It was Friday night, and Anna had called to ask Luke to work. Over the last few weeks Friday nights had been spent with Jenna, but since she’d moved in with her mother, they had seen less and less of each other. Jenna explained that it was down to difficulties with her patient.
Luke believed her for the most part, but a nagging voice questioned just how difficult it would be to find a professional carer. Wouldn’t the local authority provide something? And he had heard her mother in the background while he was talking to Jenna on the phone – conversations she always cut short – and she actually sounded okay. Demanding, but largely in possession of her faculties.
If Jenna was going cold on him he’d rather she was honest and end it.
He closed his eyes and acknowledged the churn in his stomach this thought produced. He had to admit he was falling in love with her.
‘You alright, buddy?’ Ken asked.
‘Any better and I’d be surrounded by balloons.’
*
It didn’t take long for the night to get busy, and things to turn south. Thirty minutes into their shift, a young guy, with a few of his Clearasil days still firmly ahead of him, ran out the door, bent over and puked all over Luke’s feet. Presumably the toilets were out of reach when he felt the urge. And when Luke tried to calm down a young woman who was screaming black and blue murder at her boyfriend, both of them turned on him for ‘dissing’ her.
‘When did we start to use words like that? “Dissing”, for fuckssakes,’ Luke asked Ken during a lull in the flow of punters.
‘You need to get down with the kids, man,’ Ken replied with a smile.
‘No, I don’t.’ Luke clenched both fists while burying them in his pockets, feeling a burn of anger towards the couple, but annoyed at himself for letting them get to him. It was par for the course, people verbally abused him when he was on the door, so why was it bothering him so much tonight?
‘You’re not into this tonight, man,’ said Ken, his face long with sympathy. ‘You’re more bothered about Jenna than you’re letting on.’
‘Bollocks,’ Luke lied.
‘I can see through you like you’re made of glass, buddy.’ Ken placed a meaty hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll make your excuses. Say you suddenly felt sick and had to go home.’
‘I’ll be fine, big man,’ Luke replied, hearing the doubt in his voice as he spoke.
‘Honest, man. I can cope. Away and chill with a couple of beers.’
‘Leave it, Ken. I’m fine.’ Luke crossed his arms and turned away.
Just then an extended, pink limousine pulled up, emitting a booming, driving bassline almost with enough power to make the entire vehicle bounce. A grey-haired man, wearing a chauffeur hat and dark suit, climbed out of the driver’s seat, and with all the energy of someone shuffling behind a coffin, walked towards the passenger door. Before he pulled it open, he made a face at Luke and Ken, and mouthed, ‘Good luck.’
A burst of noise hit Luke’s ears. A disco beat and energetic vocals. High-pitched singing. A squeal of laughter. Someone bossing someone else to finish their drinks. And then a surprising number of barely clad young women were teetering on high heels at their door.
‘Ooo, I’ll huv the big wan, Jo,’ shouted someone. ‘You can huv the short-arse.’
Luke heard a variation of this almost every night, and it never bothered him. But tonight, it bugged him.
‘I don’t mind the wee guy, Louise,’ was the reply. ‘Bet he’s a pocket rocket.’
‘Or he’s got a rocket in his pocket,’ another woman shouted. And then they were all laughing. Ear always tuned to the mood of a crowd, Luke could tell that the laughter was merely raucous and well-natured. But at a level that could burst an ear drum.
‘Wonder if the big guy’s got a rocket in his pocket.’
‘Let’s find out…’
In seconds Ken was surrounded by about a dozen drunk women, on his face a look of ‘here we go again’. He tried to disguise it with a big smile, but Luke could tell the man was uncomfortable.
One woman stepped up to Ken and looked him up and down, pausing at his groin area for a moment. ‘Is everything in proportion then?’
‘If it was,’ Ken replied, ‘I’d be seven foot six.’ It was an often-used line, and as Ken would have expected, his reward was a hoot of laughter. The women gathering even tighter around him.
Luke looked over to see if he needed to step in. His tall, blond, broad-shouldered friend was like a lighthouse sticking up in the middle of an island of halter tops, spray tan and shiny, straightened hair. Despite knowing that Ken was never quite comfortable with that sort of attention, he chuckled. Then he saw Ken flinch in a way that suggested someone had pinched his backside. Next, Ken’s head and shoulders jerked forward and he shrunk in size a little, as if the attention had moved to his groin.
‘Right, that’s enough, ladies,’ said Luke. He stepped towards the rabble, put his hand on one woman’s shoulder and eased her to the side. The next woman was not for moving and was wearing a strange expression of … what … challenge?
‘Sweetheart,’ Luke shouted above the noise. ‘Enough, eh? Can’t you see the big guy’s uncomfortable.’
The woman pulled at one side of her top and exposed a plump breast. ‘How’s about it, handsome?’
‘Very nice,’ said Luke. ‘Now put it away. It’s a bit too chilly for that tonight.’ He tried to force jollity into his tone, but it sounded false even to him.
‘This one thinks he’s too good for us,’ he heard a woman say. Now Luke was surrounded.
‘Whoa. Back the hell off,’ he said.
‘Aww, come on, wee lad. It’s only a wee bit of fun.’
Fingers grabbed at his backside, his chest, his arms. He felt a stab of panic. A rise in body temperature. He recognised the symptoms. The next step was always anger. He forced a smile onto his face and hoped that would send a different signal to his body. Relax. This was just a bit of fun. Why was he over-reacting here? He’d been in similar situations. Loads of times.
‘Enough, ladies,’ a deep voice sounded to his right. ‘Why don’t we get inside out of the cold?’ he heard Ken say.
But the ladies were having too much fun. As if they sensed Luke’s increasing discomfort, they all moved closer, the better to have a laugh at his expense. Hands were all over him. Touching his face, his shoulders, his backside. One hand brushed over, and then squeezed, his dick.
‘Oi. Enough.’ He pushed at someone. A squeal. Note of alarm. A handbag went flying back, and the woman were now crowding round one of their friends who was on the ground.
Ken sent Luke a look: Really?
‘They … they…’
‘He groped me,’ a woman shouted. ‘Bloody touched me up.’
‘Pervert.’
‘Prick.’
‘What’s wrong wi’ you. We were just havin’ a laugh.’
A dozen faces tight with accusation stared. A woman prodded him in the chest. Somebody pushed him.
Women or not, thought Luke, if one more person laid their hands on him…
A couple of women at the front of the group read his expression, their faces blanched and they stepped back. But one of them was not for leaving it.
‘How bloody dare you…’ She lashed out. Luke felt a flare of pain down the side of his face.
Then Ken was there and hoisted the woman out of Luke’s reach.
Then, a female face that Luke recognised through the haze. His boss, Anna. ‘Free cocktails inside, ladies. Free cocktails at the bar,’ she shouted. Lured by the promise of free booze, the women dispersed. A few of them pausing to aim one last insult at Luke.
‘My brother will have you, mate.’
‘Prick.’
Anna squared up to Luke. The hands on her hips were a clue to her mental state, but her face was unreadable.
‘My office,’ she said. ‘Now.’