Read Online Serious People by James A. Shea - Free Book Online Page B

had been married for over twenty years now. They had been through their ups and downs; but though Mickey more than enjoyed his time away from the trouble and strife, he loved his wife more than he’d ever admit to anyone.
    He picked up his comb and then looked into the mirror to see no reflection just steam. He shook his head. “Fuck it.”
    He combed his hair all back and quiffed it up at the front. He had done this so many times there was no need for a reflection to confirm his hair looked good. He modelled his hair on his musical hero Elvis Presley. The guy was the king of cool. If you had to model your hairdo on someone, he was the only one out there for Mickey. Now he didn’t take it all the way. He didn’t do all that teddy boy shit—that was just taking it too far. Dawn had once made the mistake of thinking that liking Elvis and teddy boy stuff went hand in hand. A couple of months into their marriage she had marched into their bedroom, carrying a suit under her arm.
    “I’ve got a surprise for you darling!” Dawn said, looking pleased with herself.
    Mickey, who was still in bed at the point, looked up from under the covers and grunted a response. Dawn then grinned and laid a suit out onto the bed. The suit was best described as electric blue in colour, with a big black collar, and matching pockets.
    “What’s that?” Mickey asked.
    “That is your new suit,” Dawn grinned back.
    Mickey looked at the suit, hoping his eyes had not yet to woken up properly. He squinted at it again; it was definitely some kind of teddy-boy design.
    “It goes with your hair!” Dawn added, as if she was just handing him the keys to a brand new Ferrari.
    “Do you think I’m some kind of cunt?”
    “No Hun,” Dawn replied looking confused.
    “If I walked into some club dressed in that clobber, people would fucking laugh,” Mickey said, trying to control his temper. “People would think I’m some kind of fucking homo.”
    Dawn looked back at him for a moment. Her bottom lip started to quiver and within a moment she was in tears. Mickey hated it when she cried; it was something he couldn’t hack. He’d been brought up to respect his Mrs by his old dear, and any sign of tears from her would put him in an instant reverse, whatever the conversation was that caused it.
    “Look babe, it’s alright. It’s alright, babe. You weren’t to know,” Mickey said, leaping up and clutching her close. “You weren’t to know; but this is what proper cunts wear. I am not one of those.”
    Dawn had rarely bought clothes for Mickey since that day, which was for the best. Instead, she mainly stuck to jewellery, which was fine by him. Where he came from, the extravagance of the rings and chains that you wore were a direct representation of your standing in society.
     
    Mickey strolled into the kitchen. Dawn was arranging his cooked breakfast onto a plate. She was a good bird; every morning she seemed to time it perfectly. Food on the plate when he was walking through the door. Lovely.
    “Hey, what you think babe?” Mickey said, with his arms our stretched presenting himself.  He decided today was the day to use the hair dye that Dawn had got him ages ago. He had grown to quite like the streaks of grey through the sides of his hair, but now he was the wrong side of fifty he decided it was a good time to take ten years off.
    Dawn looked up. “Oh my God,” she said.
    She was obviously pleased. “I used that anti-grey shampoo stuff last night, how do I look?”
    “That stuff I bought you?” Dawn questioned. “How much did you use?”
    “Just an old blob in the hand, you know. I thought I’d give it try; bring back some of the old Mickey,” he said, his arms still outstretched.
    “What do you think?” Dawn said cautiously.
    “I dunno. The mirror was all steamed up as usual. God only knows why you have to douse yourself in boiling water every time you have a shower,” he said, sitting at the table.
    “Oh” Dawn said,