feeling rather awkward.

“Sorry Katy,” said Rick as soon as Ben was out of earshot. “Didn’t mean to depress you both. I guess it’s just that the minute anybody I know has a kid I never see them again. They stop coming out. I’m just going to miss you guys that’s all.”

Katy knew he was right. It was children that had all but extinguished most of her friendships.

“That won’t happen to us,” said Katy determined. “We’ll still come out, I promise.”

“You say that now,” said Rick, shaking his head.

Katy excused herself and got up to go to the toilet, unable to face Rick’s slightly accusing glare and realising that two J2O’s in quick succession wasn’t a great idea given the current state of her bladder. This was all her fault, she realised as she struggled to wedge herself into the narrow toilet cubicle. She was the one who’d got pregnant and was ruining it for everyone. She’d swooped in and called last orders for Ben and his mates just like her friends had done to her when they got married and had kids. She remembered how she had resented them and there was no way she was going to do the same. This baby was not going to be a party pooper. No way.

She waddled back into the bar with renewed determination to find Ben looking much more relaxed, chatting away to Rick and Braindead.

“That’s pathetic,” said Braindead. ‘We’ll get much better stuff than that when we go away.”

“Rick was just telling us about Mel’s hen-do last weekend,” said Ben. “Apparently all she came back with was three sets of men’s underpants.”

“Underpants,” exclaimed Katy. “That’s so tame. In my hen-do days I was the queen of stealing the perfect memento. My proudest achievements included a palm tree, a male mannequin and the entire set of ingredients for a doner kebab stolen from three different kebab shops including a full bottle of chilli sauce and a bowl of coleslaw.”

Rick and Braindead stared at Katy in silence.

“You did?” said Rick eventually.

“I don’t believe you” said Braindead.

“Why not?” asked Katy.

“You’re so… but you’re so…” started Rick.

“So what?” asked Katy.

“I just can’t imagine, looking at you now, you know in all your really smart career stuff, that you would do something so…” Rick paused lost for words.

“Cool,” said Braindead.

“Thanks very much guys. So I’m not cool then?” said Katy.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant, so… so immature. You’re just too sensible to do anything like that.”