No Nick Tonight

No Nick Tonight

Nick had always considered himself a lucky guy, until now.

He slid the key into the lock and gave it a twist. Nothing. He hammered on the wood; silly cow had dropped the latch.

“Come on dear, out of bed, let me in,” he muttered, jiggling the key in the lock again then giving the door a thump with his fist. He felt the frame give slightly; a really hard shove and he could probably break it down, but did he want to go there?

He stood back on the step and looked up at the bedroom window, darkness. In his mind he could see her huddled under the covers, always bloody floral. It was about time that changed.

“Donna!” he called. “Come on sweetie, open the door.” The lights remained off, the house closed and unwelcoming.

The beer blur was beginning to wear off and with it his good mood. God one night out with the lads and she took the huff. He reached down and grabbed a handful of gravel from the path and launched it at the bedroom window. It made a satisfying sound as it hit home.

“Donna!!” he called again, tossing up more gravel. Still nothing.

She always knew how to ruin a night out. It wasn’t as if he did it often, well not every night anyway. This had been a special occasion; Bob’s leaving bash, beer, curry, stripper. It hadn’t even been that good until he had got lucky in the car park with Marcia Webster. Good old Marcia, always up for it. And it wasn’t Nick’s fault that he hadn’t remembered his and Donna’s six monthsaversary? Was it really that important? This was a bit of a record for him. Love ‘em and move along had always worked in the past, but now…

“Shit!”

He cracked his fist against the door again and felt the force burn his knuckles. It was useless. He dragged the phone from his pocket and brought up Donna’s number. Somewhere it connected, ringing… “answer”, he snarled, ringing, ringing… “come on,” ringing…

“The person you are calling…” He snapped the line off. She was really going to be in for it when she opened up.

“Let me in, you daft bitch,” he shouted up at the window. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the curtain twitch next door. He turned, saw the pale face staring at him and offered it a single fingered salute. That would give the nosy old biddy something to moan about. Not that he cared.

God it was cold out here. He pulled his coat around him and tried to ignore the fact that the beer had finally reached his bladder.

“Donna,” he shouted again. “Come on sweetheart, let me in. Don’t be stupid. I’m sorry, we’ll go out tomorrow.” That usually worked. She was a soft touch, always ready to forgive his thoughtlessness. She’d taken him in after only a couple of weeks. Since then it had been the life of Reilly. Out when he wanted, in when he wanted, beer on tap, hot meals, warm bed, grateful woman in it. He had really fallen on his feet this time.

He sat down on the step to consider his options. The walk to Bob’s would take him an hour. Sitting here all night was out of the question. He could always break in. The idea hit him and he laughed out loud. The downstairs lavvy window didn’t shut properly and talking of having a piss, he was getting to the point of no return.

Casting a look up the street he kicked the rubbish bags out of the way, dragged the bin over to the space below the window and climbed on board. He reached into his pocket for his penknife, eased the blade under the edge of the frame and gave it a twist. The window cracked as it came free of the tape which held it closed on the inside. He squeezed his hand in forcing the window free.

“Yes!”

Nick let the window swing open and was about to climb in when he saw the taxi pull into the end of the road. Panic gripped him, the last thing he needed was to be caught breaking in. He crouched down on top of the bin holding the window closed with one hand.

The taxi stopped two houses further up the road. Nick cursed; his fingers, trapped between the frame and the window, were beginning to go dead.

“Come on, come on!”

Finally the taxi door opened and Donna stepped out closely followed by some guy in a leather jacket. Their laughter sounded harsh and too bright.

“Coffee?” she giggled, taking the man’s hand and leading him towards the house.

Nick couldn’t believe his ears. What was she doing inviting another guy back? What was she doing out? He let go of the window, felt the bin wobble under him and crashed to the ground, whacking his head on the edge of the step. He heard footsteps on the gravel and looked up from the stinking pile of rubbish into Donna’s face.

“Why Nick, what an interesting smell you’ve found.”

“What you doing out?” he snarled, pushing himself to his feet.

“Same as you I guess.”

“You’d better have a good explanation.”

“For..?”

“Being out.”

She smiled. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.” She looked over his shoulder to the swinging window. “Have you been trying to break in to my house? I should call the police.”

“What did you expect me to do, sit out here all night?”

“You know I really don’t care very much.”

She walked passed him, slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

“What?” Nick spluttered.

“Have you met Paul, he’s a locksmith.”

“Donna, you’re being very stupid.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve been pretty stupid over the past six months. You think I don’t know what you get up to when you go out.”

“What do I get up to?”

“Oh Nick, Marcia Webster is as free with her mouth as she is with her favours.”

“Who..?” Nick asked, his face a picture of innocence. Donna raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Just don’t…”

“I’m sorry, it was a mistake.”

“Oh yes, four times.”

Nick finally realised that this was a fight that he wasn’t going to win.

“Let me stay tonight, then I’ll leave in the morning.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve had enough. Goodbye Nick.” And with that she stepped into the house, pulling the locksmith after her, and closed the door firmly. Nick thought he could hear laughter. Then the open window closed in his face too. He stared at the house in disbelief. How the hell had that happened?

He rubbed the sore spot on his head recoiling at the smell of rancid yogurt on his hands. The pain in his bladder was suddenly exquisite. Without thinking he unfastened his trousers and peed long and hard over everything in sight. Give her something to remember him by.

He was half way along the street when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket. It was her.

“What do you want?”

“Your clothes are in the charity bags.” The line went dead.

He puzzled for a moment then her words finally sank in.

Oh Piss!