I explained.
Old Alice’s brew was beginning to take a hold of me.
Wonder what she put in it? I poured myself another.
‘Like it?’ asked Joan sitting back down on the settee.
I nodded and passed her one of her cigarettes, taking one myself. My hand was shaking uncontrollably as I reached across to give her a light.
‘All right?’ she asked behind those big, big eyes.
‘Whoo I’m okay. Powerful stuff that stuff.’
My hand was not shaking because of the bloody drink. No, no, no! Her dressing gown had opened almost down to her waist as she leaned forward to light up. What a pair of tits she had on her!
‘You have a fine pair of, eh! breasts there, Joan. You really have.’
‘Thanks but they are a bit small.’
‘What are you talking about? Whoo they’re perfect.’
She smiled gracefully.
I placed my glass carefully on the carpet and as I leaned across to her, knocked it over.
‘Don’t mind it,’ said Joan, ‘just leave it lying.’
Her gown lay precariously round her shoulders, she jerked forward slightly and it fell on to the cushions behind her.
I placed a forefinger on each of her nipples feeling remarkably fine for a Wednesday.
Dinner for Two
By the time he had found his front door key, Mr Joranski the landlord approached carrying a bag of groceries.
‘Well Charles,’ he asked, ‘get paid?’
‘Yes John, I’ll be able to give you three weeks.’
‘What?’ Mr Joranski was astonished.
‘They gave me a tenner for some reason.’
‘Very nice. Very nice. You want some food?’
Charles nodded, ‘Yes. Great, I’ll be down in a minute.’
Mr Joranski departed to the basement and Charles climbed the steep stairs leading to his room on the third floor. He changed into his best trousers and jumper and pulled on his newly purchased black socks.
By the time he had reached the basement the landlord had the table set and the meal almost ready.
The basement consisted of a communal sitting room with a television, an old decrepit couch and odd chairs dotted around the walls. One enormous peculiar table lay propped against one wall. Everything from poker games to shove halfpenny took place on this table. If there were unexpected guests or perhaps a big game on at Wembley every bed and chair in the house would be occupied and the landlord would throw a blanket on his table and sleep there himself. He had been a soldier. Rumour had it he had carried this table all the way from Warsaw through two concentration camps, walked across Europe, come by rowing boat to Aberdeen and from there hitchhiked his way to King’s Cross. No one could understand how he had managedto get it down the basement stairs and through the narrow sitting-room door.
‘Sure you can afford it?’ he asked as Charles gave him nine singles. ‘Nine quid from ten leaves one you know?’
‘Take it quickly man.’
‘Okay.’ Mr Joranski smiled, ‘You want to borrow anything later just come down. Not too much though or we’re back to the beginning again, all right?’
‘Bring on the grub John,’ said Charles.
‘Yes, yes bring on the grub. I have good sausage Polish!’ He shook his head. ‘German no good, Hungarian not too bad. Polish?’ he smacked his lips. ‘Mmmm. Here cut some bread.’
Charles sliced through the thick crusty loaf.
‘Any butter?’ he asked.
‘Butter?’ echoed John, ‘Of course butter. What do you think?’
He pulled a packet from his provision bag. The kettle whistled from the kitchen. John rose.
‘I go make some tea.’
Charles buttered a few thick slices of bread and cut some chunks of blue cheese. The landlord returned in a matter of moments with two odd mugs of tea.
‘I’m starving John,’ said Charles.
‘You should eat more,’ he poured some condensed milk into the mugs of tea. ‘Sugar?’ he inquired.
‘No! Good God!’ Charles shook his head. ‘It’ll taste like tablet.
Christ knows how you’ve a tooth left in your head.’
‘Good for you,’ replied John.
Old Alice’s brew was beginning to take a hold of me.
Wonder what she put in it? I poured myself another.
‘Like it?’ asked Joan sitting back down on the settee.
I nodded and passed her one of her cigarettes, taking one myself. My hand was shaking uncontrollably as I reached across to give her a light.
‘All right?’ she asked behind those big, big eyes.
‘Whoo I’m okay. Powerful stuff that stuff.’
My hand was not shaking because of the bloody drink. No, no, no! Her dressing gown had opened almost down to her waist as she leaned forward to light up. What a pair of tits she had on her!
‘You have a fine pair of, eh! breasts there, Joan. You really have.’
‘Thanks but they are a bit small.’
‘What are you talking about? Whoo they’re perfect.’
She smiled gracefully.
I placed my glass carefully on the carpet and as I leaned across to her, knocked it over.
‘Don’t mind it,’ said Joan, ‘just leave it lying.’
Her gown lay precariously round her shoulders, she jerked forward slightly and it fell on to the cushions behind her.
I placed a forefinger on each of her nipples feeling remarkably fine for a Wednesday.
Dinner for Two
By the time he had found his front door key, Mr Joranski the landlord approached carrying a bag of groceries.
‘Well Charles,’ he asked, ‘get paid?’
‘Yes John, I’ll be able to give you three weeks.’
‘What?’ Mr Joranski was astonished.
‘They gave me a tenner for some reason.’
‘Very nice. Very nice. You want some food?’
Charles nodded, ‘Yes. Great, I’ll be down in a minute.’
Mr Joranski departed to the basement and Charles climbed the steep stairs leading to his room on the third floor. He changed into his best trousers and jumper and pulled on his newly purchased black socks.
By the time he had reached the basement the landlord had the table set and the meal almost ready.
The basement consisted of a communal sitting room with a television, an old decrepit couch and odd chairs dotted around the walls. One enormous peculiar table lay propped against one wall. Everything from poker games to shove halfpenny took place on this table. If there were unexpected guests or perhaps a big game on at Wembley every bed and chair in the house would be occupied and the landlord would throw a blanket on his table and sleep there himself. He had been a soldier. Rumour had it he had carried this table all the way from Warsaw through two concentration camps, walked across Europe, come by rowing boat to Aberdeen and from there hitchhiked his way to King’s Cross. No one could understand how he had managedto get it down the basement stairs and through the narrow sitting-room door.
‘Sure you can afford it?’ he asked as Charles gave him nine singles. ‘Nine quid from ten leaves one you know?’
‘Take it quickly man.’
‘Okay.’ Mr Joranski smiled, ‘You want to borrow anything later just come down. Not too much though or we’re back to the beginning again, all right?’
‘Bring on the grub John,’ said Charles.
‘Yes, yes bring on the grub. I have good sausage Polish!’ He shook his head. ‘German no good, Hungarian not too bad. Polish?’ he smacked his lips. ‘Mmmm. Here cut some bread.’
Charles sliced through the thick crusty loaf.
‘Any butter?’ he asked.
‘Butter?’ echoed John, ‘Of course butter. What do you think?’
He pulled a packet from his provision bag. The kettle whistled from the kitchen. John rose.
‘I go make some tea.’
Charles buttered a few thick slices of bread and cut some chunks of blue cheese. The landlord returned in a matter of moments with two odd mugs of tea.
‘I’m starving John,’ said Charles.
‘You should eat more,’ he poured some condensed milk into the mugs of tea. ‘Sugar?’ he inquired.
‘No! Good God!’ Charles shook his head. ‘It’ll taste like tablet.
Christ knows how you’ve a tooth left in your head.’
‘Good for you,’ replied John.
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