Fun(perfect day)

Fun(perfect day)


8:20 he arrives at work, he clocks in has a quick cuppa and
then it all begins.


Today it is cold, there are slurries of sleet and rain
forecast, and they are going to be persistent through out the day, but
he is content because he gets a lift to his door, he has only a tee
shirt as a top under his overalls, but he won't so much as taste the
cold. The warehouse is warm and he soon builds up a
sweat.


10:00 he is having breakfast, two rashers a hash brown a
sausage and egg, not bad for ?1.20 and this includes tea, lovely. He's
been delegated to the despatch area, his favourite job; no one bothers
you there, great.


11:33 he is labelling airmail parcels for despatch, when
Brian appears, Brian is the nice chap who always gives him a lift.



"Hey Terry," calls Brian.


He turns smiling from the cartons he is labelling, "Hi Brian,
what's up my man?"


Brian frowns, "Sorry about the short notice mate, but I can't
give you a lift tonight?got go to the train station and pick up the
sprogg, she's home from University for the weekend," he shrugs
apologetically.


"Oh," he says, he's a little flustered by this even angry,
but he tries to disguise this by smiling, " Wendy isn't it, nice one,
you'll be glad to see her, she'll be glad to see you, give her my
regards will you."


"It's Wilma actually, and yeah me and Sharon will be glad to
see her, look I'm really sorry mate these things just crop up
sometimes, will you be alright tonight?" Brian is genuinely a decent
guy.


"Look no worries Bri, I'll get a lift or just get the bus
around the corner, like I say, nice one about your daughter coming
home, sound." He gives a thumb up. When Brian is out of earshot he
whispers "Bastard." He has ?2.50 in his pocket, a taxi will cost at
least ?4.00, and he'll have to get the bus because none of these tight
gits will give him a lift. Outside snow has begun to fall and lay on
the ground.



15:45 he is called into the office, his unit controller is Patrick,
Patrick is Irish and used to work with Terry and Brian on the shop
floor, he has done really well for himself. Patrick now wears a shirt
and tie but he doesn't quite look the part, he's got ginger hair. Terry
doesn't like Patrick, Patrick doesn't like Terry, and there is a
history of bad blood between them. Patrick should be professional
Patrick however is not professional. Patrick pokes Terry in the chest
repeatedly with his bony index finger and tells him to 'Buck his
fucking ideas up, he's not a team player, and he's fucking lazy,' Terry
has plans for that finger. Terry thinks Patrick is an arse licking
Paddy bastard, he told Patrick this once and ever since Patrick has
been desperately trying to get Terry to say it again, but Terry says
absolutely nothing. This is how work life is since the Union here lost
recognition.


16:30 He begins the walk home, it's cold and wet and the wind
is slicing through him like a rapier. He growls as it pierces into his
damp body.


He walks to the corner of Allenton Street, and a full blast
of an icy gust hits him in the face, until then the high bank
surrounding the factory had sheltered him from the full intensity of
the wind.


"Fuck you Brian, why the fuck today of all days?" he is
already drenched.


He turns and is about halfway along Evington road, when he
hears the bus behind him; he is about forty yards short of the
stop.


"Thank holy fuck," he sighs. He turns and hails the bus to
stop, the driver ignores him and drives on and then sails on past the
stop, as it passes him, spray from gutter spurts up and over his work
clothes.


" YOU FUCKING CUNTING ARSEHOLE."


16:40 he stands at the bus stop alone, it's open unsheltered
to all the elements he looks down Evington road in the direction from
where the next bus will come his stare is fixed? Unnerving? The wind
blows harder and the sleet come rain drives hard into his back so much
so he tilts forward, a woman he recognises from the office walks up
gives him a quick glance and then walks hurriedly on.


16:50 the next number three has arrived. As he gets on he
trips half stumbling forward, he looks up and the driver is giving him
the look, a look he's had to endure for most of his life, the driver
mutters under his breath, eyes raised to the heavens, sighing with
contempt.





"A pound please," he says and the driver keys in the
instruction on the ticket dispenser, and out comes his ticket. "Lovely
day eh?" he tries dry humour, but this driver isn't interested in
chitchat. He turns and another twenty or so faces give him the
look.


The bus seats forty-three people, there are about twenty on
the bus, they are all occupying a separate double seat, each sitting on
the outside seat not wishing to share with anybody, the seat he selects
to sit at has had a burger meal smashed into a pulp and then squashed
into the seat, this will be difficult to clean. Smans come from the
back of the bus, he looks and several teenage boys at the back of the
bus are trying to stifle giggles, they are all wearing branded sports
wear, it would take him a fortnight to earn the money to clothe one of
these boys. He picks another seat.


A hundred yards on the bus picks up the woman from the office
at next stop, she pays her fare and walks past Terry without looking at
him deliberately, she sits next to pulped burger meal but shows no
emotion, smaning continues, her face is now red.


16:55 the bus stops in Framingham street and a young woman
gets on, he looks at her, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are
watering, it could be the cold he thinks, she sits in an adjacent seat
and then dials on a mobile phone?after a moment someone
answers.


"Karen, hi Karen it's Lucy," she breaks down, " he is seeing
someone else, the bastard is seeing someone else." She is tearful,
devastated, he feels no sorrow for her.


"Why did I believe him Karen, why didn't I listen to you?"
she asks distraught, he imagines Karen as someone less attractive than
Lucy, he suspects it's false comfort that Karen excels in?as soon as
this conversation ends Karen will be gleefully sharing the details with
another so called friend of Lucy's.


"There is no way I'll take him back now, no way," she says
with a perky defiance, oh but there is he thinks, when you're alone
with him, feeling vulnerable, he'll blow in your ear and cry how sorry
he is?and your knickers will melt away? once again.


The girl says all this oblivious to an audience that is
listening in silence, compelled by this very public show of intimate
grief, but he feels he almost has the right to tell her that she has no
right to impose her privacy on him and others, there is an overwhelming
temptation to seize her phone and crush it, "Stupid bitch," he mouths
softly.


17:10 the bus stops in Clarington Avenue, a group of five
younger male youths get on they march arrogantly in file like evil
dwarves, their branded sportswear is wringing wet, they are red faced
and excited by mischief, they are loud, confident and they swear, they
head to the back of the bus, the smallest has on a Nike balaclava, he
spots Terry looking at him in return he gives Terry the
look.


"What are you looking at you twat, do you want a fucking
picture," his voice is craggy and tough like gravel, Terry merely
stares, "Twat," the boy spits out with contempt, Terry has ideas for
what he would like to do with this little scumbags tongue.



17:13 the bus enters Torrington Street, the scumbag with the
balaclava suddenly runs past him, he's fallen out quickly with someone
obviously, " Wanker," he shouts petulantly, tearfully glaring down the
bus.


An older voice shouts back "You're dead Milner, when I get my
hands on you."


The scumbag replies, "fuck you," with a raised middle finger,
Terry wonders whatever happened to the good old British V sign, but
then that's the American influence for you. The bus stops and a young
couple get on, the girl is hard faced but pretty, he is over six foot
tall and muscular, he looks like he was made from the leftover bits
that made the character 'Shrek,' from the animated movie, the
attraction of these men to certain attractive women is something that
fascinates Terry. The 'Shrek,' look alike grabs at his girlfriends
bottom playfully as they walk to their seat, she giggles and says 'stop
it will you,' rather half-heartedly, teasingly.


17:20 he has been on the bus for half an hour, the conditions
are making the journey home slow the roads are treacherous, he's
worried about his cat Chloe, she's a plump spoiled tortoiseshell eight
years old, she's been out since 8:00 in this weather, she'll be
wondering where he is.


The scumbag is still swearing despite the driver threatening
to throw him off. "Dickhead," shouts the scumbag towards his tormentor
at the back of the bus, this is met by a holler of ridiculing laughter
from the group at the back of the bus, the scumbag continues to
glare?furious at this mockery, he will become a dangerous young man in
the future no doubt?Terry wonders what's wrong with breaking the necks
of little rat's like this before this inevitable happens.



17:25 The bus passes an adjacent street where Terry's brother
Matthew lives, this reminds Terry that he has to go and see him,
something urgent so Matt said, Matthew has a girlfriend Justine and an
eight month child Kelsey, Justine is also pregnant. Matthew does casual
work money up front that sort of thing. Terry decides now is better
than later, so he rings the bell for the bus to stop. He gets off in
the dark and begins to trudge back to Selves Road where Matthew and
Justine live. He hopes Chloe will be alright for another fifteen
minutes, it will only take about five minutes to walk home from here
after he's spoken to Matt.


17:28 Matthew is not at home, Justine is though she isn't
pleased to see him but she lets him in, they walk into the living room,
in the light Terry notices something and gapes open mouthed, there is a
bruise under Justine's right eye that she has clumsily tired to
disguise with makeup. She quickly becomes angry when she sees him
staring.


"Don't look at me like that Terry, it's none of your fucking
business," Justine is twenty one years old, she looks like thirty, gone
is the sheen and glow of a confident young hard woman Terry met two
years ago, she is worn out already.


" Where is he?" he asks menacingly.


"How the fuck should I know, you understand the bastard
better than I do," with her head in her hands she begins to bawl, he
stiffly tries to comfort her by holding her and she slumps into his
arms sobbing.


" What on earth is going on Justine?" He looks around the
tatty living room, the carpet is worn and has bits of food here and
there crushed into it, and there is also a faint smell of urine. He
lifts Justine's head, "Well tell me, what the fuck is going
on?"


"Money," she states clearly through tears, " what else did
you think it could be?"


He touches her bruised skin under her eye, " Money is the
reason for this?"


"I pushed him too far this time Terry, I should have held
back I've always had too smart a mouth."


He looks at her dejectedly, he needs a breather, "look you
sit down and I'll make us a cup of tea."


17:40 They are sitting drinking tea without milk or sugar,
Justine shows Terry two final reminders for a gas and an electric
bill?they amount to ?210, Terry takes them and says he'll deal with
them tomorrow.


"Have you got enough food in the house, I don't care about
him but I won't see you and my niece suffer."


"No you've done too much Terry already, don't worry about
Kelsey she's staying with my mum and dad just until we sort this out,
they think it's just to give me a break," she looks
worried.


"Is there more to tell Justine, tell me because I can't help
you if I don't know."


She begins to cry again, "I'm scared Terry, I don't know what
we're going to do."


Justine is really on edge the sobs are frantic. " What
Justine, tell me what it is," he grabs her hand.


She looks at him almost ashamed, " The Mullins," she
whispers, " he's gone and borrowed money from them that he can't pay
back."


It's a hammer blow, he knows the Mullins they're loan sharks,
ruthless and relentless, he shares the same street as the eldest one
Kenny, Jake and Carl are the two who are really dangerous, they will
reclaim their money and more, they won't stop at nothing. "How much?"
he asks coldly.


She licks her lips, they're too dry with fear to speak the
sum, "?500," she nearly chokes saying it.


18:15 he's stayed longer than he wished, he will pay the two
outstanding bills and buy groceries, essentials for Justine
tomorrow.


" I'll sort you out with some money as well, but don't let
him know about the money, that's for you Justine. I'll have to think
about the Mullin thing."


"Thanks Terry, I won't, you've been brilliant," she manages a
smile for the first time.


"Listen, Matt's my brother not a very good one but I suppose
I love him to bits?and I hate to say this Justine, but you've got to
think seriously about leaving him, not just because of this Mullin
thing, but this," he points to her swollen eye.


" No he won't do it again, I laid it on the line? ' Hit me
one more time and I'm off for good,' I told him, he knows he's in the
last chance saloon, It scared the shit out of him, he cried and said he
was sorry," she believes this and although he's heard the theory a
thousand times before and never seen this equation work, he gives her a
comforting smile.


" Good on you babe." For the first time in ages Justine
doesn't give Terry the look, she kisses him on the cheek, it gives his
confidence a little toot, and his steps will be lighter on the journey
home.


18:30 he finally opens the front door to his house, Chloe is
nowhere to be seen, he switches on the landing light. Noise comes from
across the street; world war three seems to be taking place in the
Mullin household he closes the front door. He walks through to the
kitchen and puts the kettle on. There's a knock on the front door, he
answers it, a young girl about eleven stands shivering her eyes
watering he recognises her.


"Hello Fiona?is anything the matter?"


The young girl blubbers almost incoherently, "My mum is
coming in a minute with Chloe."


18:35 Terry, Fiona and Lesley are in his living room, Lesley
Wood is Fiona's mother. Chloe is lying on the living floor wrapped in a
blanket?she's dead her neck is broken. Terry and Mr's Wood are drinking
tea or rather they have tea that will remain untouched, Fiona is
sitting almost catatonic softly sobbing her little heart out, Mr's Wood
is also finding it hard to fight back the tears, Terry is getting fed
up of seeing young women cry. Mr's Wood is trying to explain what
happened.


"It was about ten minutes ago, we were watching the end of
the 'News,' when we heard Barney barking like a lunatic," Barney is the
pet Alsatian that belongs to the Mullins, they let him off the leash
and occasionally he makes it out onto the street unattended, " we think
Chloe was at your window wondering where you were and then Barney
spotted her."


Terry stares emotionless, already he is obsessed with the
timeframe of these events, there are so many points where he could have
shaved time off his journey home, and this would have meant his cat
would still have been alive.


Mr's Wood continues, "We think Barney ran into the garden
and Chloe panicked and ran onto the road, the taxi had no chance to
stop, when we heard the screech of breaks, we thought it was a child,
thank?" she stops.


"Thank God it wasn't," says Terry finishing her
sentence.


He thanks them for looking after Chloe, and then shortly
after the Woods get up to leave, Mr's Wood looks at him concerned, "Do
you want Dave to pop round," she asks, Dave is her
husband.


"No don't worry Les, I'll be ok."


19:35 although it's dark Terry has managed with some
considerable effort to bury Chloe in the back garden, he kissed her
pretty ears tenderly and gave her cold little body one last cuddle
before placing her wrapped in a blanket into a 'Barclays,'
holdall.



20:00 Terry is knocking on the Mullin's front door, inside Barney is
barking and people are swearing at each other, eventually the door
opens and Vera Mullin appears non too pleased, she looks at him
scornfully.


"Well what do you want?"


"I'd like to speak to your husband Mr's
Mullin."


"You can't he's having his tea, he doesn't like being annoyed
when he's having his tea, and for some reason tonight he's in a right
foul mood?I can't think why?can you?" Mrs Mullin has a tee shirt but no
bra on, her nipples are erect in the cold, and she's smiling
playfully.


"Chilly tonight isn't it?" Says Terry; he makes no attempt to
avert his gaze.


She folds her arms in front of her chest and smirks; a voice
booms through from another room, "Who the fuck is that at the door
Vera?" It's Kenny Mullin.


"It's the cat man from across the road?darling," she says
this sarcastically, "he would like a word with you dearest?should one
let him enter or doth thou wish to converse with him here on the
porch?"


After a moment Mr Mullin appears at the door he looks hard at
his wife, she smiles back teasing him. "Get inside you silly cow, what
are you fucking on, talking that shit."


She bows "Yes my beloved, I speaketh only how I feelith." she
then disappears cackling with laughter so dirty it makes him feel
almost vulnerable, it reminds him of older girls laughing at him when
he was eleven.


Mr Mullin is wearing joggers and has on an Addidas yellow
sports vest; it's nearly the same colour of the fried egg fragment that
is smeared across the right side of his mouth above his lip. He is
heavyset and although muscle has long been replaced by flab he is still
a dangerous man. He stands very close to Terry almost like he is trying
to envelop him, powering over him trying to intimidate
him.


"Oh you want a fucking word with me do you sunshine, well if
I may I'd like a little word with you first," Mr Mullin then begins to
jab his index finger into Terry's chest, " Your fucking cat nearly got
my dog run over," poke, poke, poke goes the finger, " I tell you if
that flea ridden piece of vermin had been the res?" the effect is
almost immediate, Mr Mullin suddenly turns ashen and groans, he lifts
slightly onto his toes as his testicles suddenly feel the vice like
pressure of Terry's hand around them, his expression is one of
amazement.


"These are your testicles Kenny, if you want them to remain
attached to your scrotum, make sure that dog is never off it's leash
again when it's outside," Mullin's hands are going for Terry's throat,
that idea has to be nipped in the bud, Mullin quickly releases and
tip-toes higher as the pressure on his testicles is increased, "I'm not
even trying Kenny so don't be silly, ok I'm going in a minute now but
just to recap next time I see Barney off his leash I'll take your balls
home with me, I'll fry them in butter and I'll feed them to your dog,
now is that clear?"


Mullin grimaces but makes no attempt to acknowledge so again
the pressure increases until a forced nod of the head is secured, and
an agonised groan emits from his mouth.


"Good lad Kenny?I'm glad we understand each other?and because
we understand each other we both know I can't trust you, we both know
as soon as I let go you will do something stupid?so," this time the
vice fully tightens and Mullins sweaty testicles almost squelch in his
hand, Mr Mullin almost levitates looking like a overblown crimson
inflatable, he groans loudly momentarily and then slumps forward
unconscious onto Terry's shoulder almost knocking him into the icy
dirt, Terry turns slightly and ever so gently lets Mullin fall into the
snow face down. "Wow! That actually works," he turns and taps on the
open front door, " Mrs Mullin you better come quick, I think your
husband has taken a turn for the worst." Nonchalantly he then turns and
makes for home. He hears her arrive at the doorstep and gasp in a cold
deep breath.


"Kenny? KENNNNY," screams Mrs Mullin, " what have you done to
my husband you bastard?" Terry doesn't look back.


23:00 the living room light is turned off and the curtains
are open. In the dark Terry is flicking through the channels on Sky
Digital TV, his brain is numb, he isn't looking for a programme to
watch, the montage of changing images is bombarding his vision with
false signals taking his mind away from thinking about all the days
events it's overloading his brain with decoy information, but too much,
too much information, he's fighting off the feeling that the Mullin
incident is just tip of the iceberg, one little prod of an index
finger, one wrong word and Terry will hit the next level. As his right
hand compress's the buttons on the remote his left clenches and
unclenches as a fusion of blood and rage courses through the rapids of
his veins, a great reservoir of negative energy whirls inside him
looking desperately for channels to release and flow into. Chloe would
normally be lying on his lap half asleep purring gently, he would be
gently be rubbing her tummy and stroking her ears, unwinding, but Chloe
isn't here.


23:15 outside the silhouette of a familiar vehicle passes by
the window, it's the flashy red Cherokee jeep that belongs to the
Mullins, and now he listens. Doors open and doors shut, there are
voices one is a woman's, then another door shuts and there is silence.
He imagines the two younger Mullin brothers staring down in disbelief
at their prostate sibling on the settee whining back at them clutching
his tenders, Vera will be shouting at them also trying to impress upon
them that this cannot go unpunished, their hard faces will hide their
embarrassment and this rather than brotherly love will send them on the
short journey across the street from their brothers house to his front
door. He maybe has ten minutes to do something. He decides to watch one
of the travel channels.


23:27 on the screen a beautiful presenter is extolling the
virtues of an idyllic island in south east Asia, she is tall slim and
gorgeous, a blonde Scots girl whose name he can't recall, she is
perfectly symmetrical, her face, her heavy cantaloupe breasts and her
stomach toned and tanned to perfection, in a tailored yellow bikini she
is acceptable soft porn before the watershed to sad lonely men and
students on their first venture away from home. Terry doesn't lust
after her he instead would like to paint her or sculpt her; the thought
of a relationship with a girl like this is too much to contemplate, the
thought of someone being unhappy because of being with him is something
he would not able to bear. The presenter is bringing the show to
closure, summing up a day on a beautiful island far
faraway.


A fist hammers on the front door, " this is a holiday island
for all the family, great beaches," she implores counting out the
location's virtues on her hand.


Terry gets up from his chair, another bang on the door,
"great weather, great things to do," she continues.


Terry enters the hall, and puts on the light, he can still
see and hear the TV, "great food, great people and when you add all
this up, do you know what get?" Her smile is captivating; this dross
she is uttering could only be poetry coming from her
mouth.


Terry opens the front door, " You get? the perfect vacation?
My name is Jenny Falconer and this has been the 'Travel Experience,'
goodbye hope to see you next time," oh that's her name thinks Terry "
end of a perfect day Peter eh?" she says glowingly into the camera to
the director as the credits roll. Terry turns and looks into the night,
and there standing on his step the cold harshness of his own grim
reality is looking back at him, and finally she opens her eyes wide
cheekily, seductively into camera, "Now that is what I call FUN."