Vince's 50th Birthday Party ( Part 3)

The party's in full flow and Vince is beginning to enjoy himself...

Sue

The wine’s gone to my head. I keep seeing multiple Cindys, it makes her look more substantial, somehow. We get along like a house on fire when we’ve murdered a few wines. I always forget that. She’s honest to a fault, Cin. She told me the cut of my dress makes me look curvy as Marilyn Monroe. Not curvier. Curvy as.

Oops, nearly went. Heel skid on a discarded wedge of pork pie. What’s that beaky-faced bloke grinning at. Oh, it’s Vince. He keeps nipping past the dance floor every ten minutes, giving me cryptic eye winks with sugar granules round his nostrils. He’s always had a bit of a flirtation with the white stuff. Graham keeps telling me not to knock my drinks back. He can talk. Vince’s waving triple vodkas under Graham’s nose in the same way that strangers ply kids with toffee. If it wasn’t his fiftieth, I’d swear he was trying to get him smashed. The drunker Graham gets, the more patronising he is. The sod pulled my skirt down over my knees when Cindy and I had that little tumble during Agga-Doo. Says no one wants to see my arse but he was laughing with a flip-top head when Cindy gave us a flash of her knickers! It’s not what Graham says, it’s the scathing way he says it.

‘Cin, you nearly had my eye out.’ Her eyes are bulging. ‘Watch where you’re raving your arms. Why don’t you sit down abit, take the load off. Do you want me to get you a glass of water, chick. You look boiling.’  Sweat bubbles from her, pricks of it across her smooth Botoxed forehead.

‘Wadder? Get me ‘nother rine. Mow. ‘ She’s flailing around like Bambi. I can’t leave her jabbering round the dance floor like a tranquilised pony. I need a wee.

‘Gray, I need a wee. Dance with Cindy. Vince’s shot off again. Think the ice’s calling him. She can hardly stand up.’  

‘Nor will you if you keep chucking Pinot Grigio down your neck.  Come on Cin, let’s go, shake it out, shake it baby’ Graham gives it some moob waggles and they’re off again.

At least Vince has given me more attention than Graham has. All that shaking the pineapple, push the tree, has given me a bulging lettuce. Ooh, thank god, there’s the door with The Dot on the Triangle symbol. The sign looks like me. Bottom heavy.  When I glance back, Cindy’s mounting Graham’s back in a human chain to the intro of Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now.

In the loos, the quiet’s soothing. My ears ring. The toilets smell of warm evacuated guts.

I wrestle down my knickers in the cubicle. Aaaaah, the relief of a shrinking bladder. There’s no bog roll. Christ. It’s right down to the last flimsy shred on the tube.  I can’t wander round wet, it gives me cystitis. There’s not even a screwed up, used tissue on the floor I can pat myself off with. The exterior door swings open quietly, Starship’s lyrics blare in. Footsteps echo across the ground glitter floor. My tongue sounds Spam thick: ‘Excuse me, could you pass me some loo roll over the top of the door, I’m all out in here.’  No answer. A crackle of paper. Then a single square of 1-ply floats over the white wall, hovercraft-style. ‘Thanks, but could I have another sheet, that’s not enough to wipe my nose?’

‘Only if you open the door, Sue. It’s me.’ The tips of black crocodile skin shoes peek under the locked door. It’s only fucking Vince.

Graham.

Bloody hell look at the state of her. We’ve only been here two hours and she’s rat arsed.  I swear she’s had at least two bottles of Vino. Mind you compared with Cindy she’s as sober as a judge.

Vince is back from the bogs AGAIN. He’s as high as a flippin Kite. Grinning from ear to ear.

“Oi Oi savaloy! Another Vodka mate?”

“Yeh cheers Vince.”

“Large?”

“Yeh, why not.”

“Bollocks you’re having a treble. It’s me BIRTHDAY!”

He’s certainly splashing the cash tonight. Rumour is that he’s told the bar staff to keep serving free drinks till the bill hits two grand. Maybe this should be the time to ask for the five hundred quid he owes me. I know he’s my mate but it does fucking annoy me that he seems to have completely forgotten about it. Ah well….

“A toast to my mate Vince the Prince.”

We raise our glasses and sink our drinks.

“What did you get then Vince, for your birthday?”

Vince is giggling like a three year old.

“You won’t believe it Gray. I got my cock pierced!”

“Fuck off.”

“Seriously. Treated myself. It’s a stud that goes through the eye hole and comes out the side of the helmet. Cindy loves it. Says it spices up our sex life.”

“You are one strange fuck Vincent my man. But fair play, if it makes you happy.”

“Cheers mate. Fancy a line?”

“No thanks. I’m good. You be careful with the white stuff. Not too much.”

“Will do mate. See you in a bit.”

Hope he doesn’t overdo it. I’m sure that’s the sixth time tonight he’s gone off to “Powder his nose”. He’ll end up like our old mate ( God rest his soul) Big Tony. The old bill said it was like a scene from Scarface when they found him in his front room. It was summer and he had his ceiling fan on. The whole place looked like a giant snowglobe. Must have been off his nut, they say he was stark bollock naked with a Dyson attachment stuck to his cock and a saucepan on his head!

“Gray, I need a wee. Dance with Cindy. Vince’s shot off again. Think the ice’s calling. She can hardly stand up.” 

“Nor will you if you keep chucking Pinot Grigio down your neck.”

Christ, she’s rolling all over the place. If she falls over the whole of the county will think there’s been an earthquake, we’ll have to phone Wimpy’s and get some kind of hoist to lift her up again.

Right let’s get hold of Cindy and liven this place up a bit.

“Come on Cin, let’s go, shake it out, shake it baby.”

I’m knackered. The years are obviously catching up with me. My back feels like it’s on fire, my heads spinning and now the DJ’s put on Nicki Minaj.  It’s Cindy’s favourite and she’s jumping up and down like a demented frog.

Wonder where Sues got to? She’s been gone for ages. Bet she’s passed out in the bogs. I’ll go and see if she needs any help…