Story by Big M (at last !)

Bang…bang! The punches just came out of nowhere. Merv knew that the second one had shattered his right zygomatic arch. He stood, teetering for what seemed like half a minute, but, in reality, was half a second. Then the lights seemed to swirl, and the crowd roared. Then some guy hit the ‘down’ button on the elevator, and the big man took the express straight to the basement, then another guy pulled the fuses, and everything went black. Merv remembered the stench of the rough canvass, as he collapsed, face down, arms askew, unable to protect his face as he fell.

He remembered Foodge yelling from the side. “Stay down Mr Merv, he aint fightin’ fair!” (Foodge managed to forget his grammar at the fights).  The ref started the count and Merv knew that he had ten seconds to get the circuits in his brain working again, find his feet (which seemed like they were somewhere at the other end of the ring), stand up and look like he could continue the fight.

The ref was renowned for giving a fighter every chance to avoid a technical knock out, so usually slowed the count down, but, this time Big Bill knew Merv was in trouble, so counted to ten, nodded at the adjudicator, who rang the bell, then dropped to one knee to try to render some aid whilst the ambos wended their way through the wild crowd.

Merv remembered one voice. “Get up, you great lazy oaf, come on, your kids need you!” Granny was leaning over Merv, who was back in his bed, next to Janet, who was blissfully snoring away. “Get up Merv, you’ve got a sick kiddie to look after!” As she passed the whimpering infant to her dad.

“What do you think’s wrong?”  Merv was embarrassed that he had slept through the cries.

“I’d reckon it’s middle ear infection, by the way she’s been pullin’ at that right ear…you’d think her mother mighta noticed!” Granny clearly had another agenda that she wanted to push. “I’ve given her some Neurofen, which should start to take effect. In the mean time you could slip down to the Casualty Department and get her looked at. Five on a Tuesdee mornin’ should be pretty quiet.”

Merv managed to get the child seen by a nice young doctor, who prescribed some antibiotics, and promised to send the family doctor a note. Merv was back at the Pigs Arms in time for bacon, bum nuts and wedges, the child was back to her delightful, bubbly self, unaware that she had disturbed half the household. Merv quietly shovelled his breakfast into his mouth; occasionally rubbing his right eye in disbelief…the dream seemed so real. He had two problems to sort out, one, was the dream, where did it come from? Why was he dreaming about being knocked out, again? The other problem was Janet. Granny was probably right, she may well be the laziest mother in the world, she never got up to the twins at night, in fact, she seemed to have no maternal instincts at all!

Merv’s reverie was interrupted by a voice that emanated from a rather well dressed fellow in three-piece black suit and black Fedora. “Too early for a heart starter?”

“Foodge, you under cover?” Merv moved along the bar to pour a pint of Best.

“No, funeral today, one of the greatest Private Dicks ever to grace this city passed away last week.  “Nosey Newton.”

“Wasn’t ‘e the bloke who bashed up ‘is girlfriends?”

“No, that’s the actor. Nosey could sniff out a philanderer at fifty paces. There wouldn’t be any more bacon…or perhaps some eggs…or perhaps some wedges?” Foodge needed to fortify himself for the day ahead. “You seem to be down in the dumps, what’s going on?”

“Coupla problems, well, women problems, an’ this recurring dream.” Merv transferred another full plate to the empty place on the bar in front of Foodge.

Foodge blushed; he usually associated ‘women’s problems’ with minstrel station, or something worse.

“Why have you gone red, all uva sudden?” Merv was now busying himself with the filters on the coffee machine.

“Well, I can help with dreams, but, ‘women’s problems’, well…err…you’ll probably need a gynaecologist!” Foodge kept looking down at his second breakfast, hoping to avoid any eye contact with Merv.

“Not them sorta problems…problems with Janet, you know…relationships ‘n’ stuff. I put in twenty hours, some days, and she manages to do…well, bugger all. Granny and I have been up half the night with a sick kid, and Janet still hasn’t woken.” This was true, Janet couldn’t function on less than ten hours a night.

Foodge was relieved. “Well, I’m not immune to problems with women.” Which was true, in that, Foodge had no problem with making himself repugnant to women.  “And I can’t help with sick kiddies, but I, or rather, I know who can help with dreams…Rosie!”

“Rosie, as in ‘Rosie’s House of Pain’, Rosie? Merv stopped fiddling with the filter.

“Yes, but she hasn’t managed to help with my recurring dream. You know, the one where I wake up with a tattoo on my derrière.” Foodge nodded to the empty glass canoe, which Merv replaced with a fresh pint.

“You have got a tattoo on yer arse!” Merv was incredulous, would the kid ever wake up to himself? “But, you reckon Rosie can help?”

“Of course, but don’t tell her that I sent you…there’s still an issue of monies owed.”

Merv wasn’t surprised, but, at least Foodge’s bar tab was down to double figures. “Well, I might slip over there right now, while it’s fresh in me mind.”

“Nooo.” The effort of speaking whilst drinking had forced Foodge to aspirate some Best. He pulled a neatly pressed linen handerkerchief from his pocket (where did he find the money for these new clothes?). “Whatever you do, don’t knock on her door until after lunchtime, or else there’ll be hell to pay. I know?”

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable screams from Janet.” Merv…Merv…where are you?  You there are nappies to change up here!”

“See you Foodge, enjoy the funeral.” Merv slowly climbed the stairs to the apartment above the bar.