Ahead of his Time by Adrian Cousins (children's books read aloud .txt) 📕

George leant back on his chair and rubbed his chin. “No, lad, you’re right. Come to think of it, I don’t think I do.”

I picked the chair up that was still upturned and stared out of the window – my reflection bouncing back at me. I raised my hands in the air and started a conversation with my reflection. “Jason, what are you going to do?” My reflection didn’t answer and just played Simple-Simon with me.

“1977 … hmmm … 1977.” My reflection offered nothing new. “I think Marc Bolan and Elvis Presley die this year, but not sure what month.”

“Really, Presley … he’s not that old. Who’s that Bolan chap.”

“Think it’s Presley’s lifestyle. Heart attack, I think. Marc Bolan, he’s a big pop star.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Ha, George, I guess you haven’t. We’re getting nowhere, and we have to sort Martin out as well. Also, Don’s going to be a problem as he’s fishing for information.”

“Lad, I will ensure Martin is okay this week. You worry about Jenny and try and think of an event which happens soon that will convince her.” He stood and grabbed his coat. “Chin up, lad, she’ll come around.”

George left me with my reflection and a large whisky for company.

“I’ll have one of those as well, please.”

A reflection of Jenny had appeared in the window as I stood at the kitchen sink. I spun around.

“How long you been standing there?”

“Long enough.”

14

19th January 1977

10CC

He spotted her going into the pub on his way to meet his contact. It was only a fleeting glance as he waited at the traffic lights at the top of Coldhams Lane. She must have walked from the car park, which backed onto the alley that led through to the Broxworth Estate. He watched as she hovered at the pub entrance, checking her makeup in a compact mirror. He wanted her, but he had to meet his contact and couldn’t keep him waiting – frustrating.

He smoothed his hand over his hair, then plucked a cigarette from the packet lying on the passenger seat and pushed in the cigarette lighter. He wondered who she was meeting.

Nudging the volume up on the radio, ‘The things we do for love,’ boomed from the speakers, a quality Sharp system he’d torn out of an old Renault 12 that some dickhead had left unlocked. However, some tosser had ripped off his car aerial and he now had a fucking coat hanger stuck in its place – kids on the estate he suspected. He’d put the word out for information on who’d done it – they’d pay for that.

A loud car horn brought him back from his lustful gaze, as some wanker hooted him because the lights had turned green. She looked up at the traffic light, but not at him. “Fuck off, you wanker!” He gestured in the rear-view mirror, revved the engine and pulled away with a screech of tyres on the wet road. If he was quick and his contact was on time, he could be back here in an hour and then maybe he would wait near the pub until she came out. If she was on her own, he might fancy some tonight.

An hour later, he arrived back at the pub and parked at the rear of the car park, squeezing the car beside the corrugated fabricated garage. He’d reversed in so he had a clear sight of the side of the pub and down Brooks Road.

He’d give it half an hour and, if she came out, he’d take her. If not, it would have to be another night – but he was going to have her soon. Now back sitting in the driver’s seat, he waited after he’d peered through one of the pub’s side windows to check she was still there. At first, he’d been unable to see her and was about to leave when he spotted her saunter back from the toilets and join a bloke at the far end of the lounge. The geezer had his back to him so he couldn’t see who he was, but hopefully she’d leave alone.

Duncan and Julie, the landlord and landlady, were on their own at the bar. Julie was perched provocatively on a barstool on the punters’ side of the bar. Her short skirt and stockings stirring memories in him when he’d had her in the toilets last Saturday whilst her idiot husband stood chatting to a group of locals twenty feet away. In her late thirties, she was older than he liked them, but she had a thirst for sex that Duncan apparently couldn’t satisfy, but he could – and had on many occasions. Gawping at Julie through the window, he considered forgetting the other one tonight. He could stroll in, have a pint and take Julie in the ladies toilets, or DD toilets as that prick Duncan had renamed them.

Duncan was such a dick-head. He had his close-knit group of crony punter friends and thought he was ‘The Man.’ Him and his twattish cronies all laughing when he’d changed the toilets signs from Gents and Ladies to SD and DD – Shake dry and Drip dry. “Well, Duncan, you prick, I’ve had your old lady many times in your DD toilets,” he whispered, as he walked back to wait in his car.

He decided he wanted the other one tonight, but only if she was alone when she left so he could easily take her. If not, the backup plan – he would go back in later and take Julie. She was constantly gagging for it – she never let him down.

Half an hour passed and, with three cigarette butts flicked out of the car window, he gave up. It would have to be another night – but soon – he had to have her. Tonight, he’d have Julie as a consolation prize – she’d just have to do. At least she was always willing, and there was no fight or forcing himself, although that was