Sit down. Stand up. Bag down. Side pocket. Yes. Quarter bottle of cognac. Stand up. Bag up. Sit down. No-one watching. Shaking hand pours the elixir. Take a sip. Bitter sweet and alcohol. Another sip. Feeling better now. Relax. Sit back. Close eyes. That was the trouble with Charlie. He just couldn’t keep it in his trousers. Even last night when he knew how important it was to catch the train. Even though he knew what a big day he had in front of him. He’d gone out with some mates with the full intention of just having a few and then getting home for an early (-ish, night. Let’s face it, it was never going to be that early). After a few beers at the pub he’d switched to JD and coke at the club and he was well pissed by the time he left at 2 a.m. with the blonde. Back at her place they’d wasted no time. Straight into the bedroom and clothes off he’d barely clocked what a fit body she’d got before he was fucking her from behind. Amazing he could get it up at all, really. Nice arse. Her make-up was applied much too thick. She was constantly reapplying her ruby red lipstick that made her look about ten years older than she really was. Florine popped another piece of gum while she listened intently to Annabelle’s story. Annabelle told her about everything. About Fred’s drinking, the other women and the verbal and physical abuse. ‘There’s always room at my trailer if you decide to leave that pig,’ offered Florine. “Thank you so much,’ cried Annabelle. “Not to be nosy, but what happened to your parents?’ “They don’t wanna get involved. Can you believe that? They made us get married and now they don’t want to interfere.’ Florine moved closer to try to console her friend. “Have you eaten anything today dear?’ she asked as she wiped her sweaty palms against her greasy apron. Annabelle sat in a booth by the window. She dried her tears and watched the continuous fall of snow while she tried to contemplate things. She wondered how she could leave her husband and her.
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