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SHORT STORIES
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SHORT STORIES
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SIDNEY
'Her boyfriend's a bit shy,' Alan said, flipping up the indicator and easing the Astra into the
fast lane. 'He'll probably be in bed by the time we get there.'
Paul, in the passenger seat, glanced across at Alan. 'What do you mean by 'shy'?' he
wanted to know.
'He's just quiet. Whenever he visits us he never has much to say for himself. Having said
that, we haven't seen much of him for a while. In fact, the last couple of times Carol visited
she was on her own.'
'You must have done something to upset him,' Paul said with a smile.
Alan overtook the van, signalled again and pulled back into the middle lane.
'So, what's his name then, this boyfriend?' Paul continued.
'Malcolm.'
Paul gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Malcolm. Shy sounding name really, he thought.
'Our Carol more than makes up for him though.'
Paul looked across at Alan again, his eyes narrowing. 'What do you mean?'
'She's really sociable. You can't help but like her.'
'Yea, but you're biased, aren't you. Big Broth.'
'Well, you'll be able to judge for yourself, won't you.'
'I'm looking forward to it.'
'Good'
Paul winced. 'How much further anyway?'
'Not long.' Alan said, affording Paul a quick glance and seeing that his face was creased
up. 'Why?'
'Because I'm dying for a piss.'
Alan grinned and shook his head, returning his eyes to the road ahead and stepping on the
accelerator a touch.
The two occupants of the car, driving down to London from Chester on business, had
been on the road for over four hours, and now, over two-hundred miles later, they weren't
far from their destination. Alan's sister, Carol, was putting them up for the night, the plan
being that they would head off for the Capital the following morning after a good night's
sleep.
Paul did his best to ignore his complaining bladder, but couldn't seem to do the same
about the seemingly weird boyfriend.
Okay, so the guy isn't particularly sociable, but that's his prerogative - give the guy a
break!
Paul tried to tell himself he was too tired anyway to give it any more thought. You just
want to get there as soon as possible, mate, have a piss, something to eat, and then sink into
a soft, comfortable armchair, nursing a mug of hot coffee; then settle down for a much
needed night's sleep in a comfy bed.
He did feel shattered, and gazing through the windscreen at the hypnotic repetition of
cat's eyes and white lines wasn't helping any.
But when they finally arrived at Alan's sister's house fifteen minutes later, and the door
was opened and a friendly and pretty face peered out, some of that fatigue seemed to
dissipate and Paul felt himself perk up a little. Only natural of course: a young, hot-blooded
male like himself confronted with a pretty young thing like that. Alan hadn't said his sister
was a looker.
And when they got inside and into decent room lighting, Paul realised that she was even
better looking than his first impressions had suggested.
A slim, tight figure; a pretty face with big brown eyes; nice skin, which bore little or no
make-up and didn't need it. She wore her natural blonde hair in a short bob, cut close and
high at the back revealing the nape of her neck, another attractive feature.
Lucky Malcolm, he thought to himself. So this girl likes the shy, introverted type... Well,
he could be like that - strong and silent, no problem...
Paul dumped his sleeping bag on the floor as Alan did the intros:
'Paul; this is my little sis, Carol...'
Paul smiled. 'Hiya,'
'Hello.' Carol said and she smiled a smile that simply lit up her entire face.
'Carol,' Alan went on. 'This is my best mate and business partner, Paul...'
'Who I've heard a lot about,' Carol offered her hand.
'Not all bad, I hope.' Paul took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. It felt warm and
soft and he didn't want to let go. When he finally did, he wondered if she'd noticed his
reluctance to part.
Suddenly, Paul was yanked from his fantasizing when a movement from the floor caught
his eye. He looked down just in time to see a ball roll out from behind the armchair in front
of him. It was a little smaller than a football, but it was made from clear plastic and its
surface was scored with a dozen or so slits. A moment later, Paul realised that there was
something inside it - something alive and moving - the explanation for why the ball seemed to
be moving of its own volition - and why there were slits cut into it.
Ventilation holes.
Of course: a hamster. He had seen one of these ball things before.
'That's Sidney,' Carol informed him.
The ball headed straight for Paul's feet and before he could step out of the way, it
bounced against his toes.
Either momentarily stunned or contemplating it's next move, Sidney shifted around inside
the sphere, circling through three-hundred and sixty degrees then back again, sniffing the air
constantly with an inquisitive, twitching nose.
Deciding on his next trajectory, Sidney scuttled off to the right and, obeying his
command, the ball headed towards the TV.
Paul suddenly became aware once again of his complaining bladder. Carol had distracted
him and that had anaesthetised the sensation somewhat, but now the organ was complaining
again, demanding to be emptied.
'Could you point me in the direction of your loo, please,' Paul said with a slightly
embarrassed smile.
'Sure. Straight upstairs, second on your left.' Carol gestured with her hand.
Paul gave a deliberately wry smile and said - 'Now, you're sure that's the right door? I
wouldn't want to disturb Malcolm.' - before immediately regretting it.
Carol's smile seemed to fade for an instant and she shot Alan a glance. But in the next
instant she was smiling again and Paul wondered if he'd simply imagined it.
'You won't disturb him, don't worry,' she said, quite matter-of-factly.
Plonker! He reprimanded himself. Why did you go and say a thing like that?
'Second on your left. You can't miss it,' she repeated, stressing the directions a little more
this time.
'Right, I think I've got that.' Paul tried another broad smile, but wondered if his attempts
to be witty were merely helping to him to make an even bigger prat of himself. Just get to the
toilet, you idiot!
As he went out, he glanced over to Alan who shot him a reprimanding look and shook his
head.
'Sorry,' Paul mouthed, and continued out to the stairs.
The stairs led up to a spacious landing. There was an unusually wide, almost square door at
the far end, another standard sized door to his right, and two similar doors on his left.
The door at the far end obviously led to a closet or attic, Paul decided. It was
considerably shorter and wider than the other doors - about four feet by four feet, and he had
seen something similar, albeit a little smaller, in his parents' old house and that door had lead
to an attic.
He wondered which of the other two doors led to Malcolm's room, and he moved
closer...
As he did so, he became suddenly aware of an unpleasant odour in the air. He wrinkled
his nose and sniffed... but the smell seemed to have gone. He frowned, not knowing what to
make of it. Probably the toilet, he guessed.
He pushed his ear close up against each of the doors in turn, straining to listen... but could
hear nothing from within either of them...
Hard to believe someone could be so quiet, could keep so utterly silent.
Maybe he isn't actually here, Paul suddenly thought. Maybe he's out: he and Carol had
fallen out and he'd stormed out, and Carol was too embarrassed to say. Maybe he'd even left
a while ago and Carol was now living alone, scared to divulge the truth to her brother or
family...
Paul shrugged and reached out towards the toilet door handle, closed his fingers around it
and pushed.
The unpleasant odour he had expected to greet him didn't, and he wondered if he hadn't
simply imagined it. He grinned as he unzipped his trousers. Either that, or it was down to
Malcolm. Maybe the poor guy had a flatulence problem! Maybe that's why he was never
around when visitors came: he was kept locked away to avoid any extreme embarrassment!
Paul chuckled and started to relieve his straining bladder.
When he came back down, the ball was motionless and empty on the floor, and Sidney was
back in his cage, though he didn't seem any less energetic for his previous efforts. Now, he
was going like the clappers on the wheel in his cage, his little legs rushing beneath his small
body in a blur of frenzied activity.
'Hungry?' Alan was sprawled out on the settee, shoes off, feet up.
'Starving,' Paul said, his stomach groaning at the thought of food.
'Good, because I've made a ton of sandwiches.' The voice came from the kitchen and
Paul looked up to see Carol peering up from whatever she was doing, a broad smile from
cheek to cheek. 'I take it you like ham?'
'Oh, yes,' Paul said, stepping forward.
The house was open plan, and Sidney's cage was perched on a table bordering the
kitchen and lounge. But right now, Paul's gaze was drifting decidedly towards Carol. His eyes
travelled down her body from head to toe, then back up again, pausing to admire her shapely
rear within the tight jeans, which seemed to cling to her buttocks like a second skin. He felt a
surge of desire but tried to push it way.
She was slicing away with a large bread knife, and as Paul drew closer he noticed that
Carol's claims about the sandwiches were no understatement.
'Christ, what is this,' Paul gasped. ' The feeding of the five-thousand?'
She must have used a loaf of bread. The sandwiches were piled almost a foot high and
now Carol finished slicing the last of them and added those to the top.
'Hard-working boys need to keep their strength up,' Carol said, and Paul found himself
watching her mouth as it formed the words.
Aware that Carol might notice he was staring, Paul tore his gaze away and looked down
at the cage where Sidney was still on the go, with apparently no let up.
'I think you've been feeding him on your ham sandwiches, haven't you?' Paul sniggered
and leaned closer to the cage. He pushed a finger between the bars and sucked a friendly
chirp between his teeth.
'Careful!' Carol looked up from arranging the sandwiches. 'He'll have your finger off,
no problem.'
Paul snatched his finger away, startled by Carol's sudden outburst. 'He's not very friendly
then?' he enquired, and looked up at Carol, immediately distracted again by her smile. Her
mouth...
God, this girl wasn't just pretty - she was drop-dead gorgeous!
Dimples in her cheeks and perfect teeth behind sensuous lips, Carol shook her head and
lifted up a finger. Paul managed to shift his gaze away from her face and focussed on the
offered digit.
On the index finger of her left hand she wore a plaster.
'Why do you think we called him Sidney?' she said.
Paul didn't get the connection. 'What do you mean?'
Carol cocked her head to one side and, with that same wry smile, she looked at him as if
he really ought to know. 'Because he's vicious,' she said. 'Get it?'
Carol's smile widened and Paul wondered if the dimples could get any deeper, the teeth
any more perfect, the lips any more sensuous... and then he chuckled, realising what she
meant.
'Oh, yea... right: Sid Vicious?'
Carol nodded. 'Right.'
Paul shook his head, embarrassed again. 'I can't believe I didn't ask in the first place.'...............
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