Cherry Coloured - Alex Turner

13. Piss Up

Maeve's ongoing streak of loneliness finally came to a conclusion one Thursday morning when she woke to a rapping at the door and pulled it open to find the face of her flat mate, Chuck Yates, on the other side.

After four months and five days, her partner in crime had surprised her and returned home. The tousle of dirty blonde hair sitting over this forehead, brushing over thick angular brown eyebrows that sat atop sparkling, deep set eyes, overcast and rainy in colour, ensured that he looked exactly the same way as he did when he last saw her.

"Swansea, did you miss me?" he grinned, ignoring the mug Maeve had dropped to toss her arms around him.

"Fuck off," she laughed, squeezing him tight. "Gotta let me sort this out," she said secondarily, brushing her thumb over the sparse hairs crawling outwards from his eyebrows to meet at the bridge of his nose.

"I've been back all of three seconds and already, you're thinking of tweezing my eyebrows," he scoffed and kissed her cheek. "It's good to be back."

  The unmatched dynamic of the two propelled on through evening to nightfall. Excitement jittering in their veins and crawling inside their muscles, not a moment could be wasted to celebrate his return. As was principal with any group of friends in England, celebration could only truly occur in the shiteiest of pubs. On that particular night, the chosen venue was the Rat 'N' Bone Ale House along Manesfield Road, a mere six minute walk to Rent's down the street. Chuck was striving with the intention to forget the night completely and so, being responsible, Maeve was holding back to one to two drinks per pub so that at least one of them could ensure they got home. She was one of two women making up the seven-piece of Chuck's closest friends, all whom were over the hills of the North that their mate was back in town.

They were all squashed into one booth directly across from the bar, the loudest of all the occupants. Not to mention the most enthusiastic. Maeve was shoulder to shoulder with Chuck and Alison, a girl she'd met through Chuck a few years back, and her knees were cap to cap with Chuck's mate Simon who kept accidentally kicking her shins and stepping on her toes. He definitely wasn't Maeve's favourite. He always had to make some kind of comment about her being a stripper. So far, he'd kept it to himself.

"Maeve how's work lately?" he asked her. Never mind.

  "Same as always," she shrugged nonchalantly and sipped her pint of cider. She noticed his deep blue eyes trained below her eye-line. He was either looking at the table or, more probably, sneaking a look at her chest. Maeve rolled her eyes and sat up straight, moving herself off the table and waited for him to look away as she discretely pulled up the front of her top.

They're C's if that's what you're wondering. Prick. No more scoop necks in the future.

"Stop being a pervert Simon," Alison said beside her, scrunching her face up at him.

"I wasn't!" he exclaimed and began fighting his case. Maeve just looked away and ignored it, tuning in to the story Chuck was telling everyone about how he and his mates stole their boss's truck keys and watched all hell break loose.

It had been longer since Maeve had caught up with this lot than it had been since she last saw her flat mate. They were all friendly but when Chuck was away, none of them really made an effort to see each other until he was back. He was like a tube of PVA. Always excellent in making everyone feel welcome and had this talent of striking up conversation with anyone about anything, going in a stranger and coming out with a new friend. Maeve adored him and always admired that quality of his.

"Maeve you remember Logan?" Chuck asked her mid-story.

"Top heavy geezer?" Maeve asked, trying not to show externally how happy she truly was to see him again.