Address To Impress

'You going tonight, student?'

'Steve, I keep telling you. I've not been a student for months.'

'Same thing. Are you going?'

'Yeah, yeah.'

'Good, do you know where they live?'

'No.'

'Good, because I've got the address.'

Steve was excited about tonight, Alex and Fran's house warming at their flat. I know, I know, it should be called a 'flat warming', that's what I said. But Fran put her angry face on when I did. Apparently, 'House Warming' sounds better. I would have said that buying a house would have been better, but as I said, she had her angry face on.

I wasn't sure why Steve was excited. Maybe Friday was the one day a week his mother let him out of the house. I was expecting him to meet me at the petrol station with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a pack of cigars, ready for a good old party. But as I crossed the road and spotted him by the car wash, he was clutching a white shopping bag. Inside was was a big bottle of Dandelion and Burdock and a packet of chewits. Party! The days had started to get a little darker, and a hell of a lot colder. Light rain glistened on the street lights and headlights of passing cars as Steve and I walked by them.

'So where are we heading?'

'Well, according to the address and directions Fran gave me, it's only about five minutes away.' Steve winced through the rain, holding a torn piece of paper up to his face.

Alex hadn't been at work during the day, leaving Fran to sort out directions with a few colleagues, most of them her friends off the checkouts. Fran said she was expecting a full flat, full of friends and family.

'Mary not coming with us?' I asked.

'Naa, busy tonight.'

'What she up to?'

'Wrestling.'

I almost fell over. Out of all the things she could possibly have been doing, it's wresting, obviously. Not working, or helping her mum paint the back bedroom. No, she's wrestling on a Friday night. He said it in a way that made me feel stupid for not knowing already. Thinking about it, Mary looked like she'd be a good wrestler. A large, bulky girl. Able to throw herself about a bit. A little bit scary. Probably very scary in the right light and a bit more make up on. I wonder what her wrestling name was?  Mary The Killer! Mary The Murderer!

'Scary Mary.' Steve smiled widely.

'Really?' I grinned.

'Oh yeah, she's really good. She beat Julie The Mule last week, at the civic hall.'

'You've been to see her?'

'Oh yeah, I ask her to keep to costume on after, too.'

I was interested before he said that. We walked together in silence, over the bridge, past a row of closed shops and turned right onto a dimly lit street.

'Here we are. Cromwell Street.' Steve said, through a mouthful of chewits. He'd already eaten half a packet.

'What number?'

'46.'

'I thought it was a flat they lived in?' I asked.

'Me too. Maybe it's that one.'

Steve pointed to the small bungalow at the end of the street. The lights were on, flickering like people were inside. Maybe Alex and Fran lived in a bungalow. It made sense with Fran's wheelchair, a bungalow is perfect for that. But Fran said it was a flat. Oh, this was a Friday night. A party on a Friday night. I wasn't meant to be confused on a Friday party night!

'Are you sure this is the right address?'

'Yeah. 46, Cromwell Street.'

As we walked over to the bungalow, I'd noticed Steve's excitement growing more and more. At first he was whistling a tune, which is odd for one. People annoy me when they whistle. I only do it when I'm bored, and not very well. The whistle turned into a low hum, then a high hum. Then, as we got to the street, he was full on singing.

'Celebrate good times, come on! Dud der der der der!'

'You don't even like Kool and the Gang!'

'Who? Should be a good do, this. With what I've got planned!' Steve grinned.

'What have you got planned?'

'You'll see!'

When people say 'you'll see' it doesn't end well. You don't hear people say 'you'll see' to someone, and then give them cash or a new puppy or something. It's normally something horrible.

 We stood outside the house. There was no music on inside, a mainstay to any party. Put that together with a balloons and jelly and you're in business. Before I got a chance to speak, Steve slushed his way over the wet garden and to the window. He held out his arms and took a deep breath.

'Cooooonn......gratulations! And jubilations! I want the world to know I'm happy as can be!!'

'Steve.' I tried.

Steve may have not seen through his tightly squeezed singing face, but a shadow flickered on his frame. Then, a figure appeared at the window. It wasn't Alex. It definitely wasn't Fran. It was a man of about forty, with a remote control in one hand, a drink in the other and his work shirt unbuttoned over his chest. His angry face looked a lot angrier than Fran's.

'Steve!' I shouted.

Steve opened his eyes onto the bloke, which made him jump back about four foot, back onto the greasy grass.

'Run!' He said.

At least I think he said that. I was already three houses away, running for my life. We ran past the row of closed shops, over the bridge and threw ourselves behind the wall next to the car wash.

'Is he still chasing us?' I said in-between quick, painful breaths.

'No idea. I didn't look back.'

'I'm guessing that wasn't Alex's bungalow.'

'Or flat.' Steve added.

We're no athletes, as you can imagine. But trolley pushing does keep us both fit. Well, that's what we thought. Turns out we were wrong, after taking us both 20 minutes to stop wheezing.

'Ahh well.' Steve stood up. 'I've eaten all my chewits anyway. Hey, how do you fancy watching Scary Mary versus Sick Vicky?'

'Is that who she's fighting tonight?'

'Hardcore match!!'

When Fran gave Steve the wrong address on purpose, she didn't think about me going with him. I didn't mind, though. Watching a fat girl wrestle could not be missed.

Scary! Mary! Scary! Mary!

'