Connected by Simon Denman Page B

tried to apply his mind to
the computing assignment, it kept returning to the increasingly baffling
circumstances of Kal’s suicide. After a few hours of very slow progress he
decided to give up. He felt like getting drunk.
    In the kitchen, Brian was finishing a plate of
pasta. “Was that Cindy I heard up here earlier?” he asked.
“Yeah, she turned up again this morning. We had some lunch and then she left.
Hey, would you have guessed she was an accountant?”
Brian raised his eyebrows. “Well I could tell she was smarter than the average
Essex girl. Is that what she told you then?”
“You don’t believe her?”
“Do you?”
Doug thought for a moment. “I don’t really know.” Then he smiled. “I’m not sure
I really care though.”
Brian cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. “You did, didn’t you?”
Doug nodded, his smile widening. “It was amazing. I can’t get her out of my
head.”
“Fantastic body!”
Doug frowned. “Yeah, you bastard.”
Brian heaped the last fork-full of pasta into his mouth and licked his lips
with a grin.
“Hey, fancy coming into town tonight? Jock and a couple of the lads are meeting
for a few pints and a curry.”
“You know what? That’s exactly what I fancy tonight!”
“Cool, we’re meeting at The White Hart around eight.”
“Let’s go early and get a few jars in before they arrive. They have a happy
hour from six until seven, don’t they?”
“Jesus. You are desperate aren’t you? Okay then. Just give me twenty minutes
and we’ll go.”
    As they waited at the bus stop on Boundary road,
the sun was already sinking over the fields to the west, turning the sky
blood-red.
“It’s going to be a good night, I can feel it,” said Doug.
“Too bad we won’t remember any of it by tomorrow morning,” Brian said, with a
snigger.
“But that’s the beauty of hedonism. We revel in the moment, for tomorrow we
could die,” said Doug theatrically. They looked at each other for a moment as
they both thought of Kal.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah - Everyone dies, but not everyone lives, right?”
“Exactly! Hey - here’s our bus. On time for once.”
    The White Hart was crowded as usual and it took a
good ten minutes before Doug managed to attract the attention of the barmaid.
“Four pints of bitter please love!” he shouted across the din.
“Not expecting the others yet are you?” asked Brian from behind.
“No, just thirsty,” replied Doug. “…and tired of waiting to be served!” he
said, raising his voice. The barmaid ignored him and started pulling the pints,
her eyes scanning the crowd for the next customer on her seemingly arbitrary
priority list. A forest of arms desperately started waiving tenners while she
skilfully avoided eye contact and continued serving.
“Sorry love, must be hell when it’s crowded like this,” said Doug, suddenly
feeling sympathetic. A fleeting smile flashed across the barmaid’s disgruntled and
somewhat chubby features, but did little for her general appeal.
“At least it makes the time pass quicker,” she said flatly. “That’ll be five
twenty.”
“So that’s why you were so keen to get the first round in,” said Brian. “Happy
hour prices! If you think that by getting two rounds at once, you can avoid
paying full whack later though, well…”
“Ah, stop whining you big wuss. There’ll be plenty of time for you to get ‘em
in before all this happiness runs out.”
Brian looked at the barmaid and then back at Doug. “I think it may already be
too late for some,” he said, making Doug stifle a laugh as he thanked her, and
passed over two of the pints.
    They picked their way precariously through the
crowd and out to the small terrace at the side where Doug immediately started
to roll himself a cigarette. Brian looked on with amused disdain. “And you
wonder why I kick your arse in the gym,” he said.
“In your dreams, loser!” said Doug punching Brian hard on the upper arm.
“Ouch! You