Gail Synott staggered through the front doors of the False Tan Tavern and flung herself into the bleak Sneath night with all the poise and finesse of an Easy Jet baggage handler. The moment the fresh air hit her Gail began to feel faint and steadied herself against the police van parked outside. She managed to remain upright just long enough to light a Lambert & Butler and take a few deep drags before that old familiar force they call gravity came back to haunt her once again.
By the time Gail was back on her feet, the autumnal chill had already started to penetrate the warm glow of booze in her bloodstream. She wrapped what little she was wearing around her flabby frame, re-adjusted her thong from barely visible back to blatantly obvious, and set off for home at as brisk a pace as possible to try and combat the cold. After an abundance of brief bouts of synchronised slurring with simpletons in a similar state, plus her obligatory visit to Kardiac’s kebabs, Gail finally turned the key in the lock of forty-seven Cairnsmore Avenue at 1.57 am. The second she opened the door and saw the house in complete darkness, Gail realised that the promise she had made to her Mother and sister (five pints and six shots earlier) – to be home in time for an early night – had been broken.
The following afternoon was to be a very important milestone in the criminal career of the Synott family and they were all well aware that they would have to look their best. In just over ten hours time, during the annual ‘Crime Pays’ ceremony held at the Sneath community centre, Gail’s Mother, Colleen, was due to be presented with a lifetime achievement award for her continued commitment to catalogue fraud from Janine Pierrepoint-Browne – Sneath’s very own Crime Invention Officer. Mindful of the fact that her big night had already eaten into her Mother’s big day by several hours, Gail immediately wobbled upstairs to bed for some much-needed beauty sleep.
The next morning Gail awoke to the familiar sound of a pounding head and the distinctive scent of stale meat. She opened one of her bleary, blood-shot eyes and managed to locate the Paracetamol packet, balanced enticingly against a bottle of Bacardi Breezer on the bedside cabinet. She reached over, popped two pills directly from the foil tray into her mouth and washed them down with the dregs that were left in the bottle. Then, after peeling the remains of last night’s kebab from her pillow, she disappeared again beneath the duvet.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Gail’s Mum, Colleen was already hard at it; sorting through the day’s consignment of knock off goods that were ready for delivery. Although the ‘Crime Pays’ ceremony didn’t start until midday, she still needed to get all her customers’ orders prepared, sign on down the Social and get dolled up for the big occasion. In the living room, Gail’s elder sister, Jane, was sprawled out on the sofa watching the Trisha show whilst lovingly polishing her vast collection of sovereign rings and garish gold trinkets.
‘Give our Gail a knock and tell her to get her fat arse out of bed will you Jane.’ Colleen shouted from the kitchen.
‘In a minute, Mum, I’m just watching a really fucking rocking Trisha repeat, I’ll go up during the adverts.’
‘Which one is it?’ Colleen enquired.
‘The one with that fella with the shaved head, whose missus was doing the rounds while he was banged up for armed robbery.’ Gail replied.
‘What that bloke with the ‘cut here’ tattoo on his neck and those big, beautiful, visit-me-in-prison-eyes?’
‘Yeah, that’s the geezer, do you remember him?
‘Do I remember him? How could I ever forget such a fine fucking specimen of a man, Gail? Kick boxing champion. Did his first stretch aged fourteen. Seven kids to six different women. Never worked a day in his life and a Granddad at twenty-nine. Is that the one by any chance?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one. You’ve just missed that fucking brilliant bit where Trish gives him a proper tongue lashing for attacking his son in law with a chair and wrestling with the studio security staff.’
Colleen stopped what she was doing and hurried excitedly into the living room. She parked herself down on the sofa next to Jane, where they both sat in silent rapture, super-glued to the screen until the commercial break broke the spell.
‘Well, that young man can leave his shotgun under my bed anytime he fucking likes.’ Colleen drooled, winking at Jane as she got up and wandered back into the kitchen.
Ever since Jane had caught Colleen in bed with a teenage waiter during a holiday in Torremolinos five years ago ‘helping him with his English’, the thought of her Mother ‘entertaining’ a toy boy had repulsed her.
‘You’re nearly fifty, you dirty old fucking slapper’ Jane muttered to herself in disgust as she was climbing the stairs on route to rouse Gail – desperately trying to ignore the disturbing vision flashing across her mind of Colleen being ridden rigid by yet another shite in shining armour.
To be continued…