Whole Lotto Love

'Happy birthday, Steve!'

'Yeah, cheers mate.'

Steve sighed and rubbed his head like he'd been told happy birthday for 475^th time today. He shut the door of his skoda and fiddled around in his boot for his coat and Iron Maiden hat. People reach an age when they don't get that excited about their birthday. They have a full night's sleep before and don't ask for anything. They get on with the day like it's any other, only with a few empty cards and gift vouchers to keep them company.

'Same birthday as Eddie Van Halen.' I tried.

Thank God for Google, who I think invented it. I've no idea who Eddie Van Halen is, but I presumed a rock star with the same birthday as Steve would be a good point of conversation. Turned out it wasn't.

'Yeah...'

'...It's Axl Rose's on the 6^th of February.'

I think I was pushing it already.

'Cool.'

'And Phil Collins' on Sunday.'

Steve looked at me like I'd just killed a cat. And even worse, like I liked Phil Collins. It had been a tough couple of weeks for Steve. His girlfriend had a wrestling accident and underwent surgery, not before refusing to marry him. Not a lot of men can say that, can they? There's at least two things in that sentence that aren't quite right. Steve had tried to keep cheerful over the last few days. He visited Mary everyday, reading articles from the Metallica UK Frenzy Fan-club Magazine (or MUFF Mag, as they call it. The nurses were giving them very funny looks.) whilst feeding her grapes. He did realise why marrying her didn't sit right and that asking her was out of fear rather than love. He had remained cheerful but I guess the morning of his birthday brought it home. He didn't have that Steve-bullshitting-glint in his eye. He didn't appear to have any stories or lessons to tell. And unbelievably, he worked an hour of his shift without going into the store and pissing about to waste time.

'Looking forward to the buffet later?'

'What?' Steve stopped in his tracks. 'There's a buffet?'

'Yeah.'

His face suddenly turned animated and a little smile cracked on his face. Maybe it was the idea of free food. We all like free stuff, we all like food. Put those two together and you've got yourself a party. But ours was a buffet to celebrate Pay Day. It's done every month. Fizzy pop on the tables, glitter in the ash trays. Free sausage rolls. The essentials.

'They've put on a buffet for my birthday?'

I couldn’t say no, could I? Only a week ago his girlfriend refused to marry him in a hospital. I couldn't go lower than that.

'Yeah, if you like.'

Those words helped. 'If you like.' It's like when you ask for a Christmas present and your Mum says 'We'll see.' It's always going to turn up on Christmas morning.

'Wow...'

I think that was the first time Steve had said 'Wow' in his life. I couldn't take that away from him. The birthday buffet was on.

'There's no banners, Dylan.'

'Yeah, we thought it would be a nice and understated party, you know? Not to funky.'

'Ahh, right.'

I was doing well at this bullshitting thing. Maybe my time spent with Steve was getting to me, or maybe I didn't want to see him have a nervous breakdown in front of the scotch eggs. He sat down with a plate of food and tucked in, whilst Sharon ushered me over to the corner.

'Afternoon, Dylan.'

'Sharon.' I nodded.

'It's a big day for Steve today.'

'I know. Birthday. Same day as Eddie Van Halen.'

Sharon looked at me like I just spoke in Hebrew.

'No, Mary's coming in.'

'What?'

'She's coming in.' Sharon said, in between sips of her coffee.

'What for? To work?'

'God no. For a chat with everyone. I imagine we've got a card for her and a collection. That's what people do, isn't it?'

If anyone bothered to and remembered who she was, yes.

'OK, but we can't make it too much of a big deal.' I said.

'Why not?'

'It's Steve's birthday and he's been through a lot.'

'Don't you think Mary has?'

'Yes, yes. Of course.'

'Surgery, Dylan.'

'Wasn't life threatening or anything.' I shrugged.

'Dylan!''

'OK, sorry. But it's Steve's birthday too.'

'Have you got a collection for him?'

No, I've just pretended this Pay Day Buffet is for him. That's more than a collection. I sat down with Steve and wished him happy birthday again, placing an onion bhaji on his paper plate.

'Thanks, mate.'

'No problem.'

We sat and ate in silence. I noticed Steve looking around the canteen every so often.

'There's not a lot of people at my party, Dylan?'

'Oh no, that's the theme.' I said quickly.

'The theme?'

'The theme.'

'My party's got a theme?'

'Sure it has! Every party's got a theme. And I've based yours on... a concert after-show!'

Steve scanned the room again.

'Have you?'

'Yeah, look. All the used places on the back table, that's where the band all sat. Probably smoking crack or something...'

Or where the manager's all sat. Eating sandwiches. Half an hour ago.

'It's all messy and used... this place. The tablecloths are stained. The fizzy pop is half drunk. You've just got to pretend it's whiskey.'

I was sweating now. The perfect time for Mary to wheel herself into the room from her wheelchair.

'Hey, I've got a birthday treat for you!' I said, rubbing my hands together. 'Please welcome, drum role please! Mary!!!'

Thank God for that, I couldn't do party planning on my own. Far too stressful. Steve and Mary embraced like they'd not seen each other for weeks, even though Steve went to visit her last night with more grapes. I was right, no one was around for Mary's arrival. It was just gone half one and everyone was back at work. We sat and drank cherryade whilst Mary talked me through the surgery, but as soon as there was a crack in the conversation, Steve interrupted.

'So, where's my present?' He said, gleaming at Mary and banging his hands on the table.

'Well, it's nothing much.' Mary smiled. 'But I think it's pretty cool.'

Mary pulled out a white envelope from her pocket. Steve's face fell upon seeing the size of it.

'Oh...an envelope...'

'Well, open it....'

Steve didn't look like he could be bothered opening it, but did so after a few seconds of huffing.

'It's...it's...lottery tickets....' Steve said, pulling out a few slips of paper. 'Ten lottery tickets.'

'Ten. Lottery. Tickets.' Mary said proudly.

I had to to help Steve. There wasn't going to be a nervous breakdown on my watch.

'You do realise, Mary...there's more chance of him being hit by lightning than winning the lottery?'

How does that help?

'Dylan!'

'I've not even been hit by lightning yet, Mary.' Steve said solemnly.

'You never know. Plus, I’ve got you something else.'

'If it's ten more lottery tickets I’ll be disappointed.'

'No...here....'

Mary pulled out yet another while envelope from her other pocket.

'Another envelope?' Steve said.

'Yes, but this one is different.'

Steve fished around until he found something, then lifted it out. It was a silver key.

'Oh, is this....like a metaphor...?' Steve nodded. 'Like...a key to your heart? Because I've been given this before...'

'No, it's a real key. To my flat.'
'Oh, Mary...I don't know what to say!' Steve stood up quickly with a huge smile on his face.

'Happy birthday, Steve!'

They hugged and kissed again, like people who are in sickly love do.

'It's Eddie Van Halen's birthday too!' Steve said, with a little tear appearing from his eye.

'I bet he didn't get lottery tickets!' Mary bellowed with excitement.

No, no I don't think he did. Phil Collins probably will, though.

Dude, Where's My Star? (Part Two)

'You should have bought the pink ones!'

'No, he wanted red!' I spat back. '...To emphasize his...'

'Love for the ladies, I know!' Alex replied.

'Pink would only emphasize his love for the boys. Which, I'm sure, he wouldn't appreciate.'

I wasn't really enjoying the conversation. Probably because we were arguing and probably because we were both running at quite a fast pace towards the car wash, where our star for the day, TV's Freddie Fisher was trapped.

'Hurry up, Dylan!' It's Freddie Fisher!'

'I'm going as fast as I can!'

I'm not really a runner. I waddle more than anything. We ran across the first set of cars in front of the stationary store, down the side of Pizza Hut and over the busy road. I must have twisted my ankle twice and dropped the walkie-talkie every time I heard Sharon shouting out of it. I felt a little sorry for Alex. He was really looking forward to today and quite frankly, I haven't seen him this excited since he found out how to get free porn on his phone. Now it was all going pear-shaped, with a line of at least 15 people already waiting outside the store and just a stones throw away, the man they came to see wash trapped in a car.

We got the to the car wash in a hale of wheezing and breathlessness. Alex anxiously started pressing buttons on the side of it as I stared at the black car in front of me, revving it's engine violently as the mechanics of the system whirred around it. Water was spitting out from the top, which hit the darkened windows with a splat. It was only then I realised that the car wash was going twice as quick as it would normally go, as if it was stuck on the fast forward button. The wash rollers where spinning too fast and crashing every couple of seconds into the sides of the car.

'Tell him to stop revving!'

Alex was shouting at me like his whole family was stuck in the car. The bright red emergency stop button didn't do anything. I stepped over the first roller, avoided the puddles of water and slapped on the drivers side of the window.

'Stop revving!' I shouted.

The window buzzed opened about an inch, the peek of a dark cap glistening on the top of a head.

'I'm trying to get out!'

The man sounded pretty old, with a panicked Geordie accent.

'Is this Freddie Fishman geordie?' I shouted over to Alex.

'Fisher! No!'

'He sounds Geordie!'

Alex finally looked away from the buttons and peered into the window.

'That's his driver, you idiot!'

Alex called me an idiot. A day of firsts.

'We need to get Freddie out!' I shouted at the crack in the window. 'He's got a signing!'

'No, you need to get me out!' The voice spat back.

'Forget him!' Alex shouted over. 'He's not a celebrity!'

He might be. He could be famous in his city of Newcastle. He could have invented something or been on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?. I stopped watching that as soon as someone became one.

'OK, I'll lift the roller up!'

I rushed over to the front of the car, got a hold of the soapy, soaked roller and gave it a big pull. It was considerably heavier that I imagined, which make me squawk in pain and fall backwards. The water soaking into my clothes made me heavier too, which made me fall faster onto my back. I didn't noticed at first, but Alex had given up pressing buttons and went straight for the celebrity. He yanked the back door open and jumped into the back of the car. The next few seconds were a blur, I’ll I'm honest. It was like in the film when the hero goes back into the water to do something important, and you're not sure if he'll make it back up to the surface. Time stands still. The orchestra roars behind it and suddenly a face appears in the centre of the screen. Well, that bit didn't happen. The other side door opened and Alex stepped out the other side.

'Where the fuck is he?' Alex looked over at me, soapy suds falling down his face.

The drivers side opened viscously and the driver got out, trying desperately to dodge the spurts of water hitting the car.

'I dropped him off at the store half an hour ago, you tits!'

A tit and an idiot. All in one day. That's a new low for me. The side rollers rattled back over to the car, roaring and whistling at the same time.

'Shit!' The driver shouted.

The right roller charged towards the opened doors as the driver rushed over to it. He just got the door in time to slam it shut, but he was still in the way. The roller lifted him off his feet and rose up and revolved again, dumping him back onto the floor. It was then that the car wash groaned to a halt. The last spurts of water pushed itself out of the sides, the rollers fizzed to a stop and the lights went out. Alex and I looked over to each other. I was far more wet and soapier than him, but he looked angrier. He just stood there, his breath heavy, staring at the car.

'Shall we go and meet Freddie?' I asked.

As we walked up the store, the line of people where trickling into the front doors. Sharon had seen us from the window upstairs and shot down to us, meeting us in the foyer.

'Lads, where are the red marker p...what in God's name happened to you?'

'Thanks for telling us he was already in the store!' Alex said, digging bits of soap out of his pocket.

'Car wash is a bit broke, Sharon.' I said.

'And there's a man on the floor inside it.'

'Yeah, might was to get an ambulance for him.'

'Fine. Where are the pens?'

'Problem with that, Sharon.' Alex said.

'Yeah, they only had pink.'

'And we got kicked out of the shop.'

Sharon looked to the side, trying to the put everything together in her head.

'I wanted to buy pink.' Alex said.

'No, God no.' Sharon shuddered. 'That would only emphasize his love for the boys.'

'That's what I said.'

'Well, you're going have to go over to him and tell him we have no red pens.'

'Sorry?'

'Go on.' She nodded over to him. 'Tell him.'

We sheepishly walked over to the table where Freddie Fisher was sat, his arm around a blushing young girl having their picture taken.

'Freddie.' Alex said.

'Yes, guys.'

Freddie was a tall bloke, a shiny blueberry coloured buttoned shirt on and tinted blonde hair carefully combed to a quiff.

'There's no pens.' Alex muffled.

'Sorry?'

'We've got no pens, Freddie, sir...'

Sir? I'm calling him Sir, now? He stared at us, both dripping with suds and water. His perfectly shaped chin quivered a little, as if he was about to flounce off.

'I've brought my own.' He turned away from us and greeted another girl.

'Have you?'

'Yeah, red ones.' He said, pulling out a silver tin of red marker pens from his top pocket. 'They emphasize my love for the ladies.'

'We've heard. You asked for us to buy some.'

'In case I run out.'

Alex and I turned around. There was about 20 odd people waiting in the cue quietly.

'I think you'll be fine.'

Freddie got on with his signing. There were more pictures taken that books signed, to be honest. But that's what happens these days, people would rather have a picture to pop up on the internet than read a book.

'Freddie.' I interrupted him again. 'You're driver's in the hospital.'

It turned out to be a good day, in the end. I felt rock 'n' roll about getting kicked out of my first shop and Alex got to give Freddie Fishman a lift home.

Dude, Where's My Star? (Part One)

'Dylan, Dlyan!'

Alex didn't wait for me to get off the bus, he threw me off it before it got a chance to stop.

'Guess who's coming to our store...'

It was a shout more than a question, and a question so broad made my sarcasm kick in.

'Erm, Tony Robinson?'
'Who?'
'Tony Robinson. Played Baldrick in Blackadder.'
'No. He's not a celebrity.'

Depends how you define the word 'celebrity'. If it's falling out of a club at 4 in the morning with a slapper on your arm, then no. He's not. I see Tony falling out of a pub, instead.

'Freddie....Fisher.' He grinned.
'Ohhh....' I tried.
'I know.'

Freddie Fisher? Freddie? Fisher?

'What's he up to now?'
'Still on the show.' Alex replied.

The show. A TV show, I bet. How come I don't know who Freddie Fisher is? I feel so out of touch. I haven't got a Skype account or collect Subway tokens. I haven't lived, thinking about it. Now a big celebrity is coming to our store and I've no idea who he is.

'Yeah, got his autobiography out. He's doing a few signings.'
'How old is he?'
'About 24, i'd say.'

Jesus, I bet it's only 8 pages long. I wanted to come across as a cool, hip parade kind of guy, so my investigation into Freddie Fisher began.

'I love the show...' I smiled.
'Yeah, last night's episode was genius.' He giggled.

I suppose I could check the TV listings for last night, or look up all the shows that have been referred to as genius in the past.  But Sharon interrupted me, crackling through the walkie-talkie at us.

'Porters, are you there?'
'Yeah, Sharon. What is it?'
'We need pens...marker pens...for Frankie whats-his-name.'
'Freddie!' Alex whaled at her through the radio.
'Freddie whats-his-name.'

Alex didn't look too pleased. He stormed off to the stationary shop for me to chase him. It turns out Freddie's 'people' had rang the store and stressed that he will only sign in red marker pens, to emphasize his love for the ladies. That sounds sweet. The kind of sweet that made me feel sick in the back of my throat.

We browsed the store, trapsing up and down the aisles. The store didn't need to be as big as it was, so it was filled out with pointless trinkets, 46 different kinds of paperweights and obsurdly overpriced DVD's.

'They don't have red marker pens.' I said, glaring at the wrack of pens and pen-based products.
'Just get blue. Or green.'
'That won't emphasize his love for the ladies.'

I can't believe I said that.

'It doesn't matter. What matters is that he's actually coming. a celebrity coming to our store.'
'Yeah, it's just like a normal person coming to the store. Only that person's in a TV show.'
'Yeah...' Alex shook his head in disbelief.

I strolled over the the counter where a girl was stood, arkwardly putting pads of paper into a bag. She handed it to a customer with no eye contact, no goodbye, just standing there with her arm outstretched, staring down at the counter. She looked terrified, as if one small gust of wind would blow her over.

'Do you have any red marker pens?' I asked politely.
'Erm...' I think she said. 'We have green ones...blue ones...'
'I know. Any red ones, though?'
'We have green ones...blue ones...' Counting them again on her fingers.
'I know.'

She didn't listen to me. Or she didn't hear me. He fuzzy black hair covered her ears. Maybe she chooses not to hear people.

'Purple ones...pink ones...'
'But no red ones? That's doesn't make sense.'

That make the bloke in the shirt and tie to her left flitch and bolt over to me.

'Excuse me? You're going to have to settle down a bit.' He said.
'I am settled down. I'm just asking for red pens.'
'We don't have any red pens. We have green ones...'
'Purple ones, pink ones, blue ones!'
'OK, sir. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.' He said bluntly, his fingers on the counter.
'Go on then!'
'Please leave.'
'Fine!'
'No, hang on!' Alex tried to intervine. 'Maybe we could buy pink ones and...'
'No!' The bloke shouted. 'Both of you, please leave.'

Kicked out of a stationary store. Banned from a stationary store. I'm so rock 'n' roll. Forget Skype accounts and Subway tokens, this is really living! Now we've no pens for a signing that's in one hour. And to make things worse...

'Porters. Porters, are you there?' Sharon squarked through the walkie-talkie again.
'Yes, Sharon.'
'He's arrived. Freddie Fishman has arrived.'
'Fisher!' Alex tried again.
'One problem.' She said. 'His car is stuck in the car wash.'

End of part one.

The Sweetest Ring (Part Two)

 'What?' Mary stared at Steve with a blank face.

'Will you...you know, marry me?'

That very second I was embarrassed and relieved to be sat there, watching Steve in front of me on one knee, staring up at a bedridden Mary.

'Erm....'

I wasn't expecting that. Steve wasn't expecting that. And I think it's pretty safe to say Mary wasn't expecting the whole thing.

'Mary.' Steve sighed. 'You're no picnic...'

Good start, Steve.

'But under that you're the most amazing, astounding, wonderful girl...woman that I've ever known.'

Mary pulled her head back and glared at him.

'Where have you got that from?'

'What?'

'That? That quote.'

'It's not a quote, it's how I feel.'

'It sounds familiar, doesn't it Dylan?'

Why am I always involved in engagements? At Alex and Fran's I ended up wrestling a man to the floor and now I'm getting involved in this one. But it did sound familiar.

'Yeah, it's off a film, maybe?' I suggested.

'Or a TV show?' Marry added.

'Never mind that, Mary. Will you...?'

Steve stretched out his hand a little more, making the silver of the ring glint around the bland walls of the ward. Mary stared at it and thought a moment.

'Titanic!' She shouted.

'Yeah!' I added.

'We watched it together on our first date. Jack says it to Kate Winslet!'

'Yeah, to Rose.' Steve nodded. 'It might be from that, but...it's how I feel.'

'Where did you get the ring from?' Mary pointed.

'I always have it. Just in case.'

Oh yeah, everyone does. It's a must-have for the pockets, isn't it? Just in case. Penknife. Loose change. Engagement ring. They're the big three.

'Just in case of what? Just in case you see someone you want to marry?'

'Exactly.' Steve smiled.

Steve didn't see the expression in Mary's eyes.

'Charming.'

'Thanks.' Steve shrugged with a grin.

Usually when a man wants to ask his girlfriend to marry them, they set up something extraordinary so the bride will never forget it. A balloon ride over the English countryside, a candle lit dinner with some of that expensive wine or a walk through a park in the moonlight. Something extraordinary. But I have to say, Steve had bagged himself an extraordinary moment here, choosing a hospital ward as a venue and a drugged up, injured wrestling Goth as a soon-to-be bride. That's if she says yes.

'So, will you?'

Mary stared at the ring again. Now that the ache of figuring out where the quote came from had gone, her mind was clear.

'No.' She said blankly.

'I'm sorry...what?' Steve leaned in, as if he misheard her.

I wanted to get up and walk away, leaving them in peace. But I felt like I was in one of those wildlife documentaries. If I got up and made a noise, the things I'm looking at would run off, and that's not a very good documentary. You have to learn not to disturb things like that.

'No, Steve.'

'What do you mean?'

What more did he want? Will you marry me? It only needs a yes or no answer.

'No. It's not...us.'

I instantly knew what she meant. She may be drugged up with painkillers but she was talking sense. Steve and Mary getting married didn't sit right. Not because they weren't good enough for something like that. It's just, some people don't need it in their lives, like a religion or having a cat. For some it's a mainstay and a necessity in a couple's existence. For others it's not necessary. For Mary and Steve, getting married wasn't necessary.

'Steve, I know why you're doing this. It's because you're scared. Like the time you bought the complete series of Blackadder of VHS.'

'And who's laughing now? It's gone out of stock now.' He said smugly.

'I know. I know. You don't need to do this. We don't need to do this.'

Steve and Mary hugged. Then after a few seconds, the normal required hugging time was nearing it's end. Ten seconds in and they still had their arms wrapped around each other, their faces buried in each others shoulders. I couldn't just leave, Steve was my lift back to work.

'Steve?...Mary?...'

Steve cleared his throat and let go of his girlfriend, staring into her eyes in close proximity.

'Mary...I'll never let go...'

He's done it again.

'That's from Titanic too!' Mary smiled.

'Ah, shut up! It's a great film!'

We made our way back to the car. Steve was whistling a little tune along the way.

'Why would you quote Titanic at her?'

'Listen, Dylan.' Steve said, unlocking his skoda and opening the door. 'You watch that film with a lady and you're bound to have a bit of luck. It worked for me.'

Steve asked a girl to marry him and she said no. If that's luck, I want nothing to do with it. I went home that day and watched Titanic on DVD. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like for Steve and Mary to take over from DiCaprio and Winslet.

The Sweetest Ring (Part One)

When is the last time you can say 'happy new year' to someone? No one tells you these things. Like, if you see an old friend in February, does it still count to wish them a warm 2011? Will they find it socially acceptable or just look at you like you've just killed a puppy? Again, no one tells you these things. Sharon didn't take my wishes very well, even on the 11^th day into it.

'Don't be silly, Dylan. New year was two weeks ago. And what are you doing here?'

Steve had been called up to see Sharon in her office, so I just followed him as he made an in depth point about Battlestar Gallactica. I'm not interested it whatever that is, but it wasn't busy outside and I could have done with something to do.

'Just thought I’d come up. I thought it might be something that we both could do.'

'No, it isn't. This concerns Steve and no one else.' Sharon glared at me.

'Oh, right.'

The last time Sharon wanted to see Steve on his own was on Christmas Eve, when a customer complained about getting hit by a snowball. Steve never owned up to it, but who else looks like 'he could have been in Status Quo or something.'? I traipsed off downstairs and tried to make myself useful, circling the full perimeter of the car park and picking up the odd rusty trolley. It was just when I was right at the bottom of the car park when my phone bleeped. The text message read:

'Get 2 my car now.'

It was from Steve. I rushed towards his light green skoda where he was sat inside, biting the end of his keys. He ushered me inside, his face all flustered and red.

'Get in, quick.'

'I told you, I'm not listening to another of your cousin's demo's.'

I don't care if they were nearly signed once, 'George Best Testicles' won't go anywhere and sound like a whales fighting.

'No, no. It's Mary.'

Steve backed out of the parking space, marginally missing a large car with an angry mother inside it and sped off towards the exit.

'What about her?'  I said, clicking my seat belt.

'She's in hospital.'

We parked up on the vast car park, about a hundred yards from the actual building. Steve threw his spare change at me and told me to pay for a parking sticker and headed for the entrance, walking in that weird I'm-trying-my-best-to-jog-a-bit kind of way. When I got to the entrance Steve was nowhere to be seen, so I rang the bell at reception.

'Yes?'

A short haired woman of about fifty appeared at the desk.

'Yes, hello. I'm looking for Steve, he's just come in.'

'What ward is he in?' She asked plainly.

This had the potential for so many jokes, but now was not the time. There's no humour in hospitals.

'No, sorry. I'm looking for Mary. Mary Walton.'

'Not Steve?'

'Well he's here to see her too.'

'What ward is she in?'

'I don't know.'

'Well what has happened to her?'

Shit. I really must research things before going into hospitals and asking for things. Steve hadn't told me what happened to Mary, or what ward she was in. He was to busy shouting at other drivers on the road. So in a fit of panic, I just made something up.

'She's...broken her neck.'

'Right...'

The woman scanned her list. It felt like the time to add a bit more.

'And her arm. She's a wrestler, you see.' I smiled a little bit.'

'Mary Walton. She's on the C ward. Third floor.'

'Thank you.'

I don't like hospitals. Sounds obvious but some people must like them. Doctors and nurses for instance. You must like them enough to work in one all the time. Mind you, you could say that about my job. If someone said to me that I like car parks, I wouldn't like it.

I reached the third floor and pushed open the double doors. The smell of sanitiser and stale air hit me straight away as a nurse asked my to turn off my mobile phone and wash my hands. Mary was in the end bed, reading a small book with a dark cover. I slowly walked over to her and whispered hello. People always whisper in hospitals. Why do we do that? It's not as if anyone’s concentrating on anything, apart from the odd crossword.

'Dylan! Wow, nice to see you.' She smiled through glazed eyes.

Her voice was a little croaky and her face was pale, matching her smock.

'Steve's just...on his way.' I sat down. 'Car park...' I grinned, rolling my eyes.

'Ah, right.'

'So, what happened?'

'Wrestling.'

Yes! What a guess!

'Right...' I said gently, tilting my head.

'Yeah, I jumped of the top ropes and did my back in. Going to need surgery, I think.'

'So you didn't win in the end?'

'Oh, yeah. Sick Vicky got the pin.' She grinned.

'Brilliant!'

This wasn't brilliant. What's the use of having an amateur tag team wresting championship belt when you don't have to strength to lift it up?

'Did you even get to do your finishing move?'

'The Scary Bomb?'

'Yeah.'

'No.'

'Oh...'

That put a downer on things. And a downer is the last thing you want in a hospital. I realised after a few moments of silence that I didn't know her enough to have a decent conversation. She wouldn't be interested in the weather in her condition, or what I got up to at the weekend. That's the problem with ill people, they're never interested in others.

'Wonder where Steve is...' I said, looking back on my seat.

'Probably got lost in this place.'

'Yeah...'

Another conservation killed off. I tapped my foot on the floor a bit and looked around. Mary didn't look like she was in the mood for chatting. In fact, I can safely say it was the one time that I've ever considered her to be boring.

'What you reading?' I tried.

'Oh, this?' She said, picking up the little black book. 'It's about woman who have sex with animals.'

OK, she's boring any more.

'I'm sorry?'

'It's a novel. Animalize, it's called.'

'Good read?'

'Yeah, I'd say it's up there with Ozzy's biography.'

Of course it is. In fact, that's what they said on Richard and Judy's book club. 'Ozzy's biography is just as good as that one about girls sexing it up with monkeys and that.'

'What animals have sex with...'

Steve interrupted my question. Quite frankly, a question I would have loved to find out, bounding in and ignoring the Please Wash Your Hands signs and rushing over to us.

'Mary! Mary!'

'Steve, you made it.' Mary smiled.

'What's happened? The woman said was a broken neck and arm! What? What's happened?'

Steve's head looked like a ribina berry and he sat down of the bed, squashing Mary's legs.

'I'm fine, I’m fine! Steve, get off!'

'What happened to you?' I asked.

'I couldn't find the ward!'

Probably because he didn't ask. Apparently, running into hospitals and shouting 'Mary!' just doesn't work any more. He threw himself down on the plastic chair next to me and then stood up again, demanding answers.

'What happened? Was is wrestling? That Sick Vicky didn't pull a fast one on you, did she? I've never liked her!'

Steve would be the first to admit he get's caught up in the plot lines of amateur wrestling. Last week he hit a referee with his sponge finger.

'No, no. We're tag team champions. I just hurt my back. Might need surgery.'

'Oh god, surgery. That can be OK.'

'I know.' Mary replied.

Steve lent over Mary's face and dabbed her forehead with his handkerchief. He's probably seen it on those TV dramas.

'Do you want some grapes?' Steve asked.

'What?'

'Grapes? Dylan says it's the best thing for hospitals.'

He's right. I have said that in the past.

'No.'

'OK. Fluff your pillow? I can...'

'No, no. It's fine. Just sit down, Steve.'

Steve slowly sat down, took a deep breath and slid off it, putting one knee on the floor.

'Mary...'

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue box. He pressed it open to reveal a silver ring.

'Will you marry me?'

End of part one.

Stake Me Out

I've never much liked the name Jake. There was this lad at primary school called Jake who had dirty fingernails. No one went near him. Even in the playground when we played bulldog, he'd be chasing people for ages because we would run faster to get away. I remember going in his house once and it was strange. The sofa still had the plastic on it and the living room was full of pointless trinkets and pictures. It had a funny smell about it, like Jake himself.

Jake was the name of Alex's best man. 'A friend from college', Alex said. Me and Steve pretended not to be bitter about it. I tried to talk about other things, but soon enough the conversation moved onto it.

'I've never liked the name Jake.' Steve said.

'No, me neither.'

'We're his friends. We've helped him enough. Like that time he got stuck in the store room.'

'And the walk-in freezer.'

He's always getting stuck in places, thinking about it.

'And I got them two together.' I bellowed. 'Does that not deserve anything?'

'I know. And I've been his Head Porter. What does that count for?'

Nothing, really.

'Tell you what, are you free tonight?' Steve asked.

'Why?'

'How about we go over to Alex's place and...check it out.'

'Check what out?'

'You know...the situation...'

'Steve, you're going to have to be more specific.'

'Jesus....'

The pieces of information he neglected to tell me was that this Jake lad was going round to Alex's house tonight, and that we should go and...well...you know, check it out.

'That's a bit weird. It's like stalking.'

'It's not stalking. We're not going to harm him. Just, you know...checking him out.'

'Like a stakeout?'

'Yeah, a stakeout. We'll go after we finish work.'

If you tapped me on the shoulder yesterday and told me that in 24 hours time I’d be involved in a stakeout, I'd have called you a tit. A massive time-wasting tit. And we all know time-wasting tits are the worst. But sure enough we were there, sat in Steve's green skoda (not the best coloured car to be hiding in) just over the road from Alex's flat and waiting for Jake to turn up.

'Have you got any binoculars on you?' Steve asked earnestly.

'Erm...let me check...cactus...bowling pin...shit, no...no binoculars.'

'Amateur.'

'Oh, so now I'm being accused of not being a professional stalker.'

'I've told you, it's not stalking. It's checking out.'

'I think the police will see it a different way.' I said, trying to gaze into Alex and Fran's living room.
'Right, Alex said he would be turning up at seven, for wine and nibbles.'
'Nibbles?'
'I know.' 

Nibbles? I already don't like this Jake lad, he just made it worse for himself.

'Right, where's the food?' Steve asked.

'Food?'

'It's a stakeout. We need food.'

'I've not got any food. We just came from work.'

'Jesus, haven't you seen Starsky and Hutch?'

'Only the film. It was a shit copy off my cousin.'

'The TV series.'

'I'm 23 year old, Steve.'

'Philistine.'

Right, so I'm not very good at stalking and don't have any appreciation for American TV shows that I've never seen. Good one.

'So what are we looking for in terms of this lad...'

'Well, I've written a few notes.'

Of course he had. If there's one thing you need before stalking someone, it's careful research. Steve got out his tattered notepad and flipped through it.

'Posture. E.g. Will he look good in a suit.'

'A fancy suit.'

'Correct. Greetings. E.g. How will he greet Alex and Fran at the door. If there's no hug I think we've got a case.'

'A case for what?'

'For one of us to be best man.'

'We never hug him.'

'That's different!' Steve snorted. 'We're colleagues. And good friends...'

'Next...'

'Last one, what they get up to inside. We've got a good view of the living room from here.'

This was turning into stalking now, but I didn't want to tell Steve. If he shouted our cover may be blown. And of course, you wouldn't suspect two men in a light green skoda, parked arbitrarily opposite a block of flats, would you?

It was getting dark and after an hour, we had yet to see anyone go in our out of the flat. We had exhausted all of our games. What You Rather...?, The A -Z Game and depressingly, Eye Spy. We were about to move onto another shit game when a tap on the window startled us both. We'd been to transfixed on thinking of a band beginning with Y that we hadn't noticed a car pull up behind us. I rolled down the window to see a young lad peering at us.

'Lads, sorry to bother you. But, is it free to park here?'

'Erm..I'm not sure...'

I was still a bit shaky from the shock, but I tried to play it cool.

'I think it is.'

'Good. I'm going in there for a few hours.'

The lad pointed at the block of flats. He seemed about Alex's age, will an attempted dark beard and hair with too much wax in it. It could have been Jake, but Steve wasn't taking any chances. He leapt out of the car and charged into the lad, banging on the car towards the back.

'What do you think you're playing at?' Steve managed to shout, through wrestle to pin the lad's arms onto the window.

'What the fuck are you doing!!?' The lad yelped.

'He's our mate! We should be the best men!'

'Steve!' I tried.

The wrestle went on for a few more seconds, then I got out of the car and tried to hold Steve back. The lad got his composure back and soon gave Steve a kick in the groin, making him reel backwards onto me with an 'ooooffff!' The lad scampered back into his car and sped off, not before shouting 'prick!' out of the window.

'What the hell did you do that for?'

'We should be best men, Dylan.' He cried, in between squeals of pain.

I dropped him onto the bit of grass next to us.

'I bet you that wasn't him.'

'Of course it was! All the signs were there. Stupid little beard, shit trendy car...he was going in there!'

'So's he.'

I pointed to the front door of the flats. A tall lad, with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine in his hand, buzzed the door and stepped inside. He was met by a smiling Alex and Fran as they hugged and exchanged warm pleasantries in the foyer. We sat on the grass for a few minutes and watched them inside the living room, laughing and joking likes friends do, probably helping themselves to an array of nibbles on the table.

'Come on.' Steve said. 'Let's go to the shop.'

'You want some food for the stakeout?'

'Yeah, and some ice for my bollocks.'

May The Best Man Win (Part Two)

Today didn't get off to the best of starts. I was on the early shift, which is always a bad start anyway. I'm not really a morning person, so for annoying customers to be out and about at that time isn't what I want. I won't bore you with the details, but we have two types of trolleys. Small and large. Genius, isn't it? So when all the small trolleys got sent away yesterday to be cleaned, there was outrage. Most of the elders prefer a smaller trolley. They don't eat that much and can't push that much. But all I got today was something like this...

'Excuse me.'

'Yes?'

'Do you have any small trolleys?'

'No, they've all gone to be cleaned...'

'Oh...'

Cue the lost face of devastation.

'Oh, well, I’ll just get a big trolley. It won't kill me, will it?'

They waddle off with a chuckle and I walk away thinking sometimes I wish it would.

My mind was on other things, to be fair. Yesterday, Alex told Steve and I that he's choosing his best man. Suddenly I felt like I was waiting for some kind results. Playing the waiting game. My mind was flipping from 'Hey, relax. It's no big deal. It's being a best man.' to 'It's being a best man! You get to make a speech with a suit on. When are you going to have that opportunity again?' There was occasional doubt in my mind, but I can't speak for Steve.

'Bought my suit already.' He said smugly.

'Nice.'

'He'll have to make me the best man now.'

'Why?'

'Because I've bought a suit.'

'So?'

'A fancy one.'

Shit. He's bought a fancy suit. If Alex finds out he's bought a fancy suit I'm done for.

'How fancy?'

'It's grey.'

Not that fancy.

'Bit of a tail on it.'

Shit.

'Has it got a little bit of hanky stuff in the top pocket?' I asked.

Steve grinned.

'What do you think?'

'Shit.'

This was still not over. It was common knowledge that I got on with Alex more than Steve. Fran liked me, something that Steve can't say. I know that Alex's favourite sandwich is jam, his favourite colour is blue but sometimes green, depending on the seasons. And that he only buys wallets that have that little spare change flap in them. I now regret telling Steve all that because he just called me a gay boy.

I went for my breakfast at ten, brilliantly timed to when Alex was clocking in, so I met him at the bottom of the stairs.

'Alex.'

'Morning.'

'Alex. Alex. Alex.'

I was trying to be casual. Breezy. Friendly. I just sounded drunk.

'How are you doing, bro?'

'Bro?'

'Brother. Mate.'

'Oh, OK. Bit tired.'

'Yeah...'

My eyes were wide and I seemed to be nodding quite frantically. Now I sounded drunk and looked like I was on drugs.

'How's is it outside?' He asked, bleeping his card against the machine on the wall.

'Yeah, sound. Super sound!' I almost shouted, aiming the double thumbs at him.

When was the last time I gave a thumbs up to anyone? I can't remember. I was getting desperate.

'Listen, if Steve mentions anything about a suit, just ignore him.'

'A suit?'

'Yeah, says it's fancy.'

'Is it grey?'

Shit.

'It might be.'

I sat at the table closest to the window, peering down at the car park, anxiously ripping bread off my sausage sandwich. They were chatting, but from a distance it just looked like idle chit-chat. The weather, probably, or the latest XBOX game. Why can't I be interested in games like Alex? Then we could chat about them. I played five minutes of one of those war games, where you shoot everything you see. I got terrified and ended up facing the wrong way in a trench, throwing grenades at myself. The sausage sandwich was soon necked and I was back on the car park.

'That was quick, Dylan.'

'Wasn't hungry. So, what are we talking about?' I asked, slapping my hands together.

'Cod.'

Shit. I don't know my fish.

'It's a great game.' Alex added.

Hang on...cod...ah...Call Of Duty.

'Yeah, it's brilliant.' I smiled.

'Didn't know you played that stuff, Dylan?'

'Me? Oh yeah, love it. Guns and that...'

I thought I was doing OK, even though Steve and Alex were looking at me funny, so swiftly changed the subject.

'Anyway, Alex. You picked a best man yet?'

'Certainly have.' He grinned.

Me and Steve looked at each other. I looked at Steve as if Alex had already asked him, and Steve looked at me as if Alex had asked me.

'Have you...told him?' I asked.

'Yeah.'

Shit. Shitting shit shitter.

'Shit.' Steve spat at us.

'What?' Alex asked him.

'I told you I've bought a suit and everything! It's fancy, really really fancy.'

'Oh...sorry.'

Had Alex already asked me? I've been so nervous and tense I could have forgotten.

'I'm still going for Jake.'

Jake? Jake? Who the hell is Jake?'

'Jake?' Steve and I asked in unison.

'Yeah, he's my friend from college.'

'A friend?' I asked.

'From college?' Steve asked.

'Yeah.' Alex shrugged.

'Has he got a fancy suit?'

'No. But he's getting one.'

'Oh, Jake's getting one, is he?'

I'd be happy for this Jake person, but I got this couple together, surely that's more substantial than a

two year friendship and common room college bollocks.

'Does he know your favourite sandwich?' I asked.

'I'm sorry?'

'Or colour? Or even the wallet thing?'

'The...wallet thing?'

'Yeah, with the little flap thing...with the...oh forget it!'

I stormed off. Steve followed me, shouting about his fancy suit. I guess the best man won, a skinny little student called Jake. Well done Jake.

May The Best Man Win (Part One)

Steve had arrived into work with a shiner of a black eye, and thanks to his new haircut and round head, it seemed to somehow emphasise it, making it look like a bruise on a giant melon. I didn't say that to his face, of course, he seemed hurt enough.

'Shut it, you.' He greeted me.

'I didn't say anything.'

'You're saying everything.'

He was right, I was. I was saying he looked ridiculous and hilarious at the same time, which made me pull an odd face. Turns out he got the black eye shifting his Christmas tree and one of the branches poked him.

'Mary just stood there, laughing. Should have done it on my own.' He scowled.

'You could say, twos company, tree's a crowd.' I gleamed.

I bloody love puns.

'Shut it, you. Where's Alex?'

'Ill.'

'Ill?'

Steve can't understand why people don’t work when they're ill. Completely hypocritical, because he takes sick days like the best of them, and for the littlest of things. Last week he didn't come in because he thought he'd outgrown his shoes, turned out Mary used them to stash her Christmas box of Jaffa cakes.

'Its the old ten-pound-note theory, isn't it?' Steve said. 'If you're well enough to get out of bed and pick up a ten pound note, you're well enough to work.'

And of course, I use these times to take the piss.

'What if you just stick your foot out and stamp on it?'

'Eh?'

'Or roll out of bed and it sticks to your forehead?'

'Shut it, you.'

I left it there. The redness from his eye was spreading around his face. He made me follow him upstairs to the offices and find Darren.

'He's not in today, Steven.' Sharon said, not looking up from her desk.

'Jesus, is everybody ill?' Steve turned to me.

'I'm sorry?' Sharon asked.

'Nothing. Alex is ill. We need someone outside with us, Sharon.'

'Steve. You look different.' She said, finally looking up at us.

'Had my haircut. Alex is ill.'

'And the eye?'

'Got poked with a Christmas tree. Alex is ill.'

'Ill? Ten-pound-note ill?'

Where did this expression come from? I'd only heard it a minute ago and suddenly it's everywhere, like the Justin Bieber lad. I don't know who he is or what he does, but he looks like a smug college student with an erection.

'Seems like it.' Steve tilted his head.

'Hmmm...'

'We could go and...check on him.' Steve said, his eyes lighting up.

Steve sounded like a Mafia hit man, attempting to be needlessly ambiguous. We could...take care of him. Normally when people say that, they end up removing somebody's kneecaps. That doesn't sound like taking care of someone. Sharon is a tightly wound business woman, so surely she would send us back outside and tell us to get on with our work. You'd think, wouldn't you?

'Yes. Go and check on him.'

'We know where he lives.' Steve smiled.

'Good.'

This sounds like an assassination, doesn't it? When really it's another attempt by Steve to not work. Of course, I'd ignore him and get back to work. You'd think that, wouldn't you?

'Now we have to be careful, Steve. Last time we got the wrong house, remember?' I warned him as we walked out and behind the store.

'Oh, I remember. But I know where it is this time.'

'How?' I asked.

'Went to a dinner party last week. Me and Mary.'

'Where was I?'

'Couples only, Dylan.'

I don't know why, but I was a little offended. I may not fully like these people but I'd expect to be at least asked to eat food with them.

'Did you have fun?' I asked.

'Fran kicked me out.'

'Did you put Metallica on and dance again?'

Steve scrunched up his nose and kept walking.

'That girl's got no taste is music.'

We found the flat. It was on the first floor of a grey multi-story building. You could tell it hadn't been painted for a while and bits of graffiti still donned the walls on the sides. The main entrance door was open wide and as we stepped in, it had that aged library smell. Steve rang the bell and looked at me.

'What if he's actually ill?' I asked.

Steve shrugged and looked as if he was about to say something, but was cut off by the door opening. Alex looked shocked as his eyes met ours. Dressed in a casual checked shirt and jeans, he didn't look particularly ill.

'Alex.' Steve said plainly.

'Steve. Dylan.' Alex looked wary.

All words of standard greeting go out the window in situations like these.

'You don't look ill.' Steve cut to the chase.

'Well, I am.'

'Ten-pound-note ill?'

'What?'

See! I knew not everyone had heard of that!

'You're dressed. Up and about.'

'Makes me feel better. You look different, Steve.'

'Had a haircut.' He shrugged.

'And the eye?'

'Got poked by a Christmas tree.'

Fran shouted from behind Alex, asking who was at the door.

'It's just...Steve and Dylan.'

An audible sigh rang out from Fran.

'Shouldn't they be working?' She asked.

'Shouldn't you be?' Steve asked Alex.

'Guys, guys.'

Alex shut the door behind him and ushered us backwards.

'I'm a bit busy. We're sorting out wedding stuff.'

'Couldn't you do it at the weekend?'

Fran opened the door and manoeuvred her and her chair to get past it.

'Steve. You look different.'

'Haircut! Alex, why aren't you in work?' Steve's face went red.

'I've told you...'

'And the eye?'

'CHRISTMAS TREE!'

'He's told you! He's ill. Ten-pound-note ill!' Fran shot a look at Steve.

'Where did that expression come from?' I asked.

No-one answered my question. Alex asked Fran to go back into the flat and told her he'd be back in a minute.

'Lads. Our wedding is in a few months and there's a lot we need to decide. One thing were just figuring out...my best man.'

'Aren't you having Duncan as your best man?' I asked.

'Well, he used his only phone call yesterday from the police station to ring me. I'm not holding out much hope that he'll be around in may. So Fran has crossed him off the list. Now the list only has two names on it.'

Me and Steve moved our heads back in unison. Then we looked at each other in unison and even grinned a little bit, again in unison.

'Sorry we disturbed you.' Steve smiled.

'Yeah, we apologise. Enjoy your day.' I said.

'When will you decide?' Steve tilted his head.

'As soon as possible.' Alex said, shutting the door on us.

As soon as possible. We get to find out who's the best man, the better man, as soon as possible.

End of part one.