Free Davo's Little Something by Robert G. Barrett

cosily in the loungeroom sipping away on Davo’s version of Irish coffee.
    â€˜Ooh, these are nice,’ said Janice, licking some whipped cream off her top lip.
    â€˜Yeah. They’re not bad on a cold night are they,’ said Davo. ‘If you want another one just help yourself.’
    â€˜I might do that. Thank you.’
    Colin wasn’t saying a great deal as he sat on the lounge next to Janice, but you didn’t have to have ESP to read what was on his mind. He was right what he said about her though; she wasn’t a bad scout at all. Happy, friendly, with a bit of a sense of humour and compared to her girlfriend Nickla she was Mother Teresa and Goldie Hawn rolled into one. Davo sat there talking while he finished his coffee and before long he was starting to yawn. He could see that it wasn’t doing Colin’s chances any good with him in the lounge, besides he was looking forward to going to bed anyway.
    â€˜Well—I might leave you both to it,’ he yawned again. ‘I’ve got to get up early in the morning for work.’
    â€˜Righto, mate,’ said Colin, trying to conceal his ardour.
    Davo put his mug in the kitchen then used the bathroom and cleaned his teeth. ‘I might see you again some time, Janice,’ he said, as he came back into the loungeroom.
    â€˜Alright, Bob,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’
    â€˜You’re welcome love. I’ll probably see you on Friday, Colin.’
    â€˜Okay, mate—I’ll give you a ring anyway. Have a good time tomorrow night.’
    As soon as Davo closed his bedroom door Colin turned off the lights in the loungeroom, switched on the table-lamp and turned the radio down nice and low. Davo had been right about Janice’s pervy eyes—she and Colin didn’t even make it into the spare bedroom. Davo thought he heard her give a couple of muffled, squeals of delight just before he dozed off; he certainly didn’t hear them getting dressed or closing the front door when Colin drove her home about 1.30.
    Despite not having had all that much to drink the night before, Davo still had a slight hangover and his mouth felt a bit scuzzy when the radio-alarm went off at 6.30 the following morning. Being a nonsmoker he put it down to all the cigarette smoke in the hotel.
    After two Alka-Seltzers and a Panadol, while he got cleaned up, he began to feel alright so he started getting some breakfast, switching on the kitchen radio to get the news over his Branflakes and poached eggs on toast. The main bulletin was pretty much a rehash of the night before. The unions were still going to stay out and the terrorists were still going to blow up the plane. The only difference was that the unfortunate gay who had got beaten up died in hospital without regaining consciousness.
    Davo’s slight hangover had completely disappeared after the Panadol and the hot food so he changed the station to some pop music while he had another mug of coffee and prepared a bit of food for lunch and morning tea. After giving the loungeroom a quick tidy and cleaning up a few bits and pieces from the night before it was time to go to work.
    It was bright and sunny enough when Davo stepped out of the block of units but the same bitter sou-wester was whipping straight across Waverley Oval and down Bondi Road, making him glad he’d decided to wear the big bulky cream sweater his mother had knitted him the year before. Despite the cold Davo was whistling cheerfully as he strode towards BondiJunction. Tonight promised to be a ripper of a concert and there was still the chance of Saturday night out with gorgeous little Sandra. He even tipped the paper boy when he stopped to get the
Telegraph
.
    Everyone else was there when he walked into the butcher shop and threw his work bag under one of the counters. ‘Hello team. What’s doing?’ he said happily, slipping out of his sweater into a clean coat and apron.