Part 1.... Chapter 22

It was not far off 8am when I got back to the Cricketers. The taxi took what seemed like an eternity of nail biting anxious waiting, until it eventually arrived. First I had to dash back into Crowley’s and inspect the complete disorder and mess we left behind and check the decline in spirit stock. God, the bar was in a right mess. It’s going to take me hours of cleaning. You’d swear blind there had been a party there the night before ;-)….

Once back at the Cricketers, all was quiet. I made my way to the roof terrace with smoke box under my arm, a coffee in hand and sat on the top step of the fire escape. My head banging with sharp pain on every quick turn. My every physical move had to be strategically calculated. As simple as it was to breath, my walking had to be pre-planned and done with full awareness, and organised foot stepping. Even the soles of my feet were begging for me to sit down. Multi-tasking is not want the brain had signed up for, the morning after the night before. My mouth was as dry as the Gobi Desert, every breath making it drier.

I Can’t remember a hangover being as rough on all my edges as that one. No, hang on. Yes, I do and it was the Vicar’s & Tarts birthday party at Crowley’s for a regular customer. I dressed up as a tart, and a few of us tarty girls sat at the bar drinking shots of Sambuca as if it were water. Then as soon as I attempted to lean over to say something, I fell straight to the floor like a sack of sand. Legs spread eagled, lacy knickers on show half way up my arse, hold-up fishnet stockings not holding up. To pissed to stand up. With 6” boot heels on, I just kept falling to the floor time after time. It was the first and last time I drank Sambuca…. But it was fucking hysterical at the time…. Apparently….

I made a joint and sat on the top step in silence. Holding my head in one hand, while smoking away with the other. Feeling the suns piercing heat burning its cancerous rays down on me. Making me feel like I was in hell, waiting for Lucifer to appear and whip me with his tail for being a naughty girl. The way I was feeling that morning Lucifer could do what the hell he pleased. I was to fucked to give a fuck.

On that thought my partner appeared right there beside me. He had caught me off guard with his silence and the stealth approach of a hungry cat. Waiting for the right time to pounce on the poor little birdy. My sonar for detection of all things around me was still totally soaked in Jack Daniels and cocktails.
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He knelt down beside me and asked if I had, had, a good time. Then took a toke of his rollie while looking down towards the back beer garden. I’ve never felt so guilty; this time it was a secret. As I looked up at him, I wondered what expression my face was projecting as I re-told him 75% of the party night shenanigans. He didn’t show much interest to stay and want to listen. He took another draw on his much needed nicotine stick, got up and announced he was glad I had a good time. Then off he went. Work had to be done to open the doors for business….

Ok it’s been a while since I was last in my own space. Space I have needed to be in since my birthday. Which I still can’t stop thinking about. Nothing more has happened on that front but my Viking friend does want more.

Every Saturday night he is the last person to stay behind. I clean up the bar while he’s either following me around talking or taking a snooze by the window. We then sit at the bar with a drink and talk, talk, talk. About anything each of us can understand what the other is trying to explain. My partner would phone me some Saturday nights, really speaking, early hours Sunday morning. To ask where I was, as it was later than the usual time I would be back at the Cricketers. I would tell him where I was, who I was with and what we were doing. I would then drive my Viking friend home and then take myself home….

Well, here we are in June and there is a lot happening this month. The Miss Wales final is here and it will be time to make my way to the venue in Cardiff tomorrow. Nervous excitement is filling the air. My beautiful daughter is set to state her presence on the stage, in front of TV cameras, journalists model agency contractors with photographers, and a room full of drunken parents, family and friends. I can’t wait.

My Viking friend and partner have briefly spoken, shaken hands and put aside the kissing incident. The other eventuality remains a secret. For now. A secret one off, never to be repeated whilst I am already in a relationship. A happening that should never have happened.