Chapter 2

“I’ll have you know, my

arse is a woman-free zone.”

“Such a waste,” she

giggled.

The merriment continued

for a few more moments.

Eventually Paul took hold

of himself and spoke. “Uh, Trevor, could I have a quick

word?”

“Sure, sweetie.” Trevor

gave him an uncertain smile.

Paul gritted his teeth,

hoping his discomfort didn’t show. Focussing on a spot just over

Trevor’s left shoulder, he said, “Look, um, about

earlier.”

“Yeah?”

Trevor wasn’t going to

make it easy for him. A small voice in Paul’s head

announced,Why should

he?Paul cleared his throat. “Look, um,

what I said, it wasn’t right. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.

Honestly I didn’t mean to, I’ve had a bloody awful day, but that’s

no excuse, and…” Paul ground to a halt.

“That’s okay. I

understand.”

That was the worst of it;

Paul knew Trevor really did understand. “Thanks, uh, I’m not, I

mean, I don’t…” Paul closed his eyes momentarily. “Look, can I buy

you a drink or something, you know, to apologise

properly?”

Trevor’s eyes widened for

a second. “Why, Mr Harrison, I do declare.”

“Uh.” The camped up

impression of Scarlet O’Hara was lost on Paul, who was too busy

panicking to appreciate it. He knew this had been a

mistake.

“So where you taking me? I

don’t need to go home and change into something more suitable, do

I?”

Oh,

God,Paul thought.

In a more normal tone,

Trevor said, “It’s all right, Pauly, I was just pulling your leg. I

really would like to go out for a beer, male bonding and all that

good stuff.”

“Uh, yeah. Um, The King’s

Head all right? They do a pretty decent pint.”

“Okay.”

“You gonna follow me in

your own car?”

“I don’t drive, I get the

bus to work.”

“Oh right.” Paul was

reminded of Sandy’s words, he really didn’t know Trevor. Heck, he

couldn’t say exactly what Trevor did for the Council. He thought it

was something on the top floor, but, other than that, he wasn’t

sure.

Walking through the set of

double doors, protected from the outside with a digital lock to

prevent unauthorised access, Paul followed Trevor into the public

part of the building. The Victorian architects had spared little

expense on the high vaulted ceilings, multicoloured terracotta

tiled walls, opulent lighting that once used to be gas powered, and

intricate ironmongery of the balustrades to the wide staircases.

Looking up at the late afternoon sun shining through the large

stained-glass window at the turn of the stairs, Paul couldn’t help

the small frisson of awe that shivered through him. He liked how

the spinning wheel motif was repeated in the stonework, stained

glass and tiles.

“Obscene example of

municipal profligacy, isn’t it?” Trevor announced, startling Paul

out of his reverie.

Still looking at the

window, Paul said, “You think so? I kinda like it, though I’m no

expert on architecture.”

Trevor growled. “The town

fathers wasted thousands of pounds on this hideous example of

Victorian gothic revivalism, when they should have spent the money

to keep the poor, sick and aged out of the workhouses. After all,

most of them had fed their working lives and health to the monster

that was the woollen textile industry. And it was that industry

which provided the money for all this.”

Paul was surprised at

Trevor’s vehement anti-capitalist outburst. He was more of a

liberal himself, though in truth he wasn’t terribly interested in

politics of any colour.

** * *

Paul spent much of the

journey to the King’s Head worrying. What

if anyone saw him with Trevor? He tried to think, did any of his

mates drink at the King’s Head? Why didn’t he suggest somewhere

else, somewhere further out of town? Then he mentally slapped

himself. Trevor seemed like a decent bloke, if a little on the

campy side. His musings were cut short as the drive to the pub took

less than five minutes.

“What do you fancy?” Paul

asked as they stood at the bar waiting to be served.

Trevor raised a thin, no doubt

plucked, eyebrow.

Paul had his usual half of

bitter. He was driving after all. Trevor said he’d have a campari

and soda.

After paying for the

drinks, Paul steered them to a booth. He tried to convince himself

there was no particular reason why he chose one at the very

back.

“Thank you. This is nice,”

Trevor said, leaning back in his seat.

Paul forced a smile. “Yes,

it is.”

“Did you manage to get

yourself sorted out with somewhere to stay?”

“Oh, uh, Yeah. I’m gonna

crash at a mate’s for a few days.” Paul conjured up an image of

Thommo’s lumpy couch.