So yesterday Stoner and I met up again for lunch.

We went to a greasy cafe. The kind where the menu is All Day English Breakfast and Large All Day English Breakfast, and the tea is sweet enough to send you into shock.

“Can I get one egg… no two eggs! With… two, actually make that three bacon, three sausages and um…”

“She’ll have an All Day Large.”

“Stoner!”

“Well hurry the fuck up! Christ I feel for Solicitor sometimes.”

I shot him a filthy look.

“I’ll have an All Day Large.” I said sweetly placing the laminated menu back on the stand.

“With a pot of tea.” Stoner put in impatiently.”So what the hell? BIL’s getting married. Thought he was a certified bachelor.”

“Yeah, no, basically some bitch got him love-sick and now he’s walking down the aisle and about to sign his life away.”

“A bitch?”

“Yeah, she seems nice enough but she’s a bit weird. Like she pretends her nephew is her kid and she’s not going to move in BIL after they get married and she’s planning this lavish thing with-”

“Hold up, she’s not going to move in with him??”Stoner’s eye’s widened with shock.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying! Weird huh?”

The waitress set down two large plates of food and a pt of tea. I have to say, the full english breakfast is by far the best breakfast in the world. No one can make it as good as they can in england.

Yes I know I sound biased, but this is coming from someone who’s mother dragged her to France once a year. Croissants are great but sometimes all you feel just feel like a nice greasy bacon sarnie, dripping with butter and ketchup.

“Have you had the talk with him?” Stoner asked as he mounted as much food on a fork as humanly possible.

“Well yeah, Solicitor has, I have, his mum and dad have, I think even Avo has.”

“Let me gueth, e told you all oo mind your own buthnus?”

“Ew, don’t talk with your mouth full!”

Deep swallow.

“Sorry. So what did he say?”

“He kind of got all angry and stopped listening.”

“Not good.”

“No I know. I even tried using his kind of jargon. Planning an investment. See a decent return. Legally binding contract. Profit and loss, blah blah blah.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“Her?”

“Yeah the woman he’s signing his life away to?”

“Wow, Stoner, what happened to ‘don’t get involved Elise, it’s none of your business’?”

“When have I ever said that?!”

“Oh… damn! Who is it that says that?” I pursed my lips in thought and drummed my fingers on the table. “Yeah you’re right. Not you. You’re the one that encourages me.”

“So meet up and speak to her.”

“She lives up north.”

Pause

“North?”

“Yep.”

Pause

“How far up north?”

“Far enough for her to have an accent.”

“Scouse?”

“No not that nice. Like one of those Manc slash Brummie accents. Nasally. It’s a little stronger than the Wolves accent.”

“Wow! Call her and put her on loud-speaker.”

“No!”

“Do it!”

“No!”

He went to grab my phone. I slapped his hand away, like a mother hitting her kid’s hand away from a freshly iced cake.

“On a scale of one to Aimee, how much of a psychopath is she?”

“I’d give her an 7.5. She’s not a druggie and she hasn’t let herself into my house.”

“Have you heard from her?”

“BIL’s fiance? No.”

“Aimee.”

“Oh her. No, not for about a year. Why?”

Stoner shrugged.

“What?”

“She’s sort of cute. In a psycho kind of way.”

“Do you want me to stab you with a fork?”

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