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   Chapter 36 No.36

Sheryl's Last Stand By Kerrie Noor Characters: 5352

Updated: 2018-02-07 12:01


Rodger saw a light, a vision. He saw the finer details of a plan emerging, he pulled up a chair by the drama student and put on his listening face.

****

'I am just stating the obvious, ' grumbled Beatrice. 'I mean, you managed Peek-a-Boo and it wasn't a great success, was it?'

'That was Martin's business.'

'Aye, well, you were stupid putting up with him, ' said Beatrice. She turned to the elderly woman with the tight perm and turned up the volume. 'Married, you know. My daughter was seeing a married man.'

'I told you it was an open marriage and I'm not with him any more.'

'But you'd go back tomorrow if he clicked his fingers.'

Sheryl stared at the bowl of individual jam portions; and wondered again just how loud her mother's voice could get.

'It aint easy walking away, ' said Nefertiti, 'it took me twenty years.'

'I thought you said he died.'

'I was lying, ' said Nefertiti, gazing at the menu. 'Never trust a bloke that turns 'eads.'

'What?'

'Someone that everyone likes, you never see 'em. Do you know, I was the last person he wanted a coffee with; he would rather go to the dentist than sit opposite me in a café. Alls he wanted was his dinner at five and clean undies. Then he was off out with a fag in one hand, and not even a grunt goodbye.'

A trim schoolgirl with slicked back hair and a waitress apron appeared.

'His idea of foreplay was half a bottle of whisky and a Chinese take away, followed by a 'you wantin your hole?''

'Haddock or cod?' muttered the schoolgirl.

'Dunno why I put up with it.'

'Scampi, ' said Beatrice.

'He go

d as each wrestler paraded down the aisle to the tune of a deafening fanfare. Her stomach leaped into summersaults as they stood nearby, yelling into a microphone until their voices were hoarse. She was so close to the ring she could hear each grunt. So close she could see the ripple of muscles and the spray of sweat after each fall. She watched, too inspired for words as large men crashed to the floor and heaved themselves up again, and she told herself nothing could be better than this.

Steven was not so impressed.

He had sat through an hour and ten minutes of men dressed in every colour under the rainbow. He had seen men fly from the top of a cage and land on a rubbish truck or 'Pushed to the edge of existence', as one commentator put it. He watched as a man not five feet from him was thrown into a coffin, which was then set alight by his opponent's manager. With all the flare of a gothic magician, the small fat manager strutted and puffed with his torch, the audience screamed, some children cried and the commentator called it entertainment.

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