THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH, AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH...

Submitted into Contest #76 in response to: Write about a character who is incapable of telling even the smallest lie or half-truth.... view prompt

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Fantasy Friendship

Shaun stood on tiptoe and peered through the window. Through the grime, he could see The Three Lions was quiet that night. Quieter than it had been a month ago, when prices went up the first time. And quieter than it had been a week ago, when prices went up again.

Ah, there was Roger at the bar. Shaun wiped the window and saw more of the scene. Roger took his change, nodded to the ghoul-like landlord and carried the drinks back to the table by the door. He walked slowly, very slowly, careful not to spill any – no, he wouldn’t want to waste a drop, not at that bloody price!

Jane was just out of Shaun’s line of vision. Not that he really wanted to see her anyway. At least with the door ajar, he could just hear their conversation. Jane giggled. ‘Your mate told me he saw a UFO last week.’

‘Yes, he did.’ Roger wiped beer from his moustache.

 ‘Oh, come on, don’t tell me you believe in all that nonsense.’

Roger shook his head. ‘No, of course not.’

‘But you just said –‘

‘If Shaun says he saw something, he at least really believes it’s true. I mean, he just doesn’t lie.’

Good for you, mate! Shaun popped his head round the door. ‘I’m not late. I stood outside for ten minutes, listening to you two,’ he said with a smile, and polished his steamed up glasses with his hanky. ‘Right, as I’m here, it’s time one of you tight gits bought me a pint.’ He sat down with a laugh.

Jane gave him a tight-lipped smile and finished the wine in a gulp. She nodded towards Roger. ‘I hardly ever drink alcohol, but I’ll have another white wine.’

Roger stood with a sigh. ‘Right.’ He looked towards Shaun. ‘Lager?’

‘Ideal – and don’t buy the cheapest one, like you did last year.’ He stared across the table at Jane. ‘You’ve dyed your hair, I see.’

She stopped fiddling with the beer mat and smiled. ‘I went to the new French hairdressers in Bridge Street. Do you like it?’

‘No, red’s definitely not your colour. It makes you look like mutton dressed as lamb, to be honest.’

Jane gasped. ‘If my glass wasn’t empty, I’d tip it over your head.’

‘If your glass wasn’t empty, I’d be amazed.’ He glanced around the tables and nodded to his left. ‘See the big fat girl by the jukebox?’

Jane nodded. ‘What about her?’

‘You’ll be that size soon. Your thighs are there already.’ He ducked as the beer mat whooshed towards him. ‘I’m just saying. You really do need to go on a diet, y’know. Of course, Roger won’t say that. Well, not until he’s -‘

Roger pushed a pint into his hand. ‘Drink that – and shut up.’ He passed the wine to Jane, his fingers clearly brushing hers.

She sipped, making eye contact with Roger as he sat.

Shaun rolled his eyes.  ‘I know you fancy her, for some reason, but don’t you think she looked a bit better last week as a blonde?’

Roger shrugged. ‘Any colour suits her, I’d say.’ He smiled at Jane and went on sipping his pint.

‘Blonde did a better job of hiding the grey.’

Roger kicked him under the table and apologised as Jane shrieked. ‘Jane says you saw a UFO?’

‘Yes, I heard her saying that, ’ – he gave her a hard stare – ‘but no, I don’t believe in little green men and all that lark.’

Jane started to fidget. ‘You said you did.’

‘No, I did not.’

She looked at Roger. ‘He did – he even went on to describe the flashing flying saucer and silver-suited occupants.’

Shaun shook his head. ‘She’s crazy. Crazy as well as fat.’

She jumped to her feet. ‘Are you going to let him talk to me like that?’

Roger opened and closed his mouth a few times.

‘You look like a haddock with a moustache.’ Shaun laughed. ‘And so do you, Roger.’

Jane swore and put her hand to her mouth, looking round at the big girl and the two elderly men. ‘Oh, I do apologise. I don’t normally use such language!’

‘She’s no lady.’ Shaun took a long gulp of lager. ‘My friend here hasn’t had a woman in years but everyone knows she’s anyone’s for two glasses of wine and a bag of pork scratchings.’

Roger flushed and stopped nudging a bag of something towards Jane.

‘Pork scratchings!’ Shaun laughed. ‘See I told you - everyone knows, lady and gents...well, not that any of you lot could be called that.’

The silence erupted into shouted threats. As punches were thrown and chairs were hurled, Shaun headed towards the toilets. He could get out the back door that way. Shaking his head at the sound of breaking glasses, he slipped away from the pub. He peered through the window again and saw Jane kneeing the landlord as a huge-bellied old man thumped Roger. Yes, definitely time to go...

Outside in the cool evening breeze, he looked up at the moon and blinked. ‘Bloody Hell.’ A huge saucer-shaped craft, lights flashing like a Christmas tree, was hovering over the pub’s thatched roof. He gulped, staring, unable to move as it slowly descended and landed across the road from him. A door on its underside opened and four silver-suited figures rolled down on a beam of light.

‘Good Lord, you lot are even uglier than I imagined. Not that I thought you existed anyway.’ Shaun continued to stare as the beings glided towards him. ‘Maybe Jane really isn’t so bad after all. At least she doesn’t have three eyes and antennae.’

The largest of the four stood before him. It spoke in a strange high voice. ‘We come in peace. Take me to your leader.’

‘And you sound like a castrated parrot.’ Shaun shook his head. ‘Leader? I don’t have a leader.’

‘We come in peace.’ The creature consulted its phrasebook. ‘Is there intelligent life on your planet?’

‘No, not so you’d notice, mate. I’d try somewhere else if I was you.’

 Smiling, Jane emerged from the side door of the pub. Her hair looked very blonde-looking in the moonlight. Almost yellow. She looked better as a blonde. It covered the grey...

‘I just saw a UFO,’ Shaun said, pointing.

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yes, and there were four silver-suited beings...’

‘Well, they’re not here now. I think you had too much to drink.’

Arm-in-arm, they walked down the street. Shaun dug deep into his pocket and passed her a bag of pork scratchings. ‘You’re no oil painting, but what the Hell!’

January 15, 2021 20:54

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