Although it wasn’t gunfire: still fuzzy headed, Iain took Iain a few moments to realise that someone was knocking the door, hard.
“OK, hold your horses,” he shouted, struggling to his feet and making his way to welcome his guests.
Chapter Ten
Static
“What’s up?” and then, “Jesus, what’s that smell?” It was Dave, speaking before even crossing the threshold into the flat. “You scared the living shit out of us, we thought you were dying or something. I’ve come as fast as I can.”
“Erm, sorry. And thank you. I had a bit of a problem.” Iain showed Dave the kitchen.
“Fucking hell mate, you poor bastard.” Dave pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled Gary.
“It’s me… yes, he’s fine… You’ll see when you get here… we’re going to need,” he looked at Iain who recited the cleaning products he required. “Bin bags… erm, bleach, any other cleaning stuff, cloths, and rubber gloves, we deffo need rubber gloves, and beer, plenty of. Oh, and pick us up ten fags and some green Rizla… yeah, cheers dude, see you in a bit…” he looked back towards Iain and then to the kitchen, “Gary’s on his way, we’ll soon have this sorted.”
“I really am sorry to ask for your help, but I’m knackered and didn’t know how I was going to do all this on my own.”
“Really, don’t worry about it; it’s what we’re here for.” With that he headed over to the stereo, turned it on, tuned in his favourite radio station and cranked up the volume before helping himself to a seat and fetching a little tin from his pocket. Then, they sat and shared a smoke.
Just as Iain stubbed the end of the joint out into the heavy glass ashtray, there came a further knock on the door. Dave jumped up to answer. It was Gary, laden down with shopping bags, mainly full of beer, but one had in it all the cleaning products Iain would ever require.
“Smells nice in here.” He wasn’t referring to the smell of decay, rather the skunk weed smoke which now filled the flat, despite the open windows.
“Sit down and get one on?” Dave passed the tin in Gary’s direction.
After enjoying another smoke, and feeling a lot more relaxed about the whole affair they got to work. There was no need to rush and without expending too much energy, pausing frequently for lager and joints, they soon had the flat up to an acceptable level. Their mothers might not have agreed on the degree of cleanliness, but it was acceptable enough for young men who could live life to their own standards.
“Have you got any other music?” asked Gary.
“You know I haven’t.”
Two months prior to his accident, Iain had the misfortune of being burgled. On the positive side, he hadn’t owned many possessions with any intrinsic value. The thieves however, did make off with his stereo and CD collection. He’d managed to pick up a cheap second hand music system but as yet hadn’t replaced his CDs, so all he was left with was the radio. The reception wasn’t brilliant; either the walls of the old house were too thick, the radio itself knackered or most likely, Iain simply hadn’t positioned the aerial properly and couldn’t be bothered to fiddle about with it.
So, as the three friends, pleased with themselves for an afternoon's work well done, settled down to the serious business of getting very stoned, very drunk and catching up on all the latest gossip, Ben E King crackled through the speakers singing Stand by Me. After the confinement and sterility of the hospital, for Iain it was bliss and he sank back into the sofa, almost melting into the soft, fabric cushions.
“So, how are you feeling?” Gary asked, his voice full of sincerity.
“Not too bad, aching a bit. Much better now though,” sucking hard on his reefer before gulping down about a third of a can.
“What did the doc say?”
“I’ve got to visit the physio for a while and I have to go and see the doc, just so they can check me out. I’ve got to let them know
“OK, hold your horses,” he shouted, struggling to his feet and making his way to welcome his guests.
Chapter Ten
Static
“What’s up?” and then, “Jesus, what’s that smell?” It was Dave, speaking before even crossing the threshold into the flat. “You scared the living shit out of us, we thought you were dying or something. I’ve come as fast as I can.”
“Erm, sorry. And thank you. I had a bit of a problem.” Iain showed Dave the kitchen.
“Fucking hell mate, you poor bastard.” Dave pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled Gary.
“It’s me… yes, he’s fine… You’ll see when you get here… we’re going to need,” he looked at Iain who recited the cleaning products he required. “Bin bags… erm, bleach, any other cleaning stuff, cloths, and rubber gloves, we deffo need rubber gloves, and beer, plenty of. Oh, and pick us up ten fags and some green Rizla… yeah, cheers dude, see you in a bit…” he looked back towards Iain and then to the kitchen, “Gary’s on his way, we’ll soon have this sorted.”
“I really am sorry to ask for your help, but I’m knackered and didn’t know how I was going to do all this on my own.”
“Really, don’t worry about it; it’s what we’re here for.” With that he headed over to the stereo, turned it on, tuned in his favourite radio station and cranked up the volume before helping himself to a seat and fetching a little tin from his pocket. Then, they sat and shared a smoke.
Just as Iain stubbed the end of the joint out into the heavy glass ashtray, there came a further knock on the door. Dave jumped up to answer. It was Gary, laden down with shopping bags, mainly full of beer, but one had in it all the cleaning products Iain would ever require.
“Smells nice in here.” He wasn’t referring to the smell of decay, rather the skunk weed smoke which now filled the flat, despite the open windows.
“Sit down and get one on?” Dave passed the tin in Gary’s direction.
After enjoying another smoke, and feeling a lot more relaxed about the whole affair they got to work. There was no need to rush and without expending too much energy, pausing frequently for lager and joints, they soon had the flat up to an acceptable level. Their mothers might not have agreed on the degree of cleanliness, but it was acceptable enough for young men who could live life to their own standards.
“Have you got any other music?” asked Gary.
“You know I haven’t.”
Two months prior to his accident, Iain had the misfortune of being burgled. On the positive side, he hadn’t owned many possessions with any intrinsic value. The thieves however, did make off with his stereo and CD collection. He’d managed to pick up a cheap second hand music system but as yet hadn’t replaced his CDs, so all he was left with was the radio. The reception wasn’t brilliant; either the walls of the old house were too thick, the radio itself knackered or most likely, Iain simply hadn’t positioned the aerial properly and couldn’t be bothered to fiddle about with it.
So, as the three friends, pleased with themselves for an afternoon's work well done, settled down to the serious business of getting very stoned, very drunk and catching up on all the latest gossip, Ben E King crackled through the speakers singing Stand by Me. After the confinement and sterility of the hospital, for Iain it was bliss and he sank back into the sofa, almost melting into the soft, fabric cushions.
“So, how are you feeling?” Gary asked, his voice full of sincerity.
“Not too bad, aching a bit. Much better now though,” sucking hard on his reefer before gulping down about a third of a can.
“What did the doc say?”
“I’ve got to visit the physio for a while and I have to go and see the doc, just so they can check me out. I’ve got to let them know
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