‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ empathetically enquired Adrian in total harmony with my inner turmoil.
‘She had five before I even got a look in’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That night at Fiddler’s, the bastard, we were supposed to be…just me and her’
‘And!’ exclaimed Rob ‘it was supposed to be just her and me until you decided that delivering my bloody rose gave you automatic entry into the land of whatever you sodding well fancied.’
‘Well I’m sorry about that, but I didn’t enter into the land of whatever I sodding well fancied. Admittedly I wanted to, but she was the one who decided to hold an all comers party and don’t act so coy, you were one of them!’
‘I didn’t even see Gillian that night, not until she came crying down the stairs after you’d upset her’
‘I counted five of you total gits, all boasting about how long it had lasted and what positions you’d ended up in…bastards’
‘Will, we’d bought Fiddler one of those blow up sheep. We were pissing about and trying to outdo each other. We thought you’d seen it in his parent’s room’
That’s when the pause of all pauses hit me; that special moment of realisation, the epiphany to end all epiphanies.
‘Oh fuck what have I done?’
Gillian and I didn’t see each other again for close to ten years. When I did bump into her outside the Hawaiian bar in Slough I tried to explain how I thought she was a blow up a sheep and that Gavin the Fanny shouter along with Fiddler’s parents’ Harveys Bristol Cream had altered my otherwise caring and sensitive disposition. The fact that in Gillian’s eyes I’d had ten years to think up such a ridiculous and pathetic excuse didn’t seem to impress her.
‘You were a wanker then Will, and you’re still a wanker.’
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