Page 50 of All Summer Long

Robinson sighed as his southern manners won out, sending him across the room to open the door for his unexpected visitor. Except when he opened the door he found not just one visitor but three, two of whom he didn’t recognise. Instantly on his guard, Robinson gripped the handle of the knife he hadn’t thought to put down.

‘Steady on there, Robster,’ Stewie said, alarmed, his eyes on the blade. ‘We come in peace!’

‘With dinner,’ one of the guys behind Stewie piped up with a disarming grin. What was going on? Robinson placed the knife down on the countertop and frowned lightly.

‘What is this?’ he asked, looking between the three guys at the pizza and beer, not to mention the glass dish covered in foil in Stewie’s hands.

‘Boys’ night in,’ Stewie supplied. ‘Stand aside, lad, this dish is taking the skin off my hands.’

All three men trooped into the kitchen and placed their spoils down on the table as Robinson closed the door.

‘Robster, meet Dessy and Jase, my dear, queer friends, fine landlords of The Siren on the Rocks and proud members of the BS.’

Robinson was pretty sure that was a completely politically incorrect thing to say, but the two guys obviously took no offence as they shouldered each other out of the way to be first to shake hands with him.

‘Dessy,’ the guy closest to him said, winning the battle and pumping Robinson’s hand enthusiastically. He looked as if he was going to say more and then closed his mouth again and just kept on silently shaking hands.

‘Jase,’ his friend cut in, clearing his throat and rolling his eyes towards Dessy. ‘You’ll have to excuse Des. He’s been playing your music all day and worked himself up into a state this afternoon in case he barfs all over you when he sees you in person.’

‘I so have not,’ Dessy hissed. ‘I brought you pizza,’ he said, turning back to Robinson. ‘There’s Hawaiian if you like it fruity, margarita in case you’re more of a plain Jane lover, and of course a good old meat feast in case you prefer it, err, nice and meaty,’ he said, almost squeaking by the end of his sentence in a way that had Jase laughing into his muscled shoulder.

‘You’ll have to excuse my husband’s fan-girling. He really doesn’t mean to ask you for sex by pizza toppings, he’s just nervous.’

‘And anyway, who needs pizza!’ Stewie said, peeling back the foil on the glass dish he’d been carrying to reveal a gloopy brown curry.

Jase cracked the slab of beer and handed Robinson a can. ‘Trust me. You’re going to need this,’ he said, ‘for that.’ He gestured towards Stewie’s dish.

‘Nut curry,’ Dessy said.

Robinson baulked. ‘You know, I’m really not so much of a vegetarian kind of guy.’ The garlic waft from the curry hit the back of his throat and took his breath.

‘Course you’re not, Robster,’ Stewie thundered, slapping him hard on the shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t insult a cowboy with vegetables. This here curry isn’t squirrel nuts. It’s goat. Goat balls. Testicles. Melts in your mouth. Tender as scrambled eggs and rammed full of testosterone and protein, guaranteed to put hairs on your chest.’

Dessy looked physically pained as he peeped down the front of his neon green vest. ‘I paid a fortune last week to have this baby waxed, I’m smooth as a peach all over. Keep that bowl of balls to yourself, thank you very much, Stewart, I’ll stick to the salami.’ He patted the pizza box affectionately.

‘You boys today don’t know what’s good for you,’ Stewie said. ‘Grab some plates would you, Rob?’

Jase caught Robinson’s eye, a moment of understanding and humour, and Robinson relaxed and gave up. The beer was cold, the sun was out and Dessy and Jase seemed decent enough guys. He hadn’t realised it until now, but he missed the simple act of having a beer with the boys. He didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that most of his beers back home had been shared with the guy he’d found banging his wife in his kitchen. Some lessons were just harder learned than others.

Over at the Airstream, Alice and Niamh shared a huge prawn and avocado salad and the rest of the bottle of wine, lazing in the balmy evening sun and speculating over what was happening in the manor.

‘Pizza and beer. Man stuff going down,’ Niamh said, eyes closed and deckchair cranked back almost horizontal.

‘You reckon?’ Alice lay alongside her, stuffed full of dinner and sleepily relaxed by the pinot grigio.

‘Wig trying on sesh?’ Niamh said, giggling and then hiccupping. ‘Imagine Jase might look pretty good in that Rod Stewart thing Stewie had on the other day.’

‘You think?’ Alice said, wondering if Robinson could carry off the ginger eighties mullet Stewie sometimes sported around the village. ‘Should we go over there and see if Robinson needs rescuing?’

‘He’s a big boy, Alice. Leave him to look after himself. Just make sure you remember all of the juicy gossip afterwards, I’m dying to hear all about it in the morning.’

Robinson squinted at his watch. It was just after ten, the sun had gone down, and he was as drunk as he could remember being in years. They’d ploughed through the beer and pizza then moved on to a now almost empty bottle of bourbon produced from nowhere by Jase an hour or two back. Robinson had tactfully suggested they keep the curry back for a late-night snack, and then covered it over with the fervent hope that he’d never have to see it again.

They were crashed out on the sofas in the lounge, and one of Stewie’s Hawaiian shirt buttons had pinged off to let his furry, orange-tanned belly spill out. Dessy gesticulated in his general direction with his whisky glass.

‘Did any actual hamsters die in the production of that wig, Stewie?’

Stewie groped for his head, missed it the first time and then swiped the wig off and peered at it.

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