Read Online Driving Big Davie (Dan Starkey) by Colin Bateman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Colin Bateman
Tags: FIC050000
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'The Lord is My Shepherd'; I stood outside and shook hands with relatives while smoke billowed from the crematorium.
I thought the chances of her recovering from a slight case of death and getting engaged to Davie Kincaid were small to remote. Stranger things had happened, although mostly in Dr Who.
I shook myself. For Christ-sake. I was on holiday. I was taking it all much too seriously. Davie was winding me up, or talking the piss-talk. I needed to lighten up. I'd been in the air for nine hours. Back home it was two in the morning. I needed to sleep. Wind down. Enjoy America. Maybe take anything he said with a pinch of salt. Or wind him right back up.
We arrived at the Ramada Inn on International Drive in Orlando forty-five minutes later. It wasn't that far from Sanford, but the traffic was heavy. Big, in fact. Big traffic. Big hotels. Big weather. Big cars. It always takes a while to acclimatise to the bigness of America. Davie rolled out of his side of the taxi after some prodding and paid the driver, who looked at the colour of our money and said, 'What about a tip?'
Davie and I glanced at each other, then sang together: 'Don't sleep in the subway.' We cackled our way into the hotel and the desk clerk, a fruit in a suit, looked us up and down and said, 'Ah, Mr and Mrs Kincaid, welcome to the Ramada.' He then gave us the keys to the honeymoon suite.
Davie immediately suggested that he stick them up his arse. Luckily, his accent was thick enough to confuse, and before the penny dropped I quickly suggested that single beds might be more appropriate.
He looked us up and down again, then leant forward and whispered conspiratorially: 'You don't have to be embarrassed. I understand what it may be like in Ireland, but we're quite open-minded here. We host many gay weddings and honeymoons.'
I looked at Davie. 'It's only for one night.'
Davie shrugged. 'Any port in a storm,' he said, then added needlessly, 'you big ride.'
The desk clerk smirked. Davie tried to hold my hand as we walked across to the elevator. We went up eight floors and let ourselves into the honeymoon suite. It had a lounge, Queen-sized bedroom, ensuite bathroom, TV, DVD, Internet and minibar. We held a long discussion about which facility to use first, and chose the minibar. We pulled back the curtains and enjoyed glorious nighttime views of the traffic. It was Davie's honeymoon, so after a couple of drinks he wandered off into the bedroom and I lay down on the couch. I sort of drifted for a while without ever quite getting to sleep. The door to Davie's room was open and I could see the flicker of his TV screen. There were groans and squeals coming from inside.
'Davie?' I called. 'You awake?'
'Yipee!' he shouted back. 'Hot and cold running porn! Come on and take a look!'
'You're okay,' I said.
'It gets really boring after about an hour!' Davie yelled. 'They've all got inflatable tits!'
'You're paying for them. You do know that?'
He didn't answer, but the TV suddenly went off. A few moments later he appeared in the doorway pulling his T-shirt back on. 'We should go and get breakfast,' he said.
'It's the middle of the night.'
'So? This is America! Come on!'
Davie was an enthusiast.
I would hate enthusiasts with a passion if only I could summon one. As International Vice-Chairman of Sloth and Slow pic, I fixed him with two weary eyes and said, 'Catch yourself on, I'm knackered.'
He laughed. 'Come on, Dan, we're on holiday!' He pushed his T-shirt into his trousers and headed for the door. 'Come on!'
I moved into a more comfortable position on the couch.
'C'mon, Dan, you're only young once.'
'You're right,' I said. 'And I was. Good night.'
I closed my eyes. He tutted. 'Sure?'
'Sure.'
He opened the door. 'Well, see you later, alligator.'
'In a while . . .'
But I was asleep before I got to 'crocodile'. Or at least I pretended to be.
And I did get to sleep, eventually. I woke just after ten in the morning. The sun was blinding. I
I thought the chances of her recovering from a slight case of death and getting engaged to Davie Kincaid were small to remote. Stranger things had happened, although mostly in Dr Who.
I shook myself. For Christ-sake. I was on holiday. I was taking it all much too seriously. Davie was winding me up, or talking the piss-talk. I needed to lighten up. I'd been in the air for nine hours. Back home it was two in the morning. I needed to sleep. Wind down. Enjoy America. Maybe take anything he said with a pinch of salt. Or wind him right back up.
We arrived at the Ramada Inn on International Drive in Orlando forty-five minutes later. It wasn't that far from Sanford, but the traffic was heavy. Big, in fact. Big traffic. Big hotels. Big weather. Big cars. It always takes a while to acclimatise to the bigness of America. Davie rolled out of his side of the taxi after some prodding and paid the driver, who looked at the colour of our money and said, 'What about a tip?'
Davie and I glanced at each other, then sang together: 'Don't sleep in the subway.' We cackled our way into the hotel and the desk clerk, a fruit in a suit, looked us up and down and said, 'Ah, Mr and Mrs Kincaid, welcome to the Ramada.' He then gave us the keys to the honeymoon suite.
Davie immediately suggested that he stick them up his arse. Luckily, his accent was thick enough to confuse, and before the penny dropped I quickly suggested that single beds might be more appropriate.
He looked us up and down again, then leant forward and whispered conspiratorially: 'You don't have to be embarrassed. I understand what it may be like in Ireland, but we're quite open-minded here. We host many gay weddings and honeymoons.'
I looked at Davie. 'It's only for one night.'
Davie shrugged. 'Any port in a storm,' he said, then added needlessly, 'you big ride.'
The desk clerk smirked. Davie tried to hold my hand as we walked across to the elevator. We went up eight floors and let ourselves into the honeymoon suite. It had a lounge, Queen-sized bedroom, ensuite bathroom, TV, DVD, Internet and minibar. We held a long discussion about which facility to use first, and chose the minibar. We pulled back the curtains and enjoyed glorious nighttime views of the traffic. It was Davie's honeymoon, so after a couple of drinks he wandered off into the bedroom and I lay down on the couch. I sort of drifted for a while without ever quite getting to sleep. The door to Davie's room was open and I could see the flicker of his TV screen. There were groans and squeals coming from inside.
'Davie?' I called. 'You awake?'
'Yipee!' he shouted back. 'Hot and cold running porn! Come on and take a look!'
'You're okay,' I said.
'It gets really boring after about an hour!' Davie yelled. 'They've all got inflatable tits!'
'You're paying for them. You do know that?'
He didn't answer, but the TV suddenly went off. A few moments later he appeared in the doorway pulling his T-shirt back on. 'We should go and get breakfast,' he said.
'It's the middle of the night.'
'So? This is America! Come on!'
Davie was an enthusiast.
I would hate enthusiasts with a passion if only I could summon one. As International Vice-Chairman of Sloth and Slow pic, I fixed him with two weary eyes and said, 'Catch yourself on, I'm knackered.'
He laughed. 'Come on, Dan, we're on holiday!' He pushed his T-shirt into his trousers and headed for the door. 'Come on!'
I moved into a more comfortable position on the couch.
'C'mon, Dan, you're only young once.'
'You're right,' I said. 'And I was. Good night.'
I closed my eyes. He tutted. 'Sure?'
'Sure.'
He opened the door. 'Well, see you later, alligator.'
'In a while . . .'
But I was asleep before I got to 'crocodile'. Or at least I pretended to be.
And I did get to sleep, eventually. I woke just after ten in the morning. The sun was blinding. I
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