‘Watch me,’ he said, pulling on his coat.
‘Don, wait. Let’s just calm down and talk about this.’
‘You’re a cunt. You’re a cunt. You’re a cunt. That’s all I’ve got to say. You’re a cunt and a lesbian and a fucking ugly cunt and I’m not taking it anymore.’
‘You can push me only so far,’ Susie told him.
‘Push me? You want to watch yourself because if you were a bloke I’d fucking lump you one right in the gob and still might. Ah bollocks to it, you’re not even worth that. You’re nothing. You’re just a cunt and that’s all you’ll ever be. And you,’ he shouted across to Roger sitting next to me, ‘You’re a boring miserable wanker.’ Roger looked up, a little surprised to be singled out seeing as he hadn’t said a word all day. ‘And if Monty or Toldo were here I’d tell them what a couple of wankers they were too, but they’re not. Hold on, I’ll leave them a note each. Hazel, give me your Post-its.’ Hazel complied and Don wrote a quick goodbye to both Monty and Stuart and stuck them on their screens.
‘Right, as for the rest of you, you’ll all invited to my leaving drink which will be kicking off in The Abbot in about 30 seconds time. Bring your wallets because you’re buying.’
Susie made one last desperate attempt to try and stop Don from leaving. Under normal circumstances she would’ve loved to see him hand in his notice and disappear from her life without a fuss (which I think was what she’d always hoped for) but upping and leaving like this was going to reflect really badly on her. And she knew it.
‘Wait, just wait a minute. Think about what you’re doing. Your blood’s up, you’re angry, things were said but that doesn’t matter. I don’t care about that. Let’s just sit down and talk about this and we can work this out. If not for me, then do it for the mag.’
Don stared at her, absolutely incredulous. She’d threatened him with the sack so many times that he’d once told me that he felt like he was working on death row. And now, here he was, finally strapping himself into the electric chair and she was trying to give him a last minute reprieve. For what? So that three weeks down the line when he wasn’t expecting it she could throw the switch herself? Don knew her too well for that. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. It was his call and his fate and if he could fuck her up at the same time then that was just one more reason to go.
And as if to prove that conversations turn full circle if you talk for long enough, he had seven last words for her.
‘Go stick it up your fucking arse!’
9. The morning after
‘Urghhh… what time is it?’ Paddy groaned rubbing his face.
‘Morning,’ I coughed, shredding my throat to ribbons. This caused me to cough even more until all I could do was grimace with pain and right myself into the airline passenger emergency position until my throat simmered down enough for me to take a sip of whatever was in the glass on the coffee table in front of me.
‘Fuck me, you’re starting early,’ Paddy said as he dragged himself up off the sofa opposite and scratched his nose and arse, in no particularly order.
‘Gin and tonic, oohhhh,’ I said, but took some more.
Don’s living room was dark with the curtains drawn but the bustle and traffic outside told us that the world was up and on its way to work.
Matt told us to pipe down as he was trying to sleep, so Paddy told him it was gone ten and we were all late. ‘I don’t give a fuck!’ he shouted angrily and neither of us could argue with that.
Don had turned in a few hours earlier and gone to bed to leave the three of us to fight over two sofas. Me and Paddy had won, albeit through a battle of attrition with Matt, who’d collapsed behind the sofa about an hour earlier.
My neck was really stiff and I felt fucked. I tried to stand but had to sit back down again after a bit of light-headedness and nausea. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes (all three hours of it) and took a few deep breaths but that just kicked off my coughing fit again.
So soooo tired.
‘Bollocks to it, I can’t be arse,’ Paddy announced and curled back up on the sofa. ‘Fuck it.’
Neither he nor Matt showed any further sign of life other than a persistent sniff sniff sniffing and an occasional moan/sob.
It was different for me though. I couldn’t blow out work. I had to go through all the proofs with Roger and return them to our repro-house. Actually, I was meant to have done that yesterday but after Don jacked, we all got a bit sidetracked in the pub. The stuff was late. It had to be done today otherwise I’d be in for a right bollocking come Monday. I had to go in, no matter how I felt, it was as simple as that.
What a nightmare.
Fucking Roger. He could’ve done the stuff without me no problem, but he wouldn’t if I wasn’t there because he was in a strop because I’d stayed in the pub all afternoon. Roger never went to the pub. He didn’t like going to the pub, but he was one of these petty killjoy bastards who hated to see other people enjoying themselves. He was a wanker, a fucking wanker, and at that moment in time I hated him, because it was him who was making me have to get up and go to work.
I felt really tired, really rough and really fucked off, all in one.
I was also quite unbelievably thirsty.
I went to the kitchen, filled up a cup and drank and refilled it three times before turning off the tap.
Man, I was starving too. It was then that it occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten anything since Wednesday. It was always the same on cocaine. All thoughts of survival and safety would go straight out the window after a few lines as I threw myself and all my efforts into drinking myself stupid and getting my cock sucked.
Oh no… hang on, I suddenly thought to myself as a memory flashed across my mind. Shit, what did I do? I concentrated my mind and tried to remember. ‘Cock sucked?’ When I finally remembered I suddenly wished I could forget again.
Fuck, I’d followed Mary around the pub all last night in a drunken stupor, practically begging her to give me a blow-job. Oh no, I was wrong, there was some actual begging as well. Oh shit.
Did anyone see me doing it?
Yes, nearly everyone.
Would they remember?
Oh fuck!
My face burned with embarrassment as more and more details came flooding back to me.
I’d kept touching her leg, trying to feel her up, grabbing her tits and guiding her hand onto my hard-on – in the pub.
Oh no, why had I done all that? Why? Because I was coked off my tits and hornier than an Alsatian with a beach ball, that’s why. I tried thinking some more. Did she take it all as a joke or did she seem to mind?
She seemed to mind.
I think she told me to fuck off at one point and Wendy had tried to steer me away before I...
Oh no, I’d tried it on with Wendy too!
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
The memory of me banging on at Wendy as to the pros and cons of her sucking me off (there hadn’t been many cons) actually hurt. I tried shutting it out but had no more joy than Wendy had had the previous night. She had been really angry at me and had kept telling me to go home, and so I’d told her I would only go home if she came with me.
‘Go on, you might as well,’ I think was the phrase I’d used over and over again. ‘Go on. It won’t mean anything,’ I’d tried reassuring her, then… oh no, gone into graphic detail about what I wanted to do to her – as if this would somehow seal the deal. I can even remember the logic behind my thinking and what I was trying to get at, but it was pissed-up, mad logic based purely on a kind of animal instinct that was telling me if I wanted something hard enough, I’d get it. Wendy had told me to fuck off and go home for the umpteenth time before Paddy had come over and taken me aside, and the memory faded once again into the fog.