GIRO DAY

I wake to a stale smell and a fuzzy feeling. There’s a damp patch on the ceiling in the shape of a love heart. I reach for you and we hold each other. It’s Giro Day.

 

We were up on time on Sign-on Monday, so the money will be in our accounts today with no effort required. However, there’s no point in hanging around in bed. I can feel the thirst and the tension it brings. Neither of us can keep still. It’s on with our clothes and I stop by the mirror to perform my health check - ensuring the whites of my eyes are not bloodshot or, Heaven forbid, yellow.

 

It’s a perfect, sunshine day. There’s a spring in our step as we head for breakfast. We alternate - the One Stop at the top, the Co-op in the parade... Today it’s the turn of the Corner Shop and you go in first. When you’ve staggered into a display of cheap make up and knocked it over and you’re screaming at the shop assistant to get a fucking life, I slip in, hide a bottle of White Lightning under my coat and creep out again.

“For-fucking-get it!” you roar as you lurch into the blinding sunlight. We hurry down the street, laughing our heads off.

 

By 9am we’re at our favourite bench by the lake. The old couple sitting on it hurry away sniffing when you sit one side of them and me the other. As I take the first luxurious gulp of White Lightning, Regular Becky arrives, with the black market fags.

“Spend anything?” she asks, lighting up.

“Naw, got this for free,” I hand her the bottle and the three of us smoke, bathed in the sun’s early rays.

 

Round the bottle of White Lightning goes and just as we’re wondering where the hell he is, BJ turns up with vodka.

“Woh! Livin’ it large!” you cry.

BJ’s half cut already, the vodka bottle is a quarter empty and he’s jigging round our bench, grinning like a lunatic. He pulls me up into a waltz and I feel his sour breath on my cheek.

“I’m in the money!” he’s singing, “the old cow croaked it!”

“Yer Ma’s finally dead?” cried Regular Becky.

“As a fuckin’doorknob! Been to loan shop, haven’t I? Can’t wait for that inheritance to come through, all that bureau-crazy, they know I’m good for it. I’ve got five grand!”

You leap to your feet and gather up Regular Becky and it’s me, you, BJ and Becky all dancing round our bench, because we know BJ will share his good fortune and it’s going to be Giro Day, every day on our bench in the sunshine.

 

The White Lightning is empty, neck down in the bin. Round the vodka bottle goes and we sit comfortably, the sun on our faces, staring out over the lake, at the ducks and the swans.