Looking for action

Last week Sharon’s brother makes an announcement. ‘Sharon’s down this weekend. It’s her birthday,’ he says grimly.

On Friday night I’m in the pub early and in she walks. She’s wearing a crop top with a glittery number ’69’ on the front. Her boyfriend is expecting her round at his place, she says, pulling her ‘bored and trapped’ face. He’s cooked a meal and got the drugs in and everything, but she can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. What she wants right now is some action.

There’s a dark-haired young bloke sat in an alcove with his mates. Sharon fancies this bloke like the clappers. ‘Godboy’ she calls him. She goes over and chats to Godboy for a minute or two, then she comes back and says, ‘Me and Godboy are going for a drive, Jerry.’

Next morning I’m woken by a commotion going on downstairs. Later, when I get up and go downstairs, Sharon is sitting at the kitchen table wearing my bathrobe. I wish her a happy birthday and ask what all the noise was earlier on. She says Darren broke in to the house again, came storming upstairs and found her and Godboy together in her brother’s bed. (She and Godboy had spent the evening ‘talking’ in his car, then she’d brought him back for the night.) Blows and hard words were exchanged, then Darren stormed off. He was in a right old state, she adds, as if she’s surprised by it.

Anyway, would I like to see her new tattoo, she asks. She turns round and lets the robe drop, revealing that handsome back of hers. On her upper spine a blue phoenix is fluttering wildly to gain height and shedding a few loose tail-feathers on the way.