December 22nd 2009 – Blackpool

Biscuit had told Tom that he rarely ventured out into Blackpool in the winter. Right now Tom had started to regret coming himself. The wind off the seafront was freezing his bollocks off. Yet no one else appeared to notice. No one that was queuing to get into the Buccaneer nightclub was wearing a coat. The vast majority of the girls weren’t wearing much at all. And everyone was completely bladdered.

Tom could imagine that it wouldn’t need much for it all to kick off. But perhaps because of the proximity to Christmas, a jovial atmosphere was prevailing. The queue shuffled forward at a snail’s place, but eventually Biscuit and Tom were let through the door. They gratefully received the hot blast of air from inside the packed club. Biscuit had been a few times before and headed straight for the bar. Tom followed right behind as they threaded their way through the crowd.

“Oi! Yer Ginger tosser!”

There was no mistaking that voice. It was Stevie, the scouser from the camp. Unbelievable, thought Tom. They couldn’t get way from him.

Hostilities had ceased long ago between the two groups, and whilst they weren’t all exactly best of mates, they had certainly reached a level of mutual respect. Albeit a bit grudgingly. Stevie was already getting served. He was with a set of lads that Tom didn’t recognise. They weren’t Army though; there wasn’t any sign of his comrades from Liverpool. There was just one of the three stooges.

“What d’yer want?”

Stevie bought them both a beer, and disappeared into the depths of the club. His arm was draped proprietorially over the shoulders of a young girl. She was in a tiny, white mini dress. Her blonde hair was hanging loosely down her back, and Tom could just make out the image of a blue butterfly tattoo on the top of her arm as she staggered off. The girl looked well out of it already. Must be to hook up with Stevie he thought. He hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

Two hours and six beers later, Biscuit suggested they made a night of it. Tom needed a quick pit stop before they left and walked to the front of the club where the gents was situated. He saw the tattooed girl in the white dress from before. She was definitely not in a good way.

The girl had managed to get to the stairs, and was weaving her way unsteadily down them towards the door. As she disappeared through the exit, Tom spotted the young scouser at the bottom of the steps, following her outside. Shit, thought Tom, what’s he up to now. He quickly made up his mind to check that nothing dodgy was going to happen, and descended down to the club entrance.

Walking outside was like entering the inside of a freezer. He wrapped his arms round himself, to keep out the worst of the weather, as he got his bearings. The sound of a crying girl could suddenly be heard over the whistling of the night wind. It was coming from an alley, halfway down the side of the building. What the fuck has he done now, Tom wondered. He bent into the strong breeze and drew level with the alley entrance. Caution might be called for he thought, peering slowly and cautiously round the corner.

The girl was doubled up, sobbing violently. But it was no fault of Stevie’s. There was a pile of vomit all over the floor and the way she was heaving, it looked like there was more to come. The Liverpool lad was crouched down close to her. One hand was gently holding her hair out of harm’s way, and the other tenderly rubbing her back.

“Yer’ll be all right love. Just let it come up. Once yer sorted I’ll get a taxi for yer. I’ll make sure the driver gets yer ‘ome safe.”

The girl looked up at him gratefully. Her eyes were red and struggling to focus.

“Ta.”

“No bother.”

Feeling a bit like a voyeur, Tom withdrew from the scene. As he returned to the club to meet up with Biscuit, he knew he wouldn’t see Stevie in quite the same light again.