Out of Towners by Dan Tunstall Read Free Book Online

are.”
    Benny the Bear shambles off backstage. Vic bows to the audience one last time and exits stage left. There’s a whine of feedback, then Agadoo comes on again. A couple of old dears get up and start dancing.
    I look around. Another check to see if any girls have arrived. Still no joy. The fat woman in the glasses and her toyboy are snogging now, grappling with each other. I shake my head and stand up.
    â€œI’m off for a piss,” I say.
    The toilets are full. A crowd of blokes three-deep is waiting for the urinals, so I head for the nearest of the four locked cubicles. After a few seconds there’s a sound of flushing and the door swings open. It’s Benny the Bear. He’s got a can of Tennent’s Super in one paw, and he’s got his bear head under his arm. Benny’s a red-faced fat man with a skinhead. He takes a swig of his can and looks at me.
    â€œI fucking hate kids,” he says.
    When I’ve taken a long piss, I make my way back through the hall. I’m scouting for girls, but I’m still drawing a blank. Most of the women in the place are about fifty. A lot of them look like they should be working as a landlady in one of the soaps. Tony Curtis has returned to his booth. He’s opened his latest stint with Come On Eileen , more eighties rubbish, and he’s put a smoke machine on. There’s so much smoke billowing, I’m half-expecting the sprinklers to get triggered off. Although come to think of it, this place probably doesn’t have sprinklers.
    As I sit down I notice I’m getting close to the bottom of my second pint. When you add in the can and the cider, I’ve had quite a lot to drink I suppose. The walk down here sobered me up a bit, but I’m feeling light-headed now. My face is hot and I can feel my pulse in my temples.
    Dylan’s looking really pissed off.
    â€œCheer up mate,” I say.
    Dylan gestures with his glass.
    â€œLook at this place,” he says. “It’s ten o’clock and we’ve not even had a sniff of a nice bird. It’s Grab-a-Granny night.”
    I have a mouthful of Carling.
    â€œYou wanted to come here. You thought there would be some talent.”
    Dylan snorts.
    â€œBollocks,” he says. “Don’t try to pin it on me.”
    I switch my attention to Robbie. He doesn’t look much happier than Dylan. He’s shifting about in his chair, craning his neck to look over the heads of the people around us.
    â€œWhat’s up with you?” I ask.
    â€œI’m getting paranoid about seeing someone who knows my mum and dad,” Robbie says.
    I can’t say anything to reassure him, so I say nothing. The evening is going downhill fast. Looking up, I see George wandering across towards us. He’s got a tray with four pint glasses on it. There’s something strange about these pints. They’re completely see-through.
    George plonks the tray on the table and sits down. There’s a sinking feeling in my guts. “George,” I say. “That’s not what I think it is in those glasses is it?”
    George has got his serious face on.
    â€œIt’s water, Chris. We need to be sensible. We’ve been boozing for hours. We’ve got to stay hydrated.”
    I shake my head in disbelief. Robbie and Dylan are doing the same. The thing is though, nobody can be bothered to argue. We down the pints in silence. The night has reached a new low. All sorts of thoughts are floating in circles in my brain. I need to think of something to lift the mood. We can’t be sitting here sipping water, feeling sorry for ourselves. This is our first ever real lads’ night out.
    There’s some movement on the far side of the family with the Alsatian. A hen party has turned up. Six women in their thirties done up in French maid outfits and flashing red devil horns. They all look like they’ve had a few. The bride-to-be has got an L-plate taped to the front of