Within

‘“… but it was all a dream!”

We groaned, Pete, Tilly and me. Mick had led us a merry dance, taking us on a convoluted adventure that took in a car journey, an accident, a romantic meet-cute with the paramedic that tended to him, a dash across town with sirens blaring, another accident, Mick having to get off the stretcher to tend to the paramedic, the green blood, Mick limping down the road, desperate to get away from the ambulance but being pursued by the ambulance driver, the driver getting knocked down by a passing truck, more green blood, the truck screeching to a halt, the trucker climbing down from the cab, angry at Mick, threatening him with a tyre-iron, Mick using his karate to defend himself, cracking the trucker on the nose, putting him down, yet more green blood, Mick hobbling away, knocking on the door of the nearest house, a mysterious blonde woman with only one arm answering the door, another meet-cute, Mick entering the house, spending a night of torrid love-making, waking up to find the woman gone and three dead bodies in the kitchen in a pool of green blood, Mick stealing the car that was in the drive, heading straight for the pub where he’d arranged to meet … us.

And those were just the key beats of the story. The whole thing had taken him what seemed like an eternity to tell, but as he was such a good storyteller, we’d been transfixed. That final line, though! I punched him on the arm.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, a hurt expression on his face, because I’d hurt him. He knew we were mad, understandably so, I’d say – that’s why he didn’t use his karate on me.

“I’ll give you ‘ow’!” Tilly said, raising his fist to hit Mick on the other arm, but retracting before contact. Mick flinched. Tilly tutted. Pete sniffed.

“Who wants another beer?” he said.

We all said “me!” and Pete looked crestfallen; he was banking on us having had enough; tight as a duck’s arse, Pete. He collected the glasses and limped to the bar.

“Who do you reckon the blonde woman was – in real life, like?” I asked Mick.

“I think it might’ve been…” he started but didn’t finish.

“Go on,” I said, intrigued now.

“I think it might’ve been your mother.”

If I’d had a mouthful of beer, I’d have sprayed it all over the table. As it was, I sat there, mouth agape. I recovered to protest.

“First thing, my mother’s not blonde, never has been; second, she’s 82; and third, well, she has a full set of upper limbs, as far as I remember.”

“Details,” Mick said. “I’ve always fancied your mum.”

“Me too,” Tilly said, nodding like one of those dogs on the back shelf of a car.

“Me too,” Pete said, returning with the drinks.

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about!” I scoffed.

“Your mum?”

Another figurative spray of beer hit the table.

“How did you…?”

My attention was distracted by the drinks he was laying on the table from the tray: five tropical cocktails with fruit and little umbrellas perched on the rims. Our drink of choice was beer, always had been.

“What do you call these?” I asked; I could feel my eyes bulging.

Pete looked at me with enthusiasm.

“Well, this one’s Mary, this one’s Charlotte, this one’s–”

I stopped him right there.

“Let me stop you right there,” I said; I could feel the annoyance rising to my throat.

“I meant … where’s our beer? And why are there five of these … whatchamacallits?!”

“Watch-I’m-acallits? As I was saying, Mary, Charlotte, this one’s Agnes, this–”

“Stop with the names!” The annoyance had been replaced by a kind of rising hysteria.

“Okay! Keep your hat on!” Mick said, smiling and pointing.

I put my hand up and felt the thing on my head. I lifted it off; it was a homburg.

“How did that get there?” I asked no one in particular. Tilly put his hand up.

“Guilty.”

“But when…?”

My question trailed off. I was getting mightily confused. I got my thoughts back on track by returning to my previous question.

“Why are there five of these?”

I took a sip of mine. Despite the fripperies, it tasted like beer.

My three friends exchanged glances and grins. I felt very out of the loop.

Mick tapped on the table with a finger.

“One!”

Pete followed Mick’s lead.

“Two!”

Tilly followed suit.

“Three!”

Then all three of them shouted in chorus.

“TA-DA!”

The echo of their shout grew in volume, becoming so loud that I had to cover my ears. The table vibrated, the windows shook, and the door burst open.

Silence fell on the bar now as we all looked towards the open doorway – black with night.

A face appeared – a woman’s, beautiful, framed by long blonde hair. She smiled but it wasn’t a pleasant smile, rather like one that a snake might flash before darting forward to bite.

The face was followed by a voluptuous body as the woman edged into the bar. I gasped; she only had one arm.

“That’s… that’s…” I stammered.

“Your mother?” Mick suggested.

“NOOO!”

I was furious at the renewed suggestion. She didn’t look a bit like my mother, and I wasn’t feeling the tiniest bit of filial love for her. Mick, Pete and Tilly looked suitably apologetic. Or amused. Or apologetic.

By this time, the woman was at the table. I realised that she wasn’t standing but hovering. Without saying a word, she reached over, grabbed a drink and downed it in one.

“Naaiice!” she said, in a voice that was a mixture of honeysuckle and gravel.

She put a hand on my shoulder. It was like being struck by an iceberg.

I jumped to my feet and made for the door. As I ran towards it, it receded, becoming a vortex of colours, none of which I could name.

I felt myself being pulled back; the woman had me by my shirt. She spun me round so that I was facing her.

“Naaiice!” she repeated. Her breath smelled like boiled beef and carrots.

That smile again, and I wanted to get away. I half-wrenched myself from her grip but she still had a hold of me, enough to send me flying across the room with a flick of her wrist. As I flew, I could see a slow-motion Mick, Pete and Tilly at the table, applauding.

I crashed into the bar and slumped to the floor. I knew that I was bleeding from my nose. I wiped the blood away and inspected my fingers. They were green.

And that’s when I woke up. It had all been a dream!’

Steve, Dan and Harry groaned.

Steve punched me on the arm.

“Ow!” I exclaimed. I knew they were mad, understandably so, perhaps – that’s why I didn’t use my ju-jitsu on them.

“I’ll give you ‘ow’!” Dan said, raising his fist to hit me on the other arm, but retracting before contact. I flinched. Steve tutted. Harry sniffed.

“Who wants another beer?” he said.