Free A Pint of Beer, a Bag of Chips, and Thou by JL Merrow Page A

was
    never much on the scene. Mum likes to refer to me as her
    youthful indiscretion, but seeing as I’m twenty-three and she’s
    fifty-five…Well, you do the maths. My father was, cliché of
    clichés, the milkman, who popped in for a Christmas sherry and
    barely escaped with his (very) young life. He’s forty-two now,
    with a wife and a brand new baby, and who’d blame him for
    being embarrassed about having a grown-up son? Not I.
    Me? I’m a musician. Currently between gigs, which means
    I spend a lot of my time on the London Underground, busking.
    It’s not as bad as you’d think—it’s in the warm, and I like seeing
    all the people go by. Wondering where they go to, and hopefully
    cheering them up a little on their way.
    There’s one man in particular I’d like to cheer up, although
    not just by playing the saxophone. He wears a rumpled trench
    coat like Columbo, fil ed out nicely by a pair of broad shoulders I
    can just imagine laying my head on, he has iron-grey hair cut
    bristly on top and his eyes are the brightest blue you’ve ever seen.
    He never looks like he’s in a hurry, not like most of the people
    you’l see in a Tube station…ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
    “Liam, my love.” That was Aunty Des. She’s as thin as a
    rail, with a sharp, pointed nose. Aunty Mags is round as a peach,
    with soft curves that all but smother you when she gives you a
    hug, which she does at the drop of a hat. For years, when I was
    little, I used to call them Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker, and to
    their credit, they never spanked my cheeky young arse for it.
    “Where have you been? It’s nearly time for tea.”
    I noticed all three of them had thrust their knitting under
    cushions. There’s a wealth of cushions on our sofa, as good for
    easing weary bones as they are for concealment. “Would those
    be my Christmas presents, by any chance?” I asked, raising an
    eyebrow. Aunty Des spent long afternoons teaching me to do

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    that, bless her bony self.
    “And what makes you think you’re getting any presents
    this Christmas?” Mum asked sharply. “Lord knows I don’t ask
    much, but it’s been my fondest wish these last ten years to see
    you settled with a nice young man before I shuffle off this mortal
    coil, and what have you done about it?”
    “Mum! I was only thirteen ten years ago! And it’s not that
    easy, okay? You wouldn’t want me to settle for just anyone, now
    would you? Anyhow, you’re as strong as an ox. I reckon you’ve
    got another forty years at least before you start getting ready to
    do any shuffling.”
    Aunty Mags sniffed. “The rest of us aren’t getting any
    younger, either. And it’s not right for a young man to be on his
    own at Christmas time.”
    “Ah, but I’m not on my own, am I?” I said, perching on the
    arm of the sofa and putting my arm around her. Well, halfway
    around her, at any rate. “I’ve got my three lovely ladies here.”
    “None of that!” Aunty Mags giggled, but Aunty Des pursed
    her lips. “Girls, it’s time for a confab. Liam—go and put the kettle
    on. And mind you take your time about it.”
    I swung my feet back to the fluf y carpet and stood. “I’l be
    seeing you in the New Year, then,” I said as I went out to the kitchen.
    I swear they’ve put some kind of spell on that kettle. There
    are times you put it on and it only takes a minute to boil; and
    there are other times when it seems to take all day and half of
    the next. This was one of those times. When I finally returned to
    the living room, a quartet of steaming mugs in my hands, they
    were sitting in an expectant little row on the sofa, Aunty Mags
    holding something fluffy in her lap. I knew it wasn’t one of the
    cats, because it was livid purple.
    All right, maybe I just hoped it wasn’t one of the cats. Like
    I said, raised by witches…Witches, I might add, with a wicked
    sense of humour. I put down the mugs carefully on the side table
    and stood waiting to be told