This raised Peter's interest, and his opinion of Andy's drinking ability, if he could keep up with the lacrosse girls on a night out.
"Was Richie there by any chance?" he enquired offhandedly.
"No, didn't see her all night. Some of the girls mentioned she'd been invited, but she claimed to have had something else on," he replied, sounding a bit throaty.
Nodding, he was once again astounded at not just Andy, but at the human propensity for alcohol consumption in general. Never really being able to get his head round it in his relatively short dragon life span so far, he figured there and then that he probably never would. Resigning himself to that, he gave his captain the biggest and friendliest pat on the back he could, and tried not to chuckle too hard at the resulting complaints of going easy, and a headache.
* * *
Her white Fiat 500 screeching into the car park for all to hear, Richie was the last of the three friends to arrive, a good half hour after Peter, despite the fact that their games were all scheduled to start at pretty much the same time. Unlike her friend, Richie had no hesitation in finding a parking space, one almost adjacent to the clubhouse, almost as if it had been reserved for her. Popping open the driver's door, she slid out deliciously, a movie star at a Cannes premier, showing off her tanned, slender legs, forcing all the males in the immediate area to stop and watch. Conscious of the effect she was having, she gathered up her sports kit and lacrosse sticks, locked her car and headed off to hook up with the rest of her team, already deep in thought about the match itself.
* * *
Over the last hour, the bar had gotten considerably busier since the first of the hockey matches had finished, despite the delay caused by the injured player being carted off to hospital in an ambulance. All of the ladies' third XI and their entire opposition sat at various tables, munching eagerly on the hot food provided, keen to replace the energy the match had sapped from them. As well as the female hockey players, regular sports club members were dotted around the bar, some keen on watching whatever matches were taking place on the pitches within view, others trudging out from under the feet of their other halves into the sanctuary of this alcohol oasis. They were easily spotted by how far their noses were buried in the sports pages of a daily newspaper, or by how glued they were to Sky Sports on the massive LCD televisions surrounding them, that is until the adverts appeared.
As far as Janice was concerned the day was now in full flow, all thoughts of the bizarre happenings in the chairman's office long since pushed to the back of her mind, which was currently being utilised to remember long lists of drinks, numerous bar snacks, the exact amount of change required, and making sure to go the extra mile with things like straws for some of the children's drinks. While paying strict attention to which customer was next, and to anyone ordering food, in her peripheral vision she was on the lookout for the love of her life, knowing full well that he would already be here somewhere, preparing for his hockey match. Having already arranged with one of her colleagues to have her break during his match so, as on previous occasions, she could sneak out and take a peek at him playing, that single thought helped her to keep her renowned happy smile etched across her face as she went about her work with gusto and pride.
* * *
For now at least, the tears had stopped. They'd come in big, sobbing fits throughout the morning but, luckily for him, not while the dumb blonde from behind the bar had invaded his private space. She'd nearly ruined it all, her and her stupid lack of height, and he'd just about managed to stop her in time. How her jolting the table hadn't triggered the device, he just didn't know, but was glad it hadn't, well... part of him was at least. Another much smaller part, hidden away deep inside, thought he deserved to be caught in the blast and that, by rights, he should no longer walk the earth. Perhaps it was right, and maybe he did, but that wasn't his intention. Essentially, he was a coward and had unfortunately got himself in so far over his head, that any sort of conscience had long since thrown itself off the tallest building within his mind, disgusted and full of shame.
Slowly, he got to his feet, wary of every little movement now. Earlier he'd thought about placing something over the 'package' to cover it up, after the blonde dwarf had caught a fleeting glimpse of it. But now that it was in its final countdown stage, he'd been assured the merest movement in or around it, in any direction, would cause it to explode. Tiptoeing lightly to the door, ignoring his sports jacket that hung on the coat stand off to one side, ever so quietly he turned the lock and opened the door as gently as he could. Knowing he had to be far away from here when it went off, inexplicably he'd already left it very late to leave. Pulling the door closed behind him, he let out a small sigh of relief on hearing the satisfying click. With his BMW beckoning and no time to lose, he sped off towards the stairs, concerned only with his own wellbeing. On his way down, he tried hard to compose himself, slicking back his dishevelled hair, rolling down the sleeves of his shirt, pulling out his hanky and wiping the sweat from his brow, before pulling open one of the double doors and heading into what was by now a very busy bar and dining area. All he had to do was make it to the other end. There, his car and all the freedom he craved awaited, but as he focused on the far doors... they seemed so distant, so out of reach.
Barely having taken a step, he heard the first shout of his name over the backdrop of all the sports men and women. Turning, he feigned a smile for the approaching male, a sports club representative for the rugby section. And that was the first of many. It seemed lots of people needed to talk to him about all sorts of important and minor matters, and they all seemed to be here... now! He really shouldn't have been surprised. After all, for the last month or so he'd totally ignored all his responsibilities and duties, deliberately not responding to emails and phone calls, as well as only making a few fleeting appearances at the club, mainly at times when he knew it would be quiet. As the man in front of him started to drone on about an area surrounding the rugby pitch, he tried to listen, but his concentration was elsewhere, mainly on the queue that was forming to talk to him. In his mind, all he could see was time ticking down, the walls around him, closing in, making him feel trapped, claustrophobic and scared. Calmly, he sought the natural charm hidden within him that had served him so well throughout the years. It didn't come easy, but a tiny portion of it bubbled to the surface, enough to fob off the first in the queue anyway, with a promise of a meeting the next day. And so he moved onto the next, and the next, all the time members and staff loitered, eager to catch up with him and waste his ever decreasing time. One of them was the bar manager who would no doubt be chasing him up about having a new spare key to his office cut.
'Good luck with that,' he thought, to no one but himself.
Outright lies sorted out the first three, with him claiming that his wife had been seriously ill, explaining his absence and lack of contact. They were each promised a meeting for tomorrow, a meeting which of course would never take place, because this very spot would not exist, well... not in this form anyway, not after the huge wave of devastation. Things, however, were getting no easier. Rapidly running out of patience, he could see in his peripheral vision at least another six people, all wanting to talk to him. First the clock behind the bar swam into view, as his mind twisted and writhed, followed immediately by the minute by minute changing time in the top corner of the sports news on the television. He had to get out, and was starting to panic. Mumbling and stuttering, almost as if drunk, he was able to reassure the next person, but during that encounter, two more of the committee had appeared, hovering with intent. By now, the shaking had returned, not to mention the rivers of perspiration flowing freely down each side of his head. His armpits were lagoons of salty water, while his slicked back ginger hair had sprung out and now looked as though he'd just stuck one of his fingers in an electrical socket.