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Sheryl's Last Stand By Kerrie Noor Characters: 4998

Updated: 2018-02-07 19:01


George hopped out of the taxi like a man twenty years younger than he was, and with a whistle wheeled the chair into the hotel.

'Hi George, ' yelled the receptionist.

'Hey G, ' yelled a waiter walking past.

George, with a jaunty wave, headed for the Oyster bar. The first thing he saw was a very grim-looking Beatrice sitting in the corner, too embarrassed to move her chair. He gave her a wave and strolled past the bar as Frankie goes to Hollywood played at full pelt.

Relax go to it when you want to suck to it...

Beatrice looked up to see George's sturdy figure cut through the crowd and almost smiled.

'What you doing here then?'

When you want to coooooooome...

'I brought another chair for you.'

'I see, your sister's?' said Beatrice, looking unimpressed. 'You'll have to push me then.'

Ah ah aha when you want to cooooome

George smiled, As predictable as ever, he thought. He sidled the chair beside Beatrice and motioned her to get in. 'I can take you to a nice quiet place as well if you like.'

'Sheryl's going to dance, ' said Beatrice. 'Apparently, the Queen of the Clyde is pissed and refusing to dance.'

'Oh, ' said George with a smile; watching Sheryl belly dance had always been a wee fancy of his.


Iain and Cocolder were sitting in the office discussing Conway, when Finley pushed opened the door and hobbled in. 'Need your help, ' he puffed to the backs of the two men. 'Trouble in the lounge.'

Cocolder placed his coffee

'Your book; I knew you were an artist. I bet you there is another Steven in there bursting to get out. And I bet I could find something to fire that pretty little imagination of yours.'

Steven stopped at the word pretty. Did he just call him pretty? He watched as Johnston walked into the bathroom. 'You know, you're the first person I've met who isn't bothered about the fame thing or my body, I'm more than a body, you know. I have a brain and ideas, '


'And Steel wants to get involved.'

Steven was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. Through the door, he could hear the odd rip of clothing... and then a few grunts... what the hell was he doing in there?

Steven scribbled out a note.

Dear Johnston.

(And then crossed out the dear and put TO instead.)

Perhaps you should grab the bull by the horns and tell your mother...

'You see, Steven; we are kindred spirits. I knew that from the moment you rolled me onto my back, from the touch of your hands...'

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